#good old cosy british murder mystery

[tellmevarric]

There are two things that have been occupying my mind today.

1. Apparently when Larian recently updated BG3, they made some adjustments to the body physics. I found this out because I rolled up a new character last night and chose a male character this time and when I went to, er, pick my penis, I found that they'd put some... dangle in the dingle, as one might say. So that was fun. :D

2. If you're a fan of shows like Midsomer Murders, Death in Paradise, Miss Fisher and so on, I thoroughly recommend watching Mrs Sidhu Investigates. It is delightful. It's on Acorn so you can watch it directly through there or through Amazon Video or wherever else Acorn has done their deals. And if you go and watch it, we might get some more of Mrs Sidhu.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #my dingle is dangling #mrs sidhu Investigates #good old cosy british murder mystery #with an indian twist

[usethespoon]

Lee

Note: some things are my interpretations only.

FULL NAME: Lee (no known middle or surname) 

GENDER & SEXUALITY:  Male. Homosexual. 

ETHNICITY & SPECIES: White British. Human. 

BIRTHPLACE & BIRTHDATE: (?), England. No known age.

GUILTY PLEASURES: Having a sit down with tea and biscuits (whenever he drops by unexpected at whoever’s home that day). He also enjoys the TV show, Midsomer Murders, way too much.

PHOBIAS: Not a phobia, exactly, but more of a fear. He fears reaching an old age. He doesn’t want to have a cosy future, retired, and spending his remaining days comfortably. Rather, he would like to die early. His job as a hitman for The Network isn’t mandatory, but as a casual hobby; he does it for the exhilaration and something to do. That’s not to say that he wants to die, but he really wouldn’t fear being killed; he welcomes it, in fact. He only hopes that his death is interesting, at least.

WHAT THEY WOULD BE INFAMOUS FOR: The spoon in his hand. For such a small implement, it’s well-known by those who were on the receiving end of his torture. That, and his happy chappy attitude. Serving murder up with a too-kind smile and unnerving reassurance.

WHAT HAVE THEY/WOULD THEY HAVE GOTTEN ARRESTED FOR: If he was caught: everything. Mostly murder, though. But it would take some serious miracle to uncover Lee’s involvement with anything The Network has done. Any file they have on him would definitely disappear.

CHARACTER YOU SHIP THEM WITH: Anyone who could handle being with him, honestly. Example; ‘He incriminated my neighbour for murder, but he left me flowers in return.’

CHARACTER MOST LIKELY TO MURDER THEM: [Laughter track]

FAVORITE BOOK GENRE: He likes a good mystery novel, but he often settles for magazines. His favourite magazines are Chat and Take A Break for the gory stories and the ‘agony aunt’ sections.

LEAST FAVORITE BOOK CLICHÉ: Main character was a renowned expert. Bad experience forces them to retire to a cottage. Filler about their spouse being murdered years before. High ranking person/organisation comes along: “But we need your help!”. Main character: “But those days are over!”. Still does it. Saves the day. Big (’totally unexpected’) reveal/twist about their dead spouse thrown in somewhere. Lee finds this book cliché very repetitive and boring.

TALENTS OR POWERS: Leaving without a trace could be classed as a talent. The Network can cause an individual’s life to suddenly fall apart, or pile up criminal charges on that individual’s record that weren’t there before. This is what Lee does; he leaves behind incriminating evidence against an individual, whether they wronged The Network or not, and nothing is tied back to him or the organisation. He’s extremely good at his job, frighteningly so. Other talents, to him, would be torture; it comes second nature to him, and since his partial paralysis, this has only grown stronger. He adapted quickly, and for somebody to still be able to torture an individual with only one working arm, it’s definitely a talent.

WHY SOMEONE MIGHT LOVE THEM: If somebody was to love him, it would be for his ability to keep the conversation going – and it would never get boring. Maybe if another killer loved him, they would enjoy the numerous stories he has about his job as a hitman; he has plenty to tell over the years, that’s for sure. Additionally, his spontaneous attitude would definitely be a lovable attribute, because a day would never be boring with Lee. Even hitmen go home at the end of the day, and he often spends it watching Midsomer Murders (or other crime shows), so they would love his ‘tamer’ side; movie nights and staying up past midnight to binge watch some awful 80s shows.

WHY SOMEONE MIGHT HATE THEM: Oh boy. He’s very manipulative through kindness, so an individual wouldn’t realise his plan until it was too late. The false way in which he gives security to an individual is unsettling. Not to mention his bluntness, which is very unnerving and confusing at the same time. Usually ‘villains’ can be cryptic in their plans (building up until the big reveal), but Lee would straight-up tell the individual that he’s going to kill them, and how he’s going to do so in vivid detail – but he wouldn’t tell them when, so they’re constantly on edge. Lee also has the habit of dropping by unexpectedly and talking to the person as though they’d been friends for years, which can get extremely annoying for those involved (but Lee doesn’t care. Lee’s got things to do, people to see, and days to ruin).

He’s also very sarcastic and entertains himself by provoking an individual; Wilson Wilson was his favourite person to get a reaction out of. Similarly in provoking, his music taste is…questionable. For having such a dangerous reputation, his partners get a surprise when Lady Gaga or P!nk fills the car. Lee can be very judgemental, as well. He will question an individual’s life choices, or say just the right things to have them doubt their own decisions (Example: ’I wouldn’t do that, matey’, followed by silence and no explanation.)

HOW THEY CHANGE: Lee doesn’t let events shape him, but his partial paralysis was the only time where he fully changed his attitude. He retained his behaviour as before (sarcastic, happy chappy hitman), but he also lost his ability to follow; he may work for The Network, but he no longer worries about disappointing them. With every change, Lee becomes less flexible and more stiff, adding even more weight to his unpredictable behaviour. He’s gotten to the point where caring isn’t apart of his vocabulary, which is a very dangerous state to be in.

WHY YOU LOVE THEM: He’s a complete and utter nutter, and I was drawn in from the very opening scene of the series with him and Arby. As the series progresses, you see more of how unpredictable and completely mad Lee is – but in a totally lovable way. The fact that I like his cheeky attitude, despite the murders and torture scenes, is evidence of how terrifying Lee actually is. I didn’t know what he was going to do next, but at the same time, I was excited to see more. It was the first time that a series, as a whole, kept me engrossed and it was entirely down to how well-written the characters were.

#a nightmare dressed in yellow ( personal ) #speak up matey ( prompts )

[hacash]

celticaurora said: OH HO HO MORE PERIOD DRAMAS ABOUT THE ANARCHY??? Truly an underrated time period, how have I not heard of Cadfael before????

Did someone say my favourite medieval detective show ever? (yes, me) Well if you’re looking to watch a show that combined murder mystery, medieval history, nuanced portrayals of organised religion and gentle herbology then put on your slippers and get comfy, pal, because you are in for a smooth ride.

Cadfael is one of those cosy british murder mysteries like Poirot and Midsomer Murders that you used to watch with your gran on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Unlike most murder mysteries, however, it’s set in the middle ages - which makes it even better, because what’s a good mystery without a few swords to brighten things up?

it’s the 12th century, and England is in the middle of the Anarchy, our first proper civil war centuries before Cromwell made it cool (yes, I am salty that it’s never recognised as such by historians). The Empress Maude and King Stephen are fighting for the crown, the country is in turmoil, and with so much bloodshed, who has the time or the inclination to investigate unlawful murders in these dark and dangerous times? Our boy Cadfael, that’s who. Cadfael is a former soldier and crusader who’s since settled down and become a monk-slash-pharmacist in Shrewsbury Abbey. His general know-how and tendency to care about teensy little things like cold-blooded murder mean he’s often off solving unexplained deaths and dangerous political scrapes that the abbey finds itself drawn into.

Be warned, the show was put together in the mid-nineties, and you can definitely tell, with such classics as Patented Plastic Swords, Wounds With No Bloodshed, and Knitted Chainmail. Fortunately there’s not much you can do to screw up a monk’s cowl and habit.

The show is based on a series of books by Ellis Peters (real name Edith Pargeter), and they are just as good, if not better, as the show. Would highly recommend.

Reasons for watching:

The Anarchy. A truly underappreciated period in British history (because it was interesting, not because it was particularly fun); Cadfael proves a neat introduction if you’re looking to get a bit more into that wacky time when we had a war for nineteen years all because Henry I never had a legitimate son. While it shows some clever insight into the various politics and events that took place (even though I’ll never get over the show’s painfully inaccurate portrayal of Stephen) it’s particularly good at portraying what life was like for ordinary people who had no real interest in whether Stephen or Maude ruled, but found themselves swept up in the conflict.

Murder Mystery Bros

Before Sherlock and Watson made it cool, England had Brother Cadfael and Undersheriff Hugh Beringar. Crime-fighting duos are always fun, but the broship between Kindly Badass Cadfael and Death-before-Dishonour Beringar is really lovely to watch. (with the slight proviso that Beringar’s appearance changes...more than once.)

One-Dimensional Religious Characters? Never Met Them

One thing I love about this series is because it’s set in an abbey, it covers all the different spectrums of how you could be a Christian in 12th century England and basically goes ‘the Church was an institution made up of humans and like all other such institutions was capable of great grace and kindness, and unbelievable dickbaggery’. Where else would you get such a span of characters ranging from:

Cadfael, who’s basically that one bloke that atheists on tumblr will say ‘oh, I don’t like organised religion but that one Christian dude’s pretty cool, why aren’t the rest of you like that: kind, cares about the down-trodden, deeply pious but also pretty worldly-wise. Brother Oswin: lovely and earnest in his faith but also essentially useless when it comes to doing anything practical. Abbot Heribert: nice cuddly grandpa abbot who’s very lovely but doesn’t do all that much. Abbot Radulphus: firm but fair Reasonable Authority Figure (tm). Prior Robert: pompous stuck-up git who exhibits all of the authoritarian tendencies of the medieval church without actually being downright evil. Brother Jerome: equally fundamentalist tattling little sod who’s nonetheless so pathetic that you occasionally pity him, if only because it can’t be fun being that unlikable.

The one problem with this is that there are no female regular characters, monasteries being famously non-female-centric. Plenty of awesome female guest characters though.

(Also, the conflicts between Cadfael and his more conservative colleagues? Not Politically Correct History, this was actually a thing! Neo-Aristotelian thought was a way of thinking that arose in the Middle East (Cadfael was a crusader) that relied on logic and reasoning, as opposed to the blind acceptance of authority demanded by orthodox Augustinianism; and this became a big intellectual Thing amongst academics during Western Europe at this time. Not only did Ellis Peters write a historically accurate character we can relate to, it’s a humongous fuck you to anyone who thinks medieval Europe was full of cavemen still working out how to make fire.)

Cadfael Himself

Sir Derek Jacobi playing a lovely old soldier-turned-monk whose main cares are promoting peace over bloodshed and seeking justice for the underdog (as well as usually setting up the Couple of the Week amidst his sleuthing, because of course). With plenty of snark. What’s not to love?

