#my mother's family is full of alcoholics and nervous wrecks

[boyslit]

.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 10

WC: 4491

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: period typical sexism, noncon touching of reader by Lombardi (not sexual assault but he's creepy), gun usage, mild violence, language, german, sexual themes, anxiety, discussion about Nazis and art theft from Jewish families during wwii, mention of blood, alcohol consumption

🖼

You will your fingers to steady as you tighten the ankle holster you thankfully thought to pack. You had chosen to wear something more conservative, not wanting to get cold from the nighttime Mediterranean sea breeze. The flared white trousers hid the silhouette of your pistol. A high navy turtleneck covered the wire Niki had given you. As an afterthought you place his ring back on your finger, having become accustomed to the weight and feel.

Despite the days of mental preparation going into tonight you were finding it almost impossible to calm your nerves. The auction was the lion’s den, and you were walking in willingly. Interpol anticipated that tonight would be the same as the gala: get in, scope it out, gather what intelligence you can, get home safely with the painting. At some point earlier in the day Niki was gifted a case full of large bills as payment for the Raphael. All your bases were theoretically covered.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling in your gut.

You down the last of the contents in your glass, which was probably a bad idea considering you were about to go under cover again. But when in Rome? or something like that… you justify. Releasing a breath you leave the bedroom to find your partner.

-

You’d been on the road an hour and Niki had barely said a word to you. In fact, he’d hardly said anything to you since the day before. When he did speak it was brief and purely about the operation. You grew tired of listening to some soft pop song on the radio, grew tired of thinking about the briefcase of 30 million Pounds in the trunk.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you watch the sun setting in the distance.

“Nothing,” he replies lightly.

Turning to face him you continue, “you’ve barely said anything since yesterday.” Was he just nervous about tonight? He didn’t seem the type; Niki was cool and calculated with every step. Had you done something? Was this some form of rejection after the almost-kiss? You hoped not. While it was for the best that you didn’t cross that boundary you can’t help but wish you had.

“I’m fine, just focused on tonight,” he lies. His hands grip the steering wheel a fraction tighter.

You sigh. Tonight. “Well I’d like to think of something other than tonight, and I’m bored of this radio so talk to me. Distract me; tell me a story; ask me something, anything," you slump in your seat.

Niki wants to ask you about everything. About your childhood, your family. Ask what your favorite food is, your favorite film, what your hopes are for the future. And in return he wants to tell you about Vienna, about the time he wrecked his friend’s car when he was young, about his desire to someday retire to Ibiza and lay in the sun and sand all day. But he promised himself he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead he asks about your work, a neutral subject. “How did you get into working for the CIA? Doesn’t sound easy to be a woman getting in this field.”

You huff a laugh. “Now that is a loaded question…” You clear your throat. “Honestly it’s a pretty long story. I had this neighbor growing up, a sweet old lady from Poland. She used to watch me sometimes when my father went out. She had this drawing hung up on her fireplace that I loved to look at; it wasn’t anything special, really. But I thought it was beautiful. Once when I visited home from university I asked her about it - she told me that her mother had a painting in their old home,” you pause. “It was stolen during the war. They were Jewish.”

At some point Niki turned off the radio as you told him your story. “Anyway… She missed the painting because it reminded her of when she was happy as a child before everything. So she drew it from a photograph and hung it up. She let me keep the photo, thought I would like it since I became an art historian."

“And? Your neighbor had a son in the agency or something that got you in?” Niki tries to conclude.

“Uh no, not exactly.” You suck on the inside of your cheek. “Right after I finished my second doctorate I happened to go to a party at an art critic's home in New York City. Low and behold, guess what I see hung up in the guest bedroom?” You don’t phrase it like a question and you don't hide your disgust as you regale the discovery.

“He was a Nazi?”

“He wasn’t, but somehow he got a hold of art stolen by the Nazis." You rush through the next chapter of your tale. "So I took it back. There was this big investigation, yada yada. Somehow I ended up exposing a trail that did lead back to an ex-party member living in the States. I suppose I impressed the CIA with it, so they have me consult on art-related cases. Things like forgery, estimated value, whatnot. Usually nothing this big though,” you finish.

He turns to look at you from the corner of his eye. “Wait - you broke into a man’s house and stole art from him? What are you, Lombardi?” He says it seriously, but you can see the amused upturn of his lip.

You defend yourself. “Well when you put it that way it sounds bad, Niki." Your own lips quirk into a proud grin. "It was restorative justice, is all.”

“You’re a cat burglar,” he laughs. “And the government trusts you with art now? That’s bullshit,” he licks his lips through his smile.

“They saw my value for what it was worth. Priceless,” you stick your nose up haughty.

Priceless. Yes, Niki could agree that there was no one else in the world quite like you.

During your story Niki forgot about his decision to maintain a distance between the two of you. He asked a few follow ups to your story.

Then all at once it comes crashing back like a pit in his stomach, his need to keep distanced from you. The conversation drifts off between you again, and he says very little. You don’t push him but you feel the absence in his quiet. All too soon he’s pulling up to the dockyard and warehouse 31.

He cuts the engine. Neither of you make a move to get out of the car at first. The sounds of gulls and the occasional ship horn can be heard in the distance as you sit in silence. Niki pops open his door, but at your hesitation, halts. He studies you for a minute; your bottom lip is caught in your teeth as you chew it harshly, your eyes locked ahead onto the water. You were always so relaxed in everything you did; so sure of yourself. Now, Niki swears you are shaking in your boots. Closing the door he twists to face you.

“Are you nervous?”

“Of course I’m nervous,” you bite back. Meekly, you add “I just don’t have a good feeling about this and… and I’m scared.” You don’t look at him as you reveal the cracks in your facade.

“Hey,” he covers your hand with your own, causing you to meet his gaze. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll be right there with you the whole time. You have your gun?” You nod. “Good. We have a plan, we aren’t pulling any risks beyond necessary. It will be fine, Schatz.”

You wrap your fingers in between his as he speaks. You only let go to exit the vehicle before finding them again.

_

The warehouse is more cramped than you anticipated. You expected to enter an empty shell with high ceilings and echoes bouncing off the metal walls. Instead, stacked wooden crates line the walls and create smaller cubicle-like sections in the back. A wooden pallet serves as a stage in the far end of the main ‘room’.

Upon seeing more than a dozen paintings and sculptures you freeze in your spot; Niki’s grip on your hand nearly wobbles you off your platform sandals when he keeps walking. “Careful, sweetie,” he tells you. Niki gives a look that pleads for you to focus, to stay in character.

“Sorry,” you whisper back as you gather your bearings. Your heart clenches as your eyes drift from each glass-enclosed piece. Millions of dollars worth of art surrounds you, paintings and the like that represent culture, history, identity. All stolen for profit. You feel like you could be sick to your stomach.

You wrap your arm around his back. The glock hidden beneath his coat presses into the crook of your elbow, another reminder of what tonight is.

“Ah, mia bella. I am so glad you could attend tonight,” Lombardi announces as he walks over to where you stand with Niki. You plaster a bright smile on as you face him. He leans in to give you a kiss on each cheek, which you return in greeting. “I trust you brought what I asked of you?” He shakes Niki’s hand. Lombardi is much rougher in his treatment of your fiancé. You want to roll your eyes at the ridiculous pissing contest between the two.

“Of course, what my Schatz wants, she gets. How could we pass up such a generous offer?” Niki supplies, tightening his grip on your back. The men share a look. Just like the gala, Lombardi breaks first.

“Very good! I have some business to attend to with other patrons, but perhaps you would like to look around?” He waves his hand towards the artwork. “The show will begin soon. But do not worry, mia bella. I have your treasure in a special place where it is safe.” Lombardi winks, picking up your free hand to plant a wet kiss to the knuckles. He leaves you.

“Find me a drink, will you?” you mutter to Niki.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He looks at you worried.

You turn into his body to shield your words from eavesdroppers. The smile you wear becomes increasingly fake as you say “It’s either a drink to hold in my hands or I'm going to go on a rampage and put a bullet in our dear friend’s head.” You felt frayed like a livewire. The anger that coursed through your veins was enough to actually consider murder.

His brows shoot up at your statement. “I will see what I can do.” With that he leaves you to see if there are refreshments. While he’s gone you spend your time studying a Holbein print. Thankfully, Niki returns after only a few minutes with some sort of liquor in a glass. You waste no time downing half of it in one go.

The beginning of the night follows much the same. You observe those present at the auction. One or two guests you think you might recognize as well respected from the art world. Pathetic, really.

Most of the time you spend looking over the artwork. As usual, you explain to Niki the pieces and their history. For a moment you even forget the reason you are here, as it feels like you are in any other museum, if not a bit avant garde. But you know you aren’t.

If Niki thinks anything of your agitation he says nothing. You however, are getting more annoyed with his attentions, or lack of. He’s indifferent, despite the nearness in which he stands. You consider that perhaps this is his way of giving you space in your frustrated state, but given that he started this behavior the night before you think it runs deeper. His eyes don’t linger like they used to when you talk, his touches are shorter and fewer. In all honesty you are feeling the distance and you hate it. You want him to be warm and affectionate. Against better judgement, you crave him in every manner of speaking. You aren’t sure when he wormed his way into your chest.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask into your glass as you down your second drink of the night.

Niki stiffens at your question. “Why would I be mad at you?” He’s not mad, no. But he is agitated by you. By how smart you are. By how fiesty you are. By how absolutely gorgeous you are. He almost can’t stand to be in your presence because he knows he can’t have you to himself. Because you’re his colleague. Because you’re in the middle of a covert operation. Because you would prefer Hunt’s presence over his.

Your words are hushed. “Niki, you hardly talk to me anymore. You don’t look at me like you used to. Did I say something? I thought we were….” you trail off, disgusted by how pitiful you must sound. Your lips purse as you check to see if anyone around you is listening to your confession.

He feels the intense urge to come clean, to explain everything to you in that moment. But logic and judgement get the better of him. So he lies. “No, nothing is wrong.”

You are about to call bullshit on him, but a man with a thick Italian accent beckons the crowd to gather for the auction’s start.

Fold out chairs have been placed around the stage area for guests to sit in. Niki chooses a pair towards the back that allows you to see the rest of the crowd. His arm rests on the back around your shoulders, you settle into his warmth.

The bidding starts with the Holbein you had been admiring. A whopping 10 million pounds for a simple print is the starting price. Sounds of the auctioneer and bidding patrons become blurred as you sit there, unable to focus on anything as you lock eyes on Lombardi. He stands to the side, a sly grin on his face as he makes millions.

You don’t realize that the auction is over already until Niki is inches from your face, his brows knitted as he calls your name. “Sorry,” you apologize. He sits back, still concerned about your dissociative behavior. Nevertheless, you peer around his head back to where Lombardi stands. He catches your eye this time, crooking a finger at you to come to him.

“Come, dear.” You grab Niki’’s hand and pull him up. His grip is firm and comforting.

Lombardi leads you behind a tall stack of crates. There, in the center of the space, is the Raphael from the Uffizi. The portrait of a raven-haired woman, her skin pale as milk, draped in the finest golden silks stares back at you. She is not encased in glass like the others were, you notice. You unclasp your hand from Niki and step up to the painting. Your fingers ghost a hairsbreadth from the surface of the canvas as you take it in.

“You like it, mia bella?” Lombardi chimes in from where he watches you.

“She-” you let out the breath you hold “-she’s incredible.” You stand in awe at the lifelike realness of the work.

“Wonderful!” He claps his hands together. “Now, if you would be so kind, fiancé, and retrieve the agreed upon price, then we can be in business.” Lombardi flashes a slimy smile between you and Niki.

“Niki, dear,” you prompt. He nods, understanding your permission to leave you with the man while he fetches the briefcase. You watch as he walks away.

“Tell me, mia bella, how did you and this fiancé meet? I did not ask the other night.”

At his inquiry you remember the tale Niki spun on the couch only a few days prior. “Oh! It’s really quite a sweet story, Fabricio.” You push out a fake giggle. “I came here on vacation and I was in a museum in Vienna. It’s one that he is a donor for," you explain. "He saw me there and told me he had to come speak to the ‘most beautiful piece of art in the entire gallery’. We went for coffee, and one thing led to another and he asked me to stay. And I did.” You lift your hand to show off the ring you wore. The overhead light sparkles against the clear stone.

He steps into your space. The smell of cigars overwhelms your senses. “Hmm, I could never fault the man for that, seeing as he is right.” His middle and index fingers raise and make contact with your cheekbones, delicately caressing the scarred tips down your jaw and over your neck. You suck in a sharp inhale. “When one has the grace of an angel, as you do-” his words cut off as he reaches the top of your sweater’s collar, the material tugging down. He blinks, his face hardening. “What is this, mia bella?”

He fingers the edge of the adhesive strip just under your turtleneck that holds the microphone wire in place. You jerk back and cover the spot with your palm. “It’s nothing, just a bandage. I’m afraid I burned my neck on a curling iron yesterday, silly me. You know us girls, can’t do anything without a little help,” you chuckle. Heat crawls up your neck and face, your heart beating like the hooves of a racehorse.

Lombardi remains apprehensive. “My dear, you look flushed, are you alright?” His eyes darken as he stares at you.

Panic rises in you. There’s no way he doesn’t suspect something of you now. “I… I think I may have overdone myself with the drinks earlier. Maybe I should get some fresh air, I’ll be back in just a moment.”

“Should I accompany you outside?” You don’t miss the way his tone has shifted from overly warm and laced with innuendo to one that is hard and calculating.

“No, no, Fabricio. I’ll be fine, please, stay,” you tell him as you back out of the room as calmly as you can. Even as you walk through the warehouse to the door you can feel his eyes burning into your skull. As you open the door you catch sight of him speaking angrily into the ear of one of his goons. You swallow.

Niki sees you exit the building as he returns with the money. You walk briskly towards him. He gives you a questioning expression as he makes it in front of you. “What-”

You claw into his arm and whisper “he knows.” The force of your grip twists Niki on his heel back in the direction of the car. Carefully you slip your hand beneath his jacket and wrap your fingers around his gun, pulling it out of his waistband but not from the cover of the coat. Your arm around his waist pushes him to walk with you.

“He- what?” Niki whispers back.

The bang of the door to the warehouse opening behind you and shouts in Italian makes you both jump into a sprint. “He fucking knows!” Your heels prove difficult to run in on the gravel path, but you don’t let it stop you. Niki has one hand in yours keeping you stable while your other hand brandishes his glock. You throw yourselves into the car, rolling the engine over and slamming the gas to the floor the second the first bullets start flying.

Whipping around in your seat you see three goons start up a black van and begin chasing you. “Hate to make this sound like a cheesy action film,” you start, “but we’ve got company.” Niki acknowledges you with a grunt, shifting through the gears with ease. The van makes haste behind you.

“This is a fucking Ferrari, can’t you go any faster!?” you shout over your shoulder.

“Maybe if you sit the fuck down and buckle your seatbelt I will! I’m not going to take the risk of sending you through the windshield,” he yells back. You huff but do as he says. The door handle creaks under the force of your death grip as Niki weaves between parked cars, shipping containers, and buildings to escape the oddly-fast enemy on your bumper.

A well aimed shot takes out one of the side mirrors; “Scheisse! What did you do that he figured us out?!”

“What did I do?!” you snap back, trading his glock for your own weapon from its holster.

“Yes!”

“I didn’t do anything! The bastard put his hands all over me and felt the wire under my shirt, asshole!” you ground out. He huffs at you. Another pop of a gunshot sounds before Niki pushes the car to go faster, sending the car flying through midair over a small hill and onto a forested road. You feel your stomach in your throat as the vehicle slams back to the paved road you swerve along. It’s late enough that there are no other cars on the tiny winding road. He takes the curves much faster than you would be brave enough to do given the circumstances.

He growls in response to your explanation. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that,” he grumbles. Niki swerves to avoid a rut in the pavement, sending you into the metal of the door.

A second set of headlights reflects off the mirror. “Shit, there’s another car.”

“It’s Hunt.”

“How can you be sure?” you ask.

“Because he drives like an asshole.” he deadpans.

Around the bend of a curve a bullet shatters the glass next to your head, spraying you with shards and ripping a yelp from you. Niki’s hand yanks you down into the center console. You rip him off your scalp. “Stop! God I’m so fucking done with tonight. Ugh! What is your deal with James?” You don’t expect an answer as you voice your thoughts aloud.

Niki mutters “he doesn’t know when to back off,” under his breath.

“What?” you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Don’t be stupid. He’s all over you, he flirts with you all the time. He just wants to fuck you and you play into his little games when we should be working," Niki snarls.

You scoff, once again twisting back to look out the rear window at the van still firing bullets at you. “So you are mad at me.”

“If you want to fuck him so bad, be my guest. I don’t care what you do or who you do it with. But don't jeopardize the mission.” Niki’s voice raises in annoyance as he tells you.

“You really want to do this now?” The sheer audacity of this man to accuse you of putting the case at risk for sex pisses you of beyond reason. Not once have you actually given James the impression that you were about to hop in bed with him.

“Why not, there’s nothing better going on, clearly,” he snarks back sarcastically, never taking his eyes off the road.

Your eyes nearly roll out of their sockets. "God you're fucking dense, Niki." You unclip your seatbelt and move your arm with the weapon out the broken window. Glass shards prick your forearms where you rest your body weight.

“Was zur Hölle machst du!?”

“Drive steady, will you?” you complain in response. “I saw it in a movie once, looked cool.” Careful of the branches whipping past your exposed upper body, you take aim and fire at Lombardi’s men. The first shot gets the windshield, cracking the glass and obscuring the vision, but doesn’t shatter it. Your second shot misses entirely. "Dammit!" A third shot finds home in the rubber of a tire thanks to a perfectly timed curve in the road.

With a screech the van goes lurching left and directly into the trunk of a tree. The crash is deafening. Thankfully, the car with James in it moves in time to veer around the wreck safely. With a sigh of relief you duck back inside the safety of the car.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Niki yells at you. The entire situation had him flustered and raging with adrenaline. The sight of your ass in his face almost caused him to crash until he realized that you’d stuck your entire upper body out into the open. He was petrified. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel immensely turned on at the sight of you being a daredevil with a pistol and taking out the pursuers.

“No. And I’m not going to sleep with Hunt. I don’t know why the hell you think I am, but I told you,” you cock your brow at him, “he’s not my type.”

_

The drive to a hotel an hour from Piombino is silent. A cold breeze pelts your face due to the knocked out window in your door. It feels nice. A reprieve from the adrenaline and sweat of your escape.

It's one in the morning when he parks the Ferrari near the back of the building to hide from view. Nobody needs to question why your car is riddled with bullet holes and broken glass. Niki checks you in. You stand there looking probably as worse as you feel, your white pants stained with dirt and blood. He gives you the key and you take off to your shared room. Niki and James go to debrief in Hunt's suite.

