#man i knew i shoulda sat on it for a day or two but im way too impatient lmao

[eyndr-stories]

Did It Hurt When You Fell? (FNAF SB fanfic)

Suggested by ShiraCheshire over on Ao3, (@shirajellyfish here on Tumblr, hi I hope its ok to tag you lol) a very detailed repair scene! We dive paws first into the noggin of our favorite blorbo :) And there's a few nifty little tidbits about repair rats as well!

This chapter is a standalone in-universe scenario for I Think I Smell A Rat, no previous reading required! All you need to know is you're a lil repair rat who lives in the walls of the plex and you're pals with Sun and Moon.

This chapter contains: - Major blorbo damage (no one dies tho) - Mortal peril with a sense of urgency (i promise no one dies lmao) - Gore question mark?? Robot gore? - General feelings of anxiety and urgency - Some good ol' hurt / comfort - Happy ending

Ao3 link here

Let me know if i should add anything else! I believe that's all, enjoy!

WAIT one more thing actually lmao if you happen to like this sort of deep dive into how Sun & Moon work, go read ShiraCheshire's fic 'I See You Sundrop!' Its really really good and has lots of nifty little tidbits like this about all the bots :D

Ok now I'm done lmao enjoy!

     You were already on your way to the daycare when a new repair task appeared on your list. You got a ping for it, since it was in your area and you were in work mode instead of rest mode, used for when you were on your way back to the nest for a recharge.

     This repair would have you leaving the walls, though you'd be up in the rafters above the daycare. You didn't mind the rafters, they were actually very similar to the walls to your pathfinding, long narrow paths with dim lighting. The empty air around the beams looked the same to you as the sturdy concrete walls did, just empty void your program didn’t need to worry about defining. Its just that the 'walls' here were a little more dangerous to touch.

     The exit port was a little slow to register you coming near. You reached up and cleared the dust from the sensor with a paw before stepping through. Wasting no time, you scurried along the beam towards the mechanism in need of repair, some sort of wire reel that could roll along the underside of the beams. You wanted to make this repair quickly so you could hang out with your pals Sun and Moon like you did every night when the tasks were done and you weren't busy.

     You glanced over the edge of the beam you were scampering along, wondering if you could spot your tall friend and maybe even get his attention, let him know you'd be down to hang out in a jiffy. The lights were off, you noted, which meant Moon would be out.

     Usually Moon would be slinking around, reorganizing toys or leaving little pranks for Sun. You couldn't see any motion.

     You reached the wire reel and stopped to carefully lower your tail over the edge of the beam. You flashed the light at the end of your tail a few times, not speaking with Morse code like usual, but just trying to grab Moon's attention, wherever he was. You peered over the edge, but you still couldn't spot him.

     You were about to give up and focus on your task when a light caught your eye. You set your paws carefully on the edge of the beam and angled your head straight down.

     Directly below the wire, two dull red lights glowed back up at you. You recognized the lights of Moon's eyes, but you almost didn't recognize what they were attached to.

     For a moment you could only stare as you processed the sight of Moon's horribly damaged frame. Both halves of it. Then you were moving, as fast as your four little legs would carry you, back across the beam and towards the wall port.

     Moon had looked… really bad. There were pieces of him scattered all around, and it looked like he'd been torn apart at the chest. He hadn't been moving at all… but his eye lights had turned on after you'd flashed your tail light; he must be awake and aware enough to have tried to get your attention. This provided enough comfort to last you the insufferably long path down through the walls to the floor of the daycare.

     Bursting through the wall port, you at last dashed across the familiar padded floor towards Moon. The sight of the damage up close nearly caused your footing to stutter, your processors working overtime as a thousand things ran through your head. Most of them something along the lines of 'OH NO' and 'HOW DID THIS HAPPEN' and 'AHHHHH'.

     You flashed your tail frantically as you neared. Slowly, Moon's face plate tilted towards you just enough for his optics to focus on you. Two sun rays poked out of his head. His eye lights were off now. You bumped into Moon's nightcap as you got up close to his chest, quickly looking over the damage and pulling up any files you could find in the database for Sun and Moon's blueprints to compare.

     There was a hiss of static, and then an uncomfortably loud crackle. Then you could hear a warbly voice to your left, coming from a box slightly bigger than you, hanging halfway out of Moon's chest.

     "Little rat."

     You lifted your tail high enough for Moon to see. "Condition stable?" The damage was absolutely horrible, but it didn't look like anything was about to explode or anything. Still, you had to be sure.

     "Yes. Not for long though."

     After moving your attention back to Moon's face plate, you saw why. Moon's one remaining hand was situated under his head, almost like he was trying to act chill, like he was just laying around lazily. However, as you spotted a few wires poking out between his fingers, you realized that he was actually holding himself together with his hand.

     "Things got knocked loose on impact. Back plating was previously damaged- toddler ripped off the panel earlier today. We had an appointment with the technician first thing in the morning, but I'll run out of power before then," Moon explained. "When I run out of power I'll automatically adjust to my default pose. To put it plainly, my brains will fall out."

     "I will fix it," you immediately offered, already moving around what was left of Moon's chest towards his head.

     "No." Moon's voice box hissed and popped as he tried to raise the volume.

     You paused and stared at him. "No??"

     Moon lowered his volume. His voice still warbled, but his voice box seemed to be more agreeable now. "Just get my charging cord. I don't need you poking around in my head."

     You stared at Moon for a long moment. "You want me to carry your cord all the way down here."

     Moon huffed. Usually he'd make an animated movement when he pretended to breathe, but now he was entirely still. "Get one of the glamrocks to do it."

     "Do you have enough power left to last until I can find someone and bring them here?"

     "…" Moon paused, running a calculation. He huffed again. "…Can't you summon your rat friends to help you lift it?"

     You flashed your tail light at Moon rapidly, trying to get your desperation across. "It might not fit through every path in the walls. Or even the wall ports. Moon, just let me help! It's just loose things, right? That shouldn't be a problem at all."

     Moon hesitated. He lay there and thought while you grew increasingly more anxious by the second.

     "I don't know…" Moon mumbled quietly. "You could drag a pillow over here to set my head against so nothing spills out."

     "Moon." You stomped a foot. You had half a mind to kick the severed hand sitting just behind you out of frustration. "If that even works, you'd rather loose power and trust a tech to repair you??"

     "The tech would get the machine in parts and service to repair me."

     "They'd still have to get you there! They might not realize they need to be careful with your head!" you argued.

     "Would you want me sticking my grubby little paws in your brain??" Moon questioned. "Everything I am, all of me and Sun, is in here!"

     You fought to be patient. You could understand where Moon was coming from, but you knew he was on a time limit. The stress of the situation was getting to you, and your processors had been working very hard for a few minutes now. "I trust you and Sun with all of me every time I climb into your hands. Also, my paws are not grubby." You held up your paws, then offered them out to Moon. "I know this is difficult… but I promise I'll be careful. I care about you and Sun, and I really want to help."

     Moon took a moment to process what you'd said. "…I didn't even realize…" He looked between you and the severed mechanical hand behind you. Finally, a sigh hissed out of his voice box. "You promise you'll be careful?"

     "Yes, of course," you assured.

     Moon deliberated for another agonizing moment.

     "…Okay. Alright. Get your totally not grubby paws over here."

     As you scurried toward Moon's face plate, he very slowly angled his head to the side centimeter by centimeter, keeping his hand firmly over the back of it. The rim of his face plate scraped quietly against the padded floor. One of the two protruding sun rays caught for half a second on the padding, and Moon paused to adjust before continuing. Once he'd turned his face plate over entirely, leaving the backside of it facing upright, he gently lifted his hand, going even slower than he had turning his head.

     You climbed up onto the back casing. The entirety of Sun and Moon was on display before you. Everything that mattered, anyways.

     You focused, taking yourself off the network for a moment so you wouldn't be interrupted or distracted. You scanned through pages of downloaded technical manuals and blueprints and notes from the most recent fixes and procedures Sun and Moon had undergone. Once you had a decent idea what Moon's head was supposed to look like, you started looking for anything that was wrong. You spied several loose things, as Moon had said. A few wires were a little frayed and would need to be replaced soon, but that wasn't essential.

     Closest to you at the back of the head was a long black box, a complex music box you had a single schematic of, each key able to be struck independently for complex and improvised songs. This had been knocked loose from its frame and was resting precariously on a few thin wires, pulling them taught. These wires you could see went from one of the main circuit boards at the heart of everything out to Moon's eyes. You carefully set your paws on the side of the box and slowly pushed, creating a comforting amount of slack in the wires. You didn't set it back into place just yet- it was in your way, and you needed to safely extract it to get at a few more loose things.

     Sitting above some very vital chips was the spool system that controlled Sun's triangle rays. The rays were each situated between two rollers on a track, the rollers connected via a thin line, and that line connecting with a line that fed into the spools. When a spool drew a line in, it would pinch the rollers together and cause the ray to slide into the head. The rays were layered slightly to allow overlap. The spool system was complex enough to allow any individual ray to be drawn in at a time, or several or all at once. The rays and their roller were all situated in a special panel between the front face plate and the back covering, and this panel was able to rotate a few degrees both directions, giving Sun's rays that swaying bouncing animation.

     Two of the lines had snapped and were tangled haphazardly around the chips below the spools, threatening to pull something loose if anything moved the wrong way and pulled the strings even a little. You reached your paws in and very gently began to untangle the lines. You didn't have any replacement line, and you didn't think your electrical tape you kept stored in your chest compartment would be of much use, so you removed all of the line entirely, figuring it would be best to just let a tech replace the line later. You severed the excess line with your teeth, then called up and stored the line away for later disposal, which happened to look like you were eating it. Any excess electrical bits you replaced always went to a little compartment conveniently where a regular rat's stomach would be, the compartment's opening being your mouth, for convenience. And so the line was gobbled up, and you moved on to the next issue.

     "How's it going back there, little rat?" You heard Moon's voice box call from back outside.

     You considered how to reply for a moment. Your tail wouldn't reach all the way around the back of Moon's head to his face, and his optics were currently busy with the floor anyways. You eyed the triangular sun ray you were currently leaning on. Each ray had a line of tiny sensors along their edges, so they could signal the spools to pull them in if something got too close to a ray. Since this particular ray was already inside the head, tripping a sensor wouldn't do much of anything besides tell Moon that something was near it.

     You pat a paw over the sensor in quick little taps, some longer than others. You tapped out a little Morse code message to Moon this way.

     "Going well. Making good progress. Nothing looks too bad, you were right, just loose things."

     "Good. Okay. Hurry it up, will you?"

     As if you weren't going as fast as you could already while still being careful. You paused as you considered that Moon was likely feeling very anxious right now. He was laying in shambles, trusting you completely to fix him and Sun. All he could do was lay there and hope you would not only finish before he shut down, but also not make anything worse.

     You tapped out another quick message. "Almost done. Everything will be okay."

     You heard no response from Moon as you quickly moved on. Processors lined the space around the outside edge, mostly hidden by orange triangles. These were hot to the touch, but you were being extremely careful. Closer to the center were neat little rows of computer chips and circuit boards. Two of these had come loose, but thankfully no wires had been pulled out. You righted these with little issue.

     Lastly were the loose wires dangling out of the back of Moon's head. You’d been worried that these were some of the wires that connected up in a tight bundle to the apparatus that connected Moon’s neck to his head. The wire reader box was complex, allowing the entire face plate to spin without tangling or pulling at any of the wires in his neck. Hooking wires back up to it would be an ordeal.

     Luckily, you quickly realized that the wires that were loose were not especially vital. These wires connected up to the smell receptor at the very front of Moon’s head. You couldn't reach that without taking out the spool system and adjusting a few circuit boards, but luckily you could see from here that everything was still connected properly on the smell receptor's end.

     You were decent at soldering. Not as good as some other rats, but you usually did a good enough job. Better than most humans, anyways. Once you'd gotten the wires into place, soldering them back into where they'd been tugged loose was easy. Your teeth extended as they heated up. They were your iron, and your solder was stored in short lengths in your arm, where you could pull some out from a finger. You had the wires back in place in no time.

     After pushing the music box in place at last with a satisfying snap and doing one last little check of everything, you were satisfied to see your work here was done. Everything righted, nothing loose, nothing in danger. You would prefer to put a cover over the back of Moon's head, but you knew he'd lost the panel earlier. You climbed out and hopped down, giving Moon's arm a pat so he knew you weren't still on or in his head.

     Carefully, Moon lifted his head, slowly turning his face back upwards.

     "Done? Everything went well?" Moon asked.

     "That's right," you blinked at him. You scurried over to his hat and pulled it over into grabbing range. "I know you don't have a panel to cover the back, so your cap will have to do for now."

     Moon took the cap, gripping it tightly in his fist. He brushed his thumb over it for a moment, studying the cap carefully. He looked back down at you.

     "…Thank you."

     You lifted your chin. "You're welcome."

     Moon pulled his night cap on, taking a moment to get it properly in place with one hand. You glanced around at the mess again, now with a little less urgency.

     "What happened here, anyways??" you questioned.

     Moon sighed. "…Was gonna prank Sun. I hooked myself up to the wire and had it bring me all the way up. Was gonna turn the lights on and give him a harmless spook to wake up to us dangling up high in the air. Wire reel broke right as I got all the way up. Hook came right off the reel, still attached to me so I couldn't retract the ring it was hooked to. Heavy hook turned me back down, and I landed on my back. Like a spike in a log, the hook and the ring shot through my chest, split me right in half."

     "Wow. That's… horrible." Now that you were looking for it, you could see the hook in question buried in the mess of scrap in Moon's chest. "The wire reel just broke??"

     Moon hummed. "Not many human techs around to do maintenance checks. The ones that come in during the day just fix what's broken and that’s it. Been a real long time since anyone’s taken a look at the wire, and Sun and I barely use it these days."

     "I see…" You made a mental note to discuss adding maintenance checkups where possible to general task lists, for any rats out of tasks and looking for things to do.

     "This is what I get for pulling pranks, I guess." Moon sighed. The fingers of his still connected hand tapped idly on the padded flooring. "It'll probably take the machine all day to fix me. They'll have to close the daycare for the day."

     "I'm sorry. If I could get you down there now, I would. I could try fixing up what I can in your torso so maybe the repairs won't take as long?"

     "No, that's alright. With that stuff, the machine might have to undo your work anyways connecting me back up." Moon paused. "You've done enough for me tonight anyways."

     "I wish I was big enough to carry you like you carry me."

     Moon huffed a laugh. "Giant repair rat. That sure would be something."

     You stayed with Moon until he lost power a few minutes later. He quietly thanked you one last time before shutting down, shifting into his default pose. You stuck around the rest of the night, just in case, sitting vigilant over him and the daycare until morning came.

     Your own battery was running pretty low by the time a human technician came to investigate the major damage alerts. You stayed near the security desk, watching the tech carefully maneuver Moon and all his parts onto a long rolling platform. They scowled at the tears in the padded flooring before grabbing hold of the platform's handles and pushing Moon off towards parts and service.

     Once you were sure Moon was in good hands, you trudged off towards your charging nest. You got back on the network just long enough to mention your maintenance checkup idea before powering down to charge.

     When you woke, the other rats had already accepted the proposal and worked out a zone based schedule. You had a few tasks waiting for you, but you ignored them for now. You made your way down through the walls to parts and service.

     It had only been a few hours, but you wanted to check up on Sun and Moon, make sure the repairs were coming along okay. You were relieved when you arrived to see a tech typing dutifully away at the computer here while the enormous cylindrical repair machine hummed away, arms swinging this way and that as it put your friends back together again. It looked like everything was going well.

     It seemed you'd have your friends back in working order in no time. Satisfied and assured, you stepped back into the walls. You would see Sun and Moon again tonight, but for now, you had work to do.

[hearteyedbunny]

i wrote this last week and forgot to post it, heres me and cooper's first kiss and its weird

i titled this "ghoul kisses" in docs but idk what im actually titling it. thats the gist of it though <3

Traveling with the ghoul always seemed to be a game of russian roulette, as you would expect traveling with a wanted man would be. Some days were alright, the two of them mostly keeping to the shadows unless they needed to head through a town for supplies. They would get curious looks, sure, it was strange to see a ghoul cowboy and a lowly vault dweller travel together, but no one ever seemed to give them much of a second thought. Today had not been one of those good days.

The ghoul had sensed something right away, yanking on the vault dweller’s backpack and mumbling ‘stay behind me’ as they traversed through the small town. Mere seconds later all hell broke loose, the ghoul getting into a shootout with a few brave townsfolk, obviously looking to turn in his bounty. The vault dweller was lucky enough to react quickly and hide behind a nearby building, the ghoul easily dealing with the men who had ambushed the two.

He found them soon after that, cowering in fear. His face and clothes were speckled with blood as he looked down at them, yanking on their arm to drag them along with him as he was eager to get out of danger. The two walked for a while until they came across an abandoned building, the ghoul apparently finding this hideout good enough to hole up in for the night.

Now, here they were. The ghoul was busy reloading all his guns, while Bunny sat huddled up near him and thinking back on the events of the day. They hadn’t stopped crying, even when he had yapped at them to ‘quit blubbering’. The tears were quieter now, but still they weeped into the knees pressed up against their chest. It never seemed to get easier, traveling the wasteland, but they supposed they were grateful to have someone looking out for them, even if he wasn’t exactly the kindest, most understanding man. He still kept them safe, and they knew they were lucky for that.

Bunny watched the ghoul for a while, the repetitive motions of his hands as he reloaded and put away his guns calmed their racing mind. At least, it helped them to steady out their breathing and finally stop crying. He seemed to notice though, finally turning to look at them and say something.

“Whatchu starin’ at me for?” he didn’t seem angry, merely asking a question as he paused his movements.

“Uh, sorry,” they sniffled, their eyes staring down at the concrete floor now, “I guess watching you do that calms me down.”

“I told you to quit sayin’ sorry so much,” he said easily, now putting his last gun back in its holster, “Guess you need to watch more often. Yer gonna have to learn to use one’a these if you wanna make it out here. Can’t be cowerin’ like the jackrabbit you are.”

“I know,” they replied meekly and sighed, “Would you ever teach me?”

“Sure,” he started to remove his duster, tossing it to the floor, “Shoulda taught you the moment I found you. Ain’t no use havin’ a fella around who can’t shoot.”

“Yeah,” guilt suddenly coiled in their stomach, their throat tightening as tears threatened to spill again. They wondered if they were weighing him down. 

Neither of them spoke again for a few minutes, until the thoughts swirling in Bunny’s mind started to eat away at them, desperate to see the light of day.

“Why do you keep me around?” they suddenly blurted out, looking at him again.

“Sir,” they added, when he squinted at them.

“Why are you askin’ me a stupid question like that?”

“I–” they bit their tongue when it tried to apologize again, “I’m– I’m just dead weight, aren’t I? I can’t shoot a gun or do anything useful. I’m just dragging you down, aren’t I?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, only considering them with a tilt of his head before chuckling quietly to himself.

“I ‘spose havin’ some eye candy around don’t hurt none.”

“Uh–” they were suddenly speechless, and quite red in the face. They did not expect that answer. “What?”

“Now, I know I didn’t stutter, “ his face was suddenly very serious, “Come here.”

He motioned with his hand for them to come closer. As always, they obeyed, scooting closer to him until the two were hip to hip. His hand suddenly gripped the back of their thick hair, albeit not roughly, forcing the two to lock eyes. He reveled in the confused fear reflecting behind their cracked glasses.

He stared back for a moment, face eerily serious as if he was thinking about something. He watched their eyes as they darted across the features of his face, looking for some kind of answer. Their hazel eyes mirrored the color of his own, something he had never noticed before. He thought the light freckles dusting their cheeks were cute.

The ghoul kissed his vault dweller then, his touch uncharacteristically tender.

Bunny whined soft and surprised against him, their eyes fluttering shut in an instant as they returned his affections. As soon as they felt his touch, a fire ignited somewhere deep inside of them. Hands scrambled to hold onto him, scrunching up the fabric at the back of his old shirt. They moaned quietly into his mouth, against those startlingly soft lips, clinging to him like they’d never been touched before. They couldn’t even remember the last time someone kissed them, it had been so long. For the ghoul, they knew it had been even longer.

He tried to pull away, just for a moment, just to breathe air into his burning lungs, but it was in vain as Bunny pulled him in by the back of his neck, his hat being bumped off in their eagerness. It was his turn to moan, the neediness in their actions making him growl under his breath. He tightened his own hand in their hair, happily eating up the groan that it solicited from them. 

Bunny suddenly found themself with their back pinned to the ground, their hands grappling at the man so that he couldn’t escape from above them. They were so soft and pliable underneath him, he couldn’t help but slip a hand up along their side in a smooth motion. They gasped into his mouth, squirming underneath him at the movement of his fingers. He bit a little too hard at their bottom lip, making them whimper uncomfortably, before moving to mouth roughly at their neck with a low groan of his own. Again, they were moaning unashamedly at the unfamiliar and sudden touch, their nails digging into his back and their body giving into his own. He ran his tongue along their neck before slipping a knee between their legs, where they cried out and rutted against him.

Something stirred inside him at all the noise, the movement, the heated air between them, their supple skin underneath his teeth. There was the idea that he could pull them apart so easily under his hands and force those sweet sounds from their throat until he was satisfied. He finally pulled himself away from them, lest he lose himself and make a mess of them.

They panted underneath him, their face muddled with a red blush. They were sweating slightly, the front of their hair sticking to their forehead while the rest splayed out underneath them. The ghoul noticed they were starting to grey at their roots. He resisted the urge to brush it out of their face, only staring down at them and taking in the sight. Their chest heaved as they attempted to catch their breath, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring. They were wearing a tank top, and he was only human.

“Are–” they panted out, taking a big breath. They caught him staring before he looked back up at the sound of their voice. Their blush only deepened in color. “Are you okay?”

The two locked eyes again. For once, the vault dweller didn’t seem intimidated by his stare, though their eyes were wide in confusion as they held his gaze. Their concern was amusing to him. They were sweet and empathetic as always, but he knew a rare commodity like that wouldn’t last long in the wasteland. Still, he found it charming, in a way.

“Just fine,” he drawled, finally peeling himself off of them and searching for his abandoned hat, which he rightly placed back on his head when he found it. 

“You kissed me?” they worded it as a question as they sat up, feeling lightheaded from the lasting adrenaline. They traced their lips with their fingers. Their face burned.

“Yep,” he said cooly, but didn’t look at them as he sat with his back against the wall.

“Why?”

“You should be gettin’ to sleep,” he skirted around the question. You, and not we, they noticed. “Yer gonna need plenty of energy tomorrow if I’m gonna be teachin’ you how to shoot.”

They didn’t answer for a moment, only staring at him, the heated kiss still playing in their mind over and over. The way his lips felt against theirs, the way his tongue felt against their neck, his knee pressing into their–

They shivered, their body still feeling hot. The man they’d been traveling with tended to do things they didn’t understand, they had grown used to that, but this…? They felt frozen in place, but somehow they managed to find their words.

“Okay.”

It’s all they could think to say. They knew not to argue with him, so they accepted their fate as they finally managed to move their body and lay down, preparing to sleep against the hard concrete floor, their only saving grace being their backpack that they used as a makeshift pillow. They supposed they had had worse, at least there was a roof above their head. Even despite the uncomfortable setting, somehow they knew they wouldn’t be getting any amount of sleep tonight. 

“Bunny?” the ghoul piped up after a few moments of silence between the two.

“Yeah?” they didn’t turn over to face him as they answered, their voice feeling small. Their heart raced at the mention of their full name, a rare occurrence indeed, and one that was bringing their retreating blush running back to their face.

“Glad you made it out alive today.”

“...Thank you.”

“Yeah. Get some sleep.”

[jadedxrealityw]

-You Broke Me First- Draco Malfoy x  Female Reader

A/N: This image is based around the song You broke me first by Tate Mcrae this image with have two endings: angst and fluff

Summary: Draco cheated on you months ago with another Slytherin and you broke it off without second thought (as you should) but Draco wants you back

Warning: cheater Draco, yelling, cursing maybe?

House: Hufflepuff

     ♡~🐍~♡

    It had been months since you last spoke to Draco Malfoy. He used to be the person you loved and thought loved you too. You were surprised that he gave you the time of day, but with some chatting and a bit of flirting you fell for him hard. The day he asked you out would forever be a cherished memory. You were sitting alone on the courtyard when he came up to you with white roses. You’d never forget the nervous look he had until you said yes.

    Being official was the best part. He would show everyone your his with sweet kisses or a arm around you. No guy dared to get close to you and you kinda liked not having guys flirt with you anymore. On one of your anniversaries he bought you a necklace. It was a simple silver chain with a beautiful emerald in the middle. It was small and shaped like a teardrop. It had you and Draco’s name on the back of it. You adored it, you still adore it.

    When seventh year rolled around Draco started to become distant, push himself away from you or shut you out, leaving you confused and hurt. He wouldn’t sit or talk to you. At one point you thought it was something you had done, but it wasn’t it was never your fault. It was a late night and Blaise invited you too a Slytherin party, Draco wouldn’t give you the time of day anymore.

    Blaise told you that it was Draco who wanted you to come, it made your heart flutter in hope that he still cared about you. When you showed up Draco was nowhere to be found. Thats until a girl came out of one of the boys dorms screaming about how she claimed the Slytherin prince. She had hickeys scattered across her neck and was fixing her shirt, your heart dropped as soon as you saw your boyfriend walking out behind her, with his black button up undone and  messy hair.

    As soon as your eyes met he looked saddened, but looked away right after. Had your meant nothing to him anymore? Tears blurred your vision as you ran off. Blaise calling your name behind you, but you didn’t look back. There was nothing to look back to. 

   ♡~🐍~♡

   A week later Blaise had apologized for Draco’s actions and said he’d always be there for you if you needed it. You told him thanks, but he rarely ever talked to you after that either. You didn’t blame him. You wanted to be alone anyway. Draco made no attempt to speak to you. One day, you had gathered his things that he had left at your dorm room in a box. It contained his quidditch jumper, the notes he wrote you during class that you had kept and one of his many silver rings. He would put one on you and say one day you would be Mrs. Malfoy. What a cruel joke.

     You walked over to the Slytherin table during breakfast one morning and tapped Blaise’s shoulder he turned to look at you and gave you a smile. He took in the bags under your eyes, that were also puffy and red due to lack of sleep and crying. You gave him a half smile and handed him the box. After that you got up and left the great hall entirely.

     ♡~🐍~♡

     Back to the present. It would have been your fifth anniversary today, why you still kept count? You didn’t know, but it was stupid. Hogwarts was destroyed after the wizard war and it took awhile for it to be put back together, but it happened. You went back to Hogwarts for your 8th year. You were in the program for students who wanted to retake &th year because of the war. You made friends with Hermione, she was pretty sweet.

     One day you were walking around the halls when you bumped into someone “Im so sorry i didn’t-” your words were cut off when you came face to face with the man who broke your heart, with the man you were still unfortunately in love with. Draco Malfoy, why did he have to be the one you ran into on your what would have been anniversary “Malfoy, i’m sorry for bumping into you” you said politely before continuing to walk.

     “I’m sorry” you heard him shout from behind you making you stop in your tracks “I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me, i’m sorry that i cheated on you, it breaks me to this day and i’d do anything to fix it” your jaw clenched. He was broken? he had no fucking right to say that. You spun on your heels and walked right up to him 

     “You broke me first, Malfoy” she seethed in anger. He looked shocked. You had never once raised your voice at him and he had never seen you anger. You were kind and sweet. Your were his little Hufflepuff girlfriend. You were his everything. You were enraged, your E/C eyes bore into him. He looked around before grabbing your hand. He pulled you both into a empty classroom.

        ‘Maybe you don't like talking too much about yourself’ 

     You didn’t care, you needed all this anger out and he was going to listen and shut up “Y/N listen. I didn’t tell you a lot of things when we were dating, but i want to now” he said and stepped closer to you, but you just backed away “But you shoulda told me that you were thinkin' 'bout someone else” your voice cracked slightly. You were going to be a bit emotional about this and you had every reason to be. Draco felt a pang in his chest as you spoke to him. THe hurt coming off of your voice was enough to make him cry.

      ‘You're drunk at a party or maybe it's just that your car broke down Your phone's been off for a couple months, so you're calling me now’

     “Y/N i’m so sorry. Just let me explain so we can fix this. I want you back in my life. You were supposed to be Mrs. Malfoy remember?” he pleaded and went to grab your hand, but you pulled it away. He couldn’t just say sorry and everything would be okay. That’s not how this works. You turned your head away from him “I know you, you're like this. When shit don't go your way you needed me to fix it. And like me, I did. But I ran out of every reason” 

     Draco listened to you speak, a lump forming in his throat. “Now suddenly you're asking for it back?!” you exclaimed and pushed him away. He stumbled back a bit “Could you tell me, where'd you get the nerve?” and pushed him again. Tears ran down your face “Yeah, you could say you miss all that we had. But I don't really care how bad it hurts. When you broke me first” you choked out and pushed him one last time. 

       ‘You broke me first’

     You were in a full mania and back away, you laughed and wiped your tears from your face with the back of your hand roughly. You sat on top of a desk “Took a while, was in denial when I first heard, That you moved on quicker than I could've ever, you know that hurt” she swung her legs as she spoke remembering two weeks after you broke up he went out with Pansy Parkinson, you heard they broke up after his dad was sent to Azkaban. 

     “Swear for a while I would stare at my phone necklace just to see your name. But now that it's there, I don't really know what to say” you shrugged half heartedly as your hand fiddles with the necklace he gave around your neck, you never took it off, you just couldn’t. Draco looked at the necklace remembering when he bought it for you. It was a happy memory for him

     (the rest of the song isn’t needed so bleh)

          ♡~🐍~♡

     Angst Ending:

     You got off the desk and looked one last time at Draco who had tear tracks down his face, you reached behind your neck and unclipped the necklace. You dropped it into your palm and sighed. You finally had closure and got to say what you had wanted to. You walked up to him and grabbed his hand. He looked hopeful for a second before you placed the necklace into his hand and closed it. 

     “Please don’t do this” he whispered, more tears falling down. You shook your head and looked away, letting go of his hand “Goodbye Draco Malfoy, i wish you the best” you spoke politely, which broke his heart. You pushed open the classroom door and walked out. You walked down the hallway a heavy feeling being lifted off your chest.

     After that you felt free and happy without Draco, he still gave you sad glances sometimes, but with Hermione by your side she helped you with it and soon Draco Malfoy was a faded memory and you were stronger than ever. 

          ♡~🐍~♡

     Happy Ending:

     Draco walked over to you and you turned your gaze away quickly. He leaned in and you tried your hardest to not to look “My father forced me to become a death eater” he said making you gasp. He rolled up his sleeve to show you his dark mark and you covered your mouth with your hand. “He told me that people around me would be my weakness and darling. You are my weakness, because your the person i love the most”

     You felt your heartbeat quicken. He still had that effect on you “I needed to get you to leave me, but i couldn’t break up with you. You would know i was lying. You always know when im lying” he laughed quietly “So i invited you to that party so you could see. Paid some girl to pretend to have slept with me. I’ll never forget the look on your face when you saw me” He looked away as you processed the information.

     “What about that hickeys?” you asked, like it was the important part in that sentence, which it wasn’t “Blaise” “Blaise knew about this to?” Draco nods “He was a death eater to, after you left i was to be engaged to Pansy” he groaned. He never really liked Pansy, she was too clingy for him. “When my father was sent away i broke it off and came back here to find you” he spoke softly as he cupped your face with one of his hands “Your the only person i would ever want to be Mrs. Malfoy” he smiles. 

     You crack a smile and lean into his hand, you missed his touch so much. “Will you be mine again Y/N?” he asked, worry behind his tone. If you’d say no he would be broken inside, but he would accept it and leave you alone for the rest of your life. You pulled his hand away and scooted up on the desk, bending your knees and launching yourself at him. You wrapped your arms and legs around the Slytherin boy. Draco stumbled back before wrapping his arms around you tightly “I’ll take that as a yes?” “Yes! You idiot! Don’t you ever do that again Draco Malfoy!”

     “I won’t Y/N Malfoy”

          ♡~🐍~♡

A/N: This one lowkey broke my heart guys, like what in the fuck. Why did i write this? Anyway, if you have a request for Draco send it my way.

[the-irken-pony]

Hi I wrote a self-indulgent copperright fanfic based on a daydream

I totally didn’t learn the rules of poker just so I could write this fic what are you talking about

Quick summary: (Takes place during Terrence Suave’s time) Four Toppats opt for an afternoon of poker, but the group notices their friend acting unusual after a brief conversation with the chief’s right hand man.

Word count: 1998

Warnings: Gambling

“Alright, Macbeth, how much are ya putting in?” Gordon Smith smirked, fanning himself with the playing cards in his hand. “Unless you’re doing the wise thing and dropping out now.”

Mr. Macbeth huffed, skimming over his current stash of bills. “Hold yer horses, I’m tryna think.”

The man directly across from Macbeth grunted. “Let ‘im take ‘is time. He wouldn’t wanna drop out if he didn’t ‘ave to.” He gave a quick glance down at his hand; luck had favored him enough to grant him a straight flush, one of the best possible hands. “Could afford to think a little faster, though.”

Mr. Macbeth growled. “Alright, alright, fine.” Macbeth downed the rest of his soda and pushed forward half of his current earnings. “$600.”

“You sure about that?” Sledge MacRush raised his eyebrows. “When did you get so bold?”

“When y’all decided that rushin’ me was a better idea than just waitin’. Six hundred, final answer.

“Hm. Very well then. I’ll match you up on that. What about you, Smith?”

Smith chuckled sheepishly. “Aw man. I’m gonna have to drop out on this one. Promised Charlotte I wouldn’t bet more than $500 at a time.”

“What!? Come on, mate, you shoulda said somethin’ sooner!”

“Haha, yeah, I guess…”

“Well, after this round we can establish a limit.” Sledge gave him a sympathetic smile. “That leaves you, Red. You droppin’ out, too?”

“Nah, might as well stay. $600 for me as well.”

Of course, Red wasn’t actually the man’s name. People only called him that because of his naturally orange facial hair. People called “Red” all sorts of things, since he never gave his name out to anyone, not even close friends. He had to admit that he was hoping to have gotten a more consistent nickname by now, much like other Toppats. Even so, constantly changing nicknames was still better than telling someone his real name.

“So then, everyone else has bet already, eh? Alright, then, reveal your hands… now!”

Everyone around the table booth (except for poor Smith) laid their hands out on the table. Seeing the straight flush that the mustached man had laid out on the table, Sledge and Macbeth groaned as the nameless man chuckled.

“Maybe don’t put in half your cash next time,” he sneered.

Sledge huffed. “Remind me why we invite you to these things again?”

“Because you wouldn’t admit defeat if it left you stranded on an island with no way off.”

Sledge glared at the ginger from across the table as Smith let out a small chuckle.

“Touché.” He gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them. “Macbeth, you goin’ first this time?”

“Ahem. Excuse me.”

The group looked up from their game to see who had spoken. Standing next to the table booth was the chief’s new second in command, holding a clipboard and pen. He had only had his job for a week, but some Toppats were already calling him “the chief’s only good decision”. Admittedly, it was easy to see why just from a glance; he always stood in a very dignified manner, and every aspect of his appearance gave a sense of formality and professionalism--save for the bags under his eyes.

