#the idols boss battles were so cool i loved every single one

[cherryozyi]

Finally finished Splatoon's 3 Story Mode/Hero Mode. It was pretty interesting & fun! Definitely makes me want to check out the other two games (or in this case the second one since it's available on switch)

[inklingleesquidly]

The Bravery of Janine Squidly

Chapter 1

Janine Squidly is many things; a mother, a broadcast director for a major TV network, one of the greatest Turf Wars in the history of the entire world-- but would you ever guess gang member?

In this tale looking back at her teen years, see what lead to the decision that nearly destroyed Janine’s entire life.

Word Count: 6,104 words

Janine Squidly was finally going to accomplish a task she had been putting off time and again for ages. Today’s the day, she thought, I’m finally going to put that trophy room together! The spare room in the Squidly’s hi-rise apartment had been relegated to a storage closet stacked to the ceiling with cardboard boxes, barren shelves, and other pieces of furniture that were left to collect dust in darkness. She had the day off from her demanding job as Broadcast Director for the Sucker Bros. Studios TV network. No other chores or obligations meant she  could devote the time to assembling the room as the testament to her days as The Boss of Turf Wars and Freshest Inkling of the Decade. She wasn’t alone in this endeavor though—

“Lee-honey, thank you so much for wanting to help me set this room up.” Janine clapped her hands while expressing  her gratitude.

Her son, Lee stood up from crouching on the floor and balled his fists. He smiled from ear to ear; a hearty display of excitement as he replied, “No problem Mom, I’m super excited to get this done.”

Janine giggled. “Ara ara, I am to Sweetie.” She turned to the other occupant of the room, rather concerned about them. “Callie-dear, I know your busy and you don’t get a lot of days off, are you sure you want to be here doing chores?”

Joining them was Lee’s best friend; none other than one-half of the pop idol sensation the Squid Sisters, Callie Calamari. As she set a box down on the floor she replied, “Don’t worry about it Janine, I’m glad I can be here, I get to hang with Cutie and you!”

Both of them were so spirited and lively, Janine couldn’t help but feel invigorated herself. “You’re both the best, I’m gonna go get us some drinks, will Iced Tea do?”

“Yes Mom,” Lee accepted the offer.

“I’d love some,” Callie politely and eagerly acknowledged.

The two young squids returned to moving and opening boxes as Janine left but just as she was out of ear shot, Callie gave a cheer. “O-M-G Cutie your mom is the coolest ever!”  Her hands trembled as they hovered over the unsealed boxes. “I mean it, look at all of this amazing stuff!” Her eyes darted back and forth between them all; unable to focus on which of the seasoned pro’s treasures she wanted to unearth first.

The idol had been hiding her excitement out of politeness but she could no longer contain it. To Lee it seemed funny that a star could be star struck but he remembered just how much of a celebrity his mom used to be in the world of Turf Wars and still kind of was.

Callie seemed to bounce between boxes, staring in awe at literally everything she found. “Look at all these trophies,” she found boxes full of golden trophies, all of them depicting the number-1.  “So many awards and certificates.” she lost count of how many framed documents, badges, and ribbons celebrating victories, new records, and various other commendations she found.  

Coming upon a crate full to the brim with old periodicals, Callie gawked, “Ooo check out all these old magazines, you mom is on the cover of every one!” All of them were sports themed with Janine as the featured model. Plucking one at random from the stack, she didn’t anticipate a poster unfolding from within its pages. Stretching the poster out to get a good look at it, she suddenly gasped and her cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink.

Lee looked over his shoulder. “Did you say something, Callie?” He queried.

“Umm, n-n-nothing,” she stuttered, stuffing the spicy centerfold back into the magazine before shoving it back into the container with the others.

They found more trinkets and goodies, all of which Lee appraised as he had years of experience rummaging through the mountain of collectibles. At one point they came upon a box of video cassettes which Lee revealed to contain reels of commercials and other television appearances Janine made. From the sheer number of cassette tapes Callie said in admiration, “Whoa, I think your mom might’ve had more public appearances than me and Marie combined.” Lee was unsure if that was true but before he could answer Callie plucked out a framed photo and gasped again, marveling at what she saw. “Is this your mom with the president?!”

Lee eyed the picture and confirmed, “Yep, that’s her.” She was in front of the presidential house at Washinkton D.C., shaking hands with the President at the time she was active in Turf Battles.

Callie’s mouth hung open and she struggled for a moment to form a sentence. “Your mom is so  cool!” She gasped. “I think she might be the single coolest, freshest Inkling to ever live!” With a modest grin and shrug of his shoulders, Lee felt a sense of secondhand pride at hearing such praise for his mom.

Even though he couldn’t put together the words to say what he thought, he agreed with Callie entirely about her. She was unlike any other squid in the world, utterly perfect in his eyes. That’s why he felt as though his greatest motivation was to become the son she rightfully deserved.

Callie stumbled upon something else next; she opened a seemingly random box and asked, “What is this?” in her hands was a  black leather jacket, a rather old and ratty looking one at.

“I-- huh-- I don’t know,” Lee stammered, “I’ve never seen that before in my life.”

He had seen everything else in this room but had never come across that. Callie on the other hand eyed it with particular interest. “I think it looks cool,” she said, deciding right away to slip it on. Inside the box she unearthed it from was a pair of matching gloves which she wore as well. “Hee hee, look at me!” She snickered before holding her arms out and curling her lip into a sneer. She started to speak in the most exaggerated tough girl voice she could muster. “’Ey yo, you lookin’ f’trouble you little punk, I’ll splat yeh so hard y’mother n’ your grandma are gonna feel it.”

She had a laugh and even Lee couldn’t help but chuckle at her antics. Just as she continued her fun of playing out a silly stereotype, Janine returned with a tray of drinks. “Sorry that took awhile Loves, I didn’t realize we were out of tea so I had to make--,” her eyes focused in the dim room and she finally caught sight of what Callie was wearing.  

CRASH!!!

Lee and Callie nearly jumped out of their skin. They whirled around to see glass shattered on the carpet and freshly brewed tea spilled everywhere. Lee babbled in surprise, “Dahh—M—Mom, what happened?!” Looking up, he was met by her horrified expression; eyes as wide as dinner plates and jaw hanging open.

“Where did you find that?” Janine nearly screamed, pointing at Callie.

Realizing what she was referring to, Callie answered, “I—I found it-- in a box,” she paused between her words, still alarmed by Janine’s actions.

“Take it off.” Janine growled under her breath.  

She stomped into the room. “Take it off  now!” she repeated.

Much to Lee and especially Callie’s utter confusion she grabbed the collar of the jacket while Callie still wore it and began to wrench and pull at it.

“Janine—oww, please—eee, you can have it just let me—oww, stop it, that hurts!” Callie pleaded as her head and arms were caught thanks to Janine’s unimaginable behavior.

Lee made similar cries and asked the same questions, “Mom what are you doing, you’re hurting her, Mom, what—Mom, stop!” He begged for an explanation and tugged at the hem of her blazer as the woman desperately tried to pry the jacket off the girl's back.

Finally, she got what she wanted but didn’t stop there. She ripped the gloves off of Callie’s hands; finding that easier as she was getting one away, Callie shook the other off of her hand and let it drop on the floor. Lee went to Callie’s side to console his frazzled, frightened friend; all the while he questioned, “Mom, what the heck is wrong?”

Janine bunched the jacket up in her arms and mumbled just loud enough for the two teenagers to hear. “I’m going to throw this nasty thing in the dumpster.”

“Mom….”

“Janine…”

Both whispered as the older woman had her back turned to them; neither one could imagine what it was about that frayed, ripped leather jacket  that caused her to behave in such a way. In his entire life he had never seen her so provoked and anxious. He never even imagined something could cause her to act that way. In truth, it scared him.

After what seemed like an eternity of unnerving silence, Janine turned around. Solemn and regretful, she apologized, “I’m so sorry kids, especially to you Callie, I-I hope I didn’t hurt you, Honey.”

“I’m fine.” Callie simply answered.

Janine seemed to loosen up and relax. “I just—I thought I got rid of this a long time ago, I have a lot of bad memories attached to this stupid thing.” Her fingernails dug into the leathers, I looking as though she wanted to rip them to pieces right then and there.  

“What about them?” Lee asked, still wanting an explanation.

