#mr medicine man give me some aspirin

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Lame

Tony hurts his back in the lamest possible way. Tony is in denial, Peter is amused and Bruce just wants to do his job... oh and Rhodey? He thinks it's hilarious.

Tags: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Hurt Tony Stark, Worried Peter Parker, Humor, Medical Doctor Bruce Banner... ...

Warnings: None   Rated: G

Word Count: 3441

Link to AO3 Lame-happyaspie

Peter had been in the lab for less than an hour when he hears a sneeze followed by a distinct 'Ow' coming from his mentor's mouth, across the room.  "Are you okay, Mr. Stark?" he asked with concern.  He couldn't remember ever hearing the man make any sort of noise of pain or discomfort before.  Not around him anyway.  It was worrisome at best.

Tony looked across the room at his mentee, rolled his eyes, and plastered a fake smile on his face.  "Yeah.  Of course. Why wouldn't I be?  I just sneezed. I'm fine." he rapidly defended as he tried to pull himself up a little taller in his chair.

Bringing his brows together in doubt, Peter stood up so that he could get a better look at his mentor.  "You said 'ow', Mr. Stark" he pointed out before bringing his bottom lip between his teeth in a nervous manner.

"I'm fine, kid," Tony replied and that time it sounded almost believe able.  The initial discomfort had faded and the last thing he wanted to do was to scare his favorite spider-child.  He was fine.  Just... tweaked his back a little.  The kid didn't need to know that tough and he was glad to see that the boy was slowly sitting back down with his school books.  That meant he had a moment to try to reach behind himself and rub out the lingering ache.

As Peter worked his way through his maths exercises and finished up the last of his American Civics essay he heard his mentor occasionally grunting or straining in obvious pain.  He tried to let it go because it was obvious that his mentor was trying to be quiet about it.  However, Peter had super-hearing and could hear every small noise that Tony made as he worked.  He could no longer stay quiet when the man hissed as he leaned down to pick up a dropped tool and suddenly he couldn't keep quiet anymore.  "Are you sure your okay?" he pressed hoping that Tony just tell him what was wrong because he was starting to grow a little anxious about it.

"Don't you have some homework to do or something?" Tony mildly bit back with a groan.  Not that he didn't appreciate the concern so much as he wanted to ignore the entire episode into nonexistence.  As long as he pretended he was fine.  He would be fine.  He'd faked 'just peachy' under worst conditions.

Peter smiled, not taking even a little bit of offense from his mentor's clipped response. "Nope.  I'm done," he said with a shrug of his shoulder while dramatically slamming his history book shut.

Sighing deeply, Tony waved a hand towards the holo-table that Peter often worked at when he came over and tried to smirk.  "Well.  Go do something else then," he said, making a point of staying as still as possible as he did so.  He wasn't going to be able to keep a straight face otherwise.  Every small movement caused a jolt of pain to radiate through his lower back and down into his left hip.

The concern didn't leave Peter as he acquiesced and sat down to work on an AI code he'd been messing with for a while. It wasn't much but every time he added some, Tony would go over it with him and help him add things here and there.  It was mostly just an excuse to practice programming language syntax. Eventually, he grew tired of that task and moved on to another, then as the hour grew late his stomach started to growl and he sighed.  "It's almost eight?  Can we go upstairs and eat.  I'm starving," he said as he saved his work and wandered over towards where Tony was still sitting in the same spot he'd been in all afternoon.

"Sure, kiddo," Tony said with a half-hearted smile.  He was sort of dreading standing up.  Especially with the kid standing right there but he didn't have much of a choice.  "Ow, ow, ow... shoot.  Ow." he spat out through gritted teeth as he slowly brought himself to his feet.  The pain was so intense that he couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut no matter how much he wished he could.  He could practically taste the uneasiness radiating off of his kid and it was making him feel that much worse.  Because of that, he tried to bite his lip in order to stop the painful rambling but that wasn't enough to prevent the one last hiss that came through his teeth as he finally straightened himself out.

Peter swallowed hard and shuffled his feet.  "Mr. Stark?" he finally asked when the man didn't make any further movements or complaints.

"It's nothing!" Tony grunted before giving up and falling back into his chair.  Walking seemed like a lot of effort at the moment. He'd have to take something and try again in a few minutes.  No big deal.  He's had worse.  This too shall pass and all that jazz.

"It doesn't look like nothing.  Maybe I should call Dr. Banner or something," Peter said with trepidation.

"No! Absolutely not," Tony firmly stated.  There was no way he was going to the doctor for this.  All he needed was some over the counter medication and a few minutes for it to kick it. Then he sighed.  "Just... just get me some aspirin," he dejectedly added.  Despite the fact that he didn't want the kid to see him as he was, he was actually thankful he was there to go get it for him.  It was a small grace, really.

More than happy to hear that his mentor was willing to ask for a pain reliever, Peter let out a deep breath.  "Ah.  So you admit you're not fine then, huh Mr. Stark?" he teased with a relieved grin.  

Tony tried to smile back but as he did so he shifted a little in his seat causing the smile to turn into a grimace.  "Just go get the Aspirin, kid," he whined without censor but at that point, he was pretty sure he'd somehow managed to break his spine doing literally nothing.  This was how Tony Stark died, slumped pathetically over his desk waiting for a fifteen-year-old to bring him pain medicine from the bathroom than was no more than ten steps from where he sat.

A few short minutes later, Peter obediently handed Tony the tablets along with a bottle of water and the two of them sat there for a while waiting for it to kick in.  During that time, they ordered a large dinner and discussed what show they were going to binge while they ate.  Then, after twenty minutes or so, the food was delivered to the penthouse and Tony sighed. "Okay.  One more time," he grunted as he strained to get up and then grunted again as he sat back down on the penthouse couch.

Being the considerate person that he was, Peter happily fixed his mentor a plate and delivered to him where he sat in the living room.  Tony grumbled his thanks and Peter turned on the newest episode of some sci-fi series they'd been watching together for the last few weeks.

After the second episode had ended and the food wrappers had been cleared, Tony suggested that they go back to the lab.  However, as he moved to stand back up, it seemed that this stationary position had caused his spine to lock up and he ended up slowly lowering himself back down before he even made it halfway up.  He growled a little in frustration as he did so.  

Having watched his mentor all but collapse back onto the cushions, Peter frowned.   "Can we please call Dr. Banner now?" he pleaded because clearly, the one dose of aspirin wasn't doing anything for whatever it was.

Tony nodded his head, closed his eyes, and forced himself to stand back up. It hurt but it wasn't nearly as painful once he was actually on his feet.  He couldn't deny that the upward movement hadn't been nearly excruciating.  Maybe he did need a little bit more than an aspirin.  Not that he was going to say that though.   "Fine but only because it'll make you feel better," he said with a sly smile because he knew it actually would make the kid feel better.  That made for a good excuse should it end up being something really mundane like a muscle cramp or something.  

Once in the med bay, Tony sat at the edge of the white paper-lined table while Peter took up a rolling swivel chair in the corner.  Bruce was quick to enter and started to ask a few questions while taking some vitals and once that was done he cut right to the chase.  "So, what happened Tony?" he asked without judgment.  It was a miracle the man had called him at all.  He'd been know to walk around with fractured bones for days without getting checked out.

"I hurt my back." Tony blandly replied as he pulled his t-shirt over his head to give the other man access to his injury.  

Bruce rubbed his hands together to warm them up a little, asking for more details as he did so.  "Did you fall?  Crash?  Something along those lines?" he asked.  When Tony shrugged his shoulders he proceeded to probe and palpate gently down Tony's spine.  As he made his way towards his lower back he stopped when Tony flinched violently at the touch. "Sorry,"  he said with sympathy and then sighed in contemplation.  "No numbness, tingling, pain in your legs?" Tony shook his head in the negative.  "...and you're sure nothing happened?"

"Nope.  It just... hurts," Tony replied matter-of-factly but he meant it.  Nothing that should have caused a back injury had happened.  They hadn't been on a mission in a month, he'd been taking it easy in the gym in favor of lab time and he'd not slipped or fallen since, well, since he'd stopped drinking over a year ago.

Bruce shook his head and furrowed his brow.  "Something had to have happened.  You don't sprain your lumbar without some kind of trauma," he dubiously pointed out because all signs were pointing solidly towards a sprain.

When Tony shook his head again, Peter pipped up from across the room. "He sneezed," he helpfully suggested because the man had seemed perfectly fine up until that moment and he didn't want his mentor to leave out any important details.  However, by the way, Tony was glaring at him he wondered if maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.  

"You sneezed?", Bruce asked with less amusement than he was feeling but he was glad to have been giving something to go on.  It wasn't completely uncommon for a particularly jarring sneeze to put enough pressure on the back to cause muscle strain but it was humorous.  Mostly because it was Tony that it had happened too.  "Okay, well was it painful prior to that?" he asked in order to be thorough.  

Resigning himself to his fate, Tony sighed. "Nothing happened but I suppose it's been bothering me for about two weeks.  It was fine until today.  Nothing a few aspirins and some topical analgesics couldn't manage," he admitted and watched as his friend glanced down at the tablet in his hands to make some notes.  Probably trying to hide the smile that he was failing to conceal.

"...and then you sneezed..." Bruce managed to ask while still sounding somewhat professional.  

"Yes," Tony replied without humor, and Bruce could no longer hold back his laughter.  Peter was quick to join him, making Tony feel slightly more annoyed than he probably should have been.  "Oh shut up and give me some medicine or something-" he said with an indignant roll of his eyes before pointing towards his giggling mentee, "-and you stop laughing.  I'm injured."

"I'm sorry Mr. Stark-"  Peter cried out, trying his hardest to pause the bubbling laughter, "-but that has to be the lamest injury ever.  The great Tony Stark...  Iron Man sprained his back... sneezing."

Choosing to ignore his overly amused kid, Tony turned his attention back to Bruce who was digging through a nearby cabinet.  "So what's the plan?" he wearily inquired.

Bruce hummed in acknowledgment, not answering until he had two vials and two syringes in hand.  "Two injections.  A steroid and an anti-inflammatory then you'll continue on orals for a few days," he explained, pausing to calculate and draw up the doses.  "You need to work some more stretching into your work out routine and make sure you're not sitting in a chair for longer than thirty to forty minutes without a break."

"You do know who you're talking to, right?" Tony incredulously asked.  Not sit in a chair for longer than thirty minutes? What was he supposed to do?  Stand up to work?  Okay, that was fair, he probably could but come on!  He was in that lab twenty out of twenty-four hours a day, he wasn't going to stand up every thirty minutes... that was ridiculous.  

"I do. Your name is on the chart and everything," Bruce returned with a cocky smile and then look over to where the teenager in the room had finally managed to get himself together.  "Peter, you and FRIDAY are in charge of making sure he's stretching, taking his meds, and getting off his butt while he's in the lab, okay?"

"Yes, sir" Peter replied with a genuine smile and a mock salute.  

Tony once again rolled his eyes.  He didn't need a baby-sitter.  Even if he did, it wasn't like a teenaged boy or an AI could force him into doing anything.  Though honestly, it hurt like hell and he was likely to comply without their insistence. Again he wasn't going to say that.  Instead, he scoffed.  "Like they-" he began, only to be ignored.

"-Alright.  I have your injections.  I need you to lower your pants and lean over the table so that I can get to your buttocks," Bruce said with factitious vigor.  

"I'm sorry, you want me to what now?" Tony quipped, snapping his head towards Bruce with wide eyes while Peter cackled in the background.

"I need to inject these into your buttocks.  This isn't a thrill for me either.  Trust me," Bruce blandly replied.  "Just pull your pants down a little so we can get this over with."

Tony looked over at Peter who left the room on his own accord, though he did snigger a little at the curses that were making their way through the solid wooden door.  Then not even ten minutes later, his mentor was walking towards him, still rubbing his backside.  By some miracle, he managed to not start laughing again before Bruce followed him out and started issuing some instructions.

"Alright, here are your prescriptions," Bruce said and then proceeded to read the labels.  When Tony looked less than impressed he sighed and once again turned towards Peter.  "I need you to please make sure he-" he started.

"-I can handle my own medication, thanks." Tony snipped, grabbing the bottle of tablets and pack of steroids from the other man's hands as he did so.

Not at all surprised by Tony's response, Bruce nodded his head and smiled.  "Well, I hope you feel better.  Remember no horsing around or sitting around for at least a week.  If it gets worse call me."

"Yup.  Got it," Tony returned and then wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder, that being a fairly common enough occurrence that no one was likely to figure out hat he was actually trying to get some of his own weight off of his back.  The kid had super-strength, he probably didn't even notice.  "Come on kiddo, let's get out of here," he said with only a slight pitch to his voice.  Then he realized the boy was too busy with his phone to actually start walking.  "Who are you texting?"

Peter looked up with a mildly sheepish look.  "No one?" he questioned even though it was obvious enough to have been a statement.

"Right," Tony sighed before the reality of the situation set it.  "Oh my God.  Who did you tell!" he snapped with absolute horror.  The last thing he needed was for anyone to find out he's hurt his back in such an utterly ridiculous manner.  

"Um... just May," Peter replied and then swallowed as he prepared to extend his list.  It wasn't like he was a good liar or anything.  "... and Ned and MJ,"  he added before taking a deep breath and hurriedly tagging on his most recent message recipient. "... and, um. Mr. Rhodes."

"That's it.  Get out of my house!" Tony said, feigning shock and annoyance.  Though to be fair, he was annoyed.  He just wasn't shocked.  Actually he was relieved the list was as short as it was.  It could have been far worse. The kid had Happy and Steve on speed dial as well.

"Mr. Stark!  No..." Peter laughed while simultaneously whining for emphasis.  

Tony was just about to banish the kid further when his pocket buzzed.  He was nearly positive that it was going to be from Rhodey. A glance at his screen confirmed it.   'Hey old man, I heard you sneezed you back out of commission,' the message read, followed up by several laughing emojis.  Tony was not impressed.

'I would like to take a moment to remind you that you're older than me,' he messaged back without hesitation.  The man was nearly two and a half years older than him.  He wasn't going to let that slide. He wasn't old.  

It didn't take long for a second message to pop up.  'I'm still in my prime.  You, on the other hand, threw your back out in the lamest way possible,' he read but rather than reply he glared at his mentee.  

"You're the worst.  You know that?" Tony said before playfully grabbing at the device that the teenager was still clutching.  "In fact, I'm taking away your Rhodey privileges.  Give me your phone."

"No!" Peter half-shouted as he slung Tony's arm off of his shoulders and took off down the hall.

Tony attempted to follow but was immediately halted in his actions when a sharp pain dug into his lower back.  He had to grit his teeth as he waited for it to pass.

Feeling guilty for having prompted the man into trying to run, Peter sighed and returned to Tony's side, silently helping him towards the elevator.  Then, the moment they were back in the penthouse, he left his mentor on the couch while he went to collect a few supportive pillows and a bottle of water.  He also took a moment to helpfully dole out the first dose of anti-inflammatories and carefully read the instructions on the steroid packet before taking those out as well.

Feeling tired, sore, and decidedly defeated, Tony allowed the kid to continue to dote on him for a while.  They watched his favorite movie for once and Peter was eager to jump up and get them snacks and drinks as they watched it.  It also didn't go unnoticed that even as Peter leaned into his side, he made a point of being exceptionally careful not to jostle him too much.  He wasn't sure how he ended up with such a thoughtful and caring kid but he certainly appreciated it.  He smiled to himself and just as he was about to lean his own head onto Peter's when the boy looked up at him.

"Am I forgive yet, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked with a smile.

Tony gave the teenager a scrutinizing look before squinting his eyes.  "That depends.  Who else did you tell?" he questioned, wondering if the kid had since managed messaged anyone else without his knowledge.  Though he assumed not seeing as he hadn't received any more fun messages.

"No one else, I swear!" Peter laughed, sitting up so he could hold his hands out in defense.

After taking a few seconds to pretend like he was mulling it over, Tony eventually nodded his head.  "Fine.  You're forgiven," he said and then pointed towards the hall closet.  "Now, go get me another pillow."

As he watched Peter happily take off down the hall, he smiled.  Then he remembered Pepper and seeing as she lived with him, he was going to have to tell her what happened.   He groaned at the thought and begrudgingly pulled out his phone.  Between, Bruce, Peter, Rhodey, and her... he was never going to live this down.  Ever.

Notes:

Hey! Guess who sprained their back this week by sneezing!

Yeah. So the shots in the butt? The oral steroids and anti-inflammatories? You guessed it. I got those. Only my experience with the doctor was far less amusing.

