#grape Stede

[blakbonnet]

they're 1 grape tall and sleeping inside a 🍄 house btw

[blakbonnet]

Can I please : meet cute ♥️

conducting scientific experiments to see just how tiny I can make him

[lumiilys]

Smaller than a single grape

[nicnacsnonsense]

I really appreciate all the tumblr users out here being horny on main for Rhys Darby; it really helps me as an ace person make sure I’m being respectful and representative of your beliefs when writing from Ed’s POV.

[jellybeanium124]

also just to be clear giving up piracy doesn't mean giving up crime. we all agree on that right? every time stede and ed go to a shop they leave with stuff they didn't pay for. stede is a grape eater you can't change my mind

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Stede Stede?

Archie’s completely thrown. This isn’t how she pictured ‘Stede’. He should be taller, more muscly, charismatic…

Stede is pretty much all of those things, actually. But what Archie means is someone built like Steakknife, and non-femme. Hench.

The crew have clearly framed Stede in a positive light; demonstrated they have missed his captaincy, missed him as a person, friend. And Archie has taken that positivity to assume traditional masculine traits associated with leadership.

But also…this is the guy that captured Blackbeard’s heart? The jilting which caused (in their eyes) the greatest pirate on the high seas to burn down the Caribbean, abandon all hope, drive into a storm, and ultimately die over?

To echo Spanish Jackie, ‘Muthafuckin Blackbeard wanna talk to this guy?’

Yeah, he does…! talk, laugh with, hug, play, fuck, like, love, feel safe with, adore, swap clothes, worship, frot, tease, stare at, make love to, marvel over, hand-feed grapes…

Archie doesn’t get it yet. Maybe she never will. She doesn’t have to.

Ed gets it though. Got it immediately.

Yeah, that’s Stede Stede. Now you say it again with awe and wonder, Archie.

[bowieandqueen11]

Fickle Bird / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: Would you be willing to do another spicy Izzy hands x reader ? Loved your previous stories!!

Thank you so much!! I'm always happy to see how much people enjoying reading for Izzy :) Assigned babygirl by the fandom and I am here for it,

Warning: This is smutty as heck, so 18+ only please!!! Sexual biting, sexual allusions and strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @unwanted-animal.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands was becoming irritatingly querulous.

It had taken him far too many hours of laboriously hard work to finally pull you away from your crewmates. Every time you turned your head, he had been right there behind you. Doing his best to throw you sad eyes, hanging his head and ostentatiously ducking out of your line of vision as if he were plagued by tenebrous shrouds. He had tugged at your collar while Stede Bonnet's crew were idly mulling around, pretending to do their assigned chores on deck; he had done his best to subtly lead you away from Lucius, growing more and more irritated by each passing second you ignored his advances and continued your conversation.

He had wrapped his arms around your waist, jutting his chin into your shoulder as you did your best to shake him off and clear up your friend's dinner plates with Roach. Even though a sharp jab at his ribs got him to take a sheepish step back. running a glove through his hair to slick it back with an imperceptible look bored into the side of your cheek, you did your best to ignore the phantom chills of his stout fingers caressing carelessly over your stomach.

By the end of the night, he was two seconds away from hauling you over his shoulder and throwing the two of you into the ball room; as clouds steamed out of his ears, the visualisation of slamming the door shut with the heel of his boot and taking you right there and then, with stupid Lucius Spriggs being able to hear, was getting far too enticing.

Israel Hands had always been flighty. Impatient. Agitated, when it came to you. You had always known him to be: ever since your tenure on the great Captain Blackbeard's vessel almost five years ago now, Izzy had been protective over you and your relationship. Fear bore jealousy: a heart-breaking self-conscious disposition masked behind layers of seething hardness spawned only the animosity of Stede Bonnet's crew, and served to hinder his plans all the more.

As much as you did enjoy teasing the man, you knew that even he had his limit.

Which is how you found yourself nearly flown, well, more like catapulted to the other side of the beach during one of Bonnet's 'stupid fucking dilly-dallies around the poncy parts of Tangerine Cove', as your ever sweet significant other had put it. Before Buttons could even step foot on the shore: before Lucius could even settle down underneath a palm tree to sketch Black Pete, who had carefully positioned his near naked body to be splayed out against the foamy bubbles like a starfish, before Frenchie had even managed to haul the rest of Wee John's gunpowder out onto the strand, Izzy hand taken your hand tightly in his, his grip ready to pop your fingers like sea grapes.

You only laughed as the two of you ran, kicking sand across your feet as you scurried after him and towards an incredibly conspicuous, raggedy looking wall of orange lichen eaten stones placed as a make-shift border between the stretches of beach. Izzy didn't say a word. Instead he almost seemed to glide in front of you, as if beaks were pecking at his feet, threatening to perch upon a bough in his heart and thrum; he knew, if he couldn't make it behind these stones right now, his frail soul was about to snap under the weight of it all.

The intensity of his gaze as he helped you step over the ring was enough to take your breath away.

He sinks to his knees before you, wasting no time in knocking you to the scything sand; his hand splays out against your stomach and pushes you gruffly, until you've fallen onto your bottom and he has easy access to your legs. He whimpers as he hitches them up, frantically lining your ankles with wet kisses and hot, open-mouthed bruises as he wraps them around his neck. His hands are soft, so tender, yet they claw into your skin as he begins to knead the muscles of your calves. You can feel him inch closer and closer - his hands winding down your inner thighs until they're resting on your inner legs, thumbs tantalisingly close to stroking your panty line.

'Is this alright... sweetheart', he asks breathlessly, pressing his fingers down into the meat of your hips until his full weight his almost exclusively leaning against your stomach. He leans forward to nip against your mouth.

'Hmm- hmph', you jolt as you feel Izzy guide his hand further down towards your growing heat. 'Oh god yes. I swear, I was about to explode on that ship. As much as I appreciate the new company, especially with how cranky Edward has been recently, it's so hard between the two crews merging and escaping the English to find a moment alone.'

'Says the little tease. 'Oh Lucius, you're so funny, and I love your hair. And you're such a great drawer. You should draw me some time, and we should skip off into the sunset'-'

The back of his head is suddenly jolted up as you grasp onto the strands of hair near his crown. His mouth shudders at the feeling, opening and closing like a blubbering fish. Like a swallow caught in a trap. You graze your fingernails down to the nape of his neck apologetically, not before chiding him with a humoured 'jealousy has never suited you, Israel Hands. Now shut up and put that mouth to better use, before I go take Pete's place.'

