#writing izzy was a fucking joy you guys

[bvnnywrites]

Still Waters Run Deep

Chapter 1: Apple of His Eye

PAIRING: Eldritch!König x Reader

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As I've said before, English isn't my first language, so this would e fun. Hehe. I'm so excited to share this fic with you guys hehehehe. I'm posting this on both Tumblr and Ao3. Who knows, the story on the other site would be different hm...? I'm not telling when, but hehe. Also, reader is in her twenties, specifically 22, so yayeet. If you don't like how fucked up this story is gonna get then please turn around and go on your merry way. I'll be posting the first chapter here on Tumblr because jesus, my ao3 invitation has yet to arrive. Also, don't forget to write comments, I need feedback because I eat them like it's groceries-

WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARK, SMUT, NSFW, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Fingering, Stomach Bulge, Age Gap, Unprotected Sex, Cockwarming, Implied Discharge, Power Imbalance, Abuse of Authority, No Beta Reader, Dom! König, Size Kink, Size Difference, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Older!König, Eldritch!König, Monster!König, Masturbation, Dark Romance, Blood and Gore, Violence, Monsterfucking

WHENEVER A CERTAIN COLONEL PASSES BY the soldiers would grow quiet, as if he’s sucking the joy with him and then the chatter would continue once his thundering footsteps would fade away into quietness.

A silence would hang over the air for a brief moment – like they’re making sure the danger has passed before proceeding – and the soldiers would continue to chat once they're sure it was safe to proceed. Babbling away but their voices would be a bit hushed, as if their ears were on the lookout for the colonel’s presence.

The colonel was absolutely – you remember his name being König because you saw him score several shots using a sniper rifle in training – wholeheartedfuckingly terrifying.

König strides confidently across the battlefield and KorTac base of Operations in the same damn manner—Arrogant, egotistical, prideful. The mountain of a man walks in like he owns the place, and troops would be so relieved if they see him in the battlefield because they know that he'd be able to turn the tides to their favor.

And the fucker knows it. He knows people look up at him. Looking at him like the fucking messiah that would save them right then and there.

He relished in it.

And he was so fucking gigantic as he is muscular too, to the point his huge hands could definitely crush your head with his fingers if he saw fit. To say he was a Greek God was insulting. No, he was like Kronos.

Destructive.

All-devouring force.

Whenever you stood too close to him—even tho you recall not stepping too close to the colonel because you wanted to respect the five-foot rule for everyone lest they give you the go signal to hog their personal space like Izzy does—you can see the way his muscles would bulge whenever he tightened his fists, or how the veins on his arms were so… alluring, and holy shit he has scars. Battle scars that should've repulsed you but you find yourself wanting to trace it with your fingers.

His form is almost mesmerizing—like how you'd imagine Fenrir slaying Odin from one of the Norse Myths.

However, like Fenris Wolf, he too was bound and shackled to base. Most of the time, at least. You would see him buried and drowning and several paperwork when you go to his office while Roze waited for you by the door.

And you could see his baby blue eyes squint and conjure a glint of annoyance as you hand him your report. He has pretty eyes, that colonel. He doesn’t speak to you, always uttering grunts or huffs. Dismissing you with a wave of his hand—always gestures but never talking.

It reminds you of gray skies and blue muted waters, and sometimes they seemed vibrant when you hear the sinister glee in his voice of bashing an enemies head open like how watermelon breaks – and then he'd look at you and you'd immediately avert your gaze because oh god that would be so fucking awkward if your superior had caught you staring at his eyes like a creep.

As mentioned before, König is mostly quiet, and you didn't really hear him talk since he never talked to you at all. In the battlefield, when he barked out orders, gunfire would drown them and those closest to him would relay the message on to the others.

Lieutenant Izzy – Izanami actually, but she preferred being called Izzy – always spoke in Japanese, but she can speak a few broken English words. She didn’t seem to see you as a liability, often asking you out to grab lunch with her and Captain Roze. The white-haired girl always made sure you never missed your meals, and if you did, she’d make sure to hand you some MREs for the sake of making sure you’re taken care of.

She said to you once, “Be careful of that colonel, he is… what is English word that for… word you use when object is not good to you—harms life.”

“You mean dangerous?” Roze would correct her. “We really need to work on your English, girl.”

“Yes, that the word I’m looking for.” Izzy would laugh. “ローズ先輩、訂正してくれてありがとう。”

Roze, on the other hand, was more closed off. She was ruthless and strict, but you’re convinced that she cares about you the same way Izzy does because she gets this soft glint in her eyes when you tell her that you forgot to eat or missed lunch. Then five seconds later you’d feel an MRE smacking you on the chest, and Roze is barking at you for being stupid enough to not eat and say you’re lucky that her and Izzy are looking out for you.

But you can tell that both are highly protective of you, like older sisters making sure their youngest sibling didn't fuck up on missions or get hung by their rib by enemy soldiers.

Whenever the colonel passed by, you remember Roze’s words “Keep your gaze down” because apparently there was an incident where König had beaten the shit out of a recruit because the poor thing looked at him funny. Something about the recruit scrunching his face in disgust at the colonel or was it because he had mocked him behind his back? 

Either way, the kid was beaten to a pulp. 

The colonel was never given a court martial, however, since he had been able to pull rank it seems. Roze was the one who told you during lunch, voice in a hushed whisper.

Then your thoughts wander back to the nightly horror stories your soldiers would tell to one another. You had a habit of visiting them before making sure they all slept on curfew time. It was fun and it helped boost morale amongst the troops. It also helped that you were a younger lieutenant, so you were able to easily connect to your platoons’ humor and quip remarks. 

You remember the hushed whispers in the barracks, each of them uttering stories of what König might look like beneath the mask.

You often thought maybe he looks so mutilated that it resembles Nemesis from Resident Evil or maybe Salvatore on the Village Version. But you've seen the pretty blue eyes König possessed and you just know that deep down, he was a handsome man. 

Sure, he was old enough to be your dad, had a huge ass age gap that's wider than the forehead of the colonel of the Mexican Special Forces you had previously worked with due to König being forty-five years old, but you'll admit a pretty man if you see one.

However, your soldiers' claims were way more hilarious as they spoke. Each sounding absurd and stupid than the last.

"I heard he has three faces, like the demon Asmodeus. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if he's a prince of Hell in disguise. Have you seen his body? What I'd give to climb him like a tree." 

"I could've sworn I saw worms underneath. Kind of like maybe a maggot-infested lower jaw since I heard the skin of his jaw had been burnt off."

"I think he has the face only a mother could love. Men like that exist."

You had grown up in a small town, people believing heavily in superstitious beliefs. However, once you've left said small town, you realize that they were silly things that old people simply uttered into the wind.

"Did you know a psychic said I would get murdered when I was ten?" You laughed at the absurdity of it all, wanting to add some scary shit of your own.

"Really, L.T?" One of your soldiers said. "Oh, this has to be good!"

“Yeah. I remember she was very old, and if I were correct, I think she moved from Hallstatt? Wherever the fuck that is.”

You told them the stupid little story. How you lost twenty dollars to a fraud only for them to say you'll get murdered, and how it spooked you as a kid and made you all paranoid only to realize you just got scammed out of your money.

"The thing that will kill you is hiding its face. The thing that will kill you has its crown scraping the ceiling. The thing that will kill you has sharpened teeth. The thing that will kill you will charm you with its glamor and false promises. The thing that will kill you will devour you with its appendages and fill you with its seed. The thing that will kill you… you won't see it coming."

The soldiers all laughed, including you, after you've said it in the most croaked voice as you mimicked the old psychic. 

You've never laughed so hard in your whole life, but you were glad that it was your troops that were with you and not stuck up stoic alpha male soldiers. It wasn't real, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. 

All of you got along. 

Sure, most of the soldiers given to you were teens – because the military was just hiring eager and stupid kids, and by God you were going to protect these little shits with your life – but it was fine because they had you. For as long as you live, you promised yourself you'd make sure they were all safe.

And you took them under your wing and you feel bad because they were kids compared to you. They shouldn't be here dressing up as soldiers and being sent off to war zones with you. These kids were supposed to be at home, where they could be safe, and worrying about teen stuff. But then again, KorTac was a company at the end of the day. 

A Private Military Company—basically just glorified mercenaries at this point.

Of course, they would exploit anyone who is willing to serve for their country while also getting paid generously compared to being in a government affiliated military—Hell, you're here, aren't you? Why? Because they can be greedy fucks and capitalism exists, and KorTac rivals Disney in terms of being a well-known PMC in the military world, and you're broke. 

Not to mention that the BAS – Basic Allowance for Subsistence – was fucking higher in KorTac than the government affiliated military you used to serve in. A BAS rate of seven hundred sixty-two point sixty-nine euros for enlisted members, while officers are given the same but with an increased rate of four hundred ninety-seven point fifty- eight euros is better than the current BAS.

You also get the average of six thousand and seven hundred eighty-two euros at an average per month here in KorTac. The pay is way fucking better and you can save up money to the point you were able to pay off your own student and credit card debts and leave your parents' nest since you were basically loaded at this point. 

Money was enough to blind you from the dangers that lurked beneath the still waters that run deep that is KorTac.

"The thing that will kill you… you won't see it coming."

“Did you hear what happened?”

“What?”

“Another soldier went missing again.”

Captain Stiletto changed her mags, examining her scope as she spoke to you with a calm voice—as if she hadn’t just dropped the news of someone going missing. Again. You were ready to hear which recruit was unlucky enough to be whisked away and never to be seen again. That or they turn up mutilated and scared, and the poor things won’t even talk. However, a missing rookie suddenly turns up out of nowhere after months of disappearing without a trace was statistically low.

No, really, it would be low—unusual at best.

The best way to analyze it would be using the Bayesian Inference, and using a probability model to express the uncertainty towards the situation. In this case, using a binary variable would be ideal, $Y$, to represent the outcome whether the missing rookie ever did turn up or not. $Y$ = 1 if the rookie is found, and $Y$ = 0 if the rookie isn’t found.

Then assume that the probability of finding said missing rookie is equal to the proportion of all missing persons who are eventually found. As evidence becomes available, then update the model with that evidence and compute the posterior distribution for the probability of finding the rookie.

In this case, if one of the higher ups discovered the rookie all pale and shaking and are obviously had been terrified to fucking death, the information in that scenario could be used to update the posterior distribution, taking into account that the probability that the rookie had seen something scary in that location, if they were ever found that is.

Once the model with all available evidence has been updated, the posterior distribution to make predictions of the probability of finding the new recruit can now be used. The officers tasked with finding them—at least those who hasn’t given up—will be able to find them within a certain time frame or calculate the probability that they’re are found alive or dead.

Just some basic statistics you’ve learned in ninth grade, that’s all. Or at least from what you can remember.

The scar that ran down the captain’s face was evident like the blood smeared in your hands when you’ve killed an enemy. No one knew why there was a huge damage to her face or why it was there in the first place. You’ve only been in KorTac for a month, almost everyone you’ve met have given you warnings and it was all the same—keep your distance from the colonel. You have half a mind to say “Fuck this” but the pay was good.

Not to mention your contract hasn’t been finished yet and you doubt you’d find a good paying job like this while doing what you love.

“Who was it?” You dared to ask.

Stiletto looks away for a moment, before turning back to you. “Private O’Neil.”

Your eyes widened at the information. You don’t know the person, but to hear a private going missing was surprising. Usually, it was the recruits who disappeared for the most part or at least from your observation in your stay here. Now that’s very strange.

“Huh… a Private? How come it wasn’t a rookie?”

“That’s what I’m thinking too.”

Stiletto responds with the same confusion as you, her lips pursed. She looks worried, unsure to react.

“The colonel had been tasked to investigate the missing cases, but even he isn’t getting any answers.” The captain says, her face troubled. “It’s like there’s a serial killer at base.”

“Like playing Mafia, huh.” You joked.

“Exactly.”

You’re scared of what this could mean. If whoever it was plucking the recruits off like grapes were about to turn to privates, then it won’t be long before your ass is on the line. You have half a mind to help, maybe offer your insights on the investigations, but thanks to Roze and Izzy’s advice, you knew better than to get too close to the colonel…

Unless you want to get beaten by König with your incompetency—what he deems incompetency—since he loves doing things his way according to the soldiers who had worked with him.

It wasn’t enough to scare the rookies, however. They’re still chatty and happy, all of them seemed unaffected by these rumours.

Of course, they’d be unaffected, everyone is telling them that it’s just rumours and the soldier that disappeared had simply been discharged for wanting to leave or go back home. There were a few who didn’t believe it, but those with higher ranks – including you – were reassuring them that it was merely rumours.

That they shouldn’t really worry their pretty little minds about it. And what infuriated you the most was because it worked. They were gullible kids, as young as sixteen to nineteen—basically a six to three years old age gap between you and them. They should know better than to believe the honeyed words from yours or their superiors’ mouth.

But could you even blame them?

They’re just kids. You and the other high-ranking officers were older than them, obviously they would trust you. They expect all of you to guide them, showing them the real ropes of war and violence unlike the trial sessions they’ve had in boot camp and the infantry.

So, really the blame was on every high ranking official—including you.

Everyone from being a specialist to the general of the army were losing their shit over these incidents because KorTac was supposed to promote opportunity and valour, but how can you do that if your fellow soldiers – doesn’t matter what rank they are – are going missing like some monster was plucking them off of their rooms one by one or rather off of the hallways when they’re past curfew.

Curfew falls under your responsibility too, sergeants up to lieutenant colonels were tasked to make sure that every rookie or corporal has to be following the curfew or rather their curfew. KorTac had implemented the curfew for the rookies up to the corporals’ weeks prior to your official employment according to Roze.

The last thing the people who called the shots wanted was a widespread panic amongst their troops.

“Do you have any hunch as to who it might be?” You asked her curiously, wanting to know the captain’s thoughts.

“It could be that newbie before you, Phillip Graves, but he’s mostly out on missions. So, that checks him out.” Stiletto answered, looking at you. “Then there could be the possibility of it being Horangi.”

“Why him?”

“He’s too violent.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Stiletto laughs at your response, shaking her head as if you’re being silly. The captain was nice, in your opinion at least. She pats you back lightly like an aunt would when you remind her of your mom when they were younger. There’s a twinkle in her eyes, one where it makes you wonder just how exactly does Stiletto see you—a daughter, sister or maybe a friend. Either way, you were in her good graces and that’s enough to quell your curiosities for now.

The two of you were practicing alone in the firing range. Those at the lower ranks had gone to sleep or were forced to sleep since it was curfew for them.

The atmosphere had gone heavy.

It was light and cheery in the morning, but at night, the happiness and laxness of the vicinity disappears, and you and the rest of the soldiers with a higher rank are faced with the reality that someone was picking off all of you one by one like candies inside your granny’s bowl of strawberry candy that you don’t see anywhere in the grocery store.

You know, the one’s you get when one day you became a grandma – or great-aunt, or even an honorary old “auntie” – and these things just magically appear at the bottom of your purse. The ones that once they start spilling out of your bag, you’ll find an intricate cut-glass bowl or dish in the middle of your living room and your grandkids or kids would just come and go while pocketing a handful of them, and the refill is somehow always in your purse.

Stiletto hands you a rosary from her pocket. You looked at the long wooden beads coated with silver chains and designs before glancing at the captain. You took it gently, letting the coolness of the holy object cool your skin that wraps around it. Oh, it’s a sweet gesture. Now you have something to wear around your neck, a little good luck charm despite the fact that you don’t really believe in God or a higher being. Her head is tilted to the side, looking at you with an analysing glance as silence befalls the two of you.

“Why…?” You asked her underneath the fluorescent lights of the firing range, riffles forgotten at each other’s side.

Stiletto shrugs, sighing tiredly, “Maybe the thing that’s picking us off one by one would be scared of the Lord.”

“I doubt he exists.”

“He’ll save you in your time of need. He answered my prayers. Maybe He’ll answer yours too.”

“What did you pray for?”

Stiletto is quiet for a moment, looking away before looking back at you with worry. She placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“That you would still be alive the next time I see you… that you wouldn’t be next, lieutenant.”

“You’re the lieutenant that Horangi had referred to the company, ja?”

A voice says with a German accent to it, and by Mary, Joseph, and the Babeh Jesus what an alluring voice he has. It was low and rough, a tad bit raspy—gravelly. You thought to yourself that if you were Persephone and you heard this voice coaxing you into the warm embrace of the Underworld, you too would have cartwheeled and backflipped into Hades’s lap. Leaving the nymphs and the flowers, and the warm sun to drown in the enticing embrace of the God of Death while he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

You turned around, half a mind to fuck the brains out of this man until you saw who was speaking to you and all horniness came to a halt as you realized who it was.

König.

You glanced directly at his eyes briefly before averting you gaze, Roze’s warning echoing in your head. You nod your head, confirming his question. You tell him your name and rank, which country you came from, and basically any general information you can tell to confirm your identity. Konig nods his head at your words. His eyes crinkled—was he smiling underneath the sniper hood?—and you can hear a smug tone on his voice.

“Ja, leutnantin, I’ve read your files.”

“Oh.”

Your eyes glanced to the side, seeing some soldiers chattering at the end of the hall. Good. There are people around. A polite smile blossoms on your face, offering it to the colonel – just like you would whenever you bump into a senior officer. Your mind raced why he was suddenly talking to you.

HE BARELY RESPONDED SO WHY WAS HE SUDDENLT BEING A CHATTER BOX?! You internally panicked since he often responded in hums or grunts whenever you give your report, didn’t even glance at you whenever the two of you passed by each other.

So, why now?

“Did you need something, sir?” You asked him politely, tilting your head a little as you crane your head to look at him properly because holy shit, he’s so fucking tall.

“I do, actually, Schatz.” König responds, cold eyes gazing down at your smaller form. “I need your help with a… serious matter. Come with me to my office.”

His strides are big and long as you struggled to keep up with him as he walked down the halls. Your eyes glued to his massive thighs… and oh. The soldiers within the halls part like the sea as König passed by as if he was Noah. They all lower their gaze, chattering going to a halt until only the sound of the storm raging outside can be heard.

“So, why do we need to go to your office?”

But König doesn’t answer, and his hands balled to a fist. You can see the cloth crinkle as his grip dug into his palms, while he ignores your question. Which is, in a way, rude since you were simply trying to gouge out information as to why your colonel was summoning you to his office. You furrowed your brows at his actions.

“It’s the least I should know, don’t you think–”

“Are you always so noisy?”

You blinked owlishly at his words, the colonel barely looking or glancing at you as he continued to walk down the halls of KorTac. Your breath hitches in your throat as you register the slight annoyance in his voice.