Your shower is hot, scalding really, as you do your best to scrub the remnants of the night from your skin. The weight of the evening has finally caught up with you.

You were caught. You could've died. Niki could've died.

And it would've been your fault.

They say that when you experience a life and death situation it causes you to really reevaluate your life choices. To reflect on the bad decisions. To consider your future options. Suddenly, things that didn't matter do, and those that did matter seem insignificant. You're more willing to take risks to get what you want.

You sit in your pajamas at the foot of the lone bed when Niki arrives. He walks over to you, carefully lifts your arms to inspect the cuts that cover your skin. "Are you okay?" His tone is the opposite of what you heard earlier. He sounds remorseful. Worried.

"Yes. I'm fine."

He nods, "good." He hasn't let go of your hands.

They say life and death situations change your perspective on things. Like how you knew it was a bad idea to break the professional boundary between you and Niki. How it was a terrible idea to think of the man every waking moment in an endless loop. How it was unthinkable that you wanted to kiss the living daylights out of him and never let him go.

How you didn't care anymore about what you shouldn't do when it came to him.

"Niki?" you whisper.

"What is it, Schatz?" His grip tightens on your fingers.

"Will you just fucking kiss me already?"

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @dragon-baron @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze @loliissmut @fandom-princess-forevermore @lorna-d-m @zemosimp05 @hungrhay @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @danielbruhlswife @i-am-dead-inside-666

[liberty-barnes]

Tom being in love with your baby niece

Tom Holland x Female!Reader

Prompt: You meet Tom at a hospital and he’s immediately infatuated with the little girl in your lap (inspired by this video I found on tiktok)

Warnings: F L U F F, Tom being amazing with kids, mentions of alcoholic/drug addict mother, mentions of child abandonment, but overall fluff and feel good story

Word Count: 2379 words (this was supposed to be short but oh well)

Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes

A/N: me, sweating profusely: calm down, just finish writing this, you are stronger than your baby fever, you are too young to have a child CALM TF DOWN

Masterlist

So, funny story, you met at the hospital

Tom had dislocated his shoulder while doing a backflip *dejected sigh*

And you were just trying to keep your baby niece calm while waiting for the nurse to come get you

You were sitting on the bed, Tom was right next to you, only a curtain separating you

But there was a tiny crack near the end from where it was pulled too far

And when you pressed Olivia closer to your chest, her head resting on your shoulder, she made eye contact with him

He saw her tear-filled eyes

(broke his heart)

So he started to make funny faces at her

Which made her start to giggle and coo and make grabby hands towards him

You turned around, visibly confused because hellooo she was just crying a second ago and now she’s???laughing???

And then you saw him

oh shit he’s hot

He smiled at you

You smiled back, cause what else are you supposed to do?

He got up and pushed the curtains back 

And sat on the chair instead

Still on his side of the curtain

But looking at you straight in the eye now

“So... what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a nasty place like this?”

Poor boy thought he was smooth

But he rested his weight on his injured arm

(that idiot) 

And it lead to him hissing in pain and cradling his shoulder with a pout while you laughed

“Fell down the stairs and twisted my ankle. You?”

“Dislocated my shoulder while doing a backflip.”

Meanwhile Liv was now resting on your lap

Looking at him with a smile on her face

And clapping while he smiled at made funny faces at her again

But then he noticed you were watching

And he was kinda making a fool of himself in front of you

(cue the blushing)

(so cute)

So you decided to help him out a little

"Thanks for putting her in a good mood again."

"No problem... is she yours?"

He didn't want to seem rude so he kept the judgment out of his voice, but you seemed a bit young to have a kid already.

"Nah, she's my niece"

"Oh, okay... Why'd you bring her to the hospital with you? It must be hard having to take care of a kid and get your ankle checked."

You looked a bit sad for a while.

"My sister left her with me as soon as I turned eighteen. My parents were never in the picture so it's been me and her for almost a year now."

"I'm sorry..."

"'S okay. Besides, at least I'm not alone all the time you now? I mean, it's hard to take care of a 13 month-old, but at least I know she won't grow up like I did... afraid... wondering if her mom was gonna come home drunk or half-dressed with another guy on her tail, wishing her sister would let her sleep on the bed instead of locking herself up with her boyfriend there."

He watched you smile as you looked down at the little girl in your arms that seemed to be a perfect reflection of you.

That was the moment he fell in love with you

Dark circles under your eyes and all

He got your number (yay!!) and had to work (read: pester you) for two weeks before you agreed to go out on a date with him.

Liv stayed with Harrison (after you checked that he was a good babysitter)

He took you to a nice little restaurant near the beach

They served giant burgers

Which you liked at lot

Conversation was easy 

He asked you what you were currently doing

"I'm working as a waitress in a little diner downtown."

He also found out you were doing online college to get your creative writing degree.

You told him about your family life. 

How your dad died in a car accident when you were three. 

How your mom was an alcoholic junkie and OD'd when you were fifteen.

How your nineteen-year-old sister had to take care of you for there on out. 

How she left soon after you graduated high school and left you with a three-month-old baby to take care of.

In turn, he told you all about his life

How he became an actor and got his big break as Spider-Man

He told you about his family and how much he misses them

How thankful he is to have Haz with him

You excused yourself to the bathroom just before dessert

And that bastard took advantage of that tiny window to pay the bill

You scolded him for that obviously

And tried to pay him back

He laughed and said no

Then he bought you a giant cotton candy

"Tom, seriously I can pay for my own stuff."

"I know but I like spoiling you."

You finished the cotton candy together while strolling down the beach

Then once it was done he threw out the cone and took your hand

The sun was just setting so it was like a picture-perfect moment

So he took advantage of that and kissed you

(so cliche)

You tasted like strawberry from your chapstick

The cotton candy you just had

You tasted like sweetness

And comfort

And home

You started dating officially not long after that

And that's when it all really started

You knew he was good with kids

That first day at the hospital told you as much

But you didn't expect him to be this good

Olivia was very much in love with him

They were practically glued at the hip

She constantly wanted hugs from him

He took her to the park and threw her up in the air while she squealed in delight

He picked her up and carried her while you were making dinner so she didn't feel left out

She sat on his back while he did push-ups

He'd kiss her nose every time he did a sit-up

They would have kissing contests

He kissed her cheek

She kissed his back 

Then he kissed hers again

And so on

Her first word was Tommy

You'd never seen him so happy

You, on the other hand, were not

"I raised you on my own ever since you were three months old and this is the thanks I get?"

They'd often fall asleep together on the couch

Your camera roll was full of photos of them sleeping

Her favorite thing to do was grab him by the sides of his head and kiss his curls

(a d o r a b l e)

He helped you plan the perfect birthday party for her

"Only the best for my best girl"

"I thought I was your best girl"

"Only the best for either of my best girls but in this case the youngest one"

She loved it

You're pretty sure he loved it more

But who can say for sure?

On your six month anniversary, he told you he loved you and that he had no plans on ever leaving you two.

He forced you to quit your job at the diner

"You're overworking yourself. I have more than enough money to take care of all of us and that way you'll be able to focus on your studies and travel with me since you do online college. Everybody wins."

So you went wherever he went

Including filming for Infinity War/Endgame

He took you to set one day

Everybody loved you

But as always, Olivia stole the show

They passed her around like a little doll

She loved the attention

It was quite funny seeing such a tiny baby being held by the mountain of a man that is Chris Hemsworth

She only referred to Chris Evans as 'Cap'

And Robert would forever be 'Tony'

But they didn't mind one single bit

"She just looks so cute when she says it, I can't be mad at her."

You met his family when the filming ended and he went back to London

Dom was ecstatic to finally have a little girl to take care of

"At least she laughs at my jokes, not like those idiots"

"You can leave her with us whenever you want"

Nikki was very happy to have one more girl in her corner

"I swear, if I hear one more second of golf talk, I'll go nuts"

Harry loved taking pictures of Liv

"She's just so photogenic, it's so easy"

You learned a lot of recipes from Sam

"Finally someone that won't wreck my kitchen and taint my food's good name"

Paddy liked playing with Liv and Tessa in the backyard

"It's nice to take care of someone for a change, I'm always the one being babied"

You made your relationship public while you were in London, a year and a half after you started dating

The public loved you

Because he just couldn't help but brag

And Tom with kids is the content the fans live for

tomhotland: omgggg they're so cuteee

spideysbae: the heart eyes thoooo

peterpprotectionsquad: i hereby declare that Olivia is the cutest baby to have ever existed and she must be protected at all costs

He took you to the Far From Home premiere

Your dress matched his suit

The fans went crazy

Olivia was living her best life in her little red and black dress

She'd gotten used to the flashes after Harry's numerous photoshoots

So she was just smiling and clapping a lot

The paparazzi loved her

The interviewers kept asking about you two

"(Y/N)'s the love of my life and Olivia's the sweetest baby I've ever known, I couldn't love her more if she was my own"

"So, do I hear wedding bells ringing?"

"Well, you never know"

That caught your attention for a second but you let it go in favor of posing with Liv after the paps all but begged you to

"Livvy say bye-bye"

She sent a kiss a said bye-bye in all her baby glory

They awed so much

His Instagram was filled with pictures of the three of you

Zendaya took a bunch of selfies with her as well

"Our dresses match, I have no choice"

She kept pretty quiet during the movie

But hugged Tom especially hard when she saw him cry on the big screen

The next morning, you were all over the headlines

"The sweetest little family in Hollywood"

On your third anniversary, he took you on a week-long trip to Bora Bora

Liv stayed with his parents

He took you on a walk to the beach

(déjà vu much?)

And proposed

Clumsily, but he proposed

How can a proposal be clumsy, you ask?

Well, he kneeled on a rock at first

"Ow! Fuck my knee, hold on a second"

Then he kept stuttering because he was so nervous

And in the end (after you said yes and he checked about five times cause "Wait seriously?") he started freaking out cause the ring didn't fit

But she wears the ring I used as a reference all the time!

"Um, Tom?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"The ring's supposed to go on my other hand..."

Ah, that explains it

The wedding was simple but beautiful

Livvy was the flower girl cause she wanted to throw petals in the air

Tessa brought the rings

His heart almost stopped when he saw you walk down the aisle

He was convinced you'd never looked more beautiful than that day at the premiere when your clothes matched 

But right now, looking at your smile and how gorgeous you looked in that dress, he realized he was wrong

He sniffled, trying to hold his tears, but Haz just handed him a tissue

"I came prepared"

You two adopted Liv

She was your daughter anyway, you just made it official

She started calling you 'mommy' and 'daddy'

"She called me 'daddy'."

Oh, the tears

To Tom's great delight, she started picking up a British accent, as she grew

It didn't help that she stayed at Nikki and Dom's all the time when you started teaching at a university in London

So they dialed they're British-ness up to eleven so she'd pick up on the accent

"Mummy, what's for pudding?"

Good Lord

After two years of trying, you found out Tom was unable to have kids

He cried a lot, and felt like he failed

You shut him up with a kiss and immediately mentioned adoption

"There are hundreds of children begging for a home and parents to love them."

You adopted an eight-year-old boy named Lucas and his five-year-old sister Cleo

Olivia loved having another girl her age

They had tea parties

And played dress-up

And forced Lucas to play the prince

You taught them to bake so they could have cookies for their tea party

And Tom found himself often ambushed in one of their games

"No, daddy, you gotta pretend that the big bad dragon took you so we can save you."

They rolled around on the floor and made 'pew pew' noises to imitate guns

Lucas was always quieter

He was your little angel

You two were very close

He shared your love for writing and literature

As well as cooking, to Uncle Sam's greatest delight

You often sat down on the couch, the five of you (and Tessa, obviously) and someone read a book out loud, while the others just laid back and listened

Cleo became very interested in Uncle Harry's camera and took a bunch of photos of her sister and her dad with the polaroid camera she got for her seventh birthday

Olivia still loved the attention and remained the bright and photogenic child she'd always been

She became a model, to no one's surprise

Cleo became a freelance photographer, which allowed her to fulfill her dream of traveling the world while taking pictures and earning good money

Lucas became one of Hollywood's best and brightest screenwriters

But everyone still made time for each other

Attending every single one of Liv's fashion shows

Every time Cleo showcased her pictures in a gallery, they were the first ones there

All of Lucas' films

Going to all of Tom's premieres and wearing matching clothes, per Liv and Cleo's request

"It's for the aesthetic"

Everyone was happy

And life was good

i’m pretty happy now, ngl

i need a Tom in my life

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

In Sorrow and In Joy- Part 2: Second Chances

Luke learns the hard way what it means to be a dad and how to keep his family safe and together. Dad!Luke with a South Asian Reader. This is a collaborative experience with A Family of Five.

CW: Over the course of this series, themes of racism and prejudice on the basis of religion are present. Please read or skip as necessary.

Enjoy my masterlist | Series Masterlist

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No one has my permssion to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations, as well. 

______________________________

Luke stares up at the brick building. He knows he should go in; he wants to go in. But his legs are terrified. Going in means admitting he has a problem. Going in means admitting his wife and child have left him. Going in means he can no longer bury himself in his woes, in alcohol, in chasing down his youth. Going in also means getting back his wife, no, technically ex-wife. Luke wants his ex-wife back. His wants his princess back. But he has to go in, he has to tell some stranger all his problems. He wants his family back. 

 Luke unbuckles himself, exhaling as he opens the car door. He can do this. He can walk into that office. He can walk through that door, tell the receptionist he has an appointment. He can do this. “Good afternoon, sir,” the receptionist greets. 

“Afternoon. I have an appointment at 2:30 with Dr. Johnson,” Luke says. “Hemmings, Luke Hemmings.”

The woman nods, clicking at her keyboard. She grabs an iPad. “Alright, we need you to fill out this questionnaire right quick. And once you finish that, he’ll be right with you.”

Luke nods, a small smile crossing his face. He takes the iPad and turns to the chairs. There are only two other people waiting. Luke settles against the back wall, towards the end of the row, right next to the stack of magazines. This corner feels safe, feels like no one is watching him. Though the receptionist is sitting directly across from him. But she’s busy filling, messing with paperwork. 

He fills out his name, states his reason for the visit and then starts answering the questions. His hands start to shake. On a scale, rate how much these are like you from Not at All, to Very Much Like Me. He’s praying alcohol doesn’t come up; he prays they don’t ask him about depression, anxiety. The first few questions are about anger, coping with it. Those aren’t too bad; those are easy to answer. Until he gets to I feel overwhelmed, or nervous, most days of the week. 

Luke sighs. He feels fucking overwhelmed right now. Very Much Like Me, he taps the corresponding box. He scrolls down. Shit, this is the stuff he was trying to hide. He could run; he would return the iPad and walk out the fucking door. He wouldn’t have to sit here, becoming a puddle of sweat. He grips the arm of the chair, forcing air out through his nostrils. Running is the exact behavior that landed him here. He always runs. There’s nowhere else to run. He can’t run to alcohol; he can’t run to parties. He can’t run to drugs. Escapism is the biggest lie. Luke is stronger than that. He has to be stronger than it, has to know the true demon that lurks beneath the veil. 

Finished with the questionnaire, Luke walks back to the window and hands the iPad over. “Dr. Johnson will be with you shortly,” she smiles at him. 

How the fuck can she smile like this, all the time, Luke wonders. Maybe it’s helpful for some. Maybe it makes them feel normal. Everyone knows what’s happening in that waiting room; everyone knows that some kind of invisible demon is haunting the people that sit in these chairs. Settling back into his seat, Luke picks at his nails. The gel polish is mostly gone. Occasionally he’ll pick too deep and nick his nail. This is nerve-wrecking. This is worse than when he stood outside the front door, knowing just on the other side there were going to be divorce papers. 

He overheard you once a couple months earlier on the phone. He knew his fate was sealed. He didn’t fight it. He should’ve. He should’ve raised hell. He should’ve promised then to get help. But Luke knew that promise was hollow, even though it never left his lips. That promise to you would’ve been so hollow it would’ve echoed in that bedroom. It would’ve shattered your heart, he’s sure. Because you would’ve sat there and watched him break that promise over and over and over. But he’d keep giving you hollow words. It’s a good thing you left him. He hates not waking up to your curls in his face. He hates eating the food he makes, he can’t every season it like you. He hates not hearing Zahra’s squeals. His apartment is so fucking quiet. 

He’s never home because of the silence. It is not home, honestly. It could never be a home without the two of you. “Mr. Hemmings,” a soft voice calls out. 

Luke looks up from god-awful navy blue and red dotted carpet to this voice. An elderly man stares back, a smile resting on his face. Luke grips the arms of the chair for maybe a second too long before pushing to his feet. “How are you?” Dr. Johnson asks as he approaches. 

Terrified, exhausted, angry, hurt. “Alright,” Luke answers. “You?”

“I’m good. Thanks for asking.” 

Luke follows behind the graying man, past offices with door shut. He can’t hear what’s happening behind them. But he has an idea. In Dr. Johnson’s office, Luke settles into the couch, brown leather with a throw pillow in it. It’s low to the floor. Luke feels a tad more secure as his knees press damn near his chest. It’s like the fetal position, his body closing in on him. The leather jacket and leather seat are going to make for a hot combination, for the moment, Luke welcomes the uncomfortable heat. It reminds him that he’s here for a reason, that he’s got to fix himself--for his family, for his child, for himself. 

“So,” Dr. Johson says, after tapping away at the computer and pulling out a notebook. He settles into the other low seated chair across from Luke. “I read that your here to get help. Care to explain a bit more for me?”

Luke swallows, throat closing. He needs so much help, so much fucking help. “I need to get my family back,” he answers softly. “My wife left me, took our daughter too. She had every right to leave. I fucked up. I want them back.”

“Are you only getting better for them?”

Luke shakes his head, tears threatening to take over his vision. “I’m tired of running. I wanted to stop years ago. It just took losing everything for me to realize that.”

“Tell me what happened. What are you running from? What are you running to?”

The air is his lungs rushes out past his lips. He’s been running from so much. He’s been running to all the wrong things. “I love my family. But I had a kid before I was ready. I ran from that straight to the bottle. I haven’t had a drink in two weeks, but I know I could easily slip. I don’t want to slip again.”

Dr. Johnson nods, scratching something down on the legal pad. “Well, I’m proud of you getting that far. If you’re serious about help, I can help you. You’re on the right track, taking the right steps.”

__ Zahra runs to the door, after hearing the doorbell ring. It’s Friday night, she knows it’s Luke coming over for dinner. You slide the pan out of the oven, shouting. “Ra, wait!” For the past three and a half months, Luke comes over for family dinners. You didn’t want to completely rip Zahra away from Luke. That was her father, she needed him. He needed Zahra too. It keeps him sane, the highlight of his week is coming over for dinner. She gushes about what’s happening at daycare; her friends. She shows him all her latest drawings. After setting the pan onto the table, you walk over to the door where Ra bounces in joy. Luke stands on the other side of the door, you gather from the glance into through the peephole. 

