#she looks so good a bitch is cryin!! im that bitch!!

[bosinclairsgff]

Haii I saw you fix about slashers seeing ur sh

Scars and I have a request can u write Otis driftwood catching her Relapse

And he also finds out that she has also been struggling with an eating disorder

And can it also have smut in it :3

(Nf) Ur my fav slasher writer luv ya bye :D

Otis Driftwood x reader

Warnings: self harm, eating disorder, nsfw, cussing, abuse

A/n thank you for the kind words! Hope you like this. It’s messy I fear. I’m bad at writing smut IM SORRY. But I hope it’s good enough. I luv you too!!!! Also idk what your or you’re to use idc at this point.

You had tried so hard, you really did but life with Otis isn’t always easy to cope with. That’s why you relapsed. Cutting was the only way you knew to get some relief from the pain. But you had promised Otis to stop it. That’s why you’ve been avoiding him and making excuses not to be touched on your upper arms. But tonight that would all change.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

��Come here girl” Otis shouts downstairs. You quickly make your way to his room. “What is it?” You ask. “Take your shirt off.” He states. You freeze and try to think of an excuse fast. “I’m tired Otis I’m not in the mood for this I’m sorry.” You say. He walks closer and points his finger at you. “Take off your fucking shirt right fucking now!” He yells. Shaking your head in response you take a step back. Otis pulls his knife out and pulls you by your wrist. Before you could get away he cuts your shirt off your body. As it falls off you, you quickly cover your upper arms. “Otis stop!” You scream. “What did I fucking say about doing stupid shit like cutting yourself huh!? You want to feel fucking pain, huh bitch? Is that what you want?” He slaps you across your face. You fall to the floor letting your hands catch you. He crotches down to your level and holds your chin in his hand. “I know you haven’t been eating either. So not only did you not listen about cutting but you started to fuckin starve yourself. You dumb bitch.” He lets go of your chin. “I-I’m sorry Otis please I’m sorry.” You whimper out. Otis stands tall above you, looking down. “If I catch you cutting one more fucking time. One more time. I’ll skin you alive. Got it?” He says calmly. You nod your head as you start to silently cry at his threat. Otis lifts you up by one of your arms. He kisses you softly. “Stop fucking cryin. You’re fine.” He states while wiping away your tears. “I…thought you liked to see me cry.” You say in a shaky tone. He chuckles slightly. “I do mama but when I’m balls deep inside you.” He says with a smirk on his face. Your face turns a dark shade of pink. Otis leans down and kisses you roughly while bringing his hand up to your throat. Pressing just enough to make it hard to breathe. He backs you up until the back of your knees hit the bed, making you sit down. “Take off your underwear mama.” He states. You hesitate for a second but then do as he says, sliding them off. He starts to quickly take his jeans off along with his boxers. Your eyes widen, he’s already completely hard. Otis laughs when he sees your eyes widen. Pushing you down fully on the bed, crawling in between your legs. “You ready mama?” He whispers. You nod and let out a slight whimper. He lines himself up and slowly pushes in. You let out a small gasp, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his length. Otis lets out a small groan. “You’re always so tight mama.” He says in a low voice. Then he bottoms out, staying still for a moment. Then he takes himself almost fully out before he slams back into you. You let out a loud whimper and he laughs. Keeping with his brutal pace. He’s hands go to grip your stomach. “Fuck girl you’ve lost to much weight, gotta get some meat on your fucking bones.” Otis whispers in your ear. You moan in response. That only makes him be rougher. Pounding into at an ungodly pace. “Fuck mama…feel so fucking good.” He growls. He doesn’t slow down. The sounds your bodies make filling the whole room. Whimpers, whines and moans. Otis pulls out and flips you over on your stomach. He grabs you roughly and easily slide back in continuing his brutal pace. “Otis! Too much wait!” You yelp. He doesn’t listen and goes even faster. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes as the pleasure was just to much. “Fuck girl at this pace Imma cum in minute. God you are such a fucking slut, did you know that?” You whimper in response. When you don’t answer he grabs a fist full of your hair pulling your head back. “I asked you a god damn question bitch now answer!” He states. “Yes, yes I’m a slut yes!” You answer in a whiny voice. Otis laughs in response. “Otis I’m gonna…I can’t take it.” You whimper out. He grunts in response. “Cum for me mama.” He says in a husky voice. Otis uses one of his hands and starts to rub your sensitive bud. That sends you over the breaking point. He feels you tighten all around him, which makes his release follow quickly behind you. He lets both of you catch your breath before he slowly pulls out. You whine in response making him chuckle.

[unofficialadamtaurus]

First of all CONGRATS for finishing! It could not have been easy (I say as I remember all the times you were sore, bruised, and/or sick while trying to write a chapter LIKE BRUH), especially when each and every chapter is god tier. Seriously homie, you’re amazing!!

But FOR REAL WTF?? these dudes keep working after having infiltrated a massive fucking whale, stopped a Grimm invasion, got exploded to bits, and fought an immortal milf? Babes pls get some. Idk. SLEEP.

Naw but i really do love to see it. Also especially love to see how much they support each other through it 🥹 honestly the highlight of the chapter for me.

GOD like this moment when all of RWBY hug is HNNNNGSOZHBEHAOXH

Blake and Weiss joined the hug by some unspoken signal. Ruby melted into their embrace like so many petals and Blake's heart melted with her. "I missed you guys."

THEY ARE FAMILY OKAY AND I JUST GXHWIYZBXOYWNJ

Ruby is being particularly adorable too (the carrots line killed me 💀) but also like GURL YOU ARE LITERALLY BLIND RN STAY IN BED??

Yang nodded. "We'll get through it. Speaking of getting through things…can we talk?"

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Yang shuddered at her touch. Their lips brushed when Blake continued: "Let's skip that part this time."

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

THOSE TWO ARE SO *frantic arm gestures* YKNOW??? Im happy they got a happy ending because yeah I doubted it for sec okay 😩

LMAO at the reoccurring Oscar interruption but wait FUCK THE KID IS FUCKING DYING?? UGH god I didn’t expect the Oscar and Ozpin thing to hurt as much as it did. Ozpin deserves good things too dammit whyyy 😭😭

GODDAMN Adam and Blake conversations are always so top tier is2g. There’s something I love so much about this conversation brooo. Blake’s resolve and care towards him just 🥹 UGH. her unwavering stares? Easily expressed gratitude? Instant forgiveness (nothing to really forgive cuz like corruption feels like shit and pretty violating and traumatizing tbh fr but she does it anyway to help him feel better ANDANDAND—)? THE LETTER???

OWHXISOWHXNIWOEUDNCKEIHWKFIW I JUST LOVE IT WHEN SOMEONE CARES ABOUT HIM AND HE FEELS IT OKAY

And FUCK I love this part

He swallowed and looked away, unsure how to respond to that. He didn't want to say "You're welcome," because they weren't, and this was never going to happen again. Even if, in some small corner of his heart, the knowledge that he'd helped to save the world like some kind of fantasy hero radiated a gentle heat that would warm him for a long time to come.

YOU DIDNT HAVE TO GO THAT HARD HOMIE IM ALREADY CRYIN 😭

Also LIVING for Neo and Adam team up. Neo’s expressive mannerisms are genuinely so fun to read UGH it’s PERFECT. And the “Don’t stay too long” for Qrow OAISBXOIENWOWIDN

He clipped Blush to his belt and let the spark flare unhindered.

Homie when I tell that IM FUCKING LIVING FOR THISS

"'Part of starting over is saying goodbye. You were first; now it's my turn. If you want to, you'll see me again.

"'Goodbye, Blake.'"

OWJDNEOWHNDDIJENEIDNXIEUWNDIFUENEIDIXJNWO IM EMOTIONAL

wait omfg I think I forgot to mention to Jaune 💀 I don’t hate him I swear The way his semblance and aura are practically working against each other is a REALLY interesting and nice touch, and i don’t think ive ever seen it applied like this. And I love his “i went from nothing to nothing line” and how he’s just so glad he was able to save somebody. 🥹 it captured that part of his character so well and tbh the same goes for all the others (me @ ruby rn is going “bitch is you BLIND”). It’s a really neat touch to the chapter!!

I can't tell if you've read the epilogue yet, but either way I am injecting every keysmash in this message directly into my veins. Your reviews were one of the things I most looked forward to when writing a new chapter - I was excited to see which lines you'd specifically comment on. You're probably at least 20% of the reason this story got finished at all lol.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for never failing to bring a smile to my face when commenting 😊

[savesusie]

anyway its jihyo's era i speak that into existence, ive planted that seed and i will see the harvest

[baurbiediv]

YOURS, TRULY.

YOURINSTAGRAM

liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, brandy, & 1,620,371 others

YOURINSTAGRAM ‘yours, truly.’ ep coming out tn.

view comments (10,672)

USER y/n about to have all you bitches WEAK

↳ YOURINSTAGRAM LMFAOO

THEESTALLION i’m so excitedddd

↳ YOURINSTAGRAM you already got me squealing

YNUPDATED shading jack with this album i see 😏

↳ USER2 what .. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN ?????

↳ USER3 they took all the pictures of each other down

↳ JACKMANSFAV naw not jack and y/n ..

YOURBFF eating per usual 💕💕

↳ YOURINSTAGRAM i love you so much. 💗

NEELAMTHADHANI so so beautiful 😚💗

↳ YOURINSTAGRAM my fav 😍

↳ USER70 the world needs neelam and y/n

ADINROSS 🔥🤍

THESLUMPGOD 🖤🖤🖤

↳ USER23 SKI COMMENTED?!

↳ USER4 y/n please don’t take ski from me

↳ USER16 I JUST FELL TO MY FUCKING KNEES.

JACKHARLOW

liked by lilbaby, neelamthadhani, nemoachida, and 980, 699 others

JACKHARLOW dua lipa, im tryna do more with her than do a feature 🥱

view comments (12,455)

USER18 that caption …

↳ BABYHARLOW he must think he’s so slick

↳ YNKISSED ong 😭😭😭

DRUSKI2FUNNY looking good my man 🫱🏽‍🫲🏻

↳ LILNASX gross 🤮

↳ DRUSKI2FUNNY 😐😐😐

SOMEGROUPIE so mf fine

↳ ICEDOUTYN you must be the reason behind all this

↳ ICEDOUTJACK she is not pretty at all

↳ USER36 y/n is so much better my god

YOURINSTAGRAM

liked by ciara, chancetherapper, nickiminaj, and 997,003 others

YOURINSTAGRAM take my spot? a bitch never will.

view comments (16,340)

YOURBFF HEAVY ON THE CAPTION.

liked by YOURINSTAGRAM

YNUPDATED jack prolly cryin nd eating drywall rn

liked by YOURINSTAGRAM

↳ YOURINSTAGRAM THIS ONE GOT IT 😭

↳ USER17 LMFAOOO

↳ URBANWYATT 😭💀

CLAYBORNHARLOW my twin 🤞🏼🖤

↳ YOURINSTAGRAM love you clay!! 🫶🏽

VIRTU4LSTAR love that y/n keeps close w clay

↳ YOURINSTAGRAM always, clay is my twin 😚🤍

JHARLOWUPDATES

liked by jackharlow, 21savage, & 150,682 others

JHARLOWUPDATES jack tonight amidst all the drama

view comments (3,282)

L0VEYN what he needs to do is try and get y/n back

↳ BBYHARLOW hop off his case, it was prob a good reason

↳ USER46 cheating on someone is good???

liked by YOURINSTAGRAM

NEWSTANKYGF my baby so so cute

↳ YOURINSTAGRAM how does my pussy taste on your tongue?

