#Openable Shutter Wardrobe

[vmsplusblog]

[vmsplus]

The bedroom is a personal space that allows you to relax and find inner peace. A messy and cluttered room can never look good. A wardrobe can help you manage and organize your clothes in one place. If you are looking for a stylish and functional openable wardrobe design that can be easily opened, look no further than VMS Trade Link. Explore our collection to find the perfect wardrobe design to suit your needs.

[lordcrumps]

The Sims 2 For Rent - CC EXPANSION PACK

Sul Sul!

~ More photos under the under the cut ~

Last week the Sims 4 got a new pack, this week Sims 2 players get that same pack! In a collaboration with @platinumaspiration and @tvickiesims and a HUGE assist from @episims, we bring you "The Sims 2 For Rent CC Expansion Pack!"

This is a large set, and advisable that it does not get merged even further than it already is! - I ran into some issues when trying to do this!

When you explore this pack, please take a look at the marble ring rug, it has some surprisingly cute rug swatches! I put a swatch in it to remove the marbles themselves, so you have a cute small rug! - I only mention this as I was going to bin the rug off once uploaded, but then I found it had some lovely swatches!

FUNCTIONALITY

So most of the items will function as they should and intended as. Its just not just deco items.

There is two collection files included, separated into build buy! Please note that fences and stairs and spandrels cant be but into a collection!

The squatty toilet that took me over 12 hours to make, yeah they squat, animation can be a bit bouncy but such is life. This toilet also can be flushed, get dirty and is cleanable!

Outdoor plants are seasonal!

Counters are animated with insides built, there is no drawer on the counter, I did not want to change the shape of the unit, and saw EA did the same - ignore the fact they grab something from a non existent drawer

Wardrobes have interiors elements, and have working doors!

Each Kettle have two versions, choose only one, one for the colour traits mod / one 'normal'. They function as Tea makers! Huazzah!

Spandrels in build mode are classified as fences. I made a variant with fence / no fence.

Several of the larger deco pieces such as the Arch Gate, or umbrella are actually lights!

Radiators act like radiators!

The Aircon Unit is completely functional, doesn't lower bills, but it does lower sims temperatures!

"Water Heaters" act like solar panels, they get money off your bills!

The Electrical Fuse box has 2 versions, I kept them both in, one wall deco and one functions as a burglar alarm - I wanted more alarms.

Most Sofas / Chairs have morphs!

Slots added to the Vanity and Bathroom Cabinet!

FENCES / SPANDRELS / STAIRS OH MY!

I have included swatch images of each of the spandrels, fences and stairs and labelled them to match, this is so that you can go in and take out any of the swatches you do not want. This is because there are lot of new fences and the menu can feel cluttered with them in for some people.

DOWNLOAD

ALT - SFS

~ Credits / Thanks / List of items not converted under the cut ~

MORE PHOTOS

CREDITS

Mini fridge is cloned from Targa over at MTS - so now it works just like a regular fridge barring a few animations (get baby bottle and juggle)

Kettles were cloned from @pforestsims's kettle, link here.

@jacky93sims for the base of the squat toilet! Epi for the code edits!

THANKS

@tvickiesims, @platinumaspiration thank you soo much for helping with the objects, really couldn't do it myself!! Your amazing, awesome, and some of the best creators out there! Thank you again!

@episims - YOU ARE DA BOMB! Thank you for all your help in getting those toilets working with me, and everything else you do when you answer my little annoying questions! Appreciated like you wouldn't believe!

LIST OF ITEMS NOT CONVERTED - @sims4t2bb

Due to the sizing / functionality of these objects, they will not be included in this pack!

All Yer Fixins Untenable Food Stand

Mali's Moonlight Market Craft Stall

Vegan Vittles Night Market

Late Night Snack Dessert Stall

Rice to Meet You Night Market

The Unrestroom

Fisherman's Slats Window - Tall

The Secret Maze Window - Very Tall

The Secret Maze Window - Super Duper Tall

Stained Glass Tomarani Shutters - Tall

Stained Glass Tomarani Shutters - Tall and Open Wide

The Save Us From Ruin Tallest Cinched Wall Curtain

The How Many Times Do We Need To Tell You It's Not Silk Taller Wall Curtain

The We Are Going To Jail< Tallest Wall Curtain So You Know the Truth Curtain

[qua1ntrell3]

You could do it on your own while you're looking at me.

Pairing: Tate McRae x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (MDNI), fingering (R receiving), degradation, use of Y/N.

Synopsis: Tate catches R masturbating.

Word count: 1.707

Tate’s been gone for over two hours.

She said she’d be out just a little while — grabbing coffee with her best friend Findlay, decompressing now that she finally has some downtime.

It’s currently March 6th, which means it’s her second day off in what feels like months, and even though she promised she’d spend it all with you, you told her to go. Encouraged it, even.

She’d been working incessantly on her recently released album “So Close To What” and she undoubtedly needed the absolute most mental rest she could get. To free her mind as much as possible before embarking on her upcoming world tour.

You had your own tour coming up, so you were supposed to be working anyway — reviewing wardrobe proposals, finalizing a promo shoot schedule, syncing with your creative director about stage mapping.

You even had your laptop open on the kitchen table when Tate left.

But that lasted maybe an hour at most.

Now you're lying in bed, half under the pristine white sheets, wearing some loose sweatpants and Tate’s oversized shirt — the black one with the Red Hot Chili Peppers logo at the front.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

You really shouldn’t.

But here you are — staring at your phone which showed the contents of a private folder in your camera roll, locked with Face ID. Precisely, a set of six photos you took of your girlfriend over a week ago.

You’d gone to New York together for her SNL performance taking place on the 1st of March before flying back to L.A. the next day — then were instantly thrown into press, prep, fittings for Vanity Fair’s Oscars afterparty, interviews. A whirlwind again.

Thankfully, you were now back to relative placidity and inside the comforting walls of your shared apartment.

But that particular night in the hotel bedroom in Times Square on February 27th remained fresh in your memory and had barely left your mind since.

The pictures your eyes were currently skimming through only allowed you to recollect the moment and experience more easily.

In the aftermath of the passionate love-making you two had done, Tate rolled over to lay on her stomach — hair a wild golden mess over her shoulders, lips slightly swollen, face half-buried in the pillow. She looked like destruction and divinity all at once — and you, drunk on love and cum and too much boldness, picked up your phone and clicked the shutter.

She didn’t stop you. She just smirked at you over her shoulder, eyes still lazy and satisfied.

She’s entirely naked in each one — golden skin glowing in low warm light of the bedside lamp, the curve of her ass sharp, the line of her spine elegant and obscene. In one of them, her eyes are on the camera. Staring right at you. Lips parted. Pupils blown.

Your hand now instinctively slithered its way to your lower-region, pushing and shimmying both your sweatpants and undies down to let them ruck at your knees as you spread your thighs wide. Then, you guided your fingers to your clit and started to circle it slowly but deliberately in time with the pulsing in your ears, imagining Tate’s breath in your mouth, her voice murmuring that damn lyric from her song in your ear — You could do it on your own while you’re looking at me…

And you are. Exactly that.

You swear she wrote that line for you.

For this.

You’re building too fast. Already shaking, completely soaked in arousal, vision running slightly blurry, quiet moans slipping out of your parted lips—

Timely, the door clicks.

You don’t even register it until you hear the soft clink of keys in the ceramic bowl, followed by footsteps that gradually grew in volume.

“Y/N?” Tate’s voice calls out casually, a hint of an amusement in her tone. “Babe, I’m back. You won’t believe what Fin—”

She stops abruptly as you jolt up like you’ve been electrocuted, yanking the sheets over to cover yourself from the waist down. However, your other hand fails to cooperate as it fumbles with the phone. Unfortunately for you, it falls on the mattress facing upward, exposing what you’ve been staring at so intently for the past minutes.

You don’t even bother to scramble back for it. It was too late. Tate had already seen everything as she’s standing in the bedroom's doorway. Your widely parted thighs under the blankets were also a dead giveaway of your doings. Your eyes track her own and you can only watch as her face gradually contorts into a shit eating grin.

Oh, you’re fucked.

“Well, hello,” she says as she slips her sneakers off and walks in slowly, like a cat who’s cornered something she plans to devour.

“What do we have here, hm?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your face is practically on fire. Once she’s standing at the foot of the bed, she bends and reaches over to take your phone still open beside you, not breaking eye contact even for a second until the screen is within her near eyesight. Charged silence fills the room for a moment before you hear your girlfriend snicker under her breath in reaction to the photo she’s seeing, the sound sending a small shiver down your spine.

“Oh, you’re such a little slut,” she then murmurs, lifting her gaze to you, shutting the device and carefully placing it on the nearest surface before crawling onto the bed. Her expression darkens, a smirk barely there now as she moves to hover over you. “Jerking off to nudes of your girlfriend like a horny teenager?” Her voice is velvet and venom. You swallow as that can only mean one thing.

Tatiana’s here.

You then manage to breathe out a shaky, “I missed you.”

“Aww, baby,” she coos mockingly, stroking your cheek with her hand. You misinterpret the gentle action and lean onto her touch. 

Wrong.

She consequently pinches the soft skin there between her fingers — the sudden sting eliciting a small gasp from you — before promptly grabbing your chin and aligning your face with her own. There’s only a few inches separating you now, and you helplessly get lost in her intense gaze and bask in the sweet scent of her perfume. A few strands of her luscious golden brown hair fall over her face and you have to resist the urge to push them back.

“So because you missed me you decided to be a filthy little perv instead of calling me or waiting for me to come back?”

You nod again as your voice continues to betray you, eyes wide, pulse thudding in your throat. Her dominance does something chemical to you. It always did. 

Tate only hums in response and you catch her hooded eyes drift towards your parted lips hungrily for a split second before snapping back up to meet yours again.

“Well, now I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson. Can’t just cum without permission, can you?”

Before you can react, she grabs both of your wrists and pins them over your head against the pillow with a single hand before yanking the blanket down, exposing your soaked inner thighs. The sudden movement along with the cold air hitting your wet skin make you whimper embarrassingly.

“God, look at this,” she tsks, eyeing your glistening cunt with wicked delight. Her free hand finds purchase on your thigh, squeezing it with purpose and spreading it a little wider.

“Such a mess. Naughty, naughty girl.”

What follows is not gentle.

She’s kneeling beside you on the mattress as she leans down to push her mouth against your neck. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation and you instinctively tilt your head to allow Tate better access as she kissed and nipped your skin with fervor. Meanwhile, her hand snaked blindly between your thighs and expertly slid two fingers into you without warning.

You cry out — breathless, overwhelmed.

“Be quiet,” she hisses as she unlatches her lips from your neck to glare at you, hazel eyes flashing. You have to stop yourself from whimpering at her mouth’s absence. “You wanted to get off to me? Do it with your mouth shut now.”

Her long slender fingers are merciless — deep, fast, curling with perfect cruelty. Your wrists are still pinned by Tate’s other hand, your back arching as pleasure crashes through you like lightning. You’re dripping down her palm in seconds.

“Look at me,” she growls. “Cum while looking at me, Y/N.”

And you do — because how the fuck could you not?

You have to force your eyes open just so you can unravel under her gaze, moaning her name like a prayer you forgot you believed in. Her fingers don’t slow until your thighs are shaking and your voice is momentarily gone.

Tate lets go of your wrists, finally — leaving behind a faint imprint on your skin. She then lowers herself to lay right beside you as she pulls her fingers out of your pussy, wiping your arousal off her hand on the sheets.

Your girlfriend smiles cockily as she watches you collapse in front of her — limp and dazed — and she has the decency to help you slide your underwear and pants back on after seeing your slightly trembling hands reaching for them.

You choose to dismiss the friction of your clothes rubbing against your sensitive cunt, and roll over to curl into Tate’s frame — burying your face in her neck and placing a sloppy kiss there in gratitude.

Her smile softens at your display of affection and she wraps her arms around you in return, holding you against her front and kissing the top of your head before murmuring with gentleness laced with a hint of condescension.

“Did my pretty girl learn her lesson now?” She asked already knowing the answer.

You nod against her neck and mumble a breathy “yes” that becomes muffled by Tate’s skin.

“Next time you want me that bad, you call me. Or record it and send it. Understood?”

You assent once more. But you both knew this wasn’t going to be the last time you’d get caught doing this.

[screwsfall0ut]

Tim Drake Befriends a Bee Minific

When Tim was young and very lonely, he befriended a bumblebee. 

Back then, he was curious in a way that teased wonder on every rusted fire escape. At 9 years old, even Gotham’s grimiest streets sparkled under the right light and perfect Summer days were for adventure, not dread. 

It had been one of those perfect days - balmy, sunny, fresh, and crisp - when Tim almost stepped on a bee. He paused, one leg raised, light up sneakers still flashing, and hopped to the side. 

He carefully picked it up. The poor thing didn't have wings. It was so delicate. Its tiny legs tickled Tim's palms.

Tim was stricken with fear that it would die on the hot pavement, alone and scared. It needed to be protected. It needed a chance.

An eyedropper of sugar water and 30 minutes later, the bee was moving - crawling all over the table and, eventually, over Tim's hands. He brought the bee out into the garden, letting it examine the roses, the lavender, the yarrow.

Tim couldn’t leave it out there, defenseless, with no one to watch over it, to make sure it wasn't eaten or crushed or lonely. 

He named the bee Sisko, after his favorite Star Trek character, and because it was an onomatopoeia of the strange buzzing sound Sisko would make while traveling up and down Tim’s arms.

Day after day, Sisko and Tim would make new sugar water, then go explore every flower and bush and stone on the Drake property. Sisko’s favorites were the yellow roses, which had bloomed brighter and taller than anything else that season. Sisko would always crawl back to Tim’s hands in the end, or his arms, sometimes even up Tim's neck and into his bushy hair to keep Tim company while heating up chicken nuggets or peeling open protein bars or chowing down cold pizza. 

At night, Sisko slept in the ratty, soft stomach of Tim’s favorite stuffed animal, a bunny his Mom had given him when he was too young to remember. Tim moved the stuffy from his bed to his dresser (he was nervous about rolling onto Sisko in his sleep) and every night checked that Sisko was safe and sound before turning out the lights. 

They were friends - best friends. 

With Sisko, Tim lost the urge to wander off in Gotham proper for batwatching. Instead, he’d re-learned every step of Drake property, fell in love again with the flowers and trails, the old, old trees, and the pond out near the property line. 

Tim knew Sisko was on borrowed time (of course he did) but against all logic, Tim was certain that Sisko wasn’t any normal bumblebee. How could he be? Not when he’d chosen Tim, not when they'd made a home together. Anyway, why should it be so ridiculous to think that Sisko might be a witch's familiar or a companion like Jiminy Cricket. Magic was real, and there were stranger things on Gotham's streets every day.

Tim started to believe, actually believe, that one day he and Sisko might slip into Narnia or Wonderland or Middle Earth. Every day was an adventure.

Eventually the cold began to creep back, hardening the ground, taking the flowers, and turning the leaves. It was a chilly Sunday afternoon when Sisko crawled into Tim’s palm, fell asleep, and never woke up again. No matter how much Tim begged and begged and begged.  

He'd died so quietly. So unceremoniously. Tim wasn't ready. It wasn't fair.

Sisko was just a bee, and Tim was just a boy, and there were no magic wardrobes waiting for them.

Tim buried Sisko under the yellow rose bush, long gone spindly and brown. He cried so much that he'd thrown up in the dirt. 

Later that week, Scarecrow broke out of Arkham. For the first time since June, Tim pulled out his black clothes and his camera bag to watch Batman and Robin save the day. 

The click click of his camera shutter, the smoggy sky, the sweet rot smell of the dumpsters: that was familiar. Tim was a shadow again. He could lose himself: in the dark, in the night. 

Tim tucked his bunny stuffy into the back of his closet. He stopped waiting for magic to find him, at least, not the kind you'd read about in storybooks. Magic may have been real, but it was for people like Robin, people who swung from rooftops and laughed loud and made the world brighter. It was never meant for someone like Tim.

[litmot-archived]

hi Vic, I’ve been missing Isaac sm, could you write a fic of him and listener the morning after their first time? I imagine him making them waffles with strawberries and honey again <3

Sunlight

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: implied sexual content

You blinked awake slowly, adrenaline shooting through you immediately at the unfamiliar bedroom you found yourself in. Your gaze flickered around, making out the large wooden wardrobe and deep green carpet in the dim sunlight streaming through the shutters. 

