#Doctor Billy’s tested recipes

[weirdcrocodilelady]

hey!! saw you asking for arthur x reader prompts. i’m sorry if this isn’t what you were really looking for but could you do something more platonic? like arthur being a bit of a father figure for reader :)

I actually think about Harrow as a father (or father figure) a lot...I think he'd be really good at it. He talks to that teenage girl in Episode 2 and she seems really comfortable with him, and it makes me think he probably takes a personal interest in all his followers, regardless of age, and really has that special set of "people skills" that lets him manipulate form close relationships fairly easily. I mean, he's a cult leader. They're kind of known for that...

...But putting aside the cult stuff for now, here's some nice wholesome headcanons:

If he had a "kid" kid (meaning under 18), I think he would definitely homeschool them. He kind of toes the line between wanting to control their learning and be aware of what they're up to at all times, but also having a sincere desire to nurture their interests and let them learn at their own pace without the restrictions of grades, standardized tests, etc. So god forbid he catches his kid reading smutty fanfic that isn't appropriate for their age, he might instead help them find reading material that's more age appropriate but that they still find interesting, and maybe even help them write their own stories. (it's called redirecting, y'all)

I think he would be more restrictive when it comes to their social activities, unfortunately. His worst fear would be for their scales to not balance, so he doesn't let them hang out with anyone who might pressure them to do things that might affect that balance. The hard part of that is, Ammit doesn't exactly offer a handbook detailing what specific activities affect a person's scales, and a kid going to the mall with their friends unsupervised will probably not do anything evil, but why risk it, right?

I have no idea where this came from, but I have this random headcanon that he doesn't trust doctors? So he'd take his kid to get checkups and vaccines and everything only because there isn't really a safe alternative, but he'd be very reluctant and it would probably be one of the rare times he actually appears nervous or anxious to other people. Other than that, he relies on alternative medicines as much as possible and is kind of a genius at that stuff. (Again, this is a REALLY random headcanon that came to me out of nowhere one day, so feel free to take or leave it)

Part of my general backstory for him involves him being really poor for a lot of his life, then ending up with a lot of money due to getting wealthy "backers" on his side when he started the Ammit Club (I decided a while back that Billy Fitzgerald is a millionaire, again, I have no idea where these headcanons are coming from). So if you lived with him when he was younger, money would have been tight and there probably wouldn't have been many luxuries. But he would make things special for you whenever he could. I imagine he's very creative in the kitchen (he had Victor's recipe that one time, but who's to say he couldn't whip up his own unique lentil soup on a whim if he wanted?) and could make all kinds of delicious meals with even the most seemingly random ingredients.

He expects all his followers to help maintain the community as much as they're able to, and it would be the same for those he considers family. But he's not one of those leaders/parental figures who just gives a command and expects you to understand how to do it without any instruction. If someone is new, or younger, or doesn't seem to understand the task, he would explain more clearly or demonstrate, whatever kind of help you needed. He would also give you tips on doing your work more efficiently or easily, if it seems like you're getting bogged down or discouraged. You can come to him with literally anything you're having trouble with, even if it seems like a really simple task that you "should" be able to complete with no problem. He's incredibly patient and a great teacher/mentor.

I fully believe the majority of his physical touches are genuine, and I think touch is probably his love language. Even though he also uses touch to manipulate people into trusting him, he knows that method works for a reason. If you don't like being touched, or you're not comfortable with it at a certain time, you'd have to tell him because his instinct is to reach out and hug you when you're upset. But once you've told him, you'll never have to tell him a second time. He can be perfectly respectful of boundaries when he wants to be (i.e. when the person isn't standing in the way of him springing his goddess free).

I hope this is the kind of thing you were looking for...again, some of these are pretty specific headcanons I made up, so you can take or leave those if you want😅

Thanks for the ask!!!

[bookgeekgrrl]

My media this week (17-23 Dec 2023)

shout out to matt rogers for this delightful new entry to the xmas song canon

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

🥰 Bookshops & Bonedust (Legends & Lattes #0) (Travis Baldree, author & narrator) - prequel novel of Viv's much younger days - just as fun and cozy as Legends & Lattes

🥰 Hashtag Soulmates (everwitch) - 44K, RWRB AU - deliberately tropetastic sort-of meta fic where Henry's a fanfic writer & Alex is one of his biggest fans and they work together but don't know it. Hard to explain but fun to read. Good stuff on the nature of fanfic; also hilarious bits where it walks right up to the crackfic line but doesn't go over. I really enjoyed reading something the author so clearly had a blast writing.

😊 In the Form of a Question: The Joys and Rewards of a Curious Life (Amy Schneider, author & narrator) - entertaining read

😍 Tommy Cabot Was Here (The Cabots #1) (Cat Sebastian) - reread, novella; just really in a mood to reread in this universe! Hadn't read this since I read Daniel's book, so it was fun to see him guest star as a 12 yr old

😍 Peter Cabot Gets Lost (The Cabots #2) (Cat Sebastian) - reread; I love all the Cabots but this one is my #1 fave by a smidge. The grumpy/sunshine is *chef's kiss*!

😍 Daniel Cabot Puts Down Roots (The Cabots #3) (Cat Sebastian) - reread; Alex & Daniel are actually dating but too oblivious (and busy pining in silence) to realize it. I love these dumbasses.

😍 Luke and Billy Finally Get a Clue (The Cabots #3.5) (Cat Sebastian) - reread, set in the Cabots 'verse but with no Cabots in sight. Just two baseball boys pulling their heads out of their asses and figuring out what they mean to one another.

💖💖 +102K of shorter fic 💖💖

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Game Changer - s5, e6

Make Some Noise - s2, e15

Dirty Laundry - s3, e8

D20: Fantasy High: Sophmore Year - e16-20

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds - s1, e1-6

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

It's Been a Minute - The IBAMmys: The It's Been A Minute 2023 Culture Awards Show

Today, Explained - EU vs. AI

Pop Culture Happy Hour - Songs To Help You Study

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - A Return to Recipe Graves

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Old City Hall Station

⭐ Switched on Pop - "Did I mention that it's Christmas in this club?" (w Matt Rogers)

The Sporkful - New Year’s Food Resolutions 2024

Today, Explained - How Barnes & Noble survived

Big Gay Fiction Podcast - "Time to Shine" with Rachel Reid

Las Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang - “They Couldn’t Be Nicer Boys” (w/ Seth Meyers)

NPR's Book of the Day - 'Black AF History' examines American history from the perspective of Black people

Code Switch - Here are our favorite Code Switch episodes from 2023

Ed Zitron's 15 Minutes In Hell - Episode 20: Jamelle Bouie

Ologies with Alie Ward - Lemurology (LEMURS) with Lydia Greene

99% Invisible #564 - Mini-Stories: Volume 17

Today, Explained - The stretched-too-thin blue line

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Sniffing out What’s Special with Saskia Wilson Brown

One Year - 1990: The Angry Death of Kimberly Bergalis

Las Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang - "You Can't Trust These Gay Guys"

⭐ Films To Be Buried With - Leslie Jones

Dear Prudence - My Mother-In-Law Doesn’t Wash Her Hands After Using The Bathroom. Help!

