#sash and case windows

[joinersstirling]

Timber sliding sash and case window restoration and refurbishment contract at a stunning stone built cottage in Dollar, Clackmannanshire.

Contact us now to book an appointment.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

SFX Magazine Issue 372 - Designing Good Omens ❤ 😊

PRODUCTION DESIGNER MICHAEL RALPH REVEALS HOW THE SHOW’S CENTREPIECE SET, WHICKBER STREET, WAS GIVEN A DEVILISHLY CLEVER UPGRADE FOR THE SECOND SEASON

WORDS: DAVE GOLDER

Invisible Columns And Thin Walls “The new studio is Pyramid Studios in Bathgate – it used to be a furniture warehouse. And unfortunately – or fortunately, because I accept these things as not challenges but gifts – right down the middle of that studio are a series of upright columns. But you’ll never spot them on screen. I had to build them in and integrate them into the walls and still get the streets between them. And it worked.

“There’s all sorts of cheeky design values to those sets. Normally a set like this is double-skin. In other words, you do an interior wall and an exterior wall, with an airspace in between. But really, the only time a viewer notices that there’s that width is at the doors and the windows. So I cheated all that. I ended up with single walls everywhere. So the exterior wall is the interior wall, just painted. All I did was make the sash windows and entrances wider to give it some depth as you walked in.”

GOOD OMENS HAD A CHANGE of location for its second season, but hopefully you didn’t notice. Because Whickber Street in Soho upped sticks from an airfield in Hertfordshire to a furniture warehouse in Bathgate, Edinburgh. It’s the kind of nonsensical geographical shenanigans that could only make sense in the crazy world of film and TV, and production designer Michael Ralph was the man in charge of rebuilding and expanding the show’s vast central set. “I wish we could have built more in season one than we did,” says Ralph, whose previous work has included Primeval and Dickensian. “We built the ground floor of everything and the facades of all the shops. But we didn’t build anything higher than that, because we were out on an airfield in a very, very difficult terrain and weather conditions, so we really couldn’t go much higher. Visual effects created the upper levels.”

But with season two the set has gone to a whole other level… literally. “What happened was that the rest of the street became integrated into the series’s storyline,” explains Ralph. “So we needed a record shop, we needed a coffee shop that actually had an inside, we needed a magic shop, we needed the pub. To introduce those meant we had to change the street with a layout that works from a storylines point of view. In other words, things like someone standing at the counter in the record shop had to be able to eyeball somebody standing at the counter in the coffee shop. They had to be able to eyeball Aziraphale sitting in his office in the window of the bookshop. But the rest of it was a pleasure to do inside, because we could expand it and I could go up two storeys.”

For most of the set, which is around 80 metres long and 60 metres wide, the two storeys only applied to the shop frontages, but in the case of Aziraphale’s bookshop, it allowed Ralph to build the mezzanine level for real this time. According to Ralph it became one of the cast and crews’ favourite places to hang out during down time.

But while AZ Fell & Co has grown in height, it actually has a slightly smaller footprint because of the logistics of adapting it to the new studio.

“Everybody swore to me that no one would notice,” says Ralph wryly. “I walked onto it and instinctively knew there was a difference immediately, and they hated me for that. I have this innate sense about spatial awareness and an eye like a spirit level.

“It’s not a lot, though – I think we’ve lost maybe two and a half feet on the front wall internally. I think that there’s a couple of other smaller areas, but only I’d notice. So I can be really annoying to my guys, but only on those levels. Not on any other. They actually quite like me…”

Populating The Bookshop “The props in the new bookshop set were a flawless reproduction from the set decorator Bronwyn Franklin [who is also Ralph’s wife]. It was really the worst-case scenario after season one. She works off the concept art that I produce, but what she does is she adds so much more to the character of the set. She doesn’t buy anything she doesn’t love, or doesn’t fit the character.

“But the things she put a lot of work into finding for season one, they were pretty much one-offs. When we burnt the set down in the sixth episode, we lost a lot of props, many of which had been spotted and appreciated by the fans. So Bronwyn had to discover a new set decorating technique: forensic buying.

“She found it all – duplicates and replicas. It took ages. In that respect, the Covid delay was very helpful for Bron. There’s 7,000 books in there and there’s not one fake book. That’s mainly because… it’s a weird thing to say, but we wanted it to smell and feel like a bookshop to everybody that was in it, all the time.

“It affects everybody subliminally; it affects everybody’s performance – actors and crew – it raises the bar 15 to 20%. And the detail, you know… We love a lot of detail.”

(look at the description under this, they called him 'Azi' hehehehe :D <3)

Aziraphale’s Inspirational Correspondence “There’s not one single scrap of paper on Aziraphale’s desk that isn’t written specifically for Aziraphale. Every single piece is not just fodder that’s been shoved there, it has a purpose; it’s a letter of thanks, or an enquiry about a book or something.

“Michael Sheen is so submerged in his character he would get lost sitting at his own desk, reading his own correspondence between takes. I believe wholeheartedly that if you put that much care into every single piece of detail, on that desk and in that room, that everybody feels it, including the crew, and then they give that set the same respect it deserves.

“They also lift their game because they believe that they’re doing something of so much care and value. Really, it’s a domino effect of passion and care for what you’re producing.”

Alternative Music “My daughter Mickey is lead graphic designer [two of Ralph’s sons worked on the series too, one as a concept artist, the other in props]. They’re the ones that produced all of that handwritten work on the desk. She’s the one that took on the record shop and made up 80 band names so that we didn’t have to get copyright clearance from real bands. Then she produced records and sleeves that spanned 50, 60 years of their recordings, and all of the graphics on the walls.

“I remember Michael and Neil [Gaiman] getting lost following one band’s history on the wall, looking at their posters and albums desperately trying to find out whether they survived that emo period.”

It’s A Kind Of Magic One of the new shops in Whickber Street for season two was Will Goldstone’s Magic Shop, which is full of as many Easter eggs as off-the-shelf conjuring tricks, including a Matt Smith Doctor Who-style fez and a toy orang-utan that’s a nod to Discworld’s The Librarian. Ralph says that while the series is full of references to Gaiman, Pratchett and Doctor Who, Michael Sheen never complained about a lack of Masters Of Sex in-jokes. “He’d be the last person to make that sort of comment!”

Ralph also reveals that the magic shop counter was another one of his wife’s purchases, bought at a Glasgow reclamation yard.

The Anansi Boys Connection Ralph reveals that Good Omens season two used the state-of-the-art special effects tech Volume (famous for its use in The Mandalorian to create virtual backdrops) for just one sequence, but he will be using it extensively elsewhere on another Gaiman TV series being made for Prime Video.

“We used Volume on the opening sequence to create the creation of the universe. I was designing Anansi Boys in duality with this project, which seems an outrageously suicidal thing to do. But it was fantastic and Anansi Boys was all on Volume. So I designed for Volume on one show and not Volume on the other. The complexities and the psychology of both is different.”

[sashand57]

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[venerawrites]

reader and vi reunite after the bridge fight in caitlyn's room, and while caitlyn is out talking to her parents, reader and vi end up making out on caitlyn's bed...!!! (WITH INCREDIBLE HESITATION ON VI'S END BECAUSE VI DOES LIKE CAITLYN AT THIS POINT BUT IS ALSO SO GLAD TO SEE THAT READER IS SAFE. READER ALSO HAS A VENDETTA AGAINST CAITLYN AT THIS POINT SO READER GETS LOWKEY LIVID AT HAVING FOUND VI IN THE ENFORCER'S ROOM)

author's note: I may have screamed a little when I saw this request because this idea is just *chef's kiss*! Thank you so much for requesting and I hope you like it!

warnings: nothing explicit, but it does get a bit heated toward the end, so just in case ... 18+ implied, MINORS DNI!!

Red.

That's all you could see, as you peeked through the window of Caitlyn Kiramman's bedroom. Blinding, raging red, which threatened to consume you whole and make the last thread of self-control in your body snap. Your fingers involuntarily twitched next to you, grazing the handle of your gun. A shot from here would be pretty clean, it would take that enforcer girl out straight away. One less problem for you to worry about...

Suddenly Caitlyn stood up from her bed, shaking her head while saying something to Vi. You couldn't hear her words, but a few moments later she started heading toward the door before quietly exiting the room. The pink-haired woman buried her face in her hands, running her palms up and down the bruised skin.

A few moments passed and you held your breath, trying to make out the voices coming from the open window downstairs. You leaned your head to the side, squinting your eyes as if that would help you hear better. And it must've worked, as the loud screeching of both Caitlyn and her mother arguing reached your ears.

"This whole family is a bunch of morons", you thought, rolling your eyes. Taking out the knife from your waist you pushed it between the window frame and the sill, wiggling the blade till you heard a soft click. Your fingers froze and your eyes flew immediately to Vi, checking for any reaction. She, however, seemed to be so deep into her own thoughts that she paid no mind to the soft sound that came from you breaking the lock.

Slowly you lifted the lower sash only as far as to give you enough space to squeeze into the room and with one swift move, you lifted your body with your arms, quietly dragging it inside. Scanning the room with your eyes, your whole face twisted in distaste.

Every single object in the room was worth more than all of your belongings put together, and probably more than what the majority of the people in Zaun owned. But, of course, what else could you expect from the daughter of a Councillor?

"Huh... Didn't know the rich spoiled girls were your type", you hummed, tilting your head to the side while still observing your surroundings. The sudden words startled Vi and she immediately jumped from the bed, assuming a fighting position, which relaxed as soon as she saw you.

"You...", her brows furrowed, while her eyes drank your form sitting at the window still. Once upon a time, you were everything for her - her safety, her heaven, her muse, her future... She often thought that no matter what happened, you were going to be a constant in her life. Something that she knew was hers and would always be hers.

But things and people change, and, damn, Vi should know that better than anyone else. Nothing in the Undercity was the same as it was before she was thrown in prison, and that included you. What was once the person she could confine all her secrets in was now a stranger, a mere ghost of her best friend and first crush.

"What are you doing here?"

You finally acknowledged her, your purple gaze boring into her face. "High on shimmer", noted Vi in her mind, and her fists clenched by her sides. Just like Powder, you have fallen a victim to Silco's manipulations and twisted games. He took both of you in after the explosion that night and has raised you both as his daughters, molding you into the perfect weapons of destruction. He gave you a second chance and the opportunity to start all over - something you both craved, needed even. But while Powder Jinx found comfort in her guns and trinkets, you found the same feeling in Shimmer.

"I am here for you, silly", your tone was dry and mocking, almost as if the purpose of your visit should be obvious. You swung your legs over, lowering them to the ground, before taking a few steps toward the pink-haired woman.

"I am here to take you home."

Home. The word caused a shiver to run down Vi's spine and while her brain screamed for her to step back, to create a bigger distance between you two, she stood frozen in her spot. Once she was within your reach, you lifted your hand gently placing it on her cheek and rubbing your thumb against it. Even now, when you were all grown up, she was still towering over you, and you had to look up, searching her eyes with your own.

