#i feel like he got totally glossed over nobody appreciated him

[fanon-elio]

By your side.

Part 4

Summary: You are the CEO of a big company and hired Lycaon as your personal attendant, however it seems that your wolfish butler has developed a crush on you. So while you and him were on a business trip, both of you were forced to confront your growing feelings for eachother.

Tag: Blue Letter (Hurt/comfort)

Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional and is not canon. You are responsible for the content you consume, so if the following warnings trigger you, you may read at your own risk.

Warnings: Fluff, Slow burn'ish, long fic, mutual pining, reader is smaller than lycaon, lycaon is down bad horrendous, friends to lovers type stuff, some flashbacks here and there.

Angst, Jealousy, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, Lycaon being awfully hard on himself, Guilt, body dysmorphia.

Other warnings: lowkey my first fanfiction, so bare with me here. (T^T)

Yes, this fanfiction WILL contain Nsfw in the future.

I added some throw-away characters to the story as plot devices, no they're not oc's and they hold no importance to the story other than providing character development.

This fic contains a lot of scenarios written in Lycaons pov cuz i eat this shit up for breakfast.

Hello how are you? First things first, I apologize any mistakes you may find, and constructive criticism is always appreciated. This part is a bit longer than the previous ones because if I would have split it up, the pacing would have felt weird. I hope you enjoy regardless.

"You're y/n right?" The woman asks, and you nod, a little confused as to how she knew you despite never having seen or spoken to you. She seems to have picked up on your confusion "I'm sorry, I don't mean to offend you-" you try to explain, but she interrupts you, and instead gives you a reassuring pat on the shoulder "don't worry babes, I get it your cautious, but I'm totally on your side, I'm Natalie by the way" she introduced herself, pumping her lip gloss a few times "in fact, nobody has ever made my looser of a husband as mad as you, and I respect you for that big time" she said, and you let out a short chortle, more so to mask your still growing confusion "when I tell you that he got so pressed over your conversation with him after dinner, he really done called his mom to cry about it" she lets out a hearty laugh, and you followed short. But then again you couldn't help the question burning on your tongue as to why she stayed with him, if she clearly didn't like, much less loved him. "Honestly, how do you even put up with that man" you carefully asked her, rummaging through your purse for your lipstick "ugh honestly, that's a mystery to us both babes" she says while she applied another layer of lip gloss.

"To be fully honest with you babes, he actually totally catfished me on our first date" you stopped rummaging as you looked at her in disbelieve, if dear Natalie didn't have you full attention before, she definitely had it now. You turned to her, giving her your full attention as you waited for her to spill the tea to you "listen, we met over a dating app actually, and the first time I saw him I was like, where are the 6.5 foot, and your full head of hair at that you bragged about over text?" Both of you laughed as you finished applying your lipstick, now knowing why she didn't like him. You would have expected her to be just as insufferable as her husband, but instead you internally apologized to her for judging her too soon. Clearly you had no idea she was chill like that.

"But then again, I just gotta know..." you fix your earrings, then turn your head to look at the black haired woman next to you, "be honest with me, what do you even see in that man?" You inquired, all politeness be damned. She lets out a cackle "well, that depends on the day..." you give her a look, silently asking her to elaborate "...today I saw in him a brand-new eyeshadow pallet, and tomorrow maybe a new Lamborghini" she pops her lips, then shoots you a mischievous smile. "He is a hateful, desperate, and rather pathetic man" she continues, and you nod in agreement to the statement of him being hateful considering how he had treated Lycaon "clearly the dude is trying to cope with something, and if I'm fully honest with you, I'm really just sticking around cuz he pays my families bills" she finished, and you're reminded of your own financial dilemma "I know how awful it sounds but listen, I gotta make it worth my time somehow" she says, putting her hands up in an innocence feigning manner.

"But enough about me, what about you babes" you look at her again, your lipstick finding it's way back into your purse "you really won life, I mean your boyfriend is so hot, and he seems to be all over you" she says and your confusion once again resurfaces. "My boyfriend?" she mimics your confused expression as you slowly began to connect the dots in your head, "oh! no, wait, he's not my boyfriend!" You say, realization hitting you square in the face, which is now just as red as your lips while Natalie gave you an equally shocked expression. "Well babes, what are you waiting for? Hello?" She says, and you look away in embarrassment "listen, it's not like I don't want him to be" you admit "but it's... complicated" you sigh "he's my personal attendant, it would be a scandal so much is for sure" she nods along.

"Listen, people fall in love all the time, and it's rarely ever convenient" Natalie says, crossing her arm as she leans against the bathroom sink "trust me you'll regret it more if you try to ignore it" she says, and you knew she was right. Letting out a huff, you confess "truth is, I think I'm just scared of ruining what we have you know" she raises one of her eyebrows as a silent question "if I confess to him, and he doesn't reciprocate my feelings, not only would it ruin our friendship but also would make all of our interactions hella awkward" you say, a blush once again creeping its way onto your face as you internally beat yourself up for talking about your love life with some stranger in a bathroom "and even if he does, we could potentially risk ruining our careers." She takes a step towards you "shit sure sounds like a whole mess..." she says "but even then, at least you tried" she once again putts a hand on your shoulder "just talk with him, test the waters you know" she says and right now she reminded you so much of Zhu yuan.

The Pub sec officer kept saying the exact same things to you, something along the lines of "a conversation never hurt anybody" or "for starters, just ask him if he's into someone" speaking as if she had ever been in a relationship with someone, even though everyone knew she kept her job like a lover. She was also the one who had recommended Random play to you, dragging you there to pick out a romantic movie for quote unquote "Inspiration." Clearly she had been in kahoots with the the manager of the store, judging by how awfully enthusiastic said young woman seemed when she handed you the movie.

"I need to get back now, gotta keep my gremlin of a husband outta trouble" she says, as she walked past you, bringing your spiraling thoughts back to reality "maybe give what I told you one or two more thoughts on your way back to your prince charming" she said on her way out, doing finger guns as a silent way of encouraging you. And weirdly enough, it does.

As the door falls shut behind her, you once again turn to the mirror, looking yourself over one last time as you silently come to the conclusion to be honest with your feelings.

To both yourself and him.

You step outside the bathroom, wondering how much time had passed while you chatted with Mr. Goldman's better half. You make yourself on your way back to your table, hoping you haven't worried Lycaon too much with your rather long absence.

But it seems Lycaon has to wait for you just a while longer, as you're stopped in your tracks by a tall man.

"Excuse me miss, are you miss y/n by any chance?"

---~---

Worry began to grow in Lycaon's gut as he looked at his pocket watch. You have been gone for over 30 minutes now, and he couldn't help but think that something awful must have happened. More so because of Goldman's distinct absence in the dining hall, his table having stood empty for quite some time now. He put his watch back in his pocket, having decieded to go look for you himself.

He pushed his chair back, and stood up, gently smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed on his suit from sitting as he looked around the room. His sight being the only sense he could currently rely on since it was neither impacted by the loud noise of chattering that made his ears ring in discomfort, nor by the plethora of strong floral scents that painfully burned in his nose, and in turn made it impossible for him to distinguish the sound of your voice or the smell of your perfume from the crowd.

A few more minutes pass as he walked around the hall, still no trace from either you nor that vermin, but he swore if something had happened to you, and Goldman was to blame, he would tear out that man's throat.

"Scuse me" he heard someone from behind him saying, ripping him out of his thoughts as he turned around coming face to face with Mrs. Goldman "Sorry I didn't mean to startle you Mr. L/n" she said, and he fought as he tried to suppress his tail from wagging. "How may I help Mrs. Goldman?" He asked politely, not caring about correcting her, while he secretly ravished in the thought of being married to you.

"I just wanted to ask if you'd be so kind, and give your wife this note" she asked, secretly grinning to herself as she noted that despite calling you his wife he still hadn't correcter her. "I will see to it Mrs. Goldman" he replied, feeling admittedly a bit skeptical, "have you seen y/n by any chance?" He asked, and she shook her head "nah sorry, I left the bathroom before she did, honestly i myself am looking for my husband" she said, annoyance clear in her voice as both of them shared the hope that Mr. Goldman hasn't found you first.

Finally, he spotted you after what seemed like an hour of walking around aimlessly, his tail swishing gently behind him as he wanted to make his way over to you however, his heart sank when he noticed that you weren't alone:

You were with a man - thankfully it wasn't Mr. Goldman, instead you were talking with another thiren. You didn't seem uncomfortable in any way, in fact when the man put his hand on your shoulder, you didn't recoil nor did you seem alerted in any way, you blushed even when you chatted with him.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and shake off this awful sting he felt in his chest as he watched you.

But to no avail.

He clenched his jaw painfully and let out a deep huff as he once again felt this feeling coursing through his veins like molten iron. A feeling that he was already painfully familiar with, having felt it before when that vermin Goldman so openly and shamelessly flirted with you.

Pure jealousy.

Not even reminding himself of the moment you two shared during the speech could ease his nerves now, quite the opposite actually, it only seemed to make his situation worse.

This was supposed to be his special day with you.

His clawed fingers traced the golden tie clip gently as he recalled the memory of both of your reflections in the mirror just a few hours earlier. He is supposed to make you blush like that, like he had done in the boutique when he called you beautiful.

He felt even more insecurities bubble up from the depth of his mind as he watched the man bend down to speak something in your ear, as you played with your earring. Something you would do if you were flustered, whatever this man has said to you, it seems that you liked it.

Lycaon felt a growl bubble in his throat when he watched how close this stranger was to you - his favourite person.

He is supposed to be this close to you, like when he had embraced you after your horrible dinner with that disgusting worm. That place by your side was his.

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he looked at you, drowning everything around you out like tunnel vision; with you at it's center as he searched for any kind of discomfort on your features, shamefully hoping to find something so he could swoop in and steal you away - steal you back.

But there was nothing.

He took a deep breath, and fixed his tie as he made his way over to you, his doubts following him every step of the way. The metall of his prosthetics clacked against the marble floor, the sound of which was, for some reason, almost deafening to him as he approached slowly.

He only had himself to blame he thought. That despite the feelings he harbored for you for so unbearably long, he's never made an attempt to win your heart always valuing his professionalism over his feelings, too afraid of the possible consequences that could come from them.

Was it too late now? Did he miss his chance?

He heared you laugh, normally a sound that he craved. But now it didn't make him feel content, because it wasn't him who made you laugh. "Pardon me" he politely interrupted, fighting with himself to not bare his teeth at the other man infront of him "Ah Lycaon, perfect timing" you said "this is Mr. August" you said, and the thiren extended his hand in greeting "a pleassure meeting you" Lycaon took his hand, politely shacking it "the pleassure is all mine" he responded, even though it was the farthest thing from the truth.

You gave Lycaon a brief rundown of your conversation with Mr. August, saying that the host of tonights gala would like to have a private chat with the both of you. Mr. August was send to fetch you, and both of you got a bit lost in conversation. Lycaon nodded as he took in the information, but secretly all he could think about was how awful that man's scent clung to you.

He shouldn't smell this, he should be smelling your parfume, your shampoo or your body wash, and not another man's cologne. It taunted him with the way it wafted around his nose, like a bitter reminder that he wasn't as poised and polished as he liked to present himself. He wanted to pin you to the nearest wall, to lick you clean of that stench, and he internally scorned himself over how possesive he thought about you right now, despite lacking the courage to confess his feeling to you.

You and Lycaon followed Mr. August as he guided you down a hallway, you cautiously looked around, noticing the extravagant decor and expensive artwork hanging on the wall. On one hand you were glad to be away from the masses, and on the other you felt nervousness rise in you again. You were thankful that Lycaon was with you, since you were sure that you wouldn't have been able to face that Lady on your own. You looked at Lycaon from the corner of your eye, noting how stiff he seemed. You were aware that something was off with him, but you couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong. He had acted strange ever since he had approached you and Mr. August earlier. You pondered for a moment, could it be he was angry with you because you pretty much left him at the table, waiting for you while you chatted away with Mr. August? You swallowed thickly, that had to be it, and who could blame him that really was awful of you. Here he was supporting you the entire evening, making sure you were alright and you just leave him sitting somewhere. What a great friend you were.

You gently tugged on Lycaons sleeve trying to get his attention, and his ears perked up in suprise at the sudden sensation "I'm sorry I left you sitting at the table for so long" you apologized to him "there is no need to worry master, I'm not offended" he responded with a smile, a professional empty one.

You frowned, clearly something must have happened, you thought and dreaded the idea of Mr. Goldman having harrased him again with his usual racist antics. You swore if that was really the case, then you would make your threat of doucing that midget with your drink a reality. Maybe even giving him a good kick to where the sun doesn't shine on your way out.

You placed your hand on his forearm "are you ok?" You asked him, your voice laced with concern while he stayed silent for a moment, seemingly caught off guard by your question "everything is fine master" he replied, breaking eyecontact with you. Your own landed on his clenched fist behind his back, you wanted to reach out and hold it like he had done with yours earlier but chose against it, opting to give him some space. You gently removed your hand from his arm, and his tail dropped a bit at the lack of your touch. Mr. August stopped infront of a door "we are here, Milady is waiting inside for you" he said, and opened the door for the both of you as you stepped inside.

"I'm grateful for the oppertunity to talk with you in person, Ms. Y/n" the host spoke, her wheelchair standing next to the sofa she was sitting on "please, have a seat" she offered, and both of you sat down in the sofa across from her "allow me to properly introduce myself, my name is Clementine Walker, head and founder of Walker International Bank" she introduced herself, more so out of politeness since both you and Lycaon already knew who the Lady sitting in front of you was. She was a well known figure in New Eridu after all.

However, much like yourself she rarely ever appeared in public, choosing to dedicate most of her time to the funding of hollow related research. "I'm sorry, I don't think we are aqquainted yet" she said, her head turned towards Lycaon "it appears as such" he replied "I am Von Lycaon, I serve as Lady Y/n personal attendant" he said politely bowing his head "delighted to make your aqquaintace, Mrs. Walker" He seemed colder than usual.

Mrs. Walker turned to you once more "I assume my husband has already informed you about the purpose of this meeting, yes?" She asked gently placing her hands in her lab "even though it was on rather short notice, please pardon my poor time management." You blinked a few times, voicing out the thought both you and Lycaon shared "your husband?" Mrs. Walker giggled a bit "Yes, August Walker is my husband" she replied, and you apologized for your impoliteness but she assured you that it was alright "it suprises a lot of people" she had said.

Shortly after Mr. August returned, setting down a tray with tea before excusing himself again. You intently listened as Mrs. Walker spoke, internally screaming as you misjudged the temperature of the beverage in your hand, burning your tongue a little in the process. Mrs. Walker, or Clementine as she prefered you'd call her got straight to the point of why she had asked for your time, as she shared her wish of becoming an Investor for your company. For a moment you thought of asking Lycaon to pinch you, just to convince yourself that this was really happening.

Lycaon however was currently boiling in shame, his jealousy now having fully morphed into guilt, and embarrassment as he remembered his earlier antics when he saw you with August Walker. How unbecoming of him to jump to conclusions like that, opting to try and deflect from what he had seen, and felt by putting up his usual professional demeanour he used for any other client.

But you weren't any other client, and he recalls how ashamed he felt when he had seen your expression earlier, clearly concerned for him as you looked right through his carefully crafted facade. He felt beyond awful for pushing you away like that.

However, in a corner of his mind he was silently celebrating. Knowing that perhaps, it still wasn't too late to capture your heart like you had done with his. But especially after today, he didn't know if he could even muster up the courage of asking you out even if he had the oppertunity.

"If I may be so bold to ask" you started, feeling rather anxious in Mrs. Walkers presence. "What was it that sparked your interesst for my company?" You asked, hoping she wouldn't find your question offending. Suprisingly she let out a warm hearted chuckle as she gently moved up her dress, revealing a pair of prosthetics. "Believe it or not, but you have sparked that interesst in me yourself" you tried to apologize to her for prying into such a private topic but she set your mind at ease "it's quite alright deary" she had said.

Slowly your cups began to get emptier, and emptier as Mrs. Walker told the story of how she had met her husband. You and Lycaon perked up when she explained that August Walker had also been her personal attendant, who had taken care of her when she had lost her legs, and whom she had ultimately fallen in love with. As the clock hit 11 am, you decieded to also make your way back home, having thanked Mrs. Walker for the oppertunity and promised her to stay in touch.

The way to the car, and the ride was silent. While you still pondered what could be wrong with Lycaon, he himself occupied his mind trying to figure out where to go with his feelings now. Should he should act on them, or give them up. Mrs. Walkers Story was still fresh on both of your minds, and it gave Lycaon a little hope when he thought about you and him.

Back home, you once again kicked off your high heels like you had done yesterday. You should feel at ease now, that straining evening was over, and you gained a new and influencial ally that could potentially solve all of your financial problems. But you didn't feel like celebrating, too concerned about your companion. Said companion has taken to the kitchen, still having not spoken a single word since the gala. On silent feet you decieded to approach him, trying to carefully pry what was wrong.

You found him in the kitchen, downing a shot of whatever alcohol he had found in the refrigerator, something that concerned you even more by how out of character it seemed for him. He rarely ever drank, prefering tea over anything else. His tie was undone, and his suit jacket layed abandoned on the chair nearby, folded neatly regardless "Lycaon" you started, alerting him to your pressence "are you unwell?" You asked him and he put the bottle to the side, taking a Martini glass from the cupboard. "everything is alright master, the strong smells tonight just have taken quite a toll on me" he lied, and you noticed immediately by the way he pressed his ears to his head. "How about we celebrate your success" he said returning to what he was doing, still refusing to meet your gaze. You sat down in your usual spot as you watched him reach for a knife, noting how much his hand shook. "Has something happened with goldman? Has he harrassed you again while I was away?" You tried again "not at all master, please do not worry" he replied and you took a deep breath. You weren't mad at him, no - right now you were very concerned by the way he acted. "Have I... done something to upset you" you asked which was admittedly what you worried about the most.

This question caught Lycaon off guard so much, the hand that held the knife missed the lemon he was peeling, and the sharp edge of the blade found the flesh of his finger instead "damnit" he whispered, holding his now bleeding finger. The fur around it slowly turning red, and that was your last straw. You got up from where you've been sitting, quickly aproaching him, the sound of which startling Lycaon. "I apologize, I'll quickly grab a bandaid and-" you interrupted him by gently taking his hand, leading him away from the cutting board. The knife now laying abandoned, a red stain on the pristine blaid, just like the stain on Lycaon's pristine demeanour.

You turned on the faucet, gently holding his finger under the cold water. He winced a bit at the temperatur and the small sting of his wound making contact with the water, but he once again felt himself absorbed by the different in size of both your, and his hand. You grabbed the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink, rummaging through it, and shortly after wrapped a bandaid around Lycaon's finger. The shame Lycaon felt in this moment was almost unbearable for him. His guilt sending an ice cold shiver down his spine, while his face heated up at you doting over him. His ears pressed to his head again and he tried to speak, to at least say something.

But a simple "Thank you" was all that left his mouth.

You sighed heavily, and he feared he had dissapointed you "master I-" you gently shushed him, grabbing his hand, and carefully guided him towards the living room. You sat down, gently patting the spot next to you, urging him to sit. He obliged dispite his discomfort, he knew you ment well even though right now he was afraid what you might say to him. "You know, I always appreciated that I could tell you everything, you always had an open ear for me, and never judged me" you started "and I'm sorry that i haven't shown you my gratitude for that enough" he strongly wanted to object, seeming dissatisfied with you feeling like you had to apologize to him even though it was him who created this mess by refusing to confront himself. "But, I want to become that same kind of person to you too" you gently reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The contact seeming to immediately relax him a tad bit, just like how his own touch had calmed you. "Just know that I will always have an open ear for you as well, no matter what" he studied your expression, you weren't mad neither dissapointed. Your face radiated a form of certainty, and security, he squeezed your hand tighter. He was conflicted, should he tell you about his feelings now? How would you react? Surely it wouldn't be a good idea if he made you worry with his uncharacteristic antics, just to kiss you.

Kiss you?

Without him even realizing, his heart had acted faster than his brain could worry about the consequences, his lips finding yours in a quick and tender kiss. He quickly moved away, mortified at what he had just done "My sincerest apologies! I don't know what came over me!" He apologized, once again avoided your gaze, feeling the urge to flee. But you gently grabbed his chin, turning his head to look at you. You two looked at eachother for a moment and he finally cracked under your caring gaze."I was jealous, I apologize" he admitted "I had seen you talking with Mr. Walker earlier and thought he may have been... flirting with you" you looked at him, tracing calming circles on his hand with your thumb "why would you be jealous?" You asked carefully "because I-" he stopped for a short moment, taking a deep breath as he summoned the courage to speak the words he's wanted to tell you for so long "I'm in love with you."

you're eyes widened, but you didn't seem apphaled nor insulted by his confession, which set his spiraling mind at ease, even if just for a little "why have you never told me" you asked, internally calling yourself a hypocrite for the exact same reason "I was worried it might cause a scandal, I wouldn't want to ruin what you have worked so hard for, and the friendship we had build" he said "besides I-" he took a deep breath "I thought that maybe it would have been for the best if you had found someone else" he said, his ears once again pressing to his head, clearly betraying how he felt about that statement "why would you think that?" You asked confused, feeling bad for bombarding him with so many uncomfortable questions.

He slouched a bit, a pained expression on his face "Look at me" his hand perched on one of his mechanical knees as a silent way of accentuating the crux of his dilemma, and he once again broke eye contact with you "I'm only half a man" he spoke, the following silence slowly nurturing that weed of doubt that had taken root in his mind. That sentence broke your heart. You knew loosing limbs is awfully traumatic, but you had never fathomed how bad Lycaon's own body dysmorphia really was. And how could you have know, it was a part of him always carefully locked behind his polished and perfect demeanour, shamefully hidden away from the world.

You reached out to him, gently cupped his cheek, and he looked at you again "you have gone through thick and thin with me these last one and a half years, and you always supported me" you started, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb "you may think of yourself as nothing more than half a man..." you smiled at him with the same beautiful smile that would always make butterflies erupt in his stomache, and it seemed to lighten up his dark mood "but to me, you're already my whole world" you confessed, and he held his breath, his brain slowly starting to process your words "does that mean you-" he started and you nodded "I'm in love with you too Lycaon." His eye lightened up at your words, his heart doing jumping jacks in his chest as you held his face in both your hands now, looking deep into his eye "so please, kiss me properly" you said, slowly leaning in, and he obliged immediately "with pleassure, master."

Your lips connected again in a searing and loving kiss, the butterflies in your, and his stomach exploding into fireworks. He cupped the back of your head, deepening the kiss, pulling you closer to him, and you straddled Lycaon's lap in response. His hands were gently perched on your hips, your arms found their way around his neck as you both fully enjoyed the intimate moment you shared with eachother. You heared Lycaon's tail thump against the sofa, while he questioned if this was really happening or if it was just another one of his desperate dreams. And even if it was, then it was the best he has had in a long time.

You two seperated the kiss, still holding eye contact with eachother, both slightly out of breath "damn" you started and he tilted his head a bit to the side, his ear flicking in confusion "you're incredibly handsome, and you're an amazing kisser" you complimented him and he chuckled "a compliment that I'll gladly return in full" he said, burying his face in your neck. His tail moving excitedly from side to side as he held you in his embrace never wanting this moment to end, wanting to hold you forever.

You leaned against his chest "so goldman really didn't bother you" you asked, and Lycaon reached for your hand, gently taking it in his "no don't worry, that cretin hadn't shown his face after you told him off after dinner" he said bemused. You looked at your hand, marveling how much bigger his was than yours "more like you told him off, if I didn't know any better goldman would have almost caught fire by the way you had looked at him" you giggled. He laced his fingers with yours "I'm sorry if my behaviour in that situation has made you uncomfortable" he said, a twinge of guild finding its way back into his voice "don't worry you didn't make me uncomfortable" you said, bringing his hand to your face and planted a kiss on his knuckles "I liked it, the way you stood up for me, and protected me" you blushed a little as you remembered the situation, now realizing that there might have been a twinge of possesiveness in his words as well. He gently laid his head ontop of yours "I also liked how you had stood up for me during yesterday's dinner" he hugged you a bit tighter, tracing little shaped on your hand.

"I admire you you know" you said and he perked up "how so?" He asked you, while you thought about how he had spoken about himself earlier "because, dispite what happened to you, you never gave up, and stayed diligent" you said, hoping your words would soothe that ache of his "you're inspiring" he was speechless, his heartbeat picking up a notch "you give me the strength, and motivation to keep working hard" you gently trace his mechanical knee, his heart was soaring as he watched you "and this doesn't make you ugly, or less of a man, it actually makes you very attractive in my eyes" you admitted "I know I can always count on you, and you can always count on me, you have my word" you finished, looking deep into his eye.

In a flash Lycaon had you pinned to the sofa, his lips once again finding yours. Only this time his kiss was different, it was hungry and lust driven as he used your suprise to push his tongue into your mouth as it moved against yours. The alcohol he had earlier seeming to fuel the fire that still burned in his stomache, as he unbottoned his shirt, exposing his muscled chest to you. He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, your eyes were wide at his bold action. He gently grabbed your hand, and brought it to his face, placing a kiss on your palm. Then he spoke, low and gentle. You heart skipped several beats as his words left his mouth

"Master, please allow me to make love to you"

---~---

Part 5 ->

To be continued ->

First and foremost, thank you for reading. This chapter was definetly longer than the previous ones, but I wasn't able to split it without ruining the pacing.

Anyways, next chapter will be the Nsfw chapter, and I hope I nailed it. It's not often I write smut.

Lastly, thank you again for reading. I hope you enjoyed.

-Elio

[king-candybug-backup]

#I’M SO NERVOUS BECAUSE THERE’S A THING THAT HAPPENS IN IT WHERE I FEEL LIKE PEOPLE MIGHT NOT LIKE THE CHARACTERIZATION #BUT I’M DOING IT ANYWAYS BECAUSE IT’S BASICALLY THE CATALYST OF INSPIRATION FOR THE WHOLEASS FIC #I’M GONNA DO THINGS MY WAY AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME SFGHDFGVJB

Color me both extremely curious and slightly terrified of what these tags might mean. What are you planning. Mom come pick me up I'm scared.

But let me tell you, judging from the AMAZINGLY fitting characterization in this fic so far, I feel like you could do the wildest shit with these guys and STILL have it feel satisfying and in-character, so try not to worry so much and trust your instincts! I know for a fact that I'll be happily eating up whatever you dish out. :) Your writing is so awesome that I already know it's going to be a fun time lol

DFGHSCHG DON'T GIVE ME TOO MUCH LEEWAY, WHAT IF NEXT CHAPTER TURBO APOLOGIZES TO EVERYBODY FOR ALL HIS WRONGDOINGS AND THEY BECOME THE BEST OF FRIENDS AND MAKE EACH OTHER FLOWER CROWNS ALL DAY LMAO (I jest, of course, but y'know 😂😂😂😂 Thank you though, I appreciate that so very much, I'm just constantly overthinking crap augh)

For a bit of extra context on The Upcoming Thing, I am writing him through the lens of having NPD, and there’s one particular aspect of it that I see get kinda glossed over A LOT (not just regarding King Candy, I mean about NPD in general), so I’m gonna be getting into some nitty-gritties that I feel like people might view as a little “OOC” as compared to what we’ve gotten in canon (which is totally fine ofc, I’m basically working off a headcanon after all (though there is one very specific scene that also kinda got glossed over in the movie which is what extra-convinced me he’d probably have it, but I will get more into that when the chapter is published) and my interpretation of him is in no way gospel, but one of the main comments I’ve gotten doing this fic so far is how people seem to appreciate how “in-character” King Candy feels, so I’m just feeling like I might disappoint a few people in that regard if they don’t vibe with my interpretation for this particular scene coming up, lmao) but it’s something very important to me that I really, really want to touch on, so I’m doing it regardless of what others may think, hopefully people will still enjoy it, but if not, ah well. 😂 It’s my fic at the end of the day, and I’m not gonna change one of the core aspects of what inspired it gfdgcfhvb

(There will be a bit more explanation in the chapter notes, so it’ll be a bit of a “hear me out” lol, but try to bear with me! 😂)

Also I just want to make it VERY clear that this will not be a "King Candy is a terrible person because he has NPD" kind of story, that is the exact opposite of what I am going for, the reason I'm approaching this topic from the angle that I am is because there is a very, very misunderstood mindset towards NPD that I want to get into, and hopefully things will be made more clear when the chapter comes out. It may sound a bit counter-productive, doing the whole "give the villain NPD" headcanon thing, but I hope y'all can trust that my intention is ABSOLUTELY not to demonize, and that you're willing to hear me out about what I mean when the time comes! 🙏

[bobthebobking]

if y'all ever come across cute goodra or drampa posts I beg u to send them to me

[woodchoc-magnum]

L0ne St@r 2x12 Hate Watch

DO NOT REBLOG THIS ONE - thanks, I’m trying to fly under the radar with my negative opinions here

Usual disclaimer, and I mean it this time: If you watch and love this show, that’s great and I hope you continue to enjoy it. Please don’t read this - simply go about having a lovely day.

If you do love this show and T*rlos and are braving this anyway - do not come in here. I mean it. This is not a T*rlos friendly zone. I do not ship it. Please enjoy your ship in peace and harmony. I have no intention of getting into arguments with anyone, I will simply ignore you.

I have done everything I can to avoid this showing up in the tags, whatever the LS tags are. Don’t send me hate on anon because I’ll delete them; I don’t care if you think I should stop watching the show, I’m not gonna. I like to suffer.

Eddie Diaz for calm and strength and to centre ourselves:

Hate, as always, under the cut:

Let's do this fucking thing, I've heard bad things about this episode

And I already know I'm wrong about the arsonist which is ANNOYING but maybe also too obvious so that's okay, I also know who the arsonist is and all the main plot points but I’ve still got to watch it to really appreciate the subtle nuances of the episode:

Oooh Billy

I ship it

Billwen for the win

This show is so dumb

Billy is smarter than Owen, maybe he should be the captain of the 126

I miss his lightning scars though

He's TWO HOURS LATER FOR DINNER

TK is looking as bland as always

They seriously waited for two fucking hours for this guy

Maybe should've put some deodorant on before going to dinner there Owen

You know I can't imagine the OG doing a storyline as dumb as this

So Carlos' dad thinks it's someone who works at the 126 or just a firefighter in general?