Cautionary Tales - When Stalin Killed the Weekend (with The Happiness Lab)

Our Opinions Are Correct - How Doctor Who Stood the Test of Time

Our Opinions Are Correct - BONUS: If You Could Turn Into Any Form of Transportation, What Would You Pick?

It's Been a Minute - Why does flying suck so much?

Off Menu - Ep 217: Ross Noble (Christmas Special)

⭐ Song Exploder - Foo Fighters "The Teacher"

⭐ Overinvested - Ep. 290: The Cutting Edge

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

my christmas playlist

Celtic Christmas

The Beach Boys' Christmas Album [The Beach Boys] {1964}

Merry Axemas & Merry Axemas 2

Orchestral Christmas Pops

Latin Jazz Christmas

Punk Rock Christmas

Lindsey Stirling Christmas

Orchestral Holiday Pops

It's a Holiday Soul Party [Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings] {2015}

my Christmas Divas playlist

Have You Heard of Christmas? [Matt Rogers] {2023}

Simply Christmas [Leslie Odom Jr.] {2016}

The Christmas Album [Leslie Odom Jr.] {2020}

Christmas With You [Laufey & Norah Jones] {2023}

Christmas Island [Jimmy Buffett] {1996}

'Tis The SeaSon [Jimmy Buffett] {2016}

Quality Street: A Seasonal Selection for All the Family [Nick Lowe] {2013}

The Muppet Christmas Carol (Special Anniversary Edition) {2005}

Punk Rock Christmas

Classical Christmas

Rock & Roll Christmas

[doctor-billy]

Flageolet bean soup

I make this from a Nigel Slater recipe. It has a lot of ingredients, so it isn’t cheap, but it is delicious. I usually freeze half of the soup for another day. On thawing, it goes slightly cloudy, but still tastes really good. Note that this is a clear soup with pieces of vegetables. Not a blended soup. (I suppose you could blend it if you like, but then it wouldn’t be the same). I generally serve it with some nice bread.

You will notice I say “up to” for some ingredients. This is because you might not have as much of an ingredient as is specified in Nigel’s recipe (e.g. your bunch of spring onions might only be 100g, or you might just have the end corner of a pack of frozen veg). Amounts aren’t critical here. Put in what you’ve got.

Ingredients:

Podded broad beans. (Up to 200g). Take the inner pods off,too. This takes ages , but is worth doing. Frozen broad beans are fine in this, but you still need to take the inner pods off, so let them thaw for a while before using them.

Leeks(200g). Small leaks are best. Cut into “coins”and wash well.

Spring onions (up to 200g), cut up small.

Courgettes (200g). Baby ones are best, cut into coins, but bigger ones would be fine too. Cut them up the way you like them.

Peas (up to 200g podded weight). Fresh peas are great in this, and so are frozen ones.

Flageolet beans (400g tin, well drained and rinsed. You don’t want the aquafaba). This is a quick recipe, so dried beans wouldn’t really work.

Vegetable stock (1 litre). I use a couple of Kallo cubes, but any vegetable stock would do. If you have home made stock, you are a better human than I am.

Olive oil (or other mild-flavoured oil).

Method

Fry the leeks and spring onions gently in s little oil until soft but not coloured. (This is important- you want your soup green, not brown). Once they are soft, add the courgettes and continue cooking for a few minutes.

Add the drained flageolet beans and the stock, and bring to the boil.

Add the broad beans and peas and simmer for about five minutes. Check that your peas are cooked if you used fresh ones.

Serve in bowls.

You can stir in chopped parsley at the end, but I always forget. Nigel has a nice wild garlic sauce that you can stir in as well, but again, I don’t bother.

[doctorbillycooks]

Before and after. Rosemary focaccia. I cheated and used a bread mix, which turned out a lot better than I expected

[doctorbillysrecipes]

I substituted fresh thyme sprigs for the mint, and it was delicious.

[uponrightful]

Unforgettable

So this isn’t my normal S.W.’s content.

I’ve been working on this for a college final, and thought I would share it. 

(Note from the Author: If you’d like a little atmosphere while reading… play the original “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole. It might replay once or twice, but I don’t think Rose would mind hearing it. :) )

A cast iron skillet with pork chops sizzled over the wafting heat of the stovetop. The worn silver handle sat turned away from the edge of the old Glenwood. It was a long ago formed habit after that same skillet had ended up in the floor, smattering gravy and fried potatoes to the floor. The pockets in her apron wouldn’t cause any problems tonight. Next to the pork chops sat a towering stock pot full of cubed potatoes, rumbling under a cloud of steam that poured over the sides of the cookware. Rose dropped her wooden spoon down into the pot, stirring just long enough to make sure nothing was sticking. She hummed a little tune as she went along, tending to the collard greens and bacon grease, letting the shaky sound of her voice carry her through the dinner preparations.

At one point she might’ve swayed to the King’s voice, loving the smooth piano and gently dancing around the kitchen with light feet. Maybe giggling at how silly it was for a young woman to be dancing in the kitchen. Labors of love had Rose’s wrists swollen and fingers crooked, detailing just how many nights she’d spent toiling away to soft sounds of music in the kitchen. Only now, she  did well to lift the cast iron skillet onto the stove without making an awful racket when the weight became too much. Rose preferred to hum now, occasionally deepening her voice to sing a few words along with Mr. Cole. Her ankles protested the constant standing and so would her babies if they had seen her fussing over such a trivial thing as dinner on a Thursday night.

No doubt her daughter-in-laws would offer to mash the potatoes for her, or politely bargain with Rose to tend to the cornbread once it was done in the oven. With a wrinkled smile she would decline, knowing just how much longer the cornbread needed without a timer and that you needed to add buttermilk before thinkin’ about reaching for that wood-handled potato masher hanging on the wall. Bless them girls, they always offered to help but dinner never turned out quite right if Rose wasn’t the one “doin’ the fixin’”. Donnie Jr. didn’t like it when the collards weren’t greasy enough, and Billy always liked the potatoes a little lumpy. But tonight, only three pork chops simmered in the skillet.

It had become one of her newer habits -only about twenty years old now- where she cooked a little differently than she had before. No longer did she have to catch children running around her feet, or take a moment to step away from the Glenwood to tie a shoelace or button up a jacket. It was in the last twenty years Rose hadn’t bothered with buying the fattier cuts of pork opting for the new green-packaged medallions, always reading ‘low fat’ or ‘heart healthy’. The smaller portions and ‘grass fed’ options weren’t the only things that had changed for Rose. Now she needed a pair of glasses to see just a bit better to stir in a little more salt and pepper to the greens. Even the once-white paint on her stove had tinged a bit yellow despite umpteen tries at scrubbing away the aged tone on the iron.

In a different time she would’ve worn a pretty dress and a little heel as she cooked; Maybe going far enough to wear some of that light pink Avon lipstick she used to love. Of course she couldn’t really remember the last time she’d seen one of the order booklets on the church’s greeting table. All those trivial things had fallen to the wayside over time. Rose looked down at her feet, bare and blending in with the gnarled and knotted floor below her. A bright smile spread over her face at the sight. Her mother would’ve had a fit if she could see Rose cooking without shoes on. Even worse than being barefoot in the kitchen Rose neglected to wear a dress as well, preferring some corduroy pants and a sweatshirt with buttons sewn to the front in the shape of a heart. A Christmas present from many years back, given to her by Billy’s wife as newlyweds. Rose didn’t mind the thought of her own mother’s disapproval of her style, rather choosing to reminisce on that sweet Christmas so long ago and how much she treasured the button-embroidered shirt from her sweet daughter-in-law.