“Oi, Reginald, can it wait? We’re kinda in the middle of somethin’ ‘ere,” Sledge said as he continued to shuffle.

“Well, can you put it on hold? This is kind of important,” the right hand man replied, tapping his pen onto his clipboard.

Red shot Sledge a glare from across the table, prompting the latter to set down the deck of cards.

“Ignore him. Whatcha need, then?”

“What? Oh, right, right…” Reginald flipped through a couple of pages of his clipboard. “Mister Gordon Smith, the leader is sending you undercover tomorrow, and would like you to spend tonight preparing.”

“W-wait, tomorrow?” Smith stammered. “Why!?”

“Don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know,” Reginald yawned, rubbing his eyes. “He hasn’t given many details, he’s just said that he’s sent one other person already.”

“Why not pick someone else!?” Mr. Macbeth snapped. “It ain’t like everyone else’s busier than he is.”

“Easy, easy. I don’t mind doing it,” Smith assured him. Macbeth grumbled something under his breath as he crushed his empty soda can in his hand. Sledge crossed his arms and pouted. Seeing how tense the table was, Red cleared his throat to speak.

“So… one week into the job already, eh? How’sat been goin’ for ya?”

“I probably shouldn’t answer that,” Reginald muttered, looking over his clipboard. The redhead sat in uncomfortable silence, trying to think of a good response.

“…Cool.”

“Anyways,” Reginald said, “that’s all I needed from you. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Alright, thank you,” Smith replied. The group watched as the man left the table while staring at his clipboard.

“Guess we’ll leave it up to you, Smith,” Sledge said. “Do you wanna keep goin’ or would ya rather get an early start on prep?”

“Well…”

As the others discussed Smith’s plans for the day, Red watched the chief’s right hand pour himself a cup of coffee, drink the whole cup in one gulp, and then pour himself a second cup before putting in additives.

He furrowed his brow. How little sleep was the man getting? Given the chief’s current track record, it did make sense--other elite members often said that Reginald was eager to please, after all, but it seemed that the whole clan rested on his shoulders. He had only gotten brief glimpses of the right hand man in the past, but when he did he was always by himself hunched over a series of papers.

Yet, despite everything, a mere glance at him would give no indication of a struggle. He kept himself so professional-looking and neat; he always wore a fancy suit, and his mustache was styled to curl upwards at the ends. And that wasn’t even mentioning his delicate yet dignified posture whenever he stood or talked to--

“Oi!”

Red felt a sharp flick against the back of his head, yanking him away from his thoughts. He turned and glared at the man responsible, rubbing the spot where Sledge had flicked him.

“Ya awake over there, Foggy Eyes? We’ve been talkin’ at ya for like a solid minute now!”

“Oh, uh, were you?” “Foggy Eyes” sheepishly cleared his throat. “What’s up, then?”

“We were discussin’ plans with Smith.” Macbeth nodded his head in Smith’s direction.

“I’m good with going for one more round, if everyone else still wants to,” Smith said.

“Oh. Well, deal me in, then.”

“Alright, nice!” Sledge picked up the deck and began to shuffle.

“So what were you staring at over there, anyway?” Smith asked, lifting his head up to see over him.

“What? I wasn’t starin’ at anything.”

“No, ya definitely were,” Sledge chuckled as he combined two partial decks of cards. “You kept starin’ in the same direction since that guy left.”

“I-I just… zoned out, is all.” The ginger was starting to get nervous. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

Macbeth squinted. “You’re actin’ awful strange…”

“Keep talkin’ and you ain’t gonna be actin’ anything,” Red snapped.

Next to him, Smith was deep in thought. “Sledge… say that last part again…?”

The ginger could feel himself getting warm. “W-wait, no, don’t--” 

“‘You kept starin’ in the same direction’?”

“Nono, after that.”

“Don’t--”

“‘Since that guy left’?”

“Yeah, heh. That.” Smith nudged the hunched up man sitting next to him. “That have anything to do with anything?”

“Uhhhh…” The man slightly lowered his hat to try and obscure his face, which was already turning noticeably red. Sledge snickered.

“Oh, I see what’s goin’ on here,” he said with a smirk. “You don’t happen to fancy the chief’s right hand man, do ya?”

“I-- O-of course not!” he sputtered. “I-I just-- M-Macbeth, c’mon, back me up here, will ya?”

“Man, you were red as a tomato ‘fore anyone even said anythin’.” Mr. Macbeth leaned back in his seat. “I couldn’t defend ya if I wanted to.”

“Shut up, I was not!”

“Come ooon, admit it already!” Smith gave the flustered Toppat a light shove. “It’s not like we haven’t already caught on.”

“I-I, um-- I--” He pulled his top hat down over his face, which had risen to an unbearable temperature by this point. “I-I don’t-- I dunno, I…” he mumbled, getting quieter with every word, “I-I guess he’s, uh… k-kind-- kinda… sorta… r-really… c-cute…”

Sledge burst into a fit of laughter. “Oh man, I knew ya had a thing for ‘im, but I didn’t know it was that bad!”

“I-it is not…” By this point, the man’s face had turned to a brighter shade of red than his mustache.

“Well, go on,” Smith urged. “Whaddya like about him?”

“Mmmmrrrmmmppphhh…”

Mr. Macbeth couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Gotta admit, never woulda ‘spected to see ya like this any day of the week.”

“Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup…”

Smith laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Well?”

“Ohhh my goood…” Red swallowed, trying desperately to compose himself. Knowing there was no way he was getting out of this, he forced himself to speak. “W-well, there’s, uh…” He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the right hand man’s various features. “Th-there’s his-- his mustache, I-I guess… and-and his voice…”

Remembering that he was with three other people, he cleared his throat.

“Alright, all of you, listen.” He glared at the three Toppats. “Word of this gets out to anyone, and I’ll blow all your heads off. Understood?”

“Alright, alright,” Sledge laughed. “Wasn’t plannin’ on tellin’ anyone anyway, lover boy.”

Red froze. “I-- L-lov--!?” There were at least one hundred different insults he wanted to retort back, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a single word to come out.

“Aw, don’t take it too hard, man,” Smith said. “If it means anything, I’d say you’ve got a shot.”

“Would ya?”

Smith placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, sure. I bet you two’d be really cute together,” he sang while nudging the ginger, who buried his flushed face in his hands.

“Oh my god, I hate you so much…”

“Alright, you two, enough already,” Macbeth told them. “Y’all’re gonna kill ‘im at this rate.”

Smith giggled. “Okay, okay. Really though,” he told Red. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Take it from me--it took me years to ask Charlotte out on a date, and just last week we celebrated our second anniversary.”

The man smiled a little. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Smith looked down at his watch and frowned. “Oh man, I completely lost track of time, I gotta get ready.”

Sledge rubbed the back of his head. “I suppose that’s gonna mean you’ll need your phone back, then?”

“Yes, Sledge.” Smith crossed his arms. “Yes it will.”

Macbeth rolled his eyes. “I really don’t understand why ya keep takin’ it from ‘im.”

“It gets better signal than mine…” Sledge replied, hunching his shoulders defensively.

“There are better phones than his, y’know,” Red snickered.

“I can get his easier,” Sledge huffed. “Whatever. I’ll come along just in case it got lost in my room somewhere.”

“Thanks.” Smith glared. He turned to Red. “Anyways, keep your chin up, mate.”

As the group gathered their earned cash and got up to leave, Red’s mind drifted back to the chief’s right hand man. Whenever he saw him during work hours, he was always by himself. He didn’t ever see him not working either. Did he not have anyone else to help him with the workload? Or even to talk to?

Maybe Smith was right. Even if they didn’t start going out, he at least deserved someone to talk to and help him manage his workload. There was no good reason for him to have to do it all alone.

“Ahem.”

The group turned to Mr. Macbeth, who was standing next to the table, which was covered in scattered playing cards.

“Any of ya gonna help me get these?”

The group exchanged glances with each other.

“Nah.”

[introvert-no-chameleon]

Chapter 4: Making Amends

AO3

The snow crunched under Stan’s knees, soaking his pants and making the cold burning his skin. The pines that made up most of the forest towered over him more than he remembered, making it impossible to see more than a few patches of the inky, starless night sky. Snowflakes fell around him, their gentle descent a mockery to the cruel helplessness that was tearing him apart.

He couldn’t get back up, despite his brain screaming at him to do something, because Fidds was right there, and he couldn’t lift a finger to help him, he couldn’t stop it.

He couldn’t protect him—

“…ley…”

Wait. That was…but Fidds was in front of him—

“…up…”

He was—

“Stanley!”

Stan blinked, gasping like a man who’d just gotten a gulp of air after almost drowning. He wasn’t in a forest, or anywhere outside, but in a warm bedroom. His bedroom, actually. He recognized the long scratch on the roof from that weird octopus thing that attacked them once. Crickets chirped outside, and one glance out the window confirmed that it was nighttime. A few stars hung on the navy blue sky.

The mattress that squeaked and groaned as he shifted on it while he got his bearings. The lamp was on, emitting a soft light that illuminated the face of the man who’d called his name. His Fidds, who still had those funny antlers and cute ears, and was, more importantly, okay.

“Oh, thank goodness….” His boyfriend held his hand to his heart, shoulders slumping with relief, eyes brimming with tears. He was about to let out the waterworks, and Stan wasn’t about to let that happen if he could help it, reaching to wipe the rims of his eyes with his thumbs.

“Hey there, Fiddlenerd.” He sounded like he had just gargled gravel, but at least he could still talk. His throat felt dry for the first time since he changed. “What I’d miss?”

Fiddleford sniffed. “Aside from ya bein’ the biggest damn fool to ever walk upon this here world?” There wasn’t any bite to it, although his waspish tone suggested Stanley would be hearing about this of the next few weeks.

Stanley chuckled. “Uh-oh. I’m in real trouble now.”

“Damn right ya are!”

“Y’know Fidds, you’ve been getting’ an awfully big potty mouth lately.”

Fiddleford snark back at him like he usually would. He didn’t even scold him. He just sat down at the edge of the bed, hands running through his hair.

Stan grabbed his hands before he ended up pulling at his hair, like he tended to do whenever his stress got too intense for him to handle. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m super sorry. Whatever I did—”

“What ya—Stanley, ya threw yerself at a monster expectin’ me an’ yer brother to up and skedaddle without ya! Then ya got yerself cracked!”

Ah. That explained the bandages and his aching back. “Hey, come one, I couldn’t risk ya or Ford getting’ killed. I thought I stood the best chance. How was I supposed to know that it had weird magic nightmare powers?”

“You were a wreck, Stanley! We thought—I thought that…ya weren’t gonna make it. An’ then I heard ya yellin’…”

It occurred to Stan right then and there that he had cried and curled into the fetal position in front of both of them like a giant baby. He groaned, covering his eyes. “I can’t believe ya saw that.”

Fidds sighed. He got in the bed and cuddled up to Stan. His hand went to his cheek. Fidds had heavy bags under his eyes, and he looked almost as bad as Stan felt. “It’s nothin’ to be ashamed of, darlin’. That creature’s neurotoxins do a number on ya.”

Stan, who had begun to pull his boyfriend closer, paused. He pushed him back far enough to look into his eyes. “How do ya know that?” He began scanning Fidds body for injuries and froze when he saw the bandages on one of his legs, stained with blotches of red.

Stan sat up, ignoring the first genuine wave of pain he’d felt since he transformed. “That thing—it. I’m gonna kill it.”

Fidds huffed and pushed him back down, scowling. “You’ll do no such thing. It’s long gone, anyhow.”

“Wait. I was out for hours, an’ ya got hit with that magic mumbo-jumbo too. Why’re ya up?”

“Well, I shook myself outta it.”

Stan’s jaw fell open.

Fidds said it so simply, as if he hadn’t gone through the same experience, of feeling nothing but panic, being forced to watch a horror show as if strapped onto a chair, unable to do anything about it except experience his deepest fears manifesting right in front of him.

“Fidds. Come on, quit pullin’ my leg.”

“I ain’t.”

Sweet Moses, he wasn’t joking. “How?”

His boyfriend’s face fell. “I know it’s hard to believe, Stanley, but it’s the honest truth.”

Stan remembered their conversation, and he wanted to kick his own stony ass for being such a fucking idiot. “Whoa, hold on just a minute there, Fidds. Let’s get some shit straight. I ain’t lookin’ down on ya. I never did. I guess I shoulda made that clear, but I ain’t the best with words.” He gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts, to piece together something he could say that would get his point across. “Fidds, do ya know how it was around here before ya came around?”

The man blinked, obviously not expecting the question. “No?”

“Ford was barely able to get himself to eat. He was practically living off coffee and four hours of sleep a day. And don’t even get me started on how much he showered.”

“Darlin’, I have no idea why yer tellin’ me this, especially since yer brother still bathes every three days and sleeps every four if he can get away with it.”

“Believe it or not, used to be so much worse. And I promise there’s a point to this.” He cleared his throat. “He would get almost killed on a near-daily basis by some monster or lab accident. We were using so many first aid kits that we were buyin’ a new one almost every week. I was losing my mind just tryin’ to keep that dumb nerd alive, and we’d fight even more than we do now. Between that and boxing, I thought I was gonna go bald or somethin’ from the stress.”

Stan felt his lips curl up into a smile. “Then he called you. You an’ your banjo and weird southern talk. I’m not gonna lie, when I first saw ya, I thought, “this scrawny nerd isn’t gonna last a day”.”

“Thanks, hon,” said Fidds.

“But! I was wrong. Because before I knew it, Ford was gettin’ his science shit done even faster with another big brain helpin’ him out. I was able to sleep, an’,” Stan gestured to the room around them. “This place actually became livable!”

Fidds was smiling with him, a blush dusting his cheeks. “Aw, shucks.”

“My point is, Fiddlenerd, that if it weren’t for you, me and my brother would’ve killed each other by now or somethin’. Outta the three of us, you’re the one who has a head on his shoulders. We’re a team, and we need ya as much as ya need us. Hell, we probably need ya more. I…I know I do, at least.” He stared down at his own hands. “I’m sorry I ever made ya feel like I didn’t.”

Fidds held on of Stan’s big hands with two of his. “I was bein’ stubborn too. I shoulda just remembered that ya say what ya do ‘cause ya care about me.”

Stan glanced up at Fidds to see the man’s look of utter adoration, those big blues that made Stan’s knees go weak whenever he stared into them. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t be too worried. Especially not since ya did a pretty good job savin’ our assess today.”

“Actually,” said Fidds with a small cough. “I wouldn’t mind maybe talkin’ to Stanferd and maybe hangin’ back more when y’all go on monster hunts once an’ a while.”

Stan held his precious nerd close. “As long as you’re not always stayin’ behind. Don’t wanna haveta drag Ford away from giant goblins all by myself.”

Fidds chuckled. “Speakin’ of, he wanted me to get ‘im when ya woke up.”

Stan made no move to let him out of his arms. “Eh, let the idiot sleep, he needs it. ‘Sides, ya need your rest too, I’ll be here in the mornin’.”

“Oh, alright, but ya best be prepared fer him givin’ ya an earful.”

Stan would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t have weird glowy orbs that probably wouldn’t get the message across. “Not that. Anything but that.”

Fidds didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he was biting his lip, fidgeting like he always did whenever he had something to say and wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“What is it, Fidds?”

The man frowned, his Adam’s apple dancing up and down a bit. “…What did that awful thing make ya see?”

Stan felt sick all the sudden, his stomach (did he even still have one?) feeling as if somebody had pulled it out and was twisting it as tightly as they could. “Why do ya wanna know?”

“Ya just seemed to be in so much pain, is all, and…” He swallowed. “I…I saw you, and Tate and Stanferd had been—y’all were killed. Probably by one of them monsters, b-but…”

He squeaked as Stan held him as tightly as he could without crushing him against his chest. “Jesus, Fidds.”

Already Fidds was shaking, and despite his victory today, Stan knew how those things stayed with you, festering in some corner of your brain and jumping out when you least expect them to. He knew that it wouldn’t be something that would be forgotten any time soon. The man still got nightmares from his kidnapping, and that hadn’t sounded as bad as that shit. Stan began rubbing small circles on Fidds’ back. It was practically a reflex by this point, to comfort Fidds whenever he’d start having bad anxiety.

“It’s alright. I-I know it ain’t—it ain’t real.” He sounded more like he was reassuring himself than Stan. “I…I didn’t wanna see that, but I realized that i-if I wanna make sure that don’t happen, I need to be brave.”

Stan sighed. “You’re already brave, Fidds, and ya probably wouldn’t be so on edge if Ford an’ I weren’t always charging head-on into danger like a bunch of knuckleheads.”

Fidds chuckled. “As if the two of ya would be any more careful if I asked.”

“If it means it’ll stress ya out less? Then fuck it, I’ll guilt trip Ford into being more careful.”

Stan knew that if he wanted, he could say he didn’t want to talk about what he saw, and Fidds wouldn’t push. That had been one of the many things he loved about the man, how he always seemed to know when to give Stan space. He knew that Stan would always come to Fidds when he needed to.

But Fidds had come clean, even when it got him all twitchy, and damnit, he couldn’t just chicken out now.

“You ah…you remember how my pa kicked me out after the…the thing with Stanford’s science fair project, yeah?” He pressed his wings close to his back. Just saying it made the memory come into mind, the hard shove onto concrete, his world destroyed in the blink of an eye as his pa’s red face and cold, beady eyes bore into him.

Fiddleford hummed, nodding. “I do.” The man’s shoulders were tense, and Stan already began to see the tell-tale signs of the thunderous rage in his boyfriend’s eyes.

Stan had only lived in the shack for about a week when he told Fidds about his pa kicking him out. He hadn’t exaggerated when he told Fidds that he and Ford couldn’t even be in the same room without Stan doing something to inadvertently set his brother off. While they had decided to try and make things work between them, all it took was a reminder of the past for things to get tense.

Fidds lasted about a week before he took matters into his own hands. After a particularly nasty argument that had almost ended in a fistfight, Fidds had made Stan some tea, sat him down, and, managing to be very intimidating for someone so scrawny, made him explain everything. He could still picture Fidds’ initial reaction. The shock, then the sorrow so raw that it was as if he could feel Stan’s own pain, then the chilling glare that took over his features when Fidds told him to stay right there, now, I’ll just be a moment.

Less than a minute later, he heard Fiddleford screaming at his brother as if he was about to rip his head off. There’d been so much heat in it, Stan found himself rushing up the stairs to make sure Fiddleford wasn’t going to start exchanging blows with Ford. It had been the first time Stan had heard Fiddleford yell and give Ford talking to that would’ve made their ma proud.

The two twins had been forced to talk out their issues, with Fidds glaring down at them any time they tried to step out of line or fight. They continued like that for hours, until somehow, Stan and Ford had actually ended up hugging things out, a tired yet proud Fidds grinning at them.

He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he’d begun to see Fidds as something more than just some bookwormy dork with a banjo after that.

It warmed him to see that Fidds still got pissed at the mention of it. Stan snorted in amusement. “Easy, Fiddlesticks. That’s all in the past now.”

Fidd huffed. He wore a cute pout as he folded his arms over his chest. “Then why on earth are ya bringin’ it up now?” The realization hit him before Stan could reply, his eyes widening. “Oh, darlin’. You saw that memory?”

“Not exactly.”

Fidds waited, arching an eyebrow.

“He hurt ya real bad. My pa, I mean. And…Ford was there, an’ he was just…letting it happen. I-I couldn’t protect ya. I couldn’t do anything…”

Stan’s lip wobbled. Fucking hell, he wasn’t gonna cry again, especially not twice in one day! He was a man, damnit. He—

“Now, ya listen to me, Stanley Pines,” said Fidds, his voice a soothing balm over his pain. “An’ ya listen well. Yer brother is not gonna kick you out again, an’ he would never let any of us get hurt. An’ even on the wild chance that somethin’ possess Stanferd to even try to do so, well…He’ll haveta deal with me.”

“It ain’t just that, Fidds. I…back with the gnomes, and with this stuff today, I…I wasn’t able to be there in time. The only thing I’m good for is punchin’ an’ liftin’ things. If I can’t protect ya and Ford, then…”

“You hush. Yer so much more than that to me, hon, an’ I reckon Stanferd would agree with me.” He placed his forehead over Stan’s. Fidds had to move his head at an awkward angle so his antlers didn’t get stuck on Stan’s horns, but they managed it, in the end. “So I don’t want to be listenin’ to that nonsense, ya hear?”

Stan let himself relax, uncoil all the tension that held his body taut. “Yeah. Okay.” Then, in a whisper:

“I love ya, Fiddlesticks.”

“I love ya too, darlin’. How about the two of us get some rest?”

Stan yawned. “Sounds good to me.”

His lips curled into a content smile as he drifted off, knowing Fidds was snug and safe in his arms.

*

On the third morning of the transformation incident, the trio found themselves in the kitchen, Fiddleford at the table coaxing himself awake with a cup of coffee, and Stan just leaning back on his chair as he watched his twin pace. The sun had bun to rise, soft rays exposing the small specs of dust floating in the air, which would disperse whenever Stanford walked through.

A week had passed, and thankfully, all of their wounds were healed. Not only had Stan’s cracks mended, but gold lines trailed his back where the cracks had been. Fiddleford had a hell of a time talking Stan down from trying to chip it off himself to see if it was real, and even more of an issue when Stanford heard the argument and tried to get some off Stan to run some tests. The three of them had run so many tests on themselves that Fiddleford found himself getting burned out. Finding a cure was apparently more complicated than they’d thought.

So, he couldn’t help but place his head on the table and groan when Stanford broke the bad news.

“It seems like we may be stuck like this for a while.”

Fiddleford lifted his head to frown down at their notes, sighing into his coffee cup. “Well, at least we ain’t suffering any severe side effects.”

“Y’mean aside from Ford and his new riddle obsession?”

“As long as he ain’t eatin’ nobody, I reckon it ain’t the worst thing.”

Stanley shrugged. “Eh, true. And hey, I gotta admit, this is kinda cool, bein’ like this.”

“Speak fer yerself,” said Fiddleford, whose antlers had been getting caught in the top of doorframes all week. “It’s to darn hot fer me to have this much fur.”

“While I do share your sentiment, Fiddleford,” said Stanford. “This does give us a wonderful opportunity to continue to study our new conditions. Perhaps we’ll find a cure then.”

Stanley had that goofball grin on his face. He pulled in Fiddleford with one arm and Ford with the other. “Hey, if anybody can figure this out, it’s you two nerds.”

Stanford smiled at his twin, adjusting his glasses. “You just want us to do all the work.”

“That too.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “Yer still comin’ with us to that cave, so don’t ya start thinkin’ we’ll just let ya lay around the shack.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s so special about this cave, anyhow?”

Stanford playfully shoved Stanley away. “It had some very interesting inscriptions on the wall, and a few spells I have yet to add to the journals. Some of them even appeared to be prehistoric! I managed to catch a glance at some of them while I was chasing Mothman.”

“He still hasn’t paid ya back?” said Fiddleford, raising his I-told-ya-so eyebrow.

Stanford cleared his throat rather quickly. “That’s not important. There was a curious mural in particular that drew my attention, of a strange creature we haven’t encountered yet, that may be native to Gravity Falls. If anything, it’ll at least provide insight on the town’s history.”

“Sounds creepy. I’m in,” said Stan. He gave Fiddeford a gentle nudge. “Ya feelin’ up to it, Fiddles?”

Stanford paused, catching on to Stan’s soft tone. He gave Fiddleford a reassuring smile. “If you’re not feeling it, buddy, I’ll understand.”

Fiddleford took a moment to appreciate the moment. He realized, not for the first time, how fortunate he was to be here, doing what he did with two of his favorite people in the world. How he could ever convince himself, even for a moment, that he didn’t belong here amongst the strange and the unknown with the Pines, was beyond him.

“And leave the two of ya alone wanderin’ some caves unsupervised? I think not.”

This was his home, his life.

He wouldn’t change it for the world.

[ragnarachael]

Blue Moon

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 2,273

Summary: After a rough breakup you head back to the one place that'll help you drown your impending sorrows: Josie's.

Warnings: beer and whiskey are a thing here! Matt Murdock is a life ruiner with his charm! Stop him! Please!

A Note: Matthew Murdock said that I had to write this. And so I did. This is cross posted on my AO3 account, and based off of the small excerpt from Billie Holiday’s “Blue Moon”!

MASTERLIST !  FEEDBACK !

              "...you saw me standing alone

                   Without a dream in my heart

                   Without a love of my own

    Blue Moon, you know just what I was there for."

               — "Blue Moon" by Billie Holiday

You walked into Josie’s with what little dignity you had left after your horrendous and very public break up at the hole in the wall restaurant just a few blocks over, hands deep in your denim jacket as you smiled small at Josie, already placing an Alexander Hamilton on the clean marble bar.

“Whiskey?”

“Neat please,” you said kindly, as the woman smiled sympathetically at you, taking the cash on the counter. Part of you knew you shouldn't have whiskey on a work night or in general, but hell you've earned it after your shit day.

You took a moment to look around, noticing how empty it was. A small group of four playing at the newly replaced pool table, a happy looking middle-aged couple playing darts, small groups scattered in seating.

It was pleasant. You took a moment to note that were two men on your right conversing happily, one nursing a beer while the other had a beer and whiskey glass of his own. They both seemed somewhat dressed up and that caught you by surprise. The people that come to Josie's are usually casually dressed and nowhere near looking like they've ditched some nice business party.

However, the guy in the black button up sure did make it work, even if you could only view him from behind.

“Thank you, Josie.” Almost the second the glass was placed in front of you, you took a sip or two and ignored the sting as you took a deep breath in.

“Rough night?” She questioned softly, knowing what exactly happened, most likely.

“I guess you could say that,” you responded with a bit of venom in your tone. “I shoulda listened to you when you told me about Cameron.”

“Oh, he caused this?” Josie’s tone shifted into a motherly one as her arms crossed over her chest. You took another sip followed by a nod.

“Took me to that small Thai place a few blocks away and practically staged a play where our break up was the main plot line.”

You heard the men next to you laugh at one of their own jokes as you smiled painfully, swirling your glass around as Josie clicked her tongue.

“The second that prick walks through the door I’m giving him a piece of my mind,” she insisted.

“He’s not worth the time, Josie. Good news though,” you started, placing the glass on a coaster. “He’s never liked Hell’s Kitchen anyways. Always said it wasn’t safe due to that Daredevil guy or whatever. So, no piece of mind needs to be wasted.”

“Now that’s just horseshit! The kitchen's better with 'im in it.” Josie said sternly before letting one of her hands grab your free one near your glass. “He wasn't worth any of your time.”

You started to smile sadly now as you looked up at Josie. “Thank you. Now go tend to the other people and stop tryin’ to make me cry.”

The two of you laughed before Josie was off and walking down the length of the bar, starting to strike up conversation with other patrons while you just stared at the amber liquid in your glass, moving a hand to start swirling it around.

At least you can drown in your sorrow in peace now without feeling pathetic.

You swore that you could feel your phone going off in your jacket’s pocket, and you’re not sure why. But you were electing to ignore it and imagine it was your body buzzing from the whiskey you were drinking as you took another sip, almost draining the rest of what was in the glass.

Your eyes found the bottom of your glass through the small amount of alcohol again just as a voice came from your right.

“You can’t drown in the whiskey, y’know.”

“I can sure as hell try,” you started, turning your head to see the man next to you, suddenly taking in his features.

He wore 5 o’clock shadow well along with the fluffy looking hair he had, red circular sunglasses hiding his eyes from your own, and a few buttons of his shirt were undone and showed a small amount of chest hair. You were definitely right earlier. He did make it work in his favor.

Something in your mind made you think he could be danger with a handsome face.

"If you're really wanting to try then," the man started, shifting in his seat to face you completely now, his legs spread slightly as if you were going to slot right in-between them. Oh, would you love to, your mind echoed. "Try the Halál Angola, you'll be all set after a few sips."

You snorted and turned to face the man with your body now, your spread knees knocking gently against his. Your eyes were still locked on his sunglasses.

"Halál Angola? Is.. Is that Hungarian?" You questioned, clasping your hands loosely in your lap. The man let out a light chuckle, his head tilting up a bit as his gaze moved to look over at your left.

"Maybe. If it is, I think I might've butchered the name." He smiled. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your chest before he leaned an arm on the counter, reaching for his glass of whiskey. "Matt Murdock."

You grabbed your near empty glass from your coaster and rose your glass slightly like you were having a toast, "Y/N L/N."

Matt caught on to what you were doing and smoothly clinking his glass with yours before you knocked back what little liquid was left in your glass.

"So, Matt," you started just as you placed your glass down on the coaster, Josie wandering back to your side of the bar. "Why the glasses in a bar?"

He tried not to laugh as he swallowed the mouthful of whiskey he had before you received a small shrug. "'Cause I can."

"Alright then, Corey Hart, I can't masquerade with a guy in shades," you joked, smiling with yourself due to your reference to the song. You nodded to Josie as she reached for the whiskey glass you were drinking out of for her to give you another round.

"Oh no," Matt quipped, his voice echoing in his glass before taking another sip. You huffed out a laugh.

You thanked Josie as she topped you off, starting to lean against the counter.

"So, Y/N," Matt started just like you had a moment ago, clearing his throat slightly as his glass found its home on the coaster. "Why are you wanting to drown in whiskey on a night like this?"

You scoffed and sat up straight again while ignoring your heart beating a little faster from the way your name came from his lips, already reaching for your drink as you turned your body back to the bar.

"Long story. We'll be here all night if you get me rambling long enough."

"I've got the time."

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as he had a hint of a friendly smile on his face, his hands already resting on the tops of his thighs as he leaned against the back of the bar stool. You noted how his friend had seemed to have left him now, the beer he was drinking was gone, along with his coat that once draped over the back of the chair.

Heaving a sigh, you took a gulp of your second glass, half of the liquid gone before speaking. "Ex-boyfriend put on a show in the Thai place down the block that got him thrown out."

That answer was half true. After Cameron's outburst, it was clear to you he really only cared about himself and was overall a douche who was mad that you wouldn't give him head or anything like that in the end. Even if you'd been dating for a long period of time, you never felt comfortable enough to be intimate with him.

Now it definitely made sense why you weren't.

It did look like a long time coming for you two after you thought about how he treated you when you were together, and your heart seemed to clench at the fact that you're single again.

There was a long sigh that came from you, the tears starting to gather along your waterline as you shut your eyes tightly. You will NOT cry here. Not in front of this Matt guy, not in front of Josie, or ANYONE ELSE in this bar. You will NOT—

"Hey, you're okay," Matt gently reassured as you felt his hand fall onto your denim covered shoulder. Part of you wanted to shake off the hand. Like, really really bad and just walk out into the cold New York night.

But the buzzed part of you could feel the heat of his hand through your jacket, and you couldn't bring yourself to shake it off. Even if you've just met the guy, it felt comforting.

The heels of your hands gently pressed against your closed eyes to try and get them to stop watering with your tears as you took slow breaths, feeling Matt's hand move to rub your back now. You couldn't help but be thankful in this moment that you already had taken your makeup off at the restaurant.

It took you a bit to recover and get your emotions back to normal like they were when you first walked into Josie's. You personally blamed the whiskey, this usually happened after you've had a glass or two. This is why you steered away from most strong alcohols that you could handle, since your barriers you've made crash and cause things to happen much against your will.

Yet, Matt sat with you, still rubbing your back like a champ while you just got your shit together.

It made you feel even worse.

"I'm sorry," you said suddenly, taking in a ragged breath as your hands finally came back from your eyes to start gently tugging at your denim sleeves. "Like, really sorry. I know how awkward this probably feels for you right now and—"

"You're perfectly fine," Matt said almost sternly, his hand stilling on your back.

"We literally just met, I don't see how it's fine."

"Y/N." Matt's hand went from your back to gently grip your chin so you'd turn your head to look at him. There are those stupid sunglasses again. "It is fine. If I didn't want to try and help, I wouldn't be here, trust me."

You let out a huff and rolled your eyes, ignoring the feeling of his calloused hand under your chin still. "Your friends must think you're a saint of some kind with that attitude, huh?"

Matt snorted and let his hand fall back into his lap as his head ducked down as a small chuckle slipped out.

"I guess you could say that."

Sniffling, you gently ran your hands over your damp eyes one last time before reaching for your whiskey glass.

"Well," you started, your voice coming out a lot more choked up than before, "thank you. I really appreciate it. For someone who just met me, you're showing a lot of kindness that I don't really deserve."

Matt pulled a face as he looked back over one of your shoulders again. Why does he do that?

"We may have just met, Y/N, but I can already tell you're not a bad person."

You rose a brow. "This sounds like you're trying to tell me that you've got superpowers of some kind."

"No, I'm just a Catholic with a soft spot," Matt quipped as he started to slide off of the stool, grabbing his jacket in the process. You let out a soft laugh as you sipped at the whiskey in your glass again, your heart beating a little faster.

"Then wow am I thankful for you, Mr. Catholic With A Soft Spot. Maybe you should get that on a card."

Matt laughed as a smirk started to settle on his face while he swiftly pulled on his jacket.

You tried to hide your disappointment of him getting ready to leave. You had to remind yourself that you've only just met the man tonight, forchristsake.

"I'll think about getting it onto one if I ever have the money for it."

"Then I better be the first to get a copy," you quipped, pointing in his general direction before knocking back what was left in your whiskey glass. Matt scoffed dramatically as his hands dug around for his wallet in his pockets.

"But of course! I can't let down a potential client." Matt placed down some cash for what you could only assume was his beer before shoving his wallet back in his pocket as he kept a small smirk on his face. "I'll see you around then, Y/N?"

You turned to face him in your stool, noticing just how tall he actually was.

Jesus Christ.

You took a deep breath in before nodding probably a little too fast in response. "Y-Yeah, see you around, Matt."

Matt gave you one last smile before sidestepping to navigate his way to the door after waving to a few people and Josie.

It took you a brief moment to regain the breath you didn't know you were holding before letting out a huff.

You guess you'll have to start coming to Josie's more often then.

[that-one-bi-wizard]

Yo, it’s been a while since I uploaded a one-shot for my Nerd!Jack and Jock!Davey AU, huh? Well, here’s a little something I’ve been wanting to upload for a while. If you wanna read it on my ao3, I have a link here! I’m always taking prompts, so ya’ll can submit prompts for this AU if ya’ll want.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one-shot!

Davey checked the time.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and rushed from the school’s gym.  He was glad he got out of practice early because Jack’s art club should be over right about… now.

Jack walked out of the art classroom with paint stains all along his arms. Davey smiled and caught up with him. “Jack!”

Jack beamed when he saw Davey. “Hey, Dave. What’s up?”

“Nothing really. I was let out early, so if you need a ride home…”

“’Course. You know the answers always gonna be yes.” He grabbed Davey’s arm and draped it over his shoulder. “Come on.”

Davey kissed Jack’s forehead and kept his arm wrapped around him until they got to his car. They drove in comfortable silence, listening to only the radio as they watched buildings pass. It wasn’t long before they got to Jack’s apartment building.

Davey checked the time. It was still pretty early. “Want me to walk you to your apartment, Jacky?”