It was Isaac’s. You were in Isaac’s bed. 

Heaving a sigh of relief, you allowed yourself to sink back into the cushions of his comfortable bed. Turning your head a little to face away from the light, you could even faintly make out his distinctive scent clinging to the bed sheets. 

With a smile on your lips — you had never felt so safe, so happy — you rolled slowly onto your side, expecting to be engulfed in the arms of the man you had come to love so much.

Instead of the warmth you had anticipated, you met the cold bed sheets. Isaac’s side of the bed was empty. You frowned, opening your eyes to look at the unmade bed next to you. Bitter disappointment took hold of your heart, and you turned to look at the ceiling as your thoughts quickly spiraled into a whirlwind of fears and doubts.

Had Isaac gotten tired of you? Did he not want your company anymore? Had you made him uncomfortable? Did he not want to sleep next to you? Had last night not been as good for him as it had been for you? Did he want to send you away?

You scoffed, running a hand through your hair and gathering the strength to get out of bed. 

This was silly. 

Surely, Isaac had simply woken up before you, and he was in his study, working on cases. Surely, he had merely fought a losing battle against his insomnia before deciding to get a headstart on the day. Surely, he had not meant to leave your side specifically. 

Right?

You went down the stairs hesitantly, feeling a little out of place. Despite yourself and all the logical reasoning you tried to provide, you still worried about having upset him somehow.

“Isaac?” you called weakly, tapping on the shut door to his study. You did not want to bother him if he was busy, but seeing his eyes light up with a smile when he would see you — to show you everything was alright between you, to show you he still loved you like he had professed in your arms last night — was a longing you needed to come true before going ahead with your day. 

There came no answer. Your chest felt hollow, and you clenched your jaw, swallowing your hurt.

“Good morning,” a voice called from behind you, making you jump. You whirled around, seeing Isaac leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen with a soft smile on his face, and an apron wrapped around him. “Did you sleep well? You looked adorable. I did not have the heart to wake you up.”

“Oh,” you breathed, a weight lifting off your shoulders you had not even realized was pressing down on you. “That— yes,” you stuttered, not meeting his eyes as you nervously fiddled with the ring on your finger. 

Isaac was here, but you still felt anxious. He looked just as content as you were. There was nothing to worry about, but you could not help but shrink a little under his gaze. 

Footsteps approached, a hand reaching out tentatively to tilt your head up to look into his eyes. You saw your uncertainty reflected in them.

Isaac opened his mouth to speak. You could practically see the words getting stuck in his throat. He swallowed thickly, trying again. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice shaking despite his efforts to drain his heart-wrenching vulnerability from it.

You had worked many months to break down his walls one by one until he was left utterly exposed before you. Never in his life had he thought to find a person he trusted enough to bare his soul to, but here you were. 

He trusted you in every way — with his life, his work, and his family’s legacy. Still, feeling his heart beating in the palm of your hand was a new sensation for him, and it took a tremendous amount of effort to allow himself to feel his love for you and not hide away again behind the walls he could draw up in an instant. 

“Why—? Did— Did something happen?” he asked uncertainly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Did I do something? Do you” — he hesitated, searching your gaze — “do you regret last night?”

Your expression softened. Drawing up your hands, you gently cupped his cheeks before leaning in to place a chaste kiss against his lips. “Isaac,” you murmured, tilting his head to press another lingering kiss against his forehead. “Isaac.” You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into your chest before kissing his cheek. “Never,” you said, feeling his arms encircling you tenderly.

He buried his face in your shoulder, clearing his throat after a moment and wiping at his eyes as he swayed you slowly. It felt like a soothing dance. “I was worried,” he admitted, his voice small. 

“Never about that, My Love,” you said, squeezing him tighter. “I only— you weren’t in bed, and I— I thought maybe—”

Isaac stopped, drawing away from your embrace to look at you properly. “What did you think?” he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

You ducked your head, feeling stupid for the fears you had upon waking up alone. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he reassured you, reaching out a hand to smooth back some wayward strands of your hair. “You looked upset.”

“It’s silly,” you said, running a hand through your hair self-consciously to fix your disheveled appearance. “I just— well, when you weren’t there, I thought maybe you expected more from last night, and now you— you have gotten tired of me.”

Isaac’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No!” he said vehemently, mortified at the idea. “Pickle, what? You— I love you.”

“I know,” you said, smiling faintly at the reassurance. “I love you, too. My fears got the better of me this morning when you weren’t beside me.”

You saw his eyes light up in realization before his expression changed into remorse. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands out for you to take. “I wanted to surprise you with breakfast. I— I did not think—”

You took his hands, shaking your head to disperse his guilt. “It’s alright, I promise.”

“It won’t happen again,” he said, tugging you towards him for a kiss before leading you into the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Now that you saw the heart-shaped waffles prettily arranged on two plates with honey and strawberries on top, you wondered how you had not noticed their delicious smell before.

Isaac smiled, his eyes crinkling at your blissful expression as you took a bite and hummed in contentment.

[edenscollardrawer]

Surveillance - f!Kylar/f!PC

18+, content warnings & tags: stalking, degradation, humiliation, public sex, oral sex, dom/sub 1292 words

Kylar wasn’t charming. That was something you’d noticed about her from the very start. It’s what made her constant pining all the more irritating. It wasn’t cute or endearing, just flat out unsettling. The missing clothing, the quiet camera clicks while out on the street, the neverending feeling of surveillance - You’d started feeling like you were going mad. 

Last Saturday started like any other. Your stiff legs rolled over the side of your disheveled bed, a loud creak emanating from the weathered floor boards. As your tired hands opened the wardrobe, idly shuffling through the drawers - you noticed your dwindling supply of underwear and sighed. It was a routine you’d gotten used to. You practically had to replenish your panty supply on a bi-weekly basis now. After some lazy shuffling into a clean outfit, you began your trek to the shopping center.

Your teal rain boots trudged through muddy puddles, and the drizzle coming down on your head made you wish you’d bought an umbrella. Overcast clouds loomed on the horizon. The peculiar sound of following footsteps sliced through the rain, unnoticed by you as you crossed the intersection onto Wolf Street. Emerald eyes observed you from a distance, analyzing and cataloguing your every movement. Maybe out of naivety, or maybe in an act of subconscious defiance - you didn’t notice her, continuing your journey to the store in blissful ignorance. 

You reached the entrance of the building and knocked the mud off your boots before walking inside. The footsteps following you trailed a block behind, careful not to enter your line of sight. As you made your way up the escalator, you glanced around at the familiar storefronts. The gentle hum of chatter from fellow shoppers dulled your senses further, quieting the shuttering of Kylar's distant camera lens. 

You sifted through racks of clothing, selecting a new outfit for school. As you approached the bins of women's underwear, you picked up a pair of pink lace panties, examining them before grabbing several more pairs. Kylar's petite frame heaved with excitement as she hid behind a rack of coats. Your attention was drawn away from your transaction as your ears finally focused in on the consistent clicking. You quickly whipped your head around, searching for the source of the sound. The boutique appeared relatively empty, except for the occasional patron. Ignoring your quickening pulse, you purchased the clothes and hastened out of the shopping center.  

As you hurried down High Street, the unsettling sensation of being watched hung over you. The gloomy overcast clouds loomed above, casting a twilight blue hue onto the road. Each step you took in your rubber boots squeaked as your feet rushed forward. While you passed by dark alleyways and flickering streetlights, the ominous clicking sound surrounding you never ceased. Your gaze darted around nervously, heart racing. Trying to escape the crushing anxiety, you dipped into an alleyway next to the orphanage. 

 A quiet rustling behind the nearby dumpster alerted you to her presence. Your breath caught in your throat as you tiptoed over, kicking aside a dingy cardboard box to the side to reveal her trembling form. Her camera was wrapped securely around her neck, undoubtedly filled with photos of your recent shopping excursion. With your brows furrowing and fists clenching, and your feet planted firmly on the wet cement - you choked out a scoff.

“What… What the hell are you doing? Are you watching me?” your words cut harshly through the quiet alley. Kylar recoiled so aggressively it looked like she’d been electrocuted. Her dark, messy hair draped over her eyes, shielding you from her desperate gaze. You lurched forward, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her up to pin her against the brick wall. She trembled under your hands.

“I-I’m sorry… I…I didn’t mean to upset you…” Kylar whispered, choking back tears. Your cold laugh reverberated through the tight space. Grabbing the strap around her neck, you snatched her camera - letting her loose. She collapsed onto her knees in front of you, shaking as you went through her camera roll. It was exactly what you imagined, picture after picture of you shopping. Scrolling further, you saw photos of you sleeping, eating, dressing. Your stomach lurched. She’s clearly unwell.

You dropped the camera onto the damp cement, the lens cracking. Kylar winced, but said nothing in opposition. She remained planted on her knees, staring up at you with her pleading eyes. Shaking your head, you furrowed your brows and surveyed her pathetic state. She quivered timidly, her pale bare legs scraping against the cold, hard ground. Lifting your foot, you pushed her down onto her ass. Her skirt flared up and she quickly brushed it back down, blushing.

“You’re a fucking sick freak, you know that?” You spit, glaring down at her. She nods apprehensively, brushing the hair from her eyes to wistfully ogle up at you. Staring down at her disheveled, pitiful state - you feel a heat brewing inside you. She bites her lip, whimpering softly as your boot presses into her stomach. Her soft noises almost sound lewd. Retracting your foot, you planted your hands on your hips and smiled down at her with a predatory grin.

“You’re gonna make it up to me, aren’t you, Kylar? You’re gonna show me how sorry you are.” Kylar nodded eagerly, then crawled towards you on all fours like a dog in heat. A loud scoff brought a blush to her cheeks as you laughed at her.  Grabbing a fistful of her knotted hair, you roughly tugged her towards you, pushing her head underneath your school skirt. She whined, desperately gripping onto your thighs as she dove in - inhaling your scent. She stayed like that for at least a minute, face shoved against your panties as she took you in. Pleasant whimpers escaped your mouth, echoing through the brick walls. 

“I-I’m so… so sorry, my love…” She cried into you, mouth pressed firmly against your clothed core. You trembled, basking in her remorse. Feeling the wetness spreading through your thin lace underwear, you tugged on her hair hard.

“Put your mouth to use already, you freak!” You exclaimed, frustration welling inside you as you reach down to tug the undies to the side. She whined longingly, her tongue lapping up your juices eagerly. You brace yourself against the wall, thighs wrapping tightly around her head as you push her further into your core. She eagerly obeyed, tongue swirling around your clit like you’re the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted. Your head lulled back as your thighs shook around her, her slender fingers probing at your entrance. 

“F-fuck, you’re so obsessed with me, huh?” You taunted, tugging on her hair once more. She nodded against your pussy, fingers buried deep inside you as your walls clenched her. You moaned loudly, the sound echoing through the alleyway. Her knees were turning red as they pressed into the damp concrete. She didn’t care, her mouth greedily slurping up every ounce of fluid from your tender quim. Back arching against the brick wall, your thighs quaked as you reached your peak - letting out a loud cry. Kylar pulled back, gazing up at you with pure adoration. Her chin was slick with your juices. Aggressively, you stumbled forward and pulled her up by her sweatshirt collar, kissing her. Your tongues intertwined as you tasted yourself. Pushing her away harshly, she staggered backward. “Don’t go thinking this meant anything, got it?” You spat, straightening out your outfit. Kylar nodded, but you suspected she wouldn't be listening. Grabbing your bags, you traipsed out of the alley, leaving Kylar behind to process what just happened. You were still unsettled by her, but at least she knew how to make it up to you.  

[simstorian-blog]

Rio Verde – Wedding Venue

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Skyward Palms

Lot Size:  40 x 30

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Used

City Living

Cottage Living

Dine Out

Discover University

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

Growing Together

My Wedding Stories

Snowy Escape

Spa Day

Strangerville

Vintage Glamour Stuff Pack

Build Mode

Anachrosims ��� Murals Wallpaper Pt 1

Felixandre – Colonial Pt. 3 (Tiles)

Felixandre – Paris Pt. 3 (Boiserie Door Single)

Felixandre – SOHO Pt. 1 (Single Sink, Toilet + Toilet Remote, Travertine Floor, Wide Mirror)

Harlix – Harluxe (Shutter Window – Open)

Harlix – Tiny Twavellers (Plain Wall)

Harrie – Brownstone Pt. 2 (Arch Medium)

Harrie – Coastal Pt. 1 (Doors)

Harrie – Klean Pt. 2

Pierisim – Tilable (Plaster)

SimPlistic – Elegant Wallpaper Peacock

SimPlistic – Vintage Country Wallpaper

Buy Mode

13Pumpkin – Golf Cart

BlueTeas – Heron Office (Ceiling Lamps)

BlueTeas – Milano Lounge Chair

CowBuild – Urban Rug

Felixandre – Colonial Pt. 3 (Plant)

Felixandre – Florence Pt. 1 (Piano)

Felixandre – Grove Pt. 2 (Stacked Bowls, Stacked Plates)

Felixandre – Shop the Look 2 (Vanity)

Harlix – Bafroom (Wall Mirror Small)

Harlix – Baysic (Bedding w Blanket, Mirror in Stand, Packs Wardrobe, Short Dining Table)

Harlix – Baysic Bathroom (Modern Flush, Modern Wipe, Towel Clutter, Sink, Shower, Shower Wall)

Harlix – Kichen (Glasses, Olive Oil)

Harlix – Livin’ Rum (Coffee Table)

Harrie – Coastal Pt. 7 (Leaning Mirror)

Harrie – Halcyon (Kitchen Counter)

Harrie – Octave Pt. 4 (Double Light Switch)

Harrie – Shop the Look 2 Ceramic Side Table)

Joyce – Simple Live #5 (Bathrobe, Shower Gel)

KHD – Contemporary Sofa

Kta – Abstract Prints 3 (Mesh Needed)

Kta – Abstract Prints 4 (Mesh Needed)

LedgerAtelier – Stoneleigh Pt. 2 (Faux Wall with Porthole S, Porthole Window S)

Max20 – Ever After (Sign of Attention, Table)

Peacemaker – Hinterlands Living (Fringed Pouffe)

Peacemaker – Kassova Sectional

Pierisim – Calderone (Bedframe)

Pierisim – Domaine Du Clos Pt. 2 (Account Book)

Pierisim – Domaine Du Clos Pt. 3 (Curtains, Suitcases)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 3 (Narrow Rug)

Ravasheen – Mini Fridge

Ravasheen – Invisible Dance Floor

Ravasheen – Lentil Things (Host Station)

SixamCC – Life in Plastic (Bar, Dining Oasis, Stool, Vanity Chair)

Sundays – Kediri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow Solids)

TaurusDesign – Lilith Chilling Areas Pt. 1 (Sul Sul Sign)

Tuds – Cave (Panel Lights)

Tuds – Ind 02 (Décor Bottles, Wine Rack)

Tuds – Ind 03

Tuds – NCTR (Fridge, Tray w Cheese)

Winner9 – Yokeda Wall Lamp Triple

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN. 

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[ponder-the-orb]

Moonlit Quiet

Pairing: Dame Aylin x Isobel Thorm

Tags: Hurt/Comfort/Fluff, Spoilers for Act 2

Word count: 3K

Summary:

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. We have so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch.

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss.

What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness? 

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again. 

AKA: Aylin and Isobel take some time to themselves following Ketheric's death.

Read on AO3 or below

***

It’s been over a century since Isobel has seen Moonrise Towers bathed in the light of its namesake. Longer still since she’s set foot in this bedroom – her bedroom.

It’s not a space she ever imagined seeing again, but she’d found her hand on the doorknob before she’d realised she'd climbed to the top of the tower. An old instinct she’d presumed. Either that or she’d just been desperate for some – any – form of home comfort in the aftermath of such a battle. 

She chooses not to dwell on how it remains just as she left it: sheets rumpled, hearth warmed, her own cleric robes pressed and hanging on the back of the wardrobe- just as any other evening. 

Kicking off her boots by the window, she can almost pretend it is just any other evening. Her father could be working below, stern but happy in his way, and she could retire from her daily rituals ready for an altogether different sort of ritual atop her sheets.

She smiles as she hears the old but familiar thump of someone landing against her mattress.

Her darling. Her angel. 

It’s almost dizzying how normal a sight it is. The Dame Aylin on her bed, battle-mussed and resplendent in her full armoured regalia. She glows a gentler silver now, like Isobel’s own slice of moonlight waiting against her pillows.

