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dancingthesambaa · 3 years

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The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 16

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 16: The Ex From Down Under

“Bye dad! I’m heading out!” MK called as he rushed to the table and quickly stuffed his bag with all his stuff that was lying around.

“See ya,” he poked his head out of the kitchen. “If you're coming back again, I’m making some Mapo Tofu for dinner tonight if you want to stop by.”

“The mouth searing one,” he questionly asked as he continued packing without even looking at what he was putting in.

“I’ll have a milder one on the side,” he chuckled as he watched his child's fist pump the air.

“I will totally be here.”

“Alrighty, and you can ask Wukong if he wants to come,” he nonchalantly said as he wiped his hands on his apron. He then noticed MK staring at him and he raised his eyebrow, “What? By the gods know when that dumbass ever had a good meal that wasn’t from his own hair.”

“Uh huh,” was all he said as he tightened his bag then he gave him a wide grin. “Well I’m off,” he ran up to his dad and gave him a big hug before leaping out of the window free falling before stepping on a branch and hopping from tree to tree.

“…I may have enabled his window hopping habits,” he mused to himself before shrugging his shoulders and walking off.

“Remember, don’t let your body tighten so much when you get into the swing, ease up before snapping, giving you more momentum,” Monkey King lectured as he demonstrated with a staff. It was always a bit of a struggle to teach his student new techniques when he already had a style in place. Macaque always leaned more towards the silent route with swift strikes and keeping the body low, while he kept more towards the louder method of quick feet and aiming high. Each monkey had incorporated their style to fit themselves and they have taught their own moves to the other just to get more variety and not to be so predictable. Once he had learned that Macaque had taught MK his own fighting style, it was much easier to incorporate his own style into his as well.

MK focuses as he did exactly that as he jumped up in the air and landed a hit on the training dummy high in the sky. “Yes!” He fistbumped the air, it had taken so long to actually complete that move, but he has finally done it!

“Nicely done kiddo,” he grinned and ruffled his hair. “Now how about we take a small break.”

“Sounds good to me!” He stretched out his limbs as he made his way to his bag. He paused as he quickly caught the water bottle thrown at his head, “Thanks!”

“No problem,” the monkey said as he sat down next to him. “So how has everything been? I heard you got into a gang turf war the other day.”

“By the gods,” MK groaned, “that had to be the stupidest fight I have ever seen and I’m friends with Mei! So here I am minding my own business and delivering some noodles to this random dude when all of a sudden gunshots ring out and the man begins to rave like an absolute lunatic.”

As Wukong listened to the story he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering over to MK messy hair as he instinctively scooted over next to him and began to smooth out his hair.

“-then the leader on the opposing side decides to step in cause why not?! And declares that-,” he paused as he finally felt his mentor grooming his hair after he was ranting for ten minutes. “Uhhh?”

“Go on, I’m still listening,” he said as he continued to thread his fingers in his hair.

The teenager only blinked once before going with it, “And do you know what he declares? He declares that the bowl of noodles is actually for him and guess what?! Now we have both sides gearing up for a fight over a goddamn bowl of noodles!”

“Don’t swear,” he murmured then let out a soft purr as he untangled a particular spot.

“Dad says it’s fine as long as I don’t do it in front of kids.”

“…yeah that seems pretty like him.”

“Speaking of him, you're invited to dinner tonight if you want to come,” he said.

“Yes!” MK blinked at the immediate response, but then the Monkey King quickly settled down and casually said, “Yeah, that would be fine.”

“Coolio, I’ll text him,” he waited for him to release his hair before he got up, but it didn’t seem like it hit the monkey until he saw MK eyes staring at him.

“Oh right, I should probably let go,” he gave a forced chuckle.

“Don’t worry Dad is a lot worse,” he reassured him as he made his way to his bag, “he sometimes would take hours on grooming and wouldn’t release me until he had deemed it worthy.”

“Sounds nice,” the Sage muttered.

“To you, but I was so bored sometimes that I would fall asleep just to pass the time,” he said as he was about to grab his phone when he noticed a paper. “What is this?” He took it out and saw that it was a letter, but it wasn’t addressed to him, but rather all it said on the envelope was the phrase ‘My Love.’ “Well this is weird?”

“There’s a lot of things that are weird bud, but I think you need to be a little more specific,” he smiled at his student's confused look.

“Well I have a letter that I’m pretty sure isn’t mine,” he held out the mail.

“It looks like someone has an admirer,” he teased seeing the words.

“Noooo,” he softly whispered. He already had his experience with one crazy fangirl and it took both Mei and Red Son threatening the living hell out of her before she finally backed off. He really doesn’t want anything to do with that anytime soon. “It’s not for me.”

“Well open it and see whose it is for then.”

“Isn’t that like an invasion of property and technically a crime?”

“How else are you gonna know whose it for then?”

“…touché,” so he did exactly that and carefully opened the envelope and took out the paper that was just full of writing. He felt his stomach drop as he saw who it was for on the first line. “To my dear Macaque.”

“What,” Wukong's tone was dead flat as he processed what MK just said.

MK said nothing as he continued to read and the more he read the creepier it got.

To My Dear Macaque,

It’s been so long since I have seen you, I hope you have been receiving each and every one of my letters. If not, that’s okay. I'll keep saying this as many times as needed.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

I will forever say this even when you don’t believe out of connection anymore, for you have stolen my heart and doused it with the most burning of acids that the two of us have created. It burns like the hellfire consuming my soul, it stings like the little needles digging through each and every last one of my smallest injuries and gently tearing it apart. It hurts and it hurts and it hurts and you hurt me. You hurt me and left me to my despair after I have given all of my love to you and only to you. You left and walked away after denouncing our burning heart we made together.

You left it there and it’s still burning.

But I forgive you.

I forgive all that you had done to me because I know that deep down you still feel the same. But don’t worry, once I see you again I’ll show you that the two of us were meant to last far longer than even the stars. I’ll show you that we are meant to be together even if I have to drag you away by force and give you my medicine to show you that all we need is each other. You have tasted the sweet elixir before and you were more than agreeable once the potion had set in and shown my love for you.

But I’m sure it won’t have to come to that.

We will meet soon my love, until then, please take care.

From your heart, Shun

“Who the f- who is Shun,” the monkey let out a low growl as he finished reading the creepy ass letter. “And why does he know moonlight? And what is with the creepy letter?!”

“That’s Dad's creepy ex boyfriend!” He said in a panic as he began to pace around.

“His WHAT?!” He couldn’t stop the small burst of energy erupting from out of him as his eyes glowed a dark gold and the ground slightly cracked beneath his feet.

“This is bad. This is bad. This is so so so so BAD!” MK began to panic as he kept pacing around the area and gripping his hair. “So very bad! How long has this been happening? How long since he has been receiving his creepy letters?! It’s also ready bad enough he mentioned the potion, but now he’s implying he’s coming here?!”

“Kid, kid,” Wukong managed to wrangle down his enraged emotions (hello jealously how have you been) and moved towards his kid in an effort to calm him down. “MK, it’s okay, everything will be okay,” he said as he gently pried the stubborn fingers from his hair. “I’m sure he will be fine, this is Macaque we’re talking about here, and sure that no potion he could dish up could stop-”

“It’s a love potion,” he blurted out.

“That devil concoction,” he hissed out. But took a deep breath in and reluctantly pushed the rebranded slave poison to the side of his mind…for now. “Like I said, I’m sure he will be just fine.”

“Maybe I’m freaking out. I mean he’s probably not even here or anywhere near here. Maybe dad even told him off and he’s probably not even coming. Maybe I’m just blowing this whole thing out of proportion,” MK tried to reason out.

“There we go, now breathe with me.”

“I will I will…right after I call dad!” He immediately shot towards his phone and dumped almost everything before he found it. He quickly called his Dad's number and waited for the call to go through.

BZZZZ

‘I’m not in right now, if you're calling for medical treatment or prescriptions then leave a voicemail. If you're anyone else, why? Just why?’

Beep

“He’s not answering! Time to panic!!”

The figure had just made it to the edge of the Plum Blossom Forest and out in the distance, he saw the tallest Plum tree he recognized.

“It’s been so long my love,” he lovingly whispered as he gave a few licks to his arm before quickly moving through the trees.

Happily ignoring the hisses and snarls close behind him as they all were not happy at the intruder.

Inside said home, a certain monkey's whole body twitched as he slammed his items in hand and began to match to the door.

“Fuck me, I thought his creepy ass wouldn’t be anywhere near here until next week, at least then MK would be back at Pigsy shop,” he hissed as he materialized a two sharp bladed tonfas in hand. “I had no appointments, all my stocks are good, all I literally wanted to do today was to make food, drink some tea, and enjoy a family dinner with Sunshine included but I guess not the fuck today! I guess it’s a good fucking thing I have the perfect target to direct my anger I suppose.”

He gave out another snarl that was amongst the long line to come as he dipped into the shadows once more and took off towards the intruder that every creature in the forest, whether it be animal, demon, or creature alike, no one liked the intruder roaming in their home.

He quickly ventured through the shadows, roaming from plant to tree, animal to grass, until he finally saw a ring tailed lemur with a soft smile upon his face as he paused and his eyes lit up

“It’s been so long my love,” he cooed as he tried to find the humming presence. He didn’t have time to dodge the blow coming from the front as blades sliced into him, but his smile didn’t falter as he took in the sight of his beloved. “You're still as beautiful as ever”

“And you're still as creepy as ever,” he snarled as let his tonfas glow brighter. “I thought I told you to fuck off and away.”

“It was a mere trifle the both of us had, words were said, but I forgive you,” he gently smiled.

“Ughh I really hate when you do that,” he grimaced at his former horrible choice of a partner. “I will give you one fucking chance, leave before I show you once more why you should have stayed gone.”

“I’m sorry, but I will show you with all of my heart and being just how much you truly need me,” Shun only needed to drag a foot back in preparations as a sense of eagerness thrummed deep within him. It’s been so long since he had physics contact with his love after all.

Macaque forced down the shudder as he once again disappeared into the shadows as soon as he sent some clones towards him to attack.

Some creatures of the forest were spectating as this whole fight went down, eager to watch the intruder fall, maybe if the Guardian is generous enough he’ll allow them to feast on what remains.

The forest was about to become a little more wild when first blood was spilled.

“What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?!” MK was clutching his phone as he attempted to call his Dad a few more times, but his heart picked up each time he didn’t answer.

“Kid,” he attempted to once more calm him down when he shot up.

“Yanyu! I should call Yanyu!” He quickly dialed her number and his legs began to shake in anticipation as the number rang.

BZZZ

BZZZ-

“What’s up short-”

“EMERGENCY!” He shouted out.

“GHA! What do you-”

“Big problem! Huge problem! So I was packing my bag cause I was in a rush to get to training and I was talking to Dad so I didn’t notice what I put in my bag. So I went for trainingandwhenbreakdtstartedIfounditinmybagandIcantbelievr-”

‘MK BREATHE’ it wasn’t just the bluenette, but two other voices that joined her.

“Mei, Red, what are you guys doing with Yan?” He questioned for a moment before shaking his head, “Wait, not important, there is a big problem!”

‘Well spit it out then,’ Red huffed.

‘I think he’s trying,’ he could hear Mei's amused voice in the background.

‘Both of you hush,’ Yanyu turned back to the phone, ‘Now what’s happening?’

“Shun contacted Dad. He's almost here and Dad won’t pick up his phone!”

‘WHAT!!!’ They all screamed with both Red and Yanyu being significantly higher as the adult continued, ‘What do you mean creepy fucker is coming?!’

“Fuck Fuck Fuck this is bad!’ He could hear the prince in the background slowly freaking out. ‘I thought his crazy ass wouldn’t come back!’

“Apparently he did!’ Mei yelled out.

“I don’t know!” MK hysterically said as he began to almost hyperventilate, but the Monkey King began to run his back.

“Okay everyone breathe,” he firmly told the centuries younger children on call. “You are forgetting, this is Macaque you’re talking about here, I’m sure he will be fine.”

“The Monkey King is listening to this?!” Red hissed as he accidentally showed weakness to one of his greatest enemies.

“I know he will kick his scrawny ass, but that doesn’t alleviate my fear of him getting poisoned again and being put under an eternal sleep to be used as a god damn porcelain doll again!” Yanyu shouted, bypassing the fact that she was talking to the Monkey King.

“Again!” Everyone bar Red shouted together.

‘Yeah! And you thought the love poison was bad, this is just fucked up! Now do you see why I’m freaking out!’

“Why do you think we don’t want uncle anywhere near him!” The Bull prince continued.

“Okay that’s it,” Wukong summoned his cloud, “Hop on, we’re heading over there. Even if he’s not there, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Thank you!” He leaped onto the cloud.

‘We'll meet up with you as fast as we can on Mei ride,’ Yanyu said with a rush to her voice as the trio quickly went to the motorbike which thankfully has a side seat.

“Okay,” MK muttered as he held onto the fluffy cloud.

‘Oh and Monkey King.’

“Yes?”

‘You better not fuck it up,’ she said with an ominous grin in her voice as she sat in the sidecar and Red held onto Mei as she quickly revved up her engines.

“…I’ve been hearing a lot of those lately.”

‘Good! See you real soon,’ she finished as he heard the motorcycle take off and the call ended.

“I guess we will,” he said to himself as they took off for the Plum Blossom Forest.

“I really hope Dad is okay,” MK muttered as he gripped tighter.

“He will be,” he firmly stated. ‘You better be okay mango,’ he privately thought. ‘Else I don’t think your kid would take it….fuck your better be alright else I will be kicking your ex boyfriend ass and making sure he knows the meaning of pain.’ He silently hissed out in his mind as he got the cloud to love even faster as it soared over the ocean.

“What is up with the forest right now,” Mei growled out as the group sprinted through the trees with Yanyu leading them.

“I don’t know, it has never done this before,” MK confusingly shouted out as they ran through. For some reason, when the two were about to go over the forest, the cloud suddenly dropped until it was underneath the treetops, making it near impossible to travel by cloud. Luckily they spotted the others a little ways behind them and grouped up together.

“It’s part of Mac magic,” the bluenette said as she paused at one tree before darting to the left.

“What do you mean?” Monkey King asked as he tried to locate Macaque's aura using his golden eyes, but all it showed was the entire area covered with a faint pulse of violet energy.

“So you know how he planted basically all the trees in the forest right,” she got affirmations from them as they continued. “Well in the process he put his own energy into the plants, because apparently he wanted to make sure they grew up okay. Thus making this whole forest basically under his control.”

“So that's why it felt familiar,” the Monkey muttered as he remembered back to the first time he saw the forest. “It also makes sense why my true sight isn’t working.

“That would be more awesome if we weren’t currently lost in this!” Mei said.

“I know the way, he showed me after the last time Shun showed up. This forest was on a complete lockdown and nothing was recognizable like now,” she emphasized the land around them. While it seemed that nothing at first glance changed at first, if you really looked then they would notice that each tree looked almost identical to each other. No distinguishing marks, no distorted branches, not even the groves held any difference.

Each and every tree that they saw were the exact same.

“Okay that is disturbing,” Red muttered.

“Like I said, his little magic is intertwined with the forest and even with some of the creatures living here. It was supposed to be made for protection for not only the creatures living here and to anyone who may accidentally wander in, but to keep out the intruder that seeks to harm. He taught me to seek out the odd spots and openings left open in case something like this happened again. Though I don’t think he literally meant this exact scenario,” she grumbled. “He’ll probably teach you guys this after this whole thing is over.”

“We’re getting closer,” Wukong stated.

“What makes you say that,” MK asked without taking his eyes off Yanyu's back.

“The animals running,” he pointed out several animals, birds, monkeys, and insects alike, all fleeing from the same direction.

“We’re getting close,” she said as they continued to run.

It was only twenty minutes later did Red speak as he tried to look ahead, “I’m not the only one who can hear the sounds of growls right?”

Everyone nodded their ahead and just up ahead they saw a rather large crowd of mythical beings, spirits, and demons alike all grouped together and waiting as they kept their eyes firmly on what’s ahead. They follow their gaze and can faintly see, just between gaps a bright violet glow followed by a form of black mass.

It was Macaque.

“Dad/Pops!” Mei and MK yelled out for him, but he didn’t react to them as he pushed back against something else.

Monkey King wasted no time in climbing up one of the trees to get a better view with MK and everyone else quickly following him. There they witness Macaque fighting against an agile lemur who seemed to be trying to throw himself at the monkey, but he keeps dodging out of the way in time.

“Fuck it is Shun,” Yanyu groaned as Red let out a soft “noooo.”

“So how do we go about this,” Mei questioned as she fingered her sword while she watched her pops dive back into the shadows only to get pulled right back out, “cause I say we go in swingin.”

“We will not be doing any of that,” Red hissed as he grabbed hold of Mei's collar, “We have to play this smart, while Shun is a certified psychopath, he is a very smart psychopath.”

“No kidding, it’s how the two of them got together in the first place,” the doctor muttered and smirked as she saw her former teacher trip up the lemur and slammed him to the ground, but that didn’t stop her from noticing a certain brown furred monkey twitch as she mentioned that.

“Okay, we are getting a full explanation on how even when this is all said and done,” Mei grumbled and settled back down on the branch. “So what do we do?”

“We just have to wait and see what happens,” the bluenette got comfortable, “I doubt he’ll need our help, but I rather not take chances.”

“Nice plan, nice plan, just one flaw with that,” both demon and human glanced at Mei. “Two certain monkeys didn’t get that memo.”

Both of them blinked, then dropped their heads and sighed.

“Of course they would, cause why not,” Yanyu uttered as she turned her attention back to the fight. At least she won’t have to worry too much about stepping in, not that she thinks she could stand a chance, with both Monkey King and Doc's son charging in.

“You know it would be so much easier for you if you just fuck off you know,” Macaque mocked as he flicked off the blood from his blades. “Maybe you’ll still have a working arm if you run fast enough.”

“Aww you worry my dear-,” he smiled as he didn’t even flinch at the blood dripping down his arm.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Don’t fret, it will soon be over, but I will admit that I am getting a bit agitated,” his voice echoed out, which didn’t seem to do much at first as many spectators cackled at his attempted intimidation.

But then a weird smell filled the air, it seemed to have always been there as they hadn't taken notice of it before, but it got stronger as it smelt remarkably of a flower. They couldn’t quite put what kind of flower it was before-

EYES EYES EYES SO MANY EYES

EVERYWHERE

NOWHERE

CANT HIDE

NOT FROM IT

WHAT IS IT

WHAT IS PREDATOR

WHAT IS PREY

WHO IS WHO

WHERE ARE WE

WHERE ARE WE RUNNING

WHERE WHERE

Many creatures fell victim to this as they froze in place and whimpered out as they barked their necks in hopes to quell the predator or maybe grant them a quick death.

It was imposing.

It was encompassing

It was frightening.

And this only made Macaque still for a moment of the sudden smell before he got his bearings back, but that was all Shun needed as he leaped towards him with arms and mouth open wide.

Here’s a fun fact that not many know about lemurs, while they are known for being quick on their feet and agile to escape predators, there is one species who have, through a long process of evolution, developed another way of warding off predators or capturing their prey.

It was a toxic bite.

Apparently a certain species called slow lorises poison is so deadly that it can kill humans with a single bite and guess which lemur has that lucky parent.

‘Finally,’ he thought to himself as he closed the distance between him and his love. ‘I have finally got you back with me. Don’t worry, with my new potion I’ll make sure this time we won’t part,’ he lovingly thought as he tasted the special mixture in his mouth. He should really send his carrier a fruit basket when his love is properly back with him, she was the one who taught him everything he needed to know about potion making. Without her expertise, then he would have never known how to make the love potion, after all that was how she managed to snag his sire to mate with her.

Everything would finally be perfect…except for one little detail.

Not every creature was affected by the smell.

Ní merely flicked her tails in annoyance as she calmly watched.

Shui Gui took a huge breath of the smell in and puffed it out after a few seconds to reveal a green miasma cloud.

Xianglu merely shook their heads as they tried to rid of the foul smell in their nose.

BaBa just hissed at the inferior attack before nestling down.

Even the Faeries were tittering away at the pathetic illusion the demon tried to submerge them in.

These creatures, deities, demons, are just some of the few with a long history backed by so much experience that the infant lemur cannot comprehend. It was quite amusing to think that such a being could even equate to their level, even their Guardian was merely humoring him, but quite funny nonetheless. Regardless though Shun did possess the quality to allude himself to being much scarier to those around him with his…disturbing methods that he tends to use and hides himself behind his illusion. Unfortunately for him, it’s quite easy to bypass with multiple tools in hand, either physically and mentally. But more often than not, there is one sure fire method that most people tend to turn to if they don’t know which is correct.

Determination.

Which embodied a young adult as he bashed his staff against the lemur head, and a Sage monkey who punched him so hard that he left a crater when he finally landed.

Both beings were very determined to at least brutally maim the creep by the time they were finished with him.

“DON’T TOUCH MY DAD!/MOON!” Both MK and Wukong respectively shouted as they stood in front of a sighing Macaque.

“You know I had this handled right?” He looked towards the both of them, not bothering them with the possessive form both monkeys said. Though the same couldn’t be said for Shun as he was still in his spot and didn’t know who to first turn his attention to until his eye settled on MK.

“You have a child,” he said wonder in his voice as his whole face lit up.

“I’m not liking that look,” MK muttered to Wukong who nodded.

“No, no, please don’t say-” Macaque practically begged him not to say what he was about to dread.

“We have a child.”

“Nooooo,” he whispered out as he wished he could just knock himself out after hearing those words then shook it off and said with a growl. “Not your child, my child. You are not part of this equation, you're not even a variable that was left out, you are nowhere near part of any of this.”

“But my love-”

“Not my/his love,” all three monkeys stated.

“Despite our brief separation, you know it has always been a dream of mine to have a child of our own. Remember the time we spent out in the town as we laid our eyes at a beautiful family,” he almost cooed at the child's awkward face. “Two parents and two children, a boy and a girl, they looked very lovely together.”

Macaque did remember what he was talking about, he remembered his eyes lingering on the family as they were in town on a date. He couldn’t stop his eyes from lingering on them as he let a small smile play on his lips as Shun shared that same sentiment and wrapped his arms tighter around him. It used to be comforting, that small embrace used to mean ‘he is here for him, he won’t let you go’, but now all it means now is ‘he will not let you go, no matter how much you beg.’ It has turned so very confining. But he kept his mouth shut and let his former boyfriend ramble, trying to look for another way not to get bitten from his ‘love bite.’

“It was pure bliss just the two of us, those small moments we shared to the nights laid up in our nest as you laid under me as I enraptured your mouth and slowly move-.”

‘Never mind!’ He quickly burst forward and sent a high knee to the underside of his jaw that was followed by a staff to the side of the neck and a claw to the stomach courtesy of both child and friend. ‘He is not about to go there!’

“I do not want to hear any of that!” MK shouted as he backed away from the lemur after his attack.

“That makes two of us,” Wukong lowly growled as only his self control was the only thing stopping him from ripping the bastard in front of him. And even that was by the hair as he learned that new little tidbit that he did not want to hear.

“I have been a bit curious,” Shun simply stood back up and looked towards the Monkey King, “Who are you to him?”

“I am the Monkey King, you may have heard of me,” he said as he stood up straight as his golden eyes flickered in his eyes.

“How quaint,” he merely said, “but you didn’t answer my question,” a tinge of aggression laced his voice. “Who are you to him?”

Now at this point Wukong self control was almost completely gone since the first time he heard about this creepy ass bastard (which he so needs to interrogate Mac on why the fuck he would even date someone like him) and it was not looking so good. So to hear this black and white knockoff of a two legged beetle that deserves its tongue to be torn out, implies that he was the outsider in all of this rather than the other way around. Well, he decided right then and there that this nasty little bug needed to learn a few things first before he became a rotting corpse for the rest to feast upon.

“Wukong don’t you dare,” Macaque saw that look in his eyes.

“I was his friend long before you ever thought of,” he taunted and wrapped his arm around Mac's shoulder. “I have known him longer than even the mountains have formed and before towns became cities. He knows me longer than some of the forest was ever formed and before kingdoms have reached their destruction. We know each other very thoroughly, both inside and out, and seen the other at our best of times and our worst of times. It feels like eons have passed since then, but when it comes down to it you can say the two of us are made up of the same soul.” He finished his dramatic speech with a nuzzle to his black fur as he gave a soft kiss on his head. He opened one golden eye and grinned mockingly as he said, “So how long have you known him?”

Silence filled the air as they all locked eyes on a stiff Shun who didn’t even move an inch since Wukong started it. But what they could see was the underlying darkness in his eyes as he slowly blinked. Then he smiled, teeth bared and all, as he stated. “It will be a great joy when I tear out your throat and rip that nasty little tongue right out of your mouth and force you to watch as I consume it.”

“Try me,” he said with teeth bared.

Both Lemur and Monkey locked eyes with each other as you can almost see lighting shoot out of their eyes from the sheer animosity the two had with each other despite not even knowing the other for ten minutes.

The black furred monkey muttered, “And they said I’m the dramatic one,” to whom he was referring. It may never be known as Wukong and Shun leaped at each other at the same time. Macaque just groaned and decided to walk over to his son instead of the fight that was happening. “So, you met Shun.”

“I hate him,” MK instantly said as he got closer to his Dad. “I really hate him.”

“You and me both starlight, so why are you here anyways? Aren’t you supposed to be training right now?”

“So this morning I may have accidentally grabbed the letter while I was stuffing everything into my bag,” he said as he cheered when his mentor used his tail to choke the lemur while he had his arms pinned.