He growls at you, baring his teeth, but you can tell by the way he gets straight to work that he takes your jesting as light-hearted. He lets the words wash over his head: right now, he was busy burying himself within you; his nose glides across the pulse point jittering through your neck, his eyes heavy and lidded as he barely breaths. Barely moves.

The little flirt. He was trying to get his own back.

He just rests there, just lets you shiver under the short pants that roll off his tongue and fan out across your collar bone, his teeth daring to dart out every so often and graze across the skin by your earlobe. His lips continue their ghostly ravishing, finally coming to a stop by cautiously hovering over your racing heartbeat.

You were getting far too impatient. The feel of your hands scrambling down to tug at his thigh holster would almost had made him laugh, if it hadn't been for the fortuitous brush of the side of your palm against his growing bulge.

But two can play at that game. You almost want to scream when he cocks his head up to throw you a shit-eating grin, before the flat part of his tongue licks out to swirl against the top of your left bosom.

'If you don't- hmph- if you don't stop, someone is going to catch u-oh-'. Your reprimands were astutely silenced by Izzy with a teasingly light stroke of his pointer and middle finger down the thin material covering your groin. He made sure to drag his thumb behind, digging in against the material a little harsher with it, until you could almost feel the rugged tip of his fingernail inside you.

'Oh, fuck off. If you're any louder, even the fucking sirens will start popping up to see what that... titillating sound is.'

If Izzy wasn't too busy running the flat edge of his tongue up the seam of your inner leg, you would have had half a mind to shove him off you right there and then.

'Stop complaining.'

He drags his thumb along his lips before popping it in his mouth, sucking at the leather. His eyes never leave yours as his teeth clench into the material, tugging it off and throwing it blindly behind his back. The feeling of the coarse pad being suddenly replaced by a warm, firm fingertip against the outside of your folds was enough to make you buck your hips up in wild euphoria.

This man. He was going to drive you absolutely mad.

'Even I didn't think you were such a squirmy little thing', he states with a calculated grin. 'Didn't take much for you to fall apart in front of me, now, did it? Never does though, to be fair.'

'Oh, you're one to talk. One more - mmph- one more sad look in my direction and I would have pinned you to the floor in front of Bonnet's crew. You're proper needy, aren't you? Couldn't- couldn't wait- couldn't stop begging-'

He was far too impertinent for your persiflage. God, how he had wanted this-how he had wanted you for far longer than his dogged soul was willing to admit. It had near driven him to that sweet, twilight chasm of madness: sent him tumbling over the edge until he was near plagued, near driven to his knees to beg for forgiveness for his loving sin at your placating shrine. He was almost about to burn with embarrassment, but Israel Hands was too far gone to care.

Instead, he swallows thickly before taking your hand, cupping it around his neck. Then he whimpers, and the two of you are really in it then.

'I would let you fucking wreck me, you know that?', he chokes out from behind gritted teeth, trying to stop the pulsating feeling aching in the pit of his stomach.

'Sweet man', you reach up to brush his cheek with your free hand, and he almost recoils at the touch. 'You're safe with me Iz. Always. You don't have to hide what you want.'

He cups his fingers over your own: he can barely stop them from contracting over your knuckles as he throws his head back to the heavens and closes his eyes in contentment. His body starts squirming then, the heat from your fingertips making every nerve ending down the back of his spine alight, and he can't help - doesn't want to stop the way he starts rocking his hips back and forth across your legs. The lust seems to be radiating off his glowing cheeks as he furrows his eyebrows in blissful agony.

He drags his free hand down your arm until he reaches the scabbard to the right of his stomach. You poke the inside of your lip with your tongue, watching the sharp edge slice across the air to be placed, with a precision only wrought with a extensive practice, to lay underneath the cold metal bravely guarding your chest. With a quick whip of his wrist, off your blouse went: the first button soared through the air without Izzy needing to even open his eyes. But as he peeked one open and saw the line of tantalising skin grow wider down your rising breast, all semblance of restrained self-mastery fled from his brain.

The rest were ripped open by a clenched glove. You were surprised none of the rest of the crew popped their heads up at the sound: the rip of cotton material being shredded straight across your jiggling bosoms, your buttons flying off like mini cannonballs being struck into the unsuspecting shifts of sand.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how your legs imperceptivity clenched together at the way he subconsciously wet his bottom lip, his nose scrunching up as he nearly snarled at the sight of the unhampered skin freed from your tight blouse.

He's voracious as he bites down like a starved stray and pierces the edge of your right breast with his front teeth. The faint sunlight blinds your eyes and makes you see pockets of stars as he begins sucking like his very soul depended on it, burying his head right in line with your sternum.

Wanting to return the favour, you let your free hands wander down. Hiking up the fringes of his shirt, you let your hands wander over the taut muscles of his abdomen, smiling to yourself as you feel goose bumps prick up to meet your cool palms. Izzy pants against your nipple, which in turn makes it harden as his hot breath breezes past. Giving you an idea, you run your hand up past the fine silver hairs of Izzy's happy trail, to experimentally roll the pad of your thumb over the man's left nipple.

What you weren't expecting, however, was for him to collapse on top of you.

The groan that muffled out past the fist he tried to shove into his mouth was inhuman. Was damn sinful. All he can do while he lets the overpowering rush of desire coarse through his veins is to quieten the sound with your awaiting lips; he's trembling against you, and so you reassure him with a languid massage of your tongue against his own. His hand tried to flail away as he finally feels you probe around his teeth, but you catch it easily, pressing it firmly against your fluttering heart. With a final tug, you finally manage to stumble your way through the loops of his trouser buttons.

His hips judder forward until he prods awkwardly against the bottom of your abdomen, leaving a slick wetness smeared against the buckle of your belt. He grimaces, a thin line of saliva glistening between you as he pulls his head back to look down at the disturbance. His nostrils flare as he buries his hands into two clefts in the rocks either side of your head, and does his best to try and control the painful contortions of his face. A low whistle still manages to catch in the back of his throat as he gazes down at the milky seepage he has left behind, running in smooth drips down your bellybutton and smearing it with each jolt of your desperate hips against his, further and further down against your hip line. The muscles in his face fall as if he were in a trance: as if he were a man possessed.