With shuffling feet Rose moved away from her place at the stove to set the dinner table. She pulled at the silverware drawer, making sure to gently guide it a little to the right so that it wouldn’t stick or make that awful squeaky noise. In the back of her mind, she momentarily reminded herself to pick up some beeswax and grease the darn thing instead of putting it off any longer. Billy had used some type of spray last month, promising that it would be better than her tried-and-true beeswax. But here Rose stood, listening to the sharp queak of the drawer pulling dryly across it’s wooden rails. Her shaky hands searched for the two best forks in the mess of mismatched cutlery, making sure that tonight the table would look its best with identical forks and knives. She wanted to celebrate the best way she knew how. After deciding on a set, she tucked them in the pocket of her apron. Just above her head in the cabinet above, Rose collected plates, little dessert dishes and salad bowls, stacking them in her hands with another precious memory playing out to that same sweet song she’d been humming all afternoon.

The table setting, milky white with small pink flowers painted along the rim of the dishes had been a wedding gift. Darling in their time -and still timeless in her opinion- as Rose set to work setting the table in the dining room. Again to her mother’s disapproval, she skipped adding a tablecloth before sitting the dishes and cutlery down in their respectful places. A table so well-used deserved to be seen, instead of being hidden under some plain white cloth. Little scratches in the varnished wood had once caused quite a fuss at dinner time; A dropped steak knife, or the unpracticed hands of a child dropping their fork onto the unprotected surface. Now, Rose could look at them with tenderness and a wisdom for the blemishes that life imprinted on everyone and everything. Seeing years of love and togetherness in the scuffed and scratched surface, just like in the growth rings of the planed wood that had been collected to make the table. The old thing was beautiful in its own unique way, and Rose couldn’t help but feel the same way about herself.

That internal clock ticking in her mind reminded her of the cornbread in the Glenwood, and additionally the pork chops that would no doubt be done by the time she added that buttermilk to the potatoes. Just as she’d already known, the cornbread came out the same as it always did… but not quite as good as she remembered her mother’s to be. Nevertheless Rose couldn’t help herself from sneaking a little nibble in an unsuspecting corner, enjoying the heavy weight of the bacon grease-soaked bread with a little nod of approval. Rose repeated the process of taste testing her other side dish, and tending to the pork in the cast iron with an expectant glance focusing on the back door just outside the kitchen.

It wouldn’t be much longer.

Dinner didn’t take a full two hours from start to finish, and more importantly Rose knew the drive to Dr. Nancy’s office in town only took eight minutes. If you were driving fifteen miles an hour down main street. The waiting room always took up twenty minutes of time, especially when that sweet receptionist wanted to know how everyone on the edge of town was doing with the annual hay cutting. It seemed Rose was the only woman who could find out how many more acres were needing laid down before a rainfall came.

Even Dr. Nancy knew that dinner was on the table at seven thirty though. She’d have Sam sent on his way long before Pat Sajack and Alex Trebek made their nightly appearances.

Normally the sound of gravel would set Rose into motion, delivering the serving dishes to the dining room, potholders protecting her wrinkled hands from the heat and subsequently the table. Filling cups with ice, and sitting them at their ritual place next to the fridge. Rose knew what time it was without even looking at the old clock above the ‘frigerator and even though she couldn’t hear the tires in the driveway anymore, it would only be a couple more minutes before that back door swung open on a bees-waxed hinge and a loud smack of the screen door following close behind. Another weathered smile broke her consistent humming. Maybe there were some things that didn’t change after all...

Struggling the most with the old cast iron, Rose managed to get it to the table without accident. The potatoes had been mashed, and transferred into a more presentable bowl resting on a crocheted potholder, browned from hundreds of bowls of potatoes. While the greens stayed in their skillet between the two other dishes, steaming temptingly up towards the dining room‘s light fixture. The salad Rose had chopped that morning rested in the middle of the table with a bottle of sour-cream base ranch accompanying it in a quart-sized mason jar.  A pie also sat in the fridge, awaiting dessert time with the plastic container of sweet tea that had been religiously filled that morning as well.Of course none of that was considered ‘heart healthy’ but there were some recipes that didn’t agree with Dr. Nancy’s orders. Rose had never been royalty, or had any desire to be one. But in her heart of hearts this meal was more than worthy of being served to a king and queen… or the occasional doctor.  

In her haste to bring the cornbread to the table, she’d missed the tap of the screen door on the doorframe, and the slow thump of boot heels over the hallway floor. Not even the rustle of a Woolrich coat unzipping and being hung on the coat rack just outside the kitchen alerted Rose that she was putting on quite a show.

“That someone so unforgettable… thinks that I am unforgettable too…” Rose sang, quite lost in her slow hustle of final preparations, unaware that her husband was standing with a big grin on his face. As terribly unaware as she was, Samuel couldn’t resist joining his sweet wife’s ode to Nat Cole.

“Like a song of love that clings to me, How the thought of you does things to me.” Sam’s voice wasn’t nearly as pretty as Rose’s, but he had sang just loud enough that her surprised gasp of realization had given away his little hiding place behind the wall.

They met in the middle of the kitchen, neither one wanting the other to walk the long distance. And as if they both still had the King‘s song playing, a gentle sway brought them together, right on time with the imagined strokes over ivory keys. The couple shared a little laugh, imagining how they must look to anyone out the window. Struggling to keep time with such a slow tempo, nevertheless letting their dinner get cold. This didn’t keep them from enjoying the moment, taking each other’s weathered hands and rocking gently to Rose’s light hum. She rested her head against his chest, cherishing the slight bump of his leather glasses pouch in his shirt pocket and the smell of freshly cut hay filling the room.

“Who are those two?” Sam’s warbly voice spoke out, rocking them in a circle towards the small shelf on the wall of the dining room. In the middle of family portraits, grandchildren, and children hung a monochromatic picture of Rose and Sam smiling brightly at each other. It had been taken ages ago… almost a lifetime.

“Hmm,” Rose paused in fake contemplation. “No idea. Must be as old as the hills by the looks of that old picture.” She chuckled when Sam’s eyes glowed mischievously  at her little jab. Sensing that Sam might’ve been thinking the same thing she patted his shoulder knowingly.

“Well, you might be right there.” Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest. “But I can’t imagine having spent sixty-two years married to anyone else.”

Sam ducked his head down pressing a soft kiss to the love lines between Rose’s greyed eyebrows, sighing contentedly. Her brown eyes had turned golden over the long years, reminding him of just how rich he was standing in the middle of the family kitchen. Even the soft circles she rubbed against his back soothed away the stiffness he’d felt sitting in the drivers seat of the truck.

“Happy Anniversary, dear.” He murmured into her hair.

“Happy Anniversary, my love.” She smiled brightly back at him, glowing just as brightly as she had sixty-two years ago today. “How was Dr. Nancy today?” He chuckled in response, extending his arm to let her take a slow spin, careful not to let her get too dizzy.

