#so I really hope this offering is passable

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (21)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: T Words: 2k Summary: Walking after midnight

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

The three men are Travis, Javier, and Bossman. You knew that wasn’t his actual name but so far no one had called him anything different. He was the one that the Cowboyhad seemed to know. The youngest, Travis, was guarding you and you made a point of being overly solicitous. Giving him wide smiles and thanking him when he helped you tend to business.

The Cowboy hated it.

Every time you batted your eyelashes at the boy, or touched him on the arm, you could see a vein start to throb on the Cowboy’s forehead. It gave you the tiniest bit of satisfaction to see it. 

They were letting him walk free, for the moment, but you caught the glances Javier and Bossman kept throwing him. It had been a split second decision, saving his life. Or maybe you had just been saving yours. Could you both have survived a shootout? Maybe. But you weren’t ready to risk that just yet.

You wait til Travis is next to you and purposefully trip, grabbing for his arm as you fall in slow motion. The boy is there immediately and you let your fingers rub across the inside of his wrist as you part your lips and gasp up at him.

“Oh my, thank you so much.”

The Cowboy snorts. You ignore it.

Travis is staring at you like he’s never seen a woman before. Good, you can work with that.

“I’m so sorry, my feet are really hurting. Is there any way we could stop for a bit? Let me rest?” You twist as you ask the question, turning his hand so the back of it brushes across your breast.

Was that a growl?

“Yeah, yeah we can do that,” Travis tells you with a blank gaze. You should probably feel bad about what you’re doing but it wasn’t your fault the kid had a weak mind. He yells at the other two that you’re taking a break and after some brief bickering between the men you lower yourself next to a rusted out car and primly fold your feet under you.

“If don’t suppose you gentleman brought any food?” you ask, purposefully hiding the slightly hopeful lilt to your voice. 

“Beans,” Javier grunts, pulling a dented can from his pack. “Ain’t nothing fancy.”

“Oh!” You brighten and sit up straighter, purposefully pushing your breasts towards him. “He has my pack with my spices in it - I’m sure I could make us all something lovely.”

“What kind of spices?” Bossman asks skeptically and you hide your grin.

There were two ways to a man’s heart…

They have to cut your wrists free so you can cook and you make a point of laying a thankful hand on Javier’s arm as he does so. He blinks at you a moment before turning away and you hum a tune as you start a small fire and hang a pot over it.

“Never cooked a damn thing for me,” the Cowboy grunts from nearby.

“Maybe I don’t like you as much,” you tell him brightly, winking at Bossman. He seems startled but grins at you in return.

Yeah, someone is definitely growling. You have a pretty good idea who.

You keep them all engaged in idle chatter as you add a variety of things to the beans, including some meat from the Cowboy’s pack. His lips twitch as you do so and you try not to think too hard about what it might be.

What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

When you finish you have a passable recreation of a comfort dish from long before the great war and you offer heaping spoonfuls to the men.

“Strong men like you need a good portion,” you tell Javier, adding an extra scoop.

“I’d hate to see you go hungry,” you tell Bossman, letting your lips part and trying to look concerned.

“Bullshit.”

The word is barely audible and you give the Cowboy a quick glare before turning your attention to Travis. “Is there anything else I can do?”

You were, in short, the perfect hostess. Part and parcel of being the perfect wife. The perfect partner. The perfect everything.

The pheromones you’re giving off in droves probably help too. 

It takes a little concentration to do it, to turn on the charm that makes people’s jaws go slack and eyes cross. You have to focus on being soft, giving, keep your emotions in check. 

The Cowboy is not helping.

“You gonna serve me up a bit of that slop?”

Your smile becomes strained and you blink at him for a moment before replying. “Sure! Got a bowl?”

He holds out a beaten up cup and you give him about half what you’d given everyone else. His forehead moves, raising a non-existent eyebrow, and your lips press together as you dare him to say something.

“Thank you kindly.”

You don’t hit him with the spoon. That would give the game away.

Instead you take your meal and settle down between Bossman and Javier, close enough your knees touch theirs. The Cowboy watches you thoughtfully and you do your best to ignore him.

“I didn’t realize how hard it would be to be out here on my own,” you say after a few minutes pass. “Everything is so dangerous.”

Travis nods at you, eyes wide, while Bossman scoffs. “Takes someone hard as nails to survive out here.”

The Cowboy snorts and you quickly cough to cover it up. “I just thought I’d see the world a little bit, you know? But I think… I mean, I’m really grateful you all found me.”

“We’re here to help,” Javier says with about half as much sarcasm as you might have expected.

“Ain’t we just,” the Cowboy chimes in and you meet his eyes. 

Shut the fuck up, you try to tell him with your mind.

What the fuck are you doing? He seems to beam back.

With an overly dramatic yawn you stretch your arms out, taking a deep inhale and purposefully not noticing how the assembled company stare at your chest. “I suppose we should continue on? I’m so tired…”

The men exchange a glance while the Cowboy continues to give you an incredulous look. Bossman is who speaks up.

“Reckon we can spend the night here as good as any, sun’s about to set soon anyway.”

“Oh really?” You reach over and put a hand on his knee, concentrating all your energy on him. “That would be lovely.”

He looks a bit starstruck and you pull your pack close to you, futzing with it a moment before laying down and using it as a pillow. You keep up your internal monologue - soft, gentle, caring - while you fake falling asleep.

After a few moments you hear the Cowboy cough, and then the sound of his inhaler.

“You got enough of that shit, ghoul?”

“I won’t be eating any of you fellas in the night if that’s what you’re asking.”

A silence and then, “Well, I’d feel safer if you were tied up.”

“I bet you would.”

There’s a slight scuffle of feet, not a fight, just two people trying to move quickly, and you peek out to see two of them tying the Cowboy to an old phone pole.

“Ain’t nothing personal,” Bossman tells him and the Cowboy shrugs.

“I’ll try not to take it that way.”

You pretend to sleep on, not a single restraint on you.

It takes four hours before you’re ready to implement phase two of your plan. It’s well past dark and the snores next to you are loud enough to wake the dead. If you’re right, Travis is on watch.

He doesn’t have a chance.

You stretch with your back to him, rubbing at your eyes and feigning sleepiness. When you spot him you give a ‘surprised’ smile and move his direction with your pack. Setting it nearby you use it as a rest as you sit down.

“Got the short straw, huh?”

Travis nods, eyes focused on the fire and not the mile of thigh you may or may not be showing him. He seems like a good kid - awful line of work but a good kid. From the corner of your eye you note the Cowboy is watching you both, although he’s mercifully silent.

“Your back must be killing you,” you tell him softly. When he doesn’t reply you reach over and gently massage the back of his neck. “Oh wow, you’re so tense.”

“Gotta stay awake,” he finally mumbles and you tsk softly, moving behind him.

“Let me help with this, I’ll feel safer knowing you’re not in any pain.”

It doesn’t take a moment to find the artery you’re looking for, and Travis is in such a daze he doesn’t notice you’ve cut off the blood flow to his brain until it’s too late to fight back. You lay him down with careful hands, being sure not to let anything make noise as you do. You finish him with a shot of tranq.

“Nice work.”

Your eyes fly to the Cowboy and he’s giving you an approving smile. A quick check shows that the other two are still sleeping and you stand with your bag, debating what you might want to take.

“Take the kid’s gun,” he says quietly, “you’ll need it.”

Dammit he’s right.

You take the rifle and what ammunition you can find and turn to go before you hesitate. You glance back at the Cowboy and he quickly shakes his head.

“Don’t waste time on me, darlin’. Get yourself out of Dodge.”

With a nod you leave Cooper there, setting off into the darkness. You hadn’t killed the kid, although you probably should have, and the tranq was barely a few drops. Just what was left after Cooper had tranqed you. But it should buy you a half hour, maybe more.

It buys you a mile, give or take.

Sounds carries in the desert so when the men start shouting you can hear it echoing. A glance back at the fire shows shadows occasionally blocking it and you quicken your pace. As long as Cooper doesn’t give up your direction you should be fine til morning.

Were you terrible for leaving him behind?

You pause, staring off at the dark shape of the mountains. You didn’t owe him a damn thing, absolutely not. But also… you weren’t the kind of person to just leave people like that either.

Aren’t you? a tiny voice in your head mocks.

Visions of faces just like yours, racks of people waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. They were still there, at the facility. If you made it away Galen would just sell the next girl on the list. And the next. You were pretty sure he’d been alive since the bombs fell - who knew how long he could keep this all going.

Did you owe it to the women just like you to stop it?

Could you live with yourself if you didn’t?

With a heavy sigh you find a nearby rock and pull your feet up, waiting for the search party. It takes them a while, probably another two hours while you grow even firmer in your resolve. It’s Javier who eventually ‘sneaks’ up on you. Whacking you across the back of your head so hard you slam face first into the rock below.

Twice in two days, probably not good for you.

You come up with a curse, spitting out blood and tonguing at a tooth that feels loose. Hands immediately pull you to your feet, tying your wrists together behind your back and shoving you back towards the fire.

“Bitch,” he grunts and you try to get your wits back around you. What would you do if you were still running? How would you act?

“Please let me go,” you plead softly. “I’ll do anything.”

You stumble next to Javier as he drags you back towards the fire, hitting the dirt more than once with nothing to break your fall. He jerks you to your feet each time, muttering things to himself until you’re moving again.

“You telling me you didn’t see a damn thing?”

“I was sleeping, same as you,” Cooper’s voice drawls as you re-enter the firelight. He glances up at you and his jaw hardens. You know you must look a mess, you can taste blood and you’ve fallen face first to the ground more than once.

“There you are,” Bossman grunts, coming to stand in front of you. “Bet you thought you had us.”

Travis is nursing a black eye which you feel a little bad about. But you don’t say anything as they untie Cooper - who rubs at his wrists and gives them an assessing look - and then use those same ropes to truss you up. As they move away he takes a step closer, barely speaking above a whisper.

“How far d’you get?”

“Too far… not far enough.”

He grunts. “Lost the element of surprise now.”

“It’s fine,” you sigh, “I don’t need it.”

He turns to you with a fully quizzical look before someone’s voice calls out and he goes to sit nearer to the fire. But he watches you the rest of the night, eyes burning with unasked questions.

☢ ☢ ☢

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[sixhours]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

Thanks for the tags @two-birds-alone-together @sawymredfox @ace-turned-confused @whocaresstillthelouvre and @evolnoomym!

More from the hospital fic that mayyyybe has a title? But I'm not confident in it yet. I've written over 11k words for this thing and maybe 1k of those words are passable. It's slow-going.

Tagging @bumblepony @chronicallyonlinewriter @ameerawrites @femmefacetious @wordywarriorwrites and anyone else who would like to share!

-------

Marlene's lips curl in a smirk, and Joel's rage is instant and white-hot.

“Where…is she?” he wheezes, throat burning.

“Ellie is fine.”

“Glad…to…hear it,” he grits out. “Now where…is she?”

“She’s resting. Honest to god, Joel, we were about to pack up and leave. It’s a fucking miracle you made it at all. I should have known, though. If anyone could do it…”

“Was all…her,” he says, head swimming and spinning on an ever-changing axis. He needs to stand, needs to get to Ellie, to see for himself that she's not dead or strapped to a table somewhere, but his damn legs won’t cooperate.

“Well, you did the job. There’s a car and a battery waiting–”

“Don’t care…’bout the payment,” he says. “Just…let me see her.”

She considers him, brow furrowed. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

He glares at her, or as much as he can where the room keeps spinning. He’s not sure if he’s looking at her or one of her thugs or the wall by her head. “I want…to see her.”

“Joel–”

“I’m not…leavin’ her, Marlene.”

“You really think that’s in her best interest?” she says cooly. “That you’re in her best interest?”

No, he thinks dully, but that didn't stop him from growing desperately, hopelessly attached. The simpering lilt in Marlene's voice spurs him on, gives him strength. He finds his feet and lurches toward her.

“Take me to her. Now.”

“Joel–”

“No, you take me to her right now!”

The butt of the gun hits him in the gut before he can take another step and the breath leaves his lungs in one pitiful whoosh. He goes down hard on his hands and knees, gasping. One of the men hulks over him, no doubt poised to strike again.

“Enough,” Marlene says softly, no urgency in her tone, no real threat. Her voice remains flat. “Joel–”

“Take…me…to her,” he croaks, eyes watering. “So help…me god, Marlene, I’ll…I’ll fuckin’ kill every last one of–”

She sighs and kneels to get in his face.

“Down, boy,” she quips. “Look, I need you to take a fucking breath. We just got her calmed down. I don’t want to have to sedate her because you can't keep your shit together.”

He snarls. “Maybe if you hadn’t fuckin’ attacked–”

“That wasn’t the intention–”

“Like hell it wasn’t,” he spits.

She takes a deep breath, huffs out her nose, and stands, offering her hand. He sneers but the room is tilting and his gut aches something fierce and he needs to get up off the floor. He needs to get to Ellie. He can feel Marlene's blunt nails digging into his wrist when she helps him up.

“I would’ve thought you’d know better,” she says archly. "Falling for the cargo."

“Fuck you,” he spits. “You're the one who sent a fuckin’ child across the country like a piece of freight.”

“Yeah, I did. And she made it, thanks to you.”

“Take me to her,” he repeats, fairly vibrating with anger. He doesn't have a plan if she doesn't comply, and doesn't have much hope that she will. He only knows he will bludgeon and bloody every single person standing between him and that little girl before he'll let them be separated again.

[yandere-fics]

(Thank you sooooo much, I really doubted anyone would care about my writing this much, it's incredible! I hope you don't mind but I chose just a really bad cold as the sickness. I really really enjoyed writing this, let me know your thoughts!)

♡ How They Take Care Of A Sick Darling ♡

♡ Nora is not the best when it comes to caring for her darling, even when she was mortal she was in tip top shape so she is panicking a little bit when she wakes up next to you and you're unable to get up out of bed from how sick you are. Are you dying, does she have to go find The Boss immediately to prevent your death? When she finds out you're not sick she calms down but not by much considering her reason for living is still incapacitated in her bed and there is nothing she can do to help. ♡

♡ If she's not there and returns to you being sick then it's even worse! She needs camera's set up in the apartment and she's upset she hasn't been a good enough girlfriend for you to automatically call her the moment there's a problem, she promises to remedy this issue as soon as she can so eventually your first instinct will be to call her, she'll do better! ♡

♡ The Boss will just have to put up with her not doing her job for a week or two until she's entirely sure you're better. Nora is not a good cook, she's barely passable, which reminds her she really needs to practice for in the future in case you ever do want her to cook for you, for now though you will have to deal with her ordering food for you and spoon feeding you herself, don't you even dare try to pick up the spoon, she will swat your hand away and force you to allow her to care for you. ♡

♡ She'll prop a million pillows under your back because laying down all day long can't be good for you though if you insist on laying down all day, instead she'll roll you on you back and give you a massage to guarantee you don't get any bedsores, even though you literally haven't been laying there for very long at all. She's doing her best to not press down too hard but in all her stress she still winds up pressing down a bit hard. ♡

♡ Once you have recovered she's not letting you out until she feels like you have enough layers on because she can't risk you falling victim to these stupid mortal illnesses. Especially when The Boss refuses to give her any more days off for awhile so she wouldn't be there to take care of you as intensely next time and while The Boss did offer to send a doctor for you, Nora really doesn't trust having anyone else touch you. ♡

♡ Sawyer is very bad at this because she can't use her powers to get rid of something as minor as a cold. If it were something worse then she could snap it away but doing that for something minor carried the risk of accidentally messing things up severely so instead she was forced to watch you suffer while she could do nothing to stop it. She would have to get you on a strict regimen of vitamins and things like that quickly so this could never occur again. ♡

♡ She already has cameras set up in the penthouse for occasions like this but she still feels awful that she didn't check the cameras for an hour coming back to see you lay in bed sick. She's out of the office so quick, not bothering to tell anyone why she was leaving for the day or giving them any instructions, once she's back at the penthouse then she'll figure out what she's going to do, for now she has to be by your side. ♡

♡ Sawyer can't just take a break for this so you're coming to the office with her. Don't worry she already called her people to make them put a bed in her office and there will be doctors there waiting to take care of you under her command. Highly trained doctors who know to be very careful or they will suffer a fate much worse than death. ♡

♡ Any touching will be completed by her at the instruction of the doctors, if you must be rolled over to adjust the sheets or you need a massage to help your aching joints, the doctors must tell her to do it and if they dare to try to do it themselves she will strike them down. This is the first time she's really taking breaks from her work to eat because she has to take a break to spoon feed you, there's no way she would consider allowing the doctors to do something so intimate for you. She's very attentive, she's just also very busy so she's trying very hard to balance her two responsibilities right now. ♡

♡ Once you're better she's getting a nutritionist and a fitness coach so they can advise her on what vitamins and things she needs to get for you in order to boost your immune system. If they can't help her make sure that you never get sick again then she'll pull some strings with the elves to get immune boosting items to ensure your health is at peak condition, she's never going to allow this to happen again although she actually didn't mind it too much. Caring for you was pleasant and she liked the bonding experience but not to the detriment of your own health. ♡

♡ Theanna is very good at this considering she was not the heir to the throne her whole life so when anything went wrong she cared for herself and never received a single bit of help on anything so when she was sick she had to sneak the medicines that her siblings with more backers were allowed to receive. Compared to that, caring for you with all her wealth and power at her disposal is a breeze so she's not stressing herself out. It's only a mild cold anyways plus it makes you so cute and weak for her. ♡

♡ Theanna is appalled to leave a meeting and have the head maid inform her that her favorite maid is sick. While she's grateful for the head maid caring for you while Theanna was busy, she would have rather she just barged into the meeting room and let Theanna know immediately. That's a new rule, from now on if anyone has news pertaining to her darling, they must come to her instantly, it does not matter where she is or what she's doing, they better tell her. ♡

♡ She can take a break whenever she damn well pleases, her advisors will simply have to put up with dealing with her crappy handwriting telling them how she wants them to handle everything for the day. It's super cute to see you squirm and whine about how she shouldn't take a day off on your account. You're so worried about how improper it is for the crown princess to take a day off all for a simple maid and she simply shushes you and questions if you're disobeying her orders. ♡

♡ She insists on doing everything for you even though she could just as easily get one of the maids or doctors to treat you. Instead she simply makes them deliver the medicine to the door and get the fuck away. She can't let them inside the room because she wants to be the only one who knows what you look like when you're so weak and vulnerable. In this state she can finally care for you the way she wants to without all your silly whining that it's improper and whatnot. ♡

♡ When you've recovered she's a bit bummed out that she can't push you around anymore and you won't let her take care of you again. She would have thought that getting sick would have helped you to realize how nice it is for her to take care of you. Well even if you won't let her continue to baby you once you're feeling better, she's going to insist on taking care of you because now she's realized how nice it feels to care for you and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop her. ♡

♡ Abigail is bad at this. Her family never gets sick, her bloodline is very strong plus where their manor is situated, is the perfect moderate weather all year long so even the civilians rarely get colds and such. She has seen people get sick since her arrival in the capital but she doesn't socialize much and her knights usually just walk any illness off and she never cares to pay enough attention so she wouldn't notice if they were sick anyways. She notices you're sick the moment your stance is even slightly off though. ♡

♡ If she returns from an important meeting to discover you are sick she will freak out that none of the other recruits stopped you from training. Sure she makes everyone else work through their sickness but you are obviously different so they should have known there's no way she would permit you to remain here while you are ill. She understands why they didn't inform her instantly but they still should have made you rest in her quarters and fetched a doctor for you. ♡

♡ She is unable to take too much time off work for this because it's not a fatal illness but this does make her grow to resent Theanna even more. She wishes she could go claim her title as duke now and just give up all this nonsense instantly because what good is being the top night if she can not take a break to care for her darling even if her care would be no help. ♡

♡ She'll have to make the doctor take care of you while you're resting and then you are permanently banned from the training ground because you are too stupid to know when to rest. If you fight the doctor or refuse to take your medicine because it tastes so bad she will storm into her room and force you to take it. At night when she returns she gives your aching bones a little massage in order to speed up your recovery. ♡

♡ When you're recovered she still doesn't believe you, you're permanently required to refrain from training. She can't believe you pushed yourself so hard in order to become a knight, it doesn't matter if you got sick for a different reason and weren't actually pushing yourself, or that all the other nights already constantly push themselves, she doesn't care, you matter more than any of that and it's time you accept your role as her lady. If you miss the training grounds then you can visit but only as her future duchess. ♡

♡ Veronia is great at it. She already takes care of sick animals occasionally when she's bored and has nothing better to do. Taking care of a sick bear is way harder than taking care of a little human who can't really stop her. I mean she's a strong seven foot dragon woman so like what are you gonna do, especially when you're sick and weak, your punches feel like she just got poked. Aww isn't she so cruel for laughing at you, she'll make it up beloved. ♡

♡ When she comes back to the cave and finds you sick she's panicking because she thought you would be fine while she went out to get food, she didn't realize you had kicked the blanket off of yourself as soon as she left so you had gotten sick in that time from being exposed to the air. She'll wrap you like a burrito next time to make sure you can't kick it off. ♡

♡ She can't really afford to take a break from guarding the territory daily but she'll make her rounds very quick so she can return to you. Plus all her hunting is necessary but she'll get much better at hunting this week since now she has to find ways to speed the process up much more. She'll be by your side the rest of the time though. ♡

♡ She has to admit, she's kind of into this. Though she wouldn't say it out loud because she feels bad for thinking this, she finds this extremely appealing to her fucked up defenseless princess versus dragon roleplay. Even if you said you were okay with it, she would never act on that desire because your body badly needs to recover so sadly she will just be a good diligent mate and try not to think about how good you look right now as she massages your back trying to ease your ache. ♡

♡ Once you're better she is taking you with her when she secures the perimeter, she will put you in an adult sized bjorn if she has to. Though she will eventually give up on that idea when she realizes it might make you nauseous, still she will unfortunately have to make sure you are awake when she patrols because she can't let you kick the blankets off again. You'll be fed and bundled up, plus set up with maybe some books or an activity before she leaves from now on. ♡

[thetentaclecommander]

Thaks for the tag @damadisangue! Lesse:

When did you start writing?

