#imagine your baby being stuck in the murder fence

[awed-frog]

what real bravery looks like

#swans #birds #baby animals #humans are awesome #faith in humanity: restored #wow #wholesome content #also 'being a mama' #imagine your baby being stuck in the murder fence #and a giant thingy comes out of nowhere #and starts annoying it #like wtf #i'd be flapping my wings too #poor mom

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]

A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @allauraleigh​ ​@deakydeacy @bluutac​ @johndeaconshands​ @nyxaura​

It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.

Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”

Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”

John: “Hello.”

Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”

Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”

Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”

Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”

John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”

Roger: “I think I know one or two.”

Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”

Interviewer: “Really?!”

John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”

Roger: “Only took ten years.”

John: “Fourteen, actually.”

Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”

John: “You’re welcome to try.”

Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”

Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”

Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”

Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “

Interviewer: “Congratulations!”

Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”

Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”

John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”

Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”  

John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”

Interviewer: “Indeed.”

John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”

Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”

Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”

Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”

Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”

John: “Well, not all of them.”

Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”

John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”

Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”

John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”

Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”

Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”

John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”

Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”

John: “I did, it’s true.”

Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”

John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”

Roger: “It was touching, really.”

Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”

John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”

Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”

Interviewer: “What?”

Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”

Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”

Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.

Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.

Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.

Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.

“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.

Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.

“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”

“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.

Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”

After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.

“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”

“And she’s good with the kids.”

“True...”

“And her hair matches Brian’s.”

Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”

“Yeah, a Valium.”

“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”

Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”

Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.

“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.

You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”

“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.

“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Dominique nods; but you already knew.

Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.

“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”

She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.

“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”

Dominique blinks, not understanding.

“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”

And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.

“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.

Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”

“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”

“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.

A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”

“Not about you, I hope.”

“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.

“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”

You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.

Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”

Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”

Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”

Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”

Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”

Roger: “Yes, yes.”

Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”

Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”

Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”

Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”

Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”

Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”

Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”

Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”

Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”

John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”

Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”

John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”

Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”

John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”

Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”

Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”

Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”

John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”

Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”

Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’

John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”

Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”

Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”

Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”

John: “You have to keep things interesting.”

Roger: “Exactly!”

Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”

John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”

Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”

John: “Oh, sure.”

Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”

John: “Annoying?”

Brian: “Combative?”

Roger: “Fiery.”

John: “That’s one word for it.”

Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”

Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”

John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.

You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.

“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”

He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”

“John!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”

“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.

When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”

“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”

“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”

“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”

“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”

“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”

“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”

“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”

“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.

“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”

“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”

“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.

The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.

Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.

Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.

You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.

“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.

“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”

He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”

“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”

“And I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.

“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”

It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.

“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”

He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”

“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”

“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.

“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”

“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”

“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.

“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”

“I can’t see that far—!”

“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”

She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”

“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.

“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”

Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”

“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”

Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.

“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”

“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.

“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”

“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.  

Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”

“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”

“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.

“It was from all the bleaching!!”

“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.

Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.

“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”

“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.

So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.

“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.

“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”

“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.

Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.

The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.

“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.

Joe turns to you, confused.

“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”

“Noted.”

Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”

“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”

“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”

The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.

Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“He would have adored you,” you say.

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”

“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”

“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”

“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”

[arllenn]

Maribat au - big sis tomb raider mari

(Salt not Adrien friendly)

- the prelude -

• same as cannon only the temple is never brought back in feast, the building itself is brought back but the monks are gone Mari may be a powerful ladybug because she’s a true holder but they’ve been dead for a century and she has a cap on her powers because of her age (Chloé also only leaves for about a month or two)

•before fu goes bonk he actually teaches mari some shit abt the miraculous and the order. (The language, history and as much magic as he can)

•after she becomes the guardian she no longer has the time for class drama and resigns as class pres

•she can also train with past guardians and holders of any miraculous that she’s used (only ones that have died already so in this au not hippolyta or Alfred)

•she throws herself into finding out who hawkmoth is because now she has a secret order to rebuild and she’s done with not being able to cry

•she tells chat noir at their next battle to shape up after he almost gets her killed because stealing a kiss is more important than the battle at hand

•chat throws a fit and doesn’t show up for a while(how long is up to the writer)

• during all of this we still have lila and her classmates being dickheads so she has to deal with being all alone cause Adrien doesn’t have her back and she knows this because it’s been months and he hasn’t helped her once

•mari gets close to a previous ladybug who teaches her how to remain herself while putting up a front to intimidate the enemy (she uses this to appear disinterested in lila and her classmates effectively telling them fuck off idc what you think)

•after Lila says that marinette pushed her down the stairs again mari gets harmed in some way and decides to take tomoe up on her offer to learn fencing (as a result she and Kagami get closer)

•mari brings up wanting to be able to carry a self defense weapon on her person at all times but also doesn’t want to carry something like a taser or a knife so Kagami suggests war fans

•mari is like hell yea because a. She’s now closer to her culture and b. They look sick and she’s been wanting a style change for some time now

•Chloé is back at this point and sees what’s happening in the class and is like wtf

•while away she decided to improve herself so when she sees this she begrudgingly is like fuck it alliance

•mari and Chloé after an apology and a few tenative weeks become friends

•they have their style change together we now have techwear and occasional soft girl mari who constantly has a fan on her that matches with her outfit

•thanks to her training with the Tsurugis she now has an excuse for being so well versed in self defense

•she makes Chloé and Kagami permant holders and while Luka always has sass on him she only tells him to transform when she’s positive she needs him (watching your friends die time and time again and having the future of everything weigh on you being able to turn back time is stressful and she doesn’t want to fuck Luka up like fu fucked her up)

•at this point mari has also gotten closer to aurore who starts to run a blog once the ladyblog goes to shit and gets the turtle

•unlike the others she’s a hero whose focused on the citizens, she gets them to saftey and defends them if they get caught up in a battle rather than fighting Akumas directly

•chat noir hasn’t been present in any battles so they’re easier for mari and it reduces her stress over it

•they discover gabriel is hawkmoth (how it is is up to the writer)

•they have a showdown in which chat defends Gabriel because ‘he could never be hawkmoth what are you doing’

•because of this mari now has both the ladybug and the black cat miraculous on her during the fight with hawkmoth

•she ends up having to use both at the same time bacause training or not that power cap is a bitch when she’s fighting two people who don’t have it

•divine being mari because the two miraculous if not used to make a wish will just transfer the power it would take to make the wish into whoever combined them

•she beats hawkmoth and says fuck it hands him and Mayura over to the cops and peace’s out

•she doesn’t take back the miraculous from her team only Adrien gabe and nath

•she then chills out for the remainder of the school year and decides to visit the temple during the summer

•(wether she told her parents about everything or got disowned is up to you)

•by this point mari has made plenty of money as mdc and can afford to just fuck off to Tibet and rent an apartment for the summer

•(if she goes alone or with someone else is up to you)

•she spends the summer recovering all that she can from the temple (scrolls, additional miraculous, a grimoire that all guardians use)

•so by the time she returns to France for her senior year she’s got a good grip on magic and what she needs to do starting with recovering a box of miraculous that was apparently lost before the temple even fell

•she works with the others to pinpoint where they could be (museums, ruins, family heirlooms, buried under centuries of dirt, at a thrift or jewelry shop)

•eventually she ends up in Gotham for her senior trip

•where she gets caught up in a two face/scarecrow attack at Wayne enterprises (dick was leading the tour so he can’t get away to nightwing and Damien stuck around because it was either help with the tour or school and he fucking hates it there)

•she slips away and transforms (pleas e I’m begging for a costume change the onzie is hella ugly)

•comes back and kicks ass fixes the damage so no one needs the actual cure to fear toxin and peace’s out again

•she ends up doing it a few more times while she’s there somehow always around Damien/Robin (hes like 12-13)

•she nails him out of a bad joker situation (use your imagination) and he’s like yes my sister my hella suspicious sister I’ve adopted you now 😌

• so that’s how she ends up eating dinner in her ladybug get up with the Wayne’s

•she decides to go to college at gotham academy cause Gotham needs healing and there’s more than one miraculous in this town

•so now here she is tellin robin/Damien that she’ll be back in like a week or two because she needs to get everything in Paris sorted out before she chills here

•(wether they know ladybug = marinette is up to you)

•she goes back to Paris to finish out the school year going back to Gotham on the weekends to heal it the best she can and hang out with her cool murder baby brother

•she gets along with Jason the best after Damien cause it’s fun to fuck shit up with someone who is just as chaotic as you but slightly adjacent

•no romantic parings with any of the batfam cause she sees them all as her family (if she has a romantic thing going on with someone it’s probably with Chloé cause I’m a hoe for Chloénette)

•eventually Damien has a really bad day and he calls her at what he’s to be 1 am because he almost killed someone again and he just wants to be distracted from it

•so mari takes him to some old ruins she was planing on going to

•que Damien coming into the dinning room the next day with a magic sword and looking surprisingly content

•now mari is just the cool tomb raider sister who will takes Damien ruins when he’s feeling down hands him some cookies and let him sleep over

•eventually she gets caught stealing from a museum and now Bruce is talking about what a bad influence she is on Damien and how she’s not allowed to see him anymore and she’s like 😦

•ends up explaining everything (if they didn’t know her identity before they know it now)

•and Bruce is like wow shit do you need a parental figure

•mari now has been officially adopted as a Wayne

And there it is tomb raider mari. Idk if people are interested i could write an actual fic or go into more detail on certain parts

#marinette dupain cheng #adrein salt #miraculous ladybug #maribat #platonic daminette #chloenette #ml x dc #tomb raider mari au #au marinette #marinette au #fic ideas #maribat au #guardian marinette

[holyfuckthisfishcandrive]

Shots and Guilt

First, Previous(Chap. 23), Ao3

Word count: 3610

Warnings: Gun, Blood and Injury, (kinda) Torture, Knives, Bloodlust, Smoking, Underage Drinking, Drinking and Driving, Gore, Skipping a Meal, Alcohol (even more of it), Guilt, Choking, Mention of Past Murder, Panic Attack, Self Harm

This really isn't a nice chapter. If anyone needs it I can make a summary of it. Just leave a comment or send me an ask if that's the case. Stay safe.

Virgil listened to the sound of the rain pattering against the car and the radio woman report what had happened in Aunt Lian's block earlier this night.

Glitch monsters.

He dug around the glove compartment until he found Uncle Remy's cigarettes, hidden under the ammunition, lit one and took a drag. He watched the smoke curl and opened the window just by an inch to release it into the night.

Destroyed street lights.

He glanced at the Seven11 Remy had disappeared in about half an hour ago and lit his lighter again, watching the tiny flame dance in the stale light of the car lamp.

Messed up electronics.

A shadowy figure stood next to his window and Virgil glanced over at them. They were holding a knife. Good for them.

"Fuck off," Virgil mumbled tiredly and took another drag.

"Open the car door if you know what's good for you, kid," the guy demanded.

Virgil couldn't help but chuckle at that. He took his feet off the headboard and sat up slowly.

"If I know what's good for myself? If you know what's good for yourself you're going to fucking piss off now!"

"Kid-!" he thrust the knife at the window gap and Virgil kicked open the door hitting them square on the chest. They stumbled back and growled. "I'm going to fucking kill you, brat!"

Vigil stepped out of the car, taking the butterfly knife and the colt from the glove compartment with him.

"No, you're not," he stepped on his cigarette to put it out.

The robber was big. About twice as tall and five times as wide as Virgil, all muscles and heavy bones.

But at the sight of the gun, he froze. An uneasy smile took the place of the angry grimace.

They were in a lonely and dark parking lot. Nobody would look out of the window if they heard a gunshot or scream.

"Kid, don't do anything you're gonna regret. I'm part of the Trulow family. They're gonna hunt you down if you shoot me. No ones gonna find you're body! I bet yer mother's gonna get worried sick if her kid doesn't come home!"

Again Virgil laughed humourlessly.

The rain was cold on his skin and his hair stuck to his face and neck but he couldn't care less. There was that feeling in his chest again that he knew Papa knew well, even if he never wanted to talk about it, the feeling he couldn't imagine living without even after being told a thousand times that it wasn't normal, that he wasn't supposed to talk about with people outside of the family. That intoxicating feeling - better than any liquor, pills or joint but no less dangerous. "It's what makes our kind what we are," Uncle Emile had once said. The man across from him knew it too. Virgil could tell. Otherwise, he wouldn't flinch back. Wouldn't be able to see it in Virgil's smile and his every movement like a bloody red threat.

The bloodlust felt like a promise in his lungs.

"Jokes on you," he slowly walked towards the man. "My mothers dead. And if you're really a Trulow, how come I've never seen you on the Christmas card? I'm sure I'd remember a face as ugly as yours."

"What-?" the man stumbled backwards.

"If you want to make it in this city you really ought to learn who to threaten and who's out of your league. You're just another sewer rat. I'm like a motherfucking prince to you."

The man fell back on his ass, crawling backwards.

"Run along now, rat. Wouldn't want mommy to worry, would we?"

The man scrambled to his feet and turned to run.

Virgil raised the gun, aimed and fired.

A scream cut through the air as the man crashed into the concrete.

He sobbed and whimpered, staring at the blood sprayed over the ground as if he couldn't believe it was his. As if the realisation that there was now a hole where his foot connected to his leg hadn't quite made its way into his thick head yet.

"Sorry," Virgil said as he got closer and knelt down next to him. "Couldn't resist. You better not tell my Pa about this."

He dug his hand into the wound until his fingers found the bullet, ignoring the pained screams.

"He hates when I use guns. Which I honestly don't get. I mean, he uses them all the time! Bloody double standards," he inspected the bloody bullet in his hand.

"Who- Who the fuck are you?" the man sobbed.

Virgil grinned. "Have you ever heard those rumours? About Professor Logic having a child?"

The man's eyes widened in terror.

Virgil heard the doors of the Seven11 slide open and stood up.

Remy raised an eyebrow as he got closer.

"Jesus, can't I leave you alone for five minutes?" he asked.

"That was half an hour. And he started it. He wanted to rob the car or something. I only used one bullet if that's what you're worried about," Virgil tossed the gun over to him and Remy caught it in his free hand.

"Whatever. Just get in the car, hon. I got slushies and alcohol. We can stop at Crispy Creme if you want to."

"Sure," Virgil picked up the knife the would-be robber had dropped and jogged back to the car. "I hope they have warm doughnuts."

"They better. Oh, and there should be some baby wipes in the glove compartment. I'm not letting you eat with that guy's blood on your hands. Who knows what's been in that-? Wait, did you steal one of my cigs?"

"...No," Virgil claimed and was suddenly very interested in cleaning every crevice of his hand.

"Don't fucking lie to me. Just don't smoke in the car next time and ask before you take one. Emile doesn't like when the car smells," Remy handed him one of the slushies.