“Tickers ticking like it should be.” He paused, focusing on catching her hand after the turn-about, easing her back against his chest. “She did say to lay off the blackberry cobbler…” He added softly.

“Oh that woman… I already told her I was using fresh blackberries. Not frozen.” Rose sighed, thinking about how there was no pleasing the young doctor. “One day she’ll understand how nice it is to have a nice slice of pie after a hard day’s work.” Sam let out another chuckle, this time he was more than happy to oblige his wife with a little more good news from Dr. Nancy.

“I have more good news dear.” He waited for those bright golden brown eyes to look back up at him, waiting expectantly. “I didn’t have to schedule another appointment for a whole year.” His eyes glittering with a mix of tearful relief, and pure adoration for the prospect of another whole year with his best friend.

Tears welled in Rose’s eyes, followed by an unsteady little cheer of laughter. Her soft hands rubbing gleefully up and down his back. The two tightened their hug, still gently swaying as if the kitchen itself had put them under a spell where aching joints and deep wrinkles didn’t exist anymore. A room that didn’t remind them of how difficult life could be. The kitchen, with its wood-burning Glenwood was a sanctuary. A place where both Sam and Rose could forget about the bustle of appointments and prescriptions and celebrate a life full of love, all while swaying back and forth to King Cole.

[breanime]

In Sickness

Requests: can you write Billy being sick and the reader (trying) to take  care of him because obviously he is a real ass when he’s sick and he doesn’t want her to see her like (because he feels like shit) but in the end he’s all sleepy and he strangely becomes cuddly and sweet from @delicatelilyflower and Billy Russo showing vulnerability in the form of embarrassment from @suchatinyinfinity

Thanks guys, I hope you enjoy!

*gif not mine*

It had been over 48 hours since you’d heard from Billy, and you were starting to get worried. The last time he’d disappeared for so long had been after a stint overseas with Anvil, and when you finally tracked him down you found that he head been shot…twice. So, you had a reason to be worried.

“Ah, Y/N,” Frank sighed on the other end of the phone, “you know how Bill is. When he’s down, he likes to be alone. He doesn’t want to trouble you.”

“So he is hurt?” You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “What happened? And don’t lie to me, Frankie, I don’t have the patience.”

You heard Frank chuckle on the other end of the phone. “I would never. Maybe just drop by his place and see for yourself.”

Typical Frank—but his advice was decent, so you headed over to Billy’s penthouse. You had been friends with Frank and Billy since their Marine days. There was something lingering between you and Billy, some kind of unspoken thing that you both were well aware of. You wouldn’t go so far as to say the two of you were an item, but you did sleep together, and Billy did take you out on dates, but… You weren’t dating. Still, he was your emergency contact on all of your official paperwork, and you had a key to his place—which you used now.

“Billy?” You called out, closing the door behind you. His coat was laying on the couch haphazardly, as if he had thrown it off in a hurry—something he rarely ever did. There was a blanket on the floor, and a half-empty water bottle on the table. “Billy? It’s me,” you peeked into the kitchen and sighed. It was in a state of disarray that only meant Billy wasn’t his usual self. A cabinet was open, revealing a lack of groceries, and there was an uneaten bowl of chicken noodle soup on the kitchen table. You checked for any signs of blood or bandages as you made your way to Billy’s room and found none. Your mind brought of images of broken bones, cuts and bruises as you turned the corner. What you saw was….

…Billy curled up in bed like a koala surrounded by boxes of tissue, water bottles, and take-out boxes. He sat up when he saw you, and you couldn’t help the little “oh” that came out of your mouth at the sight of him. His dark hair was mushed and standing up at all angles, and his eyes were low and watery. He was wearing a zip-up hoodie with no shirt underneath, and as you got closer, you could see that his cheeks were flushed, and he was shivering.

“Y/N?” His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’ve been calling,” you noticed his phone on the dresser, “You’re sick.”

Billy scoffed as he struggled to sit up. “”M fine,” his New York accent was thicker than usual, and you could tell his nose was stuffed up, “Didn’t hear my phone go off.”

“That’s cause it’s all the way over here,” you picked his phone up and waved it at him before putting it back, “How long have you been sick?”

“”M not,” he huffed, pulling his hoodie over his chest, “’M just…” He coughed into his forearm, “”M just a little off. It’s fine.” His eyes narrowed as he watched you strip your jacket off. “What’re you doing?”

“That depends, where do you want me to start?” You asked, laying your jacket on the back of a chair. “Cleaning up or getting you some medicine? Have you been to the doctor yet?”

“I don’t need a doctor, I can take care of myself.” You could tell he was breathing out of his mouth, not his nose. “I don’t need you here.”

“Clearly,” you deadpanned, “What with the stuffy nose, shakes, and assumed fever, you’re a picture of independence.” You thought back on what his living room looked like. “You catch something at work?”

“Couple of the guys came down with a fever after a mission,” he answered, “I gave ‘em time off, but they wouldn’t take it.” He sniffled again. “It’s possible I might have caught something from them.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and instead went over to Billy to feel his forehead. He flinched when you put your hand out. “Don’t be a baby,” you clicked your tongue when you felt the heat of his skin, “Where do you keep your thermometer?”

“Don’t have one.” Billy pushed your hand away and fell back against the pillow. “Been feelin’ like this for two days,” he coughed again, “it’s almost done. Gimme another day an’ I’ll be fine.”

“Not gonna happen, soldier,” you were already moving around his room, straightening up, “If you won’t go to a doctor, I’ll take care of you myself. When was the last time you had something to eat?”

“Fuck off, Y/N.”

Now you did roll your eyes. Billy would have to try harder if he wanted to scare you away. “Fuck you, Russo. Now answer the question.”

He huffed, but answered you nonetheless. “Tried to eat last night,” he sniffled, “I have soup in the kitchen.”

“Yeah,” you piled another blanket on Billy’s bed, “You have that terrible canned stuff. I’ll make you some soup.” You dug in your purse and pulled out a couple of Tylenol PMs. “Here,” you watched him dry swallow the medicine and went back to tidying up.

“’M fine,” Billy was slinking back into his bed now, “the canned stuff is good,” he pulled the extra blanket up to his chin, “You can just go home, Y/N.”

“Mm hmm,” you went to the windows and started pulling the blinds down.

“I don’t need anyone takin’ care of me,” Billy was turning to lay on his side, and his words were muffled by the pillow, “’specially not you.”

“Right,” you turned the ceiling fan on low and let its soft hum lull Billy to sleep. It didn’t take long, he mumbled something that sounded like “leave me alone” before he dissolved into soft snores and the occasional cough.

You made your way into the kitchen and took a look around. It was sparse, but there were just enough ingredients for you to whip up a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. You contemplated running to the store for more supplies, but you weren’t comfortable leaving Billy to his own devices—unconscious or not. So, you put in an order for a grocery delivery and went back to cleaning. Frank texted asking for an update and you replied: He’s being a little bitch, so I’m making him soup. Frank sent you back a laughing emoji, and you chuckled as you put your phone in your back pocket. You checked the soup and sat down at the table. You weren’t sure what kind of mood Billy would be in when he woke up, but you wouldn’t let him scare you off.

Billy didn’t wake up for another three hours. You ended up dozing on the couch and woke up to a warm hand gently brushing your cheek. You opened your eyes to see Billy, wrapped in the blanket you’d put on him, staring down at you.

