#Wilstone
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haven't drawn in a bit so made a self-indulgent pirate au for my boy (while practicing a new colouring style)
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This is the one. This is the one I'll be remembered for.
#wilstone reservoir#bucknghamshire#photography#naturephotography#photography blackandwhitephotography bovingdon church#chilterns
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Another Gentleman scientist head shot because he’s a cutie
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#CityProjectOffice#Club#Clubhouse#Cricket#IndoorSportandRecreation#LeisureandRecreation#OutdoorSportandRecreation#Sportandrecreation#Wilston
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The Ultimate Guide to DIY Pest Control in Wilston
The Ultimate Guide to DIY Pest Control in Wilston
Are you tired of pesky pests invading your home and disrupting your peace? Look no further than this ultimate guide to DIY pest control in Wilston. With easy-to-implement tips and tricks, you can save yourself time, money, and stress while keeping those unwanted critters at bay. From natural remedies to preventative measures, we've got everything covered so you can enjoy a pest-free home year-round. So grab your tools and get ready to become the ultimate pest control expert!
Pests are a pain, and they seem to always pop up when you least expect it. But, there's no need to call an exterminator every time you see a spider or mouse in your home. With a few simple supplies and a little bit of know-how, you can take care of most common household pests yourself. All you need is some patience and this ultimate guide to DIY Pest Controll Wilston.
We'll show you how to identify the most common household pests, what attract them to your home, and how to get rid of them using safe and effective methods. By the end of this guide, you'll be equipped with all the knowledge and tools you need to keep your home pest-free all year long!
What You Need To Know About Wilston Pest Control
Pest control in Wilston is a necessary evil. There are a variety of pests that can invade your home, and if you're not careful, they can quickly become a nuisance. Fortunately, there are a number of effective pest control methods available to help keep these pests at bay. But before you start spraying chemicals around your home, it's important to understand the basics of pest control in Wilston. Here's what you need to know about Wilston pest control:
Most pests in Wilston can be controlled with regular cleaning and maintenance. This includes Vacuuming regularly, especially in areas where pests are known to congregate such as under furniture and behind appliances.
Wipe down surfaces in your kitchen and bathroom after use to deter pests from coming into contact with food or water sources.
Keep an eye out for signs of infestation such as droppings, nesting material or dead insects. If you spot anything unusual, contact a professional pest control company immediately.
If you do have an infestation, there are a number of different extermination methods available. The most common include chemical sprays, baits and traps. Your pest Control company will be able to advise you on the best course of action for your particular problem.
DIY Methods for Pest Removal
There are a few different methods that you can use to remove pests from your home yourself, without having to call in an exterminator. These methods may not be appropriate for every situation, but they can be effective in many cases.
One common DIY method for pest removal is trapping. This can be done with either live traps or kill traps, depending on your preferences. Live traps will capture the pest alive so that you can release it elsewhere, while kill traps will, well, kill the pest. You can purchase traps from most hardware stores or online retailers.
Another popular DIY method for pest removal is using pesticides. There are a variety of pesticides available for purchase, and many of them can be quite effective at getting rid of pests. However, it's important to read the instructions carefully and follow them precisely to avoid harming yourself or your family members. Pesticides should only be used as a last resort after other methods have failed.
If you're looking for a more natural approach to pest control, there are a few things you can try as well. Certain essential oils can repel some pests, and diatomaceous earth is a powder that can kill others by puncturing their exoskeletons. Again, these methods should only be used after other attempts have failed.
Whatever method you choose to try, remember that patience is key when it comes to getting rid of pests. It may take some time and effort, but eventually you should be able to
What Kind of Pests Are Found In Wilston?
There are a variety of pests that can be found in Wilston, including: ants, cockroaches, silverfish, spiders, and rats. Depending on the type of pest, they can cause different levels of damage to your home or business. Ants can contaminate food, while cockroaches can spread disease. Silverfish can damage clothing and books. Spiders can cause potential harm with their venomous bites. Rats can contaminate food and spread disease.
Tips for Successful DIY Pest Control
Start with a clean slate. The first step to successful DIY pest control is to make sure your house is clean. Pests are attracted to food and water, so eliminating these sources will help deter them from taking up residence in your home.
Block their entryways. Once you’ve eliminated the food and water sources that pests rely on, the next step is to block their entrance into your home. Seal cracks and crevices around doors, windows, and pipes with caulk or other materials to prevent pests from gaining access.
Use traps and baits. Setting traps and baits is an effective way to get rid of pests already in your home, as well as deter new ones from coming inside. Be sure to use products that are safe for pets and children, and follow the manufacturer’s instructions carefully.
Keep things tidy. A tidy house is less likely to attract pests than a cluttered one, so be sure to keep your floors clean and free of debris. Don’t forget about common hiding places for pests like under beds and behind furniture; regular vacuuming can help reduce the risk of an infestation.
Consider professional help if DIY efforts fail . If you’ve tried all of the above tips but are still dealing with a pest problem, it may be time to call in a professional exterminator for assistance
Professional Wilston Pest Control Services
When it comes to pest control, there are a lot of different companies out there that offer professional services. However, not all of them are created equal. Some are much better than others and can provide you with a much higher level of service. In order to find the best possible company to help you with your pest control needs in Wilston, there are a few things that you will want to keep in mind.