“Damn it, I thought I trashed them all. Must have been one that just came in,” he grimaced.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“That your creepy ex was back,” MK said with a twinge of irritation in his voice. “I could have helped.”

“Nice thought comet, but I had it handled,” he smirked as he watched Shun attempt to break Wukong's arm only to get a vicious claw to the face. “This isn’t my first time dealing with his creepy ass.”

“But I could have helped,” he almost whined, “Mei has tons of ideas for retribution and I got a very powerful stick that tends to hurt…a lot.”

“And I believe that, but I got it,” he ruffled his kid hair, “but thank you for looking out for little ol me even when I don’t need it.”

“Like how the Monkey King is doing right now.”

“He’s just an impulsive idiot right now,” he grinned sharply as he watched Shun stagger in place from his wound as Wukong taunted him as his hand dripped red. He is not totally blind to see that his friend has a protective streak wider than the Earth when it comes to people he cares for. He has certainly seen it when his leg was broken by an uppity pack of Tiger demons. Needless to say, when the Wukong got back and saw him lying there and surrounded by demons, well let’s just say that the food was pretty good that day and even had some warm blankets to go alongside with it.

So to see that this still applies for him despite their long separation, he couldn’t stop that warm burst of feeling brew from inside of him.

Wukong, on the other hand, was feeling the blood pump in his ears with each hit he landed on the bastard. And while he unfortunately can’t go full Sage mode on his ass (the forest probably won’t be able to stand if he did and he actually likes this haven his mate had created) he is still enjoying kicking this disgusting little lemur ass.

“Bet you really feeling it now,” he taunted as he broke another rib. “Can ya feel it? Each little bone in your body breaking? It must fucking suck!” He viciously laughed, “But that’s what you get when you don’t fuck off when someone tells you no, especially Moonbright.”

“Stop calling him that,” the lemur growled for the first time.

“Oh what Moonbright,” he received another growl in return. “Or maybe Mango? Moon? Moonlight? My heart?”

“YES!” He hissed out as he recklessly leaped towards the monkey.

“Nah, can’t do that,” he smirked as he grabbed the lemur arm and tossed him back towards the growing crater. Then he let a wicked smile show on his face, “I mean, he is my other half,” he emphasized. Was he making this worse? Yes, yes he was. Does he care in the slightest? No he does fucking not. He’s been wanting to let loose some of those words out for quite some time, albeit it’s under an illusion that he’s just riling him up, but damn does it feel good to say.

Before the lemur could leap back up a charge at him once more another force came into play.

“Having fun without me!” Shun felt a pain burst from his back as he saw a pig tailed girl leaped off of him with blood dripping from her sword. “That is a damn shame.”

“I had this handled you know,” Monkey King petulantly said.

“Oh I know,” she slings her sword over her shoulder, “but I really wanted to land a hit on this bastard at least once for what he did to Pops.”

“Fair enough.”

“Another child!” He said with glee despite his broken bones and blood dripping down his face.

“He is seriously messed up in the head,” she muttered as she couldn’t help but step back at his gaze though she did raise a brow as Wukong stepped beside her while he kept his eyes on the lemur.

“Okay fuck this, I’m ending it,” Macaque huffed as he stepped forward.

“Actually Dad, can I do this,” he paused at his son's words as his eyes were locked firmly onto the agitated lemur.

“MK, I’m not about to let you-” he was cut off.

“Please,” he pleaded as his brown eyes flickered to violet ones.

“…fine, but if things are looking bad then I will step the fuck in,” he huffed as he subtly sent some more shadow clones in the foliage of trees and amongst his son's shadow.

“Oh don’t worry,” he began to spin his staff as he walked forward. “I won’t even need to leave your line of sight when I get done with him.”

MK continued forward as he neared the lemur, passing by both Mei and Wukong who gave him a glance.

“I’m ending this,” he simply said.

“You need help?” The dragon's successor looked to her brother.

“Nope,” said the doctor's son.

“Well holler if you do.”

“Always happy to lend a hand,” the Monkey Sage joked as he wiped off his own bloody hand. He wouldn’t mind another round of beating to the lemur…maybe a couple more just to be fair.

“Oh trust me, I won’t,” he darkly chuckled, which surprised the other two.

MK was done with Shun, he was already creeped out before he met him, disgusted by the letter, nauseated when he first saw him, and down right pissed when he heard him speak to his Dad like that.

It was time for his Dad to be protected for once instead of the other way around. Shun is gonna regret ever breathing by the time they're done with him.

Shun's eyes lit up when he saw MK approach. “It so good to see you for the first ti-”

“Shut the fuck up,” he cut him off.

“Wha-”

“I said shut the fuck up.”

“…excuse me?”

“You're not excused,” he shrugged his shoulder.

“That is no way to talk to your parent-” he was interrupted once more.

“Well it’s a good thing that you aren’t then isn’t it, I mean if you were then I would willingly go back to my deadbeat sperm donors than you,” he mocked him.

“I’m sorry what?!” Wukong was already taken by surprise by his student's sudden shift in attitude, let alone this new heaping pile of info.

“That’s a whole nother story for later,” Mac patted his shoulder.

“But here’s what’s gonna happen, you will either die in this forest or flee from here by the skin of your teeth,” he bluntly stated.

“Oh? And what makes you say that?” He let some amusement drip in his voice.

“Have you not seen the entities that live in this forest?”

“Indeed I have and they are truly a magnificent feature, but they are no match for me,” he arrogantly said.

“…hey Red! I thought you said he was smart?” He yelled out to the tree he had previously jumped from.

“Smart as in he knows some pretty advanced science that even leaves me confused,” the Bull prince said as sat down on the branch next to an anticipating bluenette.

“Oh, well that makes sense, cause if you were really smart then you wouldn’t have even stepped foot in this forest with the intent to kill, even Ever is dangerous despite his looks,” he concluded. Ignoring the faint chuckle from the trees.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He got increasingly agitated at the despairing remark upon his intelligence.

“It means that you have an overinflated ego stuff in between your ears that replaced your brain a long time ago.”

“Meaning?”

“If you had any brain cells then you would have known that you signed your name personally upon Yama book when you stepped foot in this forest, cause let me tell you.” It was at this point that the pressure began to dip as Shun suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe as the trees seemed to loom above him and glowing eyes were gazing upon him from the shadows. “You would have known that we don’t take kindly to people trying to harm our own, especially Dad.”

One by one, the demon, creatures, mythical and animals alike all began to emerge from the shadows with a nasty snarl fresh on their faces.

The Faeries' smiles were sharp with their fanged teeth wide with glee.

Qianglu slithered forward as they let out a terrifying hiss that thrummed in his ears.

The Monkey tribe all had their teeth bared in face of the intruder.

The Shui Gui was grinning happily as he licked his lips in anticipation.

Ní elegantly walked forward as her tails flickered behind her, but her hazel eyes only had sight for the prey.

Even amongst the trees BaBa, much too large to entirely fit in the clearing, kept her bright yellow eye, larger than all the beings in the area itself, gazed upon the scene.

As more and more beasts gathered around, for the first time in a long while, Shun felt fear.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” MK casually slung the staff over his shoulder as he gave him a parting wave, “Let us show you how we handle intruders.”

Shun ran and ran and ran as fast and as hard as he could. But they followed.

And then he slowly vanished back into the woods as all the creatures that he thought were prey were the predators chasing after him. He really did forget that not creatures show who they truly are at first look, they like to pretend their fickle little insects that scatter at first sight of danger. But if you take a peek beneath the shell then it turns out that there are monsters lurking underneath with their jaws wide awaiting their first morsel.

So, he didn’t leave with a grand finale nor his deserved epic fight to the death. No, he simply blew out like a candle amongst a sea of lights cause in the end he knew what he really was.

Not the feared predator.

No, he was the prey and it was his turn to be feasted upon the monsters.

“Well that was easy,” Yanyu said as she jumped down from the tree.

“You're telling me,” said Red as he followed, then he turned to MK, “Who is Ever anyways?”

MK snapped out of his former personality shift as his cheeks blushed, “It’s Shui Gui, you know, Kappa.”

“Right, right, but what does it stand for?” He pushed, “cause you wouldn’t be blushing like that if there wasn’t something else.”

Mei turned her head to hide her smile.

“It..it stands for Whatever,” he whispered, but Wukong still heard that perfectly clear.

“His name is Whatever?” He confusedly asked for such a strange name.

“I was like seven! You can’t blame me!” He defended himself with arms crossed.

“Huh?”

“Ah the Shui Gui cares not for names,” Red nodded, “so he usually will respond to any. My question is why did you call him whatever out of everything?”

Yanyu snorted loudly.

“I was a kid and I was getting really frustrated with him that I blurted out the first thing in mind! How was I supposed to know that he would actually respond to it! Now he won’t let it go!” He threw his hands up.

At this point both girls are full on laughing at MK's frustration.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” the prince nodded at his various times meeting Kappa. He was indeed the strangest creature in the forest.

“I’m lost,” Wukong deadpanned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you later,” Mac said as he leaned into the simian. It felt good finally having that bastard out of sight once again.

Wukong did the same as he wrapped his arms back around the other monkey, pulled him a bit closer, and wrapped his tail firmly around the other waist. “You better,” he faintly purred in his ears.

Macaque could barely stop the shiver at the lips so close to his face, but he managed to make it off by just shifting his body to get into a comfortable position.

Though that didn’t stop the Sage from gazing at him as he looked at his long fur once more and just when he was about to open his mouth.

BOOM!

“Alright! Whose ass am I kicking!” Daiyu screeched out as she scanned the scene for the ex boyfriend from hell. They had gotten a call from Yanyu earlier about his ass potentially showing up and they booked it there.

“God fucking Damnit,” Wukong cursed as he reluctantly move slightly away.

“He appears to not be here, Dai,” said Ahmed as he walked into the clearing with Minsheng and Bohai.

“Seemed he had left the coop,” chuckled Sheng as they looked towards everyone, “gave him a good ass kicking I'm guessing.”

“That and he is now currently running from almost every beast in the forest,” MK happily said.

Bohai gave a low whistle, “So he’s not leaving this forest alive then.”

“Nope,” came the response from all.

“That’s what he gets for messing with the King of the Forest,” Mei jokes, earning a groan from Mac.

“Don’t you even start on that.”

“What do you mean your royal highness,” the rabbit cheekily said.

“Don’t!”

“Is there something wrong your majesty,” the vulture said.

“Are you actually-”

“Did we speak out of your magnificence,” Yanyu mockingly bowed.

“Out of place your grace,” Mei courtesy with a sly grin.

“Out of turn your excellency,” MK did something with his hands as he bowed low.

“I swear-”

“Guys let’s all calm down before we get on our imperial majesty's last nerve,” Red casually said.

“Thank you-I swear to all things!”

“Our deepest of apologies your kingliness,” Wukong teased as he pressed closer to him.

“I expected nothing less from you,” he barked at him.

“Alright let’s all settle down,” Ahmed chuckled, “we don’t want to get his reverence too worked up.”

“…fuck it, I’m done for the day!” He threw his hands up and began to march back home. “If any of you guys want food then your ass better be helping me do some shit. It either helps me in the kitchen or checks on the state of the forest, more specifically how everything and everyone is holding up. Preferably the ones going are the ones that don’t mind fighting cause there’s gonna be a lot of those bastards still on edge and need to let loose some steam.”

“Yes, dinner sounds great right about now,” Daiyu said as she spread her wings and took off.

“Count me in!” Minsheng said as they began to hop into the forest.

“Same!” Mei yelled as she raced after them.

“Let me just check in on my gremlins and I will for sure help you out in the kitchen,” Yanyu replied as she took out her phone.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing what else lives in this forest,” Wukong said as he stretched his arms.

“I’ll help you Dad,” MK said as Ahmed followed close behind.

Red Son stood there as the other began to walk away with a bit of uncertainty before Macaque called back to him.

“Are you coming or not?”

“Wait me too?” Red said with some hesitation.

“If I’m letting those lunatics join in then why not,” he raised his brow.

Red gave a slight smile as he caught up and walked beside MK, “What are we making?”

“Mapo Tofu,” said the young adult.

“Will there be any spicy?”

“He has a whole tray filled with them,” MK can almost taste it.

“Yes!”

Also a shout out to Pen-Woman for the lovely idea of Protective kiddos!!

Also longest chapter yet!!! Just over 8000 words!!!

#lego monkie kid #six eared macaque #macaque #mk #lmk mei #monkey king #PlumTeaAU

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greylunar · 3 years

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Hat Trick by Casper Grey Transcription under the cut

Hat Trick I am writing you a poem because it is the only thing I know how to write. I am writing you a poem because I worry if I wrote you a letter I would sound like a deranged lunatic, or at least concerning, manic like the time I thought Allen Ginsberg’s ghost had possessed me and you had to google whether or not he was dead. I am writing you a letter because it is my secret trick to remind myself I am alive or perhaps I am writing it because whenever I feel alive I have to write you a poem because it is the only thing I know how to and at this point, the Pavlov between living and writing is so intertwined I am either a ghost or a poet and rarely ever a self. I tried to give myself a new name today. I tried to look him/her/them in the eye but they looked away, I am uncomfortable with strangers and we had never met before. I dug the self I buried in the yard last week up and asked him to play nice, he wanted to know if he forgave me yet and I told him forgiveness and I are kind of in an awkward place with our relationship now, we are seeing other people. I am irrationally worried I will snap and murder my cat so I am writing you a poem. I have not yet killed my house plants and I have not yet killed myself, only the daisies in the garden which I cut back and the boys and girls I used to be who I gently pat more dirt over so we can pretend we all live happily in the apartment complex of my body, I am not what I look like when I picture a happy home. I am writing a poem for you to apologize for being 80 years old and still having daddy issues I am 14 years old and waiting for a train to come, talking to god, 22 and admitting I am the messiah only in the sense that god is a fuzzy object with less than 20/20 vision and I am made in their image and therefore I am writing you a poem because there is nothing else to do. There is nowhere else to go. I have return addressed this letter to your house so either way you have to get it. I do this because I have always chickened out of saying what happens if one day I am not in love with you, not because it will ever be true, but because I do not like naming the fear. I worry that if I poke a single hole in my hope it will drop like a lead balloon or a star producing iron which is to say I still recite my father’s metaphors and I am worried that I love like him, something I could not forgive myself for any less than him. I worry I will drown myself and the cat in the bath at different times this is all I know how to do. I woke up fine this morning, moved to another room, woke up trying to scream, moved to the couch, woke up uncertain I had woken, woke up certain I had been screaming, woke up too alone to prove it how often do you worry your mother resents you? I am a man with a broken finger pointing at different parts of himself asking “is this normal?” I am a girl in the back of a subaru certain the man outside the window is going to kill her, I am the angel driving the taxi cab asking if I would like to know how good I am Yes. How good do you think? I don’t know, not like, I mean, not like 90% material but I think I’m more than 50/50 you know? 96 percent. Oh shit, well, awesome. How good are you? 50/50. I thought you were an angel God wants to make sure we know how to use both. I am writing you a letter that is also a taxicab that I am using as a murder accessory in a hit and run to kill my cat and then my father. I know I only truly love one of these two things but I am still too scared to ask. I heard there’s going to be a parade. I am writing you a poem to ask why they are called floats. I am 30 and I am laughing because I have always liked puns and I once drowned myself in the bathtub I am writing a poem because you are the one who googles things in the relationship because I never learned to write simple fucking questions or ask them and I once was a boy who ate omelets for eight years straight because he couldn’t ask himself to stop and now I am a girl with tits and a shovel in her hand thinking about dismembering herself to make the burying a little easier. I am writing a poem to ask for help I am writing a poem to avoid sleeping I am writing you a poem because I love you and I am scared that will not be enough. If I have to bury you you will not get up. Fuck what if I did get possessed and that’s how this body thing works? I am getting feedback from the microphone so I go back to the paper. My mother pats me on the shoulder, knees uncomfortable and cold on the linoleum, holds my hair back over the toilet “you just gotta get it all out, baby.” Have you seen the magician’s trick with the hat and the scarves? Of course you have. I am writing you a poem in the hopes that it will end, if it doesn’t I’m really fucked aren’t I? Sun helps the garden grow. I wish I was a farmer, instead. Or at least, if I have to be me, that I was crazy enough to kill the cat. I let her out in the dead of night so she can talk to her ghosts while I talk to mine. I am writing you a poem because I am scared no one is out there, that I am the only “I” I will ever be. I love you, not forgiveness, who slept with resignation behind my back. I am tired. It is too cold to sleep outside. What if the cat doesn’t come back? Will I just have to write out here all night?

#poetry #i read richard siken too hard #im fine ps so is my cat it is a metaphor #tw: death #tw suidice #tw animal death #cw animal harm #tw body mutilation #tw: father mention #tw mother mention #tw god mention #cw mental illness #ask to tag I know that was a lot #writing #tal writes #okay to rb

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lupin-for-president · 4 years

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Jeddy Headcanons

First things first, these two have been best friends since the beginning of time, literally attached at the hip for as long as they could remember. They did everything together when they were younger, despite the age gap between them. (After all, seven years really isn’t that much of a separation).

Their relationship was very intimate. (Not in the sexual way, more so the caring for and protecting each other way.)

Teddy always called the brunette Jamie or James Sirius, never just James (unless he was mad at him).

James had a thing for calling Teddy, Ted. (And he called him Edward when he was teasing him or annoyed).

Teddy used to sneak James candy when James was supposed to be taking naps and quickly found out that the spicy cinnamon ones were his favorite.

Teddy was the one who taught James how to fly on his broom. James was only two so he was a little wobbly but Teddy always made sure to fling his body out so that he could be a cushion for James’ fall.

There was a time when James was about four —and Teddy was eleven— that James wouldn’t go to sleep unless Teddy was laying with him in bed and it got so bad that Harry and Ginny ended up having to move Teddy’s bed into James’ room because of it.

James would wake up every time Teddy would try to crawl out of the bed, so eventually Teddy just gave up trying to sleep on his own and slept next to James all night long.

Because of this, when Teddy went to Hogwarts the following year, he found himself unable to sleep correctly for the first two months because he couldn’t seem to fall asleep without James being sprawled out on top of him.

When Teddy was away at school, James became extremely withdrawn from everyone else and didn’t enjoy going on playdates anymore, not even with his favorite cousins.

James would draw Teddy tons of scribbled pictures and send them to him via owl and even sent the occasional howler. Which of course caused Teddy to smile like mad when he heard James’ little excited voice telling him all about his week.

Harry once walked in on Teddy in James’ room, looking over a stack of James’ drawings that was sitting on his little desk in the corner, tears streaming down his pale face. James was tucked away and asleep in his bed, unaware of either of their presence.

When Harry asked him about it later, Teddy responded with, “Jamie stopped sending me his drawings. I just wanted to see some of them again.”

Around the time when James turned seven, he had noticed Teddy started to separate himself from him.

The day that Teddy tried to postpone his and James’ movie night to hang out with some of his friends from school, was the very first time that James had ever yelled at Teddy in the whole seven years that he had been alive.

“You know what? Just forget it! I never want to watch movies with your stupid face ever again!” Seven year old James had screamed before slamming his bedroom door shut right in Teddy’s face.

Teddy immediately cancelled his plans and wouldn’t stop banging on James’ door until he let him back in.

For James’ tenth birthday, all he wanted was to pierce his ear but Ginny and Harry said no because he should “wait until he was at least thirteen before he did something like that.”

Teddy ended up piercing his ear with an old sewing needle in their guest bathroom a week later at about 2 in the morning.

There was so much blood, Teddy nearly passed out. But the piercing actually turned out really good, so the two of them didn’t mind cleaning up the mess.

The next year when James started his first year at Hogwarts —Teddy going into his seventh— he found him and Teddy becoming closer than ever.

Being best friends with Hogwarts’ residential prankster and heartthrob gave poor eleven year old James a lot of unwanted attention. Mostly from girls who wanted to know how to make Teddy fall in love with them.

That question always pissed James off for some reason.

At Teddy’s graduation ceremony, James was the first person he hugged, lifting him up in the air and spinning him around —as if he weighed nothing at all— while James cried heavy tears.

Teddy didn’t have to ask to know that James was crying because he was scared Teddy to leave him behind.

As if Teddy would ever dream of it.

Teddy stayed at home with Harry and Ginny and got a job at a muggle tattoo parlor, saying he just wanted to stick around to “help out.” But Harry and Ginny both knew it was because he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his family.

James was obsessed with playing with Teddy’s hair and it became like an addiction to Teddy.

Anytime Teddy was tired he would lay a pillow in James’ lap and pick up the boy’s hand to place it in his hair so that he could fall asleep.

Teddy loved painting James’ nails.

When James would be reading, Teddy would sit down beside him or in front of him and just paint his nails because he was bored.

While at his fourth year at Hogwarts, James found himself missing his blue-haired counterpart immensely, and wrote to him nearly every day.

Until writing wasn’t enough.

James would help sneak Teddy into Hogwarts in disguise, the two of them hiding out in empty closets and classrooms until the early hours of the morning when James would have to go to get ready for his lessons.

That was about the time when James had started to come to terms with the sappy little crush he had somehow managed to acquire.

At first he felt foolish and refused to even entertain the idea at all, but soon he found himself falling hopelessly in love with Edward Remus Lupin.

That summer when he came back from school was when Teddy found his love letters.

James ran to the bathroom and threw up whenever he walked in on Teddy perched on the edge of James’ bed. The sight of the old brown shoebox sitting in his lap and slips of pink paper in his hands nearly killed him. James locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out until Teddy left.

They didn’t talk for a while after that.

The day before James would be returning to Hogwarts for his sixth year, the two found themselves alone in their house. (Ginny was off at a quidditch tournament and Harry had taken Albus and Lily to buy school supplies).

Teddy picked the lock on James’ bedroom door and shoved his way in, shutting it back behind him.

“Get out of my room,” James said bluntly.

“No, not until you talk to me, Jamie.”

“Don’t. Don’t call me that,” the brunette snapped, standing up from his bed with tears in his eyes, “I am begging you not to call me that. Please. I can’t take it, I can’t.”

Teddy ignored the request and walked up to James, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Jamie, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Tell you what? That I’m in love with you? It wouldn’t have changed anything!” James cried, his voice cracking.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Teddy pulled James in for a hug, immediately causing the shorter boy to tense up. James couldn’t see it, but as Teddy wrapped his arms tightly around James’ shoulders, he was fighting off tears of his own.

“Just— Wait. Wait a few years please,” Teddy whispered, his fingers gripping the other’s shirt until his knuckles turned white.

James cried even harder at that.

But still, he waited.

He actually waited for two years, five months, and seventeen and a half days to be exact.

It was the day of James’ nineteenth birthday.

Teddy had a long talk with Harry a week prior, explaining to him how he felt. He cried his eyes out the entire time, worried that his godfather was going to tell him how wrong it was for him to be even slightest bit interested in his son.

He was shocked when Harry just laughed, saying that he already knew.

He was even more shocked when Harry offered to help set up a date for the two of them, as a gift.

That’s how James Sirius Potter found himself in the middle of the forest, fairy lights hanging from tree branches and blankets laid across the ground, with Teddy Lupin grinning at him from ear to ear.

“Happy birthday, James Sirius,” Teddy beamed, taking a step towards him.

“When you said you wanted to hang out in the forest, this wasn’t at all what I was expecting,” James answered back, meeting the other man in the middle of the clearing.

“Is it bad?” Teddy squeaked.

This was the first time James had ever seen Teddy flustered, a deep red painting the blue-haired man’s cheeks as he stared down at James, biting on the corner of his lip nervously.

“It’s beautiful, Ted. I can’t believe you did all this for me,” James smiled.

“I wanted it to be perfect for our first,” Teddy shrugged. “It may sound childish but I wanted it to be special.”

“Our first what?”

Teddy didn’t answer with words, rather by pressing his lips ever so gently against James’. The brunette was caught off guard, shock reaming through his entire body as he mindlessly wrapped his arms around Teddy’s neck.

When Teddy pulled back a few moments later, his face was even more flushed than before. He pressed his forehead against James’, trying to steady his heart.

“Our first everything.”

It was only a year and a half later when the two of them found themselves back in the same clearing, this time at an altar in front of their family and friends.

Teddy was trying to hide the tears streaming down his face as stared at James —who also couldn’t stop from crying— because he wanted to seem tough.

When they said their vows, Teddy kissed James harder than he ever had before, his hands cupping the sides of James’ face.

Anytime they had fights or arguments Teddy would pull the “I’m older so you have to listen to me” card.

It pissed James off that he found it attractive.

James would always cry to get his way.

They end up adopting a little girl and naming her Remmy. Teddy is head over heels for her and overly protective.

James brings Teddy lunch at the tattoo parlor every Tuesday, where Teddy full on embarrasses James by expressing excessive amounts of PDA in front of all his clients.

They might look a little odd, a clean cut looking gentleman standing next to a punk rock lunatic, but they compliment each other very well.

And they’re just hopelessly in love.

This was all over the place, I am so sorry. These are just random thoughts I had about them and I love them so much.

#jeddy fic #jeddy #jeddy headcanon #harry potter next gen fic #harry potter next generation #hp next gen #teddy lupin #james sirius potter #james sirius x teddy #remus lupin #moony #harry potter #ginny potter

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freshlyjuicedbeetles · 4 years

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Commodore Norrington x Reader Fic! Chapter 3

Title: The Same Water

Genre: Romance, Supernatural

Rating: General Audiences thus far.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, drowning, and racism.