His eyes still looked a little blurry and his nose was red, but he wasn’t shaking anymore. “You’re still here.” He said, his voice soft in the open room.

“Well yeah,” you sat up and rubbed your eyes, “I made you soup and got some groceries—what are you doing in here?” You didn’t wait for him to respond before you hustled him off the couch and back into bed. His forehead was still warm when you touched it. “I’m gonna heat the soup up and grab you some tea, I want you to eat as much as you can, and oh,” you grabbed a bottle from where you’d placed it on his dresser earlier and poured some thick, red liquid into a cup, “drink this.”

“What is this?” He asked, picking up the container and squinting at the label.

“Medicine,” you pulled out a food tray (a gift you got him a few months ago that was mostly for you) and placed it on his lap, “I want to see that cup empty by the time I get back.”

Billy—for once—didn’t say anything back, so you went and prepared his soup. You added honey to the tea and brought him an extra bottle of water as well. The cup was empty when you got back, and Billy was fussing with the bedsheets.

“Now before you start,” you placed the soup and tea on his tray, “this was my grandmother’s recipe so it’s really good, and the tea is that good shit, not that brown water crap Frank is always trying to feed us.”

Billy made a choking sound that you took for laughter. He cleared his throat and moved some pillow out of the way. “Wanna sit?”

Your eyebrows shot up, but you didn’t question the invitation. You slipped under the covers next to Billy, feeling just a tad bit giddy.

He lifted the spoon to his lips and paused. He turned to you. “Want a taste?”

You giggled and leaned forward, sipping the warm broth. You grinned as you sat back. “Trying to test for poison?” You joked.

Billy sighed, putting his spoon down. “I deserve that. Look, Y/N, ‘m sorry I was bein’ a dick, I…” He looked away from you. “”M not used to people takin’ care of me.”

“Aw,” you ran your fingers through Billy’s messy hair, “you don’t have to apologize, I get it. And I’m happy to help, Billy.” You watched him try the soup. His eyes closed and your grin widened. “Good?”

“Mm,” he nodded, “Shit. This is really good, Y/N.” You felt a spark of glee go through you at the compliment and leaned in closer to Billy. The two of you sat in bed together, as Billy slowly ate his food and drank his tea, watching horrible reality TV and arguing over which one of you Curtis liked best. Billy ate most of the soup and drank all of his tea, and he tried to help you clean up afterward—but you wouldn’t let him. You put the dishes in the dishwasher and came back to see Billy lying down with the covers wrapped around him. He looked adorable.

You climbed into bed with him and caressed his forehead. “Do you need anything?” You asked, voice low.

He looked up at you, eyelashes fluttering against his sleepy, dark eyes. “Can…” He sniffled, and you almost melted. “…Can you hold me?”

You thought your cheeks would burst with how big you smiled. “C’mere, baby.”

You wrapped your arms around Billy, pulling his warm head to your chest and running your fingers through his hair just the way he liked. He put his arms around your waist and sighed happily. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

“I want you to stay,” he went on, sniffling, “an’ I want to take care of you next…I want to take care of you forever.”

You chuckled. “You’re delirious, babe.”

“I’m serious,” he looked up at you with an honest to God pout on his face, “You… I want you…You’re my…” He groaned, snuggling in closer to you. “”M too tired, you know what I mean.”

You did know what he meant, and it made you feel another wave of sweet warmth go through you. “Mm hmm,” you agreed, running a hand down his back, “me too, baby.”

“Mm,” he closed his eyes, “I like when you call me baby… Let’s take a nap, baby.”

“Okay,” you kissed the top of his head and he sighed happily, “sweet dreams, baby.”

Billy dozed off in your arms, and while you weren’t necessarily happy that he wasn’t feeling well, you had to admit; holding him like that, taking care of him, and hearing his soft, unsure utterances just felt right…

…even if you woke up with a cold the next morning. 

*******************************************************************************

I still have a few requests in my ask box and some ideas I wanna do, so feel free to request still but it might take a while. Also, if you want to be added to my taglist, just let me know.

Thanks for reading!

TAGLIST: @floralpeaceofmind @delicatelilyflower @doneobrien @king4thesirens @ladyblablabla @banditthewriter @something-tofightfor @mrsjaxtellerfan @starsfragments @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @hisgirlwednesdayaddams @thebabblingbook @fictionwillneverdie @maria-beretta @sadnessxvodka @tartelette-aux-fraises @ymariejp @sunnycolors @moonlightsay @its-all-o-kay @madamrogers @damagelove @keyeluh @itsmylife98

(If you’re on this list but didn't get a notification, lemme know. I don’t think I got all the URLs right?)

[dr-gloom]

The Makings of Greatness: Chapter 5

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: platonic logince, platonic moxiety, platonic anxeit, familial ThVi

Tags/Warnings (for this chapter): Virgil is suspicious, and salty

Ko-fi

AO3

Masterlist

Prologue  Ch 1  Ch 2  Ch 3  Ch 4  Ch 5  Ch 6  Ch 7  Ch 8  Ch 9  Ch 10  Ch 11  Ch 12  Ch 13  Ch 14  Ch 15  Ch 16  Ch 17

Logan’s every angered step clanged along the wooden staircase down to the galley, face pinched and absolutely fuming. “That man, that… feline! Who does he think is working for whom?”

Virgil stops next to him. “Hey, it’s my map, and he’s got me bussing tables?”

Emile walks up behind them, gripping their shoulders. “I will not tolerate a bad word about our captain. There’s no finer officer in this galaxy.” He lets them go to continue through the galley, following Logan and Virgil. Logan stomps ahead, pausing as whistling catches his ear.

Past several rows of large wood tables to the kitchen, a man moves about, whistling a strange tune to himself as he works. “Mr. Moran!” Emile calls.

The cook straightens up, wiping his hands on his apron and smiling. “Ah, Mr. Picani, sir! Bringing such fine, distinguished men to grace my humble galley.” His voice is smooth and deep, strangely lulling. He steps out of the shadows the brick stove casts across the kitchen, bowing in good fun with a grin spread across his face. “Had I known, I’d’ve tucked my shirt in.” He laughs at his own joke.

His entire right leg had been replaced with a hydraulic prosthetic; it was an accordion-like mechanism down to the calf, where it turned into a simple metal peg, easy for walking. His right arm was also all machine, though this one far more impressive. Virgil wasn’t sure how it worked, exactly. The top half was simple machine, with typical gears and compressors, while his forearm was a massive, rounded metal shell with long slits in its surface. It was definitely unique, and strange. His left eye and the surrounding flesh were replaced with a machine as well, a golden eye that held a focus lense that could zoom in and out at will and a mechanism where the ear would be to process sound. When he smiled, the skin around the edges of the metal in his face would bunch up. Aside from that, he looked as though he might be a similar species to Logan; small, floppy ears (or, ear…), stout, chubby fingers, and an animalistic nose, though he didn’t have a muzzle. In that respect, he was more like Roman. He wore a plain white shirt, partially covered by his apron, and a loose pair of black pants.

Virgil already didn’t like him. It didn’t help that he was a- Virgil gasped, a phrase ringing in his head. “Cyborg….”