One of the most important things to look for when you are searching for a good company to deal with your pests is experience. You want to make sure that the company you hire has been in business for a long time and has dealt with many different types of pests. This way, you can be sure that they will know how to handle your specific situation correctly. Another thing to consider when hiring a professional company is their reputation. Be sure to read reviews from past customers so that you can get an idea as what other people think about their services.
Once you have considered these factors, it should be easy for you to find the best possible professional Wilston pest control services. They will be able to help you eliminate any type of pests quickly and efficiently so that you do not have to worry about them anymore.
Pest Control Wilston doesn't have to be a daunting task. While the thought of taking on pests can seem overwhelming, with some research and diligence you can take on many common pests yourself. We hope this article has provided you with information so that you can safely tackle any infestations around your home or business. If there's anything we missed or if need additional assistance, our team at Pest Control Wilston is available to help!
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I want prehistoric House M.D.
Grog Cave and James Wilstone.
Camerock, Fortman
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The third part of the Monster Universe Audio Drama prologue is here! In this episode, we are introduced to Abraham Van Helsing (yes, that Van Helsing), but don’t think you have it all figured out yet. We still have a short time before we hit the pilot. However, everything you’ve heard will play into the main narrative.
The story so far: Moria Le Fanu landed in America with a dire warning (trailer #1). Nikola Tesla completed work on Wardenclyffe Tower and plans to schedule a transmission test which caused Thomas Edison to make his own alarming announcement (trailer #2).
Coming this Winter, The Monster Universe Audio Drama is a full cast radio play, featuring the vocal talents of: Andrea Laing (Adult Swim Yule Log, Atlanta, Strays) Michael Mau (A Blind Play of Social Forces, The Oval, Monarch), Emma Greene (The Harry Strange Radio Drama, Jeremiah Wilstone, Dead by Midnight) and Matt Chenoweth-Goodson (Willow of Ashes, Xenotech Rising, The Harry Strange Radio Drama Live) (full cast here); created by Tony Sarrecchia (The Harry Strange Radio Drama, the Lady Sherlock Mysteries, the Adventures of Scarlett Hood). Subscribers to our email list get new episodes before the rest of the world so subscribe today. It’s free!
Be sure to subscribe to the Monster Universe Audio Drama on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and others; or add this RSS feed to your aggregator: https://api.substack.com/feed/podcast/1827171/s/75206.rss
Credits
Cast:
Charles Rutledge: Van Helsing
Emma Greene: Emma Murray
Writer/Director/Producer: Tony Sarrecchia
Video Assets:
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vecteezy_justice-and-law-concept-male-judge-in-a-courtroom-with-the_25424676_182.mp4
Photo Assets:
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Music: “Shadowlands 4 - Breath” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
All contents © 2023 by Tony Sarrecchia
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38 - "Everyone thinks we’re already dating, but we’re just best friends- oh wait" for napollya? if that sounds as fun to you as it does to me? :D
(It's been more than three months, but I am still writing these lol! Thank you for the prompt, anon! It just seemed ripe for an outside observer, so you get a brand new OC. It actually switches between an outsider POV and Napoleon POV, and runs just under 5k. I hope you enjoy it!)
That's What Other People Do
Read it on AO3
“McHenry! My office!” her boss calls out, his voice carrying easily across the desks that fill this corner of the Federal Building’s 14th floor.
Robin sighs and grabs her glasses from where she’d thrown them amongst the files littering her desk in a fit of pique. The summons could feasibly be about anything, but she has no doubt that Wilston wants an update on the Case From Hell. Good thing she has absolutely nothing new to report. If this goes on too much longer he’ll pull it from her, and then she’ll have to endure idiotic comments from the Andys about how it was too much for her to handle and maybe she’d like to return to the secretarial pool. Never mind that she has a PhD and didn’t come out of the secretarial pool to begin with.
Right. Just get this over with, and she can go back to pouring through shipping manifests for clues that don’t exist.
Wilston waves at her to close the door when she gets into his office, which isn’t a good sign. Then again he’s perfectly happy to chew people out at maximum volume with it open, so it’s hard to guess what might happen.
“About the Caraglio case,” he starts, predictably.
“I have a good feeling about this batch of manifests, sir,” Robin jumps in, trying to come up with a way to make a whole lot of nothing sound exciting. “There’s a company—”
“This is a lot bigger than White Collar Division,” Wilston continues, as if he hadn’t heard her at all. “I just got off the phone with UNCLE.”
“Sorry, uncle who?”
“Not a who,” he grunts. “United Network Command for Law Enforcement. Don’t worry,” he adds, with something that she’d think was humor if she didn’t know better, “I’d never heard of them until ten minutes ago. They’re a multinational intelligence agency.”
Robin blinks at him, utterly confused. “What, like Interpol?”
“To be honest with you, I was not read in to the details,” Wilston says, sounding unmistakably disgruntled about that fact. “But yes and no. They’re made up of agents with official designations from their home intelligence orgs, all working together. Apparently the most recent print that showed up has ties to a case they’ve been working.”