Opening the door, Ra runs to her dad, “Daddy!”

He laughs, showing one hand to her. “Hey, baby girl.” No matter how many times you open that door for Luke, the reunion always makes your heart swell, your eyes a tad watery. Does Zahra hate you for doing this? For putting the three of you into separate houses? You hope she doesn’t. You pray the weekly visits help. 

Luke looks up from his squat, unveiling a small bag to you. “It’s for Zahra, but I don’t want to forget to give it,” he says. 

With a nod, you take it and he collects the little girl into his free arms, walking into your place. This feels like home to him. It’s not the old house, you didn’t want it and neither did he. He’s not sure who the new owners are, he doesn’t care. The only thing he knew was that too many ghosts lived in that house for him, too many nights of him staying downstairs, stumbling over himself, cursing himself for being too loud. You couldn’t bare to waking up in such a huge bed without his soft snores. You didn’t want to eat breakfast at the same counter you handed divorce papers over. 

Zahra clings to her father, face buried in his pale neck. He still smells the same, she thinks. This is still her dad, though he’s not in the same home as her. Though the only person when the nightmares scare her is her mother. “Can you stay the night, Daddy?” she whispers. “I miss you.”

The bag falls into the couch cushion from your fingers. You knew she missed him. You knew she knew how empty the place was without him. She had just never said that to you. She had never uttered the words to express how much she felt her father’s absence. “Oh,” Luke starts, turning to you. The door closes with a soft thud. “Uh,” he’s waiting for you to jump in. He’d love to stay, but this is your house. These are your rules. He can’t make that call. 

Heart thundering in your chest, you tuck some hair behind your ear quickly. Luke knows that tick--a nervous twitch, one full of panic. “What are you doing over the weekend?” you ask. 

Luke freezes, he wasn’t moving before. But now his muscles seize up on him. Most weekends he goes to the pier, watches the wave. The beach has become a solace for him now. He goes there, goes to the studio to write, then goes home. His life is slowly coming together; he’s learning how to be by himself. “Nothing,” he finally answers. 

“Take her for the weekend. She has Brittany’s birthday party at 2 tomorrow, at their house. But that’s it.”

“I’m not--,” he starts. You shake your head, waving a hand to dismiss his statement. He’s taken her the day, on small trips to just hang out. The courts have left that up to your discretion. But overnight, weekends, Luke gave up. He wanted to get his head on straight before taking those rights. He has to check in at 6 months into therapy before the courts will rule on whether he can have weekends. 

 “I know you have another two and a half months before evaluation, I don’t care. Take her for the weekend.” 

He’s laid in bed at night, wishing to take her home with him, staying up until she passes out underneath blanket forts, having her on his shoulders as they walk around the zoo, helping her with whatever work she was learning at the time. He misses those soft moments with her. He needs those moments back. That’s the whole reason he doesn’t keep a bottle in his house, why he doesn’t stay out long with the boys. Because the later the night goes, the more tempted he is to just have one drink. One of the boys always sees him out, he calls Ashton usually, when he gets home. It’s a system--it works. He’s thankful for it. 

“Are you serious, Mommy?” Zahra questions. 

You nod, looking over to it. She’s not a spitting image of you, some features taking more after Luke, but brown chubby cheeks are lifted in a smile like yours. “I’m serious, sweetie.”

“I don’t wanna go to Brittany’s party,” she says. 

“We already got her a gift and said we were going. You have to go.”

“But I don’t want to be away from Daddy.”

“I’ll be there, sweetheart. The entire time,” Luke interjects. He doesn’t want to be away from his princess either. 

During dinner, Zahra and Luke plan what other activities they can do over the two days--the movies they can watch, if they should go to the bookstore to find the new book she wants or if ice cream is a better idea. Zahra suggests both, Luke reaches over, running his fingers through her hair and agrees. 

Zahra drags Luke behind her, to help her pack her bag for the adventure to his house. Luke finds her bag. “Two outfits,” he directs, opening the dresser to pull out socks and underwear. He hasn’t stocked his place with clothes just yet. She has a few things, mainly just in case she has an accident. Her room was already fully decorated. The first room he completed, it was way too early. But he wanted to make sure that was perfect for her, that she knew she was loved and welcomed by him still. 

Zahra hands Luke her choice clothes and he slides them into the bag. She grabs her favorite stuffed teddy bear, survey her room. “Shoes, baby girl. Which ones?” he asks, looking at the collection her closet. 

With a nod, she walks over and picks out a pair, glittery and blue. Satisfied that everything is packed, they walk back up front. She give you a hug. “Love you,” she whispers. 

“Love you too. Be good for Daddy.”

She nods, smiling. “Of course.”

Luke stands near the door, the pink backpack on his shoulders. “Thank you,” he says. You don’t have to do this. Both of you know you can’t ever mention this, know you’ll have to bribe Zahra to keep quiet about this. But his chest is full again. 

“No need to thank me. She’s your kid too.”

It’s only after they have left do you realize that the bag for Zahra is still on the couch. You don’t dare peek inside. Instead you put it on her bed for when she returns. Being with her father is a much better gift anyhow. 

__ As you’re picking Zahra up after your last lecture of the day, your phone rings. You don’t answer, don’t even look to see who it is. Until you get home. There’s a voicemail from Luke. You listen to it, pulling your bag from the front seat. “I know you’re probably driving right now. But I was wondering if I could get Ra tomorrow, just for the day. There’s a festival in town--we’re not playing. Some friends are, just wanted to take her with me if that’s okay. Talk to you soon.”

Zahra watches you from the front seat, shocked at your long silence. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Dad’s coming to get you tomorrow for the day,” you smile back at her.  She cheers in her carseat, the rest of her evening made. You call him back, agreeing to let her go for the day. One day out of daycare is not going to hurt her. While Zahra floats on cloud nine, you are a nervous wreck. Luke’s pulling himself together. Only two more weeks until his first eval and your gut tells you, he’s going to do well with no problem. 

You watch him at family dinners, the way he’s never overstepping, but firm. He always has to warn about the veggies, she’s a bit of stubborn about them. You listen to the way she talks about her days with him, the way she talks about just laying on the couch with him, watching movies, the way he listens to her days, the way they color together. She gets huffy when he reminds her of manners, and patience, almost as if she’s not quite realized that Luke will always discipline her about those things no matter what. He’s still her parent, even if he’s not there 24/7. 

Getting Zahra ready is tough. She bounces all over the place, excited to get some time with her dad. It makes you happy, but when Luke knocks to pick her up, she’s still not dressed. Which is not ideal. You open the door, letting Luke in. He’s in white button up, though some of the button’s aren’t done, skinny jeans and a leather jacket. Suddenly the urge to kiss him hits you, but you swallow it back down. This isn’t his normal attire for coming over. You never lost attraction to him, but this look surely makes it a bonfire instead of a burning candle. 

Even with the mild distraction, you’re able to focus on the tasks at hand. “She’s being a bit rambunctious today. She’s dressed, just needs to finish eating and brush her teeth.”

Luke nods, with a smile. His face is fuller now too. On his walk over to the dining room table, his fingers brush over yours. Zahra rushes down the rest of her meal, wanting to head out as soon as possible. You collect the bowl, rinsing out in the Luke. 

“Brush your teeth. I’m timing for the whole two minutes,” he says to Zahra. She groans but runs to the bathroom. 

You can feel Luke’s gaze burning holes in the back of your head. What does he want? His presence closes in on you, the warmth from his scolding your back almost. “I know I really fucked up,” he starts. 

Do not turn around, you warn yourself. “You’re human.”

“No, but I really fucked up. I ran from my responsibility when I shouldn’t have. I made you effectively a mother of two, trying to baby me and raise an actual baby. I can’t promise I won’t stumble, that I won’t make other mistakes. I just need you to know that you handing me those divorce papers was the wake up call I needed. I’m sorry for making you got through that. I’m sorry for acting like a child instead of speaking up.”

His hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and firm. Pulling you from the counter, he turns you, blue eyes meeting brown. You swear for a second the air leaves your chest. His remorse swims behind his eyes. “I’m asking this kind of early, I know. I’m not hundred percent okay. I’m not ready to jump back into the deep end. But I just need to know, do you really believe in second chances? Would you really take me back?”

You nearly went to the ends of the earth for this man. You ran yourself crazy, but you love him. You love him. Luke takes your silence for a moment, but panic hits him in his chest. “I love you, I never stopped loving you.” His hand cups your cheek. The feeling of him against your skin makes your toes curl. 

“I believe in second chances,”  you sigh, eyes fluttering close. “I’m not a liar. I will take you back.”

His body exhales, Luke closes his eyes for a moment, head dropping towards yours. Foreheads resting against each other, you can’t help but inhale his cologne. He feels all too familiar as you step into him, gently resting a hand against his hip. “Can I kiss you?” he breathes, the smell of mint falling into your nostrils. 

You should say no, but your body aches for him. “Yes.”

His lips find yours, softly pressing together. Someone swallows the other’s sigh of relief. One hand curls around his elbow, the other digging into the fabric of his jeans. Luke pulls away, only a tad hovering right above your lips. It would be so easy to kiss him again. He pulls back again, heart racing in his chest. He wonders if it will burst. 

“Are you and Mommy getting back together?” Zahra asks. The two of you clear your throat, smoothing clothes. 

He leans against the fridge, biting on his lip. He wants too, just not right now. He’s not in the right headspace fully, there’s still so much work for him to do on himself. Luke glances over to you. The shrug pulls your shoulders up for a moment before releasing it. He bends down. “Give Daddy some more time. I’m getting help and soon, maybe Mommy and I can talk about that. But I still love you, you know that right?”

The sparkle in Ra’s eyes dulls. She hates watching him leave. She wants him to stay. “I know,” she answers. She looks up at her father. He looks so much happier, so much better. She likes him like this. “Just keep getting better, Daddy, please?”

Wrapping her in a hug, Luke feels the tears running down his cheek. “I will, baby girl. Daddy promises to keep getting better.”

[gender-critical-analytical]

Just read a post about cops and the shit these crazy, power hungry beasts do, and I want to share a few stories of my own experiences (I would ask you to keep in mind that I am white, and that I recognize how my white privilege kept me from having far, far worse experiences.) But, here we go:

Scene: my family, consisting of me, my mom, my grandmother, and my infant baby sister, is in our car. It’s an old, busted up vehicle that we got on an incredible bargain of $400, because the dealer was sympathetic to what we had going on in our lives at the time. It was winter, the sun was nearly fully set, and it was snowing heavily. We were driving home from checking out a house for rent nearby, which was a bust, because it wasn’t one we would be able to afford anyway. We were about 6 blocks from our house.

Flash of red and blue and a siren. We pulled over. A male cop approached the driver’s window where my grandmother was, and asked her why we thought he had pulled us over. My grandma played dumb and said she had no idea. We all figured it was because our plates were expired, and yeah, that was part of it.

He tells us that we drove too slow a few roads back, and that he suspected my grandma of being intoxicated. She remained completely polite, but told him that there was a very large, visible patch of ice in the road, and that we had already been approaching a red light. She had her two grandchildren in the car, and would rather be safe than sorry. Michigan winters are nasty, after all, especially when it comes to the roads. He accepted that answer. Then, he brought up the expired plates.

And so, my grandma gave him the short rundown:

“Officer, my family lost our home to a house fire, and we’ve just spent more than what we had relocating to our only option, which we still can’t afford. I had to choose between getting the plates renewed and feeding my daughter and her kids, and I made my choice. I’ve been driving as little as I can, and I plan to keep doing so until I can renew my plates.”

And he listened. He heard what she said. But he still didn’t care.

Cop: “Well, I’m sorry, but your vehicle is going to be towed.”

Grandma: “Ok. But we’re only six blocks from our home. Can we get back to our house, and then you can tow the car from there?”

My baby sister began to stir, and the cop looked when he heard her. My little sister is biracial, but she looks fully black. The officer, and I’m not even fucking joking a little bit here, laughs after seeing her, and says, “Well, it would just be a shame if you had to walk out in this cold with the little one.” He was fucking dripping sarcasm.

He had our car towed from where it was. He could have called another cop to drive us back to our home, but instead, he specifically made my grandma and my BABY SISTER stand in the snow, by the road, while he took my mom and I home first. We had no choice in what order he drove us. That man was such a fucking pig, I’m legitimately surprised he didn’t just make us all walk. My baby sister cried all night, and my mom struggled to warm her back up. We spent about a month without any form of transportation, until my grandmother found a dealer with some empathy who could give us another old, banged up car we still couldn’t afford.

Our plates were two months overdue.

Scene: My mother, my cousin and I, are on our way to a birthday party. I’m seven. My cousin is six.

My mom is intoxicated, very much so. She’s an alcoholic, but my cousin and I are too young to know that. She crashes the car.

There are no serious injuries, and no other vehicle is involved. My cousin and I cried like babies, but more out of fear than anything else. He bit his tongue, I bit my lip, or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, we were both bleeding from the mouth, not severely, but enough to frighten us even more.

A cop pulls over beside the car after I’m not sure how long. He is absolutely livid, red in the face. My mom is arrested for driving while intoxicated. The cops calls for backup to handle my cousin and I, but he does not wait for the other officer to arrive. He leaves with my mother in his car, and does not inform my cousin and I of what is happening, or that anyone will be coming for us. We are alone in a wrecked vehicle for nearly an hour before the other officer arrives. He gives a reason as to why he took so long, I don’t remember it. Neither of us know our other relatives phone numbers, we only know 911. The first officer took my mother’s phone along with her. It’s another two hours before we’re left in the custody of my aunt. 

Scene: It’s early summer, just the beginning of June, 6 months or so before the first incident on this list. My family is using a rented U-Haul to move most of our furniture, and I have a friend over for my first official sleepover in the house. He helps us move, and for the brief few minutes he isn’t assisting me in lugging furniture into the house, he takes my dogs out into the yard for a small walk. While he’s out, a guy our age (16/17) happens to walk by on the street. He must not read social cues very well, because he stops and tries to talk to my family and I, while we’re moving a wooden dresser down the ramp of the U-Haul. 

At one point, he gets out a pocket knife. I should make it clear that he wasn’t a genuine threat to any of us, he was just very, very talkative, and apparently very proud of the big ass knife he had just been given by his grandfather. He swung it around and made some jokes about being a ninja or whatever, and one of my dogs freaked out and made a mad dash at him. My friend, who we’ll call G, hadn’t been prepared to hold a full grown boxer back with one hand gripping the leash, and my dog pulled free and bit the dude’s leg. She didn’t break the skin, and the guy, who we’ll call D, was fine. He said he grew up with large dogs and had been beaten up much worse, and he promptly left without any trouble. This will become important later.

Skip ahead about an hour, and it’s on the verge of starting to get dark. Most of the stuff is in the house, and we’re done moving in for the night. My mom has just been paid for the week, but we haven’t gone grocery shopping yet, so there isn’t much to eat in the house. G has just gotten his level 2 driving permit, and he offers to take me and run down the street to get McDonald’s for everybody. My grandma is passed out on the couch, exhausted, and my mom is taking care of my fussing little sister. Although it’s illegal for G to drive without an adult in the car, my mom simply tells us that we should be fine; it’s just down the street, and as long as we’re safe and follow the road laws, we shouldn’t have any sort of trouble.

She gives us her credit card, takes her weed out of the car (a just-in-case measure that, looking back, was invaluable) and we go. G drives steadily, and I keep an extra eye on his speed the whole time just to be sure of it. We were both really nervous at first.

We get to the McDonald’s. We order food for ourselves and my family. We head back home. The sky is orange and bright, a small detail that will also have a decent level of importance later.

I live in a sort of community, it’s difficult to navigate and pretty large. G had a better understanding of how to get back to my house than I did, and this was his first time visiting. We were both worried about getting lost, but we figured if we did, park security (who are NOT officers) could help us. Just as we pulled into the entrance of the place, we see D from earlier, waving us down. G and I shared a look, before he pulled over. D didn’t even get to speak before we noticed red and blue lights behind us, which means now we were pulled over in both senses. 

The cop had not even seen D until he looked through our car windows and noticed him on the other side of the vehicle. He swore upon seeing him and berated him for not putting his hands up and announcing himself as soon as the cop pulled us over. D, G, and I are all white. The cop tells us he pulled us over because our headlights weren’t on, and it was too dark for that. Again, the sky was bright orange, and the road and everything alongside it was easily visible.

G had turned 16 about a month ago, and was still getting used to it.

Cop: “How old are you?”

G: “I’m fifteen.”

Cop: “What?? Get out of the car, now. Hands where I can see them!”

Me: “He’s sixteen! He just turned sixteen! He mispoke!”

The officer demands that G show ID, while cuffing him. G tells him his permit is in the cupholder in his wallet. The cop accuses him of lying. I have my hands up where they can be seen, and I tell the officer that his wallet is right there, in plain sight. I don’t move my hands. I ask if the officer wants me to give him the wallet. He screams at me in absolute rage to keep my hands where he can see them, though I still haven’t moved. I complied, for a moment, and then announced, twice, because he acted like he couldn’t hear me 

Me: “I’m reaching for my phone, it’s on the dashboard, I’m going to call the owner of this car.”

Cop: “It’s not your car?! This is a stolen vehicle?!”

Me: “No! This is my grandma’s car, we have her permission to drive it! We live in this neighborhood and I’m calling her to come speak to you!”

He pushes G, cuffed, forward, despite not walking forward himself, and then yells at him to stop moving and drags him back, slams him up against the car. I should mention that G, although male, is only about 5′9, and very thin. No muscle on him whatsoever.

At this point, I’m on the phone with my mother. My grandma didn’t pick up. I’m very shakily telling her what’s going on, and she tells me to just wait one moment, she’ll get my grandma up and have her come get us in the U-Haul.

The cop moves G into his vehicle, and D is still standing by my window, muttering variations of the word ‘yikes’.

I get off the phone with my mom, and loudly announce that I’m stepping out of the vehicle and approaching the cop’s car. It was difficult to raise my voice to a yell that he could hear from in his car, but I did, and I kept my hands up. I approached his window, and told him my grandma was on her way. I asked him if he would prefer I stay in my grandma’s car, if I were to just stand where he could see me, or if he would want to cuff me and keep me in his vehicle, too. As much of a snarky smartmouth as I can be, this was all said completely respectfully. My hands stayed up.

The officer told me to, quote, “Get any important shit out of the car and walk home.”

Me: “I’ve just moved here, and I don’t know how to get home. I want to wait here until my grandma arrives. It will just be a minute.”

Cop: “I told you to go. Walk.”

D, from near our car : “I can take you home, and help you carry the food!”

Cop: “You heard him. Go.”