"Sorry," Virgil took a long sip until the pain of bain freeze bloomed behind his forehead before digging around in Remy's bag until he found the alcohol..

"Pour me some in too, would ya?"

"Sure," Virgil unscrewed the cap and poured some in his own then a bit more in Remy's cup. "More or is this good?"

Remy glanced over at him.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?"

"More it is."

"Exactly."

"I swear you're that "Two shots of vodka" vine," Virgil shook his head.

Remy chuckled. "I take zero offence to that. Also, I gotta make sure you don't drink too much. You have school tomorrow."

"You're literally drinking and driving. And I'm going to school trollied tomorrow whether you like it or not."

"I think this is why your father hates me."

"He doesn't hate you. He can't. You and Uncle Emile are like his only friends."

"Doesn't he also have that flower boy?" Remy pulled into the Crispy Creme's parking lot.

"That's his boyfriend," Virgil corrected and took another sip. Slowly he felt the alcohol kick in.

"You mean your new father, then?"

"I guess. Not officially yet but hopefully soon. He's nice. On the other hand, if he moves in I'll have to hide my skull collection."

Virgil followed Remy out of the car and into the shop.

The sugary sweet smell of warm doughnuts filled the air.

Remy bought a box, tipped a twenty and pulled Virgil back out with him.

"I'm not letting you drink any more," he decided. "You're not going to school drunk, kid."

"Yes, I am. Fuck off and give me a doughnut."

"Either you stop drinking or you don't get any doughnuts."

Virgil glared at him and took a doughnut.

"Fine."

---

He still had a headache when he went to math class later.

He wasn't sure if it was just the hungover or also something else.

Not that it mattered. He had already learned the shit, the man, whose name he couldn't remember, was explaining incredibly badly at the blackboard.

Instead of paying attention he stared blankly out of the window.

Slowly the sleep deprivation was also starting to catch up with him, making his eyes heavy.

Janus had texted him that they wouldn't be coming to school for the day, which made it even more dull than usual.

He should have stayed drunk.

Then it at least would've been somewhat interesting.

Virgil woke up again to the sound of the school bell. He blinked a few times, trying to reorient himself and sighed.

At least math was over.

His next lesson was English, then Chemistry.

Or maybe he should just skip.

It wouldn't make a difference.

Maybe he could find a nice spot for the graffiti design he'd come up with based on the last body he'd found in the sewers.

The rats had eaten the fuckers stomach out and Virgil had set the eyebrows or rather what had been left of the eyebrows, on fire before taking a few pictures for reference.

He'd just have to come up with something for when Janus asked where he'd gotten the idea.

Virgil left the classroom and ducked into the nearest bathroom, locking the stall door behind himself before climbing out of the window. He wondered briefly how long it'd stay locked before someone noticed that it wasn't occupied at all. Probably at least until the toilets were cleaned. Whenever that'd be.

A sports teacher was preparing a lesson by the tracks but she was too focused on the task at hand to notice Virgil sneak to the fence and climb over it. He gave the school a middle finger over his shoulder as he walked away. For all he cared, every single person in there could go fuck themselves. Especially the principal.

Papa was working - at the university today - so Virgil went home to drop off his backpack and picked up his graffiti bag, headphones and the sketchbook he'd drawn the design in..

He strolled through the streets of downtown, avoided a few coppers and took an underground to take him wherever. As long as there were big empty walls there he didn't care.

He got out at the sixth stop.

Virgil didn't make a habit of spending time uptown.

Occasionally maybe, for family celebrations or when he and Janus planned heists but other than that he stayed in the part of town he had been raised in.

But that didn't mean that he didn't know the streets and alleyways, the shops, public buildings and skyscrapers made of glass, like towers out of a fairy tale. Papa was of the firm opinion that knowledge was power and he'd made sure that Virgil knew everything he needed about Woethough.

It didn't take him long to find a good wall.

The back of the main police station was just painfully boring.

Virgil pulled the half mask he used for vigilante business over his face, partly to avoid someone seeing his face and partly because of the fumes. Then he opened the sketch book and pulled two spray cans out of his bag, shaking them.

This'd be fun.

He worked far slower than usual, the anxiety over being spotted by the damned pigs making him pack up the cans he wasn't using immediately, so he'd be able to make a quick escape, and check for witnesses every five minutes.

By some miracle no one came by. For a while, he had the insistent feeling of being watched but couldn't find anyone.

He watched the flames, body and rats take shape with every colour he added until he got to the point where more would only make it worse.

Virgil took a few steps back and grinned. He signed it with his usual spider and took a photo to send Janus. They weren't online so he didn't bother waiting for a reply and packed up his stuff.

It was around noon now and he was getting hungry but ignored the feeling. He could eat later.

Instead he walked around some more, pickpocketed a businessman he recognized from TV - Mr Grimm or something like that - and bought a few new markers from the stolen money, before climbing onto the roof of a library to test them out.

At eight he took a train back to downtown.

It was already dark thanks to autumn finally taking over properly and most other teens were probably either suicidal, gang members or at home.

This was the beauty of the city.

As soon as the sun went down the few laws that were actually followed became meaningless.

Now the city belonged to the street rats and the lawless. They were all animals. From the racoons and possums, over the henchmen and thieves up to the mafia and his family.

All animals.

Hungry for blood.

Greedy and destructive.

Virgil absolutely loved it.

He passed a few of Uncle Jeremy's men beating up a cop with a crowbar in an alleyway, greeting him as he passed, watched a woman smash a chair over the head some guy who had tried to grope her, dishevelled and angry, and grinned at the raven and racoon, which were fighting viciously over some small animal one of them had killed.

There was a light burning in the living room when he got home. Not the ceiling light - it was far too muted for that.

He unlocked the front door and shut it behind himself. It was warm in here.

"I'm home!" he called, taking off his shoes and jacket.

No reply.

"Papa?"

Still no reply.

Virgil frowned, waiting for a moment longer and went into the living room.

Papa was slumped on the couch, fingers tracing an empty glass. Next to it on the table was an empty bottle of whiskey, that Virgil knew had been more than half full just this morning. He'd opened it after all.

Slowly Papa looked up as if only noticing him standing in the doorway now.

"...V'gil," he slurred.

"How much did you drink?" Virgil asked with a frown. He couldn't remember ever having seen Papa drunk.

He blinked at the bottle and gestured vaguely with one hand. "J'st a little."

Virgil sighed.

"Well, you clearly had enough. You're fucking trollied. Let's get you to bed, shall we? You'll hate yourself for this tomorrow, you know?"

"Already do," Papa mumbled as Virgil put his arm over his shoulder to support him.

Papa leaned on him heavily and Virgil staggered under the weight slightly but managed to bring him to the stairs, where Papa could also hold onto the bannister, taking some of the weight of his shoulders.

"You look so much like your mother," Papa suddenly said, just as they reached the second floor and Virgil almost let him fall in surprise.

Papa didn't talk about her.

He never did.

"She had her hair like that for a while too," Papa continued. "Then she grew it out longer. She looked so beautiful. Like an angel."

Virgil kicked open the door to Papa's room.

He didn't say anything, almost forgetting how to breathe. Papa was actually talking about her.

Carefully Virgil let him slide onto the bed and ducked to take off his shoes.

"I didn't mean to kill her," Papa said, anguish in his voice as he began combing through Virgil's hair with one hand. "I really didn't. I  just- I just wanted to scare her."

His hand slid over Virgil's cheek slowly and even though Papa was looking at him Virgil had the feeling that he wasn't seeing him.

No.

Papa was seeing her.

"I didn't think it'd be that fragile," Papa's hand slid down further and settled on Virgil's neck. A jolt of panic shot through him. "I didn't think it'd break that easily."

Papa began to squeeze.

"I just grabbed her and pressed down."

His grip began to hurt and Virgil tried to gasp for breath, clawing at the hand on his throat.

"And then she was dead. Just like that."

Blackspots appeared in Virgil's vision and he swung out wildly.

His fist hit Papa on the temple and he collapsed onto the bed.

Virgil gasped and coughed, stumbling back towards the door and slammed it as soon as he was on the hallway.

He still couldn't breathe.

Why the fuck couldn't he breathe?!

His vision swam, from tears this time instead of lack of oxygen.

Was this how she had felt?

In her last moments, getting choked by the man she had loved and trusted?

He didn't want this. This panic in his chest keeping him from breathing and making the world around him blur. At least not because of Papa. Not him. Never because of Papa. Papa was supposed to be safe. Papa protected him. Papa helped him calm down.

Papa had just tried to kill him.

Virgil sobbed.

Papa had tried to kill him the same way he'd killed her.

Virgil barely remembered to grab his jacket as he ran out, slamming the front door and running down the dark street.

He stopped at the North Bridge and collapsed against the railing.

The air was now so cold it almost burned in his lungs as he finally managed to take a breath. His throat hurt. He carefully wrapped his hand around it. It'd bruise.

 "You look so much like your mother."

Virgil stumbled on through the streets. His reflection in a dark shop window caught his attention and made him stop.

His cheeks were streaked with black.  His eyes were covered almost completely by messy black hair.

So she had had shoulder-long hair at one point.

Virgil grabbed a hand full of hair and pulled at it until a few strands ripped off.

He stared down at them.

He didn't want Papa to see her in his place.

The lights of another store, also reflecting in the shop window he was standing in front of caught his attention.

Did they have bleach there?

He crossed the street.

The shop was empty and Virgil was barely aware of the song playing over the speakers, so quiet that it was drowned out by his mind.

He grabbed two cartons.

Bleach and the first hair dye his hand touched. He didn't care. He had no idea what colour her hair had been. He just didn't want black.

He didn't bother to wait for his change as he handed the cashier a twenty and fled the store.

Back at home, Virgil locked himself in the bathroom and ripped open the bleach carton, barely skimming the instructions.

The chemical smell filled the room as he spread it over his hair and when he was done he had to open a window to breathe.

He set a timer on his phone and busied himself with washing off his make up while he let it set.

Once he was done with that he began pulling at the skin of his arms and digging his nails into the scars to keep his thoughts from spiralling again.

The timer went off and he rinsed his hair out.

It was almost white now.

He ripped open the secong carton.

Purple.

For fucks sake.

He spread it over his hair, careful to get it everywhere.

If he was going to look stupid he might as well make sure it wasn't splotchy.

He wasn't hungry anymore but he still went into the kitchen and warmed up some soup, forcing himself to eat, despite the gag reflex that kicked in a few times.

Then he washed his hair again.

He didn't bother looking at the result before he grabbed the razor and scissors. Once he was done he pulled on a turtle neck to hide the forming bruise, poured a glass of water and grabbed an aspirin.

For a few minutes he stood in front of Papa's door, frozen until he managed to go in, put both items on the nightstand and immediately flee again.

Then he once again grabbed his jacket and left, locking the door behind himself.

He wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. At least not if he stayed here.

---

A knock on the window snapped Janus out of the half-asleep half-awake state they'd been in for hours.

Slowly they stood up, the floor cold against their bare feet, and frowned at the figure in the window.

They grabbed a glass water bottle as a weapon and cautiously opened it.

The figure slid inside.

"Virgil?" Janus frowned and set down the bottle. "The fuck are you doing here?!"

"You owe me," Virgil rasped. "Five nights. From that bet."

Janus blinked, their brain catching up slowly.

"The one we made for my parent's wedding?"

Virgil nodded.

He was upset. Even in the dark Janus could tell.

They closed the window, cutting off the cold draft, and Virgil took off his shoes.

For a moment they contemplated what to say.

They were sure that something had happened.

They just didn't know what.

"I won't ask," they finally said, "but if you want to talk... I'm here for you, okay?"

Virgil nodded.

"Thanks."

He didn't say anything else. His voice was hoarse.

Janus led him over to their bed and climbed in, letting him follow.

He'd cut his hair.

It also looked lighter than usual, though they couldn't be sure in the bad lighting.

Janus had almost fallen asleep again when they hear a muffled sob.

They looked over at Virgil again.

He was crying.

So something bad had happened.

For a moment they hesitated before they wrapped their arms around Virgil and pulled him against their chest.

"It'll be okay," they promised.

Virgil just latched onto them and buried his face in their shirt.

Next

Taglist:

@patton-cake , @isabelle-stars

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #ts virgil #remy sanders #ts remy #logan sanders #ts logan #janus sanders #ts janus #alcohol #gun #tw blood #im so so so sorry #my writing #au #woethough au #angst

[iwillbeinmynest]

Hold On Loosely - Biker!Steve x Reader(f)    Chapter 17

Authors Notes:  If you’d like to be tagged please send me an ask. I keep better track of tags that way.

Word Count: 1.5k

Special Thanks: Here’s to @itsanerdlife for fueling my Biker obsession and being my Beta for this whole thing. To my girl over at @girl-next-door-writes who also beta’ed for me. And an extra shout out to @bettercallsabs for this beautiful graphic. She is amazing and y’all need to check her out!!

Notes/Warnings: (My notes and warnings are for the story as a whole. Some notes and Warnings will not apply to every chapter.) smoking (I do not support smoking. keep your lungs clean y’all.) drinking, (be of age, don’t be stupid) minor violence, backstabbing, attempted murder, anxiety, stress, mentions of death, car accident, trauma, …I think that’s it. let me know if I’ve missed something.

Master List

Y/N sighed as she towel dried her hair. She looked at her red rimmed eyes in the mirror as she ran a brush through it. She sniffled and took a deep breath. She was surprised by Steve’s behavior but she knew she did what had to be done. They had only been together a short while but Y/N was hurt by what had happened that night.

 Being jeered at by the entire club was awful and something she hadn’t been prepared for but it made sense. In a way she was thankful to know that the club had Steve’s back, that he had a family to lean on. 

 She wondered if he hurt as bad as she did right now. Of course, he was with Mandie. That probably hurt the most- the fact that she’d sided with Steve. It wasn’t surprising, but it still hurt. Y/N knew Mandie wasn���t her closest friend- she wasn’t really a friend at all- but she was pretty okay at acting like she was, which made her staying with Steve all the more aggravating.

 Doing her best to shake it off,Y/N headed to the kitchen for some coffee but when she got there chills ran through her and her heart pounded in her chest. 

 A man stood in the shadows at the back door. 

 Y/N grabbed the closest kitchen knife and threw it at the figure. The man cursed and dodged the blade. He lunged for Y/N but she blocked his hand and punched him.

 She didn’t know where she punched him but she didn’t care. The sudden stomping of his boots behind her made her scream and tears welled in her eyes. Y/N ran back down the hallway and tried to make it back to the bedroom where she knew Steve has left a gun in the bedside table.

 She'd just made it to the doorway when a hand wrapped around her mouth and waist, hurling her backwards.