Well gosh darn it, it looks like Owen fits that profile exactly!

At least we get some Judd early in the episode and I love him

Angela Bassett is executive producer on this show as well? I hope she gets paid cash money for this

Billy is the red herring and I fell right into their trap

I just really wanted it to be him

Ooh Grace was listening

Oh it's 100% the arson investigator and Billy is 100% turning Owen in, I love him

Billy is amazing

He's my favourite character on this show

I hope he's not working with Owen to get the arson investigator? I hope he's actually this devious

I want him to be THIS DEVIOUS

Why the fuck does Owen wear that hoodie everywhere

TK is now having a little bitch fit

"they can't do that, can they?" he asks in a monotone, his face blank and devoid of expression

TK's real real dumb

Oh ho ho is this the shoving scene

IT IS

God Ronen CANNOT ACT

Okay so while I think it is wildly unbelievable that they would send TK's boyfriend to tell him that his father had been arrested by HIS father – it seems like a conflict – I would like to say that Carlos is being calm and reasonable

And TK is acting like a little BITCH

This is escalating quickly

Oh TK you so dumb

THE SHOVING

Wow

FOUR TIMES

Wow

Your fave is problematic, yo

Carlos deserves better than this whiny little piece of shit

And now, an interlude while I rant:

Let's talk about how Eddie Diaz yelled at Buck once in a supermarket and the fandom has never forgotten it; how his character has been villainised despite everything else going on in the show at the time, for that one fucking scene – let's talk about all the fics where Eddie hits Buck, or punches him, or rapes him – because you know those fics exist – let's talk about the "Eddie is violent" narrative that parts of this fandom like to push because Eddie yelled at Buck, one time, once, in a supermarket

Totally ignoring the fact that at no point at all, in any other episode he’s been in, has he been violent towards Buck, at all - let’s talk about how the street fighting arc was out of character for Eddie, because he was struggling to cope and looking for an outlet - let’s talk about how Buck and Eddie moved past that whole storyline and strengthened their relationship; how they built a family together, how they’re a team and they have each other’s backs no matter what, and how, not once in the entire show, have they ever been violent towards each other or pushed each other around in anger - NOT ONCE.

And let's talk about this scene, where TK, ya boy, ya sweet tender boy, just shoved the man he says he loved four times, violently, in front of people at the firehouse.

I betcha any money he doesn’t get tarnished with the Eddie-Diaz-is-violent brush, because he can do no wrong. He’s the fan favourite, and this is totally glossed over by the end of the episode and nothing will ever be said about it ever again.

Because wow, you guys. Wow. If this was my ship, I’d be pissed.

Back to the hate watch:

And I know that whole fight is for nothing because I know the plot twist – I know that the dads are working together in order to reveal the real arsonist, the investigator – so they've basically turned their children, who are in a relationship, against each other?

Also why is Billy allowed to be watching the interview?

Goddamn do we really have to show the gruesome burn victim photos

I really want Billy to be devious by the way, and not in on the plan

Oh here comes TK, looking like the little bitch he is

God he's a fucking awful actor

This is the dumbest plotline ever

Equating OWEN STRAND WITH THOR? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

BLASPHEMY

THOR IS THE GOD OF THUNDER

OWEN IS A DUMBASS

THE TWO ARE NOT EQUAL

Uh oh here comes the evil investigator

Do either of these men – Owen and Carlos' dad – stop to consider that what they're doing has kind of an impact on their children, who are currently in a relationship? No? Okay

Because this is one hell of an awkward situation

Does Owen genuinely think that Billy is the arsonist?

Interesting that the arson investigator wants any info Owen didn't give Carlos' dad, and he turned off the cameras/mics etc

This show is stupid

Arson investigator also knows that the sons are dating, interesting

"And you can pound sand!" oooh great comeback Owen

This episode is so BORING OMG

Why the fuck am I watching a shitty Law & Order knock-off when I should be watching a bonkers 911 episode

Oh no Judd's at Billy's

I really do think Billy Burke is good looking and it is a flaw of mine, I don't know what it is about him and he really doesn't look that good in this show but I really love Billy Burke okay

And I WANT HIM TO BE DEVIOUS

Oh Judd

Oh Judd thinks Billy is the arsonist

See this is why YOU DON'T LIE TO THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU

Oh he punched him

God damn everyone is violent in this show

Judddddddddddddd

Uh oh here comes trouble to the "vagrant's" hospital room

Oh it's the arson investigator, their little bluff worked, incredible, amazing, flawless etc

Wow how amazing

It was the ol' switcheroo

Judd punched Billy for nothing

TK and Carlos nearly came to blows for nothing

Now Owen is allowed to watch the interrogation? They'll just let anyone watch those things these days

OH MAN ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT BILLY WAS IN ON IT WITH OWEN THE WHOLE TIME?

Damn it I wanted DEVIOUS god damn it

Fucking cowards

"I assumed it was probably a trap at the hospital which is why I went there anywhere"

But why is he lighting fires

A FEW MONTHS?

A man is dead

Pure theatre

So annoyed that Billy isn't devious

But the Billwen ship sails on, clowns 🤡

Do we think the arsonist has the hots for Owen? 100% yes, right?

He's very happy to see him wink wonk

This doesn't even feel like an episode of 911, it's so goddamn dumb

"I knew you had darkness in you too" – that dude definitely wants to fuck him

Why is he lighting the fires?

They're so dumb

"And now I'm going to repay the favour" – he's talking about YOUR SONS

WHO HE KNOWS ARE TOGETHER

Wow these two dumbasses really have no fucking idea do they

OH HE'S BURNING HIMSELF ALIVE

Wow this is graphic

What the fuck is up with this show and the horribly graphic scenes lately?

That dude is dead yo

"Take away everything that's important to me" AND HE CALLS THE FIREHOUSE FIRST

THE FIREHOUSE IS THE FIRST FUCKING CALL???

Oh okay it did blow up and TK was there so I'll allow it

But hey look on the bright side – Owen gets to remodel again!

And isn't that what he's the best at?

Yo your firehouse is on fire dudes, better call the fire department

Does Judd apologise to Billy or no

Oh here we have TK and Carlos and their perfect love

And Carlos is the one apologising?

No.

Please tell me no

Carlos you are allowed to be pissed at him – ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

"nobody has to apologise?"

YOUR BOYFRIEND PUSHED YOU AROUND

Oh my god

Wow

Okay.

Look I'm just saying that to me this would be a GIGANTIC RED FLAG but wtf do I know

I'm just saying because I have to – if Carlos was a woman and TK did that? Whole different story gang

Whole completely different mother-fucking story

This show, wow

Wow.

Wow. This is bad.

Domestic violence happens to men too, just saying.

Wow I'm so annoyed that I've paused it to type furiously and rant that wow, they're just not acknowledging that TK was totally out of line? Okay. Wow.

And everyone's just fine with it?

Oh they're just figuring out that he set more than one fire

Maybe there's something else you care about other than the firehouse, Owen

Maybe?

BILLY IS THE ONE WHO FIGURES IT OUT

See this is why Billy is the best

Oh no TK and Carlos are in danger

Oh it's so romantic isn't it? They're gonna fuck now that everything is okay

Wow he left a lot of bombs in Carlos' house

Damn Carlos is hot

No smoke alarms?

That fire has really taken ahold there guys

I'm gonna assume you do have smoke alarms and he disconnected them

Wow he really covered all bases didn't he

Put the bombs in the bedroom as well

RIP Carlos' nice house

"I love you too" after I violently shoved you around today

Oh who needs a fucking fire department when you've got Owen fucking Strand right?

"Carlos" he says flatly. "How are you doing?" he asks in a monotone

"I should've had an extinguisher in the bedroom" DUDE NO ONE DOES

And if TK wanted one in there, he's the fucking firefighter, he should've checked when he moved in instead of assuming like a dumbass

God this show is dumb as fuck and I hate it so much

Billwen for the win

"just a couple of crap magnets" fucking a-men Judd

This show sucks

Oh no TOMMY OH NO

WHAT'S HAPPENING

OH MY GOD

WHAT THE FUCK

What the fuck

Is he dead?

TAKE OWEN AND TK INSTEAD

I’m going to say one more thing about this T*rlos storyline - if they’d done this to Buck & Eddie in the OG, I’d be fucking devastated. Like... if Buck or Eddie pushed the other around the way TK pushed Carlos around, I’d be absolutely gutted. It’s really horrible that they went down that path - whether it’s OOC or not, and you can probably argue that it is - they shouldn’t have included the scene like that in the show. 

It just raises a whole slew of questions, like... is TK violent? Is Carlos used to being pushed around in relationships? Is the show saying that it’s okay that they got a little physical because they’re both men? Domestic violence is never okay, and this is kind of... saying that it is, in certain circumstances?

That is problematic as fuck and such bad writing.

These two are in a relationship where they are living together and supposedly love each other, and this is how the writers choose to portray it? If you’re a T*rlos shipper and you’re upset about this episode, I get it. It’s really fucking terrible that they included that scene - and I would bet cold hard cash it’ll never be addressed again.

This is why LS is a bad show. It’s shitty writing. Shitty storylines. Characters who are interesting are shoved into the background and glossed over in favour of the male white characters. The OG doesn’t have this problem - for everyone complaining that Eddie hasn’t been featured as much this season (and yeah, I hate it too) - you can’t complain that the characters of colour don’t get equal screentime. 

With LS - it’s the Rob Lowe show, and everyone else is just in the background. And that’s why it’s so frustrating to watch - they have a great cast, and this could be a really good show, but it’s just not.

Do you think the LS writers patted themselves on the back after this arc and were like, "yeah we nailed it, we're amazing?"

This episode is -1,000000/10. This show should be cancelled.

Two god awful miserable fucking episodes to go.

Diaz to cleanse:

[funny-house]

huhu u got me to watch opal the other day since u keep talking abt it and im glad bc i Really Enjoyed It but !! anyways , i saw u mention mirror man doing makeup for someone and i keep thinking about it so Thoughts Incoming sorry in advance lmao. i think he would like to do claires makeup (and teach her abt it in general) when she gets a bit older,, both bc it seems like a legitimate hobby he would enjoy (i imagine if he werent Like That he probably could have been a makeup artist or something similar!) and bc he would like to ‘prettify’ her a bit.

and ah well,,, a lot of parents Like Him sometimes try 2 make their child a carbon copy of themselves or of an image they enjoy so if he grew to like claire more or already does like her enough for that (or just, wants things to revolve around him More) hed try to nudge things in that direction. and in his own way i think He might think hes doing something good, he knows when he was her age he would have killed to have a parent so eager to help him learn makeup and stuff but. claire isnt him. she probably isnt even interested in it at all but shes kinda desperate for Nice Moments and also doesnt wanna risk making him angry so she goes along with it. she always has her head in the clouds so all the things hes saying is too much at once but shes trying to comprehend it,,,,,

nd he keeps giggling at her for how awkwardly she moves her arm when putting on foundation and blush nd gets kind of annoyed with her for repeatedly flinching when he tries to help her with mascara nd teases her a bit for trying to taste the lip gloss (and keeps pointing out a flaw or two on her face “well, youve always had a sort of weird shaped face but youve always had the cutest little smile, its like Mine :)”) but they do it !! together !!! and nothing (that) bad happened !!!!!! so claire is happy,,,,,,,,,,, until that inevitably opens the gates of him trying to pick out what she wears for her and “””suggesting””” hairstyles for her and getting manipulative and even flatout Angry when she doesnt do what he wants her to (bc even when things Seem like theyre about claire they Are Not, its what He wants for her , in the end its still all about him) but, ive rambled enough to you already <:o) sorry for talking so much i just wanted to chat a bit abt opal with you !!!! hope ur doing well hehe . and im sorry this is rambly nd probably incomprehensible i just did a lot of work hkehri

ohhhhhhhh !!! FIRST  I am super glad that all my constant rambling about this man has allowed you to go watch Jack Stauber’s awesome little short, it’s really good and deserves all the support !!!

also i totally appreciate you wanting to share your thoughts with me ;u;

AND I TOTALLY AGREE  the whole idea of him projecting himself onto her, trying to take over her, I think that is so fitting for the short itself tbh, because it’s a reflection ( mirrors, hehe ) of what the mother wants from Claire as well. The thing that terrified Claire near the end is the mother reaching to hold onto her, specifically after the mom said that she was going to become just like her. The idea of her becoming her parents? it terrifies her, clearly!!

And Mirror Man, he is what they call a “archetypal narcissistic abuser”, in my eyes at least,  and it would be really really common to see someone like that not only be so controlling and self absorbed that they treat their child like a decoration to themselves, but also use that child, especially as they get old enough to have opinions on the situation, to turn them against their partner-- such as.... the mom

so picture this

Claire is like 10-12, and she’s bright and she’s got a good heart but she’s WELL and truly Affected by the years of being brought up in that ridiculously toxic hell hole-- I mean house no idea if the grandpa would live that long uhhh in his state, but even if he does, he’s still very sick, disabled, and senile and he isn’t going to be much help. and Claire, she’s starting to have Opinions,, on how things are running around here,,      but in swoops Mirror Dad

He’s like........ it’s your mother’s fault. Oh, absolutely, have you seen her? I mean look at her, she’s disgusting. she’s a drug addict, she’s a drunk, she’s ugly, she’s the reason you feel like this-- and maybe some of that is understandable, i mean she’s a real mess of a mom, no mistake, but hey

Nobody’s going to tell Claire who made her that way! Nobody’s going to tell her Mirror Dad was the one who trapped her in an unloving, possibly violent relationship, with a kid, and ripped apart every inch of her self worth !!!

Nope. she just sees the aftermath. So mirror dad...... turns claire on her. And she starts to side with him on things and she starts to even kinda talk like him maybe even....... learns how to do that dark and scary insecurity voice of his and one day She walks by the.... Reflection Chamber and Mirror Man is there in that way He Always Is in that seat he always sits in, and he says something very very odd to her!   he raises a finger and curls it in and says    come sit on my lap you haven’t gotten too big to sit on my lap have you?? come here!! and i mean Claire is still very very uncomfortable even being near him, and this feels like a trap, but i mean she can’t just say no, and there’s a part of her that’s kinda hoping... maybe he really is trying to be nice. and so she does and she sits with her but you’ll notice he is never looking directly at her. Even as she’s approaching literally right in his line of sight, he stares straight into her reflection, never her face.  It’s like she’s not even real unless she’s in those mirrors.

And he tells her he wants to do her makeup! yay! how fun! and he tells her to close her eyes and pout her lips and try not to flinch when the sculpting starts or he’ll use his deep voice-- and how he’s going to finally FIX her. Goody!! then maybe the constant barrage of insults and negs and criticisms will stop!! (p.s. they wouldn’t have )

And so she opens her eyes..... and the face of her abuser is looking right back. It’s her face. Or it used to be-- now it’s literally his and it’s hideous-- it does not AT ALL belong on that body, and the only thing left of her is her big shiny eyes

and she  S C R E A M S that way Claire does,,,

but this time, loud enough to crack the mirrors, and stun the dad just long enough for him not to catch her in his hands when she leaps off his lap and books it for the attic the attic, the view of the billboard with the same worn out, not updated ad for Opal’s in the window. She locks the door, it doesn’t take long for mirror man to come banging on it, telling her she’s ungrateful, she doesn’t deserve what little she has, taking back every nice thing he ever said, etc,,,

and Opal just starts clawing off the makeup/clay/whatever from her face in the mirror’s glass reflection, putting her hair back into the pigtails her father said made her look stupid

but she isn’t Opal, she’s changed, she’s aged, but Opal-- she’s always the same!! happy!! cared for!! and what is she supposed to be under the makeup? huh? Who is she besides the abuse she’s put through, that billboard and what it sells to her?  she doesn’t know! nobody does nobody ever bothered to get to know what it even means to be Claire.

[naturaldisasterfanfiction]

39.

“Lift your head back for me” JC said, I needed my own barber for a while now, I am glad to have him back until I have to leave, lifting my head back “look at the boy Breezy, he here getting ready for his romantic time with Rihanna herself” Shem said which made me laugh, he know damn well I am going to go all out for this, I need to look good and smell good “only the best bro” I said “don’t blame you, I would be doing cart wheels for her. It’s good looking out, she is going to love it” Shem is right she will “I want to thank y’all though, I mean y’all helped” both brothers was here picking ideas out for me, they didn’t need too but they did “happy wife, happy life. I would live by those rules if and when I ever get married” Shem is right, also Robyn has been doing so much for me, for my son, for everyone and she deserves some time alone, time for us “how is London living?” JC asked me “it’s different bro, it’s nothing like it is here. The home we have is amazing, like some double oh seven type shit, my cars are in a underground car park, the home as a games room but it’s underground too so like from the window I can see the pool and shit, it’s amazing. The white folk be calling me Christopher, I go for dog walks in the morning. I can be me, no bodyguard at all JC, nobody chases me around or judges me. The thing is, it’s peaceful. Being here as made me realise how much I miss London, how much I really see London as home, I am at peace. I come here and I got niggas disrespecting my wife, disrespecting my life, police searching my home. It’s just not good vibes here, so yeah. I prefer London, London treats me good, I am happy” I sound like I am preaching but I am not lying, shit is so much better there, I am happier “you have really settled down, not going to lie. I am happy for you, you and Rihanna are made for each other” JC is a good dude, he ain’t ever give me shit but I have decided, London is home now.

Aeko ain’t staying with me like Robyn wanted, he is staying with Robyn so I just stayed here with the boys, I am happy. Stephan and Shem, I trust them the most. I am leaving them to stay at my home, they can relax there while I have my time with Robyn for valentines, it’s going to be good times. It’s funny because I can openly speak on Robyn, I can speak on my wife and they speak on her too with so much respect, they gave me this idea to buy her this. I wanted to get her something special and I know this woman meant the world to her, I know Robyn is going to appreciate this the most. Opening the box smiling, Stephan mentioned it and he is right this would be the gift she will love. I got Robyn this chain, it has a picture of gran gran dolly on it, smiling down at it. She was my biggest fan, she really liked me. Even in twenty twelve, she told Robyn to go with her heart and she did, she came to me, but I fucked that up. She was a good woman, and then I also painted a picture, and I must admit. It’s the proudest thing I have done, this all thank to those niggas at my home. They gave me it, but I worked on it. I got a picture of Robyn and gran gran dolly and I painted that with Fenty in it. It is crazy dope how I have done it; I didn’t think I could do such a thing, but I did. I love art and this my greatest gift to give her.

Mel opened the door for me “where is my wife?” I asked her “she is upstairs packing her things; she is so excited. Look at you, less of the homeless look and more of the I am worth a million dollars” I chuckled at Mel “well I come with gifts and flowers, I will go upstairs” I said, I want to give her the gifts first because I don’t want to take the painting to Mexico with me. Walking up the steps trying to juggle the painting, the box, the roses. It’s a lot of shit to be holding and going up these steps now, I must admit I look and smell so good. I am so ready for sex and some alone time with my wife. We really deserve this; I think it’s time for us to be alone anyways “gummy bear” walking into the bedroom, I mean I don’t expect much from Robyn she is still in her robe getting ready “I am literally just doing my makeup” she turned to me “and pumping?” I said laughing “you know me, but I am just making sure things are in order, you know. I want to pump enough, or my boobs will hurt” I chuckled placing the covered painting down “Happy Valentine’s Day baby” walking over to her “awww Chris, this is cute. I don’t feel sexy right now, you should have totally warned me Chris” she cringed “don’t, you look beautiful” kissing her cheek lightly, I don’t want to mess her makeup up now “I love roses, you know this” nodding my head smiling as she took them “I feel embarrassed now, oh god. You should have told me” I chuckled “don’t be Robyn, honestly. You look beautiful” Robyn breathed out “let me just take it off, hold that thought” she pointed at me, nodding my head smiling, she is so sweet.

Robyn removed the pumps before coming back out of the bathroom “that is better, like you should have warned me Chris. But thank you for the roses baby” she wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging Robyn close “I love you” pressing a kiss at the side of her neck “I love you too” moving back a little “I have a gift for you, I want you to face the mirror though” placing my hands at the side of Robyn’ hips and navigating her to the mirror “oh a gift, for me? I am excited” I chuckled “I hope you love it” turning Robyn around facing the mirror “you look so beautiful Robyn, like I do not deserve you at all. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on, words can’t amount to what I feel when I see you, with or without makeup on, you are just beautiful and I don’t really deserve it because I have fucked up so much and don’t some shit in life, but you are my whole heart” Robyn cooed out “you’re going to get me so emotional, stop it. I don’t deserve you” shaking my head laughing “I don’t deserve you” pressing a kiss to the back of Robyn’ head “if you can hold your wig up for me and close your eyes” Robyn gasped “I am joking” I chuckled “just hold your hair up and close your eyes, please do not cheat and open them, ok?” staring at Robyn in the mirror, she smiled at me lightly “I promise” she said in a whisper, Robyn gathered her hair up and held it “and I will close my eyes” she said with a smile, she closed her eyes with the most playful smile on her face, I love her so much. Opening the box and pulling the chain out “is it something cute?” Robyn asked, looking up to check she isn’t looking “it’s something you will love” she isn’t looking “I can’t wait to devour you” I really can’t, like it’s been so long “be kind though” I couldn’t help, pressing a kiss to the back of Robyn’ neck as I bought the chain forward “not long now, just a moment” latching on the chain, fixing it around her neck “let your hair go” I said to her, she moved her hand with her eyes still closed “I hope you like it” stepping to the side to see her reaction first hand.

I smiled wide seeing the diamond picture pendant chain around her elegant neck, she deserves it “open your eyes princess” I can’t wait to see her reaction, Robyn slowly opened her eyes. Open gasped “no” she said “oh my god, gran gran” Robyn just sobbed out “Oh my god” I cooed out as Robyn cried out, wrapping my arms around Robyn “my gran gran, oh god” Robyn cried out, I feel bad for making her cry now but I know how much this would mean to her. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head moving back “I love it Chris, oh my god” she looked down at the pendant “look at her smile, she will be around my neck forever. She will be looking down on me, on us. Thank you. You gave me a daughter and now this, thank you so much” while she is emotional let me just show her this “so” walking around “I was working hard on this, like gran gran really has a special part of my heart. I know if she was here she would have slapped my head and say you’re stupid for taking so long but I love her, she was a beautiful lady. You remind me of her and it does play on my mind she isn’t here for this moment for us” moving the sheet back from the painting “I got my best oil paints and made this” Robyn gasped “Chris, oh my god. You didn’t!?” Robyn stared in shock, no other words left her lips but shock “I miss her so much, god. You got me here being a mess” tears left her eyes as she reached out touching the painting “why did she have to go, oh god” wiping Robyn’ tears with the back of my hand.

I ruined Robyn’ makeup so much, she was done with me and made me come down “I miss you so much gummy drop” pressing a kiss to Fenty’ cheek “you getting all this love that I don’t get the chance anymore, you got your momma hair. You really do, you’re literally Robyn’ twin, you’re gonna love this when you’re older. Hey, you got this blonde brown hair like Aeko, I love you” Fenty smiled a little at me “aww, I know. When we go back to London we will spend so much time together” looking away from Fenty and at Robyn “I am done with my face, I can’t even do my makeup anymore, I am going with the lip gloss and base and we going” I chuckled at Robyn, she looks good wither way “it’s ok, you look nice in that silk black dress” it’s minimal but she looks well, I can tell that Robyn has lost weight too “thank you, just put on some big gold hoops and lip gloss and we on our way. I posted your gifts on Instagram, you can’t see it so I thought I would tell you. I posted it and put nobody will amount to the love and attentiveness my husband shows me, the best valentine’s day gift ever. Thank you Chris honestly, like at times I feel like I get at you, I feel like at times I push at you to do things, I feel I am overbearing when can be too much for you. But you don’t ever talk down to me, you listen to me all the time. The moment you helped me give birth to Fenty, I knew I made the best decision in my life. We have our faults and I accept that, you accept me for what I am and I accept this” smiling at Robyn lightly “nothing I do amounts to what you have done for me, thank you” she has done the utmost for me.

Hugging Aeko “you going to be a good boy?” I said to him “I be good, Bobyn say that she be back. I stay with Gran” oh wow “who?” I said, I am shocked like what gran is he speaking on “there” he pointed at Monica “oh ok, since when?” I said to Robyn “since I want him to be part of the family, he is comfortable” nodding my head “thank you” I thanked Monica “it’s ok, he is a pleasure to take care of. We got Majesty here too, he promised to not cry that Bobyn and daddy is going either, remember?” Aeko nodded his head, he is going to be a big boy “also” Monica said as I turned to her “I heard that his mother has been cruel to him, I don’t play that at all” I sighed out “yeah, it’s wack. But thank you, we will be back by tomorrow afternoon. Won’t leave you with the kids for that long” I laughed, Robyn is ready “I got to put up with you two for Valentine’s day” Rich said, I feel for him but he has to come “it will be fun” I lied “just don’t be in the next room to us, I kid. I got you in a room that is like further along. Well in another hotel, cause you ain’t want to be near” rubbing my hands together “whew, don’t get pregnant again. Y’all nasty, protection is key” pulling a face “uhh, I don’t do that now” Robyn knows that herself “just think your own sex life” Robyn pointed at Jah, he all in our business with what.

I am so excited for this; this has been a long time coming “I didn’t think we was going anywhere? Maybe a hotel but you text me saying Mexico I was like huh? Let me get out of bed and prepare, look at you surprising me” Robyn grinned at me “mhmm you need it, also I peeped that Savage x Fenty duffle. You got them goods in there” I winked at her “no” she is trying to say no but she can’t even say that with a straight face “don’t lie to me, I peeped that bag. You got that good lingerie in there, mhmm?” Robyn giggled “I am going to need you to shut up” she is being all shy now “tell me” reaching, holding Robyn’ hand “let me surprise you then, I got a little something in there. If you look in there, then it’s off” I groaned out “fine, either way you going to be extra sexy. I can’t wait miss mommas; it’s going to be a different feeling. I ain’t had sex in so long, this is how faithful I am to you” she got to be praising me for that “you have been, I am super proud of you. Funny thing that I see your eyes light up when I am like walking in some bras or even naked and I am like my poor baby, he is suffering but I miss it. I want you to be extra nice to me, make love to me” nodding my head “of course” I am going to savour this moment with Robyn.

I do hate having to walk in the airport, random check having asses. Like who the hell knew we was coming but the paparazzi are here, maybe it set up “did you set this up?” I asked Robyn “no I didn’t, well we are having to go through checks so I am guessing someone has mentioned that we are coming” Robyn is right, but that totally annoying I will walk around the car to you” I said to Robyn as I got out of the car, Rich is buying getting the things out of the car, we haven’t got that many things to be honest “welcome back to America Chris! Are you staying here now?” one of them shouted, walking around the car. Opening the door for Robyn, holding my hand out for her “are you both staying here!? Congratulation on the marriage, how does it feel to be married now” closing the car door “I can take that” grabbing my duffle bag from Rich “that is the Savage one!” Rich shouted; it was too late. I am not holding Robyn’ Savage X Fenty duffle bag, which the name is plastered all on it “are you both going away without the kids” holding Robyn’ hand “you look nice holding my lingerie” Robyn said, it made me laugh because only I would pick that “special goods” I chuckled, the paparazzi are falling over each other, not had this in a while “Valentine getaway Rihanna?” one of the guys asked “maybe” Robyn responded “I missed you boo, how are you?” I guess she knows him “good, it was nice seeing you after all this time and in LA? You from New York” oh Robyn knows him then “things change, nice seeing your face beautiful, you are glowing” Robyn giggled “even more so tonight” Robyn made me laugh with that.

I don’t even drink win but here we are on the jet “I am so excited; it’s been a while. Fill my glass to the top please” she said to the flight attendant “there is a lot to celebrate” the lady filled Robyn’ glass to the rim “it’s ok boo, leave the bottle here too” she winked “I don’t even like this shit” I pulled a face “be quiet so raise your glass” grabbing the glass and raising it up “this is to us, being childfree, stress free. I mean most importantly to you, you have been so good with me, too good even if I don’t say it, you have been the best husband with me and I can’t thank you enough” she is cute “this is to you, the best wife” I chuckled “take a picture for me” Robyn said to the lady “link arms with me” she is about to spill the overflowing thing, Robyn is going to be a mess, I have a feeling “I am not about to scrape you from the floor, this one glass from you” Robyn rolled her eyes as she linked her arm with mine “ready” she said as I drank from the glass, Robyn snorted laughing spitting out the wine “wow!” I spat “sorry, I was laughing” Robyn said laughing still, she is so giddy right now.

[supergay-supergirl]

why supergirl season 5 was actually good: sort of an essay

This has been sitting in my sticky notes for months and I figured now that I have a Supergirl blog, I can actually post it.

People love hating on Supergirl Season 5. And I get it. I admit that it had a lot of problems. But I did like the season overall, and there's enough out there about Season 5’s problems, so here is a post about some things that were great about Season 5!

1. Lena’s Arc

Apparently everyone hates how this was executed, but I really liked it. I like how 5A allows her to scheme and lie and altogether explore the darker (Luthor) side of herself, because only after experiencing what she’s been afraid of becoming can she fully come to know herself. I like how in 5x07, she gets to scream and cry, to express to Supergirl how much she’s hurting, and how betrayed she feels. I like how in 5x13, Kara finally accepts that Lena joining Lex was not her fault, and that she didn’t deserve to be manipulated (“From now on, you’re accountable for your own actions.”). I like Lena’s growing obsession with erasing human pain through 5B and the fact that we know exactly where her motivations come from, and we feel for her because we’ve seen how much pain she’s in herself -- but at the same time, we can still oppose her ultimately villainous actions, which leads us to hope for her redemption. (A lot of this is due to Katie McGrath’s stellar acting as well.)

I love how the season shows just how much Lex’s continual abuse and manipulation affects her, and shows her standing up to him at the end. I wish they had focused more on Lena instead of pushing her aside in favor of Lex in 5B, but overall I liked how they expanded on the Luthor sibling relationship from Season 4, even if it was missing some of the complexity of the previous season. And finally, I love the way Lena fights so hard to regain Kara’s trust in 5x19 (and succeeds!). It felt like there was more of a balance between the two starting from 5x13, where previously it had always been Kara apologizing and trying to gain Lena’s trust.

2. Supergirl’s New Look

PANTS. PANTS. PANTS. PANTS.