'I-I care for you. You know that.' He can barely meet your eye in fear that you'd be repulsed by the sweetness - by the fondness that has flooded through them, feeling the gilded shadows that veiled his sight begin to lift.

You reach up and let your pointer finger gingerly trace over the outline of the swallow tattoo inked into the side of his neck. 'I know. I love you too, Israel Hands.'

God, you were going to be the end of him. And if he weren't so blinded by it, he would have been more than satisfied to sink into the depths of oblivion with you seared into his irises: the last mirage, the last vision of a life he had could never have. Of a love he had not earnt.

But he was stubborn, and his talons refused to stop clinging onto hope.

It must have been quite a sight: the perched rocks quaking as something pounded sloppily against them, the cacophony of breathless, gasping whines as your clawed hand tried to reach back and hold desperately onto the sharp jags above your head.

'Should we... should we do something about that?', Roach asks, looking quizzically around at his friends and dropping the stick he had been chasing the Swede around with a moment before onto the beach.

Lucius, squints his eyes warily, and shakes his head in disgust. 'Nah. I'm leaving that one for the Captain to handle.'

'I think he's too busy getting his own, uh, stuff handled by Blackbeard', Jim pipes in, doing their best to hide their roguish smile as the sound of you screaming Izzy's name grew louder and louder, no matter how well you were trying to stifle it by shoving your mouth into his shoulder blade and biting down, and no matter how well Izzy was drowning it out with the harshness of his own grunts.

'Actually', Lucius thumps the end of his pencil against his chin and begins to grin menacingly. 'This might come in very useful. Looks like Dizzy Izzy, or should I say Izzy the Rasper won't be making poor old Lucius scrub anything else while he's on board.'

[hiimcanadia]

Okay so Ed is a borrower or a fairy or something like that right. Really tiny little guy who has to scavenge around for all his food and other belongings. And he's got, like, buddies that he hangs out with sometimes, but he doesn't really have any real friends, anyone who really understands him.

Until he meets Stede. Stede is a giant, but he's so much more kind and gentle than other giants Ed has dealt with before. He talks to Ed like an equal. He offers to give him things that he needs. He even offers to buy new things specifically for Ed!! Ed goes from being alone and scared in a world that's too big for him, to being protected and treated like a princess by a man who he's quickly falling in love with!!

And one of the coolest things about this is that Ed is eating foods he never could've gotten his hands on before. Fresh warm soups. Fancy chocolate desserts. Sugary carbonated "sodas". Sometimes he even crawls up onto Stede to eat directly out of his hand!

He gains like 10 grams before he finally admits to Stede that he probably needs some new clothes. He's a little bit worried to mention it at first, because people like him don't usually get the privilege to be fat so it feels kinda weird, but Stede is so fucking excited about it. He's so proud that Ed likes the food he makes, so happy that Ed doesn't look so thin and starving anymore, and, honestly, a little bit turned on by watching Ed plump up so nicely for him.

They do some online shopping together for both some premade doll clothes and some fabrics so Ed can make some of his own like he used to (and maybe even teach Stede how to sew while he's at it). Ed, who has been wearing plain colored outfits made of scraps for most of his life, admits that his favorite color is purple and he'd like to have as many purple clothes as possible.

The first time Stede sees Ed in a fully purple outfit, fat and tiny and so, so pretty, he calls him his lovely little grape. He panics a little and asks if that's okay, and Ed promises that it's perfect. He loves his life with Stede, including all the cute little pet names that he can't wait for them to collect for each other.

[ourfag]

okay im gonna ask for three: not the bees

oh this one is SO MUCH more lighthearted lmao this is a oneshot where stede takes ed on a romantic date to a botanical garden during the height of spring when the flowers are in full bloom and it’s beautiful and fragrant and vibrant and there are bees everywhere and ed is so scared of bees.

its ok though bc there’s binoculars in the car and ed goes and gets those. and then grabs a table overlooking the area where they were before and puts his feet up and gets his phone out:

Heart plummeting—Ed was calling off the date—fuck, fuck fuck fuck—Stede answered with a noise that he’d hoped would pass as inquisitive hum but came out closer to plaintive whimper.

From the other end, Ed spoke. “Tell me about those purple ones I keep seeing everywhere. The little guys. There’s a couple you’re standing right in front of.”

Stede looked down at the cluster of grape hyacinth by his feet.

“Yeah, those,” said Ed. “They’re all over the place. Is that on purpose? Or are they just a nice-looking weed, or what?”

“Where are you?” Stede asked, now less upset but considerably more confused.

“I’m over here.”

“That’s very helpful. Thank you.”

“Look, just rotate yourself. I’ll tell you when.”

Stede raised his head and rotated.

“Other way.”

Stede rotated the other way. “Oh, I think I see you. Is that you? Hi!”

and they have a sort-of-long-distance date where stede infodumps about flowers and ed follows along from behind his binoculars and No Bees Get Near Him

[pengychan]

[Our Flag Means Death] The Lost Unicorn, Pt. 2

Title: The Lost Unicorn Summary: Weakened by the gunshot wound, Izzy falls behind during the escape and is captured. The good news is that the navy surgeon can keep him alive. The bad one is that he's now live bait for the crew of the Revenge. Characters: Izzy Hands, Ed Teach, Stede Bonnet, Crew of the Revenge, Ricky Barnes Rating: T All chapters are tagged as 'lost unicorn' on my blog. [Back to Part 1]

Unsurprisingly no one is having a good time, but at least they now have extra brain cells on board to think of a decent plan. Also, flashbacks. ***

“Good Lord, Israel, I truly hope that was one of your baby teeth.”

Israel tries to reply, but there is blood bubbling in his mouth and something hard on his tongue. He turns and spits out another tooth. “Think so,” he says, as well as one can manage to enunciate with both front teeth gone. So, not very well. 

The innkeeper rubs his face before giving a quick glance towards the kitchen where Israel’s mother is busy cooking dinner, unaware of the trouble her son got into yet again. He can faintly hear her singing. “You’re going to give poor Edith a heart attack one of these days, you truly are.”

“So don’t tell her.”

“I think she’s going to notice either way, boy. Who was it this time? The cobbler’s kid again?” 

“I fell down the stairs.”