Me: “I don’t know him, and I don’t feel safe walking somewhere I don’t know with a strange guy, can I please just-”

Cop: “I told you to fucking leave, that’s an order! Go! Fucking Go!”

At this point I was near tears, and I looked past the cop at G, who was nodding at me to leave.

When I did as the cop said and I got everything out of the car, he screamed at me again, and drew his gun. I explained that I was just doing what he told me to. He put the gun away.

On the walk back to the house, D took an extended path (which I only know now that I’ve lived in this neighborhood a while) and told me several explicit stories along the way. He made ‘jokes’ about raping me, and, I’m not even fucking kidding, forced me to wear his hoodie. I get that that doesn’t sound sinister, but he made me put everything down, took my phone, took the hoodie I was ALREADY WEARING, and made me put his on. I was fucking terrified, but I couldn’t say no because he had my phone, and he had a knife. I was fucking scared the whole time because for all I knew, he wasn’t even taking me home. He knew this place like the back of his hand, and I had no idea where I was or where I could even run to. For the rest of the 20 minute walk, he continuously made jokes about forcing himself on me, and I had nowhere to go.

When I made it back to my house safe and got my hoodie and phone back, he tried convincing me to let him stay and eat the food we’d gotten. My mom didn’t know any of what he’d said along the way home, but she made him leave. It was about 45 minutes from then until my grandma came back with G. The officer towed the car.

G had a breakdown and called his family, but he stayed the night still. He told me later that (important detail: G is gay, and, although I feel bad saying it, very noticeably so. He fits a lot of stereotypes, ie he has a lisp, dresses semi-nicely, and is somewhat flamboyant) the cop had called him a fag, had called him a dirty queer, had told him that his body cam was off, and that if something happened to him, no one would ever be able to prove it. The cop even had the fucking gall to chat over his radio about the ‘fag’ he’d picked up.

The cop threatened to have G put in jail overnight, or until his father would come to get him. All of this in the ten minutes it took for my grandma to get there.

These are all off the top of my head. I, a white teenager, have never once met a ‘good cop’. These encounters are mild compared to the absolute horror stories about police that I’ve heard. All of these ended up with all of us safe, and all of us living, but they very easily could have gone sour. My heart goes out to anybody with similar or worse experiences, because even though these were small, they were still absolutely fucking terrifying to experience. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to go through worse. Fuck cops. Fuck all of them, because even a ‘good cop’ aka a cop who does the bare minimum (their job) either enables other’s to behave this way, or isn’t even a cop, because they were fired for not letting it slide. ACAB.

Stay safe, everyone, and I’m sorry.

[motherfated]

AREUM’S ROUTE / BAD ENDS / GOOD ENDS / AFTER ENDING STUFF. this is a super long post, please don’t feel like you gotta read it, i just wanted to write it.

HOW TO EARN AREUM HEARTS:

Complimenting Mei-Shin or just asking about her daughter’s wellbeing in general with usually get you to earn a heart along with telling areum you’ve eaten, show interest in her baking & show concern for the other members once everything starts to go downhill.

HOW TO GET AREUM’S HEART BREAKS:

if mc thinks of only herself openly in chatlogs, is rude towards any of the members, speaking negatively about areum’s comfort in alcohol, makes any rude/hurtful comment towards rika. ( areum had high respect towards rika! )

COMMON ROUTE.

areum is actually pretty skeptical of MC, she’s closed off and very quiet, only making small inputs of her opinion in the prologue. she’s distant to mc and doesn’t tend to stay long in chatrooms after the prologue. areum had high respect towards rika and what she did to get guests to the party so of course areum is going to be standoffish and distant when a stranger comes in. in the prologue, areum openly argues with v’s decision to let MC stay and do rika’s work. of course, not meaning to give any disrespect towards MC, but areum is a single mother to a one-year-old, she can’t help but be a nervous wreck when some stranger comes into the messenger, a place where she feels safest. she’s not happy and only sends a “Fine.” before leaving the chatroom at the end of it.

DAYS 5 & 6

after all the chatrooms and calls, you got areum’s route she most likely part of the DEEPER STORY part of mystic messenger! she’s slowly opening up more to you as the chatrooms go by and get to know you. she even apologizes for how cruel she must have been in the beginning, of course super embarrassed and timid in reaching out to MC. her hearts are a lot easier to earn, and almost like zen hands out hourglasses, areum hands out hearts depending on if you do what’s said above. she really is the sugar momma for hearts.

throughout these two days, areum is a lot friendlier after apologizing for her behavior when she first met MC, she even suggests for them to bake together after the party! asking MC what her favorite sweets are & makes promises to bake them for her! if MC calls areum, sometimes she’ll let MC talk with Mei-Shin over the phone! she really growing wowie. she even mentions how she’ll casually drink from time to time which is actually hinting towards her severe addiction to it.

DAY 7.

when the bodyguards are sent out / the bomb is revealed, areum is super active in the messenger, continuously asking if MC is okay, desperately wanting to help her out in some way but obviously, she can’t actually do anything. areum openly expresses her concerns and unease towards her own bodyguards, making comments on how she feels like a bigger target with a group of people in suits following her, escorting her to places. she even starts to speak about her parents and how they disowned her for getting pregnant before marriage, etc to mc (and basically the rfa bc the messenger.) and revealing her damaged relationship with them and her younger brother. and even though she’s angry with her parents, she desperately wants to fix things... but just doesn’t know how and is too stubborn to let go of the fact they shunned her and their only grandchild...

DAYS 8 & 9.

IN THE CHATROOM AT 3:40 AM areum, drunkenly, reveals the past about her abusive ex-boyfriend to MC and basically the whole RFA when in a chatroom with MC. speaking of the verbal/psychological, and sometimes physical abuse that happened, how she felt so useless then & when rika’s suicide happened, and now, with MC in danger, she feels like she’s back in that mindset. she can’t help but worry constantly about MC, drunkenly expressing how her heart can’t take the worry, that it aches too much to the point she can’t focus. Areum reveals that alcohol has helped her feel better in the means of forgetting the ‘ache’ in her chest every time she thinks of her ex-boyfriend, rika’s suicide, MC’s safety... Areum brings up that her baby daddy ran into her today, which was also the second reason why she decided to drink so heavily.

As the days continue, it’s clear Areum is sinking into a deeper depression and deeper into her addiction as she shows more typos, becomes more sentimental, or if she calls MC her words are slow & slurred. News gets out that Myung is filing for custody over mei-shin and Areum can’t stop the panic attacks she gets in the story branch that’s unlocked. It’s revealed how unstable areum's mental state is, holding her daughter and crying uncontrollably, slurring apologies for everything to ghostly ears.

BAD END # 1 BRANCH DAY 8.

if MC were to take Areum’s brother’s side with taking mei-shin and make playful comments instead of being serious and constructive in ways to support the woman and offer help, Areum suddenly goes radio silent, rarely logging into the messenger. The last time she does log in is at night when no one else is logged in, being completely wasted, she sends a picture of the stars from her rooftop, making comments on how they sparkle and how beautiful they are before she logs out of the chatroom. When Areum gets up to go inside, she loses her balance and ultimately slips, falling off the 10 story building, too drunk to catch herself and ultimately ending in her death.

BAD END # 2 BRANCH DAY 9 - 10.

Myung wins full custody of mei-shin and that’s the snapping point for areum. she’s in a dark place mentally and can’t find a way out, her depression becomes more apparent and obvious down this branch as she makes comments in chatrooms on how empty everything seems, she doesn’t post pictures of home-made sweets like she used to, you’ll see her name in the chatroom but she won’t speak unless spoken to, and even then her answers are short and cryptic. eventually, she doesn’t login anymore, doesn’t go to work, doesn’t eat. she’s empty, SHE’S LOST. on day 10, a mint eye believer comes knocking, areum on auto-pilot opens the door, she’s then told of paradise and how it’s she is so close to being welcomed into it, of course advertising their organization and with areum in her robotic / auto-pilot state, she starts to believe them. in depressive thoughts believing that possibly her daughter would be waiting in paradise for her.

after hours of not logging on, areum finally does, just to send ‘Please do not worry. I’m going to be fine now, everything will be fine now.’ before logging out with no further explanation, either destroying or leaving her phone in her apartment, areum disappears, allegedly joining mint eye. Her brother puts up Missing Person posters for Areum at local convent stores, park billboards, etc. But she has just vanished.

DAYS 10 - 11. GOOD ENDING.

If MC stays supportive but also realistic with areum in her battle with her addiction, she’ll start to see reason, and see that if she doesn’t clean up her act, her daughter will be taken away from her. she finally agrees to seek out help from local AA meetings, tossing out a bottle one day every other week, of course, baby steps. she will fall and struggle sometimes but with this new determination thanks to MC’s support and somewhat wake up call, she refuses to stay down. when it’s the day of the party, areum doesn’t log into the morning chatroom. but at the party, areum has mei-shin in her arms, standing at the mic, thanking all the guests for attending, speaking of the rfa and their purpose before she switches the topic to her own battle and how she wouldn’t be standing there to greet them all if it wasn’t for one special woman, lololol it’s mc surprise. areum makes a speech of how mc has changed her life for the better and how she wants to continue to work on herself for not only her daughter, but for MC and the rfa members, and ofc u know this girl is gonna look at MC and do a cheesy thing like “if you’re by my side, i know i can defeat my demons... i love you, mc... thank you for being the light at the end of the tunnel for me...” BEFORE COMIN DOWN WITH HER DAUGHTER AND SMOOCHINTF OUTTA MC SDKKJSDKJFD

AFTER ENDING.

o ha ha. EVERYTHING’S GREAT BRUH. areum is 4 years sober now, she has her own bakery but also teaches young children how to play the violin, and u know areum is big gay for mc. even putting MC’s name on the bakery’s name along with hers, and mei-shin is happy with her two moms don't even @ me bro. areum’s hair is longer, usually tied back, and she’s so happy, you can see the fucking SUNSHINE RADIATING OFF OF HER BRO. she bakes mc cute cupcakes almost every weekend and is a lot more open with her past to all her friends now. she even fixed her broken relationship with her parents and younger brother, having them involved in her life & mei-shin’s. there’s family photos hanging up in the bakery and everyONE IS JUST SO HAPPYYYY.

[milkchu]

❝anyway the wind blows❞ ♔ eleven.

Summary: (Y/N) Mercury’s journey of love, fame, and pain, alongside what would become one of the most legendary bands ever, Queen.

Pairing: Borhap!Queen x Reader, eventual Brian May x Reader

Warnings: swearing (as usual), ANGST (a lot), some fighting, drinking, drugs, rude ass reporters, p**l pr*nt*r

A/N: i suggest watching or listening to the aobtd scene in borhap (or simply just play the song) while reading. for the “club” scene, i also kinda visualized it to be like the first minute of this video.

⇦ previous chapter // next chapter ⇨

“We’re a rock and roll band. We don’t do disco.”

“It’s not disco,” John replied, before Brian asked, “Then what is it?”

John shrugged, “It’s Queen.”

“So sorry, my darlings!” You shouted into the microphone, everyone’s ears perking up, “Lost all track!”

As Roger stood up from his seat, “You fired Reid without consulting us,” He glared at you through the glass window, you simply just sending a smirk his way before heading over inside, Paul patting your shoulder.

“You don’t make decisions for the band!” Roger chastised, before Brian tried to calm him down, “Hey.”

You walked through the door with both hands full with a beer bottle and a cigarette, “Well, I’m terribly sorry dear. It’s done.”

“Besides…” You walked over to Miami sitting by the table beside the drum risers, “Miami will manage us,” You put out your cigarette on the ashtray, Miami letting out nervous chuckles, “Won’t you darling?”

“Erm…I’ll think about it,” Miami replied.

You turned to face Brian and Roger before Brian asked, “Are you high again?”

“Well done, Columbo.”

“You need to slow down, (Y/N).”

“Oh, don’t be such a bore, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Are you?” Brian fired back before John sighed and stood up, “I don’t care if you’re shit-faced,” He handed you the lyrics, “As long as you can sing.”

Handing the other two the papers, Roger complained, “No, John. I don’t want to play it.”

“Then I’m all for it,” You said, looking through the paper.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m tired of the bloody anthems. I want the energy in the clubs, the bodies, I want to make people move.”

“You mean disco?” Brian asked.

Paul chimed in, “Why not?”

Brian turned to glare at the so-called manager, “Do you mind pissing off? This is a band discussion.”

“Drum loops? Synthesizers?” Roger chided, “It’s not us, it’s not Queen!”

“Queen is whatever I say it is!” You yelled back at him.

Brian shook and head and let out a scoff while Roger walked up to you, “Well, you can play your own bloody drums, then.”

You just took the paper and pushed it hard into Roger’s face, making him move backwards.

“(Y/N),” Brian warned.

Roger huffed and took long strides towards you, but was immediately stopped by Brian, “Roger, take it easy!”

“Take it easy.”

You were so ready to introduce your fist to Roger’s face but Brian held you back, separating the two of you, “All right, Muhammad Ali.”

In the midst of all this, John just simply started playing a catchy, upbeat bass riff.

Once the three of you took notice, you started to bob your head while Brian said, “That’s..that’s quite a cool riff, actually,” Roger sighing and slowly nodding his head in agreement.

“You wrote that?” You asked, John just glaring at the three of you, “That’s really good.”

“Yes, it will be,” John sighed, “If you could all just shut up and play.”

Brian patted your shoulder before you complained, “He started it!” You pointed at Roger, before Brian replied, “Oh, shut up.”

Once John resumes playing the riff, Brian walked away towards his guitar, leaving you and Roger beside each other.

Bobbing your head, you took a sip of your beer, looking over to Roger before taking his hand and putting your bottle in it, sending a smirk his way, while he still glared at you.

You picked the lyrics back up, and started reciting them, walking around Roger, who started bobbing his head as well, Brian joining in with his guitar, “Steve walks warily down the street,”

With the brim pulled way down low,

Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet,

Machine guns ready to go.”

You stopped in front of Roger, reciting the lyrics while he stared up at you, nodding his head, before you walked up on the drum risers, “Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this?”

Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this? 

Are you hanging on the edge of your seat? 

Out of the doorway the bullets rip,”

Miami slammed his briefcase on the table, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“To the sound of the beat.”

“I’ll do it!”

Let’s go!

Steve walks warily down the street

With the brim pulled way down low

Ain't no sound but the sound of his feet,

Machine guns ready to go

Paul smirked as he held your hand, leading you down the crowd, the club reeking of smoke, alcohol, and some other smells that you were too familiar with.

Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this? 

Are you hanging on the edge of your seat? 

Out of the doorway the bullets rip

To the sound of the beat

Red lights flashed before your eyes, almost blinding you, so you tried so hard to focus on Paul and Paul only.

Another one bites the dust

Another one bites the dust

And another one gone, and another one gone

Another one bites the dust

Hey, I'm gonna get you, too

Another one bites the dust

Paul opened a door for you at the back of the club, that was guarded by a buff man, your heart already beating fast from the adrenaline coursing through your body.

How do you think I'm going to get along

Without you when you're gone? 

You took me for everything that I had

And kicked me out on my own

He finally led you to a private room, bags of white powder scattered across a coffee table surrounded by wine red couches. As you took your seat, a woman clad in almost all leather offered you golden platter with a nose snorter to match.

Are you happy, are you satisfied? 

How long can you stand the heat? 

Out of the doorway the bullets rip

To the sound of the beat

Look out!

London, 1982

“(Y/N)!”

“(Y/N), over here!”

“(Y/N)! As the leader of Queen...do you feel responsible for the success of the band?”

“I’m not the leader of Queen, I’m only the lead singer,” You replied.

“(Y/N)!”

“A question for (Y/N)! Do you ever doubt your talent?”

“No, that’s a stupid question,” You glared at the reporter through your dark sunglasses.

Brian said softly, “Take it easy, (Y/N/N).”

Ignoring him, you took a gulp of your water, “What’s next?”

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), have you ever considered getting something fixed? Like plastic surgery?”

Brian looked over to Miami with a look of disbelief before saying into the microphone, “Next-”

“Why don’t you have your manners fixed? That’s an asshole question to ask anybody.”

Brian agreed, mumbling, “That’s an asshole question.”

“In your song, Life is Real, what do you mean by the line…”love is a roulette wheel”? Does it mean having more partners implies something?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t figured out love yet.”

“But it implies something, (Y/N).”

“That might be a better question for Rog,” You looked over to him.

“Watch it.”

“(Y/N), concerning your private life...there’s lots of pictures of you in the tabloids... looking drunk or ill.”

You squinted your eyes at the reporter, “Which one is it, ill or drunk?”

“I had a cold last week if anyone cares,” John said into the microphone.

“As much as we’d love to answer questions about colds, I’d like to speak about the album,” Brian said while you took off your sunglasses, rubbing your eyes from just everything.

“If anyone’s got any questions about the music?”

“(Y/N)!”

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), your family...they’re considered very conservative, I wonder, what do they make of your public persona?”

“My family died in a fiery wreck.”

“I happen to know that’s not true, is it? I just wanted to know whether they were proud of you.”

Pictures of your mother started flashing in your mind, but you shook it off right away, “Is your family proud of you?” You pointed at the reporter, “Is this what they hoped for?”

“I hope they are.”

“I surely don’t think so.”

“Anyone wanna talk about the album?” Brian said, exasperated.

“(Y/N)! Could you answer my questions please?”

“This better be good.”

“(Y/N), could you tell us about the rumors concerning your sexuality?”

“What about the rumors concerning your lack of sexuality?”

“I’m just a musical prostitute my, my dear.”

“Can you answer the question?”

“What’s your name dear?” You took a drag.

“Shelley Stern.”

“Shelley. That thing between your legs, does it bite?”

“Can you answer the question, please?”

You took your glasses off and wiped some sweat from your forehead.

“We’re here as a courtesy,” John said.

“You know, there’s four of us up here,” You added.

“What are you afraid of, (Y/N)?”

“Can you be honest for once?”

“Your fans deserve the truth!”

“You’re a public figure!”

“Your parents?”

“Our readers want to know!”

“They want to know what?!”

The line continues to ring.

You looked out your window to Matthew’s flat, the line still ringing.

No answer.

But life still goes on

I can't get used to living without, living without

Living without you by my side

As you sat in front of the mirror, the stylist taking your wig off, you looked over to Brian, Roger, and John goofing around on the set of your new music video, their laughs completely contrasting to how you feel.

Your heart ached at the sight. Aching to join them. But you couldn’t.

I don't want to live alone, hey

God knows, got to make it on my own

Paul stared at you from behind the mirror, you taking your earrings off before taking a good look at yourself in the mirror. 

Even without all that make-up, you couldn’t even recognize who it was anymore.

So baby can't you see

I've got to break free

Sitting inside your bathtub, a glass of scotch in hand, you simply just looked at the ceiling, feeling numb. Nothingness.