*****

  Steve followed Mandie to the parking lot. His boots crunched in the gravel beneath them. “Hey, wait up!”

 When she turned her blonde curls bounced over her shoulder. “I told you to wait in there for me.” 

 Steve raised his brows. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

 Mandie batted her lashes and leaned into his chest, running a finger across the tattoo on his collar bone. “Of course not, baby. I didn't mean it like that.”

 He grabbed her wrist and pushed her back. “I’m coming with you.”

 “But, baby, it’s better if you don’t know anything. Keeps you clean and all.” she looked up at him with a pout and a grin.

 “I wanna be there when it goes down. And that’s how it's going to be, got it?” He looked at her with a glare that left no room for argument.

 Mandie’s jaw ticked but she took a deep breath and shook off her annoyance. “Then we better hurry. I already made the call and he’s probably at her house already.”

 Steve grabbed her by the arm and jerked her towards his bike. “Get on.” She started to argue when he jerked her harder to the bike. She got on quickly, catching the helmet he threw at her. He rode his bike so fast, he cut the travel time down by ten minutes.

 When he pulled into Y/N’s driveway Mandie all but jumped off the bike.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get to her before my guy did.” Mandie threw the helmet back to him. 

 He caught it with a growl. “You wanna be my old lady, right?”

 She was caught off guard by that. “Well, yeah.”

 “Then you’d better stop questioning me.” He loomed over her and took a breath to keep talking when a scream came from inside the house followed by a crash.

 Steve pushed past Mandie and bolted for the front door. When that was locked, he jumped over the front porch railing and kicked down the fence gate get into the backyard. He ran up the back steps and went in through the kitchen door.

 A quick glance around and he noticed the missing knives and the one stuck in the wall beside him. He cursed to himself and reached into his waistband for his gun.  Another crash and a grunt had Steve’s heart about to tear out of his chest. It came from Y/N’s bedroom so he hurried through the house.

  A gunshot made Steve jump. “Y/N!” He shouted. He rounded the corner and ran down the hallway to her room. When he made it to the doorway he saw a man on top of her with his fist high, about to strike. 

 Steve charged and tackled the guy. They both tumbled and Steve’s gun flew from his grasp. With the house being so dark, Steve couldn’t get a look at the guy he was fighting. He finally managed to get on top of him and wailed on him until he stopped struggling.

 Nat flicked the lights on, as she tried to catch her breath. She cursed and hunched over, clutching her stomach. 

 Steve grabbed his gun and kept it pointed at the man he now recognized as Peter Quill. He swore and put a hand on Nat’s shoulder. “You okay?”

 She nodded. “I think he broke a rib but, yeah. I’m fine.”

 Steve ran a hand over his face. He tried to slow his breathing but the adrenaline was still flowing strong.

 Mandie ran into the room. “Steve! Are you okay?!”

 Steve turned his gun on her. “Don’t move.” he snarled.

 She threw her hands up. “What are you doing?”

 “I swear, if you move, I will shoot you.”

 “I don’t understand, baby.” Her eyes started to water.

 “You actually think Steve would be with a psycho like you?” Nat chuckled. She winced at the pain laughing caused her.

 Just then, Bucky and Sam walked up behind Mandie. Sam grabbed both of her shoulders.

 “What are you doing? Let go of me!” She struggled against him.

 “Civilian’s arrest.” He clicked the handcuffs on her. “This is just to keep you still until your ride gets here.”

 “My ride? What the- Steve! Tell him to let me go.”

  “Not a chance. Consider us officially parting ways and believe me when I say I hope I never see you again.” He turned to Bucky. “Quill is in here, just like you figured. Where is she?”

 Bucky patted Steve’s cheek. “Good work, Punk. I don’t know how you did it,” He looked back at Mandie with disgust. “I sure wouldn’t have been able to.”

  Steve smirked. “You better check on your girl she took a nasty hit for mine.” 

 Bucky kneeled down and held Nat's face for a second before he kissed her forehead. He stood back to Steve. "She's with Frank. They were about 5 minutes behind me and the boys. Our new friends are riding with 'em."

 Steve heard the rumbling of a bike pulling in and nodded to Bucky. He clasped his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, right over is 'President' patch. "Thanks, Buck."

 Bucky jerked his head towards the front door. "Go take care of your old lady."

 As Steve passed Sam in the hall, he punched him in the arm.

 Sam stumbled back a bit. "What was that for?!"

 Steve raised his brows. "I heard what you called my girl when she left the bar tonight."

 Sam's eyes widened. "I- I was just playin' along, man. I didn't mean it, I swear."

 Steve nodded but still wasn't happy about it. He glanced at Mandie before shaking his head. "Bring her."

******

HOL Tags:

@jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @kaylaphantomhive @patzammit@queenkrissy11 @a-distantdreamer @patodoto @marvelous-capsicle@marvelfansince08love @lakamaa12 @mizzzpink @southernsassiprincess @teller258316  @marvelfansince08love @rosegoldlilacs @rainbowkisses31 @badassbeckettswan @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines

Forever Tags:

@heismyhunter @sgtbxckybxrnes @pickledmoon @whimsicalrebirth @marvel-lucy @thisisthelilith @james-bionic-barnes @thedreamingowl @poemwriter98@kimistry27 @annie-lujan @buckyandsebsinbin @lilasiannerd @gypsy-storm-15 @cassiopeiassky @earinafae @the-stuttering-kiwi @obsessedwithatwell @shortiiqt16 @shifutheshihtzu @elaacreditava @nikkitia7 @theonewithallthemilkshakes @gallifreyansass @storytellingwanderer @palaiasaurus64 @iamwarrenspeace @engineeringgirlcve @magnolia-wanders @carameldaemoncakes @canumoveyourseatup-no @melconnor2007 @movingonto-betterthings @spideytrxsh @fantasticmiraclehologram @kapolisradomthoughts @iamwarrenspeace @melconnor2007 @yesiamdeliciouslycaffeinated @mcu-avengerrs @archy3001@mmauricee @barnesvogue @feelmyroarrrr @beyondbarnes @marvelous-avengers @veronicalei @cornflax01 @kudosia @witchymarvelspacecase@beccaanne814 @inumorph @thisismysecrethappyplace @artemis521@darkhologramblaze @palaiasaurus64 @awkwardfangirl2014@diinofayce @youclickedthislink @lille-kattunge

#Biker!Steve #biker au #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #steve roger fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #captain america x reader #reader x captain america #captain america fic #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans x reader #reader x chris evans #mcu #marvel #mcu fic #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #sam wilson #natasha romanoff

[lettersinscarlet]

Bloody T-Shirt (Colby Brock Imagine)

Hey guys! Sorry this is super late, but here it is. My request are still open so please feel free to drop some in there! If you do have a request, know that I’m working on it when I can!

Request: I just watched the xplr video with Sam and Colby’s abandoned motel where they found the possible murder scene, I was wondering if you could write an imagine about them exploring it with y/n. She finds more weird things and eventually a bloody t-shirt and gets really scared, they leave and Colby is super protective over her and tries to calm her down, at some point kissing her for the first time.

——————————————————————————

You were already scared of coming here and you really didn’t want to come in the first place. Colby had asked you to go with him and he had promised you that it was going to be fun. When you guys had gotten to the outside of the hotel, you took one look and you instantly regretted letting him convince you so easily.

“Look how easy it is to get in!” you observed as you pointed at some of the makeshift fence surrounding the building. “We are definitely going to run into some hobos,” you said as you scooted closer to Colby. He put his arm around your shoulder and squeezed to reassure you that it was going to be okay.

You walked in and you guys headed down into the pool and looked around.

“This pool is bigger than the one we have. We should move here!” Sam joked as you wandered inside the empty pool. You stayed for a few minutes and then Colby “oh-so-gracefully” climbed out of the pool. You scrambled up next and the Sam came after you.

Colby led the group into the building and ducked through some walls. Your nerves didn’t settle as you saw the mattresses and blankets that people had been using to sleep in the hotel. You clung onto Colby’s arm and he used his free hand to stroke your hair.

You walked out and you could’ve sworn that you had seen some movement from the corner of your eye. You shook it off but kept going with the guys. You walked in and found a room that had some leftover boxes and items in it. Colby’s eyes immediately went to the stuffed bunny and he gently pulled it out of the box.

“What are you doing with that?” you asked and Colby got a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What?” he asked as he held the bunny up to you. “Doesn’t he just look so cute?” he asked in a baby voice, making you laugh. He tucked the bunny under his arm and he led you out of the room to the balcony outside. You hopped down gently whereas Colby chucked himself off the side of the hotel. You rushed over to him and brushed him off before you shoved him over.

“You really shouldn’t do that!” you fretted over him. “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt!”

“Baby, stop worrying. I’m okay and everything is going to be okay. Just relax,” he said as he pulled you to him and kissed the top of your head. You sighed and tried to calm yourself as you guys headed off towards the other side of the lot. You ran across the space because you saw a car coming in. The three of you huddled behind an empty trailer and waited until you thought it was safe.

“Where else could everybody go?” Colby mused as he looked around. “Baker is like the smallest town in the world. Everyone lives either here,” Colby pointed in a direction, “or there.”

“Oh my gosh,” he said and held the camera still.

Your face filled with dread as you stared at Colby. “What?”

“There’s the guy right there,” he said, eyes never leaving the spot where the guy was. You felt your hands start to shake and you forced yourself to stand still and stop shaking. Colby glanced at you and he could sense you were nervous. He grabbed your hand and held on tight. Sam leaned around the corner and led you guys towards another spot.

“Sam don’t do it,” you warned, your voice wavering. Sam ignores you and pokes his head around the bush. He comes back and does it again and his eyes widen as he comes back to you.

“He saw!” Sam whisper shouts as he starts taking off. You run after him, your heart pounding in your chest, making you feel the blood coursing through your veins. You sprint until you get up the stairs and Sam gets you guys into a room. You open the window and see if you can spot the guy that was following you. You didn’t see him and you released a shaker breath as you turned around. You took in your surroundings and instantly your chest got tight with fear. You looked around and saw the walls had a brownish stain on them in places. You noticed the baseball bat covered with the same stain and something that made the air leave your lungs. A bloody t-shirt. You quickly ran and buried your face in Colby’s chest.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” Colby shouts, shaking you to get your attention. You point your finger in the direction of the shirt on the floor and you heard Sam gasp. Colby instinctively wrapped both of his arms around you and rubbed your back. “Baby, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Look at the wall!” Sam whisper shouted. You felt Colby look up and he squeezed his arms around you.

“It looks like it’s dripping through the ceiling, meaning that he could’ve stashed the body upstairs,” heard Sam say. You then heard some gagging from where you assumed he smelled it and you felt yourself being pulled out of the room and you were running back towards your car.

“We’re being chased by a car and a guy!” you heard yelled as you bolted across the street. You finally made it under the bridge and you tried to take some breaths.

“Should we call someone and tell them?” you heard the boys talking but you weren’t super focused. Your heart was beating fast and you were pacing because of your pent-up energy. You had just seen blood. BLOOD. In an abandoned motel. You were chased by a homeless guy and someone in a car. You were seen and almost in danger. Currently, you were terrified.

“(Y/N)?” Colby called you and he saw you pacing. He walked over to you and put his hands on your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

You started rambling about all the thoughts that were going on in your head. You talked about him getting hurt and you being in danger and the blood, tons of blood, and the guy and the car-

His lips were in yours, momentarily stopping you. You felt his tongue run across your lips and you opened wide enough for him to enter. He pulled away and he put his one hand on your face and used his thumb to stroke your cheek.

“We’re okay,” he said and kissed you on the nose. You pulled him close to you and you found your safety in the comfort of his arms. You then grabbed his hand as Sam lead you guys back to the car. You saw his shoes get stuck in the mud and you helped pull him and Sam out.

When you finished filming the outro, you turned and looked at Colby as you put a hand on your hip.

“Did you really just use our first kiss to shut me up?” you asked and Colby’s face got red and his eyes widened. He leaned down and briefly connected his lips with yours and pulled away with a smile.

“Second one, too,” he said with a wink. You walked to the back of the car and Colby got in next to you. You leaned on his shoulder as you finally began to calm down.

#colby fanfic #colby imagine #colby brock x reader #colby #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fanfic #colby x reader #colby brock imagine #colby brock #colby fanfiction #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader

[fifty-first-worstidea]

More Stupidity for the Family and You to Enjoy

Stupid headcanons for Susie (She’s a queen and doesn’t deserve how much I overdo her character. I swear I’ll do headcannons for the other Stabby-Stabby Kids)

-Susie's last name is now officially Carter and I’ve got no regrets for that temporary joke on YouTube

-That means The Doctor has to take care of his kid again

-In the fog she can get her braces off at any time, and it’s probably because her dad’s quite literally a doc. She’ll do it sometime soon

-Susie wants tattooes all the way down her right arm. She plans to earn them by killing survivors

-She's known as the Christmas Gremlin by the rest of the Stabby Canadian gang due to her behavior shift around “the most wonderful time of the year.” From inconvenient convenient mistletoe placement that gets her death glares from Frank and Joe to devious pranks involving a spooky Santa mask, toilet paper, and silly string, Sue’s got something up her worn out sleeve just waiting to be put into action. This has gotten her into a lot of trouble with her mother

-Speaking of mums, Susie stopped using the terms mom and mommy and started referring to Elizabeth Carter as “mother” since she was 9 years old. It’ll be explained a bit later

-Susie wasn’t planned. She wasn’t even considered before Elizabeth got pregnant with her. She doesn’t like talking about her conception and only Julie knows what’s up with it

-Sue's got a few items in her hoodie pocket besides her ruler shive; this includes caffiene tablets, a mirror shard, pepper spray, and a can of pink spray paint

-If you call her Sue or Snoozie and you aren't part of The Legion she'll dream of pulling out all your teeth while your family watches. She might also express signs of being mildly uncomfortable or annoyed by calling her by a nickname

-Susie's worst habit is staying awake and going on extra trials even though her friends specifically said not to

-She's the one who made the friendship bracelets, mischief list, and got the smiley pins for The Legion to wear. She thinks that the pins are great

-Based on the fact that the add-ons I assume are affiliated with her increase frenzy movement spped, I think she's the fasest runner in the gang

-She's got a pug named Peanut. She calls him Sweetpea

-Susie legit got a facemask that says Snoozie on it and she loves it

-All three of her friends are her biggest idols. She thinks Julie is a queen, Joe is a godsend, and Frank is quite possibly the best leader in history. While her friends tell her they're just rebellious teenagers, Susie's sticking to her claim that thy're important people

-Did I mention she's stubborn? She won't back down if she knows something is true, and this makes for a surprising shift in her personality

-In some branches Susie has DID and often switches between four personas, which would be Blue, Pink, Gold, and Silver. They could potentially be explained in detail if needed for the context of a story

-She's got a 90's/Steampunk aesthetic that she wants to try out, but now that she's stuck murdering people she's kinda bummed out about it

-Susie's gonna snuggle somebody if they’re warm. She often wants to place her VERY COLD hands on their neck because she doesn't enjoy iceberge hands and she just says that she can't help it

-With Joe being a human radiator, you can imagine how close she is with the tall and soft guy

-Snoozie still has the two stuffed animals that Julie got her. And she still snuggles with them when going to bed. Helps give her hands something to do instead of just hugging herself all the time

-She would rather take care of herself instead of people taking care of her. She isn’t looking to be rescued by a knight in shining armor (or shining piercings- she’s got a thing for guys with piercings), and she’d rather be the hero who saves a damsel in distress than just a helpless girl. Whenever she needs help with something she would rather spend 20 minutes trying to figure it out than ask for assistance. 