↳ STUNNAY/N OHH MYY GODDDDD

↳ FLOMILLI 😝😝

↳ KEHLANI thats my mf girl. 👏🏽💗

—

a/n: part 2? i genuinely writing enjoyed this 😏

[givsmn]

my live reaction to Thor: Love and Thunder

okay. so far. i am NOT lovin this. "im tired" dies THATS SAD I'M SAD NOW IT'S TOO EARLY FOR THIS

BIG SAD RN BIG BIG BIG SAD HES LYIN BESIDE HER GRAVE

yes i would say he's suffered severely but i would not recommend followin the eery whispers in the wind

ooh green, we like green

bro your daughter coulda surv- what'd you slice your palm on

Rapu? that you?

Gorr… babe you don't look so good- aw he's so cute when he smiles

RAPU FUCK YOU

$10 Gorr finna pick up that sword and dice Rapu

oh well he didn't pick up the sword, it presented to him

AW I WANNA FLOWER PERSON

ooh gold blood, pick that shit up

Steve T-T Tony T^T i hate that thing MOON MOON !!!

musics great tho

KORG, baby

omfg he baby

"fighting the good fight for those who can't fight good" lmfao

Fonda gave me whiplash fr

SHUt UP KORG JFC MY GODS

GROOT <3

DAD BOD, GOD BOD, SAD BOD I CANNAE KORG PLEASE

lmfao Quill did not ask for this

bro Stormbreaker grew roots?

… why is he witch ridin Storkbr- yk what, nvm

DIE SCUM

stfu Thor, you embarrass me sm

OMG the AESTHETIC ASDFGHJKL

GUNS N' ROSES BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

my heat is racin rn sm

THE SPLITS WHAT TTTTTT

lmfao omg the GOTG cannae

bro you broke their temple. it finna shatter ain't it

yep, yep, there it is. poor fellas

Jane Fonda, hello

istg if Darcy eats those w sticks ima flip

yikes, four. sorry bro

she didn't use the sticks!

hope Darcy notices myuh-myuh's gone

self experimentin, are we?

SELVIG <3

wait wait is she finna find Mjolnir and put it back together to give her health

VALKYRIE

i'd buy that spice, please

INFINTY CONEZ!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

wow, they're boomin, that's great

oh gods, more theater

ALAN GRANT?!?!!!!!

bitches, Odin did NOT stand up and no you won't, perish

glitter, glitter mfs

"Transform!" ????!?!?! LIKE POWER RANGERS!?!?!??!

oh gods, McCarthy

this whole thing gave me a stroke, i love it

Jane Fonda finna steal them stones, i get

YEP IT'S FONDA

oop, ominious weather and vibrations oohoohooh

they're levitating

GOD OF DISASTER? ? ? ?

who the fuck is screa- oh good gods

they jus didn't want the goats

NEBULA <3 hi babe

oh where Gamora?

WAIT MANTIS W A GUN!?

omg they can understand them i cannae please please

no that's not it, ima have a stroke

congrats, babe. how many spouses?

Sif's alive? bro i did not know that

he visibly and audibly deflated

inspirational speech, Quill <3 thanks

pft pft pft i'm chockin Let Go Thor Let Go

that's His ship bro, bro, bro

IM CHOKING IM HAVING A STROKE THOR MOVE

you frickincrazy axe

(GOATS SCREAMING)

barren ice wasteland

Falligar is adorable, wHY ARE THEY DEAD THEYRE ADORABLE

bro she's missin an arm

you're not in battle PFT OH SHIT

oh nu, not assgard god butcher

oop ominious figure in white, how sexy

sleepin children

(SINISTER MUSIC PLAYING)

reminds me of the angel of death in the Moses sto- NVM BIG ASS SPYDERS

VAKLYRIE ASDFGHJKL ON HER PEGASAUS BABEEEEEE IN PJS

oh smoll boys

lmfao blood splatter on the camera

METALLIC HUMMING OVERHEAD BABE

AHEHEHEHE DEMONIC GIGGLING

TESSA THOMPSON, MARRY ME POR FAVORA PALIHUG NA

???? he jus treated myuh-myuh like a mf dog jfc

vrooms past i bet HA got it

oh hello ms. FondaBRO THATS SO DAMN COOL IT SPLIT LIKE BUMBLEBEE DID OMFG OMG OMGOMG OMGOMGOMGOGMSOGJSPOFGJOPSFGJPSGJSPGOJSFPOJGPSFOGJSGJ

pft Thor please

it's ms. Fonda to you, childe

omfg the rollerskates thing i cannae please

halloween party??? bro no stop doin myuh-myuh like that

oh yea cryin durin comedy's ik that

Nick Furry.

poor babes

i feel liked that's not how legend-myth works but idk enough abt it to contend

panic attack?

oh you poor idiot

oh bro spoogies

Thor's so shiny tho

~then you know this is going to hurt~

oof raggity man

VALKYRIE <3 <3

blinker light eyeballs fr

bros goin for the children tho idk how they've been sleepin thru it all

THEYRE TAKIN THE CHILDREN

what in the fresh fuckery was that cage on legs

Eight years, seven months, and six days.

please stop bickering

Daryl

THEATER

Jodie Fonda.

bro you srsly tryna call myuh-myuh from her

OMFG STORMBREAKER

is this real? feels like a fever dream

slowly creeps in

STOP BETRAYIN STORMBREAKER YOU ASS

should Thor intervene? bc it might undermine her, idk how this stuff works

what's squeaking

pft

oh good lords

Valkyrie is exhausted

CAPE GROWS BACK?

Heimdall had a son?

AXL

hoi, respect his name

magic eyes

Thor~!

i like Axl sm

pft "oh my god. go away"

those children are finna start cryin, shut up Thor

JODIE FONDA WHY'D THAT COME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH STOP IT

omnipotence city

QUETZALCOATL theyre mentioned in my fanfic

Zeus is not wise

goats

she's still an alcholic

myuh-myuh

Thor you're a chil- omg Stormbreaker

oh shit Jane.

geez what'd you go and do that for

Valkyrie <3 3 <3 <3

they're so damn cute

THEY BOOPED SWORD AND MYUH-MYUH

pft don't feed on the children please thanks

those goats make me wanna shoot myself in the foot

the city so pretty- what'd you go and wreck the lawn for babes

Jodie, Jodie, Jodie stop, stop, stop please

he has a boyfriend, it's Bruce

so cool

Valkyrie's so amused

he has feelings for Jodie Fonda

VALKYRIE YOU'RE GREAT

Axl <3 <3 <3

Gorr <3 <3 <3

Gorr, that's not how you bond w children, mate

pft she slaughtered the emotion gods

DRAGON OMG DRAGON ITS A DRGON

BAO??? I WANT BAO

hmmmm zeus

oh good gods how theatrical jfc

omg he copied zeus in every way

Thor's a nerd through and through, fanboy

tf accent is that

HA orgy

?? oh yea he's not that great

HA AGGRESSION the aggression confuses him

en masse.

did he finger gun shackles

oh here it comes

like, it's funny. but also, i'm imaginin that happenin to a woman and :[]

he's prolly gon be reinvited to the orgy

bro the bearded harp guy fainted

T-T his tats

A SHY COURGETTE!?!?!?!? A ZUCCHINI!?!?!!?!?!?!?!

pft disguise off

you tell him, babe

so, chill, baby cake

the theatrics!? "no"

Valkyrie's muscles i cannae please please please

omg Jodie Fonda's muscles i cannae please please please

his accent, it's givin me a stroke

"rush his bum"

lmao i love Fonda's excitement "hell yeah!" knocks off someone's head

JANE'S HAMMER STILL IS SO AWESOME

aw yisssss ms. Valkyrie, relish the goldblood spray

!? KORG nononononononnonono cmon fOR WHATOH DHIT HE CAUGHT IT oh gods the line

i feel like that wouldn't kill him tho

Kog Korg KORG!? omg baby, you're alive PFT mouth

omg that's such a pretty whi- wow, yea no i liove the screamin goats and GNR better

T^T marry me? please, Valkyrie

yO THOSE THINGS STARING INTO THE WINDOW BEFORE THEY FLEW OUT LOOKS LIKE CELESTIALS

screaming goats on rainbows w rock and roll in the bg is my new aesthetics

he's so good w kids, so sweet

"Team Kids in a Cage"

why's he keep messin w his no- ha

Korg loved it, noted

i thought you needed the necrosword to kill gods

omg Stormbreaker's jealous- THOR YOUR'RE BEIN DISLOYAL

i'm more invested in Thor x Stormbreaker then Thor x Jane

… he fed it beer… hE SCRATCHED THE UNDERCHIN WHAT

his lil thing when she turns around is the fattest mood i have ever witnessed

Korg music? pft omg that's cute

thanks Korg, you stripped her bare

yep, this is real, that fumbling lmao

oh the fear in her eyes

"bye"

he's good at comfortin, once he calms down a bit

Thor baby

oh no, the color, it's broken

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT LANDING HA

oh nu the bone cage is empty

their pinkies T-T

is myuh-myuh so broken it cannae summon the Bifrost?

oh bro she yeeted

Gorr, you're spoogie, i love it

yea idk if the dentist can help w that bud

ha he's a lil fanboy too, omg. his giggle was adorable

baby, she's crying

i find his face fascinatin

oop he's chokin em

his hand was on his shoulder, so faint

… tentacle porn is completely plausible and acceptable it's accepted i accept it

it's funny how he keeps sproutin from the shadows like a whack-a-mole

omg myuh-,yuh

oh no the boat!

bro i completely forgot abt Korg

HEY HE IMAPLED HER NO

oh nu he's got the key

oh bro she looks shit

a fridge without a door.

yea babe he goin w/o you

T-T bc he loves her, always

he still has Loki's hair twined into his own braids

damn she lost her whole kidney

yO head at 01:29:07 is movin

that was a celestial head that fell oh them

attackin children w shadow monsters? mateur Gorr

he's plannin on makin em whack the monsters w sticks?