Callused fingers grab his chin, forcing his face up. Israel scowls before the old man even starts his lecture. Or tries to, because one eye is swollen shut and it makes scowling difficult. “You can’t keep picking fights with everybody.”

“He insulted me,” Israel replies, and it is a lie. But he’ll die before he lets a word of what really happened - he insulted her - past his lips, so he’ll settle for lying. Mr. Doherty probably already worked out that his mother’s ring is all for show and that she’s not a widow nor was ever married in the first place, but it’s one of those things that are best left unsaid.

His mother made sure he understood that very well: a problem that goes unspoken is a less of a problem.

“You should learn to let an insult or two slide, before you lose something more than a couple of teeth.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

“You’re the size and weight of a wet rat. You really do not.”

“You should see the other guy,” Israel replies, even though the other guy barely got a nosebleed out of their fight, and steps past to head upstairs, to the room he shares with his mother, to wash some blood off. Or at least he tries to. He never manages to put one foot down on the steps before Mr. Doherty grapes his wrist, tight. 

It’s wrong. Israel can tell right away that it’s wrong, because Mr. Doherty never grabs anyone like this unless it’s a drunk patron that needs to be thrown out of the inn.

And no one alive should ever have hands this cold.

“You’re going to die alone. You know that, don’t you, Izzy?”

Israel looks up, alarmed and more than a little confused, because no one has ever called him anything other than his full name before. Mr. Doherty is looking the other way, even as the grip tightens, colder and colder. 

… Or maybe it isn’t that cold. Maybe it’s him who is warm, too warm, feverish. Israel swallows, and now even the blood in his mouth feels boiling hot. “Let me--”

“You’re difficult, you know? You make it so goddamn difficult for anyone to like you. Got it into your head no one could and now here you are, making damn sure no one does.” 

The man turns his head now and it’s not Mr. Doherty anymore. Israel Hands is still some fifteen years away from meeting Benjamin Hornigold for the first time, but those eyes still go through him like a knife, make him still and stop struggling to break free from his grip.

A smile, wide, all teeth. “They’re not coming back for you, Izzy. None of them. Why would they?”

Israel’s vision is swimming, and it feels like he’s burning. The grip on his wrist stays, ice cold, while his left knee folds and he falls. The man who’s not Mr. Doherty pulls him up by the wrist, dangles him like a dead rat caught in a trap. Something in his gut hurts, more throbbing heat.

“Because you got dolled up, put on perfume, and sang a little song? That’s it? You think that would make anyone want to risk their lives for a miserable bastard? They wanted to have a laugh at you, that's all.”

A shake, the heat in his gut blooms into pain, and Israel screams. 

“Ma--” he tries to call out, but another cold hand grabs his neck, squeezes, and the scream dies in his throat.

“They won’t come, none of them, least of all Ed. They thought they got live bait, and all they have in their hands is dead meat. It’s for the best, you know. If they do, they die. And the last person who was ever willing to give her life for you died shitting her bed while you were fucking around as a powder monkey for the Royal Navy.”

Israel tries to grasp the man’s wrist, to pry those icy fingers from his throat, but his hand is so weak and he feels so heavy. His vision darkens, and the arm falls back by his side.

“Do you want them to come for you? Do you want them to die for you? You selfish little twat.”

None of his words make sense to Israel, but he’s no longer listening. All he knows is that he’s burning, and his side hurts, and he can’t see anything anymore. In the dark he hears voices, faint and far away-- … high fever……bring it down…… doing my best…… keep him alive…-- but when he tries to scream, the grip on his throat makes it impossible. That’s when he knows that he’s going to die, and no one is coming. 

A chasm opens beneath him, and Israel falls.

***

“All right. So. The plan. We need to be clever about this.”

“We’re never very clever about anything.”

“Yeah, whose idea was it to send the guy with the obvious wooden leg forth with the hostage?”

“I mean, Prince Whatshisname would have fucked it all up either way, I guess.”

“Still, proves my point. We’re never very clever about anything.”

“And it got one of us captured. So we have to be this time. Like with… remember the lighthouse trick?”

“Oh yeah, that was good.”

“Real good.”

“How’s playing lighthouse going to help with this?”

“It’s not, but what I mean is that it shows we can be clever, and that’s the kind of attitude we need to have again.”

“Oh! If we do the lighthouse thing anyway, can I do the foghorn?”

“Yes, Roach.”

“I say we go and burn the place down until they give Izzy back.”

“No, Wee John.”

“There were the towels, too.”

“Yeah, the drugged towels, when we got away from the Red Flag!”

“That was clever. Wasn’t it, Zheng?”

“... I’ll concede it was. Begrudgingly. But it won’t help us now, since none of those men will let us close enough to smell our towels.”

“I don’t need to get close.”

Jim’s voice was cold, and it caused everyone on deck to turn to them. They were sitting apart from everyone else, sharpening their throwing knives, jaw set and mouth a thin line. There was no doubt that they were already thinking of the moment each of those very, very sharp knives would sink in some pale English throat. 

“Probably not what I’m supposed to say,” Archie muttered. “But you look really hot right now.”

“Appreciated,” Jim replied with the smallest twitch of their lips, but didn't stop sharpening the knives for a moment. Stede cleared his throat. 

“Very well. So, um. Going back to our clever plan--”

“We split up.” 

Ed had been silent almost from the moment they managed to lose the Navy ship at their heels - so silent, in fact, that Stede was starting to worry a little - but now he spoke up, and everyone turned to look at him.

“... Split up?” Pete repeated, and Lucius made a face. 

“That sounds like a terrible idea. You know, in horror books someone always dies when the characters split up,” he muttered, gaining himself a look from Jackie. 

“What kinda books do you read?” she asked, but never got an answer. Ed walked up to the improvised table they were all huddled around, and tapped his finger on New Providence. 

“They gave up the chase now because we had a head start and sailed faster, but I’ll bet they’re not going to just dock again. They’ll be on high alert for any attack after we took down so many of theirs. I’ll bet Frenchie’s right arm their man-of-war will keep patrolling around the island, looking out for any ships.”

“Why does it have to be my arm?” Frenchie groaned, but got no reaction other than a sympathetic pat from Fang.

Stede frowned down at the map. “It makes sense, but how does splitting up--”

“Some of us stay on the ship, the others are dropped on New Providence,” Auntie spoke up, nodding. “Yes, I see. We lead their ship on a wild duck chase--”

“I think you mean--” Olu started, but a glare was enough to make him shut his mouth.