-It makes her feel extremely guilty when somebody does something for her, but if she makes a contribution to something she feels accomplished. This was something Frank took advantage of to make Susie push her absolute limits

-I’ve got a silly headcanon where Susie becomes friends with David and they work out and get b u f f together

-If she met the survivors and didn’t attack them they’d probably gush over her softness and idk I think they’d all be good friends with her

-The Huntress wants Susie to be her child and she used to be a little bit afraid about the way Anna offered to teach her hatchet-throwing. She quickly learned, however, that she’s got a knack for it and Anna is ecstatic about this fact

-She's got a habit for fiddling with her hair, but she tries to restrain herself in the presence of dudes because she hates giving people the wrong vibes (FOR THE LAST TIME CODY SHE DOESN’T LIKE YOU DAMMIT)

-People have been trying to make fun of her for just about 8-9 years. Julie swears that one day she's gonna kick all of their asses

-Sue's got a major daddy/mommy kink sorry folks I don’t make the rules

-Susie is the only Legion member who learned (and remembered) how to read clocks

-She's somewhat profficient in lock-picking, Sometimes, when the Stabby Gang need to get into a closed store with a locked entrance, they send her up first. She's also talented at scouting out places, climbing fences, anything that a Level 1 Crook does but she's actually a Level 45 Black Market Assassin in teenager form

-Susie is the Legion member who has the most morbid thoughts in her head, and the most bloodlust as well. There are few killers who can match her sadistic and masochistic behaviors

-Her favorite color is beige, her favorite animals are dogs, cats, and snakes, and her favorite song (based on the fact she's from the 90's) would quite literally be "Running Through The 90's." If she was a 2019 kid, however, her favorite song would be "Natural." (You know, the Imagine Dragons song? Classified as Alternatve Rock? I think she listens to dubstep and alternative rock)

-2019 Susie would be a fucking memelord but she has no clue what Fortnite is. Let it stay that way

-She once played the Tuba, but it was really difficult for her to walk around with it until 7th grade. Now she plays the piano, freestyles beats with pencils and such, and takes guitar lessons from Joe

-Is it too late to mention that Susie's Bisexual-Panromantic?

-She's got hersef wrapped up in twenty blankets every night because Ormond is coLD

-Sue drives a motorcycle

-And finally, Christmas Gremlin's not allowed to use profanities until she's 18 years old

Many stupid headcanons for my baby. Thanks. Have a great day

#dbd #stupid headcanons #Susie The Legion #Legion in general #I swear I'll do the others too #I forgot to add tags when I first queued this

[danvssomethingorother]

Awkward First Times

Summary: Everything from the first of many secrets Brock confronted Doc about to the first arching to their first kiss was awkward. Everything about their relationship in general was awkward, weird, dysfunctional as hell but it somehow worked.

A03

I didn’t really want to do a chapter fic but I just don’t feel like there are enough Brusty fics about them getting together, so I made one.

----

When Brock was a kid he always had a certain mental image that came to mind when someone said ‘Venture’ and Rusty Venture, the most infamous boy adventurer, didn’t exactly pass what he had imagined. He wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of masculinity his dad had been. Brock always thought college was just the awkward phase he would grow out of, but it seemed his entire life was just the awkward phase.

Brock wasn’t so much a body guard but a baby sitter making sure Jonas Venture’s son didn’t bring harm to himself or possibly his infant sons.

Brock watched the family from the corner of his eyes as he busied himself with checking over the perimeters, he rolled his eyes and cracked a small smile seeing his dorky charge playing with his sons on a blanket in the middle of the compound. He had one of the twins on his lap, messing with his hair and the other was pounding his action figure against the robot toy his father had in his hand.

He wasn’t the most responsible parent around, the way he constantly just took his children with him into the lab, but it was clear he loved his sons.

Brock groaned loudly, a year and a half in domestic hell. The most he got to do in a day was put out fires Doc made, the most excitement to be had was putting Doc out himself after somehow lighting himself on fire.

He lit up a cigarette and began walking around the fence, not paying too much attention to the children in the middle of the yard, he hoped he could make a case soon enough why he shouldn’t be here in this domestic hell.  

He just wasn’t suited for this job, Venture needed a nanny to help assist him with his kids not a body guard but after the last body guard had attempted to murder the man, the OSI was sending in the top guns to keep Jonas’s brat safe.

It was just Brock’s luck he was a higher up agent who had just pissed off his superior enough to get drafted into this hell. A year and a half of his life was gone and wasted on this bull shit and there was no telling how much longer he would be stuck with the Venture family or if he would ever get to be on the field again.  

“Brock!” he growled under his breath as his charge began calling his name and his little moppets began chanting his name not long after.

He turned his head to see Venture out of breath after jogging the short distance and one twin on each hip, him cradling them tightly but gently.

“We should go to the store now before it gets too late,” he said firmly not willing to take any argument Brock would have about being dragged to the super market, “Be a good body guard and go start the car while I get the twins things and finish up a list.”

“I am not putting your kids in my car,” Brock snarled firmly at the man, he was not cleaning puke out of his car again.

“Well we’re not taking a cab and I don’t have a car, so you don’t have a choice,” his employer dismissed firmly, “Besides the boys love going for rides in your car, don’t you boys?”

The twins began yelling car noises and Venture gave him a devilish grin as he encouraged his kids to keep doing it before handing them to Brock who accepting them, watching his employer disappear towards the compound. He hated that man. If it wouldn’t cost him his job, he would kill that smug little asshole himself. He was so small, it wouldn’t take much to kill him or make him suffer but that man was Jonas Venture’s son and that guaranteed him the best protection the OSI had to offer.

Brock knew he had run in with kidnappings in the past and his last body guard had become so obsessed with him, she had nearly killed him herself in her madness in a murder / suicide pact thing when she found out she was fired.  

He glanced down at the twins and cringed seeing them both wiping their snot on their arms and it was dribbling onto him.

He was going to kill Venture, he really was, he could make it look like an accident. It couldn’t be that hard, that man barely knew what safety protocols were.

----

Venture was an awful cook, his food was often burned, under cooked or raw. It turned Brock’s stomach, but he wasn’t about to start playing house maid for this man, so he let it be. He had worse he reminded himself firmly but still, he was almost jealous the babies got to eat baby food and cereal and whatever they wanted not made by their father most nights.  

He watched Venture help one son then the other shovel smashed chef Boyardee into their mouths and then looked at his own burned stake with under cooked macaroni.

Venture spoiled those kids and they were going to turn out just as bad as their father.  

Brock glared at the man, he noted he didn’t eat the garbage he made either. The only thing he ever seemed to consume when Brock was around was coffee and that didn’t seem right, he must be stashing food in his lab.

“I’m dieting,” Venture replied easily sipping from his coffee. The man was skinnier then a tooth pick and just as easy to snap in half, Brock chose not to reply ripping the stake in half with his teeth. He was testing how far he could push Brock and Brock wanted him to know he didn’t break easily.

“Well I am going to clean the boys up for bed and then I am going down to the lab,” he finally said after the babies finished their plates, “Why don’t you clean up the mess? I cooked, so the least you can do is wash the dishes.”

Venture’s smile just became wicked at his deep breath keeping in what he wanted to say to him, he lifted his sons up easily and simply left the room.  

In his wake he left a sink full of dishes he wasted, food burned on pots and pans, leaving a smoky smell trailing from them that made Brock wrinkle his nose more in disgust.

Poison, that would be a quick death. Make it look like a villain got a little too bold and just offed the man.

----

Brock woke that night to the twins screaming and yelling for their daddy, that itself wasn’t abnormal but the fact that he didn’t hear the man himself coming to sooth his precious little brats was the strange part. He didn’t even hear his robot beeping through the hall trying to take care of the twins. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the robot all day, maybe Venture finally stripped him for scrap metal.

Brock pulled his knife from its sheath at long last and crept into the hallway, he slowly pushed the nursery door open and found nothing there but the screaming twins. He kept creeping down the hall and pushed open Venture’s bedroom door, he glared hard seeing the room empty. He walked towards the bed and frowned at the still made bed, Venture hadn’t been here.

He kept his knife out and walked down the stairs again, the creaks and moans of the old steps the only sounds in the house.

Finding the lab empty was the final straw, Venture was gone.  

He felt excitement bubbling inside him, finally, at long last something was happening. Someone finally found the balls to attack the little nerd while he was around. Brock hoped they got a few good hits on the good doctor before he got there in time to spill the assailant’s blood across the ground. Maybe someone finally putting that asshole in his place would make him more bearable to be around.

He slid behind a tree and held his knife tighter seeing head lights hit against the main entrance and a larger man’s silhouette pacing impatiently by the fence, Brock glared at the man. He could see him clearer now as he opened the main gate stepping closer to the car’s head lights. He looked like he had just got out of bed, his messy long hair hastily pulled into a pony tail that was falling out, his pajama bottoms with cartoon hearts decorating them and worn out slippers, the only thing remotely professional about him was the lab coat.

“Where have you been?” he heard the man hiss loud enough to trail over to Brock, “We needed to have started the procedure hours ago---”

“I’m sorry, alright?” he glared knowing that voice to be Rusty Venture himself, “Blame my god fathers. I didn’t want a body guard to begin with, but no no, they insisted and when one goes crazy, I automatically just need another to sneak around in my own home.”  

Brock glared hard at the faint silhouette of Venture leaning over the driver’s side of his convertible. He had been telling him for months he didn’t own a car and Brock had to drive him everywhere when all this time he had one hidden from him. Brock swore he was going to make him return that thing to the dealership and get a more family style vehicle his kids could spit up in instead of his car.

“Of all the times for those assholes to just split from Team Venture,” the man sighed scratching his head and slouching against the car door, blocking him from Brock’s line of sight, “We are never going to get this done with an OSI agent sneaking around. Why aren’t you drugging him like I asked you to?”

“Hah. That’s a laugh, that man will not go down, I snuck four sleeping pills into his stake tonight and he still didn’t go down. It took him five hours to even go to his room. He just stood around, watching me take care of my kids. I would be more flattered if he was actually into me.”  

Brock snarled, he god damn knew there had to be alternative motive for that prissy little rich bitch to do anything for him. Next time, he was forcing him to test his awful food before he even touched it.

“Damn it Rusty, have you been drinking?” he heard the man hiss and frowned deeper hearing his charge’s giggle.

“What? The guy you sent me to was a total weirdo! I deserved a few shots after that encounter,” Venture Bemoaned loudly, his voice carrying, “He kept stroking my hair and telling me how well I turned out and calling me Jonas. Then when I firmly told him who the hell I was, he kept asking where my dad’s brain was. I think he was even trying to roofie me, he kept shoving glasses in my face!”  

Brock had to roll his eyes at this. Venture this twig of a man, just drugged his government paid body guard when he finally went somewhere interesting. That’s just Brock’s luck, he could have probably killed someone tonight, but he was stuck here.

“Did you get the chemicals I asked for from him?” the man demanded and Brock could see faintly that he was cupping his charge’s cheeks and forcing him to look at him.

“I’m not that useless,” Venture grumbled pulling away, “They are in the trunk. Come get in, let’s go do this shit. I’ll drop you off and then I need to go check on the babies since you took Helper.”

“You were taking forever and I needed a few extra hands welding the incubators,” the man sneered, “You have your damn body guard, he’s probably up now, he can take care of the babies while you go waste time.”

Venture had a damn body guard alright, a really pissed off one that knew he was up to something illegal now. Brock wasn’t going to turn him in yet, he was going to find out exactly what he was doing and that was his ticket out of this hell.

He watched the doctor’s convertible disappear behind the main section of the compound and headed back to the housing section of the compound.

He sat in the dark waiting for Rusty to return home and he did not long after Brock had returned. He ran through the door, hastily locking it behind him, not noticing Brock sitting on the couch as he ran up the stairs and right into the nursery. Brock rose slowly and walked up the stairs towards the only light in the home now.

He heard Venture gently cooing towards his sons and kissing them as they cried.

“Daddy’s here, shh shh,” he mumbled to them holding one twin in each arm as he sank into the rocking chair in the corner.

“Where the hell have you been?” Brock asked calmly stepping into the room but just the way Venture jumped up and shielded his sons, you would think Brock screamed it.

“I was sleeping,” Venture replied carefully bouncing his sons on his hips, side to side almost like he was dancing with the screaming infants.

“In your cloths?” Brock asked loving the way he squirmed under his gaze, eyes creeping towards the window the only way out if Brock were to act.

“It was a long day in the lab, I just ended up passing out,” he grumbled out, still glancing at his only escape route.

“What business is it yours anyway? Why don’t you go back to bed? You are unneeded here,” he sneered at him more boldly then he must have felt, Brock didn’t miss the way his hands shook and his hold tightened on his boys as he shoved past Brock on the way to his own room.

“Does anyone else have access to the compound?” Brock asked and watched in sadistic glee as Venture’s spine straightened and went stiff.

“No, as I have told you many times, its just me and the boys here now since my father passed.”

“Funny, I could have sworn I saw head lights,” Brock said playing coy and stupid loving the mini panic attack the man was having in front of him. He was holding his breath and refusing to turn around to face him, his brain must have been overloading trying to think of an excuse and when he couldn’t think of one, he must have settled for lying.

“It must have been a figment of your imagination, you are just being paranoid,” with that he slammed his bedroom door shut in Brock’s face.

Brock would play his game for now but whatever he was up to was his ticket out of this hell and he didn’t care how it had to end as long as he could finally leave.