Space Vikings, hooray

omg he's givin em power "for a limited time only"

HEY IT'S THAAT TREE OMGGG

GLOWY EYE CHILDREN I WANT THEM

GENERAL AXL

DO YOUR WOEST BABIES

OMGGGGG THE GINGER

MY HEARTRATE RN ASDFGHJKL

BEAT THEIR ASSES

DSKGJLKJDGLKSJGLKSJGKLSJGSGJSGKJLSGJ

YOU'RE DOIN SO GOOD BABIES, SO PROUD

OMGGGG AXL VAULTIN THRU THE AIR

lil baby girl fairy, you've my heart, you too floating girl w rabbit, i wish my Fluffy did that

way to be creepy Mjolnir

oh shit, he got decked

Jane Foster <3

go children, go!

let go of his friend, shadow tentacles !!!

her name is Mighty Thor, ass

Dr. Jane Foster is bomb

oh good lord, not that

I LOVE WATCHIN PPL CATCH THOSE THINGS AXL YOU DID SO GOOD

snap it in half, babes

couldn't it jus reform like myuh-myuh?

oh damn, she caught the bits

well this has a certain finality

oop she obliterated your sword pal

i imagine a lot of Aro's might be confused at this scene, but also not

did he not realize he could bring her back?

then use your wish to save Jane? as an apology?

ooooooooooh you're gon have your nemisis take care of your child, interestin

omg galaxy-reflection-girl, you're so pretty

Jane is a god.

see, she's gettin the gold dust fade, like od*n, that means she's a god. i take no criticism

she's cute

oh hi, Korg

ARE YOU SERIOUS

DWAYNE

this is so dumb i love it

omggg sad god to dad god

yes they'e pan flaps

what's that accent

HA

that's so accurate, w the shoes

omg myuh-myuh

Thor, referrin to myuh-myuh: where did you put HIM

the girl: eh, SHE looked boring before

Thor: eh, suppose IT did

d'aw her lil thumbs up in the mirror/head jig w helmet, so cute

HES SO SUPPORTIVE

she's wearin' Hulk's colors

??? why'd she get Stormbreaker? after all Thor's talk abt bein over his ex-weapon, smh

"The Space Viking and his girl, born from Eternity." i adore that line sm, wow

OMG IS HER NAME LOVE? HER NAME IS LOVE. THAT'S PERFECT

haha, Louis Despocito

Credits

ngl i expected the GotG to show up more for some reason

ugh not him. well, i was right. he's not dead

dude You Are a joke

Hercules??? well ig we know who our nxt villain will be, tho he seems a bit low lvl, so maybe he's a starter villian for Love

glow dust. it's Jodie Fonda ain't it. it is!

Heimdall!! HI BABE

she's in the land of the gods! knew it!

THOR WILL RETURN

Movie End

some thoughts are i like how it began w losin a daughter and ended w gainin one, it's sweet, poetic in a way ion understand ig

there was no Loki T-T i miss him, he would influence Love in the worst way possible and i want it

the beginning was kinda awkward but Thor was also especially awkward so it's fine, he was overcompensating, it's understandable

i can see ppl complainin abt how this movie serves "romantic love fixes all!" bc i legit jus saw s/o complainin abt it. and maybe it does? but so what. Thor's loves love and in the end, he ended up w a daughter

THE DAUGHTER. UGH. i love Love, she's great

SHE BETTER SHOW UP IN LATER MOVIES W LIKE TOM!PETER AND HARLEY AND CASSIE AND KAMALA OK? OK

THEYRE THE NXT GEN THEYRE THE NXT GEN THEYRE THE NXT GEN

i didn't like Jane in the first 2 movies- tbh i barely rmbr the first 2 movies -but i adore her now. i'm wonderin if the final scene was a hint at her comin back or Marvel jus tellin us where she ended up and that she is OK

Axl intrigued me. there was no mention of it, but i wonder if he's trans

first of all, the only experience i've had w the name Astrid is from HTTYD and searchin feminine names

secondly, when i changed my name, i also looked at bands lmfao

i really like how it was dealt w too, tho i wonder - if Axl is trans - if Thor knew of him prior. bc he didn't care when Valkyrie said he was Heimdall's son, only that Axl wanted to change his name

DARCY DIDNT SAY BYE TO JANE THATS SAD

all in all, i adore it and ion get why i saw so many bad reviews. there was personality in these movies, compared to the first 2 Thors

i hold it to equal height to Thor: Ragnarok and the only way it could've been better was if Loki was there- or Sylvi!

[chubbyreaderchan]

Hero |  Bo Sinclair x Reader

MAJOR WARNINGS!!!: Contains mention of abuse, sex trafficking and lots of other triggering topics. Please do not read if you cannot handle such things. This will also very obviously have at least mild gore because it is literal serial killers! You have been warned. 

Summery: Bo and his brothers accidentally saves a girl from a sex trafficking ring. Instead of murdering her, they allow her to stay in Ambrose. Bo doesn’t expect to fall in love with her, especially since she clings to him and relies on him for comfort. 

(Y/n) sat in the front seat of the truck. She was the last to be delivered to a very rich man in New York. Tears streamed down her dirty face. Honestly, she just wanted to go home. She wanted to run away but she knew she didn’t have a chance, especially with her hands cuffed to the seat she was in. The man next to her very rarely spoke. Silent until she did something he didn’t like. She was bruised and uncomfortable, tired. But she didn’t want to sleep. She never wanted to risk it. He was pretty handsy, despite knowing his boss would kill him since the buyer wanted an “untouched” lady. 

Her stomach churned. She wanted to vomit. The vehicle was extremely hot as they drove through the middle of no where. The sun was sinking down and his truck puttered and made a strange noise. The truck was slowing down, practically crawling. He cursed annoyed and pulled off the side of the road. He tossed a blanket over her to hide her while he got out of the vehicle. He opened the hood and looked it over. He was city boy and had never actually fixed a truck before. He cursed and pulled out his phone. 

“My damn truck is a piece of shit...” He shouted, she stayed low as to not get the brunt of it. He kicked the tire on the truck arguing now. (Y/n) wished she wasn’t stuck in the truck or else she would make a run for it. She tugged at the chains and cursed softly. 

How long will she be here? 

She didn’t know. However, a tinge of hope built up in her chest when bright headlights came over the hill. It was a beat up truck with deer hooves hanging on the mirror. A scrawny man walked out. Her captor cursed again and moved to shove her down further to hide her. She winced as her wrist was tugged, pinched and slightly cut by the cuffs. “Ya need some help, buddy?” The happy looking guy spoke. 

“My truck is being a piece of shit.. I don’t know shit about it.” The scrawny man looked at the truck. “Ya ain’t far from Ambrose. My brother works there and he’s pretty good at fixin’ cars. He’s pretty cheap too.” The man whose name she never got cursed again and looked at his watch. If he didn’t the delivery would be late. If he was careful maybe he could get away with it. “Fine.”

“I can tow it.” He said with a bright smile on his face. “Unless you think it could make it.” 

“No, it should be fine.” Towing would be really risky. He climbed back into the truck and covered her more. He whispered to her harshly. “If you say a damn thing I will kill you” He flipped on the vehicle. It groaned to a start, whizzing as they drove to the small and strangely empty town. It was eerily quiet, but perhaps that was just because it was so late. It was a small town, the rules were different. 

“I gotta go get ‘im” The thin man, now known as Lester stated. “He don’t like people going into his gas station when he’s not there though.” He looked a little nervous. He was going to have to wake up his brother who honestly didn’t take things well. But it was a new tourist! He drove off and (Y/n) stayed down, softly sobbing. She was so close to being saved and yet so far. As soon as the damn truck was fixed she would be off to New York to be abused by some rich asshole. “Shut the fuck up” he whispered once Lester was gone. “I don’t care how rich the bastard is. I will fuck you up if you make any more noises” This time he had a pocket knife in his hand. He slid it down her cheek, leaving a burning trail of blood. “Don’t test me, bitch!” That’s when a broad shouldered dark haired man in a blue truck finally arrived. He looked tired, like he was just woken up. Most likely was. (Y/n) only got a glance of him, but despite his grumpy looking face he was handsome. It was a strange thing to think at a time like this but what else could she do? Her mind wasn’t exactly the healthiest at the moment. 

Now she could hardly hear them as they went into his gas station. She pulled again at the chains hoping for some weakness anywhere. It only cut into her wrists more. Blood dripped down them and she cried in pain, frustrated from her whole situation. Her sobs were as silent as they could be. 

“You know, you can use the facilities at the house. Lester can take ya so I can get to work.” The man nodded as he was lead off by the scrawny man. He left reluctantly. He was hoping the gas station had a bathroom but they were insistent for some reason he found suspect. Once in the house he found himself in a room alone. Or so he thought. After washing his hands, his eyes lifted to see a frozen masked man. He screamed when he felt a pair of scissors go into his ribs. The man screamed in pain pushing the masked man away and slamming out of the locked door back into the main parts of the house.

Meanwhile, Bo was digging in the truck. He pulled out different parts tiredly. Honestly, he wished he could go back to bed but wanted to get some of the easier things out of the vehicle while Vincent his brother was taking care of the tourist. All for one tourist. That kind of pissed Bo off but was to tired to go yell at his brother. He’d do it in the morning. Bo stretched and moved to open the door to the truck grabbing anything that seemed like it was useful. Then he noticed the blanket. It was unusually shaped. He frowned, grabbing it and pulling it. 

Bo’s face was filled with surprise at the pretty girl crouched down in the floor boards, crying. Her hair was dirty and hardly had any clothes on her body. His eyes trailed to the cut on her face then up to her wrists. He cringed, thinking of his own experiences as a kid. 

“Well, I’ll be. That man is just as much of a bastard as we are.” Her eyes widened at that. What did that mean? She sobbed softly, Bo’s blue eyes looked at her with a bit of concern. She was just another to be added to Vincent’s collection... yet. Something about her made him feel awful at the idea. She was already scared and probably seen some shit just as bad as what went on in this town. It also didn’t help that she was exactly his type, if he was honest. Vincent can go fuck himself. 

He walked back into a garage, grabbing some cutters. With a bit of force he broke the handcuffs. Two more cuts and she was completely free. “Come on, darlin’” He was shocked by what happened next. She threw her arms around him, clinging to him like a koala. “It’s alright. I got ya” This was strange. Normally they would run from him. 

“Come on. Let me clean you up.” He carried her into the garage, instead of taking her down stairs to his own fun chamber, he sat her on his metal work bench. He had a small first aid kit and began attending to her wounds. Bo was never this gentle to anyone is his life, but here he was. He knew pain like that oh so well. He knew exactly how to care for it. “There. No more tears, sweetheart. Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be cryin’“ He tried to lighten the mood. “Come here.” He walked off and grabbed a set of coveralls. She was practically naked and honestly though she could use a bit of extra comfort. “You can wear this. It’s a bit dirty but...” He shrugged. (Y/n) took it shakily, not minding him there while she slipped it on. It fit well enough, smelled like cigarettes and motor oil but it was alright. It was better than the sickly peppery smell of the man delivering her to New York. 

“Fucking shit!” Speaking of, there he was walking into the garage. “You little bitch fucking escaped. Get in damn truck, you stupid slut.” He began to advance stupidly forward. Bo stood between her and the man. “You aren’t going to take her, man.” Bo grabbed a heavy tool off the bench. “She’s going to stay right here in Ambrose,” The man grunted and lunged at Bo, only for Bo to bash him in the skull. Fuck that guy. Vincent will just have to get over it. He continued to bash him until he was a barely twitching pile of shit. When Bo looked up he saw Vincent in the drive way. “I’ll get you two new tourists, Vincent. Just let me take care of this one!” Vincent obviously said nothing. A nod. That’s all. He wondered in deeper towards (Y/n). She didn’t seemed phased by either the gore or the strange man touching her cut cheek. “It ain’t too deep.” Bo told his brother, joining them rubbing the blood off his hands. Vincent nodded again and moved to grab the body of the man to take him up to the House of Wax. 

Then she did it again. Ignoring the blood, she reached forward and hugged Bo tight. 

“Thank you, your my hero...” She sobbed. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re safe here.” He held her tightly against him. “What’s your name, little lady?” “(Y/n)”

“I’m Bo. You can stay with me, alright? I’ll take care of you” He said softly, brushing his fingers on her cheek as she cried again. What the hell was he getting himself into? 