“I know what I meant to mean. Some of us keep their ship’s attention on the Revenge, while the rest get on the ground and scout things out from there.” A pause, and she looked around. “A small group would be best.”

Ed scoffed a little. “A big group kills more English.”

“Yes. But a big group also gets discovered quickly. If your friend is alive, the last thing you want is charging in like a bull without knowing what you’re getting into. For all we know, the noseless rat has him at gunpoint. ” Auntie crossed her arms, and looked Ed in the eye. “You want him back alive, yes?”

“Of course I do.”

“And come back alive yourself?”

It was a more charged question than she realized, Stede knew, and he found himself holding his breath for Ed’s reply. “Yeah,” Ed said, like a man who hadn’t purposefully steer the ship into a storm to go down with it only weeks earlier, and Stede breathed again. “Would be nice.”

“Then you take a small group for reconnaissance. Figure out what’s going on in Nassau, if he’s even alive, and where they’re keeping him. Then get picked up by the ship again, and we reconvene. Makes sense, no?” She turned to Stede. “What does the captain think?” she asked, her tone making it clear she was no huge fan of the fact he, out of all the people on board, was the captain.

Oh dear, now it fell on him to decide, of course. Stede opened his mouth, but Ed spoke up before he could utter a single word. 

“... It makes sense. I’m going. Jim?”

A flick of their wrist, and the knife Jim had been sharpening whistled through the air, hitting the mast only a few inches left of Ed’s temple. He didn’t even flinch, and just looked on as Jim nodded. “Of course I’m in.”

“Me too, then,” Archie muttered, and Ed nodded. 

“Sounds good. The three of us,” he agreed, and looked back at the others. “We’ll signal you when we’re ready to--”

“What-- no, wait a moment!” Stede protested. “I’m coming, too!”

A scoff. “No you’re not.”

“Yes I am!”

“Are not.”

A bit too outraged to even notice the way several crew members were rolling their eyes, Stede crossed his arms. “Am too!”

“I’m not risking you falling into their hands too. You’re the captain, so you stay on the ship--”

“Well, I am your captain, Edward Teach!” Stede snapped, slamming both hands on the table and causing Ed to recoil, several crew members to flinch, and Lucius’ eyebrows to shoot all the way up to his hairline. “I call the shots here, I am going nowhere without you!”

It was a pretty good outburst, if Stede said so himself. Almost up there with ‘do not try this captain again’, and he liked to think Izzy would be just as impressed. Ed sure seemed to be, because he opened his mouth, stared a moment, and then closed it before licking his lips and clearing his throat. 

(Later, after leaving them on the coast some way north of Nassau, Lucius would ask aloud if he was the only one who’d gotten the distinct feeling that Ed had been very close to rawing Stede on the deck right there and then. He was not.)

“... Right. Yeah. So, the four of us,” Ed finally said, and turned to the pile of uniforms they’d thrown on the deck after getting away from the English warship. “Guess we should put them on again.”

Archie tilted her head. “You think that fuckery is going to work twice? Barely worked the first time. It was a bit of a shit plan. No offense, captain.”

“None taken. But to be fair, I didn’t have much time to come up with anything better and I didn’t hear any of you--”

“Shit plan or not, Ed is right,” Jim cut him off, crossing the deck to retrieve their knife from the mast. “Seeing their uniform may at least make someone hesitate a moment before shooting. And a moment is all I’d need to kill them.”

Stede nodded. “Oh! Yes, of course! We only need a moment to strike first, if it comes to it.”

“Not you,” Auntie said. “You need more moments.”

“Maybe two moments, babe,” Ed said quickly. 

“More like twenty,” Zheng commented, and Ed crossed his arms. 

“That’s not very constructive.”

“No, no, she’s not wrong,” Stede conceded. “I may not be the best swordsman. Or marksman. Or… well… I will be mostly there for, uh. Strategic thinking.”

“Then we’re fucked,” Jim remarked, but turned back towards New Providence, by now only a small dot in the distance. “So, what are we waiting for?”

“Nightfall?” Olu suggested, a bit hesitant, and Zheng nodded with a smile. 

“Yes. Nightfall,” she said. A pause, and she turned to Jim and Archie. She pulled something from her sleeve, and held it out to them. A vial, with something viscous in it, like oil. “Take this. It’s a poison. Not of much  use if someone drinks it, but if you coat your blades with it, the smallest cut is deadly.”

“Oooh, this is awesome!” Archie grinned, taking the vial. “Can’t wait to try this out.”

“Leave some for me,” Jim muttered, elbowing her side, and turned back to Zheng. “Thank you. We’ll put it to good use.”

“You’d better, because it’s more expensive than this ship.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have said that, man. I’ll get performance anxiety now.”

Archie’s comment made both Jim and Zheng chuckle. It was Zheng to speak again first. “And come back in one piece, both of you. Oluwande would appreciate that, and-- I would, too.”

“We’ll do our best,” Archie exclaimed, all brightness, putting an arm around Jim’s shoulders. “But failing that, do you have any preference on what pieces we do bring back?”

Stede was honestly a little curious to hear the answer, but he noticed Ed walking off below deck and that immediately shifted on top of his priorities. He followed, a little sheepish. 

“Um, Ed? I’m sorry I raised my voice.”

It caused Ed to pause, halfway down the steps to retrieve more guns, most likely. He turned just a little, enough for Stede to see his profile. “... It’s all right. You’re the captain.”

“Well, it’s no excuse to yell--”

“The captain gets to yell.”

“That’s not really the kind of captain I wanted to be,” Stede muttered, more than a little bashful, and Ed fully turned to look at him. 

“I mean-- I don’t mind.”

“But it’s ru--”

“Kinda hot really.”

“... Oh?”

“Well, maybe-- you know, in other circumstances. In a private setting. Not on the deck.”

Stede’s mind immediately attempted to supply various circumstances where that new bit of information could be used in a private setting, and it took him some effort to chase that thought away. Later, he decided. Once their mission was complete. 

“Ah,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Well-- duly noted. But, uh… I think I really should come with you, that’s why I insisted. I’m worried about Izzy, too, and I don’t think I can just sit around while sending you to do this really dangerous thing alone. I mean, I’m the captain. Makes me responsible for all the crew. You know?”

