#frank west needs a nap

[ageless-aislynn]

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[mrs-gucci]

A Beach Day to Remember {Clyde Logan x Reader}

author’s notes: made it just under the wire for this week’s writer wednesday :) it’s a bit different from my usual writing MO, but I honestly had a blast with it and I’m decently pleased with how it turned out, actually. I wrote this late at night while I was half-asleep lol so sorry if it’s a little all over the place! thanks, as always, to @autumnleaves1991-blog for hosting & @clydesducktape​ for helping out! it’s such a great and fun weekly tradition!

warnings: fluff. humor. romance. beach fun. chair wrestling. a quick lil makeout session (nothing explicit). 

no tw’s :)

word count: 2.2k

clyde’s taglist peeps! @goddessofsprings​ my general taglist peeps!  @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​  @gildedstarlight​ @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy​ @I-can’t-draw-faces @ahsoka1 @safarigirlsp​ @babbushka

By some miracle, you’d convinced born-and-raised country boy Clyde Logan to accompany you to Miami Beach for a week. A whole week, you couldn’t believe it. 

And...he actually bought a pair of swim trunks. Sure, they were a West Virginia Walmart buy, but hey, he bought a pair; you’ll take what you can get.

Who was this man and what has he done with Clyde Logan?

He’s never really been to the beach before, Mamma Logan didn’t like bein’ in the sun too long and Pappa wasn’t about to cross her, so this was his first time. 

Your family used to vacation here every year, so you were relatively familiar with the notoriously rowdy town. The first evening and night consisted of you showing a wide-eyed Clyde around Miami’s bustling night life. But, when the sun came up the next morning, he was revving to get down to the beach.

You had to talk him down a bit there at first, convincing him to eat somethin’ for breakfast before spending a whole entire day in the sun ‘cause if he passes out, he’s on his own getting back to the condo.

“I’m gon’ go get changed fer the beach!” He says excitedly, clapping his hands together and doing a little jog over to the dresser the second you two get back from your sidewalk cafe breakfast.

You smile at his enthusiasm, trying to remember the last time you saw him so openly excited and smiley. After only a few moments of thought, you realize that you’ve never seen him quite like this before. But, you’re certainly taking a liking to vacation Clyde.

Both Mellie and Jimmy requested plenty of photos of, and this is a direct quote, “Clyde’s long, pasty-ass legs in swim shorts”, and you’re nothing if not accommodating...

As soon as he steps out of the bathroom, you quickly say “Smile!” and snap a picture of him in his leaf-pattern hunter green trunks. He frowns, striding over to where you’re standing.

“Hey now pumpkin, who’re ya sendin’ that off to?”

You giggle, typing out his sibling’s contacts into your messages. “Nobody...”

His eyes widen when he sees Jimmy and Mellie’s names. He tries to grab the phone away from you, but as he takes it, his palm accidentally nudges the little ‘send’ icon. 

“G’damnit! I fuckin’ sent it to ‘em!”

You’re cracking up as he frantically tries to somehow un-send the message, despite you trying to repeatedly convince him that there’s literally nothing that can be done at this point; the message is permanent.

Almost immediately, the replies begin to pile in and Clyde quickly puts a hand over his face as your phone chimes continuously.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

“‘m never gonna hear the end ‘a this when we get back home.” He groans. “Now they got that picture forever and they’re never gonna stop showin’ it...Oh ma god, they’re gonna put it in our weddin’ slideshow, a-and our future kids ‘re gonna see it, and it’s gonna be shown at ma funeral...”

You laugh, shaking your head as you put your hands on his bare, freckle-painted chest. “Hon, I really wouldn’t worry that much about it. It’ll all blow over in a little bit, I promise. Plus, I now have evidence that you actually came to the beach with me. I have a feeling our future kids won’t believe me when I tell them this story someday.”

Clyde starts laughing, running his hands down the curve of your body before landing on your hips. He pulls you in for a kiss, moving his lips gently against yours.

Your face scrunches when he starts licking into your mouth and the bitter taste of zinc overwhelms your taste buds.

“Mmmm, mmm, Clyde?”

He pulls away, brows furrowed.

“Did you put some zinc on your lips?”

His cheeks turn pink and he looks away bashfully. “Oh, yeah, I did. ‘m sorry, I forgot ‘bout that.”

“It’s alright, no need to apologize.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “I love you.”

He smiles, placing a kiss on your forehead this time, rather than your lips.

“Love ya too, pumpkin.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clyde’s like a kid at a candy store when he gets down to the beach, quickly putting the cooler down on the sand and dropping his chair down next to it. The sunglasses sit just above the bridge of his zinc-whitened nose as his head moves around to drink in the sights unfolding before him.

You giggle to yourself as you watch him, setting your beach bag down with the cooler before beginning to set up your chair. But your man quickly jumps in and insists on unfolding the chair for you even though, as you’ll soon find out, he has zero idea how to operate a folding beach chair. To be fair, it was one of those older-fashioned ones that had sustained quite a bit of rust.

“Now, how in the world...?” He grumbles, trying to unfold the stubborn thing. He tries just about every method he could think up, at one point he was trying to use his flip-flop equipped foot to aid in the unfolding process, but he still cannot get the damn chair open.

Eventually, a curious (and very entertained) bystander comes over and helps the two of you out with your chairs, and both of you thank them profusely before finally beginning your day at the beach. Clyde remains standing, continuing to look around at all the things happening on the beach while you lay back and open your book to begin reading.

After a bit of sunning time, you and Clyde head down to the water. You keep your feet in the cool water while he stands further in, little waves crashing mid-calf. He finds a nice shell and runs up to put it back at your little setup while you stay and watch as the natural push and pull of the ocean slowly buries your feet in the sand.

Suddenly, a flesh arm comes on your back and a metallic arm scoops behind your knees, lifting you up as you squeal. 

“Clydeeee!”

He laughs, rushing into the water while holding you bridal-style, water splashing up all over both you and him with each of his massive strides. As soon as he knows he’s deep enough, he starts swinging you back and forth.

“One...Two...”

You’re in a fit of laughter, playfully hitting his chest. “Noooooo! Stooopppp!”

“Three!” Clyde tosses you into the blue-green water of the Atlantic as you screech, a big splash accompanying your collision with the surface.

You emerge a moment later, quickly rushing up and jumping into his arms, causing him to fall backwards into the water. He laughs when he resurfaces and splashes you in the face teasingly, to which you respond by doing the exact same thing.

“No more splashin’!” He says, chuckling to himself at the irony of his exclamation.

You laugh, splashing him one more time. “You’re the one that started it, you goof!”

“Now, let’s not play the blame game, pumpkin.” He smiles jokingly, then wraps his arms around your torso, head nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

Both of you spend a bit more time in the water before heading back up to your chairs to dry off in the sun and re-apply sunscreen. Clyde ends up falling asleep, a few shells he found in the water spread out on the top of his thighs as he snoozes.

Only about fifteen minutes later, you look over and put a hand over your mouth to cover the giggles that come when you see that one of the shells has sprouted some legs in preparation for an escape attempt. The creature begins crawling and he starts squirming a bit at the ticklish sensation, clearly beginning to re-awaken from his early afternoon slumber. 

When his eyes blink open and he looks down, he gasps, launching backwards in his chair. Unfortunately, the old-school beach chair already struggles to hold his massive form, so when he jumps back, the chair gives out and breaks clean in half, sending Clyde back into the sand. 

The poor crab is thrust into the sand, but it’s alright, quickly crawling back towards the ocean. You immediately stand up, trying not to laugh too hard until you know he’s completely alright. 

“Oh my fuck...Clyde! Are you okay, hon?”

He nods, chuckling softly. “’m alright, though I can’t say the same for this here chair, though.”

You giggle, helping him sit back up in the sand. When he’s fully sat up, he’s still smiling and laughing, shaking his head.

“Well, I suppose I owe the condo owners a new beach chair.”

--

A full, active day at the beach has you pretty fucking exhausted when you two finally head back up to the condo around four in the afternoon. You take a quick cat nap while Clyde showers, then you hop in and wash off the day’s sunscreen and sand.

While you’re in the shower, Clyde rifles through his duffle and pulls out a little velvet box, popping it open to expose the glittering diamond ring that sits on a little pillow. He smiles at the sight, knowing that tonight’s the night he’s finally gonna ask you to be his forever.

He’s been waiting for the right moment for a short while now, and after the fun y’all had at the beach today and the sunset beach walk he’s planning to take you on before your fancy dinner reservations later this evening...he can’t think of a more perfect time to do it.

You step out of the bathroom and Clyde scrambles to quickly tuck the ring box into his khaki pants pocket. He smooths his hands over the fabric before standing up, face breaking out into a wide smile when he sees the beautiful sundress you’ve got on.

“You’re so beautiful, pumpkin.” He says, smiling as he walks up to you, hands on your hips. “Always so, so beautiful.”

Your expression stretches into a bright, genuine smile as you get up on your tiptoes for a kiss. “Thank you, Clyde. You look awfully handsome yourself this evening.”

“Oh, well, thank ya, darlin’.” His cheeks grow red as he looks down for a moment, shoving his hands down in his pockets. “So, do ya wanna go on a sunset walk ‘fore our reservations?”

You agree, and the two of you head back down to the beach. His fingers fiddle with the little box in his pocket as you walk along the beach. Soon, you reach an old lifeguards stand, painted in brilliant mint green and flamingo pink colors. The ‘No Lifeguard on Duty’ paint is still visible, even after some seeming wear and tear to the outside of the building. 

The sun’s touching down on the horizon line as he guides you up onto the old structure’s small front deck, and you lean over the railing together as the sun sinks down. 

Your head turns to look over at your beloved boyfriend, admiring the way the sherbet sky reflects off of and compliments his alabaster skin. God he’s beautiful, you think to yourself for what has to be the millionth time in your three years of dating Clyde. He’ll forever be the most beautiful man in your eyes.

He turns to you then, standing up with a shaky hand reaching out to take yours. “Uh, Y/N, there’s somethin’...somethin’ I wanna do ‘fore we head off to dinner.”

You nod, eyebrows furrowing.

“Sure, hon. Are you alright, though? You’re shaking a bit.”

“’m alright, pumpkin.”

Clyde nods and then, he sinks down onto one knee, wobbling a bit as he adjusts to the new position. He steadies shortly after and then, he pulls the box out of his pocket and opens it up, exposing the ring he spent hours picking out for you.

You’re in shock, hands over your mouth as he smiles up at you, tears already forming in his eyes.

“Y/N, I-I knew when I first met ya that you were gon’ be the woman I wanted to s...spend the rest of ma life with. Y-Yer so funny ‘n kind ‘n so, so beautiful; yer just...yer perfect, p-pumpkin.”

You feel the tears beginning to spill out of the corners of your eyes as he continues, tears now running down his cheeks as well.

“I love y-ya more than life itself, Y/N, an’ I...I wanna spend the rest of ma livin’ days on this planet by yer side. Will ya...will ya marry me?”

Time seems to stand still for Clyde, then, his nerves overwhelming and overtaking his entire being. The seconds between his final word and your response are some of the longest and most anxious seconds of his life, but damnit, they were well worth it.

“Yes, Clyde, yes. O-Of course I’ll marry you.” You say, smiling as he stands to pull you in for a passionate kiss.

He’s overjoyed, really, heart racing but in the best possible way. You said yes. You’re gonna be his wife, his Mrs. Logan.

“God, I love ya.” Clyde whispers against your lips, pulling the ring from its place on the delicate pillow. “I love ya so, so much, Y/N.”

“I love you t-too, Clyde.” You smile, holding your left hand out for him to slip the ring onto your finger. It’s a perfect fit, and you immediately pull him in for a hug. “I can’t wait to marry you, hon, can’t wait to become Mrs. Logan.”

He grins widely, pressing another few kisses onto your lips.

“Mrs. Y/N Logan, ma beautiful wife, ma forever partner.”

You nod, sniffling softly.

“Your forever partner.”

[arrowflier]

Drunken Shenanigans Pt2

Daily speedwrite influenced by how fun the last one was and all the husbandly vibes on my dash today.  I have not yet processed all of the feelings that scene gave me, so we’re sticking with cute and light so I don’t go off the deep end any more than I already have.

Part 1 

Ian was settling into the front seat of the Uber, leaning over to tell their driver the address, when Mickey started complaining.

“’Ey,” he called from the back seat.  “’Ey, crotch…fire…,” Ian watched in the rear-view as his eyes crossed briefly before focusing on his own in the mirror.  “Ian,” Mickey settled on, looking proud of himself.

“Yes, Mickey?” Ian sighed.  The driver did something on his phone, then tilted it toward Ian, and he broke Mickey’s gaze to look down.

“That the place?” the man asked, and Ian grabbed his wrist for a second to steady the screen before nodding.  When he glanced back to Mickey again, he was scowling.

“Who’s that?” Mickey demanded, before turning his attention to the driver.  “Hey, who are you?”

“He’s just the driver, Mick,” Ian interrupted before Mickey could threaten their ride.  “He’s taking us home.”

“Oh.”  Mickey appeared to think about that for a second before nodding decisively.  “Good.  Better keep his hands to ‘imself, though, you tell him that?”

“I’ll tell him that, Mick,” Ian replied.

“’Cause you’re married,” Mickey went on.

“Yes, I’m married, Mick,” Ian agreed.

“To me,” he felt the need to clarify.

Ian sighed again, making an effort not to look at the driver.  He would either find humor, discomfort, or disgust on the stranger’s face, and he wasn’t sure which he preferred at this point.

“To you,” he repeated instead.  “Yes, Mickey, we all know that I’m married to you, are we good now?”

Mickey nodded, face content.  “Yeah.  Good.”  He paused.  “Where we goin’?”

Ian rolled his eyes to the roof of the car as it finally, slowly, pulled away from the curb in front of the Alibi.  It was going to be a long ride.

—— And a long ride it was when they hit traffic halfway to the West Side.  Mickey was zoning in and out, giving them a few blissful moments of quiet each time, during which Ian and their driver listened studiously to the radio and tried not to look at each other.  

Mickey hiccupped from the back seat, breaking the newest record for their longest stretch of silence.

“Ian,” he said sluggishly.  Ian looked back to see that his face had paled considerably, and undid his seatbelt to lean around the back of his seat and press a cool hand to his forehead.

“Please refasten your seatbelt,” the driver requested immediately.  Ian nearly glared at him, but Mickey’s face expressed his own thoughts well enough, so he didn’t bother.  If the man noticed, he didn’t comment, only adding, “it’s a liability issue, and I don’t want to kick you out here.”

Ian looked out the window at the packed street, still so far from home, and relented.

But as soon as he had pulled himself back and clicked the belt back on, Mickey called for him again.

“Ian,” he whined.  He would deny ever making such a sound if he were sober, but sober Mickey didn’t always know himself that well.  “Feel sick.”

“Drinking some homemade concoction of Frank’s will do that to you,” Ian told him unsympathetically, though the concern in his own eyes betrayed him as he looked back again.

“Is he going to puke in my car?” the driver asked.  “He can’t puke in my car, this is my livelihood, man.”

Ian was preparing a retort about dangers of the trade and customer satisfaction when Mickey screwed up his face, hunched over, and released an impressively disgusting belch.

Well.

Mickey settled back again, apparently feeling much better, and Ian rolled his eyes as he turned forward.

“He’s fine,” he said shortly, and cracked his window.

At the sudden influx of fresh air, Mickey hummed.  “Tha’s nice,” he mumbled.  “Where we goin’?” he then asked again, like he had been every few minutes since they left.

“Home, Mickey,” Ian answered yet again.

“Mmm, good,” Mickey murmured, voice hitting a lower register.  Ian’s eyes shot up to look at him in the mirror again, and Mickey’s now-hooded eyes met his easily.  “Got things to do at home,” he announced, sloppily licking his bottom lip.  “To you,” he clarified, and Ian didn’t have to look to know he was blushing.

He chose not to answer.  As per usual, it was the wrong choice.

“Gonna get my hands in that hair,” Mickey started innocently enough.  “So fucking red.”  And Ian could deal with that, that wasn’t so bad.  It was even almost romantic, running fingers through hair and all that shit.  But then Mickey kept going:

“Red like your di--”

“Alright, that’s enough Mick,” Ian decided abruptly.  “Why don’t you take a nap, huh?”

“Don’t wanna,” Mick said, “wanna get you red all over...” but he was already keeling to the side, laying full out against the seat, only his own seatbelt preventing him from falling off.  He twisted around a bit, finally finding a comfortable position, but his inelegant movements left his shirt bunched up and revealed a generous swatch of his pale stomach.

Ian caught the driver’s gaze in the rear-view with his own when the man glanced back, and promptly reached into the back seat—seatbelt still on this time—to tug down his husband’s shirt.  

It only took a second, and Ian was already twisting back in his own seat, when he was halted by Mickey’s hand on his wrist.

“Mickey, let go,” he chastised, but when he looked, Mickey’s eyes were already closed, his chest rising evenly.  Ian gave his hand a light tug, but Mickey’s brow furrowed in his sleep, and his grip tightened as he made a small sound in the back of his throat.  When Ian stopped pulling, his face smoothed out into that beautiful, peaceful look he always had in sleep, looking younger and more innocent than he had any right to.  His grip stayed strong.

Ian’s heart gave a hard beat.  Then his pulse, raised since he had first tried to drag his husband out of the bar, slowed and settled.