Jack shrugged. “Sure, if ya want.” He got his backpack and took Davey’s hand. He led the taller boy inside and took him to an old elevator. When it opened, he pressed the button for the fifth floor. As they waited, Jack never let go of Davey’s hand. Davey squeezed Jack’s hand. His gaze drifted to Jack. The way the dim light cast gentle shadows over his facial features gave the shorter boy’s face made Davey’s heart race.

He slowly turned to Jack and brought his hand up to make the shorter boy face him. He untangled his fingers from Jack’s and removed the other’s glasses. Jack blinked a few times. “Davey.”

Davey leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. Jack kissed back almost immediately. He grabbed Davey by the collar of his jacket and pulled him closer. Then, he wrapped his arms around him. Davey did the same.

It felt as if Jack was the only person in the world. Everything around them disappeared. It was only them. Only them.

Well, until…

“Am I interrupting somthin’ important?”

They immediately pulled apart. Davey felt heat rise to his face. A shorter man stood just outside the elevator door with his arms crossed and a stone, cold expression on his face. Davey wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or intimidated.

Jack just scoffed and stepped out of the elevator. “Shut up, Spot. It ain’t like you and Racer haven’t done worse.” He grabbed the taller boy’s hand and pulled him next to him. “What are you doin’ anyway?”

The man pat Jack on the back. “I figured you wouldn’t be back for a while, so I decided to do your job and go get the mail for ya.” He looked from Jack to Davey. “Apparently, you were too busy to do it anyway.”

Davey looked down at his feet not wanting to make eye contact with this man he didn’t know. Jack squeezed his hand. “I keep forgetting you twos haven’t met. Spot, this is my boyfriend. Davey, this is my older brother, Sean, but we call ‘im Spot.”

Davey felt his stomach twist. He looked up from his feet and waved awkwardly. “Hi… uh, I’m David Jacobs… it’s nice to meet you.” He held his hand out.

The older man looked at it but kept his arms crossed. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah…whatever you say,” he muttered. “You can just call me Sean.” He turned his attention to Jack. “I’ll be right back. Just tell Ma to start dinner without me.”

“Okay,” Jack responded.

The shorter man disappeared behind the metal doors of the elevator.

Davey felt himself let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He shoved his hands in his pocket and handed Jack back his glasses. “You never told me you had a brother.”

Jack took out his house key from his pocket. “You never asked.”

Davey looked back cautiously as if Jack’s brother would come back up and beat him over the head with a bat. “I don’t think he likes me much.”

Jack just laughed. “Well, you certainly left one hell of a first impression, didn’t ya?” Jack saw Davey’s expression and his tone became more serious. “Hey, don’t worry ‘bout it. He’s a little threatenin’ at first, but he’s a real softie once ya get to know ‘im. Anyway, thanks again for the ride. See ya tomorrow, Davey.” He gave him one last kiss on the cheek before heading inside.

A smile tugged at Davey’s face as he turned to leave.

When he got to the first floor, he saw Jack’s brother again. He gave an awkward smile, but the other just rolled his eyes. “C’mere.”

Davey looked around then pointed to himself with a questioning look. Spot motioned for him to come. “Yeah, you. Now, get your ass over here.”

Davey walked quickly to where Spot was. Davey knew he was tall, but compared to him Spot was short. He noticed how Spot had the same dark hair as Jack just cut shorter and the same hazel eyes. Spot’s were just more threatening.

He also had quite the opposite fashion sense as his brother. Jack was usually dressed fairly nicely in a button-up and a white undershirt. This man looked like he borrowed his clothes from a biker. He wore a black leather jacket, dark red muscle shirt and ripped jeans. Spot looked Davey up and down with the most unimpressed expression Davey had ever seen.

“David, huh? Jack talks about a lot about ya.”

“All good things, hopefully,” Davey joked hoping to lighten the mood. Apparently, Spot wasn’t one to joke.

“Yeah… I don’t buy it though. What do you want from him?”

Davey was taken aback by the question. “What?”

His voice dropped and became more aggressive. He grabbed Davey by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to meet his eyes. “You heard me. What do you want? Money? Sex? You want ‘im to do your schoolwork for you?”

Davey rubbed the back of his neck. “I-I don’t want anything! I just… really like Jack. It’s not my fault he kissed me in the elevator!”

Spot’s gaze never left him. He just shook his head and released the taller boy. Davey wrung his hand together. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Spot sighed. “Whatever. Look, you better watch yourself because if I hear you did anything to make my little brother uncomfortable or cry, I’m gonna mess you up so bad, you won’t be able to walk for months. And if you even think about breakin’ his heart, you best believe you won’t be able to walk ever again or breathe right! Got it?”

Davey nodded frantically. “Yes, sir!”

Spot smirked. “Good. See ya around ‘Davey’.” He turned and disappeared into the building.

Davey remained silent, his feet unwilling to move. He let out a shaky breath. “What the hell?”

-

Davey was hoping he wouldn’t have to see Spot again anytime soon.

Well, he was shit out of luck with that. He and Jack had a project they needed to work on due Monday. They couldn’t go to the library because it closed early on Fridays. They couldn’t go to Davey’s house because his aunt and uncle were visiting and he didn’t want to deal with them right now. So, the only other place to go was Jack’s place.

As they entered, there was no sign of Spot, which was a good thing. They were greeted by a tall, dark woman who had such a contagious smile.

“Jack!” She greeted. “How was your day, hon?”

Jack hugged her. “Good, Ma. Dave and I got a project we gotta work on.”

She released Jack and turned to Davey with a smile. “David! Well, if it ain’t the boyfriend I’ve been hearing so much about!” She hugged him.

Davey stiffened and looked over at Jack, who was silently laughing to himself. Considering how threatening Spot was, Davey expected Jack’s mom to be less… cheerful.

She took a step back and put a hand on Davey’s shoulder. “I’m Miss Medda Larkins, but you can call me Miss Medda or just Medda.”

Davey laughed nervously. “Heh…thank you, ma’am.”

“Jack’s told us so much about you, and you are every bit as handsome as he said you were.”

Davey chuckled. “Really?” He glanced over at Jack, who had a light shade of pink on his cheeks. “Thank you, Miss Medda.”

Jack grabbed Davey’s arm. “Okay, Ma. We’re gonna be in my room workin’.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Just behaves yourselves. I’ll call you two when dinner’s ready.”

Jack’s blush grew darker. “Okay, Ma. Love ya.” He dragged Davey to his room.

It was really small with only a bed and nightstand as the only pieces of furniture. His walls had cracks and chipped paint with sketches and canvases with Jack’s art covering as much of them as possible. Jack closed the door behind them.

Davey sat on Jack’s bed. “Your mom seems nice. She doesn’t look anything like you though. I’m guessing you get your looks from your dad?”

Jack shrugged. “Good question. I’ll let ya know if I ever meet ‘im or my mom.”

Davey’s heart sank. “Oh… Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

Jack waved a dismissive hand. “Pssh, it’s fine. Medda’s our foster mom. She adopted Spot and me when we were little.” He smiled to himself. “Anyway, I never thought of her as someone who could intimidate anyone, but you shoulda seen the look on your face when she hugged ya.” He sat next to Davey.

Davey shook his head. Then, he smirked. “So, you tell your family you think I’m handsome?”

The blush returned. “Shut up!” He grabbed his pillow and whacked Davey with it.

Davey laughed. “Aw, come on. I just think it’s cute.” He put an arm around Jack’s waist and brought him closer.

“Whatever,” Jack murmured. He whacked the taller boy again only to get another laugh.

“Okay, okay. I’m done. Let’s just get to work.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

They worked for about an hour or two. Doing research, organizing information, cracking some jokes here and there. It was nice honestly. The two ultimately ended up cuddling with their legs tangled up together.

It was all good until…

Jack’s bedroom door slammed open.

Davey almost fell off the bed, bringing the smaller boy with him. His chest tightened when he saw who it was.

“The hell you doin’ in here with the door closed?”

“Dammit, Spot! Ya almost scared us half to death!” Jack sat up.

Spot stood in the doorway with his same stone expression and his arms crossed. “Did Ma let you twos shut the door? You two coulda been doing somethin’ nasty in here. Leave your damn door open, Jack!”

Jack groaned. “Fine. Just get outta here, Spot.”

Spot shot one last look at Davey then left.

“Ugh, sorry Davey. He’s usually at his boyfriend’s house on the weekends. I don’t know why he’s here.”

Davey waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. I just get the feeling he doesn’t trust me.”

“You kiddin’? This is the nicest he’s treated anyone in a while. When he thought Kath and I were dating, he wouldn’t let her in the apartment!”

Davey thought back to their conversation the previous day and shuddered. “Seems like a nice guy.”

Jack punched Davey’s arm. He peeked outside the door then lowered his voice. “He’s been overprotective our whole lives. I think it’s ‘cause I’m technically the only family he’s got left, and he don’t want anythin’ happening to me. What he don’t get is that I can take care of myself. I don’t need him scarin’ people off for me.”

Davey nodded slowly. “I get it. But it’s going to take more than an overprotective brother to scare me off.” Davey smiled assuredly.

Jack laughed. “You sure ‘bout that. ‘Cause he’s probably gonna be on your ass for the next few months. You sure you can handle that.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Jackie.”

Davey leaned in to kiss Jack but stopped midway when he heard Medda call their names.

Jack stood up and pulled Davey up after him. He draped the taller boy’s arm over his shoulder. “Come on, Ma made dinner.”

Davey smirked. “Great. Now, I can ask her just how much you talk about me.”

Jack punched him again playfully. “Shut up!”

[randomliven]

WARNING LONG POST HEAVY SPOILERS

Episode4. Play back rewatch

*Open scene Montrose

*Drinking. Going through the memories of his mind

He drinks and still he remembers it all

*God Smites Eve

*2:12 "Give this to tic protect our family" GEORGE

*The Order of the ancient dawn

*You might be all Tic has left

*"Smells like Tulsa

*Bitcx better have my money

*Christina glides through cars

* Black arrow (nods it off)

*leti was ready

*Bitcx tried to walk in like she own the place

*the protection spell works 'akirum

She seemed impressed and snide

*your money (leti realizes where the money came from

**L: "You want something in this house. Something to. do with Atticus"

**Ct: "Dont let the men fool you into thinking its Always about them. "

**His blood may have power but thats only because itus spelled it that way. Hes Not Special. Not really

Christina is a Snitch

*"If he keeps operating like this hes going to get you killed "Again"

(she looks sincere) (im telling yall xtina did this before)

* "I dont want that. Or this house. I just want the orrery"

(To discover a world of first) (chritina dont lie withold yes)

You can get the Fuck up off my Porch

Call me

*Hippolyta calls her daddy... She has the Orrery

She smart as hell

*The new comic diana drawing..outta this universe

Moves and predicts the relative position of planets

*leti tells tic about tina paying for house

*Tic with holds information from leti

*knows tina used tic to kill father

tic was go kill her then just leave

Lil boy with Coke bottle glasses ( just like tic but not tic

*two sets of pages still exist

*the orrery is the key

(using the orrery to go into another world to find his pages)

Titus kept it hidden

*Casting spells to protect

*ask ya daddy " i dont want yall involved"

(Sound like his daddy when they saved him)

They in the back

Every time i tell you to do something yo do the opposite

*" how you kno its 34 lodges"

*"I cant help you kill yourself. You cant see this game she is setting up for you to play"

(Montrose and Christina have done this before.. I cant wait till the final. I need to kno)

*"Looking for answers you already have"

Boston

*"I know where to find that dame vault"

Christina plays hide and seek for the first time

Christina screaming "Im safe."

The police arrive for her to take her to ...

Lancaster

*She didnt mention leti being in the house specie or tic

Says convince "hyrum"

*she knows there is someone in the closet right away

*xtina says time machine

* " let "negros" move in..(vs niggers) cocky

Take my lodges

*did i miss your initiation into the order..

No cunts allowed

The silent fight

Let go. You told me to let go

Hyp suspicious

It so happens to be at a astrology museum

Tree

Ruby walks into Marshal fields

"Work like kobe just to shine like Russel"

Sees Tamara

"Yes yesterday"

"I applied on a whim"

Boston

Lights of the universe

Leti's face watching rose go with the guard

*"u kno y they call me tree"

"Shouldnt i already kno that since we fuc in highschool simore" rolls eye at that liar

True story: Harriet chariot

*MY MAMA NAMED THAT COMET

*Many artefacts Titus was giving in exchange for striping away everything they knew

(Stolen after killing, probably raping and enslaving the native people)

*tree hints at Montrose being gay to tic

Tic questions how mon knows the guard

The vault

*Christina pulls up goes around the gate

(William comes out 30seconds later, yes we kno the skin change happens in seconds seeing ruby change, BUT HOW IN THE HELL did xtina put on a whole suite down to the tie that quick)

Do they not kno william cuz then lancaster wouldnt have known it wasnt xtina when he dies.

She kick they ass

*William says i have a Date

Find a way to open it

Montrose finds the moonlight

How old is this museum

*"This is some journey to the center of the earth type shit"(name of book coke bottle kid in library was reading)

3tunnels

Ever the tide shall rise

Map of titus voyage's..

No telling Letitia fuc N lewis No

Dont help me

Yellow

*Based on adventure novels the tunnels should be based on the map.

*How you know he raided Diana

"I read a damn book

*1810 it was built

Established the sons of Adam 3yrs later

*Whats down the other tunnel?

The lantern being there

Ruby drowning her blues away to a half empty bar

Is copper considered a yellow

Voluptuousness

*I cant afford another one

Blues eyes got ya tab tonight

*A nod. A gulp

*"May i join you?" They dont sit

Keep my glass full"...

*Yall white boys dont come to the dark side for modesty (demanding woman

* i can buy my own drinks ( pride)

Take a bit more to impress me White Boy

*Never insult you to make you a kept woman

* promise me the world to lay with me

*a promise i can keep

(All she needs is the orrery & she literally can give Ruby Many worlds)

The way they look at Ruby

*20min of walking

Walking the plank

Tic brave

Tf me 1st

Learned how to lie

*juneteenth

* "FREEMEN WERE NEVER SLAVES"

She out there

Spider senses

Tic has training

Booby trap

Big fucking deal

The bored starts to disappear

Jump pop

Better catch me Boy. (I got ya kid)

Now they can run shuffle

Montrose knows the combination

Jessie owens

*The tide rising.. Less than an hr

Ruby "got there 1st, shoulda been me but i let Leti distract me"

They sat there all night

*"Whoes leti"

(i dont think Christina knew leti Nd Ruby were sisters before that moment based on willtinas expression

*"my half sister" (willtina Gulps (becoming a signature

* if i was in your skin i wouldnt even have to run"

*what to do about it?

William with them eyes.

*"Better stop looking at me like that, It Aint happening

White Boy"

I Put a Spell on You plays

Ruby want it

(Im more than sure this is Willtinas 1st time, also wonder if so as a woman. Possible leti was a virgin)

Willtina looked confused by the blood. Primal reaction

Ruby in control

William excited, whoa lip biting

The mark of Cain. Big Dic Energy

*" How you kno so much about the sons of adam?"

* george gave me the bylaws i burned it

My brother said protect the family. His dying wish

(Was to give Tic the book, but you cant tell Montrose what to do with his son)

Closing Pandoras box once Nd for good

You wont stop

*Leti finds the neighbors body who went missing

*Chicago to Boston 14hr drive

(They walk 20min to the plank maybe another 20 to yahima)

*sees elevator come down, looks familiar

*Epistien was apart of the order prob chasing the pages... He was missing an arm

This might get dangerous

*he was kidnapped. I Died.

*"not the center of the fucking universe"

Leti can swim too

*Fatherly advice

Ya mama was complicated too

*all that fussing is loving

*Epstein day look like he was missing an arm and like a drowned victim

I don't think Christina knew about the tunnels or at least she knew that she couldn't open them

Black folk dont watch bones come alive & just stare

*reaches. (Back the fuc up

* they have the same symbol on their stomach. The Regeneration spell

*yahima Woman man two spirit

*had no reason to distrust him

ALWAYS HUNGRY

*he killed them all (stole they shii) enslaved

Tic look like Will Smith as a fish in shark tail

*she dont know my spirit

Montrose Takes pages anyway (i think knowing booby trap)

. Grabs yama

*montrose drops the pages purposefully

Like damn leti. Grabbing for her

The kiss. The scream. The knockout

*how did they get back without woodie

*is that your dad's atlas

*devon county circled. Ardum reaper. Hyp makes a detour

*siren. Ill figure out how to help her talk

*"You were brave boy. Grew to be a good man spite me"

*he already had the plan

Damn montrose

[clown-bait]

Monster Family (Monster Roommate AU) CH9

HIATUS OVER! Im back! I had to take some time off in the fall because holy hell life got crazy! But Im back and Im determined to finish this and get the story through IT ch2 idk how long that will take me but now that Im financially stable I finallly have time to write!

CH 9 Hospital

When you're on a diet the last place you want to go to is an ice cream shop where temptation surrounds you in every corner. For Pennywise staring at a room full of screaming crying infants was like standing in an ice cream shop with a growling stomach and the world's biggest sweet tooth. 

They were so helpless and plump he could just pluck one up and swallow it whole. No one would even notice! They're all just right there! The Adam's apple of his human form bobbed up and down as he gulped and pressed a hand to the window. 

"First time dad?" A man was speaking to him he sounded disgustingly confident and joyful.

"Yes." He answered distantly.

"Aw congrats son! My wife just popped out number 3 right there! Cute little tyke, those legs look like a future football star's legs I'm tellin ya! Nice and plump gonna be a strong runner!"

Robert Grey wiped his lips with his sleeve as he stared at the squirming drumsticks. 

"So newbie which one of the little rascals here is yours? Wait don't tell me, the one with the fish eyes HA!"

Robert held back a snarl. "My offspring have not arrived yet." He said almost ominously 

"Ah hell don't be nervous pal! You'll be fine!"

"I do not get nervous." Robert did growl this time. He wanted to leave not only because this human stunk of pork rinds and grass cuttings but more so that he was stressed being in this place. There was a lot of fear in these halls possibly some of his own. His mate's seizing body was still fresh in his mind and the blood from her head was still under some of his fingernails. She will definitely kill him when she wakes up.

"Mister um Grey? Your wife is…..well she's stable will you please come with me?" A nurse called to him. Finally an excuse to leave. 

"Go get em champ!" He heard the human male call out to him. The eldritch decided that none of his offspring will be participating in this game of footballs just to avoid ever encountering this loud individual again. 

"We don't know how to tell you this sir but your wife is….well she has no pulse... Medically speaking she should be dead.." Robert stood unamused at the door of a hospital room he really did not want to be in. "I'm aware of that." He growled at the confused nurse. He should probably make her not see the fact that leech was a card-carrying member of the living dead but to be honest he wasn't focusing too much on what people saw and did not see. Most of his attention was on the strange male who insisted they came here instead of home. He didn't like the smell of him and did not like that his mind was unreadable. All he knew about him was that he knew his mate and had more than just a guitar in that case he carried. 

When the man found them it was Robert Grey's face he wore while he stood in the middle of the road. The creature frantically licked his seizing mate whos swollen stomach flashed frantically with muffled light. No matter what he did, he couldn't get it to stop and his silver desperate eyes reflected back in the approaching headlights. The following conversation was a blur,  the man apparently had met them the night before on that wonderfully brilliant bender he went on. Something about getting his mate to the hospital something about a friend who worked there….

"Sir? Are you all alright? " The nurse asked and brought the eldritch out of his thoughts. He let out a very inhuman snarl and pushed past the woman "sir! We need to discuss this more there's the matter of an ultrasound and-" Pennywise slammed the door behind him. He glanced up at the scene before him; another nurse fussed over the unconscious vampire smearing ointment on her stomach as she lay as still as a fresh corpse. He did not like the way they touched her nor the smell of the bandages on her head.

"Oh you must be the father? We're about to take a look at the baby." She said cheerfully. Pennywise's scowl did not change. 

The instrument pressed into his brood and a fang twitched over his lip. How dare this filth touch his mate and his eggs. He moved to protect but stopped when little lights began to dimly glow beneath the surface of Leech's pale skin. The nurse was mumbling something about seeing babies then she froze jaw going slack at the sight of the monitor. The infant deadlights within his vampire all shined through the screen, paralyzing their victim while rotating hypnotically just like their parent lights. The eldritch finally softened his gaze at the sight of his offspring. Pride stole his breath away from him and his scowl slowly warmed into a smile. Not even born and already making kills. He understood it all now, pride in something other than himself. Was he crying? Can he cry? Pennywise was lost in pondering these new emotions not even registering that his mate had come to and had bitten into the brain scrambled nurse. Leech hissed as she sucked the life out of the woman reflecting soulless eyes at the dumbstruck cosmic horror who was still completely mesmerized by all the strange new parental feelings it was trying to process. He didn't move till the empty body fell to the floor snapping back to reality at the sound of the heavy thud. Leech returned to a reclined position resting her palm on her churning stomach feeling the happy buzzing beneath her skin coughing and wheezing as if the blood she just consumed was her first breath of life.

A tissue dragged over her lips and one of her eyes slowly opened to watch Robert hover over her. "You're in trouble." She muttered.

"When am I not." He smirked and licked the tissue before swiping blood from her cheek particularly hard. 

"You didn't even propose you dick!" Leech growled and gingerly sat up. 

"Was tired of being bothered." Her mate tossed the tissue aside and instead switched to running his thumb over her cool lips. He licked his fingers clean with a satisfied groan. 

"That's not really the point of getting married Pen." Leech replied quietly and the mood changed fast. Robert's hands pulled away from her and a coldness filled the air. The eldritch stepped back towards the door and Leech could see the hurt on his features even if he hid it.

"..........You do not want this?" was he sad? Oh great drama queen is upset. 

"Hey I'm having your fucking babies egg head!" She blurted out trying to get out of the bed but struggled from her size. Her mate was already getting ready to walk out. "Pen don't fucking jump to conclusions. I don't want this in the way you did it! That's what has me upset!" She felt fear in her throat followed by the pain of her own children feeding off her. Tears spilled from her eyes as ichor bubbled from her mouth. "I want it to fucking mean something to you, like it does for me!" She gurgled weakly spilling black goo from her lips to the floor. Her mate did finally stop trying to leave much to her relief. She coughed and gripped the bed tightly. "I didn't even get a bachelorette party…." She could feel herself panting and she shifted back to a reclining position. "Hey, I still love you, you big drama queen. Don't ever doubt that. Can we just discuss this post offspring? I got a lot on my plate right now."  After an uncomfortable silence he turned to her with wild golden eyes. "They look like me." Was all he said. 

"They eat like you too." Leech sighed wiping her own blood from her lips. Robert's lip twitched upward as Leech shut her eyes in relief "I hate saying this but-"

"You need my help."

"You're the one who did this to me anyway." The vampire groaned and shut her eyes. "I feel so gross and bloated." She felt a hand reach under her knees and another slither around her back lifting her with ease. "Who's being the drama queen now?" He finally grinned 

"Fuck you." 

"You've already done that darling." Robert smirked with pride kissing her bandaged head. Leech traced the nail of her thumb over his cheekbone and her eldritch leaned into the touch.

"Just mouth stuff then." She smiled and kissed his soft wet lips.  

"What the hell are you doing?! Put her back idiot!" The pair froze at the shout as two men burst into the room. Pennywise's eye cracked open and rolled to the side, eyeing them both with venom. "Oh christ, they killed Bridget." The doctor groaned. Herbert West lifted the dead woman's wrist and dropped it "I suppose I can use the body for research. This will be such a mess to clean, you people are nightmares to work with I hope you know that." 

"I thought you said you didn't work with the living doc." Leech grumbled as her mate eased her back down and stood guard in front of her bedside.

"Your buddy here called in a favor."

"The guy from the bar?"

"Call me Duke darlin, Duke Rivers! Found the two of you in the middle of the road, gave you a lift." 

"I don't remember anything after passing out." Leech grumbled gingerly touching her head. 

"Shoulda seen that old bug of yours! What a worried wreck! Didn't I tell ya he'd come around?" The older man laughed then placed his coat on his shoulder. "I'll bet letting the doc take it from here, consider it my one good deed of the day. Come see my show sometime kid." 

"I- yeah, I think I will thanks." The man studied her as Robert shot a venom-filled glare in his direction then nodded at them as he slipped out. Leech barely had time to think before being roughly grabbed by the chin.

"You seem to be healing slow your um..species.. is known for regenerating yes?" West turned her head and pulled back her dressings.

"You think I'm sick?" Leech sat up taking her mate's hand.

"Do keep in mind I specialize in humans this is completely uncharted territory for me." 

"Well I'm human-shaped….most of the time…"

"I'll need you to go over weaknesses and allergies of both you and your...significant other. Something could have weakened you or the babies." 

"I have none!" Robert butted in with pride. 

"Yeah yeah lucky you." Leech grumbled. 

"And I believe I told you to wait till sunset but ohhhh no someone just haaad to go swimming."

"Oh shut up you were just as into it as I was."

"So you've been weakened by sunbathing despite knowing you're allergic to sunlight. And here I thought legendary monsters would be intelligent." The doctor sighed and turned the vampires head who hissed in annoyance. "Figures you are more vulnerable in your condition. By the rate your head injury is healing it'll take days instead of hours till you're on your feet. Hope the tan was worth it."

"Your bedside manner needs work doc." Leech muttered as he roughly redressed her wound 

"I work with the dead not the living"

"It shows." Robert nearly hissed not liking the way this other touched his mate so carelessly.

Leech rolled her eyes at him "So I don't know about you boys but i need another drink. Hook a girl up doc? Got any A negative? That shits rare!" 

"I would like a baby." The cosmic horror said cooly

"You already have babies Pe-.......wait…..no. oh no you are not eating a baby!"

"Peachy they are literally right there!" The eldritch's fangs split his face as he glared out the small window. His company looked mortified "Just one, one small soft and squealing."

"You are not eating a fucking baby!" Leech growled.

"I deserve one!" The disguised clown snarled glaring at his mate with vermilion eyes and a broken human face. 

"You already got my ass virginity today!" Leech snarled back rolling her eyes at the dramatic display.

"Things I did not need to hear at 5 am….. look I'm not stealing you rare blood types and infants for a grotesque gourmet feast. I will supply you with what you will need and then ask you people to get out of my hospital." The doctor grumbled and began to fuss with the corpse on the floor. 

 "Fine then Pen take me home, I'd rather rot in my own bed anyway." 

"I told you a couple days rest. You will live, are all of you this dramatic?"

"Only the pretty ones doc!" The vampire flashed a parting grin as they left the doctor to clean their mess. He was grumbling something about never working with the undead again. 

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

"You should be resting." Her monster’s voice hissed from under her bed. Leech shot a disinterested glance to the floor then back to her window. She felt a puff of hot moist air uncontrollably close to her face then heard a maw of teeth open "YoU sHOulD bE REsTinG." The eldritch gurgled.

"You realize the scary faces are gonna keep me awake right?" Leech cooly said and heard a set of jaws snap shut with enough force to break bones in two. 

"Things other than scary faces are keeping you up. I smell it on you." Her clown’s voice warbled out and Leech subconsciously moved for him to join her. 

"You ever look at someone you've never met and just feel like you know them?"

"No. But I am amused by this continue." The massive horror smiled through his words as he bullishly snuggled his way into his mate’s bed.

"I think I know the guy who helped us. I don't know why though." 

"Hmm too much stressing for you Mrs. Wise. But I will help put your mind at ease when you feel better. Promise promise." Leech felt soft nuzzles against her head as her mate ran his cheekbones over her skull like a cat. 

"I thought we agreed not to talk about that." Leech grumbled and turned to face her apparent "husband". "And its Grey. I like Grey on the end of my name."

"Someone's thought of this before!" Pennywise's smile widened. "Daydreaming about your clown my dear?"

"Don't embarrass me." Leech grunted and buried her face in his ruff. If she was alive, her face would be hot. "I'm not considering this official until we have a real ceremony and I get a ring. Call me old fashioned but your girl has standards."

"Hmm as you wish then Mrs. Grey!" He chuckled darkly smirking at her darkened cheeks and wide-eyed expression. 

"You fucking jackass." She muttered as her clown cackled grabbing her tight and tickling her skin. So much for bed rest.

[mistressarafax]

KaiJou Week - #1: Date Night

This is something I’d been wanting to do for a while, and date night seemed like the perfect prompt! Set in the Preferable Reality universe for anyone interested.

---

Bakura had been the first to arrive at the quaint bar just a few blocks from the game shop. He had headed there after his evening class finished. He and Yugi went to school together, but their schedules were very different. They still managed to see each other at school occasionally, meeting up for lunch and gaming sessions. He saw Yugi, as well as the rest of the guys, pretty regularly on Friday and Saturday nights, when they would meet up at the bar or Yugi's for dinner, drinks, and whatever activity ended up happening, whether a movie or a game.

Honda was the second to arrive, walking up and flopping down on the stool across from him. "What a day," he grumbled.

"What happened?" Bakura asked.

"Nothing much. Just a car that was a pain in the ass, and my manager was shitty about why I hadn't gotten it done faster."

"Oh. That's too bad."

"Yeah. I stayed late to get it done, then ran home to shower, but like...it sucked."

"At least you finished," Bakura contributed optimistically.

"True. Won't gotta deal with that shit more on Monday now."

Yugi walked in, joining them at the table, putting his black, leather coat over the back of his chair. "Hey guys!" he said cheerfully.

They chatted a bit and then went to the bar to order drinks for themselves. "So who we waiting on?" Tristan asked, holding his beer to his lips.

"Duke can't make it tonight. Joey's coming though."

"He did mention he was coming," Tristan commented. "I kinda figured he'd already be here. I don't think he has anything going on tonight."

"You know Joey," Bakura said. "He's never on time."

At that exact moment, Joey walked through the door. To his utter surprise, Kaiba followed right after him, and together, they approached the table. Bakura watched on as that sat down right next to each other.

"How's it going, Joey, Kaiba?" Yugi asked cheerfully.

"Not bad, Yug," Joey said. "And sorry we're late. Something came up." His cheeks were flushed, seemingly embarrassed, though it could have been from the cold air outside. Kaiba sat stoically next to Joey, saying nothing. Bakura wasn't sure why they Kaiba was there at all, but Yugi didn't seem bothered, and Tristan had seemed surprised for only a few seconds.

Joey leaned toward Kaiba. "I'm gonna go get a drink. Want somethin'?"

"I'll go with you," Kaiba said, standing up so the two could go to the bar together.

Bakura's surprise must have been obvious because Yugi laughed before explaining, "I guess Joey didn't tell you. They're...kind of...I  don't know. He insisted they aren't dating, but that's what it looks like, and they're definitely together."

Bakura agreed. It definitely looked like that were dating. Everything about how they were interacting screamed 'couple.' It was unexpected. Surprising. It took a second to process, and then he wanted to ask questions, but now was not the time for it. He would later. Whenever he had an opportunity to speak to Joey alone. Or maybe Yugi. Yugi probably knew most of the finer details.

"That's...peculiar," Bakura finally replied. However, he wasn't upset about Joey not personally telling him. That he was in a relationship with Kaiba wouldn't have been easy to share with Yugi or Tristan or anyone else for that matter. He glanced up at the bar, noting how Joey leaned against Kaiba, whispering something into the taller man's ear. They were close to each other. Casually touching and comfortable. It wasn't the sort of interaction he was used to seeing from them, but he found it cute.

"Can't say it makes any sense to me either, but I mean...hard to deny when they're here together," Tristan said. "He was real weird about coming out to me."

"Can you blame him?" Yugi asked.

"I do! He shoulda told me first!"

"I never expected Joey to bring him," Yugi said.

Tristan snorted. “I don’t think I would ever expect Kaiba to agree to come!”

The conversation shifted as Joey and Kaiba returned with drinks in their hands, going back to mundane conversation about what was going on in everyone's lives. Kaiba sat silently, messing around with his phone while seemingly not paying attention to their conversation. Bakura doubted that he wasn't actually paying attention. Kaiba was almost certainly weighing and measuring every word exchanged while feigning indifference.

It remained that way until Yugi addressed him directly. "So Kaiba, how are things going for you? I haven't seen you in a while."

Kaiba looked up from his phone, blues eyes flicking toward Joey for half a second before staring Yugi down. "Fine."

"I'm surprised you came along tonight."

"Hmm," Kaiba hummed in acknowledgement, but it wasn't close to being an actual answer.

Joey perked up and said, "I dragged 'im out. He'd be locked in his study all night otherwise."

"Do you have a lot of work?" Bakura asked.

Kaiba huffed. "Of course."

"He ain't got any work that can't wait for him to have some fun with me," Joey said.

Kaiba glared at him, and Bakura laughed. When they weren't going for each other's throats, they were entertaining to watch together. 

Tristan cut in, adding with a devious grin on his face, "Fun, huh?"

Joey flushed, stuttering out, "N-no! I d-didn't mean like that, ya perv!"

Yugi chuckled, and Bakura smiled, especially at the pinched, offended expression on Kaiba's face. But his cheeks were also tinted red, and Bakura suspected that 'fun' for them did include sex. In fact, as Kaiba tugged his turtleneck higher, Bakura thought, perhaps, that was the reason they'd arrived late tonight. Not that he was going to ask something so intrusive and rude.

If the others suspected the same as him, they didn't say anything. Kaiba stood up, announcing, "I'm getting another drink."

"Get me a beer, please," Joey called.

Kaiba gave him a single nod, and Bakura stood up to follow after him. He wanted another drink, as well, but he also wanted to talk to Kaiba privately.

"It's really kind of you to accompany Joey, Kaiba," Bakura said as they stood at the bar together.

"Mmm."

"I'm glad you two get along so well now. You seem happy."

Kaiba glanced over at him, blue eyes penetrating through him as though trying to judge the sincerity of his words, but Bakura meant it. He had no hard feelings toward Kaiba. He never had. And to see him out with Joey, trying to get along with everyone and content… Bakura was happy for him. For Joey, too.

"Thanks," Kaiba said gruffly.

Bakura grinned at him, but no other words were exchanged. They didn't need to be. They headed back to the table with drinks in hand, and conversation flowed as they all got more and more inebriated, though Kaiba stayed pretty quiet despite the alcohol. Joey, on the other hand, was getting louder as Tristan egged him on. Yugi was laughing too, and Bakura didn't bother to fight back his smile.

Kaiba's phone rang, interrupting their fun, and he stood up to take the call outside. Quiet fell over their group, and Joey watched him go. Bakura saw the look on his face. A look of admiration and want, a little lovestruck and hopeless. Probably not a look he'd have let himself show around all of them, but he couldn't stop himself while drunk.

Bakura reached out and touched his hand, drawing Joey's attention. "You'll have to tell me how it happened sometime," Bakura said softly.

"Yeah," Joey agreed sheepishly.

Kaiba marched back in. "I have to head home," he announced.

"What's up?" Joey asked, looking worried and disappointed at the same time.

"Mokuba isn't feeling well," Kaiba said, "and he asked me to go get him some cold medicine." 

Joey's tension eased. "Ah. I'll go with you then. Since we came together."

With only a raise of an eyebrow, Kaiba managed to ask, 'Are you sure?'