Ed stared a moment, then nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I-- I get that. Just don’t wanna see you in danger if I can help it.”

“Well, that just means you’ll need to be my knight in shining armor if it comes to it,” Stede quipped, and was very relieved to see Ed’s lips quirk in a smile. 

“I can do that. Killing is a hell of a lot easier when it’s to protect someone.” 

“There, problem solved. But I’ll do my best not to get in the line of fire in the first place.” He stepped closer, and leaned in for a quick kiss that Ed reciprocated right away. “No one’s getting hurt. I mean, no one but the English.”

“... What if he’s already dead?”

“No, hey.” He pressed two fingers on Ed’s lips, looking at him in the eye. “Don’t think like that. Captain’s orders.”

Ed didn’t reply, but he did lean into the touch and kisses his fingertips, and Stede figured he could take it as an ‘aye’.

***

After letting his father’s body drop on the ground, Edward turns around and runs.

He has to run. He can’t go back. His mother will look at his face and see what he did, what he is, and he can’t bear the thought. Rain keeps falling, there’s thunder and he keeps slipping on cobblestones, hearing nothing but his own panting breath, blood rushing in his ears. 

He can hardly think but there is one thing he knows, one thing only that keeps him running towards the docks. Father is gone, she is safe, and she doesn’t need another monster to replace him. 

So he has to go.

Later, he won’t remember exactly what happened. He will only know that by the time he gets to the docks his eyes are full of-- rain it’s just rain--rainwater and he can’t see the man standing in front of him until he slams against his side and falls back on the ground with a grunt. 

“And who the fuck are you?”

The man is towering over him, like his father did earlier that night before-- he --the Kraken got him. He’s pulling back his lips in a grimace, hair sticking to his forehead. There is a boy too, he’s got some kid by the throat and is holding him high up enough his feet don’t touch the ground.

“Well? I’m talking to you!” The man steps forward, and his boot is up to come down on him before Edward can even think of scooting back, but it never comes down. Not on him, at least.

“Eat shit!” the boy in his grasp yells, and his foot kicks out, hitting the man right in the groin.

The high-pitched scream would be funny, if Edward remembered how to laugh. For now he only stares, wide-eyed, as the man drops the boy and falls on his knees, holding onto his groin with a whine. “You little bastard-- you’re fucking dead meat when I--”

He never gets to say another word, because the kid he’s been holding by the neck picks something up from the ground and screams. He swings that something in an arc through the air, heavy and made of metal. It meets the man’s bald head with a sickening crunch, the skull caves in, and he falls back without another sound. 

“WHO’S DEAD MEAT NOW, FUCKER!”

Another hit, another, and another. Edward doesn't remember standing, but he must have. Suddenly he’s up and grabbing the boy’s arm, stopping him from swinging the metal pipe again. “Stop it. Stop! He’s dead!”

He’s dead, dead, dead, I did it and I can never go back.

He expects a struggle, but there is none. The boy drops the pipe and turns to look at him, blue eyes wide under a mop of wet brown hair. Only later, when the sun dries them both, Edward will see it’s sandy blond.

“Ah, shit,” he says, and for just a moment his voice shakes. “I killed him, didn’t I?”

Tell them it was the Kraken, Edward thinks, and for a horrible moment he almost laughs. 

“We’ve got to get away from here,” he says instead. “Come this way, we can--”

“Well well. That looks an awful lot like what my ship cook would look like after going through a meat grinder.”

Edward stills, and so does the boy. They turn, slowly, to see a man standing over the corpse - and over them. A boot kicks the dead man’s side. “Must have been shitfaced drunk for two runts like you to take him down. How do you plan to pay me back for this loss, precisely?”

Edward says nothing, mouth dry, still holding onto the boy’s arm and looks up. He cannot make out the man’s face. 

The first time he sees him, Benjamin Hornigold is nothing but a dark shadow in silver rain.

“I should shoot you both,” the shadow is saying. “But he was an asshole, and I could use another couple of cabin boys who can take down a man if needed.” A sharp tilt of his head. “You, what’s your name?”

“John Rackham,” Edward hears the boy say, and the shadow scoffs. 

“Well, I already have a John on board. So you’ll be Jack from now on. Objections?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Do you have a family to say goodbye to, Jack?”

“... No,” he says. It sounds like a lie even to Edward’s ears, but the shadow doesn’t insist. 

Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have let him say goodbye either way. He just smiles, a flash of teeth in the dark. “Just how I like my men,” he mutters, and turns to Edward. “And you, what’s your name?”

Edward licks his lip, mouth dry. He has seen ships come and go his entire life, merchant ships as well as the occasional pirate ship port authorities turn a blind eye on for a bribe, but he’s never been on one. Still… he has no choice now, does he? This is why he was running to the docks in the first place. He has to leave, and the only way is by sea. By ship. This is his chance to disappear. 

And it only cost another man’s life. 

Laughter almost bubbles up his chest and throat, but Edward holds it down because he knows that if he laughs now, before this man, he’s as good as dead. So he looks up, face wet with rain, and speaks. 

“Edward.”

“Edward what?”

“... Just Edward. I don’t have a family,” he adds. Somewhere out there is a woman nursing a bruised face, wondering when her beast of a husband and her son are coming home, but now they’re both gone - the Kraken got them - and there’s just him left, and he can never go back. 

She’s better off without.

As with Jack, the shadow doesn’t question him. “Hm. Well, damn common names you’ve got. I’ve got another Edward too, and it seems much too long for a shrimp like you. So Ed it is.” A wave of his hand, beckoning them to follow, and they obey. They will keep obeying for a long time. What choice do they have?

Benjamin Hornigold walks to the docks in pouring rain, and Ed follows.

***

When Izzy woke up, he was still feverish and he could hear rain. 

There was no window in the room he’d been put in, but rain was drumming loud above him, so he could only guess he was put into one of the rooms in the attic. Not a stupid decision: the only way in there would be up the stairs, and a few men with rifles could easily fend off an attack from the vantage point. 

And he was sure Pinocchio had placed plenty of men on each floor, weapons at the ready. They’d taken down plenty, but the bastard had brought in half a fucking army. If the crew tried to storm in, they’d be utterly fucked. 

They won’t. They’re not so stupid, he thought, but even as the thought crossed his mind he knew there had to be a limit to willful delusion. They’re probably not so stupid. But they won’t come. They must think I’m dead. Someone must have seen me get shot. 