“So they’re taking my case? Can they do that?” Robin asks as a heavy, cold weight settles in her gut.
“No,” he answers firmly. “They want to collaborate. You’re going to be working with two of their best agents, I’m told. Agent Illya Kuryakin, KGB,”—Robin’s brain stutters to a halt at this, but her shock is somehow quickly outdone as Wilston continues—“and Agent Napoleon Solo, CIA.”
For a long moment, Robin just gapes at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for Wilston to explain that it’s all a joke. Which is absurd, given her boss’s aforementioned lack of a sense of humor. “Let me get this straight: you’re trying to tell me that I’m supposed to work with an actual KGB agent and one of the most prolific art thieves in the past twenty years?”
Most people, even in White Collar Division, might not have recognized the name, but Robin is well aware of who Napoleon Solo is. How could she not, when he was the one who’d stolen the print she’d been studying in Florence, while she was in the middle of studying it? She had her own suspicions that he’s still active, even, though on a much smaller scale. She hadn’t brought it to Wilston or anyone else because she wasn’t sure yet, but she was working up to it. And now, this.
“He’s on some kind of work release with the CIA. Has been for ten years,” Wilston says dismissively, ignoring the whole KGB thing entirely.
“Last I heard we’re still in a cold war. Does Counter Intelligence know about this?”
“No. No one except you, me, and the Director. And it stays that way, is that clear? No one else can know anything about this operation. If anyone asks, you’re no longer working the case.”
“But sir—”
“Is that clear, McHenry?” he repeats forcefully.
Robin swallows hard and nods.
~~~
They find their new FBI contact chain smoking under a bridge, staring out at the Hudson.
“I think she might smoke the whole pack if we do not go soon, Cowboy,” Illya remarks, his voice pitched low.
They’ve been watching her for the last five minutes. Not because they’re worried about the meet, or intentionally trying to psych her out, but because you learn a lot watching someone who’s waiting for you. Like how Agent Robin McHenry was apparently a woman. Napoleon’s pretty sure there aren’t very many of them in the FBI’s White Collar Division, and wonders how she managed to get looped onto this case. She doesn’t look particularly young or particularly old, but it’s a little hard to tell at this distance. As they watch, she shakes another cigarette out of the pack and uses the smoldering remnants of her previous one to light it before she flicks the butt off into the river.
“Think she’s nervous?” Napoleon guesses.
Illya hums uncertainly. “Maybe. How much did they tell her about us?”
“Dunno. One way to find out, though.”
She clocks them pretty quickly as they approach, by the way her shoulders tense, though she doesn’t turn to look at them until they’re standing right next to her. Up close, her brown hair is shot through with the occasional streak of grey, but the lack of lines on her face suggests that they’re premature, and also that she doesn’t care about her appearance enough to dye it. She’s wearing a sensible, if poorly tailored, grey pants suit, which is pretty much what Napoleon would expect from a Fed.
“Agent McHenry?” he says mildly, extending a hand toward her.
McHenry stares down at it for a minute with an expression that borders on disdain, then takes another drag on her cigarette. “It’s doctor.”
“What?”
“It’s Dr. McHenry,” she says. “The ‘Doctor’ supersedes ‘Agent’.”
Napoleon blinks at her. She still hasn’t taken his hand, so he drops it and tucks it into his pocket. “Ok,” he replies gamely. “Well, Dr. McHenry, this is Agent Kuryakin, and I’m Agent—”
“I know who you are,” she interrupts. “Quite familiar with your mug shot.”
“Ah,” Napoleon says, his smile going tight.
“You stole a Marcantonio print I was studying.”
“Sorry?”
“In Florence. 1953,” she explains. She briefly stares at the shrinking butt of her cigarette as if trying to decide whether to light another. “I was analyzing it for my research, and overnight it disappeared. That theft was attributed to you. You stole it.”
Napoleon remembers that job. It had been a pretty easy one; the archive’s security had been next to nonexistent. He’d stolen some other stuff too, made a tidy sum, then had thoroughly enjoyed himself on the Amalfi coast for a month. He clears his throat and carefully replies, “Allegedly. That was never proven. But if I had stolen it, and that disrupted your studies, then I would be sorry about that. Hypothetically, that is.”
McHenry snorts in what almost seems to be amusement, then turns her piercing gaze on Illya, who’s been watching the whole exchange. Napoleon can see that he’s certainly amused, and will no doubt be giving Napoleon endless shit about it later, though to anyone else his face looks as stony as ever.
“You’re actually a KGB agent,” McHenry prompts, not quite a question, as she squints up at him.
Illya quirks an eyebrow at her. “Last time I checked.”
“How do I know this isn’t part of some elaborate plot to infiltrate the FBI?”
“If I wanted to infiltrate FBI, I would not start with White Collar,” Illya returns coolly, which is probably not the best tack to take. Napoleon watches as McHenry’s lips narrow into a hard line.
“What Peril here means to say is that we’ve no interest in the FBI, specifically. We may officially be KGB and CIA, but our mandate and orders come from UNCLE, which has no interest in governments squabbling with each other,” Napoleon tells her. “We’ve been partners for the past two years. Surely that must mean something.”