"You are going to come home, right? To Jinx? To me?", you pressed, leaning closer.

Vi gulped, fighting the urge to lean her face against your hand. You used to do that a lot when you were younger and she was feeling stressed. Always treating her with such gentleness and love, making her feel way more beautiful and deserving of you than she actually was.

Now it was... different.

Your hands were rougher and there was no affection in these purple eyes of yours. Quite the opposite - there was something dark, something sinister, which was making her scared. Perhaps Ekko was right - you did not belong to her anymore, you belonged to Silco. The irony of you calling her sister Jinx also did not escape her - she remembered the days, when you would hug the child and scold Mylo, whispering sweet words into her hair and promising her it's not her fault that your little raid ended like this and that she would never "jinx" anything.

"You need to go."

What was supposed to be a command came out like a broken plead. The small smile that you had on your face quickly dropped and you furrowed your brows, the movement of your thumb against her cheek stopping.

"But I just got here", you let out a dry chuckle, before stepping around Vi and plopping yourself on the large bed behind her. The feeling of the satin sheets felt so smooth, that you could not fight the urge to lean back and sink in their comfort. Closing your eyes, you stretched your arms above your head and sighed in satisfaction. So this is how the rich bastards from Piltover lived, huh?

"Caitlyn will come back any second-"

Vi was interrupted by the angry huff that left your lips when you heard the enforcer's name. Your body suddenly raised in a seated position, a newfound spark of anger and frustration written all over your face.

"Why did you not look for me?"

The woman raised her brows confused.

"What?"

Your position shifted once again so you were now on your knees, leaning forward while glaring at her with a mix of hurt and fury.

"You claim you came for Jinx, but that is not true, is it? You came with a damn enforcer to look for that weird crystal!", your voice became louder and louder with each word, "And not even for one second you thought about me! You didn't even care if I was dead or aliv-"

A large hand pressed against your lips silencing you. Vi, which so far looked somewhat composed, was now having her lips twisted in a snarl.

"Don't you dare!", she growled, her voice low and bitter, "I turned the whole city upside down to try and find YOU and Powder! Every single day, every damn minute I thought of you and prayed for you to be alive! So don't you dare saying I didn't care!"

Her fingers trembled against your mouth and her grip loosened. You watched her head fall down while she took deep breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions that was swirling inside of her chest. On one hand, she knew she should not entertain your little games. You were not the sweet and kind-hearted girl you were years ago, and the way you fought Ekko was proof of that. On the other hand, however, the memories of her love for you kept flooding her mind, making it hard to distinguish what were her real feelings and what was just fragments of her imagination.

Pulling her hand away, she kneeled on the ground next to the bed, pressing her forehead against your leg.

"The only reason why I survived all these years in prison was because of you. I thought...", she got quiet for a few seconds, trying to choose the right words. She had so much to say, so much to share, but were you actually willing to listen?

"I thought that if I ever had the chance to see you again, it would be just like it was years ago. That we would pack our stuff and leave this cursed place forever. I imagined us in a small house next to a coast somewhere, waking up late every morning, because none of us could let go of each other's warmth. Our house would have a small garden, full with all the flowers and vegetables you told me you wanted to grow."

As you listened to her, your expression gradually softened and your hand found its way to the top of her head. You gently stroked her short locks, the image of what could've been slowly coming together in your mind.

"We would also have a dog... and two cats, because you love cats. You would make me a blueberry pie for my birthdays and I would start a local job, so we can save money to go and visit one of these tourist islands you kept reading in the newspaper about", Vi stared at the blank wall ahead, mind lost in this imaginary life. She had dreamed about it so many times, sometimes it felt almost real.

Your fingers stopped massaging her scalp and instead slid from her hair to her jaw, lifting her face, so she could look at you. And then, just for a moment, you were the same girl Vi remembered and fell in love with. There was the same gentle smile on your face, the same loving touch, the same mischievous spark in your now strange eyes.

"Who said we can't still have that?", you whispered, grazing her lips with your thumb, before leaning toward her, "All you have to do is come home, Vi... Come with me and I will be yours. Only yours."

The lie fell so smoothly from your lips and while she knew you were not sincere, she pushed her doubt and mistrust aside, instead choosing to cling to your promise and allow herself to believe there was still hope.

Pushing herself from the floor, she grasped your face in her hands before pressing her lips against yours. The kiss was nothing like the few sweet pecks you had shared before - now it was messy, harsh, and rough, a battle for dominance between you and her. She slowly climbed on top of you, while pushing you back against the mountain of pillows on the bed, not breaking the contact even for a second. Her hands gripped your own, slamming them above your head, while she continued to suck and bite your bottom lip. Filled with a new dose of adrenaline, you let her take control, while arching your back and trying to get as close as possible to her.

Suddenly, the image of Caitlyn flashed in front of her eyes and she pulled away, panting heavily. She shouldn't be doing this, especially not with you and especially not here... Before she can let go of you completely, however, you wrapped your legs around her waist, bringing her back to you.

"Vi...", the name sounded like a sinful prayer falling from your red and swollen lips, "I missed you so much!"

Against her better judgment, she closed her eyes, pressing her lips against yours once again, this time licking them with her tongue as a request for her to finally be able to taste you. And once you granted your permission, she didn't waste even a second, exploring your mouth and satisfying her craving. You whined and moaned below her, moving your body under hers in a way to try and get as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. She stilled her tongue for a few seconds and you immediately grabbed the opportunity to suck on it, while rolling your eyes in pleasure.

Her hands released yours and instead, they grabbed your hips, trying to control your movements. Her mouth started pressing open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, slowly sliding down your neck and you could do nothing else, other than turn your head to the side and give her more space.

Somewhere deep inside, Vi knew this was wrong. You were not hers anymore and no matter what sweet promises you made, you were never going to turn against Silco. Zaun was a place where you thrived, why would you ever escape from there? And while she was trying to hold onto your past memories together, she couldn't lie to herself anymore by saying her heart still belonged to you. Because it didn't. There was a good and kind girl, who liked her and accepted her for who she is.

And what did Vi do? Make-out with her ex-crush on her bed.

You, on the other hand, did not have any internal struggles or questions about how morally right or wrong was your current situation. As you stared at the door, which was slightly open, your eyes locked with those of Caitlyn and you couldn't help but grin at her, burying your hands in Vi's hair while she still marked your neck.

She was yours. Only yours.

cc artwork: JunNing Chen

[noneorother]

Hi, I’ve only read one meta by you yet, but you seem to be just the right person to ask this: did you notice how many people in the scenes outside the bookshop are wearing orange, in series 2?

Any idea what that’s all about? Is it just esthetics, an echo of the bookshop‘s columns, or does it have a filmographical significance? Everytime I watch the show there seem to be more orange clothes, once you start seeing that, it’s crazy how many there are!

Hey thanks for the ask! I mean, you have until 2026 to read more of my drivel so; pace yourself! Orange clothing is definitely an *interesting* choice for extras in film. You almost never see it in background actors clothing because... it draws the eye! The fact that they included so much orange, yellow, and loud patterning in the extras in season 2 is a real decision to throw film tradition and S1 cannon out the window.

I would like to submit my own theory that the choice was made as a deliberate nod to time travel. But first, a little background.

Compare two crowd scenes on Whickeber street from each season: It's kind of nuts that even at microscopic resolution we get such a HUGE difference.

That's not to say orange is missing. Here are the only two extras wearing orange in S1, and they happen to be in the same scene in episode 2, when Newt and Shadwell meet for the first time, discussing occult beings "hiding in plain sight". (witches in this case)

We also get some pretty obvious bright orange in main characters in S1: Madame Tracy and Beelzebub. We meet Tracy in orange as she immediately reveals to Newt multiple hidden identities, see her again wearing orange hair when she communes with spirits, and finally all decked out in orange when she is being possessed by an angel (a person hiding inside a person). Beelzebub wears an orange sash and medal as a high ranking Duke of Hell, so orange is maybe their house colour, or a prestigious colour for hell in general, but after season 2 we know Beelzebub doesn't always have the same face, and is hiding intentions of their own.

Orange doesn't have much biblical significance, mostly because the colour orange was mostly seen as "fire" or "bright" coloured until way after the bible was transcribed, and orange dye wasn't really a thing in the European world until significant trade with east Asia developed. Here's the only other bright orange thing to appear all season, (in a deleted scene): Crowley hiding in plain sight, posing as a maintenance worker.

I think we might be able to draw the conclusion from season 1 that orange is a colour associated with the "Hidden Occult/Power". Not necessarily only hell, but more as something otherworldly, that's hidden in plain sight. (Interestingly, we never ever see Anathema or Agnes Nutter in orange. So I wouldn't say it's related to witches at all.)

In season 2 however, orange is everywhere. More specifically on extras' clothing and the outside of Maggie's record shop.

Maggie seems to be the only main character to wear bright orange herself (E2).

But this is by far my favourite one: in the back of the crowd of demons getting a Shax pep talk in S2E5, there's a regular human extra wearing bright orange sitting amongst the army, completely unnoticed by both demons and audience, observing the plan.

This really set off alarm bells for me, because there's a very Terry Pratchett precedent for powerful and unnoticed orange-wearing characters in the discworld series : the time monks.

Terry's character Sweeper seen here on the original cover of Night Watch. The time monks' clothing and general philosophy is based on Thai buddhist monks, who (like in many buddhists sects) wear donated, saffron-dyed robes in orange and yellow/red to symbolize flames of purity, and to separate them from the world of gross matter, like a fallen leaf from a tree.

In the discworld novel Night Watch, the time monks are responsible for monitoring and cleaning up the timeline, pruning it like a bonzai tree. They are everywhere and yet unnoticed, inside the flow of time yet not of it. And they are the ones who guide the main character through the process of being stuck after falling back through his own timeline, into his own past.

(Excerpt from the book where Sweeper is explaning time travel to Vimes).

Extras circling in the background are called "background actors" because they exist to not be noticed. Put in extras wearing orange/yellow and bright red, and suddenly you can track them, and notice how they are part of the crowd, but stand apart from it. You can notice when they go missing from one cut to the next, or appear to circle or jump between frames. Many extras, including the demon army watcher, also seem to be circling, and monitoring the goings-on in the world of Good Omens. Based on the meaning of orange from S1, it would seem these mere background actors are more than they appear to be. Could they even be checking up on unwarranted time distortions or timeline ruptures happening around a certain Bookshop...?

[heliads]

Hey hun, just wondering if I could get a Theo Raeken x Hale!reader basically he's an overprotective brother ❤️❤️❤️

derek would be an overprotective brother let's be real (i'm assuming that's what you meant? tbh i was a little confused about who was the brother but this is the result)

masterlist

Sneaking out of one’s house in the dead of night is already a difficult task. Factor in the fact that the adults in the building all have supernatural hearing, and getting caught seems impossible to avoid. The only factor in your favor is the fact that you absolutely refuse to give up. Derek Hale can do whatever he wants to try and rein you in, but there’s nothing he can do to stop you. Nothing at all.