It was what he wanted to believe, sure enough. The best possible scenario: not one member of the crew would die for his sake, not because they didn’t care but because they didn’t know he was alive. He could go with that, hold onto that thought until the trapdoor opened beneath him and he hung by the neck for a crowd of cunts in Kingston.

Or maybe they know, and still won’t come. 

Enough. Don’t go there.

Izzy shook his head, trying to dispel the thought, and tried to shift on the bed. He was still sluggish, much too warm, and whatever the ship surgeon gave him must have worn off, because his bandaged wound was hurting like a bitch. But he was alive, mind passably clear, so it looked like the fever was not going to do him in after all. 

Bit of a pity, that. He’d have loved to stop being a chess piece in Prince Cunty’s hands.

Izzy groaned and let his head drop back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. What time was it? What day was it, how long had he been out? He had absolutely no idea. He could tell he was still really fucking thirsty and now also really fucking hungry, but he had probably pissed Noseless off enough he’d leave him to--

“What are you doing here?”

A voice on the other side of the door, barely muffled. Izzy craned his neck to look at it, not too surprised to find there were officers standing outside it, too. There was another voice, lower, more mumbled.

“Ugh, so we’re feeding him now?”

“Guess little Prince Ricky doesn’t want to hang a corpse in Kingston. Let him through.”

The door opened, and some kid walked in, closing the door behind him. Well, not quite a kid, but not a man either. The uniform didn’t quite fit him right, he had pimples across both cheeks, and was avoiding his gaze. He was carrying a tray with a glass of water and some bread. Izzy sneered.

“Do I get my own maid now?” he muttered, and the boy looked up. 

“I’m no maid,” he protested, with a thick yet annoyingly familiar accent Izzy could place in three seconds flat. Look at that, all this way from London - another dweller of the city’s shit pits beyond the Tower. “I’m--”

“A powder monkey,” Izzy cut him off, and the boy flushed red. 

“I’m learning to be a seaman--”

“And until you do, you’re the monkey fetching gunpowder on the ship. Now give me the tray or fuck off.”

A sharp intake of breath, and for a second the brat looked like he could cry, but in the end he placed the tray on the bed, where Izzy could reach with his free hand, and quickly stepped back. They had told him he was dangerous, more likely than not, but even if he’d been in any condition to harm him, Izzy couldn’t be bothered. 

All he could do now was make an effort to sit up as much as the manacle and his wound allowed, grab the glass of water, and drink. His parched throat almost spasmed, but he forced himself to swallow and then drank more, to the last drop. Maybe seeing him drinking so desperately made him look less dangerous, after all, because the monkey gathered the courage to speak out, standing to his full height. 

It was not a lot, but it wasn’t like Izzy was the one to speak there. 

“I’ll have you know,” he declared, trying and failing to imitate the way of speaking of much higher class officers, “that my duties on the ship take skill.”

“No, they don’t,” Izzy replied, grabbing the piece of bread and biting into it. It was stale and rubbery, but he’d take it. He heard the monkey’s protests over his own chewing. 

“What would you know!”

“That’s how I started out,” he replied through his mouthful, and swallowed. “A powder monkey on the HMS Riptide.”

“Ah.” A pause, a little uncertain. Izzy had time enough to chew and swallow another couple of bites before he spoke again. “I heard some men say you used to be in the Navy.”

“... It was a long time ago.”

“Then what happened?”

Izzy didn’t reply right away. Another bite, and the bread was gone. Hunger was somewhat quelled, but the thirst sure as hell was not. “If you want the tale, get me more water,” he said. “Or you can fuck off.”

A scowl, and the monkey want to take the tray, once again stupidly skittish for someone dealing with a bed-bound man who’d been deliriously feverish until that morning, with a hole in his gut, missing a leg, and with a wrist manacled to the bed frame. He hesitated a moment, glancing at the pitcher on a table at the far side of the room… then set his jaw and marched to the door, not sparing him a second look. 

How easily offended, kids those days.

Izzy leaned back with a groan, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. Listening to the rain helped, to some degree; it kept his mind from wandering to the crew, what they may be doing, whether they may be foolish enough to return and fall right into a trap. 

And it kept it from memories of a very long time ago, when he’d looked up at Captain Benjamin Hornigold and - still tied to the mast, back a bloody mess from the interrupted flogging, the corpses of his comrades littering the deck - he’d asked if he happened to be hiring.

***

[Back to Part 1]

[avastyetwats]

“ You’re the lolliest lollipop I’ve ever licked. “ From your Izzy

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called a lollipop before!” Stede takes it as a compliment, which he figures it is because of Izzy’s smile and his voice. It’s the same tone he uses when he’s showering him in praise. Well, situation depending of course… because sometimes the praise is sexual and gods, that’s probably Stede’s favorite. But he loves any and all praise. “What flavor would you say I am? Grape? Strawberry? Watermelon? Oh, banana maybe? Hmm… vanilla?” He questions, oblivious to the possibility that this praise, too, was meant to be sexual. @izzyeffinhands

[blakbonnet]

have some weekend doodles 🥐

[wearfinethingsalltoowell]

Walks around eating grapes they have not bought

-Jim

-Stede

-Lucius

Does the actual shopping

-Olu

-Ed

-Pete

[tatteredxsails]

"Oh, because they're pretty?" Stede's voice lilted upward. "There's no real use for them beyond that. I used to pick flowers when I was a boy. I learned about pressing them from reading, really, then I started to do that. It was a way to keep them, but also... well. It is easy to snap a bloom between the pages of a book and carry it with you without it being seen. A bouquet stands out. Just a bit."

Stede would be hard pressed to imagine Ely's life at the Foundling Hospital, but there were things that they'd have in common. He was familiar with the necessary performances to demonstrate money well spent. Though, his parents and those of the other rich boys that went to school with him wanted to assurance that their sons would be perfect little heirs. Well schooled and versed on everything that was expected of them. Thoroughly shaped and molded.

Stede traced his fingers over the stain on the pages of the book, "These were Muscari armeniacum, or the grape hyacinth."

Ely pushed themselves up on their tiptoes, eager to get a better look at the book even as Stede brought the page down to their height. Their eyes flick over the stains and back up to Stede, a look of confusion behind them.