#venture bros #the venture bros #brusty #rusty venture #Brock Sampson #docbrock #Dan's fics

[omarbelloutiworld]

100 difficult riddles & Answers that kids and families will love

1.    When you do not know what I am, then I am something. But when you know what I am, then I am nothing. What am I? A RIDDLE

2.     You can see me in water, but I never get wet. What am I? A REFLECTION

3.    The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I? FOOTSTEPS

4.    When I am released to the wind, you look away and you pretend, but away your friends I will send. What am I? A FART

5.    What English word has three consecutive double letters? BOOKKEEPER

6.    Imagine you are in a dark room. How do you get out? STOP IMAGINING

7.    What English word retains the same pronunciation, even after you take away four of its five letters? QUEUE

8.    When you have me, you feel like sharing me. But, if you do share me, you don't have me. What am I? A SECRET

9.    A man is pushing his car along the road when he comes to a hotel. He shouts, "I'm bankrupt!" Why? HE IS PLAYING MONOPOLY

10.                       An English word has six letters, remove one letter, and twelve remains. What am I? DOZENS

11.                       What question can you never answer yes to? ARE YOU ASLEEP?

12.                       What invention lets you look right through a wall? A WINDOW

13.                       What s as light as a feather, but even the world's strongest man couldn't hold it for more than a minute? HIS BREATH

14.                       What occurs once in every minute, twice in every moment, yet never in a thousand years? THE LETTER M.

15.                       I never ask questions but am always answered. What am I? A DOORBELL

16.                       If you go to the movies and you're paying, is it cheaper to take one friend to the movies twice, or two friends to the movies at the same time?

-    IT'S CHEAPER TO TAKE TWO FRIENDS AT THE SAME TIME. IN THIS CASE, YOU WOULD ONLY BEBUYING THREE TICKETS, WHERE AS IF YOU TAKE THE SAME FRIEND TWICE YOU ARE BUYING FOUR TICKETS.

17.                       What gets bigger every time you take from it? A HOLE

18.                       What is full of holes, but can still hold a lot of water? A SPONGE

19.                       Which came first the chicken or the egg?

THE EGG. DINOSAURS LAID EGGS BEFORE THE REWERE ANY CHICKENS

20.                       No matter how much rain comes down on it, it won't get any wetter. What is it? WATER

21.                       I'm flat when I'm new. I'm fat when you use me. I release my gas when something sharp touches me. What am I? A BALLOON

22.                       Three times what number is no larger than two times that same number? 0

23.                       What do you throw out when you want to use it, but take in when you don't want to use it? AN ANCHOR

24.                       I cannot hear or even see, but sense light and sounds that may be. Sometimes I end up on the hook, or even deep into a book. What am I?A WORM

25.                       Which ring is square? A BOXINGRING

26.                       Why are manholes round instead of square?

IF THEY'RE SQUARE IT'S POSSIBLE FOR THE COVER TO SLIP DOWN THE HOLE (DIAGONALLY). A ROUND MAN HOLE CAN NOT FALL DOWN NO MATTER WHICH WAY IT IS ROTATED BECAUSE IT'S WIDTH IN ANY DIRECTION IS GREATER THAN THE OPENING ON THE HOLE.

27.                       What tastes better than it smells? YOUR TONGUE

28.                       At night, they come without being fetched. By day they are lost without being stolen. What are they? THE STARS

29.                       The more you have of it, the less you see. What is it? DARKNESS

30.                       What starts with a T, ends with a T, and has T in it? A TEAPOT

31.                       Say my name and I disappear. What am I? SILENCE

32.                       What is it that after you take away the whole, some still remains? WHOLE SOME

33.                       Forward I’m heavy, but backwards I’m not. What am I? TON

34.                       I am a box that holds keys without locks, yet they can unlock your soul. What am I? A PIANO

35.                       My first is twice in apple but not once in tart. My second is in liver but not in heart. My third is in giant and also in ghost. Whole I’m best when I am roast. What am I? A PIG

36.                       Remove six letters from this sequence to reveal a familiar English word. BSAINXLEATNTEARS BANANAS(REMOVED SIX LETTERS)

37.                       What has four wheels and flies? GARBAGE TRUCK

38.                       What has a forest but no trees, cities but no people and rivers but no water? MAP

39.                       Runs smoother than any rhyme, loves to fall but cannot climb. What am I? WATER

40.                       Take me and scratch my head. What once was red, is black instead. What am I? A MATCH

41.                       What is as big as you are and yet does not weigh anything? YOURSHADOW

42.                       It is an insect, and the first part of its name is the name of another insect. What is it? BEETLE

43.                       I'm where yesterday follows today, and tomorrow's in the middle. What am I? A DICTIONARY

44.                       How much dirt is there in a hole 3 feet deep, 6 ft. long and 4 ft. wide? NONE – IT IS A HOLE

45.                       Name all the numbers from 1 – 100, which have the letter ‘A’ in their spellings? NONE

46.                       What kind of coat is always wet when you put it on? A COAT OF PAINT

47.                       What kind of cheese is made backwards? EDAM

48.                       What can you hold in your right hand but never in your left hand? YOUR LEFT HAND

49.                       During what month do people sleep the least? FEBRUARY

50.                       What can never be placed in a sauce pan? ITS LID

51.                       I am always there, some distance away, somewhere between land or sea and sky I lay. You may move towards me, but distant I will stay. What am I?  THE HORIZON

52.                       I can only live where there is light, but I die if the light shines on me. What am I? A SHADOW

53.                       What kind of room has no doors or windows? A MUSHROOM

54.                       What can you catch but not throw? A COLD

55.                       What has a Heart but no other organs? A DECK OF CARDS

56.                     Two people are born at the same moment, but they don't have the same birthdays. How could this be? THEY ARE BORN IN DIFFERENT TIME ZONES

57.                       What's orange and sounds like a parrot? A CARROT

58.                       What always goes to bed with its shoes on? A HORSE

59.                       How can you make 7 even? REMOVE THE S

60.                       What am I? A QUESTION

61.                       I can bring tears to your eyes; resurrect the dead, make you smile, and reverse time. I form in an instant but I last a life time. What am I? A MEMORY

62.                       Mr. Smith has two children. If the older child is a boy, what are the odds that the other child is also a boy? 50 PERCENT

63.                       A man builds a house rectangular in shape. All the sides have southern exposure. A big bear walks by. What color is the bear? WHITE. IT IS A POLAR BEAR

64.                       What starts with an e but only has a single letter in it? ANENVELOPE

65.                       A girl who was just learning to drive went down a one-way street in the wrong direction but didn't break the law. How come? SHE WAS WALKING

66.                       If in a car race, the man who came two places in front of the last man finished one ahead of the man who came fifth. How many contestants were there? 6

67.                       A murderer is condemned to death. He has to choose between three rooms. The first is full of raging fires, the second is full of assassins with loaded guns, and the third is full of lions that haven't eaten in 3 years. Which room is safest for him? THE THIRD ROOM. LIONS THAT HAVEN'T EATEN IN THREE YEARS ARE DEAD.

68.                       What's black and white and red all over? A NEWSPAPER

69.                       What flies when it's born, lies when it's alive, and runs when it's dead? A SNOWFLAKE

70.                       I am the only organ that named myself. What am I? THE BRAIN

71.                       You walk into a room with a rabbit holding a carrot, a pig eating slop, and a chimp holding a banana. Which animal in the room is the smartest?YOU

72.                       What always murmurs but never talks, always runs but never walks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never speaks? A RIVER

73.                       I am taken from a mine, and shut up in a wooden case, from which Iam never released, and yet I am used by almost everybody. What am I? A PENCIL

74.                       I'm tall when I'm young and I'm short when I'm old. What am I? A CANDLE

75.                       What house can fly?  A HOUSEFLY

76.                       What goes up and doesn't go down? YOUR AGE

77.                       No matter how terrible things get for the people of the Arctic, they will not eat a penguin. Why? THERE AREN'T ANY PENGUINS IN THE ARTIC

78.                       A group of ten people are going out for pizza but only two of them have an umbrella to keep them dry. But they manage to walk all the way to the pizza place without getting wet.How is this possible? IT ISN'T RAINING OUTSIDE

79.                       What runs around the house but doesn't move? A FENCE

 80.                       What goes around the house and in the house but never touches the house? THE SUN

81.                       A man finds a small iron coin dated 154 B.C., what's it worth? IT IS A FAKE. NO COIN CAN SAY BC

82.                       There is a one-story house. The walls are blue, the floor is pink, the stove and cupboards are red. What color are the stairs? THERE AREN'T ANY STAIRS

83.                       Why was the baby strawberry crying? BECAUSE ITS PARENTS WERE IN A JAM

84.                       I can be cracked, I can be made. I can be told, I can be played. What am I? A JOKE

85.                       I can't go left, I can't go right. I am forever stuck in a building over three stories high. What am I? AN ELEVATOR

86.                       What goes back and forth constantly, but never in a straight line? A PENDULUM

87.                       What dress can you not wear? AN ADDRESS

88.                       What belongs to you but others use it more? YOUR NAME

89.                       I don’t have eyes, but once I did see. Once I had thought, but am now white and empty. What am I? SKULL

90.                       What has hands that can’t clap? A CLOCK

91.                       Which three numbers have the same answer when added together and multiplied together? 1, 2 AND 3

92.                       What has a mouth but can't chew? A RIVER

93.                       How did Mark legally marry three women in Michigan, without divorcing any of them, becoming legally separated, or any of them dying? HE WAS A PRIEST

94.                       I have all the knowledge you have. But I am not much larger than your fist. What am I? I'M YOUR BRAIN

95.                       Everyone in the world needs it. They generously give it, but rarely take it. What is it? ADVICE

96.                       Take off my skin - I won't cry, but you will. What am I? AN ONION

97.                       Lighter than what I am made of, more of me is hidden than is seen. What am I? AN ICEBERG

98.                       You heard me before, yet you hear me again, then I die, ’till you call me again. What am I? AN ECHO

99.                       If you were standing directly on Antarctica’s South Pole facing north, which direction would you travel if you took one step backward? NORTH

100.                 What has a neck but no head? A BOTTLE

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Candy Kane

I’ve never been a big fan of family pictures, or holiday celebrations. When I was about seven, my brother Derek and I had our picture taken with our cousin Kyle, who couldn’t have been much more than a year old. Kyle was smiling, but also pointing at something off in the distance (probably a prop the photographer was using to make him laugh). Derek and I had on clip-on ties that were recycled from a previous Easter. I wore thick, almost square-framed glasses. if I left the house with them on today, they would almost certainly impede my ability to successfully procreate. I had little choice at the time since I needed corrective lenses, and wouldn’t start wearing contacts for at least another six years. 

By the time I’d made the switch, the photo of Kyle, Derek, and me belonged to a museum exhibit—frozen in time like the Iceman—of pictures my grandparents loved, but their grandchildren wished no longer existed. By 1999, they’d moved into a house much smaller than the one in which they’d raised their six children, and the photo had been relegated to a literal wall of shame in their basement. Along the wall were senior pictures of my mother and her siblings, and various photos of the nine grandchildren, including that of a triumvirate of boys c. 1988. I can’t think of a time anyone whose picture was on the wall expressed fondness when looking at it. Each of us probably thought about what we’d tell our younger selves if we passed them on the street, or secretly wished to remain arrested in that state of childhood development, our entire lives uncertain, unfolding, before us one day at a time.

The biggest reason I’ve never been a huge fan of holidays, family pictures, and especially family holiday pictures is because the only capture one moment in time, moments that, for better or worse, are frozen on film or stored in cloud of data and never really gone. Whenever the holidays come around, I have a tendency to cram an entire year’s worth of socializing into 48 hours, or however long I get to spend with my family and friends.

In my family, those occasions are typically when we celebrate some Puritans surviving a hard winter despite wearing ridiculous hats, and the birth of a boy who somehow managed to erase his teenage debauchery from the record. You know he had to screw up those miracles dozens of times in private before nailing them (oops) in public by his early thirties. This must be why we never hear about the zombies of Arimathea he couldn’t quite bring all the way back from the dead, or the numerous weddings he crashed around Nazareth during puberty, flexing to prostitutes about how he could turn water into wine in exchange for performing a number of sins his Dad didn’t have to know about (but would later be considered deadly because Mary Magdalene couldn’t keep her mouth shut) only to deliver vinegar.

I guarantee you Jesus promised Joseph of Arimathea eternal salvation as thanks for the years of resurrection practice, and in return for the use of his tomb one Friday night. Mary Magdalene showed up at the tomb three days after the crucifixion because she finally realized how serious Jesus had been about her fucking up his chances to keep holy the Sabbath day with a bridesmaid, before he hit it big and all the lepers wanted a piece (oops again) of him.

Anyway… If family pictures remind me of who I used to be, holidays remind me of things I used to wholeheartedly believe in.

My first picture with Santa was probably taken in 1982, before I had the surgery to straighten out my leg that left me with a cool scar. My enthusiasm for the holidays faded as I grew older and began to challenge my beliefs that one man could deliver presents to all the world’s children in a single night, and the three wise men could find Jesus just by following a star.

After passing at least numerically through teenage angst, I started to realize how incredibly fortunate I’ve been instead of complaining about what other people had that I didn’t. But what really got me comfortable in my own skin was volunteering, a series of activities in which I put myself in some very uncomfortable positions by surrounding myself with people and places I didn’t know. Still, my desire for the uncomfortable hasn’t weakened my ability to attract the absurd.

I recently had a chance to volunteer at Santa’s Workshop. I put on my elf hat (which I later found out had been on backwards all night) and got to work in the arts and crafts area, but that didn’t last long. Macaroni pictures weren’t doing it for me. I needed a different challenge.

Soon enough, I found my way to where Santa was. My backwards elf hat and I had to keep the line moving so every kid would have a chance to see Santa before closing time at 6 PM. Thee were all kinds of characters around me. Rudolph was there, and so was this character that had Pinocchio’s face, but looked how I imagined the Frisch’s Big Boy would if he’d been on a liquid diet for six months. “Who’s THAT?” I asked the event coordinator. “That’s the Elf on the Shelf,” she replied. “Oh… shit… I was way off,” I said. Whenever I caught the characters waving to children and their families as they passed by, they looked like those people from 80s and 90s workout videos who got stuck doing the low-impact versions of the exercises everybody else was doing at full speed. I wondered if they were secretly asking themselves why they agreed to do this, quietly cursing themselves for not auditioning to sell shit on QVC instead.

I’m not sure if the first child whose Santa aftermath I’ll remember for a long time was just really upset, had a cognitive deficiency, or both. Either way, he or she was not happy. My first post near the man of the hour was standing outside a fence they’d set up around Santa’s chair. My job was to wave the kids and their families forward once the previous family had enjoyed their moment in the makeshift winter wonderland. As the child left Santa’s lap screaming bloody murder and passed through the fence with his/her parent or guardian, they let out a sound I can only describe as a Home Improvement-era Tim Allen grunt mixed with visceral cry for help: UHHHAAHHHOOOOO! 