For once, she’s silent, but the blazing promise in her eyes speaks volumes. 

Want. Need. Impatience. So much that even decades of death can’t stop the way Isobel’s knees weaken at the sight.

She hurriedly shutters every window until the room is solely lit by Aylin’s glow. Under any other circumstances, she’d leave them wide open. She’d always like to sleep under the watchful light of Selûne and for the first time in years she can feel her Lady’s caress reaching across the land. It’s another old familiarity, one she loves– but tonight requires privacy. 

She undresses Aylin with practised care. The sword finds a new home against the carpet, sheathed and quiet for now. She’ll need it again, no doubt sooner than Isobel would want, but it need not sing at this moment. Their battle is won. Plans for the rest of this war can wait.

There’s a quiet relief on Aylin’s breath as Isobel unlaces her armour. Piece by piece the silvered soldier falls to the bed, Isobel’s hands slow as they find the strength waiting underneath. She pauses as she brushes above the collar of her mail, her thumb meeting the ivory line of her throat. 

She’s rooted, awed, as she feels each long breath– so real, so alive against her touch.

That first lightning bolt of shock and elation at seeing her here had fallen along with Aylin’s breastplate against the sheets. She can’t quite place where in her head she is right now, somewhere between a shaky sense of regularity and the colder fear that she’ll close her eyes too long and awaken back at Last Light. Alone, hiding and still mourning the losses she can’t tell another living soul.

Aylin’s look softens as she continues to work. They both know she could dissipate the armour with but a thought, she had so enough times when the heat between them called for it. She stays still for now, letting Isobel ground herself in the ritual, the feel of the metal, of her angel’s fingers against her. Her worship belongs to Selûne, but true devotion– that will forever be for Aylin. It’s a thought that borders on blasphemy, but it would taste a lie to deny it. There’s no careful composure or rehearsed words needed. It’s something aching, intimate– pleasure and want so desperately pressed into each other with shaking hands and parted lips.

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. We have so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch. 

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss. What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness ? 

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again. 

“Yes, we do,” is what she says aloud, dipping down so their lips can finally meet.

She knows it’s the calm before the hurricane, one moment of pure unfiltered serenity before Aylin’s composure snaps. Her mouth opens, gasp hot as she pulls Isobel into her lap.

“Oh my darling, my fearless Isobel,” she whispers against her mouth, tugging her close with a strong arm around Isobel’s waist. “ Please let me adore you now.” 

Isobel groans. She’d almost forgotten how perfect her name sounds in Aylin’s voice– the strength of a battle cry; more delicate than a prayer.

She shifts under Isobel and her lips are everywhere, her chin, her ear, her throat. Pieces of her own armour clatter to the floor as impatient hands roam over her, seeking lost skin.

It’s a task unto itself not to press her down onto the bed right now and ravish her until they’re both sweetly exhausted and sore. Gods-knows she wants to. It would be so easy to lose herself in Aylin until dawn dared intrude on them.

She squeezes the curve of Isobel’s thigh and lights burst behind her eyes.

It’s everything. It’s too much.

“ Aylin - wait.” She catches her face, slowly guiding it back to hers.

Aylin’s hands immediately still. “Does something trouble you?” Her voice is thick– those moon-bright eyes blown wide as an eclipse.

Isobel smiles. That’s a sight she remembers all too well. Her Aylin. Her perfectly besotted love.

“It is as you said. We have time,” she breathes, gathering the spill of Aylin’s hair and letting it slip between her fingers. “So please, could you let me do this?” What exactly she’s asking for she isn’t quite sure. There’s a century still hanging between them, so many moments to make up for, far far too many.

Perhaps too many for the years she has left with her.

She swallows and brushes the down of Aylin's cheek, marble to flesh.

For now, she needs to be slow. Deliberate. Relearn her love inch by beautiful inch.

She knows that Aylin will forever be Aylin: the Moonmaiden’s justice, her unwavering paladin– as regal and proud as the heavens themselves. It’s her duty to stand as such until her immortal service is finally complete, perhaps when the last vestige of Selûne's light fades into that final night. But for now, she’s battled enough. It’s finally Aylin’s time to be savoured – and Isobel knows she’s more ready to take on that duty.

She brushes the peach curve of her lips, then those new golden scars fractured across her face. She pauses against the darker flecks on her jaw: blood from their new allies, from illithids, her father-

She tucks the thought away. It’s a feeling too messy for her to fully fathom right now, raw and tender as a new bruise. She quietly makes a vow to process it fully in her own time. Much much later. 

He’s at rest, his poison gone and Isobel would rather throw herself into the fetid pit under this tower than let him snatch the joy from this night as well. 

She can’t hide her gasp as she pulls Aylin’s undershirt from her body. Wider, deeper scars splinter over the firm muscles of her torso and finish in a jagged patch over her heart. 

Once, such marks were almost a comfort to Isobel, a shining reminder of every battle won and every chip she’d taken to come home to her. She’d never imagined it like this, the evidence of every sword and dagger and javelin plunged through her. 

She cups her hand to Aylin’s breast, the gold fully eclipsing each finger. 

“Does it hurt?” she whispers.

Aylin’s expression doesn’t falter as she covers Isobel’s hand with her own. “Not anymore. Such cowardly attempts would hardly be enough to break me.” 

They’re strong words, proud as every gallant decree that the world expects of an emissary such as her. And Isobel knows they’re a lie.

She can see it, beyond her stone-hard smile there are cracks, invisible and silent but no less present than those golden tracks left by battle and brutality.

Death for Isobel had been timeless, easy even. Nothing but the dreamless dark. Being ripped back into life, that had been a harder weight to bear. She’d awoken to her home now twisted with perverse Sharran magic, Selûne’slight snuffed out by the haunted visage of her own father. ‘ For love. For our family,’ he’d said, flat and chilled as a wall. And in the same breath, he’d revealed the worst of it: Aylin too was gone. Nothing mortal or immortal to ever bring her back.

It her own spear through the heart, but what was that in comparison a century caged, a century alone and shadowed, broken again and again and again until the might and wrath of a goddess was belittled down to naught but a tool.

Isobel’s vision pools with red.

She tries to ground herself in the drum of Aylin’s heart, forever steady as the rocking tide, but she sees her own trembling fingers betray her. 

Aylin tips her chin up with her thumb. “There is something else. Tell me.”

Isobel refuses to meet her eye.

“All this time- all this time you were so close,” she whispers shakily. “I should have known. I could have found you.”

Aylin shakes her head and strokes the length of her back. “None of that.”

The touch does nothing to quell her anger. “I’m a fighter too. I may not be any sort of divine Paladin, but I could have done something instead of hiding at Last Light.” She drops her head to Aylin’s shoulder as if she could muffle the guilt of her words in the broad muscle. “If it were me down there, you would have razed that vile temple to the ground, brick by brick, until you freed me. I was not even there when your cage was broken.” 

There’s a long moment of quiet before the hand at Isobel’s back slides up to cradle her neck. 

“You are indeed most ferocious,” Aylin says, her voice soft with fondness. “Before, I’d never laid eyes on anyone so in tune with my Mother’s power. It was the most remarkable sight to behold. And from what I understand, you were doing precisely what was needed of you at that Inn. You protected our allies, strengthened them so they could destroy this tower’s forces and the powers so wicked that laid beneath. Without you, they would have all been destroyed by the shadows that ruined this land.” She tilts Isobel’s head slightly, letting each word brush against the point of her ear. “ That is why I am free.”

Isobel shifts into the touch, lets the soft rain of her lover’s words unravel the tension inside her. 

She’s free, Aylin is here and she’s free.  

She focuses on the thought. How it happened and who found her are facts she’ll need to let go of one day. She’s with her, solid and soft and oh so strong against her palms and that is the only thing that could possibly matter.

Aylin guides her face back with warm hands. Her intention is clear as she drops her eyes to Isobel’s mouth, the conversation probably over in her view.

She halts Aylin’s kiss with a finger to her lips. 

There’s something else, one last weight she must unburden from herself before they can finally take that first step in moving forward.

She touches her own chest, rubbing the spot over her heart. “A hundred years, Aylin. It’s a lifetime to most, even to me. I may scarcely remember being dead, but I know I came back changed. Wrong.” From the moment she’d jerked awake in her tomb, she’d felt it– something bitter and cold resting inside her. 

Aylin pulls back, eyes wide. “Did that foul necromancer hurt you?”

“No, no, my love,” she answers, running her hands across Aylin’s shoulders until the fire in her gaze quietens a little. “Whatever brought me back and healed my body was unnatural to say the least. I think some part of me knows I shouldn’t be here.” Even now she knows it. Under the joy and shock and wonder there’s still a seed planted deep in her chest, rotting. 

A large part of her wishes that was the only thing changed in her.

She takes another breath. “That’s not all. After I ran from my Father, I had to fight, to harden against it all, become a warrior against people I’d once held dear. If… if I’m completely truthful, I think the person you truly knew remains in the crypt I was pulled from.”

Aylin tilts her head, an eyebrow raised. “And you believe that will eventually turn my heart from you? Or do you think that my time caged has changed my own feelings?”

Isobel bites her lip, fighting the urge to look away. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“I do.” Aylin’s hands trail down Isobel’s body, her eyes following. “To many an immortal, a century seems so little. It’s nothing but the blink of an eye in the face of eternal life. For me however– it was the first instance where I truly understood the weight of time. Every second that I felt Ketheric’s wicked connection or looked up at generation after generation of craven Sharrans was its own eternity in that cage. Yet, as is my duty, I swore to never show my cracks.” 

Her hands continue their gentle path as she speaks, slipping under Isobel’s shirt and pausing at the dip of her waist. “I am my Mother’s sword, her glory– but it was not her power that kept me steady in the Shadowfell. It was my memories of you, my love.”

Warmth blooms like a blush under Aylin’s hands, her thumb caressing just under Isobel’s naval. She strokes her neck, waiting for those pale eyes to meet hers. “Even though you thought me dead?” she whispers.

Aylin’s smile softens. “Even then.”

Her thumb moves slightly lower, dipping just under the loose band of Isobel’s trousers. It’s a promise and a reassurance.

I’ve got you. I want you.

Aylin kisses her chin as she continues. ���And yes, you are changed just as I am, but did you think I would not recognise that voice, that love in your eyes as clear as our Lady’s light the moment I saw you again?”

Isobel’s answering smile threatens to split her cheeks, the last of her doubts disappearing into the fading curse just beyond. She kisses her forehead. Their noses brush. “Perhaps I just wanted to hear you say it,” she murmurs, shifting up so she can unlace the final armoured pieces on Aylin’s legs. She rises to help her, her fingers never leaving her bare skin as she works. It’s the only protection she’ll need for now.

“Then I will say it as many times as you need. Until the stars burn out, until this tower crumbles to dust around us– let it be the last thing I ever utter in the light of this world.” She presses her words across Isobel’s face, gentle as moonlight, steadfast as an oath as she finally lands on her lips. “My love most high. My Isobel.”

“Aylin,” she gasps against her mouth. It’s the only words her kiss-drunk mind can find as she pulls her impossibly closer, the world blurring in gold and pink around her.

It’s such a simple truth: loving Aylin will forever be the easiest thing she’ll do. Easier than loving herself, than her purpose, than her goddess. A century passed and that want hasn’t quietened, not even slightly. She’d wept, cursed, grieved for Aylin and a single kiss had her falling again, more desperate for her touch than her next breath.

“For the world to see, Dame Aylin shall forever be indomitable,” Aylin hums, slowing their kiss to lace their fingers together, “but so too is this.”

She presses one last, achingly gentle kiss to Isobel’s lips before ripping her shirt over her head. Her breath catches in her throat as Aylin twists them, pushing her into the mattress and caging her there with her torso. She swallows Isobel’s gasp as her lips drop to her chest, the heel of Aylin’s hand grinding between her legs with a warm familiar rhythm.

“Now, time enough has been wasted,” she mouths over her breast, the words rippling down to her beating heart. “It is as I said, I have a darling to adore.”

Everything else melts away after that.

It’s an ungraceful mess of hands and hearts. Words of love and gratitude spill against scars and skin as they finally find themselves within each other again.

Come morning, they will have to face the future. There are allies to bury, secrets to share, the road to Baldur’s Gate twisting and dark in front of them– but for now, between these silver-bathed walls, their world is nothing but the two of them. 

As close to heaven as either of them will ever need.

***

These two have taken up waaaay too much brain space over the last couple of weeks so have something soft.

[vmsplusblog]

[vmsplus]

Benefits Of Investing In A Modular Cupboard In Your Bedroom | VMS Trade Link

If your bedroom cupboard gets cluttered from time to time, it may be because you do not have the right cupboard.

A cupboard may be called a wardrobe or a closet. It is a decorative piece of furniture that can enhance how your bedroom looks, and its primary function is to contain all of your clothing and accessories.

If you’re looking for storage for your clothes and other things, your best option is a modular cupboard in your bedroom. As the name implies, a modular cupboard or wardrobe is a kind of storage unit that can be easily put together or taken apart (when needed).

It is different from the traditional wardrobe or almirah, which is the cabinet you buy readymade; therefore, it may or may not suit your interior design. With a modular wardrobe, you can customise, following your personal style and decor.

There are many different modular wardrobe designs that you can choose from.

For example, there is the sliding wardrobe design. This design has movable doors that glide horizontally along metal channels. These channels are fixed to the bottom and top of the wardrobe. 

This design makes a style statement, given its contemporary, sleek appearance.

This sliding wardrobe door design can save you more space by opening sideways; hence, do not block the space outside the wardrobe door. Besides providing more space for your clothes and belongings, they offer more stability, as they do not need to rely on hinges to hold the doors up.

Another one is the openable shutter wardrobe design, which has become popular because it is a functional and stylish storage solution. This design features one or more doors that, when swung open, reveal the contents of the wardrobe. It provides easy access to your clothes and belongings, adds a touch of style to your bedroom, and is versatile and durable.

What are the benefits of investing in a modular bedroom cupboard?

*  Functionality.  

Modular cupboards provide enough room for easy and convenient clothing and accessories storage.

* Customisation.  

You can customise them to your specific needs, such as shelves, drawers, and hanging spaces. You only need to select the shape, the size, the colour, the finish, and the material to use, and you will have your modular wardrobe.

*  Durability.  

Modular wardrobes are made of high-quality materials and can withstand wear and tear. Materials such as glass, metal and wood are excellent materials that make these wardrobes a fantastic long-term investment.

*Aesthetics.  

Modular cupboards can be made in many different shapes, styles and materials that blend beautifully with your bedroom decor. Whether you want a sleek, contemporary appearance or a rustic, classic appearance, they can be made to fit your preferences.

*  Space saver.  

They provide the additional benefit of being suited to any room, regardless of size. 

Even if you are in a small apartment or house, they can fit because they come in various sizes and can be installed in any size of available space in the bedroom.

*  Flexibility.  

This is one of the key benefits offered by modular cupboards. In contrast to traditional cabinets, almirahs, modular wardrobes will meet your changing needs. Depending on the kind and quantity of clothes and accessories that need to be stored, you can add or remove drawers, shelves, and hanging areas.

Modular wardrobes offer flexible storage options for clothing, shoes, and other things. You need not hunt through cramped drawers and chests to find what you want. 

Modular wardrobes allow you to dress more quickly and efficiently because everything you need is within easy reach in their rightful places. You just pick them up, ready to be worn. So, with a modular cupboard, there is no clutter, no searching everywhere, no detective work, no crumpled clothing.

Call VMS Tradelink if you need help choosing the right modular wardrobe for your bedroom or more information about installing a cupboard. We will be happy to speak to you and discuss how we can help with your project.

[vulcajes]

🔔, dorcas/hope, exhibitionism/(semi-)public sex (you can choose the level of publicity)

AHHH HERE YOU GO I'VE NEVER WRITTEN SMUT BEFORE I'M SORRY IT'S BAD

Cw: graphic depictions of lesbian sex under the cut, minors DNI <3

It was yet another day at the office. A boring, tiring day filled with nothing but paperwork and running around after the executives. Dorcas found it entirely exhausting, especially with how her higher-ups treated her. Being an intern turned out far more miserable than she had thought, but there was one good thing.

Hope Lupin.

Just thinking about her made Dorcas’ face heat up. She was everything Dorcas wanted in a woman. Smart, strong, no-nonsense, and great tits. The final part was another thing that made the intern blush often. Button-ups with the top buttons undone, low-cut blouses, and cleavage-focused dresses were main staples of Hope's work wardrobe and, by God, did she look good in them. Daydreaming about this woman was how Dorcas got through the day. That, and spending her breaks with Barty, her fellow intern and ride to work.