I remeber as a lil tentacle in human 3rd grade writing this meandering, long, just where was this boat going like 25+ page story for English class and just had a ball in making up the story. I didn't care that the story was a hot mess, I unknowingly realized I liked lore building. But, I realized that after I wrote it one, I went way over what the class wanted cause of my overachieving tentacle tendency and two, that I hated editing, grammar and all the boring English stuff. I didn't try to write a story again till many years later and realized the story itch had come back to me.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I actually, genuinely like slice-of-life and very inspirational/good vibes type of stories. But I simply like writing drama and assholes too much to write that sort of stuff often.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

My writing style recently got compared to the book House of Leaves. I need to read this but considering the few pages I've seen, I'm honored and can see the comparison at points.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

My big black desk with a standing desk attachment to force my tendriled self to get up, covered in paper that sometimes gets neatened only to get it ruined again due to time or my cat familar. Headset, dual monitors, pc w normal tentacle ergonomic peripherals, crystals, eldritch symbols covered in dark purple black ichor. Normal desk set up.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Do a ritual seance with burnt wormwood and channel into Nemesis' headspace. Find myself mentally projecting on the 56th astral plane with spoitify playing something dank and bizarre to mortal ears and chant ioioioioioio-

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

sheding of human fear sheding of human loss yet knowing such removal only brings more weakness to the fore the loneliness of being the only one the question of faith both internal and external to want is to long to love is to harm until you become one's true self free from greed, from selfish power games and inflicted misery and living in truth not lies strength in finding self not fighting for a control that isn't yours to demand no gods but us  no masters but us utter the lies the waking profane io io io

What is your reason for writing?

breathe and become as we only can bring you hope-

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

- oh and we're back. Sorry, I had a walk about and forgot to finish this. But I hope to be known as a trolly, yet fun author that challenges your sense of taste, and makes you question what is. Though, being known as that fucking persistant Nemesis and Jill shipper is good enough, lol.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Um, I can make up shit on the fly and not need drugs to do so, ig?

How do you feel about your own writing?

Eh, my pre 2010 stuff I think are lame but meaningful as my baby steps as one has to start from somewhere in this dimension?. I think I hit my stride in 2020 when I entered my erie sacrilegious era but so far, I'm pleased that my writing is passable and singularly me.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Pfft I've never given a damn about what is popular in the greater fandom or fleeting reading trends. Readers will get from me stories under my terms as I've had to fight tooth and nail to get to where I'm at and so, this tentacle writes for themself first and foremost and secondarily to entertain. I am a showtentacle at heart after all. I do enjoy when readers read, mind, but love it most when they take this betentacled offering from me and savor it, like really eat into it and see the wormy layers of plot and intricacy I've baked into there. Just envisioning them consuming, ingesting my work, feeling the trailing of my worms down their throat, into their belly to really get what I'm putting down is wonderful. Hoy, my minions! Feel free to join in! @naerwenia @vopecata @coiled-dragon @s-dei @lmshady

@depraveddove​ @the-bar-sinister​ @unchartedperils​ @sweet7simple​ @meltic-daze​

@misch3fbunni3​ @autistichalsin​ @villaindevotee​ @coffinliqueur​ @scroggles​

@goth-automaton​ @azulas-daddy-kink​ @katophoenix​

and whoever else wants to I'm not your parental aid (edit: what is with tumblr not tagging ppl ahhh)

[beanghostprincess]

Hey sweetie!! I realized I have been absent from your inbox for quite some time and that simply will not do, I am legally required to annoy people I like, it's the Law.

Therefore, I thus drop even MORE transfem Buggy ideas, silliest, and snippets in the hopes of making you smile and/or laugh bc you deserve nice things I wanna throw them at you ♡♡♡♡♡

• Buggy coming out as trans over the course of a loooooong time, where she had Inklings of it young (Buggy+Toki bonding my beloved), and for a while just went "it is what it is, it's my nose that makes me hate mirrors so much-" and thus reclaiming the nose with the clown aesthetic and commitment to the circus bit. And it's enjoyable, really, the colors and patterns are So Good, and the makeup feels WONDERFUL, and all dolled up, Buggy doesn't want to punch the mirror quite so much.

It's only with Alvida and their Mean Girls Gossip Club being founded that there are some late night, semi-drunk conversations and Buggy says something like "everything sucks but I think things would be better if I were born a girl, ya know-?"

Cue Alvida taking that as a "women have it easy" type of thing (it's not), and so she and Buggy make a bet - dress as a girl, go out for a night, and play the part. They pick a small, no name island, pick an equally small, no name town, and hit the bars there. And Buggy is.... thriving.

It's not all sunshine and daisies, and Buggy sees first hand what women experience, but there's a shift in the movements, in Her Chest, and suddenly things are clicking, she's stepping aside, she's off to the restroom, and she is staring into the mirror there, blue eyes wide and hair loose around her shoulders and she really Looks. Fingertips brush the cool, smooth surface before her, trembling with fear, with anticipation, with joy and grief and anger and love. She barely notices when Al comes up to her side, when a pale hand brushes her shoulder. It's the question which throws her.

"What are you thinking?"

And in the tiny little bar bathroom at Seas-knows-what-time, Buggy has a sudden accidental baptism, and Alvida takes her hands through it all.

Buggy comes home to her ship, her crew, with knowledge, with a new awareness, a new fear, a new joy.

Her crew are nothing if not welcoming, and when she tells them, faux-casual and already edging into defensive aggression, they are simply delighted. They are ecstatic. They don't even question it, just beam and offer hugs and ask if they should still call her Buggy and Captain and Ringmaster, because she is theirs and they are hers they will be as good for her as she is for them, by the Seas as their witness.

And Buggy is happy, is safe, is emotional, is loved.

• coming out publicly is an ordeal, especially with the media storm already occurring elsewhere. She doesn't even think to do it. It's her crew that bristle when someone misunderstood her, the first two times a passable correction, then a point of disrespect. People do not disrespect their captain lightly.

• An article is written about her, and the contents are.... unkind at best. Interestingly enough, another article is never published by that journalist, and there is now no trace of their existence beyond that point. It was not Buggy and her gang who did it, though.

• Crocodile and Mihawk are both bisexual, and they do not initially know of Buggy's gender identity until well into the Guild's existence, after that article full of heresay and guessing. Not many want to correct such powerful men, after all.

When it DOES come out, they don't even really treat Buggy any differently. Just nod, verify name, ask for pronouns, and it's back to business. It's refreshingly normal and bittersweet.

• when they eventually being courting Buggy asks if her gender is.... going to be a problem. Crocodile just sneers. "It'd be hypocritical of me to not date someone transgender. I may pass as cis, but I made myself into the man I am today. Who cares?"

Mihawk just kind of laces his fingers with hers and states that "your body is but a vessel, and I care only for the wielder. The forms of your body matter not to me beyond your own joys in it."

• they also go on to be rather protective of their girlfriend. Business transactions have, and will, be dropped if a group is not respectful of her or has a history of it. Money is money, certainly, but business is a gamble and the deck is stacked against them with such animosity. After all, would you trust someone visibly aggressive with you over an ambivalent stranger when both hold a gun?

• just for shits and giggles, open relationships, and Shanks being fucking FERAL for Buggy and it's an absolute hot mess because he loves his clown wife so much-

• extra funnies, many others ALSO love his clown wife. Including, to his dramatic betrayal and theatric tears, many in his own crew.

• Rayleigh shows up at Karai Bari without warning to give Buggy a piece of his mind - not about her being a woman, no, that's fine, he loves her regardless, but about how she hasn't called him even ONCE just to give him the news that he has a DAUGHTER, she KNOWS he wanted a little girl, Buglet, why have you hurt him so-?

"You never gave me your number???"

"I didn't??"

"NO?????"

"Oh."

"Yeah, OH, you senile old fart!!!"

"Hey, missy, no need for that kind of disrespect-"

• Luffy, Zoro, and Ussop bond over "my dad/dad-figure has done it with the clown lady" and Sanji is just laughing at their misery while Jimbei is trying so hard not to make eye contact lest they see his own clown fucking history ((it was one time but he wouldn't be against a repeat-))

I'm eepy so that's all I have now but ily nini ♡♡♡♡

HELLO SWEETIE HOW I'VE MISSED YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💖💖💖🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 I am so glad you're back for more ideas and headcanons of our wonderful Buggy 💖💖

Toki and Buggy bonding my beloved but I absolutely adore what you said about Buggy blaming her nose at first instead of like, actually thinking why her image bothers her so much,,, She doesn't want to think further about it so she just guesses it had to be the nose because it's the one thing that's wrong with her,, But then she has the whole "I wish I were a girl because it would be easier" mindset still after claiming the clown aesthetic,,, My girl,,,

And the way she finds out I am,,, Gonna cry,,, The way it starts as a bet and Alvida is genuinely mad at her at first for her commentary about women but then she sees Buggy visibly upset because she's having the realization™ in the middle of a crowd. And I can't stop thinking about how it'd be sweet and comforting and,, You know. It'd feel like a family, something they don't really seem a lot of times because of their catastrophic dynamic. But Buggy would feel seen and loved and she knows Alvida will be there for her through it all no matter what. It's kind of weird to be comforted by a younger woman and I think Buggy would feel a bit ashamed for that?? But Al would tell her that there is no age to support each other, especially in womanhood.

I love how protective her crew is but mostly how little Crocodile and Mihawk care about this 😭 They really said "well if this doesn't affect us I don't care what you are but at least we are going to refer to you properly because we are not monsters, thank you". And also Crocodile is trans so it just makes sense. And what the hell with Mihawk's words??? This man is so romantic when he wants to--

My favorite thing about this is everybody being extremely protective of Buggy. She deserves it. She's a queen. An icon. And everybody is in love with her. And Rayleigh is soooo father and I adore him,, He'd go there solely to see his girl.

And never forget Zoro and Luffy bonding over this, but the funniest part of all is how I am 100% sure that after transitioning Buggy is wayyy hotter and way more confident and Sanji would be head over heels for her like everybody else. So yeah, he laughs all he wants but he wishes he could pull Buggy like that-

And I hope you slept well!!! Mwah mwah mwah!!! Loved to see you here again sweetie 💖💖💖💖💖

[eliotquillon]

would you be kind enough to give us some chameron spoilers for your time loop fic?

(sorry i’ll never stop pulling out this screenshot from my original rough draft outline)

so full disclaimer that one of the reasons why it’s taking me so bloody long to update/get stuff written is because chameron are giving me PROBLEMS!!! which is very fitting i suppose. the vision is that the fic ends not with chase and cameron ‘officially’ together, but with the understanding that things will be heading in that direction if cameron doesn’t immediately fall back into her old pre-loop habits — i am very, very fond of the way they get together in canon in the s3 finale, so it will be pretty similar to that in some ways. i am just having a little trouble getting them to that point. but as for a rough outline:

cameron sleeps with chase again pretty early in the loop - so far it’s looking like this’ll happen in chapter 4, but i might switch things around a bit and stick it at the end of ch3 instead - but this is mostly as another last ditch attempt to fix the loop. this, duh, is not going to work. (also, apologies to anyone expecting smut from me: this will be fade to black soz. this fic is consuming my life as it is without me having to teach myself how to write passable hetero smut for the first time LMAO.) things are going to be ROUGH for a little while after that — remember their screaming match in chapter 2? yeah there’ll more where that came from because cameron is going to be playing the most admirable game of emotional hide and seek you’ve ever seen. but the setup of the loop does, (un)fortunately, make chase one of the best people for cameron to confide in: he is already concerned about her from the moment she walks in. he already knows something is up. he’s willing to distract foreman and house to get her alone and see if she’s okay. obviously he’s still thinking in terms of meth aftermath, but he’s also perceptive enough to realise that something is still up with her even when cameron goes through her song-and-dance ‘everything is fine’ routine with him, and that starts to wear her down eventually.

it’s tempting for cameron to confide in chase, because even when she gets more into the groove of things…she’s still in a time loop. she’s still scared. she wants to find a way out. it’s all the same reasons she slept with him on meth. he’s offering her the chance to talk it out every single reset, and then when she does cave and tell him and he immediately BELIEVES HER…cameron freaks. because what the hell! foreman didn’t believe her! neither did wilson! he doesn’t have any memory of telling her he wants to be someone she can confide in all the way back in the second loop, and yet he’s putting his money where his mouth is. and then she has to grapple with the fact that, well…she keeps coming back to him for a reason. she slept with him on meth for a reason. she’s telling him about the loops for a reason. there are a few loops where she does enough prodding and poking to get him to admit that maybe he doesn’t just want things to be a one-off, and then she has to work through that and confront the fact that, well, yeah. maybe he’s onto something. and tbh being in a time loop is great for this because again—she can’t run away. the closer to the end of the loop she gets, the more upset she is that he doesn’t remember what they talked about the day before. that’s really the start of the breaking-free process, tbh. cameron’s actually pretty careful in what she does in the loops compared to, say, phil in groundhog day—she’s permanently paranoid/hopeful that the loop will break tomorrow, and doesn’t want to completely risk ruining the future—but the chase thing is a real crossroads because she has to be vulnerable with the very real risk of it not paying off and then the action maybe sticking if the loop breaks. She’s really normal!!

anyway. they do fumble their way to a happy ending, or at least the possibility of one! it’s slowburn and there’s a lot of repression on cameron’s end (and a fair bit on chase’s) so it’s not PACKED with intense hot moments or whatever, but there will be something for everyone. they do get there in the end.

and bonus extract from ch3:

[bedtimegiraffe]

Aerin Diamond Scene Rewrite Fic

Very glad Kade pushes your character on their trauma from being kidnapped. However, I would love for a LI to comfort your character about the fact that they keep almost dying. (Shoutout to Imtura for briefly comforting MC about the upcoming life-or-death battle, but I want more.) Relationships are a 2-way street! So here’s a little rewrite of the beginning of Aerin’s pre-battle diamond scene. Enjoy!

To accompany this, I recommend the slow and sweet “You Matter to Me” from the musical Waitress. “Come out of hiding, I'm right here beside you. And I'll stay there as long as you'll let me.”

(I don't think there are any warnings to be given other than discussion of possible death.)

It takes some looking, but you eventually find Aerin in a room on one of the ships, pacing with such focus that he doesn’t notice you as you enter. It’s kind of cute how intensely he’s thinking. You speak up, hoping you don’t startle him too badly. “How did you end up here of all places?”

Aerin’s head suddenly turns in your direction, eyes wide. “Oh! I… I wasn’t expecting you.” His surprised expression disappears almost at once, replaced by one of relief. “Imtura offered me this cabin, as a matter of fact.”

“Really?”

“I thought she was going to punch me. But she said that if I was brave enough to come back, I deserved a good place to sleep.” Aerin grins at you sarcastically. “I suppose tripping is a form of affection.”

His brief smile fades as he waves you into the cabin, then resumes his pacing.

You bite the inside of your lip. He looks so nervous. You can hardly blame him for that. “Are you having second thoughts about coming back? Because you… you don’t have to stay.”

Aerin stops moving, turning to give you a searching look. “You would let me leave so easily, then? Even on the eve of battle?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you again. Happy you’re here to help. But… things have been exceptionally dangerous since you left. I-” You take a shaky breath in. “I almost died. More than once. In those moments, I really wanted to see you again. But at the same time, I was relieved you were somewhere safer. And now that you’re here, I’m worried you’ll…” The thought hurts to even acknowledge.

Aerin’s eyes tighten with concern, though he covers it passably well. “Telling me you’ve been in incredible danger is hardly the way to get me to leave. And I did not come all this way to back out now.”

You suddenly feel desperate as the fear you’ve struggled to keep at bay forces itself to the front of your mind. “…Aren’t you scared?”

Aerin looks at you for a long moment, his gaze soft. “I’m not. Honestly, I expected to be frightened out of my wits. But for the first time, I actually feel prepared for battle. I trained all throughout my youth, but I never had a good cause to put it to. Just…” He frowns, looking toward the floor. “Baldur’s hunting misadventures. And then my misadventures.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t…” You close your eyes, trying to collect your thoughts. When you open them, Aerin is right in front of you. Close enough to touch. “Nia died last time. The Blade brought her back, but it was an absolute miracle. I don’t know that we’ll get another one of those. I never used to worry about any of us like this, but we keep getting so close to everything just being over and I can’t…” You choke back a sob. As you struggle vainly to hold back a flood of tears, Aerin hesitantly puts his arms around you, slowly pulling you into a warm embrace. You cling to him tightly as you cry, like he’s the only real thing in the world. Your next words come out in a frantic rush. “I can’t lose you again. Any of you. I can’t be all alone again.”

Aerin doesn’t respond for a moment, just cradling your shaky frame and unconsciously running his thumb in a soothing path along your back. “I wish I could tell you what will happen tomorrow. But I don’t know. There is a possibility this will be our last night alive.” It’s a terrible thing to hear, but… a relief for someone else to finally acknowledge it. “But you won’t be alone. All of your incredibly capable and persistent friends will be with you. I will be with you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

It does help to be reminded that you’re not in this alone. None of you are.

You focus on breathing deeply until you’re calm enough to pull back and look at Aerin again. “How are you so relaxed about the fact that we could all die tomorrow?”

His face melts into a smile, fond and affectionate. “Because I’m fighting for our city and our people. For you.” He brings a hand to cup your cheek, forcing you to meet his suddenly serious gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smile at that, wiping the last of the tears from your eyes. “Thank you. For being honest with me about…” You take a deep breath. “What might happen tomorrow. And for standing by me.”