A pointed cough came from the driver’s seat when Ian made no move to sit properly again, no doubt irritated at his blatant disregard for vehicle safety, but Ian didn’t even bother to look his way.  

Instead, he let his husband hold onto him for the rest of the ride, and watched him sleep.

[mymelodyheart]

Highland Destiny Chapter 2 ~The Doctor~

Claire Beauchamp arrived in Inverness, late Friday afternoon after a two-day journey by car from Oxford. She was looking forward to a new life in Scotland and a fresh start. It had been five years since her husband of only two months, Frank Randall died in a car accident, and after finishing her internship recently, she was ready to move on. 

Frank Randall was a University professor, and Claire, a medical student in Oxford when they first met in the pub 7 years ago. Frank was 12 years her senior, but that didn't deter Claire from developing an infatuation. On the other hand, Claire's charm, wit and maturity beyond her years captivated the young professor, and it wasn't long before they fell in love and married. It was a blissful union until Frank died tragically, leaving his young bride to pick up the pieces of her broken dreams. 

Determined and stubborn, young Claire wasn't a person to wallow in grief for too long. Although very much heartbroken, she picked herself up, buried herself in work, and concentrated on finishing her studies. Shortly after Frank died, she sold their Victorian house to pay for her tuition fees, and whatever money was left, was put into her savings. 

Five years forward, Claire claimed her hard-earned M.D. as a Neurosurgeon and completed her obligatory internship. As she took her time deciding her next steps, her best friend Joe Abernathy from medical school had taken up residency in the Northern Royal Infirmary in Inverness. Joe Abernathy wanted her to follow suit.

Widowed and 29 years old, Claire knew she still had her life ahead of her. Uncle Lambert, her guardian since she was orphaned at age 5, suggested she takes his neglected cottage in the outskirts of Inverness if she opted to follow her friend Joe. Her uncle had very little use of it and having no family of his own, Claire knew the cottage will one day belong to her.

Without any further persuasion, Claire decided to move to Inverness and put her hospital residency on hold for a year.   A kind of sabbatical  , she thought. She needed time for the transition without the rigorous demands of working as a Neurosurgeon. To ease the transition, Claire responded to a job opening as a paramedic in Scottish Ambulance Service. The possibility of working indoors as well as outdoors on emergency cases sounded exhilarating and adventurous. Although over-qualified for the job, she knew she needed a change of something....or anything for that matter, without wandering too far from the medical route.

It didn't take long before Claire heard from the Scottish Ambulance Service. They knew she was over-qualified for the position, but they were only too happy to accept her application. Claire was thrilled and immediately made arrangements for the move. She was notified to start work as soon as she arrived.

Claire's first destination in Inverness was St. Agnes Orphanage to see the French mother superior, Mother Hildegarde. She was a life-long friend of Uncle Lambert and the keeper of the cottage's keys. As Claire walked into the Mother Superior's office, she was greeted with open arms and a huge warm smile.

"  Ma chérie  , Claire, come here and let me look at you. It's been ages!" Mother Hildegarde gathered Claire into her arms and embraced her tightly. "  Mon Dieu  , look at you...what a beautiful woman you have become. Mind you, you have always been a beautiful girl."

"Mother Hildegarde, oh it's so lovely to see you. Oh yes, it's been almost 10 years since I was here in bonny Scotland. And it's still bonny as ever. How are you?" Claire smiled warmly, hugging the elderly lady back.

For a woman in her eighties, the Mother Superior had a surprisingly firm grip. "  Très bien, ma chérie  . And how about you? You must be tired and hungry,   non  ? You must stay here for the night. There are still workers at your uncle's cottage right this minute and should be finished by tomorrow. They're doing some finishing touches to make sure the place is secure...you know like making sure the roof has no leak."

Claire laughed, "Oh, so typical of Uncle Lamb. He likes to over-see things, you know. As for food, no thank you. I'm not really hungry, but I'm exhausted, and I can use a good nap."

"Of course,   ma chérie  , this way...allow me to show you your room for the night and oh...here are the keys to the cottage." Claire took the keys and linked her arm with the older woman as they walked out of the office, chatting about Uncle Lamb and life in general.

Twenty minutes later, after a small tour around the shelter, saying hello to some of the orphans and exchanging pleasantries with the younger nuns, she was finally in her room. It was a simple room with a small bed - that was all she needed for now. Claire didn't bother getting the rest of her suitcase from the car but took only a change of clothes for the night. Within 5 minutes of laying her head down, she fell asleep.

Sometime late in the evening, she was roused to a loud bang. She bolted right up and heard panicked voices and running feet outside the corridor.   What the fuck was that?   She grabbed her phone and keys, and clad only in her nightgown, went outside to see what the commotion was. She was approached by a distressed young nun. "Miss Claire, Miss Claire, please help gather the children for evacuation, there's a fire in the west wing." 

"Of course, I'm on it." Without bothering to go back to the bedroom, calmly Claire managed to guide as many children as possible towards the emergency exit. She can hear the sirens and firemen's voices amongst the screams of children and women. 

After guiding the last group of children on her floor to safety, Claire decided to head up to the next storey, not realising the upper level was thick with smoke. As she made it to the top of the steps, she started to choke, and her eyes began to sting. Panic-stricken, Claire looked down and below was a very tall fireman running up the stairs towards her. And before she knew what was happening, she blacked-out.

In the dark recesses of her mind, Claire was aware she was being carried away. She felt the cold air on her face and heard emergency sirens from what seemed like a distance. All she wanted to do was to drift off back to sleep and curl up into the strong, warm arms holding her. It was a comforting sensation to be held and to feel safe. 

Then consciousness got a grasp of her, and realisation seeped in- the orphanage was on fire! Her eyes suddenly flew open only to be met by a pair of the bluest she'd ever seen. Claire blinked twice in an attempt to clear the fogginess in her head, but the man carrying her continued to stare as if she was some sort of alien. She searched his soot-covered face, but he remained inscrutable.

Finding her wits, at last, Claire made a futile attempt to wriggle her way out of the man's tight hold. Clearing her voice, she implored, "Let me down please, let me down...the children in the building..." Her voice sounded hoarse to her ears, but the fireman didn't yield his grip. He was saying something, barely audible in an unfamiliar tongue as he cradled her like a baby. 

Unexpectedly, she was handed over to two men from the emergency unit and to add to her confusion, her rescuer left without saying another word. From the arms of the paramedics, Claire glanced back at the disappearing form of the tall fireman as he made his way back into the smoke-filled building.   Damn, those blue eyes! 

Snapping back to reality, Claire turned her attention to the two paramedics who were trying to ease her down on the wheeled stretcher. "I said let me down right this minute...really, I'm alright." 

"Now miss, please calm down. Just a quick examination. Are ye hurting anywhere?" A young male medic was peering into her eyes with a pen torch. "Aaah ye have bonny eyes" The young man smiled.

"Stop that!" Claire slapped a probing hand away, "I'm a doctor, and really for the hundredth time, I'm alright. If you have a spare uniform to lend, I can help. Are you even listening?" The two men fussing over her stopped, looked at each other, hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

"Ye sure miss, ye can stand?" Claire nodded and stood up to prove that she can stand on her own.

There was no time to mess about.   If the lady wants to help, we need all the extra hands we can get.

"Aye, alright then...right in there, there's a spare uniform." informed the dark-haired young man with a badge, T. Christie engraved on it. He pointed towards the ambulance vehicle for Claire, "You can dress in there, and I'll close the door. We need all the help we can get...we're a wee bit understaff, ye ken."

"Aye, I ken," Claire replied, mimicking his accent, before climbing into the ambulance to change into a more appropriate garb.

For the next hour, Claire tirelessly worked side by side with the emergency staff guiding the children to safety, handing out oxygen masks to those who needed it and helping those who were injured onto the stretcher. Much to her relief, Mother Hildegarde suffered only a mild smoke inhalation and was immediately taken to the hospital. As for the rest, everyone from the orphanage made it to safety with some minor injuries.

Claire had no problem navigating through the frenzied confusion. She was a trained doctor after all and knew the ins and outs of a medical emergency. The other medical workers have given up trying to assist her. It was pretty apparent that she knew what she was doing and worked very well under stress. 

Time flew by quickly, and Claire was surprised when she realised, the frenetic activities around her were winding down. As she gratefully retrieved a bottle of water from one of the medics, Claire saw her rescuer reemerged from the building. Although she couldn't see his face, she recognised him from his height, breadth and the way he walked. He was prominently taller and stood out from the rest of the firemen.

She heard him shout, "All clear!" as he gave thumbs-up to his colleagues. Without much thought, Claire walked towards his direction. She wanted to thank him for rescuing her and his bravery. 

"Erm, excuse me..." she started trying to get the tall man's attention.

To Claire's surprise, he raised his hand, and without looking at her, he stopped her mid-sentence: "Sorry not now, I'm busy..." and walked away.

 The bloody Scot didn't even recognise me!  Fuming, Claire walked the opposite direction.

[writingforyourpleasure]

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Characters: GERARD WAY x Reader

Link to chapter one :   https://writingforyourpleasure.tumblr.com/post/190745024051/on-the-road-again

Author’s note: Enjoy ! 

2.      “ 666 “

After they all introduce their self to you, they all went back to their conversation with Billy and Dex . You sat on the floor having nowhere else to sit . 

You listened to their argument about which of Gotham villains was the best one, just when you finally wanted to take part into the conflict a loud bang on the door resounded and a voice, probably of the boys crew, maked itself heard calling the guy for make up and costumes. You were also told to hurry up on yours if you wanted to be on stage in 30 minutes. You actually started to stressed out at this point . You got your make up done and your stage clothes on in top record. Your make up was blue flames under your eyes made with your electric blue liner and red eyebrows with mate black lips. Your stage clothes was a XL Chaos T-shirt in vivid red completely destroyed in which you almost drowned because he was so large, your camo pants and rangers , easy and perfect for a lot of sweating. You took your drum sticks and headed to the stage. 

A wave of screams maked itself heard at your arrival, fading as soon as you joined your kit and Dex his bass. You closed your eyes letting Dex start with their bass introduction to the first song soon matching them on their rhythm and the familiar passion eating you alive. No one existed , right now it was just like when you were sixteen. In your bedroom behind your drums and Dex facing you with his bass close to your bed , the door of your room open to let your parents listen to your music, they asked for it. And the most important public in the world , your dog Matcha. Yes, playing for an entire arena was just amazing, but right now you played for yourself , wanting to let yourself go . You always tried to give the best of yourself, you didn’t wanted to loose the magic of what this moment procured you. 

Once you’re part was done , an interlude of 30 minutes took places .

“Dude you smell SO bad right now” You shoved your left elbow into his ribs for yelling it so loud to anyone who would listened .

“Shut your stupid mouth , you smell as bad as I do”

“Well Y/N I’ll loved to say you’re right … but you aren’t” This shitty Ames said coming up in front of you to leave for the scene to bring back in your truck your instruments . soon followed by Billy who shout you up a smile.

“I think you smell okay Y/N”

“Thank you , but no need for such big lies pretty boy” You winked at him , making pink appeared under his beard . You walked it off with a smug grin along with an amused chuckled .

Crossing paths with Ray , Gerard , Frank and Mikey along the way. Then you headed for your lodge to be the first one to shower as Dex stayed over to the scene to help Billy and Ames .

  This was already three months ago. You were now on a break of one week , back to your parents house in the suburbia of Leeds, in the county of West Yorkshire in Northern England . Since you couldn’t afford the rent of your apartment in London, while not living in it for most part of the year, anymore. The positive point in all this was that you got to live with your dog Matcha the rare times where you weren’t on tour.

During those last three months a lot of things changed . You, Billy, Dex, Mikey, Frank, Gerard and Ray became friends pretty fast. Even through you gotta to admit the fact that Ray being a goddamn Greek god at the guitar, and also with his amazing hair, was a tiny bit intimidating. Ames and Max were friends with the guys too but less close to them than Billy, Dex and you were. Ames because he had a short temperament and had trouble trusting people he didn’t knew, and Max just because he was overwhelmed with work all the time, you seriously doubted he even took full nights of good sleep , a nap maybe but nothing more .

 The shows were great too, the fans were shoving enthusiasm in your band and your music which was a good sign. Sometimes some of them even asked for autographs at the end of shows, you weren’t really used to it, but you guessed nobody ever was in the end. Ray was the closest you got to, he was very kind, smart and someone you just enjoyed spending time around, Frank, Mikey and Gerard too but a little less than Ray even if you would never say it out loud or you would never hear the end of it. You just were still a little bit intimidated by him where Ray seemed more approachable sometimes. Dex is pretty close to Mikey and Gerard from what you observed. 

Dex, you and your new friends we’re often sharing the same bus , most of the time the one of the guys while Billy , max and Ames stayed on your sleep , unless for sleeping . But with the shows and the adrenaline that came with it, most of the time you didn’t made it to your bunks until early in the morning. The memory of it was all it took to put a small smile on your lips . 

You were actually on the carpet floor of your bedroom playing guitar , just above a whisper coz’ your parents we’re asleep on the other side of the hallway . Matcha was watching you , her tongue out breathing loudly with a huge smile on her face, comfortably laying on her favorite xxl cushion by the side of your bed.

 On your velux Window, the drops of rain created a gentle rhythm . It was 3 in the morning , you didn’t arrived to find sleep that easily at home since your bedtime on tour was much different. You’d came back two days ago, since then something seemed to be giving you anxiety . You couldn’t remember when you felt it for the first time . Was it on the plane home ? Before or after ? You didn’t know but you felt like something was wrong and couldn’t seem to shake the feeling. 

You started to play some chords in a random order getting lost into your music . It remembered you those nights when Ray or Frank would mess around with their guitar while you were all talking to each other after a show. You always just stood there, staring more than participating in the conversation . You really admire the way they played and was listening quietly before someone would start talking to you as always. Sometimes , even if it was rarely , Gerard would play, in those moments you just stared completely bewitched by him. He didn’t play as well as Ray and Frank , but had his way around it. He looked so gentle each time he’d done it with an huge concentration, where Ray and Frank seemed more carefree. You stopped playing guitar lost in your thoughts, as you were remembering the scene. 

His dark locks just falling before his eyes and you just sitting in front of him watching him more than the guitar. Then he locked his eyes with yours catching you staring like he did every time you looked at him playing . You didn’t know how every time he just felt your eyes on him and caught you before you could turn your gaze away, making you blush a little bit because you didn’t want to seem like a creep . But he would usually just have a smug smirk on his lips before sitting his guitar and joining the conversation with everyone. Just remembering it, made you blush .

When you woke up the next day with Matcha laying on your side as always . Today was no different than yesterday you still had this underlying anxiety on the back of your mind, you sigh . You really had hope it will go away today. You  made a point to go out today, just to change that train of thoughts. 

You usually just tried to avoid going out because here, people knew you , not from being in a band no, people knew you from high school and you knew them from it. So you didn’t had that much success with people finding you likeable here for some reasons. Well maybe it was coz’ back in high school you were full of cynicism and people had a hard time understanding your humor or lack of it . Being a nerd who played D&D on Sunday’s didn’t help either. Add the fact that you were one of the only people in your school who had crazy hair colors and who always talked back to shitheads . 

But you kinda wanted to pay your friend Charlie a visit, it’s been a while since the two of you hang out . Charlie was one of your friends in high school who was in your D&D Sunday group, she is now on medical school, to be a doctor , which means you didn’t get a lot of news from her by text but tried to both do your best to keep each other updated on your lifes.

You got up unfortunately waking up Matcha along the way and made your way downstairs, soon followed by your golden retriever. Finding your box of cereals and making yourself a mug of coffee for breakfast. Before your mom entered the room already dressed , your dad worked from 8am to 6pm at the University of Leeds as a Philosophy teacher and your mom was working as an astronaut at the British Space Program and she was currently on break for several months before her next mission.

“Hello Y/N , you and I are going to the mall shopping for food in less than 15 minutes so go get dressed .

“Hi mom, can’t you go alone ? I’d planned on staying home this morning and going over to Charlie’s later .” You said pretty annoyed with your mother’s request.

“I could use the extra help , so got change yourself would you ?” She said before hurrying out of the kitchen not waiting for you to answer .

You finished your bowl of cereals and your coffee , quickly going upstairs to change.

You were waiting for your mom on your porch facing your street number. Younger the fact that you lived on the 666 of your street always made you laugh, it still does. You decided to take a quick picture of the number plate and put it on Instagram writing below it :”Never gets old” quickly pulling away your phone as you mom was locking up the front door and walked up to her car with you on her tracks.

Once inside your side of the Bentley on the left , while your mom was climbing on the driver seat on the right , your phone buzzed inside of your jeans . You pulled it out unlocking it , only to see the comment on your last post .

@Gerardway: “ seems perfect for a cult summoning!”

[letterstotheone-whomilovemost]

12/31/2020 (14 months after the event)

Happy New Years!

It has been a rather weird year, hasn’t it? While some days from this year feel like they were only yesterday, others feel like half a decade ago. To be quite frank, the same applies to the last time I saw you. I’m sure if you saw this you would go “blah blah, you say the same thing every time you write.” While this is true, I can’t help it. I started taking new medication, as of 14 days ago. My psychiatrist, I have one of those now-- along with a therapist haha, recommended me getting put on escitalopram for my severe anxiety. It’s always been pretty bad, but over the course of the past 14 months, it has skyrocketed pretty high. Isn’t it strange how our minds develop as we get older? Survival of the fittest? Or is it just adaptation? The human body is pretty neat, let alone our brain. 