"It's no big deal. I'll hang out with everyone again later," Joey explained, standing up and pulling on his jacket. Bakura realized it was a new jacket, because it wasn't something he'd seen Joey wear before. It dawned on him that it was very likely something Kaiba had given him, warm and stylish for the impending winter temperature. "Sorry for cuttin' our date night short, guys."

"It's alright, Joey," Yugi said. "I'll let you know about next week."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll see ya guys later, alright?"

"See you two later!" Bakura called, waving at them as they headed off.

The pair disappeared out the front door of the bar, and Bakura shook his head. A thoroughly surprising yet still pleasant evening, and he hoped there would be many more to come.

[paulhudd]

Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt Six: The Witch’s Promise

In a private room in Harrisburg Hospital, PA: Emil felt good. The world was blissful and peaceful. His legs, pelvis and right arm were in plaster, his face was badly cut-up, but none of it bothered him at all: bless you Sister Morphine... so cosy and warm... then he heard the whispery-hubbub of female voices, the approaching squelch of rubber soles on vinyl flooring, the swish of nylons, the click-clack-clunk of stilettos – weesh-weesh ticka-tock, weesh-weesh ticka-tock, weesh-weesh ticka-tock... then loud, familiar voices, one of which started low and became a high-pitched screech, “Oh my God! Emeeeeeeel...”

Fran! Lovely Fran, my lover, my wife, my soulmate has come to see me...!

“Will ye look at the state of him!” cried a harsh voice in an Irish accent.

Oh, Jesus no.... she’s brought her mother. That’s all I need: Broom Hilda harshing my buzz...

(Hilda Laverty, formerly of Co. Clare but resident of Toronto since 1952, was the dictionary definition of a formidable woman. Like a quilted Sherman tank in a Thatcher-wig & pink twin-set, she was a controlling, dominating harridan who despised her son in-law with a passion bordering on outright hatred.)

His eyelids eventually peeled back and a pair of flesh-coloured splodges shone through the haze.

“Look -- he’s awake!!” He felt the right side of the bed dip as Fran sat close and took his hand, her tearful, tremulous voice spoke close to his ear, “Oh, Emil how could you... I mean, what made you do this... you could've been killed!! What is wrong with you?!”

Hilda Laverty didn’t give him time to answer, she had a ready reply, her accent getting thicker as her anger increased, “He’s a friggin’ hippy – that’s what’s wrong w’ ‘im!! All that dope he smokes has finally addled his brain! Drivin’ hundirts o’ miles in his jammies like a mental patient! It’s a bloody disgrace!”

Emil watched like a supine tennis spectator, his eyes swivelling left and right as the women bickered over the bed. “Mommy – I’ve had you in my ear for the last three freakin’ hours! Gimme a break!!”

Typically, Hilda ignored her and ranted on, “I bet he was as high as kite -- look at him there -- it’s a blessing from heaven that he hasn’t killed somebody!”

“MOM! Enough! I warned you...!” Fran shouted, then turned back to her husband and looked at him with beseeching eyes, “Oh, Emil... I knew you shoulda seen a psychologist after the first time!”

“Aye -- he’s finally cracked under the weight of a guilty conscience!!”

“Shh! He’s trying to say something!”

Emil spoke in a weak whisper, “I’m so sorry, Fran...”

“Don’t try to speak, I understand...”

“No... I need to say this...” He looked down at his long-term archenemy and yelled as best he could, “Blow it out yer ass Hilda!!” It hurt a lot, but it was well worth it just to see the expression on the old bag’s face.

That face was now puce with fury; it took her all of a minute to gather her dander and deploy the wagging finger, “Don’t think you can shock me or insult me, Emil Labatt, cuz I have heard it all before – it’s not me you’re hurting (points at Fran) -- it’s her!”

Fran stood up and tried to shout her down, “Mom this is neither the time nor place --”

But Hilda Laverty was intent on saying her piece. She’d been longing for the day when Emil Labatt would be incapacitated and at her mercy. She gripped the rail at the end of the bed and gave him both barrels: “This is Divine Retribution for all yer ‘extracurricular’ activities, me laddo -- swannin’ round thon campus like Don Juan, with yer ponytail and yer safari shorts and yer convertible sports-car, pickin’-up wee lassies who have more tits-than-wit!”

Fran tried desperately to intercede, “Mom – stop -- don’t make me --”  

But Hilda was in full flow – she’d been mentally rehearsing the tirade all the way from Toronto and nobody was going to stop her, “What about that redhead lab-assistant who had to have an abortion?! Or that psycho-bitch who stalked our Fran when you dumped her?! Or that wee blonde bit ye had a fling with in Ireland?!”

For once in her life Fran finally stood up to her mother; she jumped to her feet, stomped her heels, pulled her hair and bellowed at the top of her voice: “Mommeeee -– shut-the-f**k-up and GET OUT!!”

Hilda was thunderstruck. Her mouth opened and closed like a guppy at feeding time as her mind chewed it over. She looked at her daughter as if she’d just seen her for the first time, “What did you say to me...?”

For once, Fran did not waver; she pointed at the door and said, firmly, “Get out!! I mean it!”

“Why... how...” Hilda was saved from further humiliation by the arrival of an enormous black nurse in a capacious purple cardigan, who strode in and hissed in a loud whisper, “What in hell is goin’ on in here!” she said, hands on hips, her shiny black bob swishing to-and-fro as she looked from one to the other, “there’s sick folk tryin’ ta sleep down the hall! Now, y’all be quiet or I’ll haveta ask y’all to leave!”

Fran apologised profusely for the disturbance, then turned to her mother and said, “My mother was just going -- weren’t you, mom?”

Still fuming, Mrs Laverty lifted her handbag from the chair by the door, “We’ll talk later, my girl! I’ll be in the car!”

“Don’t bother waiting, I’ll get a taxi,” said Fran, icily, sitting down on the edge of the bed again, taking Emil’s hand.

Hilda turned the air blue, “Well f**k you, you stupid f**kin’ bitch -- don’t come cryin’ to me when he lets you down again -- and you, Labatt -- I hope you end up paralysed from the waist down -- that’d be poetic justice!!”

The big nurse watched Hilda stomp off down the corridor and shook her head “Well, I’ll be. She looks like such a nice, Christian-kinda lady, too...” she opined, shuffling out the room.

Fran took his hand in both hands and regarded him with pitying eyes. He squeezed her hand and whispered, “I am so sorry, Fran. I mean it. I don’t know what happened or what’s going on. I think I could have brain tumour or something...”

She leaned close, looked into his eyes and said, “Yesterday morning... when you had that look in your eyes, like a... a zombie, I should’ve known there was something deep going on. But after all the rows we’ve had, it never occurred to me you were having a breakdown.”

High and dislocated, Emil found this conclusion somewhat amusing. “Is that what you think this is? A breakdown? You think Hilda’s right? I’ve cracked under the weight of a guilty conscience...?” Then he saw a tear trickle down her cheek and sobered up. He squeezed her hand again and said, “I swear to you, I don’t know what this is or what’s happening to me,” he whispered, “but one thing I know for sure is it’s got nothing to do with you.”

She reached up, took a paper tissue from the box on the bedside locker and dabbed her eyes, “Things haven’t been the same since you screwed Paddy’s niece,” she said bluntly. The time for civility was long past.

He sighed heavily. She’d never forgiven him for that fling. After all the other little affairs he’d had, she’d stayed by his side -- more for the sake of her reputation and career than anything else -- but she hadn't mentioned his brief fling with Niamh since he confessed to it 2 years ago. She didn’t forgive him. She just went on with her life as usual without ever talking about it, even when he tried again and again to apologise. “I told you, it was the worst mistake of...” he froze midsentence and stared into space.

“What is it? You've got that look again! Oh God...” Fran groaned.

He snapped out of his trance, looked at her and gasped, “You’re right. You’re absolutely right!”

She frowned and shook her head, “What do you mean?”

“I mean I haven’t been the same since I got back from Ireland!”  

...

Meanwhile, at Pagham House, Co. Kildare: Dozing on the grass outside the pavilion, Broo entered another world.

He was standing in a heavy downpour among a crowd of restive peasants in the middle of a muddy, tree-lined country road. He quickly grasped that it was the road that ran by the gates of Pagham House -- but unlike the present day, it wasn't surfaced with tarmac and marked with white lines, it was just a dirt-track slashed with puddling wheel-ruts, reduced to mire in the torrential rain. To the right there were six soldiers wearing wigs, clad in red uniforms and armed with muskets, standing to attention before a flatbed-dray, the horse whinnying and restless – as if it sensed the tension radiating from the crowd. A bedraggled, shoeless man in a soiled white blouse and baggy black stockings stood barefoot on the flatbed, his hands tied behind his back, a noose around his neck, his long, sopping wet red hair clinging to his pallid face like silky kelp draped on a porcelain bust. A cowled executioner stood to attention beside the dray holding a hood, presumably to place over the condemned man’s head when the moment came. On the opposite side of the road, sheltering under the foliage of a row of yew trees stood a trio of men in long black robes and tall buckled hats, their heads bowed as if at prayer.

Despite the high drama and the appalling weather, the old dog wasn’t in the least perturbed; in fact, he wasn't even getting wet. By now he was well-used to these visions; he knew no one could see him and he wasn't in any danger. He was just an impervious, invisible observer. But why am I here?

The shortest man with the longest wig walked into the middle of the road and read aloud from a rain-spattered scroll: “Tobias Aloysius Farley, you have been tried and convicted of theft and intent to defraud the person of Thaddeus Arthur Ravenhill, 8th Duke of Roxborough and loyal servant of His Majesty King George III. You have been sentenced to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. Have you anything to say before you meet your maker?”

“Oh aye, I have summat to say!!” The condemned man straightened up, smiled a humourless, triumphal smile, as if he’d been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. He yelled at the tallest man under the branches of the beech - a tall, gaunt man with dark eyes, sharp cheekbones and an alabaster complexion that gave him the look of a reanimated cadaver, “Go to hell, Roxborough! For I’m certain Old Nick will have a special torment set aside for wicked men the likes of you!”

A low, appreciative hubbub ran through the crowd.

The condemned man looked around the crowd and spoke with authority and sincerity, “Heed my words, my brothers - not as servants or soldiers - but as men! Men with children of your own! Brothers, I tell you with hand on heart – the man you are about to hang is an innocent man! My only crime is that I know too much and I’ve said too much and now men of influence ‘ave pooled their resources to shut-me-trap once-and-for-all! Tis another dastardly deed to conceal a series of dastardly deeds -- devilish schemes perpetrated by this man -- deeds that are an affront to God Almighty Himself!”

The gaunt man broke ranks and strode across the road, “Enough of this man’s blasphemy and desperate lies!” He pushed the man with the scroll aside, shouldered his way through the soldiers and smacked the horse’s rump with his silver-headed cane –- the nag reared and tried to bolt, knocking the executioner over -- the condemned man slid off the dray, his feet kicked frantically as the rope tightened around his neck. Everyone gasped in horror as they watched the body swing and twist on the groaning limb. It jerked for a few seconds, shuddered, then sagged. The mud-caked executioner picked himself up from the mire, tore off his mask and glared at Roxborough with a hate-filled scowl, “A dying man is entitled to be heard! History will judge his words, Roxborough -- NOT YOU!!”

There were cheers and jeers now; cheers for the executioner’s candour, jeers for Roxborough’s actions. Sensing a little rebellion in the making, the duke ordered the soldiers to close ranks around him. The soldiers hesitated, loath to open fire on an angry mob, especially since they appeared to agree with the crowd’s objections. One of the men who’d been standing by Roxborough’s side commanded them to follow the order. When they resisted, the Duke, stony faced and imperious, walked among them and announced with a look of utter contempt on his face, “Remember who I am, gentlemen. And remember where you are...”  

Then, the swaying, hanged man looked down at Broo, his pale purple face streaming with rain and said, “Hey doggy --Wake up!”

“Wake up!”

Broo opened his eyes to see Charlie Noble, Pagham House’s Head of Security, standing over him. “It’s rainin’ -- why aren’t ye under cover, ye silly mutt?” The old dog wearily pulled himself up and headed back to the main house. As he crossed the cobble-stone courtyard, he was forced to stop to allow a silver Toyota 4x4 to drive in and pull up. There was an old woman wearing overalls and a headscarf sitting in the passenger seat and a pale young woman with long, silvery-blonde hair, behind the wheel. “There’s summat ‘ee don’t see every day, aun’ie -- a three legged dog!” tittered the silver haired girl.

The old woman looked at Broo and scowled, “’is nibs musta called ‘em after all. ‘E said ‘e would.”

“’Oo?”

“Ghost ‘unters. That dog is psychic. Must be ‘ere about the poltergeist thing. ‘Is nibs must be at the end of his tether,” said Mrs Sparkes, opening her door. “Thanks fer the lift, our Oona, there wuz no way oi coulda walked up ‘ere this mornin’, me leg is killin’ me...”

Still staring at the old dog, the young woman answered distractedly, “Don’t you worry none... aun’ie... Craigy wuz jast off noightshift... so oi were up anyway...”

“Well, tell Craigy oi’m sorry oi woke ‘im.”

The younger woman didn’t hear the remark and continued to stare into Broo’s eyes. After a moment, he began to feel something getting into his head, like an unwelcome thought was trying to get through...

The old woman looked from the girl to the dog, seemed to realise what was going on, and walloped the girl around the head, “Cut that out!” she shouted, angrily. The girl suddenly severed the budding connection, “Ooow!” she moaned, rubbing her head, but didn’t argue, as if she’d done it before. “Now get ‘ee on ‘ome, Oona Nevin, ‘fore I clout ‘ee again!” said Mrs Sparkes, struggling out of the car. On her way across the courtyard, she paused to have a closer look at him. After a moment’s contemplation, she bent down and said, “’Ee’s looked in the old mirror, ‘aven’t ‘ee, boy? 'Ee’s seen the children, ‘aven’t ‘ee?”

Broo, of course, could only stare back blankly, giving no indication that he could understand what she was saying, although her words sent a shiver through his pelt.

“Get ‘ee on ‘ome, Mr Dog. Soon as ‘ee can,” she whispered in a low voice with a cold smile, “cuz this ol’ house’ll eat ‘ee alive.”

As Mrs Sparkes walked to the tradesman’s entrance, the young woman drove around him, her eyes locked on his as she turned in a circle; when the car was facing in the direction of the drive, she stopped and wound down the window so she could get a clear view without rain streaming down the glass. He began to get that strange feeling in his head again -- until the old woman screamed, “Oona!! Go HOME!!” and snapped them out of their trance. The young woman glowered at him, wound up the window and sped off.

That was almost a telepathic intrusion! Is she psychic?! What is going on here?! ‘This house’ll eat you alive’...? He was very worried now. Oh, c’mon Malky, get up so we can get out of this place...

 2 hours later: Malky was awoken by a firm knock on the door. He stirred, opened his eyes and looked up. “JESUS!” He jumped when he saw his reflection in the mirror overhead. He was not a pretty sight: unshaven, pale and puffy-eyed.

Knock-knock. “Are you OK, Mr C?” said Herbie, opening the door a crack, “Can I come in? Are you decent?”

Malky sat up and groaned, “C’mon ahead, Herbie, I ain’t got nuthin’ you haven’t seen before...”  

“... as the porn star said to the Pope!!” Herbie quipped, bringing in a silver tray with a slice of melon and a tumbler of freshly squeezed orange juice. He was bright ‘n’ breezy, dressed in his chauffeur’s uniform, all sparkly buttons and shiny boots, “It’s jast gawn eight firty, Mr C, an’ if you’s feeling up-to-it you’s welcome to join me ‘n the staff fer breakfast in the kitchen?”

With the bitter aftertaste of strong coffee still in his mouth, Malky took a gulp of juice, swilled it around his mouth before swallowing, “I don’t think so, Herb, not feelin’ too good,” he said, rubbing his tummy.

Herbie went to the console at the side of the bed and pressed the button that opened the curtains, “Befowah you awsk, our young master Kris ain’t up yet, what wiv the ol’ jet-lag ‘n bein’ up all night it’s unlikely we’ll see ‘im ‘fore we leave.” He went to the window and looked out, “An’ your best pal won’t be joining us neever, I’ve awsked him –- I tried to tempt him wiv bacon, bat ‘e flatly refuses to come in the ahse. I fink ‘e’s anxious to leave.”

Pulling on his pants, Malky hopped over to see; sure-enough, there was the old dog was sitting, watching the window from the top of the marble steps. It was raining heavily and the old dog was sopping wet. Malky raised the sash and called out, “Hey! Come in and get yer breakfast!”

The old dog sat where he was and didn’t as much as twitch.

“Then at least go ‘n sit under a tree?!”

The old dog stayed where he was and barked: Can we go home now?

“Och, he’s probably homesick...” Malky began to say, before a feeling of nausea hit him, “and talkin’ of feelin’ sick... Eeeuuugh...”

“Wossup?” asked Herbie, concerned, “gotta dicky belly, ‘ave ya?”

“Me guts’re doin’ somersaults... said Malky, turning a light shade of green. If I didn’t know better I’d think it was hangover...”

“Drink too much coffee last night, didja?” Herbie chuckled, “Charlie went dahn to the pavilion to lock-up this mornin’ ‘n ‘e said the machine wuz empty!”

The mention of the coffee set him off, “Here I go –-” mumbled Malky, making a run for the en suite.

Herbie shouted after him, “Lissen -- you get dressed and I’ll go dahn an’ fry-ya-up my breakfast special -- toast, a bit o’ black-puddin’ and wiv ‘ash-brahns an’ eggs in Worcester sawz - that’ll put ya back on yer plates!”

Malky threw up loudly.

“Well, maybe not...” said Herbie, smiling to himself as he picked up the tray.

 “So-oo, what’s the beef, chief?” Malky asked, gingerly staggering down the marble steps carrying his overnight bag, “why didn’t you come back to the house with us last night?”

Broo was too distressed to react. The rain had faded to a misty drizzle, but not so misty as to obscure the awful truth. He still has the aura. It wasn’t as strong as the grandson’s, but he could still see it and feel it: physically deadening and psychically inhibiting. Malky is infected! He whimpered and backed up.

“Look, I’m sorry you hadda sleep outside, but we couldn’t wake you, so we let you sleep...” said Malky, misreading Broo’s reaction, before doubling up and retching.

Broo was very alarmed now. It’s so bad making him physically ill! We must get out of here!

Then they heard footsteps crunching on the gravel behind him, but instead of going to the Rolls, he approached them with a look of trepidation on his face. He pushed back the brim of his cap, “The boss is awake and ‘e wants to tawk to ya before you go... would that be OK?” he said, apologetically.

“I’ve nothing to say to ‘im, Herbie.” Malky replied, shaking his head.

Herbie sighed, looked down at his boots and said, “‘E wants to fank you personally for what you done lawst night. ‘E’s still in bed, bat ‘e’s sober an’ of sahnd mind.”

Malky straightened up and had another bout of light-headedness; and again, Herbie had to lend a helping hand, “You ain’t lookin’ any better Mr C...”

Broo yipped, getting evermore anxious by the second.

“Stop fussing! I’m fine...” Malky lied, wincing, “I’ll go talk to Laphen, and as soon as I’m done, we’ll go home, OK?” he patted the old dog’s head and walked back up the steps with the bemused chauffeur, “You an’ ‘that ol’ doggy certainly are a pair, aintcha!”

As soon as Malky’s palm touched had his head, Broo got that same debilitating feeling he got when the grandson touched him the day before: physically drained, psychically blocked. Will this ever end?! He whimpered.

 When they entered the room, Malky was very surprised to find the little old man propped up on plump, ivory satin pillows in a huge four-poster bed. He looked well-groomed, his eyes were clear, he seemed calm and composed as she sipped a cup of lemon tea from a dainty china cup with his little finger crooked, his bony little hands as steady as a rock: whatever Rossington had given him, it’d worked a treat.  “I want to thank you for everythin’ you’ve done, Mr Calvert,” he said, in a cheery voice.

Malky shrugged, “We didn’t find anything.”

“You’re sure? There’s nothing here?”

“Nuthin’ spooky, no.”

Smirking, Laphen nodded and said, “That’s all I needed to know. Now I can concentrate on catching the real culprit.” He gave back the cheque for £7500 that Malky had thrown in his face the night before.

Malky didn’t want it, but took it for Zindy’s sake, “I can’t say it’s been a wonderful experience, Mr Laphen, but it’s been worth it to make the acquaintance of Kris. That kid is an absolute diamond and you should be proud of --”

Laphen put up a hand and stopped him, “Before you start to extol the virtues of my grandson, will you indulge me?” He got out of bed and slipped his feet into a pair of giant yeti-boots-style-slippers. Herbie helped him on with his red satin dressing gown. Just then there was a knock at the door and an old woman in overalls entered pushing an ornate antique silver trolley. He recognised her from Kris’ description: Pagham House’s indomitable, sour-faced housekeeper, Mrs Sparkes. “’Ere’s ee’s breakfast. There’s bacon ‘n’ eggs ‘n’ kipper,” she grumbled, lifting the cloche, “Oi didn’t know ‘ow you wanted ‘em done, so oi did two boiled, two froied ‘n two poached, so ‘ee can work it out fer yerself.”

“Yes, thank you Mrs Sparkes, put it on the table and bugger off,” said Laphen, offhandedly waving her away.

“And don’t ‘ee get egg on the chairs,” she grunted, on her way out.

“You can go too, Herbie,” he said, “I’ll buzz when I need you.” Herbie gave Malky a sly wink and followed Mrs Sparkes out of the door. Laphen went to the table at the back of the room, sat down and uncovered the platter; he shook out a napkin and put it on his lap, a picture of elegance and sophistication, apart from the yeti-boot slippers. Malky followed him and sat on an antique ottoman adjacent to the dresser, 6 or 7 feet away; the minute his arse hit the velvet, he sighed with relief; then the smell of the eggs hit him and his belly flipped again.

Laphen poured himself a cup of coffee, “Coffee?”

“God no!” Malky moaned, holding his breath.

“Are ye alright, ye look terrible,” said Laphen, as if he cared.

“I just wanna get out of here...”

“Herbie tells me Kris took you round the East Wing,” said Laphen, buttering a slice of toast.

“He was great, it was very... enlightening.”

“Hmm. When he was a kid he used to explore every nook ‘n cranny of this place. Up to all sorts, he was,” said Laphen, in a suspicious tone, “you couldn’t watch him.”

“Well he was very knowledgeable, very helpful,” said Malky, fading.

Laphen sat forward and looked Malky in the eye, “Look, the boy is trouble. Always has been. He’s a compulsive liar, so-he-is. That’s the only reason I keep him close, not because he’s wonderful company, but because if he’s left to his own devices somebody’s liable to get hurt.” He went back to his breakfast, “He’s a skilled manipulator and he’s got yez all wrapped around his wee finger. But not me, oh no.” He reached into his dressing gown pocket and produced a small oblong box. “This is a voice-activated digital tape recorder. I had Charlie stick it under the table in the coffee bar when he went over to turn on the power.”

Malky was affronted, “You mean...”

Laphen shook the little recorder, “Yes, I heard every word.” He pressed the little play button:

“... When I look at him now I know I’m looking at myself in 60 years time, cos that’s probably what I’ll look like if I live that long. But I won’t end my days like him, alone in a mansion miles away from his family, abandoned by his estranged kids. My grandfather is nothing if not a walking cautionary tale.”

“What the ....” said Malky, unable to adequately express his outrage without throwing up, all he could manage was a feeble croak, “...what gives you the right to tape us?!”

“My property, my prerogative, I can do what I like. And Kris knows it, too,” he said, confidently, “in fact he knew I’d be listenin’ ‘n put on that wee performance to get at me. That’s what he’s like. The spiteful little bastard...”

Feeling bewildered, betrayed and used, but mostly very sick and tired, Malky laboriously got to his feet and used all his strength to give out one last time, “How’s this for a performance!” He tore-up the cheque and sprinkled the pieces over Ollie’s eggs, “for the second ‘n last time - goodbye  Ollie! I hope you get what’s coming to you!” and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Outside the door, Malky all-but collapsed; he put his back against the wall and slid down until his arse hit the floor. Herbie, who’d looking out of the large oriel window at the end of the landing, saw him and came running. “You look like deff-warmed-up, Mr C. I dunno wevver to take ya ‘ome or take ya to casualty!” he said, putting Malky’s arm around his shoulder.

“Home, please, Herbie. If I’m gonna die, I wanna do it in me own bed,” Malky gasped, struggling to walk down the stairs, “don’t take this the wrong way, but most of all just wanna get outta this f**kin’ house...”

Meanwhile, at Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co Wicklow: Zindy had been up-and-at-it since 5:30AM.

She struggled into a pair of black leggings, to hide her bump, she put on the most voluminous garment she could find –- namely an XXXL ZZ Top Eliminator tee-shirt that used to belong to her hulking ex -- put on her motorcycle boots and wriggled into Malky’s manky overcoat (looking like Dopey from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs sans nightcap). She crossed her fingers under her cuffs, went out to the yard and tiptoed around the old van as if she was silently sizing up a sparring partner. “Now, I have lavished love on ya. I’ve cleaned your sparks, oiled yer pistons, greased yer nipples. All I ask is an 18 mile-round-trip. Get me there and back and ye can ‘ave the rest of the week off – eh – ‘ow would that be, eh?”

The van remained inscrutably silent.

“OK then, ‘ere goes...”

Lifting the tails of the coat, she got in making sure not to rock the suspension; she said a silent prayer and gently put the key in the ignition, took a deep breath and turned it:

Pfft.

Nowt. Try again.

Harrumph.

Pause... She prayed again and tried doing it slowly.

grumblelumblelumberrrrrrr

Hmmm, ‘... again, but faster...

FruummmmmmmmRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMooooMMMMMMMMMMM......PUTTAPUTTAPUTTAPUTTAPUTTA

“YES!” she yelled, as the engine burst into life. Monday blues? Not a bit of it! She got out, pulled the tee-shirt over her head and sang Simply the Best while doing a little victory-dance around the yard. Then something suddenly struck her. She slowly stopped her little jig, pulled the coat from her eyes and looked up.

The parapet of the yard wall was lined with cats. They were on the kitchen roof and the coal bunker – cats of every breed and size. Just like that night McKee kidnapped her and killed Sammy. Cats seemed to turn- up when something wicked was going down. What do they want now? Were they there to warn her? What gives? She kept an eye on them as she carefully got back in the van and drove off, little knowing that when she returned, not only would the cats be gone, there wouldn’t be an animal within a twelve mile radius...

 Utterly bereft, Sammy stood at the parlour window and watched the van drive down the strand, his Essence troubled, his Aspect dim. He’d seen the cats in the backyard – confirmation that things were about to change. “See? The cats and birds always first to know,” said the boy in the mirror above the mantelpiece, “now will you believe me?” The face in the mirror belonged to a fine-featured, fair-skinned blonde aged 12 or 13 sent to convince him for the last time to go to Limbo before Malky got back. The boy made it clear he didn’t like being in the Mirror World one little bit, he was jumpy and kept looking around as if he was scared, “Look,” he said, losing patience, “Go to Limbo! - because if you don’t exist at all – you’ll be even more useless than you are now!!”

“But how do we know if this ‘darkness’ or ‘badness’ -- or whatever-ye-may-call-it -- won’t harm Zindy or the child she’s carryin’? I mean to say...” said Sammy, pacing the mat in front of the hearth, “you can’t gimme an answer to that question.”

“I told you the Powers That Be just told me to get you to go to Limbo. You don’t argue. They’re always right.”

Eventually Sammy’s shoulders dropped and he gave in. The face in the mirror closed its eyes and sighed with relief, “Please go now. I’ll wait.”

Sammy obediently closed his eyes, held his nose and dropped through the floor like a man jumping feet-first into a septic tank. The mirror misted like over like a windscreen on a wet day, but in this case the film of condensation was on the inside; and as it slowly evaporated, the usual reflection of the living room gradually materialised in the glass...

...

15 minutes later, on the road to Arklow: The radio was fooked so she chatted to her bump as she chugged along the bumpy back roads, “Mummy’s still got it kiddo! And your daddy said I was wasting my time – pah! What does he know, anyway? I’m the handyman in our house! You might inherit my powers! If you’re a girl ‘n you anything like me, you might be a bit of a tomboy. But if you’re into dolls ‘n girly stuff, that’ll be OK, too. If you’re a boy -– we’ll get dirt bikes and tear up the hills! If you’re musical - we’ll get you an electric guitar!” The spell of exuberance lasted all the way to the market in Arklow; she left the motor running and collected the standing-order ASAP -- but when she reached the DIY store she had no choice but to say another silent prayer and turn off the engine.

Afterwards, when loading the cans of emulsion into the back of the van, she once again got behind the wheel went through the little ritual, but just as she feared, the engine was dead. She did everything she’d done before, but the van flatly refused to respond. “You’re not even trying!” Throttle-out, throttle in; each twist of her wrist produced a whining sound as if the van was screeching killmekillmekillme. To make matters worse, drops of rain were pattering on the windscreen and drumming on the roof. “Fook! Bugger! bollocks!!” she cried, pounding the steering-wheel with her little fists. All the optimism and good cheer evaporated, she slumped in the seat and mithered, “I’ll have to phone for a f**king tow-truck now! Shite!” She was just about to get out and have a look under the bonnet, when she glimpsed movement in the wing-mirror: someone was headed her way. Her efforts had attracted the attentions of a Good Samaritan. She watched the figure approach in the ing mirror with some degree of resentment and grumbled, “’ere we go. A Knight in fookin’ shinin’ armour is comin’ to help a damsel in distress...”

The man tapped on her window. She wound it down and almost yelled, “Look mate, unless you’ve got a carburettor for a 1978 Ford Escort van, you can...”

She stopped talking when the guy took off his shades (‘oo wears shades on a day like this?) and she realised she was looking into a pair of very familiar eyes in an unfamiliar face. A familiar voice said, “You were gonna tell me to eff-off, werntcha?!”

Zindy was agape; her stomach flipped, her heart thudded in her ears; when she finally caught her breath, she gasped: “Raspo...?” He was completely transformed: the long plaited purple beard was gone, revealing a ruggedly handsome clean-shaven face with a cleft chin; his long grey hair tied back in a ponytail, creating a silver-streaked widow’s-peak; he’d forsaken his well-worn leathers and biker boots for a black reefer-jacket, blue jeans and Cuban-heeled cowboy boots. The most astounding thing was his shape; gone was the humungous beergut, gone was the enormous arse, he looked slim and fit. The only sign of the old Raspo was the blurry-blue spiderweb tattoo on the back of his left hand.

She couldn’t adequately express her surprise, “You’re so... so...?”

“Handsome? Intelligent? Sexually attractive...?” he said, that familiar gold tooth glinting in that familiar smile.

She tried not to sound impressed, “No... I mean ... it’s quite a transformation, to say the least. When you were with me the most exercise ya got was openin’ the fridge and pullin’ the tab on a can.”

He stood back, opened his jacket and let her get a good look, “Solitary confinement and a set of weights will do that to a man. I’ve lost 7 stone! I can see my toes now!” He slowly pulled up his roll-neck sweater to reveal his heavily tattooed torso, “Beer barrel to six-pack in 4 years -- not bad for a 57 year-old slob who never walked-the-length-of-himself, eh?” He put his hands on his knees and stooped, his grey-green eyes twinkling as he looked at her hair, “I see you’re a pinkhead now. Very becoming. And you’ve put on a bit of weight, too. Suits you. In fact, you’re still wearing my old clothes, I see...”

Zindy blanched and instinctively crossed her arms over the bump and told him what she thought of him. “So they shaved 3 years off your sentence for squealin’, did they?!  I wouldn’t know, see, since I ain’t a rat-fink-coont.”

Raspo threw back his head and laughed heartily before answering, “Am I to assume that I’m not exactly flavour of the month in Brodir? You ‘n the boys still mad at me, eh?”

“I haven’t seen ‘em since you grassed-‘em-up. The raid was so bad I hadda close the place up and renovate. Thanks for that,” Zindy snarled.

The winning smile vanished, “I didn’t squeal on me mates, just those bastards from abroad. It’s a shame our lot got caught in the crossfire, but in the end none of them was charged. I told Somerville to take it easy on them.”

Zindy recoiled and shook her head as if she couldn't understand what he was talking about and said, “Smokestack lost so much blood they had to do a transfusion -- Little Ted got a fractured skull! Marcus is blind in one eye from flyin’ glass! Not to mention the damage done to their bikes!”

Raspo made no attempt to justify or defend his actions he just stared at the ground and took his medicine like a big boy.

“What gets me is there wasn't a word of warning -- I visited you every week and you never said a word! Not a bloody word. You sat there, looked me in the eye 'n told me to arrange that Halloween party without the slightest hint of what was gonna ‘appen! The first I knew about it was when the riot squad kicked-in t’door ’n gave me customers a leatherin’ -- it wuz like a friggin’ warzone!”

Raspo had stopped grinning halfway through the harangue. His face became solemn, the heavily-lined brow vexed with concern, when he answered, there wasn't a hint of irony, “I’m really sorry, but Somerville made me an offer I couldn't refuse. And when-all’s-said-and-done, the men I gave up were murderers, kidnappers, pimps, Nazis and many other things besides. So f**k ‘em.” He regarded her with a pained expression, “You know me, Zin, I can’t be caged, I can’t be locked up... stuck lookin’ at the same four walls day after day, eatin’ the same auld shit, havin’ to cohabit with rapists, perverts and paedos.” He looked her in the eye, “Cuz that’s where they put you when you turn states’ evidence, Zin: the ‘secure wing’. So on top of everything else I hadda live with the worst kind of scum -- I used to beat the shit outta them just so’s I could spend some time in solitary to get me head straight.”  

For a second she remembered why she loved him. The timbre of his voice combined with the accent, the same voice she found so irresistible in the first place, so deep and melodic... then her common sense kicked in. She pulled the coat tight around her and stated with conviction, “Robert (she only ever called him Robert when she was really mad at him), you looked me in the eye ‘n lied to me every day of our relationship; you treated me like a wee queen, ‘n meanwhile you’re this fookin’ gangster dealin’ smack to kids ‘n cuttin’-‘em-up when they couldn't pay -– then, when yer caught in the act, ye shop yer mates to get a commuted sentence!” She shook her head, “To think that’s the guy I shared a bed with all them years! Makes me sick to me stomach!” she said, glowering, “Now kindly get yer arm off me roof and stay the fook outta my life.”

He put up his hands and made a show of backing off. She wound up the window and instinctively turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed and died again. In the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten her predicament and now, on top of everything else, she looked stupid. Raspo didn’t gloat or make fun; he kept a straight face and said, “Pop the hood. I think heard somethin’. I think I might know what yer trouble is.”

Of course you do. Raspo was, like her, a mechanical wizard. He could have engineered the engine-trouble while she was in the store, just so he could weave his magic and get on her good side. Unfortunately, (or should that be surprise, surprise?) on this particular occasion, his powers appeared to have deserted him. He slammed down the bonnet and went back to the window, wiping his hands on a crumpled paper-tissue, “Nah, the carburettor’s completely knackered.”

“Brilliant. Tell me summat I don’t know.”