“This, coming from a convicted art thief,” she says, clearly unconvinced, but now eyeing them with some other evaluating look that he can’t quite interpret.
Not for the first time, Napoleon wishes Gaby was around for this one. Something tells him that their third partner would have a better chance of gaining the trust of the FBI agent, but she’d gone off to London following a tenuous but time-sensitive lead on a different case, so they’d have to get by without her.
“Look, you’re obviously a deeply mistrustful person, and I respect that,” Napoleon sighs. “But can we please move past this and get to the saving the world part? Those missile plans aren’t going to find themselves.”
That, at least, breaks through the defensive exterior; McHenry’s eyes go wide and her mouth falls open for a moment before she tries to collect herself. “What do you mean, missile plans?”
~~~
Solo and Kuryakin aren’t anything like she expected.
On the surface, the two of them seem like they’d never work as partners, beyond the obvious problem that they’re supposed to be on different sides of the Cold War. Solo talks, a lot, all smooth charm and winning smiles. She can see why it took the authorities so long to nail him down, because the man can probably talk his way out of nearly anything. Kuryakin, though, is the icy, silent type, at least at first. Not that he ever really relaxes fully, but after a couple of days his constant guard lowers a bit. Still, she’s not sure she’d have ever come around to trusting him if she hadn’t seen him when he’s around Solo.
Two days after their first contact by the river, Robin is supposed to meet them at a diner in Hoboken. Why here, she has no idea, and she doesn’t ask. She’s quickly learned that, although they’re pretty open when it comes to the case itself, any other questions about UNCLE or their histories is shut down quickly. When she arrives, she’s surprised to see Kuryakin sitting alone in a booth and no sign of Solo anywhere nearby. He looks up as she slides in opposite him and offers a nod of acknowledgement, but nothing else.
“Where’s Solo?” she asks, grabbing the menu just for something to do. She doesn’t assume they’re actually eating.
“Late,” Kuryakin grunts, somehow encapsulating fondness and exasperation in the single syllable. It’s a tone she’s become familiar with over the past two days.
A waitress stops by, and Kuryakin surprises her again by ordering the almost painfully American combination of a cheeseburger, fries, and a strawberry milkshake. She hasn’t actually looked at the menu, but she stammers out an order for a tuna melt and a coke, and wonders what the hell is actually going on today.
Solo, it turns out, is very late, but Kuryakin gives her an update on their progress; they’d checked out several of the shipping companies she’d suspected of being the transport for the forged—and apparently secretly encoded—Caraglio prints, though without much success. The CIA agent still hasn’t arrived by the time their food does, and after hesitating a moment Robin digs in, because she’s actually pretty hungry. For his part, Kuryakin eats a few fries and drinks the milkshake, but the burger remains untouched.
The answer to that puzzle comes a few minutes later, when Solo finally slides into the booth next to him. Kuryakin wordlessly pushes the plate of food over to him, and Solo grabs the burger with no shortage of enthusiasm.
“You know me so well, Peril,” Solo says to him before taking a huge bite. He briefly looks, somewhat bizarrely, like a chipmunk.
“I know you are somehow always hungry,” Kuryakin returns. “And you get as excited about greasy diner food as gourmet restaurant.”
Solo swallows and grins broadly. “Sometimes there’s nothing better than greasy diner food. If I’m gonna have to go to Jersey for this mission, I might as well indulge. Gimme some of your milkshake, would you?”
Kuryakin lets out a put-upon sigh, but his mouth is unmistakably tugging up at the corners as he slides the half empty glass over toward his partner.
Robin chews slowly as she watches them continue to banter about the food as if she wasn’t there at all. Kuryakin stretches an arm out along the back of the booth behind Solo’s shoulders, and when Solo finally polishes off the burger he settles back against it, almost but not quite tucked against Kuryakin’s side, looking immensely satisfied.
“So did Peril bring you up to speed?” Solo asks her eventually, his eyebrows arcing upward with the question. It had taken her a bit to get used to the cutesy nicknames, but by now she can actually keep a straight face when Kuryakin calls him ‘Cowboy.’
“Yeah,” she answers with a bob of her head. “Sounds like not much has panned out, though?”
“That’s not entirely true anymore,” Solo says with a sly grin.
Kuryakin frowns. “What have you done, Cowboy?”
“I met up with an old contact of mine. That’s why I was late. Skittish guy. But if someone was going to know where the counterfeit Caraglios were coming in from, it would be him.”
“You went to a meeting without telling anyone?” Kuryakin hisses, his frown somehow getting even deeper.
“I was fine,” Solo insists. “I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d just overreact. Like you’re doing now. You worry too much, Peril.”
“I do not—”
“You got something from him, though?” Robin jumps in, before they can get any farther. “A lead?”
“I did,” Solo confirms, sitting forward again.
He quickly runs through what he’d learned, his words rapid with excitement at the—admittedly substantial—lead, and even Kuryakin eventually gets over his disgruntlement as they start talking about the next steps. For the first time in weeks, Robin feels like this case actually getting somewhere, which she has to reluctantly admit is down in large part to the fact that she’s working with an art thief. Her PhD advisor would have a heart attack if he knew, but they wouldn’t have gotten that lead without Solo’s contact.