Janine hung her head low, staring at the floor. “I wore this when I made the worst decisions I could’ve ever made in my entire life.” Her bottom lip trembled as she inhaled a deep breath. She exhaled, “I did some things that I absolutely regret.” Another bout of silence filled the room as Janine sat down in an office chair that they kept in the room. She said with a gravely serious tone to her voice, “Lee, there’s a story about my life I never told you but you deserve to hear it.”

“I—okay, please tell me.” Lee nodded and sat down on the floor, all too curious about this experience that seemed to have such a profound effect on his mother.

“Callie-dear, do you want to hear it as well?”

A rarity for her; Callie was absolutely focused as she said, “Yes I do,” and joined Lee, ready to listen to the deeply personal tale of the squid she admired as a competitor and as an older, wiser woman.

Janine began. “It all started years ago, when I was only 17—“

In almost 30 years, Inkopolis hadn’t changed much but in the time period affectionately referring to as the 80’s you could see a star walking around in broad daylight.

“Hey it’s the Boss!” A wide smile came to an Inkling teen as did the friends he was congregating with as well.

Janine strolled through the front doors of Seaside Hill High. “Good morning.” She greeted the boy and his possee who all continued to grin and nod in acknowledgement of her.

“Hi Boss! Tee hee hee,” a crab girl vicariously giggled as Janine passed her by.

In reply, Janine gave a jaunty tilt of her head as she waved at her with her fingers. This made the crab girl shyly bury her head in the chest of a lobster girl she was with who laughed along with two crayfish girls who were with their group.

While on her walk to her locker, Janine was then approached from the side by an Inkling girl. “Boss, Boss, Boss,” she said excitedly, “I can’t thank you enough! That advice you gave, I’ve been getting so many more Splats!”

“My pleasure,” Janine replied, keeping her stride but looking her way. “We’ll have to do it again sometime. Just remember to keep both eyes open, you’ll shoot twice as better that way.”

The girl clenched her books tighter against her chest and gave a short little hop of excitement. “Will do!” She said before she broke away to walk to her class.

Just after, Janine was stopped by a boy who was rather demanding of her. “Hey Boss, 1v1 again today, I can totally get you this time.”

She stopped and reminded, “Again? Ara ara, well you did clip one of my tentacles last time so you are getting better. Sure thing, how does Moray Garage sound?”

“I’ll be the new Boss, you’ll see.” He was so overconfident despite having lost to her fifteen times already, but hey, who was counting?

Janine didn't want to crush his enthusiasm though so she continued to encourage him. “I’m pulling for you, Honey.”

With him gone she was almost to her locker, only to be stopped yet again by a nervous looking anemone girl.

“Boss, Boss, I need your help! Which of these do you think would be better for the Junior Dance?” She held up two pieces of paper in her hands; they appeared to be sketches depicting themes for decorations.

Instead of a decisive answer, Janine merely shook her head in disapproval. “Cynthia, please, you’re the class president, you should be able to make those decisions on your own.”

“Well-- I only am thanks to you and your endorsement.” She seemed to mumble that admission in shame as she angled her head down.

Janine, however  wasn't having any of that. “Ohh come on that’s not true at all, you have so many great ideas, whatever you pick I’m sure everyone will love.”

“Hmm,” she hummed unsurely, “I kind of do like this one the best.” She gestured to the concept in her right hand

“There you go, it’s perfect!” Janine congratulated in hopes of stoking the fire of her confidence.

It seemed to work as Cynthia raised her head, biting her lip to hide how wide she smiled. “Thanks Boss.”

“Just so you know, that’s what I would’ve picked too, ara ara.” Janine gave a wink as the class president left to attend to her duties, finally giving Janine time to reach her locker.

There, waiting nearby with a knowing grin on her face, was another Inkling girl, but this one was more familiar to the young celebrity. She stepped away from the line of book compartments and gave a joking laugh. “Ooo hoo, typical morning as ever, huh Janine?” She was Rena Squidosawa, close friend and squad mate.

“Almost,” Janine admitted, twisting her combination lock. She pulled it away in one swift move and the locker's door flung open, causing a waterfall of envelopes and loose stationary to fall out onto her feet. Rena stepped back in surprise but Janine stood firm. Doubtlessly there were challenges, confessions, and declarations of admiration written in neat, and messy handwriting alike, on lined school paper, and even fancy letter paper. “Now it's a typical morning.” She said in observance of all the mail.

The rest of the school day went about as normally as normal got. After the final bell sounded, Janine collected her things and made her way to the regular meeting place for her and her squad. Just near the school parking lot with the stadium a short way beyond she saw them; waiting along with Rena was Betty Pistolblatt, and Lucy Squidmont. All together, the four of them made up The Jammers.

Spotting her first, Lucy teased, “Well well look who decided to grace us with her presence.” After they all welcomed Janine back into their ranks, Lucy continued to joke in a feisty way. “So Boss, you make any promises to your adoring fans on our behalf?”

“Ara ara,” Janine chuckled, “Not a whole lot for today, later this month though.”  

Hearing that, Rena chimed in on the conversation. “Umm-- actually I made plans for us. One of the other Squads in the school wants to practice with us for the Rainmaker Rollout.”

Janine snapped her fingers. “Ohh yeah, that’s next Saturday after this one.” She reached into the breast pocket of her varsity jacket to produce a planner that she wrote in with a pink pen.

Betty suggested, “Before we head to practice let’s go to my parent’s place and get something to eat.” Rena and Lucy readily agreed while Janine continued writing in her book, absorbed in her planning as Betty added, “Hopefully we don’t run late, I really need to study for that ionization test.”

“The one in Mr. Cichlid’s class?” Lucy wondered? “I’m so screwed in that, I’m hung up on how electrons are effected--.”

The rest of the conversation went unheard by Janine as she scribbled in the last note she needed to make for herself. “There, finished,” she said aloud, closing the little book. She peered up, only to catch a rather foreign sight off in the distance.

There, hanging against the fence beyond the fields was a group of noticeably rough and ruddy looking men in ragged, baggy clothes. She couldn’t make out much  else about them or their dispositions from this distance. Maybe she was imagining it  but they seemed to have jeering sneers permanently etched on their faces . Could they have seen her? Who knew since they began to walk away moments after, leaving the questioning young woman staring off into space.

“Hey Jan? Jan? What's going on with you?”

Hearing Betty's voice brought her back to reality. She babbled, “Huh? What?” Collecting her thoughts, Janine asked, “Say Betty did you see those guys over there? They look kind of… wild? I want to say.”

The smaller girl didn’t understand so she simply shrugged. “They’re probably just some kids from the city now come on, get those ostrich legs of yours in gear, I'm hungry.”  

There was this unshakeable feeling of dread in Janine's heart, but she couldn't help but respond, “What? Ostrich legs?” As she was pushed along by Betty into rejoining their group.

A short train ride from Seaside Hill High School put the girls within spitting distance of Inkopolis Square in the heart of Shee-Booyah but they weren't going there just yet. Nearby the square was the quaint Pistol Bodega; a mini-market belonging to Betty's family. As per usual the market side was packed with afterschool visitors grabbing a quick packaged snack from the shelves, or bottled beverage from the cooler. To anyone it could seem like an overwhelming business but not Betty's dad who waved to the girls from the register as he bagged groceries for a jellyfish boy.

For those seeking something more substantial like Janine and her Squad were, there were meals to be had at the bakery & sandwich shop manned by the rest of the Pistolblatt family. The fine divide between the stores was felt by the replacement of the smell of cleanliness with the scent of fresh bread and cooked meat.

They were quickly pounced upon by a waitress, Betty's most excitable youngest sister, Madelin. “Heeeey Betty-detty, you guys are late!  I gave away your favorite table twice already.”

The Shrimpling girl replied with an understanding, “That's fine Maddy, you know we're not picky, we're--.”

“--Psych,” the cheeky youngster giggled, “C'mon, take a seat.” She ushered them over to a cozy booth with pleather seating. “What would you like today?”

Rena ordered first. “I'll have a Number-2 with a pink lemonade.”

“Ohh, same here,” Lucy added.

Betty pondered for a moment. “I’ll just have a grilled cod wrapped in lettuce instead of bread, no chips please, and some sparkling water.”

Finally, it was Janine's turn to order. “Ooo, I'll have a Number-4, two Number-3's, a Number-7 with a side of dip, some tea, ohh, ohh, and if your mom baked more of her cake today, I'll have the biggest piece of that you got!”

“Coming right up Boss,” their middle school age waitress excitedly proclaimed before rushing to the kitchen, paying no attention to the stares and the team threw Janine's way.