Before I knew what was happening, the child headbutted themselves against the exterior glass of the Lazarus building, like Kane and the Undertaker from another spoiled childhood fantasy of so many— professional wresting. All the person accompanying the child said was, “Now honey… Don’t hit your head.” All I could think was, “Damn.” But as a man wearing a backwards elf hat, I couldn’t say shit to them.

Not long after witnessing a pediatric concussion, I found myself in the path of low-impact Rudolph herself. I slightly embarrassed myself by giving her a fist bump and talking to the person in the suit as though they were the red-nosed reindeer in the flesh. I came back to my adulthood while low-impact Rudolph was in the middle of muffled sentence about candy canes. I noticed had a bucket in her hands, which I assumed had been filled with the striped holiday icons. There were no candy canes in her bucket, but I did notice a set of Toyota car keys. In my confusion, I almost blurted out, “Shouldn’t you be guiding a sleigh instead of a fucking Camry?” Some things are best left unsaid.  

For the first two hours we were there, the line to see Santa seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, which made the next encounter I remember even more excruciating. A lady walked up and stood right next to me, thus blocking my view of the line and preventing me from doing the one volunteer task I was explicitly asked to do. To make matters worse, she started offering a running commentary on all the children she saw in Santa’s lap, like a color commentator at a sporting event who didn’t know when to just shut up and let whatever moment they were witnessing wash over them.  

It didn’t matter whether they were boys dressed in identical suits for the obligatory in-lap picture with the big man (Oh, how cute!) or babies whose faces became contorted with red hot agony upon being separated from their mothers and embraced by a strange man (Oh, he is NOT having it!) The line seemed to grow infinitely longer during her soliloquy and I found myself thinking it was a shame the crucifixion of the guy whose birthday everyone would be celebrating in few weeks didn’t draw a crowd like this. In Survivor, Chuck Palahniuk observed that on some crucifixes, Jesus looks jacked enough to be modeling Ray-Ban sunglasses and Guess jeans without a shirt on. I can’t help thinking Chuck would concur that since not everyone will reach that level of supposed piety or physical fitness in a lifetime, it’s a bigger draw to remember God’s only son immediately after he humbled himself to share in our humanity the same way we all started—as a baby.

Anyway… as her commentary droned on, found myself wishing I could be the elf in the holiday classic A Christmas Story who tells Ralphie to get a move on before Santa kicks him down the slide, “Let’s Go!!!” But it bears repeating that in my backwards hat, my powers of persuasion were limited.

Not long after the soliloquy ended, I was approached by what I assume was a mother and daughter pair who were wondering if they’d ever get to see Santa. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it,” the older one said. “Let’s just take my picture with the elf.” “Actually, my name’s Dav…” I wanted to protest, but with my powers weakened, all I could do was acquiesce to their demands. The younger woman held a smartphone at what seemed like six different angles during our impromptu photo session. By the time they were done, I felt certain I was destined for Instagram infamy.  

Eventually, the powers that be decided that I should move inside the fence and stand on the glitter-covered red carpet in an effort the speed up the queue after sunset. Before I went to the other side of the fence, someone asked me if I knew whether or not they’d be cutting people off at 6 PM. I didn’t, but I wished they would. I was growing tired of head injuries, seething, teething infants, and watching people taking selfies or recruiting the other elves to take pictures of them standing under one of the arches leading up to Santa’s chair.

I must have been distracted. The next time someone tried to get my attention, I was accused of holding up the line. The man had on a white, short-sleeved polo shirt. The woman wasn’t wearing a coat, but had on something I never thought I’d see on Santa’s red carpet: a leopard-print dress and dull pink high heels. “I used to be a Santa’s helper in this building,” she exclaimed. She said something else, about 1978, but I was too busy trying to avoid another “Damn” moment to really pay attention. “Actually, we just want our bathroom done. He’s working on our house.” “Fine.” I muttered. She proceeded to throw herself at Santa like he was Hugh Heffner, and she was Playboy Bunny. The whole scene looked ridiculous, but so did I.

After the final patrons had paid Santa a visit, the other volunteer elves and I sat for our own picture with the man himself. It was likely the first time I’d had my picture taken with him since the year the picture of Derek, Kyle, and I was taken. I wasn’t filled with regret over my evaporated childhood and its beliefs, or terribly concerned that no one said a word about my backwards elf hat the whole night. I was glad I’d put myself in another uncomfortable position and come out clean on the other side minus the glitter that will be stuck to the bottoms of the shoes I wore that night for months. I was reminded of the importance of not trying to cram everything into one season, or in Santa’s case, one night. Let the kids have their beliefs and grow up to challenge them. I didn’t have to sit in Santa’s lap to tell him that wish come true was all I wanted for Christmas. I have a funny feeling that whoever he is, was, and has been, he knew what I wanted long before I ever asked.

[bruhimaunicorn]

Ever since I saved you from that walker pt.2 : You're just like me aren't you?