... but let's face it... hurting your already slightly sore back while sneezing is lame

#marvel #mcu #peter parker #Tony Stark #tony stark & peter parker #peter parker & tony stark fanfic #cross-posted #also on ao3 #marvel fanfiction #mcu fic #hurt/comfort #The author may be projecting #happyaspie writing

[sweet-teas-writing]

A Woman Scorned (Chp 3)

A/N: Hello beautiful people :) I'm so happy that you enjoyed the first two chapters last week! It makes me proud to know you're enjoying the story so far. And now here is a brand new Saturday, which means a brand new chapter. I will be posting each new chapter on Saturday, and, in this one, our dearest Ava will finally meet her old flame Alastor. Hope you guys enjoy and I love you all so much! Feel free to ask to be tagged into the tag list if you are not already.

Three: Ava, Meet Alastor

The sound of my alarm and the sun shining in from the window woke me up from a sound sleep. I groaned in annoyance and a bit of pain due to a slight headache as I sat up in the bed and looked over to my right. Jason was still asleep, snoring lightly. I glared angrily at him, wishing I could burn a hole through his skull. I hated… no I loathed him. The way he talks to me, the constant cheating. He told me that I wasn't good enough for him. But yet, the naive, heart-struck little girl in me was still in love with him, which is why I still put up with his shit. My head and my heart were always at constant war with each other, and each day it gets so hard on who to listen to.

I rubbed my temples, my headache starting to feel worse and took a deep sigh. I had to get it together, I had my big meeting today and I can't afford to get distracted. I got out of bed, making sure I didn't wake Jason, and headed to the bathroom to get ready. I opened the medicine cabinet and took two aspirin followed by a glass of water. I sprayed water in my hair and added my curling cream, making sure my bouncy curls stood out. I fluffed them out with a pick and side parted my hair. After taking a quick look in the mirror, I began to put on my makeup. I added some extra concealer to hide the puffiness around my eyes, followed by some eyeshadow and lip gloss. Satisfied, I walked over to the closet and pulled out my favorite white blouse and black slacks. After getting dressed, I put on my black stilettos, grabbed my blazer and purse, and grabbed a banana and a bottle of water before heading out the door.

Once I reached my car and climbed inside, I rolled down my windows and turned on the radio to find some upbeat music to listen to, needing a pick me up. While scrolling, I heard Mary J. Blige's song "Real Love" blast through the radio and it spoke to me. Her lyrics sang right through my soul, and I couldn't help but sing along loudly as I put on my sunglasses and drove out of the parking lot of my condo complex, feeling the cool, early morning Miami breeze and the warm sun.

I stopped for some coffee and a bagel before I arrived at my office. I walked into the meeting room to see Yolanda, Blake, and the rest of my team sitting around the table listening to a man tell some kind of story. I wasn't even paying attention to what he was actually saying because I was so fixated on his voice: confident, boisterous, and deep. His laugh made my body tingle; his speech so eloquent and charming that I could listen to him speak for hours. I knew that voice anywhere.

Yolanda saw me from the door and smiled, inviting me in.

"Ava! You're here! Come on in," she said. "There's someone we would like you to meet."

Everyone stood up from their seats, Blake had a devilish grin on his face, as Yolanda and our new client walked over to where I was standing. He wore a black suit with a crimson vest and tie and a neatly white pressed dress shirt. His shoes were also black but were lined with crimson accents. He was a very sharp dressed man. Upon looking at me, those bright, hazel eyes of his shone with adoration. A huge smile plastered his face, showing two rows of pearly white teeth. His hair, dark chocolate and thick, was coifed perfectly on top of his head. And he walked with a mixture of both grace and confidence. I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face upon seeing him.

Yolanda gave me a quick hug before introducing me to our new client: "Ava, I would like you to meet our newest client to Springwells Marketing Agency, Alastor Montez. Alastor, this is the head of our marketing team, Ava…"

"Ava Thomas-Sanchez," Alastor said admiringly as he extended his hand out to me. "You still look as breathtaking as when we were in college. It is so good to see you again, my dear."

I chuckled before accepting his greeting. "It's actually Mitchell now," I told him as Alastor glanced at my wedding ring. "I'm... married."

Alastor blinked followed by a brief nod of his head. "Forgive me," he said apologetically. "Mrs. Mitchell."

I winced inwardly at his words. Why did that sound so gross? "It's okay," I said with a grin. "It's great to see you too, Alastor. I am really looking forward to working with you."

"As am I," he said.

I couldn't help but stare at him. It doesn't look like he's aged since college. His physique through his suit was noticeable, his chest large and impressive through his clothes. I would be lying if I said Alastor wasn't an attractive man. But I'm a married woman, so he is off limits. Strictly business and strictly professional.

Yolanda spoke up breaking me out of my trance: "So," she piped. "Shall we get started?"

Alastor and I look towards her: "Right, yes," I stammered. "Let's get started."

Alastor and Yolanda returned to their seats and the rest of the team sat down as I stood at the head of the table. I placed Alastor's file in front of me and turned to face him.

"So, you were mainly selling your products to a lot of wineries and country clubs back in California?" I asked Alastor.

"Indeed I was my dear," Alastor responded, the charm and flirtation thick in his voice. "California was known for producing wine so I figured it was the perfect place to set up my business. I started off at a few places here and there until the demand for my product grew, not just in California but across the West Coast. Most of the men who bought from me purchased cigars as well, because who doesn't like to smoke while drinking?" Alastor chuckled and my team were just hypnotized by his voice.

"So why the move to Miami?" I asked him curiously.

"Ah, Miami is an expert on knowing how to have a good time," Alastor stated confidently. "The number of nightclubs and restaurants here will make anyone here buy wine and cigars. Plus, I was bored out in California. I thought I needed a new change of…" he looked at me with a smirk. "Scenery."

I choked a bit before clearing my throat. Blake covered his mouth to stifle a laugh and Yolanda couldn't help but smile at my embarrassment.

"Right," I said after a moment. "Well, here at Springwells, we like to collaborate with our clients on the kinds of advertising that are best to promote their products to revenue the most profit than your competitors. According to your file, your distribution factory is set out in Orlando, and you charge $25 for each bottle and $80 for each box of cigars."

"Again, correct," Alastor said with a nod.

"So I would think it would be best to advertise in the upper class areas of Miami. Country clubbers, nightclub owners, charity donators, anyone who is willing to spend on the finer things. Maybe host a wine tasting event, add a couple of your cigars, anything to sell your product to your audience. We will work on the billboards and magazine ads to get your products out to the public."

"So determined," Alastor said with a grin. "You were always known to have such a bright mind, Ava."

"I'm flattered," I chuckled. "All I want is the best for our client, and I'm willing to do anything to achieve the satisfaction of them."

"Really now? I feel like I can be easily satisfied," Alastor said with a wink.

"You are very flirtatious today," I said shaking my head.

"Call it natural charm," Alastor chuckled.

I scoffed amusingly. "Same old Alastor."

"You know you've missed me," he chuckled.

"Well," I said to my team trying to tune him out. "We will get started immediately. We will attempt to get this done within the next two months, okay? Everyone get to work."

My team- minus Yolanda and Blake- snickered at me as they got up from the table and walked out of the meeting room. Alastor soon stood up from the table and made his way in front of me, holding out a small piece of paper.

"If you ever need to reach me," he said placing the paper in my palm. "You are more than welcome to give me a call."

I raised an eyebrow. "You do know I have your number in your file right?"

Alastor shrugged. "Well that's my business number. This one is a little more… personal."

I felt another blush creep up on my face but I immediately shook my head. "I…"

Yolanda took the piece of paper from my hand. "Thank you, Mr. Montez. That's very thoughtful."

Alastor shook his head and grinned. "Ah, my dear, you don't have to be so formal. Call me Alastor." He looked over at Blake still sitting down. "Both of you can."

"Mm, I'll call you whatever you want me to," Blake said with a wink.

Yolanda opened her mouth in soft gasp. "Okay. Alastor."

Alastor laughed. "You have very charming friends," he said to me. "It's good to see you again, Ava."

I nodded my head and bit the corner of my lip. "You too, Alastor. Um… I'll call you with the updates as we continue to work on expanding your business."

"I look forward to hearing your voice," he whispered.

I sped walked towards the meeting door: "Okay, time for you to go! Have a lot of work to do," I quickly said.

Alastor chuckled again and held up his hands. "Okay okay. I'll go. It's so cute to see you get all flustered." He turned to Yolanda and Blake. "It's a pleasure to meet you Yolanda. And you too, Blake."

"Oh honey, the pleasure was all mine," Blake said as Alastor walked out of the door towards the elevators.

I sat down at one of the tables and groaned aloud, shielding my face with my hands. Yolanda and Blame stood over me, with Blake having a cocky smile on his face and Yolanda a faint blush on her cheeks.

"God, that is a man right there," Blake sighed dreamily. "Charming, successful, and sexy as fuck. So much better than seeing a picture. I mean I would never cheat on Damian but… whew."

"He was quite the looker," Yolanda admitted. "But it seems he was quite interested in you, mami," she said to me. "He couldn't keep his eyes off you."

I whined through my hands. "He hasn't changed since college," I muffled. "Still as flirtatious as ever."

"I don't see the problem with it," Blake stated. "It's obvious he still wants you."

I lowered my hands and held up my left hand to Blake, showing my wedding ring.

"Oh," Blake shrugged. "Honey, live a little. There's nothing wrong with making another 'friend.'"

Yolanda scoffed: "I'm sure he wants to be a little more than friends."

I ignored my friends comments: "There will be nothing going on between me and Alastor. I'm a married woman and he is my client. It will be a completely professional relationship."

Blake chuckled: "Whatever you say, love."

Yolanda hugged and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Ignore his teasing, Ava. You know what's best for you. Follow your heart."

I leaned back into her arms. "I know, 'Landa. Thank you."

Blake rolled his eyes. "Why am I the bad guy here?"

"Cause you're always teasing her," Yolanda stated.

"Can't help she's easy to tease," Blake joked. "I'm sure Alastor can make her blush just as much as I do…"

"Blake shut up!"

**TBC**

Tag List: @sirenascales @masked--empress @evilangel84 @wwevampireamongkpop @queen-legacy-productions @superrezzy00 @neversatisfiedgirlfics @defenseofourdreams6277 @writing-reigns and anyone else who wants to read it!

[witchofthewine]

18 and Life

AN: Any and all mistakes are mine because as of this moment I do NOT have a beta reader. I tried to double check the best that I could, so hopefully there aren’t too many I missed. If so let me know! 

Warnings: Swearing, drug use, drinking, abuse, I’ll add as they come up

Point Place, Wisconsin- 1968

 From his position on the bank of the dirty creek, the young boy watched the new family moving into the trailer that looked down on it. He never saw a man, just a young mother and a small child that happily carried any box she was handed in. They carried on a quiet conversation he couldn’t hear nor cared to know. It wasn’t until the mom spotted him and paused that Steven stood up almost nervously.

The little girl noticed her mom pause, and, clutching a small stuffed puppy to her chest, peeked around her legs and grinned brightly. She looked up, speaking while pointing towards him almost jumping up and down. Her mom laughed and nodded, the little girl making a rapid sprint towards him. Balking, Steven toyed with the idea of just turning around and making a break for it up the break, but before he could take more than a step back, she had reached him.

“Hi! I’m Aimee!” She offered him a big popsicle grin, clutching the puppy tighter to her chest.

“Um, I…”

She tilted her head, pigtails swaying in the breeze. “Do you want to play with me?”

“Sure?” It came out as more of a question, Steven not normally approached by other kids.

“Good! Do you live around here?” She was a curious little thing, edging closer.

“Yeah, couple houses down.”

“So, what’s your name?”

 Before the dream could go any further, Hyde was jolted awake to the sounds of life in the kitchen above; Mrs. Forman moving around making breakfast, Eric talking with her, and Red settling in to read the paper.  Laying perfectly still, he thought about the day he had dreamed of. That had been one of the best days of his young life, one of rare ones at any rate. From that day on, he and Aimee had become almost completely inseparable, the five-year old tailing him wherever he went like some kind of shadow. Not that Hyde minded much, she was one of the easiest people he could, and would, willingly open up and talk to even then. As they grew older, the more they knew everything about each other; even the worst parts and parts that they would rather have hid from anyone. Now, ten years later the two had been through hell and back, always doing all they could for each other.

Rolling over onto his back, the teenage let out a deep sigh as he heard footsteps on the stairs coming down to his room. “Hyde? Mom said to get you up dude, breakfast is ready.” Eric poked his head in as he spoke.

“I’ll be right up, now get out.” Tossing a pillow towards the other Hyde drug himself rather unwillingly out of bed. If he could have had his way, he wouldn’t have gotten up at all that morning after the long night he had had. All he had to do was get through breakfast and then he would be free to do as he pleased with the rest of the day, and one thing he knew was certain; as soon as the chance came up, he was going to take a nap.

Getting dressed, he wandered out into the main part of the basement to head up to the kitchen where the smell of bacon and eggs floated from. Pausing, he wandered over to the couch at a soft rustle before giving a disbelieving snort. “Aims?” She was sound asleep still; one arm curled under her head as a makeshift pillow with her knees drawn up to her chest forming a small ball on the broken-down cushions. Dirty blonde hair spilled across her face, blocking most of it from view as he studied her. Heavily debating on whether or not to wake her up, Hyde chose to let her sleep, after all she had been one of the many that had been at the party that was thrown.

Wandering back to his room, he snagged the blanket off of his cot before heading out to toss it over her. She buried herself deeper under it, a small sigh escaping as she did so. Shaking his head before he rolled his eyes, Hyde traipsed up the stairs to get himself something to eat, settling at the table while trying to tune out the chatter of his foster family. His head was slowly starting to pound, eyes burning in the overly bright light that filtered in through the sliding glass door. Trying to hide the fact he clearly was nursing a hangover, he forced down what he could of the food without seeming too obvious that he wasn’t very hungry or risk upsetting Mrs. Forman by rejecting her hard-cooked meal.

As the adults finished up and began leaving for work, Hyde rose and snagged a few leftover pieces of buttered toast to take down with him to the sleeping guest. He wanted to grab her something else as well but knew it would look to suspicious if he were to try and bring more down that the few things he had. Checking to be sure that Eric wasn’t following after him, the other teen instead opting to head across the yard to his girlfriend’s house, Hyde headed down the steps.

Reaching the couch, he sat down on the edge to pull a corner back to reveal the face hidden underneath. Aimee groaned, trying to bury back under it before he shook his head. “Come on brat, rise and shine. I have toast.”

One hazel eye opened to narrow dangerously at him before a pale hand poked out from under the blanket in a rather obscene gesture before she snatched the promised food from him. Her other hand grabbed the blanket to tug it back up and over her, but he kept a hold on it. “No way, if I have to face the day then so do you.” Pulling it back further earned a small groan and huff before she sat up, long hair wild around her face.

“Fine! But I’m not going to like it.” She snapped, taking a hard bite of her breakfast. “It’s your fault I even feel like death.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I wasn’t the one telling you to drink as much as you did.”

“You’re such a bad liar some days Steven. If it wasn’t you, then it must have been your evil twin handing me drinks.” A small smile was tugging at the corner of her lips as she teased him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Must have been, I’m always the best influence possible to you.” A snort was the only response he got as she finished her breakfast.

“My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Lemme up, the Forman’s are out for now so I can get you some juice and aspirin.” He patted her leg gently. “I need some myself, anyway, just didn’t want to raise any eyebrows trying to bring it all down here to our sudden stow away.”

Aimee bit her lip, leaning back on the couch and wrapping the blanket back around herself. “You and I both know if I would have turned up like I was last night at home The Bastard would have beat me sound.”

Hyde’s fists clenched as the younger teen spoke of her stepfather; just once he wanted to be left alone with the man to show him how it really felt to have someone beat the shit out of him. But no matter how pissed off he got; Hyde knew Aimee wouldn’t let him get into any sort of fight even if it was for her sake. Grinding his teeth, he rose to get the promised medicine for the both of them.

“Steven? You’re not mad at me, are you?” Her quiet voice caught him unaware and he turned back around quickly.

“No! Aims, why on earth would I be mad at you of all people? You’re not the one beating someone half your age into a mess just because you can.” Venom laced his words, leaving his hands shaking with the need to bury themselves against something or someone. “Aimee, look at me; I will never be mad at you for something out of your control. The only reason I get so frustrated or annoyed at you is because I know that you just spoke up the Forman’s would more than likely help you. Either that or Donna, hell as much as I hate to say this, even Jackie may help you. You have plenty of people that care about you, if you would just let them help.”

She dropped her gaze, fiddling with the corner of the blanket wrapped around her. “I don’t want to be in the way for anyone, besides he doesn’t do it all the time, just if he…”

“If he what Aimee? Is bored? Drinks? Why the hell do you have to lie to yourself like that?” Hyde shook his head. “Forget it, we have been over and through this so many times Aimee I know it all by heart. I’ll be right back.” Walking out, a steadying breath was taken before he made the short trip to a medicine cabinet. It wasn’t like he really wanted to get mad at her, or say the things that he had said but she was so stubborn! She drove him completely insane some days with her bullheaded streak of trying to keep out of the way even when she had been told more than once she was never in the way.