Summary: Commodore Norrington washes up on the shore and you must find out why.

Notes: I intentionally kept the main character ambiguous (but female) so readers can fill themselves in!

James and I got up early the next morning to head down to the marina. The sky was a dazzling pink only an island could produce.

“Here she is, Seaclusion! Don’t make fun of me. My dad named it.” James got a chuckle out of the other punny names of the neighboring boats.

We climbed aboard, and James inspected the vessel, fascinated by hundreds of years of progress.

“Here,” I said, tossing James a life vest and securing my own.

“What is this?”

“It’s a life jacket. It’ll help you stay afloat if you fall overboard.”

“Ingenious!” James said in awe as he put his on.

“Oh, and these,” I said, digging around in a compartment by the wheel. I pulled out a pair of old aviators and sunscreen. “To protect your eyes and your skin. Though you’re probably already riddled with skin cancer from living in the Caribbean unprotected for years. Keep an eye on that freckle behind your ear.”

James touched the freckle self-consciously.

“You know how to swim, don’t you?”

James rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Of course I do.” He put on the aviators and dang, he looked good. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of interrogation with him. He had an intimidating air about him that he could turn on and off.

The engine roared to life, and the beginning cords of ‘The Real Thing’ by George Strait played on the speakers. James looked overboard to the motor and rudder underwater.

“I’m sure you have better sea legs than I do, but you might want to take a seat,” I said, gesturing the rows of seats on the front deck.

“Hold on!” I said and came up to speed, pulling out of the marina. James was pushed back in his seat by the motion, not expecting a boat to go that fast. I wanted to show him what ships were like nowadays. Even over the rushing wind, I could hear him laughing with glee.

We sailed to the other side of the island with dolphins in our wake. How lucky was I that I lived somewhere where dolphins were so accessible!

I turned down the speakers, “This is Pier 21. Our cruise ships dock here, and on the other side are the shrimp boats that supply these restaurants first.” Large pelicans lazed around the docks and boats, hoping for some fish scrap from the sailors. James wasn’t paying attention; he was gazing at the Elissa like a starved man in an oasis.

“What is this glorious creation?” James stood as we idled.

I smiled, “That’s the Elissa. A little after your time, but I’m sure you can sail her just as good as anyone else on this island.”

The Elissa was a tall ship from 1877. After many different roles in life all across the globe, she was moored in Galveston.

“Is she still functional?”

“Oh yeah, she goes on one big sail to Europe once a year. She’s mostly a teaching vessel now. And next to that is a yacht. Some restauranteur owns it and has a staff to keep it ready around the clock even though I’ve seen him use it like five times.”

“Is it common for laypeople to own such vessels?” He asked, finally pulling his eyes from the Elissa.

“Here on the island, yeah, pretty much everyone has a boat. They’re still quite common on the mainland, depending on how close you are to water. I’d say a boat is definitely attainable to the upper-middle class.”

“You mentioned a ‘cruise ship’?”

“Yeah, they’re huge ships that can hold thousands of people who sail for vacation. See that huge thing over there?”

“Is that a ship?” He asked in disbelief.

“Yep, let’s get closer.”

We were dwarfed by the cruise liner. James looked up in disbelief as we buoyed in its shadow. “Galveston is a port city for cruise liners, bananas, farm equipment…Oh, and you need to see this,” I said as we turned and sped into the open water.

“I think you’ll like this,” I said as we pulled up next to the wreckage of a rusted and splintered ship.

“I am perplexed, yes,” James answered.

“This is the Selma, and it’s totally made out of concrete, or mortar, I guess is similar.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Yep.

“Surely, she never saw the open ocean.”

“It did actually. Until it was damaged, and it was far too costly to repair due to war, and it was scuttled.”

James looked to the horizon, “Why are those ships not in the harbor?” Container ships always loomed in the distance of Galveston Island.

“Again, costs too much but also because the channel isn’t deep enough.”

“Are pirates a concern?”

“I’ve never seen a pirate in my life. I guess pirates were your version of terrorists,” I said.

James thought, then nodded, seemingly decided the word was correct.

“Unfortunately, we still have a problem with terrorism, plus pirates as you would know them. Instead of big ships, they run around on jet skis or dhows today. They’re mostly a problem in the Indian Ocean and around that area.”

“So, they’ve been cornered…”

“What? Down boy! You want to go pirate hunting? Well, unfortunately, pirates are actually looked upon favorably as of recently.”

James looked at me like I’ve grown two heads, “Especially here. I guess people like the freedom of just going wherever you want to and forget that they were actually terrorists. Not that piracy is now legal or anything.”

“And what are those machines in the distance?”

“Oil rigs. They dig oil from the earth, and we use it to power just about everything. Crews live on them for weeks at a time. Usually, there are less parked here, but the price of oil has dropped, so companies don’t need as many.”

Container ships and offline oil rigs loom in the distance of Galveston Island. It’s almost like the giant guardians that protect us.

“Do you want to try?” I asked, gesturing to the wheel.

He looked hesitant at first but quickly accepted. “The wheel is the same as it ever was, this is the accelerator, how fast you want to go, the kill switch if something goes awry…” I explained. James and I then switched places, but I stood behind him in case something happened. I could tell he was uncomfortable with the proximity to another person and a woman, but when we got up to speed, he looked like a bird who could finally fly again. I almost didn’t have it in my heart to ask him to surrender the wheel.

When we got home, there was a package at my doorstep. My heart started to thrum when I saw it was from the police department. I hurriedly tore it open when we got inside. The contents of the box smelled like mildew, salt, and brine. It was James’ uniform. I pushed it to him as I read the letter that was on top of it. It was a standard form letter saying they were closing the case due to insufficient evidence that there was nothing out of the ordinary about the uniform.

James held the uniform in his hand. “Do you have a fireplace?” He asked.

“Why?” I asked.

“It makes me ill.” He replied.

“You don’t want it?”

“It’s a mark of failure, both personal and professional. I would think it best if it was gone.”

“I have a fire pit.”

“Splendid.”

Later that night, Jericka came over, and we started the fire. James unceremoniously dropped the heap of clothes in the fire and sat down with us around it. Jericka and I drank while James abstained.

“To new beginnings,” I said, raising my bottle of Ziegenbock. James nodded, watching the fabric burn.

“You know, there are probably costumers and historians who would have dove in there for that uniform,” Jericka said.

“So…what happened? Before you died?” I asked.

James was silent for a moment, composing his thoughts. “I can pinpoint the exact day when everything changed. An idiot pirate sailed into my port. To attempt to capture him, my men and I sailed through a hurricane. Only a handful survived, and I resigned in shame. I essentially became a pirate myself for the time, drunk, and destitute. Then, I meant Davy Jones.” James leaned forward, the fire casting shadows on his face, almost making his sharp features look hawk-like.

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

“I am. He is something of a grim reaper of the seas. I was stabbed by one of his crewmen. That’s all I remember.”

“You sailed into a hurricane?” Jericka asked, “And you made it all the way to Admiral?”

James scowled. “I had no choice.”

“But what’s so wrong about the uniform, or being called Admiral?”

“I didn’t earn it, nor was it through the Royal Navy. I worked for the East India Trading Company, who were no better than pirates themselves when I was an admiral. I took the post out of necessity, greed, and selfishness. I was only serving myself, not the Crown, not the people. I was no better than a pirate as well. I much rather be called commodore if you have to address me by title.”

Jericka gave a low whistle, “Then I’m sure you heard of Galveston before.” She took a drink from her bottle.

“Was it a pirate’s den?”

“Oh yeah, Jean Lafitte owned the place.”

“Lafitte? I have heard of him. I always seemed to run into a sun-drenched lunatic named Jack Sparrow.”

“He sounds like quite the character.”

“He was. If Lafitte settled here, I must be in Campeche.”

I snapped my fingers. “I never thought of that! That’s like Galveston history 101!” I said to Jericka.

“Well, I know where I’m at, so that brings some more comfort,” James said.

“Okay, Commodore,” Jericka said, “Tell us about yourself.”

James looked like we just asked him to explain nuclear physics.

“Pets? Did you have any pets?�� I asked.

“Well, I had a horse named Scout back in the Caribbean. I think she tried to kill me once.” James said casually. “And there were coconut crabs all over the fort I was stationed at. They stole everything.”

“A horse? Tried to kill you? And crabs stole your stuff?” Jericka asked skeptically.

“No one believed me! Even then!” James said adamantly and gestured wildly as he told the story, “I swear this horse was calculating, and she hated me. How would a horse know to stop right below a hanging lantern so my tricorn would catch fire?”

“Maybe you should have been paying better attention…” I said gently.

James started to speak, but thought better, “Fair enough.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” Jericka said excitedly, “We need to take him to Pieces of Ship! Down on Mechanic street!”

“Excuse me?” James asked, not believing his ears.

I laughed, “It’s a shop that sells parts from ships; maps, flags, wheels, bells, you name it.”

“No, Mrs. Norrington, huh?” Jericka teased as James stoked the fire. She winked at me.

“Close, but it wasn’t meant to be,” James said, looking down for a moment.

“Yeah, everything I’ve read about you never mentions anyone,” I said. I was noticing I was relieved when I found out James never married. However, by his wording and the tone of his voice, there was someone he wanted. Jealousy tingled at my nerves.

“I appreciate time for forgetting such a blunder.” He gave a small, defeated smile.

“Sweetheart,” I said, “I think you need to see a therapist.”

We burst out laughing.

By the end of the night, we were laughing incessantly. I felt like we became friends with James at that point.

#James Norrington #pirates of the caribbean #commodore norrington

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imagine-loki · 4 years

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how to be good

TITLE: how to be good CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: one shot AUTHOR: hiddlemediddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: You work in a warehouse. Your job is inventory. Everyday you are given a sheet with different items and it is your duty to find and count them. Today your sheet has only has six items, labelled ‘I. Stone’, and numbered 1 through 6. You find the first relatively easily and realize I. Stone stands for infinity stone. Imagine you find all six, only to turn and be face to face with Loki. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: I loved this one. Just a bit of tongue-in-cheek behaviour between Loki x reader. Bloody hell, I’ve missed writing for this raven-haired idiot ;) x (yes, much of this is OOC as Loki would undoubtedly jump at the chance to get those infinity stones, but I just wanted to play around with his redemption arc here..) So really, I’m just messing around! :)

Slipping on your overalls after your lunch break, you wondered what ‘top secret’ items you would be storing away for the next few hours of your day. Working in a government inventory had its interesting moments, particularly when it came to storing away alien artefacts and all sorts inside glass containers. It was rather a lonely job, but you almost preferred it that way. Your last job was nothing short of disastrous. Hordes of people flinging boxes around for deliveries and yelling at you to 'pick up the pace’ whilst flinging your own boxes on a conveyor belt, to be carried swiftly away into a dark hole which ultimately ended up at people’s doorsteps.

When you applied for this inventory job, you hadn’t anticipated how top secret it would be. It had detailed in the job description that you needed to be a 'discrete’ person, but you hadn’t thought it would be so extreme as this. You blushed when you thought about how you handled some frozen items inside some boxes. It was only the next day that the man who came through the door told you that you had placed some alien remains inside the freezer. It was casual work, but you could never have known what lay behind those boxes. Sometimes you did see what was inside, as they were some transparent glass boxes. Other times, you were warned to treat a particular box carefully and found out what was in there. It did, at first sight, seem like any other day. Yet, from this job, you knew that you couldn’t expect normality. Any minute, you could be asked to store away a piece of the earth’s molten core. Literally. You knew that it was your attention to detail which landed you the job in the first place. You loved to see things ordered up in numerical, alphabetical or coloured order. The apartment you inhabited was pretty well the same. The books lined the shelves in the order you had selected for that particular shelf. The top shelf was ordered by the author’s last name and the next shelf was ordered in colour. The colour shelf was rather difficult, seeing as the gradient hardly worked. But it satisfied some part of you that you could never hope to understand. Some code which dictated this part of your life that made you order things in this aesthetically pleasing way. You had wondered if it was a disorder, this ordering. When you consulted your doctor, you were told that it was mild. Yet here you were applying it to your job. But there you go, you thought. The money was good, so why worry? Yes. Why worry? It was something which you convinced yourself was alright for a long time. For how long you could keep it up was another thing. At least you were getting paid for something you enjoyed doing, even if enjoying it went a tad too far. The door was ajar when you entered the inventory, which you found strange. You scoured the entire room to see if anyone was in there, but found nothing amiss. Shrugging your shoulders, you went over to the next batch which had arrived. There was a note attached to the large metal crate that you were expected to store away. “Heavy, also radioactive. Take care. Do not open. -J” You sighed. The little “J” on the note was your boss. You never knew why he signed with the letter J, when you knew full well that his name did not start nor end with a J. Perhaps it was a fake name. In fact, you were sure it was a fake name. You had tried finding him on Facebook and couldn’t find a single profile picture which resembled his appearance. Hmph. Government. You inspected each metal box and realised that they were all silver briefcases which were numbered. Not only were they numbered, but they contained an indication of what may be inside. It was number one and then simply “Stone”. Strange, you thought. Then there was another and another. They were all contained inside these strange silver briefcases. You decided against giving any of it a second thought and started to place each case in the compartment which matched their code numbers. You used a type of lift which was attached to the wall to whizz up and down the very heights of the archives. You hopped onto the step of the lift and pressed the button on the wall for it to take you to the very top. You never dared look down over the side of the lift to see how high you were. You placed the case carefully in its allotted compartment. You breathed out a sigh of relief once you were done with compartmentalising each one. Hopping from the lift, you were about to go on to the next set of things. In the distance, you heard some footsteps. Your heart stopped. “Hello?” You said tentatively, walking towards the source of the footsteps. You knew something must be amiss, especially now you thought back to the door which had been ajar. Stepping around the corner, you bumped straight into a black pillar. You raised your head in confusion and were met with two bright blue orbs. You gasped in shock and the man slammed his hand against your mouth to stop you from screaming. “Boo.” he whispered. Your entire body was shaking with shock as your eyes moved along the man’s features. His face was ashen white and sweating profusely. He was wearing an entirely black suit to match with his head of hair. The man was nothing less than terrifying. He moved you towards the wall behind you and you felt his entire body press against yours. You shivered with fear, yet it quickly turned into determination. Instinctively, you raised your knee quickly, aiming directly for his crotch. Loki’s hand slipped quickly away from your mouth and he groaned out in agony as his hands cupped his crotch. You darted for the door. Once you reached it, the latch was locked. You looked down and saw that the lunatic had practically melted it out of existence. The door was still steaming from the melted metal. “Fucking hell.” You whispered. You felt his presence behind you first. The hairs on your neck rose as you felt him breathe heavily behind you. You cursed under your breath and turned to face him. “Who are you? What do you want?” You asked as calmly as possible. You stared directly into the madman’s eyes and saw the desire in them. There was something in this room that was driving him towards oblivion with the enormity of its power. “I am Loki, of Asgard. Those stones you placed away, I want you to retrieve them all and give them to me. You will help me take them out of here without being seen.” “Oh, for goodness sake. Not you again. You’re that maniac who brought aliens down to New York. I thought they said they’d banged you up in some other dimension.” Loki chuckled. “They cannot contain me for long. I am driven beyond anything they could ever imagine.” His measured tones set you on edge. They slithered down your spine as you saw the intent in his face. He would not back down, even if he had to trade in the entire world for those stones. “Look, bucko, I’m not losing my job because of some raving lunatic looking for some rocks.” You snapped. Loki chuckled menacingly. “I will reward you in your currency, mortal.” “Mortal! You aliens think you can do whatever the hell you want on this planet. Guess what, Mr. Loki, I don’t want your dirt money.” A smile of admiration ghosted the man’s features. The woman, in front of one of the most dangerous of people in the universe, was standing tall. She, unlike most of the mortals on this planet, had no care for the money that it had. The money that flowed around from person to person. For all its value, she saw no value in it. “With this money, you can leave your job.” Loki said persuasively. “I like my job.” Loki raised his eyebrow. “Yes, of course. Look, I want the stones. Get them for me and nobody on this planet will lose their life - ” “Why do you want them?” You cut him off. Loki was struck dumb from her question. It was a simple enough question. Why did he want the infinity stones? For glory? For power? But he was not retrieving them for his power, but for another’s power. You watched as Loki’s eyes flickered in recognition at the question. The arrogant demeanour had been stripped away. “They are for my master.” “Master! You make me laugh. So it’s not you who wants the stones, but your master. You’re just his little lackey, seeking a bit of glory for doing his dirty work. Tell your 'master’ to come and break in here himself.” Loki could not imagine Thanos having a civil conversation with this woman at all. “He’s occupied, you see.” “You don’t want the stones, do you?” You whispered to him. Loki’s eyes narrowed. In theory, he should be killing this mortal and trawling through whatever codes were left behind to find the stones. Yet, here he was, listening to her and her lecture about the motives behind his actions. Behind all of his actions for the past few years of his life. Dedicating himself to a life of searching and searching for infinity stones. They were for a master that he could not possibly hope to understand. He sighed and moved himself away from you. “That answers my question.” “He will find me and kill me.” Loki said, avoiding her eyes. He was staring at the floor, reliving the torture he had endured under Thanos’ hands. You heard the earnestness in his voice. “Who is he?” Loki raised his head and sighed. “The scariest guy in the universe. He wants to wipe out half of the universe for the other half to flourish.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Then you’ll have to kill him first." Loki raised his head and you didn’t think anyone had ever looked so directly in your eyes before. The blue in them, slowly but surely, was fading. It was fading into a tinge of green swirls which danced around in the irises. They seemed more human. Less crazed. "Look, not to be pushy, but if someone comes in here it’s going to look very dodgy.” The corners of Loki’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Oh, is it? I hadn’t noticed." You frowned at him. "Well, if you don’t want the stones - ” Before you could finish your sentence, Loki had already grasped onto your wrist and your entire body felt weightless for a few seconds. You saw mists of green smoke surrounding you and Loki when your feet landed on the ground again. It all happened far too quickly for you to properly process it in your head. Your legs wobbled from the impact of 'landing’ and Loki reached out to steady you. “Oh, come on, now I’m being kidnapped.” You muttered. “Well, not exactly.” Loki said. “This is my.. temporary residence. I cannot stay anywhere for too long as I am.. a outlaw, essentially.” You looked around you and you were inside a swish apartment. The furniture was cream coloured and the wooden floors were shining in the sunlight which danced through the balcony doors. The sudden exposure to this light almost blinded you, seeing as the inventory room had no windows in it. It was a shock to your system to say the very least. Loki stood awkwardly beside the kitchen counter and watched you curiously. He realised, as he watched you moved around the apartment, that he did not know your name. He set about remedying that immediately by asking for it. He did not plan on calling you mortal forever, after all. “You clearly like to order things together. Try ordering up my existence.” Loki smirked. You laughed at him cheerfully. “Wait, you’re being serious, aren’t you? Why the sudden change of heart?" "I have no desire to see half of the universe cleansed for no reason. Neither do I have a particular desire to possess all of the infinity stones myself. What perplexes me is how all of the stones can be on earth." "Beats me. They must have collected them all and tricked this Thanos guy into thinking that they’re all over the place.” “Hm. Interesting.” Loki raised his eyebrow. “Unless the ones you have stored away are fakes." You chuckled. "Who knows? Look, you common burglar, you need to make up with the good side of the universe to order up your life." "Then teach me.” Loki whispered playfully. “Teach you what?" "Teach me how to be good."

#Loki #God of Mischief #Submitted one shot #submission #How to be Good #hiddlemediddles

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punkpal · 3 years

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Yo, gamer community can y’all help a girl out.

I ain’t a gamer but have a question anyone may be able to answered but i figured you’d be the best to ask so please cure me of the headache i have from the absence of the answer to this specific question i have thats bugging me.

I have this really specific memory, actually several of them about something i don’t know the name of. Whats weird though is that every time i try to look it up with various descriptors of what i remember it being i can’t find anything, as though it never existed.

I can’t tell if i’m going insane or not but i swear this was a real thing and am just tryna like figure out what it is or if alternatively i am going insane and did just make up a whole bunch of false memories i am now convinced were real.

Basically i can’t remember what year these memories are from (not a good look to the hope the memories are real, i know) but from somewhere from like 2008 - 2011 i vividly remember a video game. I don’t know what console it was, if it was common one with a new at the time feature that didn’t stand the test of time and was only popular for a short period or if it was something new with said referred to unique feature with the aforementioned short popularity.

The games i played were group usually duo games often typically family friendly themed like sports games and/or adventure/racing games. There may have been other types like first-person shooter games or whatever but i was a kid and only ever played the ones the adults caring for me and/or friends chose.

What separates these games from those i can name or at least find on the internet is that they were all motion censored and didn’t rely on controls or keypads. I specifically remember how god damn fun that feature was but also hella frustrating because if you wanted to type you’d have to wave around like a lunatic trying to press each letter on screen and this task was harder then it sounds. Because of the hands free, well i guess it would better be described as controller free nature of the game i don’t have memory of what the hell these games were played from. Like i know and remember the game was a disk insert game but what you put the disk into is beyond me. It was probably the wii i am guessing because it was incredibly popular during that time period and with those amongst my age group at the time.

But yeah i have no idea because when i google things tryna figure out what it is i can’t find jack shit and everyone i mention this game too or strand of game/extension or whatever look at me like i’m talking a different language. I don’t know, maybe everyone i know is conspiring against me knowing how god damn annoyed i get when i think of something but forget its name and/or specifics and are all just playing dumb to make me question my sanity and memory but i swear to god this shit, my memories of this thing are so god damn real.

I didn’t personally own whatever it is i am tryna describe otherwise i’d be tearing apart my mums place tryna find it because that women doesn’t throw anything out and therefor if we did at one point own it i’d be able to get my hands on it and solve this mystery once and for all. But i remember several old childhood friends who had it and that would invite me and my sister over to play it. None of those people i am still in contact with nor want to talk to ever again as i am apparently not that desperate i’d track them down just to ask. But i do remember playing these games for hours. Only the cool and richer people i new in my life had this console or extension thing but i have a feeling it wasn’t expensive just new and pricier then the other games available hence why adults like my parents who were still skeptical of the dangers of the web and gaming for kids chose not to get it and just insisted we play outside instead; which would just result in me going to other friends houses whose parents had spoilt them with this new and exciting new game i was itching to play.

I’m assuming because these games aren’t still around at least not in the way i remember them or perhaps are still around just not popular that they must have been nothing more then a short lived fad otherwise they would have kept pumping out more the way the original iphone was followed by new upgraded better models one after another in quick succession.

But the question remains what was it? Was it a whole new console or a extension to a existing one or was it just certain games that didn’t need a new console or plug in to play as a motion censored game. I will admit i am a little high while writing this but its a been a thought and an unanswered question thats been bugging me for ages now (whilst sober) so i assure you this ain’t a result of a weird trip. And because of this i am just itching to figure out the mystery and finally not feel so insane when others have no idea what i am talking about once i have proof this did exist and is not just all in my head.

Lmao any help and/or answers would be greatly appreciated. If this makes no sense to even the most knowledgable gamer nerd then i apologize for my bullshit and apparent insanity/delusion. But i really do think this memory is a real one fellas so if you can help me out i’d be grateful and likely better able to sleep at night.

More but not really all too necessary commentary and vague explanation in tags.

My brain can’t keep up with this valium so i am calling it a night and going to bed early for a long ass sleep so if i don’t respond back thanking you for sorting out this conundrum then i apologize but will grace you with my thanks once conscious in between 9 and 14 hours from now... see ya on the other side and lets hope i awake to answers or at least more clarity in regards to my memories that may help provide more clues or alternatively more fake memories if this is in fact just a figment of my imagination.

#gamer #gamer community #video games #retro gaming #gamerchick #gamercore #gamercommunity #fortnite #mindcraft #the legend of zelda #world of warcraft #grand theft auto #amongst us #look i am really just throwing out words and names i associate with gaming but i have no idea what any of this shit means #or what i am talking about - i only obsessively played call of duty on the computer in class instead of doing work for like all of 2011 #thats it #then i became too mentally ill (tm) to function lol so i stopped and just never got back into gaming again #like what does this new generation of youth play these days? like shit i am getting old i haven't touched a game since dark ops #so i don't speak the language of gamer so please be nice to me and talk/explain things to me like i am a toddler #also please excuse my tags i had no idea what to tag this shit as so i just winged it and tried to connect with the gen z's #if you have the answer this this mystery please end this nightmare of uncertainty and give me the answer i would owe you my life #cheers

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gwenore · 5 years

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Imp Mansion

So... 30th October 3 years ago I uploaded the first chapter of Beneath the Skin. So this is a story where the imps make their return. I adore the buggers. I also will make this story my November writing project by uploading a chapter each day (short chapters, but chapter none the less). We will see how many days I make it :P

Story synopsis: 1923, Belle French’s car breaks down outside of the small town of Storybrooke. She comes across a strange mansion belonging to an enigmatic man who calls himself Mr. Gold who harbors a dark secret and there are forces which does not wish for Belle to ever leave the dark mansion.

Belle was wandering down the street with the rain beating off the cobblestones. Her car had broken down… and of course it was in the middle of nowhere. Of course it couldn’t have happen in the middle of a town… still she doubted that anyone out here would have much knowledge of cars… farm equipment perhaps, but even then this were a place where the horse and plow were still very much in use.

This really was a place where the world which hadn’t gotten into the modern world yet.