By the end of the day, there was one final task to do before being able to go home. Give Ms. Lupin the report on different stats showing company revenue this quarter. It was that, and then Dorcas could go home to a bottle of wine and sex dreams about her boss. A sharp knock at the door was quickly responded to by an even sharper “enter,” as Hope sat at her desk, peering at the intern from over her black-rimmed glasses.

Dorcas swallowed nervously, entering the office and slowly shutting the door after her.

“The profit report, Ms. Lupin.” She said sweetly, stepping closer to the heavy oak desk that was decorated neatly with picture frames and stacks of paper. Since realising her crush on her boss, Dorcas had started wearing slightly more revealing clothes around the office. Her skirts were shorter, her blouses became tighter, and she started fluttering her eyelashes and smiling sweetly whenever Ms. Lupin came to check on her interns.

Hope watched her carefully, eyes narrowed directly onto her. Dorcas wasn't sure if she was being watched because she was carrying important documents or if it was because of her outfit, but it made her feel nervous either way. She placed the heavy stack carefully on the desk, Hope's eyes still lingering on her face.

Dorcas remained silent, dutifully watching and waiting for any more commands. In reality, she should be long gone by now, but any time she ended a day with a stop at Hope's office, she would always wait to see if Hope had any jobs for her.

“Thank you, Miss Meadowes, you're a good intern. One of the best hires my company has made,” Hope complimented, her eyes scanning Dorcas’ body slyly, “you're one of my favourites, actually.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate that a lot. I'm glad to be under you… working under you. For you.” Dorcas mumbled, looking down at her shoes and blushing furiously at her word vomit. Something about Hope always made Dorcas trip over her words and feet, like she'd never actually spoken to a woman before.

“Of course, Miss Meadowes. Now, I want to show you something, so please sit.” Hope replied kindly, standing from her chair and gesturing towards the desk. She stood directly in front of the chari, giving Dorcas no choice but to sit on the desk. The laptop had been closed and moved to the side, leaving more than enough space for the intern to sit comfortably, so she did.

Hope sauntered behind her desk, towards the large windows making up the back end of her office. She pulled the shutters up, revealing the twinkling lights of the city from the top floor of the office building. The sound of rush hour traffic was hushed from so high up, only the lights of the traffic reaching them.

Dorcas’ eyes widened, the lights reflecting in her dark brown irises. It made her boss smirk, as she stalked towards the girl.

“So pretty…” Hope murmured, standing between the opened legs of her employee. She smiled down at her, her hands gently stroking the soft skin of Dorcas’ thigh. Dorcas gasped softly at the sudden feeling of hands on her body.

“Ma'am…?” She whispered softly, concern filling her voice. Was this something Dorcas wanted? Absolutely, it was something she dreamed of most nights. Was she still worried about the consequences of fucking her boss? Also yes, this internship was the best thing to happen to her and she didn't want to ruin it, or Hope's career.

“Shh, it's okay. You can call me Hope, honey. If you want this, we can do this. I know you've been wearing those sexy little outfits around the office for me, I see the way you look at me. Just nod or shake your head, baby, I'll accept your decision either way.” Hope answered in a sultry tone. Her hands kept stroking Dorcas’ thighs, enjoying the feeling of warmth the skin gave.

Dorcas groaned softly, her eyes glued to the woman looming above her. This was all she'd ever wanted, too much to say no to. She nodded slowly, biting her lip in sheer anticipation. The fact that Hope had noticed the outfits felt like a small win, only making the soon-to-come massive victory that much sweeter.

Hope's smirk turned into a grin as she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Dorcas’ lips. “Good girl… just let me make you feel good. Look out at the city, let them see how good I make you feel.”

She sank slowly to her knees, methodically opening Dorcas’ legs further and removing the lacy thong covering her. Hope looked up one last time before diving her face under the pencil skirt Dorcas still wore. Immediately, she pressed a kiss against the lips that hid the soaked prize she was after.

Hope swiped her tongue between the lips, moaning softly as she got a taste. Her tongue made its way deep into her pussy, lapping up the wetness caused by her tender caresses. Her nose pressed against Dorcas’ clit, gently pushing the sensitive pearl every time she eagerly stuck her tongue forward.

Tentatively, Hope swirled her tongue around Dorcas’ cunt, making it clench with desire. She smirked against the sweet flesh and slowly pushed her tongue in deep, tasting her very essence.

Dorcas could only whimper and whine as Hope worked her magic. Her trembling thighs tried to wrap around her lover's head but each twitch of body made Hope's nose graze against her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. She could already feel the tight ball of pleasure threading in her abdomen, begging to be burst by the tongue working from below. Gripping the oaken desk tightly, Dorcas stared out the window before her, the glittering lights of the city only adding to the scandalous feeling arising inside her. Anyone could look through that window and see them; Dorcas Meadowes with her legs spread, and Hope Lupin on her knees. It was enough to bring a heat soaring through her body, which made her squirm even more.

Hope elicited a few more cries from the young woman, smiling to herself each time as she tasted her core, before pulling her face away. Dorcas pouted at the sudden loss in her cunt, the tightening knot in her abdomen wilting at the lack of stimulation. But she couldn't keep the pout up for long, not when she was looking down at the face of the woman she'd been desperate for for so long, wet from lapping up her arousal.

“Aw, honey, don't look at me like that…” Hope muttered, taking two fingers and slowly pushing them into Dorcas’ cunt. Inch by inch they filled her, gently massaging the soft tissue inside. Hope knew she hit the sweet spot when Dorcas let out a loud moan and practically soaked her hand. The woman nodded approvingly, her thumb coming up to swipe against the throbbing clit she was face-to-face with. That was met with a polyphony of pleasure from Dorcas’ mouth, her legs kicking as if being electrocuted by her pleasure and her eyes fluttering shut.

The heavy breaths from both women were only increasing as Hope's digits worked tirelessly to bring Dorcas pleasure. A thumb circled and toyed with her clit, making the tightening feeling of pleasure expand and grow. Hope knew all she had to do was continue at this pace, her fingers hitting deep inside.

Dorcas squealed, the knot snapping as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her body crumpled on the desk, panting softly as Hope helped her through the orgasm wracking her body. It was nothing like she'd experienced before, she felt dizzy — her entire body feeling like it was collapsing in on itself like a black hole was forming. With loving kisses to her inner thigh, Hope let Dorcas ride out the feeling flooding her from her core and extending out like a flare.

“There you go, that's a good girl,” Hope whispered encouragingly, muffled by the thigh she pressed her lips to, “just let it all out and I'll clean you up after…”

Hope stayed true to her word. She had a box of tissues on her desk that she used to slowly wipe Dorcas down, being careful not to hurt or overstimulate her. Once done, she slowly rose to her feet, giving the girl another kiss before helping her stand. Both of them haphazardly straightened out their clothes, trying to make themselves as presentable as possible.

“Excellent work, Miss Meadowes, you really are a fantastic intern. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Hope said calmly, patting her mouth with a tissue as she watched Dorcas. Dorcas simply nodded, barely able to stand or walk with her legs so shaky. She didn't say a word, still seeing stars as she stumbled out of Hope's office.

It took Dorcas a bit longer than normal to get out of the office, her feet pointed together as it took all her strength to shut the door on the way out. She leaned against the wall, panting softly as she tried to cope with what just happened. A slow turn of the head landed her eyes on a figure. Another second let her eyes focused on the teasing figure in front of her.

Barty. Her ride to and from work. Dorcas tensed immediately, trying to stand straight in his presence.

“Hey, Cas,” Barty started teasingly, “I went looking for you when you didn't meet me at the car. I came here and heard what you were getting up to through the door and decided to wait. Sounded like a good one, was it all you hoped it would be?”

Dorcas just rolled her eyes.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Abendrot

Laszlo Cravensworth x reader. This fic is a Lost Boys/What We Do in the Shadows crossover! (moodboard)

*****

Since you have moved to Staten Island, the moment of awakening has been less traumatic for you than it is for the boys, since for you living in an apartment is nothing new. No matter how… picturesque it is to sleep in the filthy ruins of an abandoned, crumbling hotel, furbished like the shelter of a band of squatters and lacking even the most basic standards of hygiene, that sort of arrangement has never been your thing; as a consequence, when Max turned you in a vampire almost three centuries ago, you have given up on many things, among which the light of the sun, the possibility to use a mirror to make sure your hair is in order and the need to eat normal foods to sustain yourself, but not the comforts of a house worthy of the name. 

For this reason, you had remained in your cosy, nicely furnished apartment in Santa Carla, so close to the sea you could perceive the sweet song of the backwash when you woke up and far enough from the Boardwalk to guarantee you the peace and quiet you needed and enjoyed. Every night before dawn you made sure all the windows were closed, so that the light of the sun couldn’t filter through, and retired to sleep on your comfortable bed, with clean sheets and a soft pillow, to rest at the end of yet another night largely spent wrangling the four young vampires you were responsible for and who you loved dearly, even though sometimes you wished they’d get less often into trouble. 

This state of things only partially changed after your move. When Max was killed by the Emersons, you and the boys quickly realised Santa Carla wasn’t safe for you anymore, and that, no matter how much you loved the small town that had been your home for decades -or centuries in your case- it was better to find a place where your kind was still considered a myth and that wasn’t teeming with vampire hunters. You spoke to Tilda, a former acquaintance of your Sire who was part of the Vampiric Council, and she suggested you move to New York City, a relatively safe place where a large community of vampires already existed; the boys helped you empty Max’s bank accounts and take everything you could need or find a use for from his home, and you went on the road. A week later, you had rented a comfortable house in Staten Island, large enough for the five of you; David, as usual speaking on behalf of the whole group, said he and the others would crash with you until they found a place of their liking, but three months have passed since then and they haven’t even begun looking. You don’t mind; even though they are way too rowdy for your liking and you often have to force them to do their part of the chores, you are deeply fond of those four scoundrels, and don’t mind having them as housemates… if only because it’s easier this way to keep an eye on them. 

The dark of the room surrounds you, and it’s like you are floating in an ocean of shade. Curled up on your bed, one arm hidden under your pillow and your legs bent in a semi-foetal position, you wake up as soon as the sun covered by the solid white-painted walls disappears beyond the horizon. You feel it on your skin, thanks to the instinct common among those of your kind and that has never failed you, your eyes suddenly opening wide as a voice whispers in your ears: it’s gone. All clear. Nevertheless, you feel slightly apprehensive as you stand, walk past your wardrobe and approach the west-facing window; a moment of hesitation is all you allow yourself before slowly pushing the shutters open… and a sigh of relief leaves your lips as the gentle night breeze brushes against your face, rather than the dangerous light of the sun.

Night has fallen on Staten Island. 

Having opened the window to clear the air, and lingered for a minute to admire the clear sky where a thin crescent moon is surrounded by a multitude of stars, you turn and leave your room towards the living room, a spacious chamber whose windows are similarly barred. The ceiling is reinforced with robust beams that, despite the efforts of the real estate agent to make you appreciate the house’s brightness (ah!) and its excellent position in relation to your workplace, have been one of the main reasons you have decided to rent it.

The boys are there, having elected the living room as their resting place since the day of the move. Fast asleep, they hang from the ceiling, their bodies suspended in the air; they are completely still and silent, a state of things you often wish would occur during their waking hours, at least once in a while. But after all, this is also why you are so fond of them, you reflect, because they are so different from you. Being a vampire you know you will never grow old, but David and the others serve as a reminder of what it meant to be young: wild and careless, with the untamable energy of someone who still has the luxury of not having to care about the future.   

“Wake up, all of you!” you exclaim happily, and a moment later the room is already in an uproar. 

David, Paul, Dwayne and Marko, as usual full of the energy of the youth they will never grow out of, jump down from the ceiling, instantly awake. “Hi, (name)!” they greet you in unison; David winks at you, while Dwayne and Paul retrieve their jackets from the back of the chairs they had left them on, and Marko is the first to reach the nearby kitchen in search of food. 

“Don’t you look pretty tonight, (name).”

“Thank you, but I haven’t even changed after last night yet.” you point out smiling; David is a charmer, and would be able to flirt with the Devil himself if he needed to, but you know he and the others care immensely for you, which is why you appreciate their compliments “Any plans for tonight?” 

As you follow the other boys to the kitchen, David informs you they intend to visit a club they have heard of recently on the other side of Staten Island, to party, meet girls, and feed. “You should come with us, you know; it would be fun.”

You appreciate him asking, and know the boys would honestly be delighted to have you with them, but your answer is a smile, and a shake of your head. “Just please, David, try not to get caught.” you remind him for the umpteenth time; you don’t enjoy pestering the boys, but the last thing you want is a repetition of what happened in Santa Carla: losing Max was painful enough, and even though you’ve been assured there are no known vampire hunters in Staten Island the last thing you want is for the boys to risk meeting the same doom of your Maker “I’m serious; I know you need to feed but please, please, be discreet, and don’t leave a trail of bodies behind you like you did last week. Sooner or later someone will start suspecting what you are, and I don’t want to have to move again.”

You don’t need to mention the fact that, having remained out of the whole business with the Emerson family, there was no actual need for you to leave Santa Carla, but you decided to do it nonetheless, for extra safety and mainly to take care of the boys; you’ve never held it against David and the others, but they all know how painful it was for you to leave the town you had been born and spent three centuries in. 

David’s expression turns serious; he raises a hand, his palm facing you. “I promise, (name); we’ll be careful, and we’ll be back well before sunrise.”

“Thank you; that’s all I ask.”

“What about you? Have a date with your boyfriend?” Marko asks once you have followed the boys to the kitchen. You privately thank the heavens that, since your heart has stopped beating, blood is no longer flowing in your veins, because otherwise you would have gone red in the face. You hadn’t planned on letting the boys know you had met someone special, but they found out anyway, and no matter how good-natured their teasing, having the four of them gossip about your lovelife is more than a little embarrasing. 

“Yes, I am meeting him tonight.” you admit as you lower yourself on one of the chairs that surround the kitchen table, while around you the boys fix a snack for themselves; Paul and David are bickering over the single pizza slice left over from last night “But I’d rather you not call him that; he’s not my boyfriend.”

“What is he, then? Your lover?”

“Your boy-toy?”

“Your suitor?

“Your fuckbuddy?

“Just stop it, please!” you cry, overwhelmed and amused equally, as the boys, still busy adding to the list, giggle around you; suddenly they have stopped focusing on the food or the pranks they were playing on each other, and all four of them are looking at you. You sigh, aware they won’t let the matter go unless you answer satisfactorily, and for a moment, only for a moment, you… well, hate is too strong a word, but you really wish they’d leave you alone. You understand them being curious -you’d be as well, if David or one of the others told you they had a new partner- but can’t they see you’d rather keep the matter to yourself? You already spend a large part of your nights working to support your little family, since the few attempts to get them to work and earn some money ended in disaster, and taking care of them; don’t you deserve some time for yourself, to do things the boys respectfully keep their nose out of? “It’s not like that. He’s… a friend.”

“One of those you take your knickers off for?”

“David…!”

The boys laugh, insolent but good-natured -or good-natured but insolent? You have taken care of them for decades, and while you are by now used to being responsible for them, because someone has to be now that Max is gone, you really wish they’d stay out of this matter- and, having perceived you’d rather change the subject or maybe simply because they have already lost interest in your love life, they start discussing the possibility of stopping to buy food before going to the club. Having already lost your appetite, you grab the apple Dwaine has tossed you from a bowl inside the cupboard and retire to your room, leaving your young friends to plan their night.

You munch on the apple as you choose a set of clothes from the wardrobe and leave them on the bed, then you move to the nearby bathroom; being a vampire, by definition adverse to running water, you have never taken a shower in your life, but tonight you won’t treat yourself to a long warm bath as usual. Tuesday is the day of closing of the diner you have worked at since you and the boys moved to Staten Island, having explained to the owner you can only cover the night shift because you are busy with another job during the day, which means you have a whole night to spend with your friend. You have agreed to meet and hang out until dawn, and you are determined not to waste a single minute.

Twenty minutes later you’re ready for your date; fixing your hair and make-up is not easy when you don’t have a reflection, but over the years you have learned to make do, and now you’re reasonably sure you look at least decent if not pretty. You retrieve your bag from the chair next to your bed, and as you make sure your keys and wallet are where they should, as well as obviously your flute, David appears on the doorway, his arms folded and his back against the doorframe. 