Tucking a small bottle of pills in his pocket to keep on hand for later uses, two glasses of orange juice were poured to be carried back down the steps carefully. Reaching the bottom, Hyde knew their conversation was going to have to be put on hold as a familiar dark head turned to smile at him. “Good morning Steven!” God, how could Jackie be so perky that early in the morning?

“Aren’t there laws against being all bright eyed and bushy tailed this soon?” He groused, passing one of the glasses over to Aimee. Digging in his pocket for the bottle, he shook a few out before placing them in the offered palm as she nodded her thanks.

“I, unlike you two, knew when to quit.” Jackie countered, taking a more comfortable seat on the couch next to Aimee, leaving Hyde to take his normal seat on the chair beside them. “I came to see how Aimee was feeling and if she was up to a trip to the mall.”

“Do I really have to?” The younger girl moaned, head falling back to stare up at the ceiling.

“Oh come on, you’ll have fun! You can tell me how pretty I look in any outfit that I try on!”

Aimee couldn’t help a small laugh as she shook her head. “I don’t think I can really handle a lot of walking right now, maybe this afternoon? I can meet you there if Steven will give me a ride?” She peeked at him from the corner of her eye as she spoke to be sure he was up for it. A small, almost unnoticeable nod was given to her words.

“I guess, but you have to go to every shoe store with me now instead of just three!” Grinning, Jackie rose and made her way to the door. “I’ll call you this afternoon with a time for him to drop you off.” With that she disappeared out into the warm air.

Groaning, one arm rose to lay across tightly closed eyes. “Please just run me over dude, I don’t think I will survive more than two stores with her today of all days.” The weak plead made him chuckle.

“Not a chance Aims, you know you could have said no if you didn’t really want to spend time with her.”

“She really isn’t that bad after a while, but after what you caused me to feel like today I really would just rather be ran over than shop.”

“I would hit you with the El Camino, but that may hurt my baby, so I’ll have to pass on that.”

Aimee laughed once again, forcing herself to stand up to wander over to the record player. “Are you okay with music? Or are you going to watch TV?”

“Thought you were going to go back to sleep?”

“I am, but I’d rather not have total dead silence if I can help it. So, music or TV?”

“Pick a record, there’s never anything good on at this time anyway.” Climbing to his feet, the taller of the two walked over to rest his head on her shoulder and offer the girl a hug. “Next time I’ll try to cut you off a little sooner. Maybe.”

She shook her head with a small laugh before starting an Eagles record. “The day you don’t peer pressure someone into drinking past their limit is the day you’re passed out yourself Steven Hyde.” Chastising him gently, she returned the hug before stepping back. “Do you have another blanket? If you plan on crashing again, I can’t very well use the only one you have.”

He waved the words away. “Just come crash in my room, wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done it.” Grabbing the blanket from the couch, he held it up teasingly. “Or you can stay out here and just be all alone.”

“You’re an ass.” Trailing after him like a puppy, Aimee flopped down on the cot next to him. “Are you sure the Forman’s won’t come home and totally flip their lids seeing me in here with you?”

“See us doing what? Sleeping? God Aims, you really worry too much for someone so young.”

“Fifteen isn’t that young thank you very little. Jackie just turned sixteen a few weeks ago so there for a while I wasn’t the only one this age.”

“Still such a little kid to the rest of us adults.” A light, playful slap was delivered to his chest as she settled in.

“Whatever. You and I both know that not one of the guys see me as a kid and you know it.”

“You’re right, they see you as a brat.” Smirking, he tucked his sunglasses on the dresser top beside his cot before wrapping strong arms around her. “Now shhh no more talking or I’ll call you Little Jackie.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Calming down from the light banter, the two slowly began to doze off. Aimee fell asleep first, rolling to pillow her head on his chest. It wasn’t the first time the two had crashed together, but nothing ever came from it when she did sleep in his bed. Normally, she was in there for far worse reasons; The Bastard had tried something, had locked her out of her own home, and nightmares that woke her up in terror were the normal reasons he would wake up to her crawling into his bed at night. Hyde ground his teeth as one hand absentmindedly stroked the soft locks under it as he made up his mind. Aimee wouldn’t tell a soul about how bad her home life was, but he damn sure would. The older she got, and the more she grew up into a true woman the more dangerous it was to be home alone with the pitiful excuse for a man her mom had married three years earlier. Heaving a deep sigh, the older teen forced himself to calm down, relax and try to get the nap he knew that he desperately needed after only managing a meager four hours the night before.

There was no point in trying to get her to budge herself, Hyde knew that he was going to have to take action himself later once the opportunity arose. She would more than likely get pissed at him, but he really didn’t care anymore at that point if she did or not; someone had to do something and he knew he was the only one.

#that 70s show #fanfiction #Steven Hyde #Steven HydexOC #Eric Forman #Kitty Forman #Red Forman #jackie burkhart #My writing #t70s

[gaynoodled]

Father Luke

Luke hasn't had the chance to have children of his own. It was always something that he wanted but with the war, becoming a werewolf, and keeping the Shadow World a secret for so long he never found that special person who would mother his children. At one point in his life, he thought that woman would be Jocelyn, but they were more best friends or partners in crime than lovers. He saw a lot of their relationship in what Clary had with Simon. The two were inseparable, and usually ganged up on Luke when they wanted something. 

Being Valentine's Parabati linked him to Jocelyn and their daughter, Clary. If things had gone better, and Valentine hadn't gone insane with power, and Luke hadn't been turned into a werewolf, things would be much different than it is now. He would never have met the Lightwoods, or rather, he would never have worked so closely with Maryse. She was Valentine's right-hand man, and Luke was his Parabati. 

Becuase Maryse had been working with Valentine from close to the start, Luke had the pleasure of getting to know her before she met Robert. Luke had considered her a prospect before everything went to shit and she married Robert. Luke never liked Robert, but he did like their son. 

The eldest son of the Lightwoods, Alexander, was always well behaved, quiet, and always obeyed a command he was given. At first, Luke thought it was from Maryse's influence that young Alexander was such a good child, but he soon came to the realization it was because he was scared. Luke had seen the same look in many Shadowhunter who had strict, borderline abusive parents. 

Luke soon took it upon himself to let Alec be a child, and act like a child when he was left in Luke's care. Which happened to be a lot at the beginning. Maryse was busy with Valentine, and Robert was busy with the Circle issues he was in charge of. Luke turned into somewhat of a babysitter for Circle members' kids, though he spent the most time with young Alexander Lightwood who was, in Luke's opinion, neglected by his parents. 

He and Alec got along very well. Alec was sweet, well behaved, and very bright for his age. Luke could carry on intelligent conversations with the young boy easier than he could with Valentine. It stung a bit that Alec, a child under the age of five, was a better friend to Luke than his own Parabati was. 

"Mr. Luke..." A small voice belonging to young Alec called as he walked the hallway towards where he last saw Luke. 

Luke looked up from the book he was reading and called, "I'm in here buddy." 

“Mr. Luke, I don't feel so good," Alec whispered as he looked at his shoes. "my- um... my head doesn't feel good."

"You have a headache?" Luke questioned, getting to the floor and kneeling in front of Alec. 

Alec nodded and closed his eyes. "My tummy too."

"Alright, let's get you some water," Luke said scooping up the ill child and resting him on his hip. 

Years ago, when Luke had first picked up Alec, the child seamed frightened and unsure of what was happening. Now, Luke was the only person Alec was comfortable with when it came to physical contact. He was okay with Jocelyn as long as Luke was around, Alec liked her but he didn't spend enough time with her to be comfortable around her.

Alec snuggled his face into the fabric of Luke's shirt and let out a distressed breath. 

"Does your head hurt that much buddy?" Luke asked. 

Alec nodded against Luke's shoulder and let a few tears slip from his eyes onto Luke's shirt. "Please help."

The quiet and desperate words broke Luke's heart. "Of course I'll help you."

Luke got the child some water and baby aspirin, which Alec downed like an adult, then carried him over to the couch. Luke had grabbed a soft blanket and sat on the couch with Alec sitting in his lap. He wrapped the blanket around Alec and held the child close as he hummed. Alec soon relaxed and snuggled into Luke and fell asleep. 

Jocelyn had walked in about twenty minutes later and found Luke and Alec snuggling on the couch, both asleep.

Years later he became the surrogate father for both Clary and Simon. He didn't see Alec as much after the Circle dispersed and he himself was no long a Shadowhunter, but there were the occasions when Alec was on a mission that he asked for Luke's help and they spent days together going over evidence. Those days were Alec's favorites, Luke taught him how to do things as a Shadowhunter, but he also taught him how to do things like the mundanes do. Alec learned about Werewolves and other Downworlders. Alec always felt so important when he would go to the station and Luke would introduce him as his son. Alec liked being Luke's son far more than he tolerated being Robert's.

Years later, Luke was over at Magnus’ loft with Raphael. They were having a “meeting”, which mainly consisted of Magnus bitching about Alec and the stupid fight they were in, and Raphael bitching about everyone else in the world. 

“He’s a child, not just the way he acts, but he’s barely an adult.” Magnus switched the topic back to Alec and their stupid fight. “He’s a fucking child, I already deal with enough Downworlder children, I don’t need a kid Shadowhunter-”

“Okay! I’ve had it! You need to stop talking about my son that way!” Luke snapped. “He was never a child! His parents had him working the second I taught him how to read! He still doesn’t know how to ride a bike! The only reason he knows how to swim is because I convinced Maryse it was an important skill to have! He had no one to help him when growing up!”

“Luke-” Raphael said trying to get Luke to calm down. 

“No! You barely know him, Magnus! He loves you! It amazes me how much Alec has changed for the good because of you!” Luke was getting louder and angrier. “I am so proud of Alec for loving and feeling even though he never learned. He was never a happy or loved kid, he was sad, scared, and neglected. I thought he would finally get a break when Isabel was born, or even when Jace came to live with them, but Robert and Maryse were just harder on Alec!”

“Lucian, I’m-” Magnus was cut off my Luke continued rant. 

“He was a child! He was barely five! He had no clue how to fix a migraine, or even what a fucking migraine was! He was giving himself medication! He could have died while trying to take care of himself! He didn’t know the difference between baby aspirin and Vicodin! He just grabbed what he could reach in the medicine cabinet and took three to five like he had seen his mother do!” Luke’s words didn’t stop and neither did the tears falling down both Magnus and Luke’s faces. “He was shocked when I comforted him! He was confused when I took care of him! He was scared when I picked him up or cuddled him! So stop saying Alec is acting like a child because he was never a child! And if he is finally acting somewhat childish than thank the Angel!”

“Fuck...” Magnus gasped as he wiped his tears. “I had no... I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.” Luke took a deep breath and calmed himself before turning to Magnus. “You’d better not break him, Magnus. I worked too hard on that boy for you to screw it all up.”

Magnus was shocked, Luke had never used his Alpha voice when speaking to Magnus before. Luke was protective of his children, Magnus had learned this much when dealing with Clary and Simon, but never did he realize Alec was in the same boat as the two former mundanes. 

“I won’t.” Magnus said quielty as he watched Luke walk out of the loft. 

“Well, I guess we know not to mess with Luke when he is in Dad Mode,” Raphael smirked. “I thought he was going to shift right here.”

Magnus nodded, “He very well could have.” 

#malec #alec lightwood #young alec #luke garroway #raphael santiago #jocelyn fairchild #robert lightwood #maryse lightwood #clary fairchild #simon lewis

[artificialqueens]

Overcome (Chapter 1) Jinkx/Ivy - Daisy_Lovely

“Thank you for coming in today, Ivy. I’m Mrs. Velour, the therapist here at Visage Hospital, but you can call me Sasha if you like. How are you feeling today?” Sasha asked as she sat in her chair waiting for Ivy to take the seat in front of her.  “I’m about as good as I’ll get. How about you, Mrs. Velour?” Ivy said while sitting down and looking at Sasha.  “I’m fine. Now, I was hoping you could tell me a little bit on why you’re here. It’s not listed in your file on what exactly happened and I was hoping to find out more so it will be easier to understand and so I can give you the proper sessions.” She said while looking through the girls file.  “Um.. Okay. I guess I can do that, or you can just ask my brother since he was there.” Ivy started to pick her nail polish.  “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to do that.” “Fine.” —————————- Ivy had just come home from visiting her grandparents house for the weekend, a tradition she’s done since she could remember. The only problem, she hated every second of it. She kept going only because she didn’t want anyone to suspect anything was wrong and start asking questions. “Hey Ivs, how was gran and pops? You okay?” Dustin asked as she walked past his room. She stopped to answer him. “It was fine. You should really go some time. They ask for you a lot and I’m starting to run out of excuses for you. And yeah, I’m just tired. I’ll probably take a nap or something.” “I’ll probably go next time. Thanks sis, I owe you one. Alright, I’ll come get you when I get dinner ready. Love you, kid.” “I love you too, Dustin.” She turned to continue her walk to her room. Rubbing the tired and the small tear from her eyes and yawning. She set her bag on her bed and sat down to remove her shoes. Ivy then made her way to her bathroom slowly and opened her medicine cabinet. As she reached for the closest pill bottle, she shook it to make sure there was enough to do the job. Ivy grabbed the water cup she always has sitting on her bathroom counter for when she needed to take an aspirin, and filled it with water.  As she opened the pill bottle, she looked at herself in the mirror, she could see the tired in her eyes and seen a tear was beginning to run down her cheek. She hadn’t realised she started to cry. Then she began to take each pill, slowly so she wouldn’t miss. Before she knew it, the world went black. “Hey Ivs, do you know wher- IVY!” Dustin quickly ran to her side, dropped to his knees and picked his sister up to hold her in his lap. “IVY WAKE UP! NO! WAKE UP!” he had seen the empty bottle slip out of her hand, falling when he picked her up. He checked to see if it was too late or if he still had a chance at saving his little sister.  There was a pulse, but it was slowing quickly. So he did the only thing he could think of. He lifted the toilet seat, picked Ivy up to be on her knees, and stuck a finger down her throat. She began to gag so he removed his fingers and then she started to vomit.  “Come on Ivs, let it out.” he reached for his phone in his back pocket to call 911. She continued to vomit while he was on the phone then she started to cry and scream at him once he put his phone down on the counter. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?! WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST LET ME GO!” Ivy screamed while hitting her brother with the little strength she had. Dustin was trying to stop her so he could just hold her but she pushed him away.  The sound of sirens began to become closer, then the paramedics appeared in the doorway asking Dustin to get out of the bathroom so they could get to her. They set her on the gurney, strapped her in, then wheeled her out and into the ambulance. Dustin jumped into his car and began racing to the emergency room. “Hi sweetie, I’m Doctor Royale. I just need to ask you a few questions. First, what is your name and your age?” “Ivy. Ivy Winters and I’m 16.” “Perfect. Second, do you know why you’re here?” Royale asked as she began to write down Ivy’s information.  “Because my stupid brother stopped me from dying.” Ivy began to cry again. “I don’t think he was being stupid, he clearly doesn’t want to lose you. Especially in such a manner.” She set her clipboard down on the end of the girl’s bed and sat down in the chair next to her.  Ivy rolled her eyes and started to pick at her blanket.  “I’ll be back soon to check on you again.” Doctor Royale said while heading out of the room. Next thing Ivy remembered was falling asleep.  Dustin walked in to see his sister, the one person in the world he loved more than anything, hooked up to an i.v., heart monitor, and something he assumed was for checking your blood pressure, and her eyes closed. He heard slight snoring so he knew she was sleeping. He walked over to the side of her bed that didn’t have any wires or things he would mess up or crush, and climbed onto the bed to lay next to her.  Dustin wrapped his arm around her to hold her like he used to do when she would sneak into his room at night to sleep with him when she was scared. He began to softly cry. “Why would you do this, Ivy?” he asked in a whisper so he wouldn’t wake her. He ended up falling asleep as well to the beeps of her heart monitor. Her arrival to Visage Hospital, or as she calls it, the ‘mental hospital’, was a blur. —————————- Sasha looked at Ivy and wiped a tear from her cheek. What was put on the girls file was ‘slight attempt’ which could have meant anything. But hearing the girl explain it, broke her heart.  Ivy wiped her face of the tears that were starting to stain it. She looked up to see that Mrs. Velour was looking at her with such sadness in her eyes. She began to think that she should be used to hearing things like this, there had to of been other patients here who have attempted, maybe some who tried in a stronger way instead of an overdose like her. “I’m sorry, I just�� I thought that you would be used to this kind of talk.” Ivy said as she sat up.  “I am, but each time I hear them it breaks my heart. I’m sorry dear.” Sasha explained while looking back down at her folder. “So, can we talk about why you wanted to do it?” she looked back at the girl to see her eyes grow wide. “Um.. I guess now is a good of time than ever. Yes, Mrs. Velour, I would like to finally tell someone.” Ivy answered as she sat up straight and looked her in the eyes. She can feel the fear growing in her stomach but felt courage as well to finally tell someone what was her reason for wanting to die. “I was being molested and raped by my pops.” She came right out with it. Sasha dropped her pen and her mouth could have dropped to the floor as well. Her heart broke into pieces hearing this come from the beautiful girls mouth and couldn’t believe what she was hearing or the pain the poor girl was trying to hide. “You never told anyone this? Not the doctors at the hospital? Not the police?” Sasha asked. “No. I was to- I was told that if I said anything, I would feel what real pain was.” Ivy looked back to her lap and began picking her nails again. “Ivy, do you want to tell me more?” Sasha asked while leaning closer to the girl. Ivy nodded yes. “Is it okay if I hold your hand while you tell me?” Ivy nodded yes again and let Sasha grab her hand. “He has been doing it for years, the earliest I can remember is maybe, five years old? But then it was just touching, he didn’t start to force me into sex until I was thirteen.” her voice began to shake and tears started to run down her face again. She wiped them off.  “When I was little, I used to think that this was normal and every girl my age was going through it. But then I learned that it was wrong. When I went to his and grans house for my weekend visits, I told him that it was wrong and I didn’t want him to continue it. He just laughed and told me that they just said that because only bad girls were the ones who didn’t get it, good girls were the ones who got it and got gifts after, and then he started to buy me things so I could keep my mouth shut and believe that he was right.” Ivy began to shake and cry harder once her voice cracked. Sasha couldn’t stop her own tears and started to rub circles onto the girls hand with her thumb.  “Ivy, you can stop talking about it if you need too. You’re starting to have a panic attack. May I hug you?” the woman looked at Ivy and seen the girls breathing begin to get faster and she nodded. Sasha pulled Ivy into her arms to hug the girl and began to rub soft circles onto her back to help calm her.  Ivy only started to panic more, then she started to scream, scratch at herself, cry harder, and push Sasha. The woman had no choice but to call Miss Bianca in, the doctor for the hospital. She watched as Bianca gave Ivy a shot of something that started to calm her down and eventually she was asleep. The two nurses that came in with Bianca helped put Ivy onto a gurney and pushed the girl to her room. As Sasha was standing in the corner of her office watching and crying, knowing she couldn’t do anything to help the poor girl in that moment, she remembered that she can. “Was she anxious the whole visit or did it come from no-” Bianca began to ask before Sasha cut her off. “Bianca, we need to bring in Michelle. We need to call the police.” Bianca looked at her in confusion. “We don’t need the police for that.“  “Bianca, that girl just told me the reasoning for her attempt. That girl was being sexually abused by her grandfather and attempted so she could get away from the man instead of telling someone. We need to call the police. Now.” Sasha then walked past Bianca to head for Michelles office. Once what Sasha had just said hit Bianca, she seen the other woman walk past her and she quickly followed. This young girl needed justice and these women were going to make sure she got it.