For Season 4, Kara the Reporter got a more professional wardrobe as she began to mentor Nia, and the switch to pants feels like the same thing for Supergirl. It completes the transition from “young adult” to just “adult.” It may have been reasonable to call Kara a “girl” in Season 1, but by now, she is an adult woman, and I’m glad that her wardrobe reflects that.

I was opposed to Kara’s bangs at the beginning of the season, but they have definitely grown on me. Like the pants, I think they mark an important change in Supergirl’s character, one that is better appreciated by the audience than the characters. Now, when I rewatch previous seasons, I think, “Wow, Kara looks so different now.” I didn’t think that when I rewatched episodes after Season 4. The bangs are a way to identify Adult Kara as having changed a lot from how she was at the beginning, and like the pants, I feel like they complete her transition into adulthood.

(But are the writers expecting us to believe that nobody who knows Kara would be suspicious that Kara and Supergirl got bangs on the exact same day? Seriously.)

3. Eve Teschmacher

In Season 4, Eve Teschmacher was a brilliant, eager-to-please young woman who (whoops) turned out to be evil. And she was great. But I was dissatisfied with her betrayal because it came so out of the blue, and it was a complete 180 without much buildup at all. Season 5 gave her the humanity that she was lacking, first with her mom, then with her desperation not to have to kill. Not to mention, some pretty badass fight scenes.

4. J’onn’s Swagger

J’onn’s storyline in Season 5 is not nearly as deep as in Season 4, and I see that as a good thing. Season 4 J’onn was wonderful and necessary, but in a season that has a lot of strong development for Kara and Lena, it was nice to have a relatively static character who’s at a good place in his life. Season 4 let J’onn discover the man he wanted to be, and David Harewood brings a new confidence to Season 5 as a result of that. It’s fun to watch him strut around in his supersuit and say normal things as if they’re great proclamations. It’s nice to see the happy, healthy adult relationship between him and M’gann. The easy trust they have with each other causes them to act more like they’re married than dating, as opposed to the younger characters who are often caught up in relationship drama.

5. Kelly Therapy Face

All the characters need a therapist, and they finally got one! Well, Kelly is technically a psychologist, which I believe means she could be a therapist but is not necessarily? I don’t know things. Anyway, it’s nice to have a calm, supportive presence in the group, and this effect is helped by Kelly Therapy Face. Kelly Therapy Face is the face Kelly makes when she’s listening to you talk about your problems. Kelly Therapy Face and her generally calm presence bring down the interpersonal drama of the group and solidify the idea that all these people are growing into full adults, with adult relationships and adult responses to issues. Their emotions are stabilizing, they’re building stronger support systems, and they’re gaining a better understanding of how the world works and their places in it.

This is more of a Season 4 thing -- this season really didn’t give Kelly the screentime she deserved -- but I also love how even though Kelly acts as a source of support for others, her own fear and trauma are rarely glossed over (see: the end of 5x05). This gives Kelly a humanity and realistic quality that many emotional-support characters don’t get. It also shows the key difference between Dansen and Sanvers: whenever Alex and Maggie had conflict, they swept it aside rather than working through it, leading to their eventual breakup, but when Alex and Kelly have conflict, they listen to each other and try to fix it. In accordance with their adult-ness, Alex and Kelly also seem to be in agreement that it’s okay to have conflict in their relationship (“And I might not know every little detail about you yet, but I know you,” 5x02).

6. Reality Bytes

Calling attention to violence against trans folk, exploring Dreamer’s dark side, and showing the strength of Kara and Nia’s mentor-student relationship in one episode? Just. Yes. Either Nicole Maines was projecting a lot or she’s a really good actor (probably both), but either way, as a trans person, I felt this episode on a personal level: the anger, fear, and frustration at knowing that your community is being targeted and the people you’re supposed to trust (i.e. the police) are probably not going to do anything about it. Additionally, Kara and Nia’s conflict in 5x15, and the fact that Kara compares Nia’s experience to her own, is a great marker of how far Kara has come. In Season 1, Supergirl felt a similar anger and hurt when villains sought her out, but by now, she’s more at peace and can offer Dreamer reassurance and comfort.

7. Brainy’s Plot

Brainy’s storyline in Season 5 is nice because it manages to remain stable as an important, but secondary, plot. It enhances the sense that there’s more going on than we realize and gives us a view into the scheming of the villains, while not taking over too much screentime or audience brainspace.

8. Jon Cryer

As annoying as it is that the writers gave up a lot of Lena’s screentime to Lex, Jon Cryer’s performance in Season 5 is just wonderful. He can go from acting totally in control to screaming in a matter of seconds. Lex Luthor is witty, assured, and charming in a weird way. On the other side of his personality, he is a madman who cares about no one’s interests but his own. Jon Cryer’s acting manages to package all this great but conflicting writing into a brilliant, awful, occasionally sympathetic villain who has more than his share of awesome (and terrifying) scenes.

9. Alex’s Grief

I like that Alex gets to let go of her emotions a little this season and express herself. Especially when Jeremiah dies before 5x16, Alex has a really tough time (and a mention of her possibly drinking problem! Expand, please!). She tries to escape from the pain of real life through virtual reality, but eventually realizes that she has to face her pain rather than avoid it, which is a major theme of the season. What’s great about 5x16 and the next couple episodes is that the other characters allow her to grieve. They could have told her to get over it and see all the happiness in the real world — it would have fit with the theme — but instead, they support Alex as she grieves. They listen without judgement when she expresses her anger that Jeremiah left and forced her to take care of Kara. Kara and Kelly are (mostly) understanding when Alex doesn’t want to go to Jeremiah’s funeral, and when Alex arrives late at the end of the episode, Kara lets her know how much she appreciates that Alex came at all. Throughout her life, Alex hasn’t had much opportunity to be herself and express her emotions, an idea that’s repeated over and over again starting from her coming-out arc in Season 2 or even earlier. Now that Kara can for the most part take care of herself and Alex has a good support system, she finally gets the opportunity to be vulnerable.

10. Andrea Rojas’s Moral Ambiguity

Is Andrea good or bad? Neither. She’s a person who wants love, success, and money, who does sketchy things to promote her company but also fights fiercely for her father and cares about the safety of her technology. Before Andrea, Lena was the main morally ambiguous character, and she could be categorized as “playing for her own team.” However, Andrea goes a step further, crossing into a territory I would call “not playing a game at all.” She’s just a human being trying to have a good life, and that causes her to do good things, bad things, and everything in between. In a show that often accentuates the difference between heroes and villains (“Don’t let them down by stooping to his level,” 5x15), Andrea is a reminder that most people aren’t good or bad -- they’re just living their lives.

TL;DR: They’re all adults now and Lena needs a hug.

[ink-beneath-her-fingernails]

BNHA/MHA First Watch-Through Notes

1x01

these are... stupid... and... a mess. bc I am stupid and a mess. you have had your warning. I didn’t even go back and skim through this when I was done I’m just releasing these little bastard thoughts into the void they’re not my problem now

I’m watching dubbed btw

I know, I know... it’s the only one I have access to rn tho

I... do not know how to feel about funimation’s new intro?

well I guess it’s not really new but

listen I haven’t watched anything of funimation’s since the og fruits basket ok I’m used to the DUN-DUN *funimation* ((....you should be watching))

he is. babie. green babie.

but also why do these small children have such wild hair colors

I mean I’m here for it

I just wasn’t expecting it

oH SHIT THEY GOT POWERS POWERS

so this is the famous deku

I’m guessing this is like a flashback or memory or something?

I missed the bully’s name

speaking of the bullies, they changed order? It was wings, fire, stretchy hands, but now it’s fire, stretchy hands, wings. I know that they probably wanted to show the “leader” closest and that’s why but,,

also wtf?? these are kids. like bullies should not be a thing, I think we can all agree on that, but yeah, it’s gonna happen. but these kids are, what? eight? nine? maybe their powers (’quirks,’ whatever) aren’t super powerful yet, but this blonde kid has fire powers. has nobody talked to them about just how dangerous this is? forget roughing the other two up or intimidating them or giving them a hard time, this could genuinely escalate and get way out of hand super fast, and someone could get seriously injured.

oof. boy is dead.

this eight year old (purple hair) sounds like he’s a thirty yo new teacher trying to sound hip and cool but also wise and knowing to his class who Does Not Care

OH

that wasn’t purple kid?? that was current deku???

wack

then this fourteen year old sounds like he’s a thirty yo new teacher trying to sound hip and cool but also wise and knowing to his class who Does Not Care

also they were four?

jeepers heckin criminey who starts beating people up at four years old

have to say though, I loved that sky-to-puddle transition

jiminey fucking crickets I’m not even a minute into the episode these notes are going to be stupidly long I’m sorry

!! I love his little skipping-dance thing when he’s impatient at the crosswalk!

alright... I’ll admit it... his character design is pretty adorable

also tf is that thing

it looks half shark half poorly drawn dog

I mean I get it’s probably a person and that’s their quirk or whatever but

did this kid just run all the way across the city just to watch this guy start shit at the station so he could see the heroes take him down??

I mean respect tbh but also priorities kid

also I really appreciate that the cops are just kind of calmly directing everyone and everyone else is just kind of chillin like “oh. another villain. that’s too bad.” like tbh that’s one of the things that always kind of annoys me about movies and shows like this where there’s like repeatedly villain attacks because yes they are scary, especially when you’re caught up in them, but if you’re just kind of there and not directly in the action or being directly threatened, then why are you freaking out? you’ve lived in this city for how long? there’s an attack every, what, two days? this isn’t routine for you by now?

I started this like 15 min ago and am only like a minute and a half into the ep smh

ngl this intro kinda pops off

that hero guy seemed... kind of evil lookin tho

love the animation oml

also the lyrics to this are great???

OH IS THAT A NARRATIVE FOIL I SEE IMPLIED THERE

I THINK IT IS

“and they were narrative foils” “oh my god they were narrative foils”

k ngl rewinding real quick bc I missed some of the intro and there’s always so much fun stuff to see and unpack in those

also I wanna read all the lyrics

k so I was wondering this before but I’m just gonna say it... why does the hero guy have rabbit ears

alright character designs lookin p fire so far

last guy I keep missing but he kind of looks like steven universe?? idk I still have to watch that show too tbh so,,,

does the big hero guy turn into a giant bird?

oh that intro got me excited for this

these characters look so lit!!

“the first incident?” so this isn’t just like a natural factor of their world? it hasn’t always been going on? there was, like, a definitive start to it all? was that kid really the first incident or the first one they noticed? was that actually the first incident or is it just like the commonly told first incident, like an old myth/legend/folktale/old wive’s tale?

interesting that it started with a baby and then moved to people of all ages?

oh they don’t know the cause of the quirks? interesting

((why do I feel like finding out the answer to that is gonna be like A Big Thing™ at some point in the series))

I really like the visuals they put with this exposition?? idk why it’s just,,, very appealing

also his voice is very nice to listen to tbh, so that’s a definite plus

I hate it when the main character’s voice is super annoying

but like how long ago was it that this started? he just said “before long”

I like that in this universe they actually acknowledge that hey comic books are a thing and this whole superheroes/villains/powers thing is kind of ridiculous bc it’s legit like playing out scenes straight from those comic books but also this is real life and it’s actually happening and really does pose a lot of danger and complications to a lot of people, so we’re going to treat it as something real and serious and affecting us

I might’ve spoken too soon but I really hope they don’t blow that mindset

I feel like too often superhero shows/movies just either completely gloss over the effects this stuff has on society as a whole, or it’s like a completely new thing for them, like there’s never been the concept of a fictional superhero or a comic book there before.

“was an age of heroes”??? oh no what happens

k but why is this guy dressed like the ‘do not cross’ lines

kind of a lame hero costume tbh :/

why. does he have. sleeves. but no shirt.

edna mode would never do you like that honey go see her

“Death Arms”?? what kind of alias is that?? also wouldn’t it make more sense for arms to be uncovered than his chest, then??

“The Punching Hero”

I’m sorry I Cannot take this guy seriously

waterbending??

asdkfdls idk why but this firehose guy really reminds me of that one alchemist from fmab with the top hat and the monocle and the peg leg that spun like a top and Scar murked

“rescue specialist” see?? that makes sense!! it makes me so happy that they’re actually thinking more about the worldbuilding and how dangerous scenarios would work if 80% of the population had powers of different kinds, beyond “big bad guy meet big good guy. punch punch good guy wins”

also dear god thank you for putting someone on crowd control I know I was just saying it was great these people weren’t really treating this like the end of the world and it is good that they were mostly staying back by themselves but. they were still standing very close to an ongoing fight. priorities, people. self preservation. they are things. that I do not believe most people in superhero universes have in the slightest.

aww he’s too short

(but is he shorter than edward elric)

((do we know))

(((somebody please tell me if this information is available)))

alsdfkj l;a that guy calling in late bc the train got held up by the villain... do you think that’s another equivalent of “oh...I’m...sick... yeah, totally, I’m sick” and “my dog ate my homework” to them? “there was a villain attack” or “some idiot on my block decided to show off their quirk and it got out of hand”

ope Big Hero™ is here

...why am I surprised that they have fans?? I mean I guess that makes sense they’re basically celebrities and public figures right?

okay Big Hero™ is Kamui got it

wait no that is not the Big Hero™

but they are another hero and their name is Kamui got it

“Kamui Woods” ok that’s actually helpful I was gonna ask what his skin was supposed to be bc I didn’t think it was scales and it does look kind of like bark... Now going to take that as permission to assume it’s the latter

kamui kind of reminds me of some pokemon but I’m not sure which one?? I’m sorry idk pokemon v well but thy def remind me of one of them

“...a fAnBOY” he looks and sounds like he just tricked someone into confessing to murder why is he so smug about that smh

you know what. speaking of. I don’t get why everyone views being a fan of something/someone as something to be embarrassed or ashamed about?? why do people make fun of other people for it? why do we treat it like some big dark secret we try to hide? when did liking something become a bad thing? like?? sorry I have hobbies and interests and you don’t? sorry I think this person is talented? sorry I thought this book was life-changing? sorry I listen to this album so much because it’s good? sorry this show made me laugh during a really rough time? like goddamn it’s nobody’s business what you like unless you’re trying to force it on you when you’ve asked them to stop or it’s hurting someone? if they’re being safe and respectful about it for everyone involved then there shouldn’t be a problem? stop making people feel like freaks or be scared to enjoy something just a little too much? just let people have good things in life and consume the media that makes them happy? it has little to no effect on you? I don’t get why it’s you’re problem?? sorry to get all soapboxy this is something that’s always really annoyed me

does kamui have flowers on their belt

icon

k but isn’t wood like... really easy to break tho

I mean... comparatively speaking?

“illegal use of powers during rush hour traffic” alsfjsadlkf

wait so he’s listing charges for the guy, does that mean heroes are officially licensed here and can actually arrest people? and... actually work with law enforcement?? gasp no wait but I thought that was impossible except for The One Officer On The Inside That The Hero Has Convinced Of Their Cause™

hold up... “assault, robbery, and illegal use of powers during rush hour traffic... you are the incarnation of evil” ...bro chill lmao

I mean those aren’t good things but,,,, buddy “evil” can get so much worse holy shit sunflower child has no idea what’s in store for them

the show can do a hell of a lot even if they decide not to go that dark

well deku did say he was new

also off topic but I just looked it up and DEKU IS HALF A FOOT TALLER THAN ED

I’M SORRY BUT THAT’S HILARIOUS

CAN YOU IMAGINE THIS EXCITED GREEN CHILD MEETING ED THE GREMLIN ELRIC AND JUST TOWERING OVER HIM

he’d probably get along well w al though so ed would have to like him anyways

ok but back to bnha

ope kamui just got upstaged

but honestly?? he was actin a lil cocky and she seems like a queen so I ain’t mad about it

oh great creeps are everywhere apparently

YES THANK YOU THEY NEED TO INCLUDE SUPERPOWERS IN LEGISLATION SOMEHOW OTHERWISE PEOPLE CAN GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING GEEZ

just. more worldbuilding that I appreciate.

jfc they muzzled him?

ok i wasn’t that mad about kamui being upstaged (idk why I kinda like the guy) but now she’s acting a little too cocky for me and I feel kind of bad for Death Arms and Backdraft (?) because they definitely do deserve at least a little credit

yes. official. overseen by the government. I’m not saying it’s necessarily a good idea bc I’m not getting into the whole mess the MCU basically did regarding that, but it really does add to the worldbuilding and making it seem more realistic/draw you in a little more because you can bet that would be a thing that would actually happen in some capacity if such a large percentage of the population had superpowers, and crime was at an all-time high at the same time, with normal methods without powers likely not doing much to combat that, and it being even harder because everyone’s is different

wow so they really do have roles similar to celebrities huh?

I actually love how he’s analyzing the new hero

that’s!! the good!!! nerdery!!!!

ngl thought that guy was gonna be like “well that’s never gonna happen” lmao glad he didn’t turn out to be an asshole

this guy’s hair and his sweater need an upgrade

I’m sorry honey it’s just not a Look™

I mean ngl I’d probably wear it but also I am the absolute last person to look to for a good idea of fashion so

wow we hate asshole teachers

this kid’s hair grows wtf

they seriously just break out their quirks when they get annoyed?? I mean me too probably but

oh wait he’s not totally an asshole

but that still is kind of a dick move because even if it seems really really likely that most of them do, a lot of them probably feel like that’s just what’s expected of them or that that’s their best bet at an ok life, or they don’t think they’ll actually be able to get a career as a hero, and he has to know that there are kids (or at least one) in his class who don’t have powers and who will probably be shut down at every turn on that career track??

also what is it with the absurd number of people whose hair grows/flys/whatever and whose hands change chape and/or elongate

the girl who just throws up the rock n roll sign is my favorite

also why does this teacher remind me of gilderoy lockhart

I get that his eye thing is part of his quirk... but does he face no consequences health-wise from putting his grubby fingers all over his eyeballs?? you don’t know where your hands have been

ah

the famed bakugo

we finally meet

you seem like a cocky asshole and if I remember correctly you have firepowers

you know who else seemed like cocky assholes and one point or another and had firepowers??

roy mustang and zuko

and one of those guys is an awkward, angry turtleduck, and the other one is a rightly smug bastard who succeeded in pulling a coup on the government who was surveilling him and holding half his team hostage

so yeah I have a feeling I’m gonna like this guy

probably

at some point

eventually

it might take a while

“the only place worthy of me” oh dear

All Might!! Big Hero™ has a name!!

oh being a hero solely bc you want to be rich and popular? lame

aklsdfsjaslkfd teach just callin deku out in front of everyone

r.i.p.

it was nice having you as a main character for eight whole minutes I’m sorry you have to face death-by-embarrassment you deserved better

ope

bakugo doesn’t want anyone stealin his thunder

lemme guess deku is also his Main Rival™ or at least will be

awwwww poor guy

how much you wanna bet he gets the highest scores in all the exams bc he studies the heroes so much and that’s how he gets in

that lady got forcefields for her quirk? damn she lucked out

“this cash is mine” *drops cash*

are all the heroes like fine mt. lady can deal w the guy she keeps stealing all our credit anyway so there’s no point??

....is that all might?

k but... y’all should be taking notes on the heroes too if you want a better chance at that career and better schools for it? I know they’re probably making fun of it bc he doesn’t have a quirk but still

also I find it really interesting that the kids all act like the quirks are absolutely everything but at that scene on the street earlier people were complaining about missing the days they didn’t have to worry about “every rando w a quirk” or something... like maybe it’s because the kids grew up w it? Idk just the difference in mindset between (presumably) generations seems cool to look into

wow we love bullies so much

no we don’t pls stop you’re not as cool as you think you are

DESTROYING SOMEONE’S NOTEBOOK/JOURNAL/SKETCHBOOK IS ONE OF THE MOST DICK MOVES SOMEONE CAN MAKE CHANGE MY MIND

alright bakugo you’ve definitely moved onto my shitlist for the moment

don’t stay there

well you know what they say about greatness... some people are destined for it, yeah, but some become it, and some have it thrust upon them

cliches are there for a reason buddy

and either way... I could be wrong but... there doesn’t seem like anything great or heroic about bullying people... I mean idk that’s just my opinion but

god I hope they eat bakugo alive at ua

deku I know you’re a sunshine child but you have to get in now. you have to. out of pure spite. please.

yeah, friend 1b is right buddy...

destroy him deku

DESTROY THEM DEKU

oh suicide jokes huh

bakugo you’re on thin fucking ice you’ve just moved way up in my shit list

wow I hate him <3

EXACTLY

THANK YOU DEKU

I hate it when shows have someone make a suicide joke like that and just? no one addresses it?? or the characters don’t seem to realize that it needs addressing, at least to themselves??? so this is refreshing

voiced my thoughts exactly

he really is an idiot

NO BUDDY YOUR DREAMS ARE STILL POSSIBLE AND VALID

YOUR NOTES ARE SALVAGEABLE

he really is a jerk deku you’re right

awww little deku is so cute

alright I’m gonna make a prediction

this is his mom right

is this gonna be

another

dead anime mom?

and lemme guess she always told him she was sure he’d be a hero/she knew he’d become one, and then she died, and that’s why he’s so set on it

probably not

but just... placing my bets now

w h a t  is this child doing

he’s a hair’s breadth away from head-desking

are we... just gonna... ignore that robbery that was happening on the street a few minutes ago

OKAY WE GET IT YOU’RE HERE CAN YOU GO BACK TO SAVING PEOPLE THEY’RE STILL IN DANGER

HIS CACKLES I CAN’T

alsdkjf;lsjk I feel bad for him but also,,, that transition was gold

but also the face his mom made before he started laughing... she knew he probably wouldn’t get one didn’t she

but why do they assume it won’t happen if they don’t get it by a certain age? they said after that baby people all around the world were getting powers, and showed people of all different ages when they said so. that implies that they got those powers at those ages, after the baby was born but not when they were children themselves? like yeah there’s probably some point where you’d consider them “aged out” and therefore less likely to get a quirk but... she just said he’s in kindergarten.

fourth generation? so the appearance of quirks isn’t a super recent thing then

they can tell if someone is going to manifest a quirk or is starting to by looking at x-rays?

also I know I’m seriously overusing the word “interesting” but

maybe I’m reading too far into this but it’s also kind of interesting that his father and his (current) main antagonist have such similar powers?

OH!!!! lore drop!! kind of!!! that’s a really interesting (wow there it is again) thing they chose to be an indicator for that kind of thing in this universe

*cue izuku contemplating chopping off his pinky toes*

I feel like... all might’s... not gonna be that great....

DEAR LORD HOW MANY TEARS CAN THIS CHILD HOLD IN HIS EYES

also ngl when little deku’s eyes are wide and he doesn’t move he looks really creepy and kind of like a child-sized doll

like pinocchio

how sure are we that deku isn’t made of wood

hmmmmmmmmm I do love this animation

ah Internal Angst™

the fuck is that laughter??

skin suit? no thanks

but guess we aren’t ignoring that earlier scene

yeah all might’s in the city alright

he’s gonna break this up isn’t he

yepppppp that’s him

idk I think alex louise armstrong did it better sorry bud :/

“texas smash”??

he just... punched liquid apart

this kid’s still gonna go flying and hit the ground hard buddy thanks for your help

oh he stuck around

and he’s not hurt too bad

“justicing”

he’s using the city’s sewer system being difficult to navigate as his excuse for why he wasn’t paying attention to keeping bystanders safe like he “usually” does?

the armstrongs do the sparkle better

a;ldkfsdlfls this is really funny to watch ngl

“that’s... a pretty good point.” yeah no shit lmao

I love how he’s just. awkwardly patting deku.

yeah he’s gonna end up accidentally adopting this kid isn’t he

is he hurt?? or did the other guy actually take him over while deku was unconscious??

nah I think he’s just hurt I’m p sure he really did get the guy

but still

that was... a big boom.... that’s not good

he’s just.... abandoning this kid on the rooftop??

but also he probably really does have to go if blood is coming out of his mouth

do heroes in this universe have secret identities?

I feel like yes but also no??

watch as this guy’s like “I don’t have a quirk either” and he’s just. like. an armstrong or something

that or he’s gonna crush this kid’s dreams and be like “no, it’s not possible” and I will be forced to ensure deku becomes the most successful hero ever out of Even More Pure Spite™ even if he idolizes the guy

oh yeah he’s gonna get his dreams crushed

IS ALL MIGHT GONNA VOUCH FOR HIM AND GET HIM AN OPPORTUNITY AT UA BC HE FEELS BAD FOR HIM

hmm this outro kinda slaps too

overall feelin good, like it so far, definitely think I won’t have trouble continuing watching at least for now

[snarkwrites]

fake fic title - Glass Houses

Bless you for this title, anonymous. I wanted to say that before I say anything else. Now that I have, I just want to say that my brain wanted to go two totally different directions with this ( and I’m lowkey afraid you’re not in either fandom, but I hope you enjoy it in the same ) so that’s exactly what I did. It’s one title done two totally different ways?

Heads up, the stranger things one is kind of an au of my own au, oops rip me.

Both are kinda angsty. Kinda. There’s also banter.

Tag Squad : ( for the SOA version ) @rampagewriting | @chasingeverybreakingwave | @kyleoreillysknee | @sassymox 

( for the stranger things version ) @rampagewriting | 

[ tag list doc - add yourself or I won’t tag ] | [ masterlist ] | [ keep ‘em comin - these are hella fun ] 

                                  { STEVE HARRINGTON x CHARLOTTE (oc) }

Nancy caught up to me just as I got out of Jackson’s car and started to walk towards the double doors of Hawkins High. She glanced from me to the retreating black Impala and bit her lip as if she wanted to say something. Before she could, Barb caught up to both of us.

“Did your dad get a new car?” Barb asked, letting out a low and appreciative whistle at the car driving away before meeting my gaze.

“Nope.”

“Who was that? He looked like he was at least 21.” Nancy’s question was blunt and filled with concern when she asked it. I shrugged and bit my lip, waiting a second or two before answering.

“That was this guy I met over the summer. His name’s Jackson. He was one of the other counselors at that camp I worked at. Speaking of guys, where’s your new one?” I asked the question mostly to get her off my back, the last thing I wanted this early in the morning was one of her lectures.

It wasn’t like she had any room at all to talk, her letters over the summer had been filled with instances of her sneaking out, sneaking around with some guy. She’d been vague about a name, but honestly, I half expected it to be Jonathan Byers. This sweetheart of a guy in our grade that we’ve known since we were babies… And maybe I’ve always thought Nancy made goo goo eyes at constantly, even if she’d die before admitting it.

Before she ever even got to answer me, Steve Harrington appeared out of nowhere and I swallowed hard, giving him my best blank look for a few seconds. “Are you lost, Harrington? The jackasses and their cackling hens are all that way.” I nodded towards where he’d parked his new BMW, where Tommy H currently stood, exhaling smoke through his nostrils and laughing about it. I rolled my eyes before tearing them away.

“Ouch. I totally forgot how grouchy you are first thing in the morning, Charlie.” Steve mumbled, lazily pulling Nancy closer.

I tried, but before I could stop myself, I was flinching a little. Luckily, no one seemed to notice it because Nancy and Steve were all over one another and that only had me tensing just a little more. Yep. this is going to be one hell of a long year.

“It’s Charlotte. I like Charlotte now.” I licked my lips and finally retorted at Steve as I  shifted my backpack from one side of my shoulder to the other, tapping my foot impatiently against the concrete of the sidewalk.

Nancy looked from me to Steve and when he pulled her closer, I couldn’t help the split second flinch that came. I bit my lip and spoke up. “This is the dreamy guy, Nancy?” I gave a light snort of laughter and blatantly ignored the pout Steve sent my way as he stared at me over the rim of his dark tinted sunglasses. 

What, did she lose her entire goddamn mind this summer? Steve? I’d gotten my hopes up to coming back to find out that she and Jonathan were finally a thing because I just have a feeling about those two.. And I wasn’t the only one, either. One look at Barb quickly told me how she felt about this whole thing and I gave a covert nod, sure we’d both be trying to puzzle it out later between the two of us. I couldn’t wait to hear what Barb had to say about it, actually, because I wasn’t the only one Steve ditched as a friend back then.

“Mhm!” Nancy gave a soft and happy laugh and I had to really bite my tongue. 

,, hello, has she totally forgotten the sleepover in 8th  where I cried because Steve told me he couldn’t be my best friend anymore because it was ‘weird’? She was all about calling him a jerk then.”  I had to literally fight to keep from saying it.

Rather than say any of what I was thinking, what Barb was probably also thinking, I gave a soft laugh and eyed Steve, shrugging. “Have fun with that, I suppose.” was the best I could come up with. Nancy eyed me and bit her lip nervously and Barb tensed, her hand going to her mouth. I literally couldn’t take another second of Nancy and Steve all over one another, so I turned to Barb and asked mildly, “Hey, do you wanna walk down to the girls room with me? So I can show you that thing my aunt got for me?”

“Wh-” she almost asked what thing but I carefully nudged her side and she nodded, the two of us hurrying away. The second the door to the girls room shut behind us, I was pacing and ranting about the whole thing and when I lightly punched the paper towel dispenser on the wall next to the row of sinks, I cradled one hand in the other and swore quietly.

“Feel better now? Did you get it all out? Look… All I’m saying here is that I got over the way Steve  ditched all of us a while ago… Maybe there’s another reason you haven’t?”

“Don’t you dare shrink me, Barbara Holland.” I pouted, going quiet before finally admitting to it quietly. “For as long as I can remember, it’s always been me and Steve. We were so close. So close and I just…”

“You kinda fell for him.” Barbara finished and I sighed, putting my back to the bathroom stall and dramatically rolling my eyes upward. I didn’t even have to nod to acknowledge that yes, she was 100 percent right. Somewhere between kindergarten and 8th grade, even though I know it’s stupid and I realize that nobody knows who they love until they’re much older, more mature.. A small sliver of my heart was Steve Harrington. Then he took it and he broke that sliver that belonged to him and since then, I’ve just kind of… Silently been bitter.

The bathroom door burst open and Nancy stepped inside, laughing and lit up, practically glowing. I shared a look with Barb and prepared myself to put on a tolerant face. A happy face, even. Barb gave me a nod and Nancy spoke up.

“What’d your aunt get you?”

“Oh, uh…” my brain crapped out for a minute, and she raised a brow, looking from me to Barbara.