-

Also if you’re interested in reading about the Anarchy, may I humbly suggest Sharon Penman’s When Christ and His Saints Slept? Penman’s storytelling isn’t always the best – it’s sometimes less historical fiction and more dramatic retelling of the facts with some additional characters popped in  - but it’s pretty good fun and fully introduced me to the sheer chaotic madness of the Anarchy. (Also for those of us who’ve been burned by medieval authors’ inability to write a well-founded female character to save their life, her stories always seem to stray clear of the typical pitfalls; eg gross sexual assault/this woman really likes sex so she’s obvs a harlot/this woman dislikes sex so she’s obvs a prude/i am a Strong Female Woman and anything Feminine is Beneath Me, which is a definite plus.)

#cadfael #medieval stuff #celticaurora #chat

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from anon. I’ve been writing so much fluff lately, I hope you enjoy!

Words: 2029 Warnings: injury, fluff

Autumn truly was the most beautiful time of the year, your small cabin deep in the woods the best investment you had ever made. Every year, at this time, you came here to recharge and take a break from the exhausting and busy city life; living surrounded by red, yellow, orange and brown leaves both on the trees and on the ground made this the perfect and most breath-taking opportunity to do so, even if it was only for the weekends.

The day had started off quietly. An amazing breakfast, a cup of coffee and a good book. It was tranquil, idyllic… the land around you beautiful and peaceful—that was until you suddenly spotted a body lying on the ground not too far from your cabin. You gasped, an ice cold shiver running down your spine as you hurried to put on your jacket and then stormed outside in midst of the forest.

It was a he. A handsome, outrageously good looking he. Sharp cheekbones, a beautiful face… a thin but well-trained body… biting your lower lip, you touched him gently. Still warm. And there was a pulse. You breathed out relieved. He was alive then.

So why was he unconscious? Your eyes scanned his heavenly body, searching for any injuries. Once more you gasped. His dark blue shirt was drenched in blood. You had to help him. You knew what injuries like these could cause in the woods. He could be dead before dusk—if he didn’t bleed out, surely a wolf or another wild animal would claim him.

Taking another deep breath to gather your strength, you bent down to grab his upper arms and pull him inside.

He was heavy. Heavy enough your back hurt when you had finally managed to lift him on your sofa.

Carefully, you lifted up his shirt, your mouth watering despite all the blood. God, he truly was hot. You could see his abs heaving with every ragged breath he took.

But now you had to work quickly—and you were beyond grateful for that first aid crash course you had enrolled for a year ago. You knew what to do.

Fortunately, the wound wasn’t too deep, no stitches necessary. Thank God he was unconscious when you dipped some gauze into disinfecting alcohol solution from your first aid kit and began to treat him with a sigh.

-

James Conrad woke with a start, stinging pain rippling through his abdomen when he tried to sit up. The last thing he remembered was the bear that had caught him off guard. He had known how to react correctly but in surprise, he slipped on the moist leaves.

A sharp rock must have bored itself into his flesh, the blood loss and his head hitting the ground knocking him out.

He was lucky to still be alive. Where the hell was he, anyway?

The cosy room he was in was not a hospital, it much reminded him of a cabin instead. A fire was crackling in the background, a blanket draped over his form.

He turned his head when he heard silent footsteps on the carpet, laying his eyes upon a beautiful young woman. His rescuer, most likely.

“Hey… I found you in the woods, bleeding to death.” You explained shyly, smiling down at him in the process. It was an old tick, really—being all timid around men you found handsome and attractive.

The stranger in front of you swallowed. Once again, he attempted to sit up, this time succeeding after a pitiful grunt of pain.

“Where am I?” His voice was low, velvety and pleasant to the ear. A shiver ran down your spine.

“In my cabin, not far from where you passed out. I always come here on the weekends in autumn.”

“I presume you were the one who patched me up?”

You nodded, your gaze becoming thoughtful. “What happened to you?”

“I’m a tracker,” he growled, his face distorting upon another wave of pain. Quickly, you handed him the painkillers you had been sure he’d need. He took them and swallowed them without hesitation. “Two weeks ago, a thirteen year old girl disappeared in these woods while taking her dog for a walk. The police couldn’t find her and her parents are devastated.”

“Oh… I see… how did you get hurt?”

“A bear surprised me and I slipped. Simply an unlucky fall.”

You frowned. You knew there were bears in this region, of course. They usually didn’t mind the few humans passing by though. “Did the bear attack you?”

The stranger shook his head. “I’ve dealt with worse…”

Instantly, his thoughts appeared to drift away, somewhere you were unable to follow him.

“A-anyway, I’m (Y/N). You… feel free to stay for as long as you need to heal.”

“James Conrad, decommissioned British SAS officer.” He held out his hand and when you took it to shake it politely, his skin touching yours felt like your whole hand igniting. Your heart skipped a beat, even more so when his piercing blue eyes locked with yours and studied you for an intense moment. “Thank you for the offer but I’m not staying. I need to find that girl.”

“In this condition? You’ll get yourself killed! Not to mention the animals that will smell the blood on you.”

Conrad paused. You were right. It was indeed risky to return to the woods with his injury. But the girl’s safety was at risk too. He did not dare think she might be dead already. He had lost one innocent soul once and he would not let it happen again. He had to leave—and you could see the determination sparkling in his eyes.

“At least stay the night and recover. It’ll be dark soon.”

-

James, much to your surprise, obeyed. After the sun had disappeared, he took the freedom of helping you prepare supper despite his wound. The painkillers had worked wonders, yet you chided him for not staying on the sofa to rest.

You could tell, clearly, that he had indeed been through much worse. Surely, this marked man had uncountable stories to tell. So you didn’t object.

“Why do you spend your weekends in a cabin in the woods all on your own?” He asked all the while chopping vegetables on the counter next to you.

“Work life is busy. I’m a junior sales executive, the job gets rather exhausting after a while. I love what I’m doing, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I need to… just breathe a little.”

Ever since he had told you about the girl who had gone missing, you were a little worried though. What if some cold-blooded murderers roamed these woods, in search of their next victim? What if they had abducted her and now kept her as some kind of sex slave underground?

All of a sudden, you were glad for James’s presence—you would be for as long as it lasted. Who knew? Perhaps in a few weeks’ time, you could meet again for a cup of coffee. Without one party having been severely injured and on the brink of death.

“James, uh… do you have any idea why this girl disappeared? Are there any theories?”

“You’re concerned.” He stated unfazed, without looking up from the chopped vegetables. Apparently, he was excellent at reading people too.

“A little… these woods… they’ve always been safe, you know. In fact, I’ve always felt much safer and more secure here than in the city.”

“That’s reasonable. Here, let me.” James stopped you when you attempted to lift the griddle off the fridge as you were too small to reach it yourself. Usually, you’d get a chair and climb on it.

“Thank you.” Watching his muscles flex for just a brief precious moment, you distracted yourself by pouring the potatoes you had cut into slices onto it and then seasoned them with some salt, pepper and rosemary. Along with the rice and the vegetables James had cut, this supper would be simple but amazing. You didn’t bring too much food with you on the weekends, after all.

“The police are groping in the dark. For all they know, Lucy was attacked by one of the bears or she, like myself, slipped somewhere, hit her head…” And in that case, she’s unlikely still alive, he added mutely. “Still, you can’t rule out the possibility she was indeed kidnapped. Her parents told me she took her dog for a walk at the same time of the day all week long, taking the same route. That would make her an easy target.”

You swallowed. “I see…”

“How long are you staying?” His expression was genuine. He cared.

“I’m leaving on Sunday evening but I’ll come back next weekend. It’ll be the last before it’s too cold anyway. The chimney is fine to heat the cabin with but it takes quite a while to get out here by foot.”

Though as of right now, you were unsure whether you should.

-

James and you chatted throughout the entire evening. You got to know him better, his motives, his thoughts, his morals. He had indeed seen terrible things, done terrible things, too. And he had been involved in the expedition to Skull Island, that uncharted piece of land still a mystery to the rest of the world. He would not utter a single word about it.

With every word he did speak though, you began falling for him a little more. How likely would that be? That you’d find an injured man all alone in the forest, treated his wounds and then took a serious liking into him?

“I haven’t properly thanked you yet.” He began when you returned from the bathroom wearing your sleep wear. The coffee this morning wasn’t nearly enough, all the excitement of potentially having saved a life today tearing on your energy. You were tired.

A smile spread on your lips, your heart speeding up. “You’re welcome, James. I was planning on watching a movie before bed. Would you like to join me?” Your TV truly was the only luxury in this cabin. Acquiring the electricity for it had been tricky but you were proud of the outcome.

“What kind of movie?”

“Well… Halloween is coming up. How about something spooky?” And the background noises of the TV would make you fall asleep easier. You didn’t tell him that, of course.

If anything, James Conrad was restrained, surrounded by a hard, impenetrable shell. He was warming up to you, slowly but surely and with that, melted your own timidity.

You picked a movie from the stash you had brought on your first weekend, with James disappearing in the kitchen to prepare some tea for you two. It was a simple gesture, one he could not help. It had been a while since the last time he was with a woman—a woman he was undoubtedly interested in.

It was so simple, so raw. You, wearing an oversized shirt and fluffy socks, your hair in a bun and wearing no make-up. So natural and somehow… vulnerable—and that, compared with the fact you had saved his life today—made you seem so incredibly strong and independent he felt his heart beating faster upon laying his eyes on you.

Carefully, so he wouldn’t trigger any pain, he sat down, putting the steaming mugs on the coffee table.

It didn’t take you long to get sleepy as soon as you hit play, once again grateful to fate for having brought a mysterious and handsome man to your doorstep. Before you knew it, your head dropped onto his shoulder and you drifted off into dreamland.

James smiled to himself. It was a strange and unusual way to meet a woman—but certainly, he was not going to complain. It would be irresponsible of him not to make sure you were safe and sound when you came back here next weekend.

He’d pay you a visit, hoping that by that time, he’d already have found the girl and could relax, preferably, with you in his arms. But for now, he pressed a tender kiss on your head before carrying you to bed.

-

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#james conrad #james conrad imagine #james conrad x you #james conrad x reader #captain james conrad #captain james conrad imagine #captain james conrad x you #captain james conrad x reader #captain james conrad fluff #james conrad fluff #kong skull island #kong skull island imagine #tom hiddleston

[halogensleep]

pour your gasoline one me (let’s torch the whole world down) Ch. 5

Inside an old dilapidated chicken coop down near the water, where the wind raced under the door and rattled the flame inside the lantern, where the upheaval of moss pushed up against the stone bricks and made for a damp, unpleasant smell, the two contract killers wrestled with their sleeping bags—wrestled with each other for the prime real estate where the roof above was mainly intact, mainly—and said nothing of importance in the process.

In Charlotte’s mind, it was the calm before the storm. It was the quiet that precipitated confessions that could never be taken back. When she settled in a position that wasn’t completely uncomfortable, shuffling and boring herself into the warmth of the sleeping bag, her eyes cracked open in surprise barely a moment later, she looked down and stared at the slender arm that had slung itself over her waist, over fidgeting muscles that instantly stilled beneath the calloused fingertips. The confessions were on the brink of themselves already.

“...And Laszlo?” Becky yawned and cosied closer.