The conversation falls into a lull as the waitress stops by with coffee, which Solo gratefully accepts before pointing back at Kuryakin and adding, “Oh, and he’ll have a slice of apple pie.”
“Cowboy—” he starts to protest.
“A la mode,” Solo finishes with a grin, ignoring him.
“You did not have to do that,” Kuryakin grumbles as she walks away.
Solo just grabs his cup of coffee and settles back against Kuryakin’s arm again, and this time Kuryakin’s hand slides onto his shoulder. It’s not that unusual a sight, really; she’s noticed that Kuryakin is fairly handsy around him. Nothing too overt, but here and there a hand pressed to Solo’s lower back, or resting on his knee. The kind of casual affection that makes her want to warn them to be more careful, which is stupid. Obviously they know better than anyone the danger of what they have. How could they not?
“But Peril,” Napoleon is saying, a teasing lilt to his words, “I consider it my solemn duty to make sure you’re hopelessly addicted to this disgustingly extravagant American lifestyle, so that you’d never dream of leaving us. Ordering you delicious pie is a burden, to be sure, but one I will happily bear.”
Robin can’t help but think, based on the impossibly soft way that Kuryakin is currently looking at him, that Solo doesn’t really need to try that hard.
~~~
Like these things so often do, once they have a substantial lead, the rest falls together pretty quickly. The tip from his contact had paid off, and if everything went well they’d soon be taking possession of the last of the forged Caraglio prints. The shipment isn’t due to arrive for another hour, but they still need to be watching in case something changes. The waiting around part of this job, Napoleon thinks, never gets any more fun.
They’ve already been there for several hours—Napoleon and Robin in a nondescript sedan while Illya is perched in a sniper’s nest on the top floor of a nearby building—so they’re starting to run out of conversational topics. It had been surprisingly easy to talk to Robin; once she’d gotten over the whole art thief thing, they had a decent amount in common. Napoleon’s pretty sure he’s never been able to have that in-depth of a discussion of early Italian Renaissance printmaking techniques with anyone, though that shouldn’t really be a surprise given her background. It was funny to think about how he’d very nearly run into her in Florence, all those years before, and how their paths had brought them here. He’d even ended up telling her about getting caught, and how he ended up working for the CIA.
“God, I’d love to convince you to switch to the FBI,” she sighs. “Someone with your expertise would be invaluable in White Collar Division.”
Napoleon laughs softly at that. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I think it’d be a cold day in Hell before art crimes would consider making a full agent of an art thief. Besides,” he adds as his gaze sweeps out the window to the building where he knows Illya sits, “I’m pretty happy where I am.”
He can feel Robin watching him, but he can’t quite pull his eyes away. Illya is probably up there in that weird meditative state he gets into, where he can just sit for hours and do nothing and not go insane out of boredom.
“How long have you been together?” she asks after a stretch of silence.
“Oh, like I said, UNCLE’s been around for about two years now…” he starts, not really paying attention.
“No, I mean, like, the two of you. Together. Since the beginning?”
Napoleon’s face snaps toward her, then, and he can feel his jaw fall open but he can’t really seem to close it. “We’re not— that is— we’re not,” he manages eventually. “We’re just partners. Work partners. Best friends, now, I guess.”
“You guess?” Robin echoes, her brow creasing in confusion.
“Yeah, yeah. Yes,” Napoleon confirms, perhaps a little too vehemently. “He’s my best friend. That’s all.”
“Oh.”
“‘Oh’?” he repeats. “What, ‘oh’? What does that mean?”
“Nothing, nothing,” she says, putting up a hand. “I misread things.”
“Right, well, I can be pretty affectionate with my friends, is all,” Napoleon blurts, and Christ why does he not shut up? Clearly she was going to let the matter go, but now he’s thinking about it—that deep well of feelings that he works so hard to ignore—and if she’d seen it on his face in knowing him less than a week, then… then that could be a problem.
Except then she shrugs and says, “Not just you.”
“What?” he croaks, his voice just barely above a whisper.
But she doesn’t say anything more, not immediately, just stares out the windshield with a frown on her face until finally she rounds on him. “Do you know, I actually wanted to warn you?” she says, nonsensically. “That day in the diner. I thought, ‘man, they should really be more careful.’ But I decided that saying something would be stupid, because you must know what you’re doing. You’d have to be idiots not to, and you clearly aren’t idiots.”
“Thanks?” he manages, more than a little flabbergasted.
“I’m revising that assessment,” she returns dryly. “Seriously, no one you work with has said anything to you about this?”
Napoleon doesn’t entirely know how to answer that, so he shrugs. “They’re used to it, I guess. It’s just how we are.”
“Jesus,” she swears under her breath.
“Look, as you yourself pointed out, relationships like that are dangerous, especially in our jobs, so—”
“The thing is,” she interrupts, “that dangerous part is already out there. The part where you look at each other like the other one hung the fucking moon? Like you’re very deeply in love? I hate to break it to you, but that one’s already escaped from Pandora’s Box. So if you’re holding yourselves back from being together because you’re worried about the danger, let me be the first to tell you that that ship has sailed. I see it, your enemies are gonna see it, and I guarantee you that your colleagues see it too, they’re just too polite to say anything.”