Lucy questioned, “I hope you know we’re not gonna split the bill evenly, right Jan?”

“Nope,” their Captain answered with a giggle. “Ara ara we're all gonna need the energy if we're gonna have a good practice today.” She took out her little appointment book from her breast pocket and began to read their itinerary. “Let's see today, we got a match against the Ultra-Rare Holofoils, the Brickboys, and the Crash & Burners want a game with us too.”

Everything seemed exactly as it should be, not a thing out of place—until suddenly the double sliding doors to the bodega were forcibly thrown open. CRANG. The entire population of the establishment jolted at the sound of the metal & glass doors hitting the concrete walls.  

In walked a group of men, five of them, all Inklings, and they seemed to be wearing matching clothes; ones Janine recognized as being the same colors, and tattered, grungy style as the ones she saw previously at the school. They began to make their way inside, one of them callously slapping the tentacle of a random Octarian patron. They all laughed in unison as his basket full of chips fell to the floor. After that they seemed to make themselves at home at the bakery, stealing chairs and sliding two vacant tables so they could all sit together.

The spectacle they made of themselves didn’t end there; they began pounding their fists on the tables, demanding service. The Jammers noticed the only waitress available was Elaine, Betty’s second youngest sister. She was nervous when dealing with customers as it was, but with a rowdy bunch like this, even looking at them made her knees tremble and hold up her notebook as a flimsy shield.

It seems she wouldn’t have to deal with them as one of them raised their hand to silence the group. A crude smile came to his face and he made another gesture that signaled for them all to rise from their seats and approach none other than the table of Janine and her friends.

They each struggled to find something to make it look like they had something to do. Lucy was the first to grab the assortment of sweetener packets and condiments to read from. Rena was fortunate enough to have already had her nail file out so she kept tending to her fingernails. Betty chose to stare at the window while Janine held up her appointment planner to look like she was intently reading it. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the ruffian and his cohorts from all crowding around them, effectively trapping them in their booth.

“What’s up sexy ladies.” The apparent leader of the group greeted them with wide gestures of his hands and arms, using a buttery smooth voice that the girls could tell was utterly insincere. “What’s a bunch of fine girlies like yourselves sitting over here all alone?”

Laughing quietly, Rena answered the question. “We’re not alone, we’re with each other, and we’d like to keep it that way.” Lucy and Betty both zealously agreed, a move that only earned them a sneer of ire from the leader.

He changed his tune soon after, shrugging off their denial. “That’s fine, why mess with the stuck-up hanger-ons when the big fish is the real catch.” His palm landed squarely on Janine’s shoulder, much to the dismay of the rest of the girls and her herself. “Hey Hot Mama, we seen you on T.V. Word is you’re the most famous squid in this whole town. You’re perfect material for the Rockfish, whaddya say?”

Janine contemplated what was the politest way to reply not a chance in hell but just as she was about to open her mouth to reply, the hooligan’s hand was forcibly lifted off of her.

“Hey pal, keep your hands to yourself!” It was Betty’s elder brother, Victor, stepping in from out of nowhere to try and help the situation.

The ringleader snatched his hand back and clicked his tongue in offense of those actions. “Chyeh, you got some sort of problem?” He asked?

“Yeah I do,” Victor bravely replied, “You’re making all this noise, a-and harassing other customers including--.” He was a large boy who played sports, and was hearty being part-crustacean but he couldn’t compare to the bulkiness of the largest member of the gang that silently stepped in front of him.

The gang leader paced around before he grabbed a metal spoon off of a table that two Inklings quickly vacated.  “I feel like we’re being unfairly treated here, like you snobs think you’re better than us.” There was anger stewing in the roots of his voice. He then bent the spoon with his thumb before he declared. “Let’s show these smug preps what happens when people think they’re better than us!” Right away the group all sought whatever was in arm’s reach; chairs, glasses, plates, and the largest one even grabbed Victor by his shirt collar, hoisting him up into the air.  

Things could’ve gone incredibly bad. The Jammers stood up to try to stop them when suddenly everyone was halted. “HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” It was none other than Betty’s father standing strong and firm between the store and the bakery.

“Who’s this fool?” A member of the gang demanded.

Despite being quite a feeble looking older pistol shrimp with gray whiskers, Mr. Pistolblatt stepped forward with a purpose. “I’m the owner of this establishment.” He informed. “I’ll thank you to put my son down and to put down my property this instant.”

With a wave from their leader, the group did as the old man said, setting everything down back where they found them. He then stepped forward, nearly chest to chest with Betty’s father as a show of intimidation. “So you own this place huh? Great little joint but you outta get better staff and customers who don’t look down on other perfectly friendly people.”

The crustacean proprietorwasn’t having any of it. “My staff and I will gladly serve you hand and foot any time, any day of the week but we don’t take kindly to those who think they can just do whatever they want. That includes people like you who harass other guests, especially my daughter and her friends.” That seemed to catch all of the gang by surprise, but he wasn’t done there. “I don’t ask this very often but you young men have to leave.”

“You’re kicking us out?” The leader gasped.

Mr. Pistolblatt corrected, “I’m asking you kindly, man to man to exit my store before we start having problems.”

Despite his age and size compared to them, somehow that got through to the five ruffians. Their coarse commander finally gave in. “All right, all right, we’ll go, let’s get out of here boys, the vibe here ain’t working for me.” They all began to quietly follow him but the leader had one more thing to share. “You know old man, you better be careful how you treat people.” As if to prove some ominous point, he snatched a milkshake from a table. “Or accidents can happen.” He let it fall from his hand. The glass hit the floor, spewing sharp shards mixed with blended ice cream everywhere.  

Victor tried to race forward but his dad raised a claw to halt him in his tracks. Mr. Bistolplatt repeated his order. “Get out of here, now.”

“Sure old man, sure,” the leader replied. “We’ll be in touch,” he whispered as they all finally left Pistolbodega.

Some days had passed since that incident. Everything seemed quiet so the Pistolblatt family banished the incident from their minds and continued their lives as normal. The Jammers all did the same; all together they exited the player lobby out to the main grounds of Inkopolis Plaza.

There, Lucy proudly declared, “I didn't think it was possible but I swear I'm getting better than great!” She twirled her N-Zap in her hand only to receive a reality check from Rena.

“Then you got run over by a roller, the same one, four times in one match.” There wasn't time for the group to share a laugh at her expense as she urged Lucy along. “Now come on, my mom's gonna take us both home and we're late. See you guys in Home Room tomorrow!”  

With that, half the Squad left, leaving Janine and Betty alone to discuss the rest of the evening.  Betty made a suggestion. “So Janine do you want to come over to my place for dinner? There's a new episode of Squister, Squister on tonight.”

“I think I'll pass,” Janine replied. “I still have some matches I scheduled in. Bobby Riptide wants another shot and this time he brought his Squad along. I’ve also got Cecilia Squidmere who wants pointers on Brush maneuvers, and the Magical Possibilities want help getting organized for next month’s tournament.”

Betty reminded, “Don't you have a test tomorrow? And what'll you do for dinner?

Janine shrugged before she replied. “I'll study before bed tonight, and I'll get something on my way home.”

“No, no, no,” Betty fired back, “You're not having a train station hotdog and fries again for the 1-2- third night in a row.” Concerned for her friend, the shrimp-Inkling hybrid pulled at her arm. “My mom is making Flounder Piccata tonight, I'm sure you'll--.”

She was suddenly silenced as none other than Elaine came bounding up to them. “Betty! Betty!” She repeated, her voice caught between gasps for breath as she held herself up with her hands around her sister's waist.

“What's going on?” Betty asked right away.

Elaine seemed to have trouble speaking as she answered between gasps. “Th--the—the-- you gotta come quick! It's-- it's just awful!” Without a moment to lose, Janine and Betty followed her straightaway, arriving on the scene at Pistolbodega.

Once  there they were first met by a blockade of police cars scattered around the strip mall parking lot the minimart resided in. Edging closer, they found the shattered automatic glass doors were but a small window into what awaited them.  

Inside they found nothing short of utter destruction. What was normally a market so bright, clean, and inviting was a shell of its former self. The floor was positively covered with shards of glass mixed with discarded food and drink, busted and barren shelves, and turned over displays just to start. Overhead lights that hadn’t been broken hung by their wires, flickering with all the strength they had. There was a nauseating smell of chemicals made from drying soda breaking down processed snack foods.  