“Always.” Aerin gazes deeply into your eyes and, for just a moment, you forget that there exists a world outside this room. Then he blinks, a faint blush rising in his cheeks, and he pulls away. He gestures for you to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

Once you’re seated, Aerin sits next to you, close enough that your arms can’t help but brush. “I suppose I still owe you an explanation for running off the way I did…”

[evenhisfacewasanalias]

Because the Night (Part 3)

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Adult

Guildford recognizes at once that his bride-to-be isn’t suffering from any kind of Affliction, other than that of an arranged marriage. If the sickeningly sweet smell of the fake blood doesn’t give it away, the quick peek at her audience after she’s supposedly fainted is obvious enough. He shakes his head where she can see it. Neither one of them is getting out of this. He supposes it’s easier for him to stomach, however - what’s one more curse on his existence? 

A My Lady Jane vampire AU inspired by Edward Bluemel being an absolute darling in A Discovery of Witches.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Chapter title: Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe

A counterfeit married life seems to suit Jane well enough for now. She has her days to herself to read and tend to her herb garden as she pleases, while her hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-husband sleeps the day away. No one tells her what to wear, how to behave, or forces her to talk to some gout-ridden windbag who holds her family’s purse strings at his questionable mercy. The only thing she really misses is Susannah, and the occasional presence of the local girls who came to her seeking cures and bringing gossip.  

At least she has a new project. Her evenings are spent deep in study, researching potential cures for vampirism with her wayward assistant. Guildford’s Latin turns out to be more than vaguely passable, though she continues to mock his pronunciation. However, it’s like pulling teeth to get him to talk about his past, or to offer up any more personal insights into his condition. And so she’s forced to do this with only the help of the dubious human scholarship spread out before her.

“Perhaps it’s transmitted as a seed - Girolamo Fracastoro has theorized that many illnesses might be the result of seed that enters the body, and germinates there.”

“And how is that a good thing for us?” Guildford asks, setting aside a near incomprehensible treatise on balancing the four humours. 

“We’re hoping that this is a disease that can be cured, and not some sort of metaphysical affliction - like a curse. This theory keeps whatever happened to you firmly rooted in the earthly.”

“As opposed to my being a demon from hell?” He scrunches his nose at his words in a way that should be obnoxious but instead comes across as adorable.

“Well you’re certainly no angel,” she retorts back.

“So how do we kill this ‘seed’?”

“There are several simples and tinctures I can think of to test, firstly. We’ll start with some well known cure-alls and work our way down the list.” 

“I’m hoping your tinctures don’t include urine tea or lice mixed with ale,” his face screws up at the thought. They are both all too familiar with the court physician's dubious curatives.

“Perhaps a sausage made from your own blood?” She inquires, trying to keep a straight face. 

“I’ve had worse,” he shrugs.

“True - you’ve already had Stan’s blood.”

Jane delights in earning another grimace. 

****

Guildford drinks down nearly a dozen mixtures over the next several days. They start each morning at sunrise - she isn’t sure why, it just feels like the right time to start these tests. And it works out quite well when it becomes necessary for him to sleep off the after-effects of whatever she’s given him - an increasingly frequent occurrence as they work their way into less reputable curatives. 

Another long chest appears in the back of the stables, filled with the soil from Guildford’s grave. Jane knows Rupert is responsible for this, and mentally thanks the man’s ever present concern for his master. But Guildford never really seems to sleep in it. He spends his days in his own bedroom - on an actual bed - and most of his evenings sprawled across hers as if he owns it (she supposes, in all the ways that matter, that he does).  

He rarely spends more than a few hours researching with her, however, and certainly he’s always gone before dawn. Jane doesn’t always see him leave, often falling asleep directly on top of her notes after being awake all day as well. But she always wakes up the next morning with their books and papers pushed aside, and herself under the covers.

“Why don’t you sleep in your coffin?” She asks one morning, after he’s already downed her latest attempt at cure. It’s clear that he’s left the house since she last saw him, and he’s changed his clothes as well. He also looks completely exhausted, and now, with the addition of her medicine, he looks a little ill too. Jane finds herself oddly tempted to smooth away the tired lines of his face, and brush his errant curls back into order, just to do something to alleviate that expression. She wonders why he doesn’t just heal himself, and asks him.

“It’s not a coffin,” he retorts automatically, but there’s no real argument in it. He offers her a shrug. “If I want whatever this vile concoction is to take effect, I can’t risk undoing it.”

“Would it undo things?” Jane still doesn’t entirely understand how this graveyard dirt thing works.

“I’m not sure.” Unfortunately, neither does he. Most of the ancient scholars never even mentioned it, let alone whatever effects it might have. Guildford had only discovered the effect by accident. 

“What do you think it would do to a human?” She wonders aloud.

“We’re not going to find out,” 

Jane is startled by the vehemence in Guildford’s voice, where before he had just sounded merely exhausted by her line of questioning. Without entirely meaning to, Jane bristles at his words. Who is he to tell her what to do?

“What if it could heal people? Think of all the people that could be helped!”

But Guildford doesn’t rise to the bait, simply looking at her with a serious expression.

“‘Things of the dead can’t help the living’,” he quotes Baudlin, the 13th century monk who painted one of the more accurate pictures of vampire physiology. Ironically, Jane knew he was not one of Guildford’s particular favorites, as he had also posited with certainty that a vampire could never be anything but.

“We could always run a test, just to make sure” she starts, already considering how best to acquire a small wound to try and heal. The sudden feeling of his hands pressed heavily at her shoulders halts whatever planning she was doing.

“Jane, leave it alone,” Guildford insists, looking more tired than ever. “I do not wish to see you in a coffin.”

It’s only then that she remembers that Guildford had lost his mother. He probably isn’t thrilled by the idea of helping bury another family member, even if it is only her - and even if she would still be alive at the end of it. As an apology, she doesn’t draw attention to the fact that he called it a coffin this time.

****

“Where do you go at night?” Jane finally asks, after more than a week of his vanishing act.

Guildford looks pointedly at where his legs are propped up on her bedspread while the rest of him sprawls across a nearby armchair, the spread of books and notes between them, indicating that obviously this is where he’s spending his evening. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Jane wonders if it’s possible to strain one’s eyes from rolling them too often.

“I thought we both agreed that my honesty is only required where it pertains to you? Are you changing our vows already?” He smirks at her annoyance. 

“And are you saying that where you go all night somehow doesn’t pertain to me?” She crosses her arms in defiance.

“I think I just said exactly that.”

“And what if I’m kept awake all night worrying about you? Then does it pertain to me?” 

“How very sweet - here I thought your deafening snores and excessive drooling meant you were fast asleep, but little did I know all this time you’ve been kept awake by concern for your dear husband.” 

“I do not drool!” She nearly throws one of his books back into his smug face. “Or snore, for that matter!”

Though the truth is, she doesn’t really know about that last one. The only person who has ever observed her sleeping since she was a child is the man before her. She hadn’t actually meant to fall asleep in front of him, but translating ancient Greek and Sumerian wasn’t exactly invigorating after the first four hours. Perhaps she does? Either way, she’s currently hoping that Guildford mistakes her flushed face and jittery heart rate for anger instead of embarrassment. 

He’s staring at her strangely instead. She doesn’t know quite what to make of his expression, but at least his smirk is gone. Mostly.

“Do you really want to know where I go?”

She can’t tell if this is a trap or some kind of test. “Only if you want to tell me.” She equivocates.

“I don’t. But I will anyway, I’m feeling rather generous tonight,” he gestures magnanimously. “And I do want to see the look on your face when I tell you that I’ve never so much as left the walls of the Dudley estate since we’ve arrived.”

Whatever expression she makes must be good, because Guildford is looking very pleased with himself. 

“And is there a tavern I don’t know about within these walls?” She tries to reason what would keep him here.

“Why would I seek out a tavern when we came out here to retreat from society?”

“Well, obviously to…” but Jane comes up short. To drink, to carouse? He couldn’t get drunk, and he didn’t seem particularly interested in any amorous pursuits - at least not with her, though perhaps he’s interested in someone else? But Jane is not about to ask him that.

“...to play darts,” she finishes rather awkwardly.

Guildford just chuckles lowly. “Jane, surely you’ve noticed there’s nothing in this house I can eat?” Her pulse spikes at the idea that that’s not entirely true. “And there’s nothing at a tavern for me either.”

“So then you…”

“I go out and hunt. There’s plenty of game on the grounds here.” He shrugs back into his chair easily enough, but she can see the rigid tension of his body. He thinks this answer will frighten her.

And it doesn’t, not really. Her sister Margaret has done plenty of ‘hunting’ in their own backyard - Jane has stumbled across the results of her sister’s morbid curiosity on more than one occasion. And her father had hunted for grouse on rare days, though she had always been kept inside whenever this occurred. Perhaps because of that, she finds herself asking the question.

“Can I go with you?”

Guildford startles a little in his seat, and looks over at her in confusion “to hunt?”

“To watch you hunt,” she clarifies. It doesn’t seem to help.

“Why would you want to do a thing like that?”

“Let’s call it curiosity,” she shrugs, though it feels like something more.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Guildford reminds her, still staring at her.

“Good thing I’m not one, then.”

Jane stares back. Their eyes lock in some sort of contest of wills. But Guildford has never had two annoying little sisters to contend with, or a mother who often communicated entirely in glares across the dinner table. Plus, Guildford is the one who decided to tell her about this, even though by his own admission he clearly didn’t have to, so she thinks the odds are good that she’ll be victorious in the end.

“You really think you want to see this?” He asks.

Victory is as good as hers.

“I really do.”

Guildford stands and immediately walks out of the room. A sore loser, Jane thinks to herself.

But then he is turning toward her from just beyond the door frame, “are you coming or not?”

She stands to rush after him. He barely gives her a moment to tie on her boots and slip on her cloak before they’re walking out of the house and towards the line of dark trees behind it.

Guildford looks different out here than he usually does. More…focused. It doesn’t help that his usually undone leather doublet is now fastened up to this neck, leaving all but his face in sleek shadows beneath the dark sky. Like this, he actually looks like a hunter.

Jane shivers in the sharp chill of the late night air, pulling her cloak more tightly around her. She realizes she’s never seen Guildford wear any other layers.

“Aren’t you cold?”

He looks back, eyes glinting even in the dim light. Her hand shifts at her cloak, as if he needs some visual indication of what she’s asking him.

“I’m always cold,” he murmurs, before turning back to increase his pace.

Jane realizes too late how stupid that question must be. Of course the dead don’t produce any warmth. Jane herself has noticed the coolness of his skin before. Not the icy cold hand of death, or any such rot as that, but like the slightly cooler temperature of any room. It’s such a little thing, on the whole scale of it, but Jane can’t imagine never being able to feel quite warm enough. Even though they do live in England.

They reach the edge of the treeline. Beyond it, the night grows even darker - there’s barely a sliver of moonlight tonight. Jane once again has reason to regret she doesn’t share her husband’s night vision. She’s almost tempted to reach for his hand, allowing him to guide her safely through the dark forest, but she assumes he’ll need both of his hands for this, whatever it is he does. And it’s not as though she wants to hold his hand.

But she’s finding it more and more difficult to follow him. Buttoned up as he is, he nearly blends with their surroundings. He’s also nearly silent, or at least far quieter than she is even in her much lighter boots. For a moment, she loses track of him, and is forced to simply continue forward in the same direction they had been traveling before. 

Jane starts to hear something again, off to her left, though it doesn’t sound like Guildford. Or at least she thinks it doesn’t. It’s much further away than she expects he would be by now - for all their arguing, she doesn’t really believe he’d just abandon her in the middle of the dark woods. She closes her eyes and tries to focus her hearing around her. She can hear the rustling of leaves, the sound of crickets around them, even the sharp spike in her own heartbeat, but not the source of the sound she just just heard.

A branch snaps in the distance, and the sound suddenly moves towards her, its pace rapid. But she can’t see anything, can’t…

Just as suddenly she’s pressed against a nearby tree by a body, a human shaped body. Or a vampire one, judging by the strength by which she is pushed back into the rough bark behind her. 

“Guildford…?” She asks, very much hoping that it’s him.

“There was a stag, he must have gotten spooked,” he breathes out, and Jane has never been so happy to hear that voice in her life. Even if his explanation is not what she had expected.

“Did you spook him?” she asks quietly, not wishing to also spook the creature that currently has her still pinned to the tree with her question. She realizes his head has dipped towards her - he’s probably looking her over but even though she can’t see anything other than a dark shape and the brief glint of his eyes. But she can feel him shake his head.

“No,” he adds, unnecessarily. “The falling of a leaf will spook them. They’re difficult to catch.” 

“So no deer tonight?” 

Another shake of his head, this time she can feel his hair brush against her cheek. His breath is slightly warmer than the rest of him, and she can feel it brush against her jaw, hear the sound of his deep inhale. Is he…? Jane’s heart rate spikes again, and Guildford suddenly tears himself away from her. 

“Just wait here,” he commands, and she’s reluctantly forced to obey.

“Not like I have any other choice.”

She wraps herself in her cloak and leans back against the tree behind her, willing her mind not to think about whatever just happened. But of course it’s the problem of the white bear - the more she tries not to think about it, the more she has to. Was he just sniffing her? She didn’t smell bad, did she? Could he sense her pulse racing? Was he…? 

But Guildford didn’t drink human blood, had told her that it wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat if he could help it. And Jane isn’t afraid of him. He said he had never hurt anyone in that way - and certainly Lord Dudley and Stan were living proof of that - and she believed him. But what did it mean if he wanted to…and with her? If he even did at all?

Jane’s thoughts are interrupted by the near-silent return of their object. She realizes her eyes must have finally adjusted somewhat, because she can at least see his face now, and the general dark shape of his clothes. In his hands he holds something lightly colored and still squirming in his iron grip.

“Are you sure you still want to see this?” He tilts his chin at the animal in his grasp.

A hare, a little brown one. At least it wasn’t a fluffy bunny rabbit, though hares were still very cute in their own way. But then Jane tried to think if there was any warm blooded creature he could find that she wouldn’t find at least a little cute. A wild boar, perhaps, but those were obviously quite dangerous, and she still felt some degree of sympathy for them. She nearly laughs at the realization that a human male probably would have inspired the least concern from her, but of course humanity was where Guildford’s own sympathies lay. A hare would have to do. She nods, knowing full well he can see it in the dark.

Jane’s breath catches at the glimpse of sharp teeth in the dimmed moonlight. She can’t tell if Guildford means for her to see them or not. He’s never shown her before, even as they discussed his condition. But she has little time to study them before they’re sunk into the creature in his hold. Jane can see the hare kick harder against his relentless grasp, and almost covers her ears at the awful sound of its screeching cries. But she’s the one that asked for this, and she won’t back down.

It’s really only a few moments before the hare slows its kicking, and quiets its cries, though it feels much longer to her. Jane realizes with a start that she’s watching it die. She feels the strangest urge to reach out to it, to soothe it, to soothe both of them. But then it’s too late, Guildford’s head is tilting back and he’s setting the hare back onto the forest floor.

…where it hops away, albeit a little slowly.

“You didn’t…?” She starts.

“I don’t have to, if I come out often enough. It wouldn’t do to have too many animal carcasses piling up on my lands.” Guildford explains, as though it were obvious. She supposes it kind of is. “Besides, I don’t know that you could have handled it.”

He grins and she can just barely catch sight of his now still sharpened fangs, dark with blood. At least he hadn’t faked the whole thing just to put her off. 

“I could have handled it.” She insists, though she’s not entirely certain.

“Have you ever even watched anything die before?” He asks before quickly shutting his mouth. They both know that she has. Her father’s prolonged illness and recent death is still clear in everyone’s memory. Jane had been at his side the entire time. She wished she had reached out more then as well.

He offers up something like an apology, “if you’re still insistent on this maybe you can pick the animal next time?”

“What if I send you after a grizzly bear?” 

Guildford just laughs, reading forgiveness in her threat. There’s no grizzlies around, anyway.

She considers again. “Perhaps something in the gopher family, then?” They had a tendency to dig up her garden, and she thought that might tug at her heartstrings a little less. And next time she'll be better prepared for it.

“Whatever you want,” he agrees.

Then she can feel his cool hand reaching out to take hers, leading her through the trees and back to their home.

****

They’ve been married for nearly a fortnight before he finally tells her how he died.

They’re back in her room again, books and notes spread across the bedspread between them. She doesn’t ask the question lightly, finding the idea of it strangely distressing to imagine. But her reading keeps bringing her back to the same possibility again and again - a vampire that kills its sire may revert to human form. She tells him what she’s found.

Guildford gets up from the bed, moving to the nearby doorway before pausing  - turning to rest heavily against the frame. Jane fights the urge to give a full detailing of her points of reference, the myriad of sources that back up this conclusion. She wonders if perhaps the vampire that turned him might be someone he…cares about. Or if he simply balks at the idea of taking another life, or unlife as it were.

But then Guildford finally speaks. “The man who made me what I am was killed before I even awoke.”

Jane’s face falls a bit. Well, there goes that idea. Not that it was particularly her favorite - she can easily see how a remedy like that might also serve those who wanted to reduce the vampire population by turning them against one another, and therefore had a high likelihood of being no more than an oft-repeated rumor. She shuffles her notes on the topic to the bottom of the pile, looking towards him to suggest they start afresh. What she doesn’t expect, however, is for her husband to continue.

“Before I became this…thing, I was everything you accused me of on our wedding day. I spent more time in taverns than I did my own home, drinking, gambling, fighting…I’m sure you know the rest.” His eyes glance towards hers for a moment, that strange inner glow reflecting in the firelight. “One night, a common brawl turned particularly violent, and I ended up on the wrong side of that man’s dagger. He was a vampire, as it turns out, who wasn’t keen to endure the scrutiny of a murder charge. So he decided to make me like him. Unfortunately for him, and for myself I suppose, the Guard caught him before I was even in the ground.”

“How did you…?”

“Rupert. He helped me home - carried my body back, that is. My father took one look at the bite marks and the blood and decided on a private burial, so no one else was the wiser.”

Jane's mind reels at all he’s suddenly told her. This proves that he really had died, been buried. They hadn’t expected him to come back, which means he would have awoken…

It doesn’t bear thinking about. But it does certainly explain his reluctance to talk about any of it. 

“Guildford, I’m so…”

“Don’t,” he halts her apology. “It’s happened and it’s done.” 

****

It’s Guildford who pushes the idea of exorcism. 

Not the kind performed by the church, of course - with endless prayers and holy water. The two of them were married in the church after all, their union blessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself. And the Catholics certainly haven’t figured anything better out, otherwise the English court would never have heard the end of it. Crosses, holy water, icons, relics of saints - none of it has any effect on vampires. 

But if this is something that’s in him, Guildford seems to think it can be starved out. 

“I believe it’s ‘feed a cold, starve a fever’,” Jane argues, though this isn’t particularly sound medical advice either.

“Are you offering to feed me?” He mocks, though with a strange expression across his face.

“I’m just saying, this isn’t exactly a sound strategy.”

“Because everything else we’ve tried has been working so well.” He shoots her a look.

And ok, so her last few attempts at a medical cure haven’t exactly panned out. But the idea of starving a…demon or whatever out is silly. Demons supposedly feed on your soul, how exactly does he plan to starve it?

The plan she’s forced to help him come up with seems to involve weakening his body until whatever is in there just…leaves. She’s very much not sure about this but at least all that he’s asking her to do shouldn’t cause any permanent damage. Jane had outright shut down any mention of bloodletting or wounding in general.

Guildford reveals he has already stopped taking in any additional blood, nothing since that night she had gone with him into the woods. Apparently he’s been considering this eventuality for a while now. But apparently he had tried starving himself once before, long before they had even met, and it ended with him nearly killing a drunkard outside the local tavern. So he asks her to restrain him this time. She reluctantly agrees to help. Secretly, she fully intends to monitor him throughout this entire terrible plan once he’s too tied up to stop her.