“Convinced you’re dead. We all were… for a little while. I’m not in a rush to call him with the good news, I like the idea of a mini-vacation.” It was said with a disinterested tone, as if the conviction of the troublemaker’s death hadn’t kept Charlotte awake at night for months on end. “So...” She cleared her throat. “Manila?”

“Manila.” Becky let out a long pleased sigh, as if it were the vacation of a lifetime. “You missed a treat.”

“Cables up your ass?” Charlotte clarified, her hand slipping into the warmth of Becky’s palm around her waist.

“Sometimes they gave me second servings, but only when I asked nicely.” The cheeky one grew cheekier.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, and I’m sorry that I nearly killed you for real. I, well.” Charlotte scratched her head. “I should have probably started there.”

“You’re not sorry.” Becky snorted.

“You’re right,” Charlotte sighed and tried to compound her existential revelations into words that would make sense. “I wish that I was sorry, I want to be sorry, and maybe that’s sorry enough? What do you think?”

Becky hmm’d for a moment and thought about it, her nose digging through long blonde hair until it was nuzzling the back of her hairline. “I’ll take it, call it a tentative ceasefire if you like?” Charlotte was given a few reassuring pats to her belly.

Charlotte paused for a moment and tried to enjoy whatever this was. Though she didn’t, and she couldn’t. The wind was creeping under the door and rattling her bones; the arm around her waist presented one more obstacle on top of the cosy sleeping bag for the hunting knife that was strapped to her thigh; the unpleasant smell of mildew did nothing but remind her that she could easily be somewhere… without the smell of mildew. But, she had questions and the woman who held the answers nuzzled a bit closer against her spine for warmth.

“You have a daughter,” Charlotte acknowledged, dumbly.

“Your name is Patricia.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What? I thought we were recapping?”

“Why didn’t you have an abortion?” Charlotte blurted and didn’t care for feelings or proper etiquette. The body against her own didn’t so much as flinch, not that it would put the confused woman off for a moment even if it did. “You made a decision. You made an active decision to bear a child and I’m just… trying to piece together how that happened?”

“You know, some mysteries are worth keeping—”

“Don’t fucking quote me to me, it’s not cute.” Charlotte grew frustrated and fidgety.

“Well alright.” The back of Charlotte’s neck was warmed with a long, deep sigh. “When I put my uncles away — my grandad’s provo mates, I mean — they were well aware I was a Garda. I was disowned in the beginning… I needed a way back into the fold.” Becky paused, but the interim of her silence wasn’t filled with the weight of guilt or remorse, instead it was prideful and self-congratulatory, almost. “I had to prove that I had only joined the Garda for a bit of reconnaissance and that my heart was still with the cause. Uncle Jack’s boy was a year older than me, nice lad really, dopey, made for an easy target, and so before I shot him half-a-mile from a British army barracks I made sure he got me pregnant. Poor Rebecca Kelly, lost her old man to the troubles and now the father of her wee bastard child.” She chuckled to herself. “It took a while, but they never doubted I was with them right until the handcuffs went on. By then it was too late for an abortion, I had Aoife no more than two weeks after that.”

“Thank god,” Charlotte sighed a breath of relief. “I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation.”

“She’s a little cracker though, isn’t she?” Becky sounded full of pride. “Part of me hoped maybe I would hold her and feel something, but she cried and all I wanted was to put her down and move on to the next thing.”

“Put her down… as in…?”

“As in down in her basin! Not in a shallow grave, you fucking psychopath.”

“So you felt nothing?” Charlotte furrowed her brow.

“Not really, no, nothing beyond the primal.” Becky didn’t skip a beat. “I come now and then to see her, she makes me laugh and I tell her as much but I think maybe I’m fond of her because she’s my little trophy. I look at her and I remember the way my uncles cried when the gavel came down in the courtroom. It’s a lovely feeling.” Charlotte felt the troublemaker’s lips curl into a smile on the back of her neck. “Also she calls me Mammy no matter how many times I tell her to call me by my name, but I like it now, it feels homely. I think I make a lovely mammy.”

“I think your daughter would agree.”

“Well, she’s carved out of my arse.” Becky shrugged in the dark. “If we’re being honest…” She stopped abruptly. “Actually forget it, go to sleep.”

“Don’t make me stab you again.” Charlotte hated how much she needed to hear all of the half-considered musings that crossed her troublemaker’s mind, and she was beyond seeking a reason for it.

A moment passed, filled with contemplation and how exactly to put it in the right words, Charlotte could already tell. After another moment, the Irishwoman hmph’d and snuggled deeper, as if Charlotte were a teddy bear to take her troubles out on.

“When I was dying, well, the most recent occasion, I mean…” Charlotte felt Becky’s eyebrows do the thing against the back of her neck. “There was no one else in the world that I wanted to see just one last time… I would have gave just about anything to sit through one of her stupid class assemblies that she’s always begging on and on for me to go to, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I do not fancy doing that on any ordinary day when I am not dying.”

“I don’t think that qualifies you for any mother of the year awards, Becks.”

…

The morning mist was quiet and thick over the rolling green lands. The trees were unsymmetrical and disordered, packed thickly in some parts, sparse and thin in other areas, but they rose up from the fog proudly to welcome the new day and obscured them from the singular cottage some acres away in the distance in the process. The swell of fresh water pushed up against the ground and made for a cold bath, though Charlotte would rather smell than deal with the ungodly chill this early in the morning. She sat by the burning twigs and logs, crackling and popping, just about cooking their breakfast in the pot above, while the troublemaker bobbed and cleaned her bruised skin in the crisp water.

From her spot in the water, Becky lowered herself deeper and stared with her brown eyes peeking just over the surface, like a crocodile, or maybe an alligator, just something predatory that had the incurioused woman stirring the porridge in its sights. With a small smile, Charlotte ladled spoonfuls into her canteen and glugged a mouthful of hot tea. Let that damn troublemaker try, she thought to herself and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

By her own estimations, she was two murder attempts up on Becky and she knew, handily, that it could become three. In Charlotte’s mind, there was something relieving about that, the fact that she could still kill Becky if she had to, that she could cope with her death so long as it was her and her alone who was the cause of it, she hadn’t lost that much of herself.

“Are you going to come and eat?” Charlotte called out between a mouthful of porridge. “It’s warm, won’t be for long.”

“Didn’t put you down as the camping type, but you’re quite handy, I’ll give you that much.” Becky pushed up on her feet in the shallows and trudged towards her towel and clothes, smirking and impressed.

When Becky stopped, when she craned over and lifted the towel off the sparse grass, every bruise and mark became all the more violent in contrast against the blue tinge of her cool damp skin. The Queen exhaled through her nose and quickly made an audit of the injuries. A pinkened raised scar from a stab wound, a dozen fading lash marks, at least ten miscellaneous bruises that could have been anything from punches to having a chair wrapped around her, and two busted ribs later, Charlotte was certain that her little idiot had been through quite the trouble on her way back home.

“I really did put you down as the prissy type,” Becky said, nodding to the handiwork of a meagre fire and hot breakfast as she dried herself off, impressed and only growing all the more impressed if the measure of her smirk was anything to go by.

“I’m ex-army, you think I don’t know how to start a fire or survive off MRE rations?” Charlotte screwed a look. “Don’t get it twisted, I’m the top out of the two of us.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, is that so?” Becky’s brown eyes glimmered mischievously. “Big daddy about town, are we?”

“Be careful.” Charlotte glugged a sip of hot tea and crossed her feet. “I might have to go looking for a pair of jump start cables.”

“God, I wish you would.”

“I’m not sure you could take much more.” Charlotte nodded to the littered bruises that were being patted dry with the towel, unsure of what it was exactly she was feeling. “I could… I could go and get you some medicine… if you need it?” She instantly regretted offering.

“I’m the top out of the two of us,” Becky mimicked nasally and span around, her face screwing up into an expression of sheer mockery. “Look at me, I’m Charlotte, stabby-stabby, shooty-shooty, I’m the top, oh, Becky! Can I get you some medicine? My poor little sweet baby—”

“Fine.” Charlotte folded her arms angrily. “Suffer.”

They sat around the fire well into the afternoon, and there was an occasional awkward kiss, but only once in a while. For the most part, Becky curled up and napped by the warmth, and Charlotte was more than happy to sit and work through her surprise that the troublemaker was so brazen with her newly founded trust. She almost wanted to stab her again just for the sake of keeping her on her toes, although she was long past trying to believe that she wanted to.

A twig cracked in the distance.

Tired and yawning, Becky dozed and rubbed her eyes, smiling and aware of the little beast that haunted these lands. It was that sight that made the blonde smile too, smile despite her confusion, smile despite her long-standing inability to smile at ordinary things, but smile they both did, for entirely different reasons.

“You will have to do better than that!” Becky yelled out to the tiny stalker with a growing grin.

When the little one came into view, dirt smeared across her face and school dress, split lip bleeding, both of their smiles immediately faltered. Aoife was red in the cheeks but she hadn’t been crying, her lips were tight against one another, fidgeting, infuriated, her small eyes darting between her mother and her scuffed school shoes.

Becky sat upright and stiff.

“Did you win?” Becky asked, surveying the cuts on her daughter’s tiny knuckles. There was a deep anticipatory furrow of her brow, as if only the right answer would soothe and suffice.

Aoife didn’t reply for a moment, just merely shook her head. “Her and her friends are two years above me… they pick on me because of the terrible awful that you did before you left.” It wasn’t said with accusation, or with a tempestuous whirlwind of blame, instead it was uttered with resolution, as if Aoife didn’t mind but was merely stating the facts of the case.

“Right.” Becky nodded and pushed herself up, staring furiously at her daughter. “Let’s go.”

“Mammy—”

“I will not hear of it.” She raised her finger authoritatively. “Do you have the key for Granny’s house on you?”

“Granny got a special safe for the guns after she caught me playing, Mammy—”

“That wasn’t why I was asking.” Becky shook her head and blinked. “Come on, we’re going. Do you know where they are? Where they might be?” She dragged the little girl by under her arm.

“Uh, Becky?” Charlotte felt like she should mention the obvious considering they were supposed to be keeping a low profile.

“Oh don’t you start too!” Becky already began to set off toward the direction of civilisation with the tiny troublemaker sulking in close proximity.

“You’re not wearing any pants!” Becky stopped and looked down at her bruised skinny legs, realising suddenly.

“Aye, right you are.” Becky turned back and grabbed her jeans from beside the fire. “Didn’t think to mention I wasn’t decent, Aoife? I see Rebecca has finally gone mad, that’s what they would all be saying! There she is without her trousers on dragging her wain down the path! I hope you know this comes back on me?” She parroted her favourite line with a serious stare as she wrestled her legs into her pants.

Charlotte went with them and wasn’t exactly sure why, it wasn’t because she felt like she had to, or even because she really wanted to, maybe just because the thought of Becky breaking the vow and murdering three girls under the age of eleven presented an opportunity to study her a bit further. And there it was again, Charlotte realised suddenly as they all clambered over the slick stone wall that made for slippery footing, what does a psychopath care about if not herself? Charlotte hoped to make a few more discoveries.