The restaurant area didn’t fare any better with broken furniture, plates, and crockery all over the place. As dismal as the scene was it wasn’t half as heartbreaking as the sight of Betty’s mom in the corner of the room, hugging her two youngest daughters close to her. The girls had their faces buried in her waist, emitting quiet sobs as it took everything for their mother to not do the same. Their whimpering and the matriarch’s tearful muttering could be heard loud and clear, even over the sound of the officer’s discussions with Mr. Pistolblatt, and a camera snapping photos of the scene.

The old pistol shrimp explained, “--And we had only been at home for an hour when I got the call a-an--.”

“Dad!” Betty raced to him, in her flurry of thoughts, questions, and fear she couldn’t piece them all together. “What happened here?” She dumbly asked what first came to mind as a bewildered and dumbstruck Janine joined.

He grimly relayed the event to them. “We were robbed, Darlin’. Someone busted into the store and completely trashed the place. They took everything!”  

“Someone?!” They heard Mrs. Pistolblatt call out. “It was those Rockfish thugs, I mean they left their calling card all over the place!” Sure enough they did; along the walls vandalized with graffiti there were tags depicting their group name clear as day. “I want every single one of them locked up for the rest of their lives for what they did to our family, I ju--.”

Her husband held her clenched fist and attempted to ease her rage. “--Sal, please calm down, everything’s gonna be fine. We had those cameras installed for this exact problem. They’re gonna find out exactly who did this and they’ll get what’s coming to them.”

“Actually, it’s probably not going to be that easy,” the officer he had been speaking with revealed.

“What? What do you mean?” Mr. Pistolblatt quizzed.

The uniformed peacekeeper had grim news to share. “You’re not the only place that’s had a run-in with these gangbangers and every time they’ve made it a point to completely hide their faces so we can’t identity a single one of them.”

Not content with that, Mrs. Pistolblatt  said, “Why not just arrest all of them if you know they’re the ones causing trouble?”

The answer from the Inkling cop was a dissatisfied huff. “It doesn’t work that way. Every time we try to make an arrest, someone their gang cooks up an alibi for their friends and they’re right back out on the street.”

Mr. Pistolblatt let out a gasp. “You’re kidding?” He was baffled in trying to imagine any sense in this. “So what, you’re just gonna let them roam free and do whatever they want?”

The policeman shook his head. “We have rules we need to follow. We can’t just go and arrest people willy-nilly; we need proper evidence.”

The collective grief of the Pistolblatt family at hearing that could be seen across all of their faces, Janine could see it.  Wanting to do his best for his family, Mr. Pistolblatt tried to express. “Well at least we have insurance so we’ll get back on our feet and at least nobody was hurt.”

“Mom. Dad.”

As if by some morbid, horrible cue, Victor shambled in through the busted door. Deep bruises were visible on nearly every exposed part of his body, made more apparent by his clothes ripped and torn to shreds.  He was barely able to stand as he limped on one foot and could hardly talk as one side of his face was deeply bruised and swollen. Betty clasped her hands over her mouth in horror, followed by the shrieks and cries from the rest of the family.

Mrs. Pistolblatt let out a sickened gasp. “My baby!” She nearly cried.

Mr. Pistolblatt stuttered in horror. “Vic, wha—what happened to you, boy?”

He struggled to explain. “I was on the way home from college prep when I got jumped by them. It was the Rockfish, three of them, they pulled me around somewhere and I don’t--.”

Janine could only stand by in silence, watching as the family she was so close to struggle to deal with this sudden plague of violence upon them. The tears of the three daughters, the uncertainty of the adults, the pain of the eldest son, and the alarmed trepidation visible in her best friend.

Before she could say anything, Betty stepped away from her family to speak with her. “Janine,” she solemnly mumbled. “I think it’s best if you go home. I—my family and I need some time alone.” Her voice choked, it was a struggle to say those words.

Janine whispered in reply. “I understand, if you need anything call me, okay?”

“Yeah.” That answer was so deprived of thought and feeling but Janine didn’t pursue it any further.

Even though she left just as she was instructed, the thoughts of what she witnessed didn’t leave her head.  

In the early evening people were rushing to return home for the day. This time of day was so noisy with impatient drivers blaring their car horns, and tired commuters clogging the streets but to Janine it was all a quite murmur to her. All the way to the train station she thought about the violence they faced. She also thought of what she heard the police weren’t going to do even with the unequivocal evidence at hand.  

Then there was how they weren’t the only ones to be harmed by the Rockfish gang. How many other families already had their effected already by them? How many of them did she know? How many of them had kids that she went to school with? Who was she even going to see at school?

The more she thought of it, her fist tightened. It got tighter and tighter until her nails dug into the skin of her hand. Justice needed to be served for the Pistolblatt family and anyone else they hurt.

They’re not going to get away with this. They’re gonna pay for what they did. I'm going to make them pay.

[breadcrumbsandmaps]

Found in an old notebook, written sometime between 2002-2005

*transcribed as originally written with all the shitty mistakes*

The rain stung my face. It was a freezing Five Celsius out and the wind was blowing at a good Forty-Five km/h, making the coat I had on just about as useless as a hard boiled cirrus cloud. To be honest I don’t know what it means either, my friend had never bothered to explain the metaphors he used and when you’re around someone like Jimmy Katzaniel for long enough you pick up parts of that person’s vernacular. All the catch phrases, euphemisms, vulgarities, slang, you name it you got it (whether you wanted it or not was a different story).

I’ve digressed a bit though. My brain tends to wander these days-ever since the “incident.” I’ll try to concentrate more. Where was I? Oh yes...waffles, I was on my way to get waffles, it was December...seventh...in the year of our lord Nineteen hundred and forty one, so I was on my way to get these golden brown waffles-the big Belgium kind that comes with a free stomach pump and a gallon of that pink stuff that tastes of sodium saccharine and chalk. I swear to god the local “Wafflery” has the best...the best...um...oh no...that’s wrong. I wasn’t on my way to any Wafflery of sorts and the date is also incorrect.

Apparently I had started talking to myself. In the process I had altogether stopped moving. I started walking again, pulled out the crinkled paper package of tobacco, slid one into my mouth, and lit it. I enjoyed the nicotine and “Genuine Dirt Flavor” for a few brief puffs before the rain decided that smoking is a bad habit. I kept the useless sin stick in my mouth. I’ll put it back into the paper container later. It was good to keep a cigarette that went bad because if some ass asked you for a spare you give him the dud and enjoy a good one.

I guess I should mention I’m a sociopath, I don’t empathize with other humans. I have no need for empathy and in this line of work it’s the sort of thing that can get you killed. I checked to make sure my piece was still secured to the interior of my coat. Only trust your weapon 25 percent, because if you don’t have the necessary skills to survive no weapon will make any difference. The Vikings believed that you should always charge into battle because there was a certain day that you would die, no matter what you did you’d die on that day. The Vikings are idolized, made into gods, considered great.

The thing people overlook is the Vikings were just people trying to get by, like anyone else. I however, am loathed and feared. I like my job though; I like to know I’ve left a lasting Impression on people’s lives-and their children’s and their friends and societies as well. Most people see the movies and think my kind goes in there guns blazing wasting everyone in the room not taking a hit, with some cool zany catch phrase. Reality is boring compared tot he movies. Well except law and order.

Law and Order is kind of close to reality, but it’s all the cool parts just mashed into one giant orgasm. Take for example when they read the verdict “We the jury find the defendant..........guilty of murder one, fire up the fryer this guy’s ganna die.” In reality a verdict is much more boring “We the jury find the defendant guilty on penal code 203 section 84 for obstruction of justice and disregard to the onset of halitosis within the boundaries of the set parameter” on for a hundred counts of boredom. I could seriously watch that show...for...oh damn it, damn it all to hell I bloody stopped walking again.

Seriously, I knew that quack messed with me, but I didn’t realize the extent to which he did. I’ll explain. See two years ago I woke up in a black van, conscious but paralyzed-couldn’t even blink.The van stopped at some point and several guys who look like swat team members and four men in white lab coats opened the doors and carried me inside an elevator and we descended into the depths of hell. To summarize I think I spent about a month down there. Injections, beatings, torture, surgery, forced feedings, degradation and some quack who would ask me how I felt and would tell me what they were trying to do was what there was to my life for that month. Some freak cult, I lost my memories or what happened before I had come there.

They had Video taped and documented everything from the van forward. One day I had woken up and everything was different. There were bodies around, blood and entrails splashed on the walls like some modern art painting. There were bullet holes, slash marks, fire damage, craters-it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something bloody powerful stormed through here. Even though I knew whoever or whatever did all this might still be around I was damn hungry. I stayed for a while in these catacombs eating the left over food and water that was around.