“You haven’t met our friend Gaby,” Napoleon counters, and that thought is oddly comforting. They’ve been working together for two years now, and there’s no way Gaby would have resisted giving them shit about it if there was anything actually to tease them about. “I guess I can appreciate the concern,” he continues, “but I can also guarantee you that whatever you think you’re seeing isn’t really there. Yes, we’re close. Which is why I’m certain that there’s absolutely no way that Illya feels that way about me.”
He realizes too late what he just implicitly confessed in using Illya’s lack of feelings as an excuse instead of his own, and clenches his jaw as he very resolutely does not meet Robin’s eyes. Fine, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter if she knows, because this case is almost over and it’s unlikely that they’ll have reason to work with the FBI again.
“Or you could kiss him and find out for sure,” Robin murmurs next to him, and when Napoleon gives in and looks over at her she’s staring out the windshield with a smirk on her face. Then she shrugs. “Just a suggestion. Oh, I think our shipment’s here.”
Napoleon thinks he’s never been happier to walk headfirst into potentially life-threatening situation, so long as it gets him out of this conversation.
The final bust goes off without a hitch. They seize the fake prints—and the last of the missile plans encoded therein—before the men at the handoff hardly know what is happening. Taking the shadowy organization ultimately behind the whole setup is a much, much larger, ongoing operation, but for now, UNCLE is happy that no one’s getting next-gen weapons plans, and the FBI White Collar Division is happy that very high quality forgeries are off the market. It’s a win all around.
Napoleon is also able to completely, blissfully forget about the conversation in the sedan for nearly a full day, what with all the wrapping up loose ends and paperwork to keep him busy. It’s not until the next evening, when Illya automatically shows up at his place for dinner even though neither of them mentioned such a thing at any point, that Robin’s words come slamming back into his head.
Having let himself into Napoleon’s apartment with the key he’s had ever since Napoleon complained about him always picking the lock—so, less than a month into their partnership—Illya finds him in the kitchen chopping up vegetables. He’s already discarded his jacket and brought a tumbler with him along with the decanter of Scotch from the bar in the other room, and he tops up Napoleon’s own dwindling glass before pouring his own. It’s not a surprise that he then steps close, his body only inches from Napoleon’s as he peers idly down at what Napoleon is doing, nor that the hand that’s not holding his drink ends up resting almost possessively on Napoleon’s hip. It’s not unusual, which should say something right there, but for the first time Napoleon lets himself consider all of it and what it might mean.
Illya is talking about something to do with a mission—Napoleon hadn’t really been listening, honestly—when Napoleon sets his knife down and turns slightly to better face him. Illya’s hand falls away from his hip as he moves, which he immediately regrets before he reminds himself that he really, really shouldn’t.
“Peril, what are we doing?”
Illya frowns, his brow furrowing as he stares down at him. “Having… dinner?” he ventures.
“I mean what is this?” Napoleon says, making a small gesture between them. Not that he has much room to do so, because Illya is still standing so damned close.
“I am not following, Cowboy. How much have you had to drink?” Illya asks, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.
Napoleon huffs. “Not nearly enough for this conversation,” he mutters under his breath before looking back up at Illya. “It’s just something Robin said. She thought we were… together. A couple.”
Illya freezes, an expression on his face like he just got caught, which is… really something. Napoleon’s heart is pretty much thundering in his chest right now, and he feels stretched to a breaking point, torn between his considerable ability to read people and what he was so sure he knew about his partner.
“That is…” Illya starts. Napoleon waits for him to say something like ridiculous. Absurd. The most idiotic idea he’s ever heard. Instead, Illya forces a tight smile and doesn’t finish the sentence. “Did— did she say why?”
“Something about the way we look at each other,” Napoleon answers. For some reason, the more flustered Illya gets, the more clear-headed he feels. He carefully slips a hand onto Illya’s waist, waiting for Illya to flinch or pull away, but it doesn’t come. “I told her she was seeing things, but now I’m not so sure. So I thought I’d get your perspective on the matter.”
The tips of Illya’s ears are red, and there is a steady flush climbing up his neck. “Cowboy, I—”
Napoleon decides he’s heard enough. He closes the narrow gap between them, reaching up to press their mouths together, and Illya immediately surges against him. What starts out as a gentle movement of lips rapidly deepens into something involving tongues and teeth when Illya’s other hand comes up to cup his jaw, tipping his head to better fit their mouths together. Napoleon feels consumed by it, on fire, like everything that had built between them over the past two years was so much tinder that someone had casually tossed a lit match into. The hand is back on his hip, gripping tightly as Illya tries to tug him even closer, and Napoleon’s fingers dig into the softness of Illya’s waist in response, dragging a low moan from his partner’s throat.
“I think she’s onto something,” Napoleon gasps when they finally part, unable to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. “Or did you have something else you wanted to add?”
“Shut up, Cowboy,” Illya growls, then captures his mouth in another kiss.
They don’t get around to dinner until much, much later.
~~~
Robin has to admit that after all of the excitement in the past week, the day-to-day at White Collar leaves something to be desired. At least with the Caraglio case she always had something big to work on, but now that it’s closed she’s stuck with check fraud and some idiot who tried to forge a shitload of buffalo nickels as if that would actually net him a profit.