I was going through my photos the other day, and got the sudden urge to delete all of them. Of course, I’m not as crazy as just upright deleting them-- so I uploaded all of them onto a drive, and then deleted them from my phone. All of them. Decided it was time for a fresh start, why not start with the one thing I open every day, right? I decided earlier today, about a week after I deleted all of my photos, that I would go into my drive to try and find a photo from September that I downloaded from a manga I was reading. Of course I got sidetracked, I scrolled to 2014 and was going through all of my old photos with my brother and my family, and then suddenly I got to 2017 and there it was. The black and white photo of you and I at the parking deck, both of us laughing as hard as we possibly could. I smiled softly of course, as the beautiful memory came rushing over me. But then something hit me. For some reason, this isn’t how I remember you. My brain forgot what you looked like, or at least started trying to. It’s been about a year since I last saw a photo of you. While the brain is so incredibly amazing, it has a bad habit of memories starting to fade, especially when it’s a person attached to bad memories as well. It works in some cases, where people are trying to forget-- but even still it does the opposite and leaves the person going “Why can’t I forget you!?”. Strange, right? The human mind is so beautiful. I can still hear you talking to me sometimes, if I try hard enough. Lately, I haven’t been so hard on myself. I’m trying to figure myself out still, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it is okay that I still love you. I know I more than likely always will. That’s what love is, right? Being able to love and never losing that love, no matter what happens. 

All of this being said, I figured I would kind of recap everything that has happened in the wonderful year of 2020. It has been one hell of a ride.

January, the month of my brother’s 15th birthday. He was so happy and we all celebrated his birthday with him the following weekend. We also went hiking the same month, while it was cold; my mother, brother, and I had a blast. This month was mostly just working and being lazy on my off days. I had a fall out with my best friend.

February, I had a love hate relationship with this month. I tried dating someone new, I saw that you had gotten in a relationship two months prior and figured it was time for me to try and move on as well. Needless to say, dude was a douchebag and was a very violent individual. I left him within 3 weeks. My birth father, his newlywed wife, my cousin from my favorite uncle, whom I had never met until then, and I all went to Ruby Falls. It was quite a beautiful journey. Whilst I fought with my father, it turned out to be an okay experience. Later in the month, I ended up getting into a fight with my landlord, who was demanding that I pay extra, even though I was not behind on any payments. I ended up cooperating with them, so that I didn’t lose my home. I celebrated my little sister’s fifth birthday.

March, I lost my job. Millions and millions of other people did as well. Covid-19 struck the world. I took it lightly and just assumed that yet again, the media was blowing things out of proportion. My landlord wasn’t understanding of the fact I was put out of work, along with millions of others. They ended up being generous for the month after I showed them statistics. I ended up being lazy, doing nothing but watching Netflix and Disney plus for the entire month.

April, Corona Virus was boring at this point. We had all been told, “Oh! We’ll all be open for business again in the next two weeks!”. That was the first week of March, and it was now April. The government didn’t give us any kind of help until the last week, so that kind of fucked me. I spent most days laying in bed on TikTok. I also got super into streaming in the beginning of this month, and my platform was finally starting to take off.

May, unemployed for two months. I debated taking a job at a warehouse. Unfortunately, the media deterred me from doing so. There was a spike of cases in my state; it was terrifying. I didn’t leave my house much. I got my dog, for the first time in 4 years. It was beautiful, I cried. He was so happy to be back home. I started a routine of watching anime every morning at 7 am and then going for a walk. I wanted to get back into a daily routine, regardless if I had a job or not. I was falling behind on bills, and I really needed to distract myself. I started getting into digital art, rather than traditional, for the first time ever. I stopped making my music.

June, I reconnected with a lot of old online friends from 2013. It was strange and I didn’t really know how to feel about it. It was nostalgic in a way, spending late nights on discord calls. I didn’t really enjoy it all too much, I felt like it all needed to stay in the past. I started anti-depressants, again. This time it was Prozac. It made me feel extremely drowsy, and made me feel out of body most of the time. I tried to date, again. An old friend that I had from 2013, we reconnected and even though they were out of state, I decided-- “Hey, maybe this will be good for me. I don’t have to worry about them getting aggressive with me, we can take things slow, and we can pace ourselves.” Oh man, if only I knew. He flew down to my state, met the family, was extremely respectful and even stayed in a hotel the first trip. Everything seemed to be going okay.

July, my 21st birthday. Did I drink? No. Sounds crazy, right? I had about half a drink, and decided I just didn’t want any. I had stopped taking my antidepressants, the new boyfriend had said that I wasn’t acting right. It fed into my suspicion, that the meds weren’t doing a whole lot for me. They were just making me really sleepy and on edge all the time. The new boyfriend had come down again for my birthday and mother’s birthday, since we share the same birth week. Celebrated with my mom, her best friend, and I. July was pretty hectic, since I had decided I would be moving to West Virginia on August 5, 2020.

August, I moved to West Virginia. I packed up all of my belongings, uprooted everything I had ever known, hugged my family goodbye, and got into the back of a truck with a u-haul attached to it. I rode in the back of the vehicle for 14 hours, fell asleep in Kentucky, woke up in Ohio. It was daylight by the time we approached West Virginia. It was so beautiful, all of the mountains. I was moving into the house in which he lived in, which his sister was next door on one side, and his parents on the other side. We had the nice river breeze, since Ohio river was within eyesight. I lived in the Tri-state area so it was Pennsylvania on one side, Ohio on the other, and us-- five minutes to each state. It was a good first couple of days. Then we got into our first fight. I was unable to work, since I left my car behind. Luckily, I had saved up a bunch of money for me to be able to buy one. He hit me with really low blows, saying I didn’t need to work-- since women weren’t good for that kind of thing. It hurt, to be honest. I had never seen him like this before, in the eight years I had known of his existence. He had been with me in my hometown for three weeks and not once acted like this. I walked on eggshells, bought a car with my hard earned money, then got a management job at the Domino’s that was ten minutes from my town I was living in. Towards the end of the month, he got aggressive with me. He stopped working the same week I had moved in, he had no car. He had no ambition, he decided to just give up. Maybe that’s what I tried to see, maybe-- just maybe I could help him find some ambition. I wanted to save him, in a way? We got into a severe fight, I couldn’t take it anymore-- I fought back, and he ended up swinging on me.

September, I packed all of my belongings that I could into my tiny little Toyota, and left in the middle of the night. I had one thing on my mind, and that was to go to my mom’s house. My mother had known how bad he had gotten, since he acted such a way with my mother on the phone, unknowingly. I drove for 15 hours, well 13 but with rest stops to nap for a bit since I was running off of no sleep, but I finally ended up back home. I ended up staying with my mom for a bit. Later had to relocate, so I moved in with an old friend. Started streaming again.

October, Worked. Literally worked the entire month, my entire existence fell into dread. I became overly aware of how much time had passed. I felt like I had been doing nothing. I dreaded the last day of the month, every day just gave me more and more sadness.  I didn’t want the day to come. I started dreaming of you more and more and more. Halloween came, I decided to look at it differently, I started to thank you-- rather than try to hate you. I came to the conclusion that I would never hate you.

November, Thanksgiving! I started to become grateful, moved back into my mom’s house. It was a bumpy ride, but I managed to get back into the habit of doing healthy things. Started going to the gym again, drinking more water. I told my father he was dead to me, haven’t spoken to him since. I got to spend Thanksgiving with my real family, my mother and her best friend’s family. They watched me grow up since the day I was born. It was so much better than any other holiday I had ever had up to this date.

December, I started a new form of medicine. This time it was for anxiety, since that’s the main factor of my illness-- or so we think so far. I am on escitalopram, and I started it the week before Christmas. I got to see my real family again. It was nice, but this time I got to reunite with my childhood best friend for the first time in fifteen years. It was so lovely. I have become almost bedridden again, but it won’t last long-- since it’s just a side effect of my medicine. I also got to see some friends from high school, but then I realized-- they’re the exact same way they’ve been since the beginning. They wanted nothing but to talk about drama. It just isn’t my thing, I don’t like dealing with people much anymore, because of the constant drama. I’ve learned a lot about people changing, and the lack thereof.

I think this year has been a year full of lessons for me, and it has been tough. As they say, there’s no pleasure without pain, no pain no gain, right? This year has taught me a lot about myself and the people around me, and I am extremely grateful for the things I have experienced. I’ve learned so much about who I am as a person. I’ve grown a lot, while this year has kicked my ass. I have high hopes for the next year. For the first time, since 2016, I finally see a future in myself, by myself. 

To New Beginnings, Lovebug.

I love you, always.

22:27

[justforbooks]

Bucky Pizzarelli, whose guitar mastery extended to seven strings, dies at 94 of coronavirus.

Bucky Pizzarelli, one of the nation’s preeminent seven-string guitarists, who began his career as a coveted sideman and studio musician before stepping out on his own and forming an acclaimed jazz duo with one of his sons, died April 1 at his home in Saddle River, N.J. He was 94.

The cause was the coronavirus disease covid-19, said his son John Pizzarelli, a guitarist and singer with whom Mr. Pizzarelli formed one of the rare father-son duos in jazz.

Mr. Pizzarelli honed a gentle, richly textured sound while playing as an accompanist and solo artist, performing lyrical improvised solos that typically featured chords rather than single notes.

Although he began his career in the 1940s, touring as a teenager with singer Vaughn Monroe’s dance band, he came into his own after acquiring a seven-string Gretsch guitar in 1969, inspired by seven-string pioneer George Van Eps.

The instrument featured an extra bass string, which Mr. Pizzarelli used to virtuosic effect in swing-era standards, Brazilian bossa nova and songs by the Beatles, Burt Bacharach and Henry Mancini. A fixture of the New York jazz scene for decades, he was also a staff musician at ABC and NBC, where he played with the “Tonight Show” band and tuned Tiny Tim’s ukulele before the musician got married before a TV audience of millions in 1969.

Mr. Pizzarelli spent much of the 1950s and ’60s inside recording studios, where he arrived early to practice his nylon-string classical guitar and did three sessions a day, recording tracks such as Dion’s “Runaround Sue,” Ray Charles’s version of “Georgia on My Mind,” Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me” and Brian Hyland’s “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini.”

He also performed with the pop group the Three Suns, toured across Europe with Benny Goodman and collaborated with artists including Buddy Rich, Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, Wes Montgomery, Zoot Sims, Bud Freeman and French violinist Stéphane Grappelli, the former musical partner of his guitar idol Django Reinhardt.

But he was perhaps best known for his work in guitar duos, including with George Barnes, one of the first artists to record with an electric guitar. “Their duets are built on the contrast between the soft, dark sound of Mr. Pizzarelli’s thumb and finger plucking and Mr. Barnes’s use of a pick to produce high, tight phrases that dart and dazzle over his partner’s foundation lines,” New York Times jazz critic John S. Wilson wrote in 1970.

“They may be light and airy — a perfect soufflé of sound — and then go rollicking off through rapid-fire lines that wrap around each other, chase each other, join in unison and set up challenges of the musicians and the listening ear,” he added. “This is a brilliant and unique team.”

Mr. Pizzarelli and Barnes recorded a 1971 album, “Guitars Pure and Honest,” but within a year began “to detest one another,” according to a report from the New Yorker jazz critic Whitney Balliett, who witnessed a chaotic performance at the St. Regis Room in Manhattan that brought the musicians’ rivalry into public view.

“The guitarists’ swan set was played not on their instruments,” he wrote, “but on each other.”

Mr. Pizzarelli found far less drama while performing with members of his own family. His 1972 album, “Green Guitar Blues,” featured a duet with his 14-year-old daughter Mary, whom he trained on classical guitar. By the end of the decade he was performing with his son John, with whom he recorded albums such as “2 x 7 = Pizzarelli” (1980) and “Twogether” (2001), which featured duets of jazz standards.

In time, they also performed with Mr. Pizzarelli’s other son, bassist Martin Pizzarelli, and with John’s wife, singer Jessica Molaskey, forming a group that John Pizzarelli likened to “the von Trapp family on martinis.”

“I learned by sitting with him on the bandstand,” John Pizzarelli told TV interviewer Steve Adubato in 2013, accompanied by his father. “It was trial by fire. He would just play melodies and stare at me.” (“We don’t get mad,” Bucky Pizzarelli told the New York Times, “but we knock heads once in a while. I don’t interfere.”)

In a 2016 interview with Inside Jersey magazine, jazz guitarist Ed Laub, a onetime pupil of Mr. Pizzarelli’s, recalled a piece of advice from his former teacher: “If you’re planning on being a professional musician, you need to understand that your job is to always make the other guy as good as he can possibly sound. It’s not about you.”

For Mr. Pizzarelli, Laub said, “It’s about making beautiful music. It’s not about grandstanding.”

Mr. Pizzarelli was born John Pizzarelli on Jan. 9, 1926, in Paterson, N.J., where his childhood classmates included poet Allen Ginsberg. His parents owned a grocery store, and his father played the mandolin and nicknamed his only son Bucky, out of a love for cowboys and the American West that he had nurtured since working in Texas as a teenager.

His uncle Bobby Dominick was a banjo and guitar player who “looked like a million dollars every time I saw him,” Mr. Pizzarelli told George Cole, author of the Miles Davis history “The Last Miles.” “He had a suit, a new car and he was picking up 50 bucks a week on the road with all his bands. . . . When I saw that, I said, ‘That’s what I want to do.’ ”

Mr. Pizzarelli learned the basics of music during Sunday jam sessions that included Bobby and another uncle, Pete Dominick, as well as Joe Mooney, a blind Paterson jazz accordionist. Influenced by guitarists such as Reinhardt, Freddie Green and Charlie Christian, he went on to perform at weddings and dances before joining Monroe’s dance band at 17.

He was soon drafted into the Army and, at the close of World War II, served in Europe and the Philippines, where he “spent nine months doing nothing,” as he put it, aside from playing guitar. He returned home to spend five years with Monroe and join NBC.

Mr. Pizzarelli’s records included “The Red Door” (1998), a tribute to Sims, featuring Scott Hamilton on tenor sax; and “5 for Freddie” (2007), a tribute to Green with pianist John Bunch in the role of Count Basie, Green’s longtime musical collaborator.

At home in Saddle River, he presided over what one journalist described as “a living jukebox,” where Goodman dropped in to nap, Sims swam in the family pool, bassist Slam Stewart stayed over and impromptu performances broke out almost daily, with most family members taking part. Mr. Pizzarelli’s wife of 66 years, the former Ruth Litchult, did not play an instrument but “knows music and can say what’s good and bad,” her husband told the Times in 1973.

“I’m a critic mostly when he plays too long or when it’s time for dinner,” she said.

In addition to his wife, survivors include four children, Anne Hymes of Orlando, Martin Pizzarelli of Saddle River and John and Mary Pizzarelli, both of Manhattan; a sister; and four grandchildren.

In recent years, Mr. Pizzarelli told Cole, the music scene had transformed, and the kind of playing he did in studio bands was all but nonexistent. “Guitar players — it’s mostly effects,” he said. “Guitars in the hands of these kids today are weapons!”

Still, he plowed ahead, playing dozens of club dates each year and maintaining the approach that had fueled his career for nearly eight decades. “Every day I get up and I try to correct what I screwed up the night before,” he said. “That’s my theory. I prepare for the next time. I’m playing mostly live dates now and that’s a big thrill, because that’s the ultimate — to be in front of people.”

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[miraclealignersv]

Unplanned (Babe Heffron x Reader)

Ask: May I request one where this is after the war and the reader and Babe are like best friends, but also friends with benefits. And he finds out before her that she’s pregnant? I don’t know if that makes sense...

A/n: thank you so much for the request, I loved writing this one! It was so much fun to write! Anyway hope you enjoy! :)

Tag list: @gottapenny @wexhappyxfew @bandofmarvels @medievalfangirl

Y/n felt a lot of emotions as she made her way towards her shared apartment. It seemed as if she had been walking down that hallway for an eternity. She felt like she was going to throw up and she didn’t doubt that she probably would. Given that around the same time everyday she had been doing so.

Not only that but her mind raced at all the possibilities, and the main question being: how? She knew how, but she just couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that she was with child. And better yet, if was Babe’s. Now, it wasn’t so bad he tried his best to be responsible, bless him, but he wasn’t exactly ready to be a dad.

They weren’t even together! After they had come back from Europe she jokingly asked if he would want to rent an apartment with her. After a month of sharing a foxhole with him in the middle of the damn war she grew on him. Then months after they moved in together, they decided to be what Babe referred to as “intercourse buddies.”

Y/n mentally facepalmed herself, how could she ever agree to that? In the heat of the moment she needed it, and Babe offered so she said yes. And now look where that got them. Sighing she stopped in front the door of their shared apartment, her hand on the door knob. She braces herself for what was about to come, Babe possibly even taking the initiative to move out and live on his own.

He was her best friend, she knew him all too well. He wouldn’t do that... would he? All the thoughts that raced through her mind only gave her more anxiety, she sighed and turned the knob anyway. The first thing that greeted her has Babe sitting on the couch with a slice of pizza in his hand and a beer and another. The T.V playing a movie they had seen one too many times.

“Hey, I got a pizza on the way back from work” he greeted, a smile plastered on his face. Y/n awkwardly smiled back and closed the front door behind her. She debated on even telling him, what if she just told him that she slept with someone else? And he wasn’t the baby daddy, but he could be the cool uncle! But immediately she yelled at herself mentally before sighing and removing her coat. “How was work?” He asked, y/n sighed and hung the piece of clothing on the coat hanger.