He finally looks at you, eyes crinkling as he laughs. And oh god, his laugh. The mere sound of it makes your cheek warm and make both of your lips smile.

“The look on your face earlier is funny, Schatz. However, you’re a lieutenant, no? I’m sure that despite how young you are, you’re mature enough to know that there are classified things that can only be discussed within the confines of an office, ja?”

“I’m sorry, colonel. I didn’t mean to let it slip off of my head.”

You feel like winning the lottery, but the prize isn’t a billion bucks—it’s the fact that you haven’t angered the colonel, and he’s not bashing your head to the pavement or maybe stabbing you where you stand and tearing your flesh with his gloved hands.

You don’t notice the guilt that settles on your face… nor the look of softness and endearment on König’s face as he admires the look of culpability blossoms on you face.

The softness of your face, the way your eyes are filled with such an adorable shyness when you think that he would actually reprimand you for something so innocent. You were so little compared to him too, so fragile… so weak. He relishes in this power over you—power over your reactions and your expressions. You looked so eager to stay on his good side. So eager to please him in your own innocent way. Whether you intentionally do it or not, König is being pumped full of dopamine at just you talking to him.

He's had his eye on you for a long while. The moment you stepped foot on base, beneath the scorching sun of the tarmac, König wanted nothing more than to snatch you and make you his. Drag you away from KorTac, smuggle you to Austria and lock you away in his house by the sea shore, away from prying eyes.

Where he can have you all to himself.

But even his rank and reputation in KorTac couldn’t save or excuse his behaviour if he does that. Everyone would think he was a freak or someone creepy if he were to ever just scoop you up. The way your voice echoes when you bark out your orders to those inferior to you, the way it softens when you talk to your friends – especially to Horangi, and König s gnawing at the cages of his enclosure because he wished you would talk to him the way you would to Horangi.

He wants to talk again without addressing you formally, but he is awkward with connecting to people. Even when he tried to follow his psychiatrist’s advice in trying to open up to people, König still has a hard time trying to initiate a conversation. The words piling up in his throat—stuck there for the rest of eternity.

 König doesn’t know what to do with his hands, resisting the strong urge to grab yours—so tiny and adorable­—and let his giant hand envelope it. You are pouting, gaze averted to the ground, cheek rosy from embarrassment, probably reprimanding yourself that you should’ve known better.

König isn’t sure if he wants you to be scared of him or not – and he hates that you are the first one to be an exception to his desires, because he wanted everyone to fear him. There is something dark, disgustingly predatory almost, in his thoughts as he watched you beat yourself up, but he doesn’t speak, and his fists are balled up because your voice and adorable face were too fucking much and he doesn’t even know how to talk to a girl in his adult years.

“C-colonel, we’re here.”

You hate that you stutter, but you can’t help it since your heart skipped a beat when you looked up and saw König looking at you with such softness and tenderness from his gigantic height. You had to take a deep breath, shaking your head at the delusion it’s not a delusion, you aren’t seeing things runnin in your head.

No.

That was wrong. That idea in itself would be wrong. The colonel was someone wise despite his violent tendencies. He would never entertain the idea of being with a fellow soldier. Not to mention bend the rules just to risk his position and rank. It would be stupid for him. It wouldn’t be worth it for him, and you just fucking know it.

“Ah… right. Bitte, wait a minute.”

You can see how miniscule the keys are to his hand, his form bending down a little and when he stood back up, he was at least three inches taller than the fucking doorway. He turns the lights on and gestures for you to step in. He closed the door behind you as you took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his gigantic desk.

The desk looked proportionate to his form, and the office chair he has accommodates him greatly and it makes your heart flutter because he looks like a king and all he had to do was give out his decree, and you would be scrambling to do said decree to please him because holy shit something about how big he is, is making your insides churn deliciously–

Wait. Bitch, you better stop. Your thoughts screeched to halt, smacking yourself internally because you’re sure you’re not yet in your ovulation week because you just finished your period four days prior… No, that’s not true, you lost track of your cycle due to the recent events that happened at base. The colonel was twiceyour size, and you’re not sure if you can take him.

Not in a fight, of course.

“So, about the recent events happening here at base, I’m sure you’re well aware of it by now.” König starts, leaning at the desk. “Soldiers are disappearing left and right, the younger ones wouldn’t take long before they stop buying our lies, and we need a way to stop whoever it is that is picking is off and making us drop like flies.”

He stopped, eyes roaming as if he’s analysing you.

“Hase, you are quite the prodigy that at such a young age you’ve managed to achieve the rank of lieutenant, and I am completely impressed.” König says, nodding to himself as if he’s proud of you. “Someone of your calibre would be of valuable help to catch the culprit or, rather, the creature that’s currently on the loose in base and hunting us one by one.”

“Creature? Don’t you mean person?”

“I’d like you to look at these and tell me that a human was behind these incidents.”

König slides you a dossier and you merely throw a confused glance at him before opening said dossier, and you almost–No. You do regret opening the fucking folder.

The entrails of the victims are chewed off and sprawled across the floor, the ground was a sea of blood. Some of them had missing parts, but mostly the torso was empty, intestines being the only thing left behind from the inside of the corpses, and there were a few where the eyes hangs out of its socket and runs down their faces like a veiny egg yolk. You want to look away, but you can’t. Some pictures showed the skins have been peeled off, most had been cleanly peeled off. Even the nipples were intact. Never to this day have you seen anything so horrible.

Finally, the urge to puke tore your attention away from the files, smacking it to the table as you swivelled your head away, and your mouth unhinged as the familiar disgusting liquid of your insides went past your throat. Before any of it could spill past your lips, a bucket had been shoved to catch it. König holds the bucket to your mouth. Meanwhile, you did nothing but vomit. Over and over again. Long after it seemed there was nothing more to bring up, you continued to vomit.

At last, after a good solid minute, you stopped. Tears prickled your face as puke-mixed snot went down your throat. König was kind enough to offer you tissues to help clean yourself up before he hands you a glass of water, and getting rid of your vomit.

“I’m sorry.” You weakly said. “That caught me off guard and I–” The words cut off in your thought as you shuddered as the pictures seared into your head. Well, guess this is my thirteenth reason.

“It’s fine, Schatz. Nothing to be sorry about. It is rare for someone to stomach such evidence.” He reassures you.

His giant hand rubs soothing circles on your back and it’s so comforting that you eventually calm down and catch your breath. The taste of bile still lingers and you downed glass after glass of water just to get rid of it but seemingly failing to do so. Yet it is nothing compared to the electrifying touch of König’s fingers that glide behind your back, passing by the wing ang hooks of your bra. Of course, he didn’t mean to do that he most definitely did intendes to do that because he was just trying to ease you out of your sickened state.

“I’m sorry.” You say again.

The pout on your lips was making you adorable and König was glad he was the way that he was right now. Had he been the same age as you, he wouldn’t have been able to hold back. He would’ve pushed you down on his desk, giant hands spreading your legs, tearing your clothes, while he makes you beg for his cock–

“As I’ve said before, Schatz. It’s fine. We have to recompose ourselves from time to time. After all, we’re only human, no?”

You look up at him from where you seat, smiling softly at him. He was so nice. Your eyes flickered to his neck, and then on to his fingers. Seeing the lack of wedding band on him had you feeling butterflies. Was he not married? Who wouldn’t want to marry him? Was he ugly?

His baby blue eyes—like a mixture of storm grey skies and the heartless depths of the ocean—were a soft hint to the fact that he was handsome. You just know. Unconsciously licking your lips, your eyes scanned him over – in the most shameless manner, but that was fine. You can always chuck it up to you just analysing him.

“Now, Schatz.” His fingers wrapped around you chin, coaxing you gently to look up at him. “Lieutenant colonel Allard, Captain O’Neil, and I will be conducting a manhunt starting at 00:00 up until to 04:30 this Friday. Allard would be taking the North side of the base, I’ll be taking the South, and O’Neil would be taking the West area–”

You paid attention to every word he said, nodding your head every now and then. You kept your eyes locked to his, unaware of the growing tent inches away from your face in your colonel’s pants.

“–which is why I called you to my office.” His voice rips you out of your trance. “I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to lend out a hand in catching whatever it was that’s picking us off one by one?”

“Yes, sir.”

The way you responded with such speed had you internally clutching your pearls. You were so confused as to why you had agreed so easily without even asking for the details. Hopefully, your colonel would be kind enough to graciously brief you and the team before he sends you all out to play limbo with this culprit.

König smiles at your eagerness to help the team—to help him. The younger ones weren’t so eager like you; often having to be bribed with a reward just to help. But you? You said yes without any hesitation.

“Are you married, Schatz?”

“No, sir.”

“How come? Most female or male soldiers your age are married. Why aren’t you?”

“Why aren’t you?”

Your body tensed as your mind caught up with that loose mouth of yours, but before you could even stop yourself the words had already been uttered into the world.  Holding your tongue and making you blurt this in front of your superior needs to be fired. Like, bro, pick a different sim to fuck up. Please. You might’ve had the chance to be in his good graces, being offered promotion after promotion because König did say he’s read your files – he’s awfully touchy too, but maybe that’s because he’s comfortable around you. You might’ve had a chance of walking out the office, alive and healthy with nothing but a nod of a head and telling you to be prepared for the operation this upcoming Friday – but now you’ve said those words with such casualness that it doesn’t really suit the dynamic between you two, and could promptly land you to some punishments. You could–

The colonel chuckles, eyes closed as his shoulder’s shook, and the sound of it makes your cheeks flare with warmth.

“What gave it away, Schatz?”

Your body relaxed, seeing he wasn’t offended or irritated by your response.

“It’s uh… um, the lack of wedding ring, sir.”

“Oh? What an observant klein leutnantin.”

He looks at you, contemplating for a moment before König spoke.

“I have trouble finding a… suitable mate, if you will. Mutter often tells me that I’m a carbon copy of my father, which could explain why she’s so distant and hostile towards me. I don’t… I don’t know or saw the need to find a partner until… until recently.”

His gaze lands on you as he said the last two words. You furrowed your brows, wondering who or what could’ve changed his mind. With a tilt of your head to the side, you asked him a question that stems from his words.

“How come your mother hated you just because you looked like your father? You can’t exactly control your looks.”

“Because he was a monster who had forced himself on her, and forced her to carry his child – which would be me.”

Your eyes widened at that. You didn’t exactly expect the colonel to say it so casually, as if it’s a fun fact you’re telling to a kindergarten. You pursed your lips, looking away, feeling awkward and bad now that you had brought up the topic.

“I’m sorry… I… I didn’t… know.” Was all you can muster.

“You seem to not know anything at all, Schatz.” He cooed at you. “It’s alright. You needn’t be sorry. How I was born is something I cannot control, but the outcome of who I can be is.”

König chuckles, walking over to pat your head affectionately and holy shit it has your heart racing.

“Growing up, the children my age shunned me. They had thrown rocks at me, calling me a monster. My mother did nothing to comfort me, dismissing me and shoving a sack to cover my face. I spent most times outside the house, often sleeping on caves by the waters or at the sand by the shore. The lake is something comforting, I must say… I miss it – yearn for it, if you will."

“Lake? Don’t you mean ocean?”

“My hometown was in Hallstatt Lake, Austria.”

His words ring a bell. You could’ve sworn you’ve heard of Hallstatt Lake before. You tried to remember where you heard it, but couldn’t. Oh, well. If I can’t remember it, then it ain’t that important.

 My father travelled from the ocean and dwelled by the lakes of that area. Then he saw mein mutter and... you know how that story went. Anyways, I have learned that I am… hideous. Therefore, that is one of the contributes as to why I am still, in your kind’s terms, single.”

“So you’ve never had partners before? Not even… I dunno… doing the devil’s tango? Sex?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No, Schatz. They back out the last minute.”

You looked at him pitifully. He was a lonely man, wanting to have someone beside him and yet his self-esteem was so low. Maybe fucking him could boost his self-esteem. It’s not like I’m craving him, I’m simply helping. Maybe I could be the first to teach him the intimate touch of a woman. The comforts of the flesh. There was something about damaged men that are just so fucking hot. After all, it’s just a twenty-three years old age gap between König and I – Woah, what?! Pause. Your thoughts screeched to a halt, pinching yourself for letting it wander off that far.

How did it get to this?

How did the two of you get so comfortable to the point he’s literally just trauma dumping on you, and you’re lending an ear to listen. You should be walking out f the door, telling him this was unprofessional but you find yourself glued to the chair, heart going out to König as you empathize with him.

“I may not know what you look like under the mask, but mom did tell me that you can see if a person has a handsome or beautiful face is by looking at the shape of their eyes.”

“Oh? And what have you deduced from just observing my eyes, Schatz? Am I considered monstrous?”

“No, sir… I’d say you’re beautiful.”

König’s eyes widened at your words, his cheeks burning beneath the mask and he’s so fucking thankful that you can’t see his face or what he looks like underneath. His heart thumps louder than it did when he first saw you.

He is fighting the urge to invite you to move in with him to his quarters, keeping you all to himself. König’s sure that his bedroom is way more spacious and comfier than that of a lieutenant’s. The Austrian giant has to physically restrain himself from snatching you, and dragging you into the shadows with him where no one can rip you from his embrace – he can’t bear thinking about you being with someone else.

“Was it offensive… sir?”

“No, liebling. I just think you are blind.”

König would absolutely whisk you away right now. All you need to do was say the word, and he’d be following your words as if they are the ten commandments. He can and will buy you an estate if you want, just pick a place—preferably in Hallstatt, Austria—and that would be easy for him. König would love to just provide for you, to get to go home to someone as adorable and meek as you are – eager to succeed and be praised by the most little of things. You would be protected there. No one would ever disturb you.

His father was never there for his mother. Left nothing to support her other than trauma after he was hunted down by the townsfolk and brutally murdered. König tells himself that he would be different, that he would give you the world. You need only ask. 

He understands that being delusional isn’t healthy, and that his psychiatrist would definitely shoot him with a Nerf gun for letting himself descend into this type of madness, but he was old.

And lonely.

And you’re just so sweet and so nice to him, going so far as to tell him he’s beautiful. And despite spending too much time in waters, König drowns himself in fantasies about you being in a giant house, welcoming him home after his deployment, pregnant and eager to kiss him sweetly. You who can be his everything. A cure for his troubles and woes, even though his psychiatrist had severely advised him to not put your partner on high pedestals because it is extremely unhealthy and co-dependent.

König knows he can’t just blurt shit out as he pleases, lest he scares you away. You would scream at him, call him a sociopath – or a psychopath if you aren’t as knowledgeable as him in the department of terms. He is only self-aware enough to know that he can lose you if he made one wrong move.          

He’s old and tired. And he wants to experience fatherhood before he dies, preferably having you as his klein Frau. But he can’t rush you. He needs to bid his time. In that moment, König decided—regretfully so—to let you go back to your duties for the day.

He needed to get close to you than he ever did before—needed to work with you to have you close to him at all times.

“That would be all, liebling.” König says to you. “You are free to go now. I don’t really want to hold you up here for too long.”

“It’s an honour to be picked by you, colonel.” You chirp happily, eager to maintain this casualness between you two in hopes of getting promoted faster.

The giant, behemoth of a man watches you walk away from him, eyes glued to your hips and adorable, plump ass. Your frame still smaller than him even when you stood up to your full height. It was endearing to him. Soft blue eyes following your every move, watching you as you give him one last smile and a friendly wave before you closed the door shut behind you.

“I’d say you’re beautiful.”

Your words echoed in his head, making the older being flustered as he ran his hands over his face and sighed. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, and he knew he’d be clinging to that until the day he died.

“It shall be the day that the sun is at its peak when you find what you longingly desire. Once the sky is thick with water and the blood of warriors are spilled, the gods will give you a chance to converse with this creature. You should turn them away. Put them at arms-length, but you are a selfish being. You would devour them, drain them until they are merely husks because of your depravities… I pity this young girl.”

He recalls the stupid reading he had gotten from a so-called ‘wise woman’ twelve years ago in her quaint house at Wolfengasse street. Maybe that völva was genuine in her craft before she left Austria.

[scarrletmoon]

it's izzy hands it's kylo ren it's billy from stranger things it's snape it's draco it's loki circa 2012-2014 it's a REPEATED PATTERN throughout all of fandom of an antagonistic white guy getting a devoted fanbase that is both disproportionate to his importance in the story and also misunderstands the white guy's role as an antagonist. they think their mean little guy is a misunderstood victim and they base their entire fandom experience around him. and then in season 2 ofmd went and redeemed izzy before killing him off to further ed's arc, something that is a solid choice from a technical writing standpoint but from a fandom perspective it built the izzy fans up into thinking they were right about how izzy has never been homophobic, izzy is a poor downtrodden abuse victim, and from day one izzy has been a protector and the only competent guy around and a loyal and dutiful first mate. and possibly the most significant part is that so many izzy fans have accidentally and unknowingly tricked themselves into thinking that izzy is a main character bc their fandom engagement revolves so heavily around izzy that they forgot the actual show itself doesn't, so they were completely blindsided by a death that has been foreshadowed since season one ("im not dying, not for that twat and not for you" and "only retirement we get is death" and the whole "plumb the depths, man" sequence where izzy was talking to stede through a death shroud ffs). and i want so bad to just ignore it but we literally got a queer romcom centered around an interracial couple and an incredibly diverse cast and an indigenous main character and a diverse writer's room and the season ended on a happy note and it's all about queer joy AND YET. soooooooo much of the post-season discussion has to center around the white side character!!! even in death izzy hands takes up a disproportionate amount of the fandom conversation and im exhausted. it's every fandom! every fucking time!! this isnt anything new this is the same time-honored fandom tradition of white man favoritism YET A-FUCKING-GAIN and im SO FUCKING TIRED OF IT!!!!!!!!!