Wasn’t that why she had travelled out here? To get away from it all? … or just escape from the judgmental looks. Seemed like she had a scarlet letter above her head because of what she had done.

But with her coat and dress soaked with the rain and her shoes drenched… she regretted her choice. She really was not dressed for this sort of weather…

Soon she saw a sign which gave her hope, mentioning towards a mansion, Caisteal Dorcha… she did not know what that meant… or if there were even people living there still. Anyway… it might give her some shelter until the rain passed.

But… there were a hope that there was a possibility for someone to live there, and if it was a large mansion they must have a phone right?

Turning onto the gravel path she hurried along up towards the mansion where she swallowed nervously. She could only hope that she would be able to get some help.

It didn’t take long until an absolutely massive mansion came into view. It looked like it was more like a castle than a mansion.

While it looked like it had come into disrepair, what made Belle’s heart fill with hope that she could get some help was the fact that she was able see some light flickering behind the thick glass of the windows.

Already she was absolutely freezing, so in hopes of perhaps getting some warmth in her she hurried along the path until she stood before the great door. Reaching out a hesitant hand she reached over and knocked on the door.

Unsure if she was being heard she reached over and knocked again.

Leaning in and listening she could hear movements on the other side… but it wasn’t the sound of humans moving about… more like… animals? She supposed… though the sound didn’t match with any animals that she was familiar with.

Deciding that she should knock again, her knuckles almost touched the wood door when it slowly creaked open.

Feeling rather nervous she took a uncertain step inside.

“Hello?” she asked, looking for the one who had opened the door, but it seemed to have done so by itself.

“Is anyone there?” she took further steps inside. The mansion was a lot warmer than she had expected, as she had always imagined that a large place such as this and made of stone would have to be cold. That was how the books described them anyway.

Belle almost jumped out of her skin when she heard the door slam shut behind her follow by the sound of the lock snapping shut.

“Oh… no! No… no, no, no! NO!” Belle said with fear in her voice as she ran over and tried to open the door, but it was indeed locked.

“Great…” she sighed to herself scratching the side of her head. Now she had to also explain to whoever lived in this place that she had managed to lock herself inside their house. She could only hope that they wouldn’t arrest her for trespassing or something.

That would have to be a problem for when it came up… after all… she was already locked inside so…

“Also… if they are able to call the police… that means they have a phone… I suppose that is good,” Belle said to herself… trying not to think about if that if they decided to kill her no one would ever find out what happened to her.

“At least it is warm…” she thought, delighting in feeling how the warmth spread through her body.

“Um… hello?” she asked as she looked around. “Hello. My name is Belle French! I do not mean to intrude, but… well I got locked inside!”

She continued to walk further into the mansion, trying to catch a view of the people living there. In such a big mansion there should be people everywhere, shouldn’t there?

Belle swallowed. This place… despite not looking the part… almost seemed abandoned. But still… how come she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched?

Shaking her head she wandered down the hallway.

“Um… hello?” she was starting to doubt that she would find anyone else… what if this was haunted? With the door opening by itself and everything else…

The young woman felt the hairs on her back stand up. No… there wasn’t such a thing as ghosts were there?

Swallowing she continued on.

“At least I can warm up…” she kept speaking to herself, trying desperately to ignore the fact that she was utterly alone.

She found herself in a large living room, glancing around. It had a lot of stuff in it… mostly things that were antiques… and rather valuable.

Did someone leave all this stuff? That wasn’t possible. This place couldn’t be abandoned, she reminded herself when she looked at the myriads of candles placed all around. If this place abandoned they would surely have burned out long ago and it didn’t look like someone had left in a hurry.

Still… she could not shake the feeling that she were being watched… by several eyes digging into her skin.

“Um… is anyone here?”

She glanced around, her fingers playing with the tip of her hair, swallowing nervously.

“What are you doing here?”

Belle almost felt herself jump out of her skin at the sound of the voice. Spinning around she saw a man standing in the door opening.

She hadn’t even heard his steps! Her hand over her chest she attempted to catch her breath.

“I am terribly sorry. My name is Belle French… my car… it broke down not far from this mansion,” Belle spoke quickly to make herself calm down so that she did not seem like an utter lunatic.

“Bad luck…” the man cocked his head towards her.

“Very… but I found this mansion and… I was knocking… and the door opened and… locked behind me,” Belle said with a nervous tone. The man practically rolled his eyes at this.

“Of course they did…” he said in a low tone.

“They?” she asked nervously.

“It,” the man seemed to correct himself. “However… it doesn’t seem like your luck has grown any better sadly.

“Oh…” Belle said with a shiver go down her back. Was she in danger? Was this some madman? Unknown for her she started to back away nervously.

“Yes…” the man made an exaggerating movement with his hand. “No electricity I am afraid. No phone… so I am afraid that I cannot call anyone to come assist you with your car.”

“OH!” Belle exclaimed… well that certainly explained all the candles around… “I am sorry for the intrusion…”

“It is getting late… I should perhaps head out… do you have a map or something to the nearest town?” she asked.

“Yes, I should, I will…” the man’s voice faded out, glancing behind himself.

“Uh… excuse me for a moment,” he excused himself before he walked away. Belle was left standing there and furrowing her brows. She certainly hadn’t heard anything.

“Odd…” she whispered to herself. The man looked to be in his fifties, dressed head to toes in heavy robes which seemed to be out of date in the last centuries. It must have been absolutely sweltering to wear however. Belle was certain that she would be able to wear her summer dress in here and still feel nice and warm.

The man was even wearing gloves.

The wait seemed to be long however, before the man came back.

“Uh… it seems that it might be unwise for you to go out in this weather. If you want… you could stay. It might be better weather in the morning, and… well light. For a woman to walk alone… something could happen. It will also get easier to help with your car,” he hardly met her eyes.

While Belle was very happy at the prospect of not having to go out again and be able to stay in a warm place for the night. But… what had changed his mind.

“Thank you. I really do appreciate your generousness Mr… uh… I do not have your name,” she said, wondering if staying there was a good thing as she knew nothing of this man. However… it certainly wasn’t better freezing to death in this weather… no matter who she could encounter in the middle of the night.

“Gold… you may call me Mr. Gold.”

#imp mansion #rumbelle fic #rumbelle gothic horror #imp!rumple #1920s rumbelle #imps

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inky-whump · 4 years

Text

Day 25 - Blinded

29 Days of Whump - Day 25 - Blinded

Taglist: @yuckwhump @slaintetowhump @constellationwhump @whimperwoods @burtlederp - LMK if you wanna be added! :)

Okay, so this is an idea that came to me today, and I just had to write it.

When I was thinking of how to write “blinded”, I thought of one of the most iconic eye-gouging scenes in literature: Shakespeare’s King Lear, Act 3, Scene 7. I acted in this play a few years ago (and was in charge of the blood). When we did it, we did it as if it were in the Old West, but still with Shakespearean English.

For tonight’s whump, I’ve decided to rewrite Act 3, Scene 7, from Lord Gloucester’s perspective* (pronounced Glauster). Hope you enjoy! (Also, if you haven’t read or seen King Lear, I highly recommend it. Lots of whump, lots of blood, lots of people die.)

*I will try to match Shakespearean English…but we shall see…

TW: Eye trauma

I walked with as much haste as my aged body would allow. I pray the gods will grant the king speed…there are lights coming towards me! Have they discovered my plan? Running would be foolish. Let them take me.

They are upon me like wolves on a sheep. I am bodily hauled into my own castle. Lord Cornwall stands, barely concealing his anger. His wife, Lady Regan, screeches upon seeing me, calling me an ingrateful fox. Cornwall orders his servants to bind me. I try to remain calm, soothe them and take control of the situation.

“What mean your graces? Good my friends, consider: you are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends.

"Bind him, I say!” Lord Cornwall’s voice echoes through the halls as he grabs a chair, almost smashing it when it hits the ground. I am quickly tied to the chair, Lady Regan ordering the cords to be tight. I can feel the ropes chafing against my old wrists. I try not to struggle. I must steel myself for whatever they will do. Reagan circles me.

“Filthy old traitor!”

I answer her with a level tone, “Unmerciful lady as you are, I’m none.”

Cornwall towers over me. I swallow.

“Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?”

“Be simple answer,” Regan interjected, “for we know the truth.”

“And what confederacy have you with the traitors late footed in the kingdom?”

“To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king?” Regan again jumping in with her husband. Will I even get a chance to speak in my defense? I wondered. Regan must’ve seen my look, for she prompted.

“Speak.”

I tried to calm my breathing. “I have a letter, guessingly set down, which came from one that’s of a neutral heart, and not from one opposed.” _Perhaps fortune will smile upon me, and Lord Cornwall be satisfied … _ but their words dashed my hopes.

“Cunning, ” scoffed Lord Cornwall.

“And false,” added Lady Regan.

“Where has thou sent the king?” Cornwall’s voice was rising dangerously.

I hid the tremor in my voice, “To Dover.”

“Wherefore to Dover??” Regan exploded, “Wast thou not changed at peril-” Cornwall’s hand flew up, cutting her off. His anger was betrayed by his face and voice as he interrupted her.

“Wherefore to Dover?” He reigned in his anger enough to get the next sentence out in a more subdued tone. “Let him answer that first.”

There is no escape for me, but I must not yield. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I spoke.

“I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.”

“Wherefore to Dover, sir?” Regan’s voice was low and deadly. I sat up as straight as my bonds would allow me, speaking loud enough for all around to hear.

“Because I would not see thy cruel nails pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister, in his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. The sea, with such a storm as his bare head in hell-black night endured, would have buoy’d up, and quench’d the stelled fires.”

I felt my eyes welling with tears, “Yet, poor old heart, he helped the heavens to rain.”

As quickly as they came, my tears dried. I looked at the Duke and his wife standing before me, leveling my accusation at them: “If wolves had at thy gate howl’d that stern time, thou shouldst have said ‘Good porter, turn the key,’ All cruels else subscribed: but I, I shall see the winged vengeance overtake such children.”

My voice rose and fell with unbridled emotion as I laid their crimes before them. I could see Cornell’s anger rising steadily, but I did not care. When I finished, it was as if the fury of the gods was unleashed from Cornwall.

“See’t shalt thou never! Fellows, hold the chair!” He angrily rolled up his sleeves, stooping close. One hand was laid against my chest, What does he intend to do? His next words sent off the panic in me.

“Upon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot!”

I thrashed against Cornwall’s grip, but he was too strong. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the servants holding the chair. They were looking away, unable to gaze upon the horrors that were sure to follow. I cried out for them to help, for anyone to save me.

“He that will think to live till he be old, give me some help!” My voice crescendoed into a shrill shriek. Cornwall’s thumb drove into my eye socket, pinching it towards my skull. I heard a sickening squelch. I screamed.

“O cruel! O you gods!”

Sobbing, I slumped down in my chair, feeling the blood run down my face from my ruined eye socket. I heard something hit the floor with a splat. My eye that was once in my body, is now on the floor. I thought with growing horror. Regan’s condescending voice came to me.

“One side will mock the other. The other too!”

No, please, not the other! Spare me that! Cornwall was preparing to take the other eye when a voice rang out.

“Hold your hand, my lord!”

Daring to open my remaining eye, I saw an older servant grabbing Cornwall’s shoulder, drawing him away from me. Determination shone in his eyes.

“I have served you ever since I was a child, but better service have I never done you than now to bid you hold.”

“How now, you dog!” Regan shouted, indignant.

“If you did wear a beard upon your chin, I’d shake it on this quarrel.”

Cornwall drew his knife, turning to face the servant.

“What do you mean?” The servant mocked him, drawing his own knife.

“My villain!” Cornwall growled and lunged at the servant. He dodged with surprising alacrity, sending Cornwall sprawling.

“Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger!” The servant dove at Cornwall. Cornwall had gained his senses and dodged it. He countered with blinding attacks of his own. Seeing an opening, the servant struck Cornwall across the face. Cornwall’s anger kindled further, he knocked the servant away and kicked him to the ground. Laughing like a madman, he loomed over the servant, knife raised for the kill. But behold! The servant shot up like an arrow and pierced Cornwall! The servant must’ve found his knife whilst on the ground! Cornwall doubled over, his hands on his middle. I heard Lady Regan scream “Give me thy knife!” to another servant and she was on the offending servant in a flash.

“A peasant stands up thus! She drove the knife deep into the unprotected back of the servant. The servant cried out. His eyes grew wide with terror. He coughed, and his hand was stained with his own blood. He turned to look me in the eye as he collapsed to his knees.

“I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left to see some mischief on him.” The servant was overcome by a violent tremor. Another cry escaped his lips and he was still.

I had no time to even stare. Cornwall stormed over to me. He wrenched one hand from his side, the fingers dripping with blood. “Lest it see more, prevent it!” His thumb stabbed into my remaining eye. I heard him say, “Out, vile jelly!” as my eye was taken. I screamed. Cornwall grabbed my shirt so hard he almost ripped it, yanking me close. I could smell his breath as he shouted in gloating victory.

“Where is thy lustre now?”

It was a moment before I could answer. I finally sobbed “All dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmund? Edmund! Enkindle all the sparks of nature, to quit this horrid act!”

“Out, treacherous villain!” Regan’s mocking voice was very close to me. I pulled away. What does she mean? I felt the cold steel of a knife on my cheek and I shuddered.

“Thou call'st on him that hates thee: it was he that made the overture of thy treasons to us; Who is too good to pity thee.”

She further emphasized the word hates with a slap. Without seeing when it was coming, I was terrified. Edmund…betrayed…me? Tears slid down my ruined face, intermingling with the blood that I felt painting my face.

“O my follies! Then Edgar was abused. Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!”

I collapsed in my chair and sobbed. Nothing mattered anymore. My son, Edmund, had betrayed me. I had put a price on the head of my firstborn son, Edgar. He was probably already dead. What have I done?

Regan’s voice came again, cold and unfeeling. “Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell his way to Dover.”

I felt the cold steel of knives cut away my bonds. I had no strength to stand. The servants roughly bore me up. With my feet dragging on the ground and my head bowed, I was thrust out the gates of my own house.

#whump #29 days of whump #king lear #shakespeare #ish #is Shakespeare whump a thing?#blinded #eye gouging #tw: eye trauma

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lokis-lady-death · 5 years

Text

Part 8 The Found

Lady Death: This is the second of three chapters I am uploading tonight as the finale of Asgardian Soldier. I worked for over a week to try and give our Loki the ending he deserved, so I hope you all enjoy!

WARNING: This story is based after Avengers Endgame and will contain some spoilers from the movie. Story also contains lemons, so feel free to make some lemonade ;D

Part 8 The Found

Originally, Loki dreaded the idea of sitting in the cramped schoolhouse with the children. After weeks of working with his hands, mending fences, and cleaning out the stables, he thought surely the children would be their own kind of headache.

Yet he was pleasantly surprised. Sif ran a rather tight ship, keeping the children both quiet and entertained with her lessons. She went over things such as letters, numbers, words, both Asgardian and Midgardian. While the other children listened intently, Loki noticed his friend Frig was reading another thick book he had hidden in his lap.

Meanwhile, Loki was tasked with sitting in the farthest corner, asked only to be still and keep to himself while class carried on. Frig turned every once in a while to offer a reassuring smile, but otherwise the god spent his time reading his new book.

It was about an hour after they came inside that the school’s front door flew open. Alarmed by the disruption, Loki jumped from his seat, readying himself to fight if need be.

Yet he relaxed at the sight of you breathless in the doorway. You huffed in and out while your eyes met his, fearful and begging, though he didn’t understand. About to ask what was wrong, a familiar child’s voice caught his ear.

“Mother?”

At the sound your heart leapt into your throat, your eyes immediately falling on your son sitting just a few chairs away from Loki.

“Mother?” you heard Loki repeat. His eyes went from you to Frig, brow creased while he connected the dots.

Your lips opened to speak, half expecting to scream but instead all that came was a short, choppy, “Out. Now.”

His piercing eyes never left yours as he came around to your side. Just as he passed you, he glanced back at Frig, who's face was scrunched in concern.

That’s when Loki realized it was he, and he alone, who didn’t know the truth.

Letting out a breath, he went outside.

“Mother,” Frig repeated, getting up from his seat, “May I…”

“Sit!” you commanded. Everyone in the schoolhouse landed on their bottoms, including Sif. “Continue with class, I’ll speak with you when you get home.”

On that note, you closed the door.

Loki’s stare was cold but he didn’t speak, his mind spiraling with what he just discovered.

“Valkyrie is in the stables,” you directed, “That’s where you’re working-”

“You had no intention of telling me, did you?”

Maintaining eye contact, you went on like he said nothing, “She’s in the stables, you know where that is, I trust you don’t need to be escorted.”

He stepped closer towards you, his eyes burning down into yours, his voice threatening. “No. I’m not going to the stables.”

“No?” you repeated, “You don’t get a choice, Loki, you’re going to have to work if you intend to stay here. We all pull our own weight-”

“I’m not saying I won’t work,” he took a step closer to you, “But what I am saying is that you're going to give me answers. I believe you owe me that much.” When you didn’t speak, he lowered his head. The fists he made at his side made you tense up but when he looked back up, you saw the pain so clearly it made your own heart ache. “I can’t stand this any longer, y/n, I have to know what's happened between us.”

“It’s complicated,” you said too quickly.

"Complicated…" he repeated, his face contorting like the word was sour. “Do you hear yourself, y/n? Complicated?” Loki’s anger was becoming apparent by the straight line of his lips and fire in his eyes. “What about this isn’t complicated! I’m from the past, you’re from the future, Thanos is gone, and Asgard is reduced to ash while her people struggle to get by!”

The rampage stopped when he regained control, closing his eyes tight while he realined himself.

“Why didn't you tell me we have a son?”

“We don't. I do.”

At that, Loki once again lost is temper, “Frig has MY blood in his veins! You act as if my mere existence is so painful for you, yet at some point you must have had love for me! So why do you hate?”

“Blood doesn't make a parent! Choices do, and I know who you are, Loki Odinson of Asgard. I know right now you are a version of yourself that is broken! I know that because I spent what felt like a lifetime trying to help put you back together only to fall to pieces myself.” Tears swelled in your eyes, but it was the truth. For every moment you had with Loki, there was a heartbreaking truth that you were never truly his goal. Something would always come between you, some new strive in his life. A throne. A kingdom. A titan. You weren’t his priority, and so now he could no longer be yours.

Frig came first.

And then your people.

You simply couldn’t afford to lose yourself to the fantasy that this was somehow meant to be.

“I loved you for so long and for mere glimpses I was allowed beautiful moments with you that I will cherish for a millennium,” you were finally able to say, “but I cannot go through it all again.”

“Is…” he hesitated bringing it up, but went on, “Is this about what happened in New York? Because that was not me, y/n, that was…”

You cut him off. “I know, Loki. I know it was Thanos, because I'm the one who figured it out. And then I begged you to admit it all to your father, but you refused, because of pride or hatred I don't know.” Your eyes grew colder, sharpening as you took a step towards the god of mischief. “And do you know how you thanked me for trying to help you? You made me a traitor of Asgard, a place I had spent my life preparing to serve. And then,” you closed the distance between you, but Loki didn't flinch even as you poked a finger into his chest, “And then you faked your death to take over Asgard, while I was on Midgard trying to drown the pain of what at that time was your second death! And then, I crash landed on a planet ruled by a lunatic when of course you just suddenly appeared! I believed you were dead for four years!” you cried out, shoving him back. "Three times, I have mourned your death, Loki! Three! And every time, it seems like you've come back just to break me down again!"

His voice came out small when he admitted, “You make me sound truly awful…”

His words froze you in place. As angry as you had become, it subsided enough for you to take a breath.

“No," you admitted." No, you didn't stay like that." Your tone softened, though you hadn't realized it. “We were battling on Asgard with these undead monsters when we were overwhelmed. I got injured, was bleeding so much I could hardly see anymore, yet somehow you managed to get us both out. I was unconscious for the worst of it but when I came to you were just… there. Sleeping beside me. You had been there waiting for me to wake up…” You choked up a little and cut the story short. "It was so perfect. You were so perfect…" You took in a breath, but didn't pick back up. Instead you looked into Loki's sorrowful face.

“May I at least know why you changed your mind? After everything that happened, you loved the version of Loki that died. I just…” he cleared his throat to keep his voice from cracking as he held back tears of his own, “What made you love him despite all of those travesties, when you can’t even give me a chance to love you having done none of it?”

At that, your jaw fell open, but nothing came out. It wasn't that you didn't realize you were holding things against him that your Loki had done, but it was the dryness in his words that stung. All this time you had been using the past to avoid getting close to him, afraid he would just repeat those mistakes.

It had never occured that this Loki may be different.

After some thought, you answered, “There's no specific reason. Something about him had shifted, as if he had finally become himself. After all those years he was simply my Asgardian prince again. He changed and so did I. We may not have had the time together that we wanted, but it was worth it because it gave me Frig. And if it wasn't for his sacrifice, the Asgardians would nothing more than midgardian folklore.”

"If he was capable of being who you needed him to be, why don't you believe I can?"

You closed your eyes to hold back unlashed tears. Seeing the face of the man you had to lose over and over and over again was too much to stand. It's why you avoided him all this time and why you tried your damndest to not talk to him.

"If you don't learn from the past,” you tried to argue, “Then you're doomed to repeat it…"

"But it's not my past, y/n. I will never experience what your Loki did. My life, My choices. I'm not influenced by what drove him." When you didn't respond, he asked, "What if I'm different?"

You looked up, tears still trying to fall. "I'm not strong enough to handle anymore heartbreak, Loki, and that's what loving you is. It's pain, it's loss, it's this never ending cycle of picking up my broken pieces. I cannot do it anymore, and I won't put Frig through it either."

"But..."

He didn't continue. For the first time ever, his silver tongue had nothing to say. You could see his apparent aggravation, the sheer agony of trying to convince you to give him a chance but being shot down at every turn. After a painful reality set in, he started, "I love you, y/n. I always have. I cannot begin to fathom a lifetime, a realm, or a version of me that wouldn't do what needed to be done in order to have you. You say I’m broken. You say I left you in pieces. If that’s the case, then don’t you think together we can create something whole?"

Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into an embrace as he went on, "Y/n, if you would just give me a chance, I'll do whatever it takes to prove it to you, each and every day. Let me show you that I can be the man you deserve."

At that you lost control, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. You could feel him cupping the back of your head to nestle you against his chest as you sobbed.

“Y/n,” he whispered, but choked back whatever other comment he was going to make, instead squeezing you a bit tighter as he kissed the top of your head. "I swear on Valhalla, I just want to make you happy."

Your lips quivered as you struggled to wipe your face clean. It was infuriating enough that you were crying, but you weren't going to let him see. Lightly placing your hands on his chest, you pushed yourself off of him and out of his hold. "I think you should leave."

"Leave?" he echoed dumbly.

"Yes. Go find Valkyrie. She's in the stables." To keep your voice from shaking, you shot your words out and looked down. You couldn’t even bring yourself to meet his gaze.

At that, his brow furrowed, but he held whatever argument he was going to make in favor of the more passive aggressive, "Alright, y/n. If that's what you wish." Loki took a step back, gave a short bow and left to find Valkyrie. At the sight of him disappearing down the hilltop, you covered your mouth to stifle back your crying. Once you regained control over yourself, you turned back to face the schoolhouse.

"Frig," you whispered to yourself, feeling yet another piece of your heart break that much more. Taking a deep breath you headed back towards your house. Just as you got to the door, you changed your mind and headed down the path to the tavern.

This day was worth the loss of your sobriety.

*****

Valkyrie was already set up in the stables when the god of mischief slinked in.

“It didn’t go well, I take it?” When he didn’t answer, she pressed, “At least tell me you met him?”

“You knew,” he acknowledged, “You knew I’d meet Frig. That’s why you sent me.” Letting out an exasperated breath, he scoffed, “Was I the only person who didn’t know?”

Valkyrie turned to face Loki when she said, “He hasn’t stopped talking about you since you arrived.” She bent down to pick up a stack of hay for her pegasas as she added, “And I didn’t see y/n coming to her senses without a little nudge.”

“I’m afraid the effort was in vain. I don’t believe she intends to ever speak to me again.”

Valkyrie hesitated, looking back over her shoulder to him. She couldn't ignore the devastation in his face, notable shake in his words. “You really love her don’t you?”

Loki leaned back against the railing, not willing to meet her stare. “She’s just always been there. My childhood, my adolescence, while I was studying to be prince, she was there for me. She even joined the royal guard and I saw her every single day.” His head shook taking in this realization, “I thought we would be married. I thought we would be a family.” The realizations kept coming, pouring out of him like an unwritten play. “We were going to have this amazing life together, I had it all planned, we were so close.” He closed his eyes, tilting his head back so that it came against the rail. “I am such a fool.”

Stuck in his own self pity, he jumped when Valkyrie grabbed hold of his arm.

“If that’s how you feel, show her.”

“She won’t listen,” he pointed out, “I tried to tell her-”

“NO!” she yelled, her voice causing a stir amongst the animals. “You SHOW her! Y/n has proven she won’t listen, so you make her see.”

He thought she might as well have been speaking in rhymes with her vagueness, but Loki took a moment for himself to contemplate it.

How could he show you he wasn’t just here to hurt you?

How could he prove that he did, truly love you?

*****

You hadn’t been inside the tavern to drink since the celebration of Thanos’s defeat a year ago. When you set yourself up at the bar, you could feel the eyes of the regular drunkards watching their chief order a bottle of midgardian whiskey and a glass.

So encased in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice Korg take a seat at your side, setting his bug friend on the stool on the other side of him.