“She thought she bought it but she left it home.” Barb stepped in with the quick save and I mouthed a thank you to her when Nancy was too busy reapplying her lip gloss to notice. “So, what do you think? I mean, I’m still shocked that he likes me.”

,, you’re honestly not the only one.” the thought came accompanied by an almost crippling wave of guilt, especially in light of what Barb and I just discussed. I was getting the distinct impression that this year was not going to be an easy one at all. 

The tardy bell had the three of us dashing down the hall for class and I slid into my seat with such force that I bounced lightly off of Jonathan Byers side. He glanced up and over at me for a few seconds. 

“Are you okay?” he gave a smirk as our eyes met and he asked the question.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” I said it quickly. Way too quickly. He chuckled quietly and nodded to the textbook I’d just dug out of my backpack. “This is History. Not Biology.”

I locked eyes with him, cheeks burning hot all over. And this literally had me blinking in shock because everything I’d just thought about Nancy being with Steve -and exactly how flustered he’d gotten me in the hallway just popping up like he had, it all came rushing back and I really had to work at shoving it down.

Because I wasn’t like her. I was not going to break girl code. I knew that she’d always kind of secretly liked Jonathan and that most likely, Steve Harrington was just a phase. I also knew that I was totally overreacting and yet...

,, Says the girl whose still being so silly enough to even remotely think she actually loved Steve at one point in time. Or that it matters at all in the grand scheme of life and stupidly refuses to just let go like she needs to.”  

“Thanks.” I muttered, digging around a little more in my backpack. When I produced the pack of cinnamon flavored gum, I caught Jonathan gazing at the pack in my hands almost longingly, so with a shrug, I did my best covert lean-in, holding the pack out to him, giving a playful pout when he didn’t reach and grab immediately.

“Oh come on, Jon. Live a little, doll. The teacher’s old, nearly blind and mostly deaf. He’s never gonna know you’re chewing gum.” I giggled softly. Jonathan chuckled at what I said and he took a stick from the pack. 

I went back to paying attention to the textbook and about halfway during the class, a folded square of paper landed neatly on the corner of my desk. I glanced up and around, and after confirming that the teacher obviously hadn’t seen it happen, I slipped my hand out, gripping the folded square and slid it back towards me, my bracelets jingling and making me pause a second.

The note was from Steve.

I’m sorry. I miss being your friend, okay? I really miss it. I hope this doesn’t get weird...

There were several different ways I could’ve gone. If I bothered responding. But frankly, the fact that he’d ditch me and Barb like we hadn’t been best friends our entire lives… just because he wanted to be popular and we weren’t good enough at the time… I didn’t bother answering. Letting him sweat it out was way easier. 

                                   JUICE ORTIZ x HAZEL TELLER (oc)

“ What’s she doin here, huh?” Juice asked the question to my brother Jax as loudly as possible and I tensed at the chill in his voice, biting my lip. I didn’t turn around immediately because if I did, I knew he’d take one look at me and know he’d hurt me a little. But he was getting good at that lately. So dismissive.

“She’s gonna work the bar for us until she finds a job, man.” Jax exhaled a drag from the cigarette pressed between his lips and finished off the glass of bourbon I’d poured him before the others came in. “Is there gonna be a problem, Ortiz?”

“Just wonderin.” Juice grumbled quietly.

I was finally pulled together enough at this point that I could turn around and face him. With the sweetest smile I could muster, I poured him a glass of his favorite beer and silently shoved it right at him. When a little of it sloshed up over the rim and splattered on the front of his white tee shirt, I shrugged and bit my lip before turning away again.

Naturally, it was Tig who spoke up, clearing his throat. “You two gonna act like this all the time? If the tension gets any thicker in here, I’m gonna bust a nut.” 

“Jesus Christ, Trager.” Jax coughed, glaring at the other man. “That is my sister, man. I don’t wanna think about that shit.” 

I turned and gave Tig a teasing smirk. “What tension?”

Oh, I know perfectly well what he’s talking about. Nobody’s forgotten the fact that way back… before this MC bullshit crept into his life… Juice and I dated. Then when he pledged, we broke up because at the time, I didn’t want the danger and the pain this life has been known to cause.

Not to mention dear old stepdad. It was pretty much either break things off or risk Clay trying to kick his goddamn head in. Or so I thought at the time. Apparently, I found myself thinking bitterly as I wiped down the bar top, I was wrong because here Juice is, a full member of the Sons. 

Obviously, the fact that I’m here and working at the MC would show that my stance on that is changed. And you wouldn’t be wrong, it has. It took me leaving to realize that I threw away a really good thing. A near fucking perfect thing. Just because I was afraid of both letting down my guard and allowing myself to really love Juice Ortiz like he deserved and the thought of losing him due to something happening. 

So, I came back. And naturally, now he hates me.

[headlesssamurai]

My Lazy, Poor, Stupid Person’s Attempt to Paint Tabletop Miniatures

by headless

This has nothing to do with covid-19 really, it’s just something I reckoned I’d share.  For several years I’ve played Dungeons & Dragons, and occasionally others like Call of Cthulhu and Delta Green, or Shadowrun. Though, I say ‘play’, when I mostly run games as a Dungeon Master. It’s one of those “hobbies” that is a lot of fun for someone like me, but requires a ton of dedication, so it isn’t always easy to get a dedicated group together.

Anyhow, I generally homebrew settings and adventures, never really been too big on running pre-written games, even if some of them are fantastically written. And one of the most frustrating things is I some times want to have a miniature on the battle grid that looks a certain way. This is hardly a big deal, since miniatures are just markers meant for reference in combat encounters, the real image of the characters is in all of our heads.

Still, I sometimes want to have something especially specific, a lot of the players in my current group appreciate cool looking miniatures, and seeing as I’m usually hard-up for cash, I can’t always buy pre-painted mini-figures, unless I get a good bulk deal on ebay or something.

One of my recent attempts to acquire bulk miniatures came a few years back when I realized during the 4E days, Wizards of the Coast had released boxed board games themed with the D&D style, which all came with a great deal of unpainted miniatures; these came in sets like Wrath of Ashardalon, or The Legend of Drizzt, with lots of themed minis for the board game’s scenario.

Anyhow, I’ve had a ton of these unpainted miniatures forever and use them often for nobody-NPCs and other characters the players run across. Lately, however, the group I’ve been running in a campaign for about eleven months (usually weekly), ran across a problem where their dragonborn ranger Grixxis was captured by and then negotiated his away out of the clutches of this ancient entity who calls herself Gorgoth (who appears to be a pale, beautiful young woman, but probably isn’t; even the not so arcane-y Grixxis intuited that much). She was actually impressed that he resisted her Sleep spell, and offered him a deal, she’d let him go but he needs to complete a task for her in the next seven days, and if it isn’t completed in that time frame his soul will be bound to her forever.

The task was to go to a mountaintop and retrieve something that resides there, though Gorgoth did not explain what the object was, so the party set off to find this mysterious mountain. The journey led them to an area of bad wilderness where no one lives, and where roving bands of orcs constantly hunt and war with one another, so only a few people know anything about that region. The party ended up hiring a guide, who was a wood elf exile named Skaya. They seemed to be intrigued by her because she’s living in a city which is currently at war with wood elves, so there’s a lot of prejudice and racism against her kind. Skaya does have facial tattoos that indicate she’s been exiled from her tribe and therefore no longer truly considered by her people to be a wood elf (their worst form of punishment in this universe), but still, the party seemed immediately fascinated by this single NPC among the potential seven or so they might’ve hired for this expedition.

Anyhow, my players have only gotten truly invested in one other NPC they’ve met before this; a small little orc toddler named Gruuba who they saved from a bunch of slave trading bandits early on in the campaign. I’ve had difficulty finding a good miniature for Gruuba too (because she’s really small and scrawny), but since she’s at the same developmental level as a human six year-old they try to keep her out of combat scenarios (despite Gruuba’s excited insistence that she enjoys using clubs “for smashings”). Since the party have begun to really enjoy Skaya as character, the longer they’ve slowly, slowly gotten to know more about her stand-offish personal history, I really wanted to get a miniature for her that reflected my image of her better than the one I’d been using.

So, even though I got basically no experience doing so, I bought a miniature from Reaper Miniatures, and after looking up a few tutorial vids for beginners like me, I set about trying to paint my first mini-figs.

Two things, if you’re looking into this yourself; First, I’m not totally unartistic, I write creatively and I sketch with pencils and ink. Painting’s fairly new to me, but it’s not like I have absolutely no artistic talent. I also solder a lot of really small wires and components in my normal daily job, so I may have better muscle control for this sort of thing than some people. I only mention this because I may have had a few advantages in this undertaking. I just don’t want to make people overly confident, keep things in perspective. So whatever your level of expertise at this, if you want to start just try to patiently measure your expectations, and don’t get discouraged if your first results aren’t so great. All things improve with time.

 And B. if you’re poor, lazy, and stupid like me, there’re ways to get around that. This video I watched gave me a good rundown of the basic steps which are; - scrub the plastic down with some dish soap, luke-warm water, and a toothbrush; allow at least 1 hour to dry (I let them sit for a day because I’m paranoid), and be sure there’s no lingering moisture before you start painting - get a good primer or base coat on the model before you start adding other colors; lighter base coats allow more colors to show up easier, while darker base coats tend to make the colors you paint over them darker - stay calm and take your time - try to paint the colors that’ll go under other colors first, like, if a barbarian dude is shirtless but’s wearing a few pieces of armor, paint his shirtless skin first, then paint the armor he’s wearing second because it layers over better that way - use thinner paints and multiple coats of a color to get an even final color instead of one thick coat - allow each coat of paint to dry for 10 - 20 minutes before applying the next coat - learn about washes, pigments, and inks, because they’re awesome - get a decent varnish for a final protective coat, matte varnishes make the model look dryer and flat, gloss varnishes make the model look shiny and wet, if you do a coat of gloss and a coat of matte varnish it equalizes it pretty good

And this video here sort of laid to rest my fears that I’ll need to spend $600 on paints and washes and stuff. The very helpful lady in that video explains how she uses generic acrylic paints from the craft store (I got mine at Wal-Mart) to paint her Warhammer miniatures, and she even offers a method of making your own washes from a combination of paint and flavorless mouth wash. It’s genius. So try not to stress too much about buying the really nice brand name paints, because it’s not necessary, those paints just have an optimal mix I think, otherwise they’re the same damn thing as generic acrylic paints. Also, you’re just trying to learn, so unless you really, really feel like emptying your bank account, just use the generic stuff.

I started out painting something I didn’t care about. I wanted my miniature for Skaya to look badass and awesome, so I wanted to start with some practice miniatures. Grabbed a few from those 4E board game sets and gave it a shot. But I had also recently gotten hold of a Goliath Barbarian miniature from the Player’s Handbook Heroes sets (also from the 4E days) a rare find, since it usually goes for like $60.00 by itself. Randomly found some dude on ebay selling an unopened box set for $20.00, so I got a wild elf druid and a human berserker along with it. So I started out touching up the goliath’s armor to make it look more like armor and less like weird blue stuff.

Here’s a before-and-after for him (I didn’t take photos of them before because I wasn’t anticipating this, so I just found examples from around the web):

Next I tried a re-paint. A friend of mine had recently guest-played in my campaign and created a half-drow monk (his backstory was fantastic), so since nothing like that exists, I took a Soulknife Infiltrator miniature seen here:

And repainted it to sort of look like his half-drow Monk of the Open Palm:

I finally had the courage to do a full paint, so I grabbed the Dragonborn Elementalist from the Wrath of Ashardalon box, and painted her up with reddish scales (I’m one of those who thinks dragonborn should have physical attributes of their heritage).

In the box her name’s Heskan. I definitely used way too much wash on this one so she looks super shiny.

I then took the orc archers in that same box, and not really paying too much attention this time, quickly painted them, because I lack many orc archers:

At this point, I felt it was time to finally paint Skaya, the wood elf exile. I used the Reaper Bones model Deladrin, Female Assassin ($1.99) for Skaya’s mini.

And taking way more hours than I did on the others, which were only about 1-3 hours each, when you count waiting for the coats to dry, I managed to sort of make her look like Skaya, I guess:

After this, the fact that it wasn’t complete and utter shit, which is what I expected, I was encouraged. So I tried to do out party’s tortle cleric, named Daruuk of Chult (who oddly speaks with a Slavic accent, so that’s how people from Chult sound in our campaign), for whom we’ve lacked an accurate mini-figure for some time. I bought a pack of Spikeshell Warriors ($2.99) from the Reaper Bones line.

But Daruuk characteristically wields a large shield and a warhammer, so for some reason I got super detailed and bought a pack of loose shields from the Reaper Bones line ($0.99), then bought Halbarad ($1.49) a human cleric.

I clipped off Halbarad’s hammer at the hilt, then I trimmed the spikes off of the spikeshell warrior’s club, and used a dremel to carfully mill a hole inside the shaft of the spikeshell’s club, then pinned the hammer inside and secured it with gorilla gel. I used an actual cork board pin to push the shield onto the spikshell’s offhand after cutting off his turtle shell shield in order to pin it before gluing, then clipped off the rest of the cork board pin. Somehow, this ended up making the shield look meaner because it now has a like pyramidal spike sticking out the center. After allowing the glue to dry I painted him up, and my attempt at Daruuk the Death Cleric turned out thus:

I guess his hammer looks sort of Acme-level cartoony, but he’s a giant 350 lb. turtle-man who talks like Omega Red from X-Men The Animated Series, so I’m okay with that. The spikeshell also fits well with the razorback sub-race feature I allowed Daruuk’s player to homebrew for himself. I was really proud of this one.

Finally, because I’m an insane asshole who is getting obsessed with my new hobby, I decided it was dragons or bust. So I bought a pre-primed unpainted Young Blue Dragon from WizKids ($13.99).

And spent, like, three days meticulously testing different paint layers to see how they come out. I tried to paint her in the tradition of blue dragons as they appear in the art of Forgotten Realms material, but gave her a somewhat darker cast, and added metallic blue layers to her claws and spinal ridges. I still need to paint her base, put some highlights on her eyes to accentuate the glowing effect and add my washes to give her a final layer of dimension, but here’s how she came out so far:

Behold, Stormfang! Mistress of Thunder...

Anyhow.

This is super long and I wonder if anyone will bother to read any of it. But just wanted to put this out there. From a dude who, if you asked me a year ago if I thought I could do this, I’d have said I’m too stupid, poor, and lazy. I still think of myself as all of those things. The real pros use crazy detailed techniques with like seven layered highlights on their models, and airbrushes and all kinds of other madness. I use maybe three coats total and I don’t get too worked up if I make a mistake here and there, and I haven’t spent more than maybe fifty bucks total across six weeks, and most of that was wasting paints because I was still learning how to mix different shades. 

So if you got something you feel like you’ve always wanted to do but are too stupid, poor, and lazy to figure out, just go for it yo. I managed to crack out these bastards and I still think I suck, but it’s way better looking than I expected. For real though, you should see some of those Warhammer players, they got mad crazy god skills at this stuff compared to me. But your level of skill isn’t the point. The point is to have that moment with that thing you did, and look at it, and just go “Yeh, I did that” when at one time you never believed you ever could.

There’s always going to be somebody better than you, but even they, like all of us, are still learning.

              侍    headless                     

[elite-polos]

My parents looked at me funny when I said I related to Polo

Now, to be fair, they haven’t seen Élite. All they know is that Polo is *the murderer* and that...well, that’s probably a valid reason to be concerned that their daughter sees herself so much in him. But as I thought about it, I realized that a lot of people in the fandom don’t understand how someone could ever empathize with Polo, so I figured I’d write a post about it. (Honestly, this is more for me than anyone else, but if it resonates with someone then that’s great too.)

Just to preface: Polo has done a lot of things wrong. Like, A LOT. I don’t deny that. I don’t think it’s okay that he killed Marina and I don’t necessarily think the way he’s dealt with it is the “right” way. While I empathize with several of his actions and behaviors, I don’t claim that he’s purely a victim in all this. In saying I identify with him, I am not condoning everything he’s done, nor am I saying that I would ever do the same things. 

But the truth is, I see myself reflected so much in Polo’s character. I understand why some people can’t look past the bad things he’s done, and I’m not just glossing over them and pretending they don’t exist, but I see more to him than that. 

From the start, I related to Polo’s exploration of his sexuality. Like Polo, my first significant relationship was a “straight” relationship that lasted several years. I knew I was bi, but I’d never had the chance to explore that other side of me. My need to experience the other side of my sexuality was one of the reasons that relationship ended, just like how Polo’s desire for those same experiences contributed to his relationship with Carla falling apart.

I relate to the way that Polo loves. He was so deeply in love with Carla that he was willing to do anything for her. He lost sight of logical reasoning when he decided to get the watch from Marina, blinded by the need to prove how far he’d go for Carla. (This also has roots in his insecurities, which I’ll get into later.) The same goes for Cayetana (whatever the feelings are that they have for each other) when he helped her set up the fake charity event. For the people Polo cares about, he will go to extreme lengths, even if it’s clearly not in his best interests. I, too, have been in a romantic relationship where I gave way too much of myself to the other person without thinking about the effect it would have on me, so when I saw that in Polo it really struck a chord with me. 

I relate to Polo’s relationship with Christian, too. To feeling a certain way for someone that just doesn’t feel the same way back. To trying and trying but not being able to get through to them the way you want to. To the hurt caused by chasing after that person. The depiction of their dynamic really came at a...relevant time for me, I guess.

In season 2, when he has his one night with Ander, I realized I’d again also been in a very similar situation (although not with someone that was in a relationship). I had a group of three best friends, and two of us decided to mess around together. Later on, the friend group ended up falling apart, and whose fault was it? Yep, that’s right, mine. It was almost too natural to put myself in Polo’s shoes in the situation with his friends. 

I started to identify with Polo even more deeply during season 2 when they began to explore his mental health issues in more detail. Polo, like me, discovered at a young age that there was something in his brain that made him different from everyone else. He’s been seeing a psychologist for years for his anxiety, he takes medication for it, etc., and I’ll admit that I don’t watch a whole lot of TV shows, but he’s the first character I’ve connected with that goes through those same issues as me. 

I also related to the way he tries to portray it to others. He hid his struggles from Guzmán, his best friend, for four years, probably partly due to the stigma, but also because he wants to give off the appearance that he has a perfect life, that he’s normal. I know how he feels, for everyone to think that he has it all together, to be held to such high expectations. Once I became aware that people saw me that way, I felt the need to do everything so that no one would see the cracks in the façade. All the brokenness, the inadequacy, it only comes out when there’s no way to hold it in anymore. 

Polo also bottles up his feelings because he’s afraid to burden other people with his problems. I struggle with feeling like a burden to other people too, all the time. Of course, you could argue that Polo burdens other people with his problems way too much, but I’d say it’s just a few select people that he trusts, people that he should be able to confide in.  And then when he confides in Ander, just to have Ander get mad at him and tell him he should’ve kept it to himself? I totally understand where Ander is coming from, but man, I also understand how terrible Polo feels when he just confirms he should’ve kept his problems inside. 

You know that scene when Ander finds Polo on the bathroom floor, and Polo says, “I’ve been here for over an hour, and no one noticed”? Yeah, I felt that. I’ve felt like nobody notices my presence enough to realize when I’m gone. Hearing him say that hit me hard. When it got to the point where he didn’t even think anyone would miss him if he were gone forever, I literally had to pause the show and take a moment because it was just...a lot.

Polo doesn’t think he matters to people. That’s why he feels the need to give so much in his relationships, why he panders to others in his friendships: he doesn’t think he’s worthy of being appreciated and loved simply for who he is. Honestly, Polo helped me see that in myself. Helped me realize that I need to find those people who will love me without me having to constantly prove myself. 

But after all this, there’s one other thing I have in common with Polo. 

I believe in second chances. Always. 

I get that some people just aren’t like that. Some people think that if you do something wrong that’s big enough, that’s it, you can’t be forgiven. I respect that and I’m not trying to get anyone to change their mind. But that’s not me. I always believe that someone can be forgiven for their actions, and that they can grow and learn from them. And I want to see Polo given that opportunity, because I think that’s what anyone would want if they were in his place. 

Anyway, I just wanted to write this in response to all the hate I’ve seen toward both Polo and Polo stans. No, I don’t just like him because he’s attractive. No, I don’t think he’s an innocent baby who has done nothing wrong (if I refer to him that way it’s either out of affection or joking). No, I don’t like him for the things he’s done wrong either. 

I like him because he’s the character I have the most in common with. And it sucks to know someone I identify with so much is someone that so many people hate.

Just a disclaimer, I know this is just a TV show and I don’t take any of this too seriously. Like whatever characters you like, dislike the ones you dislike, it’s not that deep. I just had some thoughts and I wanted to get them out there. 

If you made it to the bottom of this, thanks for reading!  Feel free to respond respectfully with any thoughts :)

[diminuel]

15x11 rewatch! Let’s go! It’s again, very long, so read below the cut!

My recap of last week to orient myself: We’ve seen Sam and Dean struggle with issues that they usually don’t have. Garth’s theory is that they are now faced with “normal people problems”, things a writer glosses over when it gets to their heroes because it slows down the story. However, they aren’t only faced with lactose intolerance but also suddenly find that they have trouble with all skills they used while hunting - they can’t open locks (at least not with make shift tools and when they’re stressed), they cannot fight against monsters (that are vastly overpowered while they just have human abilities), etc.

At the end of the episode Garth suggested a magical fix to their issues and we see them decide they would head to Alaska. Meanwhile, Cas is glaringly absent on a not further specified mission to Heaven. (*rolls eyes*)

Now, on twitter I said that if Sam and Dean went to Alaska to find a magic fix it for their issues without talking it through with Cas first they are “embarrassing dumbasses”. Spoiler alert: they are embarrassing dumbasses.

Now we start the reaction. I will bundle this sections since there are two plots that progress 98% independently of each other.

A: Misadventures in Alaska

- I know that Cas is absent, but I wish the Winchesters would have waited long enough to dicuss the issues with Cas. Sam does afterall talk it through with Eileen. And he must have talked to other people about it because he knows that it’s not in the lore and nobody else ever heard of it apart from Garth. But waiting for Cas to discuss with him was too much of a hassle...?

- Dean might not be able to digest cheese now, but he knows how to help himself. Like a normal person. (Well, I’m a normal person too but I just risk it and then suffer the dire consequences.)

- Okay, so they are in Alaska already. Don’t you have to cross through Canada to get to Alaska? If yes, how did they manage to cross the border with all the weapons in their trunk and without valid ID?

- I love Sam’s bewildered reply to when Dean claims that he was playing pool since before Sam was born. “What, between nap time and snack?”

- I was constantly worried that Dean was too cocky about his pool skills considering he had lost some other skills and that he would get into this game without even making sure that he still had the necessary skills for it. However, this episode isn’t the kind of silly overkill like last one was. Pool is a skill Dean and Sam developped over years and years, so of course they should be able to do it. (It’s not the same as lockpicking with a random nail)

- Dean “baiting” the other players wasn’t super elegant for someone who’s hustled pool for years *lol* But it was cute I guess?

- I like that Sam tries to talk to people and make them leave before it’s too late.

- Fortuna’s a dick, not winning any parent of the year awards...

- I like how Dean’s sure enough of himself to know that he’s much more complex than a “sexy but skimmable beach read”

- I think that usually the villains agree to Sam and Dean’s demands far too easily even though they have nothing to bargain with. So I assume Fortuna not agreeing to Sam’s terms falls under Sam and Dean no longer having their god given hero bonuses.

- I really appreciate the explanations we got on how Gods and all the other gods can exist at the same time. Humans/ human needs creating gods has always been my headcanon.

- Fortuna called Sam “little minx” *lol*

- Hero’s luck is a thing independently of Chuck then, but still granted by a divine being. But what makes a hero a hero is not their luck - but their choices and their attitude. Fortuna recognized that in them: bravery, the willingness to risk it all for others.

- I’m not sure yet what “don’t play his game, make him play yours” means. Though it’d be interesting if the same thing that happened to Metatron (who tried to play God) happens to God. God as “one of them”. Give him a soul and the weight of it, so he experiences the story and creation differently. I don’t know. I feel there aren’t enough episodes left for such a “remind God of the beauty and value of his creation” kind of plot.

B: Agent Lizzo

(I think this story line is more interesting than the monster of the week case and should have been given more screentime)

- “CASS”. Sam, that’s not how you spell his name. And why did you write a note instead of texting him? Also, they explained nothing. 

- Jack’s “Wanted by the FBI” picture is pretty cute. I wonder who took it.

- I like how Cas now frequently has a very visible reaction to things; he pulls the phone away from his hears, his expression changes, he has to breathe, before he manages to regain his composure. (Like the phone call he had with Dean while they were still seperated)

- Cas is so cute sitting at the desk with his laptop

- Why Jack. Why do you just sit down in the office to eat the heart?

- We usually saw Jack heal instantly; can’t he heal now or doesn’t he bother to heal his wounds?

- How many Grigori hearts did Jack eat...?

- Jack’s “dark” in ways he wasn’t before. The kind of dialogue he has comes across as very Winchester/ Cas like. I’m also trying to figure him out. He looks to the side at one point, before the Grigori takes his sword, which I assume means he saw Cas? His next expression is hard to describe; his nostrils flare, his calm expression drops. Is he shocked (I doubt it), is he angry (why would he?), is he trying to get out of the ropes to help or run? During the time it takes for Cas to defeat the Grigori, his expressions calms again and he lowers his head again. Maybe I’m just reading too much into it. I’m not very good at reading expressions anyway...

- The hug was nice but I really wish Cas and Jack would have actually spoken to each other. :/

TFW back together

- Dean and Sam are given the “little extra” that Dean wanted: Jack and Cas are back.

- I wish Sam had a bit of a more profound reaction. It’s the kind of welcome back reaction that would have been appropriate if Jack had just come back from a trip to the Swiss Alps where he tried to find himself among the cows and mountain spirits. Not when he came back from being killed by God.

- Dean’s reaction on the other hand was more impactful to me. Here we see that there’s tension there, some unspoken things. But still, he touches Jack the way that Bobby used to touch him. It’s a fierce look, but a gentle, parental touch. At the same time, this scene also addressed how much has changed (for the better!) between Dean and Cas. Dean seeks out Cas for conformation. I’m very soft about that exchange. (I think it also again presents Cas and Dean as an unit, especially when it gets to Jack.)

- I do hope Jack and Dean will hug eventually because the scene switch was a bit too fast for me. A bit more talk would have been better, or guiding them over into the next scene a bit gentler... Too many fanfic gaps here, even though the gaps are small!

- Sam and Dean acting like Jack ran away from them...? Sam: “You could have called.” Really, Sam...? When Jack says he couldn’t even though he wanted Dean says: “why not?” Why not, Dean? Do you really need to ask? And then Jack addressed nothing of what had happened and just brought up the current reason (staying hidden from god). Dude! You killed their mother, they wanted to trap you, then they wanted to kill you! I mean, come on.

- If Grigori hearts are the beginning, then what is next? Grigori are some of the “failed” creations of God that, according to Cas, should have been wiped out by the Flood. So maybe there are other things that God didn’t like for some reason or another that he wanted to get rid of. Grigori wiped out, Leviathan locked away, Nephilim forbidden... Hm. 

- From S11 we know that you can’t kill God. Killing God is not an option... (I also don’t really want it to happen. If the ending is literally creation being wiped out and there is nothing but a black screen at the end then I will have a panic attack.)

New things going forwards: 

Dean and Sam are heroes, no matter what Chuck says. Maybe they are no longer the heroes of his story (here I remember Metatron’s words again “you’re not the hero of this story, you are the villain”). But they’re still heroes. Fortuna rewards them for that alone with hero’s luck, which might give them back their bonuses to a certain degree. But the fact is that Sam and Dean are ordinary humans who become heroes because they are compassionate and brave and while they receive no reward for it, no “great recognition of their deeds”, they matter to the humans they saved. They matter in the smaller scheme of things, in the ways that Chuck disregards. Here I’m thinking of what Cas realized when he became human: that there is dignity in what he does, even if there is no divinity in it, even though it’s meaningless and “below him” even by Dean’s standards. But it mattered to Cas. He hurt, but it was meaningful and he wanted to live his life anyway. Chuck doesn’t see that. Chuck doesn’t see the dignity and meaning in the small things of human life. Because they are nuisances to him, they don’t make stories. Just like Sam and Dean doing the laundry all day don’t make stories for him - but they do for Becky.

So I think this episode reaffirmed what early SPN established: it’s the story of humans and how they save people, even if the odds are against them, and that makes them heroes. And not the other way around.

Some general comments: This is totally subjective but I feel there were some extra scenes that could have been cut (some pool hall stuff, the Grigori thing could have been slimmed down a bit) to give more space to things which I found more relevant like Cas/TFW’s reunion with Jack. I know that fanfic will fill the gaps eventually, but I wish we had to do a bit less work, you know? *lol* I mean, how did Cas and Jack’s conversation go, how was the drive back? How long where they in the Bunker by the time Sam and Dean came back from Alaska? What did they talk about? What conversations were exchanged in the scene break between TFW reuniting and them sitting at the map table? So many scenes to fill.

[paulhudd]

Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt. Four: Ha! Ha! Said the Clown

Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co. Wicklow; Sunday, May 2nd 1991

Malky gave the big chauffeur a sideways look, crossed his arms, casually leant on the door post and refused to shake the extended hand.

Gorringe wasn’t offended, just mildly surprised. He looked at his unshaken hand and frowned. He ummed & ahhed, looked left and right and spoke hesitantly, rubbing his neck as if about to ask a contention question, “Erm... see, the boss sent me ‘ere wiv a proposition... ‘E instructed me to... that is...” he paused, stepped up so that they were face-to-face and pleaded for relief with beseeching eyes, “Lissen mate, can I use your lavvy? I’ve been on the road fer ovah-an-hour ‘n that last cuppa I ‘ad before I left the ‘ahse is abaht to bust me bladdah!”

It was an old salesman’s ploy and Malky knew it, and the chauffeur knew he knew it, nevertheless he cringed and gritted his teeth, “No messin’ guv - I’m this close to pissin’ me strides!” He seemed genuinely stricken, so after a second or two’s deliberation, Malky decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and stood aside, issuing a caution as he dashed by, “Straight in-and-out, mind. And don’t use the urinals – they’re not plumbed-in yet – use one of the stalls! OK?”