(i get so scared when i turn on anon bc i’ve consistently gotten such shitty, cowardly messages through it but i’m glad this isn’t one of them lmao)

i know i’ve said this 374748 times but the last time i made the kylo ren/snape/white villain connection on twitter (i mean that’s on me, it’s twitter) i had people legit furious with me for calling them nazis which………..i literally never said

and i get the frustration. trust me, I GET IT. the white villain problem smashes right into white fragility and makes it almost impossible to talk about any of it. it means, like you said, that we’re talking about a fucking white side character in cast of amazing, nonwhite talent, because some people can’t handle confronting the fact that whiteness insulates them from the realities of racism, and that their ignorance and hostility makes them active participants in white supremacy

(and it’s really hard to explain this to people who’ve been taught that racism is when slurs and white klan hoods, because then they’ll say and do the most vile shit and CRY or fight you when you gently try to explain the racist shit they just did)

and because fandom is very queer as well as very white, we also have to contend with the kinds of white people who think that queerness somehow negates their whiteness. that they can’t express their privilege in contexts involving POC. that we’re making shit up to be victims and to minimize their pain on purpose. and time and time again, i have had my queerness erased by white people, so they feel comfortable ignoring criticism i only ever shared bc i was hoping for something better

i’ve said it again and again and again and AGAIN that it’s ESPECIALLY depressing seeing white people close ranks in ofmd fandom especially BECAUSE it has such a diverse cast and doesn’t shy away from discussing racism in all the ways it manifests. like, most of the racism in the show isn’t even subtle and y’all STILL elected to ignore it? do y’all not feel ANY shame about that?

and some of them don’t! bc they think we’re infiltrators. bc they’re only a few steps removed from “they will not replace us” as they see more POC try to join fannish spaces. and they’ll pretend they’re not trying to push us out bc they’re marginalized in other ways — deliberately ignoring the fact that they’re also crushing their fellow queer, disabled and marginalized community

so you’re tired? yeah. me the fuck too. we deserve so much better

[naranjapetrificada]

Waking up with plans to write but instead Having A Think about translating Izzy's concretes to an AU setting, as well as the particular challenges of writing him in the style I have.

Namely: when you're used to writing deep inside a character's head and finding inspiration in imagery, how the fuck are you supposed to handle this guy? How the fuck is a writer like me supposed to be anything but completely laid flat by him between paragraphs?

Most characters in most stories, even and sometimes especially antagonists and villains, are capable of taking joy in something at some point, even if it's something an audience finds morally or aesthetically or socially repugnant. The simple capacity to enjoy things and imagine past and future times when things have been enjoyed/could later be enjoyed is such a human thing that it's relatable or at least compelling when we see even a loathed villain laugh maniacally or revel in the chance to lay out their plan or swell with "righteous" indignation as they talk or think about the ways the world has wronged them. But how much "joy" (or anything even close to it) do we see Izzy experience or express?

We see him smile a few times (or at least seem amused) I'll grant you, but let's think about those times and what's missing from them. I'm going to focus on season 1 because I don't find his rehabilitation in season 2 to be interesting or compelling enough to translate to this AU.

He seems amused when he's trying to put Lucius "in his place" in s1e5. He smiles creepily during both the "there he is" and "Blackbeard is himself again" moments in s1e10. You can argue that maybe he seems...content during multiple moments where he gets to bark orders and bully people, especially in s2e9 when he gets to briefly play at being a captain. The rare enough moments when we see him doing anything that seems like it's even in the same neighborhood are built around what he does to other people, and about feeling like he has power. But where's the engagement with that?

Is he experiencing enjoyment? Does he bother staying to watch his barked orders carried out? Does he savor his steak more after Fang salts it or does he just keep chewing? Does he relish touching Ed's face or even the way his words make Ed shrink back into himself? What on earth does he feel about seeing his own cause and effect in action? The only thing season 1 Izzy seems to actually like is misery, while also being incapable of truly relishing it. It's a believable phenomenon, but fuck is it miserable for me to write.

And I don't mean like "oh god that character has been through so much and spending time in their head has given me an empathy hangover," because it feels like there's an emptiness to Izzy's season 1 misery. It's a tar pit. It's a black hole that pulls in everything around it, but does so without taking note of its awesome power to do so. It's a character who (at least before season 2) drinks because that's what you do, but not because it tastes good or bad or like anything in particular at all.

In the bit of POV he has in my draft, there's still so, so much sensory detail because I can't write without it. In revision I've tried blunting or inverting those details into things Izzy notices but maybe doesn't extemporize on the way other characters would, or if he does it's to complain. But I'm still not comfortable with doing it or pleased with the results coming from it and I don't know how to get past that right now. It's truly exhausting to be mean and joyless and express zero wonder in the world around you, and while that feels appropriate for the Izzy concretes I'm carrying over to my AU, it's not something I have any idea how to write without drowning in misery myself.

[nanoland]

ofmd s2 incoherent rambling ahoy: about the women

now that

WE WON THE RUGBY WORLD CUP

, i've had enough raw joy injected into my veins to enable me to actually discuss ofmd!

................. aaaaaand now that That Episode has soured my good will, i gotta say: i do not love how this show depicts women.

to be clear: taken on an individual basis, every actress did a terrific job and their time on screen was a delight. nothing but admiration on that front.

however. in terms of how they were WRITTEN. well.

okay, so it was. perhaps. a little Huh when in s1 you had the two most prominent lady characters being mary and jackie. and mary was a white hetero abled woman, and jackie was a black queer disabled woman.

and mary was sweet, and a mother, and long-suffering, and artistic, and her finally attempting to kill stede was the culmination of his being a shitty husband for years and years. and she got a whole arc to herself and a charming happy ending.

and jackie was.... well, JACKIE. 100% girl boss. tough as nails, takes no shit, puts arrogant men in their place, nose jar, etc. not much of an arc. no happy ending. she finishes the same way she starts.

AGAIN! not saying that Jackie is a bad character. she's a great character, steals every scene she's in.

but. the contrast, yeah?

but hey, we can set that aside because while mary and jackie were the most prominent women in s1, they weren't the ONLY women. you also had jaguar lady and nana. they were both tough as nails, and took no shit, and put arrogant men in their place. it's ok! it's ok.

then.... s2.

lots more ladies! awesome!

we got zheng, who is tough as nails and takes no shit and puts arrogant men in their place.

we got auntie, who is tough as nails and takes no shit and puts arrogant men in their place.

we got anne and mary, who are both tough as nails and take no shit and put arrogant men in their place.

yeah. see?

meanwhile the guys are all over the spectrum in terms of competence, power, intelligence, courage, etc. lucius is an intelligent coward, pete's a brave idiot, roach is a cheerful sadist/masochist with no fucks left to give, ed's the best pirate who ever lived (allegedly-_-) while also being the worst captain in the world, oluwande's kind and vulnerable, frenchie has Seen Some Shit, izzy is doggedly devoted to his job no matter how many times the universe signals that it's time to pack it in, stede's smart but naive and gentle but mean-spirited.

(NOTABLE EXCEPTION: archie! archie's weird and feral and resigned to life and gets her ass kicked and i love her. she's clearly not a girl boss. however, also the only woman on the whole ship.)

now, obvs we get to see the boys being more nuanced characters than the girls because, on the whole, we spend FAR more time with the boys than the girls.

and i'm not objecting to that! OFMD is a show about queer men. that's fine. that's GREAT. it's totally allowed to be that. queer men rock and deserve the world.

but. still. if you're writing ofmd, and you know that you're only going to be introducing a handful of women and not giving them much to do.....

.......you kinda need to double check to make sure you aren't giving 80% of them very similar personalities, yeah?

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I first watched ofmd about 6 months after it came out which means the fandom had a little bit of time to develop some of its own ideas. Anyway. The absolute shock and confusion I felt after finishing s1 and finding out izzy had fans! I was like “wait what is there even to like about that guy?”. And then after thinking about it for a while I was like “ok I guess he is actually kinda interesting and it is pretty common for people to like the asshole antagonists” so imagine my disappointment when I came online and saw people trying to paint izzy as the rational good guy and Ed as out of control. And it’s still happening to this day! *sigh*

This rant brought to you by me seeing yet another meme implying Ed is acting irrationally and out of control in s1 and izzy is just the sensible rational guy trying to keep everything working smoothly. (God forbid ed meets someone he can have fun with and who actually respects the real him and experiences any amount of joy)

I was there, Gandalf. I was there like two years ago, lurking as this shift started happening, and it was something to see let me tell you what

I wasn't active in the fandom until just before s2 started airing, but I watched s1 for the first time right as the final episodes dropped, and I lurked around a bit. At first, in those early days, it truly felt like most people were on the same page. There was some racist shit (Ed eating soap was the big one back then) but on the whole the fandom's attitude towards Izzy, at least from my vantage point, was pretty uniform. Lots of "he's gay and homophobic" jokes. Lots of talking about how fucked up and wet he is.

And I remember thinking that the first posts I saw about how Izzy's actions were justified were satire. That was how uniform the fandom felt for those first few weeks. I was like, wow, that's kinda a fun thought experiment to try and twist things so Izzy's actions are justified. It's not for me but it's kinda interesting. And then after a while those things kept popping up and you realized they were serious. I remember it had gotten truly concerning by June that year, but it might've been earlier - I was just lurking around more around that time following hopes for the renewal.

Yeah, it's honestly really disappointing. I couldn't care less if someone likes Izzy as he is in canon - he's interesting in the same way a lot of antagonists are interesting. The issue comes in when they insist that their fanon perspective is the correct way to interpret the text and start writing fic and meta based on that premise, which becomes really racist really quickly. Izzy views Ed in a racist way, trying to push him back into a caricature of himself and talking about him like he's an animal, so when you take his word as gospel, the way you think and write about Ed is also going to be racist.

[suffersinfandom]

A Summary of The OFMD Meta (Part IV)

This is part four of an incomplete summary of A Meta-Discussion Of The Subtext by meratrishoslee (Mera) on AO3 (linked to, as the author requests). I’m trying to stay impartial and present the content fairly and with context. Like, I started reading this 140K beast after I saw a wild screencap and thought, "Surely there's context that makes this make sense," so I do want to provide at least that much.

This part includes interviews and a response to one of the “concern trolls that couldn't quite manage to wipe the foamy froth from their mouths long enough to keep it from dripping on their keyboards.”

No more chapter numbers because they keep being reordered.

Other posts Part I Part II Part III

Chapter The Vanity Fair Article - A Wondrous Fuckery

Here’s the article that chapter is about.

Mera suspects that the interview happened via text, giving David Jenkins time to sort out what he was going to say. They note that they’re “going on vibes and subtext, which is really more [their] wheelhouse.” You’re welcome to disagree with them.

“First off, I was trained in the House of Moftiss/BBC Sherlock fandom, where we just assumed that every word the showrunners spoke in an interview or on social media was a shameless distortion at best, and an outright lie at worst -- so that's where my mind goes first. [...] Having said that... so much of the Vanity Fair interview is an actual gift.  You do have to cherrypick somewhat... but again, DJenks just released an episode with a major character death.  He can't go back and reverse himself and suggest on any textual level that the death was less than permanent.”

VF mentions the happy endings in the finale, and Jenkins says, same-sex relationships end on a dour, downbeat note, where one of them dies and it’s unrequited or it’s unrealized; something horrible happens and they’re punished in a way.

“That's not a happy ending -- and that's exactly what you apparently fucking did with a central character.  Gosh, how weird of you to bring it up here.  So why?  Is it... is it something you left open for a third season?  That the horrible death of an unrequited love isn't what it appears?”

Jenkins says that Izzy is kind of a mentor to Blackbeard and that he is kind of a father figure. Mera says that “this is the closest he gets to queerbaiting us” because Izzy is definitely not Ed’s father figure.

“Notice we are still given the subtext here: mostly dead is slightly alive, and "kind of a father figure" feels like a limp gesture in the direction of explanation.  The rest of it... if you feel insulted on Con's behalf, that Izzy Hands was reduced to an old dog being put down at the vet's office here ("beautiful arc", "does a lot of things", "it's time", "full meal" -- god, a day at the dog park and a last fucking supper with cheeseburgers and pie and all the human food he never got to have otherwise she says sarcastically) -- YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO.”

Jenkins keeps mentioning “magic, love, turning, losing, changing, rebirth, resurrection, present tense about Izzy Hands, ghosts/life after death, or anything of those flavors.” He is “legitimizing repetition” in order “to prime your mind to see the subtext.  You can only look for something if you know what it looks like: he is giving you the key to the season.”

Jenkins reminds us that “he was not a straight white guy alone in that writers room, and he's telling you the story worked for everyone in that room of all queerness/genders.” 

“And then he brings our head back around and goes ‘hey, look at Izzy again. It's almost like he's the key to everything.  Hey, look at me using present tense on a character that's supposed to be dead and gone which would be past tense. God I love Con O'Neill, and I need you to hear that in every single interview I ever give EVER. His character IS a joy to write.’”

Mera mentions all of the “subtextual queer references and coding” put into Izzy. “You don't create a Queer Avatar by fucking accident. And these professionals certainly did not.”

Mera encourages their readers to read the Q&A that wraps the article “with the mindset that we will have an S3 where a queer self-sacrificing man rises from the dead in a damn near explicit Christ metaphor and our Izzy Hands is safe and whole and loved.”

“The Vanity Fair interview, as far as I'm concerned, is not some painful/cruel gloat. It is a subtextual love letter back to the fans, published just in time to be ready to soothe our hurting hearts -- if we know how to parse it.”

Chapter "Who Do Ya Trust If You Can't Trust God?"

“I'm finding myself tired at being the point of the spear. No one prepared me for how exhausting it is to be among the first to realize a massive truth.”

This chapter is about coping with fandom and contains some solid advice: “The block button is our friend. The unfollow button is our friend. The mute option is our friend. If someone's relentless negativity hurts your feelings or drags you down, mute/unfollow/block them as needed.”

But then:

“I choose to believe my daily-growing mountain of evidence that Izzy Hands is alive and that the writers intend that he be hollered home from the gravy basket. 

“Furthermore? If I can be painfully real for a minute? I am amazed at the trust the writers have given us. 

“Because we the Unseen Crew have been put into the position of Izzy's future lover -- to be to Izzy what Stede was to Ed.  We are called on for our audience participation now, to hold his hand and beg his return -- not for a minute, an hour, or a day... but potentially for the next several months, over a year or more, until we get Season 3. 

“I do tend to have this fatal flaw of wanting to uphold others' trust in me, and to be loyal to those who show loyalty in return.”

Mera reminds us that her word is not canon. She isn’t affiliated with the show and is just trying to provide hope and positivity.

“Even though I often will get tired... I am determined to stay positive. When I can't say something nice, I close the window or the app and say nothing at all. You will find me on my social media being as unrelentingly kind as I know how to be.”

Next: interviews and what we can take from them. “Interviews have exactly two purposes: pocket money for the subject of said interview, and promotion for the show. I was trained to never fully trust what is said in interviews.” Engagement and getting people clicking is more important than imparting useful and truthful information, and nothing engages people like anger.

That’s how we get the early “interviews that are half touching and half enraging, with seriously tone-deaf seeming self-conflicting statements from the writers/showrunners [...]. We can trust that if the interviews are live/verbal, they'll be more irritating rather than less. The showrunners would much rather say too little or say something wrong than give away something too big or too true accidentally, and in the pressure of the moment they will fall back on phrases they've memorized as safe to use.”

Don’t trust that interviews are telling you the truth (but they might be saying something truth-adjacent).

Mera has doubts about Jenkins telling O’Neill about Izzy’s death mid-season. She doesn’t think that Jenkins is that stupid. “It's not too far a stretch to think that this "mid-season" conversation occurred in the middle of filming the first season, and all DJenks is prevaricating about is the timing thereof.” 

Jenkins realized mid season one that Con is an amazing actor, so he takes him out for dinner and says, “Next season I want to kill Izzy 3 times. The first time will be Stede's dream sequence, and the next two will be actual Passion Plays, because we're setting Izzy up to be Jesus and Westley from The Princess Bride and Han Solo from Star Wars.”

“And Con takes up the challenge of being coded as an OVERT Queer Messiah (with an additional layer of subtextual HIV/AIDS)... because of course he does. Of course he fucking does. If he can pull it off -- and if anyone can, it's him -- it's the role of a fucking lifetime. It's a role for history books and media studies for the next fifty or one hundred years. 

“Doesn't that sound a bit more likely? Doesn't that sound a bit more real?”

Mera predicts that interviews and articles will start publishing ideas about Izzy still being alive, and talking about how weird and off the end of season two was. Everyone involved with the show, after all, will “know we inspect every frame and every pixel of every BTS and teaser they release,” so they’ll feed us enough to keep us guessing at the truth.

“Here is my promise to you: if/when I'm wrong about any of this, I will edit this chapter only to admit I was wrong and when and how. I will not remove my evidence.  I am comfortable being wrong.  If I was never wrong, I would never have tried and failed and learned from my failures!”

Chapter Until You Come Full Circle

This chapter is about interviews. “We’ve had, just in the last week, two very sweet and classy interviews with Con (which I did predict, although that was about as safe as saying the sun would rise in the east this morning) – and one that seemed… less so, with Taika.”

First interview with Con.

Con says to trust David Jenkins, which immediately makes Mera think of Proverbs 3:5-6: Trust in the Lord with all your heart, And lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He shall direct your paths. “Now. Am I delulu, as the kids are calling it these days, suggesting that Con might intentionally be throwing some religious vibes at us?”

Con is also “earnest and intense” in his praise of OFMD’s writing. This is a good sign; that means he thinks the show is written well, and that’s further evidence that Izzy will be back.

Second interview with Con.

Con “seems to me to be very reluctant to outright lie, which is awesome for a meta writer and squares with my experience of him. Lying is easy in the moment and difficult in the future – a person has to remember what lies they’ve told in order to remain sufficiently consistent in their stories. It takes more skill to tell just enough of the truth that it's both vague in the moment but pays off later.” This makes interviews with him extra valuable.

A short analysis of one of his quotes: “Everything Izzy is in Season 2 was there in Season 1, only understated and repressed. According to the actor who played him: he didn’t change who he was. Izzy just got safe enough to let what was inside him out to where others could see it too.”

One of Con’s quotes backs up Mera’s Sacred Heart meta, namely the part about Izzy trying to serve the crew that loves him. 

Now a Taika interview.

This interview bolsters Mera’s idea of Ed as Judas. 

From the article: When Consequence asks writer/director/actor Taika Waititi if he’s feeling optimistic about a third season of Our Flag Means Death, his initial response is this: “Have you seen the end?”

“I think we can safely assume that Taika’s not asking the interviewer if he’s literally seen the last episode of Season 2. This feels to me like the blunt, sardonic, dry humor Taika’s evinced (and occasionally gotten into trouble over) during other interviews, aimed at the word ‘optimistic.’ ‘Have you seen the end? How optimistic did you think it was?’”

It’s not an optimistic ending. The interview mentions the inn’s renovations, but we don’t see anyone doing any renovating. Ed and Stede don’t even have food as the Revenge sails away. 

From the article: For Waititi, though, the Season 2 finale “feels like a natural end to their story. Just because I feel like, you know, they’ve been through so much and then wind up in that nice place at a happy ending.”

What nice place? What happy ending? 

From the article: Waititi says, though, that “I don’t want it to feel like Rambo III suddenly, you know, when you’re like, ‘Oh man, they have to leave their idyllic life again.'”

“Okay, everything else was fucky as fuck… but that feels wrong enough to be a lighthouse.” So Mera went and watched Rambo III, which is more relevant than she expected. 