[rain-line]

Rating bandori outsoles!

Starting with THIS piece of shit:

saaya marching band boot [1.5/10]

absolutely disgusting.smooth as fuck like that stupid fucking “just finished sanding my tires so my car can run smoother” post🙄😒🤢 absolutely gross. it’s a boot, and yet, there are no grooves, whatsoever. 😷🤢

disgusting

[aya shoes!] [7.8/10]

amazing!😵 absolutely stunning! so many grooves and CUTE SHAPES TO BOOT (ba dum tss🥁)

looks like i could stick and rub my finger around insides the grooves nicely (i’m eyeing that top-most  horozontal groove and those pasupare logo grooves!🤤)

this is probably the cutest bandori sole i’ve ever seen!!🥺🤧💕

tae [3.5/10]

ok this one pains me to rate so low, bc tae is bae. unfortunately however.. these soles are shit.

the grooves are so shallow- barely any depth. most likely very soft & fuzzy to the touch, i dislike that. i don’t like shoe fuzz 😞tae... u can do better than this, sis 😔

himari hoe boot [2.5/10]

not a fan of leopard print, tbh, and i feel like it smells toxicly strong (like the leathery interior of a new car 😷 ugh)

i appreciate the depth of the heel, and the fact that there are grooves & patterns on the underside at all, but also... i just dont vibe with it😬

sports festival hagumi [3.7/10]

honestly- i’m a lil disappointed with this one😞ur a sports queen, babey, how could u let it come to this 😭ur an ATHLETE and these are shoes u were meant to wear during a SPORTING EVENT! babey nooooo 😭 😭 😭 😭it’s just such a let down... so shallow... no depth u could barely get sand stuck in those grooves... smh😞hagu babey. i expected more from u.😞

newspaper aya [6/10]

the soles r not visible, however, these are her pasupare practice gym shoes,  THEREFORE, i KNOW there must be decent grooves on the underside.😌

sayo [6/10]

technically, her shoes are not visible in this photo, however, u must have great traction to be able to hold this pose and twerk like that at the same time- so i find this to be quite acceptable 😌

initial ran sole [3/10]

while i appreciate the depth of the grooves, they wouldn’t make much of an impressive silhouette from a side view.

also the design of the sole creates a “clenched” image in my mind- like that of an asshole. i don’t like it. 🤢

kanon shoe teeth [3/10]

bitch im cryin’, too 😭WHY does the pattern look like a mouth full of teeth 😭😭noooooooooo I HATE ITTT 😭😭😭 it’s a whole ass giant dentureeee NOOOOOOOOOOOOO 😭 😭 😭 😭

6th afterglow fear shoes [6/10]

school slippers

while there certainly isn’t much depth, i feel like the raised patterns would feel nice to rub my finger along. i like the colour 😌plus, it just looks so squishy and chewy🤤it makes me happy

HINAAAAAAAA!!!! 😵 😵 😵 [9.7/10]!!!!

what an ABSOLUTE. UNIT. OF A SOLE!!!!

i had always been in AWE of this card. utterly mesmerized ever since i first saw it way back when it came out and never really understood why at the time.

but i understand now. i understand all.

everything about these soles are AMAZING.

THE FUCKING DEPTH!!

the simpkle, yet totally SOLID pattern

THE ILLUMINATION OF THE BLUE LIGHT FROM THE WATER, ADDING ATMOSPHERE 😵😵😵

we get a spectacular side view of the boot which shows a nice jagged silhouette

it’s so stunning, i feel brought to tears 😭😭😭 🥺🥺

oh, hina, i just wanna say- thank you so much for providing the best outsole in all of bandori shoes  history🙏��� 😭 😵 🥺 i don’t even have to finish the list to know that this is supreme- this is the greatest good of all...

would absolutely love to run my finger along the ridges, and smell them new- fresh out of the box🥰☺️

chisato’s survivor boots [8/10]

while the soles are not visible, this shoe would most denifitely be similar to hina’s- just a tan colour swatch. her pose shoes off the silhouette pretty well. it would- without a doubt- hurt like hell if she stepped on my finger wearing those.

i love it 🥰

saaya, again? [4.9/10]

oh? an attempt to redeem urself, saaya? 🤔

there are many things i like in this card, such as that voluptuously filled chocolate coronet, and ur sick jeans😎unfortunately, i am here to rate ur shoes.

😔these aren’t the worst, but they aren’t too special, either. the grooves seem nice and deep in a manner that is acceptable for the type of shoe. i like the waffle pattern- i’d like to pat and rub it🥳

i guess it’s kind of romantic in a ‘girl next door’ way, but i’m more of a boots girl. o well 🙈💖

moca hoe sandals [1.5/10]

sis, i...

???

flat AF???? this is an ironing board?????

what sound do these even MAKE when walking? some kind of harsh, scuffling sound, no doubt  🤢

these are awful, plus, u would bang/scrape ur toes so bad when walking with these on concrete steps! OUCH 😖

kaoru [4/10]

everything about this card- this outfit- was 💯, girl, u were doin so WELL... but u neglected the sole...  😔

i understand that a ‘clean’ look ties together the princely image,but, for the future, i think adding at least some kind of pattern or at least just ONE groove would greatly improve the overall look 😔please...

i am one disappointed koneko-chan

=============================================================

RANKINGS: COMPLETE!! IN SUMMARY:

WORST SOLE[S]🗑️📉 ARE AWARDED TO SAAYA BOOTS AND MOCA SANDALS!! 😷🤢

BEST SOLE😍🥾💕IS AWARDED TO SURVIVOR HINA BOOTS!!!! 🥳👏🐯🍾💝💖

wow! just amazing, ladies!!🤗well done!!

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

and now, for a breakdown of the ranking criteria!:

what makes an undersole so great? 🤔well 🙈💕

PATTERN- having an attractive design

DEPTH- typically, the deeper the groove,t he better. it should make ur finger feel like it’s exploring a nice, cozy, miniature cavern!

PROFILE- a good side-view of a sole is very jagged, or at least makes it very obviously known that there are many a great grooves underneath this boot! an alluring silhouette beckons u to come see more😳*kisses hand*😚🥰beautiful

TRACTION- practicality is always a plus 😌

PAIN- it should hurt like hell if my finger were stepped on (note- pain factor is for FINGER, ONLY😡nothing dirty here😤)

============================================================

DISCLAIMER!!!

I DO NOT CURRENTLY, AND NEVER HAVE, LIKED FEET. 😷 😷 I LIKE OUTSOLES- THE UNDERSIDES OF SHOES, BUT MORE SPECIFICALLY, OF BOOTS

FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK 😭 😭 😭 😭

[harrystylinslut]

my live in time review of Emerald Fennell’s ‘Promising Young Woman’ (2020)

Promising Young Woman

Dir Emerald Fennell

So hello friends welcome to my reviews. I type my pure, unfiltered (mostly) thoughts about movies. I call it ‘chey watches films’ and I promise it’s going to stop being so serious. 

My first film I decided to do this on is Promising Young Woman since it was a hit at this past Sunday’s Oscars. Which was amazing - btw. So, of course. Spoilers ahead. These were my thoughts as they happened knowing nothing about the story because I don’t watch trailers on purpose. 

“Boys by charli xcx are you fucking kidding me”

“20 seconds in and i already need fucking help this is so funny”

“This club scene im screaming” ~internally~

“This looks like a blast honestly god I miss clubs”

“Her bangs are so cute” - me abt cassie

“This lighting is so fucking sexy”

“Oh my god YES drunk car rides are the fucking worst”

“Wait is she just acting lol”

“Omg he’s gonna roofie her”

“The way she’s not kissing back has me crying” - was actually cry laughing a lil bit 

TW: bedroom scene ewie

“WAIT QUEEN I LOVE HER”

“Omg she’s so hot”

“It’s raining men omg lmao”

“I’m crying at this movie I hate them” - term of endearment

“I want to marry Bo’s character” - sorta 

“Not him being a foot taller than her”

“Laverne Cox is adorable and needs to wear a gold septum always”

“Luv cassie so much and the Make Me Coffee Shop” - very interesting name for a coffee shop

“That waist yes gawd” - showing her braid

“YAY IT’S BO - oh my god I love that shirt”

“Oh my god they even know each other that’s so cute”

“Interesting choice of name for Bo’s character”

“That flirting style…. I love it. Sorta enemies to loving yep” so endearing 

“NOT HIM DRINKING THE COFFEE WITH SPIT IN IT LMAOOOOO FUCK”

“She’s a fucking clown I love her”

“I love this actor” - about the coke scene

“Oh my god jesus fuck he is so cringe”

“Not shoving drugs in her mouth jesus”

“LMAO HIS NAME IS NEIL THIS IS SOOO STUPID NOT THE KISS….NEIL IS AWFUL”

“She’s so intimidating I love it”

“Oh my god this is ME”

“Cassie is so hot”

“Stealin hearts n never saying sorry”

“Ohhh this thunder is very cool”

“The guitar fuck no”

“Not her forgetting her 30th birthday omg”

“Jesus her Mom is annoying”

“Ryan is so hot omg”

“Whew he looks so good”

“Im laughing so hard Bo Burnham is such a talented actor”

“I love this actress ((Carey)) so much”

“Would have been a great doctor she just didnt want it bad enough ,, very relatable”

“Not him saying she looks like his daughter omg but like she can wear some badass heels and not be taller than him thats kinda hot though”

“Oh my god not sex on the counter JESUS SHE IS BOLD”

“She called him lover boy lmao”

“I hate it I hate it I hate that people dont understand people can be triggered by school I hate that kids even have to go through that”

“Omg the social media stalking that’s so funny”

“Ew yeah… I hate seeing awful people happy”

I

“This seems shady”

“Omg yes bitches get drunk”

“Lmao thats right feel BAD”

“Not her saying they want a good girl shut up stop being pretentious”

“People dont just forget that those things happen and it’s so shitty she’s just passing it off OMG GGGGG I HATE it”

II

“Yep she social media stalks everyone and it sucks seeing so many awful people being happy and not being served proper justice”

“Knew it knew what Alexander had done - they allude to it very well”

“Yep drunk at a party”

“The dean didnt take it seriously at all and passed it off as just some little mistake because she was drunk. People dont just shut up. Yes fuck his life up he deserves jail time - that’s so shitty oh my god”

“There can be a different fucking system we can protect people”

“This is a female Deadpool I fucks with it”

“Oh my god Cassie is CRAZY also is the receptionist in on it LMAO”

“Why do they not have a case file? Did they not file a report with the police? What the entire loving fuck why does no one remember anything about this?”