He wiped his hands with a crumpled paper tissue, “Look, I’m here in a mate’s Transit -– there’s a length of rope in the back. I could tow you home...?”

“Oh wouldn't that be cosy, you’d like that wouldn't you!” She might be in a tight spot, but she wasn't buying The New & Improved Raspo Canning. She wound the window down a few inches and spoke through the crack, “I know yer game, Raspo. This is just too much of a coincidence. Too convenient.”

“OK, OK, just tryin’ to be helpful.” He shivered and pulled his jacket tight around his shoulders, “I’ve got a warm flat and an even warmer woman to go home to, why should I waste my time standin’ in the rain talkin’ to a hellcat?”

She arched an eyebrow.

He knew that look, “It’s true -- that’s why I’m here -– we’re decoratin’ the kitchenette and I borrowed a neighbour’s van to collect some wall-tiles and a new sink,” he pointed at a white van parked by a trolley-shed at the far end of the car park, “you can go and look if you like!” He jangled the keys.

Zindy looked away, “I ain’t goin’ anywhere in a van w’ you! In fact, I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you...” she said, wincing as a wave of nausea came over her.

“I’m not tryin’ to pick-you-up or pick-up where we left-off, I‘m only tryin’ to do you a favour!”

Zindy’s resolve was severely tested, her curiosity piqued: who is this new woman? Where is this flat? “I’m glad to hear you’re settling down,” she said, sarcastically.

Raspo smiled and said, “Thank you,” then nonchalantly commented, “it looks like you’re settlin’ down, too.”

Another pang -- this time her stomach turned over, “Erm... uh, whaddya talkin’ about...”

“I saw you in the store – you’re pregnant, aren’t ya?” He took a step forward and looked at her bump, “or have I just said the worst thing a man can say to a woman who’s put on a bit of weight...?”

She succumbed to an unstoppable wave of morning sickness. She quickly pulled down the window with both hands, leaned out and puked all over his Cuban-heeled cowboy boots.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then...”

...

5 minutes ago, 47 miles west: “Stop! –- here comes the rest!”

Herbie slammed on the brakes for the second time. Malky lurched out of the car and ran for the bushes. Sitting on the backseat, Broo whinged and whined as he watched his partner projectile-vomit into the roadside briars -- the misty aura wasn't weakening the further they got from Pagham House -- in fact, it seemed to be getting stronger!

“My, my,” said Herbie, tutting, “yer pal is very sick, ol’ boy. I wouldn't be surprised if that li’l session last night puts ‘im off coffee fer life!”

Broo whimpered and wheezed with alarm: Why is this happening?! Is this permanent condition?! I can’t live like this!!

...

15 minutes later, in a little transport café opposite the DIY store: Zindy still wasn't comfortable in his company, but it was raining and there was nothing she could do. They sat facing each other at a table by the window, Raspo, utterly at ease, sitting back, legs stretched, his arm draped over the back of his chair; Zindy trying her best to look indifferent though her insides were churning, sat with arms crossed across her bump and let him do most of the talking. First item on the agenda was an old acquaintance they weren’t likely to ever forget.

“That was a total head-f**k about Barry, wasn't it? Killing kids? Did ye ever?!” said Raspo, disconsolately, shaking his head with disbelief.

“Och, c’mon, McKee was always a creep,” she said, curling a lip, “he was too quiet, always goin’ off on his own and keepin’ ‘imself to ‘imself. He wasn't really one of the lads.”

Raspo shrugged, “I used to put up with him cos I felt sorry for him, and yer right, most of the lads hated him on sight: Little Rich Boy who dreams of being a Bad Boy; we got ‘em all the time. Most of ‘em didn’t get past the initiation, but Barry did. He took it all without sayin’ a word or screamin’ in pain, so he had a bit of cred. I was very impressed by ‘im.”

She baulked, “We are talking about the same bastard ‘oo killed poor Sammy, kidnapped me and shot me, are we? Cuz this is startin’ to sound a lot like a eulogy!”

“None of us are good people, Zara (he only ever called her Zara when he was lecturing her). I know at least 10 guys from different gangs –- people who you’ve been introduced to -- that’re Nazis with criminal convictions for rape and possession of obscene material very, very likely to offend. Let’s put it this way, just cos they don’t have horns and cloven hoofs, doesn’t mean they don’t froth at the mouth every time Romper Room comes on.”

She was genuinely shocked. “Bloody hell! Thank God I’m out of it!” she cried.

“Well then, you can’t blame me fer wantin’ them locked-up, can ye?” he replied.

There was a pregnant pause. Zindy looked out of the window; Raspo idly stirred his coffee,

“We had some good times though, didn’t we?” he said, smiling nicely.

She wasn't biting, “When I turned 40 I looked back ‘n realised ‘ow much time I’ve wasted in cop-shops and law-courts over the years, and I vowed to meself that my life would begin with a clean sheet. And y’know what? I’m happier than I’ve ever been! I’m ‘avin’ a baby with a great guy – there are developers lookin’ at the town, so things are looking up on the business front -- ‘n best of all -- there’s no two-faced cut-throats around to f**k things up!”

He sat back and made an offhand comment, “I hear the father’s Malcolm Calvert, the guy that caught Barry. Well, him ‘n ‘is three legged dog... Ex-RUC isn't ‘e...?”

She took her time answering; is he threatening me? “This has got nuthin’ to do with Malky! I’d already washed my hands of you when we met,” she said, a little shaken. “Anyway, how do you know about him?”

“We do have newspapers and TVs on the inside, y’know,” he said, matter-of-factly, “I saw him comin’ outta the hospital after he was shot. He looked like a frail old man.”

“He’s fully recovered! He has a heart condition, but he takes plenty of exercise...” She shook her head emphatically, “Why the fook am I justifying myself to you of all people?! It’s none of yer fookin’ business what I do or ‘oo I’m with!”

“Don’t have a haemorrhage, Zin. I’m just makin’ conversation.”

Zindy rubbed a space in the steamed-up window with the cuff her jacket, and looked out, then gazed anxiously at the grease-smeared Coca Cola clock behind the counter. “What’s keepin’ that bloody truck?” she muttered.

Raspo looked at his watch, “Yeah, I should be gettin’ back, meself. She’ll be wonderin’ what I’m at.” She croaked a mirthless cackle and made the whip-crack sound. He shrugged and got serious again, “Um, there is somethin’ else, as a matter of fact: my bike. I’d like to get it back.”

“Oh, NOW it makes sense,” she chided in a sing-song sneer, “NOW we’re gettin’ down to the nitty-gritty, yes indeedy-do -- your precious wheels! Yer beloved bike! I wondered when that would come up!”

An eyebrow was raised. “It’s still there, isn't it? Hasn't been damaged at all?”

“I might wanna cut your eyes out with your own blade, but I’d never take my anger out on an innocent hog,” she said, “it was impounded after Barry stole it, but I got it back a year ago, reasonably unscratched. Yer lucky he didn’t wreck it like he wrecked everythin' else. Between the two of yez, you’ve fooked-me-over good-‘n-proper.”

Raspo sighed with relief, “I knew you wouldn't neglect her. Good job too, cuz I’m gonna sell ‘er and move to America. I’ve got contacts there and they’re gonna set me up in business. I just need a wee lump sum to get me there and the bike is my only asset. I hope to get at least a couple of grand for it. That’s why we’re decorating. We wanna sell the flat ‘n get over there ASAP.”

She snorted, “You've got a conviction for dealing drugs and violence – you’ll never get a visa...” He put a finger to his lips to and told her to pipe down. She leaned closer and hissed in an angry whisper, “There’s no way you they’ll let you in, soft-lad,” then she thought twice, slapped her forehead with the heel of her palm, “Of course, silly me- you won’t be usin’ the ‘proper channels’, will ya?!”

He looked at his finger nails and conceded, “The main thing is it’ll put an ocean between me ‘n my enemies.”

“That’s another thing – aren’t you takin’ a big risk hangin’ round these parts? What if somebody round ‘ere recognises ya?! No skin of my nose, la, but aren’t you askin’ for trouble?”

“Well, you didn’t recognise me, did ya?! I walked past you three times in the store and you were none-the-wiser.” He shrugged, “Somerville told me it’d be in me best interests to leave the country ‘n I agreed.”

In perfect synchronisation, they lifted their mugs, drank deeply and stared at each other for a moment. He smirked. She scowled. She was the first to break the silence: “How long have you been out?”

“Six weeks today.”

“And you found a new girlfriend in six weeks?”

He smiled, “She’s the daughter of an auld lag who died inside. Our eyes met across a crowded visitors’ room, and when her da passed away, we arranged to meet up when I got out. She’s a divorcée... sweet, easy goin’ girl, and she’s keen to make a new start.”

“With you?” she cried, greeting the information with some hilarity, “She doesn’t know what she’s lettin’ herself in for!”

“So, about my bike...?”

Zindy sniffed, put her nose in the air and spoke offhandedly, “I don’t want you comin’ near the inn. I’ll have it transported.”

He smiled, “Why? Is Mr Ghostbuster the jealous type?”

“Don’t even try to be funny about Malky. He’s got somethin’ you’ll never have: dignity. No, I’ll have it transported.”

Raspo started humming the riff from Ghostbusters.

She put her cup to her lips, took a sip and stated, plainly, “I don’t trust ya as far as I could spit ya, Robert. I couldn't care less about your ‘new life’, but if you ‘arm one ‘air on Malcolm Calvert’s ‘ead I will find you and I will cut yer eyes out. And you know I mean it.”

...

At that moment, in a private room in Harrisburg Hospital, PA: “Hello, Gilray residence...?” said a familiar, slightly anxious female voice.

Emil’s jaw dropped – he almost dropped the phone! Just my f**king luck! Well, she lives there -- what’d you expect?

“Hello? Is there someone there,” she asked, excitedly, “Uncle Paddy? Is that you?!”

Pretend you don’t know who you’re talking to! He cleared his throat and said in an officious, disinterested voice, “May I speak to Dr Gilray, please?”

“Erm... who is this?”

F**k it. “Um... this is Dr Labatt...?”

“Emil?!”

The second she said his name his heart leapt up into his throat and all attempts at pretence fell away, “Niamh? I’m very sorry. I didn’t recognise your voice -- how are you?!”

“Emil you sound awful – is there anything wrong...?”

“Er... uh-huh... I was in an accident... nothing to fret about – I’ll live, but I’m gonna be in hospital for a while.”

“Oh my God, Emil! Accident?! Hospital?! What the f**k happened?! Are you OK...?”

Although the voice was shrill, it was music to his ears. She was pacing, he could hear the clunk of her heels on the kitchen tiles. He closed his eyes and remembered the afternoon delight in Paddy’s bed, and despite the devastating effect on everyone involved, he didn’t regret it. And now she’s worrying about him, picturing him in plaster, upset that he might be in pain; that beautiful brow vexed with consternation, those beautiful green eyes wide with concern. To pile on the woe, he supplied a detailed summary of the accident and his injuries -- without mentioning blackouts or the voices in his head -- in a weak, gravelly voice. She listened intently and and oh-ed and ah-ed in the right places; every expression of dismay went straight to his groin.

Then her voice as it dropped an octave and became deadly serious, “Listen Emil, I haven’t seen Paddy since yesterday. No one has. I arrived back from Stockholm two days ago and I only saw him for 5 minutes, and 4 of those were spent arguing -- totally unlike him. And get this, the house is a mess -- you know how organised he is, hates the slightest speck of dust! I confronted him about it and he stormed out in a big huff and I haven’t seen him since! I heard a minicab beeping outside around 7 this morning, and I looked out and saw him get in. He wasn't wearing his jacket and he didn’t have his briefcase with him, I just hope he’s OK.”

The news was alarming, but he now he knew his theory was true, it had something to do with the dig 2 years before. “I think I have an idea what’s going on, but I have to ask you, Ni -- health-wise, are you feeling OK?”

“Yeah, why?”

“... Um... have you been ill since that dig in Kildare, y’know, when the mummy’s were exhumed...?”

“What? No...? Why?”

“It’s just that ever since I got back from Ireland -– ever since the dig -- I’ve been having these dizzy-spells. Then I had a strange blackout, like an out-of-body experience, y’know? That’s what caused the accident, I couldn't control myself, it was like someone was... using me like a puppet, y’know? I know it sounds freaky, but sounds like Paddy’s suffering the same symptoms...”

...

10:44AM, Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co. Wicklow: As the Rolls taxied down the seafront, it didn’t take him long to notice that Brodir wasn't the town they left behind the day before. No cats on the parapet of the old burned-out cinema, no rats stirring in the empty lots, not even a seagull screaming in the sky; the crumbling masonry and general decrepitude of the strand was devoid of Spirit, the atmosphere as hollow as Laphen’s estate or Bogmire village-square. Sickly green and constantly coughing, Malky refused Herbie’s offer of a lift to the local hospital, took his bag and struggled up the steps unassisted where he stood at the front door and waved goodbye, “Very nice to’ve met you, Mr Gorringe, I’ll never forget... euuuurrrrrrgh!” and threw up down the side of the steps. Herbie got out and asked if he should wait with him until Zindy got back. Still retching, Malky waved him away, “No, go, go on Herbie... everything’ll be alright once I sleep this off...” Unconvinced, the chauffeur nevertheless thanked him again and said goodbye. On his way back across the concourse, he stopped, stooped and whispered to Broo (who was dragging his feet with good reason), "You an’ ‘is missus best keep an eye on ‘im, boy. ‘E ‘really should be in ‘ospital.” He patted the old dog’s head (again, no trace of anything adverse: the chauffeur appeared to be unaffected), and kept his eyes on Malky as he performed a u-turn around the little dilapidated bandstand at the end of the strand, stealing a rueful backward-glance at the old dog and shaking his head. As he disappeared from view, Malky staggered headlong into bar and flopped belly-first onto one of the barstools, where he hung, arms limp, hands dangling flaccidly, “I’m dying, Broo...” he squeaked.

Broo observed from the doorway, sympathetic, but unable to provide words of sympathy or even a comforting lick. Malky was a total no-go area now, and there was no way he was getting within 20 feet of him. The afflicted man lifted himself off the stool and staggered over to the jukebox gasping for air like he was climbing a steep hill against a gale. He looked at the old dog in the doorway and asked, breathlessly, “What’s happenin’ to me, Broo? I never felt like this before... Am I sick or is it somethin’... else? Any word from, y’know... beyond the grave...?”

Now their psychic link was broken, Broo could only stare back and whimper and yip to indicate that he was sorry, sad, frustrated and stumped; he turned, clambered back down the steps, sat in the middle of the cobbled concourse and howled, Help! Help! SOS! SOS!

...

10 minutes ago, outside the attic room of the Blackthorn boarding house in Enniskerry, Co Wicklow: Raspo furtively climbed the flight of stairs to the attic flat and paused at the door. He took the hunting knife from his boot, quietly unlocked the door, opened it a crack and peeked in; he’d angled the shaving-mirror above the wash-hand-basin so that it reflected the rest of the room; of particular interest was the area behind the door. Nobody there. He put the knife back in his boot, entered, took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. He peeled off the polo-neck and threw it into the corner, then stood in the middle of the room and flexed his muscles. He put his arms in the air, stretched down and touched his toes, followed by a series of squat-thrusts and sit-ups to excise all the pent-up tension accrued from the little ‘reunion’. When he was finished, he washed himself down with a hand-towel and winked at his own reflection in the circular shaving mirror, “Max Cady -- eat yer heart out!” he said, rippling his pecs so that the huge tiger-head tattoo on his torso looked like it was snarling.

He was in a good mood. Phase 1 of his little scam had gone better than expected. She was angry and bitter -- she’d bristled when she heard that he had another woman. Naturally, that was a downright lie. He looked around at his cramped abode, no woman would live in a kip like this, he thought, as he watched a single drop of rain drip down from the skylight window and spatter on the bare mattress of the unmade bed. There was a fair-sized damp patch that made it look like he’d pissed himself the night before. F**kin’ shithole. He kicked the bedstead in fury, inadvertently banging his head on the sloping ceiling -- he was always banging his head on that f**king sloping ceiling! After the 3rd or 4th time he started punching holes in the plaster to vent his frustration. In fact, it was probably those angry blows that caused the crack in the frame of the skylight in the first place. But no punching the walls or kicking the furniture today. Oh no. Today nothing could jigger his joie de vivre and he decided to roll a celebration spliff to celebrate. Just as he took the box from under his bed, he heard a telltale creak on the second-last stair leading up to the flat. Even though he had a good idea who it was, he never took any chances. He lifted the baseball bat from beside the wardrobe and stood behind the door. There was a gentle rap, “Who is it?” he said.

“Felix. It’s OK, I’m alone,” said a little voice.

Raspo unlatched the door, walked back, leaned on the dresser and lit-up a Marlie. He looked his ‘business partner’ up-and-down  “Well?” he asked, with a disgusted sneer,

Felix, a medium sized, balding, nondescript little man in his early forties wearing well-pressed green overalls, edged into the room. He was the bearer of bad tidings and wasn't sure how Raspo would take it, “Raspo, now, don’t get upset, it’s got nuthin’ to do with me...”

“C’mon, c’mon, just give it to me,” said Raspo, keeping his cool.

Bracing himself for the worst, Felix continued, “... The boyos in the North said it’ll be Thursday this week. The boat carryin’ the goods got seized 40 miles off Rockall and they’re havin’ to make ‘alternative arrangements’...”

“Thursday?  Shite, no stock for 3 days...” said Raspo, shaking his head. “Where’s the takin’s from last week?”

Felix took a bulging white envelope from his pocket -- Raspo snatched it away, tore it open and started counting, “This better be all present and correct, nobhead...” he grumbled, “oh aye, by-the-way, I hadda put petrol in that shitty van o’ yours so I’m takin’ 20 notes outta your cut...”

Felix wasn't bothered. He wasn't in it for the money, he was in it for Raspo. And, heartened by the lightness in His Master’s tone, he felt bold enough to enquire after his day, “... So... I take it everything went according to plan...?”

Raspo stopped counting and shot his quivering confederate a dirty look, “Not that it’s any of your business, f**kface, but yes, the opening act in my little scheme did indeed proceed without a hitch.”

Felix sighed, leant against the cooker in the kitchenette and relaxed; oh, life is so great when he’s in a good mood. Sure-enough, the good cheer extended to a comprehensive account, “she’s creature of habit and sure enough, like every Monday, she was at the market, so I followed her to this big DIY store outside Arklow,” he bragged, chuckling maniacally, “I didn’t even need to nobble the motor, her carburettor was knackered already. And even if I do say so myself, I played her perfectly. Not too keen, not too blasé – the odd one liner here ‘n’ there to show her I’m still a sparkling wit...” He looked up and snarled, “And by-the-way -- the inside of yer van stinks to high heaven – it smells like you had a dead body in there -- so thank God I didn’t have to give her a lift home.” He sneered in a mocking whine, “Is that the van you used to patrol the primary schools and public parks, is it, Felix? Is it your ‘passion wagon’, huh?”

Felix looked at the floor and murmured, shamefully, “No, the garda impounded that van. And it wasn't a Transit. It was a Bedford Astramax. And I didn’t use it for pickin’ up kids -- I’ve never touched a kid in my life...”

Raspo sniggered, “Not for want of tryin’, eh? What about when ye got done for flashing in a playground!”

“I was not flashin’” Felix whined, “I was having a wee-wee behind a tree – I didn’t know they could see me from the top of the slide!!”

“Oh yeah?! And what about all ‘em them kiddie mags they found in yer van?!”

“One of the lodgers must've left them there!”

“Don’t even try to lie to me, f**k-face. Remember who you’re talkin’ to,” growled Raspo, screwing up his nose as if the little man emitted a foul odour, “Y’know, you are so lucky you’re useful to me or you’d be seagull fodder in a landfill.”

The two met in prison after Raspo was sent to the ‘secure wing’ for his own safety, meaning he had to co-habit with an array of rapists, perverts and paedos. Felix Costello was coming to the end of a 4 year term for transporting and importing of paedophilic pornography, and the last 7 months of that sentence were spent in a cell with Mr Robert ‘Raspo’ Canning, a muscle-bound former Hell’s Angel who liked to torture and kill men like Felix. But Raspo was a cut above the usual bearded monsters that spat on his dinner; and when Felix told him his mother owned the Blackthorn Guesthouse in Enniskerry, a final stop-over for widowers and elderly bachelors with no families on their way to the funeral parlour, Raspo was encouraged. The fact that it was 15 miles from Dublin and 30 miles from his old haunts made it the perfect place to hide out when he got out, and he and Felix became almost friendly. He even protected Felix from other hostile prisoners.

Then horror of horrors – with only days to go until his release -- Felix’s saintly mother had a stroke and died in her sleep. To keep up appearances, she never visited her delinquent son in prison but wrote regularly. She managed to keep his arrest out of the local paper and told the neighbours he was doing missionary work in Africa. She refused to acknowledge the gards who questioned her about Felix’s activities, screaming the place down that he was the unfortunate victim of circumstance and that he wouldn't hurt a fly. Naturally, her entreaties fell on deaf ears and she took to her bed with the stress of it all. Thank God she had Blackthorn’s long-term lodger Mr Paterson to look after her. He was a septuagenarian gentleman of no fixed accent, with a comb-over and a handlebar moustache that made him look like a retired RAF squadron leader. Despite his obvious dedication to his mother, Felix didn’t like him much. Too forward, always telling me what to do.

Felix’s mother was a psychic, though she never used her ‘Gift’ again once she found God. Felix was disappointed. He liked it when she did séances; he knew she was play-acting most of the time, but when he saw the pleasure it gave those little-old-ladies, he knew it was all worthwhile. He used to hide behind the curtains and do all the ‘special effects’. He became fascinated by the occult; he’d have a go on her crystal ball, but it never worked for him -– he tried three times to contact her after she died to no avail.

Mammy was a martyr to the various aches and pains incurred during a traumatic childbirth, “Would you believe I used to have an hourglass figure -- look at me now! I’m a balloon!” she’d joke, but Felix knew she was just putting on a brave face. She could tell him how great he was and how much she loved him till she was blue in the face, but he knew he was an unqualified disappointment. She’d take to her bed for weeks on end and he’d wait on her hand and foot – it was the least he could do for destroying her body. Through it all, she had nothing but praise for him. She called him her little Bunny Boy. Nonetheless, she went to the grave with a broken heart; her final memory of him was watching him being taken down to the cells in handcuffs, while one of the mothers shouted “I hope the big lads cut it off in the showers!” It’s a wonder she lasted as long as she did.

When he got the news of her passing, Felix wept in his cell for days. He collapsed at the funeral. They released him on licence a fortnight later and when he walked into the Private Rooms (as mammy called their living quarters), for the first time in 46 years and she wasn’t there to greet him, he wept all over again. Then, on top of everything else, he felt useless: Mr Paterson had been collecting the rent and taking care of the lodgers, so what use was he? He took to his bed and refused to get up. He brought the telly and the VHS into his room and watched all his Disney tapes 20 times each and re-read his entire Enid Blyton collection. He lived on Wotsits, jaffa-cakes, fig-rolls and Slimfast and wore the same clothes for days on end. He smelled like some of the lodgers whose rooms they had to fumigate when they got evicted or died.

Then pure joy. Rapture.

Raspo rang from the gaol and told him he was getting released and decided to take up Felix’s offer of a place to stay and for the first time in months, Felix got out of bed, had a bath, got his trusty cleaning wagon from the cupboard under the stairs and went to work! He took back the landlord’s duties from auld Paterson, evicted that old goat Kennedy from the attic room by typing a fake letter from the council saying it was too small for human habitation, and rolled out the red carpet for his Personal Saviour! All hail Emperor Raspo!

For Raspo it was a secluded garret and a steadfast, malleable servant who seemed to enjoy getting slapped-around; and today was no exception. He lunged and pinned Felix against the wardrobe doors -- putting an arm across his throat and slapping the wad of notes repeatedly on his grimacing face, “There’s only 430 quid here, dickwad?! Where’s the other 70?!”

With the wardrobe door booming behind him like an untempered kettledrum, Felix writhed and croaked, “Oh God, oh God, soorrreeee – I forgot to make-up the difference – take it outta my cut!!”  

Raspo stopped slapping but kept his arm where it was and gave him a lecture he’d repeated many times before, “You can’t keep doin’ this, you stupid c**t! How many times to I have to tell ya – never, ever, give a smackhead credit. They’ll bleed ye dry if yer not tough on ‘em!!”

“I don’t do the tough stuff, I take Big Marty when I go into the flats, but this guy lives in a squat on Carville Road, y’know, in the up-market bit, the ones I usually do on me own. But this boyo...” Felix pulled a sour face, “Ugggh! I couldn’t stick it in there. It stinks to high heaven, you’ve never smelt anythin’ like it -- there was a big curly turd in the corner and he doesn’t have a dog! I told him I’d be back tomorrow and ran straight out and vomited in an auld twin-tub somebody’d dumped in the front garden! I’ll take Big Marty and get it off ‘im!”

Raspo tensed his forearm and increased the pressure on Felix’s throat, “If you’re gonna front my little enterprise then you’re gonna have to buck-up-yer-ideas, Felix. The premise is very good – you deliver posing as a caretaker-slash-handy-man-slash-TV-engineer with yer wee toolbox full of class A narcotics –- but here’s your problem -- yer too non-threatening! You needa get one of these...” Raspo took the hunting knife from his boot and put the blade against Felix’s bobbing Adam’s-apple, “This is my wee persuader. I’ve carved-up guys that owed me as little as 20 notes w’ this thing.”

There was a gurgle then Felix croaked, “Sorry, Raspo, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re f**kin’ lucky I’m in a good mood cuz if there is one thing guaranteed to get me riled it’s people owin’ me money! And then there’s this!” He grabbed Felix by the scruff of the neck and pushed him towards the bed; Felix’s face was forced down and ground into the damp patch in the mattress; then his head was yanked back so that he could look up and see the source, “Erm, I’ll have a glazier look at it in the morning...?” he said, calmly, despite the indignity.

“In the morning, huh? And what about tonight?”  said Raspo, pushing him away “Now, where will I sleep tonight... let me see now...?” he  said, stroking an invisible beard “... a spare room for instance... a room that’s sittin’ all made-up and ready...” he sat in the chair by the door and awaited the inevitable conniption.

He wasn’t disappointed: Felix grabbed the tufts of hair either side of his bald patch and did a little dance on the spot like a kid that needs to wee, “No-no-no-no-no...” then genuflected and fell at Raspo’s feet (he was overdoing it a little, but abject pathos and cartoonish behaviour were the only way he avoided out-and-out beatings when he dared to defy direct orders), “No, please, please, please, Raspo, not me mammy’s room -- take my bed!”

Raspo lifted an empty lager can from the floor and threw it at him, “Get the f**k outta here - I’d rather kip in a skip than put my bare skin anywhere near somewhere you’ve been... eeeuggh,” Raspo shuddered, “‘my bed’, the very notion!” He grabbed Felix by the nape of the neck and growled in his ear, “I’m not feelin’ The Love, Costello. You said my wish would be your command.”

“But Raspo, you know how particular I am about my mother,” Felix implored him, “I’ve got it exactly as it was when she passed -- I even lacquered the pillows ‘n the quilt to save me washing them...”

Raspo pushed him away, “Lacquered bedsheets! Christ on a bike! You are sick! You ARE Norman f**ing Bates!”

“The settee in the living room!” Felix cried excitedly, in a moment of inspiration, “it’s very comfortable -– you’ve seen it -- it’s 8 foot long - big cushions, quilted leather -- and you’d have the radiogram -- the colour-telly -- and the video!”

“And what if somebody comes lookin’ for me?!” he tightened his grip on Felix’s neck.

“They can’t see through the net curtains!”

Raspo released his grip and considered the proposal, “Hmmm. Better than a dead woman’s lacquered duvet, I s’pose...”

“We can have dinner together! I’m making Pasta Primavera with chicken in a lemon sauce tonight... well, if you’re agreeable, like...?”

Raspo didn’t say no. After thinking it over he murmured, “Hmmm, sounds alright, sure enough...”

Felix grinned and chirruped, “See you at 8!”

“F**k-off, Felix.”

He departed the room walking on air, overjoyed that his suggestion had been approved and he’d have Raspo to fuss over for the next few days. He skipped down the four flights of stairs singing One Day My Prince Will Come. When he reached the bottom, Mr Paterson, the long-term lodger and mammy’s constant companion, was coming in the front door. Felix stopped singing and smiling.

“Good afternoon, Felix. Up visiting your new friend?” asked Mr Paterson, with more than a hint of sarcasm. Felix screwed up his nose and chimed like a little girl, “He’s my cousin, not that it’s any of your business!”

“Felix, I knew your mother 40-odd years and I never once heard her mention a relative called ‘Brian’.” Mr Paterson shook his head, “and I’m sure she would've mentioned a big brute like that.”

Exasperated, Felix crossed his arms, cocked a hip and tapped his foot, “Listen -- I don’t have to explain myself to you Paterson, I’m landlord here now, and can I rent to whoever I like!”

“He’s an ex-con, isn't he, it’s written all over that big ugly mug o’ his – I’ll bet you met ‘im on the inside,” said Mr Paterson looking upstairs. “And what have you been doin’ in the evenings, anyway?” he asked, suspiciously, “You didn’t get in until 4 on Sunday morning!”

Felix put a hand on his chest and recoiled in horror, “Have you been... spying on me? How dare you?!”

Paterson explained in a kinder voice, “As she lay on her death bed, yer mammy told me to look after you and she said...”

Sacrilege! “Don’t tell me what my mother said! I’ve only got your word for that! And anyway, I don’t need looking after by some wretched auld codger who collects model aeroplanes and goes dancing down the nursing home!”

Mr Paterson shook his head. He’d heard it all before. Felix watched him laboriously climb the stairs and muttered about nosy auld bastards. He shuffled through the mail on the hall table and found a handwritten letter addressed to his mother. He took it to the living room; the cats, sitting either end of the settee, watched him enter but didn’t stir. “Looky, looky, me loves -– mammy got a letter!” he went to the mantelpiece and got the silver letter-opener, opened it with a flourish, extracted the missive, ceremoniously shook it out, and read aloud:

“’Dear Miss Costello,

‘I am writing to invite you to an emergency meeting of the Real Irish Psychics at the home of Mrs Verity Murphy, Rottingdean Cottage, Addanstown, Co. Meath. Please attend if you can this is a matter of the greatest urgency, Ms Carmel McCool is attending and has urgent news...’”

Felix stopped reading and put a hand to his chest, “Mizz Carmel McCool?!” he gasped. The cats watched with some alarm as the man who fed and watered them pranced around the room like a caffeinated 5 year old on Christmas morning, “You know what this means don’t yez? Eh? EH?!”

The cats remained supremely impassive.

“Well, she’s a bona fide psychic like me mammy -- she’ll put me in touch with her Spirit!” he said, punching the air in triumph. As he put the silver letter-opener back on the mantelpiece, he told his mother’s urn, “Even when you were bible-thumpin’ you never questioned Mizz McCool’s psychic abilities, did ya mammy? Now I can tell you how sorry I am!”

Meanwhile upstairs: Raspo went to the little b/w portable TV sitting atop the battered tallboy and flipped the on-switch; he turned the mattress over and sprawled out to smoke the spliff; as he blew the first lungful into the air, the screen brightened to reveal a female reporter clutching a huge microphone, sheltering from the downpour under a white golf-umbrella as the anchorman chatted to her from the studio:  

REPORTER: “...his niece, Niamh Fitzgerald, who is staying at Dr Gilray’s home, reported him missing earlier today. Over the next few hours it became clear that this was no ordinary disappearance – apparently he stole a car and sped off in a hurry -- bizarre in the extreme!”

ANCHORMAN: “Yes, I must say I’ve interviewed him on a few occasions and found him to be very personable, respectable man. This is totally out of character.

REPORTER: “A witness said she saw him ‘peeking into parked cars’. When the owner returned and reported the car missing, the gards took the eyewitness’ description that they realised the thief was Dr Gilray.”

ANCHORMAN: “And apart from having led many high-profile murder cases in recent years - namely the Disappeared of Donegal case in 1985 – most people will know him as the man who discovered those mummies in a peat-bog in South Kildare a couple of years ago...”

Raspo changed channels, “Oh, f**k off. I wanna see somethin’ to lift me spirits...” The picture eventually settled and a familiar, dimpled grin flickered on the screen.

“Ahh -- wouldja look-at-that -- Ollie Laffin! The Quare Geg himself! That’ll do!” He sat back and took a deep pull on the spliff. 10 minutes later he was in kinks...

...

Odin’s Inn, Brodir: A few minutes after Herbie drove off, Zindy arrived in a tow-truck pulling the lifeless carcass of the old van. As soon as she saw the state of Malky she became Nurse Lindsay and fussed over him like a clucking hen. Broo stood well back and watched her minister to her patient, making no attempt to indicate how bad things were; in any case, she was avoiding his eyes for some reason. She put Malky to bed, unloaded the van then went about the painting and decorating without coming into the parlour to see how Broo was. In fact, she was strangely reserved. No radio, no singing to herself. That was odd. But then again, everything is odd now: why should she be any different? Could it be a side-effect of the infection? Maybe she’ll get it too! And the baby... What about the baby?!

As the clock struck midnight, Broo sat to attention on the velveteen banquette by the front door, watching the old seawall through the little side-window, waiting to see if any of the the little Drowners would appear and explain what was going on. It was a blustery night, the eaves whistled tunelessly with each gust of the cold northern wind; gobs of sea-spray splattered the windows, the lighthouse beam swung back-and-forth, intermittently illuminating the bar through the brine-strewn glass; all-in-all, it was a typical night in Brodir, but no sign of life or death: still no gulls in the sky, no rats in the abandoned units, and no ghosts in the ghost town. Worst of all, the inn’s resident spectre was absent.

He had no one to talk to and no one to guide him, and for the first time since coming to Odin’s Inn, Broo yearned to see the Ghost of Sammy O'Donnell...

...

08:53 EST, Harrisburg General Hospital: Emil managed to tune his radio to an Irish station broadcasting traditional Irish music 24/7 with news summaries from Dublin on-the-hour-every-hour, albeit 5 hours ahead of EST. According to the bulletin, the garda were still looking for the missing forensic scientist, Dr Patrick Gilray; there was an appeal for witnesses, but apart from that there had been no further developments. Whatever happened, whatever the circumstances, Paddy was his best friend and he was genuinely concerned.

They met when he was still seeing Paddy’s sister, Mairead, whom he met when she, like him, travelled all the way to San Francisco in ’67 with flowers in her hair to see what all the fuss about and got to know each other when they enjoyed some Free Love amongst the junkie dropouts at Haight-Ashbury. When Mairead introduced him to her brother Paddy, they hit it off immediately and their friendship outlasted the couple’s brief love affair. Paddy was a jolly, dapper, old-before-his-time confirmed bachelor who loved antique sports cars and Gershwin; Emil was an out-and-out hippy who loved women and avant-garde jazz; to the casual observer the men were polar opposites, but they bonded over a fascination for European pagan civilisation, the Celts in particular, and would talk till the early hours about everything from Golden Age comics to Iron Age cutlery. It was no surprise to learn that they were both studying pathology -- a career path that would result in them becoming respected forensic scientists in their chosen fields -- it was as if their companionship was meant to be. When it was time for Emil to return to Canada and resume his studies, they agreed to meet every summer and embark on archaeological digs in the Irish countryside; it became as traditional as Christmas, and it went on for 22 years... until the summer of ‘89.