Rambo’s “idyllic” life isn’t that great. “We don’t see an emotional, human connection. We see a white guy who’s on tolerance in a place he doesn’t really belong, separated by a language he doesn’t fluently speak. We see a man tormenting himself with boredom and isolation.”

“When you look at John Rambo through most of this movie, you see a pretty good correlation to Edward at the start of the last episode of OFMD S2: on tolerance in a place that’s not truly his home, trying to fit a life and do a job he’s not suited to… and he gives it up without another thought because a man he cares about is in danger.” A hint to season three?

Chapter My Ridiculous Obsession With Love

In this chapter, Mera addresses one of her “haters.” 

For anyone who forgot the thesis of this meta: “The overarching hypothesis I'm building in this meta-discussion is that Izzy's death was more serious because HIV/AIDS and queer grief is serious.  He had to go into the grave and take the full journey of the passion play to be able to leave it behind him, and to re-emerge as someone that can touch, kiss, and love again.”

--

Commenter: “None of that makes this a definitive interpretation, or one that the creative team can reasonably be held responsible for.” 

Mera: “... yes?  Okay, sure? (Dear non-haters: just picture that John Travolta confusion gif again, because if I threw it in here every time I rammed up against an example of begging the question in this comment, there'd be like 30 of them and we'd all get tired of them.)”

--

Commenter: “The crew hold back because Ed is the person Izzy dedicated his life to and has not yet fully reconciled with- they're giving him space to sort things with Ed so he can go in peace. Etc etc.”

Mera: “I see a rapid parade of images and sounds. "He's a dick, but he's our dick." Jim snarling "He was your friend" up into their captain's face, even though they know for a fact that could get them killed. The crew make the unicorn's leg for him together but they leave it at his door because they know he can't (yet) let himself accept it if anyone's watching: what an incredibly emotionally intelligent maneuver. The easy way that we see Jim and Lucius and Frenchie and Fang interact with Izzy in later eps-- all touching him or letting him lean on him, just never skin to skin. The way that we see Izzy go into Wee John's arms and stay held there for a while as he commits the incredibly vulnerable act of singing for them. The way that Izzy lays his hand on Stede's knee while they're talking at Jackie's bar, and there's no real animosity from them on either side then.

“So I'll give you this one, 100%.  I can't say that you're wrong or prove it in any way.  Your reading is absolutely as valid as mine, no more and no less.”

--

Commenter: “Isn't it heavily implied that people touch him with bare hands while dealing with his leg? And if he is coded as having AIDS and being untouchable, why would the crew be so willing to dive in and get covered in his blood when they treat his leg, especially when they're also scraped up at the time?”

Mera: “I haven't had a chance to write up this meta yet, but in a nutshell: we see Jim and Archie amputate his leg (with their hands pressed together in visual union atop it).  They're covered in blood and this is one of the least realistic depictions of a survivable amputation attempt in media ever, frankly... and yet Izzy lives through it!  [...]

“Notably we do NOT see Fang cleaning up.  I need to go back and verify, but I'm like 99% sure. 

“Why? Is Fang lazy or unhelpful? No, I'd say two reasons. One, he's paralyzed with grief (and the men in this show are so emotional, as Auntie rightfully notes).  But two, certain classifications of men were more susceptible to Izzy's subtextual disease. [...]

“I think it's a direct subtextual sign post to the part that lesbians/wlw/AFAB people had to play in the care of queer men dying of AIDS. [...] Jim won't catch Izzy's subtextual HIV/AIDS, ever.  Jim's hands heal and comfort, with both Izzy and Auntie -- repetition (usually) legitimizes, as I've said elsewhere.”

--

Commenter: “...while I know I have no control over this... it's alarming to see other commenters accepting this elaborate interpretation as if it's definitive.”

Mera: “Ooooh, I'd pay a dollar to find out how many comments you leave on fix-it fics. Are they also dwelling in their delusions of a world where a fictional character in a show overcomes a fictional death in the same show? Is it a sign of mental illness to indulge in word count or WORSE -- for them to irresponsibly leave those insane words just out there online where other people can also continue their madness by READING THEM?!?! The absolute horror. We writers should be ashamed, etc etc. 

“There's every possibility all the words I'm spilling over this are worth just as much as you paid for them: exactly nothing. 

“So thank goodness we have you and others like you, willing to do the purely altruistic and entirely virtuous work of... leaving comments to tell us you didn't agree? I guess?  Honestly I don't have a full lock on what your goal was here, if something other than trying to make people feel bad but fortunately not being very skilled at it.”

--

Commenter: “I wish you and every other fan nothing but the best, and for that reason, I find this hard to watch.”

Mera: “My sibling in Shiva: the 'back' button and the 'x' to close the window are available in every single web browser I have ever used in the history of the internet, ever. But I appreciate your martyrdom in staying here and nobly suffering so hard in an attempt to save me and my readers from ourselves!”

--

Commenter: “It seems like you are setting yourself and others up for even more rage and heartbreak than there would otherwise need to be.”

Mera: “I want to point out that I've tried to be very careful in not speculating about Season 3; I think it's reasonable for any fan to assume all characters living at the end of S2x08 will return in S3 unless real life status of the actors, scheduling, or budgetary considerations prevent that. 

“I want to point out that all I have are the first two seasons, and I am telling you that Izzy Hands, inside the last second of S2x08, is "mostly dead but slightly alive" -- and he's in the house, being the cause of the smell that Edward doesn't want to recognize (as he is at least twice before shown refusing to recognize what he's done as Blackbeard after the fact) but does actually recognize all the same.”

Mera admits that there are two options: “Either I'm correctly parsing the absolute bounty of subtext available in every aspect of the show, or I'm not.”

“On the day that we get that confirmation, I will feel one of two things: either the delicious vindication that I was right -- or amazement that they could build such a wondrous sky castle of subtext, whether consciously or subconsciously, and fail to complete it satisfactorily.”

“I've been wrong before and will freely and cheerfully admit it [...]. That's also why I put in my first meta post that I had been a TJLC'er -- and why I've left it in there, actually. It's correct and it's honest. Straight off I admitted I was wrong about Something Big. 

“See, it's [...] ‘hater bait,’ and it's already caught several. Lots of concern trolls that couldn't quite manage to wipe the foamy froth from their mouths long enough to keep it from dripping on their keyboards, because all of them had mentioned it... until you.”

--

“I've cackled my way through all of the writing of this post, even as I've tried to be very kind in reply -- you should have seen some of the shots I chose not to take due to their cruelty (even though they were fucking hilarious) -- so thank you for a most diverting morning.  I even got more meta and more word count out of this, so it wasn't actually a waste of productive time!”

--

Commenter: “I urge you to reconsider this approach that you're taking.”

Mera: “Here's where I'm gonna get all the way real again. Because I'm not talking to [...] that poor dear any more. I'm talking to the ones who are here with me in the stinking dark of the Pit of Despair, holding onto Izzy's naked right hand with no glove between us any more or hopefully ever again, hollering him back home out of the gravy basket.”

“If one sound had been added, everyone would know what the author knows. “We have the house. We have the grave -- with Izzy's collar on it like the dog collars on the dog graves in Pet Sematary -- where whatever comes back often comes back wrong. We've got the concept of a bad smell. We've got Stede reacting to something awful with a scream [the one thing Mera’s adding in this scenario]. 

“DONE. 

“Now the fandom is convinced that Izzy is alive, just as most of us were convinced in the last 18 months that Lucius was still alive.”

“This is part of what convinced me in the first seconds after the episode was over that Izzy wasn't dead. If I could both change the story and prove it to everyone else with just one small addition... then he's not dead.”

After Lucius was pushed overboard in season one, “I just trusted that this soft and sweet little show wouldn't actually permanently kill one of its gays. [...] And I still trust that it didn't actually permanently forever and truly kill the most gay-coded of its gays.”

[leatherbookmark]

oops, objective "don't read stupid ass takes" failed :(

"izzy is not suicidal, like yeah he shot himself in the head but he missed and besides that was EPISODES ago, he has since found community and joy and acceptance and saying he's suicidal is erasing all that. now ed, however," ah, well, if it was only once, then it doesn't matter i suppose.

"blackbeard is both ed and izzy, ed can't be free of blackbeard if izzy is alive, and if izzy dies, ed will never return to being blackbeard" i'm sorry. let me make sure i heard you right. even when both izzy and ed have found love and acceptance, even when izzy is his own person, having "divorced" ed in episode 3, even after izzy's shown being supportive of ed loving stede and quitting being a pirate... izzy still has to die to free ed. and this is fine and normal, and not the proof that there's something kinda Fucking Wrong with ed. sometimes you just can't be fully happy until that one person who's moved on from you and from whom you have moved on as well is fucking dead. and that's okay! hashtag self care. i gotta be honest i'm impressed. i don't remember hearing of a more fucked up dynamic, and this one belongs to a silly comedy show! truly, the writing for this show is exceptional. and by that i mean at this point i'm starting to wonder whether i've had a stroke at some point and it's only catching up to me now

"what would izzy do? just stay on the revenge and whittle? he's not fit for hard physical labor, and he doesn't want to be a captain, so he has to go!" uh oh, black pete, i have bad news for you. no no, enjoy your husband first, taste the marital bliss, make some precious memories! god knows you're going to need them once we kill him off for being useless unfit for physical labor. ha! lighthearted jokes aside, um, wow. i, er, can't quite find my words yet, so, um, well, it's. it's a pirate story, and pirates were famously all fully abled, like, can you imagine a pirate with a wooden leg doing pirate shit? that's, that's unrealistic, it doesn't-- hm? "he’s found value in not having a distinct role or purpose on the ship, decoupling his worth from the job he’s expected to perform"? aah, huh. hmm. well. well that's. hm. yknow guys i'll get back to you later i think, i need to sit on this one

"do you really think con, an experienced actor and an adult, would feel bad about izzy dying? especially after getting to explore this character so well, especially after djenks has said he took it well?" well i can't say what con would feel because i don't know the man personally, right, but if i had a chance to explore a character i really like, play him finding his happiness, queerness and place to belong unconditionally, and then found out -- halfway through the shooting, despite my character's death apparently being known to the writers from the very beginning -- that he dies shot by the antagonist who symbolizes everything he hates, not even during a fight or a duel, not even protecting someone he loves, but just because he was the nearest pirate, and his last words are all about inspiring the guy whose lil depressive episode cost him a leg to fucking, hashtag be free and live his truth, while everyone else kinda just stood by and watched and didn't even try to help, i guess because eh, if he dies he dies, then actually yeah, i would think it's a little bit unfair, i suppose. but that's just me of course

[ohsoulymoons]

Courtney Brat PosT Moneyy Ideas

Someone write fanfic or fanfics about Courtney creates a business in high school being someone's beard or go on pratice breakup dates with her and she acts like your partner you wish to dump or she will dump them for you if you want!

It's low priced and she mostly wants to gossip on "dates" before total drama slash to going to total drama island. As she gets there just is confused when boys actually flirt with her and have romantic interest. Or girls just being nice and kind to her in general.

In her mind she's like: ?! I do? Do? I ? What the fuck is this! TEEN ROMANCE IN THIS ECONOMY!!! GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME! MONEYYYY!!! FRIENDS? WHAT EVEN IS THIS PLACE!

Later on, she's like ah: OH! I LIKE THIS ONE! WHAT IS A FRIEND AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN BOYFRIEND ISN'T BRO LIKE GEOFFF!

Geoff and Courtney friendship is Geoff baby feeding Courtney knowledge how to flow with it, self-joy is okay thing, how be more kind, and telling her guys suck but don't forget to swallow and Courtney punches his chest a bit roughly!

Then both getting in trouble because Courtney helped him plan something wonderful for miniature party only for themselves with Katie, Sadie, Tyler, Lindsay, Izzy, and Dj because they're only ones that said it was possible and good idea but someone got jealous and ratted them out aka Duncan and Bridgette.

They call themselves the BURNT CHICKEN NUGGETS aka Cougeoff, Geney, Geney, and Ceoff

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

OFMD Favs Tag Game

I was tagged by- @likethehotsauce Thank you so much! Always love to rant.

(I'm probably not doing this right, cause I'm just using this a an excuse to look back on the parts of the show itself that I love, but I needed to write an essay today. And it's been months since I went back to my Stede/Ed roots. Before Izzy latched himself onto my brain. So here's some love!)

favorite Ed gif:

Look, I love ep7, especially on rewatches. Most rom-coms run into the trouble of not showing the audience our protagonists bond. They rarely get to relax around each other before the relationship really starts but that's what this episode is.

We've got Ed, who's starting to get comfortable/settled in around Stede. Stede having a fun little adventure, trying to make Ed thinks he's cool. Ed genuinely having a shitty day and finally getting that Stede cares about him. It's really fucking sweet. This gif just wraps that all up in a cute ball. The fit? Amazing. The lil hop? Adorable. Edward essentially telling everyone to shut up and just let Stede have his fun? Cute pre-boyfriend moment. He's a goofball, and this episode needs more love on here.

favorite Stede gif:

Yeah, yeah. Ed's here. But the scene is focusing on Stede and resolving an arc (my favorite thing), so it counts! Stede has issues feeling accepted. He has gone without a 'crew' for so long that he's unapologetically who he is. He already feels along, why the fuck would he care about dressing up and being a bit too 'feminine'? They already make fun of him for not being enough, he already feels along. Why wouldn't he try to be happy not giving a shit about what they think?

So, in ep 10, we see a Stede who feels accepted into a family. He gets to get up there with a silly little in-joke and have people put their trust in him. Are they doing this to get back at the Navy? Yeah. But Stede build himself a place where he feels like he can be accepted and welcomed. I don't always see Stede in the best light. Accountability is a huge thing for me, and S2 better include this guy fessing up for the hurt he's caused. But this scene always makes me smile when I think about it.

favorite Ed outfit:

:). I know what I'm about. I'm simple, and if you've been here a while, you already know. We get to see Edward proudly rocking Stede's lil handkerchief. The tummy is great, and so is seeing his tattoos. I always love a fingerless glove, and his jewelry is on point. Yes, I love Ed in soft fabrics. Especially the loose poet shirt moment in ep 4. But in my head, this is Ed being a frat guy and trying to seduce Stede. 'Usually the exposed skin and touching works :('. Cause this poor guy has had to seduce assholes like Jack, and isn't comfortable with opening up yet. Ed's also just having fun exposing Stede to 'pirate' things which is a favorite trope of mine.

favorite Stede outfit:

Unironically? All of them.

Next question.

OKAY. FINE. IF I HAVE TO CHOOSE-

Gender. Whole lotta gender right here. I'm a sucker for loose fabric and BOY.

Open Shirt? Yes. Hideously colored mustard robe that works because it's a part of the whole 'look'. Achieved. Rings? Amazing. Fluffy shirt that's a button-up? Yep, you could totally reveal more chest.

FLUFFY SLEVES!!!! AHHH. But seriously, most of his outfits are amazing. I chose like five different Gifs-before settling on this for the lace sleeves.

favorite Blackbonnet song:

Oh boy! Buckle up.

(I have 2 playlists with these 2 with around 40 total hours of music on Spotify from the 4 months post ep10 airing where I only read these two. So any answer I give is going to )

Stede POV specific('A Stede Soundtrack' on spotify)- Five Bells- CoCo and The Butterfields. Yes, I have better ones, but the general vibe is just happy, light, and in love. Excited for the future. (If this song is actually about something else, keep me innocent). With instrumentals, and dancing, and fucking joy. I love this song. 2.) Being 'May It Last'- The Avett Brothers if Folk music isn't your thing. 3.) 'The Bitch is Back'-Elton John For bitchy Stede. The best flavor.

Edward POV specific ('Blackbeard's Breakup' on Spotify)- Desperately in love Ed? 'honey'-Coastal Club. yes, I am a pet name Edward truther. Also a song about being excited by life and by love. If it's Stede Hating, Kraken era? 'Money, Money, Money'-ABBA. Yes, I know Edward is now the breadwinner, but it's very Him.

Gentlebeard. Sad era- 'Last Request'- Paolo Nutini. Oh shit, I have a crush era- 'I think I love you'-Specifically the Tenacious D cover. It's Jack Black, how can you hate it? Desperately in love- 'An Old Fashioned Love Song'-Paul Williams. This song has been in my Spotify top 100 for years. I fucking love it.

favorite OFMD fic trope:

HAHA! You didn't specify the ship, so I get to bring up Izzy.

SteddyHands specific- Stede&Ed working together/competing for Izzy to choose them first. Especially if Ed&Stede already know that Izzy has a crush on them but Izzy doesn't. I don't read this ship too much anymore, but this always made me happy.

Izzy Specific-Post S1 Izzy hunting down Stede, hijinks ensuing. Izzy gets injured, and this starts his character jornery into a mentally healthier person. Him getting loved tbh. Aslo, Izzy getting described as short. He's really not that much shorter than most of the crew. I just love when it's brought up.

Long fic- Anything character based, post S2 'reunion'. Essentially skipping how they all resolved S1 and skips to the fun parts. Love Izzy learning/starting to care for the crew. If reading a fic kinda feels like going to therapy, you're doing it right. Huge shoutout to anyone who has tried to break down how Izzy's brain works for angst fic. Also, Ed and Stede being held accountable for some of their more shitty actions.

Short Fic- You know what, I'll say it. I like soulmate (and adjacent) AUs. Love me a Hanahaki, or similar curses. If there's a story reason two characters are dubiously forced to admit their feelings, I'm there. I love that 'what if they don't like me' rant even though its destined, I love the holding yourself back to keep another person happy shit. Yes, irl, that'd be fucked. But since it's a short fic, it doesn't need to worry about all that.

Trope Tropes- Buttons being a Disney princess around animals. Lucius living in the walls. Izzy swears every other sentence. Any media of the Revenge (music, stories) being super out of time period. Two characters are falling in love, but are the last people to realize it. Stede being a pirate parent.

Ed’s hair or Stede’s hair:

I agree with what likethehotsauce said. Both fit the character really well. I can't imagine Stede or Ed suddenly shaving their head. It's a part of who they are.

If this is about me wanting their hair? I'm choosing Ed's. I've had Stede length hair for the past 2 years, and miss braiding my hair. Also, his hair looks soft as shit. Good to run your fingers through, etc.

longest gap between rewatches:

July 2022-January 2023. I watched it like 13 times post ep 10 aired, then immediately jumped into fan content. I'm a huge 'character' person when consuming media, so I generally enjoy doing that vs rewatching the show itself again.