Turns out there had been a whole colony of these freaks living in this huge underground complex. Whatever they were doing they had pissed something or some organization off pretty badly. I went through documentation and videos, map schematics, none of it seemed too interesting. I said I’d lost my memories of before the van, maybe I should clarify, I lost my memories of who I was and what I’d done, but not of my understanding of what things are. My collection of nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs and the like was completely in tact.

I’d wager they destroyed selective parts of my brain. Although I soon discovered why the reading I had done wasn’t too interesting. I had come across a few large bonfire pits filled with remains of diskettes, papers, books, CDs, Audio and Video Cassettes, none of it any use. I salvaged some money, clothing, and a few weapons from this tomb. There were about 30 levels to this place (felt like 100) as I climbed the stairs. I figured better the stairs than trust the elevator considering the condition of the place. Every single level had been decimated and no one spared.

I don’t imagine I had always been a sociopath, or maybe I was and this was why I was selected by them, lord only knows. If you had only visited the ground floor this would appear to be a normal building, everything was in pristine condition, no bodies, no people, and no signs of a savage battle. If it was an “office” front then the attack may have happened when the office was closed, or the attackers herded the people downstairs. Either way I was glad that the people below me were now ready for Mother Nature to recycle them.

The good thing about an extensively long flashback is that by the time I finished with it I was standing at the restaurant where my hit was. I walked in, shook off the rain and walked over to the hostess.

“Table for one.”

She seemed surprised by my presence and had a bit of disgust in her eye. Maybe it was because she was a pretty young woman and I was a bit gruesome to look at. She forced a smile and in a politeness that could only be described as false, replied

“I’m sorry sir but we’re...”

She went on about something or another, reservations, private party. I wasn’t really listening. I had on dark glasses and was scanning the customers for my target. I confirmed his presence and noted he was getting up in a hurry and made his way for a room. Now was my chance, he was running to the bathroom for the love of bladder. In this time the young hostess had finished her spiel.

“Oh ok.” (I said in acknowledgement that a table would be impossible) “But perhaps you could be so kind as to let me use your restroom.”

I had caught her off guard with my acceptance of what she had said. She had seemed ready to put up a fight. I’m a sociopath remember, not an asshole. She agreed and pointed me in the direction. I nodded in thanks and made a little jog to the little boy’s room. No one else was in there except for me and the one I had to dispose of. He was preoccupied urinating. I locked the door with such skill he did not notice. I waited a few seconds to finish up and shake. Before he could even zip up his vertebrae had been severed. God had not simply intended for us to turn out necks much more than 90 degrees left or right; a fact that I helped my friend understand with a small demonstration. I pulled down his pants and boxers and placed him in a stall.

I opened the bathroom door and walked out of the restaurant Thanked the bubbly hostess and disappeared into. It’s better when you don’t have to use a gun or a knife. What I did tonight is best described as a clean kill. No blood, no direct witnesses and a body that may not be found for a half hour. Funny thing is that in life the people you know are more likely to harm you than strangers are. Well it may not be too funny but, it’s the truth at least.

I was hungry so I set off again in this bastardly weather in the hopes of finding a Wafflery or some sort of confection outlet at least. Tomorrow I’d go to the boss and get paid. 10K a hit, a few hits a year and you have a nice life. People have this misconception that the assassin is out there every night killing people and not making any money. Like some sort of psycho, Al Paccino, guy. Nah we’re all humans just trying to get by in life. Tobacco companies kill thousands, and few complain.

Death is a part of life. It’s not something I myself even entirely understand. I somehow seem to think it does not apply to me that I merely deal it to those whose time it is to receive it. Sometimes I think I’m alone in this universe and that everything only exists for me. It usually gets weird when I’m lying i bed just thinking about it. A failed experiment I view this world as, something that has no purpose, reason, rhyme or metre. I wonder if there’s a heaven or a hell sometimes and if eternity would get boring. I can’t picture an eternity in this life.

Other times I feel like I’ve lived my life an infinite number of times. I wonder about reincarnation and what not. I’m not too many people think about this stuff but I think about it a lot, it drives a person crazy thinking about their mortality. I knew this girl...and...oh...I’ve done it again. I’ve gotten side tracked again well I was doing good for a while. But hell what can you say. I guess this is the end of our journey, for now. Have a good night my mysterious friend.

[macabrecabra]

Sombra and D.Va meeting online after the hate mail incident, and D.Va having no clue that Sombra's with Talon, but it doesn't really matter because the two talk about tech and gaming, and D.Va just smiles really widely and Sombra thinks she just fell for her.

I can give a little something surec:Title: Digital CrushRating: PG

Relationship: Budding Sombra/D.Va

There were a lot of people on theinternet who had shit personalities. That was just the long and shortof it all. People vague posted insults and acted like they were aboveothers, tried to hide how awful they were behind prettyblogs,banners, and pretty words, and overall just being insulting one way or another. That was just a truth of the internet.

D.Va though, she was a rare gem. Shewas blunt and honest, always telling it how it was and wearing herheart on her sleeves. Even when she was at her worse, cussing outopponents in a game, there was still that genuine spark that remainedburning bright. D.Va had a confidence that could not be contained andcould not be dimmed it seemed and with every push forward, every bossovercome, she just showed more of that elegance that had Sombrawatching her stream after stream.

It honestly surprised Sombra that shecould have haters. Such a concept seemed strange given that D.Vadidn't do anything offensive and actually did police her humor andthe like. She didn't isolate groups but always made her stancequietly understood and at times even made an effort to open a bit ofdiscourse with her teammates, all of it handled honestly better thanmost older supposed adults would. She never put anyone else down touplift her opinion, never resorted to petty insults, and even towardsher haters and perhaps comments meant to incite, she bore them with astoicism that made her seem untouchable.

That trait alone, that confidence, musthave been what drew all the horrid wretches of the internet out to tryand rip her down, trying to twist her words and drag her totheir level of self-pity and contempt.

Sombra had taken things into her ownhands to start dealing with all of that. Usually such individualswere ignored. They weren't worth the time to acknowledge. Feeding theunderbelly scum of the internet tended to just validate their horridattitudes, which in turn had others think to act like them, which inturn perpetuated the cesspool that was the internet.

Like hell though was Sombra going tolet someone as bright and good as D.Va be another victim of thatcesspool!

Those haters were taken down one byone, and given their dues. Their accounts were locked, content deleted,and the promise of obscurity implanted onto hard drives to wash awayall that they had done in the most extreme cases of haters found.Some of them were awful to a lot of people and deserved every second.In a way, Sombra had felt like an internet hero, the dark knightwhich hacked in the night.  Maybe more an anti-hero given that afterher internet troll cullings she was right back to doing Talon's dirtywork.

Sombra hadn't realized that herdealing with haters and filtering out hatemail combined with hersmall encouraging e-mail to D.Va would actually earn a chance to meetthe internet gamer idol. It seemed a strange dream come true, hardlybelievable and even sitting there now in the cafe with a milk teawarm between her hands and said internet idol sitting before hersipping on a some sort of lemonade, Sombra could scarcely believethis was true.

“You know, you are exactly how Iimagined my internet hater protector to look like,” D.Va said atlength, grinning a bit, “All cyberpunk techno,”

“Heh, really? Most people's firstresponse is that I'm not a chico,” Sombra commented with a slightsmile of her own.D.Va snorted, “I like it better you aren'tsome guy. Heh, my one friend said you would turn up wearing a fedoraand greeting me as milady!”

That earned a laugh from Sombra whogave a shake of her head, “What? The day I wear a fedora is the daymy co-workers finally leave their goth phase,”

“Goth phase?” D.Va asked with anamused grin.“Oh yes. All black and purple and red, allsuper edgy like they can't be touched emotionally,” Sombra let outa chuckle, “Even when off work they dress like they are about to gohang out behind bleachers, smoke cigarettes, and complain about thepain of life,”

“Man, that sounds like it could be apain to work with at times. I bet they don't got a single ounce ofhumor,” D.Va said before taking a long slurp of her drink.Sombralaughed, “You don't know the half of it. Once hacked a door toclose in front of one of em and you thought I had shot him orsomething. So angry! But enough about my co-workers, how about you?Any new games on the horizon?”