#jinkx monsoon #ivy winters #jivy #overcome #sensitive topics #tw abuse #tw mental illness #tw suicide #rpdr fanfiction #submission #daisy lovely #lesbian au

[fandomsallaroundme]

Cure for the Common Cold

Author:  QueenPersephoneofHades Fandom: Ducktales 2017 Characters: Scrooge McDuck, Huey Duck, Louie Duck, Dewey Duck, Webby Vanderquack, Mrs. Beakley Word Count: 4,235 Summary: Waking up with a splitting headache and a burning forehead is never a good sign.

on FFN and AO3

Rising with the sun is a habit gained from over half a lifetime spent sleeping under the open sky, face turned toward the opposite horizon but ultimately left unable to ignore the stinging brightness of a new day, soon to be filled with hard work and aching bones.

Scrooge hasn’t beaten that habit yet, not in the fifty and some years since he’s consistently had to sleep outside.

Most days he snaps awake instantly at even a hint of light shining through his bedrooms’ curtains, the distant memory of a brisk winter chill in the air bringing him around within seconds. Sometimes, if he’s feeling particularly selfish, he can hold out for a bit, doze for nearly twenty minutes before long engrained routine compels him to get up, get moving, get on with it all.

By Selene, he hates routine. Some days, the thought of going through the motions for the thousandth time in a row had been nearly more than he could bear.

A month ago, there’d been far too many of those days to count. Mornings where routine had become something to slowly despair in, rather than take comfort and pride in. He had built himself an empire to withstand the ages, yet it had seemed he would crumble in the face of the mundane far sooner than he ever thought possible.

But recently, that had changed.

The glowing dawn and steady awakening of the world was no longer something to dread, the terrible dullness of the last ten years abruptly filling with unexpected noise and color at a truly alarming rate. It was all new, a bit strange and anything but routine, so Scrooge can awaken and look forward to a new day of ridiculous shenanigans brought about by his family for the first time in a decade.

The sunrise was easier to wake up to, now.

So, when he woke up nearly an entire hour after it had risen, that was the first clue that something was wrong.

It’s the quiet creak of the door opening that finally starts to rouse him from slumber, the scent of freshly brewed tea and the measured shuffle of Beakley’s footsteps across the floor slowly bringing him closer to the living world.

Awareness, no matter how muted, brought with it a steady drumbeat to the inside of his skull in time with his heart. The dull pain only made consciousness even less pleasant than it usually was, and the groan Scrooge muffled into his pillow as he feebly turned his head and tried to chase oblivion was entirely juvenile.

“Sir?” In her thirty and some years working in the Manor, Beakley had only seen her employer still asleep so long after dawn a handful of times, and all of those times had been after he’d been bashed into unconsciousness by some monster the night before.

Beakley approached the bed a tad cautiously, trying not to be too concerned when the only response she received was another stubborn grumble. Honestly, Scrooge McDuck was ten years her senior and yet he could be more immature than the actual children in the mansion. It would be amusing if it weren’t so irritating, or in this case, worrying. “Sir? Are you feeling alright?”

Grumbling in protest of being woken had long proven to be ineffectual in warding off anyone who wanted your attention, so Scrooge reluctantly decided to count his losses and blink himself into wakefulness.

The pounding in his head intensified when he opened his eyes and moved to sit up. He quickly halted his ascent, wincing as the pain dimmed back into a somewhat manageable ache. Grumbling a few choice words under his breath, Scrooge looked up and did a doubletake at his expectant housekeeper. “Beakley? You’re certainly up early this morning.”

The mild concern wrinkling Beakley’s face only grew more pronounced as she set her tea tray onto a table. “Sir, it’s nearly 7:30 in the morning. You’ve slept in for an hour and a half.”

“What?!” Scrooge is halfway out of bed the second the words process, one hand pressed to his temple as the pain in his skull jackhammers along with his pulse. Only a steadying hand from his housekeeper kept him from falling over completely as he snatched desperately for both his phone on the nightstand and his robe hanging just out of reach.

Beakley drew her hand back from the unexpected dampness coating Scrooge’s back as he fell back onto the bed, phone clutched in one hand and the other keeping him from sprawling backwards completely. As he heaved for breath over such a simple task, clumsily flipped open his phone and began typing madly on the keypad, Beakley grimaced and wiped the sweat off on her apron, appraising his state of exhausted disarray with new eyes.

“Sir-”

“Not now, Beakley. I need to make sure the trade meeting doesn’t start without me; it’s happening in thirty minutes, if I can just get Launchpad here fast enough I might only be a few minutes late-”

“Sir-”

“-he’s always driven like a lunatic, he won’t mind having to come in a rush-”

“Sir-”

“-what I was thinking, not setting an alarm for today of all days is beyond-!”

“SIR!”

Scrooge startles sharply, not only at the volume of Beakley’s voice, but also at the firm hand suddenly pressed firmly to his forehead, keeping him from attempting to rise and rush about his room like the frantic teenager he no longer is.

He would have something to say about this rather abrupt intrusion of his personal space – several very loud things, in fact – if the pain in his head hadn’t spiked so hard he felt lightheaded, making him lean a little more into Beakley’s palm if only to keep him from falling over himself.

He squinted through the pain to see his housekeeper’s face go stubborn in that way that reminded him quite a bit of the woman’s granddaughter right before something disastrous happened. “Beakley-” he started, but she’s quick to cut him off before he can get going.

“You can’t go in today, sir.”

The interruption only makes his eyes fly open, any pain quickly pushed to the side when the McDuck temper flared high whenever anyone attempted to give him orders. “And why in God’s name would I-?!”

“Sir, you have a fever-!”

“A fever?” Scrooge bats the restraining hand from his forehead, making a great show of rolling his eyes dramatically. “You think I’ve never gone in to work with a blasted fever before? I’ve slogged through freezing rain and rivers of mud, a little fever never stopped me then!”

Even in the middle of his rant, he could feel a familiar feeling settling over him; he barely has enough to raise his arm to muffle the sneeze into his elbow, once, twice, three times, all aggravating the ache in his head into a splitting pain that actually laid him out flat on his back. When the fit passed, he pried his eyes open to give Beakley’s anxious ‘I told you so’ expression a feeble glare. “This proves nothing.”

Beakley sighed softly through her nose, shaking her head as she stiffly turned to the tea tray she’d set aside to pour out a cup, casting a stern look over her shoulder at her still floored employer.

“I can go out and purchase some cold medicine later, but for now we have some basic aspirin that can at least make you a bit more comfortable. I’m going to get you some, you are going to drink this,” she said, firmly setting the tea cup and saucer down within easy reach on the nightstand, “And you’re going to lay down and rest. You’re not a young man anymore, sir. You can’t go running about while you’re ill and expect everything to be fine.”

It’s sound logic, and all completely true, but no McDuck had ever laid claim to good sense when obstinate refusal was always an option.

Scrooge starts levering himself up again before Beakley’s made it five steps away, and when she turns back to glare at him he glares right back with only the sideways slant of his mouth to suggest the headache is still making it hard to focus on anything.

“The negotiations for a huge deal in Cape Suzette are happening today, Beakley. I can’t miss this meeting; three whole months will have been for nothing if I don’t go in.” He will not plead with her. He doesn’t need to. She is his employee when all is said and done; she cannot stop him from doing something he feels must be done. He doesn’t even need to argue with her, he could simply order her to have Launchpad bring the car around.

But even McDuck stubbornness will waver when it feels like the top of his skull is splitting open, leaving him squinting through one eye as he focuses on not falling over again.

Beakley is completely stern and unsympathetic in the face of his explanation, which is exactly what he hired her for in the first place. “I’ll let your executives know you won’t be coming in today. I’m sure they can figure everything else out for themselves, and if things go too poorly, I’m sure you can find a way to reschedule next week.”

All completely, maddeningly true, and even as more protests rise to the tip of his tongue, another pulse of pain through his head has him accepting defeat before the words can leave his mouth.

Scrooge slowly lowers himself back to laying down as Beakley left the room, doing his best to breathe evenly and think about the softness of the comforter, the warmth of the sun peeking through the still drawn curtains, the smell of freshly made tea; anything to keep his mind off the potential business disaster he isn’t able to prevent right now. He hasn’t felt this helpless in quite a long while. He doesn’t appreciate the feeling one bit.

Eventually, when his heartbeat is calmer and the ache subsequently a bit more bearable, Scrooge manages to sit up enough to sip the tea Beakley left. It’s a bit cooler than he prefers, but it helps, even if only a little.

The meeting will go fine, he’s sure – none of his executives were hired for their looks or their charming personalities. All three of them are savvy businessmen who know what they’re doing, and have worked with Scrooge long enough to know exactly what he’d want out of the Cape Suzette deal, but…

Priorities. Right.

No sense in suffering through a business meeting when his head already feels like it’s met with a brick wall several times. Scrooge reminds himself of that every time he chances a glance at his phone and watches time tick by in silence, the lack of any phone calls as the meeting starts only serving to make him more anxious.

God, how did people even survive days off?

He’s just managed to find a comfortable position where the light from the window isn’t falling across his eyes and making stabbing pains run through his head when the muffled patter of multiple webbed feet running past his bedroom door becomes audible.

Scrooge stifles an amused grin at the thought of the kids’ antics – their ridiculous and often excessive games had been strangely entertaining in the weeks since his nephews had moved in, despite Beakley’s loud insistence on the contrary.

Normally, he’d go out and offer some tips on how they could ambush each other during one of their games, but the throbbing in his skull keeps him rooted in place.

And normally, their tomfoolery doesn’t bother him no matter how out of hand it gets – unless something gets broken, of course – but the sudden loud thud outside along with the rising volume of four childish voices makes his eye twitch. They’re not being any louder than usual, but his migraine seems to think otherwise. The stabbing pains intensify as one voice cries out, “That’s not fair!” and when a subsequent scuffle seems to break out, Scrooge has to grit his teeth to keep several loud curses from escaping. Experience had taught him long ago that shouting when his head hurts this much would do no one any favors.

“Webby!” Beakley’s call, sharp but much quieter than it normally would be, brings the muffled fight to a standstill, and Scrooge has never been so grateful to hear her so infuriated.

Hurried footsteps signal his housekeeper rounding up the children, and whatever tirade she bestows upon them is blessedly muffled enough to be virtually inaudible, leaving Scrooge to focus on stifling the sneeze he can feel slowly creeping up on him.

He succeeds (barely) just in time to hear the highly dramatic shout of “Is he dying?!” be immediately deafened by several exaggerated shushes, a light thump and a yelp that suggested that the triplet who had cried out had been summarily silenced by the ever-enthusiastic Webby. A good egg, that one. When he wasn’t sniffling pathetically through a terribly stuffed nose and desperately ignoring what felt like his skull caving in, he’d have to remember to raise her allowance.

Scrooge squints one eye open (when had he closed them? It was getting hard to tell) at the sound of the door opening. Beakley enters, carrying a glass of water and some aspirin. Behind her, four tiny heads peek around the open door, several varying levels of concern and sheepishness on their faces.

“Any better?” Beakley asks, setting the water glass beside his room temperature tea to help him sit up.

Moving his face too much only makes the pain worse, so the best Scrooge can offer is a tired deadpan stare. “Aye, as long as I don’t move, or blink, or breathe, or think, it almost feels like my brain isn’t leaking out of my ears.”

Beakley, while clearly unamused by his observation, is at least sympathetic enough to wince as she hands over the aspirin. “I’ll be sure to get the heavy-duty medicine while I’m out, then.” She tries to help him wash the pills down, but he snatches the water from her before she can do anything more than hold it; he isn’t a toddler, he can manage a sip of water without dribbling all over himself. He pointedly ignores her reproachful look, though he at least hands the glass back without prompting once finished.

He also pretends not to notice her rolling her eyes before she asks, “Is there anything else I can get for you from the store, sir?”

He doesn’t like the idea of wasting so much money on disposable items, but the thought of using his elbow every time he has to sneeze is not pleasant. “Handkerchiefs, perhaps. And cough drops, if there are any cheap ones.” He hasn’t coughed yet, but swallowing has been distinctly uncomfortable for his throat, and dealing with that on top of a migraine is just ridiculous.

Beakley nods, mentally preparing a shopping list before his eyes, before collecting the tray of now cold tea from his nightstand, leaving the half-full glass of water in its place and turning back to the door. Scrooge can see all four of the kids are still there, appearing far too anxious over a case of the common cold.

“Granny?” Webby asks timidly, shrinking a bit more behind the doorway now that she is the center of attention.

Scrooge has never seen her so nervous, not since she first moved into the manor seven years ago.

He doesn’t like that expression on her face.

He also doesn’t like the worried looks shared between his three nephews. Honestly, what had Beakley told them? He’d been in states worse than this plenty of times before.

Scrooge tries to muster a smile, or at least an expression that isn’t a grimace. “It’s nothing to worry about, Webby darlin’. Beakley’s just being a bit paranoid about a headache is all,” he reassures them, trying not to twitch as Beakley snorted beside him.

“A headache that laid you out flat on your back,” she muttered to herself, luckily closer to Scrooge than the kids rather than vice versa, so hopefully they didn’t hear that. Hopefully. It was hard to tell how loud voices were when his ears started ringing like that.

Luckily, Beakley seems to sense his distress before he can say anything, because she marches to the door, tea tray balanced on one hip as she waves the kids out with her free hand. “You can play on the other side of the manor for today, children. Let Mr. McDuck have his rest. Sir,” she says over her shoulder, casting him a knowing look that reminds him very much of his late mother, “I expect you to stay in bed and sleep if possible. I’ll be back in a few hours with something light for lunch. If you’re not here when I arrive…”

She leaves the threat hanging. He hates it when she does that.