“Did you lamp them back?” Charlotte watched the mother and daughter duo become precisely that, a fiercely protective mother and a little girl who needed her mammy to fix all of this. Becky grew all the more infuriated by her daughter’s inaudible mumbling. “Did you hear me, Aoife? I asked you if you threw punches back!” Becky’s voice grew a few hairs, her hand shooting out to bring Aoife to a stand-still.

“How else d’ya think I got these cuts on me knuckles, Mammy?” Aoife thrusted her hand up to her mother’s face for closer inspection. “I went for the big one just like you told me too but she ducked and I landed my knuckles on the dining room wall, that’s when they all piled on top of me.”

Becky sighed and nodded a bit. “We’ll straighten it out,” she said, decisively.

Down the path a half mile or so, they came to a small community center with a mural of long dead men painted on the side. Charlotte studied it a bit as they walked around the back, there were eight faces painted on the mural with a tricolour flag in the background. The little one caught Charlotte staring at the image, her smile widening a little as if it were a perfect teaching moment.

“That’s one’s me da, and that’s me great-granda there in the middle.” Aoife pointed and tugged on Becky’s arm to bring her to a brief halt. “And I don’t know what the writing is supposed to mean underneath but it looks the business, big girl.” Aoife smirked at the blonde.

Becky’s eyes grew wide, her stare focusing intently on the child, full of disappointment, unable to comprehend what had just came out of her little mouth. She turned and scanned the gaelic words that had been painted beneath the mural, then looked back to Aoife.

“You mean to say—” Becky shifted and rubbed the back of her neck, blinking and quiet for a moment. “You can’t read or write in Gaeilge? You can’t understand what that says? Your great-grandfather and uncles would be rolling in their graves! Well, if they were dead too.” Becky pinched the bridge of her nose, as if it were still on her list of things to get round to.

“Nobody speaks Gaeilge anymore, Mammy.” Aoife rolled her eyes.

“Ná bí ag iarraidh cluain an chacamais a chur orm!” Becky snapped, and the little cheeky one just stared back dumbfounded, not sure what her mother was saying but fairly certain it wasn’t a compliment.

“Woah!” Charlotte lifted her hands and the laughter roared out of her. “Wait, wait, wait—” The laughter became consuming. “What the fuck was that? You mean… you mean to tell me this entire time you didn’t think to mention you can talk like you’re a Dothraki from Game of Thrones?” The surprise was astounding and amusing, simultaneously.

“Our revenge will be the laughter of our children.” Becky pointed out the words below the mural for the little troublemaker. “And, as for you.” Her precarious stare found the giggler. “It’s a language recognised by the United Nations, and yes, I speak it.” She glared.

Aoife shrugged and kept walking. “Still don’t know what that means, Mammy.”

“Shame of my life.” Becky rolled her eyes and followed. “Aye, there goes Rebecca’s daughter, the one who can’t speak her own tongue, I hope you know this comes back on me!” she mimicked what these supposed people that Charlotte kept hearing so much about would apparently say every time Aoife passed them in the street.

Charlotte caught up to Becky, hiding her exuberant grin, almost, but not quite. It wasn’t the information she thought she would learn but apparently there was more to Becky than she imagined, an entire language, a whole linguistic pattern of memories and experiences that she didn’t know of but wanted to, desperately. It was another piece of the puzzle, another chunk of her existence that needed to be ordered and comprehended.

“Shut up.” Becky didn’t even wait for anything to be said.

“Sure thing, Khaleesi.” Charlotte knitted her brows, amused.

A few minutes of walking took them to the gates of a catholic church at the bottom of the hill. It was a strange place for a group of pre-teen girls to spend their afternoons but Aoife was certain this was where they would be, and so Charlotte said nothing and trailed quietly at the back of the pack with her hands dug in her pockets. They walked around the church to the ancient cemetery behind the building where four girls sat giggling on a bench with cans of sugary drinks in hand a short distance away.

“Is that them?” Becky dropped her voice.

“Aye, should I hold your jacket while you shoot them, Mammy?” Aoife extended her hands expectantly, and the sight made Charlotte bite an amused smile and look away.

“Aoife, me and big girl—”

“Stop calling me big girl!” Charlotte instantly soured.

“Me and big girl are going to stand here,” Becky continued with a stern stare at the bruised little girl. “And we’re not going home until you’ve battered the living shite out of them.”

“But there’s four of them, Mammy,” Aoife trailed quietly and looked over to the girls who had long since stopped giggling and were staring right back at them. “I’m only seven and they’re nine and ten…”

“Go on, you better get cracking then.” Becky pushed her gently in the right direction.

Aoife swallowed and lifted her chin, and Charlotte could tell that all of this was just to make her mother proud, and on some level it was a sad realisation because the Queen knew that pride was an emotion that Becky reserved almost exclusively for herself. The girls got up from the bench and ran through the headstones towards Aoife which made her stop dead in her tracks, little legs shaking, her school bag rattling on her shoulder.

“Came back for more dijya, wee girl?” The bigger one laughed to herself as her friends gathered around like hyenas. “Are we supposed to be scared that you brought ya mammy with you?” She folded her arms, head cocked to the side.

“Yes!” Aoife snapped and nodded. “I brought big girl too and you should be scared because their ninjas and when I’m done with you they’re going to go and kill all of your mammies!” She shouted with utter conviction.

Charlotte was quick to clarify her position. “I’m not killing their parents, Becky, you got your daughter into this mess and I want no part of it,” she whispered to the pensive growler beside her.

“Just, give her a minute.” Becky didn’t take her eyes off of Aoife.

“Please, that girl has thirty pounds on her.” Charlotte nodded to the chubby ringleader with scuffed fists. “I know who my money is on…”

“Just, give her a minute!” Becky insisted.

The ringleader stepped forward with a grin on her reddened face, she wound a fist back so far that the two contract killers saw what was about to happen about ten seconds before Aoife caught wind of the situation. It was too late by the time she caught on, the punch hit her square between the eyes and levelled Aoife like a demolition. Charlotte won the bet, but she didn’t feel good about it.

Becky didn’t so much as flinch as the four girls reigned down kicks on her daughter.

“Becks, she’s taking a beating…” Charlotte felt like she should state the obvious point.

“Yep, and she’ll take a few more.” Becky was decisive and unconcerned.

When Aoife got herself up off the ground, nose bloodied, mud painted down the back of her dress, she refused to cry, still. Charlotte watched the little girl drag herself half way back to them as the bullies laughed and teased her, but Becky firmly crossed her arms and shook her head.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Mammy,” Aoife whispered in protest with downcast eyes.

“We’re not leaving until you make this right.” Becky pointed at the four bigger girls mocking the little troublemaker. “Go, hurry this up so we can head home.”

“Mammy…”

“Am I speaking in Gaeilge?”

Aoife slumped slightly and closed her eyes, well aware she would be made all the more bruised and sore before this came to an end. Charlotte watched her grit her teeth as she turned back around, determined, a little fire left in her belly. She wasn’t sure why Becky was so insistent, but she had her ideas, mainly her own pride, mainly her own need to produce a child stronger than any other for her own ego. Charlotte kept her thoughts to herself and watched on, intrigued.

“Is that all you’ve got, you fat slag?” Aoife roared, and the ringleader stopped laughing immediately.

“What did you just call me?” The ringleader clenched her fists again and grew redder with rage.

Aoife threw the first punch this time, although she missed completely, a moment later, the blows reigned down on her from the four girls but Aoife refused to buckle, she windmilled her fists and caught two of them in the mouth and sent them running off like cowards. The ringleader, the supposed fat slag if Charlotte had heard the insult correctly, grabbed Aoife by her ginger plait and cracked her between the eyes once again.

Aoife slumped to the dirt and clutched her face.

Charlotte leaned towards the other hitwoman. “What’s a slag?”

“Shh. Shh! Just, shh! You’re spoiling it.” Becky pinched her nose and watched intently.

When Aoife clambered back up to her wobbling feet, the ringleader grabbed her by the jaw and dragged her back over to the pair of them, shoving her on the floor at Becky’s feet. Charlotte watched Becky out of the corner of her eyes, waiting for it, waiting for the moment she would snap and start windmilling ten year olds. The ringleader was starting to get awfully big for her boots after all.

It didn’t come.

“Pick yourself up,” Becky instructed calmly at the tiny muddied creature at her feet.

Aoife whimpered and clutched her bruised cheek. “Mammy…”

“I said pick yourself up!” Becky snapped loudly.

Charlotte shifted uncomfortably and felt as though she should do something, but she didn’t, she stood there with hands dug in the back of her pockets and watched the little girl clamber up off her grazed knees. There was a small war of words between them, a whirlwind of protests, but Aoife lost the argument and was forced to go looking for more trouble with the two girls who had started to wander back over to the bench.

The Irishwoman stood there, wind whipping her long red hair, watching on with flared nostrils, refusing anything less than a decisive victory.

“Why are you doing this?” Charlotte asked, curiously.

“Because she is weak and life is tough.”

“Seriously?”

“What?” Becky screwed her face and peered at Charlotte. “You want me to go and fight her battles for her?” The Irishwoman maintained a level tone, as if she were holding in all the anger that wanted nothing more than to do precisely that.

“It’s not that I want you too it’s… oh shit—” Charlotte caught it out of the corner of her eye, the makeshift weapon, the cumbersome fistful of house keys inside the ringleader’s clenched hand as she span and cracked Aoife in the face with a shard of metal sticking out between her fingers. “Oh. Oh, that’s a hospital trip.” Charlotte nodded emphatically.

Becky grew tense like every muscle in her body was being compressed.

Aoife cried and ran hell to leather back to them, her knees wobbling beneath her, blood dribbling through the fingers pressed against the tiny puncture wound on her cheek. She cried so hard that she almost gagged on her own tears. Becky remained quiet, and even in pain, bleeding, trembling, humiliated beyond words, Aoife was still smart enough not to try for a hug, instead she just stood there and waited for the beratement.

“I asked you if you had Granny’s house key with you, did I not?” Becky crouched and kept a level, calm tone. “Did I, or did I not?”

Her daughter nodded slightly but was too ashamed to look up at her, and it carried over to Charlotte. She knew the things she was presently feeling were emotions she had little experience with, feelings that she didn’t want to become well acquainted with, but she felt them anyway, the want to protect the little troublemaker, the sadness that her own mother wouldn’t. She sighed and counted to three in her head, and by the end of it her feelings were put away.

“Why didn’t you think to use your house keys first?” Becky challenged and took her daughter’s chin between her thumb and finger, appraising the tiny, deep cut. “Just a scratch, you’ll live. I’m not angry with you, well, I am angry with you… but only because whenever I think you’re going to impress me you let me down!” She rolled her eyes and stood up on her feet. “Come on, I’ll take you home...”

“I thought you wanted me to fight fair, Mammy,” Aoife exhaled, shakily.

“Now what in God’s name would give you that idea?” Becky became angrier. “Life isn’t fair! Christ, Aoife! Fighting isn’t about being fair, fighting is about one thing and one thing only, winning—”

Aoife took off as quickly as she could, full of purpose, full of anger and spite and a need to prove something bigger. Charlotte watched her bend down and grab a heavy lump of rock too big for her grasp as she ran, so big that it weighed her down on one side as she sprinted toward the girls walking back to their bench, but sprint she did, lopsided, arm loaded.