“A few yeah. Avoiding big companygames though. A few of the latest releases have been so buggy that it makes playing them almost impossible,” D.Va shook her headsolemnly, “I'll never forgive what they did to Star Voyagers. Youcan practically feel the writer going 'like these characters! Theyare hip and cool' half the time. It had so much promise and hype!”

“There is no such game as StarVoyagers. We do not speak of that,” Sombra said quickly, “Such agame cannot be spoken of or you shall be cursed with shittycharacters in all the games you doth play,”

D.Va shuddered, “Don't even jokeabout that!  I may like good gameplay but if it has a good story too,sign me the fuck up six times over.  Black Nights of Aidal was good.Loved it even if it did break my heart ten times over,”Sombranodded, grinning, “That game was a work of art! Difficult but god,the lore and characters! That boss fight against that dick sorcererwho went mad and his artificial dragon was epic. Remember? Thatknight sweet heart character, Kelniaus right? He jumps in to fightthe dragon while you take on the boss and the whole battle he'scrashing in and apologizing as he's trying to slay a dragon?”D.Vasighed, putting a hand to her heart, “Kelniaus is my gay knightprincess and I love and support him and what happened to him in theend,” she let out a sigh, “I was in tears and whispering prayersto the gaming gods to make it happier,”“Black Nights ofAidal? Happy? You speak nonsense! They crush our feels and give usonly a glimmer of hope the sequel will give us more joy,” Sombrasat back with a smile, “Hopefully the sequel turns out allright,”“Hopefully! They got the same lead designer atleast to write the story,” D.Va glanced up smiling, “This isactually really nice, you know? Just talking like this. I don't getto do this all that often. Always work or streaming or both,”

“Yeah, it is nice,” Sombra agreed,looking into her tea with a smile, “Really nice,”It wasnice to forget work and who she was and just be with someone on apersonal level, just to talk about small things like games and thelike.

It was really nice and D.Va herselfspoke about all of it with such passion.... Sombra couldn't fightthat little glow of warmth in her chest knowing that in that moment,she may have honestly just fell for D.Va.

Sometimes a digital crush could lead tofinding someone that completed you entirely.

[justabelfastgirl]

This is a repost from Northern Irish Girl Online which is no longer active.

Hello, you beautiful, sexy, people,

Thanks again to the AMAZING ROSS, I felt that should be in capitals because it’s like a superhero name. He tagged me in this and I loved his responses so I’m excited to get started with this one.

1. I can text in Swedish/Danish (kind of)

Have you ever seen The Bridge? It’s a Swedish/Danish show based on two detectives. It’s probably one of the hubby and I’s favourite shows to watch together next to Parks & Rec, Brooklyn 99 (NINE-NINE! Fans of the show will get this and I better see it in the comments!) and The Vikings (Ragnar can father my children whenever he wants, thanks).

We got so engrossed in it that we started texting each other in Swedish and Danish one day, lol. We know a few words just from watching the show so much and the rest was down to Google Translate. It’s on the bucket list to visit both Sweden and Denmark one day and the infamous bridge the show is named after. I can’t recommend it enough.

I don’t mind watching a programme with subtitles as you honestly get so engrossed in what is going on that you don’t even realise they aren’t speaking the same as your native tongue.

Author Top Tip: It’s also a brilliant way to learn a new language.

2. Farts

My farts, or as we say in Northern Ireland if we want to be polite, poofs, are so loud that they can wake people from their sleep. My biological mother used to tell me that if I was sitting on the floor (which I tended to do a lot, I found a hard floor more comfortable than a chair, I still do… I don’t know why), and I farted that she could feel it vibrate in her feet.

I suffer from Irritable Bowel Syndrome and was first diagnosed at 17 whilst studying for my A-Levels. I’ve lived with it for a very long time so I know what can upset my stomach and what might set me off. I have to be so careful with my stress levels as that’s my biggest trigger. I do plan to do a post on it as I’ve noticed the pain has increased as the years have gone on, so I’m currently researching more on the subject before I post my own blog post on it.

3. I’m weirdly obsessed with certain cultures and historical eras.

I’m weirdly obsessed with Native American culture, I have been for as long as I can remember. I think it first started when I was a kid and saw Pochantos which, fun fact, is my favourite Disney film. For those unsure of what I mean by Native American culture or haven’t seen Pochantos (um… why are you reading this? Go watch it!) I mean Indians. Not people from India, see below picture.

I mean… he’s not wrong.

Historical Eras I’m obsessed with are Ancient Egypt, especially the Gods & Goddesses. Which is strange because I have little to no interest other “modern-day” Gods. However, I would definitely follow the Ancient Egypt Gods until the end of the earth. Weird, right? My favourite was, of course, Anubis, not because he was the God of the Afterlife, but because duh, he was a Jackal’s head.

Photo Credit: Sunima

The Tudors

Again, this is strange (you’ll see why on my next one), but Henry VIII era had me totally absorbed in History class and I remember asking my Nanny that I wanted books on The Tudors for Easter that year instead of an egg (yeah, I was that geek). I really don’t know why as we all know that Henry was a wee wanker when it came to women. He was just greedy all around with food, money and women.

Big Henry VIII – The Original Manwhore Fuckboy

4. I don’t like The Queen and hate the hype around The Royals

Before you start, my mum (my step-mum) pretty much verbally smacked me for saying this. My mum loves The Queen, as does my dad. My granda… he was on the fence from my chats with him. I honestly feel the older I get, the more I remember my talks with my hero, the more I realise he has basically formed my opinion’s on a lot of things. The only time I’ve watched anything Royal related was Harry & Meghan’s wedding because Harry is an actual ledge (and I have a bit of a thing for him, I’m not gonna lie) and I was already a fan of Meghan from her role in Suits. Also, has anyone seen the bad lip reading at Harry & Meghan’s wedding?

If not, I swear on my life it’s funnier than the Star Wars ones. If you haven’t seen those or the NFL ones either… I, I just dunno what to say to you. Who even are you? I’m such a good egg (only because I mentioned it I had to go watch it again or I’d make you go find it yourselves) that I have provided the video for you below. Prince Wills isn’t so bad, especially after I watched this. For the record, I personally think Hagrid (Rubeus Hagrid for the diehard #HP fans) was the right answer. I mean, no one is as cool as Hagrid.

PW: “I hope you understand we’re puppets” 

PH: “You said we had free will.”

PW: “No, I didn’t.”

Wills telling Harry the real truth. May 2018

Why do I not like Big Lizzy? Several reasons, the main one being CHARLES,  idol-worshipping of someone who from where I sit hasn’t really done much and that’s with research, I wish we could vote. I’d totally vote for Harry to take the crown at least the charities he, Wills and their wives get involved in are ones that will really make a difference. People may say she isn’t control of a lot of things as she has left it to the governments in the United Kingdom Let me ask you this then, who does the Wicked Witch of Downing Street, I mean… Teresa May, report to? Uh-huh.

Big Lizzy is also the boss of the HM Forces, yet I don’t think she even cares how much those lads and ladies are actually paid. I ranted about this on Twitter recently when Andrew Trimble, Ulster Rugby player (I think?), said he wasn’t paid enough to “go to battle” every day. Andrew Trimble earns hundreds of thousands of pounds from playing rugby, sponsorships, appearances and so on. When I educated him on how much a Marine is paid before he passes out he shut up immediately and stopped responding to me. I looked for the Tweet for ages and then got fed up, it’s on my Twitter somewhere, good luck finding it!

Now, he’s not the only one. You look at footballers, celebrities and so on, they earn millions. Soldier’s will never make that amount of money, but they fight for our freedom. Anyone else see something wrong with this?

I grew up with military family members, not only that, but I lived on the Shore Road which was smack bang in the middle of North Belfast. Every single day, I would go outside and wait for the PSNI and RIR (Royal Irish Regiment), British Army, possibly the Royal Marine Commandos (RM aka, LADSSS) to drive past my house so I could wave at them and tell them that they were amazing. I was 11 when The Good Friday Agreement came into force, I was a child that grew up in the Troubles. My after school TV had a few kids shows, and a lot of Northern Irish news whilst my dad lived with me. The older I got the less kid/teenage TV the more I watched the news.

5. I’m still on the hunt for three books I read as a teenager over 20 years ago

Photo Credit: Jaredd Craig

You will never know how painful that sentence was to write, 20 years ago!! I still think I’m fucking 20 then I get slapped in the face with the fish of reality and it hurts me to my soul. Anyways, I read three books that to this day I remember like it was yesterday. The thing about it is they weren’t life-changing books at all, all of them were fiction. I’ve tried searching for them by the titles I remember them by, but to no avail. I asked my library, but they changed their system 10 years ago so there is nothing from prior to that, anymore. I have even gone on websites and described the books in detail, but nothing and it’s my biggest pet hate, ever.

