gilmoires

[gilmoires]

lorelai wants to know where her luke is at because she has a lot of things to say and none of them makes sense nor will be coherent together in a jumble mess of long-winded ramblings to showcase her infinite babbling capabilities, and she has one victim in mind to be on the receiving end of that conversation (threat)

[gilmoires]

lorelai gilmore, removed from canon and placed into the supernatural universe. sideblog to @hervelle.

[gilmoires]

she sees the concern wash over him in real time, instinctive and carved from a place that she knows she holds for him if she were to see him the same way. there's something that flutters in the cage of her ribs, seeing viktor look at her that way, but she wishes that she could smooth the worry from the lines on his face, to be able to quell the nerves that seem to hum alight beneath his skin just looking at her. she wishes that she could tell him the truth, of the ghosts, of her family, of all of it.

as though she's exhausted from the sheer weight of it, she leans into his touch, her own limbs wrapping around his stature to draw in him closer, breathing in the smell of him, hating the familiar knot of her stomach that comes whenever she realizes just how much she yearns and aches for the other. whenever she realizes that rory may be getting attached. that lorelai may be getting attached.

"let me put a bag of frozen peas on it before we call in the calvary, okay?" lorelai offers, 'doning her signature smile with her pearl teeth peeking between her blush colored brims, her manipulation tactic to help convince viktor from focusing too much on her. or start to question the evidence. "i promise i'm okay, i didn't even notice until you did, scout's honor."

it shouldn't twist his stomach into knots the way it does. seeing the dark markings, sensing in the very energy of the air around her with telltales signs of distress. most of the time, it's easy to pretend. it's what he has done most of his life. he has a job to do here, so he plays ignorant, pretends not to notice things, not to know more than he does. right now, however, he wants to tear the curtain down and demand the truth from her. he wants to know what or who did that to her. he wants to make it right. retribution itches just beneath the skin, warming his veins.

emil steps closer even as she deflects, not even acknowledging what he knows to be a lie. the crease between his brows remain and his head tilts down, gaze flickering over lorelai with unwavering intensity. he reaches out slowly and takes her wrist. his fingers are gentle when they curl around her limb. they're not supposed to be that tender. he is a weapon forged to take people apart, seep deep into their conciousness and remove whatever it is he needs. but when he he touches her to seek the memories she withholds, there's no cruelty in it. it's not cold either. emil doesn't peel back the sleeve. he doesn't need so. he just holds her wrist in one hand and lifts his other to her chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. his pupils dilate as the sensations and images leak from her soul and into his.

he finally looks back up to meet her gaze. his expression softens. honey. she calls him something so mundane, so tender, so easily. it's foreign to him. to the world in which he resides and he yearns for it too deeply. ❝ okay, ❞ he murmurs. he says it like he knows she's lying, but he won't force her to tell the truth. he leans down and presses his lips to her forehead. he lingers there for a small moment. ❝ next time you have one these...accidents. you'll tell me? don't really like waking up in the middle of the night to find you covering up bruises. ❞

[gilmoires]

lorelai is not ignorant to the stiffness that overcomes luke when he hands off the paper cup to viktor, and then also to her, with a barely there grumble - no speech this time about how her caffeine intake is going to be the reason that they pronounce her dead at the age of tomorrow. or lunch. sometimes the speech various. nonetheless, lorelai shrugs it off, attention curled forth onto the wagon; adorably 'don with ribbons, homemade jam to last him a year, and other cutesy touristy thing stars hollow managed to spruce together for their newest member. there's butterflies that manages to knot in the pit of her stomach, remembering the supernatural; and the fact that he's likely going to see her in her furry rabbit slippers at some point. "is it slowing you down, or is it forcing you to stop and smell the roses?" lorelai offers, pulling on her leather jacket to fight against the crisp fall air. "i mean, it sounds to me like you're just so lucky that you met me today. it doesn't necessarily need to be navigations that you have to be skilled at. nowadays, it's the ability to connect with people. human nature, if you will. the ability to lean on a neighbor and ask for directions."

❝ should i be offended by your utter lack of faith in my navigational skills? ❞ he questions with lifted brow, teasing lilt in his tone despite its usual dryness. ❝ well, i suppose if i'm on this side of the mississippi i can only accept. but once we cross the river i'm ditching you, so. ❞ he grins and shrugs as he stands straight again. emil glances away from her as a paper coffee cup ( which is actually filled with tea ) is slid across the counter to him by this town's seemingly least welcoming resident. emil, undeterred, winks at the man and nods his thanks. ❝ see i'm not sure this thing is actually a gift— ❞ he points down at the wagon. ❝ seems like some diabolical plan to slow me down if i have to lug it across town square with me during this tour. ❞

[gilmoires]

lorelai gilmore, removed from canon and placed into the supernatural universe. sideblog to @hervelle.