Honestly, he should have seen this coming. It’s not like any of the Hales are known for their natural rule-abiding tendencies. When Derek was your age, he was crushing on girls and giving them the bite. He should just be happy that you’re not trying to turn anyone and let you do what you please.

That’s what you argue, at least. Derek sees things very differently. You know he’s just terrified to lose another family member after the fire burned your home to the ground, but times are changing. You know how to defend yourself, and you certainly won’t be going down without a fight, if you’ll ever go down at all.

Besides, you’re not looking to get into fights. Not tonight. In fact, you’re doing the exact opposite. You’re slipping out of your room not to seek out danger, nor track down hunters in the hopes of starting a fight. No, you’re practicing all this secrecy because you want to see your boyfriend, a certain Theo Raeken.

You didn’t count on Theo stealing your heart when he first arrived at Beacon Hills. True, his first few months were a little rocky, something about him trying to betray the McCall pack in the name of the Dread Doctors, but he’s come around since then. You didn’t even start thinking about him romantically until a few months after that, once you were sure that he wouldn’t try something bad like that again.

If you ask Theo, though, he’ll tell a story that’s a little different from yours. He once confessed that he started liking you from his very first day, which made it easier to switch sides once he was let out of Hell. Sometimes you wonder if he saw visions of you when he was trapped down there. You don’t think he’ll tell you for quite some time, though. Theo doesn’t like thinking about his time in Hell at all.

Neither do you. That’s why the two of you prefer to let the past stay in the past, and focus only on the future and what it holds. Theo isn’t an enemy to you, not anymore. Not to any of your friends.

That’s not what Derek seems to believe, however. No, Derek is convinced that Theo is nothing but bad news, fit only for betrayal and heartbreak. Every time he happens to see you and Theo together, you can hear his blood pressure skyrocketing and you know you’re in for a lecture once you get home. Despite the fact that Derek made plenty of worse choices in his life, such as dating a darach, you being with Theo is the worst thing your older brother has ever seen.

It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to you, but you’re not too hung up on it to let Derek’s lack of approval stop you. You don’t need your brother, you just need Theo. So, you take care to be extra quiet when you’re lifting the sash of the window and climbing down the fire escape into the cold night. Theo’s truck is idling two blocks over, just in case. He gets out to greet you like he always does.

Despite the fact that sneaking out of the Hale residence gets harder by the hour, and Derek’s wrath is strengthening by the day, it’s all worth it. All of it. The moment Theo’s arms are around you, you think you could take on the world. Maybe you’ll have to, it doesn’t really matter. You’ve got your boyfriend, he’s got you, and you’ve never been better.

Theo presses a kiss to your cheek before opening the passenger side door of his truck. “What do you say we get out of here?”

You laugh. “Sounds great to me.”

Theo smiles too, climbing back into the driver’s side and taking off into the night. You watch the streetlights speed past you, smears of off-white and buzzing gold against the dark air. Theo navigates his way out of the endless maze of suburbs and cul-de-sacs before you’re out in uncharted territory.

You and Theo have christened a spot on the outside of Beacon Hills as yours and yours alone. The Beacon Hills Preserve is in sight, but not all that close. Too many bad supernatural encounters in those woods have somewhat lessened your favor of them. Instead, Theo parks his car on the edge of a field, letting the tall grass and wildflowers brush against his cars. The sky is wide, open as far as the eye can see. It is absolutely perfect.

Theo grabs a blanket from the backseat and spreads it across the bed of his truck. He climbs in first, then holds out a hand to help you in. You lie down on your back so you can watch the stars, leaning against Theo. His hand traces gentle patterns on your arm, soft and soothing. The night is cool, making you curl closer against him. Overhead, the constellations wink and blink, promising stories that only you could ever dare to read.

You blink once and dawn is upon you. The sun is already climbing well into the sky, coloring clouds into rose and flaxen yellow. At first, you’re content to just lie there and marvel at how easy it was to fall asleep until it occurs to you that you weren’t supposed to do that at all.

One glance at the screen of your phone has you swearing under your breath. Theo is asleep by your side, and you frantically shake him awake. He’s slow to come to consciousness at first, but he’s active in seconds when you tell him what time it is. Both of you overslept by a lot, and you overshot the time you were supposed to make it back to your house by a couple of hours. Derek shouldn’t be up, not yet, but you wouldn’t put it past him to check your room. You’ve been known to sneak out in the past, and after the lecture you got last time, you really, really don’t want to be caught again.

Theo’s rushing the whole way back, relying on his supernatural senses to stay out of an accident. That, and the fact that no one is on the road at this hour of the morning. You imagine what a picture the two of you must make– most people just starting to wake up, the earliest risers starting their cars in their garages, while you and Theo are booking it down the road out of fear that your brother would figure out what you’ve done.

Theo brings his truck to a stop close to your house. He peppers apologies in between kisses, then urges you to hurry before it’s too late. You wave goodbye, then take the steps of the fire escape two at a time in your haste to get back inside. You raise your window and climb inside. You hear no sound anywhere else in the apartment, and you have just enough time to thank your lucky stars that you managed to get away with this when the lights flick on, revealing Derek waiting in the shadows.

It takes everything in you to bite back a startled scream. “Jeez, Derek, try not to give me a heart attack, will you?” You clutch a hand to your chest, trying to stop the accursed organ from jumping out of your chest.

Derek doesn’t look remotely sympathetic to your situation. “Why, so you can see that Raeken boy again? I know where you were.”

You wince. “You do.”

“I do,” Derek confirms, “and you’re lucky today’s a school day, or I’d be yelling at you here and now. As it is, you have to get ready or you’re going to miss the bus. Do that and I’ll be even more mad than I am now.”

“I didn’t know it was possible for you to be more mad,” you joke weakly.

“It’s not,” Derek says with a glare, and storms out into the hall.

You collapse to your bed, one hand rising to your head. You really hadn’t wanted Derek to find out, but of course he’d known all along. Derek’s a survivor, he has been all this time. That means he has the instincts of someone searching for all the clues you’re trying to keep hidden. You have the school day as a buffer, but after that, you’re totally done for.

Sure enough, Derek is waiting for you, arms folded across his chest, the moment you close the door behind you in the afternoon. Not only that, but Peter Hale is lounging on the couch, languidly flipping through the day’s newspaper.

You arch a brow at your uncle. “You brought Peter into this?”

Derek groans. “He’s a figure of authority. I thought you’d respect him if you can’t respect me.”

You grin. “Are you sure that was a good idea?”

Across the room, Peter chuckles. “Of course it was. There’s nothing Derek likes more than someone who gives him even more gray hairs than you.”

You and Derek turn to shout at the same time. “Shut up!”

Peter holds up his hands in mock surrender, still laughing under his breath.

Derek looks back at you, brow furrowed. “We’re not talking about Peter, we’re talking about you. You snuck out of this apartment for the fifth time this month. I’ve told you to stay away from Theo, but you were with him. Want to explain yourself?”

“We’re dating,” you say as casually as you can.

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why? The guy tried to kill Scott and he’s probably angling to kill you. I’m not telling you all this just because I like hearing the sound of my own voice, you know. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

You scoff. “Yeah, because you’ve got a great history with your girlfriends. Weren’t you dating Kate Argent? You know, the one who burned our house down?”

Peter takes this as his sign to add his two cents. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

Derek repeats his sentiment for Peter to shut up at the same time as you encourage your uncle to keep talking. This earns you a swat to the shoulder, and your older brother picks up his lecture again.

“I’m not the one who’s being reprimanded, Y/N, that would be you. I’m serious, you have to stay away from Theo. He’s no good for you.”

“How would you know?” You counter, “all you ever do is try to be as overprotective as you can. I mean, have you ever considered the possibility that I know what I’m doing?”

Derek exhales slowly. “I know you’re capable, but you never know. I’m just trying to keep you safe, is that really so bad?”

You give him a steady look. “When you’re being this overinvolved in my life, yes it is.”

Derek opens his mouth to argue with that, but he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. He tilts his head to the side for a second, listening for heartbeats, then mutters something under his breath about Scott McCall always needing something at the worst possible time.

You interpret that as your chance to escape, so you do so with great excitement. Derek shouts that this isn’t over as you go, but you’re fairly sure it is. 

As you hurry past, Peter calls after you. “The back door is still unlocked, by the way. Derek will be busy for the next half hour or so.”

You grin. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re my favorite Hale?”

“Be sure to bring that up the next time I kill someone,” Peter grumbles, “I could use someone on my side for once.”

It’s hard to control your laugh as you head towards the back exit of the apartment. You text Theo on your way out, and soon enough you’re in his truck once again, speeding away from Derek and his suffocating tendencies as quickly as you can.

Theo shoots you a nervous look as he eases to a stop at a red light. “You’re sure everything is alright? I mean, Derek’s wrath is legendary.”

You shake your head. “We’ll be fine. Derek will stomp around for another day or so, but he doesn’t have it in him to hold grudges for long.”

Theo smiles. “As long as you’re sure about it. I don’t want to get in between you and your brother.”

“You won’t,” you assure him, “we’ve had bigger fights over much less, trust me.”

Theo assures you that he does, and you let the road disappear behind you along with your troubles. As you drive, though, your uneasiness doesn’t dissipate as quickly as usual. 

A few minutes later, you think something is wrong. Glancing back, you whisper something to Theo. “Is it just me, or has that car been following us for a while?”

Theo checks his rearview mirror, then curses. “No, you’re right. That’s a hunter, I recognize the license plate. Hold tight, I’ll try to lose him.”

Theo takes a few sporadic turns, but even his best attempts can’t shake the guy. What’s more, cars appear out of the surrounding streets, slowly but surely forcing Theo to head towards the Preserve and out of sight of any passersby. The hunters stop near the mouth of the woods, and Theo has to park as well lest he risk getting in a crash.

The two of you watch the hunters emerge from their cars, weapons in hand. “Stay in the truck,” Theo tells you, “I’ll take care of this.”

“Not a chance,” you argue, “there are too many of them, we’re doing this together.”

Theo looks like he wants to argue, but you’re already reaching for the door and stepping outside. The hunters issue out the usual threats about wanting to run all supernaturals out of town and whatnot. Thankfully, they aren’t a patient bunch, and so you’re able to skip to the fight before too long.

This isn’t your first bad encounter with the hunters of Beacon Hills, nor will it be the last. You extend your claws, letting your eyes glow. Supernatural strength courses over you and you charge. Despite the fact that the two of you are crazily outnumbered, you and Theo have one thing that the hunters don’t:  an absolute unwillingness to lose.

That’s what you think about when enemy blood is shed, when you snap knives and break guns and refuse to let your fear get the best of you. That’s what you think about when the number of hunters starts to dwindle, when they choose to run into the woods or drive away rather than join their friends in agony on the ground.