My hubby said it just shows when I’m determined to do something I never give up on it. He should know, I was determined to do him 14 years ago, 14 years on and almost 9 years of marriage and it’s still happening, lol!

6. I’m quite smart and have a freakish memory

And Omigod totally modest! Not tooting my own trumpet, but you don’t study Psychology if you haven’t got some brains.

I can’t remember what I did yesterday, but I could probably tell you the worst serial killers ever known, the horror films that have certain aspects of them that are inspired from real historical events (and they aren’t the ones you think), be able to figure out what films Will Ferrell quotes come from (thanks mostly to my husband who is a big fan of Will Ferrell, as am I), what a book I read 20 years ago was about and what I thought of it, song lyrics, full songs, history and shit.

I could also probably tell you something that happened in my childhood in great detail, but if you asked me what I did in work last week, I’d just shrug and be like…. “talking to people and shit”.

7. I’m a massive tomboy and I once got my finger trapped in a grating (drain cover) looking for a tennis ball whilst plotting to murder IT with a tennis racket.

“Eddie discovered one of his childhood’s great truths. Grownups are the real monsters, he thought.”  – Stephen King, IT.

Okay, let me explain. I, as I mentioned in a previous post, grew up around lads. I was the eldest granddaughter on my dad’s side and second eldest on my mum’s side. This meant the people I looked up to were all lads, I used to fight with my other female cousin all the time. Which is funny because when we got older we were as close as sisters. It was because I was such a “lad”. I love football, wrestling, playing rugby, kickboxing, getting dirty, gaming and other stereotypical “laddy” things.

I’ve more male friends than I do female, but my three best friends are all female. I’m on good terms with every single one of my exes, bar one. Whilst in the majority of the relationships, I broke it off, I did it in a way that wasn’t dickish and tried to cause the least amount of pain to anyone and everyone involved.

My two best friends, Barrie and Bryan (they’re brothers and we’re still in touch today), we were going through our wanting to be a tennis player phase. This was in between our Power Rangers, Ninja Turtles and Marvel Superhero’s phase. Barrie and I were slamming some serious ball against the wall in my back garden with our tennis rackets.

I can’t remember which one of us it was, but I’m going to blame Barrie because he’s not going to read this to defend himself, but the ball ended up disappearing down the drain. Being the intelligent childer we were, we followed what we thought was the right pipe system, out through the cul-de-sac out of my back to the drain just across the road from Barrie’s house.

We thought this would be the drain it would appear in. I had seen IT by this point, Barrie had not. I wouldn’t call Barrie a pussy, because he actually fights for a living now and would no doubt kick my ass for it, but let’s just say he was a sensitive wee sausage when we were young. 

I was determined to find IT and beat him to death with my tennis racket so my thought process, being the kid I was, was that if we lifted the lid he’d either hear it and come to us or already be there. I was determined to protect Barrie at all costs, despite him being a few months older, he and Bryan were like brothers to me and everyone who knows me knows, I’d put anyone who hurts my family in the ground.

Barrie was in charge of holding the grating lid open and I was in charge of retrieving the ball when it came past (and also unbeknownst to Barrie killing IT). I can’t remember whether it was a car, someone yelling at us to get out of the drain (quite possibly this one) or, Barrie just being a fucking eejit and not paying attention, but he dropped the grating lid on my right fingertips.

I don’t know who cried more me or him. I think him, we ran back to my house, my fingers pissing blood and both of us covered in it looking like we’d just sacrificed ourselves to Satan. For some reason, I remember there being quite a few of my dad’s family in the house that day visiting, but it could be my warped memory of my childhood.

Both sets of parents were there that day, course mother dearest went absolutely nuts yelling at me, I, again, protected Barrie despite him clearly giving himself away by crying (because he felt so guilty he had hurt me and that I was bleeding so much, told you he was a sensitive wee sausage). Saying it was my fault and my idea, the truth did come out in the end. My four fingernails were hanging off, the worst being my middle finger.

I don’t remember an A&E visit, but I remember one of my bigger cousins saying I was hardcore as I was only crying because I’d gotten blood on me and was still deadly fearful of my mother beating me back then. He told me my fingers tips were clearly broken as they’d been crushed in the grating. 

My dad ended up having to pull the middle fingernail off as it was just hanging there, at least I think it was my dad, it could have been my ma, I don’t remember I thankfully blocked out the actual experience, the rest of them broke off. To this day, my fingernails and fingers are off to one side. See pics for proof, below.

8. I love to learn, a lot!

I’ve said this previously, but for those new here, I used studying as an escape, same with reading, from what I suffered as a kid. I would get lost in history books, books from the library, for hours on end.

I read abnormally fast, often finishing a standard 330-word book in half a day if I am up early, or a day depending on what I’m doing. I bring a book with me everywhere I go, just in case.

Holiday’s are funny as there is usually at least 6 books and a Kindle in my hand luggage, increasing to 8 to 12 books by the time I get on the plane. My hubby just rolls his eyes, now but knows they’ll get read.

To put my learning into perspective I thought the best thing to do would be to create a table which is split into self-taught and qualified/things I hold certificates in. It’s a bit mental to look at, but 100% my proudest achievement after being mentally healthy following a 2 year battle with my PTSD.

Self Taught Academia Criminal Psychology Psychology and soon to be Forensic Psychology Photography Dental nursing Photo Editing History (Irish & UK) Blogging, Writing English & English Lit Criminology Criminology Human Resources Human Resources Counselling Counselling (including CBT, Life Coaching, Career Coaching) Rearing dogs from pups to adults Autism (including all areas of the spectrum) Norse Methodology Health & Social Care Wiccanism Business Administration History of Music & Music Genres Psychology Parapsychology Makeup Artistry, Beautician & Nail Technician Computer programming (hacking, website creation) Viral Marketing Cooking Art & Design Swedish/Danish (written, only) BASIC French (Oral & Written) Basic Italian – Basic/Intermediate at the moment Sewing, crochet Maltese – Intermediate First Aid (Child, Adult & Pet) Book Publishing  (with coaching from my sis Christina) Business Auditing UK, NI and Irish Law Sign Language Level 1 UK, NI and Irish Employment Law UK, NI and Irish Employment Law Child Psychology & Counselling (mentoring from NSPCC) Woodworking, carpentry, building smaller homemade objects Mental Health Conditions & Disorders Accounting Different religions and cultures Sociology

This isn’t me showing off, just as an FYI. This, to me, is a list of things I have used as PTSD survival techniques. I’ve posted twice about what happened to me when I was younger.

I also challenge you all to make a list of things you have taught yourself when I say self-taught, I mean not going to a school, college, university online or off at any time. It doesn’t matter if you were taught it by a family member or something like that, it’s anything you’ve taught yourself to do without the help of professionals.

I would be deadly interested to see everyone else’s lists, and probably want them to teach me stuff I don’t know, lol.

9. I’m obsessed with little Asians and want to adopt all the little Asians, but my husband won’t let me.

I don’t know okay? I really don’t know when it started or how it started. My dad (who is not racist, I promise) always calls me cheeky face or, I swear he isn’t racist, he just isn’t very original with nicknames, I’m sorry if this offends, oval eyes. I’ve a round-shaped “pea” head as my dad and husband like to remind me of on a somewhat weekly basis, they’re wee shites like the Chinese people (known for having rounder faces).

I have oval-shaped eyes (doesn’t everyone you say, actually no, no they don’t) which are angled upwards, like a person of Chinese descent. I have my granddaddy’s eyes as you honestly couldn’t tell whether he was squinting or his eyes were wide open. Mine is slightly more open than his, but when I’m tired you can see why my dad has dubbed me what he has.

When we pass anyone of Phillipene, Chinese, Thai or Japanese descent husband calls them my people because I absolutely love them and I really do have myself convinced that, as well, as being Italian/Maltese/Northern Irish/English I have either Native American (hence my fascination with them) or another Asian descent in my heritage. I’d love to do that 123 and Me test, but I don’t have a spare $50. If you’d like to donate that to me then lemme know, lol. what? You don’t ask you don’t get! 

My cousin is married to a beautiful (inside and out) woman named Christina who is from the Philippines and they have two gorgeous wee kids. I keep “jokingly” telling my family I’m gonna kidnap them one day and adopt them,.