A/N : This will start the night before s3:e1 and go through the entire episode. I changed some lines and scenes to fit the imagine. Also I'm going to make a pt.3 and possibly a mini-series. I just really like this story line so far. Warnings : Child abuse, Murder , Swearing, and of course walker killing. Imagine it's been weeks since that day at the farm . Every day is a challenge to find food and shelter . Especially with Lori's impending labor . You try to do everything you can to help out no matter how big the task and no one ever knows why you're so kind , but after a nightmare Daryl finds out why. You stared blankly out into the street before you as your eyes begged to be closed for longer than just a hour , which was your current record of sleep , but you fought off the urge as it was your job to watch tonight. Behind you sat all of the people who had quickly become family , all each in their own tents , and no matter how tired you were you weren't going to let anything happen to them. Especially one certain man who you thought was sleeping , but in reality was tossing and turning as he couldn't seem to do just that. He now groaned to himself as the once comfortable ground beneath him couldn't be further from it . Which was really strange to him considering he never needed a comfortable ground to sleep on or even anything remotely close to being comfortable with the way he was raised. Daryl stopped stirring and cursed to himself. He just wanted to sleep. He had been going none stop in the search of a place that would be safe for Loris baby to be born , or little Shane as he often remarked to the baby as , and as if that wasn't hard enough he also was hunting and doing run after run . He wasn't the one to complain though . If it meant keeping everyone from turning to skin and bones or worse walker chow he'd do it. And most importantly if it meant keeping you alive and at his side , he'd happily bust his ass every minute of the day. At the thought of you , he instantly smiled to himself . He couldn't help it. You did something to him that he couldn't control . His smile quickly fell though as he turned on his side , expecting you to be there, only to remember you had agreed to take watch for the third week in a row. Daryl let a string of curses fall from his lips as he had a rather large bone to pick with everyone here for depending on your kindness once again. At the thought , he got out of the tent and looked around for you. Since you all could never stay in the same place longer than a night he didn't know where you'd be , but once he heard your foot tapping , something you did to keep yourself awake , he knew just where you were . " Aye " He calls from behind you so he wouldn't startle you and you look over your shoulder with a tired smile . He takes a small moment to take his view in before walking over to sit beside you on the hood of one of the stray cars here. You two then sit in peace and quiet as you enjoyed the company of one another and as usual you could feel Daryl's gaze on you. You were never the one to ask why Daryl stared at you so you just let him be. You didn't want him to shy away even though he had made so much progress in that category. You soon yawn , breaking the silence , and Daryl sighs . He knew you needed sleep , but he knew you wouldn't listen to him if he told you to do so. You could be as stubborn as him if you wanted to be. " It's so quiet tonight " You tell to no one imparticular as you gaze up at the starless sky. Daryl follows your gaze and only stays quiet. " I feel uneasy when it's this quiet. It's like the calm before the storm you know ? ". He nods in agreement " I know ". Your face fills with worry as you thought of what storm could hit you all next . Daryl frowns at the sight and slowly reaches for your hand. He was awkward with going about affection , but you didn't ever seem to mind. When he finally engulfes his hand around yours, you look over at him with the same look of worry. " Whatever storm we face I'll still have your back " He promises , his eyes filled with determination to ensure you that . You smiled at him in return in thanks of his promise. He might not always have the courage to give you affection , but he seemed to always know what to say to you . " I'll always have your back too , Daryl " . He smally smiles at your reminder of the promise you made to him back at the CDC . Never had you once gone back on that promise and you had been one of the first to actually keep your word to him. Which was one of the things he admired most about you. You stuck by his side no matter what , even when you were pissed at him. And he'd find out over the years that you would always do so. ------ The next day was semi eventful. You all found a cabin that you thought could maybe last you all a day or two and Daryl even found an owl. And while it wasn't the most filling or most appealing thing to eat in the world , it would do the job for an hour or two. As you all then sat around in the living room of the small home , no one said a thing. Everyone was exhausted and malnutrited , especially Lori who you had been taking care of for the past couple of weeks. You made sure she had enough food and water , which probably wasn't enough but it had to do , and tried to keep her spirits up . You threw her a small smile and she returned one until the noise of Carl trying to open a can caught everyone's attention. You couldn't tell what it was , but you figured nothing good as Rick snatched it from him and threw it in the fireplace. Rick gave everyone a stern look , but didn't say anything as an awkward tension filled the air. It was short lived thankfully as T-dog signalled that there was walkers approaching the house. And like a flash , everyone was back on their feet and dashing out of the house. Daryl was on your heel as you ran towards his bike and only got infront of you to start up the engine whilst you made sure nothing got close to the two of y'all. And as soon as you heard the engine come to life you hoped on behind him . Once you were holding on to him , he drove off leading the group to hopefully somewhere safe. It was about a hour later when everyone stopped to regroup and decide where to go from there . All the able bodies formed a circle around Herschels car and Glenn placed a map on the hood. You felt slightly discouraged at all the red circles on the map that either meant there was herds there or just dead end houses. You didn't really pay any attention as everyone discussed where to go next as your eyes fell heavy and to prevent falling asleep right then and there , you walked over to where Beth was standing watch. She offered you a warm smile as you tried to give one in return . " Long night ? " She asks and you nod at her , palming your burning eyes. " Do you think we'll ever find a place for Lori to have the baby ? " She asks . You shrug " I honestly don't know Beth , but if it comes down to it I'll find somewhere and make it safe. Even if it's a shack I'll make sure she has somewhere to have that baby ". Beth looks you over in awe . She didn't know how you could get such little sleep and still manage to do such kind things , let alone be on your feet. " Why are you so kind ? " . Before she could get an answer to her wonders about you , Daryl waved you over as he was talking to Rick. You gave Beth a parting smile before walking over to the two men . " Me and Rick are gon' go huntin' . You comin'? " He asks you . You look around and see who would be left to defend the group if you left and deciding it wouldn't be best to leave , you shook your head no " You two go ahead. I'll stay here and keep watch ". Daryl gives you a disapproving look considering all you've been doing is keeping watch and he didn't know how long you'd be able to continue at the rate you were going , but you just gave a curt nod towards Lori and he gave you a small nod in understanding. Rick , watching the two of you , quickly noted your dedication in protecting his wife . He had no idea how to thank you and made a mental note to try to find a way one day. " Be careful ok ? " You tell Daryl , placing your hand lightly on his arm. You see him resisting the urge to flench and he nods at you " You yell for me if somethin' happens ". You nod in agreement before they left and you walk back over to the group .You find yourself sitting on the ground next to the car door where Lori sat inside and you let out a deep breath as you pushed your fatigue back. But you reminded yourself that her and her child needed protection. And you wouldn't let anything happen to her child. Your thoughts drifted back to when you were a child and for a moment you wished you had been protected like you would protect this child. How things would've been so different... ---- The news of a prison spread hope in everyone's hearts. Prisons were secure , had armories , food , and provided an abundance of beds. You couldn't be more thrilled as you all slid through the first fence of the prison , but you kept it to yourself as you had to focus on what you were doing now . Which was hurrying to the gate to one of the courtyards so you all could begin clearing the walkers out. Once there , Rick gave everyone orders on what to do . Carol was to go with Daryl into one tower , Carl and Herchel in another , Beth , Glenn, Lori , and Maggie on the fence , whilst Rick would run to close the open gate across the courtyard. Lori quickly gave her doubts on him doing it and to ease her mind you offered to go with him " I'll go with you , Rick. I'll keep them off of you ". Lori gave you an unsure look as she didn't want you in danger either , but didnt tell you no as it was the smarter option . You two could protect each other and if shit hit the fan you'd get him out of it quickly. You felt Daryl's gaze on you , but you just sent him a smile that told him you had this under control. " Lets do this " You then tell Rick and the two of you get close to the gate . " On three " Lori tells the two of you as she prepares to open the gate. You look over shoulder towards Daryl and share one last look before the number three was announced and you ran out into the courtyard with Rick. You both doged and weaved around walkers until one got too close to Rick and you shoved your knife into the back of its skull. When it dropped , Rick looked back at you as he clearly didn't even know it was that close to him and you quickly nodded at him before continuing towards the gate . You killed three more walkers on the way to it and once there you slammed the gate shut as Rick did his part in closing it . You jumped back slightly as a walker threw itself towards you on the other side of the gate . You then only smirked as an arrow went through its head , which you quickly retrieved. You then turned around and looked up to the guard tower Daryl was in and he innocently shrugged . Laughing to yourself , you look around to see all the walkers were dead . Well the ones in the courtyard that is. The ones on the other side of the gate would have to be dealt with another time.You turn to look at the very ones and mentally sigh as you notice something . You hadn't even made a dent yet . ------ Later that night as a small fire warmed those who sat around it , you found yourself rubbing your eyes once again. You were beyond tired. And you felt if you had to go one more day without more than an hour of sleep you'd go out of your mind and start hearing voices. " Y/N ? " Carol asks from across the fire. You jump slightly and look her way, your kind smile forcing it's way on your lips . " You ok ? ". Everyone was now looking your way and for the smallest moment you were seeing three of her. You shake your head to see straight and nod " Yeah yeah I'm good . Why do you need something ? ". She gives you a concerned look " No I'm fine .. You just don't look to good". " What these bags under my eyes aren't doing it for you anymore ? " You joke , trying to get her to stop worrying about you. She laughs smally as so do the others , but you could still see the concern in her eyes . So to avoid it , you grab some food for Daryl to make sure he ate and brought it over to where he was keeping watch . Which happened to be a flipped over bus. You sighed as you didn't feel like you had the energy to climb up, but you knew Daryl needed to eat and that was more important. So with basically all the energy you could muster , you climbed up the side . Daryl noticing it was you , pulled you up and to his side . You threw him a smile before handing him the plate " I figured if I didn't bring you anything it'd be gone before you got the chance " . He puts a piece of the meat in his mouth before looking at you " Yeah 'lil Shane over there's got quite the appetite " . You elbow his side with a smile " Don't say that ". He shrugs , a smile of his own on his face. " You wouldn't want someone talking about your kid like that " . He continues to eat , but once his mouth was free of food he looks out ahead of him " Beat there ass if they talked about our kid like tha' " . Your heart swelled as he didn't even realize he said ' our kid ' , but you didn't bother pushing it and just kept it to yourself. " Exactly " You tell him . You then rub at your arms as a chill runs up your spine and you wondered how Daryl could deal with the cold wind up here. " Ya' cold ? " He asks as he starts to suck on his fingers . " I'll be fine " . You hear him scoff at you and before you know it he's starting to take his jacket off. You quickly stop him before he could finish " Daryl no ". He stills at your words and narrows his eyes at you " And why tha' hell not " . " You need it more than I do that's why " . He gives you an expression that told you that you were wrong , but you only turned your attention towards the tree line. You could feel Daryl staring once again, but this time he slings his arm around your waist and pulls you to his side so he could warm you up himself. You smiled at his sweet action " You really are stubborn , Daryl ". You feel him shrug at your side " So are you ". You laugh at him and nod " You've got me there ". Daryl smiles down at you at the sound of your laugh and felt himself wanting to hear more of it . He only stopped smiling for a moment as you slowly wrapped one of your arms around his waist . You looked up at him to make sure he was ok with it and when you saw a pained expression on his face you retracted your arm " I'm sorry ". You never knew why Daryl didn't like to be touched , but you did have your suspicions and you knew it had been something bad so you always felt the need to apologize if you had taken your affection too far. " Don't be " He tells you, but you still saw the pained look on his face so you decided to leave on that note . " I'll go see if Rick needs my help " . Daryl sighs to himself as you start to climb back down the side of the bus " Y/N ". You stop and look up and he bends down so that he's closer to your face " Will you get some sleep instead ? ". " Rick might need - " You start , but Daryl quickly stops you " - He'll be fine " . You give him an unsure look , but he confirms it " Rick can handle watching the fences by himself ". " I'll try ok ? " You finally give . He nods " That's all I'm askin' ". You start to move down the bus again, but Daryl stops you one last time . " Don't think I don't want ya' to touch me ok ? " . You look up once again to see his head hung low as if he was embarrassed and you frown . " I don't think that , Daryl. I might not know why you have trouble with it , but I dont think that ". He keeps his head hung low , but you could see him nod . " I'm willing to wait on you , Daryl " You tell him before getting off the bus completely, leaving him to thoughts about you. And one that rang loud and clear was you deserved to have all of him . Even if it meant torment for him. ------ The next morning the mission was clear , kill the walkers behind the gate . Everyone was still exhausted from the previous weeks , but Rick pleaded with everyone to just push on. So here you all were , well everyone who was able to defend themselves well , readying yourselves before stepping inside a very large lions den. You were sharpening the blade of your knife as you knew that you all would have to go hand to hand considering how low you all were on bullets as you sat beside Maggie. She herself was doing the same , but to a machete . " We look like a couple of crazy housewives " She jokes , elbowing your side. You smirk at her as you continue to sharpen your blade " If this is still considered crazy I'm concerned " . She laughs at you and you do as well . You and Maggie had grown close over the time you knew her and you enjoyed these little moments with her as did she. You realized somewhere along the way that if you didn't enjoy small moments like these then you wouldnt be living , just surviving. " You think this place will work ? " She asks . You stopped for a moment and looked the place over " I'm pretty sure we can make anything work at this point ". She gives a small laugh " You're right ". You smiled at her before continuing to sharpen your knife . The conversation soon ended as Rick whistled for you all to huddle around him . " We stay close . No one runs off or does something stupid " He declared almost like a general leading an army. Everyone nodded in agreement and shared looks of determination. Rick then looked to everyone as if he was searching for any weak links and when he found none , he turned his back to you all and slung open the gate. You all stayed close to one another as the assault begun and you all formed a circle . You killed about five on your own as the circle pushed further into the outskirts of the prison and you only stopped when riot gear clad walkers walked towards you and Maggie. You looked to Glenn and T-dog as they tried to kill one in hopes they could keep it from you and Maggie, but nothing was working . " Y/N " Maggie said pointing to the bottom of one of the masks of the riot gear walkers. You narrowed your eyes and realised she found a point of weakness. " I'll get that one you get the other " You told her before walking up to one and kicking it in the chest , sending it to the ground. You then climbed over it and wripped off its mask , sending alot of its skin with it , before sending your knife into the bottom of its jaw. When it stilled you got back up and smiled towards Maggie as she proudly did at yourself and Glenn. " You see that ? " She grinned . Nodding , you then go after those that were left . After those that could be taken care of were dead , you all looked to Rick who had a pained look on his face. You had the feeling he was going to push you all to do more than this and once Glenn mentioned the fact that there could be a breech in the interior of the prison , your feeling was proved true. You all would have to push into the prison itself. Which wasn't the most comforting feeling considering you could be walking into a death trap. But as soon as you felt Daryl's hand on your back , all fear left you. He had your back and you didn't know if they're was a safer feeling . Daryl then got infront of you and you stayed behind him as he followed Rick. You then all stopped as you approached the door that lead into the prison and Daryl slowly opened it to reveal another one . Going through that one , you all descended into the seemingly empty place. But you all knew better to assume so , so everyone scattered around the small room and looked for any signs of life or other wise. When you found none , Rick showed the group he had found keys on a dead guard and then opened the next door to open the cell block. Once again everyone scattered to look for walkers . The bottom floor revealed nothing , but inmates that were killed in their cell. The top floor had a few walkers , but Rick and Daryl quickly took care of them clearing the cell block for use. You then took in the sights of the cell block and while it wasn't the most ideal place to call home , it was safe. You smiled at the word , it was so foreign and yet you felt it could actually be something everyone could be here . So if you had to scrub blood off of walls and toss a few dead bodies out so be it. You leaned over the railing with a smile as T-dog tossed a body of the railing , causing him to give you a look " Why is it no matter what you're always smiling ? " . You flipped him off without looking his way " I have the right to smile don't I? I mean this is kind of a big win for us " . He laughs at your ' kind gesture ' " Yeah I know , but you were smiling even on our shittiest of days ". You lowered your hand back to the railing " I learned it's better to smile then to dwell on shit". He nods to himself and you watch as everyone starts walking in. Lori looked astonished at the place as so did many of them, but you could tell some had their doubts. After said doubts were said aloud , Rick announced who had sets of keys . Which was himself and Daryl. " I ain't sleepin' in no cage. I'll take the perch " Daryl declared as he then walked over to it .As if that was the signal for everyone to find a cell for their liking , everyone went their own ways. Whilst you walked over to Daryl who was setting up his spot . " You're really gonna sleep out here ? " You asked . He stops what he's doing and turns to you " We and yes ". You smile as he corrects you , but you just shake your head " Their is finally a bed that I don't have to give up to anyone else . I'm not missing out on that ". He narrows his eyes at you " You sayin' you're gon' sleep without me ? ". " Id prefer you to sleep with me , but I understand the whole claustrophobia thing about cells " You explain . He gives you a stern look with knitted brows in confusion of how you would know before dragging his things to the nearest cell and setting them up beside the entrance . " If you ain't gonna sleep beside me then I'm still gonna make sure yer' safe ". Your heart warmed at his dedication to keep you safe , even though you were perfectly capable to take care of yourself but you wouldn't argue , and you walked towards him till you two were about a foot apart " You might not believe your more than an asshole , Daryl , but you should know little things like this prove your much more than that " . Daryl only stared as you saw something you couldn't quite understand swell in his eyes. In all the time you've know him he never looked at you the way he was looking at you now and you wished you knew what it was . But Daryl was quick to conceal it before you could figure it out " Ima' get your stuff ". You slowly nod at him as you still pondered and he went off to retrieve your bag . " You alright , Y/N ? " Carol asks as she now was walking up the stairs towards you. You shake your head as you now realised you had zoned out trying to figure it out " Yeah I'm fine Carol ". She nods and looks towards the door as you were staring towards them " Daryl ? ". You now look to her as she knew exactly what you were thinking about . You raise your eyebrow at her and she only laughs " Don't act so surprised . These walls aren't as thick as you think you know " . You smile almost shyly and she joins you at your side " You love him don't you ? ". You look to your hands now as if you had to think the question over , but before you could answer Carol continued " You don't have to answer that , but just so you know he loves you. Rather he wants to admit or not. I can just see it in his eyes . I mean ever since the farm he's looked at you like you keep the world spinning " , she stops as if she had to think of something and once she came to some realization she looked towards you , " Maybe it's because for him you keep his world spinning " . You blushed deeply at her words and wondered if they were true . You knew he cared for you , but did it run that deep ? You two hadn't even kissed yet it felt like love , but you didn't know. Daryl wasn't exactly the one to share his feelings besides his promises and you never pushed for more so it was hard to know exactly how he felt for you. " I don't know Carol " You admit , your arms folding over your chest. You could feel Carol giving you a look that suggested she did, but you couldn't look at her . " Listen you know Daryl and I are close. If anyone knows him as good as you do besides you , it's me. And maybe it's not my place to tell you , but he does love you Y/N . He just has a past that won't let him live in the present , but he's trying to . Because of you ". You sigh and rub your tired eyes " Why are you telling me this Carol ? ". Her mouth then curved into a smile as if she was proud to tell you why " Just thought someone should tell you ". She then rushes back down the stairs as Daryl now walked back in the cell block and you never felt more confused. But you just put it aside as Daryl made his way up to you . He sets the bag on the inside of the cell before stepping back out " You ok ? ". You gave a poker face like no other " Just tired is all ". He gives you a once over as if he thought different , but he didn't push it . " Get some sleep then. We got another long day tomorrow " . " Probably for the best " You agree and walk towards the entrance of your cell. Though before you walked in Daryl grabbed your wrist . He parted his lips as if he wanted to tell you something , but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. You gave him a moment to see if he could , but after seeing he just couldn't you just smile at him " Its ok Daryl. You can tell me when you're ready ". His eyes flickered with a glimpse of sadness as he wanted to tell you something so badly , but he just nodded back at you. " Good night, Daryl " You tell him then before disappearing into your cell . You laid on the bottom bunk after and let yourself fall asleep with a brain full of questions that may never get answered. ----- In the middle of the night you find yourself in a nightmare. Memories from the past filled your eyes and you re watched horrible things you had went through. You watched as your mother held a gun to your head as she was out of her mind , no doubt because of the various drugs in her system . You heard echoes of her screaming at you and you felt your heart race in your chest. The pistol in her hand was ready to fire and her hand was swaying back and forth , causing you to panic even more . It hadn't been the first time she threatened your life this way , infact this wasn't even the scariest thing she had done to you . And as the memory continued to play in your brain it got to the darkest part . She had actually shot you , but since she was so high and erratic she missed your head completely and shot you in thigh . You cried out in pain and she tried to take another shot at you , but failed miserably and fell on her ass. But that didn't stop her , it never did. She only stumbled back up and called you more terrible things before firing again , this time hitting you right above your ankle and you yelled out in pain. You had enough of her years of abuse at that point and even though you had two bullets in you and bruises scattered all over your body , you managed to stand and push her to the ground. You soon fell with her and she reached for the gun that had scattered across the floor , but you couldn't let her get to it . She would surely kill you if she got ahokd of it again. So you two struggled for it as she tried to continue to beat you , but you managed to grab the gun and you pointed it at her to get her to back away from you . " Get the fuck back ! " You screamed and she did as you said . But she then started to laugh as your hands shook . She begun telling you things that went on the lines of ' You won't pull the trigger , you don't have the guts ' and ' You're just the scared little shit your father was , that's why he ran ' . And she even dared to try and come for you again , but suddenly a shot rang out and you shut your eyes before a thud echoed off the floor . Your eyes suddenly snapped open , ending the dream and you shot up with a racing heart. " Fuck " You swore to yourself as you gripped your chest . " Y/N ? " Daryl called quietly from outside the cell. You sniffled slightly as tears started to burn your eyes and you roughly called out " I'm f-fine ". Clearly noticing you aren't by your voice , Daryl walks into your cell . You keep your head low as you tried to stop yourself from crying and Daryl furrowed his eyebrows at you. You skin was paled and you were in this shaking state where you didn't even look at him . He had never seen you this way and he didn't know what to do really . " Daryl I'm fine r-really " you tried to convince him , but failed . Not knowing what else to do , Daryl walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. " What's wrong ? " He rasps , his concern evident. You don't say anything as you don't want to relive it once again . " Y/N please talk to me " He pleads . You just shake your head and keep your head low . " Y/N " He says almost demandingly and you flinch slightly. His eyes swell with a deeper concern as you flinch and he then reaches out to touch your leg , which was closest to him . You flinch even harder this time and almost throw yourself away from his touch , causing his eyes to grow wide. You then hold your leg as he had touched your bullet scar and you bit your lip to stop yourself from sobbing. " Y/N what's wrong with your leg ? " He asks as he watches you craddle it in your grip . " N-nothing " . He scoffs and decides to see for himself and you go into a full on alert mode . You thrash away from him and try to keep your leg away from him , but him being much stronger than you gets you to stay still as he pulls up your pants leg. " No no no no - Don't! " You yell , but he only continues and once he finds your scar he stalls as if he just watched a car crash happen and you wrip yourself away from him . " Y/N ... what happened ? " He asks , but you just continue to shake . He reaches for you again , but this time you get away from him and run across the cell from him " I told you to stop ! I said no ! I don't push you at all! Not once ! " . By this time you have tears streaming down your face and Daryl's eyes grow ever wide . He watches your features and recognizes them as his own. You had been hurt just like him and he knew it now. He realised suddenly why you never pushed him because you didn't want to be pushed. He now knew why you were so kind to everyone and especially to him. You had known the pain in his eyes just like he now knew yours . " You're just like me aren't you ? " . To be continued...

[cbk1000]

I thought I was going to wait a couple more days to write this, but, well, I'm sick, I'm home alone, I'm bored, and as people have been trickling in to comment on this series, it feels right to add something characteristically long and meandering.

Much of this will be an overly long commentary on some of my all-time favorite characters, why I chose to tell their stories the way I told them, how I feel about Caroline in particular, and her journey in this series vs. what the show did to her. Also included: answers to several of your most burning questions, including What the Actual Fuck Is Wrong With You*, Are You a Robot, and my personal favorite, Are You Some Kind of Sick Person?