“Interesting, hospital was pretty busy” she sighed as she walked over to the pizza box and opened it. The flavors of the grease and Italian sausage that came towards her direction were enough to prompt her disgust. Babe watched carefully as she made a face and slowly closed the box. “Surprising even,” she mumbled loud enough for him to hear

“You don’t say?” He asked as he brought the slice of pizza up to his mouth. “Talked to Eugene earlier, he says hi” he spoke slowly, y/n closed her eyes as she tried to hold back the vomit. Babe only watched her, still eating his slice of pizza.

“Why’d he uh... why’d he call?” She asked, looking away and instead walking towards the fridge and pulling out the pitcher with ice cold water. Babe sighed and stood up from his spot on the couch and walked towards the small kitchen. He watched her every movement, from the way she grabbed a coffee mug and poured the cold liquid.

“Just asked him a few questions, gave me an answer you know how all that stuff works..” he shrugged, y/n brought the rim of the mug up to her mouth and nodded as she drank the water. “You okay?” He asked, y/n froze at the question and finished drinking her water before setting the mug back down.

“Y-yes. Yeah I’m.. im okay..” she chuckled nervously. Babe only furrowed his eyebrow and gave her a nod before leaning on the counter and sighing.

“You know what else Gene told me? Apparently Lip and his wife are selling tickets to this Sinatra concert. Now—“

“I’m pregnant” she blurted out, immediately covering her mouth with her hand. Shocked by the fact that she just yelled it out.

“Yeah I know, anyway I was thinking: we can buy the tickets to this concert and resell them or even trade them in fo-“ y/n was even more shocked, a) how did he know and b) why was he still talking about concert tickets?

“Edward did you not hear me?” She asked, Babe sighed and dropped his head. It was useless, he was never going to see Frank Sinatra live.

“Yeah I told you, I know. Can you just hear me out?” He asked as he gestured with his hands, y/n raised her eyebrow in question and watched as he opened his mouth to talk again.

“What do you fucking mean you know? How?” She asked, still very confused as to how he knew when she had found out herself two hours before. Babe groaned and brought the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“If I tell you will you listen to my proposal? You’ve been bitching about wanting to see Sinatra live for the past three months” he spoke irritated, y/n opened her mouth to speak but instead she shut her mouth and waited for him to continue. “Gene told me”

Y/n eyes widened at his reason, she felt like she was going to vomit. “How did he know!?” She asked, her voice going higher in pitch. Babe stood back up and sighed “Edward, how the fuck did Eugene Roe— who lives about seven states away from us know that I’m pregnant before I even knew?” She asked as she walked closer to him.

“Christ, take it easy it’s my kid in there” he spoke calmly as he pointed to her abdomen. He grabbed her shoulder and guided her to one of the stools that were placed near the kitchen counter. Y/n still in a state of confusion and shock. “I noticed you’ve been spilling your guts everyday for weeks, not to mention the amount of naps you’ve been taking, and you’ve been stuffing your face! Also your boobs have gotten bigger, now I ain’t complaining but it was concerning. So I called Gene, wanted to make sure you weren’t dying of cancer or something.” Babe shrugged, y/n slowly nodded as he explained

“Asked me when you last monstrated, that I did not know. But we put one and one together and we came to the conclusion that I put a baby in you” he finished, y/n swallowed hard and. She was at a loss for words, “anyway, so I called Lip. His wife answered and said that they would call us back whenever Lip got home from work—“

“We’re having a baby,” she whispered, Babe sighed and took a seat next to her. They were quiet for a minute, the only sounds were the ones coming from the TV. “Did you say monstrated?” she asked before looking up at him, Babe only clicked his tongue and slowly nodded.

“Yeah, when you bleed from your...” he trailed off as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly “anyway, look yeah we’re having a baby. I don’t know why you’re so freaked out. We’ll be great parents!” He grinned, y/n was still confused as to why he hasn’t freaking out. But she felt a sense of reassurance the second he said they would be great parents.

“You really think so?” She asked, Babe nodded and stood up. He placed a kiss on her forehead and walked towards the fridge.

“So these Sinatra tickets, what if we can’t resell them? Do we just drive to West Virginia I mean I love the man but would I really drive seven hours to see him live?” He asked as he reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer and reached for the bottle opener as he continued his rant. “I mean, is it worth it? We could always just wait for him to come to Philly and save up enough money to buy the tickets ourselves. Don’t get get vet discounts on tickets?” he handed the bottle over to her, y/n chuckled and shook her head at his rant and brought the bottle up to her lips.

Babe only reached over and took it away from her, “Hey!” She protested, Babe set the bottle down on the counter and sighed.

“Gene told me you can’t drink alcohol and coffee, shits bad for the baby” he sighed before taking a sip from the beer bottle he had just taken from her. Y/n mentally facepalmed again, of course she knew that. She had just forgotten about being pregnant for two seconds. “Oh god you’re gonna be a nightmare.” Babe mumbled, more to himself but y/n still heard him.

She reached over and slapped his arm, babe only laughed at the action “Hey!”

“You’re not gonna have caffeine for what, seven months? You’re gonna try to kill me the whole time!” he exclaimed, y/n only rolled her eyes and shook her head before crossing her arms over her chest. “Eh, it don’t matter. You can’t get rid of me that easily” he joked before taking another sip of his beer. Y/n shook her head, giggling as she reached for the pizza box. Grabbing a slice of the warm pizza she took a bite, babe watching her attentively.

She hummed in content at the flavors in her mouth, but the second she took the second bite she felt a sensation she was all too familiar with. Babe raised his eyebrows and watched as her expression changed.

“Gotta spill your guts?” He asked, y/n only nodded and hummed an “mhm” before dropping the slice and hopping off the stool. She jogged towards the bathroom trying her very best to hold it in, Babe smirked and ran behind her before jokingly yelling “ run baby run!” As words of encouragement.

[ageless-aislynn]

Nobody asked me any of these but, honestly, I wanted to know the answers to some of them myself, so... I'm answering what I want anyway! 🤷‍♀️😉

ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

How many words have you written this year?

I'm counting this as how many words in something that I posted, which is 14,819. A lot more than I expected, honestly, but most of it came from me doing several chapters of "15 Minutes" early in the year. 😉

How many works did you publish this year?

9 chapters in all, but only 4 individual works.

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

"Sentence Starters Short Fic Collection" (Soap and Ghost, Call of Duty, Kaidan x Shepard, Mass Effect and Kai and Vannak, Halo the series) Yeah, they're all suuuuuper short but I'm always proud of myself whenever I write anything at all for fandoms/characters I've never attempted before. 😎👍

What work of yours has the most hits?

Definitely "15 Minutes" (John x female Reader, Halo the series). I'll never have anything else that will get this sort of response and I'm going to miss it when it's over. But I AM finishing it. Someway. Some how.

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

"15 Minutes," yet again. It was meant to be a one-shot and then people liked it and asked for more.

Favorite title you used

"It's All Coming Along" (Master Chief, Halo/Halo the series) Never post things you wrote while in the middle of a bad insomnia bout, kids. You'll think something is funny and everybody else will probably not. I've debated removing this one but finally thought, eh, so it's dumb, that doesn't mean that one day, somebody might get a laugh from my puns. If not, then welp, I'm woman enough to have a total dud in my collection.🤷‍♀️😂

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

Didn't use song lyrics this year but I have in the past. I honestly just use whatever artist or song fits the story or theme. I have a really eclectic bunch of artists that I like, so you never know what'll pop up.

Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

John x female Reader, since "15 Minutes" had so many chapters and "It's All Coming Along" is technically a John x Reader as well. "Recreation" is Kai x male Reader and the Sentence Starters I've already mentioned above. 😉

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

It's actually the female OC/Frank West from my Dead Rising AU titled "Turn Back." They're the only ones I can consistently sit down and just bang out blocks of hundreds of words. I dunno why. 🤷‍♀️

What work was the quickest to write?

"It's All Coming Along" took literally two hours from "Hey, wouldn't it be funny if...?" to me hitting post. Don't do that, kids. Have a nap first if you haven't slept in, like 40 hours. Don't commit fiction, lol. 😆😴

What work took you the longest to write?

"15 Minutes" which was started 2 years ago along with "Recreation" probably deserves that "honor" for more than one reason, lol.

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

In addition to finishing "15 Minutes" and "Recreation," I have 6 others: "Untitled Fluffy Vannak fic" (Halo the series), "Choices" (Noble Team choose your own Spartan adventure, Halo: Reach), "The Price" (Caitlin Frost/Hunter Zolomon, The Flash), "Guardian Angel" (Time Wraith!Caitlin Snow/Eobard Thawne, The Flash), "Split" (Caitlin Snow/Eobard Thawne, The Flash) and "Try" (TomCav!Eobard Thawne/Caitlin Snow/Mattobard!Eobard Thawne, The Flash).

What’s your longest work of the year?

"15 Minutes" chapters 7 - 11 totaled 12,064 words on their own.

What’s your shortest work of the year?

"It's All Coming Along" at 106 words

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

I'm dragging all 8 of them with me, lol.

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

I'm terrible at tagging so most of my tags are just pairings or the occasional warning I feel might be needed.

Your favorite character to write this year?

I'll always love writing for Master Chief John-117, my beloved. I also really love writing Cortana.

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

All of them. Writer's block suuuuuucks. 😭

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

Honestly, once I finish my WIPs I feel like I'm done. I'll probably keep writing things like my Dead Rising AU and my handful of Mass Effect: Andromeda fics but they're all totally just for me, not to be posted. If something pops to mind, I'll write it but, for the most part, I don't think fandom in general needs me anymore, lol.

Which work of yours have you reread the most?

"15 Minutes" because I'm trying to make sure I keep things consistent and wrap up any loose ends.

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

I can't really tell because there's no way to sort out the kudos that "15 Minutes" and "Recreation" already had on them. Excluding them, though, 21.

Which work has the most comments?

"15 Minutes."

Did you do any collaborative works this year?

No, I could barely work with myself this year, lol. I'm lousy at collabs, unfortunately.

Did you write any gifts this year?

No.

Did you receive any gifts this year?

No.

What’s your most common category?

I guess I technically write (hopefully) humorous romance?

What do you listen to while writing?

My inner editor screaming NO1CURRS and that I'm wasting my time even trying to finish my WIPs. I try to drown her out with various playlists. Here's one.

Favorite work you wrote this year?

Again, it's probably the "Turn Back" Dead Rising AU or "The Best Mistake" (Gil x OC, Mass Effect: Andromeda AU). Of my posted stuff, though, "15 Minutes."

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

"Look, it's not my fault that that penguin documentary was kinda lame and—"

"IT WAS NOT!" Vannak bellowed back and took a swing at her that would've definitely put a marine in the infirmary for a month, if not in the ground, permanently. For Kai, it would've at the very least mussed her hair. "Those penguins are adorable and—"

"Lame. Laaaaaame," she singsonged, ducking a flurry of punches, then doing a very impressive parkour run up the wall into a backflip that sent her soaring over the enraged Spartan's head.

"THEY'RE NOT LAME, YOU TAKE THAT BACK!"

"Sentence Starters Short Fic Collection" Chapter 3, Kai and Vannak, Halo the series. For some reason, I absolutely LOVE the idea they're arguing over whether penguins are adorable or not, lol!

Biggest surprise while writing this year?

That I haven't totally given up. It's been verrrrrry close, friends. But every time I've thought, "Eh, why keep trying?" a comment will pop up, thanking me for writing something that gave them a laugh or the like and that'll give me the strength to keep in the fight. If there's even one person left who wants to read how these end or who'll check out the ones I haven't started posting yet, then I want to finish them.

Here's the original post if you'd like to reblog it for yourself or hey, if you'd like to just go ahead and answer it, no asks require, lol!

[the--sad--hatter]

Phantom Pain (25)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - Bucky X Reader

WARNINGS - Bad Habits and Rough Sex, Angsty and Dark AF.

DESCRIPTION - Everybody in the world knew of you, but not who you really were. Some called you a vigilante, some called you a criminal and some called you a hero but all of them called you The Phantom.

Only two people knew your real identity and they swore to never tell anyone but when The Avengers need to infiltrate a high-security facility, Bruce Banner deduces that you’re the only one who can pull it off. That decision puts you and Bucky Barnes on a path you can’t turn back from, even if neither of like where it’s leading.

Series Masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Five - Two Kings 

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he fell to his knees and gasped. His strength left him and he collapsed, the death rattle of his final breaths tearing from his lungs. You calmly knelt beside him on the ground and though he didn’t deserve it, you took his hand.

 “I’m here.” You whispered.

 He tried to say something, but you couldn’t hear him. With a sigh, you leant down and let Alexander King whisper his dying words in your ear.

“I’m not Alexander King, your father is buried under the oak tree.”

 The two King corpses lay side by side on tables next to one another. One that had been dead for less than 24 hours and one that had been dead for nearly two decades.

 “DNA analysis is done.” Bruce told you and you looked up from the tables to stare blankly at him.

 “We compared the DNA samples to yours. This one shares no traits at all with you. It doesn’t have any DNA traits at all as far as we can tell.” He said, gesturing to the fresh corpse.

 “This one… this is your biological father.” He said with a heavy sigh standing by the skeletal remains.

 “But that IS Alexander King. It looks exactly like him and if they don’t share DNA does  rule out evil twin?” Clint said from behind you where he and The Avengers were gathered.

 “We discovered something. His cells have been tampered with, there’s dozens of enhancements and alterations to his genetic code. We theorised that someone, most likely Hydra went to a lot of effort to make whoever this is look like Alexander King. We can’t be sure until we study the body further.” Tony said.

 Everyone kept shooting furtive, concerned glances at you as you remained silent and stone faced throughout the exchange.

 “Jesus Christ.” Steve said, rubbing his hand over his jaw as he considered the implications of what this meant.

 “So anybody could be an imposter?” Sam asked.

 “Unlikely. It was a miracle this man survived this, it’s likely he was the first one to survive. This kind of science takes a lot of failed experimentation.” Bruce informed them.

 “Why King?” Steve asked.

 “He was smart, powerful, rich and his brother in law was at the time, a United States General.” Tony said.

 You turned around and without looking at anybody, left the room. You made it as far as the corridor before Bucky caught up with you and grabbed your elbow. You stopped and looked at him.

 Whatever he’s been about to say died in his throat when he looked into your eyes and he knew he couldn’t fix this. Regretfully he let go of you and let you walk away. He didn’t want to but he knew if he didn’t, he’d only push you away further. You needed your space and he needed to give it to you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You didn’t return to the compound that night or the next day and The Avengers would have been worried if it wasn’t for the news that kept trickling in.

 THE PHANTOM BUSTS DRUG DEAL AT DOCKS

Over Three Million Dollard worth of cocaine recovered at scene.

 PHANTOM BOTCHES ATTEMPTED SHOOTING OF CLUB OWNER

The Owner Lux was about to be gunned down by business rival when The Phantom appeared and saved Mr Ellis and apprehended the shooter.

 PHANTOM BREAKS UP GANG FIGHT

Members of two rival gangs were in a gun battle when The Phantom showed up and took down all the gang members before leaving the scene for the police and personally taking one man who had suffered a near fatal gunshot wound to the hospital.

 “She’s had a busy 24 hours, she needs to slow down.” Steve noted with worry as he read the latest article.

“There’s been no new reports for a couple of hours, maybe she’s taking a nap?” Sam suggested hopefully.

 “Or not.” Natasha said, showing them a live tweet about Miss King currently meeting with employees of The Hercules Foundation to reassure them of their job stability.  

 The pattern continued for the next four days. You would take down a string of criminals, take business meeting and meet with investors, rest, rise and repeat. You never went back to the compound and West was growing more and more concerned.

 Even Frank the cat was growing despondent until he disappeared from the grounds altogether. West assured Bucky that it was normal for Frank to do that.

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You sat down on the chair, keeping yourself hidden in the shadows as you waited. You weren’t kept waiting long. You heard the heavy tump of footsteps before someone unlocked the door and came inside. They walked past you and put a paper bag down on the desk and you heard the distinctive clink of a bottle.

 “It’s rude to break in and wait around for someone to come home. Not to mention creepy.” She said without turning around.

 You didn’t answer, just stood up and dropped a file and a bag of cash on the desk.

 “I don’t take walk ins. Next time make an appointment.” She sassed and you looked her over.

 Jessica Jones was pretty much what you had expected and any other time in your life you’d have appreciated her dry remarks and cold sass. You flipped the file open and two photo’s of the two King corpse were exposed as well as a pile of papers, the Hydra logo prominent on some of them.

 It was enough to pique her curiosity and she leaned over to leaf through them, her expression getting more and more shocked as she did. She unzipped the duffle bag and picked up a wad of bills.

 “Alright, what the hell. Daredevil trusts you so I’ll take the case.” She said and you nodded to her and tuned to leave.

 “I’ll have to read through these but straight away I’m telling you, I want to speak to the daughter. She demolished the company within days of the apparently fake Alexander King dying. Seems suspicious.” She said.

 “She had nothing to do with it.” You said lowly.

 “Still wanna talk to her, have a look at the company files.” Jessica responded.

 “I can get you whatever you need but I’m telling you Miss King had nothing to do with this.” You told her, turning around again.

 “How can you be sure?”

 You wordlessly pulled your mask off and raised an eyebrow at her.

 “Alright.” She said, shrugging and turning back to the file.