You heard a knock on the door, “(Y/N), you in there?”

“(Y/N), they’re here.”

“We can’t put this off any longer.”

“MTV banned our video. The youth of America. We helped give birth to MTV.”

“It’s America,” Brian said, “They’re Puritans in public, perverts in private.”

You shook your head, “I’m never touring in the U.S. again.”

Letting out a dry chuckle, “And I’m the one being blamed for it.”

“Not you, dear,” You pointed over to Roger, “Whose idea, I believe, it was to dress up in drag.”

“And not you,” To Brian.

Finally, to John, “Not even you, who wrote the bloody thing.”

“No,” You started to walk towards the window, “Crazy (Y/N). (Y/N) the freak. (Y/N) the whore.”

You sighed, turning back to them, “I’m tired of touring, aren’t you? Album, tour, album, tour. I want to do something different.”

“We’re a band,” Brian replied, “That’s what bands do. Album, tour, album tour.”

“Well, I need a break.”

Brian widened his eyes at you.

“I’m sick of it.”

“What are you saying, (Y/N)?” John asked.

Putting a cigarette in your mouth, you lit it up, pausing to take a drag before saying, “I signed a deal with CBS Records.”

“You’ve done what?”

“Without telling us?”

“What kind of deal?”

You turned back to them, “Look, I’m not saying we won’t record or ever tour again. Queen will go on. But I need to do something different.”

“Do you know what I mean? I need to grow?” John raised his eyebrows at you, “What’s the song? “Fly away”?”

John chuckled, “Spread my wings and fly away.”

Brian asked, “A solo album?”

“Two, actually,” Paul spoke up, “Back to back.”

“Another word out of you and I’ll throw you out the bloody window,” Roger snarled.

“But that’s years, (Y/N). I mean...that’ll take years,” John objected.

“Ye of little faith,” You said softly, with a small smile.

“I don’t believe this. How much?” Roger asked.

Your smile fell immediately before turning your back towards them, not knowing whether you should answer or not.

“What did they pay you?”

Roger stood up, “I wanna know how much they paid you-”

“Four million dollars!”

Roger stood up and walked towards the front of the door while Brian let out a scoff before John said, “That’s more than any Queen deal.”

“Look, the routine is killing us. I mean you must all want a break from all the arguments. I mean, whose song gets on the album, whose song’s the single, who wrote what, who gets a bigger slice of the royalties, what’s on the b-side, all of it.”

“You must need a break!”

Brian looked over to you, “(Y/N), we’re a family.”

“No, we’re not!” You snapped, a look of disbelief on Brian’s face, “We’re not a family! You’ve got children, wives. What have I got?”

“You’ve got four million dollars. Perhaps you can buy yourself a family,” John deadpanned.

“I won’t compromise my vision any longer.”

“Compromise? Are you joking? You were working at Fletcher’s before we gave you a chance!” Roger fumed, making you turn back towards them with anger building up inside you.

“And without me…” You pointed towards the blond, “You’d be a dentist drumming twelve-eighth time blues at the weekend at the Crown and Anchor.”

To Brian, “And you…well, you would be Doctor Brian May, author of a fascinating dissertation on the cosmos that no one ever reads.”

“And Deacy...for the life of me...nothing comes to mind.”

“I studied electrical engineering. Does that meet your standard?”

You chuckled dryly, “That’s perfect,” before extinguishing your cigarette on the ashtray in front of them.

Walking away towards the door leading outside the living room, Roger said to you, “You just killed Queen.”

“Oh, give it a kiss one day. She might wake up,” You stood sideways in front of the door, looking towards the window.

“You need us, (Y/N/N),” Brian said softly, “More than you know.”

Looking back at them, your eyes landed on Brian,

“But do you need me?”

Before walking away.

tags: @b-hardys // @spideyyypeter // @hunterswearingplaid // @livingforrt // @bensrhapsody // @jennyggggrrr // @yoonlatte // @geek-and-proud // @everything-you-dont-wanna-be // @itsametaphorbriansblog // @marequeenii // @killer-queen-xo // @jedi-dreea // @achernarsaa // @nevaeh-potter15 // @banana-tree-freddiemercury // @rogertaylorssunglasses // @pyrotechnic789 // @mirkwoodshewolf // @stuff-exists // @toger-raylor // @langdonzvoid // @imamazzellhoe // @tbird20165 // @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen // @theswedishblonde // @oliviaharddyy // @sunflower-borhap-boys // @rocknrollsavedmysoul13 // @sincereleygmg // @mylifeissucky123 //  @teenwolflover28 // @perrythefrickinplatypus // @deakysmisfire // @simonedk

this means i can’t find your username anymore!

[emeraldfic]

09:

Chris

Six Months Later:

It was only a little past noon but here I sit with the spins. I could hardly focus on the coffee table in front of me, my double vision made it hard to count just how many empty bottles were starring back at me. I swear, it’s had to have been at least a week since I’ve slept, and God knows how long it’s been since I’ve actually had a decent meal. The past six months of my life were supposed to be some of the best times of my life, but it only turned out to be some of the most miserable.- So here I am, sulking in my own filth too damn drunk to get my ass off the couch.

About a month after Mimi started crashing on the couch, Stormy left. Without any warning, she packed her shit and never looked back. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was happy that she was getting out there on her own two feet with her own place, but I missed her. I missed her so much.

A few weeks after she had left I did get to see her at a court hearing for Em, but we didn’t speak to each other. The case worker spoke to us about the possibilities before we saw the judge, and afterwards I think we were both too upset to even think about trying to start a conversation. According to the judge, he was so disappointed with us he didn’t have to think twice about his decision. Apparently, we weren’t putting up a good enough fight, or preparing ourselves enough to become successful parents... As hard as it was to hear, I partially understand why he was ruling for her to be fostered out to a family. None of us wanted her to be in custody of the state any longer, and we all wanted her to be happy. Luckily, the foster family was going to be completely open with us and let us have full access to seeing Em as we progressed. 

So many days I woke up and told myself I was going to go see her and show her that I was trying my best to bring her home but I just couldn’t do it. I was too ashamed, and I was so afraid that she would hate me so I just stayed away... 

In one years time, the judge will allow us to stand in front of him again and show him why Emerald should be home with us, and in the mean time he suggested taking parenting classes, and other small steps we could take to really prepare ourselves. Either way, it wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. And, of course, Mimi wasn’t much help at all. She was so distant. Any time I tried to let out my feeling and show her that I was hurting she would shut me out or change the subject. Day by day she pushed me away to the point that I just didn’t care anymore... and then I found out she was having an entire relationship on the side. I’m talking sharing an apartment, going on dates, pictures for social media, the whole nine yards!  The worst part about it, was that she lied about being pregnant. I couldn’t stand to be around her, and she knew it so she was hardly ever home. We both knew things were so wrecked between us, but we never made the moves to actually separate so we stayed as is.

But, of course, when I thought things truly couldn’t get any worse in my life, during my fist game of my pro season, I was so distracted with my head in the clouds because of everything going on that I missed a play and shattered my knee cap trying to recover. I literally tripped over my own two feet thirty minutes into the game and ruined my own career.

It’s been about eight weeks now that I’ve been in and out of rehab and I’m still struggling. Two weeks after I was hurt, when they realized I wasn’t going to be able to return to finish off the season, they sent me a letter saying I was going to be paid out for the rest of my three year contract so they could recruit another rookie to take over for me. And that’s why I sit drowning in alcohol every damn night. I keep trying to push all of this bullshit out of my mind and get some motivation to move my ass from this couch but I just can’t do it. Day in and day out I sit her miserable and alone with the bottle constantly at my lips. But who cares? There’s no one here to stop me so why the hell not just sulk in my sorrows. Stormy left, and after I was hurt, Mimi finally left. Who’d want to be around a sad drunk anyway.

When I couldn’t handle the spins anymore, I rested my head back on the couch. As soon as my eyes closed, my phone started buzzing against the table but I was too drunk to even consider focusing on who was calling. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, a voicemail buzzed in.

---

A splitting headache woke me up a couple hours later. I was sober now so I was able to get myself to my feet to grab my crutch, and make it to the sink to down a tall glass of water. After successfully gulping down some water and advil I hobbled back to the couch and slouched back into the same position on the couch that I’ve kept for the past few weeks.

After feeling some relief to my headache, I finally picked my phone up and started scrolling through my notifications. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach seeing that I had a missed call and a voice mail from Stormy... I was so nervous to play back the voicemail that I had to fight with myself to even do it.

For three minutes and fifteen seconds, I hear Stormy begging for help as some guy is screaming at her and beating on her. I heard every impact of every slap, kick and shove. Someone was hurting my baby and I wasn’t there to help her. I didn’t even know where she was...

After two attempts to call her back with no answer, I sent a quick prayer up to god and pinged her location and there it was... She was only two blocks up from me the entire time.

I called into the police, and by the time I made it there, the entire apartment complex was swarmed with police, a fire truck and an EMS. My heart felt like it was going to beat right through my chest as I crutched my way over  to the officers.

“How can I help you young man?”

“My friend... is she okay? I’m the one who called for her... Please tell me something... tell me she’s okay?”

“I’m not too sure. The EMS rushed her to Oakwood hospital about five minutes ago. She was alone and unconscious. That’s all I know for sure.”

I moved as fast as my knee would let me back to my car and zoomed off to the hospital. I waited almost an hour for anyone to tell me anything about her, and I was starting to feel extremely annoyed.

"Hi, Chris. Thank you for waiting. Stormy is stable now if you would like to see her... but please be sensitive to her state. She is in pain both mentally and physically... but that’s understandable for any grieving mother.”

“What? Wh- what was that?”

“Stormy was about nine days out from her due date... but the baby didn’t survive the incident...”

I could feel myself moving, but my mind was so stuck I didn’t really even realize what I was doing until I found myself standing outside her room.

When I opened the door, she fluttered open her swollen eyes. My heart broke seeing her black and blue. 

“Chris... you saved my life...” she spoke hoarsely. “The EMT said I probably would have bled to death if it weren’t for you...”

“Baby, I am so sorry.” I breathed out. “I should have been there... I should have... What happened?”

“This guy I was seeing, he wasn’t so great. I wanted a family for my baby so bade..”

“You mean my baby?”

“He hurt me Chris. A lot. All of the time. But, things were getting better. We were happy... until I brought up that I wanted to reach out to you. I wanted to tell you about your son so you could be there to meet him when he was born...  He completely flipped out on me! I thought he wouldn’t hurt me being this close to delivering so I tried to really stand my ground with this and I told him weather he like it or not, I was calling you. As your line started ringing he attacked me. They said they weren’t sure if it was the beatings for the stab wound that killed Nathan... but they knew he passed instantly.” She started to sob “For the last hour they removed my dead baby boy from my stomach.”

I finally stepped completely into the room and closed the door behind me. My knee gave out on me just steps away from her bed and my crutch went flying. I fell to the floor and started bawling my eyes out. How could i let any of this happen? 

“I’m so sorry...” I cried lowly. “If I wasn’t such a piece of shit none of this would have happened. It’s all my fault.”

“Chris what happened? Why are you using a crutch?” she asked wiping a tear from her concerned face

“I shattered my knee cap. Ruined my whole career.”

“Oh my God.” she cried “Please come here. I need  you next to me. Please.”

I used the trash can next to me and pulled myself up so I could hobble over to her. I crawled in bed next to her and we laid there silently. For the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of peace. My heart and soul needed her for so long and I didn’t even realize it.

Stormy:

Eight months Later:

I sat in the middle of my over sized bed with only a crisp white sheet covering my naked body. I was tired, but it seemed like no matter how much I slept lately, It was never enough. Feeling exhausted had just become a part of my every day life.

I laid back restlessly and let out a huff of hot air. Nothing seemed to feel right since losing Nathan, and I kept feeling like everything was just so pointless now. Chris tries to perk me up, and I love him for that... it just seems like these days I’m so lost it’s hard to remember who I used to be. 

Chris is seriously gaining the strength back in his knee so he’s really pushing himself in the gym more so I find that I’m alone quite often. I guess I don’t mind it.... or maybe I’ve just become used to feeling lonely.

I heard the front door open and a small smile found my lips knowing that Chris was finally home. For the most part, Chris gives me space and he checks up on me every so often, but it’s never as much as I would like. Since being back here with Chris, we’ve stayed to our separate rooms and haven’t shared any affection. It makes me anxious to think about it... but I keep telling myself that he’s only giving me the space I need and soon we’ll be back in the same bed.

I pulled on a big tee and tip toed out of my room. I followed the sound of running wated to the kitchen and found Chris gulping down a glass of water.

“Man I’m dying.” He said in between breaths “I should not have ran to the gym.”

“You do realize that’s almost a thirty minute run, right?” I teased 

“Yeah I know. But if I want another shot at my career, I need to get back to where I was. I have to push myself as far as I can go.”

I stepped past him to get to the fridge and took in a strong whiff of coconut. I raised a brow at him and leaned in to smell him closer.

“You smell like a female.” I commented blandly pulling out a soda

“Oh, for real? I need a shower.”

Part of me was wishing that he would ask for me to join him but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Losing interest in the soda, I slammed in back into the fridge and stomped off back to my room.

A few hours later, Chris was knocking at my door. I had full intentions of ignoring him but of course he helped himself to opening the door and popping his head in with a smile flashing my way.

“You don’t mind if I head out for a little while do you?”

“Why would I mind?” I snapped  

“Alright, well call if you need me.”

I nodded and he was off. I tossed and turned heavily but some time closer to midnight I finally passed out, and I must have really slept good because the next time my eyes opened it was three the next afternoon. I heard the front door close and I quickly got up to see what was going on. Chris was just walking in and again he was carrying the heavy smell of coconut. I knew I was right about him smelling like a female, and the hickeys on his neck confirmed it all.

“Are you just getting in?” I asked rubbing my sleepy eyes

“Oh... yeah. I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“Guess so.” I muttered making it a point to glare at his neck. 

He put his hand over the love bites and rubbed at them as if he were an embarrassed teenager being caught by his mother.

“Storm- Listen, I-”

“Chris, don’t. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

I smiled briefly at him and walked off but before I could take but three steps, he grabbed my hand and quickly spun me around. My breath hitched as I was brought chest to chest with him

“Stormy you know I care about you...” he reminded softly into my neck

“Stop Chris.” I snapped.

“Come on. Don’t be like that.” He pleaded looking down at me

“Chris you still smell like her!” I griped pulling away from him “I don’t even know why I’m still here.” I spat walking away.

I sat at the edge of my bed and contemplated packing my things and taking off but he and I both knew I had nowhere to go. I’m starting to fear that I won’t ever get back to the old me, and it’s really starting to seem like I’m only going to be miserable here. I pulled out a decent outfit and started myself a shower. I now know I really know I need to get out of here so the first step is getting my job back.

As I was standing in front of the mirror, almost ready, Chris let himself in and watched at the doorway as I played with my curls. He had  this annoying smile on his face like he was so pleased to be taking in the moment and it really irritated me.

“What?” I barked over at him

“Where are you going looking like that?”

“Out. What does it matter?”

“Well, let me drive you?”

“I’m good. I already called for an Uber.”

“Storm, come on. You’re really going to pay for a ride instead of letting me take you?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged “I’m sure you have other things to do. Besides, I won’t be gone long so I don’t need the company.”

“We’re just fuckin’ around.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jada. Her and I are just fooling around. It’s nothing serious between her and I.”

“One, I don’t need to know her name, and two, I don’t care. You don’t need to explain anything to me. You’re grown, and you can do as you please. It has nothing to do with me.”

“Stormy, I thought you came back here so we could work on things, so we could work on us. I thought we were trying to get back to how we used to be but all you’re doing is shutting me out and pushing me away. All you do is act like you don’t care now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me how I’m supposed to act after losing OUR son” I shouted

“Are you serious? That was months ago!”

I could tell the moment he let that fall from his lips he regretted it., but that didn’t stop the glare I sent him. He wasn’t there through any of what I went though- not the beatings, the tears, the fear, losing my son- nothing. 

I knew my Uber would be pulling up any moment so instead of staying and entertaining anymore of his bullshit I waked right past him and slammed the door as hard as I could.

--

When my tired feet trudged through the front door, it was just past ten. I’d spent most of my day earning some money. After successfully snagging my job back I was able to pick up a few tables tonight and picked up some good tips before my actual schedule started on monday.

As soon as the door closed behind me, my smile dropped. Chris stood there with a hand at his hip looking upset. I rolled my eyes at him and tried to walk around him but he stepped in front of me blocking my way.

“What? What could you possibly want from me right now?”

“It’s late. You had me worried.”

“Whatever. I’m going to bed.” I grouched

“Stormy, what the fuck is your problem? Why don’t you talk to me instead of running away like a little girl!”

“You know what, Chris fuck you!” Leave me alone! Go do whatever you please, and I will do the same!”

“Why are you being such a fucking bitch?”

Hearing that word fly out of his mouth sent me into a fit of rage. I lunged at him with full force and started punching at him as hard as I could. He blocked a majority of the hits from his face but took a few to the chest and arms. My adrenaline was pumping so fast I didn’t even realize he’d grabbed my hands so I would stop hitting him until I felt them being pinned to the front door above my head.

I blinked away the blurry rage vision and got a good look at his face. He didn’t even look mad. He was looking down at me with low eyes, and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

My chest heaved up and down as I was still trying to catch my breath. We stood there silently just looking at each other. I could see behind his eyes that his thoughts were brewing but I was too nervous to say anything.

After a minute or so, he freed his right hand and held both my arms with just his left. his right hand found my face and he held my chin. He brought my face up so I was looking right at him before he spoke.

“Don’t you ever in your life put your hands on me again.” he muttered lowly. “Do you understand me?” I nodded my head lightly in response “Good.”

He tightened the grip on my chin and leaned in to kiss me, and my legs instantly went limp. The only response was a low moan as my body gave in to him.

“You are so fucking sexy when you’re mad.” he grumbled between gritted teeth

“Chris...” my voice was low but it was enough to bring a smirk to his face.

He let go of my arms and in one swift motion he picked me up. My legs instantly wrapped around his waist as he started kissing me again. Next thing I knew I was laying across his bed as he was crawling up between my legs.

“Where were you all day?” he asked paying special attention to my neck making sure to suck as hard as he could. “Answer me.” he growled. I could feel the love bites swelling with size.

“You think you’re the boss now?” I finally spoke up with some sass.

He reached down to my shorts and ripped off the button quickly pulling them down with one quick swipe. He raised a brow when he realized I wasn’t wearing any panties. He frees himself from his shorts and without hesitation, slammed into me. Stroke after stroke he went harder and deeper.

“Keep it up and I’ll make sure you can’t walk right for the next month.”