There have been times my friends and my other half have literally had to pull me away from the kids as I just think they’re so cute and I just want to talk to their parents and play with them. That’s really weird, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have told people this… 🤷‍

10. I can rap, well.

Don’t believe me? Ask my three best friends and my husband. My husband couldn’t believe it the first time my friend Sarah B and I rapped every single lyric to Tupac’s – Hit Em’ Up. It was our song, but it’s the same for any other TuPac, Dr Dre, Xzibit, Ludacris, N.W.A, Eminem, 50 Cent, D12, and many, many more songs in my rap repertoire.

I’m going to challenge some different peeps this time, some of my lovely followers. So…. I challenge the following people to do this and tag me so I can read them:

@MsCreativeKerr – Kerry-Ann

@HappyMentality – Ri

@the_rolling_20s ‏ – Ruth

@comfortinganx ‏- Deanna

@larylarxx – Lauren

Don’t forget to tag me so I can read yours! For everyone else, please follow these gorgeous girls.

10 Unusual Facts About Me (A Re Post) @LaureltonStudio #TheClqRT #bloggingtribe @TheBloggersPost @wetweetblogs @sincerelyessie @UKBloggers1 #bloggingbeesrt @BloggingBabesRT #BloggerLoveShare @LovingBlogs This is a repost from Northern Irish Girl Online which is no longer active. Hello, you beautiful, sexy, people,

[jmkieper13]

What A Day...

Today, the two darkest spots in my world collide. Today is smack in the middle of National Infertility Awareness Week. A week where I’m both overwhelmed with support and saddened to see just how many people are affected by this awful curse. But, today gets even harder than that. Today is also the two year anniversary of losing my dad. If I were to name the two things that bother me the most, it would be losing dad and being forever haunted by the fact that he’ll never get to know our kids, and this ugly infertility train that we’re still stuck on. Bringing these two worlds together is painful. My heart hurts. I sat in the car this morning, when I realized the date, and just watched the tears flow down my face. I sat right there in the parking lot for a solid 20 minutes, just watching makeup stream down my face, cursing myself for bothering to wear any, and wishing I could go back to bed. It’s a cloudy day, and that seems appropriate. On my phone I have a voicemail from dad, that has been there for now more than 2 years. It’s dad calling, just asking me to call him back, starting with the, “Hello Jo, whaddya know?” that started every call from him, whether I answered or not. I can still hear his voice saying it to me, and it still makes me smile just like it used to when he said it for real. My sister used to always say that I was dad’s favorite, and it drove her nuts. She called me, “the golden child,” and swore that, as far as he was concerned, I could do no wrong. I fought it, trying to assure her that she was ridiculous, but at the end of the day, he’d even admitted to me at one point that I was probably his favorite, at least in some ways. I was the Vice President of the National Honor Society and the first of his kids to graduate from college, and he was an educator. I was sarcastic and outgoing. I was, in a lot of his favorite ways, the most like him of the three of us. He was a teacher for nearly 40 years. It was, far and away, his passion. The sun rose and set with his students, and nothing but death could have pulled him away from that classroom. I remember him looking at me and the person who is my best friend to this day. The person who was maid of honor in our wedding, and who is my go-to whenever I need a shoulder, opinion, or have a funny story. She’s to me in friendship what my husband is in marriage. But that day, all those years ago (we’re going back 15+ for this one), when she was sitting with me at some family celebration at grandma and grandpa’s (who accepted her, happily, as one of their own…presence in the family photo albums included) and we were debating something (likely entire and utter nonsense…equally likely involving movie quotes of some sort) and dad said, “I could watch these two argue all day. There’s just something so great about watching two smart people debate just for the sake of debating, and walk away laughing and still best friends. I could watch this all day.” He loved her, too. Somehow, though, all of us are just like him in our own way. My sister was his first born, and absolutely has his stubborn streak, that you could not bend if you had a crane and wrecking ball much less ever come close to risk breaking. My brother was his boy…his only son. He has his frugality, temper, protective nature, and low tolerance for BS…but also his sense of humor, love for the classics, and he looks and sounds so much like him (patchy hair and all). I remember those days that everyone has where they complain about their parents. They point out all of the things that you feel, in your infinite, pubescent wisdom, that they’re getting wrong. They’re not nice enough, lenient enough, generous enough, cool enough, etc. But now, as an adult, trying to make my way through life with a different set of experience behind my eyes (at times this admittedly seems to work more like swimming in cement than walking), I have a bit more jaded of an outlook, and I see that they were doing the best that they could. They struggled nearly every day of our lives to make sure we had the life that they wanted for us. Knowing how I feel about things now, I can’t even imagine how hard it had to be to for my parents to watch my brother be the devil-may-care Evil Kenevil that he was, driving too fast, taking every risk, and not caring at all. He ran at full speed everywhere that he went, screaming like a lunatic, and waving a stick in the air. He was 100% all boy, and he played the part well. My sister was quiet, but not to be ignored. She loved to read, always wanted to be outside, going somewhere, doing something (and she’s still like this today). Then there was me…smack in the middle. I was everything that the reputation of a stereotypical middle child comes from. I both wanted the attention and wanted to blend in. I care too much what people think, and I both idolized my big sister, and thought I had every right to be a junior parent to my baby brother. But they worked as hard as they had to to make sure we had a roof over our head, clothes on our back, and went to private school. God was always a priority in our lives. I remember being carted off to church every Saturday night for 5:00 mass, watching mom sing, and eventually listening to dad preach. He was a gifted preacher, and his homilies were something that left a mark on anyone there to listen. He was a lot like his brother, in that way. I remember that mom used to joke and call me “mother hen,” when I would boss my brother around, which brings me back to the other awful aspect that I find myself in the middle of. From as long as I can remember (and before then, even), I couldn’t get enough of babies. I had more dolls than anything else, and more of them (or things for them) was all I wanted. I actually still have the doll that I was given as a toddler, stored in plastic bag with the bib from the day that I was baptized and the baby blanket that my grandma made me. They’re among my most prized possessions…and every single one of them, you guessed it, is baby-centric. In my head, I think all the time about how from the time I was a tiny girl, all I wanted to do was be a mom. When I played games, I needed nothing more than a doll and my imagination. I would wrap them in blankets, make mom buy me preemie diapers (so I could practice changing them, of course), and they had beds, strollers, car seats, outfits…they were absolutely my babies. My sister and I would play house, and we’d each have a baby and one room of the house would be our little play house…and those are among my absolute favorite memories. I remember my first (and second) Cabbage Patch Kid, and to this day I wish I would have kept them. Every doll had a name, and a story, and they were people to me. They were my world…and my desire to be a mom has only gotten stronger with time. It’s truly all I have ever wanted. I knew back when I was innocent and not scarred by the battle that we’ve been through up to this point that I would be a mom. It was never a question. It was a matter of when, never if. Those insecurities, doubts, and fears have come with the ups and downs that all we’ve been through leave a person with. And here we are today…day 4 of National Infertility Awareness Week…and the latest on the never ending saga that is our journey to parenthood. We’re still walking the path, but hopefully we’re nearing the top of the hill. A couple of weeks ago was cycle day 1 of the third cycle since Clomid left me with crazy hyperstimulated ovaries, and we were officially given the all clear to slowly start trying to incorporate Letrozole into our protocol! This month we started with a very, very low dose of 2.5 mg for cycle days 3-4-5 and I will go for blood work 7 days after I ovulate to check levels and see how I respond. We’re praying this is the answer for us, but if it’s not, we hope it at least gives us great direction, because we do thing we’re at least finally on the right course. So, my friends…we will take all the prayers we can get in hopes that this month is finally it for us, and that come new year we’re birthing a baby into our family. Dad…I miss you every single day. It still seems weird and unnatural that you’re gone. I still think to myself that there are stories I want to tell you. I still worry more about making you proud than probably anyone else. I hope that you agree that it’s time to send us our babies…we’re so ready for them. I’m begging you, dad…it’s been long enough. Please…you have a lot of pull, and you impacted so many lives…I know you can make things happen up there. Let’s get this ball rolling. We’re down here waiting…waiting to tell them all about you. To show them pictures, and tell them stories, and laugh and cry and everything that comes with trying to make someone that never got to meet you truly know what they’re missing. They’ll know you enough to recognize you immediately when they get back to Heaven someday. You’re always in our hearts, in our thoughts, in our prayers, in our home, and in our lives…we just wish you were in our line of sight, too. I love you, and thank you for being who you were to us.