 You almost smirked as you pulled the mask on and left. As you walked the three block back to where you’d parked your bike the skin on the back of your neck prickled and you felt like someone was watching you. You ghosted, going invisible instead of just sticking to the shadows but the feeling didn’t dissipate.

 You made it back to your bike and started the engine, peeling out of the parking space and racing away.

 Ten minutes later you made it to your destination and bypassing the security system you parked the bike under an alcove where it was hidden from sight. You tugged a glove off with your teeth and put your hand on the scanner at the front door and slipped inside, leaving the door unlocked.

 Only two people could track where you were when you were invisible and only one of those would bother.

 “An abandoned church? Really?” Bucky asked as he slipped through the door after you.

 “Condemned a few years ago. When I realised I needed somewhere private for my Vigilante related stuff I bought it under a shell corporation, it can’t be traced back to me at all.” You said as you took off all the individual pieces of your suit until you were in a tank top and leggings.

 “So you’ve been hiding here all week rather than coming home?” He asked.

 “There a bed in the attic.” You said with a shrug.

 “An empty bed.” He pointed out softly.

 You pretended to ignore him and the painful throb of your heart and went to the living room are you’d set up and poured yourself a glass of whisky. Frank meowed loudly from the rafters and leaped down onto the floor to run over to Bucky and rub himself against the Winter Soldiers shin.

 “Want one?” You asked, holding the bottle out in offering.

 “No. Does it help with the pain?” He asked, motioning angrily to the new and healing bruises and cuts covering your arms and shoulders.

 “Can’t ghost all the time, sometimes you gotta fight.” You explained.

 “Ever thought about asking for backup?”

 “Don’t need it.”

 “Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t hurt to know someone is there for you.” He said.

 “We’re not talking about fighting anymore are we?” You asked with a weary sigh.

 He sat down next to you and you fought the urge to lean closer to him and the warmth and comfort he offered.

 “When my memories started to come back, I ran to the other side of the world, away from the person who could have helped me, who would have been there for me. I know that sometimes you need to work things out on your own, that’s why I let you go. But it helps when you let the people you care about in, let them help. Trust me, I know from experience.” He said.

 You chewed your lip and nodded once, curtly to show you’d hear him but when you didn’t respond beyond that he sighed.

 “It’s doesn’t have to be me Domniţă, but it has to be someone. I’m not the only one who cares about you, you have friends. Let someone, anyone be there for you.” He instructed and stood up.

 He leaned over to place a soft kiss to your forehead and you closed your eyes to hide the tears welling up in them as he walked away.

 “He wasn’t the same person after my mother died. I said it, over and over again and not once did I realise how true it was. My father rotted in an unmarked grave for 18 years and I had no idea. I accepted the imposter without question.” You said, tearing up and getting annoyed at yourself for it.

 “You were a child, one who was mourning her mother. How could you have seen it? The disguise was flawless.” He argued.

 “He was my father. I should have known.” You snapped standing up and storming away.

 “He played the part well. Nobody else figured it out and they were adults so stop beating yourself up about it.”

 “I CAN’T!” you yelled.

 “I can’t Bucky. He was my dad and I believed he hated me. I desecrated his memory and let his killer go unpunished for decades.” You said, pleading with him to understand.

 “You know now. We’ll figure out what happened, we’ll make it right.” He assured, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you.

 “How? How do I solve a murder that happened 18 years ago? Do I even want to? How do I make this right and be a hero and run a company and keep my secrets and be with you all at the same time?” You asked breathlessly, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

 “With help.” He said.

 “It’s too much. It’s too much pressure and too much pain and I don’t think I can handle it.” You admitted.

 “Let me help you.” He pleaded.

 “How? How can you make any of this better?”

 He looked down at you in contemplation.

 “We start with the man in prison for your mothers murder, he might know more. As for the company, you need a Pepper Potts, someone to help you. Next time you’re a press conference, we’ll have Loki disguise himself as The Phantom and publicly be seen so nobody ever thinks about connecting you to the Vigilante. And accept that I have no expectations of you, you don’t have to do anything except be with me, it’s not a task or a chore.” He said and you gazed up at him in awe and wonder.

“And Domniţă you don’t have to be a hero, you already are one, on the battlefield and in the boardroom.” He added.

 You were speechless and overwhelmed by his mini speech, his confidence in you and his desire to help. So you stretched up and pressed your lips to his.

 He accepted the kiss eagerly, holding onto you tightly kissing you back with equal fervour. His metal hand slid up your back and grasped the back of your neck as he nipped your bottom lip and sliding his tongue into your mouth when you gasped.

 “Did you say there was a bed?” He murmured, pulling back a fraction.

 “Yes.”

 “Do you want to use it?” He smirked.

 “I don’t just want it, I need it. I need you Bucky, please.” You whispered, begging him to pull you out of your own head and give you pleasure and safety in the way only he could.

 His pupils expanded as he drank in the meaning behind what you were saying.

 “Do you trust me?” He asked.

 “Irrevocably.” You said without hesitating.

 “Turn around.” He ordered and you did.

 He stepped away for a moment and quickly returned. He brushed his fingers across your shoulders and down your arms, clasping your wrist in his grip before he pulled them behind your back. He waited for a moment to see if you were going to object and when you didn’t, he pushed your wrists together and expertly bound them together with a soft piece of material.

 “What’s the safeword?” he checked.

 “Winter.”

 “Good girl.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Well this might answer some questions but it probably raises some new ones as well. Fear not though readers, Jessica Jones is on the case!

Next up... Smut! :D

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[ducktracy]

132. fish tales (1936)

release date: may 23rd, 1936

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: joe dougherty (porky), billy bletcher (fish)

let the fun of the jack king porky cartoons begin. in truth, he didn’t direct that many at all. maybe 4 tops, but they’re so strange (and this one terrifying) that they left such a mark on me. i said i’d never rewatch them again, and here i am! they’re not AS BAD as i make them out to be, and they’re certainly ambitious, which i give king credit for. yet they’re certainly... offputting, and this one is the most disturbing in my opinion. so, with that warm, happy, promising introduction: porky heads out to the lake for some fishing, but once he falls asleep he has a surreal dream that the fish are catching HIM instead, and it’s up to porky to escape before turning into a pig roast.

any day is a happy day for porky. we open to our porcine pal strolling along, fishing rod in hand, whistling merrily. life is good. he passes by a tiny hole in the ground, where two little worms poke their heads out. they both follow porky to his boat, tied to a stake in the ground on land. porky climbs aboard and notices the worms, sticking his can out so they can climb in. typically worms don’t WANT to be used as bait... then again, this scene feels particularly disney-esque, as all jack king scenes do. one of the worms hops in and signals for the other to join, the other strutting around à la mae west (for reasons unknown) until the first worm yanks him inside. the animation of the worms, and in this cartoon in general, is very fluid and enjoyable.

porky cranks the motor on, and the boat sputters to life. unfortunately, there’s one caveat: the boat is still tied to the stake in the ground. evidently the motor’s got quite the oomph to it—some lovely animation as porky’s boat threatens to drag the entire land behind him. instead, the boat is swung around in a circle, the rope eventually wearing thin and snapping, sending porky catapulting across the lake. seeing as bob mckimson gets an animation credit, i wonder if this is his work: very solid, top notch, mesmerizing animation.

the engine roars on, the ship now completely out of control. a sharp veer towards the left sends porky headed straight for a battle ship. he moans in agony and covers his face, preparing for the impact. but, with a good dose of cartoon logic, the boat takes a sharp turn downward, plummeting into the lake, under the boat, and rocketing back towards the surface again. speed is very strong and tactile, and could very much be likened to tex avery’s knack for speed.

unfortunately, porky’s relief is only temporary. though he narrowly avoids crashing into the ship, his boat is once more hurtling towards the ship. this time, he doesn’t dodge it—he flies straight through, cutting up a dining table (the next porky cartoon, fittingly enough, is shanghaied shipmates, one scene in particular staged very similarly to this one) and zooming out through the other end of the boat. the ship sinks in the distance while porky continues his wild goose chase of a ride.

the animation and speed combine to make a very exhilarating experience. the drawings are three dimensional and almost make for a sense of motion sickness as he zooms across the screen. though this cartoon is a strange one, it’s certainly ambitious and takes many risks, and king deserves credit for that alone.

after whirling around like a torpedo, porky finally realizes that maybe, just maybe, he should reach for the brake. he feels around aimlessly with his foot and finally stomps on the pedal, and the boat spins around in a flurry of activity to a halt at last. dazed from the impact, porky slumps over the boat to recover from his vertigo. in the process, he accidentally swallows a fish and snaps awake, spitting it out. he feels his face and collects himself, making sure he’s truly in the clear.

and, just like that, porky reaches for his fishing rod and finally sets out what he intended to do in the first place: fish. already he nabs a big bite, and prepares to reel in for the long haul. instead, he reels in a mounted fish head (if the cartoon were made in 1999-2000, perhaps the fish head would’ve been a singing big mouth billy bass. just what everyone needs.) clearly displeased, porky frustratedly tosses his catch back in the water. next time, he reels in a REAL catch. to deposit his win, he stretches a bucket out like a long tube and places the fish inside, the bucket returning to its natural state. the gag would have been funnier if it were more apparent, but it’s handled a little too nonchalantly and thusly reads as more incoherent and arbitrary instead of funny.

already, porky grows tired of fishing, literally. fashioning some rope as a makeshift pillow, porky lies down and settled in for a nap. we pan down to the waters below, and spot a quite frankly terrifying fish who’s ready to do some fishing of his own. he opens a picnic basket and rifles through, attempting to find suitable bait: a donut will do. he stuffs the donut inside a rifle and shoots, the donut attached to a string. very similar to the rifle/fishing rod/grappling hook invention featured in gold diggers of ‘49.

in an almost identical manner to the terminally boring old glory 3 years later, porky’s “dream self” rises from his real self and takes the bait. i think this is a big downfall of the cartoon—spoiling the surprise halfway through. if you’re going to go the surreal route, stick with it and don’t spoil the audience that he’s already having a dream. wait until the end for him to wake up for real to imply that it was already a dream instead of explicitly stating “this is a dream, folks!” keep your audience on your toes by tricking them into thinking it’s real. but i digress. the fish reels in his catch, sending porky hurtling down into the water and scooping him up in a net, removing the donut from porky’s snout where it had been clamped down.

the fish carries porky by the feet and waddles along to his humble abode. he signals that he’s home (by making a really strange noise—the only way i can describe it is that it sounds like an abbreviated version of porky’s ostrich from porky’s pet), and two of his children excitedly run out to greet him. yet first, they swim inside merrily to their mother, exclaiming in incomprehensible chatter that their father is home with a big catch. the entire family crowds around porky, one of the fish children poking him and giggling. like a real fish, porky jitters around, and it’s enough to scare the children. they run inside the house and dive inside the laundry hamper, both of their heads covered by a bra (well, not LOTS, but bra humor would sometimes pop up in the 30s cartoons. porky’s party comes to mind when a sheepish porky tosses away a bra.)

here’s where things get delightfully (or not) strange. the fish takes his catch inside and “skins” him, cutting off porky’s sweater. he places the naked, writhing pig inside an aluminum pan, dressing him up so he makes the perfect pig roast. thanks to a hearty helping of pepper being doused on him, porky sneezes and propels himself across the counter, the fish responding “gesundheit!” and positioning him back in the pan. well, he’s polite at least! there’s no voice credit for the fish, but the deep voice leads me to believe that it’s billy bletcher. he garnishes his potential meal and slaps another pan on top to cover him, and places him in the oven.

thus sparks the infamous, disturbing, uncomfortable and quite frankly hilarious scene of porky roasting alive in the oven, coughing and sputtering (and stuttering) “LEMME OUTTA HERE!” porkys manages to buck the lid off of him, pushing the oven door open and making a break for it.

it seems that even nature is against porky as he traverses the unknown waters (i guess he was fishing in the sea instead of the lake?)—an eel threatens to tie him up and restrain him, chasing him around. porky manages to sock the eel in the face, with enough force that the eel ties itself up in a knot. of course, the eel unravels itself and chases porky with more determination than ever.

the chase leads to a sleeping fish (perhaps the same one from before, i had always been under that impression but now rewatching it i don’t think it is), porky and the eel swimming into its mouth. the fish blows the eel out of its mouth like a party streamer, now awake, both the eel and porky swimming back out of its mouth. the fish only looks on in bewilderment. elsewhere, a swordfish threatens to slice porky in two. thankfully, it gets its nose lodged in a spare wooden beam. porky uses this opportunity to grab a mallet and hammer the swordfish’s nose in, bending the point.

while attempting to make his escape, porky comes across a particularly angry octopus, who captures him in its tentacles. some nice, stretchy animation as the octopus spanks porky, porky slingshotted into the distance and flying back into frame thanks to the octopus’ iron grip. now, the octopus attempts to do what the eel couldn’t: strangle him. as porky fights for his life, we fade back into reality, where porky is, for reasons unknown, NAKED and coiled in his rope. he wakes up and collects himself, wrangling himself out of the rope. determined to never see a fish ever again, porky throws all of the fish he caught out of the boat (even though we ever see him catch just one fish.) iris out as a terrified, naked pig zooms into the horizon in his motorboat.

i’m actually glad i rewatched this one, because i’ve definitely re-evaluated my stance on it. i still don’t like it that much, it’s not very funny and more uncomfortable than anything, but at the same time it’s unconventional and has some great bursts of animation. jack king was certainly experimental, but his experiments rarely ever worked out in his favor. i’ve never classified his cartoons as funny, especially in comparison to tex avery, friz freleng, and later frank tashlin (who’ll be coming into the picture soon.) he DOES have at least some sort of eye for cinematography, playing around with camera angles and close ups, which i admire. this cartoon was strange and was meant to be strange, so i appreciate that he took a different route. it’s still overwhelmingly offputting, but it’s not as terrible as i had thought it was before. there’s some great animation, especially the beginning half of porky’s wild boat ride. the cartoon was meant to be disconcerting, and it more than succeeded. i don’t think i’ll be watching this again soon, i still don’t particularly LIKE it but i can appreciate it more. because of that, i’m ambiguous on the recommendation. it’s just so strange that it could constitute a watch, but if you’re looking for something funny and/or charming, this isn’t your best bet. but, with that,

link!

[under-atomic-skies]

Never Too Late

Summary:   Three years after moving to Gravity Falls, Ford gets a call from an old colleague regarding one of his patients with a fake ID who looks a lot like Ford. Could this man really be Stanley? Written as a request for Pineslover123 (AO3)

Feel free to send me requests

Warnings: implied suicide attempt

Word count: 4885

AO3

Winter was finally giving way to spring, but with the warmer weather came the storms. Stanford didn’t mind the storms all that much as he used to as a kid. There was something relaxing about listening to the sound of the rain hitting the roof or the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. It was sometimes annoying when he had work to investigate out in the woods, but luckily he had plenty of work he could do indoors to keep him busy.

He settled himself into one of the tables near the window so he could watch the storm outside. A cup of coffee rested beside the thick, maroon book he was making notes in. On the front was a golden six fingered hand with the number 2 written in thick, black ink.

He’d moved to the sleepy, backwoods town of Gravity Falls, Oregon not three years ago. The area had drawn his attention by the unusually high reports of anomalous activity, and to his pleasant surprise, he couldn’t get much farther away from his home town if he tried. More or less, he made a home for himself here. It wasn’t homey in the normal sense as it was filled with specimens he’d found and pages upon pages of notes he’d written or read, but he’d built the home with the help of some local lumberjacks and it was his own space.

It was everything he had wanted. He’d finally found a place where a person like him could fit in.

As the heavy rain beat down on the house, he could only distantly hear the sound of the phone ringing from the kitchen. Luckily, his friend and research assistant, Fiddleford McGucket answered it.

“Hello, Pines residence,” he said into the phone. His voice, twinged with a southern accent, tang above the sound of the rain. Finally noticing there was a call, Ford turned his head towards the direction of the kitchen.

“Yes, he’s here,” Fiddleford said. There was a pause before he spoke up again, “Sure, I’ll go get ‘im. Hold on.”

Footsteps neared the front room and Fiddleford emerged from the hallway leading from the kitchen.

“Stanford,” he called from the doorway, “Ya got a phone call.”

Ford sighs quietly and shuts his book, the gold hand on the front reflecting in the overhead light. Reluctantly, he stands from his desk and approaches his friend.

“Who is it?” He asks. They didn’t usually get too many phone calls here. Usually, it was Fiddleford’s wife, or occasionally his mother that called, but if that were the case now, Fiddleford would have just said so.

“Ed something? He says he knew you back at Backupsmore.” Fiddleford reports.

The name Ed did sound somewhat familiar. It wasn’t like Ford had gotten close to anyone apart from Fiddleford, so why would he be calling?

Intrigued, Ford squeezed past Fiddleford and went to the kitchen. The phone had been set on one of the counters, and Ford wasted no time in picking up the receiver and holding it to his ears.

“Hello, this is Stanford Pines.”

“Hey Ford, it’s Ed White,” the voice on the other hand said. There was a pause as Ford tried to connect the name to where he remembered the man from. Ah, yes! Ed has taken some courses with him. Psychology or something? Ford wasn’t one to like to dabble in the softer sciences, but had taken some courses none the less.

“Ed,” Ford finally spoke up, “I wasn’t expecting a call from you.”

The other laughed a bit awkwardly, sounding almost forced, “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting this either if I’m frank.”

‘Frankly is the only way I speak’, his fathers voice suddenly rang in his head, causing him to wince.