“Is everything alright?” you wonder, a question that could sound superfluous but it is not, since while you have seen him and the others only a few minutes ago, you are well aware the boys would be capable of getting into trouble in the time it takes you to drink a glass of water. David nods silently, an unusually serious look in his dark eyes.

“You look really nice, (name). Seriously.” he states in the end.

“Thank you. I left you gas money in the bowl at the entrance.”

He pouts. “Can’t we beat some guy up at the station and force them to fill our tanks?”

“Of course not! Please, be careful, you’ve already been lucky once, the last thing we need is to draw attention to yourselves…”

“You’re worrying about nothing; if someone sees us we can kill them too, leave no witnesses…”

The dismay on your face is so intense David starts to laugh. “Come on, (name), I’m joking!”

You know it perfectly, but that doesn’t alleviate your bad mood. Why don’t you grow up?, you would like to ask him, even though you already know it will never happen. He and the others are Lost Boys, not Lost Men, and David is destined to remain a nineteen-year-old forever - physically and mentally as well, which means that recklessness and love of danger are part of him, something he can’t help being driven by, and it’s the same for Dwaine, Marko and Paul. On the other hand, having been turned when you were already an adult worrying about them comes naturally to you, especially after your young friends have narrowly avoided death at the hands of the vampire hunters in Santa Carla, only a few months ago.

However, you are not their mother, nor their Sire, and while Max was in the habit of entrusting them to you, which mainly meant solving the mess they created and making sure they at least tried to keep their vampiric nature secret while he took care of his shop on the Boardwalk and enjoyed the peace and quiet you also desperately craved, the boys have never formally been your responsibility. You love them as the younger brothers you no longer have, since their arrival in your now orphaned family has filled a void that had grown inside you since you had to abandon your mortal loved ones, and you know the boys are also sincerely fond of you, no matter how much they enjoy riling you up; but frankly you are fed up with this whole state of affairs, and to be patient, the voice of reason for any problem David and the others cause or get involved in, feels more frustrating with every passing day. Have you really been gifted eternal life, just to spend it baby-sitting these four hooligans?

“Well, try not to get into trouble.” you recommend in the end, more brusquely than you are used to “I’m going out; I’ll be seeing you at dawn.”

David nods, but he doesn’t seem eager to rejoin the others - or to leave you alone. “Why are you bringing your flute?” he asks, noticing the instrument peeking out of your bag. 

“My friend asked me to play for him; he’s an expert musician.”

“Mmh… about this guy…”

“David, please…” you begin with a sigh, but he shakes his head, suddenly serious, as he walks up to you. 

“Is this thing between you… serious?” he asks in the end, vaguely embarrassed by the topic “I mean, are you simply hanging out, having fun and… err, other things, or is there something more? Are you exclusive? Are you going to… move in together or what?”

“David…”

“Do you love him?” your young friend asks again, blurting the words out as if to get it over with, and you could easily point out that your lovelife is not his business, but you don’t, because, as absurd as it may sound, it seems like now he is the one worried for your safety and well being, the boy who was used to leave the bodies of his victims on the beach of Santa Carla for all the world to see, bite wound on the neck in full view, is concerned for the woman who has taken care of the accounting for Max’s various shops and businesses for three centuries and never even forgot to pay a bill in time!

It’s absurd; but sweet, as well. 

“Listen, I don’t want to meddle in your business, but I’ve never seen you so… so taken as you are now with this guy.” David, who you have just asked the reason for his question, explains “We have all been wondering. You’ve met him soon after we moved here, right? It’s been three months, and you’ve seen him almost every night!”

“Shouldn’t I have?”

“I’m not your father, (name), I’m not going to tell you who you can or can’t see. It’s just… it’s kind of a new thing for you, since you’ve been alone for at least ten years.”

Those last words, uttered without any offensive intent, nonetheless burn enough to force you to avoid David’s gaze. Given the fact you have lived all your immortal life in Santa Carla, a veritable haven for all supernatural creatures -vampires, werewolves, witches and warlocks, and even a few mermaids who infest the waters surrounding the town- it should have been relatively easy to meet someone like you, or with whom at least you didn’t have to hide your true nature; nevertheless, your love life has always been unsatisfying in the best of cases, and a veritable nightmare in the worst, and as David noted, it has been a long time since your last relationship. 

You don’t quite know why it is so difficult for you to meet someone you like, who reciprocates your interest, and the bond with whom lasts more than a calendar page. Perhaps you ask too much of others or, conversely, reserved and introverted as you are, you discourage people who try to know you better. Or perhaps, you reflect as the hint of a smile blossoms on your lips, the boys were right that time they tried to comfort you after your latest relationship had gone down the drain, the reason your heart gets broken over and over again is that the men -well, the males of every race- of Santa Carla are a bunch of idiots who wasted the chance to take a doll like you out to dinner.

And then they brought your most recent ex to you, beaten to a pulp and with a sign that said: “ENJOY YOUR MEAL, (NAME)!” hanging from his neck. They are not the most mature vampires in the world, but anyone can see how much they love you. 

In any case, this time it might be different - he might be different. Maybe. After all, even though you have spent as much time as you could together, every single moment at night you weren’t busy with your job or taking care of the boys, it’s still too early to say if there might be a future for the two of you. You don’t want to rush things, given the fact rash decisions often turn against those who take them, and you’re old and wise enough to know that getting too attached to a person you still don’t know fully is a sure way to have your heart broken, but you can’t help it: you’re completely infatuated, perhaps even something more, and you want this relationship to last.

You don’t want to lose him. Just thinking you won’t be able to meet him every night like you have done for the last three months, whether to walk arm in arm along the tree-lined avenues or to share a moment of intimacy hidden in a dark back-alley, both aware, and aroused by the fact, that any passer-by could see you, makes you wanna cry. Nothing says it has to happen, especially since your friend seems taken by you as much as you are by him, but you can’t help being afraid, because three months is probably the longest relationship you have ever had, and he… he is special, you wouldn’t be able to explain why but you’re sure of it, and the last thing you want is to ruin things between you like you did with all your previous partners…

“What’s so special about him?”

“Sorry?”

“This friend of yours; what does he have that so many others don’t?” David inquires, now openly curious; it is a fair question, at least when it’s a friend who asks it, for which nonetheless you don’t have an answer ready.

“He treats me very well. He’s kind, always interested in what I think or do, and he makes me laugh.” you start listing in the end, the smile on your lips getting wider “He’s a bit old-fashioned, the sort of man who opens the door for a woman and pulls her chair out when she sits, and it’s very charming, but it’s not a pose, it’s his way to prove he cares about me. He’s very affectionate, and he’s a musician, so we have that in common…”

“You two fucking?”

“David.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright… if you met a guy you like, good for you.” David concedes, pulling off from the door as he prepares to leave; his tone is deliberately casual, perhaps to not give the impression he’s sticking his nose in your personal affairs “Just try not to let him push you around, alright?”

Part of you would like to point out you don’t need that sort of exhortation. Like the long list of victims you have left behind you in the last three centuries, among which many of your exes, you’ve never been the sort of person who allows others to mistreat them, and you’ve always known that no partner, no matter how handsome or funny or loving, can disrespect you, make you question your self-worth, or make you cry.

On the other hand, you appreciate  David’s concern, since you know he doesn’t want to see you suffer.

“I will.” you promise “If you in turn swear you and the others won’t get into trouble, at least tonight.”

Your young friend gives you his word that they’ll try, which you know is the most you can hope for, and then he leaves you free to go.

*

The night is chilly in Staten Island, an icy wind that forces the passers-by to pick up the pace towards home or to hide their hands and heads under gloves and scarves as they shiver. Free from such worries -you did put a light jacket on, more because it matched your dress than because you needed it as protection from the cold- you climb on your car, parked across the street from the house, and drive towards the park where you and your friend have agreed to meet, like so many other tuesday nights since your first encounter. The relative lack of traffic allows you to accelerate just above the speed limits, something you usually avoid but that tonight you decide to allow yourself; talking to David made you slightly late, and the last thing you want is for him to have to wait for you - because it would be impolite, obviously, not because you fear he might decide to leave. You anxiously keep glancing at the little car clock, calculating the time left before you reach your destination, but at the same time the emotion filling your heart -anticipation, a barely kept under control excitement, the inebriating joy of knowing he is waiting for you- is so pleasant, an exhilarating rush of sensual trepidation, as you try to imagine what tonight has in store for you. It’s been a long time since someone awoke that sort of feeling in your heart, and you can’t help enjoying it.

Your heart has been still for three centuries, but you’re so excited you could almost think it has started beating -fluttering, even- again as you slow down to turn into a tree-lined street, already savouring the moment when you’ll be face to face. No matter how punctual you are, he’s always already there, waiting for you; seeing you come he’ll smile, reach out to take your hand and bring it to his lips for a kiss, and that will be enough to make you feel you have the world at your feet…

You finally reach your destination, a mostly peaceful neighbourhood with almost deserted streets. Having parked your car -a gift to yourself, bought after saving up for it for years; like all vampires you can transform into a bat and fly, and the boys are always happy to have your ride on the back of one of their bikes, but you prefer a more comfortable mean of transportation- you walk the brief distance towards the park, and soon you hear a masculine voice whisper your name. 

“Laszlo!” you exclaim happily as you cross the street to reach him, and your friend, waiting in front of the window of a newsagent, walks up to meet you in the middle. “(name)” he greets you again with a slight bow of his head “Good evening; you look lovely tonight.”

The compliment flatters you, and you do like to dress up for your dates, but in truth, your friend is the one who looks invariably ready for a high-society party. Laszlo wears embroidered waistcoats and top hats, tailcoats and elegant ties, a style of clothing that, he told you, was fashionable for upper-class men when he was alive, and that he never abandoned after being turned. He looks amazing, the elegance of his clothing simply complimenting his natural charm, and you could be almost jealous of his effortless elegance, if you weren’t so attracted to him. 

“Did you rest well?”

“A good day’s sleep, thank you; I couldn’t wait to see you.” you tell him, at ease sharing your most private thoughts like you rarely have been with a person you have known for such a relatively short time. Laszlo, who is still holding your hand in his after kissing it, smiles with something that is more than simple satisfaction and complacence; you know he has also looked forward to that night you can fully spend together, and he’s determined not to waste it “What are we doing?”

“I noticed a carnival has just come to town. Would you like to visit it?”

You’re actually quite bored with that sort of place, given all the time you spent at the Boardwalk in Santa Carla, and you doubt the one that just came to Staten Island is different in any significant way. On the other hand, you appreciate that Laszlo has tried to come up with something fun to do for your date, and in the end you just want to spend the night with him, where and doing what is less important.

“Of course, I’d like that.” you answer eagerly, and a clearly satisfied Laszlo offers you his arm to lead you away. 

As you expected, the carnival is an almost perfect copy of the one in Santa Carla: lines of stands that sell food and other merchandise, games of skill -most of which undoubtedly rigged- the Rollercoaster and the Ferris Wheel, and other attractions; children of all ages, some of whom accompanied by more or less bored adults, line in front of their favourite rides, while a few giggling teenagers eye the Tunnel of Love, waiting for someone to invite or perhaps hoping to be asked themselves. Cheerful music fills the air, as well as the smell of popcorn and funnel cake, as you and Laszlo unhurriedly enjoy your walk; your friend, who unlike you is the sort of vampire whose body now refuses normal food, nonetheless insists on treating you to a snack, and you thank him with a quick kiss, hidden behind your cotton candy.  

“I can’t believe you have been an actor!” you exclaim admiringly. Unlike you, who before moving to Staten Island had spent the last three centuries in Santa Carla, Laszlo has lived a diverse and active life, dedicating himself to a number of different activities, from practising law to topiary; he always has a funny anecdote or story to tell, and you gladly listen as you cling to his arm.

“I have been a porn actor, to be exact. A few of my movies have won awards as well, especially The adventures of a randy vampire from 1896, one of the very first pornos ever.” he reveals “I must admit I’m quite proud of it.”

“Well, you should be! I’d never be able to do that sort of thing. Can I, err, see them? If it’s not too private…”

Laszlo, who looks openly flattered by your interest, assures you nothing would make him happier than showing you his movies. “I’m glad you asked me; no one ever cared to see them, not even Nadja.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is, I assure you. She finds them boring.”

Silence falls on the two of you; Laszlo seems vaguely melancholic all of a sudden, but you don’t quite know what to say to lift his spirits, since the matter concerns him and a person you have never met. 

Nadja is Laszlo’s Sire, and wife; she turned him into a vampire after having seduced and hypnotised him, and after a while they got married. Laszlo told you about her on your first date, and you know the two of them care greatly about each other, even though they have always had an open relationship. You don’t quite dislike Nadja -how could you, since you’ve never even seen her?- but you can’t help feeling threatened by her, since she and Laszlo share such a deep bond, and have been together for so long. Your friend -David was right, the term is completely inappropriate to describe your and Laszlo’s relationship, but what else could you call him? You’re not exclusive, you’re not engaged, and you’ve never even met the rest of each other’s clan; you simply meet for dates regularly, and fool around behind the bushes or in the back of the diner where you work. You care for each other a lot, and have fun together, but perhaps you should sit and discuss what name to give to your relationship…- but you can’t help feeling threatened by her, afraid that Laszlo may never come to love you like he loves her… or that she might force him to leave you.

“I’m so glad we can spend some time together.” you mention in the end, finally finding a way to change the subject “I have been asked to double my shifts at the diner this week, and last night when I returned home I discovered the boys had freed a dozen dogs from the pound and brought them home. I’ll be the first vampire whose hair turns grey with stress…”

Laszlo smiles. “How are your young friends?”

“They’re well, thank you; full of energy as usual, which would be endearing if I didn’t have to clean up their messes every day.” you lament; the last thing you want is to bore Laszlo with your complains, but since Max’s death, and given the fact you’re yet to make friends after moving to Staten Island, you have no one else to confide in “I don’t think they could survive a night without me…”

Laszlo looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “Do you plan on remaining with them forever, then?”

“I… don’t think I have a choice, do I? Max is gone, and no matter what they think, the boys are not invincible, and they already escaped vampire hunters once; if I leave them to their own devices they’ll end up dead in less than a week, not to mention the fact they have no money of their own. I love them deeply, but sometimes I wish I didn’t have to spend all my time taking care of them.” 

Laszlo doesn’t comment, beyond a sympathetic smile that you easily return. You spend another hour at the carnival, even treating yourself to a ride on the Ferris Wheel; when your cabin reaches the top of the structure, Laszlo circles your shoulders with an arm to make you turn towards him and kisses you, sweet and intense, his tongue gently slipping past your lips to play with yours. You moan softly, bringing up a hand to first cup his cheek and then to run your fingers through his dark hair; you can feel Laszlo’s well-groomed beard against your cheek, but the sensation is not unpleasant - quite the opposite in fact, especially after you end up thinking there is another part of your body he could kiss, your most delicate skin, where the burning sensation of his facial hair would only enhance your pleasure…

You feel hot just thinking about it.

You end up kissing furiously until your cabin returns to the ground; Laszlo leads you out by the hand, smiling when he sees you having to fix your dress. Neither speaks; but both of you are smiling.

After that, you decide you have had enough of the carnival, and walk to a more quiet spot, a small garden completely empty but for a few dogs being walked by their owners. You find a stone bench, and since there are traces of dirt on the surface Laszlo takes his jacket off to cover it.

“But this way I’ll crumple it!”

“Don’t worry about it; I wouldn’t want your dress to get dirty.” Laszlo explains, insisting so much that in the end you acquiesce and sit on the bench after he has draped his jacket on it, under the branches of a large oak.

“You’re a real gentleman; I really like this side of your personality.” you point out; Laszlo is not the first partner who treats you well, but there is an old-fashioned chivalry in him you can’t help being charmed by “Especially since you, err, already made a good impression on me.”

“Well, you’re a lady; you deserve to be treated with courtesy.”Laszlo explains, now sitting next to you “Especially if…”

“... yes?”

“... nothing. Will you play for me now, as you promised?”

You hesitate for a moment before retrieving your flute from your bag. 

“I warn you, I’m not really good yet.” you apologise; as you told David, a love for music is one thing you and Laszlo have in common, but unlike him, who has released several songs -even though most of them were later stolen and re-arranged by other artists- you’re still learning to play the flute, having taken night classes at a local school when you lived in Santa Carla, and you’re now trying to teach yourself “Maybe we should wait, I don’t want you to think badly of me…”

“I promise I won’t.” Laszlo gently reassures you “Please, I’d love to hear you play.”