*I'm not actually going to answer this; sorry. I'm still sorting it out for myself. It's a long and murky journey that involves rummaging about in my subconscious, which is a dark place, full of an alarming parade of bizarre historical facts, serial killer case files, and helicopter/dinosaur porn.

As this will contain spoilers, I'll put the rest under a cut so those of you who have not yet finished the series don't accidentally stumble across something you're not ready to see.

So, first we'll address the elephant in the room. I know this series didn't go the way some of you expected it to; frankly, it didn't go the way I expected it to, either. First and foremost because it was supposed to be a goddamn trilogy (whoooooooops), and secondly because Christ on a goddamned pogo stick was TO so much worse than I ever could have imagined. I know for some of you there was too much history, not enough KC, that I gave too much time to Caroline's other relationships, that Klaus was too terrible, the Originals too fucked-up, Tim unsympathetic/boring, etc. etc. etc. (Let's all pause for a moment to appreciate the fact that not one negative comment ever said this series has gone on too fucking long. I can ramble for 600,000+ words and no one has an issue with that, but thousand-year-old vampires being terrible people is unendurable.) I won't talk about this for too long, mostly because I've addressed it before, and basically my response to all of this is that I wrote the series exactly how I needed to write it to deal with what happened to some of my favorite characters. I cut out characters and plotlines I originally intended to address, sometimes rather abruptly, because I could no longer look at them, even my own version of them (Stefan, buddy, I'm talking about you) without feeling enraged. It was a constant struggle to divorce myself from canon to such an extent that I could write freely, so that my muse wouldn't be cockblocked by Klaus' magical testicles and the reduction of Caroline to Stefan's penis pleaser. Mostly I was successful; sometimes I was not. So I did turn to the things that pleased me: I turned to lengthy flashbacks, I turned to Caroline as an individual character with her own plot and developments outside of Klaus, I turned to an original character who didn't force me to tiptoe around shitty canon.

Tl; dr: The series was long and rambling and there are child murders and an original character, and I'm genuinely sorry some people who enjoyed it in the beginning were eventually disappointed by it, but I'm not sorry I wrote it that way.

This series, as I have already said, was the longest, most complex writing project I have ever attempted. Previously, I've always written about humans: soft, breakable humans who can and often do die, whose stories are small, narrow things in the grand scheme of the world. Because that's who I am: a small, breakable human with a finite number of years and stories. And that's exactly what drew me to Klaus, who really was the catalyst for my TVD work--how do you write so far beyond a human's limited scope? How do you explore a perspective like that? How do you write about a thousand-year-old savant and somehow convince your readers that they actually are following the perspective of a man who has lived and evolved for ten centuries, who speaks hundreds of languages, who is an expert in most subjects, who is not only smarter than any reader can really comprehend, but smarter indeed than the writer herself? We're supposed to challenge ourselves as writers: we're supposed to confront the things that frighten us most, and that's what Klaus was for me. He was a character I could never be smart or skilled enough to fully capture. So, being a masochistic bitch, I waded right in.

I was never really opposed to a redemption storyline for Klaus. This may seem contrary to my many varied and colorful comments on the moist tampon that has usurped the rightful face and place of one of my favorite characters, but it's true: I just never wanted that redemption. Klaus is not a character who can be saved. He's not a character who should be saved. He's not human: that's what TO's writers have forgotten (along with the most basic tenets of good storytelling). He can never be 'good' by our standards. He's from a long-vanished world; he was never one of us even when he was human. He was from a time and culture we will never experience or fully understand. He was born into a society some of us would now consider barbaric, and then he was stabbed to death by his own father, turned into a monster he could not possibly comprehend, and sent off into the world with the only father figure he'd ever known hot on his heels. He killed his own mother. These are his origins: and from this we expect a man we can understand, a man who falls prey to dipshit psychology students and the miracle of childbirth. Klaus has seen plenty of births and plenty of dipshit humans: that's the whole fucking point. He's seen it all. He's seen just about every iteration of human bullshit there is, over and over again. We're cyclical, predictable creatures, and, what's more, we're a food source to him. Why should we be anything else? The depressing truth of it is, humans don't even give a shit about humans, as evidenced by our multiple wars and genocides. If humanity can't even treat itself with the proper respect and reverence for life, why would an immortal monster care about anything other than its most outstanding members (and, no, TO, Cami is not even remotely close to an example of a noteable human)?

Klaus' redemption, then, should have been a tiny, incremental thing. It should have been him slowly letting go of his father's shadow. It should have been him realizing that he does not deserve the loyalty he so desperately craves, and he never will if he continues in the same vein. It should have been him slowly learning to treat his family with more respect, to stop using even those closest to him as pawns, to step back and take a breath and sometimes just let things fucking go instead of lashing out. It should have been a long and difficult process that he had to fail at over and over again. And there shouldn't have been a goddamn baby in sight. This series was what I wanted for him. And ultimately, though I love him and I want him to be happy, I also want him to have to face permanent consequences. It's the only way he can grow. Letting go of Kol was his redemption. Having the dagger on him, knowing he could have repeated the cycle, knowing he could have stuck Kol in a box for three centuries to cool off, knowing he still had control, knowing that he could still puff his chest and exert his power and instead choosing not to do that was the best ending I can think of for him, bittersweet though it may be.

As this series continued, it became very important to me that I tell a story about breaking away when you need to, when a situation is not healthy anymore, when the people who are supposed to love and protect you treat you in a way that is detrimental to your emotional if not physical health. One of the things that most bothers me about TO and TVD is the persistent message that you must stick by your family, no matter what; I see this message perpetuated throughout media in general and real life itself, and I can tell you this: it's bullshit. It doesn't matter how long you've put up with it, you still have an obligation to yourself to get the fuck out. Because someone shares your blood does not mean they own your soul. None of the Originals' relationships are healthy: they're a bunch of thousand-year-old serial killers. I didn't write this series so people could enjoy, guilt-free, the white picket fences and 2.5 kids of your high school sweetheart neighbors who have been married for twenty happy years. But Kol felt so marginalized, so trapped, so lonely, and though I set up Klaus' narrative arc so that the natural conclusion can be drawn that he does improve, he does mellow out a bit, he will treat the people he loves better--that's not good enough. It's not enough for Kol to think that in future he'll feel more included, his siblings will love him in a way that, if not exactly healthy, at least will not destroy him. He didn't need to wait any longer for that: he says so himself. He acknowledges Klaus may well become less of a tit: it doesn't matter.

Though Kol may have left with Tim, it wasn't about giving a ship a happy ending. It was actually my original intention to kill off Tim (I'll go into that later, but for now, shout out to my sister for reminding me that LGBT romances never get a happy ending in media), but Kol's story was always going to have the same ending: he was always going to leave. I think he is, right now at least, the only family member capable of breaking away. Rebekah can't do it; she'll see it through to the bloody end. But I always approached Kol with the idea that, disturbing murder shenanigans aside, of them all he actually had the healthiest grasp of what it means to love someone.  He is, ironically, perhaps the most well-adjusted of them all. He isn't immune to the effects of time and the examples of his siblings, he isn't without his slips and fuck-ups, but ultimately the relationship between Kol and Tim, despite the fact that they are both bloodthirsty murderers who were mentored by Klaus, is one of mutual respect and gay murder. This too I have TO/TVD to thank for, because I could not fucking stand one more girl-gives-up-everything-she-is-for-a-boy-who-treats-her-like-shit relationship, nor was I down with the concept that all these ancient creatures with uber durable privates and raging hormones never strayed so much as a little toe outside the careful, heteronormative confines of the writers' extraordinarily limited notions of immortality. This graphic gay murder sex brought to you by my annoyance.

I'm going to leave off here, because this, like everything I write, is annoyingly long, and I've still got quite a bit I'd like to say. In my defense, this series is over 600,000 words and has consumed over three years of my life. Bit hard to summarize my thoughts and feelings in a few paragraphs.

Also, I have fucking nothing else to do anyway.

#writing #au originals series

[tellmeyourstory-art-blog]

Good enough?

When am I good enough?

Maybe it’s the stained pizza grease wife beater with the lottery ticket in hand, or the slicked back hair and cheesy sly grin of a used car salesman, or 70-year-old Marge at the Casino in a diaper. We pity them. Those who have dreams in finally making ‘the big one’

But, be you a CEO or, a ‘misguided’ millennial, or the happy husband with kids. We are all pizza stains, lottery tickets, and soiled casino diapers. We are all people setting our sights on goals for happiness that don’t exist. 

We naturally feel sorry for people who put all their hopes into dreams with slender chances of results, we pity them for taking aim at an impossible target. Like setting our sights on winning the lottery.

Someone may spend years of their life chasing Fame, Beauty, and Expensive cars or winning the Pokies. All of which are statistical near miracles.

But in our own very relative human ways we aim for near impossible targets even when we think we are being sober and level headed. Ironically doing the same to ourselves.

The statistical miracles we hope for in an ideal life are in relations to hopes in Happiness, Love, and Work

The ideally successful life would be that we pick the right area of work, swerve neatly into new fields and get public recognition, money, and honor for our efforts. We would work somewhere fun and creative and inline with our talents.

We hope for similar satisfactions in our love life, that we meet one special kind of devoted person who understands us completely, settle down, have 2.3 children and the domesticity of it never grinds us down because ultimately we are happy. Until we grow to the ripe age of 90. Finally feeling accomplished & dignified, admired by our descendants passing on our advice and wise generous lessons.

We might have some close to or slightly modified version of this ideal life. But the fact is we don't quite grasp how utterly impossible it is, how rare and strange  90  earth years are without major disaster in all areas not just in Love and Work are. 

So what’s good enough?  And how do you become satisfied with it?  How can you tell whether something you’ve done is good enough? Or just made it good enough for you? And can you ever be truly happy with ‘good enough’ when our deepest values demand us to be perfect and experience perfection to find happiness when we all know it can’t be reached? Do we learn to be satisfied with it? Hold hands with complacency while slowly destroying ourselves mentally with the monster that is the question; what if?

What if I had followed my dreams? What if I had kissed them? What if I didn’t get married? What if I had saved enough money?

Or in the pursuit towards perfection, do we destroy ourselves taking risks and hoping one day to finally find what being happy and feeling satisfied is?

Some put their hopes in others, look for it in the stars and pray for the will of the Gods, or buy lottery tickets, all which have the same statistical outcome of actually  living an ‘ideal life’

Most of us give up in a search for happiness and fill our emptiness with half empty bottle of Vodka, something to smoke, Orgasms and a Nihilist look on life.

It was that way for my Mom. As for me the pursuit for ‘good enough’ started with her too.

My Dad, best known for bringing Frank Sinatra back to Australia, was acquitted of 32 tax and fraud charges relating to the Importing of luxury yachts, had 3 wives, 7 children, and lead the snootiest high-class developer group  ‘The white shoe brigade’ even though he was a loud mouth, fat Australian who was once forced to  apologise to the Japanese consulate for throwing several square watermelons off the roof of the Sheraton. He didn’t care.  The man petitioned the government and changed legislations and laws to build his boat/golf luxury resort on what was deemed a ‘dump’ and unbuildable Marshland.

And even when everyone said it was impossible, he did it. 

Undeniable I have taken the dumping ground of my life and attempted to build my dreams on top of it. In fact, we all have our own impossible marshland and 5-star Resort being built on top of it. This is what made my Dad such an obnoxious yet irresistibly relatable human being. We all are just trying to reach for something we can't have.

My mom was his 3rd wife. She was your typical Californian Blonde and working as an American sports physiologist. He was 20+ years her senior. And of course, the papers and my father's ex-wife had no problem telling you that she was ‘the other woman’ or a mistress. My half-sister once confirmed how she believed my mom was a home wrecker because “how could leggy blonde love such a fat oath if it wasn’t for his money?”

But I knew that wasn’t the whole truth

As curious young children do. While my mother was busy drinking red wine  I read her diary.  One she had kept during college, as a cheerleader, writing of losing her first love in a motorcycle accident, that her father was an abusive alcoholic and foremost, the story of meeting her husband who she thought was the love of her life.

“I hated him, he was loud, fat and annoying” was the first sentence. I guess it always stuck with me because, in the dusty photos in the garage and the yellowing newspaper clippings, they both seemed so happy. As a child you believe your parents fell in love at first sight, you don’t think of the possibility of actually hating or despising the person you’d marry.

They had met at a Health Resort where she worked, he was visiting for investment opportunities, but instead of showing up to her personal training appointments, he was doing what a fat lazy rich man does. drink, smoke and make bets on whether he could win her “heart” for $1000 at the bar.

She recalled how he asked her to meet him at his hotel room and how ready she was to shout at and demean him, but instead of a fighting, they got along and talked all night.

“I knew we were supposed to be together” was the end of the diary entry.

I guess he did win the bet

Come 1990 the married in a  lackluster courthouse wedding in secret, and I was born In March 1992 with my twin sister. Soon after, we moved to Vancouver and despite promises to return and repay the $25 million debt he owed, the bastard died.

It’s not surprising a fat man would die of a heart attack in his sleep. But it wasn’t just a death of my father, but the death of ‘good enough’ in my mom's life, and my own.

I had been ignorant until I was 16 when again, searching through Newspaper articles in self-discovery I found one that had been hidden from me,  my mom had been investigated for his death because she hadn’t reported the body for 24-48hrs. I guess that is suspicious, but to me, I only grow up knowing how devastated she was as this would later lead to a 17year prolonged suicide from widowhood and never fulfilling ‘good enough’

The devastation of her dreams of having a beautiful wedding, the picket fence and house with blue shutters, a lemon tree, and a 2.3 children family.

I could only imagine how devastating it must be for a widow to be suspected of murder with two babies, and 25million dollar debt owed. She never truly healed which lead to her addiction.

as I pushed through the dusty photos in the garage, of happy family smiling, and the only photos of my dad, my mom, and my sister, I had no idea how bad things actually had fallen out of control since my Dad's death

How these events set into motion how I would spend the first 25 years of my life fighting to be good enough.

----------

We aren’t very good at seeing or understanding statistics when we plot our own trajectories

All we do is get born, go to school, go on vacation, go to college, fall in love, graduate and get into some kind of profession, get married, have  kids, send the kids to school, get divorced like 50 percent of the population, get fat, get the first heart attack, retire, die.

while the media bring us anomalies of our imagined society that brings more murder and beauty than actually exists.

if we could see what Life was like for everyone else, if we could see all the Grey Areas we’d perceive how frequent disappointment is and how my unfulfilled ambition is circulating  How much confusion and uncertainty is being played out.

Then we’d realize how abnormal and cruel the goals we have set ourselves to ‘find happiness’ really are. We need to feel more tenderness in ourselves for not ‘winning’  because in all probability we won't achieve what we hoped for though there is comfort