Then the kids and Beakley are gone, the door gently thumps shut, and he is left with sunlight shining cheerfully through the curtains and cloud soft blankets that certainly didn’t feel this uncomfortably warm yesterday.

He dozes in fits and starts, always pulled away from the sweet relief of oblivion by even the slightest hint of discomfort: the blankets are kicked off in a fit of frustration, but in less than ten minutes they’re back on when he figures slowly baking is preferable to freezing to death. A sneeze is muffled into his elbow. His throat finally becomes so parched that he drains everything left in his water glass and is still left wanting more. The sun’s path across the sky finally brings its light directly into his eyes, and he’s forced to turn on his side. Another sneeze hits him just as he was on the edge of complete unconsciousness, and the curses that escape his mouth would have made even foul-tempered Hortense blush.

Eventually, Scrooge simply lays in agony, staring at the canopy above his head and contemplating everything awful in the world because even though thinking hurts there’s literally nothing left for him to do with sleep evading him like this.

To think, in his youth, he might’ve once been able to keep working in this condition, keep facing forward through such torment. He can scarcely imagine it now.

Amidst the haze of fever and exhaustion, the click of the door opening again is an abrupt reminder that the outside world exists and isn’t completely full of suffering.

Scrooge has to blink several times before he can muster up the energy to lift his head and see who his latest visitor is, and by then a rather loudly whispered argument is already reaching him.

“-said to let him rest!” says a voice he dimly recognizes as Webby. She sounds absolutely furious, which is both gratifying and amusing. “He doesn’t like people going into his room-!”

“Yeah, but he’s supposed to be sleeping, right?” Louie reasons, ever the negotiator.

“We just want to make sure he’s okay!” Huey says brightly, seemingly unaware of the worry shadowing his tone. “We told you; a quick peek, in and out, and he’ll never know! It’s no problem!”

“Except if he wakes up,” Dewey points out, ever helpful.

The opening is too good to pass up; Scrooge levers himself upright, smirking at the four petrified faces that greet him.

“Too late, I’ve been awake the whole time.” He looks between Webby and his nephews, finally managing to raise both eyebrows without grimacing for the first time this morning. “How long have all of you been standing out there daring each other to open the door?”

All four of them flush brilliant shades of red, and by some small mercy his laughter only causes a dull pain instead of stabbing torment.

Huey, always far braver than he first appears, is the first to enter his bedroom properly, walking all the way up to the foot of the bed, wringing his hands and smiling a bit too widely. “How are ya feeling, Uncle Scrooge? Better after your nap?”

“Haven’t slept a wink since you left,” Scrooge admits flatly. Honesty was always the best policy.

Except when it makes his nephew’s face fall like that. Perhaps he could’ve said that a bit better.

From the doorway, Louie looks completely scandalized. “What?! It’s been, like, three hours!” He, Dewey and Webby edge into the room, clustering around the crestfallen Huey like responsible little bookends.

Scrooge honestly can’t help the look of utter disbelief on his face, because what.

“Have you been standing around out there this whole time?! Beakley said it was alright for you to play in other parts of the manor, didn’t she? Kids your age shouldn’t be inside on a day like this!” He actually had no idea what the weather was like outside aside from ‘ten times brighter than Flintheart Glomgold’, but that was beside the point.

The awkward shuffling at the foot of his bed only becomes more pronounced.

“Not the whole time,” Dewey mutters, crossing his arms petulantly. Della’s son, for sure.

Scrooge regards the quartet in complete flabbergasted silence for a solid minute. He hasn’t seen any of them hold still and stay silent for longer than twenty seconds at a time, and they’d been quiet outside his door for nearly three hours? Were they really that jumpy?

“I’m not about to collapse, kids. Why would y-?”

“We were worried about you, Uncle Scrooge. You looked like crap this morning. Still do.” Only Louie was ever so blunt. He shrugs his shoulders, unrepentant in the face of Scrooge’s scowl. “Just because no one else is saying it doesn’t make it not true.”

Webbigail, always so quick to please, grins sheepishly at him as she clamps a hand on Louie and Dewey’s shoulders and begins bodily dragging them backwards. “We’re so sorry, Uncle Scrooge! We just wanted to see how you were doing before leaving you to your nap! We won’t bother you again, I swear!”

Going back to staring blankly at the walls and ceiling in absolute silence sounds absolutely awful, actually.

“Ah, wait dear!” It comes out a bit louder than he means it to and he clamps his beak shut, but not before it makes Webby freeze in her tracks and the boys all turn back to him, nervous for a completely different reason now.

They all stare at each other for a moment, at a loss for words.

Then Huey, with all the empathy and understanding Matilda had once had, smiles wide and asks, “Do you like to read, Uncle Scrooge?”

The question is so out of left field it throws him for a loop. “Sorry?”

“Do you have any favorite books?” Huey clarifies, twiddling his fingers as his brothers and Webby watch him, wide-eyed. “If you’re having trouble sleeping and your headache makes it hard to read, I could read a few chapters of your favorite book with you, if you want.”

Now that is unexpected. “That’s quite kind of you, lad, but you don’t have to-”

“It’s just-” here Huey flushes again, gaze darting to the ground and finger-twiddling picking up speed, “I usually do that when we’re sick and Uncle Donald is working late, to help us sleep, you know? I know it’d be kind of weird for me to do that for you, but I figured, you know, since you can’t sleep and all-” here his voice drops into embarrassed mumbling, and Dewey and Louie both look seconds away from either laughing or hugging their ridiculous brother. Webby beats them to the punch, wrapping her arms around him with a giggle.

(Scrooge is struck hard with a memory, faded and indistinct, of Matilda tugging on his sleeve, clutching their sleepy little sister to her side, “One more chapter, Scroogey, she’s almost asleep!)

Scrooge rolls his eyes at their blatant display of affection, leans back against his pillows with a groan. “There are plenty of more valuable things you could be doing with your time than wasting it with me,” he can’t help but point out, but before he’s even finished he knows it’s a futile effort. These are McDuck kids, through and through; their stubbornness would win out on principle.

And then Louie has to go and say, “How could time spent with you ever be a waste, Uncle Scrooge?”

And suddenly Scrooge has to start blinking rapidly, lest the rest of his dignity be stripped away by a group of children.

There’s not much more to say, after that.

The children clamber up onto his bed as Huey sneaks over to the bookshelf to make the selection, Dewey and Louie still seated near the foot while Webby inches a bit closer, sitting crisscross next to Scrooge’s knees, eyes absolutely sparkling.

When Huey returns with a mischievous grin and plops down right next to Scrooge, he takes one look at the cover of the book the boy selected, and gives him the most deadpan stare he’s ever given anyone. “Really.”

Huey shrugs, grin twisting with amusement. “What? It was up there!”

A joke from Mrs. Beakley, no doubt. He can’t say he disapproves when the other kids’ faces light up as Huey opens to the first page and starts to read the time-honored words,

“Marley was dead, to begin with.”

A/N: AND BEHOLD, IT IS DONE! Sweet Lord, that took far longer than it should have! I started this story last week when I got sick and had to stay home from work for a day. I gave poor Scrooge all my symptoms, then felt bad and let him have family bonding time instead of constant unending suffering like me. I only had the time and energy to finish this now, an entire week later. Yikes. Well, that is one way to end an eight-month writing hiatus, I suppose. Hope you liked it! See ya later! ~Persephone P.S. the opening line of the book Huey’s reading is from Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”

#fanfiction #Ducktales 2017 #Scrooge McDuck #Webby Vanderquack #Huey Dewey and Louie #Huey Duck #Dewey Duck #Louie Duck #Mrs. Beakley #mine #my stuff #FIRST STORY IN EIGHT MONTHS BOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

[wingsy-keeper-of-songs]

Can’t Help Lovin’ That Man

I got a request from a friend who was feeling pretty low. She wanted something comforting, and while August isn’t the comforting type, I just couldn’t get him out of my head. So, this story is for my girl @movieexpert1978. I am in no way affiliated with Water for Elephants or the OC in this story. Elisa belongs to @movieexpert1978

Hope ya’ll enjoy!

Links to the songs on the record player: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5lpfIeC-NU

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzGVYyu9gsE

Her head was killing her. All hyperbole aside, it really was. She hadn’t the faintest idea how it had started, but it did and that was what brought her into a dark, dingy little bar downtown. Fuck, but she needed a drink. It probably wouldn’t do much for her head, but it could numb the pain some. She sat at the bar, head in hands as the bartender placed a whiskey and Coke in front of her.

“Rough day, honey?” He asked her, making conversation.

“You don’t know what rough is, sister.” She answered, not in the mood to socialize. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an aspirin back there along with the booze, do you?” He shook his head.

“Afraid not, got yourself a headache, have you?”

“Sent straight from the depths of Hell itself,” she replied. “And it’s only getting worse.”

“Well, here’s hoping the alcohol will counter the pain, yeah?” The bartender said with pity, patting her hand.

“Cheers to that,” she deadpanned and knocked back her drink. Should have asked for it straight up, she thought to herself. Coke fizzed on the way down and it tickled her sinuses which made her headache worsen. She winced when the door opened, letting light into the place and a man took a seat not too far away from her. Despite her eyes aching from the burst of light, he looked very familiar to her. He wasn’t very tall and was dressed simply in a rather grimy-looking white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tan riding breeches. He looked almost as bad as she felt. He ordered a whiskey straight up and chugged it down like he was dying of thirst.

“Wondered when your ass would wander back in here,” the bartender said to the stranger. “Things not looking so hot on the job front there, August?” The gentleman shrugged and winced.

“Does anything ever look good during economic depression?” He snarked and Elisa had to hide a snicker. He had a fair point. He glanced her way and raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t very polite to stare, you know.” He said.

“Who says I was looking at you?” Elisa retorted, now embarrassed that she’d been caught looking at him. It couldn’t be helped, really. He looked so familiar to her, and it made her head pound as she mulled it over.

“What else would you be staring at, the record player?” He asked, arms now folded over his chest.

“Forgive me for gawking, Carey Grant.” She remarked sarcastically. The corner of his mouth twitched a little, but he smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it was a relatively nice smile. For the Devil, that is. He turned back to his drink, elbows on the bar and chin on his hands. His eyes hooded and he sighed deeply through his nose. Again, she wondered where she’d seen him before. A voice in her aching head recalled something.

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the most spectacular show on earth!” Her head snapped up as her eyes brightened with recognition.

“Mr. Rosenbluth, right?” She said to him. He tensed and pushed away from the counter.

“Who wants to know?” He asked, eyes narrowing at her.

“No one in particular,” she shrugged. “Just recognized you, I guess. I went to your show a few months back.”

“Did you now?” He said, eyes downcast.

“Sure did, I remember that red frock you were wearing. It was quite the spectacular show.” Elisa said, attempting a smile at him. She’d heard something about the circus going belly-up, but she wasn’t clear on the details.

“It isn’t shit now,” August muttered bitterly. “The damn thing went under after that stampede.”

“So, that’s what happened.” Elisa said. “A stampede? Did the animals get loose or something?”

“They were let out by the workers,” August said, sipping his drink. “Ungrateful, that’s what they were. I work hard to provide for them, to feed them and give them a place to belong. What do I get in return? They try to fucking kill me.”

“You were a ruthless son of a bitch, August.” The bartender said as he cleaned a glass. “I’ve heard nothing but horror stories regarding what went on behind that show. You just count your lucky stars that you survived that disaster.”

“What do you know about it?” August snarled back. “You weren’t there! Have you any idea the kind of stress running that business causes?!”

“It wouldn’t stress me out enough to throw a kid from a train,” the bartender replied coolly. August winced at the reminder and he looked away, glowering at the phonograph in the corner of the bar.

“You threw people from a train?” Elisa asked, eyes wide. “What the hell for?”

“For not listening to him, or for disobeying him.” The bartender answered for the irate August. “See, our friend here has a temper on him the like of which a toddler would call absurd. It drove his wife away and nearly cost him his life. Now, ‘stead of doing something about it, the man does nothing but mope all day here with me. He’s a mean bastard, but he’s my best customer.”

“Sitting right here,” August grumbled. “Hearing everything you say.”

“I can say what I want, I give you alcohol.” The bartender said. “And the lady ought to know what she’s getting herself into if she thinks about dragging your drunken ass home.”

“You’re married?” Elisa felt something churn in her stomach. Probably the Coke.

“Was,” August replied with an annoyed glance at the bartender. “She left me for our resident veterinarian.”

“Last I heard, they joined the Ringling Circus,” the bartender interjected. “And old August here is too damn poor to go after them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Elisa said to him sincerely. “Losing someone you love can be hard on a person.” August snorted as if he quite doubted that.

“She was terrified of me, and for damn good reason.” He glanced up at her and his eyes were flat, dead almost. It was a bit unnerving to say the least. “I used to hurt her, apparently. I have no recollection of it, but I remember the bruises.” He clenched his fist and brought it down hard on the counter. “Fuck!” He swore loudly.

“Hey, take it easy. You break any of my shit, you pay for it.” The bartender said. “And I doubt you have enough on you to do that.” August’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he slumped forward.

“I hate this,” he muttered. “I fucking hate this.” Elisa sat a bit closer to him. A stupid move on her part, sure, but this guy was in need of some TLC and badly. He looked like he walked through all nine circles of hell barefoot.

“Hey, join the club.” She said with a little shrug. “But would you mind not making such a huge racket about it? My head’s killing me.”

“Sorry,” he muttered and not sounding sorry at all.

“Bullshit,” she called him on it. He snorted.

“Don’t suppose you have a name to go with the face, do you?” He asked as he looked up at her.

“Elisa,” she answered, sticking out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” August deadpanned, shaking her hand and returning to his slump against the counter. “You mentioned something about your head killing you?”

“I get migraines sometimes, and they happen at the most inopportune moments, shit you not.” Elisa explained. “Thought I’d drop in here for a drink or something, but then you come along. Of all the gin joints, am I right?”

“I’m in something of the same boat,” August said. “I got my head split open by an elephant with a bullhook and a grudge.”

“From what I’ve heard, you deserved that.” The bartender said to him. “You treated that poor animal like garbage. And an elephant has a long memory. She probably could sense what a piece of work you were.”

“Yeah well, lucky me I lived.” August spat. “All I’ve got left is that goddamn train and my brandy, but that’s almost all gone now. Thank God for opiates.”

“Those will kill you if you get too addicted to ‘em,” Elisa pointed out. “Mixing medicine with alcohol will mess you up.”

“Kid, he’s already messed up.” The bartender said. “He’s been messed up since day fucking one.”

“Still sitting here,” August muttered venomously.

“I have to get my kicks somewhere.”

“Maybe you could lay off the guy a little, huh?” Elisa stuck up for him. “Sure he’s a real piece of work, but harping on him isn’t gonna help matters any.”

“The girl has a point,” August said, looking over towards her. She shrugged.

“Sure I do, but then again so does he.” She jabbed a thumb at the bartender who just blinked innocently. “You can’t go around asserting authority over everyone. You’re just as broke and as hopeless as the rest of us. And abusing an animal?” She shook her head. “That’s definitely not the way towards redemption, but you know something…” she looked him right in the eyes then. “I got a good feeling about you. I think you know this. I think deep down inside, and I mean really deep down, you know we’re right. You know what you did was wrong otherwise you’d show no remorse for it.” August hadn’t had anyone speak to him like this before. It was interesting, but at the same time it sort of pissed him off. But she was right, something inside him nagged. She was right and that was what bothered him. He could go right ahead being the bastard he knew he was, but it wouldn’t change anything. He wondered what could happen if he stopped. What if he changed? Would anything else?

“Girl’s got some wisdom on her,” the bartender said with a smile at her. “You ought to take her advice, August.” August managed a nod in reply. Elisa managed a smile in return, and her headache seemed to fade. The pounding was stopping and was actually fairly tolerable at the moment.

“I don’t suppose I could interest you in dinner, could I?” August asked, looking at Elisa. “I seem to have a lot to make up for.” Elisa raised her eyebrows.

“Think you could manage to keep your hands to yourself?” She asked, arms folded in front of her chest. August looked taken aback, but he bit down the caustic reply.

“I could do that.”

“Then sure,” Elisa smiled at him. “That sounds like a good time.” August could feel an answering smile tugging at his own lips and he looked down at the counter again.

“I’m pretty certain I could scrounge something up to give you a decent time,” he remarked. “Not exactly all the way to good, but it’s a start, isn’t it?” ``` Dinner turned out to be harder than he thought. Like the rest of the masses, he was flat-ass broke, and scrounging up something turned out to be for naught. But August was nothing if not stubborn. He wanted to show the girl a good time, and make up for something at least once in his life. If he couldn’t prove it to Marlene, he’d prove it to Elisa. There was something about that girl that August found himself admiring, whether it was her spirit or the blue of her eyes, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he needed to start making up for the things he’d done and he had a long way to go. He figured dinner was a good start. Since he couldn’t afford to take her anywhere, he settled on making her dinner. He thumbed through a collection of his mother’s old recipes, humming along to Billie Holiday on the radio. He’d settled on a traditional German dish (it had been so long since he’d had anything from his home) and he got straight to work. When it came time for Elisa to show up, he was just in the middle of setting the table when she knocked.