While the boys and even Max occasionally agreed to listen to your efforts with the flute, Laszlo is the first who asked you to perform, which you appreciate deeply. Feeling a bit shy but determined to give your best shot, you bring the flute to your lips, close your eyes to better focus and play for a few minutes, choosing a few pieces you have practised recently. Your instrument’s soft notes fill the air, Laszlo’s hand resting on your tight as he listens intently.

“Very well.” he compliments you in the end, and you smile, still embarrassed.

“Don’t say that, I know I’m terrible.”

“Well, of course you’re still learning, but you’re way better than many other musicians who have played as long as you have. I particularly enjoyed that Bach piece.”

You allow yourself to think he’s being sincere, and not simply telling you what you want to hear; the moon is still high in the sky above your heads, but suddenly you wish this night would never end. 

“I… spoke to Nadja about you.” Laszlo mentions after a while, his tone too casual for that nonchalance to be sincere “I mean, I have told her I had met you since our second date, but yesterday we spoke at length.”

“... about me?”

“About you. I hope you don’t mind, but there are no secrets between us.”

You assure Laszlo you could never blame him for not having wanted to keep something from his spouse, but in the privacy of your heart you’re suddenly tense, still fearing Nadja could represent a problem for the two of you. “What… what did you talk about?” you manage to ask, forcing yourself not to wring your hands, as you do sometimes when you’re particularly nervous for something; your anxiety mounts inside you as you see Laszlo hesitate before answering, as if he didn’t know how to - or he had to tell you something he knew would pain you.

“I told Nadja I cared about you very much; more than I have had for anyone in a long time, and that… well, that you are special; beautiful, and clever, and charming. I told her I was serious about us, and I wanted you to be part of my life, for the rest of eternity.”

He looks at you, expecting, you easily understand, a remark about that declaration, sincere and even earnest in its intensity; if you had any doubts regarding the genuineness of his feelings -and you didn’t; well, not really- his words tonight would have dispelled them. You smile warmly as you rest a hand against his cheek, happy and moved, but when you finally speak, it is simply to ask: “And what did Nadja say?”

Laszlo blinks, but if he is disappointed you haven’t returned, or even just commented on, his declaration -and you want to do it, really! You are simply too worried his Maker will try to take him away from you to focus on how to reciprocate- he hides it very well.

“She was happy for me. Even though the two of you have never met I think she has a good opinion of you, after everything I have told her; she even told me she’d like to meet you.”

“... really?”

“Of course. I think you’d be great friends.”

“I’d like to be her friend.” you confess, already a little more at ease “I’ve met very few female vampires in my life, and I still don’t know anyone here in Staten Island apart from you.”

“I’m glad to hear it, because… well…” Laszlo hesitates for a moment, sighs, and then looks away before continuing: “... because I hoped you would consider another relocation.”

“… what?”

“I would like you to move in with me. I know you’re yet to see where I live, and you haven’t met my wife and my flatmates, but if you got along with them, and you thought you could feel at ease there, perhaps you could decide to make it your home as well. I haven’t forgotten your responsibilities, mind you; I know how fond you are of your young friends, and that they need you. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not fully comfortable with, or that you could feel guilty for, but… well, I just wanted to know what I want, and what I feel.”

Laszlo turns to look at you expectantly, but to your shame you are unable to utter a single word, emotion having tied your tongue. The offer -the proposition- is so unexpected you struggle to even just envision it: you don’t dislike sharing your house and having flatmates, but the idea of living under the same roof with his wife is a little odd. Would Laszlo spend a night with you and one with Nadja? Would the three of you share a single bed? Would you and her become… intimate? You’re not necessarily against the idea, but perhaps you should meet her first, and the others as well; if you ended up not getting along, cohabitation would become a nightmare. 

It is, of course, not a decision you can make on the spot; you are responsible for the boys, and no matter how frustrating it is sometimes to clean up their messes and realise you are saddled with four children even though you’re not their Sire, you love them deeply and know they love you. David and the others do need you; if you hadn’t been there they would probably be sleeping in a dump, and have risked their life at least a dozen times since the five of you moved away from Santa Carla. You could never forgive yourself if something were to happen to them because you’re not there to protect them.

You need time to decide. A lot of time, probably. You need to meet Nadja and the other flatmates, and to see their home, and to talk to the boys, and… and…

Laszlo is now looking at you, which is good, because otherwise you wouldn’t be able to kiss him, which you do, hard and long enough to leave both of you breathless - if you could actually breathe, that is. You cup Laszlo’s face in your hands, looking at him as if you had never met him before -his deep and expressive brown eyes, his well-kept beard, his lovely smile- and think you may allow yourself to fall in love with this man, in time.

When you finally part you’re both smiling. You lick your lips, determined to express your feelings properly this time - the joy his proposition has filled your heart with, the excitement you feel at the prospect of sharing his home, how much you care for him and do want your relationship to last, but when you finally “I…” begin, a moment later a very unexpected, unpleasant sound pierces the silence around you, making both you and Laszlo jump.

Your phone is ringing in your bag.

“I’m so sorry, I… I’m turning it off…” you stammer, embarrassed as if it had rung in the middle of a wedding, or while you were at the movies, and after a few seconds spent anxiously rummaging in your bag you finally retrieve your phone, still singing what now sounds like the most obnoxious ringtone ever. You’re about to silence the call and put it back, so that you and Laszlo can return to your conversation… and a moment later your eyes fall on the phone’s display, where the name of the caller is blinking against a background of your favourite colour.

David. 

“Is it one of your friends?”

“Yes, I…”

“It’s fine; please answer.” Laszlo invites you with a wave of his hand; he’s smiling gently, and he obviously understands you didn’t ask to be interrupted, but you can see how hurt he is - disappointed, even, as if that ill-timed interference had led him to imagine the answer his proposal will receive “It could be important.”

Shame is making your cheeks burn, as if you had committed some grave crime; without the courage to look at Laszlo, you answer the call. “What?!” you bark, anger and frustration now filling you “What is it?!”

Silence.

“David? I swear, if this is a joke…”

“(name)...” the leader of the quartet begins in the end, in a meek, almost shy voice you have very rarely heard him use, which confirms your fears. When the boys call you it isn’t necessarily to ask for your help -sometimes they’re bringing back pizza and they want to know what you would like, or they want to pick you up from the diner to bring you to an open-air cinema they have heard about- but they knew you had a date, they wouldn’t disturb you unless something had happened… something important, dramatic, potentially earth-shattering… “I’m so sorry…”

“What happened? Are you all ok?” you ask, anxiety mounting inside you. Laszlo is still by your side, looking at you, but shame and worry stop you from turning to face him; your mind is already filled with terrible images of vampire hunters closing on the boys, wooden stakes in their hands.

“We’re fine… for now. Just, err, there’s a little problem… we have been arrested.”

The phone is this close from falling from your hand.

“You need to help us, (name).” David whispers urgently, anxiety gnawing at his voice “Find a way to get us out...”

“No. I won’t.”

“... what?”

“David, I told you and the others a thousand times you need to start taking care of yourselves without relying on my help; it’s not fair to me, and in any case I can’t always be where you need me to.” you point out, stricter than you’ve ever been when talking to the boys; this is a conversation you have already had a thousand times, but perhaps now that they won’t receive the help they already counted on, David and the others will realise you’re not their mother, and that you have a life of your own - or at least you should have one, dammit! “I don’t know what sort of trouble you have gotten yourself in…”

“Well, we…”

“... and I don’t want to know. There are four of you, all reasonably intelligent; find a solution and a way to return home. I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the night. It’s time for you to grow up, start taking responsibility…”

“But we’ll die.” David interrupts you, his voice suddenly small; taken aback, you remove your phone from your ear and look at it, as if trying to read an explanation for that gloomy prediction.

“What?!”

“Well… they brought us to a cell, and I thought we could escape by prying the bars open while no one was paying attention to us, but there must be a percentage of silver in the metal, because we can’t even touch them without burning. We tried everything, it’s no use, and… the agents said they will keep us here until ten in the morning, when a judge or someone else comes, I don’t know. (name), there are two windows in the cell. Without shutters.”

You close your eyes, suddenly horrified by the image filling your mind; a tiny brick-walled cell, the four young vampires inside who scream in agony as they burn, flames enveloping their bodies. You have already seen a vampire being exposed to sunlight, after the Vampiric Council had sentenced them to death for some terrible crime: a century and a half later, you still remember the smell of their charred flesh, the torment in their voice as they screamed for help…

“Where are you?” you ask in the end.

“Eighth precinct. Please, (name); I know you were busy, I’m sorry, we…”

You end the call, well aware you have no time for goodbyes and reassurances; you turn to Laszlo, now serious and already worried for those four boys he has never met, and you know you’re both intimately mourning something - a future, maybe, or at least the chance to discuss it.

“They have been arrested, and are going to get burned to a crisp if I don’t intervene.” you explain “I am so sorry; I…”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it most certainly isn’t. Laszlo, I… I wish I could stay here with you; you… you made me so happy, and I do want to… to meet Nadja, and all the rest; but those four idiots have no one else, I can’t let them die. Please, can we… meet tomorrow, or even tonight, if I’m quick…”

“I’m coming with you.” Laszlo announces as he stands, and you stare at him, mouth hanging open.

“What?!”

“I don’t want to stop you from coming to the rescue of your friends; but allow me to come with you.”

Why?, you could ask, but you don’t; even just for moral support, it’s nice to have someone who worries about you. “Thank you.” you murmur gratefully as you stand as well, shoving your phone in your bag “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t mention it, my darling. Now, where are we heading?”

Laszlo immediately proves himself useful, since unlike you he knows how to find the police station of the eighth precinct, that you reach without incident fifteen minutes later. As you drive, your hands gripping the steering wheel with enough force to strangle a man and Laszlo’s hand soothingly resting on your thigh -you could move it a little higher up, you would like to tell him; and you will, you promise yourself, as soon as you have dealt with the umpteenth trouble caused by the boys- you order yourself not to give in to panic, and think; you don’t know yet the charge that caused the arrest of the boys, and in a lawless area like Santa Carla the police mainly left them alone, except for the various security guards of the boardwalk, a few of which were turned into a meal for their trouble. What if they want to keep David and the others behind bars until tomorrow? Thanks to Max you have more than enough money to bribe a few agents, unless you find a particularly zealous one, eager to follow procedure instead of pocketing a few bills in exchange for their help…

“It’s going to be alright.” Laszlo murmurs as you turn left without bothering to use your turn signal, driving into a larger, more trafficked neighbourhood “You need to remain calm, (name); you can’t help your friends if you’re not clear-headed.”

“I know, I know…” you murmur in response, trying to focus on driving instead than on a terrifying, impossible-to-silence thought that keeps filling your mind: that this accident with the boys is not just that, an unfortunate event no one could have foreseen, nor simply the last of a long list of mistakes on their part. It is a sign, a warning - perhaps even a punishment. Just as you contemplated moving away and leaving the boys to their own devices, no longer begging but forcing them to take care of themselves as they are more than old enough to do, destiny or luck or whatever one wants to call it put your young friends, your family, at the risk of death, as if silently pointing out what could happen if you really left and didn’t keep tabs on them constantly. 

It’s been stupid, you think miserably, you barely considered Laszlo’s proposal and look what happened! What could befall the boys if you left for good? None of them has been able to keep a job for more than a week, and the last time David tried to cook you dinner you had to call the fire brigade. In time, through trial and error, they might mature at least a little and learn to look after yourselves, but by that time they could have gotten themselves killed -or worse, revealed their nature to the humans- a hundred times, and you know that until you disappear from their lives for real, or at least move away and switch your phone off, they will always count on you intervening to solve whatever mess they created.

They’re not bad boys; but they’re a bit lazy, and childish, and reckless, like most people their age. You didn’t ask to be saddled with the responsibility of their well-being, but that was given to you nonetheless, and what can you do if not your utmost to protect them?

Bitter, helpless tears fill your eyes, but you dry them quickly as thanks to Laszlo’s precise instructions the eighth precinct finally appears in front of you, a small building squeezed between a minimarket and a tattoo studio, unlike it obviously closed given the late hour. You park your car in the first space you find, and then sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. “I can’t believe it! I am so sorry, I had hoped we could spend a night together, just enjoying a bit of peace and each other’s company…”

Laszlo gently assures you that he knows, that he appreciates it, and that he doesn’t blame you for having had to interrupt your date. “Shall we go inside to find your friends?” he asks then, and nodding tiredly you follow him out of the car, anxious and disgruntled in equal measure; there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to save David and the others, but once they’re safe, you promise yourself, you’ll make them regret the day they were born!

Having walked to the precinct, you explain to the guard at the entrance that you are the boys’ lawyer -and, err, my assistant- and you came to discuss the charges against them at the request of their family.

“Can we come in?” you inquire in your sweetest tone.

“Door’s open, lady.”

“Yes, but can we come in?”

“Yeah, yeah, go on.” the uniformed man concedes in the end, not suspecting the true reason behind your request and perhaps thinking you’re simply an overpolite person; Laszlo smiles approvingly at you, and you return it before preceding him inside.

You cross a dimly lit corridor to reach a large room mainly occupied by several cluttered desks; sitting at one of them is the only person present, a plain-clothed middle-aged woman who stands to meet you.

“Detective Borgess.” she introduces herself as she shakes your hand “You must be here for the boys.” 

“I am. I am their lawyer, (full name). Can you tell me what happened?”  

Detective Borgess can, and does, recounting what is basically a gigantic stroke of bad luck. An hour before, she and her partner were coming out from a sandwich shop at the end of a break when, walking past a back-alley on their way back to the precinct, they stumbled upon the boys, gathered around the bodies of two recently, very recently killed men.

“Which means you didn’t see my f… my clients kill them; the bodies might have been there already.” you point out, hoping to soften her stance; your experience with the role of a lawyer is limited to a few tv shows you put on and half-listen to as you clean the house, and unfortunately Borgess doesn’t seem the sort of person who lets herself be influenced easily.  

“Ma’am, your clients weren’t simply standing in a circle looking at the two victims as if they had simply stumbled upon them and were deciding what to do to help; they were holding them up in their arms, passing the victims among them like a beer bottle to share. For a moment I actually thought they were…” she shudders “It doesn’t matter. In any case your boys’ hands were bloodstained, and they were alone with the bodies in a dead-end street. Who else could have done it?”

“And why should they have done it? Had the victims been mugged?”

You’re pretty confident of the answer you will receive, since you know the boys unburden their victims of wallets, phones and other things they can use or sell only after having fed, but as you feared, Burgess is not convinced. Tall and strong, she faces you, her arms to her chest and her gun hanging from her waist.

“That doesn’t matter. Besides, those four do look suspicious.” she points out “Not a personal document among them, they have asked me to board the windows in their cell up but refused to say why, and as we searched them I noticed all of them have a smallpox vaccine scar like people who received it fifty years ago do, even though none of them can be older than twenty. Where the hell did they come from?” 

“So you’re considering them suspicious because they cared for their health enough to get vaccinated?” you insist; you’re improvising, desperately trying to find a way to convince this woman to release your friends, but to no avail. Detective Burgess, now also half-convinced you’re making a fool of her, informs you she has the right to detain the boys for twenty-four hours, and she plans on using that time to trace their identity and analyse the crime scene, which will probably yield evidence enough to pin the crime on the boys. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up behind bars for the next thirty years.” she concludes matter-of-factly, but the length of the sentence is the least of your worries; dawn is in less than five hours, and if you don’t find a way to free the boys before then they’ll end up charred and dead as soon as the sun rises.

You have no choice: you’ll have to do this the hard way. You tense, ready to attack; you wouldn’t be surprised to find out Detective Burgess does mixed martial arts in her spare time or is an Olympic-level shooter, but her strength, as well as the weapon at her hip, will prove futile against your vampiric powers. You’ll subdue her, smashing her face against the wall or breaking her arm as you usually do in such cases, and order her to free the boys and destroy any proof of their presence at the precinct; and then, obviously, you’ll have to kill her, but now that you think about it you haven’t fed in a couple of nights, and you may as well make use of this woman before discarding her…

“Miss (last name)? Is everything alright? I can bring you to your clients now, and I’d strongly encourage them to…”  

“All right, that is enough.”