“I came to introduce Dr. Abbott, the financer for our voyage.”

Mr. Moran’s eye turns red, and a laser shoots out to dart across Logan’s suit, taking him in. “Love the outfit, doctor.” He chuckles. Logan resists the urge to cover himself like some exposed damsel.

“Thank you. Interesting eye.” He turns to take Virgil’s arm, pulling him forward. “And this is Virgil Shae.” Virgil gives Logan a scandalized look as the man backs away, leaving Virgil at the cyborg’s mercy.

Mr. Moran thrusts his hand out- or, what used to be a hand. It was now replaced with five tools; a drill, a knife, a strange cross between a mace and a bat, pliers, and scissors. “Virg-o!” Virgil rolls his eyes, shoulders tense as he studies the tools in front of him. Mr. Moran pauses for only a brief moment before tsking himself, and suddenly the metal casing of his forearm is splitting open, and a rotating mechanism is switching the tools with a robotic hand; bare joints and pads for gripping. His grin broadens as he waits, but Virgil just glares up at him. Mr. Moran shrugs, moving back into the kitchen.

“Don’t be too put-off by this… hunk of hardware.” As he speaks, the hand is replaced with scissors. His flesh hand reaches up and grabs a grouping of some alien shellfish, pulling them down and using the scissors to snip the tendrils attaching them to the ceiling. The scissors are then replaced with a multi-purpose tool that he uses to cut open the shellfish, gut them, and toss them into the frying pan with minimal movement. The tool rotates through the functions as it works, so all he has to do is move his arm from one shellfish to the next. The tool is then replaced with a large knife that he uses to cut up some vegetables. He slips his flesh arm into the sleeve to make it seem like he cut his hand off. “Whoa!” He brings his arm up and the sleeve falls down, revealing his uninjured hand, and he grins.

Parlor tricks. Virgil isn’t a child.

The knife is replaced with three small claws, which he uses to break and dispense the contents of three eggs. “These gears have been tough getting used to, but… they do come in handy.” The claws leave to be replaced by a torch, which Mr. Moran lights under the pan as he carries it to the brick stove, dumping the contents into a pot and mixing them together with a normal ladle.

“Now, how about you two try my famous bonzabeast stew?” He spoons out and hands them two bowls; Logan sniffs his curiously. “It’s an old family recipe.” Mr. Moran grins as an eye pops out of Logan’s stew, startling him.

“In fact, that’s part of the family.” He chuckles and grabs the eye, popping it in his mouth. As Logan looks at him, scandalized, he raises an amused eyebrow. “I’m only joking.” He nudges Virgil. “Your friend can’t take a joke, can he?” Virgil shrugs, side-eyeing Mr. Moran. “Go on, try it.”

Mr. Moran moves back to the kitchen to finish preparing the food and Virgil spoons some out, glancing at it skeptically. Suddenly, the spoon curls around the food and swallows it, turning pink. Virgil gasps as it grows eyes, its full mouth grinning up at him. What the…

The rest of the spoon turns pink as it swallows the food and jumps out of Virgil’s hand, seemingly floating in mid-air.

“Morph!” Mr. Moran’s voice calls out fondly. The pink blob smiles and sticks its tongue out at Virgil playfully. It turns into a straw and lands in Virgil’s stew and he watches curiously as it sucks it all up. “You little blob of mischief, so that’s where you went off to.”

Morph turns back into his pink blob form and plops into the now-empty bowl, sighing contently. He burps and flies out of the bowl, rubbing up against Virgil’s cheek happily. “Whoa-” He puts his hand up to block it, the feeling of its weird, almost wet slime-like texture unsettling. “What is that thing?”

“What is that thing?” The blog echoes in a higher-pitched voice. Virgil pokes it and it disperses into smaller blobs before coming back together and shifting into a much smaller copy of Virgil. Virgil squints, and it squints back.

“He’s a morph. I rescued him on Proteus.” Morph goes back to his pink form and flies over to Mr. Moran, cuddling against his neck. “He took a liking to me, and we’ve been together ever since.” He pet the blob with a finger as it cooed happily, smiling.

A bell tolls outside, and Emile clears his throat. “We’re about to get under way. Would you like to observe the launch, doctor?”

“Ah, yes, let’s. I must admit I am rather curious to see the process first-hand.” Logan heads for the stairs, and Virgil moves to follow.

A stone hand extends in front of him, blocking his path. “Virgil, you’re staying with Declan, under his charge.”

Declan coughs when he chokes on the stew he’d been testing, wiping his mouth and straightening up to look at the first mate. Virgil’s eyes widen in panic. Please don’t leave me with the psycho cyborg, please please please…

“I… Beg your pardon, sir, but-”

“Captain’s orders, Declan.” Emile states with an air of finality. “Make sure you keep him busy.”

Virgil’s shoulders drop. Oh, right. He was the pest. The unwanted guest.

“Oh, but wait, you can’t-”

Emile disappears up the stairs.

They both sigh.

In a breath, they’re both on guard, arms crossed and chins up, surveying each other.

“So, captain’s put you with me….”

“Whatever.”

Declan shrugs, going back to work. “Ah, well. I wouldn’t be a humble cyborg, to argue with the captain.”

Virgil’s eyes narrow. Have to act casual.

He grabs a purple fruit from an open barrel, tossing it between his palms. “You know… these purps, they’re kind of like the ones back home… on Montressor. Ever been there?” His heart was beating hard in his chest. What would happen to him if Declan found him out? Would he kill him?

“Can’t say I have, Virg-o.”

“It’s Virgil.”

Declan shrugs, back facing Virgil, and he huffs, pulling himself up onto the countertop. “Actually… now that I’m thinking about it, I met this old guy just before I left that was looking for his cyborg friend.” He takes a bite of the purp.

“Is that so?” Declan asks, tone easy.

“Yeah… What was his name? Oh, right. Billy Bones.”

Declan raises an eyebrow. “Bones. Bones…?” He grabs the large bowl he’d been working over, moving it to the other side of Virgil. “Doesn’t ring any bells. Must’ve been a different cyborg. There’s a lot of us out there…”

Someone whistles overhead, drawing both men’s attention.

“Prepare to cast off!”

Declan grins, gently pushing Virgil off the counter to reach a bottle behind him. “Go watch the launch. There’ll be plenty of work for you when you get back.” Virgil gives him a skeptical look before sauntering up the stairs. Declan hums, holding out a cracker for Morph.

“Better keep an eye on him, huh, Morph? Wouldn’t want him getting into things he shouldn’t.”

Taglist: @the5thcoy @dailysandersidesaudoodles @hungry-red-panda @neonb-fly @chemically-imbalanced-romance @punsterterry @dead4sevenyears @metaphoricalpluto2 @tanyatoloni1334

[darnedchild]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 - Day Seven

A/N:  I was stuck for an idea for today’s fic, so @lilsherlockian1975 very kindly gave me one.  “Molly and Sherlock running into Wiggins - he's all smug because 'he knew it!' (maybe because an all drugged up Sherlock spoke very highly of his pathologist and her perky little t*ts”.  I modified the prompt a tiny bit.  In case you haven’t figured it out yet, there is a tiny bit of naughty language in this one.  Unbeta’d.

It’s not my best work, but I only had three hours to knock it out if I wanted to get it done today so . . .