“Here we go!” Becky roared and grew ten inches taller. “Go on, girl! There you go!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Charlotte snapped her stare to the side.

“That’s my girl!” Becky thumped the blonde’s bicep, her eyes wide with pride. “By god… that’s my girl…” She watched on, awestruck.

Aoife swung and bludgeoned the hyena so hard that the girl fell and didn’t get back up. The ringleader stopped in shock, like a dumb bull in a paddock, stood there with her forearms raising up defensively as Aoife swung the rock down with both hands and struck her as hard as she could, again and again.

“Stop!” She squealed and crumpled to the floor, arms covering her head, knees tucked up to her belly as the blows reigned down. “Please, I give! I give! I’m begging! Please stop!” The ringleader squealed like a pig.

“Beg harder!” Aoife swung the rock up over her head and brought it down as hard as she could.

Becky made slow work of walking over to her daughter. Charlotte watched her hesitate, hovering and holding herself back, allowing the littlest troublemaker to get a few more blows in before she called it a day. The Irishwoman bent down and plucked her daughter by the back of her collar. Charlotte smiled at the little girl’s handiwork, at the broken wrist that was unnaturally sticking out to the side, at the deep gash across the ringleader’s forehead, at the little hyena a few metres away who was only now just starting to drag herself back to her feet. A contract killer she might become, yet.

“I’m telling my mam!” The ringleader sobbed hysterically, clutching her broken wrist, her mouth gaping open with the hysterics of it all.

“Here, take her a minute.” Becky calmly handed her daughter over to Charlotte.

Becky grabbed the hyena with a busted eye and dragged her over, then she grabbed the ringleader and hauled her to her feet. At Charlotte’s hip, Aoife became excited, adrenaline rushing, thumping her little feet as if she was about to see her mother in action. Charlotte couldn’t help herself, she slung an arm over the little girl and they watched on together.

“You both know who I am, I take it?” Becky growled at them with a pointed expression.

Tearfully, both of the girls nodded.

“Good, that’s very good.” Becky smiled. “You’re going to go home and tell your mammies that you were playing on that there wall…” She pointed to the far distance where the cemetery wall rose up with a sheer drop on the other side where the road curved underneath. “You’ll tell them you slipped and had yourselves a wee accident and we’ll forget all about this, won’t we girls? Because if you don’t...” Becky gravely shook her head. “I’ll fucking kill the pair of you.”

“Okay, Becky,” Charlotte interjected. “We should probably get going—”

“Ay, let her finish, big girl, no need to rush.” Aoife patted Charlotte’s hip firmly.

…

“You were magic out there,” Becky whispered proudly, wary of Charlotte hearing such things, knowing how severely she would regret it. She held her daughter’s neck and pressed their foreheads together for a moment. When she pulled away, the cotton wool was dipped in the stinging liquid and pressed against Aoife’s cheek once again, but the little girl didn’t wince, she just smiled this mischievous, wolfish grin, and let her mother dab her cut.

“Granny is going to be mad,” Aoife reminded.

“Mmm, with you, maybe.” Becky shrugged and squeezed her shoulder. “Do you understand why I had to let you take a beating?”

“Not really.”

“Granny won’t be around forever. I won’t be around forever—”

“You’re barely around, Mammy.”

“I just want you to be tough now instead of learning the hard way, I want you to be prepared.” Becky ruffled her hair. “It’s not much, but I can give you that.”

“Wait…” Aoife blinked and grew hesitant. “Does this mean you’re leaving again, Mammy?”

Becky exhaled and looked away for a moment, filled with a kind of shame that was tentative with newness. She was going soft, it must be that, probably from all the near-death experiences. When she turned and found Aoife’s eyes again, they were furious this time, pearling, hateful, desperately trying not to be, but she just couldn’t hide her maddening fury.

Becky sighed. “I have better things to be doing, I make a lot of money these days—”

“I don’t care about money.” Aoife crossed her arms and nodded to the tin where her bank book was locked away. “I already have enough money for the both of us, maybe even big girl too, but only if she doesn’t take up too much room. You could stay, Mammy, I would look after you.”

“I’m not a good person, Aoife,” Becky tried to reason with the child.

“I don’t want you to be a good person.” Aoife didn’t skip a beat, her small brow furrowing deeply. “I just want you to be my mammy…”

“Granny is a better mammy.”

“Because she loves me and you can’t?”

“Something like that.” Becky scratched the back of her neck and wasn’t so certain about the facts anymore. “You’ll outgrow this place one day, you’ll outgrow me too, is é sin do díoltas.” She laughed at the thought.

“I’ve no clue what you’re talking on.”

“I said, that will be your revenge.” Becky pushed half a smile and patted the little girl’s shoulder. She paused for a moment, peering intently at her daughter. “Have I ever told you that you have your father’s mouth?” The realisation made her heart hurt a little bit.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Probably not, it was the thing that got him killed in the end.”

“Did you love my da?” Aoife tilted her head to one side and pouted her lips in such a way that it reminded the troublemaker of a man who had long since stopped trying to haunt her nightmares.

“Yes,” Becky admitted the truth and hated herself for it. “I think he might be the only person I’ve ever loved. He was stupid, no sense about him, but he knew what I was and he loved me anyway, you be sure to find yourself a boy who does the same, one day, when you’re older…” The door creaked open, and Becky clenched her eyes closed, immediately regretting the slither of honesty.

“Aoife it’s getting late, your grandmother will come looking for you if you don’t go home soon.” Charlotte reminded them of the time and said little else.

…

Inside an old dilapidated chicken coop down near the water, where the wind raced under the door and rattled the flame inside the lantern, where the upheaval of moss pushed up against the stone bricks and made for a damp, unpleasant smell, the two contract killers wrestled with their sleeping bags—wrestled with each other for the prime real estate where the roof above was mainly intact, mainly—and said nothing of importance in the process.

In Becky’s mind, it was the calm before the storm. It was the quiet that precipitated confessions that could never be taken back.

“So, you didn’t actually kill him?” Charlotte spoke up first, rolling on her side to slip an arm over the troublemaker’s hip. The quiet of the room was ominous as Becky looked up and could only make out the blue eyes peering at her, and then a faint smile form in Charlotte’s cheeks.

“I did.” Becky insisted, her fingers playing with soft, long blonde hair. “I could kill you too, if I wanted to, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”

“I know.” Charlotte reassured. “But posturing aside… how did he really die?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I never suggested that you did.”

“He was cheeky, smart, stupid, god he was so stupid, and yet so smart!” Becky unravelled slightly remembering it all, relieved to finally get it out of her system. “And the shoulders on him! By god, I’ve never seen a man with shoulders like that before, doubt I ever will again, what a ride!” She shook her head slightly.

“So you loved him?” Charlotte inhaled and held her breath for a moment, and it felt as if she were piecing a jigsaw together where the bits just didn’t fit. Becky felt long fingers slip up and trace her temple, and from where she was laying, the outline of Charlotte’s muscular shoulder was carved with moonlight.

It was a nice sight, reminded her of a time and place she once forgot.

“I loved how much he loved me,” Becky reasoned and chewed her jaw slightly. “I got confused for a little bit but I made it right in the end… I… I finished the thing I set out to do.”

“Let me guess, falling in love with him wasn’t part of the plan and when you both realised there was a baby involved you decided to run away?” Becky was beyond being irritated by the way Charlotte always had to be so damn right, although this did feel particularly show-offy. “Did you bail at the last minute?” Her voice was tempered and level, curious, still.

“You’re getting awfully personal.”

“You’re the person that I want to be personal with.”

“I liked him a damn sight more than I’ll ever come close to liking you.”

“Well there’s no need to be rude.” Charlotte wasn’t offended in the slightest, just amused.

“It’s funny.” Becky scoffed and thought about it for a moment, digging deeper inside the sleeping bag. “Running away… it was never my style, hunters don’t run away, they chase things, that’s what I thought at least, old clever bollocks. But when I shot him… when he laid there dying like an animal… he told me he forgave me and I’ve been running away ever since.”

“How many people do you think you’ve killed?”

“Two hundred and seventy-seven, seventy-nine if we’re including accidents. You?”

“Three hundred or so.” Charlotte apparently didn’t keep track. “How many do you think you would have killed if you had ran away with him that night?”

“Probably a lot less, but this life has been a lot more fun, so there’s that too.”

“Hmm, true.” Charlotte agreed with a smirk. “Maybe it’s not all bad, the heartbreaks, the ones we regret, maybe it all leads to something…”

“Where have your mistakes lead you to, Charlotte?” There was a long pause.

“You,” Charlotte whispered through the dark.

Becky smiled and leaned forward to kiss the prissy one, gobbling her bottom lip, nibbling her, kissing her until the moon hid behind a cloud of fog in embarrassment. Becky pulled away eventually, both of them settled back down and snuggled closer again, hands on waists, chest to chest, their foreheads against one another.

“This is only going to end in heartbreak, isn’t it?” Becky didn’t know how much more of it she could take before she lost the tiny bit of feeling she had left.

“May the better woman live long enough to suffer it.” Charlotte rolled over and nuzzled backwards into the troublemaker’s hips. “Goodnight, Becky.”

#lesbian assassins #charlynch #charlynch fanfiction #charlynch fic #charlotte flair #becky lynch #lesbian story #lesbian fic #lesbian love #wwe femslash

[susanandherbooks]

My thoughts on the first two books in the Miss Marple Series

Over the last few years, I’ve realised that I’ve narrowed what genres I typically read. As a child, my reading was incredibly eclectic but after Uni my focus has narrowed. Recently I’ve been sorting some books I have owned for years which made me want to pick up genres/authors I’ve enjoyed in the past (in particular I found quite a few Agatha Christie’s which I’d enjoyed reading in my preteens but I haven’t picked up a book by her since then).

This combined with the fact that lately I’ve been enjoying cosy mystery tv shows meant that I wanted to pick up something in that vein. I thought I’d start fresh with a new detective (when I was younger I think I only read Poirot) so I decided to give her Marple series a try. I was not expecting to enjoy the books as much as I did. 

The Murder at the Vicarage

Synopsis: Murder at the Vicarage marks the debut of Agatha Christie’s unflappable and much beloved female detective, Miss Jane Marple. With her gift for sniffing out the malevolent side of human nature, Miss Marple is led on her first case to a crime scene at the local vicarage. Colonel Protheroe, the magistrate whom everyone in town hates, has been shot through the head. No one heard the shot. There are no leads. Yet, everyone surrounding the vicarage seems to have a reason to want the Colonel dead. It is a race against the clock as Miss Marple sets out on the twisted trail of the mysterious killer without so much as a bit of help from the local police

I am not going to talk about the actual mystery because I really don’t want to spoil the whodunit nature of the story but I will talk about the experience of reading this in particular as an introduction to Marple as a character.

This synopsis makes it seem as if this novel is either from Marple’s perspective or an omniscient third-person perspective which follows her character but its actually from the perspective of the village reverend. I believe the intention of this is that the readers are supposed to come around to how clever Marple is at the same time as the narrator (early on he sees her mostly as a busy body). However, as a modern reader, even if you've never picked up a book about her before you know that Marple is a brilliant detective through cultural osmosis at the least.