They decide to begin at sunrise, planning to take advantage of the usually mild effects on sunlight to compound with everything else. Guildford had found a coat of silver mail - vermeil at least, something his spendthrift father had missed selling off but that Guildford’s senses had detected right away - that would weaken him further. The final step was for Jane to tie him down so he would be forced to endure it. That was possibly her least favorite part of this plan. She’s not certain if she’s hoping this works or if it doesn’t. It seems too horrible to fathom, but at least it will free them both. She tries to find some feeling of relief in the thought of regaining her independence.

The dawn comes far too quickly for her liking. She follows Guildford out to collect all their supplies, and set up near the stables - where none but Rupert would venture, though he was asked to keep his distance for a while. Jane watches as Guildford reaches back to grasp at his white shirt, tugging it over his head in one swift motion, his doublet having already been abandoned back at the house. She tries not to stare at the play of muscles across his arms and chest as he takes up his next task - driving four long metal spikes into the ground with a large hammer. For some reason the two small necklaces at his throat and the wedding ring glinting on his finger only enhance how undressed he suddenly looks.

The effect only worsens as the sun starts to rise on the horizon, and Guildford strips off his boots and breeches as well, leaving him only in a pair of smalls that barely cover the pale musculature of his legs. Jane realizes for all that she’s already seen her husband almost entirely naked, she’s never actually watched him take off more than his doublet before this. It feels strangely intimate to witness. She should probably look away but she doesn’t, and Guildford doesn’t comment on it.

He merely slips on the vermeil mail shirt, grimacing as it makes contact with his skin. He had told her that first real night together that silver feels like burning ice to the skin of vampires, and that a cut from a silver blade burns into them and is difficult to heal. This contributed strongly to her refusal to add any bloodletting to today’s experiment. The chainmail seems painful enough already and she begins to understand the necessity of restraining him. Jane directs him to lie down between the 4 metal spikes, arms and legs stretched out.

“Try and find a comfortable position, you’re going to be here for a while.” 

Guildford doesn’t move. 

“The whole point of this is to make me uncomfortable,” he reminds her, putting it rather mildly.

“Well I can find some rocks to put under you, if you’d like?”

He huffs out a pained laugh and she relaxes a little. He can’t be in that much pain if he’s still arguing with her, at least. So she sets to work, starting at his feet, tying off a quick halter hitch to the blunted metal spikes and a simple figure eight loop around his ankles. She runs two fingers under the loop just to make sure. It should hold him securely in place without unexpectedly loosening or tightening on him. He glances down at her work.

“Are you planning a career as a ship’s bosun or something? What the hell are those knots?” He tries to tug against the ankle restraints.

“I can always tie a midshipman’s hitch and just let it slowly tighten the noose.” She threatens, moving up to start on his right arm.

“It’s not like you can cut off my circulation.”

She’s not entirely convinced she couldn’t accidentally do some real damage here, and it’s not like she has the heart to add to his pain either way. He’s already looking more bloodless than usual, jaw clenched as he tries to hold himself steady for her to finish.

Jane tries to work quickly, simply leaning over him to tie the loop around his other wrist instead of moving all the way to his other side. She has to scoot back a little to keep her knees from pressing the silver mail harder into his ribcage, but she can just manage. Unfortunately, she realizes too late how near this puts her face and his, her neck barely hovering above his mouth - after he’s just told her he’s gone nearly two weeks without eating. This time, she’s certain she can feel a deep inhale across her throat. Her pulse jumps a little.

“I’ll move in just a second,” she assures them both, slipping her fingers beneath the loop of rope before she starts to tie it off.

Guildford just turns his head away. “Don’t worry, you’re not that tempting.”

And of course she isn’t, not to him at any rate, and it’s not like she needs reminding. Annoyed at both herself and at him she tightens the knot a little more than was strictly necessary and pulls herself upright as quickly as she can, not bothering to look down at his face.

But Guildford is just looking at her knots anyway, testing their hold on him. No amount of force seems to budge them, or to tighten them any further. He nods at the work and dismisses her. 

“You think I’m just going to leave you here like this?”

“Jane I know you love torturing me but this might be taking it a bit…”

“Torturing you? I only agreed to this under duress!”

“You don’t really want to watch this part -”

“Of course I don’t want to watch this part but I also don’t want to come back and find you half dead!”

“I’m already…”

“You know what I mean! More dead than you already are! So just suck it up and deal with it.”

And it’s troubling, really, how quickly the fight leaves him. Guildford’s eyes simply shut as he lets his head fall back against the ground below. He’d look like he was trying to sleep but for the clenching of his jaw, the tension of each of his bared limbs against her knots. And in the end he was right, she doesn’t want to see him like this - knowing it’s only going to worsen as the sun grows higher - but she has to stay near. She’s brought several of his books and some apples with her, so at least she’ll have something to do besides just watching him suffer.

Hours pass. The sun grows strangely warm against her skin, in a way she never notices as she constantly moves around the gardens. She doesn’t want to even imagine what this might feel like to the man beside her. Occasionally, she can hear small noises coming from him - sounds of pain, obviously - that he’s trying to mask. She feels guilty about this for a while and then realizes he’d be doing the same no matter where she was, if only to ensure that Rupert and none of the other staff were able to hear him if they passed too near. But the soft sounds still cut right through to the heart of her. She can’t believe she’d actually rather hear him arguing with her instead.

It’s the silence that truly frightens her, however. As the sun drops lower, Guildford sounds like things are getting worse rather than better, and she tries not to look at the trails of faintly pinkish tears over his face. But then it stops, and Jane is forced to look at him directly. When she does, she’s faced with a corpse. Is he finally asleep? Or is he…?

Jane has no way of knowing for sure, unable to tell the difference between death and sleep in her husband. She doesn’t want to wake him to more pain, but she also doesn’t want him to slip away without her knowing. She goes to shake him gently, to no response.

“Guildford,” she tries calling his name. And again. Again. Getting louder with each cry.

Her shaking has become less gentle, but still no response from him. The movement shifts the chainmail from where it lay, revealing blistered red skin beneath each ring. Jane rushes to push the shirt up further - his pale abdomen is covered in ringed lacerations, angry and bleeding. The silver must now be in his bloodstream.

Jane rushes to untie him, releasing her simple halter hitches from the metal spikes to free his arms. She carefully peels back the mail, sticky with his blood, trying not to tear at the skin even further. She uses the edge of her skirt to keep the mail from touching his face, and finally lifts it from him, tossing it as far away as her strength will carry it. 

But there's still no response from Guildford. She swiftly unties his ankles as well, uncaring that the rope still loops around his wrists and ankles, at least this way she’s able to move him into the shade. But Jane is not strong enough to carry him, nor does she want to drag his bleeding body across the filthy ground. Thinking quickly, she tears at the laces of her gown, stripping it off and laying it across the ground. Jane carefully shifts Guildford onto the spread fabric, allowing her to take hold of the hem and pull him to the safety of the stables, slamming the doors behind her.

Several more times she calls his name, shaking him, looking for any signs of life. All to no avail. There’s only one option left to her - the chest of grave dirt. If Jane had thought it was difficult dragging Guildford into the stables, lifting him into the chest is nearly beyond her. She considers finding Rupert to help them, but worries there isn’t time. Jane perseveres with her task.

She’s nearly drenched in sweat by the time she finally gets Guildford into the chest, and discovers she still doesn’t know enough about how this works. Does the dirt need to cover his wounds? It seems unhygienic, but it’s not as though it could hurt him worse than the silver already in his veins. And so she digs down, drawing the dirt up and over the lacerations. Jane tries not to think about the fact that she’s essentially burying him. She’s surprised to brush at her cheeks and find them wet with tears. She can’t remember when she started crying.

Jane doesn’t stop until Guildford’s entire body is covered, leaving only his head and feet free. She can’t bring herself to close the lid, feeling too much as if that would turn the chest into a true coffin. Instead, she turns down the nearest lanterns, providing as much darkness as she can, and drapes herself over her husband’s form. Her white linen shift is already filthy with digging, and she ignores the soil that clings to her damp cheek. All she can do now is pray that Guildford is alright.

The setting of the sun passes them by with no change. Jane considers too late how much hope she had placed in the sun’s absence, and nearly gives up. She’s completely drained of her strength, and almost all of her hope. There’s nothing left for her to do.

She can feel herself drifting, her own body trying to heal from the day’s exertions by forcing her to sleep in fitful starts. Each time she wakes she searches Guildford’s face for any signs of  a change, barely restraining herself from checking on his wounds still buried beneath the soil. But each time she finds nothing, and is pulled back into a restless sleep.

The faintest whisper of her name wakes her again, and she’s slow to be pulled from another nightmare of her husband bleeding out in the field. But as her eyes flutter open she’s met with the glint of Guildford’s own, the feel of his chest rising with each slow breath below. She shifts back, allowing him to sit up, dirt falling away to reveal that he’s no longer bleeding, but still covered in links of reddened lesions. Without thinking, she throws her arms around his neck, barely avoiding his injuries. Gingerly, Guildford’s arms come up to encircle her back. He pulls her closer, heedless of his wounds. 

Jane is crying again, clinging to Guildford as tightly as he holds onto her. She’s sniffling into his neck but she doesn’t care.

“I thought I killed you.”

“Jane, I’m already dead,” he tries to reassure her, but it only makes her feel worse.

She pulls back to look at him seriously.

“What if whatever is in you is the only thing keeping you alive? What if we kill it and there’s nothing left but a…”

“A corpse?” He offers her a tight smile, reaching up to brush away the dirty tears that stain her cheeks. “I used to think I might be alright with that.”

“Don’t you dare - don’t you dare, Guildford Dudley.” She hisses. “I won’t help you die.”

He shakes his head, “I’m not trying to.”

“Promise me,” she demands.

“Jane, I promise you I’m not trying to die. I wouldn’t do that to you, I wouldn’t make you responsible for that.”

Jane is relieved by the promise, but troubled by the rest of his words. Does Guildford really think she only wants to avoid the guilt of causing his death? Surely at this point he realizes that she’s never wanted him dead, that they’ve even become something like friends these last few weeks. She cares if he lives or dies, regardless of her own role in it. But she has no idea how to explain any of this to him, and so she shocks them both by kissing him instead.

It’s not exactly a perfect kiss. They’re both still covered in blood and dirt and tears, and Guildford remains half buried in his coffin. In the darkness of the stables she nearly misses her mark, noses bumping before their lips can even meet. But once she gets there she finds his lips cool and soft and sweet, and after a few moments surprise they move carefully against her own. His fingers are still cradling her cheeks and she can feel his tongue touch gently at her lips, tasting her tears there. Jane nearly laughs at the tenderness she feels welling up in her. She had always imagined that if they ever did kiss it would be in the middle of a fight - hard and passionate and all consuming. But that’s not what this is, she’s not even entirely sure it’s even romantic. It’s more an affirmation they’re both still here, that neither of them is abandoning the other. She pulls back to find him faintly smiling.

They don’t say much as Guildford settles back into the chest, Jane helping to re-cover his wounds - apparently she had done the right thing earlier. This time it’s less troubling to close the lid over him, letting him continue to rest and heal through the morning. Jane has to don her filthy day dress once more, sneaking back into the house and hiding her filthy clothing beneath the bed and scrubbing herself as best she can with the pitcher of water provided. She’ll take a real bath when the household wakes, but she also finds herself in need of real rest. 

Before sleep takes her, she makes another private resolution to herself - it’s time to bring in more help.

*** 

The chance comes to her swiftly enough, when a short letter arrives from Susannah. She’s apparently alright, or alright enough, and living out on the borders near to where Jane herself is staying. It’s difficult to get messages in or out, however, as no one will take them. Jane wonders if perhaps they could arrange a meeting spot, or at least a message spot.

It’s then that she remembers - Susannah had also been there, that night in the Tavern, with those other vampires. One of them had called himself Archer, the so-called leader of the infamous Pack. If Susannah was with them, maybe they might have some answers for Guildford. Jane rushes to the stables to tell him her idea, choosing to ignore the fact that he’s half dressed and clearly still recovering. 

The discussion goes rather disastrously.

“Jane, you don’t know them - Pack vampires are dangerous, they’re not like Susannah and I. Once you leave the town walls you are nothing but prey to them.”

“Actually you’ll find I do know them. Several of them were also in the tavern when we met and they didn’t hurt a single person there…”

“They slaughtered nine of the Kingsland guard!”

“...who were all trying to kill them, that’s no more than self-defense! I was standing right next to them and neither one of them so much as glanced at my neck.”

Guildford’s eyes can’t help dropping to her throat the second she mentions it, but he just as quickly glances back up at her.

“They’re not stupid, Jane, they wouldn’t have done so publicly. They would have waited until you were alone.”

“Aha!” She shouts, pointing at his face.

Guildford boggles a little, taken aback by the sudden exclamation. “‘Aha!’, what?” 

“You admit my neck is tempting then!” Jane doesn’t even understand herself why she’s suddenly making this argument.

“What? No!” He frowns, seemingly unable to understand Jane’s train of thought himself. “Or yes, if it will get you to drop this idiotic idea of yours.”

“I’m not going to drop it, not if it can help us. I’m not even planning to meet the Pack, I just want to get a message out to Susannah and then maybe she can ask them. They wouldn’t hurt her, would they?”

Guildford shakes his head.

“Then that’s that. I should go while the sun is still out.” Jane steps away from his coffin, walking briskly out of the stables before he has a chance to try and talk her out of it again. 

She hears him calling her name and picks up her pace; she'll have to hurry if she wants to make it to the outer woods before sunset, only giving herself a quick moment to grab her cloak and strap on her dagger. She has no desire to get stuck in the dark again.

But traveling on foot, it’s already nearly dusk by the time she makes it to the edge of the town with her note to Susannah. Just past the walls, the forest looms darkly, a faint fog rising from the ground with the last of the day’s warmth. She tightens the cloak around her shoulders and steels herself to walk into it. One foot in front of the other.

The minute the walls leave her sight she knows she’s made a mistake. What the hell is she even doing out here? There’s no guarantee Susannah would even find her note out here. Or what if the wrong person found it? What if the wrong people already know she’s here and are just waiting to…

Jane hears a rustling behind her - definitely not a stag this time. Those are clearly footsteps, and they’re getting closer. 

She runs.

She recognizes quickly there’s no way she can outrun a vampire - her best chance is to try and fight. Hiding behind a large tree, she unsheaths her silver dagger, and waits for her stalker to come closer.

She doesn’t have to wait long. Now’s her chance!

“Jane! Jane - it’s me!” Guildford nearly shouts at her as she slashes wildly in the dark.

“Guildford?” She draws back. He’s fully dressed again, in buttoned up black as before. She had nearly stabbed him.

“God’s teeth, woman, why do you even have that?” 

She still holds the dagger between them.

“I’m cousin to the King, we all have them. And whatever you may think, I’m not an idiot - I didn’t come out here unprepared.”

He sighs, “I don’t think you’re an idiot, just…foolhardy. You don’t need to put yourself at risk for me. You could have at least waited for me to come with you.”

Jane refuses to admit she actually feels a little better now that he’s here with her, but she’s also left with a new worry.

“You are still healing, I didn’t want you to push yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“...and you said yourself that at your age you’re barely stronger than a human.”

“Yes, but I am still…” he stops himself.

“A man?” 

He winces, and she knows she’s right.

“I’ll have you know this poor, feeble little woman happens to have trained with the King himself!”

Guildford shakes his head, “I don’t think fencing practice with our invalid King is quite the boast you think it is.”

“I didn’t say I fought with him, I said we were trained together. By the Kingsland guard - why do you think I have this dagger? In fact, as someone who had bested Capo Ferro by the age of eight…”

“I’m just saying…”

But Jane is tired of arguing. She drops swiftly to a crouch, kicks out her foot and sweeps Guildford’s legs from beneath him. The second he falls backward she rolls herself to pin him to the forest floor, silver blade held carefully against his throat. The whole thing takes her mere seconds. She looks down at the spoils of her victory.

Guildford’s eyes are nearly black where they gaze up at her, head tilted back where the very tip of the dagger barely dents the skin beneath his jaw. She can feel the unsteady rise and fall of his chest beneath her thighs, her own breathing greatly increased by the sudden exertion as well. If she leaned down right now she could…

Jane shakes the errant thought from her head, and helps Guildford back to standing. He’s a little unsteady on his feet as she brushes the leaves from his coat. She remembers he’s only had a day to heal.

“When you’re fully healed we’ll have a proper match,” she offers with as little smugness as she can manage, which is still quite a bit.

But Guildford just smiles, “I look forward to it.”

They walk together in silence for a while, as Jane ponders where best to leave the note so that it will get back to Susannah, and not fall into the hands of the Kingsguard. This unfortunately does require them to head deeper into vampire territory.

Jane knows they’re getting closer when the woods grow eerily silent - even the usual nightly sounds of animals disappear. Jane shudders a little, realizing the animals probably haven’t just wandered away. She watches as Guildford sniffs at the air around them, and tries to listen carefully for sounds in the distance. She knows she’s probably no help here, and her own loud footsteps and scent are probably just in the way.

“I’m sor…” she begins.

“You don’t have to do this for me, you know. We can find another way.”

“I’m not doing this for you, or not just for you. Susannah was - is - my best friend. Being away from her this last month has been…”

“Difficult?”

“That’s putting it mildly. I always thought we would stay together forever, that I’d become a woman of independent means and be able to keep her safe by my side through it all.”

Guildford is silent for a moment, before he speaks. “I certainly managed to cock that plan up.”

Jane is forced to agree, in her own mind at least. Outwardly, she decides to show mercy, “well, our parents did. For the sake of marital harmony I think it’s best if we place the blame on them instead.”

He smiles in recognition of what she’s offering, “I often do.”

“Come on then, I think we’ve gone far enough” Jane decides.

“You certainly have.”

They both whip around at the same moment to see themselves overtaken by three unfamiliar vampires, who look less like the two gentlemen from the tavern and far more like the hungry brigand she met on her journey here. Even from several paces she can spot their fangs. Guildford steps in front of her, and she quietly draws her dagger.

“Look what we have here, a lost little lamb in the woods,” their apparent leader sneers. “You weren’t planning to keep her all to yourself, were you?”

The question is apparently directed towards Guildford, who practically growls in response - the sound of it low and threatening, something she’s never heard from him before.

But the other vampires just laugh as if he’s no threat at all. The two of them brace themselves as the three stalk closer. She doesn’t like their odds.

Something whizzes past her ear and slams into the leader’s shoulder.

“Sod off, Garrick, she’s with me.”

Jane feels like she’s getting whiplash with all this turning but a huge grin spreads across her face as she spots Susannah behind them, bow in hand. Another woman - another vampire - stands at her side.

The arrow itself is quickly removed from Garrick’s shoulder, apparently doing little more than annoying him, but he and his mates fall back anyway, seeing their chances spoiled for the evening.

Jane rushes to hug her best friend. “How did you even find us?”

“Every vampire in a ten mile radius heard you two nattering on. Jane, what in the fucking tits are you doing out here?” Susannah awkwardly hugs her back. 

“I needed to see that you were alright, that you were safe.”

“What do you think my letter was for, you eejit?” Susannah pulls back, looking over her shoulder and nodding back to Guildford, “that the husband? You know he’s a…”

“Yes, I did realize that,” she defends herself.

“Just checking, because you can be rather slow on the uptake.” 

Jane’s not entirely sure if she’s being teased or actually insulted. But Susannah’s companion quickly interrupts the reunion.

“Susannah, if you want to keep your human safe we need to get her out of the woods.”

“Too right, onward then.” Susannah agrees, directing Jane and Guildford back the direction they came, apparently with armed escort this time.

But Jane hasn’t even had a chance to talk to her friend yet, so she drops back a little, hoping Susannah will join her, thankful when she does.