“Alright, alright.” I moaned finally feeling him start to slow down “I was at work. I got my old job back.”

“You’re at work in these skimpy ass clothes with no panties on?” he asked going harder making my eyes roll back “Answer me!”

“I’m sorry baby.” was all I could say though my moans. This rough side of Chris was so sexy, and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. “You better pull out” I warned as I felt myself ready to cum

His sexy groans in my ear and the hard strokes had me damn near screaming as I came. My legs shook as I rode out my high and soon after I could feel him swelling, I leaned up to kiss him as my hand tangled in his curls to give them a tug. I felt his strokes slow as he became lost in the kiss only to speed back up for a brief moment. He let out a husky groan against my lips before collapsing next to me. He kept me close as he continued to kiss me slowly, stopping every few moments to bite on my bottom lip

Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the dark. My heart thumped for a few seconds trying to recollect where I was.

“Chris?”

I felt disappointed to wake up alone but it was something I’d become used to. I stood to my feet and stretched my sore, tired body. I groaned the first few steps towards the door. 

“Where you going baby girl?” Chris’ groggy voice called out before he turned on the lamp

“I thought you left...”

“I’m right here baby.”

I had so much I wanted to bring up but right now, I just enjoyed the moment- to be here with him.I crawled back into bed next to him and snuggled down. Nothing else mattered right now. Just him and I... What we’ve really needed for so long.

[sassylavellen]

“Extremely detailed character sheet template”

original post here

Character Chart

Character’s full name: Marian Adriana Hawke Reason or meaning of name: “wished for child“ Character’s nickname: Mari Reason for nickname: Shortened from Marian Birth date: 3rd of Wintermarch (January 3rd)

Physical appearance

Age: (at the time of Inquisition) 31 How old does he/she appear: 35 Weight: It fluctuates, when she started her journey she was aroudn 117 lbs, by the end of Inquisition she’s around 154 lbs Height: 5ft 9in (175 cm) Body build: curvy Shape of face: rounded Eye color: dark brown Glasses or contacts: none Skin tone: pale, but heavily freckled. Distinguishing marks: scars on her upper right arm Predominant features: long nose Hair color: ginger red Type of hair: wavy Hairstyle: long and let down, somewhat wild Voice: quiet, with a Ferelden accent Overall attractiveness: This could be relative but I’d give her a solid 9/10 Physical disabilities: none Usual fashion of dress: whatever is most comfortable Favorite outfit: her red dress Jewelry or accessories: Necklace with her mother’s wedding ring in it.

Personality

Good personality traits: Caring, thoughtful, generous,  Bad personality traits: pessimistic thinking, anxious Mood character is most often in: Constant state of underlying panic Sense of humor: She has one, but she doesn’t use it unless she’s around her friends. Character’s greatest joy in life: Her daughter Character’s greatest fear: Losing her daughter Why?: Mari lost her father, her brother, and her mother in the span of four years. All she has left is her sister and her daughter. What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? All of DA2 honestly. Character is most at ease when: At home, comfortable and relaxed. Most ill at ease when: in a battle Enraged when: someone attacks her family Depressed or sad when: most of the time really Priorities: Keeping those she loves safe.  Life philosophy: Treasure what you have, no matter how large or how little.  If granted one wish, it would be: To live a normal life Why? Her life has been a lot of trials and conflicts Character’s soft spot: Kindness Is this soft spot obvious to others? Yes Greatest strength: Loyalty Greatest vulnerability or weakness: Stability Biggest regret: Not being able to save her mother or her brother. Minor regret: Not leaving with Tallis Biggest accomplishment: Defeating the Arishok and saving Kirkwall twice Minor accomplishment: Buying her mother’s childhood home Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: (she doesn’t want to pick one from the extensive list) Why? (there are lots) Character’s darkest secret: The crushes she had for some of her companions Does anyone else know? She never admitted them

Goals

Drives and motivations: call it a motherly instinct Immediate goals: to keep her daughter safe from the chaos Long term goals: to see her daughter grow up safe How the character plans to accomplish these goals: by being the best parent she can be How other characters will be affected: Mari more or less isolates herself and Lyra from everyone else out of fear

Past

Hometown: Lothering Type of childhood: Fairly steady. She and her family had a farm. Pets: her Mabari, Rory First memory: Her mother singing to her before naps Most important childhood memory: It’s not a specific memory, but she remembers a mental image of sorts, walking through town, holding her mother’s right hand and her father’s right hand. Why: it’s special to her because it reminds her of both her parents. Childhood hero: Her father Dream job: To be a healer Education: homeschooled Religion: Andrastian Finances: Enough to get by

Present

Current location: no one knows for sure. Except for those she tells. Currently living with: Her sister and her daughter Pets: Rory the Mabari Religion: Andrastian, but her faith is a little shaken Occupation: Farmer Finances:  She’s not a big spender and still has a more than enough money left over from her days in Kirkwall

Family

Mother:  Leandra Amell Relationship with her:  Very close Father:  Malcolm Hawke Relationship with him:  Not as close as her mother, but she loved and admired her father. Siblings:  Carver and Bethany Relationship with them:  She was very close with Bethany, but had a rocky relationship with Carver Spouse: N/A Relationship with him/her: There was Daniel, she and him had a romantic and physical relationship and she did genuinely have feelings for him, but he was killed. Children: Lyra. Relationship with them: Very close, maybe to the point of being over-protective of her Other important family members: The only other family she has left is Bethany.

Favorites

Color: red Least favorite color: pink Music: folk Food: sweets Literature: any Form of entertainment: music Expressions: “A lot of things are my fault“ Mode of transportation: walking Most prized possession: Her mother’s wedding ring

Habits

Hobbies: Playing musical instruments Plays a musical instrument?  Violin and lute Plays a sport?  No How he/she would spend a rainy day: Inside, in bed reading or writing Spending habits: She’s not a big shopper, she just buys what she needs. Smokes: No Drinks: Yes. There was a period after her mother’s death where she was borderline an alcoholic, but she managed to get herself clean. Other drugs: none What does he/she do too much of?  worry What does he/she do too little of?  exercise Extremely skilled at: archery Extremely unskilled at: anything artistic Nervous tics: picking at her fingernails, tapping her fingers on her hips or on whatever flat surface she may be in contact with, breathing heavily through her nose Usual body posture: sometimes slightly slouched, but for the most part straight. Mannerisms: She gestures with her hands a lot. Peculiarities: standing on one foot if she’s been standing for too long

Traits

Optimist or pessimist? Moreso pessimistic Introvert or extrovert?  extreme introvert Daredevil or cautious?    extremely cautious Logical or emotional?  definitely emotional Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?  A little of both Prefers working or relaxing?  Relaxing Confident or unsure of himself/herself?  Unsure of herself Animal lover?  yes

Self-perception

How he/she feels about himself/herself: She always thinks she’s not worth it and never enough. One word the character would use to describe self: Wreck One paragraph description of how the character would describe self:  “I’m doing my best, I really am. Sometimes it’s enough, other times I just need to try harder.” What does the character consider his/her best personality trait? Loyalty What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait? Anxiety What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic? Eyes What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic?  Her weight How does the character think others perceive him/her: As this larger-than-life character What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: She wishes she could have a better sense of self-confidence.

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general: People are generally good, even if you have to dig deep to uncover their humanity. Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others She tries. She’s not always very good at it. Person character most hates: Knight Commander Meredith, Corypheus Best friend(s): Varric and Aveline Love interest(s): She’s had a few but the two most prominent ones were Tallis and another guy named Daniel (another OC of mine) Person character goes to for advice: For most of her life it was her mother, but now it’s more often Varric. Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: Bethany, Merrill, her daughter Lyra Person character feels shy or awkward around: Aveline Person character openly admires: Aveline Person character secretly admires: Aveline Most important person in character’s life before story starts: Bethany After story starts: It’s still Bethany for a lot of it. Her mother too. Later in life it’s Lyra.

found here

[lilyoftheight]

How many secrets that you hide from us? (It's a lot to say, keep this family saved)

Summary: Sometimes things are left in the dark to keep this happiness away. But it's okay to keep this painful truth away from your only family?

Pair: Genichiro and Iustitia (but in this, she used a fake name aka "Kohaku").

Warning: Platonic friendship, insecure, mentions of blood, angst/comfort but comfort will be in the second part, mention of death.

Kohaku glancing side to side as she can't get rid of the unease feeling that bubbling inside her stomach, hands fidgeting with the new fabric that Genichiro has asks Emma to send to her. The memories of her bashing in his room were - well, awkward as she with his presents in her arms and he was changing his formal clothes to a normal one. Kohaku's cheeks soon turn crimson at the memories, embarrassing run thoughts her body as she quickly hides her face in her arms as she can't believe that she did that to her friend! Letting out a loud groan as she wishes that the party can quickly end so she can go back to the temple and continue craving the unfinished sculptor she has left.

"Lady Kohaku, are you okay?"

A calming voice behind her back makes her jump as Kohaku glances behind her, only realize it was Wolf and his lord, Kuro and along with the Divine Child. Kohaku realizes that she must act as an odd one here, even though she is - thought they don't need to, as she bows with a nervous laugh following along her.

"I'm fine, my lord. I feel - " Anxious. Terrify. Concerned. " Nervous about the party, that's all." She glances down at the new clothes, wondering if she even deserved all of this - Kindness.

Don't be silly, dear.

They only pity you because you have helped so much in this war.

Do you think that you're special?

Don't be a foolish girl.

You don't deserve any of this, monster. The voice whispers to Kohaku like a melody as she can feel its invisible claws yanks her hair back as it wants her to watch everything taken away from her again.

"You don't seem too good thought." Kuro takes a small step to take a closer look at her face as his sudden action has to make her flinches, making her distance from him as she feels like she should do it. Something worse is going to happen, and she doesn't know how worse going to be.

"I-I'll be fine, my lord. Please don't mind this one."

She bows once again and quickly blending in with the sea of people, leaving them to stare at her figure in confusion and worrying.

"Do you think that something bad gonna happen, Wolf?"

Kuro asks as he glances over his shinobi, knowing that Wolf also can sense the unease feeling in this evening's atmosphere. His shinobi quickly kneels beside his side as he nods, knowing that something isn't right as well, and answers his master.

"I have checked everything before the party has started. Nothing has gone out of the ordinary. If my lord wants, I can go checking again." Wolf inform.

"Not only that, miss Kohaku is strange as well. There's some energy slowly flowing out of her body."

The Divine Child speaks after a long time of peeking over the young girl before looks at both of them, knowing that she would have to explain.

-

Everything is going as planned as nothing worse has happened to anyone at the party, yet she can't even sit still at one place at all. Every part of her body is screaming 'Dangerous!' but she doesn't know what to do, all the protected spells have been placing under everyone's table, so if anything happened to one of them, she would know. For now, she prays for everything would go as planned and no one got hurt - please.

You wish, my dear - the voice whisper back, snicker at her pray.

"Today, it was a great success! Many soldiers have fallen, but with our undying courage and strength, we have won the war. Eat until you're full, drink sake until you're drunk, and lastly is enjoy this moment."

Lord Isshin raises his cup as everyone does the same, cheering for the victory. After that, everyone was enjoying the party as some has already drunk - as know as her. Yes, Kohaku herself was already drunk after one cup of sake. Don't blame her if she falls or trip down the stream after this, Lord Isshin! Kohaku's flustered face must look so horrible that Genichiro has to check on her now. Blink away the drowsiness as she watches the young lord swiftly sits beside her, knowing that she would fall asleep after few drinks.

"If you can't drink sake, you don't have to force yourself to drink."

He looks at her flustered state and shakes his head in disappointment before try takes away her cup, which she refuses to. Glare at her as he tries to snatch the cup away, yet with a quick moment, she drinks it in one go before giving him the empty cup.

"At least, the shinobi know to avoid drinking sake. Unlike someone."

"You mean you, my lord?"

Kohaku only sticks her tongue out at him like a child before switch her drink into tea as Genichiro huff, giving her a lesson about why she shouldn't drink alcohol if she can't drink it all.

For once, she let herself relax a bit and ignores everything.

For once, she enjoys this moment because she knows that everyone will end up dying right in front of her eyes anyway. No matter how much she tries.

But she never thought it would end this quick.

A loud clash has awoken her from all the drowsiness as Kohaku quickly standing up after a few attempts, pulls out the sword, and standing in the ready position. The attacker seems unfazed by her magic mean that this is another 'gift' from that damn bastard, her hand grips tight on the handle as her blood boiling up at the thought of the dare to send them down here - who send her down here first!? Crazy bastard!!

"You better show yourself. Because I'm not going to show you any mercy."

"Please, Lady of Justice. Sky realm would be praising my name for having your head!"

Another foolish God who thinks they can archive anything - if they have the Sky's empty blessing. She almost feels bad for them, but they did try to hurt her friend - her family. Oh well, this place will be a mess by the time she finished with him anyway.

-

"Son of a goddess of Hunt, A demi-God who don't know where your position is, attempt to murder a God - A biggest and the worst crime of Sky Realm. Your crime would be handing to the higher priority who would decide your fate. Do you have anything to say?" The young girl with black hair and big copper eyes has long gone. Instead, it was the hybrid girl with pistachio hair and mixed green-purple eyes as she looks down at the demi-god who was once full of cocky in the battle, now turn into a bloody mess. Once he finally realizes that those empty blessings won't help him get away from this mess, he would blame her because it's easy to blame someone then accept that the monster of Sky Realm would defeat him, a disgrace of all God and Goddess.

"In the end, you are still a monster with no heart!! Goddess of Justice? Lady of Justice?! You never deserver those titles, a scum of - ARG!"

She gives him a firm kick right in his face to shut his mouth while contacted someone to pick up this demi-god. Before the demi-god tries to escape, a low growl can be heard in the silent room as a large shadow has to tackle him down to the wrecked floor that he has to create, forcing him to lay on his front. After a while of waiting, finally! A portal was open, and there he can see his parent! Relief washes over his body once he sees his mother, yet soon turns into concern as he sees how angry his mother was when his eyes land right on him - What did she say to her?!

"Lady of Justice, I'm very sorry for what happened that year and my son's humiliating behavior. I'm sorry that I can't help you with anything, but here is the piece of evidence that you need. "

His mother bows down to her as she gives her the scroll while one of his mother's spiritual animals holds him by the ear, giving him a lesson of disrespect to the savior who has saved them from the most stressful times. The boy watches in disbelief as his mother and her exchange a few words before she bows again, doesn't believe in his eyes that his mother - who has a higher priority than that monster - is showing her respect like they're on the same line.

"Please, if my son ever gives you any trouble, please don't hesitate and punish him." His mother speaks up before heading beside him, bidding farewell as they leave in the portal. Once they left, her legs have given up on her as her body falling on the ruining mattress stained with her blood. Blood keeps oozing from her body how much she tries to put pressure on it, groaning in pain as she tries to keep herself wide awake before dragging her bloody self outside where the moon shines brighter than every day.

At least she can have a less painful d-

"Kohaku."

A low voice in the dark as she knows whose voice is it, letting a tiny bubbling laughs that he has heard in this evening party. He takes a small step to where she is leaning as the shining light of the moonshine through the door, showing him how this place has been wreck into pieces.

"You are ... A demon?" Genichiro asks as mixed feelings inside his mind.

Anger? Yes, she lied this entire time.

Betray? Yes. He trusted her.

Sorrow? Yes. He considers her as his friend. And now she betrayed him like this.

So why can't he pull his sword out and end her life right there, right now?

"Genichiro." Those familiar copper eyes that he used to tease have long gone. Now those eyes have been replaced with mixed eyes that he doesn't know what to say. Is this the same girl he knows and cares about anymore?

How many lies did she say to him? to everyone?

Her soft voice calling out for his name again, yet he can't do anything but glare at her, but if one looks closely, they can see he is hurting as well, because of her.

"You don't deserve to call this lord those names, demon."

"Genichiro." she still calling out for his name like nothing has happened between them. " I'm sorry that I hurt you." A single tear falling down her bruised cheeks as his heart screaming at him to do something, yet his body refuses to do it. "I get this is even for us, huh?"

Before he can understand what does she mean by that, she leans back at the railing.

And let herself falling to the bottom of the stream.

Genichiro stares at the railing where she has leaning before - He slowly moves to where she was, there was a small ball of Ajisai flower staining with fresh bloods. Her blood.

"Kohaku."

Ajisai flower mean ask for forgiveness.

He whispers her name, wishing that it's a dream. A bad dream. Holding the flower close to his heart as he wishes that everything is just a bad dream and she would jump out behind, with that laughter.

"I'm sorry."

He whispers in the dark, but no one answers him beside the cold wind whispering back in the dark.

[junker-town]

The secret life of Floyd Lippencott Jr.

Jere Alhadeff

To hide his career from his father, drag racer Bob Muravez assumed the name Floyd Lippencott Jr. But he couldn’t outrun the truth.

BURBANK, California — The old drag racer is huddled inside his cozy backyard garage, the place where he has long spun his wrenches on carburetors and crankshafts.

For Bob Muravez, it’s a messy laboratory of sorts. He has spent years there, under autopsy-room-bright lights, grease trapped deep down inside his fingernails, modifying versions of the dragsters that once ruled the racetrack.

His walls are a photographic record of his best checkered-flag memories. Long-wheel-based dragsters hurtle along straightaways in a blur of motion, their fat racing slicks furiously spinning, raising smoke and dust like demons incarnate.

The photos depict a world of super-fast cars and cocky young men hungry for speed, where winners and losers were separated by fractions of seconds, at speeds so fast racers needed parachutes to slow down. Before he retired in 1971, Muravez won more than 600 sanctioned drag racing events across the U.S., becoming one of the most recognizable names in his burgeoning sport. In Muravez’s fastest run of his career, he reached 249.59 mph in just 5.89 seconds.

Yet at age 82, the old drag racer is most famous not for his speed, but for his secret.

For five long years, between 1962 and 1967, Muravez protected perhaps the most closely-guarded mystery in modern sports: An alter-ego who took full credit for his thriving racing career.

Every time he hopped behind the wheel for another wicked-fast run down the track, the wiry 140-pound Muravez became Floyd Lippencott Jr., the name he assumed to hide his real identity from an unlikely foil: His own father.

Ralph Muravez was a Czechoslovakian immigrant and self-made businessman with a third-grade education, a demanding taskmaster who founded a local washing-machine empire. Along with his Maytag repair shop in Burbank, he owned 5,000 washing machines in apartments across Southern California.

In 1958, as part of his retirement strategy, Ralph handed over majority control of the operation to his sons, Bob and older brother Ralph Jr., known as Bud. Ralph wanted to spend his retirement years enjoying the good life, visiting the world’s exotic ports aboard his 42-foot motorized sailboat.