“It’s open!” He called over his shoulder and she walked right in. He really tried not to stare at her because it was rude, but holy hell she looked stunning. She favored simplicity over anything too fancy, and the style of the Depression really seemed to suit her. The dark blue of the dress brought out the paleness of her skin and dark brown of her unfashionably long hair. She was wearing fire engine red lipstick and gave him a nervous smile.

“I clean up pretty good, don’t I?” She said in a higher pitched voice than usual. God yes, she did. August shook himself out of his reverie and he offered a smile in return.

“You could say that. You look really nice.” You look nice, excellent choice in compliments, you idiot he thought to himself. She actually blushed and he considered that a small victory.

“Well, thanks. You look...nice as well.” She’d hesitated and August wondered why. He’d cleaned himself up since he saw her last, or at least he tried to.

“I try,” he shrugged. “Well, I had thought about taking you out someplace, but that was harder than it sounded.” He shrugged. “You’ll have to settle with my cooking instead.”

“You can cook?” She sounded surprised and he tried not to be offended because of fucking course he could cook.

“I survived on my own somehow, yeah?” He said instead. Elisa looked impressed and he chalked another victory. Maybe this wasn’t going to be too hard afterall. ``` Dinner was actually pleasant. Not only had he succeeded in not poisoning his guest, she actually seemed to like the food and the company was pleasant. August forgot just how lonely he was without Marlene with him until Elisa came stumbling into his life.

“I think this is the first time a man has ever done something like this for me,” she said with a smile that he was getting fond of. Careful now, a voice warned him.

“No one’s ever cooked for you?” He asked, lamenting and celebrating the fall of manners in young American men. She shook her head.

“Just my mother, but I don’t count her. The other dates I’ve been on were just dancing or it was a paid for dinner. Nothing like this.” She gestured around his home. “It feels nicer somehow.”

“You dance, hm?” He asked curiously and smiling at her. Elisa wasn’t sure if that made her nervous or excited.

“I used to. I’m a bit of a klutz. Got two left feet.” She said, tucking her hair behind her ear. August wondered if he would ever be allowed to do that and then stopped himself because this was moving awfully fast. Good Lord, he must have been lonelier than he thought.

“I could teach you,” he offered and wondered where that thought came from. Her eyes lit up and it was ridiculously attractive.

“I think I’d like that,” she smiled at him. He stood up and her eyes widened.

“Wait, we’re doing this now?”

“No time like the present,” he replied and turned on the phonograph. Billie Holiday’s voice came crooning out and Elisa found herself pulled to her feet. “I like this song,” she said to him as he put an arm around her waist and took her hand.

“Billie’s songs are best to dance to,” he remarked with a grin. Elisa found herself liking that crooked smile of his more and more. Still, a voice warned her. You need to be careful around him. He was trying, though. She had to give him credit for that.

“I like Ella,” she said as they swayed a little. “She’s just so smooth and pretty.” “I have one of hers too if you like,” August offered. Elisa nodded and he went off to switch the record and Ella’s smooth voice filled the little train car. As they danced, Elisa looked up at August and thought she saw something there. His expression may have seemed flat to anyone else who knew him, but there was a spark there. It was something not a lot of people got to see from him. The hardships of his life seemed to vanish and the only thing that remained was the August that Marlene had fallen in love with. Elisa could see why. He was a poisonous kind of charming, that kind of forbidden fruit women would read about. Handsome as the Devil, and twice as sly from what the bartender had told her. But here he was something different. It was as if every cruelty had melted away when he looked at her like this.

“August,” she said softly.

“Hm?”

“The music’s stopped.”

“Mm,” he didn’t seem to notice. Or care, really. He just continued to sway with her, like the way he’d dance with Marlene. Elisa wondered what brought this change upon him from the caustic man she’d met in the bar.

“We should stop,” she whispered.

“We have stopped,” he whispered back. She just continued to look at him and he looked right back at her. His expression was still flat, but there was a softness in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. He sighed for a moment before reluctantly letting her go. “You should go,” he said finally. “Don’t want to keep you too long.” Elisa nodded.

“You know,” she said as she turned to leave. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again sometime.” He looked back at her.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she smiled at him. “Maybe I’ll make you dinner next time?” He smiled back at her.

“I think I’d like that.”

“Good night, August.” She said as she opened the door. He raised a hand in farewell, hoping beyond hope that he’d see her again.

#christoph waltz #water for elephants fic #August/OFC #warning: long-ass post #cw: alcohol #cw: swearing #this took entirely too long goddamn

[joons-expensive-gurl]

Lost Stars - Part 2

The second you were in your room, you hurried to rush over to the window and open it. Cold air blew in, brushing your hair behind your face and down your back.

“Not feeling too good?” Your moms voice came as she shut the door behind her, “I’LL GIVE YOU NOT FEELING VERY WELL!” Her hand sharply came down on your arm. “OUCH WOMAN!” “Don’t you “ouch woman” me! How could you?! You knew today was important and you went to Jimin’s to get utterly drunk?! I am SO ashamed of you! I didn’t raise you like that! I’m so embarrassed!“ "I’m sorry. But don’t expect me to handle this so well! Not when his son is acting like he’s on the sex offenders register!” “What’s that supposed to mean?!” “You didn’t hear him whispering dirty things to me?!” “No! Jungkook is a good boy!” “Oh fuck it!” “DO NOT SWEAR AT ME! Get to sleep!” “Fine!”

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. You knew she’d calm down eventually, but right now she was seething. Maybe this new man and his “perfect” son could make her happier. You scoffed.

Slowly, you peeled off your skirt and vest, pulling on an oversized t-shirt. It was summer, which meant it was too hot for normal pyjamas.

Sliding under the covers, you felt your head beginning to pound. The hangover was coming. Fast. Tomorrow was going to be absolutely dreadful.

~^*^~

The chirping birds woke you up. They didn’t help with the pounding of your head, through. Maybe you’d drunk a bit too much. Rolling over, you checked the time. Just gone 11am. That meant your mom would be making a fry up any time now and you could use all the grease you could get.

Slowly, painfully, you pulled your body up and shuffled into the kitchen. You didn’t even register anyone in there as you noticed bacon sizzling in the pan. Moving towards it, you grabbed the spatula and began to turn the pieces.

“You know, little sister, you shouldn’t wear such revealing clothing around me. I am a man after all.”

You jumped, spinning around to see Jungkook casually sat at the island, popping a grape into his mouth. He smirked at the shocked expression on your face.

“I can wear whatever I want. This is MY house. Control yourself.” You grumbled, going back to the food. “Touchy. Had too much to drink?” “Like you care.” “You’re really not giving off the best first impression.” “Neither are you. Stop trying to sexually advance on me. It won’t work.”

He smirked, watching as you dumped the entire pan of bacon into a plate and walking away with it. He was seriously making you angry.

On your way back up to your room, you bumped into your mom. She sighed.

“Stop taking all the bacon whenever I make it. I’ll bring medicine up in a minute or two.” “Thanks…” she walked off, “mom, I’m sorry.” “You can apologise all you want, you’re not off the hook.”

Once you were seated back on your bed, you slowly ate the bacon, savouring it’s taste. It was good. At least it would help a little with your hangover. Just as you finished the plate, there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in.” You groaned, moving to the edge of the bed and bending down to put the plate on the floor. “You have got to stop teasing me.” “Who the fuck said you could come up?!” Your head snapped to Jungkook who stood at the door with a glass and a box of aspirin. “You just did.” “Stop looking at my arse!” “I can’t help it.”

You quickly sat up, forcing your body backwards and into your duvet. Jungkook smirked, placing the glass and box on your bedside table.

“Out.” “Wow. I do you a favour and you tell me to get out.” “What else do you want?” You groaned. “A kiss for the service?” “Absolutely not.” “Guess I’ll just have to take this back then.”

He went to pick up the glass and box of aspirin but your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. You looked up and he looked down. His dark chocolate eyes bored into yours. You gulped.

“Geez. I’ll leave them here.” He quickly shook your hand off. “Y-yeah… you do that.”

He left.

It was in that moment you decided you had to get out. Rushing up (and ignoring the pain in your head), you grabbed random clothes and hurriedly got dressed. You decided you’d stay with Jimin for a few days while Jungkook settled in and had time to leave you alone. Scribbling a note on a post-it, you sighed. He’d only been here a day and was pushing you out.

After you’d forced some clothes and toiletries into your school bag, you left. Luckily Jungkook was in his room as you left and your mother and Mr. Jeon were no where to be seen. It was a quick walk to Jimins.

~^*^~

“[First]! Dinner!” Your mother shouted.

Jungkook and Mr. Jeon were already sat at the table, digging in to the food set out. They both watched as your mother stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips.

“[FIRST]!” “Maybe she’s got her earphones in? My Jungkookie is always like that.” Mr. Jeon piped up. “You’re probably right. I swear that girl is so rude.”

She stormed up the stairs and opened the door. There was silence. Absolute silence. Then she screamed your name.

Jungkook jumped up, running over to the stairs and clambering up as quickly as possible. There your mother stood in your room, holding a note. Jungkook read it from behind her.

‘I’m sorry. I understand you’re upset. I’ll be home soon. X’

#Lost Stars #Jungkook #Jungkook X Reader #BTS #Queuetan Soneyondan

[theliterateape]

A Merry Christmas Punch/CounterPunch On the Sensitive Topic of One Mr. George Bailey, Part Two

(This piece was performed at BUGHOUSE! in Las Vegas at Bunkhouse on December 23, 2019. It is a rebuttal to Don Hall’s piece about what a horrible person George Bailey is. Audience members were handed scripts in the moment to read out loud. Clarence Oddbody was played by Kelly. The bartender was played by Dylan the bartender. Don Hall was played by Don Hall.) 

 It’s A Wonderful Joe

By Joe Janes

Joe: Of course, George Bailey is a good person. This is such a slam dunk. He’s played by Jimmy Stewart who is also a good person. George Bailey saved his little brother Harry’s life who went on to be a war hero by killing as many Japanese people he could. George also saved somebody else because Mr. Gower, the drunk grieving pharmacist, put poison into pill form. George Bailey saved his boss’s ass. Gower stopped drinking and, hopefully, learned not to keep jars of poison right next to medicine. Who does that? That’s day one of pharmacy school – medicine here, poison way, way, way over there maybe not in the same room. George’s relationship with Mary wasn’t some love-at-first sight Hollywood malarkey. It built over time; they grew to love one another. It was earned and lasted, and it only got a little rape-y when she was hiding naked in a bush and he was using her robe for leverage for what we don’t know exactly. Fortunately, his father died of a heart attack and that got him out of there. 

I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s just so hard to argue something I no longer believe. Don Hall is right. George Bailey is not a good person. He never took a single step outside of Bedford Falls. His family lives in a drafty old house that he used to throw rocks at. He has a kid named Zuzu. Zuzu—short for Pazuzu, the demon from The Exorcist… I just, I can’t. He puts shredded coconut on his ice-cream for fuck’s sake. That’s just horrible. I never should have agreed to do this. I wish I had never agreed to do this. Do you hear me, God? I wish I had never done Bughouse.

Clarence: Your prayers have been answered, Joe Janes. 

Joe: What do you mean?

Clarence: You never did your piece about George Bailey being a good person at the Bughouse show. 

Joe: Who are you?

Clarence: My name is Clarence Oddbody. I’m an angel, second class. By helping you, I’ll get my wings.

Joe: What kind of name is Oddbody? Irish?

Clarence: I’m called Oddbody because, well, take a look. I have a third nipple, my knees bend backwards, and my nut sack looks like a russet potato covered with eyes. Real eyes. The kind that stare at you. I’m hundreds of years old. People were named quite literally back then. Just ask Honest Abe Lincoln’s postmaster general, Caleb P. Openumbrellaanus. 

Joe: And you’re an angel?

Clarence: That’s usually the first question people ask. Yes. I’m an angel. And I granted your wish. You never performed your piece at Bughouse. 

Joe: So, I can just leave the stage like it never happened?

Clarence: Like it never happened because it never did happen.

Joe: Cool. I’m going to go get a drink. Barkeep, I would like a frosty beverage. And perhaps a mulled wine for my angel friend.

Bartender: I can’t. I’m no longer a bartender. You never did your piece. Don Hall told everyone what a piece of shit George Bailey was and that was it. Itconvinced me there was no hope and that I will die never knowing what love is. I’m a spinster, now…and a librarian.  

Joe: But, you’re right here behind the bar and Don only did his piece a few minutes ago.

Bartender: It’s not my fault your premise is flawed. Now, unless you have a book toreturn or to check out, please move along. 

Joe: But…

Bartender: Move along!

Joe: This can’t be happening. Don! Don! Tell me this isn’t happening.

Don: Who are you?

Joe: It’s Joe. Joe Janes, your friend from Chicago. I came to Las Vegas to do Bughouse. You don’t remember me?

Don: I remember you. I’m shunning you. My friend Joe from Chicago never did Bughouse.

Clarence: See, you prayed that you never did Bughouse and so-

Joe: We get it, Clarence! We get it. 

Don: I was very excited to have you on the show. You’re the most brilliant writer I know. Ruggedly handsome, yet sophisticated, like Captain Picard and George Clooney had a threesome with cyborg Cary Grant who carried you to term like a pregnant male seahorse. More importantly, you were and had always been my friend. Remember that time I wanted to move because everyone in town thought I was a floozie? You gave me $2,000 and wished me luck. Had it not been for you, I would have become a dime-a-dance guy. I still charge ten cents a dance. Two dollars for hand jobs. But I do it because I WANT to, not because I HAVE to. Not doing your piece at Bughouse was like someone dug a hole in my heart with a spork and pooped in it. Pooped filled with thumbtacks, ghost peppers, and old man diapers. I was so distraught from you bailing on the show that I got a migraine. I went home and instead of taking aspirin, I accidentally took poison. 

Joe: How did you accidentally take poison?

Don: I keep it right next to the medicine like everyone does.

Joe: Nobody does that!

Don: Well, I do and now I’m dead. Thanks.

Joe: Clarence! Clarence! Change it all back. Please, change it all back. I want to be able to buy beer at Bunkhouse. I want Don to be not dead. I can be okay with people putting shredded coconut on ice-cream. Maybe. I’ll do my piece at Bughouse. Change it all back.

Clarence: Okay, Joe. It’s all changed back.

Joe: Really! Just like that?

Clarence: Just like that.

Joe: That’s great! Hello, Bunkhouse! Hello, ol’ bar. Hello, bartender! Hello, live Don Hall! I’ll tell you why George Bailey is a good person! He always, ALWAYS, put other people before himself. His family, his friends, the people of Bedford Falls. George Bailey was the least selfish person and he devoted his life to helping people live their dreams. George Bailey had friends. Lots of them. He cared about people and they cared right back because “No man who has friends is a failure.”

(Clarence rings a bell)

Joe: Clarence, did you get your wings?

Clarence: No, I’m still waiting for them. I ordered them 20 god damn minutes ago. They stopped serving food when you turned the bar into a library. I’d like my jumbo wings, now, please!

Joe: Merry Christmas, everyone! Merry Christmas!

Clarence: (Rings bell repeatedly) Give me my mother fucking wings, Bunkhouse!

Joe: And scene.

#Christmas #George Bailey #BUGHOUSE!

[ecotone99]

[MF]In the Shape of the Big Dipper

Celine had eyed me curiously while I paid for our lunch at the little grille we found in Charleston. I did spend a lot of money that day, but Celine acted like I was a drug lord or at the pink Caddy level of a pyramid scheme. I simply paid cash to keep better track of my spending, that’s all. Money, much like life, doesn’t last. You can’t keep either, so you must learn to spend both the way you want. I never had a red cent to theorize about until recently, much less a fortune of dirty money to move twelve hours away to avoid confronting. Here I was, though, hiding out in the boonies with nursing students, numbing myself with crab cakes and sweet grass baskets. Trusting Celine wasn’t the hard part— she was a good, Christian girl who didn’t believe in strangers, white shoes after Labor Day, or mole people. The problem was I hadn’t told anyone the truth yet— my parents are thrilled; they think I left to go to school. School is a joke, but I enjoy the curriculum and making my folks happy. I owed them that much; they left the beauty of Palermo, the Catholic Church, and the 20th century behind for me. My ex-fiancé, Rob, was just fine with it. He doesn’t know that I know he had an affair and isn’t so excited I’m moving on to bigger and better things. He screws his next-door neighbor every Saturday, the 35-year-old named Judy, with a hideous affinity for vintage bobble head Dobermans and flesh colored lipstick. His mother told me on my way in the night I left, told me I needed to kick the little bastard to the curb, so I obliged her. She was a wonderful mother.