Once you know that Marple is going to be right a lot of the early criticisms of her character can get a little tiresome, e.g she is just a nosy old woman who has barely left the small village she lives in. (They are also obviously drenched in misogyny mostly from the policeman who is investigating the case, although he is portrayed to be an idiot throughout). It's slightly depressing to realise a lot of the dismissive attitudes towards older women that are portrayed in this book persist although I would hope that a character like her wouldn’t be dismissed as out of hand as she is nowadays.  

Although this dismissive attitude is present in the novel it is nicely countered by the central themes of her character, i.e the reason she can solve crimes so effectively is because she has studied human behaviour on the macro through the lens of the village she lives in. Quite a few of the times she find major clues she does so through by it reminding her of memories of past behaviour and local stories she has seen throughout her life in that small village. She shows how perceptive she is and what a great judge of character she is consistently and again relates this from having seen a microcosm of human life in the village which she can easily relate to the whole.

From what I remember this is a big contrast to Poirot, what with her being an unobtrusive older woman who utilises her local knowledge as opposed to his big personality and dandy-ess as well as rarely having local knowledge with him being Belgian. As I say its been many years since I read Poirot but from my memory, I think I prefer Marple.

In specific terms for this novel, I will say that I wasn’t expecting it to be as funny as it was. I think I’d forgotten how charming and humourous Christie's writing can be. I also wasn’t it to be occasionally relatable (British small town/village life hasn’t changed that much). Something I was expecting and was thankfully not disappointed by is the quality of the mystery, I felt I was handed enough clues to stay slightly ahead of the characters (other than Marple of course) but the ending was still surprising. It does good to be reminded why Agatha Christie is still deservedly held up as a giant of the mystery novel.

Although I enjoyed reading this novel I’m not sure how vital it is for someone starting to read Marple. I wouldn’t want to dissuade anyone from reading it as it isn’t the worst place to start with the series but I think I would recommend anyone to pick up the next book in the series first:

The 13 Problems

This is less a novel and more a series of interconnecting short stories with a wraparound narrative.

Synopsis: The unifying premise for this short story collection is the Tuesday Club: six people who meet socially one evening at Jane Marple's home and then decide to meet regularly each Tuesday night to solve a mystery which a group member must relate.

This is such a fun quick read. The fact that this book is set around a parlour game and not from another character's perspective means that there is basically no wasted time setting up the characters. This book is just a delightful puzzle box of mini-mysteries for Marple to solve. I can't say much else about this book other than I highly recommend it. I definitely recommend starting your foray into Marple here (and maybe Christie’s work in general if you haven’t read any already).

I will definitely be carrying on with both this series, Agatha Christie’s other works and in general I’ll be hoping to pick up more mysteries.

#Book review #agatha christie #Miss Marple #books #book blog

[annarellix]

Murder on the Pier by Merryn Allingham (A Flora Steele Mystery #2)

My Review (5*) I think this series improves with each story and this one is good, compelling and highly entertaining. It was good to meet again Flora and Jack, we get to know them better and I like the slow burning romance and their banters. Flora lacks a bit of common sense and sometimes she seems to target someone as a suspect with no specific reason, but Jack is good at keeping her in check. They're a good couple of amateur sleuths according to the tradition of British mystery. They're able to talk to people and the solution is based on the clues they discover. The mystery is good, full of red herrings, and I enjoyed it even if I guessed the culprit early in the book. I found the historical background vivid, and I like to read about life after WWII and how it could be in a small village. I can't wait to read the next instalment, highly recommended. Many thanks to Bookouture and Netgalley for this ARC, all opinions are mine

Synopsis: Meet Flora Steele – bookshop owner, bicycle-rider, daydreamer and amateur detective!

Sussex, 1955: When bookshop owner Flora Steele goes for a walk along the pier she isn’t expecting to spot a young woman’s body in the stormy waters below. And she’s shocked to discover the victim is someone she knows… Convinced the death was not an accident, Flora persuades attractive local crime writer Jack Carrington to help her find out what really happened to poor Polly Dakers, a popular young woman with a complicated love life, who’d been at the heart of village life in Abbeymead. Jack is reluctant to get involved in another murder case at first but even he can’t deny that Polly’s fall seems fishy. An argument at a party, a missed hairdresser’s appointment and a red woollen bobble found on the wooden boards where Polly last stood provide a trail of clues… As they grow closer to solving the puzzling mystery, the unlikely pair stumble upon several surprising secrets about those closest to Polly. A number of potential suspects begin to emerge. But who really disliked Polly enough to kill her? Was it Raymond, her jilted first love? Harry, her latest beau? Or Evelyn, Harry’s jealous estranged wife? As the investigation brings them closer to the truth, Flora is intent on unmasking the killer – but will her stealthy sleuthing lead her down a dangerous path?

The Author: Merryn taught university literature for many years, and it took a while to pluck up the courage to begin writing herself. Bringing the past to life is a passion and her historical fiction includes Regency romances, wartime sagas and timeslip novels, all of which have a mystery at their heart. As the books have grown darker, it was only a matter of time before she plunged into crime with a cosy crime series set in rural Sussex against the fascinating backdrop of the 1950s. Merryn lives in a beautiful old town in Sussex with her husband and one last cat, Bluebell. When she’s not writing, she tries to keep fit with adult ballet classes and plenty of walking.

Social links: https://merrynallingham.com/ https://www.facebook.com/MerrynWrites https://twitter.com/merrynwrites

Buy Link: Amazon: https://bit.ly/3wd3wfj

Audio Links: UK: https://zpr.io/3fvbHexd2JFw US: https://zpr.io/bYhQQW9XQ5Ln

Listen to a sampe here: https://soundcloud.com/bookouture/murder-on-the-pier-by-merryn-allingham-narrated-by-charlie-norfolk

#cozy mystery #historical mystery #bookouture #NetGalley #review #blogtour

[pinkrocketimagines]

CAROUSEL: PART 3 ( COLE X READER)

SUMMARY- Your first Dinner date with Cole.  How your bond with him escalates <3 A pleasant surprise at the end!!

A/N- I know it’s not a lot but I’m so grateful for everyone reading this X Thank you times a million! I really hope you like it just as much as I loved writing it, coming up with cute scenarios in my head. Please let me know what you think! Requests are OPEN, if you would like to read something else :)

-

You can’t believe Cole just asked you out. Okay, maybe not really- but he did ask you out for dinner! That’s something. right?

“So, yes,no? What’s the answer?,” Cole snaps his fingers to bring you out of your reverie.

My crush just asked me to have dinner with him.

“Um” you shrug, “Okay, whatever. I’m hungry”. You’ve mastered the playing-it-cool game, (y/n). Nice job.

“Okay, I’ll meet you outside in 5,” he winks.

After he leaves, you feel your heart do a little leprechaun dance. You’re going for dinner with Cole! Cole, all for yourself, even if it’s only for some few hours! You try but you can’t contain your excitement.

“Whoa, someone’s had a good day,” KJ remarks as he enters the changing room.

“Nah, I’m just happy,” you pack your bags and lock your locker, “See you, KJ!”

-

“So, where are we going?,” you ask Cole. You’re sitting on the front seat of his car. He has got one hand on the steering wheel, and other on your..just kidding.. he keeps twirling his hair with the other!

“A serial killer never reveals his address” Cole answers in a mysterious tone.

“You’re annoying” you roll your eyes and he simply chuckles.

“You’ll like it” he assures you.

Although you’re excited about the dinner, you’re also nervous and hesitant. What if fangirls suddenly spot you and Cole and try to murder you? You’re a fangirl yourself. You know what you’re capable of. Or what if a pap clicks a picture of you and Cole and it destroys the whole Bughead fad and it decreases the ratings of Riverdale? Or what if-

“We’re here” Cole parks the car in the lot. Seeing him drive is probably one of the hottest things ever. You can already picture him and you going on romantic dates even when you’re 60 with grey hairs and smelly feet. Whoa, slow down there, (y/n). Slow down.

The restuarent, as you observed, is situated in a cosy secluded area. It isn’t anything fancy but it isn’t rugged either. Cole chooses the cute table at the end of the room. He pulls out the chair for you, “ Oh my, well, thank you Mr Carson” you jokingly blurt in a fake British accent, taking reference from Downtown Abbey.

“Pleasure is all mine, my lady” he says in a horrible british accent.

You snicker,” Don’t ever talk to me in a british accent again”.

The waiter take your orders and you continue to laugh along at every single one of Cole’s clever jokes.

“You know what” he says,”You did break out of your shell”

You grin, “ Did I?”

“I don’t’ know. Maybe a little bit. “

You smile in response, not knowing eactly what to reply back.

“Haha, you’re so.. I don’t know” he exclaims

“What?” you’re curious ” Tell me”.

“It’s nice. The way you get annoyed by me one minute and the way you get all shy and red around me the very next”

Wait.

Does he know that you have a crush on him?

“I’m sure” he continues, “ that you’ll turn into one of those hyperactive oopma loompas one day”

You roll your eyes, “ I will so not!”

“You will. I mean, you have the perfect oompa loompa height”

“HEY!” You hit him from across the table.

“Haha geez (y/n), table manners!!” he exclaims

You scoff.

“Didn’t your parents teach you any table manners?” he mocks

“My parents..” your tone grow silent and blue. You look down and let out a huge sigh.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, (y/n). I was only kidding” Cole sounded worried and sorry.

“My parents..” you continue, “ ARE WELL AND ALIVE THANK YOU! HAHA GOT YOU!

“Geez, (y/n)” he bites his lip, “ You scared me for a sec, You little….”

-

After dinner, Cole suggests taking a walk in the locality. As romantic as it sounds, you know that Cole is only being a friend and he doesn’t feel the same way about you.

Everything is beautiful at night. Cold, too. Cole said he wants to show you this really small and cute bridge nearby.

“AW” you yelp, “It’s so pretty!” you sound like a little kid- you smile at Cole and run towards the bridge. “Oh my god, Cole, it’s so beautiful”.

Cole smirks proudly, “ I have good taste”. He simply watches you as you run around in excitement and in total awe at the beautiful sight of the cute bridge in the middle of an icy old neighbourhood as the moon plays the role of a spectacular spotlight.

“(Y/N)” Cole takes out a pocket-sized camera from his jacket,”Stand there. Don’t move. I want to take a picture”

“You always carry that thing around?”

“Hush. Smile,” he instructs.

You lean back and smile at the camera as the flashlight hits you.

“Nice” he comments and puts his camera back into his jacket.

“Pretty cold, huh” he makes his way towards you.

You turn around and gaze at the view from across the bridge, “It’s so serene” you breathe out. “What a happy place”

Suddenly, you feel two warm arms envelope you from behind. Your eyes widen in shock.

“I asked you if you were cold” Cole calmly says, “ What was it, again? Happy place huh?”

-

Ever since the dinner date, your feelings for Cole progressed even more. That night,you danced around the room with possibility of Cole liking you back- even if it was an infinitesimally small possibility, a possibility nonetheless.