Niamh was Mairead’s daughter from her affair with Enda Fitzgerald, the Irish poet, whom she shacked-up with 6 months after she and Emil split. Fitzgerald died from a heroin overdose a week after Niamh’s first birthday. A few years later, Mairead married an international civil rights lawyer and moved to Stockholm. Ni was sent to an English boarding school, and when she moved to Dublin to study Criminal Psychology at Trinity, she stayed with her beloved Uncle Paddy, an arrangement that suited them both perfectly. She was intelligent and funny and shared his interest in archaeology. She’d joined them for the annual dig every year from the age of 12, but to Emil, she was just another kid. She’d sit and read a book all the way through dinner and spent most of her time in her room. And then she suddenly grew up and -- BOOM! “A 19 year-old hottie with a drop-dead-body!” He couldn't believe his eyes -- a blonde bombshell, no less! Then, miracles of miracles -- she told him she’d always fancied him and offered use of said body for a spot of afternoon delight with no strings attached! He couldn't say no! It was 22 minutes of blissful madness, but it cost him his best friend and now his marriage. After 2 years of semi-estrangement, Fran finally made the break.

She never came back to the hospital. She went back to Toronto the next morning. The crash had brought everything to a head, she said. She rang and told him she was seeing a divorce lawyer and was desperately sorry about springing this on him in his current state, but couldn't hold off a moment longer: this had to be done before he talked her out of it. His lover, his wife, his soulmate had finally wised-up and left him high-‘n’-dry without a Soul in the world.

He heard the musical intro to the news and turned up the radio, “... detectives investigating the disappearance of Dr Patrick Gilray are still searching the residence. The detective in charge, DS Somerville -- who is also a close personal friend of Dr Gilray -- has appealed to the general public to report any sightings...”  

He didn’t hear the rest; he was distracted by Rowena, the big black nurse knocking the door, “Some police here to see ya, Dr Emil. You OK with that?”

“What do they want now?” he grumbled.

“All’s I know is he’s police. Now d’ya wanna see ‘im or not?” He sighed loudly and nodded. She ushered in a stylishly dressed American-Italian detective carrying a clipboard and a black-PVC sack emblazoned with the initials HBPD in bold white print. He was a good-looking guy, with a thick head of shiny black hair sculpted into a centre-parting. He smelled of spearmint and expensive cologne: Emil took an instant dislike to him and didn’t reciprocate when he offered his hand; the rebuff didn’t dint the man’s élan one iota, he unbuttoned his jacket and helped himself to the chair by the bed. “I’d say it must be hell lyin’ in here day-after-day, Dr Labatt,” he said, in a cheery voice, “I broke a leg skiing in Alberta in ‘83 and I was only outta action for 3 weeks but it drove me crazy!”

“What do you want?” Emil asked, dryly.

The young cop wasn’t fazed and politely explained, “OK, Dr Labatt, I’ll cut to the chase. I’m Detective Marty Esposito of Harrisburg PD -- I’m here to clarify a few details about the crash and give you the personal effects that survived the fire,” he held up the black bag.

Emil was his usual sarcastic self, “Do I need to call my lawyer? Cuz he’s busy handling my divorce.”

Esposito smiled a patient smile, “No, I’m not gonna charge you --”

“-- yet?”

“-- I just wanna hear your side before we --”

“-- decide whether or not to charge me?”

“ -- proceed.” Esposito, only mildly irritated, sat forward and got more assertive; he looked Emil in his good eye and said, plainly, “Dr Labatt, I find your attitude somewhat uncivil in view of the fact that you could've killed a lot of people. Because of your actions a young fireman lost his face! Now I think those people are entitled to know what happened. Don’t you?”

Emil just stared.

“Thank you.” Esposito consulted his notes and informed him, “Well, I’m pleased to tell you that your tox-screen turned up a negative result, no alcohol no drugs...”

“You mean I wasn't high?” Emil chimed sarcastically, “I was sure I had a kilo of coke and a bottle of vodka in the glove box -– thank god there was a fire!”

“As a matter of fact we did look in the glove box -- and no, we didn’t find any narcotics or liquor -- but we did find this.” Esposito reached into the plastic bag and produced an evidence bag with something heavy inside. “Why do you keep a claw hammer in your glove box, Dr Labatt...?”

A week later: Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co. Wicklow: After three days of tossing and turning, dry retching, and a severe dose of the shits, Malky’s fever broke and he arose bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. It was a complete transformation. He was chatty, full of energy, helping with the decorating and whistling while he worked. Broo, though pleased by his recovery, knew things weren’t back to normal. The aura was still there; in fact, it was stronger than ever, Broo had to stay in the parlour out of harm’s way. Whatever was happening, it didn’t seem to affect Zindy or the baby. She was more agreeable than usual, no friendly banter, no teasing, just attentive and kind. She didn’t even pretend to be annoyed when Malky told her he’d had torn up Laphen’s cheque and threw it back in his face. He didn’t notice she was being atypically polite and pleasant. She didn’t seem to notice that he wasn't himself, if she did, she didn’t let on.

The thing was, Malky was so upbeat and energetic he couldn't sleep and took long walks every evening after dinner to wear himself out. He never took Broo, though. Ever since they got back from the Laphen house they’d been avoiding each other, and for the time being, that seemed to suit them both fine. But as the week wore on he began staying out past midnight. Broo followed him, keeping his distance (40 yards to be exact). He had been shadowing his errant partner for a week now: Every day at dusk, when the summer sun was just an orange glow on the horizon, it was the same routine: something clicked in Malky’s head and he left the inn and wandered aimlessly for miles. Broo followed him as he walked the empty streets and explored all the derelict buildings; he visited the disused units along the seafront and the abandoned cottages where the leathermen used to squat; along the way he’d pick up pieces of litter and examine them as if they were relics of a bygone age, paying special attention to pieces of newspaper and the print on food wrappers. He walked to an abandoned house on the edge of town and stood in front of an old mirror for 2 solid hours. It was exhausting and baffling.

Zindy was usually fast-asleep by the time he got back. When she asked him where he’d been, his reply was vague, “Just round-and-about...” he’d say, as if he didn’t know but didn’t want to admit it. One morning she awoke and found herself alone; his clothes were over the back of the chair, so he was definitely in the building. She checked the guestrooms and both bathrooms and eventually found him downstairs in the bar, perched on a stool in his underwear, gazing blankly into space. When she tapped his shoulder, it was like rousing a sleepwalker: he was scared at first, then confused and embarrassed. Weird, she thought, unaware that the worst was yet to come.

On Saturday evening, while Malky fried the steak for dinner, Zindy sat at the kitchen table chopping onions and slicing mushrooms, talking about her ideal kitchen, “I’m gonna have a big range – and a big dishwasher -– one of ‘em that can take the dishes from an entire dinner party in one load.”

“Sounds wonderful!” said Malky, flipping the meat.

She stopped chopping and chuckled, “Are you takin’ the piss, Malcolm Calvert?”

Malky turned, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, spluttered, “What? No. I mean... What did you say?”

She could tell by the vacant look on his face that she’d interrupted another daydream; the ‘wonderful’ was an unconscious, atypical response, the latest in a long line of uncharacteristic quirks and tics that made her uneasy. She resumed chopping and kept an eye on him. What is the matter with him? Does he know about the Raspo situation? Nah, he was on his way back from Kildare, there’s no way he could know... is there?

The phone rang in the hall and broke her concentration. She scraped the onion rings into the skillet, kissed Malky’s cheek and went out to the hall to answer the call.

“Odin’s Inn, Brodir...”

“It’s me.”

Shit! “You couldn't have called at a worse time!!”

“It’s been over a week!”

“Waitaminnit!” She went to the kitchen door, made sure Malky was still at the cooker then quietly closed it; she jooked in the parlour to make sure that Broo was watching telly, then covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Whaddya want?!”

“Me bike! That’s what I want!”

“I’ve been very busy painting ‘n’ decorating an’ I ‘aven’t ‘ad time to do owt about it.”

“Well, I can’t wait any longer! I don’t care who’s there, I’m comin’ to get it!”

The whisper became a dissonant hiss, “I told you –- no way are you to come within a mile ‘o this place. I’ll make the arrangements, OK?! Leave it with me.”

“Has something happened to it? It is there, ain't it?”

“It’s out-back and it’s perfectly fine! It’s packed in polythene under a tarpaulin in the big shed!”

“C’mon Zin, lemme come and get me bleedin’ bike back! I’ve got a buyer and he ain't gonna hang around while you fanny-about!”

Zindy was in a pickle. In truth, there wasn't anybody she could ask to take it to him. Her mates had all deserted her, the mechanics at the local garage had fallen out with her when she told them how to do their jobs, and having it transported was bound to cost her dough they didn’t have...

“Here’s an idea – tell me when you’re goin’ out and leave backdoors open? Huh?”

“Outta the question! I ain’t ‘avin’ you comin’ round ‘ere unsupervised! I’m still not 100% sure this ain’t some kinda trick.”

“Don’t be silly. I can come down tomorrow morning if that suits.”

“No. I don’t want you comin’ when Malky is here.”

“OK, tell me when he goes out and we’ll do it then! It’ll only take 5 minutes.”

Zindy chewed the inside of her cheek and struggled in vain to find an alternative. Finally, she conceded defeat, “OK, he’s got ‘ospital appointment on Friday mornin’. Be here no sooner than 11:15. I’ll lock-up the inn, but I’ll leave the backdoors open. In-‘n-out mind. I don’t want you ‘ere when we get back.”

“Thank you. Much obliged.”

“Any funny business and I call the cops.”

Click.

 Click.

“That sounded as if it went well,” said Felix, with a hopeful smile.

Raspo blew a plume of smoke into the air, “Oh yes indeedy-do!” he chuckled contentedly, “the fish is on the hook, I just haveta reel-her-in and smash ‘er head on the deck.”

They were in the living-room, sitting opposite each other in high-backed leather armchairs in front of a roaring fire; it’s like a gentlemen’s club! Felix got the chance to show that he was an intelligent man of discerning taste, not just a lowly gofer. He lit the scented-candles on the mantelpiece and dimmed the lamps. He made Earl Grey tea and got out his best biccies. He groomed the cats so their fur was fluffy and tactile. Raspo was quite well-disposed towards Mr Minx and Mrs Jinx – but invariably referred to them as ‘Blofeld Cats’ (from a James Bond film, apparently, although Felix had never seen a Bond film; he preferred cartoons). At that particular moment, Felix was petting Mrs Jinx on his lap with a big stupid smile on his face; Raspo, stroking Mr Minx with one hand, spliff in the other, grinned like the cat that got the cream.

“So-oo... that Calvert guy is goin’ out, is he? That’ll make things a helluva lot easier,” said Felix, brightly.

Raspo went on stroking the cat and answered in a strange foreign accent, “Indeed, but it also poses a problem, Mr Bond...”

“How?”

Raspo continued in his normal voice, “... like, what if Calvert should arrive back early and catch us in the act? Nah, I’d feel more comfortable if I wuz tooled up.”

“He’s not gonna put up much of a fight, is he?” Felix tittered, “He’s got a heart condition -- I’ve seen ‘im, he doesn’t look very threatening.”

“He’s ex-RUC, dickhead -– he’s likely to have a gun for personal security.” Raspo thumbed the cat’s ear and thought it over again. “Aye, somethin’ small -- a .22 should do it. You’re gonna have to go and see Günter and make the necessary arrangements...” He thought for a moment then retracted, “no – don’t – get Big Marty on it -– if it gets out that you’re lookin’ fer a gun somebody might put 2+2 together and get me.”

“What about the dog?”

Raspo dismissed the question out-of-hand, “If it causes me any trouble, I’ll slit its bleedin’ throat. I’d enjoy doin’ it, too... three legged freak...”

With that, Mr Minx jumped off Raspo’s lap and ran into the kitchen. Mrs Jinx soon followed. It was as if they sensed things were about to get ugly.

But Felix couldn’t resist, “So... do you believe the dog might have special powers...?”

“No I feckin’ don’t! Do you?” grumbled Raspo, irritated by the question.

Felix chose his words very carefully, “See, I believe some animals, especially cats, have a direct-line to the Spirit World. They become what witches call a Familiar... erm... they see things we can’t...?” Felix stopped midsentence to make sure his guest wasn't about to punch him.

But Raspo didn’t heckle or threaten violence, in fact he took a sip of his drink, stared into the fire, nodding as if something had just occurred to him, “There was this one time the lads went to stay with a mate in Scotland who had this big ginger tom. When Barry McKee arrived the next day -- the cat took one look at ‘im ‘n bolted. Apparently he didn’t come back until we’d gone. Creepy, sure enough...”

Oh this is more like it! Felix was utterly rapt, and in the spirit of the occasion chanced to express a deeply-held and potentially controversial personal opinion, “That ties into the theory that he was pos --!”

Raspo raised an eyebrow.

Uh oh... Felix backpedalled furiously, “Well... what I mean is, y’know, there’s eejits who believe he was possessed by.... a demon...?”

Raspo might’ve been stoned and slightly pissed, but he couldn’t countenance such drivel, “Whataloadashite,” he raged, “The man was sick in the head, he wasn't ‘possessed’!”

“I’m only tellin’ you what they say,” said Felix, talking quickly, trying desperately to justify his opinion, “like there’s this guy I know who’s an outpatient at SCICI and he told me that one of the warders told him that every time McKee blinks the lights flash and the TV in the rec room --”

That’s as far as he got. Raspo reached across and slapped him lightly on the cheek, “I warned you about this,” he said, waving his finger in Felix’s face, “I told you I’d batter ye senseless if I heard ye mention any ‘o that auld demonic bollox!” He pointed at the bookcase against the opposite wall, “I know you’re into all that shite –- I’ve seen the books you read!”

Felix wanted to explain his fascination for the macabre, but it would only make things worse, so he kept his mouth shut and let Raspo rant without interruption; he had an important assignation tonight and he didn’t want to arrive on crutches...

...

30 minutes ago, at Odin’s Inn: Zindy opened the kitchen door and peeked in. Malky was still at the hob, tending the skillet; “Who was it?” he asked, innocently, without looking.

“It was somebody for me... erm... an old friend...” she said, sitting down at the table.

Her procrastination intrigued Malky, “Everything’s alright, isn’t it?”

She went to him and took his arm, “Yeah... look, luv, c’mere and sit down fer a minnit, willya...”

Malky, apprehensive and concerned, did as she asked; spatula in hand, he slipped into the seat opposite and looked at her bump “It’s not the baby, is it?” he asked, very concerned.

“No, no, no, nuthin’ like that.” She looked into his eyes and said, “It’s about Robert ‘Raspo’ Canning,- my ex.”

Malky crossed his arms and scowled, “The fat Hell’s Angel dope-dealer with the purple beard and penchant for ultra-violence? Outta gaol, is he?”

“Yeah... well, ‘e’s not fat anymore, ‘n ‘e’s shaved off the beard, but yeah, ‘e’s out ‘n ‘e wants to flog ‘is bike. He’s got a new girlfriend, see, and they’re tryin’ to raise the cash to emigrate.” She’d inserted this last titbit in an effort to put his mind at rest, but it didn’t have the desired effect.

He looked in the direction of the hall and slipped into detective-mode, “I must say, that’s a lot of information for such a short conversation. You were only on for a couple of minutes.”

He’s got me; but why the hostility? Zindy thought it best to be frank and supplied a detailed, open & honest account of the ‘chance meeting’, “... and when you came home I didn’t get a chance to tell you -– you were so ill I hadda put ya to bed, ‘n when you recovered you were in such good form I didn’t wanna spoil things by bringin’ it up.”

“Why?! How would it spoil things to be open and honest?” he asked, his mood slowly darkening.

“Look he doesn’t matter anymore -- he’s irrelevant! He means nothing to me now and once ‘e gets his bike ‘e’ll fook off outta our lives forever.”

He got up and returned to the skillet without saying a word.

She called after him, “That it, then? Crisis averted?”

When he turned back, his face was virtually unrecognisable -- eyes burning, nose wrinkled with rage, he shook the spatula at her and snarled, “It’s about trust, Zindy -– you should’ve told me! That’s what responsible adults do! They don’t have secrets! I thought you were different! But you’re sly and sleekit -- just like my ex-wife!”

She was totally thrown; this was entirely out-of-character. She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, “OK, OK, calm down, chook...”

He banged the table with his fist, “Don’t f**kin’ patronise me, chook! Just tell me what you told him!”

Zindy, finding it increasingly difficult to keep her temper under control, answered in a strained voice, “I... I told him to come and get the bike when we’re at the cardiologist’s on Friday. I was gonna leave the yard door open for ‘im...”

He sat down again, his face blank and impassive.

“Mal?”

Behind him, the unattended skillet suddenly burst into flames. He didn’t even blink. “SHIT!” Zindy jumped up, turned ran to the sink, soaked a tea-towel in cold water and threw it over the flames -- the fire disappeared in a cloud of steam and greasefire-smoke that set off the smoke alarm.

Malky still hadn’t budged.

“Don’t you fuss yerself Malky Calvert, I’ll deal with this crisis,” she yelled, as she hauled on the big oven-glove picked up the fuming skillet and deposited it in the sink.

Malky was still in a trance. The smoke alarm continued to bleep.

She fetched the mop from the corner, stood on a chair and used the pole to turn it off. “I have to say, I’m surprised at you, Mal. I never had you pegged as the jealous type.” But he stubbornly maintained his silence and stared at the table top so he didn’t have to look at her. For the first time since they met, she lost her cool and bawled, “Hey! Soft lad! Look at me!!”

Malky continued to stare at the tabletop and replied under his breath, in a dry, sombre tone, “I’m goin’ out. If I stay here I might say something I’ll regret.” With that, he slowly got up, took off his apron, threw it onto the table, took his jacket from the nail on the back of the kitchen door and walked off down the hall.

Zindy was mentally and physically drained. She sat down at the table, patted her bump and groaned through a heavy sigh, “What the hell’s gotten into your dad, babe?”

 Broo heard the phonecall. At least it explained Zindy’s unusual behaviour. When she went back to the kitchen, he listened to them argue. Her reasoning was logical. His response was not. When Malky stormed into the hall, Broo skipped into the parlour and hid behind the couch. He waited until he heard the outer door slam shut and went to the kitchen to check on Zindy. She was sitting at the table, slumped in her chair, eating a thick slice of cheddar topped with blob of chutney, “’eard everythin’, didja?” she said unemotionally, pointing at the blackened wall behind the cooker,  “he burned the dinner ‘n went off in a jealous rage. What do you reckon on that, Broo?” All he could do was lick her hand to assure her he was on her side. “You gonna follow ‘im again, are ya?” she asked, stroking his head. Broo grunted an affirmative and went to the flap in the backdoor. “Well, keep yer distance, ‘ol boy, he’s in no mood for company,”she said, in a sad voice.

This time Broo didn’t have to walk far. In a change from his usual route, Malky went along the strand and turned into the alley at the side of the old burned-out cinema. Broo waited until he was out of sight and then skipped along and peeked around the corner. He saw Malky pushing through the broken emergency-exit door to gain access; once he was safely inside, Broo carefully made his way along the alley, careful not trip on the numerous discarded beer cans and broken bottles (the leather men used to use the cinema to have parties) and lose his balance. He managed to squeeze through the doorway and make it into the dilapidated theatre without making a sound. Malky was sitting on the aisle near the back, in one of the few remaining seats, staring straight-ahead at the big black space where the screen used to be. Up until now Broo hadn’t interfered, but tonight, considering the quarrel with Zindy and this latest development, he could wait and watch no longer. He threw caution to the wind, stumbled through the charred debris and tottered up the aisle to confront his partner face-to-face, regardless of the danger.

As usual, Malky was there in body but not in mind or spirit. He was wall-eyed, slack-jawed and virtually drooling, the aura’s insidious mist drifting in and out of his mouth and nostrils with every breath he took.

Broo let out a quiet ruff to snap-him-out-of-it.

Malky suddenly burst into life - “Get away from me!” he shouted, angrily and lashed out with his foot, kicking the old dog square in his left side –winding him  and knocking him over -- he rolled down the slope of the aisle, over-and-over-and-over-and-over, until he came to rest against a fallen beam. Malky sat back and resumed his terrible meditation as if nothing had happened.

Dispirited, covered in filth and fearing for his life, Broo staggered home, hurt and humiliated, his ribs aching, his head hung low with his tail between his legs.

Zindy had obviously gone to bed. The inn was very quiet. The parlour was dark.

“Pssst!”

What was that? A hiss in the chimney...?

“Dog!”

No, it wasn't coming from the hearth -– it was coming from above the hearth. He looked up and saw the slightest glimmer in the glass of the mirror, like the glow you get from a TV screen when you turn it off in a darkened room. He hauled himself up onto the couch and put his remaining front paw on the arm, stretching up and raising his head so that it was level with the mirror; it was steamed up, but the condensation appeared to be on the inside of the glass. Then a hand cleared a void in the steam and a face appeared: the familiar, silver-bearded, toothless countenance of none-other Samuel O'Donnell -- deceased barman, John Wayne fan and spectral pain-in-the-neck! The old dog’s heart leapt -- he barked a hearty hello!

Sammy was looking around him and talking at the same time, “I can’t see you but I can hear you -– well, I hear you in my head -- y’know the score. I’m sorry but this has to be a bit quick, like, cos I’m in what they call Mirror World or Glass Land or the Void, dependin’ on who you talk to, and you can’t survive here long cos it saps yer Essence...”

Get on with it you beautiful idiot!

“OK. Here goes,” and for the next five minutes Sammy told Broo all he knew as quickly as possible. “... the plan seems to be: abandon the immediate area for a while, starve it of the auld psychic energy, and hopefully it’ll die out before it spreads.”

What about humans?

“It won’t do ‘em any harm unless they have the Gift -– it attacks the psychic energy, see, and that’s why it affects you, so you gotta...” the words became distant and unintelligible, the mirror had begun to steam up again -- the image was fading. Broo whimpered and asked him to repeat the message, but Sammy was waving frantically, his voice now inaudible. The mirror misted over until the glass was completely obscured. He climbed down and pondered on what he had heard.

It only affects Sensitives? Is Malky a Sensitive...?

21:03 GMT, in a dark country lane near Addanstown, Co. Meath: “At last! Rottingdean Cottage!” cried Felix. “Thank goodness for that!” It was almost dark, another 10 minutes and it would've been impossible to see the sign at the end of the lane. It had been a long drive and he’d made a few wrong turns, but he felt as exhilarated as when he first set-off. He parked, preened himself in the rear-view-mirror, licked his thumbs to flatten his eyebrows, and teased the mousy-hair around his bald patch to make him look lovable and vulnerable. The perfect end to a perfect day! Raspo’s plan is proceeding nicely, the tenants have paid-up on time, and now I’m going to meet a genuine psychic and talk to me mammy! He had been looking forward to this all week and nothing was going to spoil it! He grabbed the carrier bag from the passenger seat, jumped out -– put a black armband over his anorak -- ran up the meandering crazy-paved path and rang the doorbell. Mrs Murphy, a tall, short-haired, homely middle-aged woman bursting out of a lilac trouser-suit, looked him up and down with a gimlet eye, “Hmm, yes, can I help you?” she asked, in a refined, unspecific Irish accent.

“Felix Costello from Enniskerry?!” he almost shouted.

“We don’t want any today, thank you.” She closed the door. Felix rang the doorbell again; she answered again immediately, “Look, if you don’t...”

“This is Rottingdean Cottage?” he said, excitedly, and held out the invitation, “I’m Betty Costello’s son!”

The homely face dropped several inches and she almost sang an apology, “Oh – I am so awfully, dreadfully sorry! I was using an old Rolodex and I must've forgotten to remove your mother’s card -- please accept my heartfelt condolences and humble apologies, I know you must've come an awfully long way, but this is for members only, so sorry...” She began to close the door again but he blocked it with his foot and quickly explained, “As you say, I’ve come all this way, and in honour of her memory,” he pointed at the black armband, “I’d like to attend this meeting, if that’s OK with you? I’ll sit at the back and be very quiet – I’ve brought my own snacks,” he rustled the blue carrier bag, “I’ll be no bother at all!” He gave her a painstaking blow-by-blow account of his journey to numb her into submission and ended by rifling through the carrier bag and presenting her with a Nestlé Black Magic Easter egg (5 Easters’ old -- he bought it for his mammy before he was gaoled), “I know Easter’s past, but chocolate’s chocolate no matter what time of year it is, eh?!”

“Yes... most kind, thank you...” she took it and grudgingly acceded, “Well, since you’ve gone to so much trouble Mr Costello, I can’t see how I can possibly refuse...” She stood aside and he scuttled into the hall, “Has Mizz McCool started yet?” he asked, standing on tiptoe, looking over her shoulder, peeking into the lounge. Mrs Murphy looked up at the ceiling and told him a quiet voice, “She’s upstairs preparing, doing her breathing exercises -– she’s very theatrical. It irks some of our older members, but in my opinion people with The Gift are entitled to their little eccentricities, don’t you agree...?”

“I entirely agree!” replied Felix, looking up the staircase, “She’s one in a billion!” he said loudly, so she might hear. “My mother had nothin’ but praise for Mizz McCool even when she was calling yez the ‘Black Hearted Spawn of Satan’!”

With that exclamation the conversations in the lounge suddenly ceased.

To cover for this faux pas, Mrs Murphy pretended to find it hilarious and cried in reply, “YES! Some of the things people shout at us are awful!” she grabbed his arm and hustled him through the bemused throng, “Now be quiet, this isn’t exactly a social occasion,” she whispered in his ear, as she took him to a crepe-paper covered pasting-table at the back of the room laden with pastries, nibbles and beverages. “Tea or coffee?” she asked.

He turned so that the room could hear him and joked, “I must say -- I was expecting spirits!”

The crowd fell silent again, turned and glared.

Felix gulped. “Tea, please.”

As she poured she announced, “This is Felix, everyone, he’s Betty Costello’s son, and as most of you know, Betty passed a few months ago, so he’s come as her representative, and is not an R.I.P. member or possessed of a Gift – except for an Easter-egg 5 years past its sell-by-date -- so please, in the nicest possible way, just indulge him if he asks a lot of silly questions, mm?”

His reputation went before him. He saw the scowls, he heard the snarky whispers. The ones that knew were very quick to inform those who were none-the-wiser. One of the older, deafer women said, “...You mean, that’s her son? The one that went to prison?” He didn’t care. He respected those who disrespected him: it showed good judge of character.

There were around 25 people besides himself: a couple of younger girls who looked nervous, one of them constantly giggling; a few Goth girls with multiple piercings who looked fierce and foreboding; lots of old women in shawls and hats of all shapes and sizes; a few podgy, effeminate men enjoying the refreshments, talking loudly about visions and ghosts in their silly, sissy-voices. Mrs Murphy introduced him to the ‘Guest of Honour’: Mrs Sparkes, a stout, buckle-faced woman in her 70s wearing a flowery pinafore over green charlady overalls. She smelled of Pledge and ammonia.

Mrs Sparkes shook his hand weakly and looked him up and down as if he was an alien species. “Is that a west-country accent I hear?” he asked, cheerfully, even though she hadn't said anything to him yet (he’d been eavesdropping).

Mrs Murphy immediately answered for her, “No, Mrs Sparkes has come from South Kildare.”

“But I have cousins in Devon who used to visit our guesthouse every year ‘n they speak just like you!” said Felix, bemused. “If I close my eyes you could be their mother!”

This time the old woman shoved the hostess aside and spoke for herself, “’Ow dare ee! Oi’ve lived in Kildare all moy loife an’ oi’ve never been near yer ‘guest’ouse’, whatever tha is! ‘Ow dare ee infur that oi ‘ave children by any man ovver than me own ‘usband -- may God rest ‘is Soul!” Her face closed like a fist and her throat made a rattling noise.

Felix was flummoxed “I wasn't inferring anything! I was just making conversation...?”

The hostess stepped between them, “Mrs Sparkes belongs to a sheltered community that don’t often communicate with the outside world, they originate from Cornwall and have customs we might find a little odd...”

“Oh, like the Amish!” said Felix, brightly.

“NO!”Mrs Sparkes barked, turned away and resumed the conversation she was having with another hardfaced old lady before Mrs Murphy had so rudely interrupted. She clearly didn’t like the hostess or Felix one little bit.

There were three sharp bumps from the room above.

“Saved by the belle of the ball...” said Mrs Murphy under her breath, as she strode to the front of the room and flashed the lights, “Ladies... and gentleman, would you take your seats, please.”

Everyone quickly found somewhere to sit, and despite his efforts to get close, Felix was jostled and hustled along until he ended up very back behind a trio of really old ladies. The room fell silent. Once she had their undivided attention, Mrs Murphy proceeded with the short introduction: “Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, as you are well aware, is an emergency meeting, Ms McCool has a lot to say, so listen very carefully, and keep your questions till the end.”

Lots of mumbling and nervous whispers.

“Now, without further ado, please welcome our chairwoman -– Ms Carmel McCool!” With that, Mrs Murphy opened the living room door, stood back and the woman of the hour entered to enthusiastic applause. It was like a film premiere! The room flashed as the sissy boys took photographs! A girl gave her a bouquet of lilies. Felix was on his feet, clapping, whistling and cheering (much to the annoyance of the old ladies in front), as the tall, slim figure stood in the doorway.

Carmel McCool was a heavily-made-up woman in her late 60s who didn’t wear anything made after 1929. The long, dark scarlet coat and flowing turquoise chiffon dress topped with a fake mink stole sporting a jet black bob; one of the sissies whispered, “She looks just like Louise Brooks in Pandora’s Box!” She acknowledged the applause with unsmiling aplomb then signalled for quiet. She might’ve looked like a silent movie star but her voice was in a class of its own. She was from Newry in Co. Down, not that you’d know it; she had a rarefied Ulster accent, her diction crisp, clear and commanding, “Thank you for your warm reception friends, colleagues, fellow Sensitives and psychics - I’m so grateful and honoured that you’ve taken the trouble to travel from all over the Island to be here tonight,” she cradled the flowers in her arms and scooped a tiny tear from her eye, taking care not to disturb her false eyelashes or smudge her mascara. “I only wish it could be a more joyous occasion, but it couldn't be more serious. Deadly serious.”

The smiles vanished. A discomfited rumble ran through the crowd.

Felix pulled the tab on a can of Tab and sprayed the old ladies in front with a short blast of carbonated brown. The grumbling stopped as everyone turned to see what was going on; the old ladies in front turned and glared at him as they wiped their sticky napes with dainty hankies.

He grimaced and mouthed sorry.

“Ahem.”

The crowd turned back.

Mizz McCool paused for a moment to make sure they were all listening before elaborating, “I have grave tidings, my dear friends. Something that hasn’t happened for many millennia is occurring in our time -– a danger I never thought we’d face in the Modern World.”

The rumble became a hubbub. People were looking at each other, totally perplexed. Utterly fascinated, Felix stared and ripped open a family bag of Maltesers.

Ms McCool passed the flowers to Mrs Murphy, “Let me explain with the help of our Guest of Honour,” she said, looking at the front row, “please stand up Mrs Sparks -- Mrs Sparkes, everyone!” she announced, clapping her hands over her head. Still bewildered, the crowd nevertheless followed her lead and applauded politely. Mrs Sparkes, looking very ill-at-ease, reluctantly set down her teacup, stood up and turned to face the rest of the room. Ms McCool stood behind her and spoke over her shoulder, “Mrs Sparkes, please tell the ladies and gentlemen why you called me.”

Uncharacteristically bashful, Mrs Sparkes  clutched her hand bag to her chest, shuffled her feet, cleared her throat and explained in an apologetic voice, “Erm, well, see... I read about ‘ee in the paper ‘n I thought ‘ee sounded loike ‘ee noo wot ‘ee was talkin’ about, so I called this-‘ere lady ‘ere (Mrs Murphy), an’ she put me through to ‘ee.”

Ms McCool prompted her, “But tell them why you called me.”

“Well, oi works in this-‘ere big ‘ouse, see -- oi can’t say where tis cuz boss is very private man, see -- any’ow, I were dustin’ the boss’ study one noight -- when oi looked ‘n saw this li’l boy in the ol’ mirror -– a ghost, oi think ‘e were -- all black ‘n burned-up, ‘e were -- as if ‘e been in a foire!”

The crowd gasped. They knew the old woman was reliable witness; most of them had spoken to her earlier in the evening and found her to be reluctant and brutally honest, not the type to concoct such an elaborate lie.

Spurred on by the response, she laid it on thick, “Then, coupla weeks ago, we hadda poltergeist! The boss said ‘e seen things movin’ about of their own accord -- books, antique ornaments an’-that -– floyin’ through the air! Oi never seen ‘em floyin’ meself, loike, but oi heard it ‘n oi saw the results -- all these very expensive vases ‘n that -- smashed to pieces! It even pulled down this big grandfather clock off the wall -- a big, heavy brute of a thing -- ‘n sent it crashin’ down on the floor! Boss saw it -- scared outta ‘is wits, ‘e were!!”

The gasps became a din of dismay. Felix chewed noisily and stared, transfixed.

“.... anyways, oi tol’ the boss ‘e should get professional ‘elp and ‘e were so desperate ‘e agreed so I rung this-‘ere woman (she pointed at Mrs Murphy again) ‘n she called Miss McCool. Tha’s me story,” said Mrs Sparkes, ending abruptly, “may God strike me down if oi tell a loie,” and went to sit down; Ms McCool put a hand on her shoulder to stop her -- the old woman looked at it as if it was a white tarantula. “Now I can’t speak to the house’s history, but the poltergeist is indicative of a larger problem,” Mizz McCool informed the room, “the land on which the house was built in the same area where those bog mummies were found a few years ago.” She paused for a second or two to let the tidings sink in, then delivered the coup de gras: “This poltergeist activity is proof that exhumation of those bodies has unleashed a destructive force that is about to wreak havoc upon us all!”

In the uproar that greeted this announcement, Felix took a big swig of Tab and belched loudly. The rude ejaculation silenced the crowd and finally drew him to the attention of Mizz McCool.

“What’s your name, friend?”

His heart leapt. He nodded slowly and answered nervously through a mouthful of Maltesers, “Felix. Felix Costello, M-Mizz Mc-C-Cool. I-I wrote to you about my m-mother.”

Mrs Murphy had a word in her ear. Ms McCool raised a pencilled eyebrow, “Mr Costello, of course. You do indeed write me letters. A lot of letters.”

“One every week for 6 months!” cried Felix, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mizz McCool, put a finger on her cheek, looked skyward and intoned the name wistfully, “Betty Costello. Betty Costello. She was very gifted. Her Gift was as strong as mine, you know. But she misused it. She took to the Christian church and turned her back on us and denounced us as Satanists. Very galling, I think, coming from a fellow Sensitive; especially someone whom I befriended and treated with the utmost respect. I can only hope that now she has Passed Over she realises the hurt she’s caused.”

Hear-hears all round and a short ripple of applause.