“Oh, hello, y/n, how are you?”

Glancing at him over the rim of your glass, you remembered he was now rooming with Loki. You let out a sigh, realizing nothing you did made the god of mischief go away.

“Hi Korg,” you offered, pouring yourself another glass while he accepted a beer bottle from the bartender.

The two of you sat in bizarre silence until he started, “So, Loki’s been living with me a while-”

“No offense,” you cut him off,” But if you have some issues with Loki, then take them up with Valkyrie. I am not his keeper.”

“Oh, right, okay then.”

The silence was even more stale before you finished your second glass.

Feeling him holding what he was originally going to say, you snapped, “Spit it out then. What about Loki?”

“Oh, well, it’s just that, our mutual friend, well the friend of our mutual friend, he’s not really my friend, he scares me a bit honestly, but he’s not a bad guy-”

“Out with it, Korg.”

“Oh, well, I know what’s going on between you is none of my business, but don’t you think you should, I don’t know, talk to him?”

You slowly turned to look Korg in the eye, certain he wasn’t brazen enough suggest such a thing. He looked more uncomfortable, shifting his eyes around to make sure others were there in case you flew off into a rage.

“Is that all?” you asked flat tone.

“Oh. um. Yes?”

“Thank you for your concern, I’ll think it over,” you answered, reaching over the bar for a brown bag to shove your bottle in. You went towards the door without another word.

“Oh, Ok. Good talk,” you heard him say, more to himself than you.

You walked home taking swallow after swallow from your bottle with every other step. Outside your front door, you were met by Sif and Frig. Quickly, you hid the bagged bottle behind your back.

“Y/n,” Sif scolded you through her stare, but you didn’t look at her. Instead, you were watching Frig.

“Are you mad at me, mother?” he asked, his voice as small as his form.

The question tugged at you, making you feel guilt over your selfishness. While trying to protect yourself from Loki, you had left Frig to deal with his feelings alone.

The shame humbled a smile onto your lips as you ran your fingers through his hair. “No, sweetie. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Does that mean you’re angry with father?”

You and Sif both stiffened at the question, not expecting it. “It’s just… complicated adult stuff.”

“It certainly is,” Sif affirmed, squeezing her nephew’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up for dinner? Your mother and I need to speak.”

His curious eyes went between you both before he nodded and went inside.

When the door closed, you expected Sif to raise her voice, to berate you, to guilt you for putting Frig through this.

Instead, she did something she had never done before.

She hugged you.

“I cannot fathom what you must be going through,” she admitted. “But know that I am here. Brunhilde is here. And,” she pulled back to look you in the eyes, “Loki is here. If that isn’t a sign from Valhalla that this was destined, then may Thor’s lightning strike me down.”

You closed your eyes. “Sif, I…”

“Y/n, stop being so hard headed. We are all grateful for what you’ve done for us here, but it’s time you do something for yourself. You have this incredible twist in fate that has given you something you shouldn’t have had to lose.”

It was such a revelation to hear from Sif, someone who had always detested Loki. To hear her encourage you was something you had never seen coming.

You hugged each other again before she left you with even more to think about.

“Frig, you called out as you went into the house, setting the whiskey on the kitchen counter, “Sweetie? What did you want for dinner?”

No answer.

“Frig?” you yelled towards his bedroom, “Frig!”

That's when you noticed something in your living room was missing.

Loki’s battle horns.

*****

Loki had been finished helping Valkyrie for half an hour before he finally started his way back towards his house. He smiled at the friendly faces he passed on the street, shaking hands with one couple that were thanking him for his help tending to their garden.

Though he was able to keep it together, deep down, he was falling apart.

Even after Valkyrie’s certainty that you would see differently, Loki honestly felt there was no more hope in rekindling the love the two of you shared.

“It’s over,” he told himself, “Y/n wants nothing more to do with me.”

It was hard to admit but it was the truth. As much as he wanted you, he couldn’t make you be with him.

It was becoming harder and harder to maintain the cheerful facade when he saw something strange out the corner of his eye.

Something familiar.

Something gold.

“Hey!” he roared, breaking into a full out run to catch up with the figure as it turned down an alleyway. Loki pursued, certain he must be so depressed he had crossed over into madness. He came to the mouth of the alley in time to see the horns bolt out the other side to a side street. “Stop!” he commanded, darting after it.

*****

You were absolutely furious with yourself for not speaking to Frig sooner. Knowing the way his mind worked, you should have seen he was struggling though he didn’t press you about it.

He was his father’s son, after all. Once his mind is set on something, he is hooked.

You had already taken to the streets, ducking in and out of shops down main street while calling out his name. Just when you were getting desperate enough to seek out Valkyrie, you caught sight of him coming out of an alleyway, the oversized helmet set on his brow, his hands holding onto the sides of the temples to balance the oddity.

In that moment, he looked so much like Loki it took your breath away.

“Why, hello, mother,” he gushed, taking a step back as though to prepare to run. “How’s dinner coming along?”

But before he could, another figure emerged from behind him, blocking his path.

“There you are!” Loki announced, taking hold of the horns and lifting them up, “Now what is thi-”

His eyes locked onto yours.

He looked down and saw the bright green gaze of Frig.

“Oh,” was all he managed. “Well, I’m a tad confused…”

While every nerve on your body was on edge, Frig simply smiled up at him.

“Actually, Mr. Loki, I was bringing this to you. I thought that since you were back, you would want to have it.” Frig’s eyes were just so bright as they looked up to Loki that for a minute, he didn’t know what to say.

Resorting his thoughts, the god grinned sweetly to the boy before kneeling in front of him. “Actually, I don’t much have use for a battle helmet lately,” he explained. “So, if it’s alright with you, I would feel much better if you kept an eye on it for me. You know, keep it safe.”

You saw Frig’s face light up in delight when Loki lowered the battle horns onto his head, and something inside of you turned like a switch.

“Would you like to come for dinner?” Loki and Frig but whipped their heads towards you, certain they had misheard. “I mean, it won’t be anything fancy, but if you would like-”

“I would love to have dinner with you,” he breathed out, standing up straight with a hand flat on Frig’s back.

The two of them walked a few paces behind you while your brain ran over what you were possibly going to say to him once you got to your home. Knots formed in your stomach as you opened the door and let them in, Loki hesitated at the door, locking eyes with you to get one final nod of approval before he entered. As you closed the door behind you, you watched Loki take in the sight of your modest little cottage, so plain and Midgardian compared to the Asgardian homes. But Loki was busy watching Frig as he went up to the mantle. He hopped onto the fireplace, clung to the sturdy block of wood that sat as your mantle, and set the helmet in the middle of your two broadswords.

“There's blood on those blades,” Loki noticed.

Frig exclaimed, “Mother cut Thanos in half!”

While Loki shot a surprised look in your direction, you corrected, “I cut his cheek,” you drew a line across your face with a finger, “Nearly got pummeled to get that little bit. But it was worth it.”

It was then that Frig grabbed hold of Loki and dragged him to his room to show him his various books and collectibles. You took the time to busy yourself in the kitchen, managing to cook up some vegetables and seared fish while you did all you could to keep a level head.

When the food was ready, you went to find them sitting cross legged in the floor. Loki was telling him a story you recognized from your youth, about a sweet love story of two birds finding each other after a lifetime apart. The boys came out and set themselves at the table as though this were just a normal routine. You ate quietly while the two of them went on and on about different things, one of which being Loki’s use of magic. With his obsession of all things Harry Potter and wizards, Frig was wide eyed at the idea that Loki knew spells himself.

They carried on while you cleared the table until, at last, it was time for bed.

“Please, mother,” he begged. But with one look, he knew it would be in vain. He scurried off to bed while Loki waited outside his bedroom, watching as you went in to tuck in the blankets. “Would it be alright if Mr. Loki tucked me in?”

The request left you speechless, but Loki was already at your side. “It would be my pleasure,” he told him, leaning down to tuck the folds of his blanket around his small body. “Goodnight, you clever boy.”

Frig flashed a proud grin as you added, “Too clever.”

You planted a kiss on his cheek before following Loki back out into the living room.

You stood in the hallway for a moment, watching as he made his way back up to the battle horns.

“I bet you looked ferocious,” he commented as you got closer. “I can only imagine you sparing with Thanos. It’s a fight I wish I could have witnessed.”

“I certainly didn’t feel ferocious when he threw me across the battlefield like a child’s ball.”

The two of you were quiet while you both tried to work through everything that had happened up till now.

It was Loki that spoke up first, offering up a simple, “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble, I’m sure Korg isn’t much of a cook-”

“No,” he corrected, “For this. For letting me be here. For letting me talk to Frig. I know this hasn’t been easy…” His eyes met yours before going towards the helmet. “I know that I’m a part of him that’s hard to see, but,” his hand reached up to brush your hair back from your face, “But I’m not everything he was. My life isn’t taking the same path as his.I hope you can see that, y/n.”

“I know you’re not,” you admitted, taking a deep breath as you looked up at the helmet yourself. “And I have to stop treating you like it.”

Another silence fell between you while you searched for something to say.

Instead, you opted for something to do. “Would you like a drink?”

“I would love a drink,” he cooed, following you to the kitchen. You pulled out two glasses and poured the whiskey you brought home from the bar. After you handed him his glass, he held it out to you.

“To the future,” he cheered.

“To the past,” you retaliated. The glasses clinked in solidarity, your eyes locked while you took a drink.

You put the glass back on the table after a sip, but Loki finished his in one gulp.

“You drink like you’re nervous,” you pointed out.

“Not nervous, no.” He reached to pour more in his glass, topping yours off. "Mostly anxious."

The two of you shared a glance, feeling the rhythm of your heart pick up just by looking at him. You quickly turned away to take another gulp of liquid courage.

Loki opened his mouth to say something, but just then you both heard a sound come from Frig's bedroom. Instinctively you got to your feet, "Let me check on him," you excused yourself.

Alone, Loki also rose from his chair. "Now where is that stone?"

Frig had only called out because in his sleep he had a strange dream. He couldn't manage to tell you what it was about, only asking you to sit with him a moment longer until he finally fell back asleep. You pet his hair, lacing your fingers through his tresses as you tried to prepare to face Loki.

Gently setting his head out of your lap once you were sure he was out, you snuck out of the room and slowly closes the door. Taking a moment to regain yourself, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

Perhaps this was all a mistake, you wondered.

Debating on asking him to leave, you went back into the living room, just in time to see Loki standing in front of your mantle.

Though you expected to see him examining his helmet again, you realized that's not what he held. Your mouth opened, but you were stunned into silence as Loki turned around, the compartment inside the mantle open, the tesseract in his hand.

He held a hand out to you, "I promise this isn't what it looks like, I just-"

"Use it."

Loki's brow creased at your words, his eyes scanned you for reasoning.

"If that's what you really want," you allowed, willing to meet his eyes. "Then have it."

Loki swallowed the lump in his throat, looking down at the cube before staring back at you.

"I have something I have to do, y/n-"

"I don't care about details," you told him dryly, keeping eye contact with him. "Just. Go."

You could tell he was thinking hard, rolling thoughts around before biting down on his cheek, making his choice.

You watched him vanish with the space stone.

There was such a vast emptiness in your body that you wondered if you could die from shock.

He did it again, you thought. He used you for what he wanted.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the flash of the space stone reappearing with Loki, but something was different. The stone itself was inside of a golden case, while Loki was in his old Asgardian leather. “I haven’t been gone long have I?” Jaw dropped you watched as he nonchalantly reached out and took hold of your hand, “Come, y/n, I have something to show you.”

You didn't have the opportunity to dispute his offer before he used the stone again and you both vanished.

In a split second, you were transported somewhere foreign yet familiar. The sky was a clear blue and rather than the chill of your home in Midgard, you felt the warmth of the sun. At your feet, tall grass brushed against you as a breeze swept over the land. Looking out, you recognized the hilltop you stood on, the golden palace that sat out in the distance, the ocean who’s waves washed up on along the beaches.

You were once again on the hilltop in Asgard, the same places you visited in your youth and the last place you spoke with Loki through his illusion.

But this was no illusion.

This was a reality, just not yours.

Breathless your head swiveled around while you took in the sight of your old home world, glowing in all its glory. Not far from where you stood, something different caught your eye. A modest home of clay and stone, sitting on the highest point of the hill, facing out towards the castle.

"Do you know where we are?" Loki asked.

"I do, but I don't," you answered honestly, stepping closer towards the house. "I remember this place, but that didn't used to be here-"

You heard a voice coming from the home.

One that you recognized.

Loki's hand wrapped around your shoulder to pull you down to crouch in the grass, instructing, "Shh, we mustn't be seen."

You were too entranced to argue, watching as out from the house came a raven haired boy you recognized.

"Frig.. He's here?" After him came another, smaller child that desperately tried to catch up with him. She waddled a few steps before tripping, only to get back up and go after him.

"Don't let your sister get dirty," a disembodied voice called out, just before an alternate version of you came into view.

And there, behind you all, came this alternate world’s Loki with a small bundle in his arms. He walked around to your side and planted a kiss on your cheek before whispering something to you. Your cheeks flushed as you laughed, taking the bundle from his arms as the baby began to softly coo at her parents.

As this family lived out their moment so innocently, unaware of the two of you watching them, you remained crouched in the grass, hand covering your mouth.

"Why are you showing me this?" you finally managed to ask Loki, your voice quivering. “And what have you done to the stone?"

He held up the contraption encasing the space stone, explaining, "I had to find a time where someone could devise me something to better control the stone’s power. After that, I searched." You followed his gaze as he looked back out to the happy family. "I spent four days hopping in and out of timelines, alternate realities, different futures. All in the hopes that I could find this one particular future.”

At that, you were speechless. Watching the children play, you felt tears swell up in your eyes. Finally, you managed to ask," Why though? Why did you want to find this? "

"Because this is what I always dreamed for us, y/n. A house on our special hill. Children to raise. A life together. This is what I always wanted, this is what I always saw as our future." A part of him choked up when he admitted, "This is how I saw our story play out, y/n, I always knew you and I were destined to have a life, a family. I know this isn’t a future you thought you could have since I died, but I'm here now. This," he pointed towards the house, "This can still be us. Obviously not here, but in Midgard. We can have this life there, if you'll only give me a chance." When you still didn’t answer, only stared blankly up at him, he finished with, “I can live without this ideal storybook ending, this fantasy of a world with no pain, no strife. But what I cannot live without,” he tilted your face towards him, “is you. I cannot go another day living like this, y/n. I cannot live in the same town as you, see you every day, and not be able to speak to you. To touch you. To hold you. In every reality I visited, every version of how our lives play out, the one truth above all else is that we are meant to be together. Me getting the space stone, coming to a time where you’ve lost me? This is more than a coincidence, y/n, this is the universe rewriting itself to give us the life we always wanted.” He brought his hands to both sides of your face, running his fingers back into your hair while tears fell down your face. His forehead pressed against yours while he finished, “I love you, y/n. I loved you in your past, and I want to love you in your present. I only need you to let me.”

Your hands came up to his, running your fingers over his skin.

Could it really be this easy?

Rather than give you another moment to doubt him, Loki pulled you closer. You felt a jolt echo through your body at the sensation of his arms wrapping around you, but nothing could prepare you for the feeling of his lips as they pressed against yours.

The kiss, light as a feather, was enough to send you soring.

There were no words left as you felt the soft light wash over the two of you, taking you back to your cabin on Midgard. As you pulled back from him, you could see the softness behind his emerald gaze that you had witnessed after you and Loki fought Hela’s army.

This version of Loki that you were so sure would repeat your pasts grievances, had proven he loved you more than anything else.

Even with the tesseract in his possession, he used it only to show you how much you meant to him.

The two of you stood quiet for a moment while he set the tesseract on the mantle next to his helmet. He turned to look at you, a small glint in his eye just before he presented you with a small bundle of wild flowers.

Curious, you took the bouquet from him, inhaling sharply when he purposefully grazed your fingers. Your eyes locked onto one another and for a moment the world was still.

Just as you were about to say something, the flowers in your hand began to wiggle. Instinctively you let go, expecting to see petals floating to the ground.

But instead, what you saw was a set of light green, five inch long snakes, slithering across the ground to escape whatever madness they had just been conjured to.

You bit down hard on your lips to stifle it down, but the jerks of your shoulders were evidence enough that were, indeed, laughing.

“What the hell was that for?” you had to ask, completely confused by the theatrics.

Loki’s eyes fell to the ground while his lips curled into a smile. A small huff escaped his mouth. “You laughed the last time I did that. Do you remember?”

The snakes? You wondered, He had turned flowers to snakes?

It wasn’t but another second before you realized he was right. The first time you ever met Loki, he had turned a flower that Thor was giving to your sister Sif into a harmless grass snake.

At that, you let the laugh leave you willingly. “Yes,” you admitted, “I remember."

You were taken off guard when Loki reached up and took your chin to turn your face towards his. His eyes burned into yours while he ran his thumb over your lower lip. You knew what was going to happen next. “Loki…” you breathed out.

And yet all of that changed when his lips met yours. Like a tidal wave washing over you, his mouth opened for his tongue to sweep across your lips. Despite yourself you kissed him back, unable to contain it any longer. Your arms went around his shoulders, while his hands moved down your body to cup your ass. Letting out a shaky breath as you pulled back from the kiss, Loki didn’t let you move out of his grasp. He looked down at you, his desires written as plainly on his face as they were on yours. In one swift motion, he lifted you up in his arms, urging your legs around his waist as he pressed your back against the wall.

Reaching up, you took a handful of his hair in your grip to try and maintain some sense of control. But at the tug of Loki's hair, a deep throated growl escaped him, driving his hips to grind against you as his fingers dug into your bottom.

Even through both of your clothes you could feel Loki’s excitement threatening to erupt from its constraints with each agonizing motion. You yourself were overflowing with a heat that boiled in the pit of your soul, a raging inferno that could melt you from the core.

His mouth broke loose of yours just as suddenly, due to newfound control over himself or a need to catch a breath you weren’t sure.

Your eyes were on each others, chests heaving, grips tight, bodies tense.

"Y/n," came out in a husky tone from his quivering lips. "If you ask me to stop, I will." Though he was showing restraint, the pressure to do so caused his fingers to dig deeper into the soft tissue of your ass. "If you don't want this, I won't go any further."

You hadn't expected the gesture, your mouth opening to speak but nothing came out.

Inside, your heart pounded, your head unraveled, your stomach flipped. Some part of you still feared what Loki was capable of, but your mind was so blurred by the raw desires building between you that you couldn’t protest.

Giving into your lust, you pulled his face closer to yours, whispering, "Let's go to my room."

The excitement in his eyes sent a wave through you while he took you up in his arms bridal style.

You let him tote you down the hall, resting your head in the crick of his neck as the anticipation mounted. The feel of his skin against yours, the scent of his hair, even the way he held you was all so familiar, so comforting. Once in the seclusion of your room, he moved to your bedside and laid you down.

His mouth came down on yours with a vengeance, no longer seeking approval but rather to feed the primal urges that had been tearing at you both since the day he arrived. You weren't any more gentle, knotting his hair between your fingers, latching onto him. The sensation of his fingertips sliding under your shirt sent delicious shivers through your body as you and Loki both began pulling at one another's clothes. As the last clothing was tossed to the side, Loki parted from your lips. He held himself above you, his eyes combing over every inch of your body before moving between your thighs. You brought your legs up, wrapping them around his waist as he situated himself at your entrance. Without hesitation, your heels dug into his waist, urging him forward.

Your eagerness brought a smile to the god's face as he teased, "So impatient."

Narrowing your eyes, you smiled back just before leaning up from the bed. In a quick motion, you wrapped an arm around his shoulder and slung him onto his back so that you could mount him. With a slight realignment of your hips, he was sliding between your lips.

The animalistic groan that escaped from Loki was reflected by his nails carving deeper into your thighs. Moving back and forth over his shaft, there was an insurmountable pressure building inside of you that came out as soft moans as you pleasured yourself with his body.

But you gave pause at the tightening of his hold.

Instead of going on, you leaned down to kiss him, only to change direction and gently nip at his neck.

It proved to be too much for him to stand as Loki reached to tangle his fingers in your hair to hold you in place while sitting up with you in his lap. His hips backed away enough to let his member raise between you and before you could even respond, he slipped inside of you.

You stifled back your euphoric cries by locking onto his lips, moans echoing between you as you moved in unison, pumping his cock and and out. Your arms were wrapped around one another, helping you keep the rhythm as you both came closer and closer to finishing.

Just before you came, Loki's mouth left your's and the two of you cried out in unison as you felt such a release that once you came down from the high, your body collapsed onto his. Cradling you in his arms, Loki kept you close to his chest while he rolled back onto the pillows. Your body relaxed, your breathing steadied. At absolute peace with the world for the first time in a long time, you slept.

It wasn't until sunrise that your eyes began to gutter at the sound of your neighbor's rooster. Over and over is cawed at the beginning of a new day, as if everything in the world was the same as it had been the day before.

Giving out a much needed stretch and deep breath, your hand brushed the empty side of your bed.

You sat up, looking down.aware Loki was gone.

That's whe you heard the scrambling in the kitchen, not rowdy but possibly a mess ensuing. Slipping into a robe, you wandered down the hall to the kitchen.

Loki was standing with his back to you, Frig at his side on a chair so that he could reach the counter.

"This is an avocado," Frig informed Loki, "You'll need a knife to cut it, but be mindful of the pit."

With a flick of the wrist, a slender knife appeared in the god's hand, causing the boy to gasp in excitement.

Neither had noticed you when Frig asked, "Do you think I can do magic like you and grandmother, father?"

The title rolled off your son's tongue so effortlessly that you could tell it tugged at Loki in such a way he whipped his head to look down into his bright green eyes.

"I…" You were just about to speak up when he came out with, "I certainly believe you can learn. You know I was only a few years older than you when I learned my first trick."

"Really?"

"Oh yes, I-"

"Knock knock," Valkyrie cut in as she opened the front door. At the disturb ce, Loki and Frig both turned towards the door.

Loki's eyes fell on you, realizing that you had been there there that whole time.

"Oh, good morning, Mother. Aunt Hilde. Father and I are making breakfast."

"Oh?" Valkyrie asked as she glanced over to you, answering with, "You and Father were making breakfast, how sweet."

You could see the smile plastered on her face with an all too knowing I-told-you-so spark in her eyes as Frig and Loki set the table for you to all sit and eat. You and Brunhilde went over the day’s agenda while the Loki showed Frig small feats of magic. It all felt so normal that when Valkyrie left to go ahead and walk Frig to class, you didn’t give another thought to Loki asking to escort you all through town. The two of you walked a few paces behind them, quietly soaking up the settled world around you.

Loki’s stopped walking, making you glance up to meet his gaze. “Thank you for giving me a chance, y/n. I can’t express how much this means to me, to finally get to have this life with you.”

You looked out in front of you, seeing Frig pass a smile back your way before you looked back at Loki with a full heart. Pulling yourself up by his shoulders, you planted a kiss on his lips. “Thank you for showing me we could have it,” you spoke to him. He brought you close to an embrace, nuzzling his face into your hair.

Frig called out to the two of you for getting behind, calling out, “Mother? Father? Sif will be upset if we’re late!”

Loki’s hand took yours, his thumb rubbing across your palm as he pulled you forward. “Musn’t make Aunt Sif wait,” he laughed.

The four of you went on towards the hill, waving goodbye to Frig and the rest of the children before you went to go on your day. Watching Valkyrie head on ahead, Loki started on the path back down towards main street as you took in a breath.

This was your reality, you told yourself. Your people, your friend, your son and your love. Finally, you had come to where you needed to be.

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xseildnasterces · 4 years

Text

only the young.

I need to stop. I did it again and saw something I didn’t want or need to see. Why do I do this to myself? I say over and over again that this will be the last time I write about her, but I can’t help myself. and why can’t I help myself? Because even now I am drawn to her in a way that I cannot even explain. I shouldn’t have an opinion, I shouldn’t care. I have no right to, yet it bothers me beyond belief. I knew this would come, but even still, it hurts. I have to forget her, in the same way, I am pretty sure she has forgotten me, I need to stop. I wonder if she has even thought of me any time recently or whether I have been cleanly wiped from her mind as she intended and washed the slate clean to start afresh. I have no idea, and I guess I never will. I feel rubbish. I feel down and I don’t even really know the cause of it, but obviously, this and these thoughts do not help.

I watched the news footage live when the clock struck 11pm in the UK, and 12 in Europe. I cried. I know some people will think that is ridiculous, but I don’t think people quite understand how much Europe and the EU means to me. I spent two years of my life working for an EU institution, and they were two of the best years of my working life. I will never have a team like that again, I will never have that much fun at work again. I felt part of something. Part of the European community and I loved that. I loved the collaboration with all the EU countries and how it brought us all together. I genuinely see zero benefits of us leaving, and I’m hard-pressed to find anyone that can tell me what these so-called benefits are - even people who support it! The fact we have now left the EU was one of the main deciding factors in why I ended up taking a job in the US. People always say they don’t know anyone who was directly affected by us leaving, well I was. It changed the way I looked at the job I was always in and knowing that if I had stayed I had no job security. My contract would not have been able to extend if I had stayed and then we had left - as we have, so I couldn’t take that risk. I love Europe. I miss it so much. I miss everything about it. I do like living in the US, but there is just so much about Europe that is unique and feels like home. I miss that so much. I hope that one day I will be back living in Europe and reaping the benefits that come with it. Eventually, once I have my Irish passport these things will be open to me again. It’s funny, I very rarely post anything on Facebook anymore, but I posted a picture on there today and on Instagram, and I got more likes on those photographs than I have on any other picture. I also posted it on my other Tumblr, and some hilarious person commented that I should ‘move then’. I gladly informed them I already had. I have never once been proud to be from the UK, I spent my childhood dreaming of far off places where I would move and live one day. The UK and its politics have just never been for me, but I guess I never expected to feel as embarrassed as I do now to be from such a place. I saw first hand the laughing stock we were seen as in Europe, and all I could do was agree. When I was talking to J today he told me that the flag has now been removed at the ECB, that same flag that my photo was taken with. Gone. It’s just so sad, and I know writing all this helps nothing at all, but perhaps getting it all out and writing it somewhere will help somewhat.