Everything has been going so well lately, even in work too. Mark applauded your skills as a first timer. You friendship with Lili and Cam only grew more. KJ was always there to tease you every chance he got. And Cole, oh Cole, I guess you could say maybe the possibility of him liking you back was not infinitesimally small.

For instance, the other day while you were watching Lili and KJ act, Cole came towards you and put his arm around you. You just stood there in a comfortable silence. When Mark called your name, you told Cole you had to go but he started singing, “Why’d you have to leave so soon? Why’d you have to go? Why’d have to leave me when I needed you the most?” You simply rolled your eyes and blurt a “See you later” even though your heart couldn’t stop fluttering.

Okay maybe that was not a significant (y/n)-Cole moment. Well, what about the time you slept off on the sofa again beacause you were dead exhausted. You could hear Cole, Camila and KJ’s voice in the background talking about their next scene.

“Let’s go” you heard one of them say. Just when you thought they all left, “See you, sleepy head” Cole whispered and left a small peck on your cheek. AND ALTHOUGH YOU WERE STILL SLEEPY AND TIRED, YOUR ENTIRE FACE TURNED RED AND YOUR STOMACH BURSTED WITH BUTTERFLIES ALL OVER!

Throughout the shooting of season 2,thereafter, Cole had been giving you signs that he may like you back. The playful teases and the subtle flirting- you didn’t’ want to lift your hopes up just yet, but this was the happiest you’ve ever been in a long time, and we have to thank Cole for that.

The shooting for Season 2 of Riverdale was nearing its end and although you couldn’t wait to rest and watch how you did on the show, you were also sad because that would mean you won’t get to see Cole every single day.

During the penultimate night of shooting, Cole insisted to drive you home. You gladly accepted his request and got into his sleek car.

“Time flies, huh,” Cole breaks the ice ,” Can’t believe tomorrow’s the last day of shooting”

“Yeah,” you agreed,” Seems like just yesterday when I auditioned for the role”

“Yeah, seems like just yesterday when you were a pathetic shy new kid” Cole mocks

“HEY!” you hit his arm, “You’re annoying”

“And now look at you, already abusing the guy who took you in and….”

“Pff…” you scoff,”You’re really annoying”

“and you’re really shy” he says

“I am not!” you protest,” I’m just.. “

“Oh please, like I don’t notice the way you turn into a giant tomato everytime I try to flirt with you”

Your eyes widen, “ wait..what”

“See? You’re doing it again! You’re turning into a tomato” Cole laughed, “ You have a crush on me”

Your stomach dropped. Are you that easy to read? Nevertheless, you decide protest anyway. “ OH PLEASE! DON’T FLATTER YOURSELF” you fight back your tomato self.

Cole carried on laughing, “ Little (y/n) has a BIG crush on me! Aw, that’s adorable”

“Stop that! I so don’t have a crush on you” you roll your eyes and fold your arms.

“Hahaha you’re so cute” he exclaims.

“Whatever,” you scoff angrily, looking at window- refusing to face him.

“Aw, look at me. I don’t mind you looking like a tomato” he jokes

“ I don’t look like a tomato and No, I will not look at you” you reply angrily.

“That’s a pity, we’re here.” Cole stops the car.

“Let me get that door for you,” he says and walks out of the car.

“NO, I will get it myself” you quickly try to get out of the car to avoid looking into Cole’s eyes. I mean, he just told you that he knew about your crush all along! HOW EMBARRASSING. Cole knows you like him. I wonder how long he had known and kept it to himself.

Cole snickers as he watches you try to avoid his gaze and run inside your house, “Wait (y/n)! Wait” he runs behind you. You refuse to listen, “GOODNIGHT”

He quickly grabs you by the hand, “Wait.”

As you turn around to face him, he hastily cups your face and places his lips onto yours.

Your first kiss with Cole. It was slow. It was soft. It was warm.

It was magical.

The cold breeze, the moon, the car, the porch, you, him.

He slowly breaks the kiss and looks into your eyes with the most beautiful smile. His eyes glisten, running his fingers to the side of your cheek, he says in a low tone, “ I wish you weren’t so easy to read. I’m going to miss seeing this doll of mine every morning.”

​

#cole sprouse #cole sprouse x reader #cole sprouse imagines #cole sprouse fanfic #jughead x reader #jughead jones #kj apa #riverdale #riverdale fanfic #imagine #one shots #cole sprouse imagine

[jenmedsbookreviews]

Yes … believe it or not, it is getting to that point in the year that we both welcome and dread. Christmas. You may have missed it, but I’ve started posting a few festive reads on the blog over the past few days, just something Mandie and I thought (back in July/August) was a really good idea. Possibly not as we’re about as enthusiastic about Christmas as the Grinch, but hey ho (ho ho), it’s not all bad. I think. Do stop by for a few festive reading tips won’t you? Hopefully there’s a little something for everyone from the cosy and the kiddie, right through to the dark and the deadly. Always room for a little festive crime right?

Well, I had a busy old week last week achieving not a lot whilst seemingly doing loads. The week started perfectly – I was only at work for half a day before I was heading off down to London for November’s First Monday Crime panel. This month saw Barry Forshaw interview Stuart MacBride, Elodie Harper, Vaseem Khan and Simon Booker. An interesting debate was had by all regarding the idea of crime fiction v ‘literary fiction’, biggest mistakes made by newbie writers and whether there should be limits on how far you take your crime fiction.

A fantastic panel and I can heartily recommend both their books and First Monday Crime and if you want to find out more about next months panel, you can do so at their website here. December’s panel promises to be a doozy with Chris Whitaker, Louise Jensen, Mel McGrath and Susi Holliday alongside chair Claire McGowan. On top of that you’ll get to witness ‘Pitch the Audience’ where MC Howard Linskey will try to corral Rod Reynolds, Abir Mukherjee, Cass Green, Leye Adenle, Susi Holliday, Derek Farrell, Lisa Cutts, Chris Whitaker, Mason Cross, and James Carol as they bid to become ‘Pitch the Audience’ Champions for 2017. And books and pub visits. What more could you want? I’m booked. Maybe see you there?

And speaking of books, couldn’t resist the opportunity of getting a couple of signed books while I was there. Well … I went all that way. 😉

Book post wise, it’s been quite a quiet week for me. Nowt new there then lol. Just the one, a copy of Sai-Ko from author Gabriela Harding. Can’t wait to take a trip to the dark side with these short stories.

Other purchase wise, I’ve been good. At least if you own Amazon lol. I purchased the Killer Women Crime Club Book 2, Give Me The Child by Mel McGrath (also on audio); Little Liar by Clare Boyd and The Death Knock by Elodie Harper. From Netgalley, just the one, Know Me Now by CJ Carver. Also on audible was WhiteOut by Ragnar Jonasson. Well a girl needs to have the whole set.

Reading wise it’s been a bit of a mixed bag as my head is all over the place with work. I have managed 3.4 books though – one of them being a collection of short stories.

Books I have read

A Christmas Wish by Erin Green

Flora Phillips has an excuse for every disaster in her life; she was abandoned as a new-born on a doorstep one cold autumn night, wrapped in nothing but a towel. Her philosophy is simple: if your mother doesn’t want you – who will?

Now a thirty-year-old, without a boyfriend, a career or home she figures she might as well tackle the biggest question of them all – who is she? So, whilst everyone else enjoys their Christmas Eve traditions, Flora escapes the masses and drives to the village of Pooley to seek a specific doorstep. Her doorstep.

But in Pooley she finds more than her life story. She finds friends, laughter, and perhaps even a love to last a lifetime. Because once you know where you come from, it’s so much easier to know where you’re going.

A story of redemption and love, romance and Christmas dreams-come-true, the perfect novel to snuggle up with this festive season.

A wonderfully uplifting and heart warming tale of Flora, a woman who is in search of her birth mother having been left on a doorstep as a baby. Great for Christmas, my review of this book will be on the blog this week. In the meantime you can buy a copy of the book here.

…

The Advent Killer by Alastair Gunn

Christmas is coming. One body at a time. 

Three weeks before Christmas: Sunday, one a.m. A woman is drowned in her bathtub.

One week later: Sunday, one a.m. A woman is beaten savagely to death, every bone in her body broken.

Another week brings another victim.

As panic spreads across London, DCI Antonia Hawkins, leading her first murder investigation, must stop a cold, careful killer whose twisted motives can only be guessed at, before the next body is found. On Sunday.

When the clock strikes one . . .

A terrifying British debut thriller, The Advent Killer introduces DCI Antonia Hawkins, with the second in the series coming from Penguin in 2014. Fans of Chris Carter and Richard Montanari should be paying attention.

Now Christmas and murder … finally something I can identify with. Not literally of course and not in quite so gruesome a fashion as is presented in Alastair Gunn’s debut novel  I’ll be sharing my thoughts on this one very soon as one of my ‘festive reads’. You can buy a copy of the book here.

…

Twelve Slays of Christmas by Jacqueline Frost

When Holly White’s fiancé cancels their Christmas Eve wedding with less than two weeks to go, Holly heads home with a broken heart. Lucky for her, home in historic Mistletoe, Maine is magical during Christmastime—exactly what the doctor prescribed. Except her plan to drown her troubles in peppermints and snickerdoodles is upended when local grouch and president of the Mistletoe Historical Society Margaret Fenwick is bludgeoned and left in the sleigh display at Reindeer Games, Holly’s family tree farm.

When the murder weapon is revealed as one of the wooden stakes used to identify trees on the farm, Sheriff Evan Grey turns to Holly’s father, Bud, and the Reindeer Games staff. And it doesn’t help that Bud and the reindeer keeper were each seen arguing with Margaret just before her death. But Holly knows her father, and is determined to exonerate him.The jingle bells are ringing, the clock is ticking, and if Holly doesn’t watch out, she’ll end up on Santa’s naughty list in Twelve Slays of Christmas, Jacqueline Frost’s jolly series debut.

After a bit of a gruesome murder, it was time to go all cosy. This is a beautiful book, full of all the festive spirit a lover of the season could want. Give or take the odd murder … I’ll be reviewing this very soon but you can buy yourself a copy right here.

…

CWA Anthology of Short Stories: Mystery Tour

Crime spreads across the globe in this new collection of short stories from the Crime Writer’s Association, as a conspiracy of prominent crime authors take you on a world mystery tour. Highlights of the trip include a treacherous cruise to French Polynesia, a horrifying trek in South Africa, a murderous train-ride across Ukraine and a vengeful killing in Mumbai. But back home in the UK, life isn’t so easy either. Dead bodies turn up on the backstreets of Glasgow, crime writers turn words into deeds at literary events, and Lady Luck seems to guide the fate of a Twickenham hood. Showcasing the range, breadth and vitality of the contemporary crime-fiction genre, these twenty-eight chilling and unputdownable stories will take you on a trip you’ll never forget.