Lucius is Hiding in the Ship vs. Lucius is Dead and a Ghost:

No corpse= Not dead. Once Ed and Stede reunite I don't think Ed would be able to forgive himself if he actually killed him. Lucius was saved by someone on the ship and hidden away. I do think Lucius will be discovered before the captains reunite. As much as I love ghosts, our guy is safe. Fearing for his life, but safe.

favorite Revenge crew member: OG Revenge-Frenchie or Buttons. If y'all haven't written him in your fics, including Buttons. He's so much fun to make the 'Cassandra' of your work! Let him be ominous and all-knowing, it's a great time! Frenchie because I'm always up for a bard, and he's a character that has so much potential. From being a bard to an 'assassin in training' with Izzy & Jim. They're fun to throw in!

Again, many thanks to @likethehotsauce! I would like to tag — absolutely zero pressure!!! I know most of you are mostly into Izzy, and I love hearing harsh opinions about Ed&Stede or general thoughts on the show looking back, after a year. @ivegotnonameidea @dianetastesmetal @gydima @downinthehull @treesofgreen @ladyrenity

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Enough, Always: Izzy

CW: Newly adult child of whumper and whumpee, whumper in prison, references to romantic/intimate whump, referenced child emotional abuse, verbal abuse, brief gendered appearance insults with single line of brief homophobia at end, plus final crowning moment of badass for Izzy.

Izzy’s mother Savannah Marcoset has been locked in prison on a life sentence without parole for eleven years for abducting Izzy’s father Jax, keeping him captive, and forcing him into a horrifying facsimile of domestic bliss - and Izzy last saw her in person fourteen years ago, when her father escaped with her and her infant brother in one desperate final bid for freedom.

Newly eighteen and feeling the need for some kind of closure in one of the foundational aspects of her identity, Izzy decides to visit America - and pay a visit to her incarcerated mother. 

During the visit, she learns that Savvie Marcoset, in the end, couldn’t change - but Izzy fucking Gallagher did.

For the first time with her mother, Izzy finds her voice.

Jax Gallagher (referenced) belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission.

---

“Is this how you dress now?” Her mother’s voice is sharp-edged and still familiar, even fourteen years since Izzy last spoke to her face to face. It’s funny, how she barely remembered it, but as soon as she hears it, her heart starts to race, and it’s the feeling of her heart beating wings inside her chest. It’s the way other people might remember the sense of a warm hand to forehead, checking for illness, or laughter, or praise.

It’s a voice like a fever, a rush of chill down her spine and through her arms and thighs. Is it familiar from real memories, or because Izzy has heard it in interviews and documentaries and recordings, during her nights spent researching the woman who makes up half her genetics and absolutely none of her life?

She almost gets up and leaves right then. 

Almost. 

But Izzy Gallagher fought for this trip, had declared herself able and willing to do this, had more importantly convinced her father she needed to do this. She can’t just give up because it didn’t start well.

Even if he wouldn’t judge her, or at least he wouldn’t show it, Izzy Gallagher sets her shoulders and declares herself her father’s stubborn strong daughter, and not her mother’s weak and frightened one.

She steels herself against the instinctive uncertainty, the rush of anxious shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have tried. Instead, she gives her mother a faint smile as a plastic-and-metal chair is pulled out and she sits down across the small round table, just enough space there isn’t any danger of accidental - or, hopefully, purposeful - touch. 

The walls are beige, the top of the table is a wood so pale it might as well be. There are bars on the window that lets in a pale and faded winter sun. There are some others, nearby, people younger or older than she sitting at other round tables, seeing mothers, wives, aunts, sisters. Izzy wonders if all of them are scared, or if none of them are. If it’s only her who has to remember how to breathe, in her mother’s presence.

She can do this. She told him she could do this.

“Um.” Izzy looks down at herself - just a band shirt and faded jeans worn with holes, her still-knobby knees showing through, the boots a birthday gift from Nana she’d thought would help her crunch through the grayish snow in the parking lot, a light hooded sweater over it all - and then up again. Her mother’s eyes are still wide-set in her face, which is less rounded as time has passed. 

Those eyes are still overbright, and very blue.

It’s been so long since Savannah Marcoset saw her eldest child, and Izzy can’t ever remember having been the focus of her mother’s all-consuming interest before. It feels like standing in the eye of a storm, where everything is still but the air carries weight, electricity, and threat. 

“Mostly,” Izzy says, finally. “Mostly this is how I dress. I mean, I couldn’t wear gray, could I? They wouldn’t let me leave.” She tries to sound lighthearted, then winces. Bad joke.

Her mother, in what looks almost like flat gray scrubs, with a high-cut V-neck and a waist without a drawstring, smiles back, apparently unoffended. There’s a shift - subtle as a cat moving onto its back paws in grass, eyes focused on a nearby bird. Izzy has always been sensitive to changes in the tension of a room, and her own eyes - hazel leaning towards brown, her father’s eyes through and through - move to a nearby guard, reassuring herself with his presence.

Savannah Marcoset is firmly locked in prison for life, with handcuffs and ankle-cuffs that ensure she can’t make herself a threat here, and still the soft nearly-buzzed hair at the back of Izzy’s neck stands up, and she feels like she is being inspected, a bit of bacteria in some scientist’s microscope.

“I had hoped for a little more color, is all,” Her mother says, tilting her head to the side, giving an impish little smile. “As you can imagine, there isn’t exactly a surplus of art here. You look lovely, Isabella.”

Izzy swallows against a lump in her throat. Absurdly, she feels outnumbered, one-to-one. “I, yeah. Thanks.” She tries for a responding smile, maybe half-successful at it. “You have-... you have art classes here, I read.”

“You read up on me.” Her mother’s expression changes a little, opens up. She sits up a little straighter, then, and there’s a flash of still-white teeth in her smile, now. “You know about me. I would have thought you wouldn’t be allowed to know a thing.”

“I’m, um.” Izzy’s hands fold in her lap, and she rubs over the shredded white threads along a hole that’s worn over one thigh, the softness of a patch of fabric she’d sewn herself beneath. “I’m eighteen now, so. I get to pick what I know, more or less.”

“You’re eighteen?” Her mother’s surprise is genuine, and she glances sideways at the clock as though it will become a calendar, back to Izzy. “When did that happen?”

Why that question hurts, she doesn’t know - but it does. It’s not like Savannah Marcoset has anything to do here but remember, and yet-... she didn’t.

“About three weeks ago, actually,” Izzy says, and hears herself sounding embarrassed, like she should have not grown up at all, if that wasn’t what Savvie wanted, or expected. Like the turn of the Earth is her fault, something she did on purpose just to spite Savvie by stealing time. 

“Oh. Well.” Savvie folds her hands with a soft rattle as the cuffs knock into the shiny, sealed tabletop. She leans over, and Izzy can see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, now, the hint of them around her lips. Her jawline seems stronger, more carved, she is a statue version of a parent that Izzy remembers as a kind of terrifying whirlwind. Her hair is less overwhelming, the deep brown graying at the temples, pulled back simply against the nape of her neck. It isn’t so long, as it once was. Savvie pauses, waits for Izzy to look her in the eyes. “Happy birthday, Isabella.”

The name is wrong - it’s always been wrong - but Izzy smiles, anyway. “Thanks. Eighteen is a bit weird, it doesn’t feel any different than seventeen did, but-”

“My no-contact orders were signed here, in the US,” Savvie says, interrupting her, thinking this through. “So you, what, had to be eighteen to come see me? Have you wanted to before?” She leans forward, and Izzy leans back, feeling her back press into the chair behind her, letting her right hand drop to rub at the seam of her jeans on the outside of one thigh. Her heart beats harder. “Did he keep you from seeing me?”

He.

“No,” Izzy says, and her voice is thin at first, but she clears her throat and the second try is stronger. “No, he didn’t. He would have, if I’d have wanted to, before. I just didn’t ‘til now. We’re, um-... we’re doing an American holiday, more or less.”

Shit. She shouldn’t have said-

“‘We’?” Savvie’s expression brightens, with real interest now. Her eyes pin Izzy like a butterfly to a display case, jam tiny needles through her wings, hold her fast. “He’s here? Jax is here?”

“He’s not,” Izzy lies, smooth as silk, without hesitating. She’d planned for this question, prepared for this. She’d sat up til two in the morning prepping for the ways her mother might try to talk about her father, and more importantly, the ways that Izzy wouldn’t give her what she wanted. She’d just been hoping to hide it better for longer. “He didn’t come with m-me here. It’s just me, Mom, and some friends.”

Savvie clicks her tongue against her teeth. “He didn’t think I was too dangerous, for you to speak to?”

She can’t help her slight, sardonic laugh at that. “You’re in prison, Mom.” It feels weird, to hear herself say Mom out loud, as though that was ever what Savvie had been. She was four the last time she said Mommy to Savvie’s face, and even then it had been an apology Izzy can barely remember now, her own sense of a small voice saying, I’m sorry, Mommy, I won’t do it anymore, but she can’t remember what she’d done to get in trouble.

Breathe, probably.

“You’re in prison,” She repeats, and her heartbeat settles a little, reassuring herself with the words spoken out loud, made real. “You’re the least dangerous you’ve ever been, to us.”

Savvie sits back, less pleased now. “I was never dangerous. Did he tell you I was dangerous to you? I never was. That was a lie he made up, so they would help take you and your brother away from me. I only ever wanted us to be a family, Isabella.”

“Mom.” Izzy’s voice wavers, and Savvie might smile a little at the sound, but if she does, it’s because she sees the wrong reason for the waver, or… maybe she enjoys the annoyance, the anger, as much as she would fear. “We both know that’s not true, none of that is true.”

“I wanted a family,” Savvie says, in a low voice, not quite a whisper. Regretful, mournful. She trails a fingernail along the top of the table, and Izzy tenses at the scrape of it. Barely audible but it grates on her nerves nonetheless. She swallows, presses her lips together, tries not to watch it move.

Fails.

Savvie’s nails aren’t painted - in Izzy’s blurry remaining memories of her, Savvie’s nails are always painted colors - but they shine, perfectly filed edges moving, catching a hint of light. 

“Your dad,” Savvie says, in that same mournful, grieving tone, “didn’t want you at all. Did you know that? He never did. He hated the very idea of you, and your brother. He thinks I don't know that he cried over the concept of you. No… you were never wanted by anyone but me, until he realized he could steal you to hurt me. He could always be cold that way. He took you and hoped I would-”

“Stop.” Izzy struggles to say it. Even now, with therapy a constant foundation of her life and a stronger one than her mother’s terrifying rage, it’s hard to make herself say the word. She has to fight to make it audible, but it’s still clearly surprising - Savvie goes silent, watching her with those unnerving wide blue eyes. “Please-... stop. I, I know how he felt. You can’t-... you can’t rewrite history, Mom. I know… I know how it was, or I know enough.”

“It’s the truth, Isabella.” Her mother’s expression is so earnestly sincere. Izzy licks at her lips, suddenly dry and chapped, and thinks that if there were a lie-detector test, her mother would pass it, stone-cold. No way to tell she didn’t believe her own words. She might, actually, believe the story as it leaves her mouth, believe it so utterly she can lie without even knowing she’s doing it. “That’s all I ever wanted to do, is have the chance to tell you the truth. But he got that no-contact order and made sure you would only ever know how he saw it.” Savvie smiles with wistful regret, every inch the mother mourning her lost children. 

Izzy knows better. 

Jamie, her little brother, fifteen and with no memory of his mother at all, might fall for this. She's a stranger to him. But Izzy remembers the hours locked alone in the dark, and the sound of her father screaming in pain. 

She swallows trying not to think too much about that memory. “It’s not about-... there aren’t two sides, Mom. This isn't like any other divorce. You held him prisoner.” She’s falling into a trap, and she can feel it but she can’t stop herself. Her mother hasn’t tried to so much as reach for her - it wouldn’t be allowed, the guard would step forward if she did - but Izzy still feels like she has been pinned, claws sliding into her shoulders and a heavy weight holding her to her seat. A bird that didn’t see the threat in time to take flight. "You-... held us all-"

“Well, now he’s made sure I’m a prisoner, hasn’t he? Must be nice, to pin all your problems on the Big Bad Witch in prison who can no longer defend herself. But, of course, everything is always my fault.” Savvie shrugs as she cuts Izzy off, almost idly. 

"Mom, he has-..." Izzy feels unmoored. Drifting, like this can't be real, this conversation. This can't be real. "You abducted him, you-"

"Everyone has problems, sweetie." Savvie's head tilts a little more, eyes moving over Izzy’s face with an awful, palpable weight. “Don't try to make it a competition." Something gentles, then. The hard planes of her mother's face soften. "You know, you look like him.”

Izzy warms, a little, at that. She shouldn't and she knows it, but still, she does. She smiles, slightly lopsided, and raises one hand to touch the silver rings in the shell of her left ear, two of them right next to each other, one for Jax and one for her brother Jamie. “I hope so,” she admits. “I’ve always wanted to.”

The moment of gentleness in her mother’s expression slips away, replaced by a brittle frigid chill that washes over Izzy, a wave that breaks against her. 

Oh, no. I cared more about him than her. Even now, fourteen years on, she still shivers in an old fear.

“He is handsome,” Savvie says, tapping her fingernails again, scraping them along the table. The sound is starting to grate on Izzy’s nerves. “He always was, even in the earliest days. He never knew it, I don’t think. I tried to tell him.”

He didn’t want to hear it from you.

“He hears it enough now,” Izzy says, and her heart goes cold with dread as she realizes she’s nearly given away something much, much worse to say than accidentally admitting her dad came on the trip with her.

Damn it, Izzy, don't let her know about Kieran. 

Savvie doesn’t seem to notice the clue. She just keeps tapping. “Do you play music, Isabella? I wondered if either of you would have talent, in the end.”

It’s an abrupt change of subject, and Izzy doesn’t see it for the trap it is. 

“I play-... um. I can play some things,” Izzy hedges, shifting uncomfortably from the simple truth that she can play almost anything, if she hears it a couple of times, remembers note-for-note the songs on the radio or the forbidden ones she still hides in playlists buried in playlists, the soft strains of violin that draw her but she would never admit to. “I’m-... in a band, actually.”

Savvie’s eyes are back on hers, then, that unnerving total focus. “What do you play in that band? Is it a real band, or just noise?”

Izzy rubs at the back of her neck, flushing in embarrassment. “Um. I guess it’s about fifty-fifty noise and real. I play bass guitar, actually.” 

She’d read somewhere that bass guitar was easy, and figured if she played that, no one would realize the music was inherent in her, demanding expression. She could say she wanted to be in the band because of her father, who had been in one once upon a time, too. She wouldn’t have to admit that the music didn’t come from Jax, but from Savvie’s blood in her veins. She could pretend, with the bass guitar, to be worse at it than she really was without ruining the songs. 

Her mother snorts, derisive. “Anyone can play that,” She says, waving one hand in dismissal - but the other has to come with it, and it’s a reminder that, no matter how Izzy feels in the moment, there is no real danger here. “That hardly counts. Can you play a real instrument?”

“It is a real instrument.”

“Hardly.” Savvie looks disappointed, and it’s weird - she hasn’t seen her face-to-face since she was four, and she hasn’t said a word to her in that time, and still… the disappointment hurts, a little. “You weren’t allowed to do music, were you? He forbade you, because of me.”

“No, he absolutely didn’t.” It’s Izzy’s turn to lean forward, her hands closing into fists in her lap now, an old habit from childhood she’s mostly broken but it comes back, now, as her irritation rises in eternal defense of Jax. “He’s always supported whatever I wanted to do-”

“Because he doesn’t care enough to make sure you’re doing something worthwhile.” Her mother’s sigh cracks open a dark door inside her, it’s familiar even to her fading memories. It’s a sigh she knows from birth. Before Izzy can respond again, she changes the subject, deft as a dancer. “What are you doing for school, then? Are you going to go to college?”

Izzy blinks, thrown off track. “Um. Yes, I do plan on it, I’ll be going to university next autumn-”

“You’ve got the accent, too. Guess they’ve painted over everything they didn’t like, didn’t they?”

“Wh-what?” Her heart stops as her mother’s voice is sharp again. Her fists tighten, pressing down into her thighs until they nearly ache. “What’d you-”

“You look like him, dress like the dime-store version of him - honestly, Isabella, look at you, you look… grimy. You even talk like him. What is this, trying to look like the daughter he might have actually wanted? Is that it?”

Izzy swallows, sitting back again, thumping into the back of the chair. Someone nearby is crying, soft, muffled sobs. Someone else is whispering, in vicious intensity, in fury. The guards are impassive. There’s no sign they even hear Savvie speaking at all. “It’s just who I am-”

“No, it isn’t. I saw your name, Isabella Gallagher. You were born a Marcoset, but he was happy when he changed it, wasn’t he?” Savvie’s eyes won’t let her look away. She feels completely captured, the center of Savannah Marcoset’s world, the most terrifying place on Earth, somewhere Izzy has never once been. “I asked you a question, Isabella. He was happy to have you change your name, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.” She’s not sure why she answers. The anxious shivering inside of her is stronger than it should be. Her voice is a whisper, a rush of air with only a hint of sound. “But it was-... my idea-”

“I’m sure he let you think that. I feel sorry for you, you know. I really do. He must care for James so much more than he does you, don’t you think? My beautiful son wasn’t old enough to even speak to me, but you… you’re a reminder, aren’t you? Oh…" Savvie's lips purse, in a sort of smug smile. "Oh, you are. God, what torture it must be for him to be around you."

She’s supposed to be stupid. Izzy has watched all the documentaries that mention the case, she read an awful unauthorized true crime book she found in a thrift shop once that just had a little teensy chapter on Savvie buried between other femme fatales. She’s done her research, to understand the woman she was going to meet as best she could.

Savannah Marcoset is supposed to be… well, stupid.

Izzy wasn’t prepared for cunning not being the same thing as smart. And she didn’t think through what eleven years in prison, with almost nothing to do but think, and no chance of leaving ever for the rest of her life, might do to hone her mother’s ability to wound. That Savvie might have taken a blunt instrument and whittled it into a blade.

“I-I’m not-”

“You are.” Savvie hums, and the tapping of her nails is going to drive Izzy up the fucking wall. “Even just being alive, you are. And your hair, well…” Savvie’s eyes go up to Izzy’s hair, the same deep chocolate brown as Savannah’s own, a shock of curly brown that falls over her forehead and against one side, nearly shaved on the other side and along the back. “You can cut it, but it’s still my hair. You walk around a living reminder of what he stole from me, just to hurt me, what he didn’t even want. You were never wanted, Isabella. That’s why your birth is part of my crimes, don’t you think? You and James both. You’re a crime I committed against him, right?”