That’s why you win, you think. At last, you straighten up and look at Theo. Both of you are alive, and the remaining hunters are fleeing as quickly as they can. You start to smile, but before you can say too much, another voice encapsulates your thoughts.

“That way went better than I expected.”

You whip around to see Derek emerging from his car a few paces away, blinking in surprise. He gestures between the hunters on the ground and you and Theo. “You know, I came all this way to save your asses, but it looks like you’ve already done that.”

“Maybe it’s because I can trust Theo to keep me alive.” You say pointedly.

Derek stares at you a second longer, then sighs and gives in. “Fine, fine. The two of you can keep on seeing each other. Just don’t make that sneaking out stuff a habit.”

You wait until Derek gets back in his car and drives away before daring to look at Theo. Silently, he raises his arms in victory, making you laugh. Maybe Derek isn’t completely beyond reasoning. And maybe, just maybe, you can have both your boyfriend and your brother on your side. Impossibilities were made to be disproven.

teen wolf tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @rafecameronswhore, @bellabadacadabra, @23victoria,

[middlingmay]

What about "oh, honey." for the prompt list? 😊

@onyxsboxes This only took me forever to get to, but it's here now! Hope you like it and it's at least somewhat worth the wait.

Prompt from this list.

The little house was innocuous from outside. A pitched roof lined with overlapping rows of wooden shingles. A chimney that sat smokeless, a few errant weeds growing out the pointing. Two sash windows flanking a front door. Their timber frames looked freshly sanded, and new, glossy paint covered the door.

The drive was a beige and pinkish ashy dirt that dusted when you walked. It was the kind that covered your shoes and your hems no matter what you did. He’d have to remember that for future.

He’d passed a few houses on his way here, but no one lived so close as to look in.

The garden is what surprised Gale the most. It was bursting with life. It wasn’t the perfectly manicured lawns the Caspar Neighbourhood Association preferred, but flowering, fragrant bushes were home to butterflies and bees. The grass was longer and littered with wildflowers, and Gale bet it was soft to lay down on. There was even a stone bird bath. A closer look and Gale saw the bottom was clean, scrubbed from any residue and filled with clean water.

Lucky birds. But Bucky always did like taking care of things.

Gale just hoped he was still one of those things.

It was that hope that brought him here, more than six months since he’d gotten back. Much more. Closer to the year’s mark than he wanted to admit.

It wouldn’t do to make Bucky wait another second, then. He tightened his grip on his field bag.

They hadn’t spoken much since they got home. Bucky called once or twice, and they wrote a few brief letters. More pleasantries than anything else. In every communication, he felt like Bucky was holding himself back, hedging, so unlike any version of Bucky or John he’d ever known. And it had horrified Gale so much that the distance between them seemed too far for their bond to stretch, that he hadn’t known what to say, and that had made things so much worse.

John had asked about the weeding, when he’d be expected to pick up his best man duties, and Gale had never had an answer for him.

The contact had dropped to next to nothing after that. And it had felt like grieving.

Gale missed John like he missed nothing else in the world. More than flying. More than he’s missed Marge over in Europe. And that realisation had told him all he ever needed to know.

So here he was. Hoping that Bucky still had it in him to take in one last Buck, one more time.

He knocked on the door.

No answer.

Gale peered in through both windows. There wasn’t so much as a flicker of life inside. He knocked again, harder, in case Bucky was taking a nap somewhere. Man could fall asleep anywhere if you gave him five minutes.

Nothing.

Gale contemplated his next move. He wasn’t leaving, that was for sure. But the familiar urge to go looking for Bucky whenever he wandered off flickered to life. But this wasn’t Thorpe Abbotts or the Stalag. He didn’t know the lay of the land here. He could search around for a spare key, maybe under one of the plant pots all over the place. Gale surveyed their sheer number with hands on his hips and a determined set to his mouth. Just as he went to take a step forward, he heard from the corner of the house:

“Buck?”

Gale jerked round, his field bag falling from his shoulder.

At the edge of the garden, at the mouth of a narrow passage that led round the side of the house, presumably to the back, stood John Egan.

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to call this man Bucky, when that name had been synonymous with the larger than life, indestructible Major of the 100th Bomb Group.

The man before him wore a loose shirt, unbuttoned down to his chest. His hair had grown out, and Gale had known it was curly but hadn’t known the devastating affect of it when they were allowed to grow and twist and tighten, and fluff up in the breeze. Gale caught the flash of silver at his collar and over the expanse of skin exposed down John’s chest. He still worse his tags then, and his dual crosses. Gale suddenly wanted to feel them in his hand, trace the familiar letters, press the crosses over John’s heart. He wore shorts, and the shirt covered much of the top of them it was so big.

And his feet were bare. No sandals. No boots. Just bare skin against the grass, toes flush against the springy growth.

John had been prioritising comfort, since they’d parted then. Gale wondered how badly he’d needed it, and if this was one of the only ways he’d been able to get it. God knows Gale had craved it himself, and been too ashamed to ask Marge for it, or let on even the slightest that he just wanted someone to be there. Who understood.

And Marge was many, glorious, wonderful things. But Gale was endlessly grateful that able to understand the horrors of war was not one of them.

“Buck?”

John’s voice wasn’t the strong, teasing drawl he’d known so well. He’d heard it change and shift through those brief phone calls, but here in person it was a different beast altogether.

There was a strain behind it, like there were things, so many things, he was keeping hidden behind the fragile barrier of that Buck. It reminded him of the Stalag, when Bucky had seemed so close to fracturing before he’d been able to knit himself together just enough to get them out.

Him. To get him out. John’d had to wait.

Again.

But Gale had enough of making John Egan wait for him.

“I’m here, John,” he said, taking slow but certain steps forward. He didn’t want to assume; it had been so long. But he was going to lay himself at John’s porch like a dog looking for a home, until he told him to leave. “M’sorry it took me so long. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot—of the highest order. But I’m here, now. And I…I don’t wanna leave. I’ll go if you want, but I don’t wanna, John. I—”

Gale had never seen John cry. Not when Curt went down. Not when they’d been reunited in the Stalag and torn apart in the Stalag. Not when they took their last flight from Thorpe Abbotts. Many men had cried, but not John.

But he was crying now.

His teeth were bared like something wounded, trying to ward off the helping hand out of fear. His head hung down like he was trying to hide, and he shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes, but there was no mistaking it. His chest jumped with silent sobs and tears dripped off his cheeks onto the ground.

“Oh, honey.” Gale was closing the distance between them, wrapping John up in his arms. He pressed one hand against the thick tumble of John’s curls at the back of his head so he could guide John into the crook of his neck. His other he pressed against John’s back, pulling him as close as they could get.

John tried to fight him. Gale didn’t blame him. He was well aware he had licks coming from John and he had to take them. And he would. But when John pushed he kept pulling. When John hit his back, puling the strength of his punches even now, Gale rubbed his.

When John said wetly into his neck, “No, Buck. No. What are you doing here? Get outta here. Marge.” Gale just shushed him and gave him a kiss to the head that caught the tip of his ear.

“Yes, John. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 3

"Well, well well..." / Hiding / Ambushed / Stalking

Prompts List | Event Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 900

Tag List:@juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: kidnapping, attempted rescue, recklessness, breaking in, stealth, blood, chained by wrists, injury, gun, gunshots, threats

----------

Snap!

Caretaker winced at the noise, tenderly lifting their foot to reveal the broken branch, trodden upon in their careless haste to get close to the house unseen. They likely needn’t have bothered, the house appeared to be empty. 

But looks can be deceiving. 

Especially in this line of work.

Cautiously, paying more attention to where they put their feet, Caretaker crept along the side of the house until they reached a window. The interior was dark, the light from the setting sun illuminating the rough wooden floor, littered with shattered furniture.

Everything within view was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. It lined up with what the police had said about the place: no one had stepped inside for years since a particularly violent tragedy beset the previous owners. 

If what Caretaker suspected was true, however….

Their phone buzzed in their pocket.

Caretaker jumped, their heart leaping into their throat before their rational mind caught up. They pulled the device out to find a text from the officer working with them on the case.

Officer: How’s it look? Caretaker: Empty. Officer: Told you. It’s a dead end. Officer: Get back here ASAP

Caretaker stared at the phone, hissing through their teeth. Seriously? Just because the house in the middle of nowhere looked empty, it didn’t mean it was! For all they knew, this was where Whumpee had been taken! And perhaps the dust was left in view of the windows to keep up the appearance of an abandoned murder house.

They peered back through the window, gnawing the inside of their cheek. If it really was as empty as it looked, then… wouldn’t hurt. And if it wasn’t?

Caretaker: I’m going in. If I don’t text within 10 min, call for backup. Officer is typing…

Caretaker didn’t wait for their response, no doubt an all-caps message about how stupid they were being, with an order to get their ass back to the car. They slipped their phone back into their pocket as it buzzed with the angry message, but they ignored it and hesitantly pushed on the window.

The sash slid up without protest, and Caretaker frowned. If the house had been left alone all these years, how come the window opened so easily? And it was unlocked? Suspicious.

They grunted as they pulled themself up on the windowsill and clambered into the house. Dust rose into the air as they stepped lightly onto the floor and crept through the house, taking care not to make too much noise.

Every room was the same. Shattered furniture, scattered garbage, everything covered in dirt and dust. Disappointment rose in Caretaker’s throat with each room they checked. Maybe Officer was right, and this was a bust….

Their eyes fell on the last door. It was shut, but they guessed it led to the basement. Well, if Whumpee would be kept anywhere….

The door creaked softly as they pushed it open, revealing a pool of light at the bottom of the stairs. Caretaker’s heartbeat quickened. Not so abandoned after all.

They hesitantly put their weight on the first step, keeping close to the wall to decrease the chances of noise. Perhaps some kid had broken in to explore and left behind a flashlight. 

Caretaker descended another step. And another. Or maybe they’d left the lights on. 

Another step. Or—

Was that their breathing? Or someone else’s?

They steeled themself and reached the bottom of the stairs. The bare lightbulb on the landing didn’t illuminate much of the basement, but what little they saw made their stomach turn.

Caretaker had seen a lot in their line of work. Cheating partners, domestic abuse, child abuse, missing persons’ cases, cold cases, murders. They’d dealt with many a crime scene, almost to the point of becoming deadened to blood or injury.

And yet the sight of Whumpee, dangling from the ceiling by their wrists, the stench of their blood heavy in the air, the sound of their labored breathing, all of it made Caretaker step back in shock, hand over their mouth, bile rising in their throat.

They shouldn’t be alive.

With the amount of blood on the floor and the extent of their wounds, Whumpee should be dead. Blood loss, shock, sheer exhaustion….

Slam!

Caretaker jumped and spun around, instinctively moving to place themself between Whumpee and the staircase. Heavy footsteps descended the stairs.