Then, one day she comes in and there’s large, flat folio sitting on her desk. She looks around, but everyone is apparently absorbed in their work for once. It’s possible that it’s related to some kind of new case, but that seems highly unlikely. Evidence doesn’t just get deposited in their laps.
“Cartwright,” she calls, drawing the attention of the idiot at the next desk. “What is this?”
“Fuck if I know,” Cartwright grunts. “It was there when I came in. You get a secret admirer in all that time off, McHenry?”
Robin narrowly resists telling him to fuck off. Not being able to tell anyone that she helped avert an international crisis sucks. She looks back down at the folio, taking in the high quality leather and the fine stitching. It’s nice. Much nicer than what she usually sees around the division. As she turns it over, she notices a card tucked into a small pocket and fishes it out, turning it over to find a short handwritten note on one side.
R,
Took your suggestion. Thought you might appreciate this small token of my gratitude. If you ever get tired of catching art thieves and decide you want to work with one instead, UNCLE is always recruiting.
NS
She frowns down at the note for a minute. She doesn’t even remember what she might have suggested to Napoleon Solo, or why he’d be grateful for it. But honestly, it’s the second part of the note that has her baffled. Her, work for UNCLE? Honestly, it’s not the worst idea she’s heard, not by a long shot. It’s more surprising that they’d be interested in her; they’re all spies, and she’s just an art historian with a badge.
Her thoughts are still on the note as she tugs at the ties holding the folio closed, so it takes her a moment to realize what she’s looking at.
She blinks. Takes off her glasses to rub her eyes. Puts them back on and blinks again.
“Holy shit,” she blurts.
Within the leather folio, carefully wrapped in delicate paper, is the very Marcantonio print that disappeared during her studies, all those years ago.
#napollya#napoleon x illya#napoleon solo#illya kuryakin#tmfu#the man from u.n.c.l.e.#the man from uncle#tmfu fic#napollya fic#my fic
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(IGNORE IF YOU DONT WANT SPOILERS) At one point in the game (when bendy starts to follow you for a bit), bendy disappears and later on the ink demon appears and transforms into bendy. The explanation for this is that Wilston(old guy) trapped the ink demon in a smaller, weaker form (idk why they switch between both forms I wasnt really paying attention), what if in the au the boys (idk who) were somewhat like that?
Hehehehe. I'm working on another ask that answers this question rn.
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Disfruten un poco del arte de nuestro hermano Wilston
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Holy fucking shit i just made an awful Postal Dude x Male Me fanfic because I'm mentally ill please kill me
Dude x Larson
It was another Tuesday morning in town of Paradise, and today i got a little paranoid because i heard that a person full-on fucking murdered the half of the town, so i decided to stay in my house for this day.
Right now, it was 7 in the morning, and i stared at the TV in boredom, but then i heard screams from outside.
"Ah fuck no. You ain't getting inside, bitch!"
I said to myself and i quickly locked every door i had.
I was panicking at that point. I didn't knew what to do. But then i heard my door bell ring.
"Oh great…"
I sighed, stood up and headed towards the door.
When i opened it, i saw a pretty familiar looking dude with reddish hair, a black leather jacket with a blue alien shirt underneath it, some dark blue jeans and a pair of boots.
He also had sunglasses on, and a paper in his hands.
"Hi there, would you like to sign my petition?"
He asked on his deep voice.
"i, uh… what's the petition for?"
"Look, just sign this god damn thing. I got stuff to do!"
"Alright alright, jeez."
Then i took his pen and wrote my name on it.
"there, Larson Wilston, is that okay now?"
The guy wanted to go away, but he stopped. He looked at my name, then at my face, then at my name again.
I was confused… did i write my name right? What does he want from me?
"Wait wait wait, hold on."
He stepped closer to me and kept staring at me and my name.
"Hm… you look familiar… did i threatened you before?"
He asked.
"i don't know? I mean, you look familiar to me too but… i don't know"
We stood there in silence, but after a minute or two, the dude spoke.
"Hold on, are you THAT Larson? The artsy guy i used to study with in middle school?"
"Yes…? Wait, are you the guy who everyone referred to as just 'dude'?"
I asked him, and he just showed me the most happiest smile i have ever seen.
"Yes, yes that's me! Hello there, old friend!"
"Yoo! Hey dude!"
We hugged eachother in joy.
"Also uh I'm the dude who murdered the town yesterday."
"You did that?"
"Yeah"
"Damn"
"I know, right?"
I pulled out from the hug and looked at him.
"Ya know what? I'll help you, just like old times. You and me. How does that sound?"
The Dude slowly pulled out an axe out of nowhere, and gave it to me.
"That sounds great."
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Sometimes a birthday present doesn’t quite suit. In the early 1990s I bought a copy of Ripley Under Water by Patricia Highsmith for my mum. But it didn’t take.
“You have it dear,” she said after starting it, then abandoning it. “It’s not really my cup of tea.”
It’s a lovely hardback with an image of something tied in a bag under water on the cover. A body.
It was my induction into the world of Tom Ripley, Highsmith’s amoral but fascinating protagonist. I was immediately hooked and have since read quite a bit by Highsmith, including all her Ripley books.