Laszlo, who has until now lingered by your side, silently witnessing your complete fiasco as you spoke to the Detective, suddenly takes a step forward, and before either of you has time to react, lifts a hand in front of the woman’s eyes.

“Now you’ll stop bothering the lady, and will set her friends free without delay.” he orders, his tone composed “Now, chop chop. What are you waiting for, wench?”

You had completely forgotten Laszlo has the gift of hypnosis, the first of your kind with this particular talent you have ever met; he had mentioned he often makes use of it to escape embarrassing situations or simply to get rid of people who bother him and his friends, and you can’t deny it comes right on cue. Detective Burgess’s determined, vaguely suspicious attitude melts as a blank expression fills her face; without complaining, moving slowly and deliberately like a sleepwalker, she retrieves an heavy set of keys from a drawer of her desk, and then guides you along another corridor, with the cells at the other side of it.

“Hey, the cavalry has come!”

The cell is barely large enough for the four boys, empty except for the metal benches that you imagine also serve as beds; they smile, relieved and delighted as they see you come and especially when they realise Detective Burgess is going to let them go, but the murderous expression on your face is enough to make them much meeker.

“(name)...” David, as usual the spokesman, begins, but you have neither the interest nor the patience to listen.

“Shut up. Shut up, all of you.” you add quickly, seeing the other boys prepare to talk as well, no doubt to plead their case; ignoring them, you turn to talk to Laszlo: “Can you please ask her if someone else knows that these four idiots have been here, and in that case if she can call them? We also need to destroy any evidence.”

Your friend complies, ordering Burgess to call her partner, who was with her when they stumbled upon the boys. Detective Mendoza, who was taking a smoke break in the back, is immediately alarmed when he sees the four suspects out of their cell, but Laszlo is quick to hypnotise him as well, and orders the man to destroy any trace of the boys’ passage at the precinct. Fortunately, given the fact less only little more than an hour has passed since the incident and David and the others have refused to tell the Detectives their names, they haven’t been formally accused, nor did the Detectives try to take the boys’ picture, and it takes Burgess two minutes to deliver a couple of half-compiled modules to the shredder and tear out the page of the precinct’s register on which the arrest had been annotated.  

“Did someone else see you?” you ask, hoping -against all hope, because your night has already gone to shit, why on earth would something go well tonight? When ever did having to fix the boys’ mess did not mean sacrificing your own time and happiness?- to receive a negative answer, because it would be impossible to track down those witnesses to erase their memory as well. 

The boys, who know about your and Laszlo’s friendship but have never met him, observe him with brazen curiosity, and it’s only when you, already fed up with the whole matter, insist, that they inform you that the only witnesses of the incident are the passers-by who saw the Detectives arrest them, and whose presence stopped David and the others from killing Burgess and Mendoza to get rid of them.

“How many?” 

“... just a few. It’s not a problem, (name), seriously…”

“How many, David?!”

“... six or seven. Ok, maybe a dozen.” he admits, looking like a six-year-old confessing he has stolen the last chocolate cookie from the tin “But at a distance, they can’t have seen us well in the face! We’re sorry, (name)...”

“Yeah, (nickname), we didn’t do it on purpose…”

“Silence.”

“It’s been an accident, we didn’t mean to…”

“I said silence!” you exclaim, now furious and scared in equal measure, to the point you can’t even stand to be in their presence anymore. You love these four like the brothers you no longer have and you know they didn’t mean to cause you trouble, that this time at least it was partially a stroke of bad luck as much as their fault, but your patience has run out; once again, you had to intervene to fix a mess you didn’t cause, only a few hours after you expressly asked them to be careful, which also meant interrupting the first night you and Laszlo had to spend together after a long while. Had your friend not intervened, these four would have probably died in that cell, and even now, thanks to the people who witnessed their arrest, you cannot be fully sure their carelessness won’t come to bite you in the ass “I don’t want to hear any of you speak until further notice. Now let’s just get out of here.”

David and the others, well aware they deserve to be reprimanded and even more, obey without complaining, their heads bent low. 

Two minutes later the five of you are gathered next to your car. Laszlo has ordered Burgess and Mendoza to forget the whole affair, from having seen the boys with their victims, to their arrest, to having met you and him; finally, amazingly scrupulous as he is, he also cancelled the memory of the agent at the door, leaving the whole eighth precinct unaware of your existence. You don’t know what has become of the bodies of the two men David and the others killed, but you hope their murder will remain unsolved, or at least that no one will connect the bite wounds on their necks to the nowadays ubiquitous vampire legends, that someone could be led to take seriously, enough to investigate whether bloodsuckers actually exist... 

But that’s a worry for another night; now, as usual, you have to deal with the boys, and then thank Laszlo for his providential help.

“I want the four of you to go home, now.” you order, immediately met by a chorus of protests.

“But it’s hours before dawn!”

“(name), we couldn’t even feed properly from those two…”

“Yeah, David’s right, we’re hungry…”

“You’ve fed just two nights ago.” you point out. The boys’ latest meal was a family of tourists who had the unfortunate idea of stopping them to ask for directions; David and the others drank their fill, except for the eldest daughter, who they brought home for you knowing you prefer female blood. Very thoughtful of them, you have to admit “You’ll be ok for at least two more.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No buts. Do you understand what could have happened? What could still happen?” you ask, meeting the eyes of each of the boys in turn; you feel like a grade school teacher reprimanding a quartet of mischievous pupils, and perhaps you do sound ridiculous, given the thousands of times you have done this already in the last century, but you don’t care. You feel angry, and tired, and you can’t stand this anymore “A dozen witnesses! News of what you did could spread to the whole city before mid-morning, and even go viral! What if the fact that the victims were bitten on the neck becomes public? Even if there weren’t vampire hunters here in Staten Island, anyone could make a connection! Have you already forgotten what happened to Max? Or maybe you remember, but you don’t care?”

The boys bend their heads; as stubborn as they usually are when forced to face the consequences of their actions, they must recognize this time they really got away by the skin of their teeth.

“We’re sorry, (name).” David finally answers for the four of them; he’s serious as he looks you in the eyes, unafraid but respectful, unlike what he used to do with Max “We fucked up; we’re sorry, especially because we had to call you. We tried to be careful, but…”

You know; you have to admit that tonight was not fully their fault, but this doesn’t comfort you at all - quite the opposite, actually. Even when they try to be careful, bad luck gets them into trouble; whoever or whatever is at fault, the boys simply can’t survive on their own, but they need you -or Laszlo, in this specific case- to take care of them and get them out of trouble. How can you abandon them, no matter how frustrating and limiting it is to renounce your dreams and aspirations to protect these four? How can you accept Laszlo’s invitation, knowing fully well that any night, any moment, could be the one they die, either because they couldn’t find shelter from the sun in time or because a hunter has outsmarted them?

The answer is simple: you can’t. At least, you can’t leave them alone. Suddenly you remember of all the times Laszlo has mentioned his friend Nandor’s familiar Guillermo, who takes care of the needs of the whole household. Could this be the solution?, you wonder, feeling as if a lightbulb had gone on above your head; what if you can find someone else to assume that responsibility, maybe more than one someone since they’d have four vampires to look after, provided you find someone suitable, strong and trustworthy, to clean up their mess…

It’s an… interesting idea; one to seriously consider, and in time to discuss with the boys. Maybe Guillermo himself could help, you’re sure he knows other familiars or people who would perform the task appropriately. Who knows, perhaps a solution that makes all of you happy -and safe- does exist, and you won’t have to sacrifice your and Laszlo’s relationship for the good of your friends…

“All right, let’s be done with it, at least for tonight.” you decide out loud; you are exhausted, and you can’t wait to put an end to the matter, and to this night that couldn’t have gone more disastrously different from what you had hoped “Where are your bikes?”

David mentions a spot close to the alley where Burgess and Mendoza had found them; it’s a few miles from where you are, which means, you realise with a sigh, your night does end here. “I’ll drive you.”

“There’s no need, (name)...”

“Of course there is; after what happened today I won’t let you out of my sight until you’re safe at home. Before you go, I think you should all thank Laszlo for getting you out of trouble.”

As you imagined, Laszlo gallantly tries to minimise the importance of his intervention, assuring you he was happy to help his fellow vampires, especially friends of yours; nonetheless, the boys are well aware that hadn’t it been for him maybe they’d still be behind bars, doomed to burn up to a crisp as soon as the sun rose. 

“Thank you, pal; seriously, we owe you.” David points out for all, offering a hand Laszlo vigorously shakes “So you can hypnotise people? I could use a talent like that.”

“Unfortunately it is not a gift that can be taught; but when I was your age I hadn’t developed it yet, so you never know, you could still learn it.”

“You sure you didn’t hypnotise (name) to convince her to go out with you?” 

“Paul!” you reprimand him; he is obviously joking, but it is still in bad taste.

Laszlo doesn’t bat an eye, simply explaining that his hypnosis doesn’t work on other vampires. He and the boys speak for a couple more minutes, at ease with one another despite the vast differences in personality and upbringing; in the end, the boys get in your car - the others squeezing in the back and David on the passenger seat. 

“You take your time, alright? We’ll wait here as you thank your friend.” he invites you, his tone just a little bit suggestive, as the others giggle behind him. You roll your eyes as you turn, wondering whether the four of them are too old and tall to be put across your knee, and meet eyes with Laszlo, who silently follows you a few paces away.

“Thank you.” you murmur; you’re not embarrassed to admit you’re in his debt, for once the one who had to receive help instead of giving it, but you still regret the direction the night has taken, depriving you of a much-waited for night together “Really, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’m sorry I -well, they- ruined everything, I really couldn’t wait for our date tonight…”

Laszlo takes your hand in his as he assures you have no need to thank him; you would have surely found a way to set your friends free, if nothing else simply bashing Burgess’ face against the wall until she begged for mercy and submitted to your every request, and he’s happy he could help you. “Fine lads, the four of them.” 

“You really think so? They didn’t exactly give the best of themselves tonight.”

“They were unlucky, which happens to the best of us; but they clearly care for you a great deal… and they need to be protected even more.”

A slightly tense silence falls on the two of you, as you are both tacitly reminded of the conversation you were having when David’s call interrupted you. Even before you could consider his proposal, Laszlo had the chance to see how seriously the boys need to be protected, how quickly their lives are put at stake without you watching over them; he has probably lost any hope to hear you accept to move in with you, and maybe he’s even regretting approaching the subject.

But he shouldn’t, you think desperately, he mustn’t, because he made you so happy asking you, happier than you remember being in a long time, and you do want to protect the boys, because they are a part of you, your family, and you’ll always care for them no matter what, but Laszlo is important for you as well, you care for him in a way words can’t describe, and what you share is still young and new, at least from the point of view of immortal beings as you are, but you know already it’s special, and true, and precious, and you want to protect it.

“About what we talked about…”

“You don’t need to say anything…”

“No, I want to.” you rush to reassure him “I… I do want to do it. At least, I’d very much like to meet Nadja and your other flatmates, and if we get along, well, I’d have to think carefully about it, but moving in with you would be great. Lovely, really, because you, Laszlo… you - I mean, I… I feel…” 

There is so much you would like to tell him, but you soon find yourself stammering, your feelings maybe too deep and intense to be put into words; and it’s frustrating, and embarrassing, because Laszlo is right in front of you, a moment before you need to part so that you can drive the boys home, and after the complete disaster your night has turned into you at least want him to know how much you care for him, but suddenly you feel your tongue is stuck to your palate. The last thing you want is for Laszlo to doubt your feelings, and since you can’t talk about them, you decide, the only thing you can do is show him. 

So you do.

You don’t care about the need to bring the boys home as soon as possible, nor of them being close enough to see clearly what you are doing; you’re with Laszlo, and this is enough to make you feel happy, and hopeful, and much bolder than you usually are. You place your hand on the back of Laszlo’s head, your fingers slipping through his dark, lucid hair, and he’s quick to circle your waist with his arm, drawing your body close to his. A moment later you’re kissing furiously, and in the last three months you have already exchanged more kisses than you can count, all sweet and passionate and that never last long enough, not even for people who don’t need to breathe like the two of you, but this is special, this is magic, the sort of kisses romance novelist have done their best to describe since the dawn of time. It’s the sort of kiss you can’t help losing yourself into, and you do, easily ignoring the boys whistling and hollering only a few paces away. 

“You go, (name)!” they shout, clapping as if they were attending a show, and neither you nor Laszlo pay them any mind; his tongue brushes against yours, making you shiver in such a delicious way, your hips slowly grinding against his. You grin at each other as you finally part, his hands slipping to rest possessively on your waist.

“I’ll find a way.” you murmur; you don’t say I promise, but you’ve never been as convinced of something as you are of the commitment you’re making right now “I swear I will; and if I can’t find one, I’ll make it.”

“We’ll do it together, my darling.” Laszlo promises, his voice full of affection “You make me very happy, you know?”

You rest your foreheads against each other -and in the car the boys protest you’re embarrassing them and they’re still too young and impressionable to witness a scene like that- and you know that if you linger some more with each other it will be impossible to stop, and so you’re forced to part. Laszlo kisses your hand, and asks for the pleasure of your company tomorrow night, after you’ve gotten off work, so that he can walk you to his home.

“I’d really like that.” you answer, as excited as you were on the eve of your first date, three months ago, and Laszlo smiles, relieved and happy. 

“So until tomorrow, miss (last name).”

“Until tomorrow, mister Cravensworth.” you answer with a slight curtsey, and a moment later you’re waving him goodbye, your gaze raised to observe the bat taking to the skies behind the treetops. 

[storm-angel989]

Outside The Office Part 39

I surveyed what should have been familiar terrain with distaste. In my fathers regin, each building on the compound was kept pristine and white, the grounds kept neat and organized- the way a military should look. In Adam’s regin, those buildings now hosted a grimy crust of brown dirt. The gardens once so carefully tended to now grew, wrought and overrun with weeds. I swallowed back the sadness and tried to refocus myself. I was here for a job, not for a walk down memory lane. 

Snaking my way through the back buildings of the base, I yanked my exorcist mask and let it hang around my neck as I approached what had been my fathers office. Unlike the rest of the buildings that were so coated in neglect, this one was painted black with golden halos. It would have been funny if it wasn’t such a disgrace to the legacy my family had held for so long. Adam was truly an embarrassment to us all. 

If I knew Adam, he would be too much of a coward to be down in the first wave of exorcists. No, knowing him he would be down at the second, once he was sure any traps set had gone off and his safety was assured. Until then, I guessed he would squirrel himself away until the last hour tolled. My instructions from Lucifer were clear- watch and wait, seal the portal and trap him in hell. Kill him on our turf, where he was most vulnerable. Negotiations between Lucifer and whatever power rose after his death would be handled once that portal was sealed- once our power was shown. 

Lucifer had cautioned me to enter and wait it out. Find a safe place to watch and wait, make sure Adam emerged and left before that portal was sealed. That order was all well and good, but there were other things I needed to do now that I was back home. Things from my former life I wanted to find. 

 After all, it was unlikely that after all of this I would ever be able to go back to my childhood realm. Angel’s wouldn’t take kindly to someone who saw me as a traitor. But I would be dammed before my father’s wedding band and the set that belonged to my mother would end up in Adam’s grubby hands. I knew where in the house my father kept them, it was just a matter of getting there. 

Slowly and carefully, I slipped into the pathway through the woods I had created as a child. Much like the base, time had allowed the weeds and growth to run rampant, to the point where it didn’t look like a path existed at all. But even now, my body knew from walking it so many times exactly where to go. Left at the birch tree. Right at the maple. Around the big pine I had carved my name into so many years ago and boom- through the thicket of blueberry bushes and I was home. 

As I turned the final corner, part of me wondered if the house was even standing. After all, what better way for Adam to erase my family's legacy than by burning the home they had lived in for generations?

To my relief, the house loomed as forelonly as the morning I left. I climbed the stairs of the front steps as I had a thousand times before, and let my hand fall against the chipping white painted railing. The windows seemed to shutter as my weight creaked across the porch, and even the swing I had spent so many hours in looked more delicate, brittle- as though it would shatter if I even tried to sit and reminisce. 

They say time gets into everything. 

I pushed open the front door and stepped inside. Except for the fine layer of dust that covered every surface, everything looked the same as the day I left. I pushed open the door to my fathers bedroom and for the second time since I came home, my heart sank. 

The bed, always neatly made, had been ripped apart. Drawers strewn from the dresser built by my great great grandfather. The closet doors flung open and every single piece of my fathers perfectly pressed wardrobe lay strewn about the room. I could feel the anger bubbling up in my throat at the audacity of this invasion. Not only did they kill him, they disrespected everything he stood for. 