Thump. 

Thump. 

Thump.

“Well, well, well…” the newcomer said slowly, pausing just above where the light touched the stairs. “If it isn’t Caretaker, the famous detective. Come to do me in, I presume?”

“What the hell did you do to them?!” Caretaker demanded, voice shaking.

Whumper chuckled, a sound that made the hairs on the back of Caretaker’s neck stand up. “Nothing too terrible. They’re alive, aren’t they?”

“Barely!” Caretaker reached for their phone. “I’m going to ensure that you never see the other side of the prison wall ever—”

Bang.

Caretaker flinched back with a cry as their phone was shot out of their hand, shattering on the ground in a million pieces.

Whumper tsked softly. “Can’t have you doing that, little sleuth. Why don’t you put your hands above your head?”

Caretaker gritted their teeth. They had to wait until Officer did what they asked and called for backup. Until then….

They slowly raised their hands.

“That’s a good little sleuth,” Whumper teased, “a good little sleuth indeed.”

[thebrickinbrick]

The Vulture Become Prey, Part 1

We must insist upon one psychological fact peculiar to barricades. Nothing which is characteristic of that surprising war of the streets should be omitted.

Whatever may have been the singular inward tranquillity which we have just mentioned, the barricade, for those who are inside it, remains, nonetheless, a vision.

There is something of the apocalypse in civil war, all the mists of the unknown are commingled with fierce flashes, revolutions are sphinxes, and any one who has passed through a barricade thinks he has traversed a dream.

The feelings to which one is subject in these places we have pointed out in the case of Marius, and we shall see the consequences; they are both more and less than life. On emerging from a barricade, one no longer knows what one has seen there. One has been terrible, but one knows it not. One has been surrounded with conflicting ideas which had human faces; one’s head has been in the light of the future. There were corpses lying prone there, and phantoms standing erect. The hours were colossal and seemed hours of eternity. One has lived in death. Shadows have passed by. What were they?

One has beheld hands on which there was blood; there was a deafening horror; there was also a frightful silence; there were open mouths which shouted, and other open mouths which held their peace; one was in the midst of smoke, of night, perhaps. One fancied that one had touched the sinister ooze of unknown depths; one stares at something red on one’s finger nails. One no longer remembers anything.

Let us return to the Rue de la Chanvrerie.

All at once, between two discharges, the distant sound of a clock striking the hour became audible.

“It is midday,” said Combeferre.

The twelve strokes had not finished striking when Enjolras sprang to his feet, and from the summit of the barricade hurled this thundering shout:

“Carry stones up into the houses; line the windowsills and the roofs with them. Half the men to their guns, the other half to the paving-stones. There is not a minute to be lost.”

A squad of sappers and miners, axe on shoulder, had just made their appearance in battle array at the end of the street.

This could only be the head of a column; and of what column? The attacking column, evidently; the sappers charged with the demolition of the barricade must always precede the soldiers who are to scale it.

They were, evidently, on the brink of that moment which M. Clermont-Tonnerre, in 1822, called “the tug of war.”

Enjolras’ order was executed with the correct haste which is peculiar to ships and barricades, the only two scenes of combat where escape is impossible. In less than a minute, two thirds of the stones which Enjolras had had piled up at the door of Corinthe had been carried up to the first floor and the attic, and before a second minute had elapsed, these stones, artistically set one upon the other, walled up the sash-window on the first floor and the windows in the roof to half their height. A few loop-holes carefully planned by Feuilly, the principal architect, allowed of the passage of the gun-barrels.

This armament of the windows could be effected all the more easily since the firing of grape-shot had ceased. The two cannons were now discharging ball against the centre of the barrier in order to make a hole there, and, if possible, a breach for the assault.

When the stones destined to the final defence were in place, Enjolras had the bottles which he had set under the table where Mabeuf lay, carried to the first floor.

“Who is to drink that?” Bossuet asked him.

“They,” replied Enjolras.

Then they barricaded the window below, and held in readiness the iron cross-bars which served to secure the door of the wine-shop at night.

The fortress was complete. The barricade was the rampart, the wine-shop was the dungeon. With the stones which remained they stopped up the outlet.

As the defenders of a barricade are always obliged to be sparing of their ammunition, and as the assailants know this, the assailants combine their arrangements with a sort of irritating leisure, expose themselves to fire prematurely, though in appearance more than in reality, and take their ease. The preparations for attack are always made with a certain methodical deliberation; after which, the lightning strikes.

This deliberation permitted Enjolras to take a review of everything and to perfect everything. He felt that, since such men were to die, their death ought to be a masterpiece.

He said to Marius: “We are the two leaders. I will give the last orders inside. Do you remain outside and observe.”

Marius posted himself on the lookout upon the crest of the barricade.

Enjolras had the door of the kitchen, which was the ambulance, as the reader will remember, nailed up.

“No splashing of the wounded,” he said.

He issued his final orders in the tap-room in a curt, but profoundly tranquil tone; Feuilly listened and replied in the name of all.

“On the first floor, hold your axes in readiness to cut the staircase. Have you them?”

“Yes,” said Feuilly.

“How many?”

“Two axes and a pole-axe.”

“That is good. There are now twenty-six combatants of us on foot. How many guns are there?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Eight too many. Keep those eight guns loaded like the rest and at hand. Swords and pistols in your belts. Twenty men to the barricade. Six ambushed in the attic windows, and at the window on the first floor to fire on the assailants through the loop-holes in the stones. Let not a single worker remain inactive here. Presently, when the drum beats the assault, let the twenty below stairs rush to the barricade. The first to arrive will have the best places.”

These arrangements made, he turned to Javert and said:

“I am not forgetting you.”

[masked-alien-lesbian]

Vampire Verity Feeding from Aislinn for the 1st Time

Beautiful commission done by @sazanes! ❤️❤️❤️

Aislinn Tanaka x vampire OC (Verity Wright)

Aislinn's hands trembled as she rushed to grab her purse. All she wanted to do was get back to Verity. After staring down the barrel of a gun and into the cold eyes of a killer, she just wanted to feel safe, and ironically it was a vampire that was the only one who made her feel safe.

She paused when she saw Verity's office light was off but relaxed when she saw them standing in front of their window. Dropping her things in a chair she walked up to Verity and wrapped her arms around the vampire. It felt as if she was hugging a boulder, Verity was so tense. Then she noticed they were glaring out the window, their eyes glowing blood red.

"Verity?"

"It's taking all my willpower to keep from tracking that-that man down right now. But if I do, he won't be in one piece when I'm done with him." Verity growled.

"It's okay, we'll figure something out, we may have lost Aliana's phone-"

"I don't give a damn about that phone Ash! Or about this god forsaken case anymore! I just..." Verity very carefully laid their forehead against the glass window in frustration. Aislinn comes around in between Verity and the window and is quickly pinned up against it. The look in Verity's eyes isn't anger anymore but desperate hopeless fear.

"Seeing that gun man standing over you...I've never felt so out of control. I've never felt such rage before" Verity's face twisted into something more inhuman at the memory but quickly softened at Aislinn's gentle touch. "I can't lose you. It would tear me apart, Aislinn." Verity says burying their face into Aislinn's chest right over her heart.

"Oh Verity. I'm okay. I'm safe. You kept me safe."

"Always." Verity's reply is muffled in Aislinn's chest but firm. Aislinn drags Verity's face up to lock their lips together and the kiss quickly turns hungry.

Aislinn pulls back just enough to frantically say, "I want to be with you, please, I need you Verity." Dragging a tortured moan from the vampire.

"I'm sorry, I need to feed, I don't trust myself right now."

"Then feed from me." Aislinn says, taking her white sash off, exposing her throat.

"Aislinn...you don't have to-"

"I want you to, Verity. I want to give you everything you need. Whatever you want, is yours." A thrill runs up her spine at Verity's whimper but a gasp escapes her own lips when Verity suddenly rips her suit jacket down her arms, tears her white shirt into shreds and hoists her up in their arms.

Verity's hair tickles Aislinn's neck and she throws her head back when they trail kisses up and down the column of her throat.

"I won't hurt you...I'll never hurt you, Aislinn." Verity softly says.

"I know baby, I know." Aislinn says her jaw dropping in a silent gasp, her eyes rolling back slightly as Verity sinks their fangs into her neck. Euphoria races through Aislinn's body as Verity groans at her taste and Aislinn knew she was in for a long but beautiful night.

Thank you @sazanes for doing this commission! I'm, as usual, very pleased with the outcome. I love seeing my daydreams come to life, and I'm very lucky you don't mind being the one to bring them to life, lol.

[anonymouspuzzler]

here's that other AU I've put way more into - the "Uncle Cally AU", where Cal was instead taken in by one Aquato Family Circus! This one is admittedly the brainchild of @friendlyfrankenstein, I just happened to take the ball and run... and run... and run.......

don't think this doodle dump is the start and end, though! There's a lot more coming up in the queue soon...

(alt text/image IDs under the cut!)

[Image 1 ID: A character design sheet for "Caligosto Aquato", an alternate version of Loboto who joined the Loboto Family Circus. He is wearing goggles similar to Raz's and has a full head of hair, with shaggy bangs and a light green kerchief patterned with yellow flowers. He has on a high-collared shawl cape with several safety pins and patches, over a navy-blue and white-striped Aquato family unitard and brown, puffy short-shorts with a deep red cummerbund. There are two patches on the torso of his unitard. His right arm has an elbow-length brown sleeve on his forearm with several patches and safety pins, while the left hand just has a red band around his wrist. He is wearing navy blue fingerless gloves on both hands, as well as knee-high, laced navy blue boots. There is a small knee guard on his left knee, while his left thing has a scrap of fabric tied around it, the same color and pattern as his kerchief. A detail shot shows him pushing up his goggles, revealing his green-and-red heterochromia and dark circles around his eyes. Off to the side is a design for his "Doctor Loboto" guise, wearing a simple surgical mask that covers his face, his canon-compliant shower cap, an oversized powder-blue button up, a apron over that with complex buckles in the back similar to canon, greenish surgical gloves, and the same blue boots as his "circus" design.]

[Image 2 ID: A rough sketch design for Cally's caravan. It is shaped like a carriage, with a swooped roof with a decorated lantern hanging off of it. There is a big window in the back, posters taped to the sides, and a hatch on the roof on the other side through which Cally is peeking out. There is an accordion-shaped, slightly curving tower emerging from the curved part of the roof, with a pipe weaving through and emitting a small cloud of smoke where it ends. The top of the "tower" has another, smaller window, in which Raz can be seen reading a comic and peeking outside. There is another, smaller lantern dangling from the tower, as well as what looks like a radio antennae at the very top.]