“A crime-” Her voice cracks, but if she sounds uncertain, it’s only her nerves, her inability to stand up for herself sometimes. It’s not fear. She is not afraid of this woman, and she doesn’t believe her. 

Okay, a little afraid.

But she doesn’t believe her, she doesn’t. She knows better, because she knows how hard her father has worked to build the life around her, the one she’s living now. She knows how many times he has held her after nightmares - hers and his both. She knows he could have left her and James behind, but he didn’t.

Every chance he had to set them down, he chose to hold them instead. 

Most of all, she knows the way her father has carefully, day by day and year by year, taught her that love is not the same thing as danger.

Her shoulders square, and her back straightens. “You keep saying that, b-but… there’s a difference between not wanting someone who will be hurt to, to be there to be hurt, and caring about someone. There’s-... you can’t see the difference, is all, but I can. I know-” She swallows. “I know how it looks like when he loves someone, and you don’t.”

“Hm.” Savvie’s fascination flags, a little, at that. Her stare is unnerving, unblinking, but Izzy feels the anger coming off of her, hidden and still plain as day. “Changing the subject, I see. So much of you is just a walking reminder. You’re just a tragedy on two legs, aren’t you, Isabella?”

Part of Izzy thinks wryly, how long ago did you think of that and how long have you been waiting for someone to say it to? but the rest of her can’t find the breath to say it out loud. “You can’t make my life worse than it is, Mom. Not anymore. I didn’t come h-here for this, I came here for-”

I came here to see if you could see me, even now, or only a reflection of what you can’t have. I guess I have my answer. 

Savvie hasn’t stopped talking. “What of you is even yourself, Isabella? Are you just… trying not to be me? Do you not want him to think of me?” Her smile widens. Flash of teeth. For a second, just one brief second, Izzy sees fangs. “Oh, sweetie. You can’t ever change that, no matter what you do. I was important. I ruined his life, remember? There was a whole court case about it. Two, really. It’s why I’m here. Because I’m the Big Bad Wolf, or so I’m told.” She snorts. “You should have worn red, Isabella. Or something.”

“Or something,” Izzy whispers, looking down at her hands, at her knuckles gone white, her fists. The round clock is ticking on the wall, and it’s only an hour. She told herself she could last for an hour, when she walked in here. She told herself she could make it, and she would.

“Isabella-”

“You didn’t, by the way.” Where the words come from, she’s not sure. But they come out sure, and strong. "You didn't ruin his life. It’s better, it’s good.”

“Oh? Is it?” Savvie feigns disinterest, but she’s so bright and sparkling, pulling Izzy in. “What about it is so good, Isabella? What does my husband do, in his whole new life without me? What can he do? Show me how I’m wrong.” Savvie’s presence is heavy, it takes up too much space, feels like Izzy is pressed against the wall, suffocating. How did they live like this, surrounded by her on all sides, all the time? How had Jax ever survived so long alone with her? 

Her voice trembles more than she wants it to when she speaks. “What?”

“You say I’m wrong - about him, about you.” Savvie is a shark, and Izzy is blood in the water. She seems bigger, suddenly, or maybe Izzy is smaller. Younger. Has too much hair for her age and a frilly dress she hates and she has to be good, and so quiet, and do exactly what she is told or her father will be hurt, and it will be her fault, because it’s always, always her fault-

Savvie’s voice is not quite a whisper. “Tell me, Isabella, all these things I am so wrong about. Even if you believe his side of the story, he’s all I thought about, the only thing that mattered, right? So I know him better than anyone else, don’t I? And you’re mine. I know everything about you, without even trying."

“You don’t-... know anything about me.” Izzy knows she’s getting quieter, and knows as she retreats, her mother presses forward, thrilled to play a game she hasn’t played in… in eleven years, more or less. “And you don’t know a single thing about him.”

“I know every fucking scar on his body.” Izzy’s stomach flips, but Savvie is leaning forward again, and the blue of her eyes is overtaking everything else around them. Plain beige walls and plain table and plain bars over plain windows can’t compete. The gray of everyone’s prison outfits, her own black-and-slightly-less-black, none of it is a good enough distraction, enough to tear her away. “That’s what I know. You’re sweet, Isabella, and it’s lovely of you to try and be the dutiful little daughter all over again. But I know things you don’t, I always have. I know I still do. He hasn’t told you half of it, and he won’t.” 

It’s a strike, a feint and then a jab, and if this were a real fight Izzy would be ready for it, but words are so much harder to defend against. “I was a little kid, I didn’t need to know it, I didn’t want to. I don’t need to know-”

“You had colic, for a month or so.” Savvie cuts her off, raising her voice a little. One of the guards behind her shifts, might look at them from behind the dark of his glasses at the volume. “When you were little. Cried like a banshee, day and night, no reason. I could hear you in my practice room. Still think you know everything?”

“This isn’t-... I don’t know why you’re telling me this."

“I had my responsibilities, sweetie. I mean, I was a new mother, but I was still a person. I didn’t need to change all that much, really. Jax spent half his time trying to keep me away from you, your own mother, and the other half trying to shut you up.”

“You could be-... he said you were up-upset, sometimes, um, you c-could be-”

“Violent? Never. I was tired, maybe - we both were. Jax has never slept well."

Because of you.

"Oh, here we go. One of my favorites of his little insults… does he say I was unstable? I’m sure I’ve heard it all. Probably in court, no less, he very much enjoyed getting on stage to put on his little show. Taking the jury around and around in circles acting like I never did anything kind for you.” Her eyes move back to Izzy’s hair, shaking her head slightly, one lip curling upward in a sneer. “I certainly would have been kind enough not to let you make yourself look like that.”

“Mom-”

“Shut up, Isabella. I am talking to you, and I am not done yet.”

Izzy’s mouth snaps shut, teeth clicking together, her nails digging into her palms. Her eyes flicker to the guard, trying to catch him, but no, she’s going to last the whole hour, she promised herself she could do it, she promised. 

Besides, it's… sort of harder than she thought, to look away when Savvie is talking.

“We ended up getting my, well, Isaac’s servant Hannah to help with you. Because of the colic. He asked for her, really. I was prepared to bring in someone else, but Jax had his demands, and when he really wanted something, well.” She shrugs, calmly, casually. She is talking about a reality that never existed, moving all the pieces around until the past suits her and not the court documents. Until her story is the one circling Izzy’s head, and not the story she knows has to actually be true. “How could I refuse?”

“He asked-... but when he wanted-”

“What did I just say?”

“Mom, I need to-”

“Let. Me. Finish.”

“N-No, I don’t want to hear this-”

“You know what he started to do? Once we had Hannah around, a few days a week? When the steward began to come as well? Do you know what the number one change your father made to his life was, once that happened?”

“Mom, please. Please don’t do this.” Her voice is nearly gone, and Savvie leaps.

“He started getting the hell away from you.” Savvie throws her head back and laughs, loud enough to make people look over at them. Izzy wonders, face burning in embarrassment, what they see. Do they know who Savvie is? Is she really famous, here, like Izzy thinks she is? Does everyone know they’re watching Savannah Marcoset push her daughter under the water and watch her struggle to breathe?

But… the words hurt. He got the hell away from you. “He did-... he did what?”

“Fucking escaped you. He thinks I didn’t notice. Everyone always thinks I don’t notice, didn’t know things. Your father - my Jax - thinks I’m a fucking idiot, I get that now. But I saw that, him handing you off to Hannah or the steward and get as far away from you as he could without-” Savvie lifts her hands to tap at the side of her neck with a slight, almost dreamy smile. “Everyone says I’m the bad mom, the bad parent, but I’m not the only one who shoved you aside every chance I got.” Savvie hums, almost idly. She’s playing, Izzy thinks dimly. Cat with a ball of yarn. Somehow the words hurt a little less when the realization comes. “That’s the thing, though, isn’t it, Bella-”

“Izzy,” She whispers, but her mother doesn’t hear her, or doesn’t care.

“You know you are, fundamentally, his fucking nightmare. Your father sat up there before judge and jury and told everyone that I only had you so I could control him just a little bit more. Did you see that, in the documentaries you watched? Did you hear about it? Did he tell you that you only existed to be a weapon, that you're just a pretty little tool in my toolbox?"

She doesn’t want to answer any of those questions, and keeps her eyes down, focuses on the knuckles of her hands. How they sit over her lap so nicely, if you ignore that they are fists. Her face still burns bright red, and her eyes are hot with tears she blinks rapidly away before her mother can see them fall.

“He’ll say I didn’t love you.” Savvie’s expression is chilled, disdainful. “But your father had whole days he could barely stand to touch you. He had days he couldn’t even look at you. You ran around after him begging for, what, for someone to pat you on the head and say you were good just as you are? No wonder he couldn’t give you that.”

“He did give me that, over and over-... how you’re saying it isn’t how it happened, you’re not remembering what actually happened, Mom-”

“I think, deep down, you know it’s because no matter what you do with your hair, or your clothes, he is always going to look at you and see me. That’s the fear, isn’t it? That you're me, or you will be. That’s why you’re here, why you flew all the way across the fucking Atlantic to pay Mommy a visit. You wanted to see how much of you is me. How much of me is in you. How much of a fuck he can even give, in the end, for my daughter." She laughs again, and Izzy flinches. "He must hate you, deep down, and part of you knows it. Am I right?”

Izzy can’t answer at first, and her mother clicks her tongue, falsely sympathetic.

“Oh, sweetie. It’s okay. I can’t do a fucking thing to you, or him, or anyone now. But I’m glad you came to see me. I'm glad to see that you're just the same, easy to break as ever. You'll end up with exactly the love you deserve, Bella. Won't you?"

Izzy's eyes are blurred, struggling to focus. What rises in her isn’t fear, or doubt, or even sadness. It’s anger, the same simmering slow burn that that comes whenever someone tries to push her and her father down, when they have to force their way back up. "N-no-"

"Yes. You'll get what you were born for, one way or another. Don't worry, sweetie. You're not like me at all. You're just… a mirror, and the reflection isn't even a good one." Savvie laughs, cold and cruel, delighting in the pain on her daughter's face. "Here I was worried you’d be angry, but I don’t think you can be. Is that too much like me, too?”

“No, I’m… I get a-angry sometimes, I can… it’s not like that-”

“Not like what? Speak up, Bella. Stop mumbling, you were always a mumbler. Most children shout, you know.”

“Most children don’t get locked in closets if they do.” Izzy is still whispering at the start, but the words come more strongly as she works her way through them, eyelashes heavy with tears she tries to pretend don’t exist. “Most-... most kids can throw a fit without their dad getting hurt, and most kids get to leave the h-house sometimes, and if I-... if he couldn’t-... it was because of you, not because of m-me.” 

“Tell yourself that.”

“I do. I do tell myself that. I only have to tell myself that because of you, and you-... you just wanted to be his whole life and the only thing in it and you’re n-not, and this isn’t even about hurting me, is it? All of this-... telling me about, about him-...”

She can remember it, can’t she? Faint traces remain, of asking for Jax and being told by her Aunt Hannah that he needed some time, of asking and having her Papa Stewart give her a hug instead, of asking and asking and then learning not to ask…

“You aren’t telling me this to hurt me. You’re telling me this to hurt him.” Izzy raises her eyes, aware of the bright red blotches on her cheeks, aware of the tear tracks, aware of her hands in fists and the zinging anger in her that simmers underneath her fear. “You want me to take this out into the-... into the world, back to Dad, and tell him what you said because it’ll hurt him to hear that you said it, and you’ve been in prison for eleven years and missed most of my life and nearly all of my little brother’s - who you haven’t asked me a single fucking question about, by the w-way - and all you can think about, even now, is the… the one who got away from you.”

The balance shifts, some of the glittering brightness fades from Savvie’s eyes, the fascinated sadism seeps out of her expression. “Isabella-”

“Izzy. I’m called Izzy. And you know that, because you’ve known it ever since the trial. And maybe I was-... was hard, for him, when I was a baby and I can’t fix that or make it any better, it’s all already happened and I’ve had to learn not to feel guilty about it since I was four years old, but of the two of you, only one has ever bothered to give any solitary fucks about who I am! I came here to see if you could-... if you could change, or rethink, or even just, just feel something about me, and all you can feel is the parts of me that are him!”

“Isabella-”

“You shut up! You do it, now, and you listen to what I have to say! I was sc-scared, all the time, because of you, not him. He was the one who came to let me out, and he was the one who held me when I was scared, and even if he didn’t want to be near me, he still tried! You don’t-... you don’t get to change the story and make it not what it was, Mom, I know what it was.”

“You know what he told you it was.”

“No. I know what it actually really was. There is no other alternative world where you’re the good guy, or better than he was! Maybe I was a hard baby to l-love, because of whose baby I am, and I-I carry that forever… that I'm not the kid he would've wanted to have... but he tried, and if he didn’t love me at first, at least he tried until he learned how! But… but I know he did. I know he loved me, and Jamie, so much that he did the scariest thing he could imagine by running with us and having to hope we could make it to Grandpa before you could catch us again. I think you don’t know him at all, and you’re going to die in prison still not knowing, and that’s why you’re doing this now. It is killing you that you could lock us up and put that thing on his neck and keep us trapped and you still don’t know any of us at all.”

“I made every single scar-”

“Scars aren’t who someone is! They’re just marks of you being shitty to him! They don’t say who he is now, or how his mind works, or how fucking brilliant he is at being a dad! You know some marks on his skin, but I know who he is when he’s safe, and strong, and happy, and you will never know that man. You won’t ever know what he looks like really in love, and I do, and it is absolutely nothing like he looked around you!"

Her eyes flare. “Bella, what are you talking about, in love? With who? Who would-”

“I came here to see if-... if any part of me really is you, and it’s not, because all the parts of me that matter are from him and Grandpa and Papa Stewart and Nana and my aunties and none of the important bits are yours at all! No one loves you, because you can’t love anyone, but I can, and he can, and Jamie can. You are never ever going to see him again… and I’m going to walk out that door and give him a fucking hug."

She shoves her chair back, making a metallic screech along the floor that makes her mother wince, adrenaline pumping through her veins. It’s a kind of fight, this, she’d been pinned to the mat and fought her way back to standing in the end. 

“I am proud of him, for all he’s done to make an even better life for Jamie and me, and I am proud of him for finding Kieran, after you - and Kie’s a better bonus dad by a million years than you ever were a mom - and… and he’s proud of me. He’s proud of the person I am and not just the person he thought I was supposed to be. That’s more important than, than anything, is that he and I-... we can be proud of each other, and you can’t be proud of anything but yourself.”

Savvie looks startled, now, struggling to regain the surety she’d felt before. She can’t stand or the guard will come, and so she stays seated, and looks up at Izzy, no taller than her father but wiry still. “I think we’re done here,” Savvie says coldly. “You’re clearly too swept up in your father to be worth talking to.”

“Maybe,” Izzy shrugs, shoves her hands in her hoodie pockets, finds the comfortable weight of her phone, switched off for during the visit like the guards had asked. Wonders if her dad, sitting in the rental in the parking lot, has started pacing yet. If he’s watching the clock, waiting for her text to come through, bouncing his foot like he does sometimes. If he’s pretending to read or texting Kieran or if he’s just staring at the squat building that stretches wide on either side, waiting for her to come out. “Did I disappoint you, then? How I am, just me?”

“Oh, sweetie.” Savvie shakes her head, ruefully. Her expression shifts into mournfulness, just a few seconds too late for it to be convincing. “I had high hopes for you. But he ruined you, in the end. Absolutely ruined you.”

“That’s… that’s probably good. I don’t think I’ll come back, Mom. But I might-... I might write a letter.” Why she throws the offer out, she doesn’t know, only… only some part of her will always, always want to keep hoping that this will change.

Savvie’s eyebrows raise. “I might answer it. Can you fix your hair, if you ever come again? And wear something… nicer than this?”

Izzy blinks, rolling her eyes back to look up at her hairline, down to look at her shirt and jeans, and then back to her mother. “Why? Because it’s shorter than you want it to be? Because you don’t like my clothes?”

“Because you look like a lesbian, Isabella.”

Izzy blinks, too thrown to find the words at first, and then she shrugs, rubbing her thumb along the side of her phone in her pocket, her palms aching where her nails had dug in so deeply, over very old scars. She can’t quite help her smile. “Oh. Well, fuck, Mom, my girlfriend will be shocked when she hears you feel that way.”

“Your what?”

Izzy turns and walks away, past the other tables with crying or hurting people, or people who look like they want very badly to hug and can’t, and she doesn’t look back.

The door clangs open and slams shut behind her, the hallway stretching out ahead, and she walks down two sets of stairs and around a corner before she sees the big heavy doors that lead out into the world, the huge parking lot warmed by sunlight with no trees to break the glare of it. She gives the guards manning the checkpoint a little wave of one hand, pushing the door open, and moves into the glaring, brilliant light, turning to face the corner where her father has been waiting by the rental.

He’s definitely been pacing.

She smiles and heads towards him, giving him a big wave. He’s moving towards her before her hand is even fully in the air.

If her mother’s words are designed to shatter, her father’s love - starting with his desperate attempts to protect her, his whispered be brave for me, Izzy as they boarded a train, written across every single day of her life - is a foundation too strong to be broken.

Her mother, Izzy thinks, can’t understand love like that.

But Izzy does.

And it's more than enough.

Always.

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

[sassygwaine]

🥫🎀

🥫 - What’s a scene you’ve really enjoyed working on?

oh man!!!

the bumping into each other outside the elevator scene from ttwcc was the first scene i had in my head—the idea that started it all “what if ed was a mechanic in stede’s office building” and originally they were going to literally run into each other..

which is a cheeky little thing i threw in a parallel to the day after the Izzy Interruption.

the original scene was such a fun one to write and the parallel was sooooo satisfying

🎀 - What’s a character you like writing for and why?

obviously i love writing ed because i pretty just slightly augment my own speech patterns for his narration and he’s a fucking funny guy!! (also writing canon ed is fun as hell because he can be a little more extreme than makes sense in the modern au i’m writing)

but i feel the tenderest of emotions when i write stede. he sees and understands so much about the world but fails hard at applying it to himself. writing that incongruity is so fucking fun, and it’s also illuminating in a personal way that’s helping me notice the ways i hold myself to a different standard than the people i love—i love myself, so shouldn’t i want the same ease and joy that i want for the other people i love? shouldn’t i allow myself the comfort and validation that i so eagerly give everybody else?

and also writing in alma’s voice was a blast.