“This is beautifully filmed”

“Awe Ryan is being v sweet”

“Oh my god shes playing her game again WHHHY”

“Ryan is so protective omg that’s lowkey hot though”

“She’s so hot”

“I love this scene”

III

“Omg not his day of reckoning jesus”

“People have been trying to get him arrested for years jesus”

“Oh my god cops are so fucking corrupt this is so gross”

“I love how genuine he is I cant imagine cops that have had to go through that”

“Lmao I can relate to Nina so much I did so much shit to stand up for people I’m a professional hype man tbqh”

“Jesus I wouldnt just fucking move on either”

“Awe omg Ryan is there for her I love him”

“Oh my god they are so adorable my heart breaks for her so much”

“I wanna dance with Bo wtf”

“THE KISS AHHHH WTF”

“Come and fuck my life up PLEASE”

“Oh my god why am I crying lol”

“This family is wild lmao”

“He’s so freaking sweet”

“Love how Cassie isnt actually crazy people just truly are awful”

“Oh my god them flirting they are so freaking adorable I cant do this”

“THERE IS EVIDENCE WHY IS EVERYONE BEING THIS WAY”

“It sucks so fucking much”

“God everyone was so drunk though you cant watch though you need to help”

“I truly think people dont realize how serious it is Im glad this movie will help that”

IIII

“Um loving this orchestra version of Toxic”

“NOT MAX GREENFIELD LMAO”

“Her posing as a stripper so true”

“Hell no yes go girl bully these men”

It got very serious and uncomfortable so I skipped to the part where Max Greenfield’s character enters the room. 

“This reminds me of the Bo Dukes story”

“That’s really how it was - it’s so funny to watch these investigations how awful they are”

“You can just tell he’s lying just tell the truth plEATHE”

“God he loved her so much this hurts”

IIIII

“Max running away oh my god bitch where u going”

“I hope Ryan isnt turned in I dont think she would do that”

“YES ARREST HIS ASS”

“The necklaces Im cryin”

WHEW 100/10 I really loved that movie a lot !!!

ANYWAYS. I will write a more comprehensive review for the blog I wanna start or my podcast - but here it is!

[thankyouforbeingsobeautiful]

the two princes season 3: episode 1

hey y'all!! just like during the season 2 release, im gonna write down my (completely unfiltered) thoughts while listening to the new season of ttp!!

[beware for spoilers, cussing, and general incoherent babbling]

ooh we're getting a catch up

the no'

oh noe his mem'rees

JECIFLDFYS

JPERCYJJE

YEAH

goat reappearance this season ??? eyes emoji eyes emoji

much much stranger........ ok foreboding

ooh cheerios

omg what

who is

LEGOS??????????????

his voice scares me

ROOSTER

SONG YEAH I RECOGNIZE THIS

GUITAR

i love noah galvin's voice so much yall.

HE"S IN LOVE YALL

ari'el's voice is so soft i love it sm

are they,,,,,,,, yknow,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, "pals"

LAVINIA PLS I LOVE YOU

"i need to kiss my fiance!" yall

yall im

AND IN JUST THREE DAYS I MIGHT HELL YEAH WOOO WOOOOO YEAH

SO MUCH freakin true romance

i do i do i do I DO I DO I DO I DOOO

aww its so happy!! :D

i wonder how long it takes until it all goes wrong

RUPERT MADE PANCAKES???????????

paws on the table YALL IM

THEY"RE A FAMILY

theyrelafhalefsdkfasldckalsdmfadsf

"nothing is going to happen" explain the other 6 episodes then mf

BET MY LIFE?? n e ways

yeah rupert has it right

"my love"???? AAAAAAAAAAA

the story ends... :((

TRAGEDY IS FOR SINGLE PEOPLE LFJSDJFALFSKDJFJASFDSFLKASF

NO MATTER WHATTTT

spooned to death,,,,,, that's the way i wanna go

"suspicious salad forks" rupert i love you

"nothing will stop us" hmmm when have i heard that before

BREAKFAST IN BED

ACCIDENTAL COUP PJ

pj im in love with you sir

he cares so much awwww

this is giving me flashback to my cello playing days

is cecily in love with pj now.......... WHAT

WHAT

WHAT

WHAT

WHAT

WHAT

"you had me at cecily what are you doing here" RELA

RELATIONSHIP???????

DATING??????????

JAAAAAAAOAN

oh fasldkfjkla

BRUHDFS PLS

cercy,,,,,,,,,,,

she's trying to make joan jealous and im so proud of her

AND ITS WORKINGGG

imsdalfkadsjfaskdg

CHANGE TEAMS??

biphobic joan,,,,,,,,,, huh

CECILY x CHAMBERLAIN

:(((((((

"super hot" im,,,,,,, girl hes FRUITY

YEAH YOU ARE BABE

yeah yeah yeah WOOO GO CECILY

DID IT IN HEELS

"adores" girl once again..... FRUIT SALAD

yep point proven

THIS SISIIS THEJSDJFLJA

SLKDFHJKAL

why is pj always getting threatened

imWAIT MORE SINGINGoh no :((

WHAT another ad???

yeah i hear ye hear ye now be quiet about it

aww

yall cryin

facts rupRU???

"RU"???????????????

OEJFSKDAMDNCJLSKADF

chamberlain ur gonna make me cry

yeah he made me cry

CHAMBERLAIN x BARABBAS COME TO LIFE

aw man :((

aw man :))

hes so sweet

OOH WHOS APPROACHING

YEAH LETS CHECK IT OUT

"lookin good ladies!! lookin even better boys hehe"

YALFKDFSLDFJF PRINCE DARLING

ITS HIM

UH OH

he sounds so old thSDFLKSJDF BEST LOOKING PRINCELSDFJ

malkia,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

what

is CYNTHIA ERIVO COMING BACK??????? BRING CYNTHIA BACK

hmhmhm yeah

"i dont think you came up"????? bitch ill kill you

ok dont be a fucking bitch alright

goddamn clam down

WHAT

no bitch DFLKS "WE HAVE FUN" ACTUALLY I LOVE HIM

hes so gay it almost feels offensive

wait whats he dLKSDFLJ THIGHS WHATHJKLD

BREAK INTO SONG

YEAH YEAH DO IT

abs,,,,,,, man i am

OOH PLUCKY LIL TUNE

PARTY ROCK IS IN THE HOUSE TONIGHT

party prodigy,,,,,,,,, his character is straight out of glee

MAKE IT BOUNCE????? THIS IS A CHILDREN SHOW

no pls go away actually

i dont wanna listen to edm PLS

APOOPOO????

um weirdly racist????? or is that just me

uhm n e ways

i dunno what's going on man

pls i wanna skip this

pls step away from my ears pls too close

uhmmmmmmmmmmm asldfasdlfj amir

IM WITH AMIR FOR ONCE MAN

well uuhhh

ITS ADORABLE IMSDFJSDLF

"what could go wrong" cue the menacing ass music

OH MY GOD BARABBAS

hes depressed and drunk and singing and..... gay hMm??

rainy

OH they're going to the heartland huh

WHERE is he lost???? omg yall

are we getting a BARABBAS SUBPLOT?????

THIS IS ACTUALLY SO IMPORTANT TO ME PERSONALLY

BARABBAS SUBPLOT BARABBAS SUBPLOT BARABBAS SUBPLOT

WENCE???? omg

zoo baby

wencescalaueasus

ITS COMING????

THE END MOTHER FUCKER?????????????

calm down "the magnus archives"

uhmmmmmmm okay then

THE SDLFSD THE ENDING CREDITS

[splendidshinobi]

FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST 2003 LIVE REACT: EPISODES 21-25

almost halfway done lads how we feelin'

episode 21: the red glow

ah yes barry

"i'm alphonse elric!!!!!" yes u r baby!!!

who just popped over the wall

scar im assuming

"i kill therefore i am".....barry spouting descartes rn

it was scar haha

um

hi greed

thought i saw you earlier

WHY DID THEY DRAW HIS ARMS THAT LONG

ope he found the chimera crew...

jerry jewell's evil laugh gets me every time lmao he's so great

ed has deep philosophical talks bro

also ed is chaotic but his personal morals are unshakeable

who are these prison guards gonna release

oh hey kimblee

oh hey squad

ed take out ur pokeball

um wth is that

OH MY GOD TUCKER WHAT

EW

I THOUGHT IT WAS A GIANT YODA OR A SWAMP MONSTER

he looks FUCKKEDDDD

bro of all the things i was not expecting him

oof ishval flashbacks

young scar why is your hair brown

why is it white now

WHY IS HE NAKED

whos her

lust 1.0 im assuming

ew omg tucker is literally so fuckin nasty lookin idk

idk why but he's worse than rod reiss titan for me

wait a damn minute

wait a damn fucking minute

goddamnit

what is GOIN ON

i need tucker to stop whispering he sounds like fucking voldemort on the back of quirrells head

jesus

episode 22: created human

hughes' pajamas look like armin's futon from aot junior high

the bad place???? was that greed's prison gluttony was lookin at?

im still shook af over tucker and tbh its been like 24 hours since i watched episode 21

STOP WHISPERING TUCKER

driving me up a wall

my poor son looks so tired :(

those moral principles at it again

bradley.......

ewww the way tucker walks STOP

hi envy!!!!!

so all of those prisoner guys gonna get flattened by some alchemy

hey kimblee!!!

so did greed escape with the homies???? cause i feel like he would have made his presence known already....

i feel like im missing a lot because im a ding dong

musty prison kimblee is kinda...hot....physically speaking..oops..personality wise obviously there's MUCH to work on

so envy knows hohenheim

ED BABY

he won't do it

oh no alphonse

oh god memory implants

al's identity crisis CONTINUES

they wanna become humans??? huh....doesnt really make sense for their characters...(maybe envy but more on that at 11)

is ed gonna kill these guys for al

some1!!!!!! hold!!!!! me!!!! im so stressed

is he pretending to do it and he's got another plan up his sleeve!!!!????

honestly he's so depressed i cant even tell

those unshakable moral principles at work again i see

the red water can turn ed into a god???? wtf ed doesnt want to be a god he wants to punch god

oh theres the greed squad! i found them!!! is kimblee joining up with them

maria girly!!!!!!!

THE HOMUNCULI IN THEIR STUPID UNIFORMS I--

who's the lady. i need 2 know.

episode 23: fullmetal heart

alphonse is destroyed again

poor kid

"edward sir" brosh pls!!!

oh excuse me--- ***Bloch

The Ross Slap™

winry <3

pinako takes no prisoners

ed didnt you JUST tell brosh and ross they might be right that you needed to trust adults with more shit and now youre blowing off hughes

ed's DRAWINGS im-

hi sig hi izumi!!!

al is so sad over there in that corner

poor baby son

sometimes i feel like hughes and mustang are ed and al's divorced dads

the little arakawa avatar cows in the back im CRYING!!!!!!!