I just finished watching the new Taylor Swift film, ‘Miss American’ which I loved. She talks about how she was constantly told not to get involved in politics in any way and to not show support for any particular party because due to her country roots a lot of people assumed she was a closeted republican, which clearly was not the case. Her management etc. thought it would hurt her career, hurt her fanbase and no longer mean she would fill arenas how she was doing. I respect her so much for the fact that despite knowing that it could hurt her career, she still made her thoughts known. She stood up for what she believed in, spoke out about it and even started her own petition for equal rights. I have always liked Taylor Swift, but when this all happened, I loved her even more. And losing fans that believed we should still act like the woman of the 50s really would not have been a loss at all. I always find it confusing when people say politics should not become between friends and family, but if you feel like that you clearly do not feel strongly about your politics. I could never be friends with someone who didn’t agree with gay rights, someone who would clearly think that politically in society I was less of a person or less worthy of rights simply because I was queer and attracted to women. Of course, that would come between me and friends, in the same way as if a friend was campaigning to take my rights away as a woman to work, to vote, or the right to choose. I do not need those sorts of people in my life.

Talking about being pro-choice. I am sick to death of receiving the mail of the last person that lived here - who was clearly a religious lunatic. Every week I am receiving religious magazines, letters, newspapers and leaflets and I have already told them numerous times to stop sending them. I have returned every single thing they sent back to them. Despite being annoyed about it I just resent them because it wasn’t anything incredibly negative... until this week. This weeks magazine was a cover showing pro-life supporters shouting at women entering an abortion clinic. All over the page was pre-life signs and messages saying these women were horrific, evil people and it just made me so angry. I scribbled pro-choice all over it and sent it back to them in the post. On reflection, this probably wasn’t my wisest idea because they’ll probably just send more now because they think there is some crazy pro-choice supporter living here. The latter of which is true.

Work today was quite fun. I really wasn’t in the mood in the morning, but I had forgotten that today was our late ‘New Year party’, which meant a huge conference room was blocked for us. All the chairs were taken away, dance floors, music, limbo, games, pool, table football, ping-pong and even games consoles. H is still off sick so I headed down with C and R who I got to know a bit better and we had a really good time. I ended up playing pool with some guy who plays all the time, and although I didn’t win I actually did super well and got in some really good shots. It was good fun and I enjoyed spending time with some different people. The new gay guy who I originally thought was really cool is already starting to piss me off. He seems quite full of himself and reminds me a bit too much of another guy I used to work with, just without the touchy feely-ness (obviously), but yeah. I think he’s going to do my tree in.

[Blog Title: Only The Young - Taylor Swift].

#taylor swift #only the young #life #life update #me #personal #journal #thoughts #thought #feeling #feelings

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bosmerbitch · 5 years

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Lemme tell you how I got into Skyrim. This shit is fucking bad, very very high up on the dumbass scale, so here we go.

Some backstory, so I have an excuse to why I’m so fucking bad at this

When I was growing up, I surrounded myself in Nintendo. My step brother was also a Nintendo nerd, so we didn’t stray all that much. The only time I ever heard Skyrim get referenced was by the douchebag Homophobic Dude Bros™ that were in art class just to try and get an easy grade, so let’s just say it left a sour taste in my mouth.

I moved to Nevada when I was 18 and all they had was a broken Xbox 360. My friend Chris thought I’d like Fable, and really, really did, because I literally finished it in just a few weeks. But when I tried to replay it (evil this time) I couldn’t even complete the first important task because I felt bad for being a horrible person. (the first Big choice you have is to execute some dude you’re supposed to be in love with or a group of protesters that are trying to feed their families).

So he goes, “look. Just try Skyrim.”

And I go, “no.” yaknow, like an idiot.

He wouldn’t believe me when I said I wanted nothing to do with it, because I did admit I had never, ever played it before. So he plays it in front of me for a good week or so. And as per his grand plan, I start to get curious.

And also fucking infuriated.

This dude snuck everywhere. He only used light armor. He never got close enough to an enemy to force him to draw a dagger. He wouldn’t use horses. His play style was his, no judgement—but yakno. it drove me up the fucking wall. If I had to sit through two more hours of this man slowly crab walking his ass up the seven thousand steps because he refused to walk like a normal person lest his sneak skill maybe possibility suffer by one point, I think i’d go full feral.

So I said fuck it, grabbed the controller, and started a new game.

I create a Bosmer character who looks like she could punch me and I’d apologise for my face being in the way of her fist, because i am gay. I then spend 3 thousand years on babyname websites, trying my darndest to find a name that fit her face.

Dumbass Mistake number one: I press A to input the first letter.

“wait. This isn’t a GameCube controller. Fuck.”

I actually press B.

As in. Save and exit.

Do you want to name your character Prisoner?

“what? No!”

I press A, thinking it’s B.

My name is now Prisoner.

Now I’m pissed, but I’ve spent way too much time in the character creation screen to warrant a re-do. I am stuck with a Woodelf named Prisoner.

This becomes part of her lore later on. She was raised in a prison and only ever referred to as “prisoner” when she was little, so she took it as her name but dropped the e for an o when she was learning to write because she was literally a baby who couldn't spell: Prisonor.

Dumbass Mistake #2: I’m so used to autocameras that follow the player and find decent enough angles without me having to jam the stick back and forth that I can not for the life of me fucking Look At Shit Correctly.

I almost died. Do you know how bad you have to be to nearly die in the opening tutorial? It was as if i’d decided to play with my fucking elbows instead of my hands, I was flailing about like a lunatic. All while Alduin moved around and threw rocks at people, too, and my camera work was so bad it looked as if Bethesda had actually made a good scene to convey the horror and terror of the situation. Fuck you Bethesda

Dumbass Mistake #3: heavy armor. This was, and will continue to be, my downfall. Kiss half my fucking carry weight capacity goodbye because this Bad Bitch Needs Those High Armor Stats.

Oh, what? You need to sneak into a cave and steal some shit? Well you now have too options, you absolute Unit. You heavy as fuck bone armor thicc thot.

It’s either: a) sneak as is and get detected the moment your big toe even twitches upwards or b) go streaking for a few in-game hours and stuff all that contraband.... Somewhere. Don’t really know where it goes, to be honest.

Naked but stealthy. Stealthy.... But naked.

Obviously I go streaking quite a lot at first.

As I got bigger and heavier armor and weapons, I started plowing through dungeons by sheer force alone. Mind you, Prisonor is small, angry, and has a huge axe, so it just works®

Mistake #4: no Stamina. We trudge slowly to shadowmere like a woman with infinite health and literally nothing else. I think I maybe slipped her one or two levels into Stamina, and absolutely nothing in Magicka. Actually,

Dumb of Ass Mistake number 5: no god damned Magicka. It became such a problem that i would tell Chris to remind me next time when I was leveling up, to possibly add to poor widdle Magicka pwease? And I never did, since we’d both forget, and hit “health” with a smug little smile in my face. Try and kill me, douches. I have 300 health and counting. Wait. Wait hold on I fucking forgot—

I gave her the first novice hood you find in the game, dusted off my hands as if i’d just solved all of humanity’s inherent problems, and walked. Away.

It’s now part of her backstory. She can’t grow her Magicka because her mother was a skooma addict when she was pregnant, and it fucked with a few things when she was in the womb. can you tell that her backstory is a little fucked up? Well hold on, don't have much faith in me yet, because i killed her adopted dad too lmao #hewasexecutedforpoliticalgainbecausehewasalargethreattothescoomatradeinhammerfell

Mistake #6: hello my name is Prisonor and I would like to tell you about the future of the Companions, do you have a spare minute?

Chris pointed at Whiterun as I sprinted, naked (for speed, because I am already trudging the path of Heavy Armor even at that point) down the hill from Riverwood and said, “you can become a werewolf over there.”

Oh? I can become a tormented, feral, roaring beast over there yonder? Well sign me the fuck up you funky little bitch.

So I completed the whole questline all the way through with no stops. I didn’t like the fact that nearly everyone was a Nord, but it had less context for me at the time so it rubbed me wrong less than I does now.

But hold on. You get something at the end of that quest, right? A huge axe with a lot of history I didn’t really delve that deep into at the time?

Yes. Yes I did build a heavy armor, no-archery, werewolf, Wuuthrad-wielding Bosmer named Prisonor my first playthrough.

She was the ultimate rebel without me even trying to be. To the point where her axe is more deadly to herself than to her own wife.

Dumb #7: I threw the Ring of Hircine in a lake thinking it was useless.

That’s it. I’m still mad about it.

In conclusion,

The hard drive in the 360 was shit, so the load times were awful. Sunk 80$ on a new hard drive and had to sit on the floor waiting for the saves to transfer for 3 hours.

Good game solid 7,000steps out of 5

#skyrim #skyrim oc #elder scrolls

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tothelasthoursofmylife · 5 years

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“A little village with a little mystery.”

London, England, United Kingdom – February 1846

~Cloudia~

“How often will you come here again?” asked Arthur Randall, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

When I had wrapped up my Watchdog mission last week, I had been more than ready to return to my manor – but then, a letter from Thomas had arrived in which he informed me that a large part of the manor’s pipe system had broken down and that, thus, the manor was currently uninhabitable. As the remedial maintenance at the townhouse was still ongoing, Newman, Miss Greene, and I kept staying at the Morrow townhouse. The first week I had been with my family, I had my Watchdog work, the gallery opening, and my cousins to keep me busy. This week, I had no Watchdog work, there were no events to attend, and Ceara was ill and Keegan too grumpy and worried to do anything fun with.

Now, all I could do was sit in the Morrows’ library and read or, occasionally, go into the city and accidentally pass by Scotland Yard and overhear some case details.

“This is the eleventh time this week – and it is only Thursday,” he continued and glared at her.

Perhaps, it wasn’t quite “occasionally,” but gruesome murders and thievery entertained me more than gossip over tea.

“It’s also the eleventh time this week that I am passing by the headquarters and you are around to see me,” Cloudia replied. She loosened the scarf around her neck a bit. Last week, it had been devastatingly cold, but now, the temperature had become more bearable – a development Cloudia hoped would last a little while longer. “Don’t you have any work to do, Randall? How does someone like you even become a detective constable? You are barely older than me and only joined the Met three years ago. Could it be that you paid your way up like Police Commissioner Rowan did until he became captain?”

Randall narrowed his eyes. “Says the girl who is only what she is because of her family.”

“You are only partially right, Constable: I am what I am because of my family, yes, but if I was completely useless, I would have been long replaced – or never even instated,” Cloudia said.

I had met Arthur Randall for the first time nearly two years ago, and every time I saw him, I disliked him a bit more. Despite my dislike for him, I had to admit that he also caught my curiosity: The first time we had met, he had immediately known that I was the Queen’s Watchdog. This was especially interesting because, in the last two years, I had learned that there was absolutely nothing special about him to justify Rowan and Mayne’s decision to let Randall know about the Watchdog secret. So, my question was: Why did he know? The Commissioners couldn’t possibly consider to eventually make him their successor – what other reason could there be?

“And will you ever stop rubbing my family history under my nose? In a twisted way, we are, after all, colleagues,” Cloudia added, and Randall chuckled. “Colleagues? With the likes of you? Even if it’s the last thing I do, I will stay here and protect this place from your kind, Lady Phantomhive.”

She smiled. “Oh, is that what you have been doing all week? Well, I wish you all the luck in the world that your feet will not die away in the cold before you are fired for doing nothing. If you may excuse me now: I have an appointment and am running a little bit late.”

***

“Arthur Randall is nobody to lose any brain cells for, Cloudia. I have been telling you this for years,” said Cecelia and raised her cup to her lips.

Scotland Yard was not the only place where I could get my share of crimes: Cecelia was a wonderful source for that too. I had no interest in pointless gossip discussed over tea – crimes discussed over tea, however, was the best form of socialising I knew.

“I know, I know. But you were asking about my day, and, sadly, I didn’t do much except unwillingly meeting His Moronship,” Cloudia replied, leaning back into her sofa’s soft fabric and cushioning. Cecelia’s Blue Drawing Room was her favourite place in her mansion solely because it had the most comfortable furniture in it. “The manor and the townhouse are still in repair and I am getting more and more bored by the minute – so, thank you, for inviting me.”

“You are thanking me for inviting you? Cloudia, dear, you must be feeling worse than expected. I guess that is the curse of those who cannot sit still. You have too much energy to spare, and if you do not find anything to do, you wither away faster than the plants I had to look after for my father.” Cecelia waved with her hand and leaned back as well. “I, on the other hand, am contemplating about never leaving this sofa again. Or would an even more comfortable one be the better choice? Or a more beautiful one? On which sofa would you rather spend the rest of your life, Cloudia? The beautifully embroidered, immensely expensive one that claimed the lives of three decent men during its transportation? Or the ugly olive-coloured one which you did not intend to buy, but still did because your shoes were killing you, you sat down on the wretched thing, and it swallowed you whole, forcing you to purchase it?”

“You have such a sofa?”

“It’s in the boxroom. I believe it’s possessed, but I do not have the heart to get it exorcised. On the one hand, because I can feed especially annoying guests to it; on the other hand, because I do not believe in such superstitions. It is more likely that the sofa fell victim to an extraordinarily enthusiastic upholsterer.”

Cloudia shook her head in an effort to get rid of her grin. It didn’t work. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life sitting? After the trip to Bristol?”

Cecelia groaned and took a blueberry tartelette. To uphold the drawing rooms’ aesthetic, she had told her cook to only prepare blue food: the muffins, biscuits, and tartelettes had been made with blueberries, blackberries, plums, and black currants. The sandwiches had been spread with blue jam and the tea service had a forget-me-not pattern. It was a surprise that the tea was not blue.

“What you don’t do for gathering intelligence! I should see Quirino to find a way to rename Duchess Adrianne Royceston to Hysteria Royceston! That woman organises a party spanning several days, including a trip to another town, and what does she do? Decide that we should travel to Bristol by carriage because she thinks trains are the ‘devil’s work’!”

“Still, you are thinking about sitting forever.”

“Cloudia, I have no aversion whatsoever to pass my time sitting. If the world was not like it is and dresses would not crinkle so easily, I would have decided to do this – sit until I die – a long, long time ago. I have always said that, in a better world, you would not have to go out and dirty your hands to get what you want, that you would get everything by simply clicking your fingers together instead. Father deemed this one of my worst traits. To be honest, I had no good traits in his eyes.

“To say it clean and concisely: I could sit for hours and hours with no end in sight, just not with any kind of ‘humpy-bumpy’ nonsense.” Cecelia skilfully cut her tartelette into pieces without even looking at it and said, “So, you have come to hear about some grisly crimes?”

“Yes.”

“Over tea?”

“Yes. And some biscuits,” said Cloudia.

“If Adrianne Royceston was here, she would have already sent for the local priest, his mentor, and the holy spirit itself. Are you sure that you know that things like this – being overly interested in murders and thievery – could get you sent to an exorcist at best and to an asylum at worst?”

Cloudia clutched her hands. “Asylums are worse than exorcisms?”

“Of course. If you end up in an asylum, you may never get out of there. During an exorcism, you are restrained and have to listen to a priest reciting all sorts of prayers for hours. When he is done, you pretend to have been successfully purified and do whatever you did to get exorcised for in the first place more secretly than before. I know what I am talking about: I have experienced it thrice and it is always the same.

“Unfortunately, it is easier to get thrown into an asylum than to be sent to the next certified exorcist. To get an exorcism, you either have to live in a place filled with religious hysterics, have a sudden change in personality and voice, an unusually cold room, have to correctly guess the weather for the next three days, be very moody and aggressive, lie down really weirdly, or hate the Church with a passion. To get to an asylum, all it takes is to drink alcohol or distribute bad whiskey. You could be declared a lunatic for having asthma or getting your son married! Pamela Tracey was sent to an asylum because she asked her mother if she could have a rat as a pet.” Cecelia put down her knife and looked at Cloudia. “I know that you know all this, Cloudia, but sometimes I wonder if you are forgetting or deliberately ignoring it. In any case, I want to remind you to be careful. All it takes is for someone to overhear one of your conversations with Randall or even to see you lingering outside the Yard every single day. I know the last few years were rough for you, but you eventually have to stop being so harsh to yourself and move on, Cloudia.” Cecelia wanted to reach out to her, but Cloudia pulled back.

“I would rather get for what I came here,” she stated.

Cecelia looked at her for a while and sighed. “Here I am, giving you advice for once, and you don’t take it! Then, so be it.” She leaned back. The tartelette was left untouched. “The Met is currently searching for a group of bandits known to hide around the area of manor houses. They wait until the inhabitants are wandering about, and then rob and, or abduct them. The last ones to be robbed were the Kents – poor Mary Louise was so terrified! They say that she still hasn’t left her room. Her fiancé Sean is beyond worried. Anyway, where was I? Oh, I remember.

“Our dear officers at the Yard are, of course, doing a wonderful job trying to find them. To their misfortune, Mary Louise’s mother is not allowing them to interrogate her poor, poor baby! Mary Louise is the sole witness in this case as the bandits have robbed her and her maid while they were taking a stroll. They have even tried to kidnap Mary Louise as well. In this moment, her maid proved to be a true loyal soul, intervened, and got killed while defending her protégée. Afterwards, the bandits ran off. But Mary Louise’s best friend’s sister’s best friend, Felicitas Wernholm, was with me in a carriage to Bristol to continue Duchess Royceston’s damned party. This lady could be Quirino’s long-lost sister, I tell you, because she was talking without any pauses for hours. In-between her chitter-chatter salad, she mentioned that she knew from her best friend that Mary Louise has seen the bandits vanish into the direction where the Beaumont and Croft estates are.” Cecelia raised her cup and took a sip of her tea.

Cloudia frowned. “That’s all?”

“That’s classified information for which the Met would pay me very good money. Not that I am interested in such things.”

“No, I meant it like that: ‘That’s all you have for me? A robbery? Where’s the grisly murder?’”

“I promised you a crime. Robbery and attempted kidnapping are crimes, Cloudia.”

“I know that, Cecelia. But murders are more exciting,” Cloudia said.

“Didn’t you listen to me? There was a murder! Mary Louise Kent’s maid was killed.”

“On accident, not on purpose.”

Cecelia sighed. “You are the reason why I am glad that Michael and I never had any children. Without him, I most definitely would not be able to endure them in this phase. And I endured the carriage ride to Bristol with Felicitas Wernholm.” She rubbed her face. “Cloudia, we both know that if you were truly so intent on hearing about grisly murders, you would go and learn about them yourself. Instead, you linger around the Yard and come to me. And why? Perhaps you want to take some of your agency away from it; perhaps you want to eventually point your finger at me and say ‘She made me do it!’ I don’t know. All I know is that, from now on, you will only get your murder case details from me if you stay away from Scotland Yard and take a break.” Cecelia gazed at Cloudia, a stern look in her eyes. “If Barrington visits me one more time crying and complaining, you are going to pay for my dress and carpet, do you understand, young lady?”

Cloudia sighed. “Yes, I understand. I promise to stay away and take a break. Satisfied?”

“Very,” said Cecelia and leaned back. “And now, let us talk about something more fun.”

***

Cloudia’s favourite places to be had always been the little cosy corners, the alcoves lying in the shadows. If the world around her was fast and loud and messy, those places were always there for her, always giving her the time for herself she needed, the order, the calmness, the minute she required to take a deep breath and collect herself. Before Cloudia had learned about the Phantomhive Manor’s intricate system of secret pathways, those little places had been a blessing.

The oriel window in the library of the Morrow townhouse might not be the most hidden, not the most inconspicuous corner, but its comfortableness and feeling reminded Cloudia of all her secret little corners at home, and, for now, in her ongoing boredom, that was all that mattered to her.

I could feel it in my bones: I would die here. Yesterday, my visits to Scotland Yard and Cecelia had kept me busy; today, I had nothing to do. “Died of utter boredom” would be scratched into my tombstone and everyone passing by my grave would wonder if this was even possible. This was my legacy, I knew it.

With a sigh, Cloudia put a finger between the pages of Pictures of Italy and stared randomly in front of her. The library was rather small and the door usually kept open, and from the oriel window Cloudia could see the door and the corridor beyond it – and Keegan walking up and down the floor grumpier than she had ever witnessed him. It was quite a sight, so she kept watching him. She had been unable to concentrate on her book for the last hour anyway.

Lately, he had been slightly grumpier than usual because Ceara was ill, but she had almost fully recovered. What could have caused the sudden increase in his bad mood?

“Keegan,” Cloudia said, leaving Pictures of Italy at her seat and going to her cousin when he walked by for the millionth time today. “What is wrong?”

For a moment, he seemed to struggle whether to answer or not before he sighed and said, “I’ve remembered that Geoffrey Bentley asked Father if I could join his hunting party one day and that Father said yes. I’m supposed to go hunting with him and the rest of his party tomorrow.”

Keegan was an exceptionally good tracker. People would constantly ask if he wanted to join them in a hunt or two, but as he had neither patience, passion, or interest in hunting, Keegan would always turn them down. He only used his skills for more mundane purposes. Growing up, it surely had been no fun playing hide and seek with him.

“Why would Uncle Aiden even do something like that?” Cloudia asked. “After all, he knows how much you hate hunting and Geoffrey Bentley.”

“Because,” Keegan said with clenched teeth, “Bentley cannot be more of an annoying and loud person, and Father did not even listen to what he said: Bentley started talking to him, and Father simply nodded and agreed to whatever he was saying.”

“I have almost forgotten how much of a nuisance Geoffrey Bentley is. My ears still hurt a bit from the last time I heard him – from the other end of a ballroom.”

Keegan rubbed his temples. “It is not only Bentley. Of all the people who could be in Bentley’s hunting party, it’s Falk Flanagan and Cadell Beaumont.”

I could not name a more chaotic trio than Cadell Beaumont, Falk Flanagan, and Geoffrey Bentley. They were a notorious group of troublemakers, and their presence at social events was always met with a wave of annoyed sighs. Separate, they were already an imposition; together, they were unbearable. Different as they were, they would always loudly bicker among one another. Everyone could only wonder why they were even friends.

“No wonder why you are in such a bad mood,” said Cloudia.

“An entire day with those three at Beaumont’s estate… Ramming a fork into my own throat would be more pleasant.”

The Beaumont estate? Hadn’t Cecelia told me that Mary Louise Kent meant to have seen the bandits run to where the Croft and Beaumont estates were?

There was only a fifty per cent chance that the bandits were on Beaumont land – if they had not long moved on.

But I was bored and desperate to find anything I could do: Why should I not go a little bit hunting and, maybe, catch a couple of bandits to taunt the Met on the way? I had only promised Cecelia that I would stay away from Scotland Yard – and none of its members would be at the Beaumonts’ from what she had said. Therefore, I would not even go behind her back. It was foolproof.

Cloudia grinned. “Keegan, cousin dear, I think I have the perfect solution for your problem.”

***

Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848

It was like a dream.

When we had crossed the Channel, had travelled from town to town, it had felt like I hadn’t been me: that my soul had become detached and I had watched someone else on that ship, in that town, in that carriage. When I woke up today, it took me a while to realise that I was not dreaming, that I was just where I was supposed to be.

It didn’t make it less unbelievable though.

Surely, it was quite unfortunate that I was currently stuck in “only” a little village and that we had had to rush a bit through Lille and Creil, but I was still satisfied. I had always longed to see the world beyond the isle. I would not become picky now.

Cloudia kicked away her blanket and walked to the windows. Lisa would be here any second and pull back the curtains with a slightly heartfelt “Good morning,” and Cloudia really wanted to pre-empt her. They had arrived very late yesterday, and the hour and general exhaustion had prevented her from taking in her surroundings. Full of sleepy excitement, Cloudia pulled on the cord. The curtains opened. The high windows appeared behind them, and through them, she saw…

… rain. Nothing but rain. It was pouring buckets, and Cloudia could not see farther than a metre.

I had travelled for so long only to arrive in England again.

She heard the door opening and Lisa coming inside. “Good morning, Lady Cloudia,” she said and closed the door behind her. “You woke up early today. Didn’t you sleep well?”

“I slept surprisingly well. The carriage drive got the best of me. Fourteen hours are far too long,” Cloudia replied, not taking her eyes off the windows. “And you?”

“I slept well too. It is such a pity that still nobody has tried to make carriages faster or to find a good replacement for them. Do you think Baron Salisbury may be interested? After all, his company developed special train engines for the sole purpose of reducing the transportation time for some beetroots,” said Lisa and went to the bathroom. “I’ve prepared a bath,” she announced when she came back a few minutes later.

“Thank you,” Cloudia said, not making a move to step away from the windows.

“Is it really that interesting outside?”

“It’s just a very familiar sight,” Cloudia answered and finally turned away to follow Lisa into the bathroom. “I doubt that Milton would be interested. His company focuses, after all, on food transport and not on developing machinery for the broad public. We might have a chance if we all were to turn into beetroots overnight.”