[Image 3 ID: A traditional ink doodle-page with various sketches of Loboto and other Psychonauts characters. At the center is a drawing of Uncle Cally and Augustus standing side by side. Cally is wearing large earrings and a shawl with a hood, a puffy-sleeved blouse, fabric tied around his waist like a skirt, and his usual striped tights and heeled boots. Augustus has a shawl wrapped around his neck and shoulders like a scarf, is wearing a baggy shirt with large, dangling sleeves, has a sash tied around his waist like a belt, and has his usual shorts, striped tights and boots.]

[Image 4-5 IDs: Various rough gestural sketches of Cally doing stretches, contortions and circus tricks. The first image is done digitally, while the second is traditional pen on a lavender post-it note. In one of the digital poses, a sketchy Raz can be seen balancing on top of one of Cally's feet.]

[Image 6 ID: A single-panel comic of a younger Cally and Augustus stretching. Cally is leaning against a wall with one hand, grabbing the ankle of his bent leg with the other, grinning and saying, "So is 'mooning over letters from Donatella' going in the act or something". Augustus, next to him in a deep lunge, holding a paper in one hand, blushing and glaring, retorts "Don't get on my case just because *you* don't like girls." Cally replies in turn, "You're just jealous the new strongman asked me out first".]

[Image 7 ID: A sketchy five-panel comic of Cally and the Aquato kids. In the first panel, Cally is squatting to secure a pulley on the ground, looking over at a young Raz in his circus outfit, who is staring at him. In the second, Mirtala runs by as he picks up his tools, tripping on a rock, causing a frantic Cally to catch her with a telekinetic hand; while he does, Raz is tugging on his arm, trying to get his attention. In the next panel he is bent over to pick up Mirtala, providing an opening for Frazie to spring up onto his shoulders, while Raz hangs around his legs yelling. In the next panel, Frazie is hanging off his back, sticking her tongue out at Raz, who climbs up Cally's leg pointing and shouting at Frazie, all while Mirtala fidgets in Cally's hold and Dion, shouting and holding a crying baby Queepie at arm's length, appears to the side. Cally, looking overwhelmed, screams "AUGUSTUS". The final panel shows Cally handing Mirtala over to an exhausted-looking Donatella, shouting "STOP HAVING KIDS". Augustus, standing next to Donna holding a sleeping Queepie in his arms, grins cheekily and retorts "But they're just so much fun to make".]

[Image 8 ID: A single-panel comic of Donatella and Cally. Cally is grinning, holding a terrified child upside-down by the ankles, using telekinesis to hold his arms and head in place, money falling to the ground out of his pockets. Donatella is in front of the kid, pointing and shouting, "YOU TRY TO SNEAK IN FREE, LITTLE PUNK?? THINK IT'S FUNNY DESTROYING SMALL FAMILY CIRCUS?! THAT YOU WILL ESCAPE CONSEQUENCES??" Augustus, in the background, looks on in horror.]

[Image 9 ID: Cally in the far foreground, motion-blurred and looking utterly terrified, running from Donatella in the background, who has skidded into frame in a wide stance, eyes glowing red.]

[Image 10-12 IDs: A three-panel comic of Cally, Oleander, and the Aquatos. Cally and Oleander are sitting side-by-side on a log, working on a rope-and-pulley system. Mirtala and Frazie walk in from the right side of the screen, Mirtala looking delighted and shouting, "It's Uncle Oly!! Uncle Oly's visiting!!" Oleander looks mildly surprised, while Cally looks extremely flustered. In the next panel, he catches Mirtala by the head with one hand, saying, "Woah woah *woah*-- Tala. Who told you to call him that??" Frazie, walking past behind him with a smug grin, responds, "Mom said we might as well get used to saying it sooner rather than later." In the last panel, a blushing and furious Cally says "Did she now," as he whirls around to look at Donatella, who looks incredibly smug as she stands with Queepie dangling from her hands by his arms. Off to the side, Oleander looks down in flustered confusion as Mirtala holds her arms up and shouts "UNCLE OLY UNCLE OLY WATCH MY NEW TRICK".]

[Image 13 ID: A drawing of Raz, Augustus, and Cally in the postgame of Psychonauts 2, at the cliff by the falls. Augustus is standing, staring out at the falls, with a hand on the back of Raz at his left, staring slightly up at him, and Cally to his right, sitting with his legs crossed, one arm propping him up, and the other up around his brother's back.]

[jellicle-chants]

the hug that last longer than the others

So, this ended up being way longer than I anticipated, so it’s mostly going under a cut.

Rumpleteazer sat on the edge of the roof, knees pulled up to her chest. Her tail twitched, as much as she wanted it to be still. She pressed her eyes shut and sighed.

"Your dad means well, you know." She turned her head to see Asparagus climbing out of the attic window. He tried to stand upright on the shingles, using the eave as a handhold.

"You shouldn't be up here, Da. You're going to fall." She wanted to get up and help, but something was keeping her stuck in place.

"Don't worry about me," he said, crouching down and half-sliding, half-crawling to the roof's edge. "I used to do my fair share of climbing when I was your age."

"Really?" She couldn't help but laugh a little at the idea.

"Of course! Well, you know I'm awfully shy now, but it was even worse when I was a kitten. I would do anything I could not to have to talk to people, so I learned how to climb things better than anyone else could." He looked out over the horizon, the rays of the setting sun casting an orange glow over his white fur. "I would sit up at the tops of trees all day, just doing whatever I wanted to, and I loved it. Of course I would come down for meals and that sort of thing, but otherwise nobody could bother me unless I wanted them to." He turned his gaze back to her, smiling sheepishly. "So, I guess I've come to bother you. But only because I want to make sure you're okay."

Rumpleteazer turned away and rested her head on her knee, not able to meet his eyes. "I'm okay, I guess. I just wanted some time to cool off so I wouldn't stay mad at Dad." She paused, a lump hardening in her throat.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this, but what he said, that's not actually what we want for you."

"What do you want, then?"

"Just that you're safe and happy. Whatever that looks like for you, we can deal with."

"Well, then why didn't he just say that?"

Asparagus took in a deep breath. "Nobody's perfect, apricot." Rumpleteazer felt a rush of heat to her cheeks and blinked away a stray tear. "That's why there are two of us, so in case one of us mucks it up, you have the other one to talk it out with." She could hear his voice get strained, like he too was struggling to speak. "Can I tell you something?"

She nodded, turning her head to look at him again. The sun had set enough now that he was cast in shadow, only his eyes reflecting the last specks of light in the sky.

"We were never mad at you, or disappointed. But we were scared, very very scared, that you might—" He broke off, and the next moment she was hugging him, burying her face in the fur of his chest; and he held her close. She had no idea how long they stayed like that, but when she finally lifted her head, night had settled in around them, the streetlamps illuminating the world below in pools of warm yellow light.

Rumpleteazer chuckled, wiping the corners of her eyes. "I think dinner might be ready by now." She stood up, offering her father a hand, which he took gratefully, and they began walking back together.

"Yes, I expect we'll be in for quite a scolding. And, if you wouldn't mind, I'd rather he not know I was climbing about on the roof."

"Your secret's safe with me, Da. Just so long as you can slip me an extra piece of pie at dessert."

"I think that can be arranged," Asparagus said with a grin, closing the window sash. "Now let's hurry, before our food gets cold."

[sashand57]

Learn how to get your sash and case windows restored

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If you are looking for ways to repair or restore your sash and case windows Edinburgh , then you need look no further. For more information please visit this site.

[eirinstiva]

Life below stairs

What ho! Bertie Wooster sent a letter!. Time to prepare some tea and read all the gossip! Apparently the first plan didn't go well

“Yes; that cook-pinching business. Jeeves tells me he saw Anatole last night, and Anatole refused to leave.” “But surely Aunt Dahlia had the sense to offer him more than he was getting with you?” “The sky was the limit, as far as she was concerned. Nevertheless, he refused to skid. It seems he’s in love with our parlourmaid.”

Anatole is in love, don't you dare to break his heart! Engage Anatole and the parlourmaid is a good idea.

“It can’t be worked. If your aunt engaged our parlourmaid she would have to sack her own, wouldn’t she?” “Well?” “Well, if she sacks her parlourmaid, it will mean that the chauffeur will quit. He’s in love with her.” “With my aunt?” “No, with the parlourmaid. And apparently he’s the only chauffeur your uncle has ever found who drives carefully enough for him.” I gave it up. I had never imagined before that life below stairs was so frightfully mixed up with what these coves call the sex complex. The personnel of domestic staffs seemed to pair off like characters in a musical comedy.

This is a good soap opera!

Bingo has an idea and it to steal the article~ I love Bingo's enthusiasm but his ideas are a bit dangerous, and we know what happens when they don't follow Jeeves' plans.

“Now listen, Bingo,” I said. “I’m frightfully sorry for you and all that, but I must firmly draw the line at burglary. I⁠—” He gazed at me, astonished and hurt. “Is this Bertie Wooster speaking?” he said in a low voice. “Yes, it is!” “But, Bertie,” he said gently, “we agreed that you were at school with me.”

Run away Bertie!!! Unless you are ready to pull a Raffles & Bunny with Jeeves. In that case I propose Jeeves as AJ Raffles and Wooster as Bunny Manders. Going alone could be a good idea, but I'm not sure if it will work. It's pretty obvious that Bertie is so nervous about this

I stood for a moment, listening. Everything seemed to be all right. I was apparently alone in the world. In fact, I was so much alone that the atmosphere seemed positively creepy. You know how it is on these occasions. 

Yeah, the calm before the storm... a table with a vase, two framed photographs, a saucer, a lacquer box and a jar of potpourri.

Bertie old chap, you can't expect that the parlourmaid would lie when she haven't see you before!

I looked at the girl with positive loathing. How she could have inspired affection in anyone, even a French cook, beat me. Not that she was a bad looking girl, mind you. Not at all. On another and happier occasion I might even have thought her rather pretty. But now she seemed one of the most unpleasant females I had ever encountered.

And then there was another bit of a lull. And suddenly I found myself by the window, and, by Jove, it was six inches open at the bottom. And the world beyond looked so bright and sunny and⁠—Well, I don’t claim that I am a particularly swift thinker, but once more something seemed to whisper “Outside for Bertram!” I slid my fingers nonchalantly under the sash, gave a hefty heave, and up she came. And the next moment I was in a laurel bush, feeling like the cross which marks the spot where the accident occurred.

At least this escape was successful, and Bertie learnt that being a thief is hard, even with the old bulldog courage of the Woosters. Will you try it again in the future?

“Never again, Jeeves!” I said. “Never again!” “Well, sir⁠—” “No, never again!” “Well, sir⁠—”

Let's be honest, I don't believe in your word, Wooster.

“What do you mean, ‘Well, sir’? What are you driving at?” “Well, sir, Mr. Little is an extremely persistent young gentleman, and yours, if I may say so, sir, is a yielding and obliging nature⁠—” “You don’t think that young Bingo would have the immortal rind to try to get me into some other foul enterprise? “I should say that it was more than probable, sir.”