Gorringe already halfway there, “I don’t care if it’s a bucket -- I gotta go!”

Just as the door to the gents closed, Zindy walked through from the kitchen, “Who is it? Sales rep? Reporter?” she asked, wiping her oil-blackened hands with a rag, her elfin face smeared with black smuts. Malky was still at the door, looking out at the darkened windows of the Rolls, “... no, he’s somebody’s chauffeur. You should see the car he’s driving.”

Zindy lifted the waiter hatch and struggled through, “Ooow, I’ve been bent over too long, I’m all stiffened-up!” she groaned, clutching the small of her back with both hands so that her swollen tummy popped out of her denim shirt revealing an oily palm-print on the ivory-white skin of her bump. Malky closed the door, “There’s quite a draught – you can look out through the window.”

“For God’s sake a bit of sea air will do me good!”

Malky tapped her butt, “Aye, because you’re doin’ bloody auto-repairs on the kitchen table and the place stinks to high-heaven of gloss, varnish, engine oil and Swarfega! That child o’ mine must be gettin’ high on the fumes!”

Zindy made yakety-yak signs with her hand and said “I’m trying to save us some money, it’d cost us a bomb to take that van to a mechanic.”

“... because you’ve fallen out with all the local mechanics, haven’t you?” he chided ironically, “There isn’t a garage within a 30-mile-radius who’ll touch it, is there? Anyway, it’s a false economy. It’ll breakdown in the middle of nowhere and you’ll have to ring one of the garages for a tow-truck and the whole shebang will cost us three times as much as it would if we’d gone to a garage in the first place -– that’s not factoring-in the chance of an accident - or you gettin’ stranded high and dry – then whoosh – your waters break!”

“Jeezus Christ! You’re startin’ to scare me!” she cried.

“It’s a possibility -- like what if you breakdown and you fall getting out of the van -- or somebody comes round the corner too fast and hits you or something leaks in the engine and it goes up in a ball of flames...?”

“Why dontcha just swaddle me in bubble-wrap, pack me in polystyrene, stick me in an air-conditioned coffin and feed me through a tube til September! Oh I say, tally-ho, chaps,” she’d seen the stranger’s car, “a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, no less,” she said, appreciatively, looking out of the window, “who comes to a place like this in a car like that?”

Meanwhile, Brooster was listening at the parlour door, “What’s goin’ on?” a voice whispered behind him, making him jump and almost fall over. It was Sammy, the silver-bearded, blood-spattered ghost of the inn’s elderly barman, crouching behind him with his hands on his knees. Brooster looked him in the eye and asked him with a thought: Why are you creeping about and whispering when only I can see and hear you?

Sammy stood up, stroked his beard and mused aloud, “Aye, I s’pose that’s true... Well then – I’ll just do this!” He walked through the wall, into the occupied cubicle, looked the urinator up-and-down and shouted to the old dog, “It’s a chauffeur. Big bloke. Ex-army – British army – he has a regimental pin. Big dick, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

Broo wasn't at all impressed by the resident phantom’s crude behaviour – one of these days the stupid old fool will walk in on a Sensitive and scare the life out of them (actually, that eventuality would be fortuitous – because escape from This Life and Ascent into The Next requires a death within the parameters of the haunting and in the three years since Sammy had been shot and killed by Barry McKee, the only candidate so far had been an elderly deep-sea fisherman suffering with angina and a bad case of hay-fever who died two days later after a particularly violent sneeze –- at home in his own bed. Sammy whined as he opined: “Why couldn't the auld eejit have snuffed-it here?! Some people have no manners at all! At this rate, I’ll have to wait for Malky to croak - and he’s got another ten years in him at least!”).

The chauffeur exited the gents and convened with Zindy and Malky. Zindy was friendly and bright and offered him a cup of tea; Malky was cagey and glum. But that’s Malky. Sammy, reclining on the couch to watch the movie, actually made an insightful comment, “He’s an Englishman and Zindy misses the company of Englishmen. She’ll bend his ear for an hour and then he’ll be off back to whoever he drives for: probably some auld oul’ banker or one of those rich pop stars who've been buying houses over here lately.” He pointed at the remote, “C’mon, turn the sound on. I love the old black and white fillums!”

The old dog was paying him no heed. He was enjoying familiar feelings of excitement and trepidation, that tingle in his pelt that told him the visitor was significant and he should prepare himself for important news. And sure enough, the chauffeur didn’t thank his hosts for the use of the amenities and return to his vehicle, he was taken to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a chat!

Sammy was still harping on, “Dog?! D’ya hear me? Hit the button that turns the sound back on!”

Oblivious, Brooster snuck down the hall, took-up position at the kitchen door and listened.

Sammy shouted from the parlour, “Ach, c’mon, you know I can’t press the buttons...?” Broo ignored him and harkened to the conversation around the kitchen table.

Once Gorringe had completed his ablutions and emerged from the gents refreshed, Zindy introduced herself and took him into the kitchen for a cuppa. They hadn't had much company lately and this was the first Englishman she’d met in ages so she was chatty and vivacious. Malky was characteristically sniffy and suspicious. He wouldn't sit down and slowly paced the floor by the backdoor and let Zindy do all the talking. She began by apologising for the engine parts on the kitchen table, told him to park his arse and have a Mikado. He took a biscuit, but kept well back from the table lest oil, paint or any other petroleum-based-product come into contact with his immaculate whistle, “Is that a Lancashire accent I ‘ear?” he asked, with a wry smile.

Zindy grinned, “Aye - Salford! ‘Ow can you tell?” she said, ironically.

“Heh-heh, two of me best mates is from Salford! Salts of the erf, they is, diamonds to a man. We ‘ad a couple of tours in Cyprus in the late fifties and then they was sent to... umm,” he suddenly stopped talking. He realised he was in the Republic of Ireland talking to a pair of total strangers about old friends serving in an occupying force and quickly changed the subject. He beheld her swollen belly and asked, sheepishly, “Ahem, ‘ow many mumphs ‘ave you got before the big day then, sweet’eart?”

“I’m due in late July or early August,” she replied, she replied, “Just wait til I’m at full-term, I’ll look like a two-legged Space Hopper in a pink-wig!”

Malky lost patience, coughed theatrically, walked forward and put an end to the sparkling repartee, “So, Mr Gorringe, what can we do for you?”

The chauffeur put up a hand and waived the formalities, “Oh, call me ‘Erbie, please, Mr Calvert. Nobody calls me Gorringe ‘cept the boss when ‘e’s in a bad mood. Everybody else calls me ‘Erbie.”

Malky sighed, “Then, what can we do for your boss, H-erbie?”

“Malky! - don’t be so rude!” Zindy snapped.

Herbie shook his head, “Nah, ‘e’s got every right to be wary, sweet’eart. I’m beatin’ arahnd the bush, as it were, I really should explain meself,” his face took on a pained expression of someone who knew that what he was going to say next would either elicit gales of laughter or get him forcibly ejected from the premises forthwith; he carefully set down his teacup, laced his fingers on his lap and spoke without looking at his hosts, “Well, y’see, my boss, see... ‘e’s not a superstitious man by nay-cha but, ‘e’s got it into ‘is ‘ead...” he sighed heavily, looked up at Malky and bit the bullet, “Look – ‘e thinks the ahse ‘as been invaded by ‘a poltergeist’ and ‘e wants a consultation. Y’know, whether you can confirm or deny, that sort of thing.”

Malky’s heart sank. He threw up his hands and whined, “Fer cryin’ out loud! Another crank! A rich crank, but a crank nonetheless!”

[In the aftermath of the Barry McKee case, there had been numerous requests for newspaper interviews, TV documentaries and even a book deal with movie-options that would have set them up for the rest of their lives, but Malky had rejected them all out-of-hand. Zindy was slightly exasperated but mostly impressed by his innate integrity and refusal to exploit his adventures - then sometimes she wished he had his price, just enough to afford a decent refit. But he doggedly kept to his Code and slowly-but-surely, the phone stopped ringing, people stopped arriving at the door and they settled into what was, in Malky’s case, blissful isolation in a place he loved as a child; for Zindy, it represented normality and domesticity, something she needed after years of living in the fast lane.]

She was too taken with their visitor to dismiss the offer out of hand, “Wait til you ‘ear what Herbie ‘as to say before you go on a rant, Mr Sour-Balls!”

Malky leaned against the fridge and crossed his arms, “He can say what he likes but it won’t make a ha’penny’s worth o’ difference. We live by a Code remember?”

“’Code?’” Herbie looked from one to the other.

Zindy harrumphed and rhymed-off Malky’s charter to their bemused visitor, “Malky’s Code: he won’t have anything to do with the supernatural stuff... he won’t have anything to do with the media... he won’t write a book even though he’s been offered a lotta money...”

Malky: “-- and with good reason! Once you make contact -– you let them in! They’ll be writing begging letters, making pilgrimages to our door!”

Herbie, slightly embarrassed that he’d caused trouble in paradise, assured them, “You come very ‘ighly recommended, y’know – by the Gardai commissioner ‘isself, no less...”

Malky’s jaw dropped, “What?!” he gasped.

“Oh gawd, I knew this would be a nightmare...” Herbie muttered under his breath, grimacing like a man tiptoeing through a minefield wearing a blindfold; he elaborated in an apologetic tone, “... a couple o’ weeks ago, the boss was at one of them grand-banquet dos they ‘ave in Dublin City where the top-nobs can ‘obnob -- y’know the sort o’ fing, VIPs, the politicians an’-all-that-lot. Well, the commissioner was seated next to the boss and they got talkin’ about strange cases and your name came up, an’ when ‘e mentioned that Barry McKee business a few years ago, the boss wuz all ears 'n ‘e got the commissioner to get your address...?”

Malky was furious, “The Barry McKee case was as weird as they come, but it wasn't anythin’ to do with the supernatural -- it was to do with the fact that he’s a schizo who liked to kill little girls.”

Herbie raised his eyebrows, “So all that tawk abaht ‘im bein’ possessed is just bollocks?”

“Well, he thought he was possessed, he heard voices...” Zindy was about to elaborate when Malky shot her a what-the-hell-look.  She took umbrage, “So what did happen, Malcolm? Why don’t you explain it?”

“You should know -- you were there -– we nearly died!” Malky snapped back.

“Yeah -- but who ‘elped us?! ‘Ow did the dog find them bodies in the woods? Who told 'im where to go?!”

Sensing trouble in paradise, Herbie reached into his inside-pocket and took out a large brown leather wallet, “Look, I tell you wot, if it makes it any easier,” he pulled out a folded slip of paper and set it on the table so that it stood like a little greetings-card, “the boss gimme this blank cheque ‘n awforised me to offer ya 7 grand to come up to the ‘ahse and ‘ave-a-butcher’s. If you can get rid of the spook, he’ll give you anovver free grand. That’s 10 grand! More, if ‘e’s really pleased! ‘Is pockets are deep, believe me.”

“Something strange in your neighbourhood? Who you gonna call...?” Malky sang.  

“I don’t think even the Ghostbusters would get 10 grand for one night’s work?!” gasped Zindy, £-signs in her eyes.

Heartened that the hostess seemed keen, Herbie went for the hard-sell, “7 grand just to ‘ave a shufti, 10 grand if you get rid of it. What would money like that mean to you two?” he said, looking at Zindy’s bump.

Malky saw his better-half look around the kitchen, read her mind and reminded her with a wagging finger, “Don’t start...!”

Zindy wagged straight back, “The Code of Silence made sense in the beginnin’ when we wuz inundated with whackos, weirdoes ‘n’ wankers of every stripe – before we ‘ad money trouble and baby on t’way!”

Malky pointed and laughed sardonically, “Did you just say that? Who the hell are you?!”

The chauffeur turned to Malky and spoke softly, “Lissen Mr C -- I fink the old man’s barkin’ up the wrong tree too, but ‘e’s at his wit’s end – ‘e finks there’s an ‘evil spirit’ out to get ‘im! Now, I ain't seen anythin’ myself, just the aftermaff - but ‘e says fings fly across the room, y’know, ornaments ‘itting the wall, books falling from shelves, that sort of fing. E’s afraid to go rahnd the ‘ouse on ‘is own. If it goes on for much longer, ‘e’s likely to ‘ave a stroke or ‘eart attack, the poor old git.”

“Who is 'e?” Zindy and Malky asked, in perfect harmony.

Herbie paused for a second then said: “Oliver Laphen.”

“Ollie Laphen?! ‘The Quare Geg’?!” cried Malky; amazed and delighted, he duly eschewed his standoffishness, pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“The old movie star? The hellraiser?” asked Zindy, only slightly impressed.

“Yip, that Ollie Laphen,” said Herbie, sheepishly, as if confessing a cardinal sin.

“My God. Ollie Laphen! That takes me back a-ways...” Malky enthused, whimsically, looking up, as if viewing the memory in a thought balloon hovering just above his head, “...in Belfast in the late 50s when me ‘n me younger brother Dessie were kids, we used to see his films at the Roy Rogers’ Movie Club at the Curzon on Saturday mornings and we loved the ‘Laffin Boy’ shorts he made in the early 30s when he was still called ‘Ollie Laffin’. Jeez, we must’ve seen them all at least 10 times each...!”

Zindy left Malky to wander down Memory Lane and got down to business, “And ‘’e’s willing to pay Malky 7 grand just to look round ‘is ‘aunted ‘ouse?!”

Herbie smiled and nodded.

Although mightily tempted, Malky still wasn't moved, “Nah – it smacks of exploitation. I’m not goin’ to take advantage of an old man who’s probably in the primary stages of senility... Oh, sorry, Herbie...”

The chauffeur shrugged and nodded, “You’re singin’ to the choir guv.  That’s what us lot reckoned, too - but in every ovver respect he’s fine. ‘E’s cantankerous and narky like ‘e always is, but ‘is memory’s fine - e’s workin’ on a one-man-show and ‘e don’t even ‘ave to look at the book. ‘E reads all ‘is contracts – even the small print - ‘e writes ‘is memoirs... If it is senility, then this poltergeist fing is the only symptom.” He winked, “Tell-you-wot -- why dontcha meet ‘im ‘n’ see for y’self.”

Malky had to smile. It was like being coerced by an aging Artful Dodger. He now knew how the big chauffeur had kept a job for so many years: Herbert Gorringe has made a career out of getting the boss exactly what he wants, by hook or by crook.

“Lissen, if you fink it’s all a loada ol’ cobblahs, you can tell ‘im so - take the money - and I’ll drive you ‘ome. No ‘assle. No one will ever know. Mr Laphen certainly won’t be tellin’. You know ‘ow much ‘e ‘ates the press.”

Zindy looked at Malky and batted her eyelids, “No one will ever know and you’ll have a great story to tell our kids.”

“Oh – you’re not coming?” said Malky, with a raised eyebrow.

Zindy indicated the engine parts on the table, “No time, lover –- we need the van back on the road by mornin’ cos I ‘ave to go to Arklow and pick-up the grocery order and fetch more paint from the DIY store. Incidentally, I’ll be ‘using’ t’credit card - you know the one I mean -– the one we owe £3,400 on?”

“My God woman, have you no shame?!” said Malky, semi-seriously, shaking his head with exasperation.

Herbie held up the cheque and flicked it with a finger, “A lotta lolly for a few hours’ work, my friends.”

“C’mon, Malk. Like ‘Erbie says, the ol' boy’s loaded and it’s only one night...?”

Malky stared at his paint-spattered hands and had a rethink: you’ll to get away from the smell of varnish and gloss, meet the great Ollie Laphen and have a look round his house...  “Well... I suppose one night wouldn't be so bad... ?”

Deal sealed, Herbie sighed with relief, got to his feet and shook Malky’s hand. Malky looked at Zindy and shook his head, “You know you’ll never hear the end of this, dontcha?”

Zindy grinned, “Careful Ollie Laphen’s poltergeist don’t drop summat ‘eavy on yer ‘ead, chook!”

Malky held his sides and pretended to cry tears of laughter.

“Oh yeah - one other fing,” said Herbie, looking around, “The commissioner-bloke told us that you usually work wiv a free-legged German shepherd...?”

Right on cue, the beast in question nosed the door open and sauntered into the room, someone call?

[Broo and Malky had a semi-telepathic link; they couldn't communicate directly, but over the years following the Barry McKee saga, they’d developed an intuitive sense of what the other was thinking.]

Malky glared, you heard all that didn’t you?

The old dog grunted, I can hear the rats building a nest three-doors-down, you twit - of course I heard. And I must say, it’s about time we had a case...

“It’ll be a bit of a lark, won’t it?” chirped Zindy, putting Malky’s toothbrush and shaving kit into his overnight bag. She gave the once over and shook her head, “you’re a walkin’ disaster. Things wrinkled as soon as you put them on.” She lifted the comb and tried to do something with his hair.

Her other-half still hadn't warmed to the idea, “Lark? It’ll be no laughing matter for me, wandering around some creaky, chilly stately-home all night with that grumpy hound at me heel.”

Broo growled back.

She stooped slightly and pointed the comb at the old dog, “Now listen – Broo – you be patient w’ ‘im and remember that ‘e ‘ates all this kinda spooky stuff,” she turned back to her man, “and Mal, you remember that Broo is old and crotchety and prone to snarkiness.”

How dare you madam! I’ll have you know my intellectual capacity is at its peak! The father of your child is the one with questionable mental faculties, not me!

Standing on tiptoe, Zindy cupped Malky’s cheeks and gave him one of her pep-talks, “Listen, chook... take a look round, if you don’t find anythin’ or it looks like a set up, or it don’t feel right -- whatever -- I’ll understand if you don’t take the money, OK?”

Malky was confused, “Then why....?”

She put a finger on his lips, “I’d appreciate a little time on me own, OK? Nothing sinister, just some time to meself. We've been in each other’s pockets day-and-night for 2 year now, so tonight -- for one night only -- I’m gonna finish workin’ on the soddin’ van, ‘ave a bath, write a coupla letters and get an early night. Meanwhile, you get to spend the night in a luxurious mansion in the company of yer boyhood hero.”

She wants a break from you, and who can blame her.

Malky shot the dog a reproachful glance, then smiled when he turned back to his better-half, “You don’t need to explain, Zin. You've got what’s commonly known as Calvert Fatigue.”

She pushed him out onto the landing, “Now fook off. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Broo surveyed the stray cats lined long the parapet of the old burned-out cinema. They had gathered to watch the Rolls roll by, just like they had at the time of the McKee affair: further confirmation, to him at least, that this journey was significant. He resolved to pay attention to every detail and use all his powers... to get to the bottom... of (yawn)... whatever....zzzzzzz He was asleep within 10 minutes. Malky looked over his shoulder and scowled. Lazy sod.

Herbie took the scenic route and drove slowly. The hedgerows bustled-by lackadaisically, the dry-stone-walls refused to become a grey-white blur as £400,000 worth of Rolls Royce shook ‘n’ shimmied along bumpy country lanes and pot-holey side-roads at a leisurely 32mph. He was enjoying the view of the misty Wicklow mountains, and despite the nip in the breeze and the baleful skies, he wound down his window and leaned out to take the air -- which reeked of compost and slurry, but which was entirely to his taste -- “Aaaaah! Smell that?! Laaave this cahntryside, I do! Y’know, at least once a day, I stop what I’m doin’ ‘n give fanks that we landed back ‘ere and not blahdy Swizzer-land. Swizzer-land,” he sneered. “I ‘ate blahdy Swizzer-land. The boss wuz a tax-exile for a while y’see...” He went on to list the many shortcomings of the Swiss in his bouncy cockney twang. Malky repressed the overwhelming urge to shout for Christ’s sake shut-up and step on it! and tuned him out. There he was, on his way to do something he didn’t want to do for people he didn’t want to know in a place he didn’t want to be, and the longer it took to get there the more the prospect bothered him. Bloody cheek, that Gardai Commissioner handing my name & number out to all-and-sundry – I should sue! ... Bloody hocus-pocus and hoodoo-voodoo... but as usual, money talks and principles go out the window... money, money, money... she’ll be setting up a Supernatural Detective Agency next... She’ll be advertising it in the paper...

Seemingly oblivious to the ennui emanating from the fidgety heap of grumpiness beside him, Herbie continued to natter away about getting acclimatised to the snail’s-pace of pastoral Irish life after so many years spent in the fraught, hustle-&-bustle of Hollywood: “They’re as nice-as-ninepence to ya just so long as yer putting bums on seats and bags of lolly in the bank – if not - they’ll drop ya like ‘ot potatah! Fankfully, the boss is always bankable – you put ‘is name on a marquee and you’s guaranteed a profit! ‘E still ‘as a core fanbase of millions who’ll come to everyfink ‘e’s in!”

Malky grunted a hollow, listless “Oh really?”

Unfazed, Herbie whispered in Malky’s ear: “Lissen, mate, if you wanna take the edge-off - ‘ave a drop of Irish. The boss keeps a flask in the glove-compartment for emergencies.”

Malky was caught off-guard and answered in an embarrassed stutter, “Er, no thanks, I don’t drink...”

“‘Recovering alcoholic’, are ya?” Herbie asked.

Although wholly nonplussed by the man’s audacity, Malky replied without raising his voice, “Let’s just say I had a problem at one time and leave it at that, shall we?”

But Herbie continued to pry, “Don’t take this the wrong way, pal, but you have the look of a man who’s no stranger to --”

“Oi! Enough!” Malky barked (Brooster woke up with a start), “Keep yer eyes on the road, Jeeves! Just cuz yer boss is willin’ to pay 7 grand for my services doesn’t give ye the right to dig into me personal life!”

Herbie was visibly taken aback by this unexpected tirade; he pulled down the peak of his cap so that it covered his eyes, straightened up in his seat, took the car up to a steady 40, and after a brief pause, spoke in a more professional tone, “I wuz only makin’ conversation, sir. If I’ve offended you in any way, I ‘umbly apologise and beg yer pardon, sir.”

“Forget it.” Malky turned away and looked out of the window.

A minute or two passed, and as the little surge of adrenalin dissipated, so the embarrassment sank in and he decided to restart the conversation, “Did I hear you tell Zindy you were in the army?”

Still somewhat narked, the chauffeur kept his eyes on the road and gave his name rank and number with the clipped diction of a well-drilled soldier, “Queen’s Royal Irish Fusiliers, 17 years: Corporal Herbert Valentino Gorringe 2063 reporting for duty, sah.”

Malky smiled, “Valentino?”

Herbie made a face, “It was that or Rudolph. My ol’ mum was a big fan. She was in-con-sole-able when ‘e died, grieved fer days, apparently.”

Where was another protracted pause, until Malky said, “I used to meet a lot of Tommies in Belfast in the early days of the Troubles. Seen a good few murdered, too. Bad times.”

The chauffeur turned slightly so that he could look Malky in the eye, “You wasn't chucking the ol’ Molotovs, was ya? You ain’t an ex-IRA man or anyfink like that, ‘is ya?!” Au contraire. Malky told him he was an ex-RUC policeman. Herbie was very interested, visibly relieved and wholly amazed, “Really? If you don’t mind me saying so - you don’t strike me as the type...?”

“My ambition was to be a detective, but I never made it out of uniform. I quit after my partner was gunned down right beside me and I went off the rails a bit and... Well, y’know...” Malky’s voice trailed off.

Herbie shook his head, “Gunned down right beside you? That’s rough that is.”

“But surely you’ve had near-death experiences yourself, Herbie, especially after 17 years in the army...?”

“Well, I wuz too young to serve in the war. I turned 17 the day after VE day. I didn’t join-up til the September of 46. And I never did no tour of duty in Norvern Ireland neevah, I was mostly overseas in Cyprus and the Middle East. We was part of a UN peace-keeping force tryin’ to keep the tribes apart: Jews, Muslims, Christians – not to mention the Greeks and the Turks! Bit like Belfast, but wiv loadsa sun, sand and bearded blokes in pyjamas wiv machine guns. Mind you, I saw the aftermaff of a lotta bombs, I saw fousands killed in genocides... terrible, ‘orrible it was... But I never really saw battle, just ‘minor skirmishes’. Luck, I suppose. It was during a tour of Norf Africa in 64 when I first met the boss!”

“Really,” asked Malky, suddenly interested, “you met oul’ Ollie while you were still in the army? You've been with him that long?”

Herbie was back on his favourite subject and relishing the opportunity to impart his favourite anecdote to a captive audience: “Oh yeah, it was me firtiefth birthday and I was on a day’s leave, so me and a couple of the lads went to Casablanca to paint the tahn several shades of crimson... and after a bit of a pub crawl rahnd the Kasbahs, I got separated from me mates, and while I was lookin’ fer ‘em, I strolls into this dark little tavern and sittin’ there in a corner was Oliver Laphen! Would you Adam ‘n’ Eve it?! ‘E was supposed to shootin’ an adventure movie wiv David Niven about archaeologists in World War Two called Diamonds in the Dust –- but he was skivin’-off cuz he’d ‘ad a row with the director and ‘e was layin’-low -- he didn’t wanna ‘ang round the ‘otel, so ‘e’s ‘iding-out in this dark little Kasbah, trying to be inconspicuous – wearin’ a black wig, big black shades, a kaftan and a fez - but I knew ‘im the minute I set eyes on ‘im! See, our CO was a big fan. He ‘ad all the reels of the comic shawts from the late 30s and some of the feature films the boss made for Paramahnt in the 40s – he used to get ‘em sent ovah and screen ‘em for the lads on a Satur’ay night! Anyway - there ‘e is, in the flesh, so-to-speak! Oliver Laphen! Jolly Ollie! So I go over an’ I say, ‘Can I ‘ave your autograwph Mr Laphen, sah?’ and at first ‘e‘s fumin’ – ‘e goes-off-on-one! Then ‘e calms dahn and says to me – ‘’ow the eff did you know it was me?!’ and I say ‘It’s the way you’re ‘olding your drink!’ Cuz ‘e’s always had this way of curling back ‘is little finger as if ‘e’s drinkin’ from the finest choy-nah. E ‘as these delicate li’l ‘ands, see...”

As he watched the chauffeur get more-and-more animated, Malky came to understand how a sensible, seemingly-well-balanced ex-squaddie like Herbert Valentino Gorringe could forsake marriage, family and blissful conformity just to spend his life at the beck-and-call of -- if popular opinion had it right -- a detestable, despotic, volatile, cranky little egomaniac like Oliver Laphen. Well, now he knew. Herbie wasn't just a fan – he was in love with the man. The pair’s long-term relationship had outlasted all of ‘The Quare Geg’s’ marriages put together. No wonder the story was related with such gusto and attention to detail, it was, after all, an epic romance.

“.... any’ow, at 400 hours, I ‘ad to get back to base, but before I go ‘e takes me to one side an’ ‘e says – ‘’Erbie, if you quit the army ‘n become my chauffeur and personal bodyguard, I’ll guarantee you a 50 knicker a week for starters, bed-‘n’-board - all the skirt you can ‘andle – plus -- you’ll get to see the world without ‘avin’ to worry abaht gettin’ yer ‘ead blown orf!’ So I laugh ‘n’ say I’ll fink about it. I fanked him for the best night of my life and we say ta-ra. I go back to camp finking it wuz all the blustah and idle boasts of a booze-‘ahnd and forgot abaht it.  But it didn’t stop ‘im. When ‘e asked for the fird and final time, I quit and I’ve been at ‘is beck-‘n’-call ever since.”

“Was it worth it, Herbie?” Malky asked.

The chauffeur thought long and hard about the question before answering. When he did, his voice was more mature and thoughtful, “E can be an ‘andful sometimes, but artistic people is prone to temperament, it’s ‘ow they’s able to do the fings they do. But I’ve learned ‘ow to balance it aht. I’ve been all over the world, visited all the major cities ‘n’ ‘istorical places... I’ve met a lotta Very Important People – besides movie stars an’ showbiz folk, there’s been world leaders, presidents, kings and queens, writers, top sportsmen – so whenever people awsk ‘’ow do you put up wiv ‘im?’ I say ‘take a look at me passport, me photos and me bank accahnt, moosh - there’s ‘ow!’” He turned to Malky and told him earnestly, “See, I’ve gotta lotta great memories. I’ve seen ‘istory bein’ made. I’ve supped Earl Grey wiv Picasso and knocked back bourbon wiv Dean ‘n’ Frank. I’ve made an omelette fer Einstein an’ cocktails for Noel Coward. I’ve played cards wiv Kate Hepburn for two straight days - and lost. No matter what the ol’ boy gets up to, I wouldn't trade those memories for the world.... Umm...” Something crossed his mind. When he spoke again, it was in a more tentative tone, “Look, before we get to the ‘ahse, I’d better mention the incident on Friday night wot started ‘im off.”

“Why? What happened on Friday night?” asked Malky, a little disconcerted.

“I was away visitin’ a lady-friend in Dublin, an’ apparently all the lights went aht and the ‘uge grandfavver clock in the lobby fell over and smashed on the floor -– the boss was frightened outta his wits -- fought it was burglars – so ‘e pressed one of the panic buttons and Charlie, our ‘ead of security, drove up to the ’ahse right away. But the power-cut musta shorted-aht the alarm system cuz ‘is swipe-card wouldn't work and the master key wouldn't turn in the lock! So, finkin’ ‘e’s under siege, the ol’ man pressed the button that calls the Old Bill, but by the time they got there, Charlie ‘ad managed to get in ‘n’ calm the old man down. Then the lights come on again – not just the lights that wuz on when the power went aht – but every single light in the ‘ole ahse including the bedrooms, bathrooms, the ballroom -- everywhere. By this stage, the boss is goin’ mental. Really, really scared.

“When I got back I got a right bollockin’ as if it was all my fault – like I ‘ad the temerity to ‘ave a night off! Any'ow, me ‘n’ Charlie searched that ahse from top to bottom; the cops  ‘n’ the security lads looked round the grounds, but we come up empty... there wuz nothin’ up iv the fuse-box, no sign of tamperin’ or anyfink dodgy.”

“Would the grandfather clock be easy to topple?” said Malky.

“Well, it’s set into the wall ‘n’ it’s solid, antique Bavarian pine, 9 foot tall wiv a ruddy great bell in it; it’s got a solid gold pendulum and it weighs around a two-and-an-‘alf ton, I couldn’t pull it dahn on me own.” Gorringe coughed then said, “And that’s the ovver fing... the boss’ been back on the bottle ever since, and if you know anyfink about the boss, you’ll know that ‘e’s a bit... volatile when ‘e’s on the sawse. So, ignore any strange behaviour, if y’know what I mean.”