Cloudia undressed and stepped into the bathtub. A sigh escaped her lips when she sat down and was engulfed by the warm water. There was nothing better than a warm bath to loosen up tense muscles, and hers were certainly tense after yesterday. The carriage ride had been dreadfully exhausting and dinner had been both pleasant and a complete mess: pleasant because most attendees had been too tired to engage in proper conversations; a complete mess because, for example, Cedric had become so sleepy midway through that he had nearly fallen face-first into his soup, and Kamden had tried to eat his soup with a fork.

“Speaking of the Baron,” Lisa began, pouring more hot water into the bathtub. “Now that we are here, how do you feel about him being here as well?”

Cloudia sank a bit deeper into the water.

“Before, it was only an idea, then a fact lying in the distant future you did not have to pay much attention to. Now, we are here because of Her Majesty and there is this unknowing outsider lurking around.”

“You sound like the Duke. Milton is harmless and won’t be a hindrance,” said Cloudia.

Thin-lipped, Lisa put some flowers and herbs into the water to make it smell nice. “Lady Cloudia, I do not believe that the Baron will be a hindrance because he will bother everyone all the time. I believe he will be a hindrance because you got along rather well until he proposed to you and you declined. Then, he left for a few weeks, only to invite you to his crumbling villa and pretend that nothing happened before he vanished for eighteen months. This sounds like one of the ridiculous romance novels Al likes to read.”

Cloudia groaned. “I know you don’t like the Duke, but sometimes I think you could be the best of friends. This is one of those times.”

Lisa rolled her eyes.

“I saw that,” said Cloudia. “Why should Milton’s presence bother me? He misunderstood something, he proposed, I rejected him and never regretted it. And it doesn’t seem as if it hurt him all too much. Now, please let go of this nonsense and go read something for half an hour. You can ask Newman if he can lend you one of his romance novels.”

Lisa leaned against the washbasin. “Very well. One more thing regarding Baron Salisbury: I have never liked him, to be honest –”

“Who would have guessed.”

“– but even to me it seemed very unlike him to stare at Al like that in Dover.”

“I agree. It was odd, but I suppose Milton was simply surprised. If you see someone who looks like Newman, you usually do not expect them to be butlers. Or, in turn, if you imagine a butler, you do not think of someone who looks like him.”

Lisa shrugged. “Until I get some proper reason for his behaviour out of Baron Salisbury, I will dislike him a bit more than before. How’s the water?”

“Fine. How are the rooms in the servants’ tract?”

“They are acceptable. However, while you and the others inhabit the manor’s actual guest rooms, we sleep where the actual servants sleep. As they are going to return by the end of the month, they left quite a bit, and it’s very compelling to look through their stuff. One maid left her diary.”

“Oh, the temptation.”

“I mean: If her diary was so important to her, if what she wrote in it was so secretive, she would not have left it in the open, would she?”

“She may be a very forgetful maid,” Cloudia suggested.

“She left it in the open, Lady Cloudia! The maid meticulously packed all her other belongings and put them away, but the diary was lying on her desk when I came. That does not sound like she’s a very forgetful person.”

“She may have been angry that she had to leave for a month. Perhaps, it’s going to explode when you open it. Or, a less destructive option: Maybe there are ghosts in this house and the diary is her chaos record and warning?”

“Let’s hope nothing is going to explode,” Lisa said and whipped out the diary from her dress pocket.

“Lisa Greene, didn’t you say that you are only intrigued about taking their things?”

“I said that ‘it’s very compelling’ which it is. I have never said that I still haven’t given in to the temptation. To give me the littlest amount of credit, I have not taken a look inside it.”

Cloudia smiled and shook her head. “Because you wanted to share its contents with me? To make me your partner in crime? Your accomplice in this breach of privacy?”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “So you are not interested?” she asked, flipping open the diary. “That’s good: no explosion.”

“I want to say that I am not interested, but I would be lying. I’ve always thought that pouring your feelings, thoughts, and secrets into a little, easy-to-steal book is a very idiotic thing to do. Of course, I would not want anyone to go through my things,” Cloudia sat up a bit in the bathtub, “but the possibility of this diary being a ghost record is certainly alluring.”

“I knew that you would say this,” Lisa remarked and paged up to the beginning. She opened her mouth to begin reading, but quickly closed it and skimmed through the diary with a frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“It says ‘diary’ on the cover, but…” Lisa flipped back to the first page and showed it to Cloudia. The first page did not start with Dear diary… or Something terrible is going on in this manor. Instead, the very first page had nothing written on it but The Maid’s Manifesto in beautiful cursive.

“It’s a guidebook?” said Cloudia, and Lisa nodded and closed the “diary.”

“This notebook is filled with recipes and instructions on how to make beds and fold serviettes. There are even notes about the food preferences of every member of the de Charbonneau family. Apparently, Baronne de Charbonneau is allergic to strawberries. It’s a bit insulting that the maid left this for me. ‘I do not think that you know how to make beds; therefore, I have written a manual for you, blockhead!’”

“Very anticlimactic,” Cloudia commented and dived back into the water.

“That’s how it is sometimes,” said Lisa and stuffed the notebook back into her pocket. “And now, let us get your hair washed and this bath wrapped up before you get wrinkly.”

***

Nearly an hour later, I descended the stairs to the dining room. I had dismissed Lisa so that she could join Newman – and perhaps, Wentworth and some other servants – for their own breakfast. Although the memories of last night were hidden behind a veil of sleepiness, I hoped that I was still able to find my way through the corridors on my own.

After I had walked down the wrong set of stairs twice and had to ascend them again, I had to think of the Layton Art Gallery: The château was a godawful mess of a place. At least, unlike the gallery, it would cease to be one when I became familiar with it. No matter how often I had gone to the gallery, I had never been able to figure it out.

After a few more wrong turns, Cloudia finally found the right flight of stairs – on which Cedric was sitting. Frowning, she approached him and saw that he was grumpily nibbling on one of his bone-shaped biscuits.

“What are you doing here?” she asked and sat down next to him.

“I have taken a glimpse into hell: It is a mansion with an abundance of stairs and doors and no signs,” said Cedric, staring ahead of him with glassy eyes. “My soul has left my body. Forevermore, it will slumber in room 1046 while my body resides here…”

“The dining room is downstairs and to the right.”

He threw the biscuit down. “Dammit!”

“What did the poor biscuit do to you?”

“Nothing.” He leaned forward and picked it up. “I’m sorry, my friend,” Cedric said to the biscuit and stuffed it into his mouth. Cloudia grimaced.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked after he had swallowed down.

“It was on the ground!”

Cedric shrugged. “I’ve eaten worse. So… downstairs and to the right?” He got up and held out his hand for Cloudia. She took it and let herself be pulled up, and in this instant, Kamden appeared at the foot of the stairs and waved to them before walking up.

“There you are! Everyone is waiting for you,” Kamden told them.

“Then we should hurry,” said Cloudia and linked arms with him.

Cedric frowned. “How did you manage to be punctual, Kamden?”

“I wanted to go to Cloudie first, and on my way, I met Miss Lisa who seemed quite mad. She said that she found a handbook in her room that was not what she expected it to be. I asked her if I could take a look. We inspected it and found out that it is not as useless as she had believed it to be: It turned out that the handbook contains a thorough map of every passage and every room of the château,” Kamden said. “Apparently, Baron Lambert de Charbonneau who commissioned the manor was paranoid and wanted his home to resemble the inner workings of the Pyramids of Giza. For the same reason, he ordered for the manor to be built here where his only neighbours would be the birds and the people in the village nearby. He was ridiculed by other noblemen, but, according to Miss Lisa’s handbook, he must have turned in his grave in joy when the revolution happened. When King Louis XIV had ordered for all nobles to live with him at Versailles, nobody had bothered to make sure that Lambert de Charbonneau and his family would come too as nobody had been eager to search for them in this labyrinth. Thus, the Baron’s descendants were saved when the revolution came.”

This explained the Duponts’ eagerness to get their hands on the château: In the unlikely case that we were attacked, the manor’s architecture would protect us – or work against us if we had not got used to it by then. I should not forget to ask Lisa if she could lend me the Maid’s Manifesto later.

“Very impressive,” Cedric remarked, and Kamden cleared his throat. “I have found you, but Milton still isn’t there. Has any of you seen him?”

“If Milton is not in his room or in the dining hall, I suppose he is in the library,” Cloudia suggested, and Kamden nodded.

“I’ve passed the library earlier,” said Cedric. “I should have taken a look – especially considering that you might have been there as well, Countess.”

Cloudia’s eyes widened as she suddenly remembered something. “Will you be able to find it again?”

“I guess?”

“I hope so because Milton and rain is not a good combination.”

How could I forget this? I should have thought of it when I had pulled back the curtains and seen the rain.

“What do you mean?” Cedric wanted to know.

She looked down the stairs, then back to Kamden and Cedric. “We have no time for explanations. I would like to go with you, but, at least, I have to hurry to breakfast. I need to greet my relatives. And you should hurry to the library to make sure Milton’s all right.”

Gently, Kamden unlinked his and Cloudia’s arms. “I will go with Kristopher.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Now, quick. We have no time to lose.”

***

~Cedric~

What was with Milton and rain for Cloudia to get concerned? It rained so often in England; thus, it could not be something too serious, right? Especially considering that Wentworth was – at least, according to Cecelia – Milton’s “shadow,” and if he had not gone to get him or to attend to him, it really could not be very dramatic, right?

More curious than worried, I traced my way back to the library with Kamden. All the way I hoped that I was not misremembering anything, that I would be able to return to the dining hall, and that Milton was actually in the library. It would be quite a waste if he was not.

I was relieved when I found the door with “Bibliothèque” written above it again. I pushed open the heavy door and was met with yet another labyrinth. That Lambert de Charbonneau had truly been very meticulous with his plans. Rubbing my head, I walked inside – Kamden right by my side –, and after a few turns, I felt something tugging at my jacket and had to sneeze.

Cedric turned around and saw a little girl standing in front of him: She seemed to be between seven and nine years of age, had unruly, red-brown hair, and big blue eyes. She smiled at him, took hold of her lavender-coloured dress, and briefly curtsied.

“Hello, I am Anaïs Dupont,” she said with a slight accent. “Claudette told me that I would find you here.”

“Claudette? Oh, you mean the Countess.” Cedric sneezed again and rubbed his nose. What was wrong with him?

“Bless you,” said Kamden.

“Thank you.”

Anaïs nodded. “Claudette told me that you went to look for Baron Salisbury, Your Grace, Mr Bonham. I offered to help because the library is very confusing, and she said that all I had to do was ‘find the man with the long, weirdly coloured hair.’”

“I want to protest, but I have to admit that she is right.” Cedric tugged at his ponytail. “Anyway, you do not have to be so formal when you are addressing me. ‘Kristopher’ is fine.”

“And ‘Emyr’ is fine to me,” said Kamden.

“Very well, Duke Kristopher, Mr Emyr,” Anaïs said and walked ahead.

“I would say that Baron Salisbury is in the seating area, don’t you think?” she asked, turning her head back to them every now and then.

“I guess so, yes,” Cedric said, trotting after her and sneezing again. Was it so dusty in the library? But if it was, why weren’t Kamden and Anaïs sneezing too? “I have a question, Anaïs: Are you the little sister of that frowning, knife-throwing boy?”

She giggled. “Aurèle? He is my cousin. I have a little brother, Gérard, who is three. There are also Jacques and Arnaud who are Aurèle’s younger brothers. You will meet them at breakfast,” Anaïs told Cedric and Kamden before she jumped up excitedly. “Look, Duke Kristopher, Mr Emyr! Is that Baron Salisbury?”

Cedric followed her gaze to an armchair. It was standing in front of a window; outside, the rain had become even stronger. Milton was sitting on the armchair; there was a pile of papers and a notebook on his lap, but he was not staring at them: He was staring at his left arm while he pressed his right hand to his chest.

Cedric stepped towards him. “Milton? Are you all right?”

Milton flinched and craned his head to him, staring first at him, then at Anaïs for a few seconds; his eyes were wide, his face ghostly pale. When he saw Kamden, Milton shook his head and rubbed his face. When he had put his hands down again, the expression on his face had already eased back to his normal one. “I am sorry if I made you worried, but I am fine,” he said and smiled at Cedric.

He sneezed again and said, “You were not looking fine to me.”

Milton sorted his papers and stuffed them into the notebook. “It’s just… I do not have a very strong heart. It is nothing serious I swear, and nothing has happened since I was a child, but… but the last time something did happen, it rained. And now, every time it rains, the memory of the feeling I had back then returns. It is simply a ‘ghost feeling’ and nothing worrisome,” he informed them, still smiling, but when Milton got up, his notebook in his hand, the movement still visibly strained him. Out of the corner of his eye, Cedric saw Kamden shifting slightly towards Milton, though he did not take any step to him.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting. The next time I do not arrive on time, you can simply start without me. Also, thank you, Kristopher and Emyr, for still having been so kind to look for me,” Milton continued.

“Well, we did not find you though. The little lady over there did,” said Cedric and looked at Anaïs who stared at Milton with glittering eyes.

Huh? Had I missed something?

Cedric was about to say something when Anaïs blurted out, seemingly incapable of keeping her words within herself any longer, “Baron Salisbury, are you a faerie?”

The confusion within Cedric grew stronger, his understanding of the situation lessened, and in his perplexed state, he did not know what to say; the events had rendered him speechless, and Cedric was certain that if Cloudia was here, she would be thoroughly amused.

Apparently, Milton did not suffer from temporary speech loss as Cedric did. That’s why he was able to kneel in front of Anaïs and say, “I am afraid that we have not been properly introduced to each other. I am Milton, and I suppose you are Miss Anaïs Dupont?”

Anaïs’ eyes widened. “You know my name?”

“Lady Cloudia has given me a list of all your names in advance. Now tell me, Miss Anaïs, why do you believe me to be a faerie?”

“Because you look like one!” she exclaimed. “In my books, faeries are described to look very fair and delicate and sometimes to have green eyes.”

“Uh, well, you see, Miss Anaïs,” Milton began bashfully. “I have to disappoint you: I am not a faerie. I do not even have green eyes – they are hazel. The light here must tint them more green than brown right now. Kristopher has green eyes though. Did you ask him whether he was a faerie?”

“No, I did not because Claudette said that his hair – and I do not mean to be offensive or unkind; I simply recite what she has told me – is not washed very often, and even though faeries are creatures of nature, they are supposed to be impeccable. Also, he does have very striking green eyes, but they look too unnatural to belong to a forester,” Anaïs said, and Cedric groaned. “I do wash my hair. This is its natural colour,” he said and sneezed.

“I am sorry, Miss Anaïs, but neither Kristopher nor I are faeries. We may have disappointed you, but I do wish you all the best in your search – and so does Kristopher and even Emyr, I assume,” said Milton and stood up, still a little bit shaky. “Also, I think we should hurry to the dining hall. We have kept the others waiting long enough, and Kristopher is in dire need of a cup of tea: He seems to have caught a cold.”

“I was fine until a few minutes,” Cedric said, rubbing his nose.

“Colds can be deceitful,” Anaïs stated with a serious face before she turned to Milton. “Well, you may not be a faerie,” she said, boldly taking Milton’s hand, “but you do look like one, Baron Milton. This alone may convince Jacques that faeries may really exist.” She dragged him forward. “Come! I cannot wait to see Jacques’ face! And, of course, to finally have breakfast and get Duke Kristopher his tea!”

With no protest, Milton let himself be dragged through the corridors by Anaïs, and Cedric and Kamden followed them.

Something told me that our stay here would be far from boring.

***

“There you are. We were about to begin to believe that the château swallowed you whole,” said Cloudia when Cedric, Kamden, Milton, and Anaïs entered the dining hall. Silently, Kamden went to occupy the chair to her right.

Last evening, the food displayed on the table had been scarce as their hosts had known that, while they had been undoubtedly hungry, they had also been very, very exhausted. Now, it was richly laid, and seeing all the food made Cedric’s stomach grumble. He sat down on the empty chair to Cloudia’s left and briefly looked around the hall, saw Aurèle scowling at him from the opposite side. He, Anaïs, and the spectacled boy to whom she was dragging Milton and who was sitting to Aurèle’s right, Jacques Cedric assumed, had hair in various shades of brown; however, the little boy to Aurèle’s left, presumably Arnaud, had black hair and piercing blue-green eyes. The instant Cedric and the others had come in, he had turned his head to them and fixed his eyes on Anaïs. He was still watching her, and Cedric followed his gaze to see Anaïs talking rapidly to Jacques in French, he answering her, they taking turns looking at Milton, and Milton looking very out of place and fumbling with his stuffed notebook.

It was quite a sight.

“Why did you even make such a fuss about Milton?” Cedric asked, leaning to Cloudia. “He only gets ‘ghost pain’ from the rain after all. I’ve expected something more dramatic. For example, that he is actually a very confused werewolf, changing to his were-form when it rains and not when there’s a full moon…”

“I think you need to eat something,” she said, handing the butter to him. “You always become more nonsensical when you are hungry.”

Cedric took the butter from her. “Definitely. Where are your ‘aunts and uncles,’ the rest of your distant relatives? The Comte and Comtesse? The Baron and Baronne? Will they come later, or at all? Will the enigmatic Marquis come too? And where is Cecelia?”

“What an awful lot of questions.”

“Apparently, hunger does not only make me more ridiculous but also very noisy.”

Cloudia put a raisin roll on her plate. “Anselme, Sylviane, Amélie, and Firmin have already eaten. They like to get up early, and because they do not want to disturb their children, they eat breakfast separately. If possible, they usually eat lunch and dinner together. About the Marquis… I told you about his condition yesterday, don’t you remember?”

“Frankly, I don’t. I’m not even sure if I was anywhere else but in that damned carriage yesterday.”

She sighed. “The Marquis is eighty-six years old and not in the best condition. Amélie and Anselme were against him coming here, but he did not want to hear any of it. He is the only one who knows where the Clockmaker is, and he does not want anyone to find out as long as it’s not absolutely necessary: He has not even told his own children. The Marquis will entrust the Clockmaker’s location to one of us, presumably me, and that’s it. Considering his state, I doubt he will leave his room during our stay.”

“How unfortunate. I really wanted to meet him even if I think that he is scary. And what about Cecelia?”

“She needs more time to collect herself. Cecelia has a bit of trauma regarding overly long carriage drives,” Cloudia told Cedric who nodded and looked away from her and ahead, seeing Aurèle still staring at him while he layered white cheese on bread.

“Do I have something on my face?” Cedric asked. Aurèle ignored him.

At least at breakfast, I had been free of Miss Greene and her piercing stares; now there was her male French counterpart to irritate me.

Apparently finished with their argument, Jacques returned to his breakfast while Milton hastily sat down next to Kamden, and Anaïs took place next to Arnaud, albeit a little grumpy. Her mood instantly turned around when she sat down. “Gérard!” she exclaimed, jumped up from her chair, and vanished beneath the table.

A few seconds later, she reemerged with a little boy with slightly tousled light brown hair and blue eyes. Anaïs said something to Aurèle that Cedric could not understand before she seated her little brother and a servant came to help her clean his hands and comb his hair. When they were finished, Anaïs clapped her hands together.

“It’s a bit late – you have already started eating after all – but have the others, apart from Aurèle of course, introduced themselves to you, Baron Milton, Duke Kristopher, Mr Kamden? If yes, I have not noticed it.”

“Well, I would have introduced myself to His Grace and Mr Bonham if you had not hindered me with your faerie business, Anaïs,” Jacques pointed out before he briefly bowed. “I am Jacques Beauchene, nice to meet you,” he said. Unlike his brother or cousin, he had no accent at all. “The boy next to Aurèle is my younger brother Arnaud.” Arnaud waved at them.

“And my fiancé,” Anaïs added, beaming. “Finally, that’s” – she pinched Gérard’s cheek – “my little brother Gérard. He is usually with Maman or our governess Josseline, but I begged for him to join us because we were unable to see you yesterday.”

“Hello,” Gérard said in his little voice and waved.

“So, as we are all here,” said Anaïs, her eyes shining with something ill-boding. “How did you all meet Claudette?” She turned to Kamden. “Mr Emyr! Can you start?”

Kamden stopped in his movement and very slowly looked up. In this moment, he reminded Cedric of a fawn that was seeing a train for the first time: scared, shaky, and not knowing what this thing in front of him was and what the hell he was supposed to do with it.

“She came into my bookstore,” Kamden said when he regained his voice.

“That’s everything?”

He nodded.

“Oh. Very well… Baron Milton, what about you? How did you meet Claudette?”

Milton put down his knife and clutched his hands together. “Her aunt is a patron at an art gallery where my father used to be one as well. A few years ago, a new exhibition opened. Lady Cloudia accompanied her aunt, and I attended the opening in my father’s stead,” he told her.

“That’s all?” Anaïs pressed.

He smiled. “That’s all,” Milton said and took up his knife again.

Still hopeful to get a wonderfully long and exciting story, Anaïs turned to Cedric. “And you, Duke Kristopher?”

“She was killing a man in a dark alleyway, and I happened to be there because I had to collect his soul. I told her that I was a Grim Reaper, and she still insisted on starting a partnership with me.”

This was exactly the kind of story Anaïs was seeking – insane and entertaining. Unfortunately, it was not one Cloudia or I could ever tell her.

“Well, it was incredibly unspectacular,” Cedric began instead. “We were at the party of a noblewoman whose name I have already forgotten – that’s how unspectacular it was.”

Anaïs let her shoulders sink. “I see.”

“That story may be wholly uninteresting,” he continued with a grin which earned him a frown and a glare from Cloudia, “but I have better stories about the Lady to tell.”

Anaïs’ eyes glowed. “Oh, please tell them, Duke Kristopher!”

“If I may have a word,” Cloudia said, her voice carrying loudly through the hall. She looked at Cedric. “No.”

“All that build-up for a simple ‘no’?”

“Brevity is the soul of wit. If you want me to elaborate, I will.” She cleared her throat. “No.”

“You did not elaborate on it at all.”

“Of course, I did. I elaborated on the intensity. The stress. The pronunciation.”

Anaïs giggled. “You two get along so well! Claudette, please, one harmless little story?”

“If she does not want to, you should respect her wish and stop pestering her,” Jacques said and stood up. “It’s not very polite. And if you may excuse me for a few minutes, my glasses are slightly dirty and I have forgotten my special handkerchief in my room.”

“I know… but are you not curious?”

“Curiosity should never lead to a breach of privacy, Anaïs,” said Jacques and left the dining hall.

“But…”

Aurèle groaned. “We should let Cloudia decide. If she is fine with one… uh… short harmless story, that will be all we will hear. If she is not… then we will talk about something else. Cloudia?”

Cloudia was silent for a while before she ultimately sighed and said, “Only if he tells me beforehand which one. And only one.”

“That will be enough!” exclaimed Anaïs happily. “Duke Kristopher, which story do you pick?”

Cedric looked at Cloudia who raised an eyebrow at him expectantly. There were many stories he could tell, but most he wanted to share were intersected with Watchdog work – their charade in St Margaret’s Chapel, how they were standing on that ledge outside the Salisbury Villa, how she took him to meet the Queen, how she killed Maven von Brandt… – and, thus, were not ones Cedric could tell in the presence of Milton. Then, there were the ones that were too ridiculous to tell: tracking down Dahlia Duke, how they sneaked into a Christmas party, how they hid zucchinis on the Lincolns’ porch…

Fortunately, Cedric had never intended to share any of those events.

“The picnic in Wales,” he answered, smiling at the memory.

“I hate you very much for this, but please go on.”

His smile widened. “Last year, the Lady and I were in Wales and, one day, I decided that it was the perfect day to go out into the wild and have a picnic. And while we were eating, I managed to make her laugh genuinely – by, you will never believe it, telling her one of the worst jokes possible.”

“What joke was it? Please, please, Duke Kristopher, what joke did you tell Claudette?” begged Anaïs.

“As I have said, we were having a picnic in Wales,” Cedric continued. “I asked the cook of the place where we were staying to prepare a few things for us. One of them was Glamorgan sausage. It is some kind of sausage which is not made out of meat but of cheese. The cook was very talented; therefore, the sausage tasted really delicious – and I jokingly said ‘Ah, I would like to marry him but I can’t.’ The Lady wanted to know why I couldn’t marry him after I told her that it wasn’t for the reason she believed it was – and I answered: ‘Because I found out that he’s a really cheesy guy.’”

Arnaud and Anaïs chuckled. “You made her laugh with that?” she said.

“Only because I had a terrible headache at that time,” Cloudia defended herself.

“No headache in the world can make someone laugh so hysterically at a pun as you did back then,” Cedric countered.

“Of course, it can’t. You may recall that, at that time, I did not only have a headache but was also on the verge of having a sunstroke because of a certain someone who insisted to take me out for a picnic when the sun was at its zenith in the middle of summer – and I hope you haven’t forgotten what happened afterwards.”

“What happened afterwards?” Anaïs wanted to know.

“He nearly got me killed, and I had to spend most of our time in Wales in bed recovering.”

Milton choked on his food, and Kamden clapped him on the back while staring at Cedric. Aurèle scowled at him with an intensity so fierce that it might surpass Lisa’s scowls. Even little Gérard could not believe what he had heard and looked at Cedric with wide eyes.

“What is going on?” Jacques asked when he re-entered the dining room. His glasses were now polished and nicely reflected the light from the chandeliers.