“How are you, really?”

Susannah lets out a sigh, “I’m fine.”

“And you’re with the Pack now?” Jane can see the woman in front of them tensing up.

Susannah shoots her a glare, “didn’t exactly have a choice there, did I?”

It’s the first time Susannah has ever spoken so harshly to her. But she realizes it’s also the first time that Susannah hasn’t been her maid. “I didn’t mean to…I just meant are you taken care of out here?”

Susannah softens a little. “It’s not ideal, all of us crammed together like this, not enough to eat. But it’s the only thing keeping the Kingsguard from coming in and slaughtering us.”

Jane hangs her head at the words. “I’m so sorry, Susannah, I didn’t realize what I was asking of you. I shouldn’t have…”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Susannah agrees, but her voice has lost its earlier harshness, and Jane accepts the well deserved scolding. They travel in silence for several long minutes. And then Susannah grins.

“If only I’d known you were set to marry one of us, I could have come along with you. I’d never have to do another day’s work again,” she laughs.

“You still could,” Jane suggests. They could hide Susannah with them just as easily as they were hiding Guildford. But she just shakes her head.

“My secret’s already out, and you’ll have enough trouble on your hands keeping his.” 

“I could…” Jane struggles to think of something she can offer to Susannah, to even try and make up for what she’s done. But she doesn’t have anything - the Dudley fortune is mere myth, and she can’t even promise her safety. The only thing she has is…

“You said there wasn’t enough food,” she starts, and Jane can’t believe what she’s about to say. But she still cares about Susannah - still trusts her with her life. The biting thing is not ideal but maybe if she just cut her hand and let the blood spill into a cup, they could work something out. But she can sense all three vampires around her tensing at the implication. 

“Nevermind that, Lady Jane,” Susannah’s strained laugh echoes. “Maybe you can just shoo a few deer our way every once in a while.”

The group relaxes around her and Jane lets out a real laugh as she agrees. 

“But how do I reach you? I still want to know that you’re ok.”

“Just leave a note in the wall if you want - though never in the same spot twice. I’ll keep an eye out whenever it’s safe enough.”

“And how will you get a response to me?”

Susannah grins, “I have my ways.” 

Up ahead, Guildford and Susannah’s companion halt in their tracks. Jane steps forward to see what’s stopping them.

Two men are waiting by the wall.

“More vampires?”

“They have silver on them, they’re Kingsland guards.” The woman states.

“Why are they dressed as peasants?” Jane wonders.

“Must be some kind of new tactic to trap us.” Susannah adds. “I’m sorry, we can’t take you any further, but they shouldn’t bother two ‘humans’. Just be ready with an excuse for why you were in the woods so late.”

And with that Susannah and her friend drop back into the forest, leaving Jane and Guildford on their own once more. They briefly consider taking another route, but there’s no guarantee there won’t be guards all along the walls. And it will look even more suspicious if they take a more circuitous route and still get caught. Jane looks around and spots a nearby patch of mushrooms, ripping them up and placing them in her satchel. If anyone asks they were out here looking for mushrooms and got lost. 

Jane practically waves the mushrooms in her hand as they approach the wall, ready to head off any questions. But none are asked. 

Instead, both guards draw their swords at the sight of them.

“Jane - run back and find Susannah,” Guildford quietly commands, hand reaching for his own small daggers.

“Not a chance, I’m not leaving you alone out here,” Jane whispers, silver dagger at the ready. They may not be facing vampires, but she can still do plenty of damage with the blade alone. But first, she hopes the power of her name might protect them.

“Put down your weapons,” she commands in her haughtiest tone. “I am the Lady Jane Grey and this is…”

“We know exactly who you are,” the larger of the two announces.

“And we have orders to kill you,” the younger one adds, a little manically.

Well, so much for that plan. 

“I’ll take the big one then?” Guildford suggests.

“I’ll take the big one,” she decides, glancing at Guildford but not wanting to remind him out loud that he’s still injured.

“Fine.”

Jane has no time to wonder at why he agreed so easily before a quick flick of his wrists has one of his daggers neatly sliced into the sword arm of the larger man. He howls in pain even as he runs towards the couple, his partner only moments behind. 

She discovers quickly that a dagger is no real match for a long sword, in terms of reach. All she can really do is parry his attacks, and hope to find an opening. She finds one just as the sword thrusts past her side, narrowly missing her but leaving the man’s arm briefly exposed. Jane slams her left hand into Guildford’s dagger before ripping it out again. Unfortunately, the man’s grip remains on his sword, which glances off her wrist on the retreat, but at least she has two weapons now.

She spares a quick glance towards Guildford, who seems to be in much the same position as she is. Only the younger of the two men is more wild with his swings, obviously still an apprentice to the seasoned veteran she’s facing. This gives her an idea. 

“Switch!” 

She tosses Guildford his other dagger as she pivots quickly around him, taking his place against the younger man while he steps into hers. She’s forced to immediately duck as another wild swing is aimed at chopping off her head, but she uses the man’s momentum against him, kicking him in the same direction he’s swinging to overbalance him. He drops to his hands and knees immediately, and receives another swift kick - this time to the head - to flatten him completely. A quick flick of her boot and his longsword is hers, which she brandishes with a professional flourish - cloak swirling around her form - so their other would-be assassin knows she’s not one to be trifled with.

“Holy shit!” 

She’s not sure if the words come from the guards or her husband or all three but she’ll gladly take the compliment. With a quick thrust the sword is at the older man’s throat, and Guildford finally turns his admiring gaze from her to disarm the man. Jane catches the barest hint of Guildford’s fangs emerging as he nears the man’s bloodied arm, but just as quickly it's gone. 

And at least the two men seem to have the good sense to run after they’ve lost the fight and both their weapons. She sees Guildford start to follow them but steps in his path to halt him.

“We need to reach out to Edward right away, there has to be some reason two members of  Kingsland guard would try to come after me.”

“That’s what I aim to find out,” Guildford insists, still focused just past her in the direction the men had run.

“All you’ll do is give away your own secret,” she reminds him. “Let’s just head home before anything else happens. I’m not exactly looking to use these again so soon.”

At her words Guildford's focus turns back towards her, weapons in both her hands and still panting from the fight, and she can feel his gaze burning into her. He’s looking at her just as he had earlier, when she’d knocked him down and held her dagger to his throat. With admiration and…something else. It makes her want to find out just how hard she can push him.

Jane reaches down to tuck her dagger back into its sheath - it’s really starting to feel excessive at this point - and winces as the movement re-opens the thin cut on her wrist. She can tell it’s bleeding by the way Guildford’s eyes go a little unfocused.

“You’re hurt,” he starts, but doesn’t move closer to her.

“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch,” she assures him, bringing her wrist to her mouth to soothe the sting of it.

Jane looks up to see Guildford’s dark eyes watching her intently. She sucks at her wrist and watches his own reflexive swallow at the sight, his eyes tracking her movements as her tongue clears away any remaining blood. She allows her wrist to fall from her mouth, but Guildford’s eyes never leave her lips. A thrill races up her spine at the hungry look on his face.  

And Jane has no idea what she’s doing but she tosses aside her sword and watches as Guildford does the same with his daggers. She steps forward and then they’re rushing to meet one another, lips colliding as she had always imagined. Her hands go straight to the curls behind his ears that have been taunting her for weeks. His own reach up to cradle at her jaw, tilting her head up to meet him better. Guildford’s tongue drags along the line of her lips, groaning as they part for him and pressing deeper. She realizes he can still taste faint traces of her blood in her mouth, his tongue chasing the flavor of it. Jane wonders how she tastes to him, and shivers at the thought of it. Gods, this is such a terrible idea.

But she does nothing to stop them, even when Guildford’s hands move to clutch at her lower back beneath her cloak, pressing their bodies together more tightly together, and travel down further. Her pulse races as his hands slip just below her rear, lifting her from the ground. She willingly jumps up to meet him, wrapping her thighs around his waist as best she can despite her dress. It doesn’t seem to matter, however, as Guildford’s strong arms continue holding her up even as her legs dangle uselessly at his sides. If this is what he can do when injured, Jane wonders what he is capable of fully healed. 

And the thought of it shouldn’t arouse her as much as it does. Jane has historically found such displays of strength in men more annoying than attractive, but Guildford isn’t showing off. She thinks he even rather enjoyed being bested by her earlier. So she lets herself appreciate the way he lifts her with ease, aligning their bodies so deliciously even through too many layers of fabric. At this height, it’s even easier to slant her mouth against his, and press her tongue against his own. She feels like she wants to climb inside him. A little drunk on her own power, she accidentally bites his lip, but he only groans against her, gripping her thighs more tightly around him.

Somehow, he manages to lower them to the ground below without ever once breaking his hold on her, her arms still clinging to his strong shoulders. He kneels down between her spread thighs, one hand reaching up to cradle the back of her head, keeping it from meeting the hard earth. With the other he unfastens her cloak, letting it slip off her shoulders to spread around her. 

The first brush of his cool lips across her throat has her drawing in a sharp breath. She is entirely unprepared for the feeling of his tongue running up the line of her neck, or the trail of sucking kisses that moves down along it, and she moans into the night air surrounding her, feeling the fog envelop them. And she knows she should worry but that part of her mind has gone completely silent at the feeling of his mouth sucking at her pulse point. He spends an inordinate amount of time just breathing in against her throat, lips barely touching her at times. She also catches the occasional hint of blunted human teeth as his mouth maps every inch of her neck, but she never once feels so much as a scrape of his fangs. She’s not even sure she wants that but she whines all the same, arching into the sensation.

He finally drags himself away from her neck to kiss down along the neckline of her dress, lavishing attention to the tops of her breasts. And Jane wants to feel him everywhere, desperately wishing they had less clothing in the way. She brings her hands forward to work at the buttons of his doublet, huffing out her annoyance at the dozens of tiny buttons that thwart her efforts. She can feel Guildford laughing against her chest. She laughs with him.

She stops when he sits back up again, reaching down to undo the buttons himself, eyes fixed on hers the entire time. Jane watches with rapt attention as he makes quick work of them, slipping the coat off his shoulders more slowly. Feeling rather daring, she reaches to untuck his shirt from his trousers, slipping her fingers beneath to touch at bare skin, soft over hard muscle below. Guildford pulls the shirt off entirely, and she allows her hands to freely roam over the coolness of his skin, taking care to be gentle with the lingering traces of the silvered marks. But he just presses her smaller hands firmly against his skin, showing her that there’s no hurt in her touch. And so she continues as she likes, raking her nails along the v of his abs, or teasingly grazing his sides with her knuckles. She marvels at the play of muscle at her touch, the groans and shuddering breaths she drags out of him. But he’s too far away for her liking. She pushes herself up onto her knees before pressing him back none too gently, climbing into his lap in a move that clearly takes him by surprise. Jane enjoys kissing the astonishment from his lips.

Here, her hands are able to glide across his bared chest, his shoulders, down along his back and arms. The places she’s been wanting to touch since she first saw him in the stables - possibly even before that. His head tips up to meet her kiss, breathing soft sounds against her lips. She feels his hands slip to the laces at her back, expertly loosening them. He tugs at the shoulders of her dress, dragging them down with her chemise below, following the reveal of bare skin with his lips and tongue.

Guildford draws her dress down further, baring the soft swell of her breasts to his gaze. He leans down to press a kiss to the center of chest, before dragging his mouth over to capture a nipple between his lips. It’s Jane’s turn to gasp at the sensation of a cool mouth around her breasts, his tongue teasing her nipples into stiff peaks. Her arms are still trapped within her dress so she works herself free until she’s able to reach for him again, threading her fingers through his hair and holding him to her as his mouth continues to drive her crazy. 

Jane takes a moment to consider that she’s halfway bared to the outside world at this point, practically writhing in Guildford’s lap, in the woods where she was attacked not once but twice tonight. But she can’t bring herself to care about her modesty or her safety when Guildford is doing such wonderful things to her body. She lets her head fall back and her hips rock forward, trying to satisfy the heat building between her thighs.

Guildford surges up to meet her lips, groaning as her hips continue to roll into his. “Gods, I want you.”

She kisses him harder at the words, grinding down into his lap. 

Just as suddenly he pulls away, ducking his head between them. But not before she catches a glimpse of sharpened teeth. She hadn’t even noticed them come out.

Something drips down from her lip. Jane touches the back of her hand to her chin, drawing it away to see the darkened stain smeared across it. Blood. Was that hers? She touches her fingers to her bottom lip, wincing a little at the sting of it. When had it even happened?

“Jane, I’m so so…” Guildford starts, still not looking at her. 

“It’s alright, I didn’t even feel it,” she tries to reassure him. 

“It’s not alright!” He whispers harshly, head still hanging. “You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t ask to have a vampire as a husband.”

“I didn’t ask for a husband at all,” the joke falls flat to her own ears.

She feels him go rigid beneath her.

“Right, of course not.” She can feel him let out a shuddery breath before finally looking at her, teeth blunted and an unreadable expression on his. “You still want a divorce.”

She can’t tell if it’s a statement or a question.

“I do,” she manages to get out. “We had a deal.”

Part of her - a shockingly large part of her in this moment - wants to amend that deal to allow for this, whatever was about to happen between the two of them. But she knows that it can’t, that it would never work. It will only complicate their eventual separation.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers as she pulls herself back up to standing on shaky legs. She turns from Guildford as she works her dress back over her arms, suddenly aghast at herself for letting things go this far out in the open like this. She takes what privacy she can to pull herself back together. 

It’s unbelievably awkward trying to get re-dressed without being able to retreat to their respective rooms. And she discovers rather unfortunately that the laces on her dress are a two person job. But she ties it off as best she can and reaches down for her cloak, hoping to cover the fact her dress hangs loosely off her shoulders still. 

She turns back to find Guildford looking more respectable at least, if a little blank. 

“You should grab one of the swords, just in case,” he says.

Jane hastily grabs the lighter of the two, tucking it into her belt and beneath her cloak. 

The walk back to the estate isn’t much better. Jane almost finds herself wishing for another attempt on her life just to break the silence, but they make it back without running across another soul. Jane hurries to retreat to her bedroom and is surprised to find that Guildford follows, shutting the door behind him.

“What are you…?” She’s too on edge to think of a nice way to ask.

“Jane, someone sent the Kingsland guard to kill you tonight. I’m not about to leave you here alone.”

He says it kindly, and she knows he’s wrong, but something in her still bristles at the idea of needing protection. And she’s not entirely sure she can deal with having him in her bedroom right now. She tries to think of some alternative.

“You still need to heal,” she reasons. “If you think we need safety in numbers I’ll come with you to the stables.”

“I’m not the one that needs protecting.”

“Yes, but I’m better with a sword, so clearly I should be the lookout.”

He laughs, and doesn’t disagree, and it almost feels normal again for a moment. 

“And you want to stay all night in the stables?”

“I managed just fine last night,” she reminds him unthinkingly, and feels the air go heavy between them again.

“Right,” he says, clearly at a loss for anything else to say.

The fight immediately leaves her. The reminders of how messed up this thing is between them would only be worse out there. 

“Can you at least turn around while I get into bed?” She capitulates.

He does so. It’s easy enough to get out of her still mostly undone dress, tossing it aside along with her cloak and belt, kicking her shoes and stocking wherever they land. She should really wash up but she finds she’s suddenly too exhausted to even contemplate it. So she throws herself under the covers, on the side of the bed furthest from Guildford and facing the opposite wall. She doesn’t exactly know whether he means to join her but she means to be prepared for it.

Instead she hears the scrape of his usual armchair being pulled in front of the door, and the sounds of him settling in. Apparently he really does mean to watch over her all night.

“We’ll switch off in the morning,” she murmurs, putting up one last token resistance. 

“Whatever you need, Jane,” he whispers as she feels sleep pulling her into its embrace.

****

No one else comes for them in the night. Instead, she wakes to a royal messenger at the door, bringing news from the palace. 

King Edward has died. And he’s named Jane as his successor.

[stillsneaking]

Low key emasculation, #4 (maybe?)

I did the thing again. (It's just too fun! I can't help myself!) The scene: a sort of hipster farm dinner and music thing near our town. Full of all those farmfluencer handsome/pretty young agrarian types, the 20-somethings who move from cities to do it for a couple of years before they realize the farming is fucking hard and they'd probably rather be doing graphic design on a computer or some shit. But at least they got their cute instagram posts in their Wellingtons or Blundstones or whatever for a little bit. But I digress. She wasn't a young farmer, but a younger urban tourist or vacationer with that pastoral ag kink that brings fancy young things out to a rural meadow for some tacos that look prettier on social media than they taste and a passably entertaining Carribean jazz band. I digress again. She was blonde and fit in a tight white crop top with a very tone and tan midriff exposed (you girls are killing us with this trend, btw), and some slightly oversized white jeans. Really smart functional outfit for the farm. (*Sarcastically) And her boyfriend was shorter than her, had a very expensive looking preppy sailorboy haircut, and--I shit you not--pastel shorts. Trust fund finance bro type. Anyways, these two dropped their blanket and camp chairs right in front of where I was sitting with my kids and wife and some friends. There maybe was some civil, polite eye contact between this married Dad and this 20-something, but nothing so much bordering on flirtatious. Until I was behind the two of them in line for drinks. They ordered a bottle of the cider wine (the speciality at this hippie/hipster farm), and the guy paid and turned and started to walk back to their seats with his friend, before the bartender even asked them how many glasses she wanted. She groaned in the general direction of her bf's back, rolled her eyes, asked for three glasses. She was struggling to balance the glasses (this rich bitch clearly did NOT have experience in the service industry) and the bottle of the cider wine. So what kind of guy would I be if I didn't offer to help her carry them? His face betrayed shame when he saw me walking up with the glasses. I shrugged it off in a friendly way. My wife, distracted, missed the whole thing (though I was kinda hoping she would see). And for the next hour or so, the eye contact between this married Dad and the girl in white was a little less passive and towed muchhhh closer to that line of playful flirtation.

[musicallisto]

Okay, last one for right now!! Could I maybe have another 🐚 please, this one with the Grishaverse (no gender preference)? If you need me to resend the info I put in the first ship ask for this one just let me know!

Thanks in advance once again, my love, and I hope you’re having a good day/night!! 🩷🩷🩷

alright, this might be a cop-out, because I already know how much you love her, but I think she is absolutely the right fit for you nonetheless—here's to inej ghafa<3

you two would meet on a job, which is basically how inej meets everyone. you'd be one of the dregs' many informants across kerch, but your position is particularly interesting because you are a performer at the ketterdam opera house, which means you have direct access to any gossip or secrets the wealthy kerch elite might drop inadvertedly.

namely who is having an affair with whom, which is excellent blackmail information for kaz; who is present and who is absent from every show, which helps kaz in deciding who to rob and when; which exit routes are passable for a group of thieves in a hurry, for example.

so inej is tasked with collecting all that information, and because you were raised to be hospitable to everyone, even the filthiest of gangsters, you always offer her a cup of tea. or a conversation. or a reprieve from the grueling world outside.

soon enough, inej finds herself warming up to you, much against her reason, which is yelling at her to pull away and never look back. but you are so warm and so... homely, in a life that is anything but, that she just can't help feeling enamored by you.

she looooves listening to you sing, even if it's just a soft, wordless humming. one day, sheepishly, she asks if you would be willing to sing her old ravkan psalms, just so she can hear their forgotten magic once. the old myths don't really mean much to you on a personal level; anything to soothe her racing mind. from the moment the first note drips out of your lips, you become inej's very favorite saint.

she tells you all about her culture's mythology and the stories from her youth, passed down from generation to generation. in an effort to keep them alive, certainly, and also to see the light that shines in your eyes. you find them fascinating, like all myths and legends—but hers in particular resonate differently, because they're a very special treasure chest opened just for you.