The little speech hadn't wiped the smile off Felix’s face; the delivery was so disarming that he tuned-out after the compliments and just listened to the sound of her voice; when she stopped he just kept nodding and said “Thanks very much, I appreciate it and so will she!”

Ms McCool looked at him askance, then shook her head and said “idiot” under her breath.  “Nevermind, what’s past is past and after all, it is all in the Grand Design, I choose to forgive and forget and move on.” She quickly got back on track and turned her attention back to their guest of honour, “Tell us what happened to your cat Mrs Sparkes, your long-term companion that never left your ankle?”

Surprised by the question, Mrs Sparkes hesitated then answered, “’Umm... ‘E ran away, so ‘e did...”

“Yes! He ran away!” cried Ms McCool, making everyone jump! “Felines are highly Sensitive. They may seem indifferent to the untutored eye, but that’s because the Spirit World is as real to them as the Material World is to us,” she explained enthusiastically, “they see all and they hear all and when something like this comes along, they sense the danger and flee the area. And not just cats, though, eh, Mrs Sparkes?” She asked rhetorically, “in fact, there isn’t a bird or an animal within 12 miles of the house, isn't that right?”

Mrs Sparkes nodded, “Not even a crow.”

Another collective gasp.

“You see what we’re up against?” Ms McCool shook her head and looked around the room like an excitable school teacher, “You see how destructive this power is? The dark magic of an ancient wizard unleashed into the atmosphere?! If it spreads there is no telling what it could do!!”

The crowd were about to explode, but she put up a hand to appeal for silence; when it came, she looked at the floor and mournfully shook her head, “Alas, my friends, I cannot go to a police station and give a statement. The media treat me like a crank,” she looked around the room, “so it’s up to you, my friends -- my allies -- be vigilant. I need you to be my eyes and ears. Watch out for strange behaviour in your neighbourhood –- anything at all -– especially amongst the animal population -- and report back to me. The more evidence I have the more chance I have of proving my case.” She put a hand to her brow and wilted, like a swooning damsel in distress, “As for me, I must save my strength for the final battle. But I can assure you of this, ladies and gentlemen –- I am prepared to fight to the bitter end.”

Utter upheaval! The old ladies’ dentures were clacking, the Goths were clucking, the sissies were squealing, the young girls were too dismayed to do anything other than silent Scream impersonations, all of them asking questions beginning with w. Ms McCool turned away as if she couldn't bear to witness the clamour she’d created. Once Mrs Murphy had calmed them down, there was a brief Q&A, mostly concerning her definition of ‘negative forces’, then the meeting came to a close. As each member filed out, Ms McCool stood by the front door shaking everyone’s hand as they left. Felix straggled until the last disciple had departed, and finally got his face-to-face with his hero. “Mizz McCool, I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed myself this evening!”

She looked over his head with hooded eyes and sneered, “It’s not a ‘show’, Mr Costello. I am not an entertainer.”

He thought for a second and came up with what he thought was the perfect response, “Well, I was utterly hypnotised!”

She cleared her throat, “Mr Costello, I won’t waste time with smalltalk and hypocrisy is not in my nature, so I’ll get straight to the point: true psychics do not do ‘readings’ -- no tarot cards, no séances, no astrology. Your mother used those tropes to perpetrate a fraud and blacken our reputation. I’ve nothing to say to her, in this life or the n...” She suddenly stopped, realised that she would get nowhere by being blunt and adopted a more sympathetic attitude, “Look, if you wish to contact your mother you can talk to her anywhere, she’ll hear you, I promise,” she said, turning to go.

“But I need to apologise and put things right!” said Felix, getting desperate, “I need to hear her say she forgives me! Please, it’s very important.”

“Things change in the Next World: earthly worries and personal woes no longer trouble her now,” she groaned, “there are no vengeful or scornful Spirits on the Other Side and earthly matters no longer concern them. You can rest assured she forgives you -–” She turned away, “Now, if you don’t mind...”

“Out you go!” said Mrs Murphy, grabbing him by both shoulders like a nightclub-bouncer and propelling him out the door -- he tried to say goodbye but the door slammed in his face -- then it immediately opened again -- Mrs Murphy shoved the Black Magic Easter-egg into his hands and slammed it shut again.

He was very impressed. And do you know what? He felt better! He could talk to his mammy wherever he went! She doesn’t care what I do anymore! “Hey you!” an angry voice called out. It was that Mrs Sparkes woman standing at the end of the path, “’Ee’s blockin’ the road! We can’t get past!” she yelled. “Crabbit auld bat,” Felix harrumphed, and looked for his keys in his anorak pockets and went out to the van. When he saw the car waiting for her, he was very surprised indeed: “Wow! A chauffeur-driven Bentley!” he exclaimed to no one in particular. Bit swish for a housekeeper. Hmmm. She said her boss was a very private man. I wonder who he is... He drove the van onto the grass verge at the side of the road and let them pass. He was very curious. Who does she work for? As soon as the car rounded the corner, he looked at his reflection in the rear-view-mirror and said: “How about talking the scenic route, say, via South Kildare?”

...

Carmel McCool and Mrs Murphy were saying goodnight in the hall. “Oh, Mrs Murphy,” Carmel sighed, “I must take to my bed. This evening has drained me so.”

“I’m tired myself. I’ll go to bed once I’ve tidied the room,” said Mrs Murphy, with a kind smile.

They said goodnight and Ms McCool hitched up her dress and climbed the stairs to her room. Mrs Murphy went into the lounge where she stood behind the door and waited till she heard the guestroom door close. Once the coast was clear, she tiptoed back into the hall and opened a locked drawer in the telephone table, and consulted the well-thumbed, yellowing pages of an old address book...

100 miles North, in The Ivy House: Jamie was reading in bed when he heard the phone ring in the great hall. He put down the book and listened. It’s a bit late. I wonder who it could be? It was answered by Fordham the Footman (Jamie recognised the sound of his shoes on the old stone floor) who immediately, and without explanation, transferred the call to Jamie’s room.

“Can I speak to Ogden Castle?” a voice whispered in the earpiece, “it’s me, Mrs Murphy.”

Who the hell is Mrs Murphy? Oggy didn’t mention a Mrs Murphy?! “Ummm... he’s not here at the moment...” he said, confused, “this is Jamie...”

The educated, middle-class tones disappeared and the whisper took on a guttural, rural Irish accent, “Ooh, Jamie Jameson Lumb, is it? Aye, I’ve heard of you, alright. You’re the new Master, aren't ye?” she all-but sneered.

“Listen missus, I have no idea who you are but...”

“You lissen to me!” she hissed, “I’m a Witch! One of them Witches South ‘o the border -- y’know, one of them that auld Castle told to keep an eye on things?!”

Still unsure of whether or not this was a ruse, Jamie decided to hear her out, “Go on...?”

She tutted as if she was talking to an idiot, “Well, there’s been a big resurgence in negative energy round Kildare ‘n it seems to be spreadin’ so it looks like the things auld Castle was worried about have now come to pass!”

Jamie’s jaw dropped, “Shite...”

“Aye, shite.” She took a deep breath and continued, “See, I hadda meeting for some deluded eejits who think they’re psychics -- we haveta keep an eye on ‘em, just in case they accidentally stumble into somethin’ they’re not qualified to deal with. It’s usually a gaggle of quacks and impostors, but tonight the guest of honour was this auld housekeeper who told a story about a poltergeist hauntin’ the place where she works. You know where she works?

“Erm... no...?”

“Pagham House, that’s where! The very place where them bog mummies were dug up!”

His fears were wholly justified. “Oh God... Oggy was right... it’s starting all over again...” he said, worriedly, contemplating the implications.

Mrs Murphy went on to explain she had a houseguest who was causing the fully fledged witches some trouble, “Carmel McCool. She’s from Newry; I invited her down here so we could check ‘er out. She’s only a wee bit psychic, but she’s got enough of a Gift to sense the auld negative energy -- and if a minor Sensitive like her can sense it -- things must be bad! But here’s the worst of it: she’s one of these theatrical types, y’know, one of them that likes to be the centre of attention -- and she’s gotta big mouth on her! She actually went to the Gardai ‘n the papers ‘n tried to tell ‘em all about it!”

His mouth dry with apprehension, he asked “What... what do we do next?”

“Don’t ask me! We've done our bit! We were told to keep an eye on things and report back to you -- it’s up to youse to sort it! After all, you’re the Master now, aren't ya? Ye have the power ‘n all that, dontcha?!” she said, in a mocking voice.

“But... but I don’t have anybody to advise me! Oggy and Xavier and most of the staff have gone down for the Big Sleep......”

“Oh aye? Well, ye better get yer act together ‘n think of somethin’ quick!”

She hung up without saying goodbye. He put down the phone and stared into space. What am I going to do? He’d tried everything bar waking the sleepers; he’d tried to find out something about the mage exhumed from the bog, but now that the Psychosphere was unusable, he couldn't consult the Collective Memory, and there was nothing in the ancient annals in the library. He had no idea whom or what he was dealing with! What the f**k do I do?!

Desperate for help, he went back to the huge crystal ball in the centre of the room and once again tried to contact Ebben Blom in Sweden (the commune didn’t have anything as modern as a phone), but it was useless, the glass was hot and completely fogged-up: interference that can only be created by the presence of negative energy; yet another sign that all was not well and was about to get worse.

It was then he glimpsed a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slowly and looked around the room until his gaze settled on the full-length mirror set against the rear wall. The mirror was misted up too, but in this case the glass was glowing. He watched as the mist slowly parted and an image manifested in the frame: an all-too-familiar figure dressed like a Film Noir private eye walked out of the swirling fog and stood close to the inside of the glass. He pushed back the brim of his fedora and winked.

Jamie’s shoulders dropped. “Bernie bloody Pritchard,” he said, in a voice dripping with irony.

The phantom grinned, “Hello, big brother. I hear you’re havin’ a spot of bother...”

...

The Bentley turned left and disappeared behind a row of yew trees. Felix waited for the lights to disappear from view, then taxied along until he came upon a huge wrought iron gate, the apex of the granite archway laden with razor wire, like a prison. He listened until he heard the car disappear into the distance, then pulled in a few yards up the road, got out and went back to investigate on foot. “Who lives in a house like this?” he asked himself, in that funny voice everybody does. He was looking through the bars, trying to see the house in the distance -- when someone leapt on him from behind, got him in a headlock and forced his head down! “Easy, easy, now, li’l fella or I’ll snap yer fackin’ neck –- so don’t straggle or it’s crunch-time!”

Felix squeaked from under his assailant’s muscular armpit, “Sorry... I got lost... I saw the car pullin’ in and I thought I could get directions...”

The voice growled in his ear, “Wot?! Wiv yer lights off?! Nah, you’ve been tailin’ us since we left that cottage – wot’s your game, pal, eh? Casin’ the joint, is ya, eh? Paparazzi?! Stawkah, is ya?!”

“No, sexual deviant, actually....”

Without warning, Herbie took his arm away, threw Felix to the ground and kicked him four or five times in the midriff and once in the face, bloodying his nose. Herbie watched him writhe in the long grass for a second or two then pulled him up by the ears and shouted into his bloody face, “I don’t wanna see you anywhere near this place again, awright, or next time I’ll tear off yer fackin’ gonads ‘n stick ‘em up yer arse -- got that?! You li’l fackin’ weasel-faced cant!” he picked Felix by the scruff of his neck and the seat of pants and tossed him into the van. “Now fack off!”

Coughing, bleeding and clutching his ribs, Felix struggled to sit up and start up the van. The chauffeur stood and watched until he drove off. “Big bully... Raspo would eat him for breakfast...” he moaned, as he mopped the blood from his nose with a paper hankie, wincing with pain every time he changed gear. He was about to turn off the lane to get back onto the main road when he glimpsed a little figure standing in the trees up ahead.

Hmmmm, what have we here?

It was a little girl. She was cast in shadow so that only the bottom half of her body was illuminated by the headlights, but he could see she was barefoot and wearing what looked like a ragged summer dress.

Very nice.

His aches and pains were momentarily forgotten, this was too good an opportunity to pass up. He threw the hankie onto the floor and slowed to a stop, all the while looking back along the road to make sure no one was watching. When he was certain they were alone, he wound down the window and asked in his nicest voice, “Hello, are you lost?”

No reply.

“It’s very late. Does your mammy know where you are?” he said, squinting into the darkness.

No reply.

“Would you like me to take you home?”

The little girl walked out from under the trees and stood in the twin beams of the van’s headlights.

Felix screamed.

She had no face, just a pair of wild eyes staring out of a blackened skull -- her clothes were no more than charred rags -- her emaciated arms open as if to elicit an embrace -- her mouth gaping as if echoing his scream!

Without thinking, Felix floored the accelerator -- the wheels spun under him --the van lurched forward as it sped off! He closed his eyes and braced himself for impact -- but there was no sound of anything hitting the bumper -- nothing dragging beneath the wheels! He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw her standing in the same place, in the same pose, as if the van had passed straight through her! Felix screamed again...

To be Continued....

[kenmarlenn]

Egotober Days 5/6 - Under the Full Moon and Sepsis

So, @alcordraws @galaxy-starheart and @lowat-golden-tower and I headcanon that Bill, the ego from Werewolves was actually a werewolf too, but a nice one. So naturally, I decided to do some pain.

tw: child injury, child death, blood (let me know if I missed something I should tag! this isn’t a pleasant fic.)

Bill was young when he was bitten. It had been a calm night, a quiet one, as the boy lay outside his home, staring at the full moon shining in the sky. He was drifting to sleep, his eyes growing heavier despite his mother warning him not to fall asleep outside at night. He knew the stories of course - the warnings about the werewolves. Adults were more of a mind to be skeptical, to laugh at the idea, to claim that such stories were only meant to scare children into staying out at night. But Bill and the other children in the village believed in mystical creatures wholeheartedly. Werewolves were not beyond the realm of possibility to their young imaginations. 

But Bill, listening to the crickets in the wheat field and the soft snorting of pigs in the pen at the butcher shop, fell asleep all the same. He didn't hear the quiet footsteps come up behind him, nor the harsh whispering of, “Just get ‘im, Harvey, I’m hungry!”

He did hear his own shouts of alarm as he felt rough hands jerk him to his feet. He felt claws dig into his arms. He felt something sharp, something painful, dig into his shoulder and TEAR, and it tore again and again and again and he was screaming but another pair of hands were covering his mouth.

“Leave him,” he heard eventually through a haze of near-unconsciousness. A female voice. A familiar one? Bill was too focused on the horrible pain to tell. “The body will get found in the morning and we'll go pick it up after that and go eat.” The hands holding Bill up let go, and he whimpered as the claws detached and allowed more blood to spill on the ground. The footsteps ran away, scampering, with a gait that sounded like a large dog’s.

The full moon, though still shining brightly, had not been enough for Bill to identify his assailants. Now it sat in the sky, silently looking down at the mangled little boy who had been peacefully enjoying its light minutes before.

Bill waited to die. He knew that was all that he could hope for. His mother hadn't heard the commotion, and the neighbors likely knew better than to come and see what was going on, if they'd heard at all. Everything hurt, so much - his shoulder, the scratches on his face. But he thought he should be going numb from pain. Feel nothing. People who had been attacked by wolves in the village seemed so peaceful as they died, so why did Bill feel like his blood was boiling? His arm felt puffy, it hurt so much, he was breathing so so hard, why wasn’t he dead?

The moon felt oppressive now. Staring down at him. He closed his eyes, the moon disappearing into darkness, as he waited for death.

“Don’t you think it’s suspicious if we’re the ones to find the body?”

“I’m hungry, Harvey, I don’t want to wait. And who says we can’t just take it away and eat and no one knows he’s dead? Maybe we can avoid trying to frame someone today if no one knows anyone died.”

“Yeah, I- I guess so.”

The man and the woman walked gently along the path to the little cottage where little Billy lived with his mother. They caught the scent of blood in the air, and Harvey had to visibly calm himself down. He’d been the one to take the kill last night, and the rule of their little pack of two was that whoever didn’t get the kill got to eat first. They’d had that rule for decades. Werewolves weren’t always the smartest creatures, as Jane tried to assure him constantly, but they did have loyalty to traditions and their packs.

They rounded the corner and saw the small body lying in the grass, still bloodied and with massive bite wounds on his shoulder. Jane wrinkled her nose at the sight of blueish skin surrounding the wound. “Sepsis. Shoulda gone for the jugular, Harvey. That’s an awful way to go.”

“Yeah…” Harvey crouched by the body and frowned. “Hey. Jane? We- We didn’t tear his clothes up this much did we?”

“What? No. What do you mean?” Harvey gestured to the body, which had only underwear on. The rest of his clothes were torn to shreds, scattered around the bloodied grass. “I- I don’t know, doesn’t matter, just grab it and go, people are going to wake up soon.”

Harvey hoisted the small body onto his shoulder and shuddered a bit. He and Jane had only gone for Bill because he was an easy target that night. But the deed was done. He dashed off into the woods, followed closely by Jane.

They set the body down in a clearing, and, out of sight of the village, morphed into their more wolfish forms. About to begin eating, they froze as they heard a small whimper coming from what they expected to be their meal.

Jane said a word that Harvey would never expect coming from the mouth of a lady, even a ravenous werewolf lady, and grabbed the boy’s head. He was breathing. Shallowly, but he was breathing. She lifted Bill’s top lip, then flopped backwards into the grass and groaned. “Should have gone for the jugular,” she said again. “He survived.”

“So, we just kill him, right?”

“No, Harvey,” Jane said, and moved back towards the boy. “He turned.”

“Oh.”

Bill whimpered again and opened his eyes a little bit, squinting into the sun. “Mommy…?”

Jane sighed, steeled herself, and leaned over into Bill’s field of vision. “Nope. Sorry, little pup, something, uh, something happened.”

[cigarettesandcoffee]

"No man's a good sailor if he isn't comin' home with a tale and a scar't go along with it." He chuckled warmly, looking down at his worn, calloused hands. They'd been through plenty, done plenty more, it was like a symbol of what he'd survived, what he'd managed to overcome. A scar was something that hadn't killed him, though he knew Nea didn't entirely like hearing about his beau getting hurt.

Adjusting himself where he sat, he made himself comfortable with a bit of a slump and stroked his fingers along Nea's hip. "Well, I was out fishin' for bass. Big fellas. Angry too. Strong enough't knock the wind outta ya with a good tail whip to the gut." He began, running his free hand down his beard.

"Caught two good sized ones, but I could see one big bully gobblin' at my bait, knocking the others around. Figured he'd be a toughie, an' he was, put up a good fight, had't use a stronger hook't snag 'im since he broke two others." Cedric snorted and shook his head.

"Got 'im up on the boat, shoulda figured leave well enough alone but my stubborn arse wanted my hook back, mean son'of'a'bitch wasn't lettin' it up. Really had't get my hand in 'is mouth. Never figured a fish could swallow a hand but sure enough, one good gulp'an my hand was in'is belly." He laughed, looking down at his hand, "Gave me a couple'a scratches with'is teeth, nothin' major, but my hand was covered in God only knows what." He couldn't help but continue to belly laugh. "Figured'at I had done enough for the day."

The way Cedric was with the dogs was always something Nea found endearing and adorable, how welcoming and loving he was towards them, as if they were an extension of Nea himself.  And, over the years, they’d very much become like that to him, so it was nice to see the trio communing.  Even Tiberius, who was much more of a daddy’s boy than loving Adonis, seemed to always get an extra pep in his step when they knew Cedric was around to give them love.  It warmed Nea’s heart. 

“Such a flatterer,” Nea teased with a roll of his eyes, returning the gentle welcoming kiss with a touch to Cedric’s cheek.  “Trust me, I hardly needed to know the way here–I just followed the delicious smells.” He threw a wink over his shoulder as he made his way inside. 

It was warm, comfortable, and homey inside, and absolutely befitting of the rugged and gentle man who had painstakingly put this home together.  Nea pushed up his sleeves, settling easily into the familiar setting as the dogs sniffed their way around, interested in every last nook and cranny.  His eyes returned to Cedric as the man spoke.  

“You think of everything,” Nea’s smile was soft, appreciative.  “And I’m sure the boys appreciate it as much as I do.” His arms looped loosely around the other’s waist, chin coming to rest on Cedric’s sternum as he looked up at him.  “I could always go for more kisses, and perhaps a few tales of your travels since last I saw you.”

[soaimagines]

Stay

Request: Imagine your Jax’s best friend and your back in town and he begs you to stay.

I decided to make this long instead of breaking it into parts, its 10,000+ words, let me know what you all think!

 Sorry I'm not writing as often,but please be patient and I’ll get there. Thank you for all your support. I hope you enjoy this. xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jackson Nathaniel Teller get your ass back here right now!” Jax froze midstep and hung his head whilst you fought to keep the smug smile off your face as you slowly crept forwards. “You too, (Y/F/N), (Y/L/N)!” A groan left your lips and slowly in sync, both of you turned to face the wrath of Gemma Teller. She stood in the doorway of her house, hands on her hips, elbows out, and an angry flint in her eyes. Jax sighed and nudged you with his elbow. You exchanged a dreaded glance with him and together you walked towards his mother. “Either of you little shits wanna tell me why i have three missed calls from the principal?” Gemma said, her voice stern and her eyes burnt through the both of you. Even on a good day, you knew better than to mess with Gemma, and today was definitely not a good day. “It was nothing, Gem.” You said and fluttered your eyelashes pleadingly, hoping that your puppy-dog effect might rub off on her. Of course it didn't work. This was Gemma Teller, after all. Gemma raised her eyebrows at you and her gaze lingered on you before she glanced at her son. “Jackson?” Jax sighed and rubbed his hand through his thick blonde hair. “It was nothing Ma. Just some kids getting smart. We handled it.” Gemma stared him down with pursed lips till he looked at his feet and Gemma leant against the door frame, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who threw the first punch?” She asked. You looked at Jax and he met your eye before his infamous smirk spread across his lips. “She did.” Jax said and nodded towards you. His mother glanced you over and reached her hands towards you. She grasped her hands either side of your face and leant close before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Good girl.” She said. You grinned and Jax laughed beside you. “Now get your ass home before I have your parents calling me too.” You nodded and waved goodbye to Gemma. Jax threw his arm over your shoulder and walked along side you as you walked down the driveway., the afternoon sun shining down on you between the trees. “I told you she wouldn't be mad.” Jax said and you scoffed and laughed. “You think I was worried? You shoulda seen your face!” You teased and Jax laughed too. Both of you walked along the pavement as the sun shined down on you, teasing each other and laughing as he walked you home. Eventually you stopped outside your house and you could both see your father, peering out at you through the gap in the curtains. You rolled your eyes and turned to Jax. “See you tomorrow?” “Me and Ope will pick you up.” He confirmed. You nodded and smiled at your best friend and he smiled back, the same smile that made your heart swoon. And you walked into your house, leaving a sixteen year old Jax Teller on the street, watching after you and hoping that maybe one day his best friend would be his old lady.

You had grown up in Charming, born and raised and you loved the little town and all its unique quirks. The sun was always shining, the weather was always warm and the towns people were always smiling. Well, almost always.. It was the roar of motorcycles flooding down Main Street that changed their faces from happy and content smiles to disapproving frowns and glares. The Sons of Anarchy had always done their part in Charming, helping out at fundraisers and the town knew they could rely on the club when times got tough. Yet they often seemed to forget that, and seemed to focus on the danger that emitted from them. Your father was one of those people, and he had been furious the first day he saw Jax Teller and Opie Winston walk you home from school. He had warned you your whole life to stay away from ‘boys like that’, and he had lived his whole life in fear of the Sons of Anarchy. They were gunrunners, criminals, outlaws and killers and he didn't want his precious daughter to be mixed up with such horrid people. But when you were seven years old and the boys in your class had stolen your backpack and had been tossing it to each other while you cried, it had been Jax and Opie that had stopped them and made sure no one ever messed with you again. And from that day on the three of you had been your own little gang. Your father still didn't approve and you weren't sure he ever would, but you didn't care. Because when you were with them you didn't feel like a little girl that couldn't defend herself. When you were with them you weren't afraid of anything. And you had grown to be tough and strong, after Gemma took you under her wing. You didn't have a motherly figure in your life after your mom had passed away and your father had never even dreamt of being with another woman. But Gemma showed you how to be a girl that no one would mess with and you would be eternally grateful to her for transforming you from an innocent lamb into a lioness. It was only inevitable that you'd fall in love with Jax at some point. He was carefree, the prince of Charming, and anywhere he walked he left a trail of chaos and girls practically drooling over him. He was charming and funny, smart, caring, ridiculously handsome and confident and he was fiercely loyal. You were close with Opie too, of course, but it was Jax that made your heart skip a beat and when he was around somehow you struggled to find words, as the thoughts of him filled your mind. He was your best friend, the love of your life, the prince of Charming. And you, you were the Girl Next Door. Well, technically you lived down the street, but you knew you would never be good enough for him, that you'd never be his princess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your cheeks were stiff from dried tears and you stared at the sky, watching the sun slowly fade into the horizon. Opie passed the joint to you and you took a long drag before passing it to Jax, who sat on the other side of you. The three of you sat in silence, unsure of the right words to say. Honestly you didn't want them to say anything. You didn't want anyone to say anything. Nothing anyone said could change what had happened. Your father was dead. You had been the one to find him, seated at the kitchen table, gun in his hand and a bullet hole through his head. He had never really recovered after losing your mother and he had struggled raising you alone. Still, you never thought he would leave you. At least not like that anyway. The smoke filled your lungs but your body remained numb. And so the three of you sat in silence, on the concrete ledge of the roof of the funeral home, dressed all in black as you mourned the loss of your father. Jax hadn't left your side since you'd found your father, dead in the kitchen and you knew both himself and Opie had been uncomfortable, attending the funeral of your father, a man who had disapproved, no, hated them. But they had decided to attend, to support their best friend. Jax knew what it was like to lose a father and you were eternally grateful for his support. They had stood either side of you as you read the passage in front of your fathers friends and family, and they had sat beside you while you sobbed over the freshly covered grave. But now your tears had dried out and the reality was sinking in. Your mother was gone, your father was gone, and you had no family left. At least not in Charming. That was why your Aunty was shipping you off, forcing you to move across the country to live with her. “When do you leave?” Jax asked quietly, his voice breaking the silence. You glanced at him and met his gaze, his blue eyes filled with sorrow. “Tomorrow.” You whispered, your voice cracking slightly. Jax nodded and wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you rested your head on his shoulder. Opie squeezed your hand gently before standing and heading downstairs to find a drink, leaving the two of you alone. For a while you sat in silence, his arm around you as you stared out at the horizon. Everything seemed so fragile, so small. Every moment was fleeting, passing by and you weren't sure if any of it really mattered anymore. “I love you, (y/n).” Jax whispered. A sad smile formed on your lips and you nodded against him. “I know.” You whispered. You knew he loved you, as a friend. But even now, as you sat at your fathers funeral, the only thing you wanted was Jax. For him to love you as more than a friend. But you were leaving. And he was staying here. The rest of the night you stayed on the roof, until the early morning and at some point you had fallen asleep, wrapped in each others arms. A perfect way to spend your last night in Charming, wrapped in the arms of the boy were hopelessly in love with.

8 YEARS LATER

“Back in black! I hit the sack, Ive been too long Im glad to be back.” You sung at the top of your lungs as the music poured out of the speakers and your car sped along the familiar roads. It was only fitting to play such a song as you drove, heading for the town you'd left so many years ago. You never had made it back to Charming after you had left that morning so many years ago. Something had always stopped you. Maybe the emptiness that filled your heart every time you thought of your father and the way he had passed, or the heartache you felt when you thought of Jax, imagining him with random girls. You had no right to be jealous really, it had been eight years since you'd left and you'd kept in contact at first, but eventually you had drifted apart. The last you heard was that Jax and Opie were prospecting, but it had been years since you'd heard from either of them and you wondered if they'd still be around,or  if they'd even remember you. You thought about them often, remembering the mischief the three of you used to get up to. the nights you would spend staring up at the sky, or the afternoons you'd spend on the back of their bikes, speeding along the streets with the wind blowing in your hair. But you had a new life now, a good job, a good apartment. You didn't have a boyfriend but you didn't particularly want one. You were fiercely independent and you did well on your own. There was even talk of a promotion coming up and you knew you were in the perfect position for it. It had taken you by surprise when you'd received the phone call from the council in Charming, informing you that the tenants of your fathers house had left it in a mess. He had left you the house in his will and you had become the official owner when you turned 21, but back then the thought of returning to your hometown had been too painful, so you’re Aunt had helped you hire an agency and rent the property out. But it was time to sell it. There was no point in leaving it with strangers when you could benefit from selling it. You could even use the money to buy your own house in the city, or open your very own business. It was time to move on. And as you drove a mixture of emotions flooded through you. Nerves, excitement, fear. You didn't know what to expect and one part of you was praying you would run into Jax, and reunite just like old times while the other part of you prayed you wouldn’t. You knew he would have an old lady by now and you weren't sure how you felt about it. He would always be the one that got away, and you don't think you could truly ever be over the feelings you had for Jackson Teller. You car sped along the road and before you knew it you passed the familiar ‘Welcome to Charming’ sign. The town hadn't changed much and you drove through Main Street, eyeing the familiar shop fronts and the new ones too. Charming certainly had a certain ‘charm’ about it and no matter where in the world you went, it would always be home. You knew you couldn't put it off much longer and you finally turned into the street on which you had lived so many years ago. You drove past the picket fences and the perfectly trimmed hedges, the front lawns with kids playing outside, under the sprinklers as they laughed in the sun. Your heart leapt into your throat as you drove past the Teller house and you couldn't help but glance at the half dozen bikes parked out front. You gulped and gripped the steering wheel til your knuckles turned white and you drove on and eventually you turned into the driveway of your fathers house.

Birds chirped outside the window and you groaned. You never had been a morning person but last night you had gotten barely any sleep. It was hard for you, to be back in this house and the memories had haunted you all night long. It still smelt the same. At least you thought it did and waves of nostalgia kept hitting you, desperate for a time when this was your home. You sighed and rolled out of bed and rubbed your eyes before yawning and stretching your arms. Of course, you hadn't thought about bringing any home appliances with you. You had only packed a few bags of clothes, unsure of how long you were intending to stay for. But you'd forgotten that the house was empty, including no furniture, no cutlery, and no fucking coffee. You rummaged through one of your bags and yanked out a towel and headed for the shower. The local diner used to make the best coffee in town and you hoped that that was one thing that hadn't changed over the years. After a quick shower you tugged on your ripped skinny jeans and pulled an old band t-shirt over your head before shaking out your damp hair and letting it fall down your back. There was no time for makeup, you needed coffee desperately so you grabbed your sunglasses and your keys and headed for your car.

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The diner had kept its word; it still had the best coffee in town. But honestly, it could have been the worst, you were too tired to notice. You only craved the hit caffeine. The old woman behind the counter had remembered you and had insisted on feeding you a full breakfast, the Charming Classic, complete with two eggs, toast, hash browns, bacon, sausages, and grilled tomatoes. By the time you'd finished your plate you could barely more, you were that full and you slid out of the booth before paying for your meal at the counter. By now the sun was out and the heat hit you in the face as you walked out of the diner, the bell on the door chiming behind you. The street was already alive with the hustle and bustle of the morning. You glanced around the street and smiled to yourself as you looked over the hanging flowers and the store fronts. It was good to be home. Across the street Jax pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into his pockets. He lifted his hands, littered with rings and removed his helmet. The wind blew his blonde hair and he slicked it back. Chibs and Tig were to his left and Juice was to his right and they too removed their helmets and placed them on their bikes. Main Street was already buzzing with people and Jax ignored the nervous yet curious looks coming from the locals. He scanned the street, looking for Hale, when a girl caught his eye. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he looked at her. Her back was facing him and her hair hung loosely down her back. There was something about her, he felt like he knew her, but he needed her to turn around. "Jax! Let’s go, brother.” Chibs called and Jax snapped back to attention. “Yeah.” Jax said and stood straight. He followed his brothers up the street but he couldn’t help but look back. And as he did, the girl turned flashing her face only for a moment and Jax froze in place. But almost as quickly as he saw her, she was gone, turning a corner into a store. “You okay man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Juice asked with an eyebrow arched. Jax swallowed and nodded slowly. “Something like that.”

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Ever since you were young you had always had a habit of twiddling your thumbs when you were nervous. That, and blinking your eyelashes like an idiot. And right now your thumbs were going wild and you were practically chewing your bottom lip off. To say you were nervous was an understatement and you wanted to start your car, turn around and drive away from here. But you couldn’t put it off any longer. You knew deep down you wanted to see him, needed to see him. But you were filled with dread, knowing that a man like Jackson Teller wasn’t going to be single. You wanted desperately to see that smile once more but you weren’t sure if you could face his girlfriend. Or worse, his old lady. You sighed and pulled the keys out of the ignition. It was now or never. Before you could change your mind you stepped out of your car and closed the door behind you. Teller Morrow hadn’t changed much from what you remembered and you glanced around the lot, taking in the sight of it. Several bikes were lined up and you gulped as you looked at them warily. It wasn’t too late to turn around. There weren’t any members outside, and no one had seen you yet. You could just turn around and walk right out of here. You were debating your options in your head and you barely noticed when a car pulled in behind you. It was only when the door slammed shut that you turned around. Your heart leapt into your throat and you stared wide eyed at Gemma Teller. She stood in her class in ensemble: jeans and a black low cut top, flashing her cleavage and her scar. Her dark hair framed her face and she wore her usual large sunglasses. You watched her as she shifted her hand bag on to her shoulder. She hadn’t seen you yet, or recognised you at least and your heart was beating rapidly. “Hey Gem.” You said. You cursed yourself, knowing how nervous your voice sounded. Gemma glanced at you and lifted her glasses on top of her head. “Well well, long time no see.” You smiled and Gemma walked towards you, arms open wide and you embraced her hug. She had always been the closest thing you had to a motherly figure after your mom died and you hadn’t realised quite how much you had missed her after all these years. She smelt the same as she used to, perfume and cigarettes and you hugged her tightly. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?” She asked you as you parted and she placed her hands on her hips. You ran your hand through your hair and glanced around the lot. “I’m selling dads house, so I’m back in town for a while.” You told her truthfully. You hadn’t intended to stay more than a week, but you had missed this town and the more time you were spending here the less rush you were in to leave. Gemma nodded as her eyes ran over you. You were just a teenager when you left, awkward and rebellious. But now you were a fully grown woman and your body had definitely filled out. You had curves now, in all the right places and you looked a hell of a lot different to when you left. But your eyes were the same, always sparkling and you still had the familiar traits Gemma remembered. You had broken her sons heart when you left and she knew you probably had no idea of the hurt you had caused that boy. “Well lets go inside. I, for one, could use a drink.” She winked at you and you grinned back. Gemma linked her arm through yours and together you walked towards the clubhouse. You had seen the number of bikes outside and your heart was beating rapidly in your chest. You weren't sure what type of welcome to expect. Gemma must have sensed your nerves and she squeezed your arm gently before pushing open the door.