The new Netflix series Ripley should inspire us all to read more Highsmith. Her novels are all quirky, dark and compelling and her short stories are simply delicious. More than a decade ago I received a book for review – Nothing That Meets The Eye: The Uncollected Stories by Patricia Highsmith.
This is a great introduction to her oeuvre. It’s a big book and I would treat myself to a story each night. There are all the twists of Roald Dahl and the ease of Somerset Maugham in her style.
Her first novel, Strangers on a Train, is a classic and it spawned an equally classic 1951 film, produced and directed by none other than the great Alfred Hitchcock, the perfect man for the job. The screenplay was by Raymond Chandler and Czenzi Ormonde and it starred Farley Granger, Ruth Roman and Robert Walker.
More cinematic treasure was to be found in her Ripley books. The five novels in which he appears – The Talented Mr. Ripley, Ripley Under Ground, Ripley’s Game, The Boy Who Followed Ripley and Ripley Under Water (the book my mum rejected) were published between 1955 and 1991.
The protagonist, Tom Ripley, is a career criminal, con artist and serial killer who always gets away with his crimes. In every novel, he comes perilously close to getting caught or killed, but ultimately escapes danger.
Is it wrong to say that I love Ripley? Some years ago, I even wrote a kind of Ripley story myself and set it in the Brisbane suburb of Wilston, of all places, which is where we lived at the time.
It’s called Incident in Wilston and involves a criminal living in Wilston who has to dispose of a body. It appeared in the 2014 anthology Black Beacon’s Subtropical Suspense edited by Cameron Trost.
It’s a tribute to Ripley and that is rather obvious. I call my lead character Tom Ridley as a nod to Ripley.
We recently watched the new Netflix series Ripley, based on Highsmith’s first Ripley book, and it is just so good. Steven Zaillian’s eight-episode series is, according to The Guardian’s film critic Peter Bradshaw: “sumptuous and instantly addictive”.
“Starring the incomparable Andrew Scott as the charmer aesthete and serial killer … it’s a seven-star luxury hotel of a TV show in arthouse black and white,” wrote Bradshaw.
I couldn’t agree more. It’s a slow burn, excruciating at times. And if you know the story it’s even more excruciating because you know what’s coming and it’s never good.
The Italian settings are magnificent and it’s a feast for any Highsmith fan. I hope there may be a follow up because Zaillian has only really scratched the surface.
Highsmith’s first three Ripley novels have been adapted into films. The Talented Mr. Ripley was filmed as Purple Noon (Plein Soleil) in 1960, starring Alain Delon as Ripley, and under the original title in 1999 starring Matt Damon, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow and Cate Blanchett. That film was masterfully directed by Anthony Minghella.
Ripley Under Ground was adapted into a 2005 film, starring Barry Pepper. Ripley’s Game was filmed in 1977 as The American Friend starring Dennis Hopper and under its original title in 2002, starring John Malkovich, who is wonderfully creepy. That’s a cracker and it also stars one of my favourite actors, Dougray Scott.
The Australian playwright Joanna Murray Smith’s play Switzerland, a Sydney Theatre Company production that came to Queensland Theatre in 2016, was a fascinating window into the world of Patricia Highsmith. (It’s called Switzerland because this is where the American author spent the last 14 years of her life.)
Queensland actor Andrea Moore starred as the author and she was perfect in the role. In the play Ripley comes to life and visits Highsmith, planning to kill her. It was delicious stuff and, frankly, deserves a revival, particularly now that a whole new generation is switching on to Ripley, a character we shouldn’t really like. But we do.
Film critic Sam Jordison wrote, again in The Guardian, that “”it is near impossible, I would say, not to root for Tom Ripley. Not to like him. Not, on some level, to want him to win. Patricia Highsmith does a fine job of ensuring he wheedles his way into our sympathies”.
In the Netflix series Andrew Scott’s portrayal of Ripley is utterly brilliant. As critic Peter Bradshaw says, Zaillian’s adaptation give us “much more of Ripley’s essential loneliness and miserable vulnerability”.
That allows us to empathise with him and to want him to succeed, as wrong as that is. And he does succeed.
If you are just starting out on your Ripley journey and haven’t read the novels yet, you have a treat in store.
But there is so much more to Highsmith. Her books are mostly still in print, so dive into the murky waters of her world. But be careful, because you never know what lurks beneath.'
#Ripley#Patricia Highsmith#Andrew Scott#The Talented Mr Ripley#Matt Damon#Jude Law#Gwyneth Paltrow#Alain Delon#Dennis Hopper#John Malkovich
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Experienced Acupuncturist Timm Eu Returns to Wilston Physiotherapy & Massage
http://dlvr.it/T4b88V
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Experienced Acupuncturist Timm Eu Returns to Wilston Physiotherapy & Massage
http://dlvr.it/T4ZxMs
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Experienced Acupuncturist Timm Eu Returns to Wilston Physiotherapy & Massage
http://dlvr.it/T4Zx4z
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Experienced Acupuncturist Timm Eu Returns to Wilston Physiotherapy & Massage
http://dlvr.it/T4Zx4K
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