[scarrletmoon]

i feel like one thing people don’t get is that like, it’s not that i hate izzy fans, it’s that being an uncritical izzy fan is usually a symptom of something else i’d rather avoid

like, if you get mad if i call him an antagonist, you’re probably not someone i want to interact with. if you object to me calling him an agent of white supremacy (like literally every other white character, including stede at points) then you’re probably not someone i want to interact with

it’s just hard when i feel like i’m being casted as this evil person the second i try to bring up the issues izzy represents — trying to respect the complexity of his character — and it’s hard to not feel like i’m being punished for criticizing a white character

izzy fans constantly argue that they can’t be racist bc there are POC who’re izzy fans but like. you could make the same argument about non izzy fans. so what’s your fucking point my guy

idk i feel like. i tried so hard to listen to alternate perspectives and i was met with bitter, angry hatred no matter what i said

at this point i’ve straight up lost friends over it which feels. fucking insane

i just want to enjoy a show that used to bring me joy. please don’t take that away from me. please. i just want one scrap of joy. i can’t even share my writing anymore. can i please just like the show as it is

[stabby-pigeon]

OKAY HERE YOU GUYS GO! I'm sorry this took me all day. Got busy with family biz. BUT! it's 11 here so it's still out by today by my standards :D . I think you'll enjoy the ending, er, I hope you will. Please tell me if I should write more and who might yall want me to write for!

.

.

You woke up in Axl's bed, thankfully you were fully clothed. You looked around at the room and remembered you were cleaning it and must've fallen asleep while doing so.

You stood and stretched, looking around once again. There were a couple holes in the wall, assuming it was from either Axl punching it, or something being thrown. They were difficult to cover but you managed.

Walking out of the room, you heard vomiting in the bathroom across the hall. You sighed and stepped in, finding Steven against the toilet bowl, wrenching. Kneeling down beside him, you held his fluffy hair back, he tried to smile at you but failed and ended up with his head back in the bowl.

After helping Steven back to his room, and getting him some aspirin and water, you headed downstairs. Duff was sitting at the table, nursing a mug of coffee next to Axl and Slash, who had his head down. Axl smiled when he saw you,

"Well good morning Y/N/N." He pulled out a chair next to him for you to sit, which you gladly took.

"Good morning Axl, to you as well Duff, Saul." You smirked and took a sip of Duff's coffee.

"Hey! Make your own!" Duff protested, trying to snatch the cup away from you but failing. You held it just out of his reach before he finally gave up and you handed it back to him.

"Saul? How much did you drink last night?" You asked, poking him in the side. He grumbled something incoherent to your ears. You decided not to pester him further.

Axl was looking over the morning newspaper with Duff, and you rested your chin on his shoulder to peek. The headline read something like, "Mötley Crüe Drummer Makes it Official with Dynasty Actress!"

You scoffed, knowing well it wouldn't last very long, rockstar relationships never did. Erin and Axl were a perfect example. Rockstars could not be tamed, simple as that.

"What are you thinking about Y/N/N?" Axl asked, putting his arm over your shoulders.

"Nothing, just how their relationship won't last long. They never really do."

Axl winced slightly at your statement, and you realized you pressed a wound.

"Shit Ax- I'm sorry-"

He cut you off with a wave of the hand, "It's okay doll, you do have a point." He stood up and went to pour himself another cup of coffee. "Refills anyone?" He asked to the table. Duff raised his mug, so did you, signalling you both wanted more. Axl came over with the pot and carefully refilled your cups.

Right when he was about to retract his arm, Saul slid his chair back quickly. He knocked Axl out of balance, causing hot coffee to pour all over you.

You screeched, standing up with lightning speed. You were drenched and burning. Still screeching, you ran to the shower and cranked in the freezing water, allowing it to soothe your angry red skin.

Shortly after that, you heard Axl yelling- presumably at Saul- and then sudden silence, followed by heavy footsteps.

Axl came into the bathroom, "Babe- are you okay?!"

"Yeah.. yeah Axl I'm fine- please tell me you didn't murder Saul." You said, more concerned about him. Then it hit you, "uh Ax? D-did you just call me babe?" You asked. Now your cheeks burned too.

He fell silent momentarily, "I... uhm, yeah? I guess I did huh?" He laughed quietly.

You sat there, also briefly quiet then spoke up again, "Hey Axl? Can you go get me some clean clothes? Please?"

"Oh, yeah sorry, I'll be right back." He said before you heard the door close.

You stepped out and turned the water off. Stripping, then grabbing a towel to wrap around your head and another for your body.

Axl returned with one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers. When he saw you standing there in just a towel, he was thankful he didn't get an erection. You paid no mind to his....subtle reaction.

Thanking him, you closed the door and got changed quickly, then dried your hair. When you finished, you left the bathroom to find the Axl sitting on the couch.

"Where's everyone at Ax?" You ask, fiddling with the hem of the shirt.

He looked up at you and he swore his jaw got dislocated. You looked so adorable to him. Standing there, in his clothes. Not the other boys' or your own but his. He beckoned for you to sit next to him.

"They ran to a party, I figured I'd stay behind to hang out with you." He said, placing his arm around your waist as you sat down.

You didn't know how to respond, "I... Thank you then. You really didn't have to." You leaned against him, inhaling his cologne and cigarette scent. You felt at peace. Until he spoke up.

"So... I've been meaning to talk to you." He began, waiting for your reply.

"Oh? What's up?" You ask quizzically.

"I heard you last night." He said, his gaze never leaving yours.

You froze, your heart pounding and the color from your face drained. You swore he had been asleep when you said that. This was it, your whole world was crumbling. He was going to friendzone you and it would be awkward forever.

"I love you too." He said, his eyes finally dropping to his hands.

"Wh-what?" You were shocked, did you just hear him right?

"I love you too. I mean, is that not what you said last night?" He was now the one who looked fearful. "Was I just dreaming? Oh, fuck I'm sorry Y/N, I didn't mean to out you on the spot-"

You surprised yourself by kissing him, to which he returned gladly. Soon you were both interrupted by a sharp whistle and clapping. You pulled away abruptly.

"DAMN! Took you fuckers long enough!" Duff exclaimed cheerfully.

"Pay up Slash." Izzy held out his hand to Saul who pulled out his wallet, grumbling.

"You three assholes actually made bets?" Axl raised a brow, eyeing the trio. They nodded, Axl rolled his eyes and told them to fuck off.

You chuckled and just kissed him again. Earning more cheers from the rest of the band. You both flipped them off.

Pulling away once more, you looked into his eyes and your heart swelled with joy, knowing that this fiery hothead, was yours.

[fluffyunicornofdanger]

Ain’t No Rockstar

A/N: It felt like this took me forever to write. But I solved all my problems with it and I’ve decided I’m gonna turn it into a series. Maybe give it one or two more parts, we’ll see. If you lovely people could, I would appreciate it if you could send me gifs cause they never want to load on my wifi. I’m changing a bunch of stuff, like my color and profile pics because I felt like it, and my masterlist is gonna get redone. Just wanted to let you guys know about that before it happens. Requests are open, so send ‘em in and I hope you guys enjoy.

*~~*~~*

Masterlist

Slash x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Part 1 of 3 (Maybe)

Summary: Y/n was nothing more than a stressed out makeup artist, at least that all she thought she was. It turns out that she was more than that to one member of the band she was working for. Not only would she have to navigate both his and her feelings, but she would also have to find the courage to seize what she wanted before it disappeared.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Long as hell, language, alcohol, mention of drugs

The smell of hairspray mixed with smoke filled her nostrils as Y/n tested out the bottle. She was going through hairspray like crazy and it didn’t help that half of the bottles wouldn’t work. Pressing the nozzle down, she waited for the sheer mist to appear before turning back to the person sitting in front of her. 

Doing hair and makeup had never been her ideal job. Though, when asked what job that might be, she had no answer. All she knew was what wouldn’t make her happy. She’d learned that running wasn’t for her, neither was waiting tables, and that coffee wasn’t the best drink in the world while yellow didn’t please her eyes. But when she was asked what was for her, what drink was best, and what color pleased her eyes, her mind would go blank. How was she supposed to know the answer to any of those? She’d barely experienced life, She was at the beginning of a journey that had yet to begin.

Y/n sighed as she thought about her “shortcomings”-- as her mother called them. Playing with the auburn hair in front of her, she shaped and teased it to the height she wanted before spraying it with the can in hand. 

Y/n looked at the man sitting in front of her through the mirror, “Is that high enough, Axl?”

Axl didn’t even bother to look, too engrossed by the conversation he was having with his bandmates to care about his hair, and Y/n sighed.  Grabbing the comb off the vanity in front of them, she decided that the hair hadn’t been teased high enough. He would bitch either way: it was either too high or too low. Nevertheless, she began to run the comb against his hair, spraying it as she went along, the toxic mist hitting her in the face as she went along.

Y/n may not have known what she wanted to do with her life, but one thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t want to deal with rock stars. Glancing at the men around her, she reflected on their dark leather jackets, ripped jeans, ‘I-don’t-care’ attitudes, and wasn’t sure how people put up with them. In her mind, they were like crows. Screeching at the most random of times and doing whatever they pleased, not caring who it upset. Never once in her time of getting them ready for shows or photoshoots had she seen them drink something that wasn’t intoxicating, or manage to stay out of trouble. They were the outcasts, the black cats that people were wary about, and with good reason.

Being outcasts didn’t matter to her, though. Not when they were such assholes. If they weren’t busy pissing each other off, they were pissing everyone else off. On multiple occasions, stylists, photographers, and assistants had quit because they could no longer handle the group. Vices stacked against them or not, they weren’t a bunch of innocent schoolboys, anyone who thought so was a fool. 

“I look like a fucking poodle,” Axl grunted, looking up for the first time and wincing at his appearance. Y/n rolled her eyes, combing out some of the hair. “It’s too big! I don’t want to look like I borrowed a wig from Dolly Parton!”

Her jaw set as a fake smile crossed on her lips and she nodded. “Lower then.”

He smiled. “Yes, lower.”

The smile disappeared once she went back to work, trying to comb out his unruly hair. As she brushed the hair back down, she couldn’t help but think about her shortcomings. It wasn’t that she failed to know what brought her joy, it was all the things she wanted to do. The things that were just out of reach. At one time, she wanted to learn how to surf but that idea went away when she took on the job as a makeup artist. All the time that she thought she had vanished once she started applying people’s makeup and styling their hair. Before that, she had wanted to learn to dance. Her mother had been a ballet dancer, performing for large crowds throughout Europe and the US. The dream of dancing, ballet or not, faded when she realized she couldn’t afford the classes. Time and money were never on her side, nor had they ever been. The only dreams she still held firmly to were ‘foolish’ ones, ones that would get a good laugh from her mother, who had seen the world, and the men around her, who didn't care.

Touching up the combed out hair, she finally set the hairspray and comb down. 

“How about that?” she asked, stepping back to look at her work herself.

He shrugged, “It’ll have to do, I guess.”

Axl stood from the chair and walked over to the couch. Sitting down, he snatched a bottle of whiskey off the table in front of him and drank it as though it were water. Whatever nerves he was trying to numb was nothing in comparison to the stress that was bubbling up inside of her. A drink, a nice, long, refreshing drink that would wash away her problems was what she needed. Anything at all, any fix, permanent or not was what she yearned for.

Y/n turned her attention to the supplies in front of her. Axl was the last of the boys she had to do, meaning it was time for her to pack up and leave and she sure as hell wasn’t complaining, even though she wasn’ going that far. . They were on tour and this was just one of the many photo shoots they’d be doing, with a show a few hours later that she’d need to get them ready for. She picked up the combs and brushes, dropping them into a bag for her to sort out later, before shoving eyeliner and powder into her makeup case, not caring if they were in their correct spots. 

“Are you gonna stay for the show tonight?” Saul asked, fiddling with his cigarette in one hand, a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other.

She shook her head in response, not bothering to turn around. 

“Why not? It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

Y/n sighed, shutting the makeup case after checking the counter to make sure she didn’t leave anything out, “I can think of a million other things I’d rather do than watch your show.”

Axl scoffed, earning a snicker from Steve and Duff.

 “Like what? It’s not like you do that much around here. I’m sure organizing your bags-” He gestured to the case she had in front of her. “-will take all night.”

The sarcasm in his voice burned in her ears. Out of all the people in the world, she got stuck doing their makeup...stuck doing the makeup for overgrown children. 

“Whatever,” Y/n  said, grabbing her makeup case and hair bag before walking out of the room. She could also think of a million other places she’d rather be.

When she was out of sight, Saul turned to his friends, disappointment in his eyes, “Why’d you have to do that?”

Confused faces looked back at him. 

“She puts up with our shit all the time, can’t you guys give her a break for once?”

Duff raised a brow. They all were aware of how much they stressed those around them out. Hell, they stressed each other out. But they never cared. As friends, they just brushed it off and when it came to other people, they expected them to do the same. It wasn’t like they were going to change their ways anytime soon. 

“You want us-” The blonde pointed to everyone. “-to give her a break?”

 He spoke each word slowly, trying to make sure his friend understood his question. Making sure he understood the question he had been asked.

Saul nodded, brushing black coils out of his face. “Yeah.”

Just as he was about to ask why the answer hit him like a ton of bricks. Duff drew in a breath, his jaw dropping. He hadn’t thought of it before, never once had it crossed his mind, but looking back now, it made sense, “You like her!”

It was hard for him to deny the accusation when he felt his cheeks burn. Silence wasn’t going to get him anywhere, so he nodded. “Maybe I do.”

Axl shook his head. “And we’re now just hearing about this!?!”

Saul didn’t know what to say. Y/n had a million reasons she wasn’t going to the show and he had a million reasons as to why he’d never shared the information before. He looked down at his hands, avoiding the eyes burning him. 

“It’s not like it matters anyway. She’s clearly disgusted by us.”

The words stung coming off his tongue but they were true. He saw the way she looked at them, saw the glances through the mirror. She wasn’t impressed by them like the millions of other girls were. In her eyes, they were probably nothing more then flies--annoying creatures that only made her job more difficult. They were a pain in the ass and if she didn’t need the money, he knew she would have no problem parting ways with the band. 

“I would be, too. Have you seen how greasy Izzy’s hair gets?” Steven commented from the other side of the room. 

Izzy glared at him while Saul shook his head.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Leaning back, he stared at the ceiling. “She sees us as drug addicts, just like the rest of the population. She wouldn’t want anything to do with any one of us outside of work.”

“You don’t know that. She may be hopped up on drugs like the rest of us,” Duff tried to assure him. 

“Whatever,” he sighed. “Just forget I didn’t mention it.”

*~~*~~*

Y/n heaved a sigh, lifting her makeup case into a compartment on the tour bus. When everything was put away, she took a seat around the tiny table the bus had to offer. Laying her head on the cold surface, she closed her eyes.

Everything was unusually quiet. There were no people bustling around outside, moving equipment and instruments, no fans screaming like the world was ending, no nothing. For once she escaped the madness that normally encased her like a cacoon. Any peace and quiet she could get while on tour she would take. Everyone, besides the band, felt that way when they weren’t around. Silence was a god’s send to those that were busting their ass, trying to make the shows run smoothly. 

In the silence, she could almost picture what her life used to look like. Scenes of stirring a bowl of cake batter with her mother next to her, played behind her eyelids, as  Mozart's “Der Hölle Rache” played softly in the background. Memories like those sweet, gentle, moments like that were ones she missed. Sadly, those were gone, blowing away in the wind, left in their place were rough and wild moments that rushed together, colliding in violent fights. Nothing she would want to remember, let alone look back on during moments of peace.

“Rough day?”

Y/n opened her eyes, lifting her head to see Jessica, one of the sound techs, open the fridge and pull out a water bottle. She shrugged, “No rougher than usual.”

“They’re a lot to handle, though.” Jessica tossed Y/n a water before opening her own. “I’m impressed you’ve lasted this long. The last makeup artist lasted, oh, maybe three weeks.”

Y/n toyed with the water bottle, processing the information. Her third week working for the band was also the week that she had contemplated quitting almost every day. It was just a long enough period of time to know the boys enough but not enough, causing false assumptions. Though many of her assumptions were true, a longer period was needed for her to fully adjust to their wild behavior. That’s probably why the last makeup artist quit, they hadn’t given themselves enough time to get used to the wild and restless. She didn’t think anyone would be able to get used to their behavior, only block it out.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can last, though,” She said with a sigh. “I enjoy what I do, really, but it’s just… I don’t know.” She shook her head, “They frustrate me to no end. Either their hair is too flat, too greasy, or too high. Too this, too that. It doesn’t even matter, they just like to complain.”

Jessica chuckled, a slight smile forming on her lips. “It sounds like you need a drink. Something a little stronger than water.”

“No kidding.”

“Don’t let them get to you, Y/n. As hard as it may seem, you just need to focus on the task at hand, not those that make the task harder. You know what I mean?”

Y/n nodded, opening her water and taking a sip. “Yeah, I get what you mean.”

“Good,” Jessica smiled. “Cause they are clearly stressing you out and stress isn’t good for anyone. Plus, my mother says it causes wrinkles and no one wants those.”

Y/n shook her head, her lips tugging into a smile as Jessica left her in peace. 

Maybe the boys were stressing her out. The thought had never crossed her mind, she was always too focused on making them look perfect to notice. But upon further inspection, it made sense. The overwhelmed, anxious feeling that always lingered in her chest hours after she was finished with her work and the tossing and turning she did at night were dead giveaways to the stress she was under. If she looked in the mirror, she was sure that there would be bags under her eyes, but, lately, she never looked in the mirror to look at herself only the people she was working one. Yet, with the stress she was facing, she hadn’t given it a thought.

Y/n sighed, moving from the table, she crouched next to her bunk and pulled out the guitar case that she stored under it. She placed the case on the table, opening it, and felt her shoulders drop when her eyes met a  dark blue acoustic guitar. Running her fingers over the fretboard, she took a deep breath before pulling it out of the case.

*~~*~~*

Saul ran a hand through his curled hair, ruining the work that had been done to it earlier. Stepping out of the concert hall, he took a deep breath, glad to be outside, to be away from the relentless teasing of his friends. Even though he asked them to forget he mentioned it, they couldn’t do that. It was just too easy to forget something. He sighed and decided to walk around for a bit. Maybe some time away from them would slow his racing heart down. 

That thought became less and less likely as he walked, his brain mulling over his emotions that were running wild. He didn’t just like Y/n, the guitarist felt that he was coming to love her. It was foolish when he knew he didn’t stand a chance, yet the feelings didn’t waver, they stood firm like a hardwood in a rainstorm. 

What a fool he was. 

The boys and him could have any girl they wanted, girls fell into their laps like apples fall from trees, yet he that wasn’t good enough for him. His friends weren’t picky, not giving a thought to their emotions, not letting their feelings eat away at them. They were satisfied with any girl that came their way, Saul wasn’t. He wanted to be, he didn’t want his heart to race at the thought of one person, but that seemed to be what he was stuck with.