“bean”

snappy al

ooffffffff

omg hughes plz

elicia is precious though we love her

"dad's friend the bookworm" omg sheska

awwww gracia made edward a cake!!!!!!!

god catch me cryin in the club

CONGRATULATIONS

"whatever" al im crying he's so sad

AL MADE BROSH OR WHOEVER CARRY HIS DESTROYED ARMOR TO THE ROOF IM ACTUALLY YELLING

"you goof"

yes winry you are correct boy is a goof

sir you are being so dramatic

give that baby a hug

"so called brother"

so we all know that was a knife through the heart for ed

al just jumped off a FUCKING ROOF and ED TRIED TO FOLLOW

so im crying

i liked this better when they HAD A CONVERSATION ABOUT AL'S FEARS AND MADE THE FUCK UP

episode 24: bonding memories

guess we're gonna play w my emotions again

sometimes like....one bit characters talk...like villager b ya know? and im like who are you i know that voice

so the nasty military has come to ruin some lives again

and barry for some reason

aww poor al

youre real you are!!!!!!

i just feel like people would know people that wear sunglasses in the rain would be ishvalan

but what do i know

obviously they dont have the white hair thing in this version

poor ed is so sad

these boys need a hug 

let me just *pulls out adoption papers*

well if scar doesnt have queen mei to adopt in 03, he’s got this little toothless boy

dont lie al you do care

ew i dont like her

the drama of this boy

so the nasty military has come to ruin some lives again part 2

apparently they are *mercenaries??? excuse me

i have some questions regarding this kid’s mom

well you know i can see why this kid feels this way about his mom

it does look like she ran off...

al and scar dream team up

HEY ED!!! HEY WINRY!!!

bout time

yall gonna have this talk now????

barry STOPPPPPP

brotherhood barry is the true king there i said it

damn scar you baddie

barry like....you already knew him

anyway

WHAT THE HELL

NO RICKKK!!!!!!

someone save this boy!!!!

oh good his mom “saved” him

ah damn thats pretty tragic

she didnt know they were right in front of her

ow

well my questions were answered

so she attacks with grape fanta. thats one way to do it

ed looks like such an angry gremlin right now this is a heartwarming moment sir please

why are ed and scar being so civil right now this is so weird

bye scar

we’ll see him again

see you later scar

episode 25: words of farewell

maes who let you buy that awful pink suit 

gracia please it better not have been you

mustang ew please

dont open the door lookin like that

what the hell are you doing in here 

so hughes WASNT in ishval here?

i think that takes a lot away from his character but anyway

bradley hangs around like a creep at every possible instant

why would bradley care about ishvalan refugees like hughes cmon

“unspeakable crimes” BRADLEY YOU LITERALLY CANNOT TALK

juliet douglas is this lady’s name

only took me 1000 episodes to figure that out

ED AND AL??? NOT DEALING WITH DANGEROUS THINGS??????? dont make me laugh assholes theyre lying thru their teeth

izumi time lets go

wow we’re still going to rush valley? wasnt really expecting that tbh

elicia i LOVE you!!!!!

ew kimblee “hi”

how did he lightning himself like that

if i were ishvalan i would not go to the south....yet ANOTHER war torn region of amestris but ok

okay

an amestrian desert biker gang rolled up to wreak havoc

HUGHES AHAHAHA 

tbh i wouldnt want to tell roy anything either stupid bitch

anyway

um why do i feel like its hughes’ death episode

he would not be shown tucking elicia in to bed otherwise 

please im not ready to be hurt again

oh no

yeah he just learned something about our girl juliet

ive been waiting for this information 

he’s gonna die before we learn anything helpful

yupppppp

hey lust figured you’d show up sooner or later

i too wish i could look that sexy pulling a kunai out of my forehead

SLOTH????????

did girly just say SLOTH

i- nothing about her seems particularly slothy but ok

u know what!!!!!!!!!!!!

ENVY HEYYY

DUMBASS ROY JUST HAAAAAD TO LEAVE

haha famous last words

oof it hurts every time

not the FUNERAL scene no!

time for me to go 

peace out homies im dead inside

yes my brigadier general 

NOT THE RAIN

COME ONNNNNN

hughes is sneezing six feet under

was ed supposed to be looking at hughes’ ghost

um....right

[chiibinomonodamon]

Doujinshi Translation

Yeah. I finally sat my ass down and finished the first ZackRay book I purchased. xD Don’t like the ship?; well you can f*ck right off. :)

*There is nothing sexual in the book.

'Ai Wo Kuratte, Baka ni Naru' Eating Love Makes a Fool of Me by Tokiko Nao Translation by Chiibi. Please do not repost and do not make scanlations without crediting me.

Page 01 Ray monologues: I do not understand what 'love' is. Because it is not something that I've touched even once. 'Love' from a family. 'Love' from a friend. Or 'love' from a lover. I've never had even one of these. But if 'love' is an emotion we do not understand... Perhaps the identity of this feeling I don't understand could be...

Page 02 [Ray is sitting on the bed looking anxious] : Zack is late...but he said he was only going out for a minute... The police didn't find him, did they? He's going to come back, right? Loneliness, worry, and doubt are all spinning around in my head... I'm scared. My heart is aching. No...I'll stop thinking negatively... There's no point in thinking about 'what-ifs'. [music from the TV] Page 03 : This drama is...still going on? I was watching this just to kill time at the last motel we were at. TV dialogue: "I love you! Please don't leave me behind anymore...!" [Ray lays down on the bed, thinking] : "Love"...? "I love you"... What type of situation do you call 'love', I wonder... [she thinks of her mother] Was that love? [her father] Or maybe that? I'm certain those were both wrong. Because the story I watched before didn't seem that painful. They didn't scream or degrade each other. Page 04 The woman just whispers "Only being with you makes me so happy, darling." Is that 'love'? If I too...until my last moment of life... just be next to Zack... TV: "We will now continue with today's news" "Some time ago, around 10 p.m., the bodies of a man and woman couple were discovered by OO River." "A rather dangerous-looking knife was found at the scene of the crime." "It is thought to be the same type of weapon from the incident at XX River from the previous day. The culprit is thought to be among the escaped prisoners on the wanted list of..." [Ray looks scared] : "Zack...!" Page 05 "Yeah...did I scare ya? Ya still up, huh? Whatcha doin' with the lights off, anyway?" Ray: "Welcome back...you went quite far this time, right?" Zack:" Yeah..." Ray: "Did you...kill those people?" Zack: "So what if I did?" Ya gonna bitch about it now, after all this time?" Ray: "No, I won't. I just wanted to make sure." [Zack pulls off his coat]: "That so..."

Page 06 Ray sits on the bed, shyly twirling her hair around her finger. "I wonder if they were in love." Zack: "HAH?" Ray: "Those people were...a couple, right?" Zack: "I don't friggin' know. Don't mean shit to me." Ray: "Hey Zack, do you know...           what love is?" [He grimaces at her] Page 07 [Tousling Ray's hair] "I should be askin' YA instead!" "Ya think I actually KNOW!? Yer gonna make me puke again!" Ray: "Stop it~"           "Well...I don't know..."            "But I..."             "I think I'm happy...just being with you...              so I wonder if this is what love is..."              "I mean, that's what the drama said...Zack, what do you think...?"

Page 08 [He gets mad] "THAT'S DAMN GROSS! ARE YA TALKIN' IN YER SLEEP OR WHAT!?" "C'mon! It's time for little brats to go to bed! We're leavin' this town tomorrow, right!? You'll oversleep!" [Ray pouts thinking] The one I'd worry about doing that is YOU actually... [She gets into bed] :" Take a shower before you go to sleep, okay?" Zack: "Yeah yeah" Ray: Thank God he came back...          It's strange...how before I was so scared, I couldn't stand it... Page 09 But now that Zack is here, I'm okay. I feel warm and comforted. I don't want to give him to anyone. I won't let anyone destroy this. I won't let anyone get in the way. For that I would... Page 10 [birds chirping] Zack: We leavin' already....? Let's keep sleepin'...it's still 5 a.m.... Ray: There's no way we can do that.          Because of yesterday's incident, the police are going to be more watchful than ever.          So please behave yourself just for today, all right? [He yawns] "All right..." Page 11 Ray: I'm going to go check out what's ahead of us. Zack, you stay here. [rub rub] Zack: Don't go too far. Ray: I know. [she grins a little] "I'm just going to take a peek around the corner." Ray thinking: No matter how deserted the town is supposed to be...all these shops have security cameras so we have to avoid the main roads... "This area looks clear." [peeks to and fro] [click of a gun] [scream] Zack: RAY!? Page 12 : HEY! RAY...!? Ray: Don't come over here!! Policedude who's touching Ray like how dare you: "You're the wanted criminal, Issac Foster, aren't you!" Ray: Zack! Police douche: Walking around with this kidnapped girl...! Ray thinking: Oh! Come to think of it, that was on the news yesterday...! Zack doesn't have a weapon now...! Because I made the mistake of choosing this way, he might be killed this time...! That can't happen! I have to do something...! Page 13: Ray thinking: Even though I've been caught, they won't kill me! I have to get Zack to escape!! [she grabs douche] : "HURRY AND RUN FOR IT!" douche: What the...let go!" Ray: ZACK...! GO NOW!! Zack: If I run, what're YOU gonna do?! Ray: That's not the problem right n- Zack: That IS the problem right now.            You know, Ray? I'm not givin' up.             I'll kill 'im with my BARE HANDS and run if I have to! Ray thinking : Ah... I see.        I finally get it now.      This is all the same as that drama show.     In that case I... Douche: Stand back! If you go with that man, he will kill you for sure! Page 14 Ray clicks the gun "That's OUR VOW." "Don't get in the way." I no longer fear sin Zack: Are ya glad ya used that? Ray: No...the truth is I never intended to do so.          But it would be troublesome for them to find out that I'm traveling with you or that I have a gun on me.... [panting] I intended to distract him so you could escape. I knew that's what I should have done yet... Yet I didn't like it. Page 15 Ray crying: "I DON'T WANT TO BE SEPARATED FROM YOU ANYMORE!"                        "That's why my selfishness took over. I'm so sorry..." [He sighs] Ray: I'm sure the reinforcements will get here soon and find this. Zack: Yeah. Ray: And then they'll find out about me, how we have guns, and everything we've done up to now. Zack: Yeah. Ray: And escaping them is going to be harder to do than ever before...         I'm sure the past version of me        would never have done something so rash and stupid...       But I don't regret it!

Page 16

Ray: I did something I wanted to do so... [Zack wipes her face^^] : Ah geeeze ya talk way too long!  Say yer main point already!! If ya don't regret it, then it was obviously the right action. Quit thinkin' about EVERY LITTLE THING, stooooopid. [sniffle] Ray: ...okay. Zack: Good grief and if yer gonna kill 'im, shoot 'im faster! Ray: I can't do that...          If I were to act without thinking the same way you do, we'd... Zack: Ya ended up shootin' 'im without thinkin' ANYWAY!            Tryin' to start somethin' with me!?             Let's go now. [sting]              Their backup guys might be comin'. Ray: Yes, you're right. [thinking] Back then... Page 17 I remembered the drama I saw on the TV at the motel. There was a scene with a lover being killed. The one who killed and the one who was killed both said "It's for the sake of love." When I remembered that, I thought such a burden of sin was a lovely thing. That's why I finally understood. If it's for your beloved, committing a sin is a way of loving that person. Speaking of which, Zack too [peek] killed that man in order to save me. But maybe he just wanted to kill him anyway. Yes, the probability of that is pretty high... Page 18 Maybe Zack also... Zack: What're ya starin' so hard at a guy's face for? [Ray blushes] ...nah I'm probably overthinking the convenience of it. Zack: Yer face is bright red, ain't it? Still cryin'? Ray: ...don't look! Last page [Now that she knows the taste of love, she cannot go back to the wise girl she once was] Omake: Zack: Ray suddenly started the waterworks [blah blah] Her emotions are pretty unstable... BUT I HAVE NO CLUE WHY SHE'S CRYIN'!!! [blah blah] [yeah] And she's talkin' too much! [blah blah] [yeah] Seems like a pain to interrupt her an' ask... But I can at least be a yes-man, I guess... Ray: But I don't regret it!          It hurts if you do that... Zack: IS THAT ALL THIS IS ABOUT!!?          Don't freak me out like that, dammit! [End!]