[gilmoires]

 “  who  did  this  to  you  ?  ” yuh

"whoa! my! you should really wear a bell, mister," lorelai chuckles out sheepishly, having been caught in her bathroom in the middle of the night perhaps longer than she anticipated. she was marveling over the bruises that litter her skin, blossoming purple against her canvas, from the ghost that tried to haunt the dragonfly building. though creaky wood, and breaking panelings, lorelai hoped to leave the place inhabitant of any such creatures, and remembered how long it's been since she's been out of the game.

despite this, she's surprised by the look that glints over his gaze when he catches the purple circles on her arms before she pulls her sleeves down, trying to pry attention away from it, and crossing her arms casually as if she didn't just give herself away. it's hard to explain why she disappeared for several hours yesterday when they were supposed to meet for a lunch date, ending in an apologetic late night picnic dinner that lorelai haphazardly put together (and eventually ordered them pizza for, apparently her mother's smashed banana toast recipe should never be visited again) in her back porch for viktor.

"sookie is pretty accident prone in the kitchen, you'd think that we'd have to take out insurance on her at the inn." it's passive, a dismissive way to answer his question without having to highlight the specifics, like why the marks look more like handprints than they do of corner tables. but it's to suppress whatever it is that seems to flood the surface of his countenance, something that lorelai is unsure that she wants to dissect and figure out, or keep it tucked away like a quiet secret. "i'm okay, i swear, honey."

[gilmoires]

send  “  who  did  this  to  you  ?  ”  for  the  sender  to  find  the  receiver  injured  and  demand  to  know  who  did  it.

[gilmoires]

when he leans in, there's a momentary hitch to her breath, and it curls forth a damning smile to break past the personable mold that she fit in earlier. she doesn't move, testing the boundaries of the stranger, telling herself that it's to make sure he can handle the close knit community that her town has carved out on the map; but really, it's to be able to see each of the freckles that 'dons his cheeks and nose. maybe to get a better idea of what his eye colors look. and also to inspect his person, make sure he's not a criminal. and also- "depends, do you particularly feel like wandering around the town square for upward of two hours, lost and stranded and confused, or would you like a tour from the best tour guide on this side of the mississippi?" there's a giggle that breaks free from her, tucking a strand of curly, tamed strand of dark wisp behind her ear, blush blossoming on her features.

❝ now that's a hallmark card i'd like to see, ❞ he returns, genuine amusement flickering in the depth of hazel-tinged eyes. he was assigned here for a reason. several reasons with puzzling case files and no leads. if he did not know better he would be easily hoodwinked by the small-town charm and peculiarity this place presents. he steps in a little closer and places an arm atop the counter, relaxing his posture and mirroring her in some way. he tells himself it's strategy, to put her at ease, but maybe he enjoys the scent of her perfume wafting around him. ❝ does the welcome wagon come with a tour or do i have figure the rest out on my own? i mean i was craving pancakes yesterday and came back out of that al place with questionable egg-rolls. ❞

[gilmoires]

immediately, lorelai can see the spiral tucked in the bed of the other's earthly hues, a descent into madness plagued with overwhelming history that are flamed licked and marred from the start. lorelai can almost relate. though she has made the comparison of her father to the devil many times before, she knows what it's like when the path that people have carved out for you is not the one that you want to take. it took strength and her own sliver of bravery to look back at them and tell them that she wasn't going to be the product that they shaped her into. "my parents always told me that i was going to follow the family's legacy and grow up to be this amazing hunter, but then i got pregnant at sixteen," it's her favorite story to tell, despite how uncomfortable it is; because in the end, it brought her rory. "and i got out. i ran away from that life as far as i could. and i know you can do that too. you don't have to listen to what people try to tell you. only you can make your future how you want it."

delaney felt some of the weight leave her body at finally getting to ramble about everything she kept bottled up. about everything that she couldn't tell sam or dean. things that would have sent them both into a worried fit unlike the way lorelai seemed to. she knew lorelai was right but that didn't stop her worrying. kids usually became like their parents, right? it was genetics after all. whether you're a human or a demon or an angel. "but what if i do, lorelai? what if whatever destiny shit my father spewed to me is true?" she asked, gnawing away at her lower lip. her father had plans for her, had plans for sam. plans she didn't know how to stop even if she could. "i don't want to hurt anyone. i can't be his right hand."

[gilmoires]

nice try, her eyes could nearly shoot daggers from her head from the way that she is looking at the boy, narrowed and pointedly obvious that she's not going to fall for it. that southern charm may work on his other family friends, but not on this mom. "sure, kerouac, what's next on the agenda? gonna pop over to mrs. lane's and steal her haunted urn next with dean moriarty?" she means ben, and the simper that splays out on her features suggests it too; dark, brooding, always leaving with one foot in the door and the other out. guys like ben braeden gives lorelai hives. reminds her too much of rory's dad. "do you want me to call her before or after i beat you with the umbrella for breaking into a woman's house in the middle of the night." there's a huff, a pause, her signal that she got her ramblings out of her system as she waves a hand towards the kitchen, where she treks to, "poptarts are in the toaster."

wallace slowly lowered his hands at the same time that lorelai lowered the umbrella. he should have known from the jump that lorelai would have caught his ass sneaking around. really he just wanted to cover his and jo's asses all across the board. "lorsy, my girl. you do know i'm too old to ground now, right?" he swindled, flashing her his ever charming grin. most of the time it got him out of trouble. "can't a boy come visit his favorite second mom? huh?"