He was his own Sinbad the Sailor, Bob recalled. But when it came to his son’s racing, he was more like Captain Bly. The last thing he wanted was to lose his rebellious younger son to a fatal dragster wreck. “In his eyes,” Muravaez recalled, “he was building something good for the family and he didn’t want to come home to find that one of his only two sons had died on some racetrack.”

The father issued his son an ultimatum: Quit racing or leave the family business.

Muravez devised a solution that would be unthinkable in today’s hyper-connected world of smartphone cameras and competitive press. With the aid and consent of reporters, photographers, publicists and even drag racing officials, Bob Muravez invented an entirely new identity.

Photographers never took his picture without his face being covered with a helmet and mask. Floyd never did interviews. Bob did those later. Joked Muravez: “Floyd did the driving and Bob did the talking.”

The National Hot Rod Association even issued Muravez a professional driver’s license in Lippencott’s name, the only one without a picture. In the winner’s circle, friends-turned-imposters donned his protective fire suit and kissed the trophy girl while a smirking Muravez stood in the background.

Left: Muravez collection, Right: L&M Films

Decades later, wearing a white T-shirt, blue jeans and a thick mop of hair, Muravez could still be mistaken for one of those lanky car-crazy kids racing as a teenage rite of passage. Yet the need for speed has dissipated for Muravez, like air seeping from a leaky tire. He hasn’t had a speeding ticket in 40 years.

Now he uses the garage to relieve the stress of running the Maytag repair business his father started during World War II. He’s more often concentrating on honey-do projects than fixing dragster engines.

But Floyd Lippencott Jr. motors on. Both Muravez and Lippencott were inducted into the International Drag Racing Hall of Fame. And Muravez scribbles down two names whenever he’s asked to sign his autograph.

While Muravez no longer races, his mind still lives in the cockpit. He’s nervous by nature, hands fidgety, bolting his food like he’s rushing to start another race. “I’m a drag racer,” he said. “I’m either idling or going full throttle.”

The years have brought Muravez perspective, but some feelings never pass. To keep both his racing career and his alter-ego alive, the old drag racer admits that he paid a steep price.

Muravez came of age in the 1950s, a lifestyle captured by the film American Graffiti, when he and his buddies lived for their street rods. They’d cruise around the parking lot of Bob’s Big Boy, attracting looks from both the popular girls and less-popular cops, both of whom hounded them incessantly.

Muravez loved both cars and women. Before he was married in the 1970s, he was engaged seven times, and bought seven rings.

And yet, while he nurtured a James Dean persona on the street, his home life followed a different script. There, his demanding immigrant father called the shots. Ralph wasn’t a drinker, he was just mean, unvarnished. He was also a respected businessman.

In the Muravez household, Bob was relegated to second-son status behind Bud, a golden-haired boy who excelled in school and was his father’s favorite. As a child, Bob spent years confined to a sanitarium while suffering from tuberculosis, which also afflicted his mother Edith. He also struggled with dyslexia, a yet-to-be diagnosed condition that confused his hard-charging father.

Family friend John Moore calls “Uncle Ralph” a product of his time. “Ralph was hard-nosed. Lots of men of his era were like that,” he said. “I think Bobby felt overlooked as a boy. His father was busy building his business and he had one healthy son — there just didn’t seem to be time for Bob.”

Ralph lost his own father at a young age. One of five children, he entered the U.S. through Ellis Island in 1908. Not long afterward, his alcoholic father went out one night to play poker and never came home.

Relatives say the experience hardened Ralph towards his own two sons. “He mistreated those boys,” recalled cousin Glenn Clifford, now 84. “He could be cruel.”

To survive the Depression, Ralph sold Hoover vacuum cleaners door to door in Beverly Hills. In 1944, he opened a Maytag sales and service shop in Burbank. An old photograph shows him posing jauntily, leaning against the last in a line of retired washing machines. A sign reads “Keep Out. WASHING MACHINE GRAVEYARD. Let them rest in pieces.”

Muravez collection

Ralph loved boats. He built them and took them out on ocean trips, often with Bob in tow. Whenever the boy became seasick, the disgruntled father would drop him off at the nearest point onshore and order him to walk back to the harbor.

Bob worked in the repair shop from age 10. Ralph’s brand of you’ll-do-as-you’re-told discipline was stifling. “My father would always say, ‘When I tell you to do something, you start doing it before I even finish,’” Muravez recalled.

Bob would accompany his father on service calls, carrying the tool box with its hoses, screwdrivers and pliers, learning the washing machine repair trade. Wearing his Maytag hat, Ralph imposed rules that were Depression-era tough. “He’d say, ‘Don’t ever let me hear you say, ‘I can’t.’ If you tell me you don’t want to do something, fine, but never tell me you can’t.’”

In 1954, when Bob was 16, the old man asked if he wanted his own car. Here was a wide-eyed teen growing up in post-war Southern California, at the time of Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers, when politicians dreamed of going to the moon. The automobile had begun to dominate American life. Seemingly every new product featured sleek aerodynamics, from lamps and toasters, to bullet bras and cars with snazzy hood ornaments and elongated rear fins.

You bet he wanted his own ride.

Ralph called a Hollywood automotive dealer, who told him about a used car for sale. Days later, father and son pulled up outside the Beverly Hills estate of actress Betty Grable.

In the garage they marveled at the sort of car that might frequent a teenage boy’s dreamscape: a white, six-cylinder 1953 Corvette convertible with red interior and a mere 1,800 miles on the odometer.

The kid saw it this way: His father never hugged him. There were no parental pats on the back. That just wasn’t Ralph.

The Corvette was as giving as the old man would ever be. And it was perhaps the greatest gift anyone could give Muravez — a chance to go fast, a chance at status.

Of course he’d take it.

Muravez had just died and gone to automobile heaven.

That Corvette changed everything.

It took an awkward kid forever on the periphery and put him centerstage, behind the wheel of a sleek, sexy performance car.

The Corvette became Muravez’s calling card. He show-boated around town, and joined a local car club called the Road Kings, where members paid dues and worked on race cars.

Muravez also street raced.

He settled grudge matches mostly at night, on lonely River Road near the Forest Lawn cemetery, or on the gritty concrete bed of the LA River beneath the Sixth Street bridge. Those quarter-mile contests were replete with kids giving the go-signal at the starting line, and onlookers ready with buckets of water to douse engine fires.

It wasn’t long before an unwanted observer began to appear in the racers’ rearview mirror: a Burbank cop the boys knew only as Officer Stanley. On weekends, he’d lurk in the gas station parking lot across from Bob’s Big Boy, in the heart of a two-mile teenage cruising stretch.

“He’d write you up for anything, even a bad lightbulb on your license plate,” Muravez recalled. “We didn’t like his attitude.”

When he was 19, Maravez joined fellow Road Kings member and future drag-racing star Tommy Ivo in a teenage prank to spite the dreaded policeman. Muravez snuck beneath Stanley’s patrol car and tied a rope around the rear axle, affixing the other end to a nearby pole.

Then they hopped inside Ivo’s T-bucket roadster, revved the engine and took off past the gas station. Stanley gave chase, but not for long. The pole stopped the cop car dead, and Officer Stanley lurched forward, breaking the steering wheel. “We hid Tommy’s car in the garage,” Muravez recalled. “And we didn’t bring it out for a very long time.”

Left: Steve Reyes, Right: Jere Alhadeff

But by then, those Burbank glory days were nearing their end. One night, Muravez ducked into a back alley to ditch a pursuing black-and-white. The cop later stopped him, warning that the next time he ran, he’d shoot. “That scared me,” Muravez said.

By that time, Muravez had amassed an astounding 28 speeding tickets. His license was suspended for a year. His father took away the Corvette.

At home, tensions mounted. By the summer of 1957, Bud was married and Ralph was fixated on his younger son, who had graduated high school the year before. “We butted heads,” Muravez recalled. “He didn’t think I had any direction. I didn’t like him telling me what to do.”

Eventually, Muravez moved out. He slept inside his hand-me-down 1956 Chevy Belair convertible, and later sold the car to afford living expenses that included $8 a week to rent a room over a friend’s garage.

He got a job working at a buddy’s family machine shop and was doing well. He’d even gotten a few raises. Nearly a year after Muravez left home, Ralph approached him about coming back to the Maytag shop. They reconciled in part because they recognized a shared flaw: Their stubborness.

“He realized where I was coming from and I realized where he was coming from,” Muravez recalled.

Still, Muravez never fully returned home. He only saw Ralph when he showed up at the repair business. And while the young Muravez no longer had a car, the kid still had an incurable adrenaline addiction.

Those days, along with a lot of other Burbank kids with hot cars, Muravez hung out at Ivo’s garage, where he performed grunt work like wiping down tires, washing engine parts and polishing cars.

“He was a footloose and fancy-free kid who tripped over his own feet when he walked,’ recalled Ivo, now 83, famous for his light-hearted putdowns. “But he loved cars.”

Muravez went to the racetrack as Ivo’s gofer. He’d run his Corvette there before, but now he was ready to launch a new chapter of his racing career in earnest.

His relationship with his father was seemingly mended. Ralph had come to terms with his son’s wild side.

That peace would not last long.

Muravez loved the drag strip scene, with its camaraderie and testosterone-laden competition, being able to put pedal to metal without a cop car in sight. Racers were a colorful, braggadocious crowd, boasting nicknames like Sneaky Pete, Wobbly Wheels, Snake, Mongoose, Zookeeper and The Hunter.

Soon, Muravez built his own dragster and started winning races.

Then he got lucky.

In 1961, he began driving for John Peters and Nye Frank, a Santa Monica, California, team that owned the sport’s top racing car. In the years before, they’d developed a twin-engine dragster later known as the Freight Train for its sheer ferocity and the way it belched locomotive-like smoke while crossing the finish line.

What followed catapulted Muravez’s racing career: Peters took a foolhardy kid and helped turn him into a professional driver. Said Peters: “We won a lot of races.”

One old photo offers a closeup view of Muravez in the Freight Train’s cockpit, looking as much like an aerospace test pilot, or cosseted Hazmat worker, as an ambitious risk-taker seeking new speed records.

He wore circular goggles, a dual-cylinder breathing apparatus and facial heat shield to protect him from the spatter of hot oil thrown off the up-front engines by the brutal G-forces. And that helmet? Well, that wasn’t going to protect him much in the event the good Lord decided that he’d flirted with nearly-inhuman speed too many times. If that unfortunate eventuality occurred — if the engine exploded, or he flipped that dragster — nothing could save him.

Back then, as the saying went, drag racing rules were written in blood. “Gee, another guy got killed?” a driver would say. “Sorry to hear that. When’s the next race?”

In the late 1950s and 1960s, the mounting death toll in the sport led car builders to innovate, like adding a parachute when they learned mere brakes could no longer slow down a speeding dragster, and shoulder and lap harnesses to keep drivers from being thrown out of tumbling cars.

While Muravez was serving as one of drag racing’s guinea pigs, he still worked five days a week at the Maytag shop, racing on nights and weekends. Ralph barely took an interest in his son’s career, and never once saw him race.

Leslie Lovett, National Hot Rod Association

Then in March 1962, Muravez won his first major championship race in the so-called Top Gas category — in which dragsters used the same gas as street cars — at the Bakersfield Fuel and Gas Championships.

Well, that got Ralph’s attention.

By then, Ralph had given each of his sons a 40 percent share of the business and dreamed of sailing on his boat, stopping just long enough to cash his profit-sharing check.

A dead son would ruin that dream.

Within days of Muravez’s first major racing victory, Ralph approached his 24-year-old son and gave him a choice: Either quit racing or lose his share of ownership in the family business.

Choose family over dreams.

Appease the father.

So Muravez made one of the most difficult choices of his life. In June 1962, he abandoned his passion. He continued to go the races as part of the team, but served only as a crewmember, not as a driver.

For the next five months, without Muravez behind the wheel, the Freight Train did not qualify for a single race, despite being piloted by such famous names as Mickey Thompson, Tom “the Mongoose” McEwen and Craig Breedlove. Several drivers complained that the powerful race car pulled dangerously to one side, and there was talk of scrapping the dragster altogether.

Muravez begged to differ. One night after the Freight Train failed to qualify at Lions drag strip in Long Beach, Muravez accepted a dare from driver “Wild Bill” Alexander to slip behind the wheel himself. He took the dragster for what he called “a nice easy pass” down the quarter-mile track.

Seconds later, when the run was done, he heard the distant roar of the crowd. He lit a cigarette from the dragster’s glowing disc brake. Back at the pit, he learned that he’d set a new world speed record of 185 miles per hour.

That settled it: Muravez would go back behind the wheel, against his father’s wishes. He soon captured the National Hot Rod Association’s 1963 Winter Nationals trophy, under the name “John Peters.” The Freight Train was the No. 1-rated Top Gas dragster in the nation.

A drag racing legend was born.

One day, a young sportswriter named Steve Gibbs was filing a story for the weekly racing publication Drag News on the race results at the San Gabriel track.

Muravez asked that he not use his real name. “When he won the race, I thought, ‘I’ve got to make up a name,’” recalled Gibbs, who later became competition director of the National Hot Rod Association.

The author of one of his college textbooks came to mind — Lippencott. Gibbs couldn’t recall the first name, so he improvised — Floyd. In a final flourish, he added a Jr. “I had no idea the name would become a major piece of drag-racing trivia,” he said.

Muravez immediately ran with the alias, even adding a middle initial “J,” later explaining that it stood for “genuine.” “I was a lousy speller,” he laughed.

Convincing people to keep his secret wasn’t as difficult as Muravez — Lippencott — imagined.

He often bought pictures from moonlighting photographers, so they were eager to keep him happy.

And frankly, he added, racing officials didn’t care what name he used, as long as he continued to draw fans to the track.

Just to be safe, Muravez made sure there were no cameras around when he slid behind the wheel of his dragster. After races, he did interviews with his helmet and facemask still on.

In February 1963, Muravez won the Winternationals in Pomona, California, his very first race since returning to the sport as a driver. With Muravez in the game, The Freight Train was finally back.

In the winner’s circle, his roommate, Rex Slinkard, donned Muravez’s leather racing jacket and stepped up to accept the top award, his arm around the trophy girl. The real driver laughed in the background, knowing his secret was safe for yet another race.

Floyd J. Lippencott Jr. continued to win races, hundreds of them. But perhaps one too many.

In May 1967, after winning the Springnationals competition in Bristol, Tennessee, Muravez made a mistake: Flush with victory, sitting inside The Freight Train’s cockpit with his helmet and facemask off, he was approached by reporter Keith Jackson from ABC’s Wide World of Sports. “You’re really popular,” Jackson said, thrusting a microphone in his face.

“Yeah, we have a lot of fans in the South,” Muravez answered.

On the long drive home, he realized what he’d done. While his father was not a regular viewer of the show, Muravez had nonetheless put his face on national television. There was still a chance Ralph would somehow see it on the boat’s TV while out on a weekend fishing trip.

Left: Eric Ricman, Hot Rod Magazaine; Right: Muravez collection

“I thought, ‘What am I gonna do?’” Muravez knew the segment wouldn’t air for a week, so he hatched a plan. He borrowed the TV from Ralph’s boat — saying his was broken — so his father wouldn’t catch the Saturday sports show while out on the water. Not only was Muravez’s racing career now in jeopardy, but so was the tenuous relationship between father and son.

But Muravez couldn’t control every factor. Ralph liked to relax after a fishing trip with a few boilermakers at Burbank’s Elks Club bar, where a drinking pal broke the news that his son Bob had actually been racing as a professional driver for six years — all behind his back.

At first, the old man wouldn’t believe it, until the friend returned with an Orange County Raceway program that pictured his son.

The next day, Ralph stormed inside the Maytag repair shop showroom, surrounded by two dozen new washers and dryers.

It was early in the day and there were no customers. Just Ralph and his two sons.

The old man was furious. He was already going through a painful divorce, and now this. He thrust the racing program at his younger son, after making an X with a pen like it was Exhibit A in a trial.

There was Floyd Lippencott Jr. — Muravez — staring up from the page.

Ralph and Bob faced each other.

“Have you been driving all these years?” the father asked.

“Yes, I have,” the son replied.

“You’ve been lying to me,” Ralph said. “You’re no son of mine.”

When Bud spoke up in his brother’s defense, their father banished both from the business. He threw a hammer through a window and reached for another before both sons stopped him.

A neighboring merchant called the police. It was a messy scene. Ralph finally roared off in his 1959 El Camino, but not before threatening both boys.

“I built this business,” he said. “And I can destroy it.”

He vowed to never speak to either one for as long as he lived.

He kept his word.

What happened next was a family car wreck.

Ralph and Edith finalized their divorce. He wanted to keep sailing. She wanted to stay close to her family. The boys battled for control of the family washing machine business while the father made threats. He eventually remarried a woman half his age and moved into the bungalow the family had kept for years on Catalina Island. He later became Avalon’s assistant harbormaster.

He started to get drunk regularly.

“He was tired of it all,” Muravez recalled. “His world was crashing in around him and that’s how he dealt with it.”

Bob’s wife Sharon is more harsh. “Ralph was a bastard,” she said.

Without Ralph’s looming shadow, Muravez kept racing, but he did not retire Floyd Lippencott Jr. He even added the letter “e” at the end of the name to make it look fancier, more French. Years later, he played along with humorous public campaigns sponsored by racing cronies that promoted Lippencott as a candidate for California governor and U.S. president.

At the track, Muravez liked to taunt competitors. “Have a good race,” he’d say. “But if you beat Floyd, you beat nobody. He doesn’t even exist.”

Muravez retired from drag racing in 1971 when the National Hot Rod Association discontinued the Top Gas class of competition. He briefly returned to take part in exhibitions over the coming decades, but the final flag had fallen on his racing days.

He married Sharon in 1974 and raised two sons, Michael and Peter. He was always careful not to be overbearing like his own father, to let them pursue their own lives.

After his brother sold his share of the business to pursue an equestrian career, Muravez continued to run the shop under its original name, “Ralph’s Electric.”

Muravez spotted his father a few times over the years. When his paternal grandmother died in 1975, Muravez saw Ralph at the funeral, but kept his distance.

One day, Bud passed his father on the Avalon boat dock.

“Hi Dad,” he said.

Ralph ignored him.

In the early 1980s, a possible truce loomed. A drinking pal of Ralph’s walked into the Maytag repair shop, saying the old man would like to see his sons. So Sharon sent Ralph a letter with a picture of baby Michael. “It was a very welcoming letter,” she recalled. “I went into detail, extending an olive branch.”

A week later, they got their response — a handwritten letter. “It was full of hate, saying ‘I no longer have a son and therefore I have no grandchildren,’” Sharon said. It included a copy of a letter Bud’s wife had sent after having the couple’s first child, with the same invective response.

Sharon Muravez

“I thought, ‘You bastard! How dare you?’” Sharon said. “I threw the letter at Bob. I was upset, but he kept things inside. He just accepted it.”