Stepping over the mess, I walked into his closet and knelt down. I pressed my hand against the third panel on the left and said a silent prayer that whoever ransacked the room didn’t know enough to search for the hidden panel. 

To my relief, it opened effortlessly and I grabbed the contents within, shoving everything inside into my backpack. Whatever my father wanted to keep safe with the rings was enough for me to want to take it with me. 

Pushing open the door to my bedroom, I found it the exact opposite of my fathers. The few things I called my own were neatly where I left them. Being the daughter of the high commander, toys were frowned upon. The only exception to that rule being my Bun Bun- a gift from my favorite uncle the day I was born. I opened my closet door, and for the second time that day, I was rewarded. 

“You and I both have a new home,” I said softly as I put him safely in my backpack. “I like it there. I think you will too.”

A quick glance at my watch told me time had passed quicker than I anticipated. With a heavy heart, I closed the door to my childhood bedroom and made my way out the front door for the last time. The silence outside the house was deafening and as I slipped back into the woods, I allowed myself one final at the house that built me.

[sleepanonymous]

Hi, I was wondering if you knew when Vessel started 'dancing' on stage? I'm pretty sure he started doing in in the late Sundowning-ish era/ TPWBYT era but I thought you'd probably be the best person to ask about finding videos from when he started dancing.

Oooh this is an interesting rabbit hole, thanks for asking Anon 🖤

So... I guess it depends on what you mean by dancing, because Vessel has always sort of moved on stage, you know? But what he did back then and what he's doing now is completely different. Like... maybe a better word for what he used to do is "writhing." The earliest video of a ritual I've seen of Sleep Token's was their third ritual in (what I'm assuming is) late 2017, and "writhing" is probably the best word for what Vessel was doing on stage (and I say that affectionately/respectfully).

TLDR; Conclusively I would say Vessel started dancing, as we see him dance on stage today, in the summer of 2022. He's always moved on stage, and even acted unhinged during Sleep Token's earlier rituals. Below the cut, I go through rituals on YouTube from 2018-2023 to try and pinpoint exactly when Vessel started dancing like we see currently in 2023. (I went through quite a few videos, most not even mentioned in this monster of a post, so I made a YouTube playlist here).

A great example of Vessel's early "writhing" dancing is this YouTube video of Nazareth from the 2018 Leeds Festival (he's also an absolute menace here!! He steps on III, he didn't paint his waist or his back, and he strangles and spits on the original OG IV. Like... the man had demons and I am here for them). The dancing that's most similar to current times starts around 2:37 and 3:40.

2019 is impossible to find good videos for lol, since they did most of their rituals for the Beautiful Oblivion tour as an opener and, apparently, nobody films openers. But there are some with decent audio quality from ArcTanGent (my favorite being The Offering). Interestingly, he's less animated, still writhing, but not a menace to the rest of the band while doing so. If anyone is even slightly photosensitive please don't watch these ArcTanGent videos, the lighting effects really didn't agree with the camera's shutter speed.

This is a video of Higher from December 2019. The sound is not as crisp, and the videographer is quite a bit further from the stage, but Vessel is still moving, especially towards the end. The breakdown starts around 2:15, and while III and OG IV are definitely more animated than Vessel, he's still dancing with them. He even jumps down to scream the end of the song at the barrier (and has a mini-wardrobe malfunction) at 2:39. That crowd was really feeling it and so was Vessel.

Because of the plague in 2020, all of Sleep Token's shows were in January. Vessel's behaviour was very similar to the video posted above (just with less crowd interaction). The first show they played in 2021 was the Download Pilot. This is the best audio quality of that show, and Vessel also moves/dances the most in this video, though it's toward the end around 2:31, where the videographer forgot they were filming and just started vibing, so it's really hard to see, lol. I don't blame them, but it's also shakycam to the max. (Also, a quick fun fact, this is the first show the band played with our current IV as far as I can tell.)

This is another video from 2021, but from Sleep Token's TPWBYT rituals tour. It's Hypnosis, and in the very beginning, we see some Floor Vessel, which is neat and reminiscent of the most recent NA rituals, before he does some of his usual writing, though quite a bit more animated. Around 4:06 you can see the writing again, but after 4:19 it morphs into what we've seen from more recent rituals. (Also, if anyone wants a full 70-minute video of this show, filmed from the center of the balcony looking down on the stage, you can watch it here. Some parts have major flashing, so just be careful).

Here's another video of Hypnosis, this time from September 2022. Here, finally, we see Vessel's current version of dancing, hops and arm flails included. It starts right when the song kicks in at 0:13, and he does it again at the end, around 4:29. Technically they did a UK tour with the Architects in May (see this video of The Offering at 3:50) and an Australian tour in June 2022 with Northlane (again, see this video of The Offering at 0:20, 1:37), with similar behaviour from Vessel, but that BRRF Hypnosis video is the first video I ever watched of Sleep Token live so it's very dear to me and it's also better sound quality than anything I could find from earlier in the year.

I went way overboard with answering this question, Anon, but it was super fun, so thank you again for asking 🖤🙏 Again, I made a playlist of all the videos + several others. If anyone has any recommendations for me to add to the playlist, send the links my way (especially if they aren't The Offering or Hypnosis lol) and I'll add them in chronological order.

[anoras]

Limbo rating: gen words: 2355

Rivka Surana dreams, and wonders, and speaks to a friend.

Her vision seemed to shimmer at the edges, like rippling glazed windows, where frost gathers at the edges.  It felt as if she once more gazed out a tower window in Kinloch, trying to discern specks of the hinterlands on the distant shore, freshly fallen snow leaving the outside world a hazy, dream-like place.  Leafless branches tangled on the horizon, like hands reaching to grasp at the chimney smoke that curled from distant homes, trying to capture the warmth in their gnarled fingers.

Warmth.  Warmth in the tower, warmth in a home.  A small home, with thin walls and shutters instead of glazing in the windows, where wind would blow through the cracks in winter, and hot summers brought with them the smells of mud and animals.  Yet a fire still burned in the hearth, there was food in her belly every night, and she had parents who doted on her; who kissed her cheeks and taught her letters, who tended her scrapes and sang her lullabies in an ancient tongue.

The warmth coalesced her vision, condensed it into something resembling that home.  Her mother, red-haired like her, tattoos dancing in the firelight like the halla they represented; her father, arms strong from the potter’s wheel, holding her on his knee, hearty laughter rumbling in his chest.  She was there again, watching her mother place the tiny slice of honey cake onto the rickety old table in front of her; her name-day gift, a rare and costly treat in the Alienage.

She knew what came next, and she willed herself to wake, willed herself to leave this dream, even as the shouting began.  It played out as it always did, the memory that haunted her from her first nights in Kinloch, until even now, seventeen years after the fact.  There would be a knock at the door, metal fist against the brittle wood, hitting it so hard it splintered.  There would be no time to move, for her to hide like she had been taught (behind the wardrobe, through the loose slat, run like a mouse in the walls until you reach the alley), no time but for the span of a breath.

The templars had seemed monstrous to her then; were monstrous even now.  Great metal beasts with blazing swords upon their chests, voices echoing inside their helms; a storybook monster to her child’s mind.  She screamed; a shrill, piercing shriek, that brought with it the smell of ozone.  Her skin prickled, static making her shift cling to her woolen stockings for a brief, brilliant lightning-flash of a moment before a gesture of the templar’s gauntleted hand made the air stand still.

That was how it had felt, at least, as her heart stuttered against the bird-bones of her chest and the air settled thick and stagnant over the room.  Like suffocating, she thought, like a sense had been taken away.

In her dream, she felt the templar grasp her by the wrist, yanking her to her feet.  He dragged her, stumbling, out of their little house — out of the warmth, out of her father’s arms, away from her mother, pleading — out, out to the cold streets, to the half-frozen slush that seeped into her stockings, to the biting cold of the winter air that set her teeth chattering and made her tears freeze against her cheeks.

“Mama!”

Her last shout echoed in her gasping breaths, eyes flying open as Rivka pulled herself from the nightmare at last.  The sheets were tangled around her legs and she kicked them away, wriggling until she lay supine on the bed, cool night air bracing against her clammy flesh.  She swallowed thickly, letting her breaths come steady and deliberate, her heart rate slowing.  For a long moment she stayed like that, fingers tapping out a steady metronome on the mattress as she grounded herself back in reality.  What year is it? She asked herself.  Nine Thirty-Five Dragon.  Where are you?  I’m in Vigil’s Keep, in Amaranthine.  Name five things in the room with you.  Breathe.  Steady, slow.  Alistair, he’s still sleeping.  She could hear him snoring softly, warm and present beside her.  Kelev is at the foot of the bed.  The mabari had moved when she had awoken, resting his massive head atop her calf as she settled, like some strange, fuzzy anchor to her storm-tossed raft.  What else?  The fire’s out.  No one bothered to stoke it, because the nights are getting warmer.  My dressing gown is on the bedpost.  There’s a teapot on my desk that’s gone cold.

Her heart rate slowing, and the panic ebbing from her body, she sat up, pulling her leg gently from beneath her mabari’s head and swinging her feet over the edge of the bed.  She could scrounge up a cup of tea from the kitchens, or find someone willing to play a hand of cards to distract her.  Maker curse it all, she thought, maybe I’ll just walk into the fucking sea.  The thought made her grimace, shame lancing through her.  It would solve nothing and help no one — least of all herself.

Kelev wriggled closer to her, as if sensing her distress.  Perhaps he did; a mabari’s bond with its master was often said to be near magical.  She reached out and scratched his ear, rubbing the velvety fur on it, the smooth scar tissue where it had been cropped.  Her fingers traced the dog’s scarred head, his wet nose that snuffled against her palm, the velvet muzzle that hid a war hound’s snarl.

“You wouldn’t let a single one of them near me, would you?” She let her body cant to the side, pressing her cheek against the top of the dog’s head.  He snorted in response. “Good boy.”

She knew she should wake Alistair, for the comfort of his presence at the very least, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.  It felt like admitting defeat, like a weakness she couldn’t bear.  A nightmare, that’s all it had been, and nothing in it could hurt her any longer.  “— Should have let the past stay there,” She sighed against Kelev’s fur, “Could be dead for all I know, and then what?  I’ve bought myself more heartache?”

Dead, or perhaps worse, they had forgotten her, moved on after their mage-child had been dragged away to the circle.  She had never been allowed to write them, and if they had written her — she would never have been allowed the letters, even if they had.  She knew they had left the Alienage after the templars had taken her away, about a year later, if the memory of one of their former neighbors held true.  But where they had gone — and whether they had stayed there — was still a mystery.  What remained of their friends and neighbors in the Alienage hadn’t heard from them since, and neither had her aunt, still with the Dalish.

She had put out feelers with her newfound connections, but they weren’t primed to dig up the location of two elven peasants.  Even Leliana had been of little help.  Her friend was in Val Royeaux, working for the Divine, and while the net she cast was wider and sunk deeper than Rivka’s own, she had little time to chase down an old friend’s whims.  Rivka groaned.  Leliana would spend every spare moment on this hunt if she felt even a hint that it was what Rivka wanted, that was simply the kind of woman she was, the way she doled out her love to the lucky few that earned it.  The thought of pressing the matter still made her itch.

Dragging herself back to some pantomime of verticality, she stood from the bed, feet sliding into her slippers.  Judging from the dim moonlight beyond the window, it was still hours yet from dawn, and hours yet from the hustle and bustle of a castle shaking off the shroud of sleep.  She grimaced; solitude rarely did her well.  Still, she shrugged on her dressing gown, tying it tight around her middle, before retrieving parchment, quill, and inkpot from her desk.  Insurance against excuses, at the very least.

Kelev followed her as she shuffled from the bedroom, sliding with shocking grace from the bed to lope beside her.  This was hardly the first time he accompanied her as she wandered the castle grounds, walking off a nightmare or a painful memory.  He’s good company, She thought, he doesn’t talk back.

“We’ll see if there’s a beef bone the kitchen can part with.” Her palm fell to rest atop his head as they made their way down the keep’s empty halls.  She rarely set guards to patrol the halls, keeping only a nominal cohort making their circuits along the outside walls.  Any more than that hadn’t been necessary in years — not between her own hard-won control over the Arling, and the simple fact that at least one of her wardens would be just as sleepless as she was now.  It was not a job that allowed for much restful sleep.

Blight dreams had subsided considerably since the final retreat of the darkspawn hoards, but they still came, snippets of the groaning, pulsing heartbeat of it, calling out to her own tainted blood.  They all felt it, she knew, some worse than others, but always there; an aneurysm ready to burst at any moment.

Tonight, at least, had been a mundane nightmare — one that left her shaken and sleepless, but mundane nonetheless.  It was for that reason she was pleased with the solitude.  When Blight snuck its way into their dreams, they all knew to check in; to warn one another, and if need be, to send patrols down to the Deep Roads entrance beneath the keep.  Nightmares about templars and stolen children could be kept all to herself.

She would feed Kelev and write to Leliana when she got to the kitchens, she resolved (though the dread seemed to grow legs and scuttle like a bug in the pit of her stomach).  

The kitchen fire was burning in the hearth, and there was a kettle of something fragrant on the stove when she and Kelev arrived.  It seemed she wasn’t alone in her sleeplessness; Velanna was seated at the trestle table, a half-darned sock and a cup of whatever was steeping on the stove, in front of her.

Neither woman spoke, letting the interruption of their individual solitudes hang heavy in the air between them for one long moment.

“Tea is on the stove,” Velanna murmured, nodding toward the kettle. “Herbs for sleep.”

If she had to run into another person as sleepless as herself, she was glad it was Velanna.  It was like sitting with a less cryptic Morrigan; just as curt, and just as unlikely to pry when it wasn’t wanted.  She nodded at the other woman, setting her writing supplies on the table.  Kelev was already sniffing at the crate of dried scraps he was fed from, and she fished a few strips of meat out for him before pouring herself a cup of tea.  It smelled good; floral and hoppy.

The darning was back in Velanna’s hands when she returned to the table, tidy stitching making quick work of the threadbare heel.

“Dark dreams?” Velanna didn’t look up from her darning, though she paused to scratch Kelev behind the ear as he passed her chair.

Rivka made a noncommittal sound, taking a sip of her tea.  She didn’t look at the other woman, choosing instead to peer at her blank parchment, as if staring at it could will a letter into existence. “When are they not?”

Velanna let out a soft chuckle, “For us?  Never.”

They lapsed back into a companionable silence, broken only by the occasional scratch of Rivka’s quill on her parchment.  It was just as frustrating a letter as she had anticipated, each word of her request feeling like it was being dragged out with a rough cord.  Begging assistance off of anyone never felt good, but it particularly rankled when it was a close friend.  What a world it would be, she thought, if I could simply send a missive giving her some pleasant news for once.  Maybe ask about the nugs, without using it to couch some need of my own.

Velanna had moved on to a second sock when Rivka finally looked up from her letter, practically throwing the quill away from her as she signed off with an “ever your friend, Rivka.”  She groaned.  Velanna raised an eyebrow.

“Who’s earned your ire tonight?” Velanna asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“Myself,” Rivka said, leaning back in her chair, “I have a personal request for a friend, and actually writing the letter is like pulling my own teeth out.”

“Dream related?”

“In its own way,” She sighed, “It’s mundane, at least.  I’ve… had her searching for someone for me.  It’s been weighing on me enough to leak into my dreams, apparently.”

Velanna nodded, hands stilling for a moment. “I dreamed of my sister again.”  Rivka knew how often images of Seranni plagued Velanna; the last sight they had of her, blighted and ghoulish, trailing the Architect like some loyal servant hanging in her own mind as well.  Another innocent that she could not save.

They never spoke of it, though her wardens all knew of the handful of dealings Rivka had had with the blighted Magister over the years.  It was a silent, tacit agreement between them all; whatever it takes, whatever we must do.  One tool among many.  Yet still, she could sense the ever-present question that weighed on Velanna’s mind, and the desire to ask that warred with the fear at what the answer would be.  To voice it would be to invite in the possibility of an answer she did not want to hear, to let it fester at least allowed her hope.

“Don’t live wondering,” Velanna let out a short breath through her nose, mouth tight.  An expression, Rivka knew, that was directed inward. “Better to know and mourn, than to sit in limbo forever.”

Rivka closed her eyes, and nodded.