Malky was a trifle miffed at being apprised of these tidings so late in the day; he was about to ask if there was anything else he should know when Herbie suddenly brightened and declared, “And ‘ere we are, my beauties! My little ‘ome-from-‘ome!”

Herbie slowed the limo to a funereal crawl as they entered a particularly picturesque little village, “Ahhh, ‘ave you ever been a little place like this before?” he asked, with a little smirk that hinted at a rhetorical question.

Malky honestly confessed, “No. I’m sure I’d remember if I had.”

“You wouldn’t ‘ave. This ‘ere is a protected community, see. Only a few people know about it.”

It was beautiful, rows of whitewashed thatched cottages with black gloss doors, all flowers beds and hanging baskets with a little square with a little roundabout in the centre, bedecked with a floral clock depicting the flag of St George (?); aside from the copious vegetation, there was very little sign of life and almost no sign of the 20th century. “What’s it called?”

“Bogmire. Pretty lousy name for such a laavly little ‘amlet, innit?”

If it wasn't for the faded & peeling Coca Cola sign stuck to the inside of the window of the post office-cum-newsagent and an old bicycle leaning against the bench outside a ramshackle little country pub (the Black Water Rat), they could be back in Tudor England. Malky made appreciative noises.

“It’s like a little oasis from bygone days, innit? You feel as if you’ve slipped frew a time-warp – eh?! But the funny thing is – it ain't Irish! See, most of the people ‘oo live ‘ere are descended from English peasant stock! Most of ‘em is originally from the wilds o’ Cornwall! The Duke of Roxborough brought ‘em ovah to build Pagham ‘Ahse ‘n ‘e built these ‘ere cottages for ‘em – and believe it or not, they lasted through the rebellion cos of a pact between the Irish rebels and the Roxborough family ‘n they’ve been ‘ere ever since. When ‘e bought the ahse the only proviso wuz that we keep the staff and let the Supplicants – that’s their religion, that is – live ‘n’ work on the estate.” Herbie went on to tell of the locals’ strange customs and bizarre lifestyle in a disbelieving tone, “... and they've been doin’ it fer 200 years straight!”

Malky looked around, “And this is all part of the estate?”

“Yep, it came with the ahse!”

This didn’t surprise Malky one bit. For an Irish ex-pat, the old man wasn't renowned for his patriotism; in fact, he was a close friend of Princess Margaret and during the height of the Troubles in the 70s he was renowned for making disparaging noises about the Republican movement in Ireland from the safety of his Bel Air mansion (when Lord Mountbatten was murdered by the IRA he told a NBC TV news reporter that the terrorists in question were ‘like a bunch of weasels attacking a lion’ and that Britain should ‘string ‘em up’), he was frequent visitor to the Whitehouse when the Republicans were in office, and was often mooted to be an anonymous sponsor of various right-of-centre US politicos -- he backed Nixon over Kennedy, was close to Ronnie Reagan since his  days as chairman of Screen Actors Guild, and was a frequent house guest of George Bush senior -- all of which made him a potential target for disgruntled boyos on both sides of the pond. It made sense that he’d want to live out his twilight years in a little slice of England transplanted into the heart of the Irish countryside, it suited his style: contrary to the end.

Herbie pulled-up outside a dainty little general store called The Peppermint Poke. The window was full of candy jars and pastries neatly arranged on little lacy paper doilies, “Dora oo runs the Poke is an Outsider, meanin’ she’s married to one of the Supplicants so she’s allowed to run a shop. None of ‘em is allowed to ‘ave a shop or make profit from their work, so the outsiders tend to do them fings, like business transactions and that. The local garda sergeant is an outsider, too -- he lives in that li’l cottage ovah there.” he pointed to one of the gleaming residences across the square...” Herbie opened the door, “I’m just gonna go in and get the Sunday papers ‘n’ a tube of Polos... I’ll only be a sec.”

Malky wound down his window to inhale the compliment of delicious odours to accompany the view: flowers, mown lawns and more flowers, “very restful. Then he heard a rumble outside the car -- a motorcycle had pulled up alongside and its rider, wearing a helmet with a dark visor, was looking through the driver’s-side-window. What’s this? Malky shrank back in his seat....The rider casually unzipped his black leather jacket and reached inside – for a second Malky flinched -- but instead of a weapon, he produced a video camera. Malky knew a maverick paparazzo when he saw one and immediately flew into a rage – he lunged out of the open widow, shook his fist and yelled, “Piss-off ya bastard! Get that f**kin’ thing outta my face or I’ll put my foot in yer arse!”

The shouting roused Broo from his slumbers. He saw the motorcyclist, heard Malky screaming and instinctively barked loudly and forcefully -- until he sensed that the stranger posed no threat and Malky appeared to be overreacting. He stopped barking, gave himself a shake and tried to get his bearings. The cameraman was quite small, dressed in biker’s leathers like Zindy’s biker chums, but these were more expensive and unsullied by general wear-&-tear. Then, as the bleariness subsided and his eyes refocused, Broo saw something that both startled and alarmed him. At first he thought it was the motorcycle’s exhaust fumes, then he realised the figure was shrouded in what he could only describe as a purplish-halo -- whatever it was, it was unlike any aura he’d ever seen before.

Malky was fit to be tied, “I’m not gonna tell you again, friend! If you don’t fuck aff immediately I’m gonna come out there and stick that camera where the sun don’t shine!!”

“That’s a take!” The biker cried, packing away his camera, “Thank you sir! Have a nice day!” he said and roared off, leaving a cloud of blue smoke in his wake. “Bloody paps – see – this is what happens when you do somebody a favour,” grumbled Malky.

Broo was still drinking in the atmosphere and looking for anomalies. Having been in places like this all over Ireland, the old dog had noted that each dainty village and township they visited had its own peculiar little ripples of the past shining through the present. On his travels he’d heard the echoes of ancient battles in the silence of the first light of dawn; he’d seen the children of ancient tribes playing on a busy motorway at noon; he’d seen 16th century Spanish galleons off the coast at Cork -– but Bogmire was a spiritual desert: there was absolutely nothing to sense or feel beyond the here and now. It was clearly old, spotless and brightly painted, but utterly devoid of soul. And that smell... beneath the floral scents and peat smoke, lay an ever-present stench that marred the otherwise wholesomeness of the place. Even for a dog that usually salivated at the stink of putrid flesh, it was hard to stomach. Most unusual...

Just then they heard the little tinkle of a bell and Herbie emerged from the shop with a bundle of newspapers under his arm and a Polo mint in his cheek; he got back in and offered one to Malky, “Did I ‘ear a mo’orbike?” he asked, “I was chattin' to Dora and I could've swawn I ‘eard a rumblin’ sahnd...?”

“Just a guy askin’ for directions,” said Malky, “so I told him where to go...”  

At that very moment, 3000 miles away, in the kitchen of a townhouse in North York, Toronto, Canada, the man of the house appeared in the kitchen doorway, barefoot in his pyjama bottoms, unshaven, hands deep in the pockets of his bedraggled dressing gown. 

“Emil! What the f**k?! Go get dressed – we’re late as it is!” shouted Fran, ever the fiery redhead, dressed to the nines in her Sunday-best, rifling through her purse in search of her car keys, “I told you to get ready an hour ago!” They were supposed to be going to her niece’s christening and they were running 10 minutes late. She looked under the cushions in the lounge; she looked in and under the couch; she checked every pocket in the coat rack. “Where the f**k are they?!!”

Emil watched her, his arms hanging by his sides, and said, “I’m not going. I have the shits.” 

Did I just say that? What the f**k?!

Fran, currently poking through the trash in the pedal-bin with the salad-tongs, threw her head back and mocked him in an ironic voice, “Hah! I knew it! Mom warned me – ‘he won’t go – he doesn’t even own a suit’! Well, it suits me – I don’t have to watch you get drunk and throw up in the swimming pool or make a pass at a waitress... Owww-ouch!” she’d cut her knuckle on the edge of a jagged tuna can, “F**k this!” she kicked the bin and ran to the sink to rinse it, screaming, “F**K! F**K! WHERE THE F**K ARE MY F**KING KEYS!!”

He knew exactly where they were. They were in his pocket. He was holding them in the palm of his hand; but for some strange reason he didn’t hand them over. It wasn't that he didn’t want to, it was because he couldn't. And no matter how hard he tried to communicate, his body wouldn't respond; he let her go on searching and said nothing.

She went to the knick-knack drawer in the welsh-dresser, rummaged around in the back and eventually emerged triumphant, “Ah - hah! The spare! I knew I’d put it somewhere!!” She had one last look in the mirror to check her mascara and top-up her lip gloss, “... If you go out make sure you turn on the alarm.... and if you go back to bed - don’t f**king smoke! That’s a new quilt and I don’t want it looking like somebody’s used it for target practice!” She strode down the hall to the front door; a few seconds later she came stomping back, madder than ever “You f**king asshole! You've done it again!! You've boxed me in! I can’t get my car out!” 

Emil remained silent. 

“Emil!” She approached him and looked up into his dull, blue eyes, “EMIL! You have to move your car! Are you listening to me?!

He stood and stared.

“Emil!”

“See you later, legislator,” he said, without smiling. It was a catchphrase he used when they said goodbye on the doorstep in those early days when they first moved in together; but here & now it just sounded weird. She gave him a sideways look, “Are you stoned?”

“Take my car.” He dangled his keys on his pinkie.

She grimaced at the smell of his breath, glowered and said, “Listen... I don’t know what the hell you’re on or what you are trying to pull, but my mother will be frothing at the mouth -– I was supposed to pick her 15 minutes ago -– this is a crisis!”

He dangled his keys.

She drew herself up and bawled in his face, “GET OUT THERE AND MOVE YOUR F**KING CAR!”

He jangled his keys.

She slammed her key down on the table and snatched his in one frighteningly limber move, “RIGHT! – I’m calling your bluff, asshole – I’m taking your beloved Porsche! You can take my Volvo -- I wonder what all those cutesy little students of yours will think when they see the delectable Dr Labatt driving through campus in a busted-up soccer-mom-mobile?!”

Emil stared back, unblinking and blank, and said, “I’ll miss you, Fran. You’re alright.”  

“F**k you, asshole!” She thrust the finger in his face and stormed out.

The slamming door was the last thing Emil heard before the darkness descended...

A few miles from Bogmire, along a road that was little more than a narrow lane, they arrived at a long, narrow lane lined on one side by yew trees concealing a tall, ivy-covered, red-brick wall that contained the entrance to Pagham House (or Paggum Ahse, as Herbie called it, making it sound like a particularly nasty proctological affliction), the stately-home of Oliver Laphen. Herbie reached into the inside pocket of his tunic and produced a small remote-control which he used to open a pair of inconspicuous but heavily fortified, solid iron gates, “As you can imagine, the boss is fanatical about security,” he pointed to the CCTV cameras perched atop the pillars either side of the gate, “this place ‘as got more cameras than Fort Knox.”

Inside of course, it was different story entirely: acres of well-tended lawns as smooth as billiard-table-baizes; vast flower beds moistened by a huge sprinkler system; topiary styled to resemble the figures in the Ascent of Man leading to the entrance of an extensive privet-maze; an enormous, ornate white-marble fountain with alabaster cherubs pissing into the air. It was all very tastefully ostentatious.

Like most of the world, his knowledge of Oliver Laphen was based on sensational gossip-columns he’d read in tatty magazines in various waiting-rooms over the years and the odd interview on Parkinson. Because Laphen was such an intensely private man, there were no official biographies and he used the services of an extremely litigious LA law firm to stymie any scandalous tomes that might shed light on the mystery he’d carefully nurtured over the years – a tantalising question: where did this fiery, working class, comic genius come from? The more reclusive he became, the more public interest increased, the more speculative the press became about his private life, the more outrageous the rumours -– the more tickets he sold. His career was indestructible. Not that everything was rosy on the home front. Enigmas, especially rich, volatile enigmas, are pap magnets; a good picture will fetch upwards of $10,000 so he was tabloid fodder from the day he stepped into the limelight. Editors from LA to Tokyo dispatched an army of dedicated investigative journalists to Dublin where they pored over thousands of files in public records offices in an attempt to trace the Laphen family line, but they always drew a blank: Jolly Ollie’s pedigree remained a tantalising mystery. He was certainly an Irishman by birth but refused to say anything about his childhood other than he was ‘educated by sadistic nuns’; he never talked about any parents or siblings and nobody knew where in Ireland he was from -- his accent was hard to pinpoint and changed as often as his anecdotes, the most famous of which was the story of his emigration to America when he allegedly stowed-away on a liner bound for New York at the age of 13 in 1929. After evading processing at Ellis Island he hitched his way across the States east to west and landed in Hollywood, where, according to (his) legend, he slept on the beach and did whatever work he could find during the day. At night he’d ‘hone his art’ performing slapstick in vaudeville, readying himself for stardom; two years later, at the age of 16, he was discovered by the celebrated ‘King Of Comedy’ Max Sennett. The talkies were the new big thing, and at a time when most silent stars were finding it impossible to ‘sound funny’, Ollie’s cartoonish Irish accent was a godsend and Sennett gave him his own series of 15 minute shorts. As Laphen retold this story over the subsequent decades, the narrative was wont to evolve until the embellishments rendered it wholly unreliable.

In the mid-30s when he traded under the moniker Ollie Laffin, he was happy to mug and gurn for the downmarket rags and Pathé News presentations; then, when he got ‘serious’ in the late-40s/early-50s, he stopped playing the fool and became a semi-reclusive thesp. The post-war world was a different place: screwball comedy and slapstick was old hat and Ollie was too canny to go down with the ship. When he returned to movies in ‘46 he went under the name of Oliver Laphen, stopped doing interviews and avoided all ‘that red carpet bollox’, preferring to leave the PR to his co-stars and directors who’d either guardedly sing his praises or proffer equivocal comments that were actually thinly-veiled digs, such as: ‘[working with] Mr Laphen was an experience I’ll never forget... but I’m trying.’ (Lauren Bacall) ‘He brings a piece of himself to every role and playing the villain comes so naturally [to him]...’ (David Niven), but one vox-pop in particular had stuck in in Malky’s mind: "He kept us mere mortals waiting for 4 hours before gracing us with His Presence, we went $4 million over-budget, 4 producers suffered a collective nervous breakdown and 2 of the crew died from heatstroke, but when you hire [Oliver Laphen], you get the best and some studios are prepared to set aside a few million to ‘feed the beast’.” Regardless of what his fellow-travellers thought of him, and how big a pain in the arse he was, Ollie Laphen = Box Office Gold.

“There she is!” cried Herbie, like an enthusiastic tour guide. The Rolls had rounded a bend in the driveway and Malky got his first glimpse of Pagham House.

“Jeez –- house is too small a word, Herbie! This makes Windsor Castle look like a B&B!” said Malky, when confronted by the huge, sandstone edifice of palatial proportions, with rows of latticed gothic windows, draped with thick beards of ivy.

The chauffeur chuckled, “Impressive, eh? It used to belong to the 10th Duke of Roxborough til ‘e fell on ‘ard-times ‘n the boss made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. We rent it aht when we’re ahtta town. It’s very popular wiv the Arabs ‘n the Chinese. It’s got 30 rooms, swimming pool, gym, ballroom, sauna -- it even has its own church -- the works!” They pulled into a gravel forecourt and parked at the foot of a huge white marble staircase leading up to a tastefully-weathered, balustrade-lined terrace. But Malky’s attention was drawn to another vehicle parked to the right of the steps: namely, the same Harley-Davison touring bike he’d seen in the village, and sitting on the steps was the mysterious rider/cameraman filming them as they drew up!

Malky was furious all over again, “What’s he doing here?”

“More to the point, ‘ow the ‘ell did ‘e get in?!” said Herbie, slowly unclipping his seat belt and opening his door, “I’ll ‘andle this...” Herbie got out, straightened his cap and walked toward the diminutive figure, “Can I ‘elp you, mate...?” Malky heard him ask, and then he and Broo watched as the biker promptly stopped filming, jumped down and met the burly chauffeur head-on -- he took off his helmet, grinned, opened his arms and the two embraced like they were very pleased to see each other.

“Uncle Herb – you look great!” trilled a cherub-cheeked, heavily-freckled, copper-headed American kid in his mid-20s, brimming with childlike-enthusiasm, speaking quickly and excitedly, “Listen - we’re gonna be shooting in July! I’m here to scout for locations and do the final negotiations...!” The lad stopped short when he noticed Malky trudging across the gravel.

“Sorry, Mr Calvert sir, I got a bit distracted then,” said Herbie, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “This ‘ere’s Kristof Katz, Mr Laphen’s grandson. Kris – this-‘ere is Mr Malcolm Calvert ‘oo’s come to... erm... sort out a little... plumbing problem...”

The young Master Katz took off a leather gauntlet, shook Malky’s hand, chattering incessantly, “Very pleased to meet you sir, I’m very sorry for the candid camera incident, but when I saw the car I thought my grandfather was inside and I wanted to catch him unawares but I caught you unawares and once you started to rant I couldn’t resist capturing that intense anger! I guess it’s the habit of lifetime -- Herb here will tell ya -- I’ve hadda movie-camera in my mitt since I was old enough to lift one – isn’t that right Uncle Herb? I’m a total geek!”

Malky gaped at him as if he’d arrived from another planet.

“Yer caffeinated up-to the-eyeballs again!” said Herbie, playfully clipping him round the ear and scolding him like a naughty schoolboy, “jet-lagged, ridin’ rahnd windin’ cahntry roads on a bleedin’ two-wheeled deff-trap?! Are y’ off your trolley, boy?! You coulda been killed -- there’s farm vehicles on these-‘ere roads, you coulda turned an ‘airpin bend an’ wahnd-up in the blades of a combine ‘arvester or summink!!”

Kris apologised for his over-enthusiasm and slowed down, “... anyhow, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Calvert,” he turned and pointed behind him, “welcome to Ollie Towers, The Laphen House -- Xanadu -- whatever you wanna call it.”

Now that he was up close, Malky saw the family resemblance; the lad was short, around 5’ 5”, the same steely-blue peepers and winsome dimples that had graced millions-upon-millions of magazine covers since 1930. Malky felt compelled to comment, “I must say, you are the spitting image of your granddad.”

Herbie was gushing again, “Not only that -- but he’s in’erited his talent too! Kris is a movie director!” he tweaked the lad’s cheek and pretended to punch his jaw.

Kris went all aw-shucks and kicked at the gravel with the toe of a leather boot, “Well, I’m about to direct my first full-length feature. I’m very excited. It’s been in development hell for 3 or 4 years and now it’s finally in pre-production.”  

“’E’s like a son to me!” Herbie put an arm around Kris’ shoulders, tweaked his cheek again and beamed, “when he was a nipper ‘is mum used to leave ‘im wif me on those days when she was... erm... uvverwise occupied...”

Kris, utterly unfazed, merrily took up the slack and filled in the blanks, “What Herb won’t tell you is my mom – Annelise Katz, née Laphen - had a lotta ‘substance abuse issues’ at the time, Mr Calvert. She used to unload me onto Herbie for weeks on end when she went on a jag [Now that the lad had mentioned it, Malky recalled reading something about one of Laphen’s daughters getting arrested for possession in the late 60s. In fact, from what he could remember, all 8 of the Quare Geg’s children had ‘issues’ of one kind or another]. Thankfully she’s been clean and sober for the past 6 years and now she’s counselling other women with similar issues...” he squeezed the hand dangling on his shoulder, “So I have this man to thank for givin’ me a relatively normal childhood! We used to play on the film sets in the studios when gramps was making a movie - that’s where I got my training!”

Herbie blushed, “Ach, it wasn't ideal, but where else was I gonna take ya? You know your granddad always ‘as to ‘ave me arahnd to fetch and carry for ‘im. And watchin’ a film get made is like watchin’ paint dry, if you awsk me - it’s a wonder it didn’t put you off movies for life!”

They were distracted by the sound of paws hitting gravel. The old dog had finally exited the Rolls but didn’t join them; he kept close to the car and watched from a distance. “Whassup wiv the pooch, ‘e’s gawn a bit shy, ‘in ‘e?” asked Herbie.

Malky called out to him: “What’s the matter with you, Hopalong? What has you all cagey, huh? Come over here and say hello!”

“Aww, look, he’s only got three legs,” crooned Kris, in a childishly sympathetic voice. Broo whimpered as he watched the glowing boy walk toward him, stooped and spoke softly as if addressing a bashful toddler, “You don’t have to be afraid of me, boy, I wouldn't hurt a fly! No I wouldn't...” he reached out

Broo recoiled and whimpered: Get off me, you idiot... you’re killing me!

But Kris carried on, unaware of the old dog’s distress, “Easy, boy, I won’t hurt you...”

AARGH!!

Kris cuddled him, stroked his back and made silly noises, “Eh? Who’s a handsome fella, then? You must quite the VIP, huh? A German Shepherd who’s so important he gets to ride around in the back of a limousine...?”

Mercifully, he was rudely interrupted by a loud voice from above, “Where the f**k have you been, Gorringe?!”

The boy stopped petting and turned away – Broo (unseen) wobbled for a second then keeled over.

There was an elderly man in a gaping, black silk kimono, electric-blue satin boxer-shorts, and bright green unlaced baseball boots standing at the top of steps; he pointed at Kris with an accusing finger, “and what-the-f**k’s that wee ginger gobshite doing on my property?!”

Malky looked up and regarded their prospective client. His collar length grey hair was thinning and unruly as if he’d just got out of bed, his heavily lined face clenched in distaste; but underneath the grizzled exterior and the bizarre attire, was none other the Quare Geg Himself: the fun-loving Ollie Laphen, former Crown Prince of Comedy! Looking at him now, though, it seemed there was little to laugh about, but you wouldn't know it to hear his grandson.

“Gramps! How-the-hell are you?! It’s me, Kris!” The boy put the helmet on the seat of the Harley and joyfully bounded-up the steps two-at-a-time, “so goo-ood to see you, dude...” he embraced the frail, bristly figure - who immediately pushed him away. “Gitcher filthy hands affa me, ye wee shite!! I’m not senile yet -- I know damn-well who you are!” Laphen put his fists on his hips and sneered in a high-pitched whine, “Whaddya want from me this time? Money, is it? Well, you can feck-off back to La-La Land - this bank is closed! Go and ask that crooked auld kike of a father o’ yours – oh yeah, I forgot – he’s back in the bankruptcy courts -- yet-again -- after yet-another one of his half-assed business-deals went tits-up in the water – still - why break the habit of a lifetime, huh? Once a loser, always a loser!” he stuck his little pug nose in the air, stuck out his chin and tied the belt of his silk kimono, like a superannuated prize-fighter squaring-up at a weigh-in. 

Doing his best to suppress a fit of giggles, Kris reassured him in a sober tone, “S’OK gramps, don’t have a cow, man. I don’t need any of your filthy lucre, after all -- we've got a backer! And for the record –- I’ve never asked you for anything in my life, you old goat -- and you know it!”

Laphen stepped closer, “Why are you here then?”

“To see you you...” said Kris, smirking.

Laphen went nose-to-nose with his grandson and growled, “So, you don’t need me?! Well! You've seen me! Now piss off!”

Kris put a hand on the old man’s shoulder and smiled, warmly, “C'mon, we’d better get you inside, it’s quite chilly out here and we wouldn't want you catching cold, now, would we?”

The old man swatted the hand away like a particularly stubborn piece of lint, “Stop treatin’ me like a feckin’ invalid! I’m perfectly capable of walkin’ unaided – I’m not in a feckin’ wheelchair yet!” in the same breath, he broke away, looked down at Herbie, pointed at Malky and barked, “Is this the guy?”

“Yessah!” Herbie replied, standing to attention, as if addressed by a superior officer, “this is Mr Malcolm Calvert, the, erm... consultant from Brodir.”

“Well – don’t just stand there like a spare cock at a hen-night! Bring him in!”

With that, Laphen stomped back to the house with Kris walking alongside him, chatting incessantly despite the cold shoulder.

As Herbie fetched his overnight bag from the trunk of the Rolls, Malky watched them walk off and commented, “Chirpy little git, isn't he?”  

Herbie slammed the lid shut and explained in a low voice, “Don’t let the ol’ Scrooge act give ya the wrong impression, Mr C. Kris is the apple of the old man’s eye - ‘e dotes on that boy. This is the way they speak to each uvvah. There’s no real malice intended so it’s best if you just let ‘em get on wiv it. Neevah wants to admit that it’s all a big contest to see who’ll crack first –- it usually ends in ‘uge laughs all-round. Only fing is the old man’s been ‘ittin’ the bottle again. I’m afraid ‘e’ll end-up sayin’ somefink really ‘urtful to the boy and ‘e might never come back. Kris is the only grandchild ‘oo ever comes to visit, see -- so for all of our sakes -- I ‘ope they chill-aht 'n have a civilised conversation.”

“Uh-huh,” Malky grunted, distractedly. The more he heard, the stronger the temptation to hand back the cheque and book a taxi back to Brodir, but he was so hungry now he had no choice but to reserve judgement until after dinner.

As they climbed the steps he suddenly realised they’d forgotten someone; he looked back and saw that his trusty companion was finding it hard to drag himself up, “Och, c’mon Broo, they’re not as steep as the stairs at the inn -- and you manage to climb those when you fancy a drink from the bog!” said Malky, turning away.

Broo could barely stand, let alone climb a flight of steps. When the young leatherman approached to indulge in a spot of light-petting and the strange, purplish halo enveloped him, Broo was instantly numbed -- he felt a sensation akin to sinking into a vat of virulent, viscous quicksand; a toxic vapour overwhelmed his senses -– and when the boy eventually let go, the dread feeling went with him. Alas, the men were too busy to notice him collapse in a heap, having been distracted by the sudden appearance of an angry old man who smelled of cigarettes, alcohol and bathsalts. Then something strange happened: when the younger man climbed the steps -- the aura around him grew more transparent –- by the time he embraced the old man - it had evaporated completely! One second it was there, the next – nothing. This was most perplexing. And if his senses were to be believed, aside from a few passing crows, there were none of the usual creatures one would find on an estate as big as this. Just like the village, there was no livestock or wildlife in the vicinity at all. Not only that, but as his head cleared, he realised that something else was missing: there’s no sign of anything Other in the ether either, and that bothered him most of all. The sky was darkening for dusk, the shadows were lengthening and the sun was low, so why are there no apparitions in the Golden Hour? Where was the shimmering residual energy of past events that can only be glimpsed through the rays of twilight? In a land such as this, historically ravaged by epidemics, tribal violence, famine and murderous invaders, there should be at least a few ghostly children playing in the fields... And yet, there’s nothing. If the Barry McKee case had taught him anything at all, it was to Beware Spiritual Vacuums. Bad things happen in Spiritual Vacuums.

... at that very moment (12:56 US Eastern Time), approximately 3600 miles away, at a checkpoint at the Canadian/United States’ border, on the Peace Bridge at Fort Erie, between Ontario and Buffalo, New York State...

“Sir? Sir... hello...

“Sir?!

“Wind down the window, sir!”

Somewhere... off in the distance Emil heard a man’s voice and a clicking sound. Metal on glass...

It wasn't like waking up, more like someone switching on a light. He was sitting in Fran’s Volvo, at what appeared to be the US/Canadian border!

“Sir, would you please wind down your window?” the muffled voice barked “SIR?!”

In his peripheral vision, Emil discerned a uniformed figure peering through the window. A US border patrol guard?! Holy shit?! What the f**k is going on?! 

But the inner-turmoil, dislocation and downright terror didn’t register on his face: on the outside, he was deadpan, ice-cool and composed. The inner-Emil watched his own hand reach out and push the button that wound down the window; he felt the crisp breeze buffet his face and arms as the glass descended.  If this is a dream, it’s very vivid. The guard stooped, leaned-in and sniffed the inside of the car. The outer-Emil remained unfazed, but when he caught a glimpse of himself in the wing-mirror, he soon realised why the guard was so suspicious.

He appeared to be wearing an unbelted towelling bathrobe, pyjama pants and his XXL Jimi Hendrix tee-shirt -- the ensemble he wore when he was slouching around the apartment... Shit -- you gotta be kidding me -- no briefs?! He desperately wanted to grab the hem of the gown and tuck the tails between his legs, but his arms refused to budge!

The certainties: it was daylight; he was at the border. I’m driving my wife’s 1979 Volvo estate dressed like an extra from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest! This has to be a dream! I’m gonna wake up at any minute...

Meanwhile, somewhat surprised that he couldn't smell any liquor, the guard returned to the business in hand, “May I see your passport, sir?!” he asked, acidly, in a thick New England accent. He was leaning on the roof now, the midday-sun gleaming off the chrome-plated badge on his cap; despite the dazzling flashes, Emil’s eyes refused to blink. The Inner-Emil wanted to grab his tie and shout: Stop me! I’m out of my mind! but his lips remained firmly zipped; his body remained still. For all-intents-and-purposes, he was a puppet with no mind of his own.

So who’s pulling the strings?

The guard was getting impatient; he pointed at the passenger seat, and snapped, “Your passport, sir!!

Emil’s outer voice said “Passport?”

The guard pointed, “It’s there. Right beside you, sir.”

His head turned to the right and he found himself looking down at the passenger seat; sure-enough, sitting atop an array of various official papers, was his passport. He saw his hand reach out, pick it up and hand it over. Maintaining eye-contact, the guard took the little booklet, ceremoniously shook it open and read it with a disdainful look. Emil had taken many acid trips and tried every psychedelic he could get his mitts on, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his voyages through the Doors of Perception. So what does that leave? Sleepwalking? He tried to make the fingers of his left hand pinch his thigh... but nothing.

“What brings you to the US, Mr Labatt?”

Emil heard himself say, “Doctor Labatt. I’m on my way to visit an elderly relative, if you must know. She’s very ill. Dying. It’s an emergency.”

What?!

“... Are you planning to drive all the way, Dr Labatt?” the guard asked, doubtfully.

The inner-Emil wanted to cry out: I don’t wanna drive anywhere! I don’t know why I’m here or what I’m doing! Please call my wife, Frances – she’ll come and get me!! In fact – arrest me! Take me into custody right now!!

Instead he heard his outer voice reply, dryly, “Yes, officer. Driving all the way.”