The two rarely, if ever, mentioned the letter again.

Ralph died in 1993. Muravez was never told of the funeral. He doesn’t even know where his father is buried. Both Bud and Edith are gone, too.

Now, there’s just Bob. And Floyd.

“Ralph died a bitter, lonely, broken, miserable person, alone in his motorhome or camper or whatever the hell it was,” Sharon said. “There was nobody around him, nobody who cared about him. Bob could have been there.”

These days, when Muravez talks to groups, the audience gasps when it hears how Ralph disowned his own son. But Muravez slowly came to terms with the pain through stoicism.

He understood that old family stubbornness. Amid that last faceoff in the Maytag shop, before Ralph threw the hammer through the window, Muravez knew something very important had come to an end. “I realized at that moment that there was nothing I could have done or said to bring back my father’s final words to me.”

They hurt, of course, but Muravez also felt a sense of liberation. He no longer had to do something he truly loved in secret.

The lies were finished for good. Ralph could control his son no more.

While the father never forgave the son, the son has forgiven the father.

“I carry my father right here,” Muravez said, pointing to his head. “I understood him. I was the second-born son and I knew what that meant to him. He believed that the father was the ruler of the family, no matter what.”

Inside the garage where he bonds with friends like a teenage gear head, Muravez still quotes Ralph’s homilies. He considered what was left unsaid with his father.

He likened the loss to seeing colleagues die in dragster crashes. “The racetrack is like a war zone,” he said. “You tell a friend, ‘Be safe,’ and he goes out and dies. You wish you could have said something.”

For years, Muravez has kept a slip of paper inside his wallet, which he consults whenever he is overcome with a sense of loss — of long-ago racing friends, and Ralph.

“The clock of life is wound just once,” it reads in part. “And no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour.”

There are also words Muravez tries to forget. For years, he kept Ralph’s spiteful last letter in his office safe.

So where is it now?

Inside the garage, he moves his hands as though crumpling an imaginary piece of paper, and tosses it over his shoulder.

He flashes a look of hurt and sadness. “You only have one father in life,” he says.

Suddenly, he has to go. There is work to do.

Those machines aren’t going to fix themselves.

[mc-and-elise]

Rescue-Part 6 (Vanderlise)

Vanderwood finally explains just who is after them.

Warning- this chapter has darker content than previous chapters. Nothing NSFW, but mentions of abuse.

Saeran plopped onto the couch, laptop in his lap. He had spent 4 hours trying to track Elise’s phone to no avail. There was no signal to track! They had somehow disguised it. His brother was doing his best to pick up from where Saeran had stopped at. Hacking her phone was harder than it looked. He cursed his twin for making the phone nearly unhackable. Idiot.

Samantha was hugging her knees next to him, praying quietly. Saeran felt horrible for traumatizing her when he broke in, and although he’d never admit it, he wanted those men dead. She had nothing to do with whatever Vanderwood was involved with!

Speaking of the man, Vanderwood was a nervous wreck at this point. Saeran was worried that they were on the edge of snapping. They were his friend- something he also would never admit- and Elise was like an older sister to him and Saeyoung. And unlike his idiot brother, she was willing to just sit with him quietly and occasionally make sarcastic comments about people who passed by. He wanted her back. She helped him make sense of his new life with Saeyoung and Vanderwood.

“Vanderwood? I think...I think you should explain just who has Elise.” Samantha quietly said, finally breaking the silence and asking the question on the trio’s minds. Vanderwood stopped pacing and glared at her. She squeaked and pulled her hoodie’s hood over her face. “I agree. Vanderwood, just what are we dealing with here?” Saeyoung added, looking up from his computer. “We can’t help if we don’t know what we are up against.”

The man let out a sigh and ran their hands through their hair. Taking a deep breath, they sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing them. “The organization is known by many names, but most call it Acid due to their preference of killing victims with acid. It’s...it’s like a mob crossed with the Agency. While they don’t work with the government, they have enough on powerful people to get what they want.”

“How did you get involved with them?” Saeran questioned, sitting up. Vanderwood looked away, their eyes full of fear and anger as memories came rushing back. “My father borrowed lots of money from them. One of their services was loan sharks. My family was extremely poor, and my parents were not good people. My father was always getting fired, and would spend any money he made on alcohol and gambling. I... I was how my parents vented their anger. My mother made money as a prostitute, and blamed me for getting her stuck with my father. They hated each other.

“One day, members of Acid came to demand my father repay them for the loans he had been given. He couldn’t afford to pay them, and in a way of payment offered me. I was 10. They agreed and took me with them against my will. I was forced into Acid and did things that even the Agency was against. Freedom was a lost cause as anyone who tried to leave was found and shot dead. I never dared to attempt escape. Besides, if I did succeed, where would I go? They’d find me no matter where I went.”

They stopped for a moment to try and compose themself, but Saeyoung saw the tears that were starting to run down his friend’s face. He had never asked about Vanderwood’s past before; it was a silent agreement between the two that neither would inquire about the other’s past. He wanted to tell them to stop, to stop bringing up bad memories but before the hacker could say anything they continued.

“I was around 17 when the Agency contacted me. They promised me freedom if I joined them. Me, never having freedom before in my life, foolishly accepted without evening thinking of what my new life would entail. I didn’t expect to basically be abducted and brought to Korea, to a place I didn’t know or understand. I only realized the freedom the Agency promised was a lie when I was shoved into the back of a van while the other agents got into their cars. Honestly, I thought Acid had stopped looking for me. My guess is when the Agency’s files were released they saw I worked for them and who my partners were. They probably assumed Elise and I were dating and targeted her.”

Vanderwood finished their story, closing their eyes. They had never told anyone about their past. Not even Elise knew, and she knew almost all of their secrets. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of them after all this time of keeping it bottled up. They looked up at the trio in front of him. They were silent. Samantha had a look of horror and sadness on her face, while the twins looked shocked. “They most likely went after Elise also because she was a member of the Agency. She would be used to most of the practices Acid preforms.”

With that, they stood up and walked out of the room, ignoring the stares the three were giving him. They headed to their room, where they locked the door behind them, sat on their bed, and cried.

(My poor smol confused agent D:)

[mydashlife]

I have to get something off of my chest. And reader discretion is heavily advised. This post is not for the faint of heart, the narrow-minded & judgmental, or the easily triggered, angered or nauseated individuals. I have not been myself for 3 years now, and it is because I have been living with a decision I have tried to run from for 3 years now, to not have to think about or face the truth of the severity of my choices, let alone the consequences I have always feared to come after me as punishment for what I've done. I have been at constant battle with myself for several years, now. I've distanced myself from my friends and family, I've become a near-total recluse, I've developed severe and crippling depression, anxiety and personality disorders, and I feel as though for the past 3 years, I have not been able to authentically be myself, because I didn't even recognize myself anymore.. I developed social anxiety and severe health complications because of the stress & trauma that never left my body. It was the most traumatic experience I have ever put myself through, and it is not one I wish to ever repeat. I hope that one day I am able to forgive myself. But I'm still not sure about that. Everyday, there is always this constant and nagging emotional pressure that something is off, something's not right, something is WRONG, but I could never put my finger on it, I could never REMEMBER. So I would continue my days distracting myself from my emotions simply because I didn't understand them. I started new projects, new friendships, new books and tried so hard everyday to keep my mind preoccupied with TV, activities, work, ANYTHING that kept me from talking about myself, to not be left all alone with my mind and the pain I couldn't remember but felt weighing me down so heavily each and every day. My mind blocked out my emotional pain as I convinced myself it was what I wanted and that I would be fine. I convinced myself that I shouldn't care. And my mind went to work on helping me to forget. I've been running from my own mind non-stop for 3 years and I am just so, so tired of it. Everyone who knows me personally knows that I grew up a very sheltered, closed-off life, and I did not know much, if anything about the world I lived in. I was cheery and happy-go-lucky and so, so naive. I am nothing close to the same person I was before. I am morose. Brooding and dark. My mind is so cut off from happiness, it took a long time and a wonderful man to remind me what happiness felt like again. After this post, or before you even finish it, if you want to unfriend me or talk shit or comment your opinion or whatever the fuck, I don't really care. There's nothing anyone can say to me that I haven't already thought of myself, that I haven't already shamed myself for and wallowed in my anger and regret. I deserve to learn to love myself one day, and it starts with not caring about everyone's opinion, especially those who have no clue what the hell I've gone through. So here it is. 3 years ago I found out I was pregnant by my ex. We had had a few discussions before about if we ever had a child, what would we name him or her, what they would look like, etc. But ultimately it always came down to him telling me that he would not ALLOW me to ruin his life with a child if it ever came down to it. I remember staring at that pregnancy test with horror. I couldn't believe I was this STUPID! How could I have allowed myself to get pregnant?? I didn't know what to do. So I postponed. I tried to see if somehow the universe would save me and cause a miscarriage, I'd get in an accident, or something would happen that would cause me not to be forced to make the hardest decision I've ever had to in my entire life. I was always pro-choice, but I believed that when it came down to it, I could never bring myself to kill an innocent child, let alone one of my own. I never wanted this, not yet.. Everyday, there were non-stop questions from my ex: why was I waiting so long? We already agreed to not have children this early, right?? Why was I even considering other options? Was I fucking stupid? Why the fuck did I think I was actually going to have a child? I felt stuck, and I was mortified. Why couldn't I be someone else, someone stronger, someone less afraid? Why did I have to care so much? The questions never stopped. This was my first relationship, let alone my first pregnancy, yet my ex looked to me with utter and absolute disgust. He made me feel ashamed for procreating, and guilt-tripped me everyday about how horrible and stupid I must have been to want to have a child. It was a very verbally abusive relationship, and at times, physically abusive because he was the worst alcoholic, and sometimes terrifying when he drank.. He began to distance himself from me, he stopped talking to me, he would barely look me in the face. The fear started to set in, and I began to worry about everyone I may lose if I DID have a child; The way my family worked, they would usually cut people off in the family if you weren't living your life according to "the plan". College, career, marriage THEN children. It was always cold cut and set in stone. I knew that my family would not support me or my child, and they would never have the chance to get to know their family. I was afraid of the opinions of my peers, because I was shallow and weak-minded. I was afraid of my mother turning her back on me and my father shaming me and my child every day of our lives. I was afraid I wouldn't make enough money, of having nowhere to live if I couldn't support us. I couldn't do that to a child, bring them into the world and them subject them to starvation, poverty and the ruthlessness of this horrible planet. I didn't know a damn thing about this world or how to care for someone else. I was afraid of the horrific and agonizing pain of childbirth. I was afraid my body was too small and weak, and that I would die and leave my child in the hands of my ex. That just couldn't happen.. I had considered adoption, but after much discussion with my ex, I was afraid of what he may do to me, how he would act towards me, if I decided to continue with the pregnancy.. He didn't care and I did not realize this until way too late anyway. I was terrified, alone in my conflicted emotions, and felt that I had nowhere to turn for support. The one thing I never stopped to consider was what it would feel like to completely lose MYSELF. Because I later realized, no matter what choices you make, no matter how you live your life, people will ALWAYS have shit to say about the decisions you make for yourself. Imagine feeling so isolated and afraid that you believe you cannot even turn to your own family for help when contemplating taking a life? I tried to deliberately spend all of my money, so that I wouldn't have to follow through with this decision, but he always had enough and took me to my appointments. And when the day came and I was a fucking nervous wreck, I had somehow convinced myself that he would be there by my side, as I fucking killed our child together, at least there to hold my hand since he was so adamant about it happening in the first place. Instead, he said he wanted to go hang out with his dog and come see me when it was done. Did he not get it?? They asked if I wanted to hear the heartbeat of my child. I had to hold back a lot of tears as I told them no. I accepted the offer to keep the ultrasound photo though, so I would always remember my precious baby, my little unborn life. I kept it in my wallet, which later got stolen after over a year. I still cry when I think about this sometimes.. I will never see her again.. My fault anyway, right? I always felt it would be a little baby girl.. They told me I had to take these pills because I had never given birth or had an abortion before, which would open up my cervix, as it does during childbirth, and widen it so they'd be able to put their tools inside. They said it would be incredibly painful, and that they were so, so sorry, but they did not prepare me for the worst, most agonizing pain I have ever had to endure. They told me that other women who had the procedure, and have also given birth to children said the pain this would cause was almost identical to the pain of childbirth, because the cervix would be forcibly opening itself using contractions, just as it does when preparing for the birth of a child. But as people also say about childbirth absolutely NOTHING can prepare you for the blinding pain. At this point, I was wondering if I would have just been better off going through the pains of childbirth. Too late.. I had uncontrollable spasms in my abdomen. I was alone in a clinic full of 40-50 people, in complete, blinding pain and no one to help me and not a shoulder to lean on. I just needed help, needed to cry and scream, but there was no one beside me except a stranger. I vomited several times. I had diarrhea. I was so so so anxious because I was about to kill my baby. My poor little baby.. I was seeing spots and I just cannot describe the most mind-numbing pain ever imaginable. I missed them calling my name 3 times because I was in the bathroom, vomiting and at a complete loss of any will to continue with my life. They don’t let you sit in the back in comfortable chairs with the heating pad, food and ibuprofen until AFTER you have your abortion. So I was left to deal with unbearable pain to the audience of 50 strangers. On occasion, when the pain would get so paid, and I felt like I was honestly going to fall over and die, right then, right there, I would curl into the fetal position across 2 chairs, tuck my head in, and fight back my tears as I tried to process wave after wave of unimaginable pain. I could barely fucking breathe. Once again, my choice, right? Instead of love and support, there was only me, telling myself lie after lie, that I wanted this, that this was the best decision for me, that I hated children anyway and never wanted them in the first place. It was as if I rewired my entire mind to convince myself that this was truly what I wanted, when the only reason I did it was for fear of everything else, fear of the unknown. I betrayed myself. Why would anyone love me or support me when I was doing something so horrific and ugly? I felt like deserved to die. This is where it gets a bit more graphic.. When I was called back to the office, there was the doctor who injects the inside of my uterus with some kind of numbing agent 3 separate times. I am awake for the procedure. There is a nurse standing beside my bed. She tells me she is there to hold my hand if I need it, if it becomes too painful, that she is there for me and I can squeeze as hard as I want if I wanted to cry.. Hearing her say that caused me to tear up, because she was the only person that was there for me at all that day. Where was the person I thought would be there to hold my hand? Everyone else that COULD have been there for me, I chose to keep them out of what was going on in my life and now I am here, alone, killing a child I never wanted to murder and abandon.. It is quick, but it is quite painful. She uses a small, metallic instrument to push past my cervix and she sucks out my unborn child. It was like a vacuum that she moved vigorously inside this few inch space within my small, fragile and delicate body. It was the worst type of pressure, invasive and wrong, moving around my insides and scraping along my body. Regret. It was the first time I had ever seen a dead body, and it was the bits and pieces of the bloody flesh of my unborn child sucked into a vacuum-like device, to be discarded in the trash and forgotten about when it could have created the most beautiful and wonderful life. I felt sick. My child would have been born in July of 2015. She would have been 2 years old now.. When my procedure was over, I called my ex to come pick me up. He promptly dropped me off and left me at home all alone again to hang out with his friends, even as I sobbed and said I really felt like I couldn't be alone. I had no support, and I never knew how to ask for help. I was too ashamed to tell anyone in my family about it. I thought my mom would be so disappointed in me.. She was so much more understanding and supportive than I ever imagined. My fault again. I always had this insane paranoia that everyone, even my own family, was always against me. My ex began to distance himself from me, he yelled at me more, he cursed at me, he was always gone almost every night. It was always me alone with my sadness and my worries and my regret. Always only my fault. Why was I so weak? When I would cry about it, he would mock me, and ask why the fuck I was even sobbing. He didn't want to listen to why it hurt me so much, and he did not fucking care. I was alone with my pain. Alone with my decision. Alone with my murder. And I felt like I deserved that. And a whole lot more. After my abortion, I just pretended like it never happened, and when I even told my best friend at the time, I tried to make light of the situation as if it were no big deal. I felt like I couldn’t be myself with anyone, mostly because I didn't FEEL like myself anymore. I barely recognized this sad, broken girl. I am afraid I will never have children. I am afraid that all of the health issues I keep experiencing are directly tied with this event. I am afraid that I made a decision I was NEVER supposed to make in the first place, and by doing so completely altered my entire reality because of it.. Persistent, never-ending thoughts. But I can't keep doing this to myself. At some point I have to move forward. Learn and grow stronger. This was the most traumatic experience I have ever gone through, and I am still reeling 3 years later. I don't doubt that I will always feel the weight of this forever. These are the memories I must live with for the rest of my life- the sight of the bloody, gory remains of my unborn child and the weight of feeling like I can never forgive myself for throwing away my child. I felt I had no choice, but oh I wish I could tell my younger self, sweetie there are ALWAYS choices, even when there seems to be none. So to those friends who distanced themselves from me because I seemed “different”, to the friends who gave up on me & felt I was distant, abnormal, uncaring in my friendships, a horrible friend, or thought I hated them or chose to move on with my life without them, I am sorry. It was never you. It was always me. I never felt like I could talk about it. I didn’t know how I could continue on with my friendships and my life when I felt so at odds with myself every day of my life. How could I be around you and your beautiful children when I felt repulsed by myself and the apparent lack of moral character i swore I would always hold on to? How could I bring my energy around your children when I didn't even want my own? How could I sit there and listen to you talk about losing your friends to murder, losing your brothers, you mothers losing their children while I was the demon in the room who ended her own child’s life? Constant, relentless guilt. I felt so unlike myself, unrecognizeable because of the overwhelming negativity I felt for what I had done. Self-loathing, self-hating.I was embarrassed & I felt like I didn’t deserve friendship, I didn’t deserve to be around the people I loved, that no one would want to be around me anyway because I was a horrible, nasty person. I mean, you guys were just CRUEL when it came to topics on abortion lol. No one should have to feel like this. No one. Everyday I just distracted myself until I became so distant from the trauma that when asked what was wrong, why I was depressed, I wouldn’t even be able to remember why anymore because I was constantly feeling guilty. But why should I continue to feel guilty for something that I felt was the best decision for me at the time? And now that time has passed and I'm ready to move tf on. And honestly, this has just been what I feel like was the elephant in the room with every social interaction I had with my friends, I always felt conflicted. I was too afraid to allow myself to become vulnerable, and once again my fear was the only thing holding me back from living up to my truest potential. I have been so angry and cruel with myself, so unforgiving and hateful to every decision I have made since then. I have been excessively depressed, at times even suicidal, and the only person able to bring me back to myself, back to reality, has always and only ever been Eric.. But all I can do is learn and grow from the decisions & mistakes of the past, and live in the knowledge that I can do things differently if I had another chance the second time around.. <3