[sheydim]

hey. (trans people.) i feel very foolish asking this, but it comes from a genuine place of nervousness and i hope you can help.

the short of it: can you offer me a reality check / any safety advice i need as a trans person traveling to Missouri? i literally don't even know what to expect.

i've been to the south before (Georgia, and Florida if you count that?) and spent a little more time in the midwest. but i've lived my life on the coast(s). what this means is: i know how to be trans and survive here. i don't know how to do this in the south. the last time i went, i was a trans teenager, and this was like 10 years ago. the political moment in this country was simmering viciously, but sliiightly less openly terrifying.

since then: explosion of very open hostility, as you know, and also covid. so i have been avoiding travel and have ig regressed a lot in terms of... my confidence being myself in public, especially in new places. not to mention: my trust in the goodness of people in general is really broken.

BUT. i don't want to be stuck in my concept of a place or its people. and i don't want to flatten an entire region to my assumptions / northerner bias. and i know we are there, you are there.

so if you have any advice for a trans traveler, I'd love if you would share that. should i be trying to fly under the radar? how do i engage with the culture of the area without being a complete fool? how can i avoid trouble? i am really squishy, really anxious, and often NOT passable. even when i pass i look..... really faggy and "off" somehow. yknow?,,

thank you. i love you.

[dailydemonspotlight]

Quetzalcoatl - Day 9

Race: Dragon

Alignment: Light-Chaos

March 29th, 2024

Today's demon of the day is the serpentine lord of the wind, Quetzalcoatl, the most famous deity from the Aztec pantheon! The feathered serpent is famous for his prominence in several ancient ruins, as well as just being really damn cool looking. Sit down and grab a snack- there's a lot to this guy.

Quetzalcoatl is one of the most important deities in Aztec mythology, a deity seen as protecting humanity by granting them crops and rainwater through his control of the winds. Over time, he became known as the god of the morning and evening, literature, the Aztec calendar, and smithing. While slightly overworked, he served an important purpose as one of the most benevolent deities in the pantheon, saving humanity from the brink (or, literally, bringing them back from) destruction in several myths. One of my personal favorite myths involving him, as well as several others from the pantheon he hails from, comes in the form of the myth of the 5 suns, wherein he served as the second giant ball of light in the sky for Humanity in the endless cycle of destruction and rebirth wherein Tezcatlipoca ruins everything time and time again.

Under Quetzalcoatl, Humanity grew and thrived, though soon his reign began to come to a close as slowly, humanity drifted away into greed and selfishness. As a consequence of this, Tezcatlipoca decided to turn all of humanity into monkeys in a fit of rage, likely leaving the rest of the Pantheon hoping this wouldn't become a habit, though it sure did, soon enough. Eventually, after a nigh-constant conflict of Tezcatlipoca ruining everything time and time again, Huitzilopochtli took a seat as the reigning sun, and became the most successful one to date.

Even now, every day that bears the name of 'Wind' in Aztec mythos is ruled over by Quetzalcoatl, his benevolent gusts guiding humanity forward. Another myth that bears his name is that of him disguising himself as a lowly priest of the Toltecs, soon rising to be the priest-king of them. He never offered human sacrifices, instead opting for things like butterflies, snakes, birds, or other such animals instead- while this worked to keep his people satiated, it didn't do much to keep, you guessed it, Tezcatlipoca at bay. The god of conflict, so rightly named, ended up expelling him from Tula, the home of the Toltecs, causing him to sluggishly wander down to the coast of the 'Divine Water' and end up immolating himself on a pyre. Soon after, he would ascend in spirit, becoming the planet Venus.

Quetzalcoatl has far more myths to his name, so I would recommend you do your own research- a lot of them are downright fascinating, but as of right now, this project is a bit too small-scale to let me recount them here.

However, design-wise... they could've done better. I'm sorry, ATLUS, Quetzalcoatl looks passable, but he feels far too plain to be the feathered serpent- a simple winged snake doesn't feel godly in the slightest, nor does his simple palette and pitiful attempts at patterns. While somewhat accurate to the myths themselves, I wish they would've taken more inspiration from other depictions of Quetzalcoatl, as I find their designs far more interesting.

However, I do find myself loving his usefulness in gameplay- while his design is underwhelming, a typically high-leveled demon who specializes in force skills is always useful, and I've found myself using him on more-than-one occasion. All in all, while I'm not a huge fan of Quetzalcoatl's depiction in SMT, my personal attachment to his story still makes this demon stick out to me.

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Nostos

Tagged by @mareenavee, @dirty-bosmer, @skyrim-forever, @rainpebble3 tyty friends🙏

I am tagging @thana-topsr @greyborn2 @gilgamish @thequeenofthewinter @changelingsandothernonsense

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence, mushy stuff [kissin' not viscera]) Category: M/F Genre(s): Romance Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, Khemor gro-Skaven (Male orc LDB)

Summary: Khemor gro-Skaven thought that after he defeated Alduin, he would not have to worry about anything more dangerous than a quill knife for the rest of his existence. But when the jarl of the Pale asks him to investigate the destruction of the Hall of the Vigilants, it sets off a chain of events that ultimately leads him to wash up at the feet of Borgakh the Steel-Heart of Mor Khazgur. But what can a crippled conjuration mage-scholar half again her age possibly offer to a future Shield-Wife?

I introduced Khemor in last week's WIP Wednesday, here.

------------

As the sun dipped towards the Druadach mountains, Borgakh led them through the maze of jagged boulders and juniper scrub that made up the Karthald highlands. If it was not for the wall of mountains staying generally to their left, or the leyline of magicka he could sense to the northeast, Khemor would have suspected she was leading them in circles as they wound their way over the harsh terrain.

In several places he was certain the path would disappear only to have Borgakh make a sharp turn and what had seemed to be an impenetrable scrub thicket or wall of rock would be revealed to be passable, or broken in just right way to allow a horse and rider through while fooling the eyes of anyone not looking at it from the correct angle.

Calder was chatting happily as he led Bear on a loose rein, occasionally gesturing with the thrown horseshoe in his hand. The young Nord’s ability to make conversation with anyone under any circumstances had often served Khemor better than his housecarl’s sword arm, and he was grateful for it. It gave him more time to look at Borgakh.

Despite the chill in the air and her damp clothes, she showed no outward sign of discomfort, and navigated the uneven ground and broken rocks at a rapid pace. Now that he was behind her, he could see a buckler and sword strapped beneath her pack, not obvious to the casual observer but still easy to access. A quiver of arrows and a vicious looking knife at her hip seemed to be the weapons she preferred to have closest to hand.

How does anyone live out here? Strongholds had been doing it since the Merethic Era, but so far Khemor had seen nothing even resembling land that would be productive enough to support a settlement. Surely they don’t eat only deer and juniper berries?

"...really, you haven’t heard of the Dragonborn?"

Calder’s question caught Khemor’s wandering attention. Even if he was not recognized by sight it had been a very long time since he had met anyone who did not know of him. They really were on the edge of the map out here, weren’t they?

"I think Pavo, the owner of Kolskeggr, said something about it. Once."

"Well, surely you noticed the dragons returning, even out here! I’ve seen the empty mounds, they must be around."

Borgakh waved her hand dismissively in response. "Oh, yes, the dragons. There’s one that was at the ruins downriver."

"There’s a lair nearby?" Calder looked over his shoulder at Khemor, flashing him a toothy grin.

Next to him, Gregor heaved a weary sigh and said, "We aren’t out here to look for dragons, boy. If Jarl Thongvor wanted it gone he would have asked."

"Ha! I doubt the Silver-Bloods even know what’s all out here in this divinesforsaken backwater." Calder quickly looked over at Borgakh. "No offense."

She grunted in acknowledgement but said nothing. The path was pitching up in a gentle slope, the crest of the hillock just ahead of them. Khemor hoped the stronghold was close - it had been a very long day, and his hip and leg were throbbing. He was going to have to have Gregor assist him off of Blue if he didn’t want to make the poor mare kneel to let him dismount.

"Anyways, I hope they haven’t given you too much trouble, at least lately. My Thane-" Calder waved vaguely back towards Khemor, "-defeated Alduin two summers ago. That was the dragon that was bringing back all the other ones."

Borgakh nodded but said nothing, so Calder continued, huffing slightly between his words as he climbed.

"We’ve been killing the others as they become problems, but most seem to be retreating to the mountains."

"Yes, I’ve seen them flying west sometimes. We’ve lost a few goats." Borgakh’s voice held no trace of effort as she stepped lightly from foothold to foothold.

"Well, if needed I’m sure we’ll be able to deal with any that show up while we’re here," said Calder, in his most gallant tone. "Quite frankly, I’m surprised they haven’t targeted your settlement, they can’t seem to resist every other little hamlet and farm in the rest of Skyrim."

"Oh, I didn’t say they hadn’t attacked." Despite only being able to see a sliver of Borgakh’s face from this angle, Khemor could tell she had a smile playing on her lips.

"I said they didn’t give Mor Khazgur any trouble." Borgakh reached the top of the rise, and stood aside, gesturing to the valley below with a grand sweep of her arm.

The expected mountain-orc stronghold, with its usual curving timbers, sturdy walls, and longhouse would have been the dominant feature of the glen if it were not for the massive dragon skeleton that was splayed out on the valley floor.

"By Talos," Gregor murmured as he pulled his horse up next to Khemor.

Borgakh grinned at Calder’s dumbstruck expression, obviously pleased with herself.

It was a good piece of dramatic timing, Khemor had to admit. And the look on Calder’s face was rather amusing.

The skeleton was undeniably real even from this distance --a small industry making facsimiles had sprung up across Skyrim to take advantage of the standing bounties, and Khemor had seen many fakes just as large as this one-- but the genuine article was unmistakable.

At the far end of the basin, several broken treetops, their exposed inner wood no longer stark white, and a deep groove in the earth, now filled with new spring grass, showed where the dragon’s final stoop must have ended. As he looked more closely, Khemor could see a section of the logs on the stronghold wall had been scorched shiny black, and a few had been replaced, their brown bark standing in contrast to the char on the others.

"It must have been quite a battle," he said, breaking his silence.

"Yes," agreed Borgakh, turning her head to look up at him. Her teeth flashed white in the oncoming evening gloom. "It thought we made an easy target. Now our animals graze around its bones."

"We will be certain to keep that in mind," said Gregor.

"See that you do."

[101flavoursofweird]

Title: Casa Mia

Set: During, before and after LMJ

Spoilers: Mainly for the anime and the final case of the LMJ. Slight spoilers for Mystery Room, Curious Village, PL2 and PL3

Warnings: The title of this fic was originally going to be ‘The League of Absent Fathers’… because it contains a lot of talk about absent fathers— and very light mention of a character becoming pregnant and giving birth.

Also, contains a lot of headcanons connecting LMJ to characters from the original series

Also, contains a lot of Italian phrases and some idioms literally translated into English! I’ll include some translations below. 

Inspiration: The title, ‘Casa Mia’, is a translation of ‘My Home’. I wish I could say this fic was inspired by an Italian song, but no, it’s ‘My House’ from Matilda the Musical

-

Casa Mia

“Miss Perfetti, I believe you owe Miss Layton an apology!”

Emiliana blinked at Katrielle’s besotted schoolboy assistant. (She really needed to get a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for her office door…)

“Chiedo scusa?” Emiliana said, a tad sarcastically.

If she had hoped Ernest Greeves would be intimidated by her native tongue, then she was mistaken… 

“M-Mi Dispiace!” he replied in passable Italian. “I’m sorry… See— that wasn’t difficult, was it?” He offered her a smile, but Emiliana still didn’t understand.

“Why would I owe her an apology? Have I done something to offend Kat?”

Ernest’s smile retracted. “As a matter of fact, you have! Miss Layton was frightfully ang— upset by how you treated us— I mean, her, at the cafe the other day…” 

“Oh…” Was he referring to the little competition she’d had with Kat during the stakeout? “She’s not still upset about that, is she?”

Sternly, Ernest nodded.

Emiliana arched her eyebrows. On her way out of the cafe, she had seen Katrielle stomping her feet like a petulant child, but surely Emiliana’s actions hadn’t affected her that much!

Emiliana had predicted Kat would storm off in a huff, but she would cool down as soon as she’d had some ice strawberry cream or some frozen cheesecake…

“I paid for everything you two bought at that cafe,” Emiliana reminded Ernest. She leaned back in her desk chair, lifting her chin. “It’s not my fault if Kat’s a sore loser, obsessed with horoscopes—“

Ernest planted his hands on the desk. “That’s not what upset her!”

Emiliana stared at him. 

Ernest reared back, probably shocked by his own boldness. “I… It was…” He clenched his fists. “…how you lied…” He pointed at Emiliana. “…about your tragic backstory!”

(Cosa diavolo…?)

Emiliana pushed her glasses up her nose. “You mean Kat actually believed— the fictitious plot line of a movie— was my life story?”

“I-it might be fictitious to you,” Ernest fumed, “but you shouldn’t make light of such things!”

“What things—?”

“Missing parents!” Ernest burst out.

…Oh. Perhaps she did owe Katrielle Layton an apology after all.

-

Of course Emiliana was aware that Professor Hershel Layton was still missing…

Emiliana had never looked into the case herself— Scotland Yard seemed keen to forget it by the time she’d started working there— but she knew not everyone had forgotten Professor Layton.

Her mentor— once a student in Layton’s archaeology class— had ceased his investigations into the disappearance after a few years. (Secretly, Emiliana had been relieved. She couldn’t imagine losing her blundering mentor as Kat had lost her father…)

Then there was her distant colleague, Inspector Alfendi Layton— Professor Layton’s controversial son and Kat’s far more qualified older brother.

Alfendi might have aided in the search for his father years ago, but now (most likely due to the Forbodium incident Emiliana had heard so little about) it was rare to find him outside of his office.

Emiliana had only bumped into Alfendi on a handful of occasions, and he had never breathed a word about the Professor to her.

That wasn’t to certify that Alfendi had given up on the search entirely— but he had by all outward appearances.

The same could be said about Commissioner Barton and the other senior members of Scotland Yard. As much as they wanted to locate the Professor— to bring closure to the Layton family— it had been over a decade since Layton had left (on his own accord). 

All those funds and work hours could go towards helping other missing people. Surely Professor Layton would agree…

And then there was Katrielle Layton. Like Alfendi, Kat had never mentioned her father directly to Emiliana…

In turn, Emiliana had never thought to ask.

Obviously, Kat must miss her father. She had taken up his mantle as a puzzle-solver and a detective, naming her agency after him. Kat even had her own top hat!

She differed from her father in a lot of ways, though; where Layton had relied on his famous intuition, Kat depended on ‘instinct’ and dumb luck.

Layton had a lot of salt in his gourd and a polite tongue. Kat, on the other hand, had a habit of losing her gourd and she did not have a single hair on her tongue.

The Professor had fought all sorts of villains and machines in a composed manner. Kat was all pepper— full of life— every second of the day…

Though, maybe that wasn’t completely true, now that Emiliana considered it.

There had been an… incident when Emiliana shared a cabin with Kat aboard the Thametanic.

Early in the morning, Emiliana had awoken to the sound of sniffling. Rolling over in her bed— ignoring the rocking of the boat— she had asked Kat what the matter was.

“Nothing!” Kat had exclaimed, before stumbling out of her bed, dashing across the cabin and locking herself in the bathroom.

After that, Kat had brushed the whole thing off as “Sea sickness!” and Emiliana had pretended to believe her, because it was easier.

(Because how could Emiliana comfort Kat if she was crying?)

At the cafe, upon hearing the synopsis to ‘Lonely Study Girl’, Kat— and Ernest— had shed tears. Emiliana had assumed they were overreacting, playing up in front of Mama Sandra, but now that she thought about it… 

Kat had looked so concerned when she mistook Mama for, well— Emiliana’s mamma.

Emiliana’s mamma was nothing like Mama Sandra. She was big-boned and brown-eyed, with flowing dark hair. 

Mamma made most of her own clothes. By comparison, most of Sandra’s clothes were designer labels.

Emiliana’s mamma was not an award-winning actress— she couldn’t even keep a straight face if she lied! 

She was a beauty therapist who owned her own salon. Every other day, she would call Emiliana just to gossip about the customers she had to deal with. (“Emi, you won’t believe what Mrs. Wolfe was wearing this morning…!”)

When Emiliana was little, her mamma hadn’t had a lot of money— one trait Emiliana actually shared with the ‘Lonely Study Girl’— but she had her family to help her.

Contrary to ‘Lonely Study Girl’, however, Emiliana’s mamma would never dream of leaving her! 

Mamma had moved to England with her just so Emiliana could follow her mentor…

But Kat, believing Emiliana was abandoned as a child, had felt sympathy.

No wonder Kat had been so unsettled when she found out the truth— that Emiliana was simply summarising her favourite movie.

That movie mirrored Kat’s reality.

Yes, Emiliana definitely needed to apologise after that glaring oversight.

So, as soon as she had finished work for the day, she went with Ernest to visit Kat.

Kat lived a few streets away from her detective agency— up a hill.

Emiliana had to stop to catch her breath as they reached a bright blue block of flats. It was a nice neighbourhood— hill notwithstanding— but Emiliana was surprised Kat could afford to live here.

Either private detectives were paid more than Emiliana had assumed, or maybe Kat’s family helped her out. 

Kat’s bother earned a decent wage as an inspector… But was there anyone else Kat could depend on? Grandparents? Aunties and uncles? Cousins…?

Ernest hadn’t been beaten by the hill— not as badly as Emiliana, anyway. 

He marched up to the front door and pressed the buzzer for the intercom. “Hello— Miss Layton? It’s me, and— and Emiliana—“ Ernest broke off as they heard barking.

Emiliana had a feeling the barks were aimed at her. “The dog lives with Kat?”

Ernest nodded. “They don’t always get along, but Sherl’s good company for Miss Layton.”

“Right…”

“I’ll take Sherl out for a walk while you two talk—“

Much to Ernest’s relief and Emiliana’s apprehension, the front door clicked open. Ernest held the door for her. “After you…”

The stairs did nothing to improve Emiliana’s shortness of breath— or, admittedly, that might have had something to do with her nerves. 

She had confronted violent criminals without flinching, and yet, the thought of facing Kat, after Emiliana had hurt her, was daunting.

When— and why— had Emiliana grown to care about Kat so much?

Yes, the two of them were friends, but Emiliana was friends (Well— colleagues!) with Inspector Hastings and she had no qualms about insulting him!

Occasionally, Emiliana would bicker with her mamma— over how Emiliana worked too hard, or how Mamma could be so picky— but they would always make up afterwards…

Emiliana hadn’t irreparably ruined her relationship with Kat, had she?

The barking grew louder as Ernest led her across a landing. Emiliana gulped when they reached a door— Kat’s door— and Ernest knocked.

From inside, Kat called, “C-Coming!”

Kat (and Ernest) had no reservations about invading Emiliana’s office unannounced, so why should she feel intrusive visiting Kat’s home? 

Kat even had a green ‘Welcome!’ mat, sitting slightly askew outside her door. 

Emiliana didn’t feel very welcome as the door opened by a crack and, with a low growl, Sherl poked his snout out.

“Sherl,” Ernest chided. “Don’t be so rude! I invited her…”

The snout snorted at Emiliana.

Meanwhile, Kat had been fiddling with the door chain. She unlocked it and lifted Sherl up with a grunt. “Alright— your guard dog duties are no longer required!”

Kat fully opened the door. She looked flustered; sans top hat headband, her hair was tousled. Not to mention, there was a grouchy basset hound in her arms. 

“Hi!” Kat gasped. She straightened up the ‘Welcome’ mat with her bare foot. “Welcome to my humble abode!”

“Va bene,” Emiliana replied, crossing her arms.

She stared at Kat. Kat stared back.

The silence between them was broken by Ernest stepping forward. “Should I take Sherl out, Miss?”

“Yes— thanks, Ernest.”