Leave it to Jeeves, Bertie. Go to the countryside and have rest there. Run away from the gossip and enjoy your youth! [I just read the two versions of The Picture of Dorian Gray, don't blame me~]

“That the girl, in a previous situation some little time back, had been a colleague of Anatole, sir. And Anatole, as is the too frequent practice of these Frenchmen, had made love to her. In fact, they were, so I understood it, sir, formally affianced until Anatole disappeared one morning, leaving no address, and passed out of the poor girl’s life. 

Oh lalà~ Anatole is a womanizer~

Jeeves has the power of gossip!!! And it was used for the great good!!! (?) Can we appreciate the way Jeeves moves everything on this case? He's like a spider on his cobweb, ready to see use all his knowledge and the gossip to get everything, and he get money from everybody. So happy to see that he's not using that brilliant mind for piramidal schemes.

Next story comes courtesy of Jeeves, that sounds interesting <3

Cheerio!

[your-divine-ribs]

Ice Cold Part 17

Words: 4.1k

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

I didn't see the black Mercedes again as I drove warily through the city centre, but of course that didn't mean it wasn't there somewhere, lurking on a side road or hanging back several cars behind. Nevertheless after thirty minutes of aimlessly driving around I'd calmed down enough to convince myself that maybe I was just being paranoid. I still didn't want to risk going back to my apartment though. My phone was ringing incessantly in my bag on the passenger seat, and I didn't need to look to know that it was Paul. No doubt by now he'd been informed of my rash decision to stray from protocol and take matters into my own hands with keeping safe from Van.

I spotted a sign up ahead for parking for the Plaza Hotel, and swung over to the left-hand lane to enter the multi storey car park. The Plaza was a popular but unassuming hotel, favoured by tourists and business men and women alike, busy enough that I felt comforted by the hustle and bustle as I parked up and made my way into the foyer to check myself in.

I didn't check my phone until I'd settled into my room, grimacing at the number of missed calls from Paul. I kicked off my shoes, flopping down on the bed before I called him back, bracing myself as I did.

"What the bloody hell are you playing at Lyla? How am I supposed to give you protection if I don't know where the hell you are?"

I winced at his angry tone. "I'm sorry Paul, but maybe I'm safer if no one knows where I am. I've just checked into a hotel in the city centre for the night. Van knows where I live and he's broken into my apartment before. What's to say he wouldn't do it again?"

"Which is exactly why George is watching your apartment every night. He's one of the best, fully trained in surveillance and combat." Paul sounded exasperated. "Of course you know I'd rather have you tucked away in a safe-house, but you'd never agree to that would you?"

I stood up, crossing over to the large sash window and peering out into the night. "And how am I supposed to lead this investigation from a safe-house?"

"You certainly won't be able to lead the investigation if you're dead, that's for sure!" Paul almost growled down the phone, then he let out a huge sigh that was full of frustration. "I was going to brief you about this tomorrow but I may as well do it now. I've just heard from the London team. One of their best agents was found mutilated in his own home this morning. I'll spare you the details right now but it's bad. Really bad. We can't be sure but he may have handed over vital information about the undercover agents in the field right now. They're targeting us. We can't take any chances. I'm sure you know what the consequences of this sort of information getting into their hands means."

"Of course!" I replied, a chill seeping into my bones. "And whilst we're on the subject of information getting into the wrong hands, when were you going to tell me about my personal file being accessed earlier this year?"

There was a moment of silence. "Why are you asking about this now?"

"Well... don't you think I have a right to know?"

"Has something happened?" Paul's tone was suspicious and I immediately cursed myself for arousing his curiosity. "Has McCann tried to contact you again or something?"

"NO!" I blurted out quickly, too quickly.

"Because if he has I need to know. We have no way of knowing if he was involved with the data hack, but I wouldn't be surprised. If he has some kind of personal vendetta against you then I need to make a decision whether to pull you off this case completely!"

I paused, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall as I spoke. "That won't be necessary. He's not tried to contact me. I've got this under control."

"I know I can trust you," Paul said, and I watched my face twist into a disgraced kind of anguish at his statement. "Now get some sleep, and I want to see you in the office early tomorrow. We need to work out how we're going to pull these undercover agents out without blowing their cover. That's if they've not already been exposed..." His voice trailed off, before he added gravely. "If they have then they're already as good as dead."

We said our goodbyes then I stepped up to the mirror, staring long and hard at my reflection. It looked back at me accusingly. As my web of lies got more and more complex I could feel my integrity crumbling. Maybe it would be for the best if I got taken off the case completely. But would that be enough? Would that stop Van consuming my thoughts every waking hour? Would his attention shift elsewhere? I didn't think so. And deep down did I really want it to?

I sighed, slipping off my clothes and making for the bathroom for a shower. The warm spray felt good cascading down on me, and I tipped my head back, trying to clear my mind. Tomorrow I'd be better. I'd turn this whole thing around. I could do it. I hadn't completely lost myself. Not yet...

I stepped out of the shower, groaning to myself that I didn't have fresh clothes to put on, slipping back into the little silk slip that I'd been wearing under my dress and then drying my hair. I considered calling room service for a bottle of wine but quickly dismissed the idea. If I was going to make a fresh start tomorrow then I needed a clear head. The bed certainly looked inviting enough and the pillows were soft as I sank down and pulled the covers up around me, quickly falling into a restless sleep.

I wasn’t sure what tore me from the depths of my slumber, but I awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright in bed, ears immediately straining for a sound.

I couldn't hear anything but an unease settled over me as I blinked, willing my eyes to become accustomed to the dark. Fragments of a sinister dream fled to the corners of my mind and I chased it, but it dissipated before I could make any sense of it.

I realised how thirsty I was, reaching for the glass on the bedside cabinet only to discover it was empty, so I swung my legs around and down on to the floor, rising up to make for the bathroom.

I flicked on the bathroom light and crossed to the sink, filling my glass and gulping hungrily at the cool water. I drained the glass in one go, then turned the tap on again, refilling it, glancing groggily at my reflection.

That's when I saw it. A tiny flicker of movement behind me through the open bathroom door, reflected in the mirror. It was so slight it was almost imperceptible but it caught my eye. Any remnants of sleep that still lingered instantly fell away and I froze, holding my breath, my pulse starting to race. Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me in the half light beyond the brightly lit bathroom. But maybe it was something else. Maybe my nightmare had followed me into waking hours and was now waiting for me in the hotel room beyond the bathroom.

The smooth glass nearly slipped from my hand as I stood, paralysed by fear, frantically weighing up my options so I quickly set it down on the sink. A quick assessment of the bathroom told me there was nothing that I could use as a weapon and the only escape route was the way that I'd come. I had no choice but to turn and face whatever fate awaited me head on. I swallowed deeply, turning around, hesitantly inching my way out of the bathroom.

The hotel room was bathed in shadow after the brightness of the bathroom, and I could only make out dark shapes as I looked around. The wardrobe, the bed, the sideboard with the TV, the easy chair against the far wall... which was now occupied.

A whimper escaped me and I clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling a scream. How could this be? I was so sure that no one had followed me.

"Hello Lyla..."

From my position I couldn't clearly make out the details of the imposter in the shadows, but the voice was all too familiar. It shivered me through with fear and exhilaration every time.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked, hanging back, keeping my distance.

"I followed you of course," Van answered. "You lost me straight away coming out of the agency car park, but luckily for me you went home first. I picked up the tail from there."

The black Mercedes... he'd been watching. Had he witnessed my heated altercation with Jason?

"That was you. You were there!"

A menacing chuckle emanated from the shadowy figure. "What did I tell you? Anytime... anywhere... You know, the security in these cheap hotels is shocking."

My eyes were slowly getting accustomed to the dark now, I could make out Van's casual pose, reclined in the chair, one foot resting atop the other knee. I felt vulnerable standing there bare-foot, shivering slightly in the tiny slip which only came to mid-thigh. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot, wondering what came next. Unlike our other encounters the police weren't likely to storm in.

It occurred to me then that no one actually knew where I was. Not a soul. I hadn't even told Paul. If Van meant to do me harm then he'd picked his moment perfectly. His previous warning clamoured at the forefront of my mind, sending spikes of panic through me. I'd gone too far. I knew it now with regretful certainty.

"What do you want?" My voice came out small, like a timid little girl.

"I've just come to claim what's mine, that's all. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about."

His voice was low, a threat dripping with the promise of something that made my thighs clench together. I swallowed deeply, mentally trying to hold on to the inner strength I knew that I'd need to resist him.

"But... but I'm not yours!"

Without warning Van shot up out of the seat, his sudden movement sending me stumbling backwards, revealing my nervousness. He moved towards me stealthily and I matched him step by step, backing up until I'd reached the far wall and I couldn't go any further. Still he advanced until he was no more than inches away and I was pressing myself into the wall with nowhere to go.

He wasn't in shadow anymore. The moonlight streaming in through the window caught his features, making them seem more angular, that brooding darkness glinting in his eyes. He planted his hands on the wall on either side of my head, leaning in.

"So... what? You still gonna kill me then, huh?"

My heart pounded and my legs felt weak. The fierce telephone conversation that we'd had played in my head. My desperate threats, his stark warning.

"You know I can't just stop," I said, my voice wavering. "Whatever this is... it can't happen. It's wrong! It's so fucking wrong!"

Emotion cracked my voice as I blurted out the last line and I watched his expression change, a slow smile spreading on his face. "It feels good though, doesn't it?"

I didn't answer, just looked back at him, squirming under the intensity of his gaze. One of his hands left the wall and he trailed two fingers over my cheek, a surprisingly gentle caress.

"You're trying so hard to do the right thing aren't you? Follow the rules... uphold the law... be a good girl..." He paused then, and a small laugh erupted from him before he carried on. "But that's fine. When I'm done with you you're not gonna be able to lie to yourself anymore."

The way he said it sent shivers through me, and it wasn't fear this time. His eyes burned into me like he was looking into my very soul, every sordid fantasy and desire laid bare. His fingers trailed down to my jaw and he slowly but firmly pushed my head back against the wall so I was forced to look at him. I let out a shaky breath.

"I... I want..." I trailed off, afraid of what might spring forth if I started to talk. The words were there, a plea on the tip of my tongue.

"Mmm?" He hummed, tipping my head even further back, exposing my neck to him.

He moved even closer until our bodies touched, his hips pressing into mine. I screwed my eyes shut, trying desperately to clear my mind but it was no use. My self control was ebbing away with each moment, an aching heat down low in my body.

"We can't do this..." I whispered in between my ragged breaths.

I still had my eyes shut, trying to resist, and I felt his lips softly brush my neck. The sensation was featherlight, goosebumps instantly breaking out on every inch of my flesh.

"Actually we can do whatever the fuck we want..."

As he spoke the words vibrated across my skin, coaxing a needy groan from my lips. His other hand dropped down, catching the hem of my slip, lightly grazing my thigh, tracing patterns on my skin. My hips bucked forward of their own accord. My fingers twitched at my sides, wanting to touch him, grab at his hips, pull him to me even closer. But still I resisted, balancing on the tightrope, but threatening to fall.