“Was there a reason you’re calling?” Ford asked somewhat curiously.

“Yeah, about that,” the voice on the other end was a bit hesitant, “Look, I’m not sure if I’ve got the right guy, but I have a patient here that looks an awful lot like you, but he came in with what looks like a fake ID. Does the name Steve Pinington mean anything to you?”

Ford’s body stiffened at the mention of someone looking similar to him. Steve Pinington? He didn’t know anyone by that name, but the name sounded awfully similar to Stanley Pines. It also sounded like the kind of name Stan would give himself for a fake ID.

But what use would his brother have for a fake ID? They had turned 21 several years ago, so he couldn’t possibly need an ID to forge that.

“Not exactly, but Steve Pinington sounds awful close to my brothers name.” Ford replies, debating on whether or not he should hang up now. He hadn’t spoken to his brother in seven years, not since his brother had sabotaged his chances of getting into West Coast Tech.

His hand tightened around the receiver at the memory. Seven years had done little to lessen the anger and resentment Ford harbored for his twin.

His muscles were practically itching to hang up, but something stilled him. Ed has mentioned he was a patient, a patient with a fake ID none the less.

“Just what kind of trouble did my brother get himself into?” Ford asked with a sigh, pinching his nose. He didn’t have time for this. Stanley has ruined his life once. He should hang up and forget this conversation happened so he could get back to his studies.

“A lady called in to report a man passed out in his car a few days ago.” Ed began, his voice suddenly much quieter and softer. It put Ford on edge, “When the authorities got there, they found that he had taken a bunch of pills. They took him in to pump out his stomach and once he was recovered enough, he came to me.”

Ford felt like he was going to be sick. Stanley has taken pills? The stubborn part of his brain wanted to believe it was an accident, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging part of him that knew it was no mistake.

“You still there, Pines?” Ed asked.

Ford jerked out a nod, then remembered Ed couldn’t see him, “Yeah, I’m here.” He murmured quietly, “He came to you, you said. What does that mean? What do you do?”

“I’m a doctor at the Utah State Hospital. I treat the patients that come in here, and your brother is one of them. Since he had a fake ID, we couldn’t find any medical records or family to contact. I only happened to see that he looks fairly similar to you.” Ed explains patiently. Ford sits heavily in one of the kitchen chairs.

What if they had found family to contact? They would have called their parents first and what if Filbrick had been the one to pick up? Ford winced to think that Filbrick would hang up, not having a single care for the son he had kicked out of his home.

Was Ford really any better though? He had watched Filbrick kick Stan out and hadn’t lifted a finger. He’d been so angry at Stan that he hadn’t cared he’d been kicked out. He’d briefly thought about his brother over the years but told himself that Stan would be fine and dismissed the thought.

Now Ford knew for a fact that Stan wasn’t fine. He’d downed god knows how many pills in the solitude of his car. If he had died, would Ford have even known? Ed only knew to contact him because of their similarities in appearance. If Stan had died, Ed wouldn’t have been there to connect two and two together and Stan would have been thrown in a nameless grave.

The thought made Ford feel sick. Swallowing his bile, he spoke up again, not caring how his voice wavered. “I’m coming to see him.”

He found a piece of paper laying around and pulled a pen from his jacket pocket to write down the address Ed gave him. Ford estimated it would take him 12 hours (five or take) to get there and Ed said he’d be waiting.

Ford said goodbye and hung the receiver back up on the wall with a ‘click’ and finally had a moment to take everything in. Fiddleford slowly crept into the kitchen, finding Ford leaning against the wall with a hand clamped firmly over his mouth.

“Stanford?” He asked quietly, “What’s wrong?”

“My brother,” Ford forced the words out with some difficulty. The lump in his throat was making words hard to get out, “He— he tried to kill himself.”

Six fingers tightly gripped the edge of the counter. Fiddleford’s eyes widened and Ford realized bitterly that he wasn’t even sure if he ever told Fiddleford he had a brother.

“Stanford, I’m so sor—“

“I’m going to see him.” Ford cut him off, not wanting to hear his sympathies. He didn’t deserve it.

Fiddleford merely nodded. “Ok.” His voice trailed off as Ford pushed himself away from the wall and began pacing.

“Ed said he’s in Utah, which means it should take me around 12 hours to get there assuming I don’t stop,” he rattled off, mentally charting his course, “I’d have to stop for gas a few times, but if I keep it short, it shouldn’t put me back too much. But I...”

He continued to rattle off his thoughts, one hand behind his back as the other gripped his hair. He nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt Fiddleford’s hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t drive for 12 hours straight, Ford. You need to eat and sleep too.” His voice was soft, reminding Ford of their college days when Fiddleford used to remind him to nap when he’d be studying for too long.

“I can’t do that! I already failed Stanley once; I can’t keep him waiting any longer!” It was unspoken, but Ford was terrified he’d try something again.

Fiddleford’s hand squeezed, grounding Ford. “I’ll come with you, ok. We can take turns driving so you can get some sleep and we can stock up on food so we won’t have to stop.”

Ford considered his words. That would be practical, but he couldn’t ask his friend to do all of that for him.

“I dunno—“

“Stanford Pines, I think you misunderstood. That was not a suggestion. I’m not letting you drive for 12 hours in the state that you’re in. You’ll be of no use to your brother if something happens and it’s not like I have something better than helping a friend here.” Fiddleford’s words are firm and Ford knows better by now than to protest. He jerks out a nod and Fiddleford squeezes his shoulder once more before dropping his hands to his side.

“Good, now let’s pack up and hit the road.”

Twelve hours later, the pair found themselves in the lobby of the state hospital. Ford nervously fiddled with his hands as he approached the desk.

“I’m here to see Stanley Pines.”

The desk worker, a woman who looked downright bored, barely refrained from sighing as she looked through the files.

“I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name.” She reported.  

“Oh right, try Steve Pinington.” Ford said, forgetting his brother was here with a fake ID. The woman doesn’t refrain from sighing as she looked again.

“I’ll call a nurse to take you up.”

Ford nodded and Fiddleford sat in a near by chair with Ford quickly following suit. Ford anxiously fiddled with his hands as they waited for the nurse. After a moment, Fiddleford rested his hands over Ford’s.

“It’ll be ok, Ford.” He murmurs quietly. Ford isn’t so sure, but luckily doesn’t dwell on it for long as the nurse finally arrives.

She leads the pair through the hospital halls which seem more like a maze than any planned out path. Finally, they come to a stop and the nurse finally faces them.

“He’s just returning from therapy, so he’s in this room for now. Don’t be alarmed if he doesn’t recognize you at first.” She said and promptly leaves before Ford can ask what that meant. He shared a look with Fiddleford before letting himself into the room.

The room was small with only one bed in it. A form lay on the bed, prone and still. Ford’s heart caught in his throat. Even with all the years spanning between the last time he had seen his twin and now, it was odd to see him so quiet and still. It was so different than the loud, boisterous, energetic version of his brother he remembered.

Slowly, he approached the bed, eyes drinking in the sight of his brother. His hair was longer than he remembered and wasn’t slicked back anymore. A big, bushy mustache adorned his face and Ford was distantly angry that he could sort of pull it off.

“Stanley, what happened to you?” Ford whispered. A groan sounded from Stan and his eyes fluttered open. The breath in Ford’s chest stilled as he looked at Stan, not sure how he was going to react upon seeing the brother that abandoned him at his bed side.

Stan’s eyes were glazed, almost unseeing as he blinked at Ford. There was no spark of recognition, no anger, no anything. It was as if Stan wasn’t seeing anything at all.

“Stanley?” Ford asked, reaching a hand out to take his brothers hand, noticing now that he was still restrained to the bed. The tears he had been trying so hard to keep back were welling in his eyes.

“Stan, what happened to you?”

Stan’s lips parted as if he was going to respond, but no sound came out. He stared at Ford with a dull, expressionless face. The tears were spilling down Ford’s face as he threw his arms around his brothers shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Stan.” He whispered in his twins ears, all too aware that Stan hadn’t responded to his hug. As teens, Stan had always been the one to initiate touch, whether it was a large arm slung around his shoulder, or Stan hoisting him off his feet.

Ford couldn’t help but remind himself that Stan might not even want Ford to hug him if he was aware of what was happening. Ford hadn’t even so much as bat an eye when Stan had been kicked out. In the seven years since, he hadn’t tried to contact him once, barely even spending more than a few moments to think of Stan.

He didn’t deserve to be here for Stan now but Stan needed it. He needed someone to be there for him, and his selfish brother would have to do.

Ford wasn’t going to abandon Stan again.

“Uh, Stanford,” Fiddleford’s voice hesitantly spoke up. Ford had forgotten he was there. He released Stan from the hug as he straightened up to look at Fiddleford. The mechanic held a clip board from the end of the bed in his hands and was looking at him with a look that sent chills down Ford’s spine.

“You should take a look at his chart.” Fiddleford said, holding the clipboard out to him. Ford gulps as he reluctantly takes the board.

Ford wasn’t a medical doctor by any means but the long list of medications was concerning. God, was it even necessary to have Stan on so many medications? He was practically a vegetable by this point.

As his eyes scanned down the long list of procedures and medications, Ford’s eyes froze on one word, feeling his heart still. Suddenly, Stan’s behavior made so much sense as the words ‘ECT’ glared back at him.

“Oh God,” Ford whispered. He looked up to Fiddleford who wore a silent expression on his face. Ford turned his gaze back to Stan, still restrained and staring blankly at the ceiling.

“We’re getting him out of here.” Ford said, matter of fact. He wasn’t letting his brother sit in this hospital to be ‘treated’ any more. He remembered reading papers in college about ECT; how they were a horrific treatment option at first glance, but yielded good results in many patients.

Stan obviously wasn’t one of those patients and Ford wasn’t going to abandon him again.

“F, can you please stay with Stan whilst I talk to someone about discharging him?” Now that he had a task to do, his eyes were hard in determination. Fiddleford nodded, lips tilting in a ghost of a smile knowing what that look in Ford’s eye meant all too well.

Ford wasted no time and left the room. After taking to several orderlies, he was finally directed to the person in charge of discharge. After explaining Stan’s true identity and his relation to Ford, they began the paperwork and sent someone to help with Stan.

When Ford finally arrived at Stan’s room again, he noticed that Fiddleford had taken up place beside Stan’s bed. He was quietly murmuring something to Stan as he combed his lanky fingers through Stan’s dirty hair. Ford hadn’t gotten much of a chance to see Fiddleford interact with his son seeing as Tate was in Palo Alto, but he could tell from how he was treating Stan that he was a good father.

Certainly a much better father than Filbrick had ever been.

“They’re getting the paper work settled.” Ford said. The orderly that had led him to the room brushed past Ford, now with a wheelchair in tow. Fiddleford stepped aside as the other man wordlessly started undoing the restraints on Stan’s wrists.

Fiddleford joined Ford at his side, putting a comforting hand over Ford’s shoulder.

“Little help?” The other man spoke a few moments later as he coaxed Stan to sit up. Ford darted from Fiddleford’s side to Stan’s, helping the orderly to get him to his feet.

“Wha—?” Stan groans out, turning his head slowly, as if he was moving under water.

Ford and the orderly helped Stan shuffle a couple of steps closer to the wheelchair, “We’re getting you out of here, Stanley.” Ford replied, smiling hopefully. They lowered Stan into the wheelchair and Ford could swear he saw a hint of recognition in Stan’s eyes. Whether it was because Ford was here, or because of the change of scenery, Ford wasn’t sure and frankly, didn’t care.

For so long, he’d thought Stan’s loud, brass behavior had been so annoying— dare he even say suffocating.

Now he’d give anything just to see a shred of the Stan he used to know.

Ford took the handles of the wheelchair and nodded to Fiddleford. They left the room, following the orderly as he led them to the front door. As they stepped out into the bright sunlight, Stan flinched ever so slightly and squinted his eyes as he looked around slowly.

Not wanting to dwell in this place any longer, he wheeled Stan to the car as Fiddleford jogged ahead to open the door for him. He smiled thankful to notice that Fiddleford was offering up the front seat to Stan.

What he had done to deserve a friend like F, he didn’t know.

Together, the pair helped guild Stan to his shaky feet and lastly, into the car. As Fiddleford returned the wheelchair, Ford buckled Stan into place.

“St’nferd?” Stan asked, voice slurring syllables together. Ford’s head snapped up to see Stan slowly blinking at him with a confused expression.

“It’s me, Stan,” he said, relieved that his brother recognized him, “I’m here. We’re getting you out of here, ok?”

There was a pregnant pause before Stan jerked out a nod, resting his head back against the head rest.

Fiddleford has returned by this point and climbed to the back seat. Ford quietly shut Stan’s door and hurried to the drivers side, eager to get far away from the hospital.

Stan had fallen asleep shortly after the drive started. Fiddleford had also nodded off at some point, leaving Ford by himself at the wheel.

His brain was spinning a mile a minute, trying to figure out the next course of action. They’d have to clear out some space for Stan to sleep in. He also supposed he’d have to figure how to get Stan’s car back at some point. What was trickier was figuring out how to help Stan.

He wasn’t a fool to think that simply being there for Stan now and offering him a place to stay was going to fix all of his problems. Ford was terrified of the idea that Stan would try anything again. He owed it to Stan to do things right by him.

He doubted that Stan would consider talking to a professional, and like hell he was going to let Stan be admitted to another hospital. Maybe he could find someplace reliable to get Stan some medication that wouldn’t make him catatonic.

A groan from beside him broke the silence in the car. Ford’s gaze briefly flickered to Stan before darting back to the road.

“How’re you feeling, Stan?” Ford asked softly, occasionally darting his eyes to Stan.

There was still a glazed look in his eyes, but rather than looking like he wasn’t seeing anything, he looked like he was waking up from a deep sleep.

“Uh, I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.” Stan groans, adjusting in his seat sluggishly. His voice is still somewhat slurred, but it’s infinitely better than he was before.

“I imagine you’ll feel like that for a bit longer until all the drugs in your system wears off.” Ford said. His voice drops timidly as he continues, “Stan, I— I don’t know where to even start. I’m just— I don’t— I’m sorry.”

Stan’s looked at him, a tired look of surprise on his face, and Ford couldn’t help but smile softly. “Ok, ok, maybe now’s not the best time for this.”

Stan blinks slowly, “Where are we?”

Oh, right. “We’re in my car. My friend and I came to get you when we caught news that you were here. We’re on our way back to my home in Oregon; there’s about nine hours left in our trip.” Ford briefly wondered if there was any more relevant information to add but decided to wait until Stan was a bit more alert.

Stan looked back towards the road, not saying anything. Ford reached a hand over, covering Stan’s hand in his. As he glanced over, worried if it was ok, he saw a ghost of a smile on Stan’s lips as he closed his eyes, drifting back asleep.

Hours later, Fiddleford pulls down the winding drive way leading to their house. He had switched seats with Ford at some time during the trip, and Ford has fallen asleep promptly afterwards. Luckily, Stan stayed asleep for the rest of the line.

As Fiddleford saw the house coming into view, he reached a hand back, tapping Ford’s knees. From the mirror, he saw Ford’s eyes blink open.

“We’re home,” Fiddleford reported with a smile.

The car rolled to a stop near the porch. The sound of seat belts unclicking and doors opening woke Stan up, who looked around at his new surroundings with confusion.

Ford was at his door in a moment, a timid smile on his face.

“Welcome Home, Stanley.”

Stan’s eyebrows were bunched in confusion. He certainly seemed more aware now then previously seeing as the drugs had at least 12 hours to work its way out of his system.

Ford offered him a hand, “Let’s go inside. We can get you something to eat, and i can explain any questions you have.”

Stan lifted a hand, hanging it in between the two of them for a moment, hesitating before taking Ford’s hand. Getting to his feet still took effort, but whether it was because of the effects of the drugs, or from being crammed in a car for 12 hours was unclear.

Slowly, the twins made their way through the lawn to the porch. Ford paused to unlock the door before throwing it open for them. He led Stan to the kitchen, helping him sit down in the chair.

“What can I get you to eat?” Ford asks.

Stan merely shrugs.

“It’s been at least 12 hours since you’ve eaten anything; you gotta eat something.” Ford says.

Stan doesn’t look up from his hands resting on the table. Ford continues, to babble on about food, starting to fidget his hands.

“I don’t want food, Ford.” Stan cuts him off, sounding exasperated. Ford doesn’t seem to notice apart from getting more fidgety.

“But you have to—“

“I want answers, Stanford,” Stan finally bites out. His hands are clenched tight into fists. Ford falls still, looking at his twin with an owlish expression, “You bring me here, acting like nothing ever happened between us, doting on me like I’m an invalid. I just don’t— I don’t get it!”

Ford sighed and sits down across from Stan heavily.

“You kinda were,” Ford replied in a whisper, “You didn’t see how you looked, Stan. It was terrifying to see you like that. You weren’t... you.”

Stan crosses his arms over his chest, “How would you know if I wasn’t acting like me, huh? It’s been seven years, Ford. You didn’t give a shit about me in any of that time until now.”

Ford winced. He had a point. Wringing his hands, he shut his eyes tightly for a moment. “I was wrong.”

Stan’s jaw dropped, looking at him with a look of shock as if he never expected Ford to admit he was wrong. Ford continued.

“I was so wrong, Stan. About a lot of things. I shouldn’t have stood aside and let Pops kick you out. I should have heard you out, or tried to find you, but I was so angry, stupidly so, that I convinced myself that you were ok. I—“ Ford broke off, covering his face with his hands, “I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if you had—“ his voice trailed off, not able to finish that sentence.