Sherl grumbled as Kat handed him over to Ernest. Turning to Emiliana, Ernest told her, “Sherl said he’s very sorry for his rudeness!”

Emiliana hummed dryly. “I didn’t know you spoke dog…”

To his credit, Ernest just gave her a content smile, before he carried Sherl downstairs.

“Do you want to— come in?” Kat said.

Unfolding her arms, Emiliana forced her feet forward. (Forza e coraggio!) 

Walking past a cabinet with a mirror, Emiliana fought the urge to check her reflection. Her hair looked how it always did— how Kat always saw her— but after their misunderstanding at the cafe, Emiliana felt tempted to change her appearance so she wouldn’t resemble Mama Sandra as much.

Locking the door behind her, Kat hollered, “Please excuse the mess…”

Entering the front room, Emiliana saw Kat’s coat and hairband hanging off a wooden stand, a half-eaten bowl of choco-pops and a rolled-up newspaper on a table, a pale pillow and a fluffy blanket that had fallen off a green settee, and a slightly disordered bookshelf. (Granted, Kat didn’t have as many books as Emiliana, but it was still more than Emiliana had expected.)

Kat’s flat wasn’t that messy… just lived-in. Maybe even comfy.

Joining Emiliana in the front room, Kat gestured for her to take a seat. 

The back of the settee was designed in a way that looked like Kat’s curls, Emiliana noticed, as she sat. She tried not to glance at Kat’s bouncy hair as Kat plonked down beside her.

There was nothing— special about being close to Kat like this. Wasn’t this a common thing among friends? Visiting each other’s homes?

Kat had picked up a yellow pillow. Hugging it against her chest, she began apologetically, “I told Ernest I wouldn’t be accepting any cases today—“

“I’m not here about a case!” (Emiliana hadn’t meant for that to come out so sharply…)

Kat blinked. “Oh?”

“I just need to— explain myself to you,” Emiliana gritted out, “after what happened at the cafe. I… Ernest said you were upset…”

“Oh,” Kat said again, more softly. She put the pillow down. “S-should I get us some tea?”

“Do you have any of that mint stuff?” (Emiliana was going to need it.) 

As Kat nipped into the kitchen, Emiliana surveyed the dark blue mantelpiece facing the settee. 

Above the mantelpiece— alongside an old radio and a lamp— were several framed photographs. In one of them, Emiliana saw a child-Kat and a teenage-Alfendi (His hair was a bolder shade of red…), with Professor Layton, Luke Triton and a young brown-haired woman.

There were other photos of other people Emiliana didn’t recognise…

“I have a big family!” Kat was back, clutching two cups of mint tea.

“That’s… good,” Emiliana murmured as Kat passed her a purple cup.

“So,” Kat said, returning to her seat.

“So…” Emiliana took a sip of tea, as if it could give her strength. She swallowed and started, “First of all… I shouldn’t have involved you and Ernest in that stakeout without informing you first—“

“We were fine!”

“I know,” Emiliana said. “I calculated the risks beforehand, and I knew you could handle it.“

Kat preened at her praise. “Thanks!” 

Emiliana hid her face behind her cup. “Secondly, it was never my— my intention to deceive you or mock you when I was discussing the ‘Lonely Study Girl’ movie. I swear, Mama Sandra was there by complete coincidence… but still, I didn’t consider how the… content of that movie might be, er, sensitive for you.” She placed her cup in her lap and looked Kat in the eye. “I’m sorry.” 

“N-no problem!” Kat exclaimed. (Clearly, she hadn’t expected an apology from Emiliana.) “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did— it wasn’t very ladylike, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t…” Emiliana smiled. “But you don’t need to be ladylike all the time.”

“I try to be, for my dad…” Kat’s eyes became distant as she gazed at the photo with Professor Layton. 

If Emiliana gripped the teacup any harder, it was going to shatter.

She had only just worked up the courage to apologise— how was she meant to console Kat? 

Clearing her throat, Emiliana ventured, “Like you, I have no idea where my father is…”

Kat glanced at her with shock. 

Emiliana was about to throw the hoe on her own feet, but she forged forward anyway.

“…However, unlike you, I do not miss my father. I never knew him. I never needed him. My mamma— my mother— and our family are more than enough.” She sighed. “But just because I don’t care about my father doesn’t mean you shouldn’t care. I-I’m sure Professor Layton was a good dad…”

“He was,” Kat whispered. “I mean— he is. He could just be absent-minded.”

Professor Layton wasn’t the only one! Emiliana’s mentor constantly had his head amongst the clouds. Once, he had left seven-year-old Emiliana in his car by mistake.

There were far worse crimes… 

Kat had gone quiet again.

“Kat…” Emiliana hedged. “Do you live alone?”

“N-not really!” Kat laughed. “I have Sherl, and sometimes my older sister, Flora comes to stay…” Kat pointed to the brown-haired woman in the family photo.

“And did your siblings look after you, while your— while you were growing up?”

“Of course! My Grandma Rosa was there too, and my aunts and uncles…”

“Che sollievo,” Emiliana murmured. It didn’t sound like Kat had been passed from relative to relative, or made to feel like a nuisance.

“What about you?” Kat returned.

“I live alone, yes— but not far from Scotland Yard. It’s actually nice to get away from the trambusto…” Emiliana clicked her fingers until she found the word. “…From the bustle the end of the day.”

Still, it could get lonely sometimes. Emiliana was glad whenever Mamma came over for a ‘girl’s night’, or if Nonna flew in for a visit.

“And can I ask—“ Kat enquired hesitantly, “—have you always lived in England?”

“I grew up mostly in England,” Emiliana confirmed, “but I was born in Italy—“

“Ooooh! What part of Italy? I bet it’s so lovely there, with all the food, the weather, the history, the culture, and the food….” 

Emiliana chuckled. “It is lovely!”

Kat kicked her legs against the settee with excitement. She shuffled closer to Emiliana. “Tell me more! Come on— allez! Wait, that’s French…!”

“Va bene,” Emiliana sighed. She hadn’t come here to spit the toad out regarding her family history, but if that would make Kat happy… Then so be it.

-

“I was born in Atranori, a village (though, it is considered a town these days) on the Amalfi Coast, in south-western Italy. It was a peaceful place, famous for its picturesque beaches and its prized lemon trees.

One day, the peace was disturbed by the arrival of a stranger in town. 

This man was no ordinary tourist; he had the strangest hair, shaped like a bull’s horns, an equally sharp moustache, and a perpetual sneer—“

-

Kat hummed. 

“What?” Emiliana grunted. (Here she was trying to be honest with Kat— sharing her life story or whatever it was close friends did— but Kat had interrupted her!)

“Nothing!” Kat shook her head and motioned to Emiliana. “Go on!”

-

“The man’s white shirt and tie indicated formality— perhaps he was of an academic or office career— but his dishevelled coat contradicted this. 

He might very well have washed up on the sands of Atranori. The only bags he carried with him were the ones below his eyes.

Everyone in Atranori was wary of the interloper… except for a young woman who worked in a beauty salon. Her name was Bhamini Perfetti.

When the man wandered into her salon, Bhamini took pity on him. (Her mother had been in a similar situation years before, travelling all the way from India, until she’d met Bhamini’s father.)

Bhamini offered to give the man a makeover— tidying up his hair and his moustache. She would even throw in a facial!

He agreed, and he told her his name was Marco.

Marco was so grateful and so impressed by Bhamini’s work that he asked if he could take her out to dinner. Bhamini accepted.

So began the pair’s ‘whirlwind romance’; they would build sand castles on the beach, share pistachio ice cream, paint each other’s nails, browse records in the music shop, explore Atranori’s Roman ruins…

As the townspeople saw Marco spending time with Bhamini, they gradually lowered their guards around him. Marco was still considered eccentric, but how bad could he be, if he had captured Bhamini’s heart?

Several months into their relationship, Bhamini invited Marco to live with her. 

Marco, having been residing above an old bar, jumped at the opportunity.

Their first night in the same house was filled with laughter and passion…

But when Bhamini awoke the next morning, she was very much alone. 

Panicked, she searched the house, but in Marco’s absence, all she could find was a note. It read:

‘Tesoro mio,

I’m sorry to leave you, and I’m even sorrier to confess I have lied to you.

I’m not who I claimed to be, even though, for the first time ever, I felt like I could be myself when I was with you. Thank you for bringing out the the best in me.

I’m a wanted man, and I’m worried that if I stay here, I’ll bring you unwanted attention.

I’ll admit, I’ve taken some old jewellery from you— but just enough to buy my way out of Italy. I’ll pay you back every cent someday, I promise. 

Once again, I’m sorry. You don’t need to forgive me.

Addio!’

Bhamini tore the letter to shreds as tears fell from her eyes. She had given all of her love to this man— this lying, swindling thief— only for him to break her heart and steal her possessions.

Soon, however, Bhamini would discover that he had left her with something far more precious—“

-

“You?” Katrielle gasped.

Emiliana nodded.

A squeak escaped from Katrielle. “I’ve heard a similar tale before! I know how this ends!”

Emiliana chose to humour Kat. “Okay…”

“Fifty years after your birth,” Kat recited, “your daughter will track down her grandfather, and your family will finally be reunited!”

“Per amor di Dio…” Emiliana rolled her eyes. “I thought we’d already established my life isn’t a movie!”

“It could still happen! The truth is always stranger than fiction!”

With a huff, Emiliana continued her story. “The truth is…”

-

“Bhamini, thankfully, had her own mother, her father and the rest of their family to fall back on.

Despite “Marco’s” duplicity, Bhamini vowed to raise her child with her whole heart— for it was not irreparably broken.

From the moment she felt the first kick… right up until she gave birth, Bhamini

knew nothing would ever rival the love she harboured for her daughter.

She named the girl “Emiliana” and chose to use her family’s last name, “Perfetti”.

Even as an infant, Emiliana was inquisitive.    Much to her family’s amusement, she would inspect toys, food and objects with a thoughtful expression.

Propelled by curiosity, she learned to crawl, walk and talk far faster than other children her age. 

By the time she was in nursery, she was reading books that some university students would struggle with.

Her nonno proudly declared she was “Un genio!”— a genius—“

-

“I guessed that,” Kat scoffed, grinning. 

Heat claimed Emiliana’s face. She coughed. “Anyway—“

-

“Little Emiliana also developed a love of movies (Everything except horror!)— with her favourites being from the mystery genre.

One afternoon, Bhamini was shocked when she came to collect Emiliana from her parents’ house; five-year-old Emiliana had been watching a psychological thriller about a wanted thief!

Emiliana tried to explain that she was following her favourite actress, Mamma Sandra, but the movie was rated VM18!

Far too violent for Emiliana— no matter how mature she was for her age!

From then on, Bhamini would double-check any films her daughter chose, but Emiliana still had questions.

“Did you say my papà was a thief?”

“Yes,” Bhamini huffed (for she had never kept this a secret from Emiliana). “He was a liar, a swindler and a thief— and he left us before you were born.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes… but I have you, Emi. You are mio tesoro più grande.”

“…Can I finish watching that Mamma Sandra movie now?”

“After I’ve watched it on my own it first!”

Soon, Emiliana grew bored of her movies, her schoolwork and her books. She longed to help people and solve mysteries, like one of Mamma Sandra’s heroines.

Her opportunity arose when news spread throughout Atranori that someone was stealing from the town’s lemon groves.

While Bhamini’s back was turned, Emiliana ventured out to question her neighbours. Apparently, the police already had a suspect: a stranger who had driven through a red traffic light on his way into Atranori.

(Could this ‘stranger’ possibly be Emiliana’s thieving father? Had he returned, at long last?)

Emiliana went to visit the suspect at police headquarters— much to the amusement of the officers.

The suspect insisted he was not a thief, but a detective, and he has come to aid the townspeople after hearing about their plight.

His tone of voice, his eyes and his body language indicated he was telling the truth…

Emiliana decided to trust him, and she was determined to prove his innocence.

She set out, with the so-called detective in tow, to track down the true culprit.

The detective took drastic measures, like sneaking onto the lemon farms for a stakeout, while Emiliana was more level-headed, analysing any evidence they uncovered.

Finally, in front of the entire town, Emiliana revealed that the lemon thief was in fact… a rat. A greedy rat, stockpiling lemons in its burrow.

The rat was given a new home at Emiliana’s school, and the detective was freed from all charges.

The detective expressed his gratitude to Emiliana by gifting her a pocket notebook. 

Before he could speed away in his car, leaving Atranori and Emiliana behind forever, Emiliana asked him—“

-

“Are you my FATHER?”

“Wha—? NO!” Emiliana pinched the bridge of her nose. “She— I asked— can I be your assistant?”

“Awww,” Kat cooed. 

“The detective agreed, after my mamma agreed. We moved to England so I could investigate more cases with him.”

Kat breathed, “I know I’ve heard that story before…”

Of course she had; Emiliana’s experience mirrored that of a young Luke Triton, who had become Professor Layton’s apprentice. Layton and Luke had gone on many adventures together.

Professor Layton had also inspired Emiliana’s mentor to become a detective— Though he was far more impulsive and accident-prone!— so, some of Emiliana’s knowledge had been passed down from the Professor.

But Kat didn’t need to know that.

Rapidly, Emiliana concluded, “As I got older, I decided I wanted to work for the police. I studied psychology at university and then I became a criminal analyst at Scotland Yard. Fine della storia!”

“Then you met me!” Kat chimed in.

And my life has been a perfect storm ever since, Emiliana mused. Unpredictable, unprecedented,unrefined…

Exciting, congenial, cordial…

Finally, Emiliana had met someone who she felt comfortable opening up to— revealing the imperfect parts of herself and her family history…

Emiliana simply nodded. 

“I don’t think you were entirely correct earlier,” Kat said, clutching her chin in her hand. “You do share some similarities with the ‘Lonely Study Girl’… like your love for your mother, and how you became a criminal analyst to find out what happened to your thieving father.”

“I don’t care what happened to him!” Emiliana growled. “My goal— if I’m ever given the chance— is to bring him to justice! But I’m not going to waste time hunting him down.” 

She crossed her arms firmly. The sudden movement caused her to dislodge the cup in her lap. It fell onto Kat’s rug. Emiliana gasped.

“Mi— sorry!” She scrambled to pick up the cup.

“Don’t worry!” Kat crouched beside her. She took the purple cup from Emiliana’s hands. “You never know— your father might find his own way back to you!”

“I sincerely doubt that…” Standing up, Emiliana smoothed out her skirt. “Your dad is far more likely to come back.”

“I hope so…” Kat sighed.

Looking at Kat’s crumpled face, Emiliana realised she might have a way to console her after all. 

“Some people at Scotland Yard might have given up on finding him, but I won’t,” Emiliana vowed. “If you get any leads, let me know, and I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“Th-thank you…” Kat whispered. 

A smile pulled at her lips— one Emiliana had never seen on Kat. Usually, Kat wore a bright grin or a satisfied smirk. But this smile looked small, sad and lost.

Kat promised, “I’ll do the same for you.”

-

“You were driving at SIXTY MILES PER HOUR in a THIRTY ZONE!”

“With good reason—!”

“Hello?” Kat’s voice called from outside. “Is this a bad time…?” 

Before Emiliana could reply, Kat breezed into her office— right into the middle an argument. (Emiliana really needed to get a lock for that door!)

“You should knock first, Kat,” Emiliana sighed from behind her desk. She shot a glare at her maverick mentor. “Non importa… We’re finished here—“

”Wait— did you say ‘Kat’?” Blue eyes widening, he looked between Emiliana and Kat. “As in ‘Katrielle Layton’?!”

Smiling, Kat held her hand over her heart. “That’s me! And you are—?”

“No one of relevance!” Emiliana interjected, leaping to her feet. 

“Carmine Accidenti,” Carmine exclaimed (so quickly that Emiliana hoped Kat had misheard him). “I was your father’s student years ago— he’s the one who inspired me to become a detective— Emiliana, cosa stai facendo?”

Emiliana was shoving him out of her office. (The one time he wasn’t in a rush to leave…!)

“Pay your speeding fine!” she snapped, before she slammed the door on him.

Puffing, Emiliana turned to Kat. “You didn’t need to hear all of that…” Emiliana meant that partly as a rebuke, but Kat took it as an apology.

“It’s fine! You should hear me arguing with Alfendi…” Kat smirked. “Though, I never argued with my dadthat much—“

“He is not my father,” Emiliana grumbled.

“Father figure, then?” Kat teased.

“Non! Carmine is— was— my mentor—“

“And my dad was his mentor?” Kat deduced.

Emiliana gaped at her, caught out like a criminal during an interrogation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kat didn’t sound offended— Grazie al cielo!— just curious.

“I… I…” Emiliana foundered. She pressed her back against the door. She glanced around her office, searching for something to distract Kat with, but it was fruitless.

She removed her glasses, cleaned them on her sleeve for a few moments. 

When she put her glasses back on, she realised Kat had crept closer.

Emiliana sighed deeply. “I suppose… I didn’t want you to have any… preconceived notions about me when we first met.”

“Hang on!” Kat said, pouting. “Weren’t you the one who underestimated me?”

Shamefully, Emiliana bowed her head. “I assumed you were a fraudulent detective, based on what I had heard… but, the more I thought about it, how could that be the case, when your father taught my mentor? What would that make me?” She peered up at Kat. “What would you make of me?” 

“First impressions are rarely right,” Kat said knowingly. “We’re friends now, and that’s what matters!”

“That’s very wise,” Emiliana said, smiling with relief.

Then, Kat reached into her coat and pulled out a envelope, sealed with a waxy red ‘L’. 

“Can I ask you a favour, Emiliana?”(Emiliana gestured for her to continue.) “I’ll be… leaving London tomorrow, but if I’m not back within a week, please give this letter directly to Alfendi and Lucy—“

“Why? Where are you going?”

Kat beckoned her closer. She whispered in Emiliana’s ear, “Southampton… I’ve finally found a leadlinked to Dad’s disappearance—“

“I’ll go with you!” Emiliana gasped, knocking heads with Kat.

“Ow…” Kat winced. “Thanks, but I need someone I can trust to pass this letter on to Al—“

“Why can’t you tell him yourself?” Emiliana rubbed her head. “Or call him?”

“I don’t want to let him down if this is another false lead.” Kat glanced out of the office window. “He’s been doing so…. well lately… I won’t ruin that for him by dragging him out on a wild goose chase—“

“We— he’ll have to go after you if you put yourself in danger,” Emiliana pointed out through clenched teeth.

Kat handed her the letter. “This is just a backup plan— I’ll be fine! Sherl and Ernest will protect me!”

“Are you sure you can trust ‘Ernest’?”

Emiliana was embarrassed she hadn’t seen through Ernest’s— or rather, Miles Richmond’s— act sooner. 

He’d really believed the Seven Dragons had stolen his family’s fortune, and he really did care about Kat— but that was no excuse for Emiliana, the ‘genius analyst’!

She’d been tempted to resign for her post, but then, she still needed to help Kat…

Kat was frowning. (Emiliana had never seen such a serious expression on her!)

“I trust Ernest with my life… and I trust you will give this letter to my brother if I don’t return.”

“Bene allora,” Emiliana conceded. She slipped the letter into her blazer. “You have my word.”

“Thank you…” For a few seconds, Kat hesitated. Then she added, “If you see Alfendi… tell him— tell him I said… ‘I love you’, okay?”

“Okay,” Emiliana whispered. And, because she was a coward, she said, “Ti voglio un mondo di bene, Kat.”

“What does that mean?” Kat breathed.

Emiliana gave her the literal translation, 

“I wish the best for you,” but it meant more than that.

Kat meant far more to her than Emiliana would ever admit.

-

Professor Hershel Layton and Luke Triton had been cryogenically frozen in a cathedral for the past eleven years, until Kat had freed them. 

Instead of waiting for her father and her uncle to wake up in hospital, Kat had rushed off to find the man responsible for all of this.

And Layton— rather than chasing after Kat— had found time to stop at Scotland Yard for some files!