As important as they all were, I didn’t belong to the Maple Street gang anymore. Diana was the catalyst to my new life. We got to know each other during her monthly check-ups. She

Page 2

was a patient of Dr. Hales, a sweet old man who’d traded Scarsdale balloon boobies, expressionless faces, and ski-slope noses for his beach house. Diana’s favorite thing was to make me uncomfortable, and if she could encourage my wild side, all the better. She often brought me coffee, offered me cocaine a time or two, and told Dr. H he wasn’t paying me enough every time she visited.

After Celine went home, I had some time to myself, so I began to tell myself the truth. Diana had come into the office for a checkup, after which I relented to a long-standing rain check to visit her apartment. She was a fine thief, something she had no doubt spent a long time perfecting, but I worked with the public.

“Please don’t steal the magazines,” I urged her.

“I paid for these, baby, this doctor charges me $500 just to talk,” Diana said.

“Well, they’re going to ask me what happened to them—I’ll be responsible for replacing them.”

“No, not okay, that’s arrogant and unfair. You’re just a kid and cannot possibly be expected to answer the phone, file papers, take a lunch break, then do the same thing until 5 o’clock while corralling unruly patients.”

“Are you making fun of me? I’m not stupid. I choose to be here and interact with the unruly patients, do my job, and find time to craft 200 Christmas cards by hand.”

“Big shit, I bet you never made a croquembouche while glancing up to make sure Pierre’s boogers didn’t fall into your nearly burning glaze.”

Page 3

“Is Pierre your boss?” I asked.

“Nobody has ever had that displeasure—he was my mentor and my friend. He died when AIDs had us all too scared to swap spit with anyone but WASPS.” Diana answered.

“The Princess of Wales wasn’t afraid. Have you seen Dallas Buyer’s Club?”.

“No, I refuse to see Matthew McConaughey in such a state.”

“It was pretty graphic—what are you always seeing Dr. Hales about anyway?”.

“That’s for me to suffer through and you to look at later when I leave, and you file it away.”

“I can’t look at your medical records, they’re all online now.”

“All the juicy stuff is. Since we’re doing personal questions, how long have you been married?”.

“I’m not, well, I hope he proposes soon. We’ve been together for a year, and I do everything I can to make him happy. He just seems so disinterested in me these days; I’m not really sure what to do if he doesn’t.”

“You’re making 200 Christmas cards and have no husband? You never fail to disappoint me, Greta. Come have a drink and read this Cosmo I’m taking home. You’ve been avoiding my invitation for years.”

I took a cab with Diana back to Manhattan after her appointment while my conscious and Changes by 2Pac blared in my head. We pulled up to a gorgeous brownstone that smelled like leather and rain. The first floor was all tile hallways lined in thick, pastel rugs with shiny, mahogany stairs-- her actual house was the next story up. Once we got in there, I sat down with my pack of smokes and decided I was going to stay for an hour, have a drink, and take 1 aspirin when I got home.

Page 4

Once I was settled, I rammed the business end of my flip-top box into the leg of Diana’s white director’s chair. I inadvertently bounced my curls and breasts, the latter nearly out of my shirt. I flipped the first cigarette I touched upside down, placing it back inside to pick another one, just like Pop- pop showed me. Diana noticed my ritual and nodded in approval.

“What’s up D?” I asked, sucking out my first draw.

“Well first, nice tits. Second, your options are now a sex lesson from me instead of the daft editors at Cosmopolitan or the greatest adventure of your young life.” Diana said.

“What’s more interesting than sex?” I responded, carefully tugging up my dress.

“Stamp collectors, the price of bananas, warts.” Diana said.

She walked over to the left of her living space, squinting to see the sunset out of the bright stained-glass window.

“I’m disappointed you didn’t pick the second option, Greta.”

“I don’t need another adventure, D. I’m already uncomfortable.”

“Your coming here is part of it, so just calm down. You won’t have to actually do much more, sweets.” Diana cooed.

“That croak in a bush thing you mentioned earlier sure sounded interesting.” I said as I surveyed her true crime selection. I noticed most were stolen library books, which seemed overly fitting.

Page 5

“You need professional help. Maybe this was a mistake.” Diana said.

“I don’t mean to be rude--I joke when I’m nervous.” I was enjoying myself more than I thought, but it was getting late. I’d had enough of deciphering these interactions for one day.

“I brought you here to give you something.” Diana turned on her heels and walked over to me. “Something I would give to my kid, save only for two facts: I cannot track him down, and I don’t have enough time to track him down. Either way, it will get passed on just as I received it: from strangers.

“You have a kid?” I asked.

“Yes, and I left him just like my parents left me, no family and no explanation but lots and lots of dough. Any more questions?” she said.

“Not right now. Except maybe for what exactly you want to give me?” I asked.

“More than you bargained for.” Diana said as she walked back to her window. She was squinting harder now, to see the stars through the thick smog.

I had worried when I got there that she was either going to kill me or seduce me. Although I think she could have easily done one, and certainly managed either, Diana didn’t bother me again until 2 days later: the Sunday after my visit to her, when I picked up the Times. She was dangling from a gaping hole where that stained-glass window had been, for all the world to see. No cat eyeliner, no hair, and wearing a suit. The glass on the ground below her had shattered in the shape of the Big Dipper.

Page 6

I excused myself from my parent’s breakfast table, taking page 6 and a lox bagel with me to my room. I wondered about a lot for the rest of the day, but the most unsettling of my ponders was the way D had looked. I knew she probably hadn’t started off as a lady, but I figured her masculine days had to have been far behind enough to disregard. I guess it made sense we got along, I was a sucker for complicated men.

I arrived early to work on Monday. Dr. Hales was also surprised that she’d killed herself, although he did admit he was not a psychiatrist. He’d spent Sunday much the same way I did as he had known her for a long time. Apparently, Diana used to be a Mr. David Dawson; her transition required hormone therapy when those medicines were not yet regulated. They caused a rare and aggressive cancer that would have killed her no later than Valentine’s Day. Dr. Hales was trying to reverse her damage, begging her to do chemo, but D had insisted on more hormones: male ones. My best guess was that D had too many regrets about transitioning, perhaps because it made her so sick. When it didn’t work, she killed herself. This was what I resigned myself to believe, and it made me feel better as well as it explained her strange behavior every step of the way.

For the first few weeks after D’s death, I worried about being questioned. I was the last one there, surely someone else knew that. The papers even called it a most unusual suicide, updating the public every so often on the charismatic chef who’d met a gruesome end before they eventually began to lose interest. On St. Patrick’s Day, I got a call from a guy who told me he was a lawyer who wanted me to meet him outside of Bay Ridge about a patient of Dr. Hales. He wouldn’t give any details, but I knew who it was about. Worst case scenario it was a setup to

Page 7

interrogate me about D’s death, best case it was information about her that further explained my narrative. I decided I would make an appearance, no matter how it shook out.

Finally, after 3 hours in gridlock, I arrived at a small, but clean hotel. The concierge handed me two credit card style keys. They unlocked the door to room 340, where I found no lawyer and no cops, but a short letter accompanied by a bank card, checkbook, and briefcase. The letter is where I learned of the more-than-I’d bargained-for gift D had set me up with.

Dear Ms. Cannuciari,

We thank you for your assistance in the removal of D.D., simply some of the most extraordinary work we have seen. He was our most beloved detective, but the betrayal we experienced was far too great. The sum is broken down into 1 million USD in $100 bills, which are lining the briefcase. A secure account with our financial institution will house the remaining 76 million USD until either the day you die or the day you speak of our transaction to anyone, for any reason. Mr. Dawson chose the option that’s no longer available, which is to have your genitals cut cleanly off with a Jian--we greatly implore that you do not Google that.

Thank you again, madam. We do hope you will work with us again sometime.

submitted by /u/SlyFoxJrLady [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/31mLc2Y

#Blogger #Story

[atomic-bob]

After dark

I wrote this for my English subject. Did it in 15 hours and every hour was worth it. I hope you guys like it.

I came home from working feeling so tired. My whole body was aching and a headache was making it worse. I dropped my bag and my bulky folders as soon as I entered my apartment. I went straight to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. An array of bottles of pills filled it. I took an aspirin and drank water straight from the faucet to push the pill down. I washed my face and my makeup went with the water to the drain. I studied myself in the mirror as I took deep breaths. My hair was a rat’s nest and my eyes were dark and droopy from sleepless nights. The color that made my face seem alive is all gone. The lack of color made the freckles on my cheeks look darker and noticeable.I pushed back the stray hair in attempt to straighten it. My brown hair looked gray against the bathroom light. I turned off the faucet, left the bathroom and went to the bedroom. Clutter of clothes and junk hit my foot as I reached the bed. I stripped down into my underwear and went under the covers. When my head hit the pillow, my body started to loosen. I caressed the end of my pillow. The softness and the warmth of the blanket against my bare skin helped me relax. A few minutes later, my eyes slowly shut then sleep consumed me.

At first I saw nothing, I wasn’t dreaming anything. Then my body suddenly felt weightless. I felt like I was being separated. “Am I flying in this dream?” I thought but all I saw was black. I opened my eyes and I saw myself sleeping on the bed. Surprised and confused, I inched closer to my body. “Am I dead?” I asked myself, “I don’t feel dead though” I continued. My body was almost translucent. I felt my arm and it was warm under my hand. My sleeping self shifted in her sleep. “Not dead” I confirmed, and examined myself for a while. I look so peaceful in my sleep, like nothing bothered me at all. How I wish I was this peaceful when I’m awake. My sleeping self snorted and drooled. I snickered a laugh but then stop. I forgot that this was me. I scanned my room. It was still a mess. Folders and files were everywhere on my desk. The trash can was overflowed with crumpled papers. The bedroom floor was almost covered with clothes and magazines. I walked towards the door. “Can I even touch the doorknob?” I asked, slowly I lowered my hand to the knob. It just went through. I should’ve known, I was practically a ghost in this form. I passed through the door and into the living room. Compared to my bedroom, the living room was organized. The only place that was cluttered was the coffee table. Today’s newspaper and a few books were on top of it. I didn’t stay long. I went out of my apartment. Faint music travelled to my ears. It came from Mrs. Roberts’, my next door neighbor, apartment. She has been my neighbor for two years now. Mrs. Roberts is 60-years old and a widow for twenty years. I went inside and saw her dancing to Clair de Lune. Her arms were held up as if she was holding someone. Her eyes were closed, her lips formed a smile, and her only guide was the music. She twirled and spun around the room with her imaginary partner. Beside the stereo was a picture frame. In the photo was a man and a woman in 80’s clothes. The woman must be Mrs. Roberts during the 80’s. The man had jet black hair and was styled. He had his arm around Mrs. Roberts and was kissing the side of her head. I was examining the photo when I noticed something at the corner of my eye. Next to the window sill, someone was standing. A man in a white tux was watching Mrs. Roberts. His eyes were fixed on her and his head was swaying to the music. He looked like the man in the photo. He saw me and gave me a warming smile. I simply nodded back. Mrs. Roberts didn’t seem to notice me or the man by the window. I left the apartment, leaving Mrs. Roberts and the man alone. The whole building was quiet so I decided to take my adventure to the streets of New York. The city was half-asleep. Most of the stores were closed except for a few 24-hour convenience stores. I strolled down the sidewalk and counted the street lamps that I pass by. I passed by an open diner. Out of curiosity, I went in. The diner had a nice warm atmosphere. There was a jukebox but nothing was playing. The clock behind the counter said it was 3 AM. The chef was the only one in the kitchen and a waitress was cleaning the tables. There were only two customers, one in a booth and one in the counter. The customer in the booth was a truck driver. He looked like his shift had ended and was taking a break before heading home. He was wearing a red plaid shirt and worn out jeans. He has a cap which was on the table. He was sipping his coffee and was in deep thought. In his hand was his wallet. A photo of a young girl smiled at him. He stared at the photo. His eyes gets a little teary. He wiped the corner of his then cleared his throat. He looked at the waitress and the other customer, hoping they didn’t saw him almost crying. After a while, he stood up, left a tip, and exited the diner. The second customer was a man in a suit. His jacket was off and his tie was loosen. He had a stubble working on and he looked stress. “Must be a lawyer” I guessed. The waitress approached him with a coffee pot in her hand. She offered him a refill and he nodded. He was reading a file. I went up behind him and peered over his shoulder. “Blacks versus Life insurance” it read. I was right, he was a lawyer.  He had a legal pad next to his elbow. Written on it was details about the case. I leaned closer to read what was on the pad. Apparently a family was denied insurance for a son’s hospital bill. The son was dying and needed to be operated. The company refused to pay for the bill. I read it with disbelief. Some insurance companies are like sharks. They take your money, promising to take care of you, then they’ll refuse to pay your bills. I sat next to the lawyer. He was frowning so hard his eyebrows look like a monobrow. He looked like he hasn’t slept in a month, even worst than how I look in the morning. I stretched out my hand to pat his back but it just went through. “Don’t worry, pal” I told him “you can figure something out”. He didn’t hear me, of course, but I still wanted to assure him. I stood up and left the diner. I was back on the streets. I waited for the pedestrian light to go green. “Wait” I said “I’m a spirit, nothing can harm me”. I crossed the road and halfway there, a speeding car went right through me. It crashed into a fire hydrant. If I wasn’t in spirit form, I could’ve die. But then again, I’m not exactly sure if I was even alive. I remembered the car and rushed to it. The fire hydrant was bent and water was spraying everywhere. The front of the car was badly damaged. The windshield was cracked and a few pieces of glass has gone astray. I inspected the front seat. The driver wasn’t moving. His head was on the steering wheel. Blood stained his temple. At first, I thought he was dead but then he shifted. He groaned in pain and slowly lifted his head. He looked disorientated. He looked at my direction and his eyes met with mine. I turned around to see what he was looking at but nothing was there. Confused, I turned back to face him “Can he see me?” I asked to myself. To my surprise, he nodded to my question. It was impossible for someone to see me since I wasn’t in physical form. Well, I think no one can see me. “That’s not possible” I told him “This isn’t my physical body”, he simply shrugged. He doesn’t say much, he only answered in gestures. “Are you in shock? Is that why you can’t speak?” I asked him. He shook his head and tapped his lips. He was mute. His eyes were red and his pupils were fully dilated. His hand was twitching a little. “Are you high?” I asked again and he nodded. That must be the reason why he can see me. “I would love to help you but I can’t” I said “People can’t see me and I just pass through walls” I explained even further. I waved him goodbye and went away. I hope someone will help him soon.

I reached Brooklyn bridge. I walked silently, admiring the view, and appreciating the silence. At the distance, I saw a woman. She was wearing a blue velvet gown and a white fur jacket. Diamonds dripped on her neck and ears. She was wearing white gold on her wrists and fingers. She obviously just came from an exclusive party. She was leaning on the edge of the bridge. She tucked a golden strand behind her ear and I recognized her face. It was Natalie Collins. She was a known actress who starred in many films. I’m surprised to see her in Brooklyn bridge. Her hands were gripping the sides that her knuckles turned white. She was sniffling and tears rolled down her cheek. She wiped away a tear, smearing her mascara. She stared at the quiet blue waves below the bridge. She was mumbling to herself. I couldn’t understand a word she said. She would back away from the bridge as if she was hesitating but she’ll come back to the edge like she finally decided to do it. I came to her side. I wanted to give her a hug and comfort her. I wanted to tell her everything’s okay. I wanted to tell her that whatever she was facing will end soon. I wanted to tell her that she’s not alone. A cool breeze blew and she leaned off the bridge as if the wind pushed her. I reached out my hand but I couldn’t hold her. My hand just went through. I couldn’t stop her from falling off. I watched gravity took her down and the water swallowing her. I lost the feeling of my legs and fell down. I sat there for a few minutes. My mind slowly processed of what just happened. I could’ve prevented that. I could’ve stop her from jumping. But I wasn’t able to do any of those. My vision blurred and I saw the ground getting wet by my tears. I didn’t personally knew Natalie Collins, I wasn’t even a fan. But seeing her take her own life made me feel guilty. I slowly stood up, being careful not to fall down again. I held on the side to support myself. I walked off the bridge with the weight of guilt on my shoulders.