The guard handed back the passport, sighed heavily and asked pointedly, “Dr Labatt, have you been imbibing today? Narcotics, alcohol, have you taken any prescription drugs that might affect your ability to drive?”

This could work to his advantage: if I’m cheeky enough they might arrest me on suspicion of DUI! Alas, the invisible ventriloquist kept the voice calm and answered succinctly, “I most certainly have not been imbibing, officer. I’m a well-respected forensic scientist and a senior lecturer at the University of Toronto. I’m on my way to Baltimore to see an elderly relative with a terminal illness. It’s matter of some urgency. I need to get on.”

Baltimore?!

The guard handed back the passport and enquired, brusquely, “Carrying any foodstuffs, livestock including pets, liquor or sundries that may be considered contraband by the United States of America?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, would you mind popping the trunk, sir?”

Emil didn’t stir.

“Sir... pop the trunk?”

“This is my wife’s car and I don’t know where the trunk popper is.”

‘Trunk popper’?! Listen to me! Arrest me, you fool! I’m frickin’ nuts!!

Shaking his head, the guard reached in and groped under the wheel; “There she is,” and tugged the lever.

While the guard searched the trunk, the Inner-Emil tried to think logically: Could I have been inadvertently poisoned at the lab? Unlikely, he was very careful about sterilisation and wore a mask at all times... Have I ingested something in the course of my work... a fungus...? A spoor that causes one to act out in some way...? But he was ignoring the obvious: there was a taste in his mouth -- a taste that was as familiar as it was bitter and earthy that usually preceded the bouts of sickness. In fact, it had been happening ever since he’d got back from the dig in Kildare 2 years ago when they discovered the bog mummies (he’d abandoned the annual expeditions after his little fling with Niamh). Lately, he’d been prone to intermittent lapses in consciousness and bouts of short-term memory-loss. He’d find himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for hours on end. Fran thought he was smoking too much weed, but not even strongest strain of mary jane could induce blackouts like this, and nothing would leave a taste in his mouth this bad.

The trunk slammed shut. The guard returned, “Everything seems to be in order, Dr Labatt...” he leaned on the roof and spoke close, “Listen doc, if I was you I’d stop at the first motel I came to and I’d get myself a couple of hours sleep. Then I’d have a shower and a change of clothes and I’d drive the rest of the way feeling wide awake ‘n refreshed. I wouldn't want to fall asleep at the wheel and maybe kill myself or some innocent folk who were unlucky enough to be travellin’ the same road. Whaddya say to that, doc?”

An uneasy silence followed. The inner-Emil waited for his body to respond but nothing came: his eyes remained unblinking, his mouth stayed shut. He prayed that this was a turning point -- that he’d do something so outrageous they’d have to take him in -- but it never came. Finally, the guard sighed and patted the roof with the flat of his hand, “Welcome to the United States, doctor.”

Before the lights went out, Emil heard his voice reply with a curt, “Thank you. Have a nice day.” He felt his right hand release the handbrake; he felt his foot gently depress the accelerator. He watched as the Volvo taxied through the checkpoint; he paid the toll and ventured onto the open road... that was the last thing he remembered before the darkness descended again...

Malahide, Dublin: The Somerville family were going to Mass.

“Put on yer seat-belt, Cate, luv. You don’t have to sit in the baby-seat but you still have to strap yerself in,” said Somerville, getting into the driver’s seat.

In the back, Cate turned to her younger sister, “See, Cathy – he called it a ‘baby’ seat!’”

“Mommeeeeeeee!” Cathy wailed.

Pat got into the passenger seat and took control: “Ssshhhh, Cathy.... Cate don’t tease Cathy! You’ll start her off -- then baby Clare will start!” She playfully slapped her husband’s shoulder, “That’s your fault, daddy! It’s a CAR seat not a BABY seat, silly -– it even says so on the little label ‘Car Seat’ –- so-there, Miss smarty-pants-Caitlin -- you were wrong!”

“Daddy said it not me.”

“It was a slip of the tongue, Pat.”

“He didn’t mean to say it, Cathy. I’ll never hear the feckin end of this... will you be more careful what you say!”

“I’m not a baby I’m 4 and 4 months! I have to sit in it cuz I’m too wee for the seat belt!”

“That’s right! You tell ‘em Cathy! It’s a seat for small people, not babies! Cathy’s very sensitive and unassertive and I’m trying to build her confidence!”

“Daddy, what’s ‘police brutality’?” asked Cate, apropos of nothing.

“Where did you hear about ‘police brutality’?” said Somerville, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

“One of the older girls shouted it when Sister Marie dragged her into the bogs to wash her face.”

“Toilets, Ladies, loo or lavatory, please, Cate, dear. What are bogs?” said Pat, sternly.

“Sorry mommy: ‘Bogs are Irish swamps...’” Cate sang, rolling her eyes.

Herbie led the way through the huge front door into a huge, cavernous sandstone vestibule lit by a quartet of gothic, arched windows, not unlike the narthex of a Christian church, but cluttered with precisely the sort of tone-lowering kitschy bric-a-brac that one would expect a working-class-boy-made-good to put on display -- as much a screw you to visiting nobs & snobs as it was a totem to his wealth and wilful nature, to wit: a suit of armour wearing an American Indian headdress, a deep-sea diving-suit with a stuffed monkey’s head in the helmet; a pair of large Persian vases filled with strange umbrellas. One item in particular gave Malky cause for pause: standing to the left of the adjoining Gothic archway, stood a life-sized waxwork of the Master of Mirth himself, fashioned and dressed to represent his ‘hey-day’ in the 30s; this waxen Laphen was the youthful, joyful Jolly Ollie Laffin, grinning that trademark  squidgy-grin, complete with pinchable dimples, the rash of freckles across the bridge of his little pug-nose, the glassy sky-blue eyes gleaming like sapphires – you couldn't help but smile. Malky couldn't help but remark, “Whatever happened to that sweet li’l guy, eh?”

The burly chauffeur didn’t take the bait and doggedly maintained his chummy, sunny disposition, providing information with the patter of a well-informed tour-guide, “That used to reside in the foy-yer at Madame Toussauds in Lahndahn! They replaced it wiv a more recent model in the 70s an’ the boss brought the originals back ‘ere when he bought the ahse. This one was done in ’38, just after his first full-length feature: Ollie and Molly Strike Oil!” Herbie moved to the right of the connecting archway and unconsciously adopted an almost identical pose to the grinning effigy on the left, “This way, Mr Calvert. I’ll take you to yer room and you can freshen up ‘n that ‘n we can tawk about the ‘situation’ over dinnah.”

As they walked through a slate-floored lobby lit by muted spotlights, it was more of the same: a veritable Ollie Laphen museum exhibit; an autobiography laid out chronologically -- from glass-cases containing newspaper columns, magazine covers and PR stills from the slapstick days of the 1930s -- to the chin-stroking thesp (a framed headline in The Irish News: ‘Laphen’s Lear is a masterclass!’). The dark, wood-panelled walls were lined with framed photographs of Ollie pressing flesh and embracing some of the greatest movie-makers, movers-and-shakers of the past 60 years: FDR, Bogart, Monroe, Gable, Jackie O, Bing, Hope, Groucho, Einstein, Fidel, Vidal, Hitchcock, Wayne, JFK, Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger, Elvis, the Dalai Lama, the Beatles, the Queen of England and various royals – as far as the 20th century is concerned, Ollie is the OED definition of ubiquitous. As they passed through the connecting archway, Malky got quite a jolt - enough to stop him dead in his tracks. Dead being the appropriate word, for in the shadows of the dimly lit reception hall stood a menagerie of dead things ready to attack -- lions, bears, tigers, panthers -- feral, snarling, glassy-eyed, posed in a stance of attack; ugly birds-of-prey hung on wires from the rafters, talons bared, poised to swoop; and to be certain that arachnophobes didn’t feel excluded, there were a few tarantulas strategically attached to various pillars and posts.

Malky gaped and gasped, “Wow! Did Ollie kill all these himself?!”

This time Herbie did seem a wee bit uncomfortable, “Nah, ‘e commissioned ‘em from a taxi-dermist’s in Sarf Africa where they can get you anything...” He sniffed and shook his head, “I ‘ate it too, to tell the troof – I never come frew ‘ere if I can avoid it. It’s the old man’s sense off ooma, see – he likes to lull visi’ors into a false sense of security then - aargh! They get the shock of their lives,” he reached behind a curtain and threw a switch -- the animals’ eyes shone bright red and and roared in their respective voices. “The boss ‘ates animals, see –- he got rid of all the livestock ‘cept for stables when ‘e bought the ahse. ‘E ‘ates ‘orses most of all. ‘E got thrown by a donkey when ‘e was doin’ a cameo in Around the World in Eighty Days in ’55 or ’56 –- ‘e walked orf the set and refused to ‘ave anyfink to do with animals evah again! Animals and kids. If he could get ridda the crows he’d be ‘appy.”

Broo found the menagerie obscene and growled accordingly.

Their attention was briefly diverted by shouting in a room somewhere further in: “... Will you quit naggin’ me – ye’re worse than a feckin wife!”

“NO! I won’t stop til you see sense! If I don’t say it – who will!?! You’re cracking up!! You’re a delusional... egomaniacal narcissist! You’re like Stalin without the people-skills...!”

Herbie quickly ushered his guests into the lobby and closed a connecting door turning the voices into incoherent murmurs, but Malky had heard enough. Herbie’s stoic exterior slipped, he got jittery and muttered something about an ‘Inquisition’ under his breath. Malky was about to ask what he meant when he quickened his step and led the way through another archway that led to a lobby at the foot of a huge white marble staircase cleft with a dark scarlet runner. On the bottom step stood the other waxwork of Ollie dressed as a tramp holding the Oscar statuette for his role as a shady boxing promoter in the movie Knuckledusters. In an alcove in the rear wall to the left of the staircase stood an imposing, but badly-damaged grandfather clock; the glass insets covering the face and pendulum case were smashed, the hour-hand hung limp on the wheel and part of the ornate, intricately hand-carved casing was cracked down one side.

Herbie stood next to his guest, looked up at it and said, “Big f**ker, innit?”

Malky was inclined to agree that it was highly unlikely that such a huge piece of solid timber could be toppled so easily by a man as old and small as Ollie.

The bickering voices were making Herbie very uncomfortable, there was a pained expression on his big, weather-beaten face. As they climbed the staircase, he said, “Look, Mr Calvert... I don’t know ’ow to say this... what I mean to say is.... you might ‘ear certain fings whilst you is ‘ere... and I don’t like ‘avin’ to ask... but we’d be grateful if you would sign, for the want of a better phrase, a gag order.”

Malky shook his head, “Like I said, Herbie, I hate the press as much as ‘oul Ollie, but I don’t feel comfortable signing that sort of thing. Cuz if there is anythin’ iffy goin’ on – I’m not sayin’ there is – but should we detect signs of chicanery or skulduggery in the course of our ‘investigation’ -- like, say, we uncover a plot to get the ol’ bugger certified and bleed him dry or rewrite his will -- a gagging order could severely hinder an official investigation, and, when all’s said and done, I’m on the side of law and order.” He held up his right hand, “But if it makes you feel any better – as far as petty gossip and scandal-mongering is concerned -- my lips are sealed,” he turned, looked down at Broo and added, glumly, “... can’t speak for the dog, though...”

Broo grunted, still too stupefied to take anything in.  

In light of such an earnest assurance, Herbie relaxed a little and explained, “Um well, the ‘Inquisition’ I mentioned refers to some recent sackin’s in the last week or two. ‘E’s fired a coupla security guards, the assistant gardener and the young gal who ‘elps out wiv the ‘ahsework on Tuesdays ‘n Fursdays!”

“Why did he sack them?”

“Cos somebody leaked some gossip to an American tabloid ‘n it could only ‘ave come from the staff, so ‘e hadda clear-aht.” Herbie took a deep breath and spoke in a half-whisper, “So you can see how bad it is ‘ere. It’s got to the point where the only people ‘e trusts is me and the ‘ahsekeeper, Mrs Sparkes - and ‘e only trusts ‘er cuz she’s from the village and they believes all this ’aunted ‘ouse bollox.”

Again they were distracted; this time it was the jingle of unbuckled buckles and the stomp of motorcycle-boot-heels on the chequered tiles below, “Uncle Herb! Is it true? He’s sacked Scanlon?!” Kris shouted from the hall, clearly incensed. The three turned and looked down; Herbie maintained eye contact but didn’t answer; his uneasy silence said it all. “He has?! Shit! Where did he go?”

Herbie lowered his head, looked at his shoes and said, “Nobody knows. He packed up ‘n walked aht wivvaht a word ‘n we’ve ‘eard nuffink since.”

The lad stamped his foot and punched his thighs with his fists in a sudden fit of anger and disbelief, pacing back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, as the implications hit him one by one, “This is such bullshit, Uncle Herb -- I was working with Scanlon -- he was helping me with the movie -- what did he do?!”

Herbie’s head dropped, “Look Kris, yer grandpaw’s been ‘avin’ a bit of bovver lately and...”

“And where’s the cat? Don’t tell me he’s fired him too?!”

“He ran away.”

“Huh?! Fey Ray ran away? I not friggin’ surprised! The entire estate is a no go area for anything with more than two legs!” yelled Kris, without realising how odd it sounded, and stomped off in a huff; a few seconds later they heard him shouting at the old man in another room.

“Do ever stop and think: ‘hey, maybe I’m the problem?’ – cuz unless you straighten-out you’re gonna die a very lonely old man...” “Ach, blow it out yer arse, ye ginger shite-hawk...!”

A door slammed and the squabbling voices became muffled and unintelligible again. Herbie put a hand to his brow and groaned to himself, “Kris, son, you couldn't-a picked a worse time to pay us a surprise visit...”

“Who was Scanlon? The butler?” asked Malky.

“No, groundskeeper, but he might as well’ve been,” Herbie replied, unhappily, “’E did all the odd-jobs arahnd the ahse. Lifetime’s service – gone - jus-like-that - phfft! Kris an’ ‘im wuz thick as thieves too. ‘E knew all the stories about this place. Kris used to sit up for hours on end listenin’ to ‘im but Scanlon and the boss never really got along – Scanlon came wiv the ahse, see, just like all the servants – but ‘e wuz a bit of a law onto ‘isself. When we checked, we found ��irregularities’ in our finances. The boss confronted him, he couldn’t answer, ‘n that was that.”

They reached the second landing and the old retainer ushered them along a long corridor with row-upon-row of sky-blue doors with ornate brass name plates, the panelling in-between bedecked with gold and silver discs, “Were all these recorded by Ollie?” asked Malky, genuinely impressed.

Herbie, pleased to have a diversion, nodded and cheerfully slipped back into tour-guide mode, “Oh, people forget ‘e was a great crooner. In the 50s he recorded loadsa LPs and they wuz big ‘its all ovah the world - not-so-much in the US or Britain - but ‘ere in Ireland ‘n France ‘n’ Germany.  Can’t walk dahn the street in Japan. We go over to Tokyo every now-‘n’-then and ‘e records all these TV commercials for ‘em. Liquor, potato chips, candy bars, mostly. ‘Big bucks for a load of ol’ bollox!’ ‘e says.”

“I know how that feels,” muttered Malky, thumbing the cheque in his pocket.

Herbie opened a door with an engraved plate bearing the legend The Wonderland Suite and put the case on an ottoman by the door. The room was weirdly magnificent, in an oversized, child’s playbox type-way. The floor was a chessboard, there were huge cushions in the shape of chess pieces scattered around the floor; the walls were decorated with blow ups of Tenniel’s drawings of Alice in Wonderland characters; an emperor-sized four-poster swathed in white satin sheets patterned with black diamonds; and a large, white tallboy with outsized, bright red knobs and drawers that were shaped to look warped and uneven, like a prop from a kids’ cartoon. “’Ere’s the TV,” he said, opening the doors of a huge white sideboard to reveal a 38” screen, “If you wanna take a walk round before dinnah -– go ‘ead, nowhere’s off limits -– oh, part of the east-wing’s locked-up, but I can get the keys from the safe and take you down later. There’s some PJs ‘n wot-not in the dresser drawer and fresh towels in the en suite. There’s the phone,” he pointed at an ornate, art deco phone, “just dial 9 for an outside line.”

Astonished by his surroundings, Malky could only gaze and nod his head.

Herbie clicked his heels and stood to attention, “There’s plenty of ‘ot-wa’ah if you wanna ‘ave a showah and a shave or wot-evah. Dinnah will be served at 8pm sharp (it was presently 5:50pm), I’ll bang the gong. In the meantime, make yerself at ‘ome 'n I’ll see you at 8,” said Herbie, brightly, closing the door behind him.

Malky sat down on the edge of the bed and examined a brass plated console next to the headboard; he pressed the first button: the curtains closed; he pressed the second: the curtains opened; he pressed a third and the lights either side of the bed came on; he pressed the fourth and the drape across the canopy over the bed rolled back to reveal a full-size, horizontal mirror. “Bit sordid for a room that looks like a nursery,” Malky opined, flopping down and looking up at his reflection, “God, I’m getting old. Remind me to close that curtain before I go to bed – if I wake up and see meself in the morning I’m likely to scare meself to death.” He kicked off his shoes and writhed in the welcoming sea of satiny-softness, like a Labrador pup in an unfurled toilet roll, “Oh, I just wanna sleeeeep... wake me up in September when the baby’s born...”

Broo growled quietly, that’s right, you have a nice relaxing catnap while your tiny, put-upon wife labours over a hot engine just so that she can get that wretched old banger of a van back on the road in order to buy provisions and decorating materials to build a nest for you and your unborn progeny.

Malky sat up, “Hmm. maybe I should ring her. This is our first night apart since we moved in together. I’d better give her a progress report.” He rolled over, picked up the art-deco phone and called the inn.

“Well, what’s Ollie’s house like?! Is it dead grand or what? I wanna know everything!”

He gave her a detailed description of the house so far, right up to and including the mirror in the canopy over the bed, “... the stories are true, though -- Jolly Ollie is one grouchy oul’ shite. I don’t think I’ve ever met such an obnoxious old git in all me life.” he said, shaking his head. “Zindy, what the hell am I doing here? This isn't me.”

Zindy had obviously been thinking about it too, “Listen luvver, this ain’t a justification or an excuse, but both of us know that there’s certain things we can’t explain away with logic. I mean, look what ‘appened with Barry McKee? Just put yer Sherlock hat on and look at it from a detective’s perspective; treat it as a sorta murder-mystery weekend. What about Broo? He should be able to let you know if there’s anything spooky about the place?”

“I dunno, he seems a bit drowsy, like he’s half-asleep,” said Malky, giving the old dog a cursory glance.

Of course I’m sluggish, you oaf -- this place is sucking the life out of me! Can’t you tell?!

But the semi-telepathic link remained infuriatingly out of order, “It was a long drive. He’s probably knackered.” Then, much to Broo’s chagrin, they forgot about him and exchanged love yous, miss yous and take cares before hanging up.

“Have you noticed somethin’?” said Malky, rhetorically, going to the en-suite and turning on the light; he looked around, “Hmmm,” he opened the bathroom cabinet: the mirror was on the inside of the door. “Whilst me ‘n Zindy were talking, it suddenly occurred to me -– there isn't a mirror to be seen around the house -- even the one above this bed is covered by a curtain.” Malky nodded, “It’s ironic, isn't it: the big Alice in Wonderland freak who doesn’t have Looking Glass –- an egotist who treats you to a personalised autobiographical stroll through his glory days but doesn’t like to look at his own reflection? I find that somewhat strange...”

5 minutes ago: Zindy put the receiver back in its cradle, sat back and winced, “Settle down, kiddo,” she said, patting the elongated face of Jimi Hendrix stretched across her bump, “I still have a gearbox to sort out before we ‘ave a nice bath ‘n go to bed.” She sat at the kitchen table, radio tuned to a classic rock station (Malky listened to nothing but BBC Radio 4) and sang along to Deep Purple’s Child in Time, wailing like a banshee as she screwed and unscrewed oily nuts and rusty bolts: très cathartic. She felt a little guilty, but surely she was entitled to a night on her own. She looked down at the bump: I mean the two of us. I’ll never be alone again

Zara ‘Zindy’ Lindsay, you see, was an accident; everybody told her so.

Ever since she could understand rudimentary English, her aunts and her mother would mention it regularly - usually after something burned down or yet another little boy’s mother had arrived at the door complaining that she was demanding dinner-money with menaces. When she was old enough to understand the mechanics of human reproduction (hard not to when you live on a farm), they’d tell her she was the result of a drunken one-night-stand with a Spanish scout master (visiting Burnley on an exchange-visit) that no one had seen or heard from since. Fortunately for Dory, the Lindsays were/are a well-to-do family with links to the cotton trade that go as far back as the 17th century, so they had the wealth and power to cover it up. After a secret birth, mother Dory and baby Zara were spirited away to a remote farmhouse in the heart of the Lancashire countryside under the care of a pair of huge, lumbering maiden-aunts. Unlike the petite and genteel Dory, Maggie and Lottie were tall, mannish land-girls with no time for molly-coddles and sentimentality -- what’s more they didn’t care what their niece got up to so long as she didn’t burn the place down or leave a gate open (she could drive a tractor by the age of 6). When she was 7, Dory married and moved out, but Zindy didn’t like her new stepdad and he didn’t like her (a snooty, middle-aged bank manager who read the FT and went to Mass twice a week). She preferred Dory’s long-term boyfriend Tam Horsham who drove the Mother’s Pride bread van; but he was too common, apparently, “He eats his dinner off a tray and smokes in the bath!” said Dory, tartly, when asked if Zindy should start calling him dad. So, after numerous tantrums, she was allowed to stay at the farm and enjoy the relative freedom of life with the ‘Looney Lindsay Sisters’ (as the locals called them). Then puberty hit, so did a lifelong passion: motorbikes. She found a broken down old ‘39 Triumph Tiger in the barn and with some help from Lottie (“It belonged to an old boyfriend who left it here in ’42 when he went to war... but he never came back for it so I assumed the worst.”) she cleaned it up and replaced the missing parts. It took 8 months of scouring scrapyards and hard labour, but she managed to restore it to its former glory. She was in the Gazette! ‘Tearaway Tomboy Triumphs!!’ Consequently, she met dozens of motorcycle enthusiasts and a lot of them just happened to be Hell’s Angels. That’s when she first got that weakness in her knees. Big, fat, hairy men. Her pals were aghast. It could've been a father-daddy complex or just a weird perversion, but she could get enough of grizzled, over-weight geezers most girls would cross the road to avoid.

In spite of her aggressive side, she was quite the artist and spent hours quietly painting and sketching the scenery behind her great-aunts’ farm. According to her second year teacher in her annual report (Zindy refused to go to boarding school and went to the local comprehensive): ‘She has shown a flair for art and is very intelligent – when she wants to work, which isn't often ... for the most part she is headstrong, opinionated, brusque and quick to temper; a girl who sees life as a big adventure ... it may be a symptom of her diminutive stature that she feels she has to be brash and contrary, but if she continues in this fashion she may face expulsion....’

Zindy just couldn't be tamed. She was up before the magistrate on a regular basis, mostly for driving without a licence or brawling with boys twice her size. On her 18th she stood on a table in the Flat Iron pub in front of her closest friends and allies and vowed never to settle down to a life of domesticity, to forsake motherhood and be a free spirit for the rest of her life. Three weeks later, she moved in with a recently divorced woodwork teacher 17 years her senior. He proposed (‘wanna shack-up?’) and she couldn't say no. So began her lifelong ‘thing’ for older men – the daddy syndrome, probably.

The cohabitation with the woodwork teacher was as passionate as it was incendiary – he turned out to be a secret drinker – there were vodka bottles hidden all over the flat; she tried to keep up for a while, but all they did was fight. Things came to a head with the couple spending a night in the cells of Bottle Street nick. The desk sergeant told her he was a lost cause – “He’s dried-out 3 times -– and he’s still the same mess he was when I first started in here 15 years ago! My advice lady – run as fast as them wee legs can take ya – find a fit young man with a good job!” She took this advice to heart, and a in a few months she met a recently widowed sculptor at a Henry Moore exhibition –- this time 40 years her senior; tall, with long grey hair who dressed like Tom Wolfe -– and got swept up in a whirlwind romance. ‘Whirlwind’ in the sense that the trail of destruction they left behind: various foodstuffs were hurled, crockery was smashed, household utensils took flight and embedded themselves in walls. Zindy loved it. She loved him. Alas, his kids, two of which were older than her, did not approve and weren’t shy about letting her know. It was grist for Zindy’s mill; it only strengthened her resolve. She thrived in adversity; she lived to Fight the Good Fight and persevered with the relationship without a thought for the toll it was taking on the poor man’s heart. Of course, like most Spring/Winter love affairs it ended with a lonely vigil in a draughty hospital corridor listening to the impassive beep of medical machinery whilst his own flesh & blood hold his hand as he drifts over. Previously estranged siblings now united in their grief against a common enemy: “The stupid bitch is still sitting out in t’corridor.” “She’s only after ‘is money.” “She looks about 9, makes you wonder...?” She heard every word, approached and told them in no uncertain terms she didn’t want or need his money – all she wanted was to organise the funeral in accordance with his last wishes. They told her his last wishes were enshrined in his last will & testament, not word of mouth, and while they were on the subject, he hadn't left her anything. They told her he was never done talking trash about her behind her back, telling them how he didn’t trust her; that she was a little gold-digger. Meanwhile he was telling Zindy how ungrateful and spiteful his children were and how they’d never done a day’s work in their lives! She had to stand there and listen as they sneered and talked about the stranger with whom she’d spent the last 2 years. It turned out he was a compulsive liar. His wives were all basket-cases by the time he’d finished messing with their minds. All told, the heart condition came as a result of the stress of numerous love affairs and having to remember what lie he told to whom.

Zindy swore to herself that she’d never have anything to do with men ever again! She cut her hair short, dyed it blue and foreswore make-up, skirts and blouses, bought a motorbike and toured Europe with a chapter of Hell’s Angels who treated her like one of the boys. The vow was broken 5 years later when she accompanied her new pals to the Isle of Man for the TT and met a biker from Wicklow. Robert ‘Raspo’ Canning was a built like a brick-shithouse with a long plaited (usually purple, sometimes blue) beard and intense stare (hence the moniker; Raspo: short for Rasputin). He was a nightmare in a studded leather jacket but Zindy was besotted with him. Despite his hulking size, expanding waistline and intimidating manner, he was smarter than the average bear. He read science fiction and knew a lot about astronomy. They used to ride up to Donegal, sit on the cliffs and he would teach her the consolations. She was hooked.

While she was there, one of her great-aunts died and Raspo took her back to Salford for the funeral. She inherited £30,000. Then Barry McKee, one of the gang of bikers from Brodir, happened to mention that his father was selling a seaside pub and she was very interested. She could run a business - she used to do the sculptor’s book-keeping and worked behind a bar in Germany for a few weeks; plus, Brodir might’ve been a rundown town, but it was a Mecca for bikers from all over Europe -- trade would be brisk –- she couldn't see what could possibly go wrong!

But you don’t know anybody until you live with them for a while.

At first, Raspo enjoyed playing host and worked behind the bar, but he had other business interests and that was OK – she preferred running things on her own – it was her name on the licence, her responsibility. She never asked about his business, she didn’t want to know, but she assumed he was a small time dealer: grass and tabs. Then one day he said, “Oh Zin, I’m off to Dublin to do bouncer for a boxin’ match at the National Stadium!” he kissed her goodbye, got on his trusty Triumph and off he went to bounce in Dublin. She found out later that he was off to collect a sizeable debt owed to him for a delivery of coke. When the debtor wasn't forthcoming, Raspo lost his temper and took it out of his hide with a crowbar. This information came courtesy of DS Phil Somerville, who also informed her that her beloved Raspo wasn't just peddling grass, he was dealing in all the a-listed narcotics, not to mention a little sideline in video piracy. She had to sit and listen while Somerville listed her lover’s shady dealings with various Dublin-based organised crime syndicates and proscribed terrorist militias when he tried to coerce her into turning tout and aid in the apprehension Raspo’s subordinates/associates/friends etc. She flatly refused. Raspo was sent down for 7 years, but 8 months later, to shave a few years off his sentence, he did what she refused to do: he shopped most of his former associates including some regulars, and - boom – the bulk of her clientele has declared her persona non grata and boycotted the inn. Somerville told her it was her own fault; she knew what Raspo was and chose to ignore it. He was right. A psychologist would say that it was indicative of a subconscious desire not to commit to a long-term relationship... Whatever, she was alone again, naturally.

Then along came Malky and his spooky three-legged German shepherd and their notorious pursuit of the evil Barry McKee. It was a thrill-a-minute-life-or-death roller coaster ride but it nearly killed them. She took a bullet to the shoulder; Malky had a heart attack and almost bled to death (the irony: Somerville saved Malky’s life after destroying hers). And here she was, back in another hospital corridor listening to bleeping machines. Just when she thought history was repeating itself, his old broken heart kept beating, “and it’s been beating for you ever since,” he said, in an uncharacteristic show of mawkish affection. 

Good ol’ Malky. He made her laugh. He was a good man and he made her feel good. They had conversations that lasted all night. OK, so he has a psychic three-legged dog who complains about the noise when I play me records, but that only makes it more fun. To put it simply, life was good. She was painting again; he’d made her a studio in the attic. (He never told what he was doing up there and she didn’t ask; he just hammered and sawed and cursed whilst she went about her business. In the end he’d put a ribbon across the door for the grand unveiling. He’d widened the skylight to let in more light and built a little podium for her still-life subjects. She accepted the keys like a gushing thesp before bursting into real tears. And although , he was hard work at times - he was sometimes taciturn and prone to moodiness – he was a good, kind man.

Then, wonder-of-wonders, she gets pregnant and her instinct, much to her surprise, is to keep it. Malky acted as if he wasn't overly keen, but she knew that deep-down he was delighted; he just felt unworthy and old.

And here we are. 2 years later and things couldn't be better. We’re broke but we ain't bust. We’re just about keepin’ our heads above water...

She went to the bar and looked out of the big window at the dirty, litter laden, windswept promenade. The council were meeting on Thursday; word on the wind had it that property developers were looking at the town with a view to redevelopment, so things were looking up. That’s good, ain't it? Lots of meetings with property developers and councilmen: all very ‘establishment’.

So 22 years later, what would she say to the silly girl standing on the table telling the world she’ll be a wild-child forever? Is she where she wants to be, where she has to be, or where she needs to be...?