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 – Day Seven (Non-Canon – Free Choice)

Shezza’s Missus

“Sherlock?  I know I’m early, but you said it was important that I come over after my shift and Doctor Rich-“  Molly came to a dead stand still in the doorway to Sherlock’s kitchen.  She took in the strange man standing in front of the hob stirring something in a pan with a wooden spoon.  Whatever was in the pan smelled absolutely lovely, some kind of mouth-watering curry.  But still . . .  “You’re not Sherlock.”

“Hullo, Missus.  Home early?” He brought the spoon up to his mouth, tasted the sauce, and grimaced.  His hand hovered over a row of spice jars before snatching one up and shaking a sprinkle of seasoning into the pan; then he shrugged and shook the jar twice more. “Curry powder.  I told him the sauce was too bland the way he’d done it, but Shezza insisted on following the recipe to the letter.”  The man winked at her over his shoulder.  “I won’t tell him we gave it a bit of a tweak if you don’t.”

“I . . . What?”  Molly had no idea what was going on.  She didn’t think she’d ever even seen Sherlock’s kitchen used to prepare food before.  Add to that oddity, the lanky man who seemed to have made himself at home and who appeared to be wearing a frilly pink pinny over his jeans and thread-bare jumper. 

He shrugged.  “I spent a few weeks crashing in the basement of a tenement across from the best curry place in Southwark.  I picked up a few pointers from the bloke who washes the dishes.”

Molly opened her mouth and then shut it.  After a moment she tried again.  “What?”

“Do you know you keep sayin’ that?”  He stirred the sauce one more time, then adjusted the heat to let it simmer.  He pulled open the fridge and dug out a bottle of water.  “You want one?  There’s also wine, but I think that’s meant for the meal.”  She shook her head no.  He leaned against the fridge door and opened his water.

“I hate to be rude, but where’s Sherlock?”  More importantly, had he been murdered and cut up for curry by a strange madman?  

Molly considered that she should probably stop marathoning episodes of “Hannibal” on DVD if that was the sort of thing that wasn’t going to come to mind whenever she was confronted with something out of the norm.

“Took Mrs H to A&E.”  At her alarmed look he rushed to reassure her.  “Just twisted her ankle.  Tripped over the rug.”  He nodded toward the sitting room and Molly finally noticed how clean and neat everything was.  Papers, magazines, and books had been carefully stacked and shifted out of the way. The top of Sherlock’s dining table/desk had been cleared and set with two place settings, complete with wine glasses.

She turned back to the scruffy man in the pinny again, searching his features because something about him seemed vaguely familiar. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

He nodded.  “You could say that; although we weren’t formerly introduced at the time. Wiggins.  Bill Wiggins.  At your service.”

The memory came to her.  The day John and Mary had brought Sherlock to Barts for a drug test. “Not the best of circumstances for a first meeting, was it?”  She sheepishly smiled.  “I’m Molly Hooper.”

“I know who you are, Missus.  I’ve heard all about you.  Shezza was always going on about Molly this, Molly that when he was . . . indisposed last summer.”

Indisposed last summer?  He must have meant when Sherlock was high off his arse during the Culverton Smith case.  “Oh! You’re Billy!  The one who-“

“Kept him from OD’ing,” Bill supplied.  He met her eyes, posture stiff and expectant as if he was waiting for her to rail at him.

As much as she wanted to, she knew Sherlock well enough to know he would have gone ahead with his plan whether or not someone was there to monitor his usage.  Molly pulled out one of the kitchen chairs.  This was beginning to feel like a “make yourself comfortable, it’s going to be a long night” sort of situation.  “Yes, well.  Thank you for that, in case Sherlock never got around to saying it.”

A flash of surprise washed across Bill’s face, then disappeared as quickly as it came.  He nodded and turned back to the hob.  “You like curry chicken, Missus?”

“Yeah, it’s one of my favourites, actually.”  Bill nodded as if that was exactly the answer he’d been expecting.  Her gaze was drawn to the intimate set up on the dining table again, and a small blossom of hope bloomed in her chest.  “Do you know, uhm, do you have any idea why Sherlock asked me to come over tonight?”

He hadn’t said in the text, just asked her to come to Baker Street and that it was very important.  

She and Sherlock had only spoken a handful of times since the infamous phone call.  The first time had been less than twelve hours after he’d nearly destroyed her, and he’d explained the entire thing – his sister, the island prison, the tests, and the reason for making her say what she’d said.  Clearly, she’d meant the words, and he had assured her that he’d meant his as well . . . and that was where they’d stalled.  He’d actually stood up, said “I’m glad we’ve got that settled then”, leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, and left.  He never brought any of it up again, actually going so far as looking a bit panicked anytime Molly came near him during the last two weeks; and Molly hadn’t managed to get him alone, and she was certainly not going to bring it up while Greg or John were listening.  

“Dinner.”

That much was obvious.  She was hoping for a slightly more informative answer.

He shrugged and continued adding chicken to the curry sauce.  “Then a good shag, I would guess.  Gotta break in the new furniture sometime, right?”

Molly choked hard enough that Bill dropped the spoon and grabbed another bottle of water out of the fridge for her.  “You all right, Missus?”

She caught her breath and drank some of the water to ease the burn in her throat.  “I don’t think I heard you correctly.  Did you say ‘shag’?”

“Sorry.  That was rude, what’n’it.  Make love, then.”

“We don’t-we aren’t . . .”  Molly sputtered.  “I think you’re a bit confused.  Sherlock isn’t interested in that sort of thing with me.  Maybe you’re thinking of one of his past girlfriends.  Janine or-or-Why are you shaking your head?”

Bill waved the spoon in her direction.  “Definitely you, Missus.  He’s been wanting to get into your knickers for ages.  I figured it was only a matter of time.  He used to say ‘smart really is the new sexy’ and then laugh and start talkin’ about his Molly’s perky little tits.”

She choked again.

“One night he just kept going on and on about your arse and how perfect it was.  Couldn’t get him to stop, actually.  Said it was just right for-“

“All right, Billy, that’s enough!”  Sherlock’s voice drowned out the rest of Bill’s sentence.

Molly stared at Sherlock standing in the kitchen doorway, still wearing his Belstaff and scarf.  

“Curry should be done in another ten minutes, kept an eye on it like I promised.  Even entertained the Missus while you were out.”  Bill grinned.  

“I noticed.”  Sherlock sighed and reached up to pull off his scarf.  “I can take it from here, if you would be so kind as to bugger off.”

“If you’re sure?”  Bill snickered when Sherlock sent a glare his direction.  “Right then, I’m off.”  He slipped the pinny over his head and folded it up, dropping it on the counter. “Make sure that gets back to Mrs H or she’ll have my head.  Night, Sherlock.  Missus.”

Molly nodded, then held out her hand to stop him from leaving.  “Why do you keep calling me that.  Missus, I mean?”

“Cause that’s what you are.  Shezza’s Missus.  Everyone knows that.”

Sherlock reappeared after hanging up his coat.  “Billy, don’t you have somewhere—anywhere—to be? Now.” he rumbled in warning.

She let Bill leave.

Sherlock clear his throat and nodded toward the dining table in the sitting room.  “So, dinner?”

“Dinner sounds lovely.”  