I walked aimlessly, having no sense of direction. My mind was blank and my heart was filled with remorse. The next thing I knew, I was in a little girl’s bedroom. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going that I didn’t notice I walked into someone’s house. The room was dark but I could still see that it was pink. Toys were neatly organized in one corner. The walls were designed with flowers and trees. And one wall has a white castle painted on it. The little girl was wearing pink pajamas and a crown. This child is a pink princess. I felt embarrassed for barging into this girl’s room. I turned to leave when the lights turned on. The little girl was wide awake and sitting up. Her green eyes stared at me with great focus. She opened her mouth to say something but I quickly shushed her. I didn’t want her parents to wake up. I needed to think of something so she won’t be afraid of me. “Hey, there” I greeted her “I’m your imaginary friend”. Her face lit up and smiled. I smiled back “Don’t make any sound or you’ll wake up mommy and daddy, okay?”, she nodded her head. “You should go back to sleep” I told her “so you can grow up big and strong”. I approached her bed. She just watched me, didn’t even flinched when I went near. I watched as she tucked herself in and was about to leave when she took a book under her pillow. She handed it to me. I stared at the book in confusion then I realized that she wanted me to read it to her. “I can’t read it to you-” I tried to explain but was cut off because she looked at me with sad eyes. I sighed and gave up. I told her she’ll have to hold the book while I read it. I read her the book and a few pages later, she was fast asleep. Her rosy round cheeks and curly brown made her look like a cherub. I left the house and continued my stroll. I felt a little better after my encounter with the little girl. Two people already saw me so far, three if I included the ghost. The dead husband, the high mute driver and the little girl. The driver was on drugs so that could probably explain why he can see me. But the little girl wasn’t high or anything. She didn’t look like she hit her head. So why can she see me? I try to come up with reasons how can people see me but none of them add up. I need more information. I walked down to downtown. There were a few establishments open. One of them was a strip club. I never been into a strip club, fearing someone I know might see me going into one. This might be my only chance entering one without anyone recognizing me. I decided to enter at the back. Inside was a huge dressing room. Each dressing table was a woman applying makeup on her face or glitter on her body. All of them were in a hurry. A man came inside the room and announced that the next show was in five minutes. On the last dressing table was a woman wearing a red lingerie. She was struggling with her lingerie, trying to tighten it around the waist. The man came up to her and scolded her for being slow. He threatened to fire her. She begged him not to. She held his hand but he flicked it away. She kept tugging his sleeves and pleading not to fire her. The man had enough. He pushed the woman down. The room was still as this was happening. The man stormed away while warning the others that he will fire them if they slack off. The woman held her belly as if to protect it. She stood up and the laces were undone. I can now see that it was a little pudgy. Her co-workers asked if she was okay. She nodded and re tied the laces. I looked at her in pity. She was forced to take this job for whatever reason. Now she’s facing one of the results of this job. Her name was called and she went to the stage as if nothing happened backstage. I left the club and started to regret entering it. Surviving in this world is getting harder and harder. How can someone take pleasure while someone’s suffering? I shook my head in disgust and tried to think of something else. The sky turned from midnight blue into purple. Dawn was passing and it was almost morning. I went to the one place that I loved.

I entered the park and a calming energy flowed through my body. The trees were turning orange because of the change of seasons. Some trees started to change color, some refuse to change just yet. I walked down the path feeling calm. I saw a few squirrels on top of trees, ready to start collecting food for the winter. Birds were already on the hunt for worms. I heard a rustle to my side. The bush was shaking and rustling. I waited for something to come out but nothing did. “Must be an opossum” I thought. I went to the center of the park. The magnificent fountain was turned off. The carvings on its side were beautiful and mysterious. I traced my hand on the shaped stone. It was telling a story about a playboy who bewitches every woman he meets. But the most fairest woman wasn’t convinced by him. The playboy made it his mission to make her fall in love with him. They played the game of love, soon the woman found it difficult and falls in love with him. The playboy then casts her aside as if he was tired of her. The story always fascinated me and made me wonder what happened to the woman. Did she vowed to never love again or did she found better love? I’ll never know. I sat down at one of the benches and watched the sky lighten up to a day. I thought about the things I saw tonight. My next door neighbor dancing in her apartment while her deceased husband watched her. A truck driver, who just got off work, holding his daughter’s photo. A very tired lawyer working so late at night for a case. A driver that got in an accident because he was on drugs. A famous celebrity who came from a party jumped off the Brooklyn bridge. A little girl, in her pink princess room, asking me to read for her to sleep. A stripper, who was forced to take her job, is gonna be a mom if she’ll keep the kid. Only three people saw me, the first one was a ghost, the other was almost at death’s doorstep, and the last was young and innocent. I think the only people who can see me are either dead, dying, or innocent. But I can’t really prove this theory that I came up. I don’t know if I’ll remember any of this when I wake up. I don’t even know if this is a dream or not. If I did remember, my life would never be the same ever. If I’m dead, will I be able to go to the other side? I watched the sun rise up. I decided that it was time to walk back home.

I passed by the strip club and the little girl’s house. The club was just closing down. A group of females went out of the club. One of them was the stripper I saw earlier. The lights in the little girl’s house were turned on. I can see a woman in the kitchen making breakfast. I walked pass by the spot where Natalie Collins jumped off hours ago. The pedestrian light was red but I still crossed the same road where the accident happened. The street was wet but the hydrant wasn’t spraying water anymore. There was no sign of the car or the driver. I passed diner. There were already a few customers inside eating breakfast and sipping their first cup of coffee. All of them were about to go to their jobs after their meals. I recounted the street lamps that I passed by. I finally reached the apartment building. I entered the building and I can hear my neighbors getting ready for the day. I went up to my floor. Mrs. Roberts’ door was slightly open and I can hear her cooking bacon and listening to AM radio. She was humming along with the tune playing on the radio. Finally, I reached my apartment. I went through the door and the living room looked exactly the way I left it. I went to my bedroom and there I was on the bed. I was still sleeping soundly. The clock on my bedside table said it was 7:58 in the morning, two minutes before the alarm goes off and waking me. I went to sleep around 9 PM last night. I have been wandering around the streets of New York for six hours. This was the weirdest dream I ever had and I was ready to wake up. I examined my sleeping self one more time. My hair had gotten even messier because of the tossing and turning. One of my pillows was already on the floor. Drool was dripping on one side of my cheek. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The alarm went off and woke me up.  

#AfterDark #15hoursofwriting #worthit #shortstory

[belairresident55-blog]

season 1 episode 2

Today, sir, l thought we might begin the day with an aspirin preventative medicine being so much the mode. lt's too late, Geoffrey. l already have a headache just anticipating that infernal hammering at the office. l thought the workmen were supposed be done by yesterday. Shockingly enough, Vivian, they're behind schedule. Dad, it's so obvious. lf all that hammering is bothering you, just tell them to quit it. l don't even want to talk about it. These are the only moments of peace and quiet l'll have all day. Another aspirin, sir? Perhaps a gun. What the devil is he doing up there? I Got The Power by Snap. Snap is a great band. When Crackle and Pop cut a disc, then call me. -What's so funny? -Carlton told a joke. No, Hilary. Carlton is a joke. Mommy, who's gonna take me to my tennis lesson after school today? Are you sure it's tennis today? Maybe you'd better check your schedule. Schedule? My parents bought me this calendar so l could keep my lessons straight. Didn't you have a schedule for after school at my age? Yeah, the TV Guide. See, Monday is for ballet, Tuesday is riding, Wednesday is violin. l thought today was violin, sweetie pie. You mean Ashley would have shown up for her violin lesson in her tennis outfit? l just pictured it. l'm two for two. l'm going to quit while l'm ahead. May l suggest retirement? Keep them coming, Will. So, Mommy, who's going to drive me? There's a growing pollution problem in this city, and l will not contribute to it. l absolutely refuse to drive anybody anywhere until a responsible car pool is organized. But, Hilary, Ashley is in a car pool. l just don't want to do it, okay? l have an idea. Will, you don't have any chores this afternoon. You can drive Ashley. Word up. Kick over the keys to the Jag. -The Benzito? -The station wagon. Come on, you're gonna ruin my rep. You're only 17. You don't have a rep yet. You'll drive her to her class, wait for her there, and bring her home. Come on, l got to sit through a hour of them scratchy violins? You might learn something. The same thing l learned from banging my head against a pole: Don't do it again. This is your new job. Wednesdays you are Ashley's driver. Understood? Yes'm. l'll be more than happy to drive you to the Piggly Wiggly, Miss Daisy. l'm sorry. Ladies, hold it. Wait a minute. Let's try something different. Everybody just repeat after me, okay? Come, girls! You are late. Now let's begin with the piece you were to memorize from Stravinsky's VioIin Concerto in D minor. And remember, you are playing this for a woman who was the great Stravinsky's lover. One, two, three, four. Faster! Stop! You, there. What you do here? l'm Ashley's cousin. l was just waiting to drive her home. You make me kind of nervous with that stick, lady. You dare to read while great Stravinsky is played? l wasn't as tight with the man as you were. Do not attempt to make joke with me. l was lover of both Laurel and Hardy. Guess that look really works for you then. Hey, Ash, that was decent to listen to that kind of music without having to see Freddy Krueger kill somebody. -l'm glad somebody enjoys it. -What, don't you? Not yet, but when l'm older, it will be very useful to me. No, wait. That's tennis. -Who told you that? -My dad. Just because your dad likes something, doesn't mean you have to like it. He likes being a lawyer. You don't have to be a lawyer. l am going to be a lawyer. Ash, the world does not need another Philip Banks. We might not have enough farmland to support the one we have. No, the world needs an Ashley Banks. Girls, you must remember to practice more, no? Violin is very jealous, much like the sexy Toscanini. lf you even look at another, it will not speak to you for days. But if you give all of yourselves, it will fulfill your every need and set your very soul on fire. What does she mean by that? Let's just say that lady expects a lot from a piece of wood and some strings. -Your aspirin, sir. -Thank you, Geoffrey. Do you attribute your headaches, sir solely to the ongoing construction in your office or do you suppose there might be a stress factor involved? This is how my day went, Geoffrey. At 9:00, they were pounding. At 10:00, they were jackhammering. By noon, a pneumatic drill came into play. And, Geoffrey, they were just repainting the office. l'd say that's cause for stress. Wouldn't you? You know, sir, the Earl of Cranbrook to whom l was in service for several years suffered from the most severe headaches. And you're saying these were caused by some sort of stress? l should very much doubt it. He spent his days riding to the hounds, and his evenings attending rather pleasant dinner parties with his delightful wife, Lady Celia. Now, she was a terribly good snooker player, one of the best. -One night, she bet-- -Geoffrey. Where does the stress come in? lt certainly doesn't in Lord Cranbrook's case. l never saw a calmer household. Then what was the point of the story? Sheer entertainment, sir. What the devil was that? l believe the technical term is a ''rim shot. '' Who did it? Utter speculation, of course, but my guess is Master William. Ashley, honey where is your violin? -Big Sal has it. -Big Sal? He owns this great store where you don't need any money. You just go in and give him something you don't even want anymore -and he gives you this ticket. Then-- -A pawnshop? -You took her to a pawnshop? -Yeah, it was really hard, too. You don't have many pawnshops in Bel-Air. That's really a shame. -l had to go all the way to East LA. -East LA? -They gave me a great deal. -They gave you a set of drums. And l made them throw in a little gift for each of you. Close your eyes. -Vivian! -l want my present. Okay, open. What a lovely antique necklace. -What is this? -Daddy, it's a diamond. No, it isn't. -You don't like it? -No, l do not. Can l have it? How dare you pawn her violin! -She don't even like playing it no more. -She will learn to like it later. A young woman who can play a violin is an accomplished young lady. A girlie that can play the drums can write her own ticket. Will, l want the best for Ashley. When l was a kid, l loved classical music, but my parents couldn't afford lessons. l used to stand out in the parking lot of the Philharmonic hoping to catch a spare note on the night air. Philip, when l met you, you were into James Brown. -He liked James Brown? -He even wore his hair like him. He had hair? You know, it is possible to like both classical music and James Brown. l could not agree more. So let's let Ashley play whatever she wants. She spent an entire year on the violin. So if she wants to try something new, let her. You tell him, Aunt Viv. -And as for you, young man-- -Love you. The next time you decide to visit a pawnshop, don't. -Are we clear on that? -Yes. Master William, there is a young gentleman downstairs with a rather large radio who is here to see you. -He claims his name is Jazz. -Yo, word up. Send him up. -Now, who is this Jazz fellow? -l heard the boy at a club. He was all of that. He will be Ashley's new music teacher. l mean, he's not as experienced as Madame Chatchka, but then who is? Mr. Jazz. lt's nice to meet you, Jazz. How do you do? l'm Mr. Banks. You got that right. Man, you're loaded! Yo, what's up, J. ? Come on, let's just leave them alone. -l asked him to take her to her lesson-- -l know, baby. Tell Mama all about it. Ash, how about let Jazz get busy one time? So, Carlton, how's the soccer scene? Well, l may be moving up from JV to Varsity, but-- Am l the only one who finds this drumming inappropriate for high tea? l can't take another week of this. From morning until night all l hear is this relentless, pulsating, thumping beat. -l'm going to the Hard Rock Cafe. -Hilary. Stay. We are having tea. lt's a civilized way for me to have a conversation with my family so someone talk. l want her severely punished! lt was the only time that Jazz could give her a lesson today. -l wish you would stop calling him that. -But that's his name. lt is not. lt can't be. These kids like to make up their own names. Let them. Okay, fine. From now on, l'm no longer Philip Banks. Just call me King Edward lV. As you wish, Your Majesty. Humor, sir. Dad, l'm as liberal as the next guy but it's time for someone to take the reins. High tea has been a weekly tradition in our family for as long as l can remember. lf we let young Will ruin this for us, what's next to go? Christmas? l can't answer that question for you, son. Ask your mother. Come on, you two. High tea is not a sacred institution. lt's not the tea. lt's not the drums. lt's Ashley. l've spent nine years trying to raise a proper young lady and Will is undoing all of my work in a week. -Ashley, honey, come down here! -What are you doing? He's punishing her. No, Hilary, l just want her to spend some time with her family. Same thing. What is all this yelling about downstairs? Look, we are trying to give a music lesson upstairs. Work with me, people, please? You've been practicing all afternoon. Look, that is the only way she's gonna become a star. This young lady has the drive, the good look, and the intelligence to get to the top but she will not be on Yo! MTVRaps if you all don't work with me. Practice is over, Will. Ashley, honey, it's teatime. Tea. Biscuits! Geoffrey, put on our teatime music, please. You'll love this, honey. lt's Brandenburg Concertos. Jazz, hit me with some sugar, man. -How about a little milk? -No, l'll get it. l thought this was sterling. lt's got that certain weight to it. Yes. This is my favorite part. Ashley, honey, this is possibly the most beautiful music ever written. -Would someone turn it up for me, please? -Jazz, crank it up for me. Yes. Listen, darling. Listen to the violins. Beautiful. The oboes will be coming next. Geoffrey, would you tell Miss Ashley l'd like to speak to her? Right away, sir. Now, l know you're upset, but l want you to stay calm. l'm calm. l'm happy. l'm in control. You see, Vivian, l had lost control. ''Lost control''? You drop-kicked a human being across our front lawn. lt felt good, damn it. l'm back in the saddle again. You know, l think living down the street from the Reagans has had a very bad effect on you. Will, your uncle just wanted to speak with Ashley. No, let him stay. l want him to hear this, too. l hope this isn't going to be one of those Theo moments. Ashley, honey, sit down. Ashley, baby through no fault of your own things went down a very wrong path this week. But luckily, your daddy has put it all back together. You're going to return to the violin. l've called Madame Chatchka. She's agreed to give you a makeup lesson. You must have caught her on one of her rare free nights. Will, please? We've all lost sight of the most important thing here and that is what is best for Ashley. lt's not what's best for Ashley. You're trying to control her. She's 9 years old, and she's got a calendar telling her where she's got to be, what she's gotta do. She doesn't have to worry about that anymore because now you tell her what to do, right? There's only one thing wrong with that: You're not her father. How come you didn't know she doesn't like the violin? She liked it for a year before you moved in. Can you explain that? -l never liked it, Daddy. -That explains it. Look, if you ask her, she'll tell you she wants to play the drums. l don't like the drums, either. See? Now you confused her. l'm not confused. l just didn't want to disappoint you, Will. And l didn't want to disappoint you, Daddy. Now hold on. Let's get this straight. Ashley, you don't have to please Will, and you don't have to please your father. You just continue with the lessons that you like best. -Do you mean it, Mommy? -Absolutely, sweetheart. -Then l want to quit ballet. -Ballet? Honey, no. But you look so cute in that little tutu. -l really hate it, Mommy. -But, honey, just until Christmas? Do you believe that? -She wants to quit everything. -l know. These kids today have no attention span. l blame television. Read more: http://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=the-fresh-prince-of-bel-air&episode=s01e02

#infj personality #introvert #depression #suicidal #unhappy #cartoon