Contributions from: Ann Cleeves, C.L. Taylor, Susi Holliday, Martin Edwards, Anna Mazzola, Carol Anne Davis, Cath Staincliffe, Chris Simms, Christine Poulson, Ed James, Gordon Brown, J.M. Hewitt, Judith Cutler, Julia Crouch, Kate Ellis, Kate Rhodes, Martine Bailey, Michael Stanley, Maxim Jakubowski, Paul Charles, Paul Gitsham, Peter Lovesey, Ragnar Jónasson, Sarah Rayne, Shawn Reilly Simmons, Vaseem Khan, William Ryan and William Burton McCormick

A brilliant collection of short stories and perfect for dipping in and out of, which is exactly what I’m doing ahead of my stop on the blog tour next week. Featuring some of the best crime writers around, you’d be mad to miss it. I’ve already powered through 34% of the book without even realising it. You can preorder a copy here.

…

Blogging wise, not quite as traumatic as last week, i.e. you haven’t had to suffer any more videos of me, but still busy none-the-less.

#BlogTour: Whiteout by Ragnar Jonasson

#Review: Zenka by Alison Brodie

Festive Reads: Mr Men & Little Miss at Christmas

Festive Reads: This Way To Christmas by Anita Bijsterbosh and Christmas Stories for Kids by Uncle Amon

Festive Reads: Enid Blyton’s Christmas Tales

Festive Reads: Santa, Please Bring Me A Gnome by An Swerts

#BlogTour: #IntoTheValley by Chris Clement-Green

#BookLove: Tracy Fenton

Review: Mr Men & Little Miss for Grown UpsFestive Reads: A Christmas Flower by Bryan Mooneyffiths163

#BlogTour: Bad Sister by Sam Carrington

Review: Elephant and Sheep and other stories by Patricia Furstenberg

The week ahead is another full one – are there any other kind. Personally, I am off to the UK launch of The Man Who Died by Antti Tuomainen on Wednesday and I can’t wait. It’s in the running to be my book of the year! Then the weekend sees the long awaited arrival of Hull Noir. Looking forward to lots of brilliant panels and getting to catch up with some amazing blogger friends.

In the meantime, I’ve a mixture of the usual reviews and blog tours to keep you all amused, starting today when I’ll be reviewing The Puppet Master by Abigail Osborne. Wednesday is the tour for The Future Can’t Wait by Angelena Boden and Saturday it’s Dying Day by Stephen Edger. And there will be some sharing of the #booklove with blogger Victoria Goldman.

And in other news – with the notable and excusable exception of Christmas Day and Boxing Day, today marks a whole year of posting every day, at least once, sometimes more. I set myself the challenge to see how long I could keep it up and I have to admit I am fluffing knackered now, but hey. Quite an achievement for a moderately busy gal like me I think. Go me. May have to celebrate.

Have a brilliant week all. See you on the other side

Jen

Rewind, recap: Weekly update w/e 12/11/17 Yes ... believe it or not, it is getting to that point in the year that we both welcome and dread.

#Rewind Recap #Weekly Round UP

[jenmedsbookreviews]

Can’t take the credit for the picture this week – that’s from Pixabay – but I was where this was taken, Dundee, on Friday. Had the dubious pleasure of driving across that old Tay Bridge and back on a flying visit to the town. Downside of being so danged busy last week is I am fluffing knackered and have done not a lot of anything interesting. Upside – I managed to complete another audio book.

Well – I take that back. I say I’ve done not a lot of anything interesting but over the weekend I did find the energy to attend the blogger/author bash organised by Kim Nash in Birmingham where I caught up with a number of lovely bookish friends old and new. Always a pleasure and the venue is really nice too. I have no pictures as evidence as I hate selfies, but there are some knocking about the old tinterweb if you care to look about.

Book post wise, apart from a few more Mr Men Christmas books that I bought myself for November’s Christmas month I have had none. Zip. Nada. Nothing for over two weeks now. I am pondering my imminent retirement from blogging as clearly everyone hates me 😦 Just as soon as I’ve read the four hundred plus books I still have waiting for me to read, I’m straight on it.

Bookish buys wise, I’ve had a pretty poor week too. Seems like everything bookish is drying up… I only bought 7 books, 5 of them were Mr Men and 2 of those were even preorders. The 2 non Mr Men books were preorders too. It’s like a virtual bookish apocalypse for me. Unheard of. In case you care, I preordered the new Carol Wyer/Robyn Carter thriller, The Silent Children, due in November, and Kelly Rimmer’s new book Before I Let You Go which is due out next year. Mr Men wise I preordered Mr Happy and the Office Party and Little Miss Shy Goes Online Dating. Yes. That’s right. Mr Men for Adults. I can’t wait. Mr Men for kids wise I am now the proud owner of Mr Men Meet Father Christmas, Mr Noisy and the Silent Night and Mr Men, A Christmas Carol.

Netgalley wise, I picked up four books, three of which are for blog tours so therefore not really adding to my total. Sort of. Ish. These were Bad Sister by Sam Carrington, A Cosy Candlelit Christmas by Tilly Tennant, The Lost Child by Patricia Gibney and Murder Game by Caroline Mitchell. Really looking forward to reading them all.

Reading wise, I’ve been fairly productive considering I had an 18 hour working day on Friday mucking up my plans. Still on track with the three books a week target at the moment so fingers crossed.

Books I have read

The Mistake by K.L. Slater

You think you know the truth about the people you love.

But one discovery can change everything… 

Eight-year-old Billy goes missing one day, out flying his kite with his sister Rose. Two days later, he is found dead. 

Sixteen years on, Rose still blames herself for Billy’s death. How could she have failed to protect her little brother?

Rose has never fully recovered from the trauma, and one of the few people she trusts is her neighbour Ronnie, who she has known all her life. But one day Ronnie falls ill, and Rose goes next door to help him… and what she finds in his attic room turns her world upside down.

Rose thought she knew the truth about what happened to Billy. She thought she knew her neighbour. Now the only thing she knows is that she is in danger…

The Mistake is a completely gripping thriller that will keep you up all night, from the top ten bestselling author of Blink, Liar and Safe with Me. Perfect for fans of Gone Girl and The Girl on the Train.

Loved this. I only meant to start reading a few chapters, maybe half the book, because I was so tired already on Monday evening. Five hours and a lot of nail biting later I had finished. What a story. So many twists and such an occasionally dark but always compelling story, I can’t wait to share my thoughts on it as part of the blog tour. In the mean time you can preorder a copy here.

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Snowflakes, Iced Cakes and Second Chances by Sue Watson

Escape to Devon for blustery walks along the beach, hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and proof that miracles really do happen, especially at Christmas. 

A year after she separated from her husband, Gianni, on Christmas Day, Chloe’s heart is still in pieces as she unpacks the decorations for her first ever festive holiday alone. That is, until the phone rings…

It seems Gianni’s new seaside restaurant is in trouble and Chloe must go to Appledore to save the business – and him. Equally famous for his experimental culinary extravaganzas and his explosive temper, Gianni has been really stirring up a sensation with the locals – and not in a good way! 

As pans fly and the temperature in the kitchen rises, Chloe’s calming influence and magic touch might just get critics back on side in time to save the restaurant from sinking like a sad soufflé. But will it be enough to save their marriage? 

Chloe came to Appledore in search of her Christmas sparkle, but when the snow clears, will she finally find the way back to her husband’s heart?

A laugh-out-loud festive treat that will give you the tingle of freshly-hung tinsel. Perfect for fans of Jenny Colgan, Abby Clements and Debbie Johnson. 

You know that with a Sue Watson book you are guaranteed a feel good, heart warming and very funny book and this was no exception. Chloe and Gianni are polar opposites – even their star signs are against them – but there is an irrisistible charm about the pair. Full of laughter, ice cream and dishes which sound like they’d make even Heston Blumenthal baulk, this is a book which will make you smile, if only for Gianni’s unique way of describing the beach… My review will be up soon as part of the tour but you can pre-order the book here.

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The Preplexing Theft of the Jewel In The Crown by Vaseem Khan

The second book in the heartwarming and charming Baby Ganesh series.

For centuries the Koh-i-Noor diamond has set man against man and king against king.

Now part of the British Crown Jewels, the priceless gem is a prize that many have killed to possess.

So when the Crown Jewels go on display in Mumbai, security is everyone’s principal concern. And yet, on the very day Inspector Chopra visits the exhibition, the diamond is stolen from under his nose.

The heist was daring and seemingly impossible. The hunt is on for the culprits. But it soon becomes clear that only one man – and his elephant – can possibly crack this case…

Book two in the Inspector Chopra series sees our interpid hero caught up in the case of the theft of the Queen Mother’s Crown, believed to be an attempt to reclaim the Koh-i-Noor diamond for it’s rightful owner – India. I am loving this series and the setting and pace of the book are brilliant. I’ve listened to rather than read both of the first two books, with book three lined up for a weeks time when I travel to Bracknell. Each book has been laced with a side mystery and more than a little excitement involving the wonderful baby Ganesh. You can order a copy of the book here.

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Her Last Secret by Barbara Copperthwaite

There are some secrets you can never tell.

The last thing to go through Dominique Thomas’s head was the image of her teenage daughter’s face and her heart lifted. Then the shot rang out.

They were the perfect family. Successful businessman Ben Thomas and his wife Dominique live an enviable life, along with their beautiful children; teenager Ruby and quirky younger daughter, Mouse. 

But on Christmas Day the police are called to their London home, only to discover a horrific scene; the entire family lying lifeless, victims of an unknown assailant. 

But when Ruby’s diary is discovered, revealing her rage at the world around her, police are forced to look closer to home for the key to this tragedy.

Each family member harboured their own dark truths – but has keeping their secrets pushed Ruby to the edge of sanity? Or are there darker forces at work?

Oh my. What an opening. And what a tale. An family nursing secrets, one of which could prove to be deadly. I loved the suspense in this book and was hooked from the first page. I needed to know what happened and why. I absolutely needed to know the secret Ruby was keeping and the reason for her rage. I am sure that when you read it, you will too. You can preorder your own copy right here.

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Four books. Not quite as impressive as last week but given the week I’ve had, I’ll take it. Blog wise it was another full on week recapped below.

Alison Brodie, author of #Zenka

Guest Post: Billy McLaughlin, author of The Daughter

Review: She Did It by Mel Sherratt

#Blogblitz: Cold Blood by Robert Bryndza

#BookLove: Patricia Furstenberg

#BlogTour: The Frozen Woman by #JonMichelet trans. Don Bartlett

#BlogTour: Reach For The Stars by Colleen Coleman

Guest Review: Forgotten by Neven Carr

This week is just as busy with #booklove from my guest reviewer and older sister, Mandie and blog tours for Maria In The Moon by Louise Beech, Kisses From Nimbus by P.J.Riley, The Surrogate by Louise Jensen, House of Spines by Michael J. Malone, Operation Clean Up Day by Jason Tucker, We’ll Always Have Christmas by Jenny Hale and Lies That Poison by Amanda Fleet.

And finally, I’ll jsut say that my Bloody Scotland giveaway is now closed and the winner will be announced in due course. Watch this space.

Have a fabulously bookish week all. I shall be knee deep in paperwork as I try and prepare next years budget. No small feat believe me.

Jen

Rewind, recap: weekly update w/e 24/09/17 Can't take the credit for the picture this week - that's from Pixabay - but I was where this was taken, Dundee, on Friday.

#Rewind Recap #Weekly Round UP