He released a deep breath, obviously relieved that she was willing to stay.

“Or-“  Molly stood and moved to the hob.  She turned the heat off and moved the pan to a different ring.  “Or we could skip right to the shagging.  Bill pointed out that you’ve got quite a lot of new furniture to break in.”  She bit her lower lip and waited to see how Sherlock was going to react.

He blinked several times, enough times to make her start to worry.  He came out of it and cleared his throat.  “Billy is a wise man with a very valid point.”

[doctorbillycooks]

This is a deliciously fresh way to serve chicken. I more or less followed the recipe, but I winged the proportions a bit.

For two largish chicken breasts, use the juice and zest of a big lemon, a handful of fresh sage leaves and a couple of tablespoons of olive oil. Put it all in a bag, making sure the chicken is well - coated, then leave in the fridge to marinate for half an hour or so.

Tip the contents of the bag into a baking dish and roast at gas mark 6 for around 45 minutes, until the skin of the chicken is crisp. Serve with whatever vegetables you like. (We had roasted sweet potato and fennel chunks).

[doctorbillycooks]

Home made flat bread, made with self raising flour and yoghourt.

https://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/bread-recipes/easy-flatbreads/

[doctorbillycooks]

Quiche aux poireaux is leek quiche. The filling takes 2 large leeks, a couple of handfuls of grated hard cheese (tradition says Comté cheese, but I used a mixture of cheddar and Parmesan), 2 eggs, 150ml of double cream (i used creme fraiche and it was fine), and about a quarter of a pint of milk. Season with salt and pepper, top with nutmeg if you like it. I added a few mushrooms because I had them, and I like mushrooms. Some people add bacon.

Cook and drain the leeks before you start. (I like them softened with a bit of olive oil in a frying pan, but you could simmer them in water if you prefer).

Line a pastry case with cheese. Add the leeks. Beat the eggs into the milk and cream, stir in seasoning and pour over the leeks. Top with the rest of the cheese and any garnishes you like. I had wild garlic and rosemary, and reserved some slices of leek to decorate. Bake for about 30 minutes at gas mark 6.

[doctorbillycooks]

Herby lamb chops with roast radicchio and pomegranate tapenade 1 large bunch parsley, roughly chopped 1 small bunch rosemary, leaves finely chopped 2 fat garlic cloves, peeled Salt and pepper Extra-virgin olive oil 4 lamb cutlets 1 heads radicchio 2 tbsp balsamic vinegar 10 black olives, stoned Seeds of half a pomegranate Heat the oven to gas mark 4. Cut the radicchio head in half and each half into two or three wedges, with the wedges attached to the core to keep them together. Put them in a roasting tray and drizzle with two tablespoons of oil, the balsamic vinegar and half the chopped rosemary. Season generously, then roast for about half an hour, until soft and caramelised at the edges. Vigorously chop the olives with half the parsley. it doesn’t have to be very finely chopped. Stir in a couple of spoons full of balsamic vinegar, followed by the pomegranate seeds. Taste and adjust accordingly. Put in the fridge until needed. Chop the rest of the parsley and rosemary with a couple of garlic cloves and a teaspoon of salt crystals. Mix with enough olive oil to make a loose paste, then massage this into the lamb, so that it is generously coated. Put lamb in a roasting tin and pour over the rest of the marinade. Roasting in the marinade keeps the lamb moist. 15 minutes should do it. Serve the chops astride the roast radicchio, dressed with the tapenade. Notes: our tapenade was more of a salsa, and next time I’ll use more olives. It was delicious, and I’ve found that roasting any meat with more herbs than you think it can possibly need gives fabulous flavour. Radicchio is as bitter as hell. I mean really, really bitter. This is fine if you like bitter veg. I’m going to make this recipe again, but will probably use wedges of cabbage, which always roast up nice and sweet.

This is what I based my recipe on

[doctorbillycooks]

Crown Prince pumpkin. Roasted with a sprinkle of sea salt crystals, chilli flakes and olive oil

[doctorbillycooks]

This is Gennaro’s porchetta

I followed the recipe (see link below), but adjusted the amounts to suit the very small piece of belly of pork that I had. Gennaro’s recipe is for a whole pork belly. I had a mini-piece, weighing 450g.

I used a teaspoon each of salt crystals and fennel seeds, plus half a supermarket pack each of fresh rosemary, sage and thyme. I pulled the leaves off the herbs and chopped them up with a mezzaluna, leaving them quite coarse. I put a whole garlic head through a press, but it was a very small garlic head. If I’d had a fat head I would have used maybe two or three cloves. It was delicious.

[doctorbillycooks]

Pumpkin pie

Makes: One nine-inch pie

Takes: 30 minutes, plus chilling

Bakes: One hour 15 minutes

For the pastry

160g plain flour

½ teaspoon fine salt

2 teaspoons caster sugar

115g butter

100ml cold water

2 tablespoons cider vinegar

For the filling

425g tinned pumpkin puree

397g condensed milk

3 eggs

75g light brown sugar

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

⅛ teaspoon ground ginger

⅛ teaspoon ground cloves

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. To make the pastry, stir the dry ingredients together. Rub the butter through the dry mixture until most pea-sized lumps of butter remain.

2. Combine the water and vinegar, and add to the flour butter mixture one tablespoon at a time. Using a knife, mix the water through the mixture, bringing it together as a dough; you will almost certainly not need all the water, so go slowly, and stop as soon as the dough comes together. Wrap and chill for at least half an hour, but as long as overnight.

3. On a well-floured surface, roll the pastry into a 14-inch disc. Roll this disc onto your rolling pan, and then roll it out onto a 9 inch deep-dish pie plate. Using your fingertips gently manipulate and press the pastry so it sits flush against the tin. Use the overhang pastry to create a crust by folding it in on itself: you’re going for a rustic look here, so bumpy and uneven is fine!

4. Prick all over with a fork, line with ovensafe clingfilm or baking paper, and line with dry rice or baking beans. Chill for another 30 minutes.

5. Preheat the oven to 180°C. Bake for 20 minutes, before removing the baking beans or rice and lining; the crust should be able to support itself, so leave it for another five minutes or so if it can’t. Bake for a final 10 minutes without the lining, until the interior pastry is dry, and has taken on a little colour.

If you are not making your own pastry, start here ⬇️

6. Reduce the oven temperature to 150°C (gas mark 2). Place all the ingredients for the filling into a large bowl, and whisk together, breaking up the eggs, until the mixture is smooth and combined. Transfer to a jug. Pour the filling into the pie case and place in the oven for 45 minutes until the edges are puffed, and the middle jiggles rather than sloshes when moved. Remove from the oven and leave to cool for at least two hours before slicing and serving.

Notes:

I used a bought pastry case, which was quite shallow, meaning that there was quite a lot of the filling mix left over. It’s in the fridge. I might make something else with it.

A shallow pie crust gives a higher pastry-to-filling ratio, which I think is a good thing. This filling is incredibly sweet. I think I might leave the sugar out if I make it again.

I didn’t have powdered ginger, so used a lump of stem ginger, chopped up. Not sure if that worked.

There is too much nutmeg for my taste. Next time, instead of putting it in the mix, I might just grate a tiny amount over the top before baking, the way you would with a custard tart.