[dailydianakko]

Undying Au-Fuck

help.

I woke up the next day in my coffin. I walked out of it and put on some black eyeliner, black eyesharrow, blood-bed lipstick and a black really low-cut leather dress that was all ripped and in stripes so you could see my belly. I was wearing a skull belly ring with black and red diamonds inside it. (Da night before Diana and I rent back to the skull (geddit skull koz im goffik n I like deth). Holbrooke chased Pool away. We flew there on our brooms. Mine was black and the broom-stuff was blood-red. There was lace all over it. Diana had a black MCR boom. We went back to our rooms and we had you-know-what to a Linkin Park song.) Well anyway I went down to the Grate Hall. There all da walls were painted black and da tables were black too. But you fould see that there was pink pant underneath the black pant. And there were pastors of poser bands everywhere, like Ashlee Simpson and the Backstreet Boys. “WTF!” I shouted going to sit next to Lotte Gothic Night’fall 666 and Barbara. L’Ote Gothic Nightfall 666 was wearing a black leather mini with a Good Chraloote t-shirt, black fishnets and black pointy boots. Barbara was wearing a long gothic blak dress with blood red writing that was all lacy and came up to your thighs and black boots and fishnets. Vampire, Dracula and Diana came. We started to talk about who was sexier, Mikey or Gerard Way or Billie Joe Armstrong. The girls joined in cause they were bi. “Those guys are so fucking hot.” Andrew was saying as suddenly a gothic old woman with a black beard and everything came. She was the same one who had chassed away Paul yesterday. She had normal tan skin but she was wearing white foundation and she had died her hare black. “……………….HOOLBROOKE?1!” we all gasped. “WTF?” I shouted angrily. “I thought she was just wearing that to scare Paul!” “Hello everyone.” she said happily. “As u can see I gave the room a makeover. Whjat do u fink about it?” Everyone from the poser table in Gryiffindoor started to cheer. Well we goths just looked at each other all disfusted and shook our heads. We couldn’t believe what a poser he was!1. “BTW you can call me Miranda.” SHE CALLED AS WE LEFT to our classes. “What a fucking poser!” Duana shouted angrily as we we to Transfomation. We were holding hands. Vampire looked really jealous. I could see her crying blood in a gothic way (geddit, way lik Gerard) but I didn’t say anything. “I bet she’s havin a mid-life crisis!” Su’cY shouted. I was so fucking angry. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX666XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX All day we sat angerly finking about Helbrooke. We were so fucking pissed off. Well, I had one thing to look forward too- da MCR concert. It had been postphoned, so we could all go. Anyway, I went to the common room sadly to cut classes. Diana was being all secretive. I asked what it was and she got all mad me and started crying all hot and angsty (rnt sensitve lesbian gurlz r so hot). “No one fucking understands me!1” she shouted angrily as her green and blonde hare went in her big blue eyes like Billie Joe in Boulevard of Borken Dreamz. Shee was wearing black baggy paints, a black MCR t-shirt and a black die. (geddit insted of tie koz im goffik) I was wearing a blak leather low cut top with chains all over it all over it a blak leather mini, black high held boots and a cross belly fing. My hair was al up in a messy relly high bun like Amy Lee in Gong Under. (email me if u wana see da pik) “Accuse me? What about me!” I growled. “Buy-but-but-” she grunted. “You fucking bastard!” I moaned. “No! Wait! It’s not what it fucking looks like!” she shouted. But it was to late. I knew what I herd. I ran to the bathroom angrily, cring. Diana banged on the door. I whipped and whepped as my blody eyeliner streammed down my cheeks and made cool tears down my feces like Benji in the video for Girls and Bois (VALK that is soo our video!). I TOOOK OUT A CIGARETE END STARTED TO smoke pot. Suddenly Avery came. she had appearated. “You gave me a fucking shock!” I shouted angrily dropping my pot. “Wtf do you fink you’re doing in da red team’s room?” Only it wasn’t just Avery. Someone else was with her too! For a second I wanted it 2 b Andrew or maybe Diana but it was HObrooke. “Hey I need to ask you a question.” she said, pulling out her black wanabe-goffik purse. “What are u wearing to the concert?” “U no who MCR r!” I gasped. “No I just saw there was a concert dat a lot of gothz and punx were going 2.” She said. “Anyway Diana has a surprise for u.” XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX666XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX All day I wondered what the surprise was. Meanwhile, I pot on a blak ledder mini, a blak corset with urple lace stuff all over it, an black gothic compact boots. MCR were gong 2 do the concert again, since POOL had taken over the last one. I slit my wrists while I moshed 2 MCR in my bedroom all night, feeling excited. Suddenly someone knocked on the door while I was trying on sum black clothes and moshing to Fang u 4 da Venom. I gut all mad and turned it of, but sacredly I hopped inside dat it was Diana so we could do it again. “Wut de fucking hell r u doing!” I shouted angrily. It was Picies! “R u gonna cum rape me or what.” I yelled. I was allowed to say dat because Holbrooke had told us all 2 be careful around het and Nelson since she was a pedo. “No, actshelly (geddit, hell) kan I plz burrow sum condemns.”s he growld angrily. “Yah, so u can fuk ur six-yr-old gurlfriend, huh?” I shouted sarkastikally. “Fuker.” She said, gong away. Well anyway, I put on some black eyesharow, black eyeliner, and some black lipstick and white foundation. Then I went. Den I gasped…………………………………………………………….Pieces and Nelson were in da middle of da empty hall, doin it, and Finnelan was watching!1 “Oh my god you ludacris idiot!” they both shooted angrily when they saw me. Finnelan ran away crying. Dey got up, though. Normally I wood have ben turned on (I luv cing the sheep of wuter) but both of them were fuking preps. “WTF is that why u wanted condoms?” I asked sadistically. (c I speld dat) “Only you wouldn’t give them to me!” Pisces shouted angrily. “Well you shoulda told me.” I replayed. “You dimwit!.” Nelson began 2 shoot angrily. And then………I took out my black camera and took a pic of them. U could see that they were naked and everything. “Well xcuse me!” they both shouted angrily. “What was dat al about?” “It wuz to blackmail u.” I snarked. “So now next time you see me doing it with my girlfriend you cant fuking rat me out or I’ll show dis to holbeook. So fuck off, u bastards!” I started to run. They chased me but I threw my wound at them and dey tripped over it. Well anyway, I went outside and there was Paul, looking extremely fucking hot. “WTF where’d Diana?” I asked him. “Oh she’s bein a fucking bastard. She told me she wouldn’t cum.” Vampire said shaking her hed. “U wanna cum with me? 2 the concert?” Then….. she showed me his flying car. I gasped. It was a black car. She said her rummate constanze had given it 2 her. The license plate on the front sed MCR666 on it. The one on da back said ‘AAKEW’ on it. ……….I gasped. We flew to the concert hall. MCR were there, playing. Vampire and I began 2 make out, moshing to the muzik. I gapsed, looking at da band. I almost had an orgasim. Gerard was so fucking hot! He begin 2 sing ‘Helena’ and his sexah beautiful voice began 2 fill the hall. ……….And den, I heard some crrying. I turned and saw Diana, cryin in a corner. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX666XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Later we all went in the skull. Diana was crying in da common room. “Duana are u okay?” I asked in a gothic voice. “No I’m not u fuking bitch!”s he shouted angrily. She stated to run out of the place in a suicidal way. I stated to cry cuz I was afraid she would commit suicide. “Its ok Akki.” said Vampire comfortly. “Ill make her feel better.” “U mean you’ll go fuck her wont you!” I shouted angrily. Then I ran 2 get Diana. Vampire came too. “Diana please come!” she began to cry. Tears of blood came down her pail face. I wuz so turned on cuz I love sensitive lesbun gurlz. (if ur a homophone den fuk of!) And then………………………….. we herd sum footsteps! Vampire got out her blak invincibility coke. We both gut under it. We saw the janitor Meenotar there, shouting angrily with a flashlight in his hand. “WHOSE THERE!” he shouted angrily. We saw a rat come. It went unda da invisibility cloke and started to meow loudly. “IS ANY1 THERE!” yelled Mr. Menotaur. “No fuck u you preppy little poser sun of a fukcing bich!” Vampire said under her breast in a disgusted way. “EXCUS ME! EXCUS ME WHO SED DAT!” yelled Mr. Norris. Den he heard the rat meow. “RAT is der any1 unda da cloak!” he asked. The Rat nodded. And then……………………….Vampir frenched me! She did it jus as…………………….. Mr. Mentouar was taking of da cloak!1 “WHAT DA-” he yelled but it was 2 late cuz now we were ruining away frum him. And den we saw Duana crying n bustin in2 tearz and slitting her rists outside of da school. “Diana!” I cried. “R u okay?” “I guess though.” Diana weeped. We went back to our coffins frenching each other. Diana and I decided to watch Lake Placid (c isnt da deprezzin) on the gothic red bed together. As I wuz about 2 put in the video, my eyes rolled up and suddenly I had a vision of something that was happening now. There was a knok on the door and Fafnir and da Mystery of Magic walked into the school!1 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX666XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX All day everyone talked about the Misery of Magic. Well anyway, I woke up the next day. I was in my coffin so I opened the door. I was wearing blak lacey leather pajamas. Then I gasped. Standing in front of me where………………. B;loody Lotta Nighdfall 666, Vampire, Diabolo, Diana, Dracula and Barbara! I opened my crimson eyes. Barbara was wearing a tight black leather top with pictures of bloody roses all over it. Under that she wart a black poofy skirt wit lace on it and black gothic boots that was attached to the top. Vampire was wearing a baggy Simple Plan t-shirt and baggy black pants and Vans. Diana was wearing a black MCR t-shirt and blak jeans and a leather jacket. She looked just likee Gerard Way, and almost as fucking sexy. Vampire looked like Joel Madden. B’loody Lotte Nightf’all 666 was wearing a tight black poofy gothic dress that she had ripped so it showed of all her clearage with a white apron that said ‘bich’ and other swear words and MCR lyrics on it kind of like one dress I had seen Amy Lee wear once. Darkness (who is Avery) was there too. She was weaving a ripped gothic black dress with ripped stuff all over it and a lace-up top thing and black pointy boots. So were Hannah and Wangari. It turns out that Darkness, Diabolo, Hannahs and Wangaru’s dad was a vampire. He committed suicide by slitting his wrists with a razor. He had raped them and stuff before too. They all got so depressed that they became goffik and converted to Stanism. “OMFG” I yielded as I jumped up. “Why the fuck are u all here?” “Akki something is really fucked up.” Duana said. “OK but I need to put my fucking clothes on first.” I shouted angrily. “It’s all right. We have to go now and you look kawaii anyway. Your so fucking beautiful.” Diana said in a sexy voice. “Oh all right.” I said smiling. “But you have to tell me why your being all erective.” “I will I will.” she said. So I just put on some black eyeliner, black lipstick and red eyeshadow and white foundation. Then I came. We all went outside the Lucbh room and looked in from a widow. A fucking prep called Chole from Purple Teeam was standing next to us. She was wearing a pink mini and a Hilary Duff t-shirt so we put up our middle fingers at her. Inside the Great Hall we could see Holbreooke. FAFNIE was there shouting at Hobroooke. Finnelam was there too. “THIS CANNOT BE!” she shouted angrily. “THE SCHOOL MUST BE CLOSED!” “PAUL IS PLANNING TO KILL THE STUDENTS!” yelled Fafrnir. “YOU ARE NOT FIT TO BE THE PRINCIPAL ANY LONGER!” yelled Finnelan. “YOU ARE TOO OLD AND YOUR ALZHEIMERS IS DANGEROUS! YOU MUST RETRY OR PAUL WILL KILL YOUR STUDENTS!” “Very well.” Holbrooke said angrily. “Butt we cannot do this. We can’t close the school. There is only one person who is capable of killing Paul and she is in the school. And her name is…………………………………………………………………..Akko Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way.” Diana, Hannah, Barbara, Darkness, S’ucky, Vampire and B’loody Lotte Nightfall 666 looked at each other………I gasped.