[gilmoires]

it's not often that lorelai has to call on outside help to assist with whatever supernatural phenomenon decided to walk through stars hollow gazebo that week. but babette has been muttering to herself sometimes that something has been feeling off, luke is out of town working on another hunt (but his sign on his door says 'out fishing'). rory is starting to ask questions, especially after discovering some photos that lorelai thought she burned along with her baby pictures. "rory can't know," lorelai emphasizes, almost in defeat, seldom despite her usual quippy ways, as though she's desperate for even sonny to understand how important it is to her.

sonny  was  wiping  down  the  bar  as  she  held  her  phone  up  to  her  ear  with  her  free  hand.  hearing  what  lorelai  was  stressed  out  about?  she  didn't  blame  her  for  calling  her.  honestly?  she  was  grateful  that  she  did.  almost  feeling  honored  that  she  was  thought,  “do  you  need  me  to  come  over  there?  i  can  be  there  in  no  time?”

[gilmoires]

"well, i certainly have the charm and the looks of 'em, don't i?" she replies, rolling her eyes, a much too knowing smile bleeding on her features. she's not oblivious to the art of deflecting, she's all but mastered it with her own parents. every friday after dinner, her mother pulls her to the side and asks her when she can start rory's training to be a hunter. that's usually around the time when the traffic is about to get bad on the road, and she gets home faster than she does getting up there. "those are the people who get to hold the microphone and and look pretty right?"

he dodged, the question, " ... — you'd make one hell of a reporter, anyone ever tell you that? " whether that was a compliment or not, it was up to one's interpretation.

[gilmoires]

"ooh, ooh, quick! tell me every thought you've ever had about me since the day we met, and every thought you're gonna have after, and don't ask me how to explain that because i'm already five sweet whipped caramel latte in."

[gilmoires]

adding onto this to say that babette would likely be a town witch/psychic that dabbles in the supernatural world, and where lorelai goes to whenever she needs a new layer of protection, to keep her and her daughter safe.

luke also being a part-time hunter, or something like bobby where he has the information and knowledge, but thinking thoughts about lorelai possibly trying to not hunt at first when the monsters start to come to stars hollow, and having to work with luke to get the thing out of town before the locals find out ("before taylor find out, luke, is that what you want? taylor, the local supernatural hunter slash mayor? he'd come to the next town meeting and tell us we need to start wearing salt in our clothes! our clothes, luke! is that what you want?") before she starts to buffy-style and help protect the town.

[gilmoires]

stars hollow prides itself on their small town charm; but sometimes lorelai likes to think that it's more-so riding on the coattails of the tourism industry, jump newcomers, and brush crime under the rug. quite literally; lorelai saw al from pancake world brush an ominous looking paper beneath his front rug, she's sure that babette and miss patty will giggle about that later this week. despite her otherwise bubbly personality that usually wins over with her smile, there's a hum of nerves that dances along her spine when she sees the dimple that caves into the stranger's cheeks, and immediately, she needs to lean against the counter inside of the diner to keep her upright. "that's stars hollow for you. strange and nice, like if stephen king wrote a hallmark card. oddly enough, both would have the same amount of clowns."

emil has been assigned to all kinds of places with all kinds of people in them. truth be told, stars hollow might be the most perplexing of them all. he is not sure if it is his lack of familiarity with american culture outside of big cities or if there is something truly unique about this place. perhaps it's a mixture of the two. he glances between the woman and the wagon—actual fucking wagon—that has been rolled up to him and presented as if it were the arc of the covenant itself. when he smiles at her, it is genuine even if it is a little small, all curved lips and slight dimpling in his cheeks. ❝ viktor, ❞ he replies as he takes her hand. the name rolls off his tongue with ease. it's been a long time since he has heard his real one. ❝ and, uh, honestly this is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a while. also the strangest. but i'll take it. ❞ he glances towards the window and catches some of the gawkers. emil slowly lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers at them with a raised brow.

[gilmoires]

"i swear, you'd think after a certain amount, i'd get a punch card. nine demons, tenth one free?" she sighs, dropping her face into her free hand as she falls down onto her couch. rory is still at chilton working on some debate event of the week, likely the tenth one (that isn't free) that lorelai has had to attend. "you were the only person i thought to call." ... @snnynatural

[gilmoires]

there's salt that lines the wood of the window throughout the house. there are sigils painted beneath rugs in front of every threshold, hex bags tucked between wall panels. however, it's been years since she's really had to use latin, and when she notes the scribbles on the grimoire in her kitchen dining table, lorelai places her hands on her hips and puts her foot down. "no summoning allowed. i just mopped!" ... @withdamage