Stan’s demeanor changed completely as Ford broke down in tears. “Woah, woah, relax, Sixer.” Stan replied. He pushed himself to his feet, kneeling beside Ford’s chair as he put a hand on his brothers shoulder. Ford peaked out from behind twelve fingers, eyes wet with tears.

“You called me Sixer.” He whispers pitifully, earning a chuckle from Stan.

“Uh, yeah.”

Ford frowns, “What happened to us? How did one stupid fight ruin how close we used to be?”

Stan was silent, having wondered that question many times himself over the years. Ford reached out, gripping Stan’s hand on his shoulder with a desperate grip.

“Stan, I’m sorry. I know I messed up so much in the past, but please let me be there for you now. I don’t want to lose my brother again.”

Stan sighed, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t want that, Sixer. You’ll just get tired of me eventually; you just feel sorry for me now.”

Ford shook his head, “No, Stan, I swear I won’t, but, uh, if you really think that way, why don’t we at least take it one day at a time, ok? Just give me a chance to make it up to you. I want us to be brothers again.”

It was Stan’s turn for his eyes to well up with tears. He pointedly looked away from Ford, biting his bottom lip. Ford rested his hand on Stan’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

After a moment, Stan looks back to Ford, soft smile on his lips, “I’ve missed you, Sixer.”

“I’ve missed you too, ya knucklehead.”

“Just, uh, just ‘cause we’re having a moment here, your project really was a mistake. I would never intentionally ruin something I know was so important to you.”

Ford smiled softly, “I know that now, Stan. I should have realized that back then.”

Stan’s shoulders seemed to sag with relief. He and Ford share a moment as they look at each other, hopeful expressions on their faces.

Finally, Ford gets to his feet, helping Stan up with him.

Once they were standing, Stan wraps his arms around Ford, pulling him into a tight hug. Ford didn’t hesitate as he flung his arms around his twin, glad to finally feel his twins arms around him once again, to confirm that Stan really was here and was ok.

They linger in a hug, until they at last reluctantly pull away.

“Now,” Ford says as he makes Stan sit back down, “You really should eat something. How does some soup sound?”

Stan opens his mouth but is promptly cut off by a loud rumble from his stomach. There is a moment of silence before the brothers both start giggling together.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ford laughs, pulling a can of soup from the cabinet. Stan’s laughter bubbles back down to quiet chuckles.

Fiddleford eventually joins them, sitting across the table from Stan with a warm smile. For the first time in years, he feels lighter, hopeful even. His future was still uncertain, but it was a hell of a good place to start.

With his brother by his side, they were capable of taking on anything the world could throw at them.

[ask-de-writer]

As I mentioned before, thanks to Tumblr’s idiotic new rules, I am posting things that are  intended for Age 18+ below a read more.

THE GIRL IN THE WITCH COSTUME

Intended for ages 18+ below this read more.

THE GIRL IN THE WITCH COSTUME

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover art by De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1195 words

© 2019 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 10/15/16

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

Tumblr exemption: Blog holding users of Tumblr.com may reblog and post this work provided that the entire title and copyright block remains intact with all links included and is displayed at the head of the work.  

Fan art, Fan Fiction, cosplay or other fan activity is actively encouraged.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

I live really far out in the desert. Well past the sticks, you might say.  I mean, some live out in the sticks.  Not me.  Well past the sticks.  The last five miles to my place is a badly washed out dirt dozer scrape of a road.  I modified an old small pickup truck into a small half track to get in and out because the land company was not maintaining the “road” now that the land was mine.

That is why I was surprised when, on the evening of Oct. 30, I heard a knock at my door.  After verifying that it was a lone black haired girl in a “sexy witch costume” that nearly did not cover her really great rack, I opened the door.

She smiled saucily, parked a twig broom by the door, posed, back arched a little to show off her tits, a shapely leg forward, showing her black net hose suspended by hanging garters and and chirped, “TRICK for a Treat!”

I gave her a half smile and asked, “I was not really expecting company even on Halloween.  What sort of trick did you have in mind, for that treat?”

She grinned hugely.  “One that I turn!”

With that, she rotated on the toes of her black high heel shoes.  When she came on around, her costume was no longer covering her really great, full, firm, pear shaped boobs at all!

Slightly stunned by this apparition of loveliness offering herself to me, I invited, “Come in.  I haven't got any sort of treat ready but it will only take a few minutes longer than baking time to fix a nice hot fruit filled tart for the TART!  Will that do as a treat for your trick?”

She stepped inside, purring, “That will be perfect.  What kind of fruit?”

I shrugged, “Your pick of pear, apple, peach, apricot or cherries.”

Her sultry voice suggested, “How about apricot with some cherries in it?”

I grinned, myself and said, “Done deal!”

I was reaching down pressure top lidded cans, a lot like paint cans.  These had their own opening toggles so that the cans' top seals would stay intact.  I popped the top of one and fished out light weight, bone dry, yellow freeze dried apricot quarters.  They went into a bowl.  Another can yielded equally dry and light weight freeze dried cherry halves.  I tossed some of them into the bowl too.  I added a perforated weight to keep the fruit bits under the water that I poured in and set it aside.

My visiting sexy witch was watching all with lively eyes.  I, on the other hand was watching her with ogling eyeballs.  Her cute, prominent  darkish brown-pink nipples stared right back at me!

I set my gas oven to heating while I mixed up flour and oil to a nice crumble, added a bit of water to make it a dough and rolled it out for the crust.

I checked the fruit.  It was done soaking up the water.  I stirred in a healthy bit of cornstarch and some powdered cinnamon, sweetening all to taste with some honey.  I blobbed it onto the crust and folded it over the filling.  After sealing the edges and perforating the top a little, I put the tart on a baking pan and put it  in the oven.

I turned about and beheld a breath taking sight.  The sexy witch costume was nearly not there at all! The girl had opened it all the way down  her front.  It hung from her shoulders, bunched behind her, almost like a black cape.  All that she wore was a black satin garter belt holding up her net hose by their lacy tops and her black high heels.

I nearly swallowed my non-existant gum!

Her smoky-sexy smile of delight should have caused a blaze because where there is smoke, they say, there is fire!

Opening her arms in frank invitation, she exclaimed, “You have made a tart for this tart!  I will turn you a trick that will be a treat!  Come to me and in me, my lover!”

I needed no further invitation!  My bed became the epicenter of a cuddle quake until we were both so horny that she came the first time within a half minute after I entered her very eager cunt!

After that, we paced ourselves, with lots of holding, stroking, kisses and simply delighting in the pleasures of our bodies.  She came four more times before I unloaded into her lustfully amorous cunt.

We wandered out into my kitchen and took the tart out of the oven.  I set it aside to cool while I felt up the hot chick who leaned her back to me and guided my wandering hands to her bosom.  She smiled contentedly and made happy purring noises while I massaged her boobs and belly.

With the tart cooled enough to eat, I sat her still nearly naked form at the table and began to feed my tart to my tart in small bites.

I invited, “Would you like to spend the night?  You were right.  Your trick was indeed a treat.  As much for you as for me, I hope.”

She looked up with sparkling eyes and a troubled expression at the same time.  “I would love to spend more time with you.  There is a limit.  I must be gone before the sun touches the hilltops.  If I am still here when that happens, I will have to stay the whole of the coming year.

“As I know that you have guessed, I did not drive here, nor walk.  I did ride that broom by the door.”

I nodded, glancing about at my slightly shabby bachelor house keeping and asked, “You would be welcome to stay.  Would it be so bad for you?”

She thought it over quietly for almost three minutes, the longest three minutes of my life.  “I cannot stay, the magic requires that I go.  I would have to be kept against my will.”

With a short dramatic pause, she added, “There is a collar, chain and wrist cuffs in my bag.  If I were to take a short nap and wake up cuffed, collared, and chained to your bed by my neck, I would be forced to stay.”

As she sauntered into my bedroom, she pointed to a small black handbag beside her discarded costume.

She was smiling as she struggled to get free of the restraints when the sky began to lighten in the east.

As the sunlight touched the hilltops to the west of my remote place, she stopped struggling but not smiling. “Please, dear man, fuck me like there is no tomorrow.  Don't waste time releasing me until we are done.”

I played with her body for a bit and then started pumping her in earnest.  Her moans of delight filled my once lonely cabin.

It was well after sunup before we were done.  I took off her collar and chain.  Then I freed her wrists.

She gave me a big cuddly hug and then reached past me.   Smiling serenely, she put her collar back on.

~THE END~

[koganphrancis]

Fiona Faded Away

A visual representation of how reluctant I was to even watch the episode. (gif source: i-usedtobe-normal)

A visual representation of my face as I watched the episode.

It was SO boring.  And emotionless.  Believe me when I tell you that Joe Mazzello posted an 80 second video of himself breaking up with a piece of cardboard and it was more compelling than Fiona’s send off.  Don’t take my word for it-watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cvfyh_hD2F4

The video has everything the show was missing-longing looks, inside jokes, references to things past, REASONS to break up...

The show gave me hardly anything to snark about, but here’s a recap anyway, under the cut.

I don’t know how they managed, but the show has actually gotten worse since I stopped watching after episode 6 (you remember that one?  Cam’s bullshit swan song?).  There is nothing compelling happening, since anything that DOES happen is wiped out in the next scene containing the same characters-or even within the same scene.

I truly was bored to tears, so I ain’t gonna recap much.

I think John Wells is too in love with his idea that actors leaving a show is just a thing that happens and you don’t have to spotlight it and make it a big deal-in real life, people move in and out of other’s lives all the time, right?  But Fiona is supposed to be considered FAMILY even to the viewing audience and how cold and unfeeling to you have to be to put that on par with someone you take classes with or work in an office with for a period of time moving on? 

He said in post-airing interviews that having Fiona saying goodbye to characters would get too repetitive or whatever-but she didn’t really say a proper goodbye to anyone and the episode was bland and felt false.

Frank was more annoying than ever-laid up on the couch and expecting the family to wait on him hand and foot and keep him doped up and on a constant beer drip.  He had some interaction with Franny that I guess we were supposed to find humorous, but the thought of Debbie leaving her toddler napping in a house with only an incapacitated man was actually horrifying.  Even if the kid couldn’t get out of her crib and down the stairs (which she could) it was child endangerment.  What if there had been a fire?  The other “humorous” Shameless thing involving him was his bedpan needed to be emptied and they had the props department whip up something that looked like human shit and Carl dumps it in the downstairs toilet and then washes the bedpan out in the KITCHEN sink wearing the yellow gloves one assumes are there for washing dishes, plus using the kitchen sink sponge.  Another insight as to how the writers, especially Wells, think poor people live.  All the other Gallagher kids but Liam are right there, and not one of them yells at Carl not to use that sink and those supplies.

Frank was the only character whose farewell to Fiona might have been considered to have any emotional punch, but since they weren’t facing each other when they spoke, I thought a lot of it was just meh.  He comes as close as he can to thanking her, but fucks it up by saying she “helped” raise the family.  It was in character for him not to be able to face how much responsibility his shitty parenting forced onto her, and her upset reaction was justified, but it came so late into the episode that I was numb and was like, “Just walk out the door already!”

Lip is dealing with yet another heatless romance.  He and Tami have a fight after she gets some hard to hear medical news.  So, granted she had every right to be upset and overwhelmed, but the actress didn’t pull it off, and going from tears to “let’s fuck in a dirty bathroom” to “forget it” to getting into her car to Lip chasing after said car to Tami letting him in to driving under some LA overpass (I really don’t think they were in Chicago for that part of the scene) to fucking in said tiny car with the camera a dozen feet or so away to getting out of the car to pull up her underwear to him getting out to zip up his pants to fighting about whether she should put the kid up for adoption to saying they don’t love each other to Lip saying but maybe he could grow to love her to her driving off in a huff to leave him to walk back to work-yes, kids, that all happened in ONE scene.  Am I supposed to give a shit about these people?  Am I supposed to buy into each of the half dozen or more emotions they’re trying to cram into that one scene?  There’s no build up, there’s certainly no time to process what’s going on and to decide if I think one or both or neither of them have a point, and there’s no consequences to any of the elements of what we were forced to watch!  Lip gets back to the bike shop, his boss diffidently asks him to do his job, and Tami’s waiting for him, ready to talk to him again and go get something to eat.  By the end of the episode she’s at the Gallaghers with a beer in her pregnant hand, dancing.  WTF?

Lip’s final scene with Fiona-just by seeing her one dinky suitcase being packed he’s all, “You going?  Okay, good.  Let’s throw you a party!”

Debbie and Carl-lumping them together since the show seems determined to.  They have an awful bonding over having their hearts broken by Kelly thing going on-it’s too bad they never established one of them were adopted so they could just have Debbie and Carl hook up romantically, it’s sort of how the show feels they’re pairing them up-ew.  Just because Kelly woke up to Debbie kissing her and freaked out and ran off and had already (I guess?) dumped Carl because he’s too clingy, they decide to destroy her truck.  Carl has some sort of awesome spray paint that doesn’t drip and does a professional-level graffiti job on the side of the truck, Debs punctures all the tires, and I thought they didn’t have time to pour sugar into the gas tank when the car alarm went off, but Kelly mentions it later, so I guess maybe they poured it before they ran.  (And then she had it all fixed the same day so she could drive around again, but sure, it’s Shameless.)  

Carl and Debbie have a scene together that’s pretty much Ian and Lip’s fight from Season 6 about Ian being a janitor (kept waiting for Carl to say the fast food industry is “where I land”) and their acting was...not good.  Both of them just seem to get loud to try to convey any kind of emotion that’s required of them.  They both usually act very sleepy and stoic when not having to act worked up.  Carl insists he’s quitting school.  Kelly comes looking for both of them, and finds Debbie.  (Side note: Kelly, Debbie, and Fiona all wore clothes in this episode that looked painfully tight-does the infamous wardrobe lady Lyn Paolo do one fitting at the start of shooting and by the end of the season, if any of the actors have even gained 4 or 5 pounds it’s tough shit and you get what you get?  For years Cam has been hulking out of his wardrobe, now it’s others too?  Sheesh.  Sorry for the side trip.)  Debbie gives Kelly this horrible toxic speech, blaming Kelly for “making” her and Carl fall in love with her.  Um, excuse you?  It’s her fault you’re obsessed and stalking her?  Anyway, Kelly bitches about what Debbie wrote on her truck, and Debbie says, “That wasn’t me, I can spell” because what it says is Heartbeaker Cunt-Kelly says all moony, “Carl?” and Debbie says Carl’s dropping out of school (she might blame Kelly for that too, but, again, by this point I was so bored I wasn’t paying very close attention).  Kelly jumps in her truck, drives to Carl’s fast food place, zip ties him up, marches him out of the restaurant, yells he’s quitting, and tells him he’s going back to school and that she loves him because he’s so dense.  She also makes a dumb speech about him not going to West Point but he’ll be a better officer than those guys cuz he’s South Side and can reload while he’s rolling under an Impala during a drive by or something.  Um, that might make it better for him as a soldier saving his own ass, but nothing about that says he’s officer material.  But again, I don’t care because it’s another Ian recycled storyline that I never bought into to begin with.  So, in the space of just a couple of scenes, Carl and Debbie have vandalized her property, called her a cunt, yelled at her for being a siren who forced them both to fall in love with her, Carl’s reunited with her, and we’re supposed to buy that they’re wonderfully in love even though Carl is still just a dumb teen.  Even if you’re a Carl fan, there was no time to care about any of the plot points, and by the end of the episode Kelly’s also dancing in the Gallagher living room.  

Debbie and Carl don’t have any kind of goodbye with Fiona-just Lip giving them their assignments of what to get for the send off party.

Liam-Oh god, you poor little kid.  Liam spends the episode trying to point out to people in the family that they don’t care about him, so he doesn’t care about them.  He wants his own room, his own cultural identity...and I guess that’s about it?  But, in having his story mainly be that no one cares and he doesn’t care, fans at home don’t care either.  Fiona didn’t care enough to stick around if he was truly missing.  Not to mention that, as his legal guardian, her leaving the way she is is child abandonment.  Carl too-he’s not 18 yet.

Fiona spends most of the episode walking around in her too tight blazer and pants.  She drops in at The Alibi and Vee talking about Kev being Jesus reminds Fi she has a brother once known as Gay Jesus, so she goes to visit him.  No goodbye to Vee or Kev.  The Fiona/Ian scene is (no surprise here) badly written.  She’s obviously been there before-she doesn’t ask Ian any questions about how he’s being treated or what his life there is like-but hasn’t she been on a bender since she didn’t drop him off in Episode 6?  And if she went to see him after hitting AA and Al Anon, wouldn’t she have told Ian the family news?  Especially about Lip’s girlfriend?  Continuity?  Shameless never bothers with it.  She asks about his hair, he says a guy in the infirmary had lice and it was easier just to buzz it.  She goes on to say, “So you’re STILL working in the infirmary”-so, again, she knows shit about his life on the inside.  He says it beats working in the laundry like Mickey, so, okay, we get a Mickey mention, but it’s pretty fucking neutral.  (Not that I was expecting more.)  But once again, I can’t help but feel it’s a bit of a dig-how does working in the infirmary and being exposed to puke, pink eye, and parasites “beat” working in a place where Mickey goes back to the cell smelling like clean linens every night?  And then fucking Fiona has to go and say, “Mickey washing undies, you gotta send me a picture.”  Bitch, YOU worked in a prison laundry!  You know he’s not handwashing inmates’ delicates!  You forget about those big canvas sacks you had to sling from machine to machine?  It just rubbed me the wrong way, the two of them sitting there acting as if they’re (still) better than him.  Gallaghers looking down on a Milkovich?   I don’t fucking think so!  