"Van..." I breathed as his lips trailed down my neck, humming an approval against my skin.

"Hmm... Lyla... I could make you feel so fucking good... you just have to say the word..."

His fingers climbed higher still, dipping under the silk, teasing touches leaving fire in their wake. My whole body was pulsing now, my breathing shallow, my cheeks flushed. I couldn't stand it any longer.

"I know it’s wrong but I want you..."

The words burst from me like a desperate confession, relief and shame washing over me simultaneously.

Van immediately stopped, leaning back slightly, eyes simmering with predatory intent, a satisfied smirk on his lips. Suddenly his hands were around my wrists, pushing my arms up above my head and firmly pinning them to the wall. He secured them there with one of his large hands, rendering me helpless, the feeling arousing me even more.

His voice was smooth when he spoke. "I think you can do better than that, don't you? C'mon..."

I knew what he wanted. It thrilled him to see me like this. Needy for him. Vulnerable but with that fire burning inside me.

Shame flooded me as I was transported back to the hotel room in Paris, picturing myself writhing on Van's thigh like some desperate little slut. I should have been disgusted with myself and I was... but in truth the degradation only made the spark inside me blaze hotter. And what's more I knew that Van could see it too, that's why he was pushing me. Seeing how far he could take it before I snapped and my true desires surfaced.

"Please..." I breathed, my body trembling as his free hand dropped back down, this time to my inner thigh. It tip-toed teasingly near to my aching core, close but not close enough.

"Please... what?" He spoke directly into my ear before his lips returned to my neck, kisses getting more passionate.

"Touch me... please..."

My words trailed off into a moan as his fingertips edged even closer, mercilessly teasing, starting to tentatively explore the sensitive folds between my legs.

"I. Can't. Hear. You." He taunted, punctuating each word with wet, open-mouthed kisses on my neck, teeth grazing skin, hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck…” I breathed through gritted teeth, tipping my pelvis forward, seeking his touch.

He ran a finger teasingly around my slit before inching inside torturously slowly, his thumb brushing my clit but only fleetingly, making me shudder.

"Please!" I begged, almost crying out in frustration. "It's not enough. I need more."

My heart was thudding now, my hips twitching and rolling in desperation as I tried to fuck myself on his fingers. He pulled back to watch me, his fingers trailing their teasing dance, dipping inside me at an agonisingly slow pace, circling my sweet spot until my legs were trembling but then moving away, denying me.

"Don’t stop," I whined shamelessly, a wicked grin breaking out on his face as I whimpered for more. Tiny beads of perspiration adorned my over-heated skin, my silk slip sticking to me.

"Why would I stop huh? You're perfection like this. Wrecked. Needy. Desperate… and all mine.”

Again his fingers caressed me, making me squirm, alternating the pressure and motions. I was so wet that I could actually hear the lewd sounds his fingers made as he pleasured me, close enough that I could taste my climax. I screwed my eyes shut, ready to let go...

And just like that his touch was gone again. I whined his name, my eyes flicking open to watch his smile widen.

"Eyes open. Look at me," he said, and I did as he commanded, trembling under the intensity of his hungry gaze.

"Okay... okay... I'll be good..." I muttered, beyond desperate now. My body was like a coiled spring, every fibre of my being yearning for release.

Once again he returned to pleasuring me, and within minutes the waves of pressure built up inside. I was falling apart at the seams, unravelling under his touch, losing control of my senses as I writhed where I stood. And this time he didn't stop, his fingers flicking a blissful rhythm as he watched me intently, seemingly mesmerised as I reached my peak. The waves of my orgasm crashed over me, leaving me shuddering uncontrollably, slumped against the wall.

My body was still twitching afterwards when he released me and within a second his arms were around me, gripping me tight whilst his lips collided with mine. My head was spinning as I surrendered to the kiss, my body melting into his arms.

I was aware that we were moving, Van manoeuvring me across the room whilst we kissed until I felt resistance at the back of my legs and realised that the bed was behind me. He pushed me down on to the soft mattress and I clung to him as he sank down on top of me, the weight of his body pressing on to me, making me gasp. A dim part of my mind was still protesting, ordering me to resist, but I'd already gone too far. I needed to feel him, experience the sensation of his skin on my skin, his lips on every inch of my body. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pressing my hips up to meet his, felt him grind against me. In spite of my recent climax my body was on fire.

Van's lips left mine and went to my neck, nipping and sucking at my skin. I slid a hand down between our bodies, easing my fingertips under the waistband of his jeans, reaching in to curl around his hard cock. He groaned against my neck, an animalistic sound.

"Fuck..." He growled, his breathing ragged as my fingers closed fully around him, sliding down his length.

My other hand edged down, fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, but to my shock I suddenly felt his hands on my wrists, grasping them firmly, pulling them away with force and pinning them against the bed. He pulled away, his features contorted but not with lust this time, it was pure frustration.

"No," he gritted out roughly. "This is as far as it goes."

Confusion surged through me like I'd been doused with ice water, and I watched in bewilderment as he pushed his body up and away from me, quickly climbing off the bed. I lay there for a moment whilst he stood above me, raking his gaze over my form, before he screwed his eyes shut and turned away.

"I... I don't understand. What did I do?" I uttered, pulling myself into a sitting position, feeling stunned at his reaction. Surely he wanted this. Surely he wanted me? Wasn't this why he was here?

He was silent as he stepped towards the window. He stood there with his back to me, looking out across the city. An uneasy quiet filled the room.

I had an urge to go to him and wrap my arms around his waist, press my body to his, rest my head on his chest, but I didn't. His unpredictability still scared me. Beneath the heat of the passion that we'd both shared he was still a violent and dangerous man and I couldn't forget that. Despite learning about his past and the few snatches of time I'd spent with him, I didn't know him. I didn't really know him at all. I hugged my knees to my chest, suddenly feeling cold.

"Van?" I whispered.

He didn't turn, but I saw his shoulders slump slightly, heard a weary huff come from him before he finally spoke.

"You didn't do anything, this is me. I need to keep my head straight." He paused, running a hand through his hair, sighing again. "I still want you though... I've always wanted you."

Always...

My mind swirled, trying to make sense of his words. The agency had been trying to take down the organisation that Van worked for for years, but it had only been relatively recently that he’d risen up the ranks from the fringes to be tasked with carrying out their assassinations. Earlier in the year when my personal data got accessed Van had only just come to our attention. Back then he'd been no more to me than a source of intrigue. A dark enigma that set my pulse racing. Not the all-consuming obsession that he'd since become.

"But... why? I don’t understand. Why me?"

I watched as he opened up the window and dug in his jeans pocket, producing a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one up, finally turning around to face me, leaning against the window.

"I can't tell you. Not now... not yet. There's things you're better off not knowing... trust me."

"But I do want to know. Tell me. I want to know everything. I want to know you.”

As soon as the words left my mouth I was struck with the realisation of how deep into this situation I was getting. There was Van talking about keeping his head straight and restraining himself but I was so far out of control I didn't even recognise myself anymore.

Van took a deep pull on his cigarette, then tipped his head towards the open window to blow out a plume of smoke. When he looked back at me there was that same sadness in his eyes that I'd glimpsed in Paris just before he'd slipped away.

"I'm a killer, it’s as simple as that. That’s what I do. I'm not a good person. You said so yourself, I don't feel anything."

"Bullshit!" I blurted with force, surprising even myself. "If you don't feel anything then why are you here?"

Van opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, turned his back on me again to flick the cigarette butt out of the window. "I should go. I shouldn't have even come here tonight."

I shifted on the bed, conflicted about whether to intervene and try and stop him from leaving or not. There were so many unanswered questions buzzing through my mind, but maybe Van was right. Maybe there were some things I was better off not knowing. What was I really hoping to achieve by getting closer to this man who was supposed to be my antagonist? There was no conceivable version of any reality where the two of us should be anything but sworn enemies.

"Wait... what now? What happens now? You can't keep leaving me hanging like this."

But it was too late. He swiftly crossed to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle, turning to look at me.

"You might not see me, but I'll be there. I'm always there."

I supposed I should have seen his words as a threat, but I didn't. Something had changed. I knew that I could no longer lie to myself.

[belleandsaintsebastian]

snippet !!!! :)) thank you to my lovely wonderful sash @fruityindividual for the tag MWAH xx

another snippet from my slow going rory-goes-to-harvard-season-5 au thing :)) this was a bit silly and v fun to write....featuring rory experiencing the going-back-to-uni scary feelings!!! i think i've posted a bunch of snippets from this atcually so far so i might link them all here just to stick them all together :)) OKAY here it is (i am NOT SCARED at all gosh....)

Union Station New Haven stood a stark red brick monolith with big fat windows for eyes and people running out through them like so many tears. Rory and Luke and Lorelai watched it from the street, silent, appraising. Between them: one suitcase, one backpack and a Black White & Read tote bag. Inside sat the whole of Rory’s life, compressed and college-ified. She clutched the tote until her knuckles turned white. 

“Should we…go inside?” Lorelai said, still quiet against the roar of cars and people and trains and goodbyes and hellos. 

Luke said nothing. Rory let herself have one small, shaky exhale before snatching up her mom’s hand and replying: “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go in, god.” 

It was like entering the land of the suitcases. There were suitcases horizontal against the floor, snoozing with napping travellers across benches, and suitcases running alongside impatient young people like lap dogs and suitcases cradled in arms and suitcases standing alone and suitcases flying across the floor like angels broken free from heaven. Luke trailed Rory’s case along behind him. It made a little clinking sound and had patches sewn across the cover. She had pricked her fingers for it; she adored it. 

“Coffee!” Lorelai yelled, too loud in a too-loud place. “God, coffee, abort mission, we have to stop, hey Luke, hey hey Luke. Did you even hear me? I said –”

Luke sighed. “Yes, I heard you.” They paused. It felt wrong, like climbing on the baggage carousel in the airport and catching a ride. People zoomed past them anyway. “Okay, okay. We still have a bit. Let’s stop this crazy woman before she gets us kicked out…”

The coffee shop, a tiny wall-hole that appeared in almost every waiting room, train station, airport and transitory space ever, sold only paper cups of papery coffee and the sickliest blueberry muffins you’d ever had. They bought two of each and perched themselves on one of the great wooden benches that seemed to span miles. It was like being in mass prayer. Rory tilted her head up and the roof stretched up into oblivion. She wondered how she’d feel going back to the city. She wondered if her head would explode.

other snippets from this au: here + here

tagging (nooo pressure as always!!!!) @fatemy-friend @stellaluna33 @drowsyanddazed @sarabethsilver @disasterbiwriter @ernestonlysayslovelythings @pancakehouse and anyone else who has a wip i would loveee to read it please tag me!!!! okay MWAH love u all have a gooooorgeous weekend xx