“What are you doing HERE?” Emiliana barked when she caught Layton and Luke rooting through the archives. (She didn’t care that she was addressing the Professor Layton— Kat’s father— they needed to help Kat!)

“Please excuse us,” the Professor said in a polite but hurried tone, “we require some files— it’s urgent—“

“Urgent?” Emiliana repeated angrily. She stabbed her finger at Layton. 

Luke shuffled away from them with his nose in a file.

“Your daughter has gone to confront your captor—“ Emiliana spelled it out to him “—after waiting eleven years for you to come home— and you think this is urgent?”

It felt like Kat’s letter was burning a hole in Emiliana’s blazer. Why hadn’t Emiliana informed Alfendi sooner? Why had she waited until Kat‘s life could be at stake?

Layton, in his infuriatingly calm way, tried to explain, “Our captor is an astronomer. We’re looking for any information that could—“

“I will find that information for you! You need to catch up to Kat!” Emiliana grabbed a file off a shelf and started speed-reading.

Luke said, “Thank you, Miss—“

“GO!”

Sometimes, one needed to be impulsive.

-

Emiliana waited a week— giving Professor Layton time to catch up with his family— before she called Carmine with the good news:

After eleven long years, Professor Layton was finally home!

Within an hour, Carmine was outside Scotland Yard, honking his car horn.

Emiliana scolded him as she entered the car, “You’re in a staff parking space— Accidenti!” She cursed when he hit the accelerator.

“Rallentare!” She slammed the car door as he sped way. “Professor Layton isn’t going anywhere…”

“Let’s hope not!” Carmine quipped. He glanced at her, smiling as she put on her seatbelt. “So, you helped the Professor with his research to stop the villain—?”

“When you say ‘villain’, you make it sound like a fairytale,” Emiliana muttered. If they had been in a fairytale, Emiliana would have confessed her feelings for Kat after Aldebaran’s fall…

But no; Layton had waxed poetic about how Aldebaran had ‘planted the seed that would save the world’ and Kat had deemed him an ‘unsung hero’— just like ‘brandy kneaded into a plum cake’. 

(Qualunque coda significhi!)

After that, they had all returned to London. Kat had reunited with her family and Emiliana with hers, separately.

Mamma had said it was fine if Emiliana wanted to join her friends, but Emiliana hadn’t wished to intrude.

Surely Kat would rather spend some time alone with her family… with Ernest there too.

But Ernest was different— he was an orphan, so of course Kat would invite him along. No doubt, the Laytons had already embraced him as one of their own!  

Would they mind Emiliana dropping by today with Carmine?

Carmine was just pulling up at the end of Chancer Lane. He hit the curb as he parked the car, but Emiliana was too perturbed to chide him.

“Here we are!” Carmine said, pointing out the window at the Layton Detective Agency’s storefront.

He opened the door on his side and got out. Emiliana stayed in her seat.

“Emiliana, vieni anche tu?” Carmine poked his head back inside the car.

“Tu va’, io aspetto qui,” she replied stiffly, sticking to Italian in case Kat and Co overheard. (Unless Ernest was there, then he would translate everything and they could all mock Emiliana!)

Carmine frowned with concern. “Perché?”

Emiliana mumbled, “Non hai bisogno di me…”

Kat didn’t need Emiliana anymore. Professor Layton was home. He could help Kat with her cases now— far better than Emiliana ever had done.

“Sei il mio assistente,” Carmine said wryly.

Emiliana argued, “Non più—!”

“Not anymore,” Carmine agreed, in clear English. “Now, you’re Emiliana Perfetti, Scotland Yard’s genius criminal analyst. You’ve solved countless cases— many of them with Katrielle Layton!” He smiled softly. “I’m sure she would be most disappointed if you didn’t show your face—“

“Shhhh!” Emiliana hissed, flushing. “Va bene, va bene— I’ll go with you.” 

As she exited the car, she added, “I’m only where I am today because I had a decent mentor.”

Carmine snorted as they made their way over to the detective agency. 

Their knocks at the door were answered by Ernest, who announced their arrival to everyone inside.

Luke Triton had been crouched next to Sherl’s dog bed, but he stood up as Emiliana and Carmine came in.

“Nice to see you again?” Luke sounded uncertain. Emiliana gave him a reassuring nod.

Sherl didn’t growl— he just grumbled at them.

Professor Layton had been sitting on the settee, reading a book. His eyes widened when he saw Emiliana and Carmine. 

“Hello, Emiliana… and Carmine, it’s been too long!” Smiling, he also stood up.

Kat, who was in her usual seat, spun around. She beamed at Emiliana. “Is that you, Emiliana? It’s been a whole week!”

A long week…

Emiliana smirked slightly in return. “How did you survive without me…?” Her retort was halfhearted, however. 

Emiliana glanced at Carmine. He was 

already surging across the room to shake the Professor’s hand and ask him a dozen questions.

While the two of them chatted, Kat got up and approached Emiliana. 

“I need to tell you something,” Kat murmured. Emiliana gulped.

Ignoring Ernest, Luke and Sherls’ curious stares, she followed Kat through a door at the back of the agency.

Was this it?

When they were alone together in a small kitchen— just when Emiliana thought she was about to burst with tension— Kat blurted out, “We might know who your father is!”

Emiliana deflated. “What?”

-

Upon hearing Emiliana’s description of ‘Marco’, Kat had gotten a hunch. 

She had shared this hunch with Professor Layton and he had agreed— ‘Marco’ sounded familiar.

When the Professor learned Emiliana’s mentor was none other than Carmine Accidenti, that had cinched it.

Years ago, over a decade before Kat was even born, Professor Layton had gained an arch-nemesis… 

A self-proclaimed nemesis, all because Layton ‘stole’ the affections of a young woman from him.

This man swore to get revenge, bore a grudge for ten years, and tried to foil Layton on several occasions— always failing.

He and Layton did come to a truce during the ‘Future London’ affair, when they teamed up to defeat a greater enemy. 

Following this were a few years of peace between the pair… until, one day, the man asked for Layton’s help in locating his lost daughter and her mother. 

“I started looking into his request,” Professor Layton explained, when Emiliana and Kat came to talk to him in the front room, “but I had to stop when I discovered Carmine had brought you and your mother to England—“

“He didn’t bring us here,” Emiliana objected. “I asked to join him as his assistant— and Mamma came with us!” Carmine nodded in agreement.

“Apologies,” the Professor said, “but I feared your father would blame Carmine for ‘stealing you away’. I didn’t want to put Carmine, you or your mother at risk.” 

The Professor frowned at Emiliana. “Your father has responded… adversely to what he perceived as rejection in the past—“

“Dad has personal experience,” Kat interposed.

“Thank you, Kat,” the Professor sighed. “Yes, I’ll confess that due to personal experience, I thought it best to keep the truth hidden from your father, and I halted my investigations. He took this as an offence—“

“—And he returned to his old ways,” Luke said, with a grim smile.

Emiliana hummed. “Let me guess… Lying, swindling, thieving—“

“Golly!” Ernest piped up, as he popped in to pour everyone some tea.

“And kidnapping!” Luke added. “He trapped me at the British Museum—“

“When was this?” Carmine asked, looking from Luke, to Layton, to Emiliana, to Kat. 

“Sorry— I’m having trouble keeping up…”

“Kat was ten at the time,” the Professor clarified. “I allowed him— Emiliana’s father— to escape, and we were able to free Luke—“

“What was his name?” Emiliana demanded.

“Don Paolo!” Luke declared.

The Professor amended, “Paul was the name he went by during our time at Gressenheller…” 

The Professor went to grab something from his trunk. He returned with a near-faded photo of a university class.

Emiliana recognised Hershel Layton as a young adult in the front row. (Was this before he’d gotten his top hat?)

Layton was smiling next to an older bearded man— his archaeology professor, perhaps?

Behind them was a figure in a pale pink blazer with a white shirt. This man’s smile was strained and off-putting. His piggy eyes were aimed at Layton and their archaeology professor.

His flat brown hair reached his shoulders, but he was balding on top of his head. He had a dark goatee and a moustache beneath his long nose.

Emiliana scowled. At a stretch, she could say her hair was a similar colour to his…

But the resemblances ended there.

Could this man— Paul/Don Paolo— really be her father?

-

Professor Layton let her borrow the photo to show her mamma.

At first, Mamma’s face froze— her brown eyes widening. Then, they became filled with rage. Her lips trembled.

Fearing Mamma would tear up the photo, Emiliana took it back.

“That’s him,” Mamma confirmed in a hiss— or it might have been a sigh. “Marco.”

“I’m surprised you recognised him,” Emiliana noted, impressed. (Don Paolo had been a master ofdisguise!) 

“I could never forget…” Mamma caught Emiliana’s hands, crushing the photo between them. “What are you planning, Emi? Please, don’t go chasing him down! He’s not worth it…!”

“But you are,” Emiliana whispered. She squeezed her mother’s hands. “He lied to you, stole from you and left. I need set things right.”

Mamma sniffled. She tried to tuck a frizzy curl behind Emiliana’s ear, but it instantly sprang back out. “Tesoro mio,” Mamma murmured.

-

Atranori had changed a lot in the years since Emiliana had left, but the old bar had mostly remained the same— just down the road from Mamma’s former salon.

At first, Emiliana had planned to travel alone, but Kat had insisted on joining her, and of course Ernestcouldn’t bear to leave Miss Layton’s side, and then (much to Emiliana’s relief) Professor Layton had offered to them chaperone them, and Luke— as the Professor’s apprentice— came along too. 

(Sherl, thankfully, had been left on the care of Alfendi, who had called the hotel several times to make sure Layton and Kat were safe.)

The five of them entered the bar. Emiliana led the way, though her heart was hammering in her chest. 

Professor Layton indicated to a dark-haired man perched on a barstool, far away from the other patrons. The man had his back to them, his head bent over a beer as if he hoped to find a better life at the bottom of the bottle. 

Emiliana glanced around at her companions. She received a thumbs-up from Luke, an encouraging nod from Layton, and a bright smile from Ernest.

Kat placed her hands to Emiliana’s shoulders and pushed her forward.

Emiliana tapped the man on the back as he took a swig of his drink. “Excuse me,” Emiliana muttered, in English.

“Hm?” He turned his head to her. His dark eyes bulged. He spat out his drink, narrowly avoiding Emiliana’s scowling face. “Y-you…!” Don Paolo spluttered.

(Had he noticed the resemblance between Emiliana and her mamma?)

“I,” Emiliana announced, “am Emiliana Perfetti, daughter of Bhamini Perfetti. I am twenty-two years old. I was born in this town, and I stayed here until the age of five, when I moved to London with my amazing mamma and my detective-mentor…”

Still gaping, Don Paolo looked past Emiliana— at Layton and Luke.

“L-Layton?” he gasped. “And Luke? You’re alive?”

“I now work at Scotland Yard,” Emiliana went on, “as a criminal analyst—“

“She’s a genius!” Ernest crowed.

Emiliana’s father— Don Paolo— returned his attention to her. “So… what? Are you here to arrest me?”

“Consider yourself lucky…” Emiliana levelled him with a glare. “I don’t have permission to make arrests abroad— without reason.“

“I won’t give you any reason,” Don Paolo said, holding up his hands. “I’ve retired from my criminal ways— though, I retain the title of ‘genius scientist’.”

Overhearing this, Kat cried, “Like father, like daughter!”

Emiliana felt her face flare up. She bit the inside of her cheek. 

“Is that Layton’s kid— his youngest?” Don Paolo muttered.

Nodding, Emiliana replied in a low voice, “She’s twenty-one…”

Don Paolo raised his brows. “About the same age as you, then! Are you two rivals?   Friends? Or—“

Before he could continue, Emiliana called the others over.

As Layton and Luke regaled Don Paolo with the details of their ‘mystery journey’— while Ernest ordered them all some drinks from the counter— Emiliana stood back with Kat.

“Grazie mille, Kat,” Emiliana said quickly. “I never would have tracked him down without your help…”

“Did you really mean what you said—“ Kat wondered, “about not being able to arrest him?”

“Yes— even if I could, I don’t think that I would…”

What would be the point, all these years later? Emiliana wouldn’t gain any satisfaction from seeing her father in a cell— and neither would Mamma…

At least Emiliana had finally found him, just as Kat had found her dad.

Kat chuckled. “Careful, Emiliana! Your soft side is showing—“

“I’m not soft!” Emiliana protested. “It’s just protocol…”

Kat hummed hopefully. “Would protocol permit you to take me out to dinner later?”

“I think, for you, I can make an exception,” Emiliana said, smiling and blushing even more. 

Kat beamed. The two of them leaned their heads together—

“Are you two DATING?” Don Paolo cried, cutting off the kiss. He turned to Kat’s dad and demanded, “Layton, are our daughters DATING?”

To Emiliana and Kat, Luke mouthed, “Good luck!”

“If they get MARRIED, YOU’RE going to have to fork out for the WEDDING, Layton! I’M saving up to pay my ex-girlfriend back…!”

“D-did I miss something?” Ernest had returned from the other end of the bar counter, carrying a tray of drinks.

Kat gave Emiliana a quick peck on the cheek. “Keep up, Ernest!” Kat said lightly. “I was just making dinner plans with Emiliana… but before that, why don’t we all visit that ‘Museum of Cinema’ you saw earlier?”

Much to Emiliana’s relief, Ernest smiled at the both of them.

“That sounds perfect, Miss.”

[molathesunfish]

This isn't really a question, but I just wanted to say, your art style is amazing. I'm still struggling to draw hands

Thank you very much for the kind words! I really appreciate it<3

As for the second part, and i apologise if this is overstepping, but i'd like to offer my personal approach for drawing hands:

- Usually i find it helpful to keep in mind a very simplified (my style isn't super realistic either:P) skeleton structure of the hand when drawing, mainly the joints (indicated by the little circles here) and where the shape of the bone may be more prominent (eg around the wrist and knuckles)

- It's also convenient to group the middle and ring finger together and let the index and pinkie kind of do their own thing + simplifying the fingers into blocky shapes makes it easier/faster to get to the overall pose

-Another way to simplify the hand that's used a lot is to cut down on the number of joints

These are just general guidelines i keep in mind though, and they dont necessarily prevent things from just... not working out (as you can see from how messed up the paper is, getting it wrong isn't a particularly rare occurrence). Hands have funny, easy-to-mess-up proportions. When that happens, my go to approach is to brute force it. As in, i find references and do a bunch off drafts until it looks passable or a break is in order. I don't want to go "just practice" because that sounds vague, it's more specifically that i find building muscle memory via repetition very important. Cool fictional characters usually have hands though, so there's always an excuse to practice (to this day i still assign a lot of my progress to that time i drew a ton of muffet (undertale) fan art lol).

This got very long-winded:P i hope it was at least a little helpful

[rj-winter]

Disney's 'Wish' is Disappointing.

RJ Winter

[This review contains spoilers for Wish (2023)]

Before I watched Wish, I did something I don't normally do: I let myself read one of the (non-spoiler) reviews that was published before the movie released. I don't usually like to do that, because I feel it gives away too much of the story if I want to be surprised, but I was intrigued after talking with a friend about how the critic consensus was that it was mediocre and didn't push the boundaries of Disney.

All in all, those complaints didn't turn me off the movie. If anything, it made me look forward to it; those same reviews praised the soundtrack and the homages to Disney's history, and that's arguably the most important thing for a musical intended to celebrate the studio's centennial anniversary.

As a rule, Disney holds itself to a certain standard of quality. I thought that it would be fine, maybe a little bit boring.

Let me say this: Wish is not boring.

To follow up on that, though, it also isn't good. It's not even really mediocre. I hesitate to call it bad outright, if only because there's quite a bit of potential underneath, but I certainly can't give it the same praise I've seen others offer.

Let's start off with the things that this movie does well: the visuals are beautiful, calling back to the 2D animation that Disney was built on without directly returning to that style. Most of the character designs feel the same way. The standout song, This Wish, was the only thing from the soundtrack I let myself listen to before watching the movie (as it was the first song they released), and I'll probably continue listening to it on my own time because I do really like it. Perhaps most importantly, considering this movie's entire reason for existence, the subtle homages to Disney's history were a welcome addition and a nice touch. Also, the little star critter is adorable; as is its way of communicating, given that it can't talk.

And now that I've sufficiently praised the things I thought were good, let's address the parts where the movie falls flat: first, and most damningly, Wish is a musical comedy with jokes and songs that both tend to miss the mark. A number of the homages to Disney's history aren't the subtle ones I praised before, but instead a lot more overt in a way that's often distracting.

Its comedy is often in the same vein as something like Frozen, and while I'm in the camp that does still like that movie I have to admit that ten years on I'd like to see them try a different approach. I had hope that they would lean more into the old styles of storytelling, of something timeless, but Wish is unfortunately filled with jokes that rarely land and already feel somewhat dated. The best example of that is the goat, Valentino, whose design feels as out of place as his comedic timing.

Earlier I praised This Wish, the standout song, because it made it feel like a true return to form for Disney--feeling somewhat fresh but also calling back to the classics. However, it exemplifies some other problems with the movie: first, that the pacing in this film is outright bad. It feels like they had to squish a much longer story into their 95-minute runtime, or maybe like a handful of scripts got squished together and the final product either wasn't edited at all or went through one too many revisions.

And, similarly, the entire thing feels disjointed; none of these songs feel like they belong in the same story. A musical is only as good as its soundtrack, so let's go over each song and my personal gripes with it:

Welcome to Rosas, the opening number, is a passable opener for this movie. I actually like the first minute or so of it, before it devolves into heavy foreshadowing and jokes that don't seem to land, at least for me. It does feel the most tonally consistent overall with the rest of the movie, so there's that.

At All Costs, the duet between Asha and King Magnifico, is clearly a remnant from an older draft. The demo makes it an outright love song duet, and I've heard that an earlier version had the star be a boy and potentially had a romance between him and Asha in the script, so that's quite possibly where this came from. It feels strange and out of place, especially in the scene it's in, and the alterations to make it less overtly romantic do it a disservice. I do like the demo version, though.

This Wish is, as mentioned, the standout song; my issues with it are unrelated to the music. It's a song that belongs in a movie with more heart behind it than this one, and feels like another remnant from a different take on the storyline; the movie itself feels like it was rushing to get to this point and so the moment doesn't feel earned. Several things, such as Asha recalling her late father's lessons, would have more impact if we'd seen them more clearly beforehand. Most importantly, though, Asha hasn't gone through any real development or change at this point in the story--despite the song itself claiming that it should be a turning point for her.

I'm A Star has a lot of little bits that I like, but the focus on comedy that slowly slips in brings it down; the ending having the 'homage' to Disney's history that I found the most painful to watch. I think that with less comedic asides, I would like the overall song more. It's another one that feels like it was at least meant for this version of the movie, but I don't think that's necessarily a good thing.

This Is The Thanks I Get is just not a good villain song, which pains me to say as someone who absolutely adores the old ones. It lacks style and substance, and overall it feels like a first draft song that would benefit from some heavy rewrites; as is, it's not funny or menacing. Magnifico in general suffers from them seeming to take him from being an outright villain from the start to trying to give him a sympathetic origin but only ever committing to it halfway. A villain song about someone being corrupted by the darkness in their panic can work; but he snaps too quickly.

Knowing What I Know Now is another song that feels like a very disjointed first draft. There's potential underneath it, but it's buried in how everything is so rushed and seemingly haphazardly slapped together.

The reprise of This Wish feels even more unearned than the original song does; existing solely to serve this scene in the plot rather than for the sake of the story and the characters. I like the idea behind it, it has some of the same heart, but it feels strange and out of place in this version of the movie. It definitely doesn't hit the way it was intended to.

In the end, Wish feels like several movies, all of which have the potential to be good, but none of which were successfully realized; and that genuinely pains me to say, as someone who grew up loving Disney and its history.