Saul pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling one out and lighting it in hopes that it would help calm his heart down. Taking a drag, he tried to focus on the show, the after-party, their next stop, anything to distract him from what was eating him up inside. Nothing was working, nothing was strong enough to deter his mind from the emotions that he felt. He was just about to grab a bottle of vodka from the band’s bus, hoping that it would drown his problems when he heard the faint sound of someone plucking at guitar strings.

Stopping in his tracks, he looked around, trying to pinpoint where the music was coming from. The tune wasn’t that interact, yet it intrigued him, drawing him to it. He started walking in the direction of the intoxicating sound. It was doing a far better job at wiping his mind than anything he had tried. Saul raised a brow when he was lead to the crew bus, he wasn’t sure who he was expecting to be behind the music, but he wouldn’t have guessed a crew member.

Climbing the steps of the bus, he was surprised by the scene in front of. Sitting on the couch was Y/n, a guitar resting in her arms. Saul leaned against the driver’s seat, watching her play the instrument. It was news to him that she knew how to play, but then again, it wasn’t like he’d ever asked. Their conversations had never gone further than how he wanted his hair done and what stage makeup he wanted. It never went further than that, leaving him to wonder what else he didn’t know about her. 

He wondered what her biggest fears were, where she grew up, what her favorite color was. He wanted to know when she learned to play, who taught her, her favorite song. Watching her concentrate on the cords, he wanted to know what made her her. What made her more than some makeup artist. He wanted to know her. 

Y/n shook her head, messing up a cord. It had been ages since the last time she’d played and clearly, she was a little rusty. She looked up from the guitar, going to rub the knot out of her neck when her eyes widened in surprise at the sight in front of her. “Saul.” She cleared her throat. “What are you doing here? Do you guys need me to do touch ups or something?”

He shook his head, hair bouncing about as a smile formed on his lips. “No, no. I was just passing by… I didn’t know you played.” He pointed at the instrument in her lap. “What song were you playing?”

Y/n’s cheeks heated up, embarrassed by the situation she found herself in, “Callin’ Baton Rouge.’ It’s by this country band, you probably wouldn’t know.”

“Your probably right, but I think you did the song justice.”

“I wouldn’t call it justice, it was really far from it.”

Saul looked at her in disbelief. “You may be out of practice, but that was amazing.”

She gave him a small smile and stood from the couch with the guitar in hand. “Maybe for an amateur it’s good, but I ain’t no rockstar.” She placed the instrument back in its case, latching it shut. “I’m not that good.” 

Y/n stepped back from the case, twisting her fingers around as she glanced up at him. Suddenly, the confidence that she always collected around him, around the band, was gone as she stood in front of him. She suddenly felt vulnerable, fully exposed as if she had been stripped naked. 

Silence filled the space between them, neither knew what to say.

“Uh… Well, I better get going,” Saul said, running a hand through his hair. He stopped when Y/n raised a disapproving brow. “See you before the show, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

He gave her a small smile before disappearing out of the bus.

Y/n was cemented in place as she watched him through the bus windows, her heart attempting to beat out of her chest and the room suddenly getting warmer. She wasn’t sure what was coming over her, but she knew it had everything to do with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part and I’d love feedback.)

Permanent Taglist: @rexorangecouny @zestygingergirl @jennyggggrrr

[motleycrueimagine]

This Ain’t a Love Song - Part Three - Nikki Sixx Fan Fiction

Words count:   1189

Warinings: Language, Alcohol, mention of drugs

N/A: I know it took ages to get part three but I’m in the middle of a move since in September I’ll move to Milan to go on with my studies... So yeah this month I have a lot to do and so little time to write something down.. I’ll post every time I have time to, new chapters are already written so its just a matter of posting ‘em. Also, as always if you wanna be added to the Tag list just ask or write it in the comment section.

Huge thanks to @blonde-shamrock and @samanthadegaro

Summary: Maya Prescott has done anything possible to fix her life. It was 1977 when she left her groupie life: no more parties, no more concerts, no more drugs, alcohol or casual sex, just to achieve a full standard life. Now it’s 1981 and after a four years disappearance  Maya Prescott unexpectedly shows up to the party of one of the most promising emerging bands of the LA’s rock’n roll scene: Motley Crue. But what should be her last ride is destined to change her life in so many unexpected ways.

TagList:   @motleycrueee  @babygal-babygal @unknownoblivion @sweetshutter

Masterlist

Maya’s POV

“Attention… Ladies and Gentlemen!” I was standing on my living room table, surrounded by, well, three people that were actually all ladies. I mean I was pretty drunk and Carol’s new haircut made her seem like a cute blonde boy. “I’m officially announcing my last night as a free woman! Without further ado let’s go fucking party!” I was shouting for the joy of my neighbours. My friends screamed back in excitement, I stumbled while getting off the table, landing on the sofa with a laugh.

Okay, I was probably more than drunk, I had come to that conclusion as I realised that I was no longer able to get down the stairs that took me to the street to get the cab that was waiting for us.

The party monster in me had slept for the last four years, but after a casual meeting with Colton Turner - a shitty guitarist who happened to be a long-time friend of mine- which ended in an invitation to a party, the party monster awakened. For the last month and a half, I had spent almost every night in clubs, bars and of course at the Motely House. And even though I had managed to maintain some control and not fall back into old habits, I could not help but feel guilty as fuck. And the worst part was that my guilt came from the fact that I had realised how badly I missed the rock’n’roll world; how badly I had missed the excesses, the music and the wildness. That world made me feel like there was nothing I couldn’t do. That world made me feel free.

And tonight should have been the last time, the last party before a completely new chapter of my life began. I wanted it to be epic.

At eight o'clock we entered the Arabella and had a few cheap shots of tequila. After our downing out drinks we met some really nice guys, who we managed to hitch a ride with to the Whisky a Go-Go. We dropped them at the entrance and walked straight inside, since Ben, the bouncer, allowed us girls to skip the line. They were not really happy about that.

We watched the show from the bar, but we were so wasted - or at least I was- to actually listen and appreciate the music that the guys were playing.

After the show my friends and I moved to the apartment where the real party was taking place. I was so drunk that a guy with a pair of super tight red leather pants had to carry me inside like a rag doll.

I was having the time of my life that night, and the intent of the drunk me was to enjoy it fully. That’s when things got complicated.

I was laying on the couch, smoking a cigarette between Izzy’s arms speaking about something that was really funny to me in my drunken state. He was stroking my hair, but he was so high that probably was not even listening to anything I was saying.

“And I said ‘Man you can’t compare that vinyl with that other one’.”

I was ready to go on until Nikki exited a room - that I suppose was his- with two girls. He smiled at them before turning around and going back to his ‘I’m always bored and I hate my life’ kind of face. I jumped on my feet and staggered towards him, trying to keep a cool head.

“Hello Mr Ungrateful,” I waved, reaching his shoulder with my hand to find a sort stability.

“Hello to you, gorgeous. You’re enjoying your night, aren’t you?”

I nodded as he wrapped his arm around my waist to keep me balanced. “I see you’re enjoying yours too,” I stated as I bravely left his shoulder to lace up his untied pants.

“Maybe I wanted to keep ‘em open,” he commented still holding me and following my hands with his eyes as I finished my job.

“You wanted to let your brain breath?” I teased him with a smile. He held in an amused puff.

“You’re so funny tonight,” he replied sarcastically, fixing a stroke of my hair behind my ear.

“I’m always funny. It’s you that doesn’t appreciate my sense of humour,” I pointed out, picking the cigarette from my lips that had now came to an end. I threw it in an empty bottle of beer that was laying on a table near us.

“What are you doing completely wasted between my arms?” he asked looking at me in the eyes. A bust of lucidity made my find the answer.

“I’m not trying to sleep with you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he laughed, and gosh did drunk me find that laugh sexy as fuck - well to be real even the sober me found him incredibly sexy.

I bit my lower lip shaking my head, “nope, it’s not gonna happen.”

“Okay, okay. If you say so. It’s better if I let you go back to Izzy,” we were looking at each other, and I promise that If I had been a little bit more sober, I would have surely left.

“Well, I guess that maybe drunkenness is a good excuse to do stuff that I’m not supposed to do.”

Nikki did not need to express his agreement, he just pulled me closer to him and by the moment our lips touched I knew I had fucked up everything. There was no kindness or sweetness in the kiss it was just pure and burning desire, but it didn’t last long since the hurry to get to the bedroom got the upper hand.

The room was mess: clothing, hairspray and black hair dye packages were all over the floor. Nikki drove me towards the mattress and there we laid kissing passionately. All the doubts in my head were gone the moment I felt his calloused fingers, roughened by his bass, squeezing my ass up my skirt.

“Fuck you, Nikki Sixx,” I murmured as he started leaving wet kisses on my neck.

“I’ll think about it after I’m done fucking you,” He teased, between two kisses.

As he was undressing me when somebody opened the door without knocking.

“Nikki! You must come see what’s going on over there!” I immediately recognised Tommy’s voice.

“Shit! can’t you come back later?” Nikki complained turning around to look at him.

“No, c’mon we need you! Oh, hi Maya.” He waved at me innocently. Nikki puffed out of annoyance.

“Okay I’m coming.” He rolled his eyes before coming back at me. “I’m coming back in a second, just wait here, there is some blow over there if you want,” pointing at the night table.

“Yeah I don’t do drugs anymore, but yes I’ll wait you here.” After letting him out of the room I rid myself of my heels, making sure I was comfortable during the wait. It must have been  more than a few minutes since  I…well.. fell asleep.

[mwelxn]

Last week, ex-Guns N' Roses guitar slinger IZZY STRADLIN' gave PAUL ELLIOTT exclusive details of exactly what went down with his shock departure from the former Most Dangerous Band in The World. In part two this week, Izzy previews his Stones-influenced upcoming debut solo LP 'Ju Ju Hounds', and reveals that yes, he DID almostjoin forces with this week's K!cover stars The Black Crowes!... By Paul Elliott Kerrang! Magazine - Sept. 1992 "...And that goes for all you punks in the press / That want to start shit by printin' lies / Instead of the things we said / That means you, Andy Secherat Hit Parader, Circus magazine, Mick Wall at Kerrang!, Bob Guccione Jr at Spin..." - 'Get In The Ring', Guns N' Roses Although Mick Wall no longer works for Kerrang!, Axl Rose's anger at the publication has not abated. Guns N' Roses' outspoken frontman routinely bitches about Kerrang! when the band play in London, Presumably, the root of the problem was a feature of Wall's on the Rock In Rio festival in which he accused GN'R of aloofness. Kerrang!gave Guns N' Roses their first British magazine cover in 1987, but Rose chooses to remember only one comment from one journalist. And that, it seems, is the bunker mentality behind the Guns N' Roses/Kerrang!/'Get In The Fucking Ring' feud. Former GN'R guitarist Izzy Stradlin' is equally bemused by it all. "I just write songs," he shrugs, grinning. "I honestly don't know what that was about or what was said. Axl was mad at Kerrang!, right? There were so many things that pissed him off..." It's said that Bob Guccione Jr, editor of US rock periodical Spin, was baited by Rose on 'Get In The Ring' simply because Spinprinted the contract which Guns N' Roses attempted to force on all journalists interviewing the band. The contract sought to censor the press. "I didn't even know about this contract," Izzy protests, "so when I heard Axl was mad about it, I was going, 'What?'! "If I were a journalist I'd probably just tell somebody to shove it up their ass too, cos I guess that'd be like somebody telling a musician how to write a song. "I wasn't aware that Mick Wall was one of the guys in that song. The only one I knew about was Guccione. I was sitting back in Indiana watching MTV and I saw that thing about Axl challenging him to go fight, and Bob said, 'Okay'. And I didn't hear anything else about it! "Axl's real critical of himself, and his anger seems to propel him in a lotta ways. That song 'Get In The Ring', I really love a lot of the lyrics just cos they're really aggressive. Axl played guitar on that track as well, that was the first time I saw him play electric guitar, and he did pretty well. I was digging it cos it was good punk energy. But with all the names at the end I was thinking, shit! I wouldn't have slagged people off on my record." - Izzy's Record, his first since quitting Guns N' Roses, is titled 'Ju Ju Hounds' and is as cool a rock 'n' roll record as anyone has made in the last 10 years. Like The Black Crows', Izzy's music is simple, intuitive, soulful. Both he and the Crowes have covered reggae standards, but where the latter play a lot of blues, Izzy's more of a punk. Axl calls 'Ju Ju Hounds' "Izzy's Keith Richards thing", which is as good a description as any. Izzy's LP has the same lazy charm as Keef's 'Talk Is Cheap'. "I read what Axl said," nods Izzy. "I think Keith Richards is great, but I don't think he has any songs that play as fast as 'Pressure Drop' (Izzy's souped-up cover of the Toots and The Maytals classic, also recorded by The Clash). I wish he would - It'd be great to hear him do that. "I called Keith last week; he was in the studio. I'm gonna try and hook up with him in New York sometime. There's a part of me that wants to take a tape of my record along and play it for him, and there's another part that's going, 'Fuck it, I'll just say hi and listen to his record'." Izzy's such a big Stones fan, there's still disbelief in his voice when he speaks of his friendship with Keef and fellow Stone Ron Wood, who guested on 'Ju Ju Hounds'. "We got together with Woody in LA. We did an old song of his called 'Take A Look At The Guy'." - A Stones CD plays as Izzy talks. The album is 'Black And Blue', one of the Stones' most laid back and most underrated works, featuring classic heartbreakers 'Fool To Cry' and 'Memory Motel'. plus the reggae number 'Cherry Oh Baby', covered by UB40. "I got into reggae partly through the Stones," says Izzy. "I guess it just bled over from stuff like 'Black And Blue' - it's killer. The thing I love about reggae is that it's not technical music where things are perfect; it's very freeform, just a groove. You can lay on a beach or a couch and just absorb it It slows down your heartbeat too, those drum beats and the slow pulse of the bass. It's like a tranquilizer. " 'Pressure Drop' is in this great movie called 'The Harder They Come', starring Jimmy Cliff as a ghetto kid who goes big time with guns; he shoots his way to the top. It's really cool. "There's an energy about 'Pressure Drop' that I love, the rock-steady rhythm. It's very loose, but at the same time it gets the point across." - Guesting on 'Pressure Drop' and on 'Can't Hear 'Em' (a reggae number of Stradlin's which features on the 'Pressure Drop' EP released this week, a month before the LP) is reggae star Mikey Dread, who worked with The Clash on their 'Sandinista' LP. Izzy met Mikey through bassist Jimmy 'Two Fingers' Ashhurst. "Jimmy saw Mikey play in Chicago and got hold of him the next morning. It turned out he was in the hotel right across the street from the studio we were using. We were just gonna do one song dub, but we ended up recording four songs with Mikey, for him. Jimmy and I played bass and guitar on them. Mikey did his rap thing on 'Can't Hear 'Em' and I think he sang some backups on 'Pressure Drop'. His guitar player did a reggae rhythm, real quiet, just a plunky, straight-through thing." Was Mikey surprised that a former member of GN'R loves and can play reggae? "I don't know but it was a trip working with those guys. Mikey had worked with The Clash before, so he must've been familiar with our style." So he didn't think that the way you speeded up 'Pressure Drop' was sacrilegious? Izzy smiles, "His first comment was, 'Y'know, man, this was a big hit in England'. I'm supposed to look him up when I get to New York. He's gonna take us to some place to get us some suits made - they do 'em overnight." - The whole of the 'Pressure Drop' EP has a raw feel evocative of Guns N' Roses' debut EP 'Live Like A Suicide'. 'Came Unglued' is as fast and lean as the obscure GN'R tune 'Shadow Of Your Love', while 'Been A Fix' has the hangdog vocals and fuck-off riff of late '70s Stones (it's also reminiscent of Aerosmith's 'I Wanna Know Why'). "Basically, I just wanted to get back to what really gets me off, just a basic rock 'n' roll band, a couple guitars, drums and bass. Simple. "The album's better, I would think, it's more mixed. The EP's just got three slammers on it, and a reggae song. The album's got a couple of acoustic songs, a coupla slammers, some basic rock tunes and one reggae song too. "The title of the LP came by accident in the studio. I was singing a backing track to something, and when I played it back it sounded like I said, 'Ju ju hound'. It doesn't mean much really." - Before Izzy began recording his album and EP, his name was linked with The Black Crowes, who at the time had not announced a replacement for Jeff Cease. So was he offered the gig? "I don't think so," Izzy shrugs. "When I left LA after I split from GN'R, I went on a road trip to New Orleans. From there I called my brother and he told me I'd got a fax from Rich in The Black Crowes. I had no idea their guitar player had split. "I stopped by Rich's home and he said, 'Maybe we should get together and write some songs'. I said, 'Let me take my stuff back to Indiana and get my house in order'. I love The Black Crowes, but because it was immediately after GN'R, I don't think I was ready to make any quick moves. I thought I'd just go and ride trials for a while. "I just wasn't interested in playing guitar at that time. I don't think I touched a guitar for about a month. I was getting off on riding, but, it got cold, Winter came, and I was sitting in a room with a guitar in the corner and it's like, 'C'mon, play me'! Once I started playing again I thought, this is the one thing that seems to make sense. "I started putting a band together in January. I was sitting in Indiana thinking, fuck, man, how do I find musicians? I couldn't just run an ad in the local trade paper. You wanna find somebody you can relate to, and the guys I got are all seasoned, proven. "I hooked up with Jimmy in LA. I'd known him for years, when he was in The Broken Homes. Once we'd got a drummer, Charlie Quintana, we'd recorded these basic tracks, so I asked Jimmy what Rick Richards from the Georgia Satellites was doing. Jimmy told me the Satellites broke up. This is how outta touch I am! "Rick's playing is so natural. I'll just throw out a coupla chords and he'll bounce stuff of it. He knows how to make it work." - Album and EP feature a number of guest musicians, including backing singers the Waters Sisters, who lift the chorus of 'Can't Hear 'Em' in much the same way that the I-Threes sweeten classic Bob Marley tracks like 'Could You Be Loved'. Barbara and Joy Richardson do likewise on The Black Crowes' 'The Southern Harmony And Musical Companion'. "The Water Sisters did 'Knockin' On Heaven's Door' for GN'R. Man, they can sing," Izzy adds with a smile, "but I can't see us going out on tour like that. I think we'll keep it real simple." Izzy's keeping everything simple these days. Guns N' Roses are no longer The Most Dangerous Band In The World, but they'll never be free of the controversy and all that bullshit. Stradlin' is, and he's happier for it. Simply, he's happy just to be back playing rock 'n' roll. It's all he ever wanted to do anyway.