Also, it really bothered me that Ian’s “putting his medical training to use”.  I can just see Wells making him a Certified Nursing Assistant or something when he magically gets out of prison next season-like he’d ever get medical field work with his background now of blowing shit up near minors, his prison record, and his army file.  

Anyway, Ian asks if everything’s okay at home and she runs down the list-he blinks at Lip having a girlfriend, but literally doesn’t bat an eye when Fiona says Liam may be missing. Then she tells him she’s thinking it’s time for her to go, and that it’s the first time she’s said it out loud.  He’s immediately on board, giving her the support she failed to give him when he wanted to leave with Mickey.   

Then after the credits, there’s one more truly dumb ass scene of him playing basketball with his fellow inmates (although I did laugh that he did the courtesy of wearing a beanie so as not to spread his head lice, but when he hugged Fiona their heads were snuggled together sans hat) and a plane flies overhead and he looks up at it and smiles.  Why would he assume she was leaving that day-and on a plane?  Fiona specifically states how she’s never been on one before in her final scene.  John Wells trying to make some sort of poignant moment that just looked hokey and fake.  

One last thing about the money Fiona gets-now that it’s not being rolled into another investment, won’t she get smacked with capital gains tax?  I’d love it if they have to have her crawling back to Debbie the following April to tell her she can’t keep all of the $50K she left her.  

Also, Debbie’s face when she sees the check?  To me it looked like she was thinking, “Now it’s MY turn to really fuck up!”  And when she inevitably does, it’ll just be boring too. 

Anyway, I got to thinking later how if Cam hadn’t fucked everything up by coming back to the show, the scene with Fiona would’ve been a good way for him to end his time on Shameless.  We see him looking happy-he’s getting three square meals a day, there are people to make sure he’s taking his meds, he’s probably even getting to talk to a therapist in there-plus he’s getting good loving every night from Mickey.  He’s probably in the best situation of his life-even when he was a kid at home at the beginning of the series he was with Kash in a very unhealthy situation.  He and Mickey don’t have Terry to deal with, he’s on a schedule, things seem good.  AND THEN I GOT PISSED AS HELL THAT THE SHOW HAS REDUCED ME TO THINKING IN TERMS OF CRAPPY SCRAPS LIKE THAT BEING “BEST CASE SCENARIOS”.  THE LAST PLACE A PERSON DEALING WITH MENTAL ILLNESS SHOULD BE IS IN PRISON!  

Ugh, what a shit show.  If Noel’s not coming back, what is the point in trying to continue?  Here’s my pessimistic outlook-Noel won’t be back.  Why should he come back?  The show has gotten progressively worse since S6.  All the pressure would be on him to salvage a show that’s done everything it can to save money on writers and talent.  There’s no indication that anything is going to change-Wells isn’t going to suddenly hire experienced talented writers to try to put this thing back on track.  There’s no incentive to.  Showtime has renewed them (and I get the feeling maybe it’s for the last time and they all already know it-hence Cam coming back so quick-he’s probably been told it’s his last chance to make bank) and even if my theory about it being the last season is wrong, ratings have obviously played no role in renewing the show the past few seasons.  There’s no reason to “improve” the show.  They’ve let is slip further and further into a cesspool in each season since 5.  Would I love to see Noel as Mickey again, swearing and being sweet and the best character in the entire history of TV?  Yes.  Do I think it’s still possible given what a piece of crap this show has become?  Not really :(  

[sistercelluloid]

Welcome to another edition of TINTYPE TUESDAY! This week, we’re off to see The Wizard of Oz again on the big screen, courtesy of TCM and Fathom Events. For tickets, just click here!

But before you head out, let’s take a peek at what was really going on behind the wizard’s curtain.

The tornado in Kansas was nothing compared to the blizzard of cast and crew changes—not to mention the many mishaps, including a couple of near-fatalities. Even Toto didn’t escape unscathed…

So hang on to your hamper—here we go!

Dorothy: Both MGM unit head Arthur Freed and music maven Roger Edens fought for Judy Garland, but Louis B. Mayer—who often derided the painfully insecure teenager as “my little hunchback”—pressured producer Mervyn LeRoy to do whatever it took to land Shirley Temple for the lead. Fortunately, all attempts to get 20th Century Fox to loan out the wildly popular moppet went nowhere. (However, the long-standing rumor that MGM offered to swap the services of Clark Gable and Jean Harlow for Temple is false; Harlow succumbed to renal failure in June 1937, before MGM even had the rights to the book.) Deanna Durbin, whom Mayer openly preferred to Garland, was also considered—but because the film initially had a sub-plot involving Betty Jaynes, another operatic singer, she was dropped from the running. So Mayer had to “settle” for Judy.  (Oh and her ruby slippers were originally silver, as they were in the book. But in the age of Technicolor, red won out.)

The Scarecrow: Buddy Ebsen was the first loose-limbed, lanky dancer to step into the role, which would have worked out much better for him, as we’ll soon see… but Ray Bolger ultimately carried the day (and the hay). He also carried lines on his face from the rubber prosthetics for more than a year after filming ended. For that kind of grief, you’d think they’d have left his original dance number—longer, trippier, and choreographed by none other than Busby Berkeley—in the film:

The Tin Man: Much to his disappointment, Bolger was first cast in this clunkier role. If he’d only had the heart… but he longed to be the Scarecrow, the part he’d seen his childhood hero, Fred Stone, play in the 1902 Broadway show—which is what inspired him to hit the boards in the first place. “I’m not a tin performer—I’m fluid!” he reportedly pleaded to LeRoy, who finally caved in, allowing Bolger and Ebsen to swap roles. Ebsen was an absolute peach about the whole thing, even teaching Bolger the “wobbly walk” he’d perfected in rehearsals. But no good deed goes unpunished, and this one almost killed him: after about a week of breathing in the toxic aluminum powder that covered his “tin” face, Ebsen was rushed to the hospital in critical condition. (At first, Mayer—who assumed other people’s morals were as low as his own—thought the actor was faking an illness as some sort of contract ploy. So he dispatched his minions to the hospital—where they found Ebsen strapped into an iron lung.)

When Jack Haley, on loan from Fox, arrived to replace him, the make-up artists were much more careful: they protected his face with a thick layer of white greasepaint and diluted the aluminum powder into a paste. (Oh, and they never told him why his predecessor left the film—on a stretcher.) Ebsen didn’t vanish entirely, though: his voice can still be heard in the group vocals, as there was no time to re-record them.

And given all the gruesome drama surrounding the Tin Man, perhaps it’s appropriate that they used chocolate syrup to produce his tears—a technique later used by Hitchcock for the blood circling the drain in Psycho.

The Cowardly Lion: Bert Lahr’s costume was made of actual lion pelts—and weighed almost 100 pounds. The valiant wardrobe team did their best to rinse the sweat out of the sopping-wet suit at the end of each day, but, in the words of one unlucky staffer, “it reeked.”

The Wicked Witch of the West: Initially, the witch was fashioned along the glamorous lines of the evil queen in Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. When she morphed into something decidedly more hag-like—including green skin, a long, pointy nose and a wart or ten—Gale Sondergaard, MGM’s original choice, pointed her pumps toward the exit. Margaret Hamilton was cast just three days before shooting began. Told by her agent she was up for a part in the film, she asked which one. “The wicked witch—what else?” he helpfully replied. (That 10% they get? It ain’t for morale-boosting!)

She didn’t get much more respect after she signed on: her dressing room was a makeshift canvas tent, while Billie Burke had a hideaway that MGM dreams are made of. “She had a pink and blue dressing room, with pink and blue powder puffs and pink and blue bottles filled with powder and baby oil—and pink and blue peppermints,” Hamilton later recalled, admitting that she sometimes popped in for a nap on the glamorous Glinda’s days off.

And God knows she needed the rest, as she proved to be the second casualty on the set: In the scene where she seems to disappear in a cloud of fire and smoke, she very nearly did. At the last minute, a moving platform was supposed to lower her out of harm’s way, but her cape got snagged and she was trapped amid the flames—which fed on the greasepaint and copper makeup slathered on her face, arms and hands. Before she could be pulled free, the fire had seared into her skin, leaving her with second- and third-degree burns. Wise woman that she was, she later refused to do a post-production pick-up scene that involved a flaming broomstick. So they had to make do with maiming her stand-in: the smoke mechanism exploded, burning and permanently scarring Betty Danko’s legs.

The Wizard of Oz: After Ed Wynn refused the part because it wasn’t big enough, MGM turned to W.C. Fields, who thought the paycheck wasn’t big enough. During a few protracted rounds of haggling—they offered $75,000, he wanted $100,000—the producers burned while Fields fiddled. They finally gave and offered the role to Frank Morgan.

Oh and here’s a story you might have to close your eyes and click your heels together to believe, but some swear it’s true, and if it isn’t (which is probably the case), it should be: When wardrobe staffers went scavenging through second-hand stores to find the perfect tattered coat for Morgan, they returned with an armload of samples for Victor Fleming to choose from. He settled on one he thought conveyed just the right touch of “shabby gentility”—and, idly turning out the pockets, found a label with L. Frank Baum’s name on it. An MGM publicist reportedly contacted the tailor and Baum’s widow, who confirmed it was his (he did live in L.A. for a time), and the studio presented her with the coat at filming’s end.

Toto:  Shirley Temple may never have made it to Oz, but she did meet Toto five years before Garland did. Terry the terrier appeared in 16 films, including Temple’s Bright Eyes, as well as Fury, The Women and George Washington Slept Here. In Tortilla Flat, she re-teamed with Morgan and Fleming, and in Twin Beds, she reunited with Hamilton. Her $125 weekly salary for Oz was more than double than that of the Munchkins, who each earned $50 a week. And as it turned out, Terry should have gotten combat pay: one of the Wicked Witch’s heavy-heeled henchmen stepped on her tiny paw and broke it, sidelining her for several weeks. After filming, Garland, who’d fallen in love with the dog, wanted to adopt her, but the owner wouldn’t… surrender Terry.

All of which bring us to the director. Or directors. Richard Thorpe, whose previous work consisted mainly of quickie westerns, was first at the helm, but LeRoy felt he was shooting the film more like a low-budget oater than a lavish fantasy, rushing scenes along and not giving the production the care it deserved.

While he searched for a replacement, LeRoy left the project in the tender hands of George Cukor—who, in his brief stint as caretaker, made some critical changes. First, he ditched Garland’s blonde wig and heavy glamour-girl makeup, which made her look ridiculous and feel worse.

He also told Garland to relax and simply be herself—a lovely, vulnerable teenage girl—which was just what the part called for. Then he did something less crucial but pretty fabulous: he brought in Adrian to design the Wicked Witch’s costume. Which, if you peer beyond the black-on-black, is a real work of art, with its lace bodice, cut-out mutton sleeves, and pouch dangling fetchingly from the hip. To her pointy hat, Adrian added a long, silky-sheer scarf that floats menacingly behind her, like an ill wind.

Cukor was never meant to stay on when production began in earnest; he was due over at Gone with the Wind. Victor Fleming took the reins in October 1938, and oversaw everything but the sepia-tone scenes (including the Over the Rainbow number) that book-end Dorothy’s adventures in Oz. But the following February, he was called away suddenly… to direct  Gone with the Wind after Cukor was fired. Fleming’s close friend King Vidor came aboard to gently shepherd the crucial Kansas scenes through to completion, but never publicly acknowledged his involvement until after Fleming’s death in 1949.

And as if Fleming didn’t have enough on his mind during the shoot, he also had to protect Garland from her scenery-chewing companions on the Yellow Brick Road, seasoned old vaudeville pros who were none too excited about surrendering the spotlight to her (as she laughingly recalls in a clip from The Jack Paar Show, below). Ironically, her only close friend on the set was Hamilton, a former kindergarten teacher who gave her some much-needed mothering.

Whew! There’s enough material behind the scenes of The Wizard of Oz for a whole other movie… but in the meantime, enjoy seeing the original again on the big screen!

TINTYPE TUESDAY is a weekly feature on Sister Celluloid, with fabulous classic movie pix (and backstory!) to help you make it to Hump Day! For previous editions, just click here—and why not bookmark the page, to make sure you never miss a week?

TINTYPE TUESDAY: Head Off to See THE WIZARD OF OZ Again on the Big Screen! Welcome to another edition of TINTYPE TUESDAY! This week, we're off to see The Wizard of Oz…

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A Nappy Pkv PokerEnding

A Nappy Pkv PokerEnding

 I've never really understood the fascination with babies; they're small, they're ugly and they make absolutely no effort to participate in a coherent conversation. My antipathy towards the little monsters probably began when the wife Pkv Pokergave birth to little Goliath, she had the audacity to stay in hospital for a full two days after dropping the little cash magnet, the front room looked like a bomb had landed within a matter of hours; there’s just no excuse for her laziness.

 For fans of Sunderland, the last day of the season is a lot like childbirth; after nine months of anguish, the end result makes you question whether all the effort was worthwhile. The worst team in the history of the Premiership will end their season of woe at Villa Park, back the Villans to take all three points at 8/13; it’s a little bundle of joy.

 Fans of the Albion will also be glad to see the season come to a close; the locals of West Bromwich haven't been this embarrassed since the Frank Skinner show first aired. The Baggies travel to Goodison Park where they have lost on their five previous visits; Everton are the nap of the week at 8/13.

 Lady luck is not just smiling on  Satta King   Tottenham, she's flashing a little bit of cleavage. West Ham are understandably concentrating on the FA Cup final, Spurs look an outstanding bet at even money to leave Upton Park with three points and a 4th place finish.

 Arsenal's fixation with this season's Champions League has potentially cost them a direct route through to next season's competition, which is like a vegetarian eating a burger to save a lamb. Arsenal have to win to keep their fading 4th place dreams alive, at 2/9 they can’t be opposed.

 It's tough to like Craig Bellamy, if he was your little brother, you'd probably feel the need to give him a little straightener. Dislike him or loathe him, you can't argue with the fact that he's the reason why Blackburn will be competing in Europe next season. The Rovers are 8/13 to see off Man City at Ewood; the Bell's an 11/10 shot to end the season on the goal sheet.

 Middlesbrough's 2nd leg performance against Steaua Bucharest was possibly the greatest comeback since Glenn McGrath’s question of “Why are you so fat?” was countered with “Because every time I sleep with your wife she gives me a biscuit.” The Boro travel to Fulham and the Cottagers are the call at 8/11. It’s not all bad news for Boro fans though; Steve McClaren is the new England manager.

 Chelsea should be backed at 5/4 to win at St James’Park in a match that could have potentially disastrous repercussions. This could be the last game in charge for Newcastle’s caretaker manager, which will mean that I may never get to use the ‘I Roeder’ line which I had tucked away for a rainy day. Freddie Shepherd probably hasn't taken that into consideration; typical selfish behaviour.

 Croatia: Still Hopes for Bilos

 Boca's Star Now Accepts Croatian Offer

 Daniel Bilos ahora acepta la oferta croata

 Nueve meses después del inicio, la campańa "Bilos para Croacia" todavía no ha llegado a su fin, pero ahora el argentino-croata parece más cerca a la selección de sus abuelos.

 - "He recibido el mensaje de su agente (Hugo Omar Issa, n. del a.) diciendo que ha optado por Croacia. Puede ser que lo ha convencido nuestro juego ante Argentina", ha manifestado el presidente de la Federación croata, Vlatko Markovic, aludiendo al amistoso en Basilea, que se saldó a favor de Croacia por 3-2.

- "Su inclusión en el equipo no depende de mi, pero hay buenos motivos para tomarlo. Es joven y gran jugador, no veo por qué no convocarlo."

 Desde que Croacia se le acercara por la primera vez, Daniel Rubén Bilos, entonces del Banfield, pedía tiempo una y otra vez, obviamente calculando con una posible convocatoria por parte de José Pékerman. Cuando esta finalmente llegó, Bilos se olvidó de Croacia y debutó con Argentina el pasado noviembre en Qatar.

 No jugó muy bien al estar convalesciente de la neumonía y no volvió a ser convocado por Pékerman, pero Croacia siguió interesada. Encontró un "hueco" en el reglamento de la FIFA, que al parecer no prohibe el cambio de selección al jugador que ha actuado con otro equipo sólo en algún encuentro no oficial.

 Tal fue el caso con el croata Josip Weber, quien disputó tres partidos no oficiales con Croacia ante Australia en el 1992, sin que ello lo impidiera naturalizarse belga e intervenir con Bélgica en el Mundial del 1994.

 Por otro lado, en la selección croata puede haber algunos que no darán una bienvenida al novato.

 - "?Qué es eso? Acaso es Croacia una institución caritativa? Me sorprende Bilos, porque un día dice sí y otro día no." - ha seńalado el lateral derecho Darijo Srna en el diario Vecernji list.

 - "Ahora que hemos ganado a Argentina y que se ha enterado que para el no hay sitio en su selección, le gustaría ponerse la camiseta croata. Creo que Bilos es buen jugador, pero..."

 Dado Prso, triple ganador del concurso de jugador del ańo en Croacia, ha comentado que "Bilos debía haber llegado antes. Creo que al Mundial deberían ir los que han disputado las eliminatorias.