Sammy couldn't read her mind but felt her doubts as if they were his own. It must be something to do with Malky. He hoped that it wasn't anything serious. Malky had grown on him. The old dog was a godsend, somebody to talk to who can see you, hear you... not that he ever feckin’ listens! But what if the auld dog died? Sammy shuddered at the thought: There would be no watching TV until 4 in the morning for a start. It was tough being a ghost. And although he knew Zindy couldn't see him, he still felt a little self-conscious about his appearance; as the old dog says: “the bloody-bullet-hole-ridden-apron makes you look like a psychopath (ghosts are stuck with what they wore when they died -- the last image The Light captures before their Soul passes), so he was discreet. He sat on the bin in the dark corner by the stove and watched from what he considered to be a reasonable distance. He’d been a bachelor all his life, he’d never met a woman he could live with, but Zindy was closest thing he’d ever had to a daughter – this, despite the fact that she was a headstrong, blue-haired English girl who dressed like a boy and swore like a docker. When she bought the inn, he thought she’d only last a few weeks, and yet, thank God, here we are. 

There were very few advantages in existing between Worlds, besides the walking through walls and not having to eat or sleep or all that malarkey, his senses were heightened and attuned to the Oneness of All Living Things (well, that’s how the dog put it) –- which meant he was able to see the little glow in Zindy’s belly. It was nothing more than an amber glimmer throbbing with the minute pulsebeat of a budding Soul, but it radiated an energy that brought a ripple of warmth to his Essence. Sometimes, when she was sleeping he’d stand close – not too close – and look into her womb. Oh, but it was a joyous sight to behold, “Look at the miracle begin again,” he whispered, to no one in particular.

Zindy climbed up onto the draining board to close the window above the sink -– Sammy was jumping up and down, pulling at his silver beard, “Are ye mad woman?! Get down o’ that w’ ye!” Thankfully she performed the exercise without incident, but he still hadn't settled; as she went about preparing her evening meal, he paced the floor behind her, fussing, wagging his finger, “Look at that floor! There’s engine oil down there! Ye’ll slip ‘n’ go on yer hoop! You’d better buck-up yer ideas, lady – that’s a chile in there – not a bag o’ chips!”

“Oh, I’d love a bag o’ chips,” she said, apropos of nothing.

Sammy stood by the cooker as she toiled over the sizzling pan and talked to her unborn baby, “Your silly daddy doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hates all this spooky stuff... He hates anything that brings the world to his door -- God knows what he’ll be like when the inn’s open for business...” Whether she was consoling a restless foetus or trying to convince herself, she didn’t know. She stopped stirring and stared as she contemplated her certain future.

The old ghost saw the doubt in her eyes and fought Malky’s case from his corner, “He’s a decent sort who won’t let you down –- you have to grow up sometime, missy! Stop moonin’ about and think like a mammy!”

No, let’s make no bones about, she was getting bored. It isn't good when life gets too predictable, when routine becomes rut. She needn't worry; things were about to get very strange indeed...

St Cedric’s Institution for the Criminally Insane (SCICI): Rossington watched the sundown from his office window, a very large brandy in one hand, a cigarette in the other. It had been a bad day. The news from the board had been direct with no room for interpretation. His time had run out. The victims’ families’ petitions and writing campaigns had fulfilled their purpose, the pressure to do something had forced their hand. He had to give up Barry McKee to the authorities so an independent assessment of his condition could be made. He’d explored every legal avenue to keep him at SCICI, but there was nothing more he could do. The mob has spoken.

He was angry and frustrated, but mostly angry. He finished his brandy, carelessly stubbed out the cigarette, left his office and made for the sick bay in the high security wing. He walked quickly and purposely, collected the swipe cards from the nurses’ station and marched on, swiping through the sophisticated system of doors, along the corridors and across the walkway that led to the security ward and the room of SCICI’s most infamous inmate. Then, just as he swiped the lock, he had a moment of inspiration. He turned and walked to the staff toilet at the end of the corridor, to the mirror above the wash-hand basin; using his penknife to unscrew the frame, he carefully prised the hexagonal glass from the wall, put it under his arm and took it to McKee’s room.

“Hello, Barry,” he said, quietly closing the door behind him and turning on the lights. The sudden blaze of brightness didn’t faze McKee. Hooked up to the machines that kept him alive, long haired and bearded, he continued to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling, like a stricken biblical prophet transfixed by a vision of hell.

“I must apologise, it’s been quite a while since I visited. I’ve been busy with other patients and projects, not to mention running this establishment, you know how it is. I’ve kept abreast of your progress, though... what there is of it.” Rossington slowly crossed the floor, talking in a casual manner as he approached the bed, “Anyway, I’ll get straight to the point: I’ve received some bad news regarding your case and I thought you should to be the first to hear it.” He sat in the chair by the bed and put the mirror on his lap, “They've decided to take you off my hands, Barry. They say I’ve had enough time to prove you’re worth keeping alive. They say it would be mercy: ‘it’s cruelty not to let nature take its course’. No doubt they’re under pressure from the families of the victims, not to mention that bastard Somerville. Whatever, you’re doomed, and there’s nothing I can do to save you.”

As always, McKee remained silent and seemingly insensible.

“You've shown no significant progress since that business with Niamh and Oona 2 years ago.” He tore off the latest print-out from the EEG and indicated the flat lines across the graph, “See, nothing like the flurry of activity we recorded during those instances in 1989. Why’s that, eh?” He scrunched the page into a ball and threw it into the corner. “It all stopped when I took away the mirrors and had you moved you to this room, didn’t it? Niamh and Oona lost their connection and have exhibited no psychic abilities since. It’s no coincidence, is it, Barry?”

He stood up and held the mirror over McKee’s face, “I know you use mirrors to reach out other telepaths and psychics,” he said, looking deep into McKee’s unseeing eyes, “so I’m having them re-installed, and you can do whatever is you do. Good or evil, I don’t care anymore. I just need results, Barry. I need something to show for my work. If not, I’ll hand you over to the authorities and they’ll perform what will be, for all intents and purposes, a public execution...”

To Be Continued Next Month...

[eisforeidolon]

Episode: Exodus

What is there to say about this episode, really?  It could have been worse?  At least we got a brother hug out of it?  Oh, look, it’s that part of the season where all the places the arc plot failed get desperately glossed over with even more flimflam?   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Yeah, I did appreciate the hug and how Sam and Dean had to look away from each other's eyes after and move on to deal with the crap they were still in the middle of.  Of course Dean figures it's all good if Sam is alive, even if he comes with such fugly baggage.  So there was that good moment. Although it was right after Sam set a timer on his phone for twenty one hours.  Which was a rough estimate, not a definitive timeline.  Given by Lucifer.  You know, Lucifer.  Sigh.

The main problem this episode had was that it really desperately wanted to show a conflict for Jack between everyone else and Lucifer trying to win him over.  Even if you take out the part where earlier this season Jack said he didn't actually feel anything in favor of him now having flashbacks o' guilt?  Which has its own issues in terms of the writers going for innately good woobie Jack instead of anything with more nuance?  Everyone in this episode acted as if Lucifer had pulled some kind of angel mojo off-screen to keep them from speaking against him. 

Dean just keeps yelling for Lucifer to shut up – without actually giving Jack any reason for the hostility.  Sam basically avoids the whole situation, as does Gabriel.  Castiel stands RIGHT THERE like a goddamn piece of furniture while Lucifer spews out his same old tired oh-poor-misunderstood-me spiel.  They don't have to engage with the bullshit claims about Lucifer corrupting humanity he’s whining about, just say all the shit he personally did!  Creating demons from twisting human souls.  Torturing Sam for keeping him from his plans to destroy the world.  Lying - including to, notably, Jack's mother.  There is no real conflict here and you can't make a believable one happen by just having everyone go suspiciously mute for reasons, ffs!

Also, remember all that nonsense in season eleven about how Lucifer turning against God wasn't entirely his fault, it was because he had the Mark of Cain?  Remember how we had the Winchesters bizarrely advocate for his ass to make God apologize to him for being such a meaniehead?  Except, oh, whoops, when they have their big talk, Gabriel is back to saying that it actually was all Lucifer's fault again.  Without any mention of the Mark's influence from him or in any of Lucifer's pity party speeches.  LOL!canon.  

Then we have the usual crap with Mary, the woman who is desperate to bond with anyone … who isn't blood related to her.  The Winchesters were worried all season about saving Mary, desperate enough to risk tearing the fabric of the universe – for reasons!  Despite how many other characters they had much closer actual good relationships to they've let go.  Here, they finally find Mary - who blithely (and rather insensitivity, considering Sam just died) goes on about how she totally understands how they went to so much trouble! Buuuut, fuck off home boys I will always find somebody I care about more than you!  That whole big, cathartic hug and resolve to have a real relationship with each other?  Oh, look, the writers turned that clock right back just to give us more bullshit shallow soap drama of the Winchesters being super invested in a Mary who clearly does not actually give a single fuck about them and isn't shy about letting that show.  I mean, if I felt like the writers were doing this on purpose, intending for us to feel like Mary is just a deeply shitty person at her core, at least that would be something.  Instead they keep trying to insist there's a relationship here both ends care about but, oops, ~*somehow*~ abandonment drama keeps happening!  I honestly don't know why I'm supposed to find Mary any less contemptuous than Samuel Campbell.  Seriously, why?  I question whether she would literally adopt Lucifer before she would be considerate of Sam and Dean's feelings at this point.  I don't get why they, or I, should care about her given the givens.  AT ALL, let alone to the point of risking reality - or are we forgetting about that whole warning thing from Billie completely?  Which is not even to mention the way Mary basically laughs at Dean's concern Jack could go dark side.  Oh yeah, the woman who spent last season being duped by the BMOL and schtupping Ketch obviously has superior judgment about things like that!  Not to mention the irony of her saying of course Jack will be interested, Lucifer's his father, no harm can come of that!  Or are we not supposed to draw a parallel between how much Sam and Dean risked this season in the name of their likewise shit mother for no more substantial connection?  

At this point I honestly wonder, does Singer or somebody else on staff have an unholy fuckton of mommy issues?  First there was that whole horrible tumor of a plotline with Crowley and Rowena and now this nonsense.   Oh, but look, Mary's soooo cool, she's such a “badass” fighter and keeps punching Lucifer in the face, LOL!  That totally makes up for it!  In short - fuck you, SPN writers, for once again making alive!Mary less of an understandable three-dimensional character than she was when she was dead.  

After the reunionating, we waste some time with some random Apocaworld NPCs.  Remember how Michael was supposedly amassing his forces at a weak point between realities and was going to break through and attack the regular world at any time?  On top of the whole rift spell thing?  Time sensitive, nah, the good guys are going to sit here waffling back and forth for a while with some nobodies and a replacement goldfish Bobby about whether they should stay in their burned out world.  Who cares?  I don't.  It’s especially comical following as it does after the previous week’s OMG NO TIME!!! malarkey.  Also feel pretty awkward about the celebration at the end, these people are either strangers or strangers wearing the faces of dead friends that they've just randomly invited into their supposedly secure bunker of magical artifacts.  Acting like being all blasé about it is not kinda creepy is ... really very creepy.

In terms of the whole Charlie and Ketch on a mission side plot, I think the writers were desperately trying to create some kind of meaningful parallel between regular Cas and Indiana Jones cartoon villian reject AU!Cas.  With them both doing the angel interrogation thing and the line about being the same, or whatever?  Like, if they can just desperately imply AU!Cas is actually badass then therefore vicariously...  Even still, I actually minded this ridiculous IHAVEANACCENTSOI'MADIFFERENTCHARACTER!Cas less than the previous ones?  Putting aside the part where it’s complete nonsense that he’s the only familiar angel with the same damn vessel, somehow, for reasons?  I could actually see a clueless alternate universe Cas trying to figure out how to be intimidating to humans and ending up doing a bad adventure film Nazi impression. 

Bad accent shenanigans and faux depth attempts aside, I did enjoy the rescue scene.  Not!Charlie's reaction to being hugged by a giant stranger and Ketch's look and quip at Dean particularly. While I think they missed a bit of an opportunity to make a direct Satan at the wheel joke when they had Lucifer drive the bus, I found it amusing for that nonetheless.  I also actually did like the scene between Sam and Jack and Lucifer there as they’re leaving.  Putting aside the general thrust of the episode's story and exactly why Jack figured he'd be able to pop off and kill Michael in five minutes or so, it was pretty apt to have Lucifer talk to him about thinking you're doing the right thing and having the right thing go wrong.  Of course Lucifer knows all about that - back when he was actually scary, it was how he manipulated everyone.  It's almost out of place for how much sense it makes here for him to sway Jack with that reasoning.  I also actually liked that Rowena had managed to find a way to bolster the spell and keep it open just that much longer.

Not so much in favor of how, of course, Michael shows up at the very last second.  Or how Gabriel offers to sacrifice himself by fighting more powerful AU!Michael with … basically zero grace power.  It made no sense at all, made his resurrection to ruin his redemption arc just to give him a different one even more essentially pointless, and literally the only reason Jack didn't stay behind as the most powerful member of their party to guard their retreat was scripted contrivance.  More specifically, to have Sam ditch Lucifer so Lucifer will team up with Michael and maybe to Jack be all upset?  Which, again, if it happens can only happen because no one was actually willing to tell him exactly why everyone knows his father is a dick. BECAUSE REASONS!  So much eye-rolling, so little time.

I mean, it's not like Michael wasn't already planning to come through elsewhere anyway.  It's not like they didn't already try ditching Lucifer in Apocaworld once already and saw how permanent of a solution that WASN'T (including how it gave Michael an extra source of archangel grace).  It's not like Lucifer is capable of ever figuring out redemption involves real remorse and might actually turn good so there was some real dilemma for him here beyond having to team up with someone he hates.  I guess there were actually some people that were all pissed off at Sam on Lucifer's behalf but that's incredibly gullible and weird, tbh.  Like, there are people who actually bought all that crocodile tears sad face self pity bullshit? Just … wow.

Anyway, maybe this dumb idea of an ending will have some non-contrived point that comes up in the finale episode that I haven't got to yet, but I seriously doubt it.  

[think2hard-blog]

On the Subject of Self-Love

Picture this: a montage. An array of teens ready themselves for the first day of school. First, a devilishly lovely teenage girl approaches the mirror. She gives herself a saucy wink, and applies a fresh coat of lip gloss. Cut to a second teenage girl. She is equally lovely, but dressed in dowdy (but still flattering) clothing that seems to hint at the very unique and kindly moral fiber of her being. She looks in the mirror, forlorn. “Well” she says, “guess that’s the best i’m gonna get.” Both girls turn away and head out into the world. Sound familiar? Perhaps it’s because this is the plot of any and all teen movies. But, here’s the thing. That first girl doesn’t get rewarded for her confidence. Her story line is not healthy relationships, success in school, and a positive inner monologue. And that second girl does not go on to self-harm, starve herself, and generally hate life. In fact, the second girl is our hero. The person we identify with, and root for. Her lack of self-confidence is endearing, and in fact will win her a mate. Someone who appreciates how she “loves to eat like a truck driver” and “cares so deeply about poetry in English class.” And that first girl? Well we despise her. Her story is one of narcissism. Her arc will end with getting pushed in a pool, or perhaps getting kicked out of prom. The conclusion we must draw then, is that confidence will get you dumped and wet, and a lack thereof will get you happiness and a hot football player/bad boy/rock star.

Except...not.

More and more teenagers suffer from anxiety, depression, and self-hatred. Out of young men and young women, one demographic is hit overwhelmingly harder. The National Institute on Media and the Family, states that at age thirteen, 53% of American girls are "unhappy with their bodies." This number grows to 78% by the time girls reach seventeen.

“But!” you cry, “what about Dove? What about Oprah? What about Beyonce? They tell us to love ourselves.” Yes, excellent point. There are some voices in the media, an increasing number, that tell us to have confidence, and to love ourselves. This is an achievement that deserves respect. However, there are underhanded influences that counter those voices, that are much stronger than we can control.

Why is it, as women, we are told the only way we can find “true love” is to be weak, and to see ourselves as unworthy? That the most attractive thing about us is how we “don’t know we’re beautiful.” Perhaps the most damaging ideal we hold ourselves to is not the perfect body, but rather the perfect body, the perfect mind, and the inability to recognize we possess either. We are encouraged to constantly tear ourselves down, so as to not seem arrogant. It is encouraged for us to love and compliment our peers, but when the face we are looking at is in the mirror, the opposite rules apply. I remember talking to a male friend of mine about showering. “Man,” he said “I love when I get out of the shower, look in the mirror, and just flex. I feel like such a beast.” This sounded alien to me. I asked him if he actually liked looking in the mirror. “Hell yeah!” He said, “I look awesome.” A few of my other male friends agreed. I was flabbergasted. I have never met a single girl who thinks of the mirror as her friend. At best, the mirror is a tool. At worst, it is a cruel funhouse contraption, designed to broadcast our greatest flaws with glaring accuracy. I did not understand. And I couldn’t understand. Until I considered exactly what it means to be a woman in our society. Then, all of a sudden, it became painfully clear.

Who are the role models young boys are encouraged to look up to? James Bond, Tony Stark, Indiana Jones, the list goes on. These men swagger through life with the confidence of a peacock. Sure they may get into scrapes, and they may even be disliked at times, but they are the heroes. They get it all, and they get it with style. Looking at these role models it’s easy to see why my buddy got off on shirtless flexing in the mirror. The problem, however, arises when we begin to look at the role models young girls are encouraged to admire. The obvious problem is the Disney Princesses, damsels in distress who do nothing to affect their own destiny. But the problem doesn’t end there. We look at the movies for young teenagers. Camp Rock, High School Musical, etc. These movies all feature female protagonists sure, but these women are not confident. In fact, they are endearing for their shyness, and their “humility.” The trend continues with movies geared towards adult women: Dirty Dancing, 50 First Dates, Bridget Jones’s Diary. These woman are beloved because they are unsure. The men in the movies adore them for being hapless bunnies who must be taught to see their own inner beauty. By the men. See the problem? And the women in media who are portrayed as confident, (see The Proposal, The Bounty Hunter, every Katharine Heigl movie,) are probably also total bitches, who “just need to cut loose.” No wonder we all hate ourselves, it’s impossible to find love and affection for partners or peers if we don’t!

These tropes are not just in movies. Check your favorite novel. Check the news. You love Jennifer Lawrence because of her goofy and personable facade. She is self-deprecating, but still gorgeous. The perfect woman! Who cares about Angelina Jolie unless she is getting married or depressed. Who cares about Emma Stone unless she is being quirky and endearing. Nobody. That’s the thing. We are told, over and over again, that the only way we will ever get attention or love is by a. being perfect, or b. being a mess (but looking good while doing it.) Why, I often ask myself, is it a trend for teenage girls to brag about their unhealthy eating habits. Well, look at every teen movie. The girl who eats salad is a vapid diet-obsessed airhead, while the heroine who is chowing down on pizza is down to earth and likeable . But she’s still skinny of course. If she were fat it’d be gross!

So there it is. The eternal conundrum. How can we ever do it? How can we ever love ourselves if the only influences truly swaying us are the ones that tell us to hate how we look, hate who we are, but remain perfect throughout all our internal struggles.

I say, fuck it.

There’s no magical knight who sweep you onto his horse, and bless you with the magic of confidence. If you are looking to everyone but yourself to see your own beauty, you will never be satisfied. I know it seems like thing to do to put yourself down, and focus on everything negative in your life. But flip that on its head. Putting yourself down constantly is not the only way for people to like you. Self-deprecation is funny in small doses, but the more you say things the more you start to believe them. So start saying nice things. Be your own best friend instead of your own worst enemy. Look in the mirror and focus on the things you like about yourself. I know it’s hard, but if we all do it then maybe the world we live in will change. Maybe that sad girl in the montage will go to a therapist, and learn that she is everything whether she has a man or not. And maybe that saucy girl who looks in the mirror and loves herself will find success and happiness. And maybe she will inspire all of us.

[naturaldisasterfanfiction]

30. Part 3

Smiling at Robyn talking to Royalty like that, she has given the boost she needed but I really want to knock those little niggas out that has been disrespecting my daughter, like who the fuck does that shit. I am going to need Royalty to start kicking some ass too “can I ask Rihanna?” my daughter is totally harassing Robyn now “sure, I am going to give your dad his phone now though, I am here” taking my phone from Robyn “can I ask Rihanna, dad I can’t see her face” rolling my eyes, turning my phone “I am listening” she doesn’t want to know me now “can I see my sister?” I find it rather funny that she has asked Robyn and not me, she knows the boss “erm, yes ok. You can see her but no screenshots baby. I am not being overly crazy, but I just think nobody deserves to see her apart from loved ones” Robyn said yes, I guess I can lower the phone so she can see her “hi Fenty, she is sleeping. Awww I like her, look at the pretty dress too. Awww” Royalty sounds so happy “she is so cute!” I chuckled hearing her excitement about seeing Fenty, that is so sweet “you seen her now” moving the phone away and looking down at Royalty “she is so pretty dad, like a princess. I can’t wait to hug her” smiling at Royalty “cool, so shall we open the gifts. You happy now, let’s forget what happened ok? Just lets’ be happy and do this, like we were supposed to do” Royalty nodded her head and grabbed the phone “I am running downstairs, wait” clearing my throat looking over at Robyn “thank you” I said to her, she didn’t have to do that for me, she could have easily told me no, she just goes above and beyond for me and I love that about her “don’t be, I love you. I want you to also be happy, I can feel you are sad” I smiled lightly, of course I am going to be. How can I just forget my mother, or just shrug off what is happening with my family.

Royalty’ house is like a zoo, she loves animals so that is what I always buy her “open this one” Royalty’ older sister is there “it’s so big!” smiling at my daughter opening the main one, this is the one I know what it is. Robyn kindly did that for her, she didn’t need too “baby, that is from someone special. I hope you appreciate it” watching Royalty rip open the paper exposing the stacks of Fenty goodies, Royalty screamed ever so loudly “oh my god! Oh my god! This is for me!?” I chuckled “yeah, every lip gloss and whatever she gave you, that is from Rihanna Ro” Royalty is so happy, she actually can’t believe her eyes and I think she is content with that “for me? Oh my god! This is so good” Royalty snatched the card out of her sister’ hand “I can read it” watching her open up the envelope, Robyn deserves a foot rub tonight. I think I will attempt it, but she will openly kick me because I am dumb at times “what does it say?” I asked her “let me read Ro!” Zillah said, my daughter is either confused or can’t read “it says, Happy Christmas Royalty Brown and welcome to the Fenty family. We have sent you all these goodies to show off on your very own channel, we look forward to seeing your work on the Fenty line” Royalty screamed again “you are in the Fenty family Roro, oh my god” my daughter screaming is making me laugh, she is just mind blown but this is big “did she open it?” Robyn asked, she went to put Fenty down “she did, she is screaming around the house, thank you” Robyn smiled before walking off.

Nia has done well; I did tell her to get things from me on my behalf and she did just that “what do you say to your dad and Rihanna Roro?” Nia said holding Royalty’ hand, my daughter’ looks so tired from all the screaming she did “thank you daddy and Rihanna” my daughter is so cute “it’s ok, I will tell her when she comes back that you said that. She is just in the kitchen, but I am happy you had a good day, makes me happy” Nia let her hand go “what is your favourite gift baby? I mean I already know but tell me which do you love?” I know what my daughter will say “Rihanna gift, I got lots of things I can use now, and I love it. I love Rihanna, she is the best. And we are besties now” I chuckled “calm down there, but good. Nia, thank you for today. We will speak soon. Text me when you go to sleep baby, I love you so much Roro” Royalty waved at me “love you too daddy” my daughter is smiling, she is happy, my daughter is obsessed with my wife now. Disconnecting the call sighing out, that is my daughter down, now let me see if I can know where my boy is. I have Amikka mother’ number here so I could try here, scrolling down to her name. Getting up from the couch as it rang out “hello” she answered “hey, is Aeko there?” I hope he is “he is, he is having a nap Chris” letting out an oh “ok, too much food I guess. Did he get my gifts?” I did send him things “he did, he was so happy, and he loved it. I can call you back when he wakes up” Amikka’ mother is nothing of that bitch “if you can, I will be waiting thanks” disconnecting the call.

I just feel sadness in my heart, I just have to get it off my chest with someone anyways. Blowing the smoke out from my lips just as my auntie answered the call “congratulations nephew!” Christine said aloud “thank you auntie, I am glad you are happy for me” I chuckled “why wouldn’t I be? I mean I was shocked but not shocked too. I am happy you made that move, well you listened this time” rubbing my chin laughing “I needed this auntie, I felt like I was doing though shit. The drugs were killing me, the loneliness was overwhelming. I was happy but I really wasn’t you know? I just needed this” placing the blunt between my lips “I know you did; I feel your vibe. I see the posts, I was laughing. I was like my nephew is so in love. She got you in a onesie. Me and the boys were laughing and Austin himself said love got him. I am happy for you, and another girl? I bet she looks like Robyn. Is she ok?” moving my blunt back from my lips “you know it, she is so beautiful auntie. I get emotional seeing her because I feel like she saved me, she saved us. You know me and Rihanna, she doesn’t know what she done for us, I am a married man now” blowing the smoke out hearing my auntie gasp “you married her!? Boy you wanted to marry her ages ago, teenage asses wanted to run away from us” laughing at that memory “you for real happy for me?” I have to ask, I am unsure about happiness right now “I am Chris, Robb and Aaron lost their cousin, they felt upset with you. You didn’t see it but they fell out with you, they moved away from you because you was becoming so toxic and we was talking just now and Robb was saying how you look so happy, he sees the old cousin back. Your face looks better, but they did fall out with you” I didn’t even know that “when did that happen, wow” I am shocked “it happened Chris, you just didn’t see it but it’s ok. We are happy for you. And you called me on Christmas day, that is shocking to me but it’s made me happy. I was not fucking with the nephew I knew anyways” nodding my head “means a lot to me, my mom is not happy” rubbing my eye with my hand “that is because she needs you, and I think my sister right now is just lost. I told her to not use you in terms of money and name, and she did. I didn’t agree with her pawning you off to Amikka because she wasn’t good for you. I am not shocked she is upset but I guess you can’t choose your mother Chris, you know me. I am real, I will just tell you to leave it alone. Let Rihanna take over, she is doing a great job anyways” my auntie knows “tell the boys I am sorry” I didn’t know that they fell out with me like that “they forgive you Chris, trust me they do” nodding my head slowly.

I needed that blunt but let me get back to my family, I was so hurt by none of them telling me they were happy for me but in real terms I fucked up. I was so drugged up that I never saw what I was doing or realised what I was doing, I mean thinking back they wasn’t with me like the rest of the niggas, they kind of ditched me and just left me to it I guess “there you are!” Dennis spat “sorry” I mumbled “I bought you a gift, I know but here” Dennis held out the present to me “is it a photo?” Dennis rolled his eyes “ruined it but look at it” I grinned “no don’t say that, this is so good. I never expected it and Fenty wrapping paper? Robyn bougie as fuck, when did you get this shit!? See I know which is my gift now, it’s wack compared Robyn’ now” she ain’t shit “I know, she was refusing to let me use it too” opening the gift, seeing the photo frame “I thought memories, we have had such a good time and we couldn’t have done without the team” looking down at the picture from our wedding day “I love it Dennis, look at us being so damn goofy. This will go on my nigh stand. Well, I didn’t forget you anyways” placing my arm around Dennis “let me show you the tiny box, you can tell it is mine because it’s not Fenty gift wrapped” side eyeing Robyn, she started to laugh but she is not shit for it.

Watching Dennis stare at the small box “is this an engagement ring? Are we getting married, Chris this was supposed to be between us” I laughed at Dennis, he is dumb “open it, this is from Robyn and I. With everything that has like gone on, and how you have rode for us. You have went beyond your job, and even now. Spending Christmas with us, having to see Robyn’ cooch. It’s just a lot” I chuckled saying “no way!” he spat all wide eyed, he slowly picked out the key to his car “G wagon waiting for you at home, I mean when you are able to go. It’s waiting for you” Dennis is shook, he held up the key in shock “no way! Oh my god! No! I can’t take this, I gave you both barely nothing, oh god!” Dennis shouted, laughing at his reaction “I did this because I am loyal to Robyn and then I gained a brother in your oh my god, come here” Dennis hugged me “you both have made me feel so welcome in the family, I am going to cry. A fucking G wagon” hugging him smiling “it’s for you bro, you deserve it. You have been putting in work putting up with us, you have seen a lot and you also working day and night here it’s not much of a fun time” I think Dennis is crying “I am crying, sorry. Come here!” Dennis went over to Robyn to hug her, his so appreciative and I like that about him, he has a good heart.

Sitting down on the couch “so like it’s all last minute with everything, the biggest gift is our daughter but behind the scenes I have been working on this for you, for us. We have Fenty Brown but under Fenty is where my other endeavours lie within, so as my husband I want you to be managing director of Fenty. And we will evtually merge the business ventures together but I want you to be my managing director, I want you to bring on what you have with Tuff Crowd and bring that to Fenty, and I think you will be great at it but not the make up side of course, but I literally have paper work for you to sign. When I meant I am going to build you I meant it, this business is going to be us. And also your gift is on the way, it’s a car. Ferrari, I am not even sure. Dennis, what was it?” Robyn said to Dennis “Portofino M edition, it looked so good. Eight gear drop top type of thing. You will like it, Robyn spent up” I am shocked “really!? Oh my god, baby. That is amazing, so you’re employing me too!?” I have to get this right “yes, welcome to the Fenty family!?” I busted out laughing “tell me yes because then I can like announce that shit and make it legal and shit, I just want to make it all in house, but that is my gift to you. Next I will put more thought into it, but you know me. It’s been busy” nodding my head smiling “you keep working too much baby, I love you so much” getting up from the couch walking over to Robyn “I can’t stop, I have so much to do” leaning down kissing her cheek as I hugged Robyn “thank you” she is the best “also we need to apply for citizenship here, now” moving back from the hug “you being for real about this shit huh” Robyn not moving anywhere else “this will be home, but I won’t stay in one place. Trust me” nodding my head “but is that something you want? Because like you still have California, I mean I don’t know in the future it may be a thing of we do go back but for now, we here” I shrugged walking back to where I was sat “I just want what you want” and that is the truth.