The smell hit you almost instantly and you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you. Alcohol, ciggarettes, and cheap perfume were the essence of the Clubhouses very own signature fragrance and you breathed it in deeply. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in sight the empty table and sofas and the empty bar. “They’re in Church.” Gemma told you and you nodded. You were thankful you weren't walking into a room full of Sons but now your nerves were back, knowing it was only those wooden doors that separated you from Jax. This was his territory, his home, and you were invading it. You weren't sure if he'd even want to see you, let alone have you in his clubhouse. “You wanna beer?” Gemma asked you. “Please.” You nodded and smiled, following her to the bar. Your eyes continued to scan the room and you looked the wall of framed mugshots, standing proud. A smile formed on your lips as you ran your eyes over the familiar faces, and the unfamiliar ones. You saw Opie’s and you smiled, looking at the man he had grown into. The other faces passed you by as you looked at each of the frames and you gulped once you found Jax’s photo, sitting proud beneath the wooden SAMCRO sign. He hadn't changed much at all really, although you weren't sure how old this photo was. But his hair was still long, and blond, and those blue eyes of his pierced through you. You could recognise those eyes anywhere. “How longs it been?” Gemma broke your thoughts and you turned back to her, accepting the beer she was holding out. “Eight years.” You said. “Lot of shits changed in eight years.” Gemma said. You smiled and nodded. “I know.” You told her. Gemma had always had a way with words and you couldn't help but feel there was a famous Gemma Teller lecture on the way. But instead, she surprised you. “He misses you.” You looked at her, her dark eyes watching you closely and you knew she wasn't lying. But before you could speak you heard a door open and you turned almost instantly. You didn't recognise the first man that entered the room, and surely if you had known him you would recognise that mohawk. But his soft face was unfamiliar and  you only recognised the kutte on his shoulders. He nodded towards Gemma and looked at you curiously before moving into the room, the rest of the club filing in behind him. “Holy shit!” Opie practically ran across the room, nearly bowling his old man over in the process and you  moved towards him, unable to keep a grin off your face. He wrapped his arms around you and swept you off your feet into a tight bear hug. You laughed as he squeezed you and eventually he placed you back on the ground, where he towered over you. “Look at you, Ope! Your huge!” You said teasingly and squeezed his large biceps. He laughed loudly and nudged you. “Never thought I’d see your face round here again.” Opie said, his tone still light yet the both of you knew how much he meant his words. You shrugged his comment off and grinned up at your old friend. It had been years since you'd seen Opie and except the beard he hadn't seemed to change all that much. His eyes seemed tired, and you could tell he had seen pain but there was still that light that had been there so many years ago. Silence fell between you but it wasn't uncomfortable. Eventually more men filled the room and you glanced around,  the butterflies simultaneously returning to your stomach. And then you saw him. He walked out of the clubhouse, his head hung low as he blew out a cloud of smoke and passed a joint back to one of his Brothers. He walked with the same kind of swag he walked with as a teen and your heart was almost beating out of your chest when he glanced up and met your gaze. Blue eyes pierced through you and he froze for a moment, his mouth dropping open as he took in the sight of you. The rest of the room could have been on fire and you wouldn't have noticed, the only thing you were focused on was Jax. Slowly, he began to move towards you, his eyes never leaving yours and you gulped. Opie glanced between the two of you, sensing the nervous tension in the air and he chuckled lightly before shaking his head and walking to the bar, leaving you to reunite with Jax.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Hey.” Your voice was brittle, nervous but just that one word echoed through him. For years he had dreamt of this day, dreamt  that one day you would return, and you would stand in this club house once more. But it had always been just a dream. Jax knew you would have no intention of coming back to this town that haunted you with memories and as you stood before him he fought desperately with his mind, begging for it not to be playing a trick on him. Begging for this to be real. He moved closer and his eyes only left yours to glance over your body quickly. You but your lip nervously and you fluttered your eyelashes. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a way that you had always done when you were nervous. “You gonna just stare at her?” Opies voice boomed from across the room, followed by laughter. You laughed too and suddenly Jax knew he wasn't dreaming. A grin broke across his cheeks and suddenly his arms were around you, engulfing you entirely into his body. He lifted you off the floor and squeezed you and you buried your face in his neck, letting his scent fill your lungs and you breathed him in. Eventually he placed you back on the floor and he stepped back to look at you once more. His grin never left his face and you stared into his eyes. “Your back.” He spoke. You nodded, your eyes never failing to leave his gaze. “Ye ganna introduce the lass, Jackie?” A voice called from across the room and both of you glanced towards the man who spoke, his wide grin almost distracting you from the scars across his cheeks. Jax laughed and threw his arm over your shoulder. Together you walked towards the men. Their faces were friendly yet curious to see what kind of girl could get both Opie and Jax to react like that. Jax introduced you to his club, firing off a list of names you would have to ask him to repeat later on. “And this is (y/n), an old friend.” Jax beamed and nudged you. You couldn't help a blush rising to your cheeks as you nodded to the smiling faces. They welcomed you with cheers as they raised their beers in your direction. “Come on, let me get you a drink.” Jax said and you followed him to the bar. Gemma still sat, watching you with an amused look on her face and as Jax approached she stood, smoothing down her shirt and her jeans before pressing a kiss to her sons cheek. “I’ll leave you two kids to it.” She said with a wink before sauntering off outside. Jax chuckled and shook his head before passing you a beer and gesturing for you to sit. You obliged and slid onto one of the barstools before taking a sip. “So what brings you back here?” Jax asked, his haze falling bak onto you and he looked at you with furrowed brows. You licked your lips as you placed your beer on the counter and swiped a loose strand of hair out of your face. “I had some trouble with the tenants in dads old place, so I thought it was probably time to sell it on.” You said. Jax nodded and took a swig of his beer. “So your not staying?” He asked. You shook your head and smiled sadly. “I don’t think I could.” You said. Jax studied you closely and he sensed the pain in your voice. It was still a struggle for you, even after all these years to be back in a town that held such painful memories and that was clear to him. Yet he still couldn't help feeling disappointed. It didn't seem fair that you would leave again, after only just coming back into his life after so many years. But he nodded understandingly. “How are you anyway? Couldn't help but notice your kutte.” You said. Jax laughed and glanced down at the Vice President patch on his leather and nodded. “Yeah, its a new addition.” He said proudly. You sat at the bar for a while, reminiscing on the old times with Jax and Opie joined you for a while before heading home to see his family. Eventually though it was time for you to head home and you stood and smoothed down your hair. Jax walked you out and neither of you spoke as you headed for your car. The night air was crisp and cool and you shivered slightly in the breeze. Jax noticed and put his arm around your waist, pulling you into his warmth as you walked. “When do you leave?” Jax asked quietly. You stopped in front of tour car and looked at him with a shrug. “Im not sure. Maybe a couple of weeks.” You answered. Jax nodded and leant against the car as you opened the door. “You should come by the club tomorrow night. We’re having a party.” Jax said. You smiled at him and nodded. “I’ll try to make an appearance.” You winked and Jax smirked back at you. “It was really good to see you, (y/n).” Jax said quietly. “It was good to see you too, Jax.” You smiled back. From the conversations you'd had with him tonight it seemed he was single, no old lady. But you hadn't exactly asked outright so you didn't want tog et your hopes up. Yet you couldn't help the feeling of hope that crept into your mind. It was silly, of course. You were leaving. But you couldn't help but want Jax to feel the same way, and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him. But you didn’t. Instead, you slid into the seat of your car, waved goodbye to Jax and drove away. And just like he had all this years ago, Jax watched you drive off. Only this time he felt something had changed.

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It was past 9pm by the time you got home the next day and after fumbling with your keys and flicking the lights on you dumped the load of paperwork onto the floor. Who knew selling a house would be such a pain in the ass. You had spent all day with a real estate agent, going over the property and discussing the market. You had been grumpy all day, after getting barely any sleep yet again, and the last thing you wanted to do was get dressed and go to a SAMCRO party. You walked around the living room and drew the curtains before sitting on the floor in the middle of the room and opening the carton of chinese food you had bought in the way home. It probably wasn't a good idea for you to go to the party anyway, you thought to yourself. You were only in town to sell this damned house and it would only be a couple of weeks before you left again. It had been nice, seeing Jax again after yearning for him for so long. But who were you kidding? He wouldn't feel the same way, especially not after so many years. And you were leaving. There was no point in getting attached when it would just hurt more when you had to say goodbye again. No, you would stay home. On the floor of an empty house eating chinese food. You'd also bought a bottle of wine and you left the food on the floor as you walked to your bag and rummaged through it to find the bottle. You pulled it out proudly, almost as if it was a newborn child, and you didn't bother looking for glasses. You knew there was none. So you opened the bottle and took a long gulp of wine. Tonight you would enjoy your own miserable company.

You woke to a loud pounding on the door and you groaned as the room focused in front of you. It was dark and you rubbed your eyes. After drinking the bottle of wine and finishing your chinese, at some point you had passed out on the floor of the living room. The pounding continued and you stumbled to your feet. “Im coming!” You yelled. What time was it? The sun wasn't up so it must be late, you thought. Eventually you made your way to the front door and you swung it open. Jax stood in the door way, the dark night illuminated by the moon shining down behind him. “Good morning.” He said with a coy smirk on his face, as he glanced over your rumpled skirt and messy hair. “What the fuck Jax? What time is it?” You asked and stifled a yawn. “3.15.” He answered. You groaned and leant against the doorway and wrapped your arms around yourself. “What are you doing here?” You asked. Gradually you began to wake up more and you suddenly felt self conscious under his gaze. You were still dressed in your business skirt and shirt and your hair was a mess. “You didn't come to the party.” Jax answered. He glanced behind you, into the empty  house and noticed the bottle of wine and the empty food carton on the floor. “Yeah, sorry Jax. I got home late.” You explained. He nodded. “Wanna go for a ride?” “Its three in the morning Jax.” You groaned. Hr laughed loudly and looked at you through his eye lashes as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “Never stopped you before,” He winked. You sighed and stood straight. “Let me get changed.” You said before shutting the door ad leaving him in the night as you walked to your bedroom. What were you doing? You thought to yourself. You had not gone to that party to stay away from Jax. You didn't want to complicate things. And here he was, on your doorstep in the middle of the night. You pulled off your skirt and tugged on a pair of jeans before ripping iff your blouse and rummaging through your bags for a sweater. Its just one ride. You told yourself, desperately trying to convince yourself that this wasn't a bad idea. Quickly you tugged on some socks and your boots before walking back to the front door. You knelt by your bag and pulled out your keys before walking tot he front door, opening and closing it behind you. The night was crisp and the faint smell of tobacco filled the air as Jax leant against his bike, puffing on  his cigarette. The moonlight shone down on him and even in this light he was ridiculously handsome. You locked the door and slid the keys into your pocket and as you approached him Jax tossed his cigarette to the ground. He held out a helmet and you took it before tugging it down onto your head and buckling the strap. You watched as he swung his leg over and sat on his bike before looking back at you, a mischievous spark in his eyes. You couldn't help the grin spreading over your face as you placed your hands on his shoulders and swung your leg over the bike and sinking down behind him. You shifted your hands to bis waist and you clutched at the leather as he brought the bike to life, the loud roar ripping through the quiet night. Jax turned back to you and you nodded, reassuring him. Slowly you rolled out of your driveway and you wrapped your arms tighter around his waist and pressed your face against his back, leaning your body with his as he turned the corner. Gradually his speed increased as you moved through your street and into the open roads and you let the scent of his leather fill your lungs. The streets blurred past you as the bike roared through the night and you held on toJax tightly. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

After an hour or so Jax pulled into a wooded area and rode slowly through the trees. The track was familiar to you; it was where he used to bring you when you were young. The area was surrounded by looming trees but it cleared out into a small opening and you had spent countless nights here, getting drunk with Opie and Jax, or simply lying on the ground and staring up at the stars. The trees began to clear and Jax pulled the bike to a stop before killing the engine. You swung your leg over first and lifted the helmet from your head before shaking your hair out and handing it back to Jax. “This place hasn't changed.” You said quietly. Your voice sounded delicate in the quiet of the night. You couldn't hear the roads from here, and the only sounds were the distant noises of animals and the light wind rustling through the leaves. Jax followed you as you stepped over the grass and moved into the middle of the clearing, looking up through the opening in the trees and looking at the stars. It was just as beautiful as you remembered. You sat on the ground and Jax sat next to you. Neither of you spoke for a while. You sat content in each others silent company. “Why did you never come back?” His words broke the silence and you struggled with your answer. You glanced down at your hands in your lap and twiddled your thumbs. “I couldnt.” Was all you said. Jax nodded slowly and you sighed. “It was too hard for me. After dad died I just couldn't bare to bring myself back here.” You told him truthfully. “I was scared.” You looked back up at the stars and admired their beauty. “Did you want to? Come back?” Jax asked. You turned to him and he met your gaze. Even in the dark light his blue eyes shone brightly and you smiled sadly. “Everyday.” You whispered. Jax studied you closely. He reached his hand out and squeezed yours gently. The moment his hand touched yours you felt sparks shooting through your body. His eyes locked on yours and he moved closer slightly. You weren't sure if your heart had ever beat faster than it did in this moment. As your heads slowly moved closer together you noticed everything about him. You noticed the slight speck of green in his blue eyes, barely big enough to notice. You noticed the small scar on his cheek and for a moment you wondered how he got it. You wanted to know everything about his life since you left,you wanted to know everything about this man that was right in front of you. But more than anything you wanted to feel his lips on yours. Gradually his head moved closer to yours and you could feel the heat of his breath on your lips. You licked you lips nervously and glanced at his before looking back into his eyes. Just as the loaning became almost unbearable Jax’s lips pressed against yours and the warmth of his mouth sent currents running through your body. Your hands reached out and held either side of his face as his wrapped around your body and you whimpered slightly as his mouth moved in sync with yours. Your lips moved in harmony with his and you ran your fingers through his thick hair, desperately clinging to him. His mouth grew hungrier and he kissed you more fiercely now,exploring your mouth with his tongue. You could taste the cigarette and whiskey on his lips. He gently pulled your body down till you were lying and he hovered his body over yours. You opened your legs and Jax lay between them, his groin pressing against yours and you moaned softly at the weight of him on top of you. Both of your breathing became more rapid as you made out on the grass like a couple of horny teenagers. His fingers traced down your body and he gently slid them beneath your shirt and you whimpered softly as the coolness of his rings mixed with the warmth of your skin. For a moment your lips parted and Jax smirked down at you before tracing his lips down your neck. You arched your neck for him, allowing him to suck gently at your soft skin and you moaned once more. His fingers traced further up your body and he cupped your breasts through the fabric of your bra. You moaned and squirmed beneath him and Jax smirked as he lifted to his knees and tugged your shirt over your head. Your hair splayed out around you messily and you looked at him through thick eye lashes. A blush rose to your cheeks as he admired your body and gingerly you sat up and reached behind you to unclip your bra. You met his gaze as you let the fabric fall from your skin and you tossed it onto the ground beside you before leaning back onto your eyebrows. Jax licked his lips as his eyes explored your bare chest, and he was amazed that you could be covered in dirt and sweat and still smell and look like the best thing he'd ever seen, and he didn't waste much time before leaning back over you. He pressed a kiss to your lips once more before trailing them down your neck and across your chest. Hr sucked gently as he moved, leaving a faint trail of bruises from your collarbone to your nipple. You moaned as his tongue licked around your nipple and he sucked gently. Jax growled at the sound of your whimpering beneath him and an urgency came over him. His lips sucked rougher around your nipple now and his fingers fumbled with the button of your jeans. Your fingers were in his hair, tugging at the strands gently. Once he got your jeans unbuttoned he tugged them down your thighs quickly followed by your panties. He wasted no time in removing his own clothes and he hovered over you once more, his lips exploring your with an urgent hunger. Your lips moved with his and you felt his fingers stroke through your wet folds and you opened your legs slightly wider, enjoying the feel of his hard cock on your inner thigh. He works you with his fingers expertly, knowing just how to make you shudder and moan his name into the night. He moves his fingers against you til your on the verge of your release when he stops and slides himself inside you, his hands moving to hold you by the hips gently. He fills you slowly and you both moan as you stretch around him. Slowly he rocks his hips against yours and it doesn't take long til your begging for more. His thrusts became rougher and harder and with each move he leaves you breathless. The night is filled with the sound of your moans and his growls and his skin slapping against yours. When you cum you scream his name as your walls clench around him and Jax growls as he finds his release, his hot seed filling you. He slows his movements and gently slides out of you before collapsing to the ground beside you. Both of you are panting heavily and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both catch your breath and stare up at the stars.

You pressed your cheek to his leather as he rode through the night, your fingers clutching at the leather around his waist. You couldn't quite explain the mixture of emotions that ran through your body as you rode. Making love with Jax had been everything and more than you could have ever imagined and you were still coming down from that high. You had both laid beneath the stars for a while, lying naked on the grass. Jax had helped you dress yourself and plucked leaves from your ruffled hair. Neither of you had spoken much, but it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. And as you drove closer back into town the reality of what had happened began to hit you in waves. As the wind swept your hair out behind you a tear rolled down your cheek and you didn't bother to wipe it away.

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“Are you sure about this, (y/n)?” Your real estate agent asked you. You rolled your eyes and smiled at him from across the desk. “For the millionth time, I’m sure.” You told him. “We could get more for the property if you wait til the report comes back. It wont take more than a week.” He told you, a hint of concern in his voice. “I know, Jeremy. But I need the house sold, like now.” “Alright, whatever you say (y/n).” Jeremy said and shuffled the papers on the desk. “I’ll get the ads up and the paperwork sent off right away.” You smiled and stood, smoothing down your skirt. “Thank you.” Jeremy stood too and walked towards the door of his office before opening it for you. You lifted your handbag off the chair next to you and swung it on to your shoulder. “I’ll be round this afternoon to put the ‘For Sale’ signs up.” Jeremy told you. You smiled and thanked him before walking past him and out of the office. As you walked you felt your handbag vibrate and you sighed as you pulled out your cell phone. He was trying to call you, again. You hit ignore. That makes it eight missed calls from him. Since you'd woken. You'd lost count of the amount of times you'd hit ‘ignore’ to Jax’s calls in the last few days. The last thing you needed was to hear his ‘we’re better off as friends’ speech. So you saved him the bother and you'd been ignoring his calls ever since he'd left your house that night. The next morning you'd woken and headed straight to the office,determined to get the house sold, and get the hell out of Charming. You tossed your phone back into your bag and continued walking to your car. You fumbled with the keys and eventually unlocked your door. After sliding in and sticking the keys in the ignition you wound down the windows and turned the radio on, letting the music fill the air. Your car pulled out of its park and you drove along the street before stopping at a red light. Seconds past and thats when you heard it. You could always hear them before you saw them and you gulped and gripped the wheel. In a matter of seconds a dozen bikes sped past you and you recognised each member that passed. None of them saw you, however and you were glad. But that still didnt stop your heart almost beating out of your chest as Jax sped past you followed by his brothers. Finally the light turned green and you drove on. You needed to get out of this town, and quick.

The rest of the day passed quickly. You had spent your time doing touch-ups on the property after you had bought some paint down town, and a camp chair too, so now at least you had something to sit on. Paint splatters covers your grey tank and speckled your cheeks but you didn't care. The only person you were seeing today was Jeremy, and he had just left after erecting the ‘For Sale’ sign on the front lawn. You were lucky he put up with you, really. He had your best intentions at heart and wanted you to get the best price for your fathers property. But money was the last of your concerns. You just wanted it sold. So you had argued and argued and finally he had agreed to put the ads out at a generously reduced price. The house was a steal. It wasn't in the greatest of conditions but for the price you were asking for, you knew the buyer wouldn't care. A bargain. You heard a knock on the door faintly over the blasting noise of your music. A frown came to your lips and you knelt, resting your pain brush on top of the bucket. You hadn't heard any bikes pull up yet you still didn't feel completely relieved. Its probably just Jeremy. You told yourself as you walked through the house. You quickly turned the volume down on your portable speakers and walked to the door. As you reached for the handle you wiped your hair out of your face and swung it open. It wasn't Jeremy. It was Gemma fucking Teller. She stood leaning against the wall, her oversized sunglasses framing her face. You sighed when your saw her pursed lips and you crossed your arms over your chest. “What do you want, Gemma?” You asked. She would have to be deaf to not hear the attitude in your voice and she raised her eye brows at you. She paused before speaking, taking in your messy bun and your paint splattered face and clothes. “That how you answer the door to all your visitors?” She asked coolly. “Only the ones I don't wanna see on my doorstep.” You bit back. You had no right to be so catty, really. Gemma had done nothing wrong, and neither had Jax. It was you that had cut all contact yet you still felt irritated having her turn up like this and you knew she was about to give you one of her famous lectures. She smirked slightly at your words and lifted her sunglasses, letting them sit on her head. “There a reason you've been avoiding phone calls?” She asked you, her dark eyes watching you closely. “Been busy.” You shrugged. Gemma sighed and stepped closer. “Listen here, missy. I don't know what happened between you and Jackson. But you have no right to turn up in this town after all these years and break his heart all over again.” You glared at her but she didn't budge. “You owe him an explanation at least. Dint you dare leave town without telling him exactly why you came back just to rip his heart out.” Her words cut through you like ice but you didn't let her see it. Instead you sighed and rolled your eyes. “Get off my porch, Gemma.” She looked you over once more before pushing off the wall and turning her back. She took two steps before she stopped. “He loves you. Remember that.” She said over her shoulder before walking down the steps towards her car. You closed the door quickly and pressed your back against it, looking around the empty room. Fucking Gemma Teller and her fucking lectures.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days had passed since Gemma had turned up at your front door, and it had been a week since that night with Jackson. You sat alone in the diner, staring at the plate of food in front of you, poking it gingerly with your fork. The phone calls had become less frequent but they hadn't stopped, yet you still hadn't found the courage to answer any of them. Not even Opies calls. “Something wrong with the food, darlin?” You glanced up and saw the waitress standing by the booth, a look of her concern on her face as she looked at the plate of food in front of you, untouched. “Not at all. Just not as hungry as I thought.” You told her and smiled warmly. She smiled back at you and left you to your own misery. You sighed and left the fork on the table, resting your chin in your hand and your elbow on the table and you glanced into the street. Even at night time Chamring still had a certain spark about it. The streets, illuminated with street lights and neon signs in windows, the smell of fried food filling the streets. Gemma was right, of course. You knew you couldn't leave with out talking to him. You didn't even really know why you were ignoring him at all. Someone had placed an offer on the house today and Jeremy had called you excitedly, knowing your be glad to hear of the progress. But you hadn't been. The offer was more than you were asking for yet you couldn't bring yourself to go down to the office and sign off on the papers. There was something you had to do first. You sighed and slid out of the booth and after tossing a twenty dollar tip on the table you left the diner. You had driven down but you didn't head to your car. It was only a short walk to TM,and you could use the time to figure out exactly what you were going to say.

The walk had been a good idea, giving you a chance to clear your mind and as you walked into the TM lot a wave of confidence washed over you. You saw the row of bikes lined up and the light filling the lot from the open doors of the garage. Music pumped through the walls of the clubhouse,but it wasn't loud enough to signify a SAMCRO party, which you were relieved about. As you walked silently into the lot you could hear the faint banter and smell of weed and almost instantly the nerves returned. No one had seen you yet, and you knew it wasn't to late to turn around. But you couldn't bring yourself to stop your feet from moving and gradually you turned the corner to the picnic table. Jax sat with his back facing you, but you could recognise his blond hair anywhere. Opie sat beside him and opposite them sat Juice and Tig. All of them talking amongst themselves, puffing on cigarettes and joints and sipping on beers ad whiskey. You fumbled with your fingers. Juice spotted you out of the corner of his eye and he turned to you, smiling warmly. Eventually they all saw Juice looking at something and all of them turned. You felt so small, so fragile when those blue eyes fell on you and for a moment you forgot you weren't alone. Silence fell and Jax closed his mouth tightly. The rest of the men stood and Juice and Tig headed inside, nodding to Jax. Opie walked to you and kissed your cheek before heading inside, leaving you alone with Jax. He turned his back to you and took a long swig of his beer. You forced your feet to move and you slowly walked towards the table before sliding onto the bench opposite him. Jax took a long drag of his cigarette, and you watched him blow it out. He still didn't look at you or say anything and you twiddled your thumbs in your lap. “How are you?” You asked quietly. Almost instantly you regretted saying anything at all. Jax glanced at you with a raised brow. “How am I?” He repeated. You blushed and gulped, unsure of how to respond. Jax scoffed and rubbed his hand across his face. “Jesus Christ, (y/n). What are you doing here?” He asked you. There was a coldness to his tone and you shuddered slightly. “I.. I thought we should talk.” You said quietly. “Now you wanna talk? I tried calling you. A million fucking times. But now you wanna talk?” Jax snarled now and you could definitely sense the anger radiating off him. You stood and dropped your hands. “This was a mistake.” You said. “Typical. You cant keep running forever, (y/n).” Jax said. You had only taken a few steps when he spoke and you stopped. “I shouldn't have come back.” You said and Jax spun in his seat. His nostrils were flared and you knew he was angry. “So why did you?” He asked and he stood. “You know why.” You told him and you felt tears rising behind your eyes. “No. I don’t know. You could have sold the house from the city. We both know that. So why'd you come back? Why now?” He stepped closer to you, narrowing the gap between you and you stepped back. You didn't know how to answer him. “It doesn't matter why, Jax. The house sold. Im leaving again, so you can just pretend this never happened.” It wasn't exactly a lie. You had an offer on the house, all you had to do was sign it over. Jax scoffed and shook his head before looking at you once more. His blue eyes were filled with fire and you shuddered under his gaze. “So thats it, huh? Your just gonna forget about me and you?!” Jax snarled, his voice rising. You stepped back once more and your back hit the wall. “I could never forget about you, Jackson.” You spat back. He smirked evilly and moved closer, placing his hands on the wall either side of your head. “So what, you just wanna fuck me and leave, huh?” You gulped and glared at him. “Atleast you got what you wanted.” Jax snarled and turned, walking away from you. You clenched your fists. “Fuck you!” You screamed. God, it made you angry that he was right. You had treated him like shit all these years, and especially this week. Jax shook his head and continued walking. “You wanna know why it took me so long to comeback?” You yelled. Finally he turned back to face you and you stepped closer to him, your body shaking with emotion. “Because I fucking love you, you idiot!” You yelled. “I was so fucking terrified that if I came back you would have moved on, that you'd have an old lady. And i knew I wouldn't be able to handle that. And yeah, maybe I shouldn't have fucked you the other night. But i thought id do you the favour of ending things with me. We both know I cant stay here!” Jax stared at you, his mouth slightly open. You breathed heavily, and you had never felt more vulnerable that you did right in that moment. “What did you say?” Jax asked slowly. You scoffed ad turned around. “Forget it Jax. I’ll be out of town by the end of the week.” Your footsteps were rapid as you walked away from him and you didn't hear him call after you. Suddenly though, you heard heavy footsteps behind you and before you could react he grabbed your wrist and spun your body to face him. His hand gripped your face and he crashed his lips against yours. For a moment you let him in, let him kiss you so desperately. But you quickly came to your senses and you shoved him away from you with all your force. “I love you.” He said quietly. You froze, only your eyes moving to meet his. “What?” You whispered. “God, (y/n), I love you. I have since you left.” Jax said. A tear escaped your eye and you let it roll gently down your cheek. “It broke my heart when you left. And Ive been with other women, lots of them. But every women I have ever been with, I have seen you. Its always been you.” His words echoed in your ears and you stared at him as tears rolled down your cheeks. You stepped closer to him and he reached his hand out, letting his finger gently wipe away the tears. “I cant lose you again.” Jax whispered. His blue eyes glistened with his own tears and you gulped before you stepped closer and reached up to kiss his lips. “The house didn't sell. I only got an offer.” You told him truthfully. Jax grinned and shook his head slightly. He reached his hand out and swept your hair behind your ear before holding your face gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Dont sell it.” He told you. “Stay here, in Charming.” “Ive got a job Jax, and an apartment-“ “So quit. We’ll find you work here. Please, (y/n), I cant lose you again.” You looked into his eyes and saw the hurt you had caused him all these years, the begging. Slowly, you nodded. “Okay.” Jax grinned and pressed his lips against yours. “I love you, (y/n).  I really love you.” You grinned back at your best friend, the love of your life. “I love you too, Jax.”

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Sorry if theres any grammar or spelling mistakes, i can never be bothered editing and my phone loves to auto correct so if it doesn't make sense i apologise.

Hope you liked this!

[spacebananas-blog]

Down With the Ship

“Call me Maygull.” Were the first words the man with the wooden leg and eye patch said to Josiah. He’d come into Hooligan’s rather noisily; his heavy foot and lack of actually lifting his wooden leg to walk created a heavy stomp and the sound of wood scraping across wood. He was a rather burly man, a thick black beard, wiry black hair with a patch missing above where three claw marks ran down the right side of his face.

           “You’re one of Edan’s men, aintcha? How is the ol’ bastard?” Josiah slapped the man named Maygull on the back almost affectionately.

           “Dead.” Silence. 

           “Wotya mean e’s dead? Ol’ Edan couldn’t die if Davey Jones came for ‘im ‘imself.” Josiah laughed and offered him a chair.

           “I mean e’s dead. Killed by those damned water witches out by Eggman’s watch. They killed Edan and ‘bout ‘alf his crew.” Josiah sat down next to him, waving his hand at me.

           “Aye wench, get ‘im a drink stead a standin’ round lookin’ like a ‘alf wit.”  I coiled my tongue in my mouth, swallowing my remark about his intelligence and smelling like a cow.

           “So tell me. How exactly did Edan die? An I don’t mean no granny’s tale bout no damn mermaids either.”

           I set the two pints down in front of each of them, Maygull immediately picked his up and took a long drink before speaking.

           “Aye mate. It’s good I aint tellin’ no stories bout no mermaids.” He slammed his cup down, sloshing the ale over the brim of the glass. “Them was sirens. They open they mouths and start singin’, no man can resist ‘em. Jump right in the water with ‘em. Edan and ‘alf his crew. Nearly took me too.”

           The men who’d been bickering in the corner over a game of cards came over to listen. All four of them looking about as scared as a toddler; wide eyed and almost shaking with Maygull’s telling of the water women.

           “They wasn’t scaly. Noooo, no. they skin was fair and pretty, like moonstone. Hair the color a seaweed. I shoulda known soon as I seen ‘em poppin out the water. They teeth was like sharks. But soon as they started singin’, boy we was hooked.”

           “So how’d you get away?” Maygull laughed and reached in his shirt. Out of it, he pulled a jagged pink seashell on thick, scratchy looking rope.

           “With this. Never go out on the waves without it. Cut that singin’ bitch throat with it good too. Still got me leg though.” His laugh came deep from within his chest as he banged his peg leg on the floor.

           “So you gone tell us wot happened or not?” one of the card players asked with interest.            “Aye, aye.” Maygull waved him off and finished his pint off. “Wench, git me another one, aye?” I squinted my eyes at him and went to get another one. “We was sailing to Northfitch. A trip we’d all done 100 times. Goin’ to the ol’ watch didn’t seem like nothin’ out the ordinary. As we was sailing, those big angry lookin’ rocks risin’ out the water, greetin’ us. Lettin’ us know we was there.” I placed the pint in front of him and went to lean against one of the pillars to listen.

           “Edan tol’ us to drop anchor, that we was turnin’ in for the night. O course, we was gettin’ drunk. The sun was high and hot. We knew the trip was ‘bout over. ‘Nother day of sailin’ we was gon hit shore. We didn’t know we was bein’ watched. Not until nightfall.” He took a drink. The men were obviously leaning in, eager to hear the next bit of the story.

           “Faramond was getting’ antsy. We could all see it. Feel it even. We paid ‘im no mind. He kept sayin’ there was somethin’ in the water. We shoulda listened. No one was on watch that night. We were relaxed; drunk and tired from three days of hard sailin’. I remember there was a lot of splashin’ around, right before the singin’ started. And when it did start; there was nothing but that voice. When the singin’ started we aint know what it was. Faramond knew though. ‘E said it was just to get our attention. To pull us out our sleep. It did. Every one of those men were woke. We made the mistake of coming to the deck after that. Those damn water witches stopped singin’ after that. We was confused. So when they started singin’ again, but different this time, oh boy, we ain’t knew what was goin’ on. Faramond did though. Bastard still fell for it though.” He shook his finger at the men.

           “Faramond tol’ me there wasn’t ‘nough of ‘em to bewitch the whole crew and drown ‘em. Said they could only take one man at a time. But those boys, they dropped like rocks into that water. Next I knew, I was down there with ‘em. Starin’ into the eyes of one of them witches. She wasn’t ugly. Nooo, no. the water bitch had me hooked soon as I saw ‘er. Had them pretty blue eyes and skin like a pearl.” He licked his lips at the thought, a few men chuckled.

           “Woooo-weeee. That girl was gorgeous. And she was even prettier when she sang!” his eyes became cloudy at the memory, a little bit of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth to dribble down his chin. Josiah snapped his fingers in his face to get his attention.

           “So what happened?” Maygull licked his lips one more time and his eyes cleared.

           “She stopped singin’. Was almost like someone turned the world back on. When I saw her she wasn’t pretty no more. Had teeth like a sharks, she dipped beneath them waves and dragged me with her. She tried to pin me to the bottom of the ocean. She broke me leg and ripped it off, feedin’ it to one her sharks. When she came in close for the kill, I cut her throat with me shell. She lashed out then, all claws and teeth bitin’ at me face. She sliced open me left eye and gave me these marks.” He gestured to the scars that ran from his temple to his jaw in a ragged line.

           “I cut ‘er again with me shell, think I killed her on that one. Damn water bitch didn’ want to die.” He chuckled with the rest of the men. “I managed to get back to the surface, surprised too. Figured them sharks woulda been on me.” more chuckling.

           “What was left of the men managed to get me back on board. We wanted to stay and try to save who we could, but Faramond told me there would be no one else. We pulled anchor and set sail right then and there. They patched me up best they could until we got to Northfitch. Gangrene had just ‘bout set in by the time we arrived and got to a doctor. Had to cut off more of me leg to get rid of the ‘grene. To sail back, we went straight on through the watch. I’m sure they coulda gotten the rest of us. But I think it was Edan they’d wanted. Poor bastard. God decided to give him some karma. The Watch is the same place he drowned Corona. Did it unrightfully so too. None of us was gone tell him that though. So we just watched; hootin’ and hollerin’.” He looked up then, his face grim as he looked around at the faces that surrounded him. His next words chilled everyone, including myself, to the bone.

           “The water wench, I knew who she was. Any of ya remember Lacey McFlannerhall?” a few nods in the crowd.

           “Aye.” Josiah looked to me. “Ain’tcha Lacey’s sister?” I swallowed hard. Someone else chimed in. “Yeh, you is that whore’s sister aintcha? Aaaaaaaaaaintcha?” my lip curled back in disgust.

           “Lacey was no whore you pigs. She could never have been.” Bellowing and hands being slammed on tables in anger echoed around the room, but Maygull silenced it all with the rise of a hand.

           “The water wench that tried to take me. She was Lacey. I don’t know how. But I know, I know that skin and them eyes.” Maygull turned to look at me. “You knew Corona to, didntcha?” I nodded.

           “Aye, I thought so. I knew her eyes too. One gold and the other brown?” Another nod on my part. “Aye, she came back for vengeance. She’s the one who took Edan.”