"W-why would you need to press flowers?" They ask genuinely. "What are they used for?"

Nothing ever existed in Elys life to just be pretty. The Foundling Hospital had been decorative, yes, but they'd come to learn that that was a display for the patrons- an assurance that their money was being spent wisely on dragging these innately sinful children towards civilisation. Flowers pressed in a book were hidden away. They couldn't be useful.

[hiimcanadia]

I have never met a single person in real life who has used a dental dam but please imagine with me Ed and Stede picking up some free grape-flavored dental dams at pride and then Stede absolutely going to town on Ed when they get home because he wants to see how long the flavor lasts

[beansprean]

@blakbonnet @saltpepperbeard Your post has come to fruition…this comic hurt my teeth with its sweetness!! I should apologize for how long it is but...I won't.

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Full body of Stede and Ed standing in an 80s grocery store. Ed, wearing a black tee shirt tucked into lightwash jeans, black boots, a light blue handkerchief in his back left pocket, and his hair in a high ponytail, is standing with an empty grocery cart with both hands on the handle and one foot up on the bottom basket. He glances from the empty cart and then to Stede, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Stede, wearing a retro-patterned teal and purple short sleeved button up tucked into pleated khaki slacks, brown leather loafers, and a gold watch, his hair swept back in a big feathered quiff, holds his hands up defensively with a nervous smile. He says, “Oh- Darling, no. No, no, I’m too big!”

2a. Ed begins to stalk towards Stede with a mischievous grin, arms out in a grabbing motion. Stede backs up, smile growing even as his eyes narrow in warning and his hands try to bat him away. “Ed.” he says shortly. 2b. Ed darts forward and grabs Stede around the waist, scooping him up over his shoulder. Stede bursts into laughter, face going red, and yells “Ed! Put me down, you’ll hurt yourself!” 2c. Ed walks back toward their cart with Stede flopped over his shoulder and sings, “Nonsense, love!” In the background, there is a young brown woman wearing a patterned jumpsuit with long dark feathered hair facing the shelves as she browses cereal. There is a baby over her shoulder wearing teal overalls who catches Stede’s eye as they pass and reaches out a chubby little hand to wave at him in solidarity. Stede waves back automatically, clearly embarrassed but unable to stop smiling.

3a. Ed half-falls into the cart with a punched-out “Oof!” as he flops Stede down into it butt-first, his face buried in Stede’s chest and Stede’s legs flying up around him. 3b. Ed lifts himself up with his arms braced on either side of Stede, nose-to-nose with his husband who has sat up in the cart with a silly grin, one leg thrown over the side. Ed continues the previous conversation with a soft smile, “It’s like holding a couple of grapes.” 3c. Ed closes the last inch between them to smack a kiss on the tip of Stede’s nose. Stede reddens and snorts out a laugh.

4. Close up on the woman in their aisle as she chooses a cereal called “Matey Puffs” featuring a white cartoon Blackbeard with a hook hand. She glances over in confusion at Ed and Stede as they zoom away, Stede tucked in the cart and Ed driving, both giggling uncontrollably. The baby continues to wave after them.

5. Text reading “Later…”

6a. Stede and Ed waiting in line at the checkout. Stede is still in the cart, knees pulled to his chest, now surrounded by piles of groceries including a bottle of L&P soda, a bag of shredded cheese, a head of romaine lettuce, a bottle of wine, a few packs of meat, a bag of apples, a bag of Twisties, a loaf of bread, a bag of Roshuns, several packs of spaghetti, and a few miscellaneous cartons and jars. Ed, one hand on the cart handle, suddenly smacks the heel of his other hand against his forehead with a “duh!” expression. He exclaims, “Oh, shit! We forgot the oranges!” Stede turns his head around shoot him an annoyed look and replies, “What?? That’s the whole reason we came!” 6b. Ed runs off in a cloud of dust, shouting behind him, “BRB, Baby! Kiss kiss!” Stede cranes his neck after him in panic, unable to move from his grocery prison, calling, “Wai- Ed! Ed!!” 6c. Stede turns back around, red faced, sweating with nerves, and now a middle aged man alone in a full grocery cart. In front of him in queue is a bald man resembling Black Pete in a white suit with the sleeves rolled up, pushing his own cart. Behind him are an older dark-skinned woman with short gray hair wearing a puff sleeve shirt, long pink skirt, and pearls, holding a full basket with both hands and a large Māori man resembling Fang in a pink polo shirt and pleated khakis with a bag of dog food under one arm. They both step forward automatically to fill Ed’s vacated space.

7a. The older woman leans forward toward Stede with a small smile, saying, “You and your husband are very sweet.” Stede cranes his neck around to smile at her nervously, replying, “Oh! Thank you…” 7b. The woman loosens one hand from her basket to place it on Stede’s cart, continuing, “Let me push you forward, the queue is moving.” Stede drops his chin to his chest in relief, breathing out a much more genuine “Thank you.”

8a. Text at the top reads “9 minutes later”; Stede has reached the front of the line. The employee, who resembles Izzy, is wearing a blue striped button up and red bow tie under a yellow apron and stands, one hand hovering over the register as he stares down silently at Stede. Stede, looking small and scared, barely able to peek over the edge of the counter, stares back sweatily with wide eyes and says, “Ummm…” 8b. The employee startles as Stede cracks his head back and screams at the top of his lungs, “Ed!! Darling, where are you?? We have a problem!!”

9a. Ed suddenly zooms into view holding a bag of oranges, sliding smoothly between Stede and the register with a grin and a wink. He says, “Never fear, my love! I’m here!” Stede smiles hugely at him, full of relief and love. Behind them, the Izzy-like employee just glares at them, looking extremely tired, revealing he is wearing a large anachronistic button that says “service with a smile”. Stede cries, “You came back!” Ed replies, “Never left.” Both their speech bubbles are filled with pink hearts. 9b. Text in parentheses at the top says “he really didn’t.” We now see Ed from earlier, already holding the bag of oranges, peeking out from behind a shelf with a warm expression. He giggles, one hand to his cheek, as he observes Stede’s predicament from afar. Offscreen, Stede is saying, “Oh- Louise, we’re moving again.” Louise, presumably the older woman behind him in line, responds, “I’ve got you!” Stede continues, “Haha, getting awfully close to the front, aren’t we… I wonder what’s taking Ed so long…” /end ID