[rottingflesh2-blog]

TITLE: virtuendjnfnj BY: Lil Reverb BEAT: Lazy - COFFY, sw/ to Beautiful Dreamer - Mackadelic

[intro]

Yeah, I met her online, high divine Open my eyes, saw what lined, entwined- I wish our fates were, but for her It was no where near that Hold on the gat For future brings brighter days and never concern yourself with the bullshit-ass chitchat For what you talking? Shit… [bridge] (p1) Yeah, I’d been meeting with her recently (p2) And oh so frequently? (p3) Yea, but its just been going so quick, like

[verse 1] What’s the definition of responsibility? Should I hold her close to me, Is that within my ability? And the boys, They told me she lacked credibility. But I was gullible, weak, exposed and open Was no different from when I drank the potion So I didn’t fuckin’ care.

It was wild, therefore good Shit was one night, no Q’s from the brotherhood But the regret hit me, realised what I had done And then, no longer was I their number one My everything, my second segment Was just her, cause the girl now pregnant-

[bridge] (beat stop) (p2) For real? You got a bitch pregnant and you still spitting bars man? (p1) Yeah, I know it’s weird, just a ton of stress piling up recently, and- (p2) And this your medium? Your destressment? (p1) … yeah. (p2) ‘aight dawg. Just make sure you got the right things on your mind, aye?

(BEAT SWITCH)  [verse 2]  I’m a just a kid, we both said that Looking back, she still makes me fall flat Am i father now? I feel like a gnat- A pest, like im worthless, I’d like to ask her If she feel the same, this love and my cryin’ words

I don’t think I can do it. I don’t want to try. This feeling in my chest, I just ask: why?  Set me free, let me be, end this act of tyranny Seize the means.  Seize THE means, what does that mean? Let yourself be known, because if you always feel green Sippin’ on lean, addicted to caffeine From way back, like motherfucking Hadean  She was barely past eighteen  This life couldn’t have been foreseen

I just... love her. I do.

[outro] (p3) I don’t. (p1) Please don’t hang up.

[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....

[crimezaddyrio]

GG 2.06 THOUGHTS

Whew.... That... that was quite the episode y’all. I still need to calm down. Let’s unwrap, yeah?

SPOILERS AHEAD (LONG POST)

Let’s start off with the wonderful Ruby. Can I just fuckin say? I am so, so, SO happy she came clean to Stan. That was the best decision, its late, but its definitely appreciated. The whole montage of him listening and asking, it really helped them in the long run. As much as I love me fuckin Rio, STAN IS THE MAN I NEED!!!! HE THE TRUE RIDE OR DIE. 

Annie, first off her whole thing with Sadie, Nancy, and Greg really hurt my heart. It isn’t easy to hear that from your kid, and it DEFINITELY wasn’t easy for her to come clean either. I think what really hurt for Annie was that in that moment she wasn’t sure if she was ever going to see Sadie again, because SHE MIGHT BE IN JAIL SOON, and the last thing she wanted was her daughter to hate her while being in bars. (or even hate her more with bars).

Beth. “It was a warm body. It was anyone, but me” That hurts the most, knowing that the one you thought you loved, that you knew, that you made a life with, didn’t want you. AND EVEN BLAMED YOU FOR IT. DEPRESSION REALLY FUCKIN SUCKS AND POST PARTUM IS A REAL FUCKIN DEAL. Honestly fuck Dean, I don’t care if he helped Beth, because Beth was still the one to get shit rolling. She got shit on the ball, and despite all this fuckin heart break she came out as a BOSS BITCH and is now going to be running the dealership YAS.

BRIO

We got fed. Well. Not like fucking last week with a feeding tube suddenly shoved in our throats and us gasping for air, but oh shit did we get FED. We can all agree that Beth has lowkey BDSM fetishes. I bet if this show was on HBO we would get whips, chains, ropes, cuffs, gag balls, THE WORKS OKAY? That scene though was just:

The light hand touches, the eye contact, between them, THE ENDING SCENE OF THEM AT THE DEALERSHIP WHERE HE LEANS IN AND TELLS HER TO PICTURE THEM NAKED, GODDAMN ZADDY FUCKKKK!

*Addition: also the statement of “let just see how this goes, yeah?” IS SO FUCKIN LOADED. it’s a “let’s see how business goes.” It’s a “let’s see how the FBI goes.” It’s a “let’s see how we go.” SO LAYERED AND NUANCED IM CRYIN’*

And the reactions from Annie and Ruby about it?! A+ fuckin Ruby, I was Ruby. We were all fuckin Ruby. But also Annie’s reaction to Beth and Rio? That was honestly to be expected. I have had anons, and others have told me too in their experiences with the subject, tell me/us that NO WAY ANNIE WOULD STAND BY BETH SHE WOULDN’T BE MAD. like y’all. Either you don’t have siblings, or you just have a really good relationship with them, but believe me, as the youngest in my own family I GET PISSED when my sister has had to put the moral high ground on me, and then when you find out your sibling is a complete hypocrite? Oh honey. No. (Ruby’s reaction was golden though. I’m looking forward to the gifs!)

Honestly this whole episode was about coming clean, about telling the truth, that everything must go. Ruby to Stan, Annie to Sadie, Dean to Beth, and Beth to her girls. Everything will come out. And now fucking Mary Pat just outed Ruby and Stan. And I have anxiety all over again (not that it every went away.) Overall, well done writers. You got me quaking again till Sunday. 

Before any questions, theories, thoughts, and predictions about any of this shit let’s just be clear:

[avenging-fandoms]

riverdale 3x03 reaction and opinions (spoilers)

- aw archie poor boy

- I WASNT READY FOR ALICE AND FP

- THEN RIGHT AFTER JUGHEAD AND BETTY????

- ugh fred being a bad bitch love him

- VERONICA IN HER GLASSES YES

- betty and v how beautiful i love them

- bro archie is in JAIL open that speak easy

- betty is so smart ugh her mind

- jughead looks so good for some reason this episode uh HELLO

- POP TATE MY KING

- REGGIE LOOKS SO FUCKING SEXy YES PLEASE

- reggie and that toothpick? fucking RAM me bitch

- veronica being her bad bitch self yes please

- pENNY???? DIE.

- archie wtf lmfao dumbass

- OH HELL NAH YOU PUT A BAG OVER MT HEAD IM FIGHTING

- joaquin looks sexy boxing ngl👀

- oh lmao never mind that bitch beat lolol

- archie boxing? box me daddy

- CHONI YES YES

- veronica looks so good in yellow

- “sweet pea and fangs must be in attendance” YES THEY SHOULD BITCHHHH

- ethel creeps me out i don’t want her around anymore

- so ethel is blaming bughead for bens death?????? HELLO?????

- evelyn is sketchy already i don’t like her

- jughead you snake lmfaooooOO

- she didn’t have to flame betty like that DAMN

- REGGIE SHIRTLESS. YES P L E A SE

- oh WHOMST THE FUCK HAD ALL THAT JINGLE JANGLE LMFAOOOOO

- reggie and veronica are gorgeous together ngl

- sheriff minneta is hot but he’s an asshole

- of course hiram is behind this. and to his own dAUGHTER???

- betty wtf are you doing

- evelyn that creepy ass bitch CHOKE

- damn betty and jughead really be the king and queen of snakes

- ARCHIE AND THAT SHOT OF HIS BODY IN THAT BED UHHH YES PLEASE

- yes cover his mouth that’s so kinky i’m w*t

- DAMN IM SOAKED WATCHING THIS FIGHT

- god those knuckles how sexy i wanna kiss them

- veronica and choni i’m shaking yes pLEASE

- toni with the TEA

- sweet pea and fangs found this out together? UGH WE LOVE DETECTIVES

- i love veronica’s outfit while on a search lmfao

- i thought those candles were romantic and ethel was about to be naked under a blanket LMFOAOSODOAOO

- this farm is so creepy. fuck that

- BRO WHAT ALICE TOLD THEM ABOJT THE BODY KM SNOFNSK

- THE WEBCAMMING IM CRUING

- damn betty spilling straight FACTS

- BETTY ARE YOU OKAY BABY GIRL OMG WHAT ID HAPLENING

- WHENEVER SHE TALKS ABOUT THE FARM A LOT OR SEES SOMETHING EITH IT SHE HAS AN EPSIOFE IFMDKD

- jughead boutta die.....again

- fuck ethel i don’t like her

- JUGHEAD WTF ARE YOU GETTING YOURSELF INTO

- JUGHEAD SAID YEET AND DRANK IT

- WTF IS THIS SHIT JUGHEAD HAS TO KISS ETHEL IM DEAD BYE

- WTF IS ETHEL DOING WHATDJSINS

- jug took ethel to the hospital and STAYED THERE. UGH. CHARITABLE KING.

- never trust a bitch with no lips

- ew wtf hello???? don’t touch jughead

- hiram can choke

- YES VERONICA!!!!

- this creepy old fuck at the jail ew

- “last five or six rounds” oh👀👀👀

- UGH FRED AND ARCHIE IM SOBBING. FRED NEEDS HIS SON PLEASE BRING THEM BACK TOGETHER

- damn fred spitting facts i love my dad

- alice is shady and i’m starting to not like her and that shouldn’t happen cause i love that bitch

- betty looks so good with her hair down

- “i trust them more than i trust you” GAH DAMN

- toni and cheryl look gorgeous i’m cryin

- REGGIE LOOKS SEXY AS HELL

- omg that instagram story i’m sobbing

- BUGHEAD LOOKS GORGEOUS

- SWEET PEA AND VERONICA SPEAKIN GOT ME FEELING SOME TYPE OF WAY??????

- shut up hiram no one cares

- josie is ... idek. she’ll always annoy me

- sweet pea and fangs look gorgeous

- she doesn’t even sound good.......

- DAMN ARCHIE TF????

- ARCHIE JESUS FUCK

- ONE PUNCH???? WHERE HE LEARN TO FIGHT LIKE THAT????

- oh so mad dog is GONE gone?

- that’s upsetting. i’m not watching this anymore

- YOURE GIVING ALCOHOL TO A JUNIOR??? IM YODELING

- damn bitch that scene is sexy as fuck where he’s messing all that stuff up

- i’m attracted to weird things i apologize

- damn fp you didn’t have to grab jughead’s face like that

- DAMN BITCH. FP SAID YEET TO THE RULES

- why would veronica let hiram in the speak easy

- that man sketchy as hell

- archie out of his GAHDAMN MIND

- uhm WHY ARE THE RULES SPREAD EVERYWHERE LFMFOKDIJFJ