“Duke Kristopher once murdered Claudette!” Anaïs answered.

“You forgot to say ‘almost,’ Anaïs,” Arnaud told his fiancée.

“Oh, yes, right – he almost killed our Claudette!”

Jacques looked at Cedric. “How could you even try to harm our cousin?” Then, he let his gaze wander to Cloudia. “And why are you still talking to someone who almost got you killed?”

“I did not actively try to get her killed,” Cedric protested. “We went picnicking, and she carelessly put down her hat and didn’t put it on for hours – and she neglected her health again by not drinking enough.”

“Are you trying to blame me for what happened?”

“I am trying to defend my honour here. Unlike you, I have to do this all on my own, Lady Phantomhive. After all, I don’t have an army of cousins. To be honest – do you have more cousins hidden somewhere? The next time, you make Milton, Emyr, and me accompany you to Latin America because your great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother’s favourite aunt was Paraguayan, and you have a million more cousins there.”

“He’s ridiculous,” Aurèle said.

“We should get rid of him,” Jacques added.

“I once read a book about how to make murder look like an accident,” Arnaud proudly told them.

“I read it to him!” Anaïs happily exclaimed.

“Murder!” Gérard yelled, raising his fork into the air.

“I am so glad that you don’t have any Phantomhive relatives,” Cedric said to Cloudia who ignored him and chuckled at her cousins. “You are too sweet, but I cannot let you kill the Duke,” she said, taking a sip from her tea. “Because that is my privilege.”

Aurèle grinned. “Of course, Claudette. But if you… if you need help, you can count on us.”

“Always,” Anaïs added.

“Aren’t you forgetting the Earl, Kristopher?” Milton remarked after he could breathe again and had thanked Kamden.

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course, the Earl. His presence is so thin that I keep forgetting that he exists,” Cedric replied and he hoped that his words had not come out of him too hastily.

“Also…” Milton started, paused, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“What do you want to say, Milton?” asked Kamden.

Milton cleared his throat. “I want to say that it was a really nice story, Kristopher.”

Aurèle raised his eyebrow but did not say anything. “It was?” said Cedric.

“Yes, of course,” Milton replied, fiddling with a serviette. “Sure, it was unfortunate how things turned out in the end, but at the beginning, you looked so happy to tell us about the picnic. You must truly cherish this memory despite its ending, don’t you? I think it’s good that you can still enjoy thinking about that time. Bad things often overshadow the good ones – and you two seemed to have had such a good time in Wales; it would be so sad if you only ever focused on the one bad thing that occurred. Especially as it was not the fault of neither of you.” He made a pause. “No… simply forget that I have ever spoken if it does not bother you too much. I am sorry.”

“Uh… well…” stammered Cedric before he gave up on saying anything. He had no idea what to respond to Milton anyway.

For the rest of the breakfast, Milton did not say a single word although everyone else was talking boisterously and over one another; and every time, Cedric glanced into his direction, he also saw Aurèle scrutinising him.

***

~Cloudia~

“Well, that was probably the most chaotic breakfast of my life,” said Cedric. Right after they had finished eating, Anaïs and Arnaud had gone to bring Gérard to Sylviane, his and Anaïs’ mother, and to see Babette. Jacques had announced that he would head to the library now, and Aurèle had vanished to go outside – presumably to practice throwing in a much safer place than in the corridor. Kamden and Milton had left with Cloudia and Cedric to go to their respective rooms but were walking a few paces behind them because Milton had been the one to close the door.

“That means a lot considering that I am not the youngest anymore,” Cedric continued.

“Really? You have never experienced even more chaotic breakfasts?” Cloudia said. “The bread did not go up in flames? A servant did not triple and spill a whole can of milk over your grandmother? Nobody ever bit into a roll so hard that they lost a tooth? The cook was never so tired that he misunderstood ‘croissants’ as ‘cross’ and ‘saints’ and prepared a very holy breakfast surprise?”

“You cannot tell me that you have actually experienced these things.”

She shrugged. "I don’t have to. Poor John can tell you how he was fired after angering Grandmother Hortense. Clarissa can tell you how she lost a tooth – thankfully it was only a milk tooth – to a centuries-old roll that somehow sneaked its way into the bread basket. If he was still alive, Maynard could tell you how he was fired after he was out with his friends for so long that he was too sleepy to work properly the next morning.”

“You are making this up.”

“I could never. All I said was born out of breakfasts had during the annual three-day family gathering at Grandmother Hortense’s. Do not get me started on stories concerning lunch or dinner!”

“Hah!” Cedric exclaimed and jumped up and down. “You are lying! I have never heard of an annual family reunion of yours! Last year you did not attend such a thing!”

“Grandmother Hortense is not particularly fond of me and only ever invites me every other time. Sometimes I cannot go because I have Watchdog duties to attend to.”

“That does not prove any–”

“Lady Cloudia, there you are,” said Lisa when she approached them. “I guess Mr Emyr has already told you about the Maid’s Manifesto?” She took it out and opened it. “Hah! What I thought to be completely useless and outright insulting ultimately turned out to be very, very helpful. This place is an architectural mess and without a map or having become fully familiar with the building due to haunting its floors for years, you would be lost. I doubt anyone would ever be able to find your corpse in here.” Lisa sighed. “Unfortunately, the Maid’s Manifesto was more of an exception than the starting point of a new surprising rule,” she added with a sideways glance at Cedric.

“Very funny, Miss Greene.”

“How was breakfast with the other servants?” asked Cloudia.

I had already a bit of a headache; I did not need it to become worse.

“It was fine. The servants of the Duponts and Beauchenes do not speak English, though. The only exception is, according to Mr Wentworth, the governess Josseline Manaudou, but she does not eat with us. This creates a bit of a barrier – at least, for me. Still, Al, Mr Wentworth, and I ate together while the others where bundled among themselves.

“Al and Mr Wentworth talked for quite some time and they get along very well. It surprised me a bit as Al usually shies away from conversations, and people shy away from him. Mr Wentworth does not seem to mind though – unlike his charge.”

“This again? Simply ask Milton about it. He is right behind us.”

“Oh, yes. I doubt that he would refuse to answer or that he would give a dishonest response,” Cedric said. “Milton strikes me as the kind of person who would gladly answer all your questions as truthfully as possible. Of course, only if he knows the answer and as long as it’s not too intrusive.”

“Nobody who is in their right mind would answer such questions. This says absolutely nothing about his character.”

“May I interrupt?” Milton suddenly said, having approached them as silently as a cat. “I am afraid, but I involuntarily overheard bits and pieces of your conversation. I am very sorry, but…” He turned to Lisa. “Miss Greene, are you referring to the incident in Dover? I did not mean to stare at Mr Newman; my surprise got the best of me. I am very sorry. I truly did not mean to make him uncomfortable in any way. Being stared at for such things is awful. I know that.” Milton sighed. “I will apologise to Mr Newman as soon as possible. I will definitely do so sometime today. I should have done it sooner. I am very sorry.”

“I… I think Al will appreciate it,” Lisa replied, clearly taken aback by his words.

“I do hope so,” he said. “Now, with the whole day ahead of us…” – Milton put a hand on his chest and smiled – “and the rain ceased, have you already made any plans for today?”

No matter what I had said to Cedric and Lisa, Milton was a bit of a hindrance. Nanteuil-la-Forêt was a small village and every new face would instantly become subject to gossip. We were a large group of people, and if we went there together, it would be even more eyebrow-raising than when only one or two of us go. The same would apply when we took turns going to the village.

And even more, if we went there looking like nobles.

The latter part should not be a problem with Milton – he would certainly be fine with disguising himself. The first part, however, might be tricky. Keeping an eager traveller and explorer away from Nanteuil-la-Forêt could not come without problems.

Under different circumstances, I could not care less if he went to the village or not – but if we caused too much a stir, it might alert Townsend and endanger the mission.

“Have you already made any plans for today?” Cloudia countered.

“Bram and I were contemplating exploring the nature around here a bit. Apart from that, I have a lot of work to do before my meeting in a few days. I thought about doing my paperwork in the salon or library.”

Evidently, I was absolutely wrong. Milton was as easy to handle as I had claimed.

“Are you not afraid of getting lost?” asked Cedric.

“Not quite. Are you interested in coming along?”

“Oh, no. I get lost all the time, and I am not a fan of forest strolls.”

“You could ask Firmin – Baron Beauchene – if he wants to accompany you,” Cloudia suggested. “Amélie said that he is very interested in the wildlife here and that he has been here once before. And I believe Emyr would like to join as well.”

She looked at Kamden, and the gaze he returned to her told her that he had understood: Milton had said that he and Wentworth would only walk around the forest, but if they were to change their minds, it was his job to stop them.

“I would come myself,” Cloudia continued, “but I promised His Grace to pay a visit to Nanteuil-la-Forêt with him. It is a little, unremarkable village, but even such places can have some hidden charms tucked somewhere in their two streets, I suppose.”

Milton smiled. “Villages always do, not only hidden between two streets. Maybe we will head to the village as well later. Until then… Emyr, do you want to ask Baron Beauchene with me whether he is interested in joining us or not?”

“Sure,” Kamden replied. “Let us talk later, Cloudia, Kristopher. Miss Lisa.”

Kamden and Milton said their goodbyes and walked back to a staircase they had passed earlier; Lisa had consulted the Manifesto, and, apparently, that was the best route to get to the Beauchenes’ rooms.

“What a splendidly useful guide you have there, Miss Greene!” Milton had said before he had wished them a good time in Nanteuil-la-Forêt and gone away with Kamden.

“So, my dear Duke,” Cloudia said when they arrived at her room and she pushed open the doors.

“It is time for us to get changed. We will meet here in thirty minutes. Not a second later, you understood?”

***

“Thanks for taking us with you, Mr Cuvier,” Cloudia said in French against the wind when, thirty-five minutes later, they were driving from the château to the village.

“You are welcome, Lady Cloudia!” Denis Cuvier replied. Cloudia had partially anticipated that she and Cedric would have to walk all the way to Nanteuil-la-Forêt. To their luck, Denis had been ordered to go down for shopping by Anselme Dupont – the Marquis’ son, Amélie’s older brother, and the father of Anaïs and Gérard. When Cloudia and Cedric had gone downstairs to head out for their little adventure, they had stumbled over Denis, and he had been so friendly to drive them. At first, he had been unsure whether he should or not as his wagon was not exactly made for the transportation of humans. Cloudia had convinced him that it was fine, and now they were being transported like goods in the back, and Cedric screamed his lungs out, holding on for dear life to the wagon’s side.

“Is His Grace fine?” Denis asked, glancing at Cedric.

“Oh, yes,” said Cloudia. “Undertaker,” she continued in English. “If you do not stop screaming, some passing-by villager may believe that there is a howling monster in the woods and break out a panic. If they catch you, they may try to dissect you.”

Cedric was silent for a moment. Then, he started to whimper.

With a sigh, Cloudia slid down next to him. “What is wrong?”

“This bastard there is driving too damn fast. Why are you fine with it?”

“I had worse carriage drivers. One time, some maniac managed to get me from Quaker Gardens to Soho in twenty minutes. Never tell a hansom driver to go as fast as he can and that he may cross others on the way,” Cloudia told him. “The better question is: Why are you not fine with it? What are you afraid of? You are already dead.”

“First of all, I am very capable of dying again. Second, I would not describe myself as ‘dead.’ I may be a Grim Reaper, but I still have to eat and sleep and do all other essential things humans have to do; I can even get ill – and you know that! If I were dead, I could jump off this damned wagon and come out unscathed. But I am not. I would die again and land before the Great Grim Reaper who would only sigh and say, ‘You again?’”

Cloudia held out her hand. Cedric stared at it.

“Come, take it, and tell me a story. We have already established that you like telling stories after all.”

He glanced one more time at her hand and then at her before he finally took it.

“Wonderful! And now to the story. Tell me whatever you like and what will distract you from Denis’ questionable driving skills.”

Cedric whimpered one more time before he cleared his throat, squeezed her hand, and focused his eyes on Cloudia.

“It started with a desperate man. Once upon a time, that man lived with his wife in a wonderful little cottage. They had wished for a child for a very long time, and when they were finally expecting, they had to face a great problem. As you see, there was a little window at the back of their house which overlooked their neighbour’s garden, and that garden was filled with the most wonderful vegetables and flowers…”

***

“Thank you, Denis,” said Cloudia. They had not quite reached the village now as she thought that it would be better if Cedric and she walked the last few hundred metres on their own. Nobody had to know that they belonged together after all. “Let us meet here in five hours. Is that fine for you?”

“Of course! Goodbye, Lady Cloudia! Your Grace!” And like lightning, Denis was gone.

“What is he feeding his horses?” asked Cedric, leaning against a tree. Her method to distract him had worked – he had gone through the entire fairy-tale without whimpering once –, but now that they were on solid, unmoving ground again, his queasiness had returned.

“I should inquire about it. Thomas may be very interested in it. ‘Power food! Makes your horse run so fast that even Death would rather die than chase it!’”

“I for my part am very interested in keeping my breakfast inside of me. I do like nature, but nobody benefits from it when I share the dozens of croissants I ate with it.” Cedric took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes for a moment before he shoved himself off the tree so that they could resume their journey to the village.

“Do you think Denis will slow down when we have to return?” asked Cedric, circling a puddle. “He has to think of the cargo after all.”

“Earlier, we were the cargo, and you know how it was.”

“But the other cargo, the actual cargo, cannot hold on to something. It would topple out and be ruined.”

“Let’s see what will happen later, okay? Let us focus on our work now.”

“Very well. What do you even mean to do in the village? Question every resident if they are Nicodemus Townsend?”

“Do not be ridiculous, Undertaker,” said Cloudia. “I plan to see the mayor. We say that we were sent from Paris to catch a criminal and that we need his help in this task which will require his absolute discretion. If we are in a particularly bold mood, we may tell him that he will receive a medal if he helps us. People are like magpies – hopelessly attracted to everything that shines.”

“Are you sure that this will work? I don’t think I can pass for a Frenchman if I cannot even speak French.”

“I will say that you are embarrassed about your voice and have to whisper all you want to say into my ear.”

“Cannot we say that I am a foreigner and need a mediator?”

Cloudia looked at him. “The world is slowly shifting together, Undertaker, but villages like Nanteuil-la-Forêt are not very affected by that shift. The people living in such places are not used to foreigners and often do not trust them. If they don’t trust us, how will they aide us in our investigation? Also, Townsend may be a foreigner here too, but it would still seem suspicious if the Parisian police send foreigners to do their job for them. The mayor and nobody else would believe us.”

“But can’t we say that I am… I don’t know… mute? I know a bit of sign language; it might work.”

“I don’t know sign language, though. You need to teach me one day. Until then, we have to push back this charade idea.”

Cedric sighed. “Very well. Then, I will be the detective with the embarrassing voice. Are you happy now?”

“Definitely. How do you want to be called?”

“Hm?”

“Undertaker, we need false names. I don’t want to have to think of ones on the spot. I am, I have to admit, not very good at naming anything, and it will be better if you already know to which name you have to respond when I call you.”

He sighed again and pondered over it for a while. “Jeanne Gauthier for you. Alexandre Vidocq for me.”

“Interesting choices. Wholly unexpected. Why did you choose them?”

Cedric smiled. “I had no particular reason.”

***

After ten minutes, they finally arrived at the village. At first, they kept to alleys, tracing the village more than entering it, but a place like Nanteuil-la-Forêt did not have many dark corners to begin with and soon, Cloudia and Cedric wandered rather openly through the streets.

It was a perfectly ordinary village and every now and then, people stared at them and put their heads together. The gossiping had already begun.

“Do you smell this?” Cedric asked into Cloudia’s ear, sniffing the air. “Cake.”

Cloudia rolled her eyes. Very well. But only because we need to ask someone for the way, she thought, touching her skull pendant necklace.

I followed Cedric’s keen nose. If one of us should be called a dog, he should be it. It fit more.

They entered a little bakery, and Cloudia ordered a piece of cherry crumb cake for Cedric.

“Hello, my companion and I are looking for the townhall,” Cloudia told the baker in French after she had handed the cake to Cedric. “May you be so kind as to tell us the way?”

The baker wiped the counter and narrowed his eyes. “I have meant to ask: Who are you? I have never seen you here before, and I am one of the only three bakers here. I have practically seen everyone.”

She smiled at him. “We are simply two strangers passing by.”

For a moment, the baker scrutinised her, and then, he said, “Follow down the main road; then go left. You cannot miss it.”

“Thank you.” Cloudia gestured for Cedric to come, and they quickly walked down the path to the townhall. There, they had to wait quite a while. Not because the mayor was so busy, but because the staff was wondering who those two persons they had never seen before in their entire lives could be.

Gossip. Cecelia loved it because she could get a lot of information out of it, and I could see its value in this regard, but it was far too tiring for me. Cecelia could handle it. I did not want to have to do anything with it.

“The mayor will see you now,” the secretary Alain Descombes, a tall man in a well-worn suit, told them. “If you may follow me now.”

Cloudia and Cedric followed their guide to the first floor, and in front of the room at the very end of the corridor, he halted and opened the door for them. He bowed when they entered and closed the door behind them.

“Welcome, Monsieur Vidocq. Monsieur Gauthier,” the mayor said. He walked up to them and shook their hands. “I am the mayor of Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Mathieu Guilloux. What can I do for you?”

After we had parted to get changed, I had put on trousers, well aware that with them and my hair up and hidden beneath a cap, I could pass as a man. It was easier to walk through the streets like that: People were already talking about us, and I did not want them to fantasise over the “unmarried pair walking around the streets solely on their own” too. But when I had told the secretary that I was Jeanne Gauthier, I had not put any effort into lowering my voice. The trousers were a disguise for the street; I had not meant to continue the charade here. However, if they saw pants and apparent short hair and instinctively believed me to be a man…

Part of me wanted to continue this masquerade, wanted me to be “Jean” instead of “Jeanne.” I had done this before and it had gone well. Why not do it again? The rest of me, though, had no interest in pretending to be a man. And, for once, this larger part was louder than the smaller one.

“It is Mademoiselle Gauthier,” Cloudia corrected him with a smile.

Mathieu Guilloux frowned. “I knew that you were an odd pair – marching into my village and heading straight to me – but now you have become even stranger. A girl in pants!” He shook his head. “Anyway, please take a seat and tell me what you want.”

Cloudia and Cedric exchanged a glance before they followed Guilloux to his desk and sat down on the chairs in front of it. Guilloux himself sat down behind the desk.

“Monsieur Vidocq, why have you come here?”

“Monsieur Vidocq and I have come to Nanteuil-la-Forêt on order of the Parisian police,” Cloudia answered him, still smiling. “Vidocq is a renowned detective there. Unfortunately, he is very embarrassed by his voice, and because of this, he needs me: I am the only one who is allowed to hear his voice and recite what he is saying.”

“So you are his secretary?”

“We were sent here for a highly important case,” Cloudia continued. “A criminal from England has caused quite a riot in Paris and before we could catch him, he fled. We assume that he is hiding somewhere around here.”

Guilloux frowned. “He is hiding here? In Nanteuil-la-Forêt? Unbelievable!”

Her smile widened. “That’s exactly the reason why he is here. Nobody expects a wanted thief to be here.

“Mayor Guilloux, we have come to inform you of our investigation and to ask for your aide in finding the thief. We are certain that with your help, we will be able to find him in no time. The sooner we find and catch him, the sooner Vidocq and I will be gone.”

Guilloux said nothing for a while before the neutral line of his mouth transformed into a grin Cloudia did not like at all. “Mademoiselle Gauthier, so you are saying that Monsieur Vidocq is a renowned detective in Paris?”

She nodded. “Very famous, very talented. Day after day, his brilliance adorns the title pages.”

Guilloux leaned back. “I see, I see. Mademoiselle Gauthier, you may not have noticed it while coming here, but we have our very own criminal lurking around here. In the last two days, two persons have been killed. It is the first time something like this has happened here and my people are in a panic.

“I will help Monsieur Vidocq in finding his thief if he agrees to help me with my murderer. Is this a deal?”

***

I hated this bastard so much. I had tried to argue with him for a while – I had even told him about the prospect of receiving a medal, but it had not helped –, but soon figured out that it was in vain. Guilloux was one of those people whose mind you could not change no matter what you did. After briefly “consulting” Cedric – he had only whispered into my ear how much he disliked the mayor – I had agreed. However, I had made a condition as well: Under no circumstances should he tell anyone that I was, in fact, a woman. It would ruin my disguise on the streets after all.

Still furious, Cloudia left the mayor’s office with Cedric. Outside, a young woman with light brown hair in a long braid and a gentle face waited for them.

“I am Yvette Guilloux, the mayor’s daughter,” she introduced herself with a curtsy. “I am to guide you through Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Very pleased to meet you, Monsieur Vidocq, Monsieur Gauthier.”

“We are very pleased to meet you as well,” said Cloudia, and Cedric nodded.

“Please follow me down,” Yvette said and led them to the stairs. “I hope Père was not too unfriendly. He can be rather rough sometimes. I hope he did not offend you?”

“Not at all,” Cloudia dryly replied.

Yvette nodded. “Did he tell you something else I have to do? Apart from showing you around?”

“Your father said that you would inform us about the murder case – Vidocq is a detective and agreed to help. What happened?”

She paled. “It is absolutely horrible! Traumatic! Two days ago, Madame Nadia Allemand, an elderly seamstress, was found in her tailor’s shop – with thousands of pins stabbed through her skin! It was an awful sight and nobody knows who it was. It was a shock to all of us. And then, yesterday…” Yvette shuddered. “Dominique Duhamel was found hanging from the church’s roof. He was hanging there with a rope around his head, but his heart had been pierced by a knife…”

She showed them to the backdoor and out. “And, well… We do know who it might have been, but we have no idea who he is exactly.”

Cloudia frowned. “Oh, very interesting. Could you please tell us more?”

“Two days ago, a stranger came here and checked into Maxime Guilbert’s pension. He checked in and vanished on the same day: On the day Madame Allemand’s corpse was found.”

Cloudia leaned towards Cedric so that he could whisper something into her ear.

“What is she saying?” he wanted to know.

“Vidocq would like to see the pension,” said Cloudia, and thought: I will tell you everything later, Undertaker.

***

Maxime Guilbert’s pension was right next to the bakery they had visited earlier. According to Yvette, the baker Basile Duhamel was the father of the second victim.

It was certainly odd for him to continue working after his son’s gruesome death. Was it because he was dependent on the money or because of something else?

Guilbert heartily greeted Yvette and after a row of small talk and introductions, he gave her the key to the apparent murderer’s room and told her, Cloudia, and Cedric its number: 245.

“I am a friend of his daughter Marie-Claire,” Yvette told them while they climbed the stairs to the second floor. “She and I used to run around these halls all the time. Now, all we do is drink tea and converse in the kitchen.”

She put the key into its hole when they arrived in front of Room 245. “Maxime said that he did not touch it: Everything is exactly like the stranger has left it. Maxime was afraid to touch the room after what happened, and he stopped Dominique’s mother from destroying it. Poor Solange. Now that you are here, Maxime is especially happy that he has protected the room. He got a few scratches from the fight. At least, now he knows that they were not for nothing.”

The door swung open, and Cloudia and Cedric stepped inside. They walked around, searching for something useful.

The room was ordinarily decorated: There was a rug, a bed, a small desk, a slender wardrobe. From the window, Cloudia could see the façade from a house, and there was a chamber pot beneath the bed. No manipulated tapestry, no loose floorboards.

The wardrobe was empty. The bed was untouched. There was nothing on the desk, not even faint lines that indicated that the stranger had sat down and written something there. The rug was glued to the floor so masterfully that it was impossible to move.

The window was intact and closed. There were no holes in the ceiling and walls, no cracks as well.

The room was absolutely blank.

***

~Cedric~

On our way back, Cloudia explained everything to me, but it sounded more like she was talking to herself than to me. After we had gone to the pension, Yvette had led us to the church and to the tailor’s shop. At each place, Cloudia’s frown had deepened, and when Yvette had invited us to tea, I had been able to hear the gears turning inside Cloudia’s head over my chewing.

The case was clearly bothering her. Still, in my eyes, this was no excuse for ditching me as soon as we had arrived at the château. Denis had actually driven slower this time, relieving my soul and stomach, but when Cloudia told me that she would retreat to her chambers now, I still had not the strength to protest.

The hours passed and after doing nothing in that time, I decided to go out and find out whether she would like to see me now…

Cedric walked down the corridors, crossing his fingers that he was actually taking the right path when he was promptly grabbed and dragged into an astonishingly beautifully furnished and decorated room.

Wrong way.

Very unceremoniously, Cedric was thrown onto an ottoman.

“I would appreciate it if you were to stop doing this,” he said to Cecelia and shifted into a better seating position.

Cecelia shrugged and sat down on a large sofa opposite him. Today, she was wrapped in black silk. From the exhaustion that had apparently been plaguing her earlier was nothing to be seen.

“Rather, you should consider becoming less lost-in-thought and more observant and cautious. Under widely different circumstances, I might have been an intruder sent to cut off all the heads of the residents here. Imagine it! Someone whose sole talent and purpose in life is cutting off and collecting people’s heads! And he was sent after us! How tragic for the world it would be to lose my lovely countenance!”

“I thought you were talking about my head.”

“I will talk about your head when I want to play ball like the shepherd’s children.”

“Cecelia, why am I here?”

“Do you remember the promise you have given to me? Back in April? Please do not say you don’t: I will be tremendously disappointed.”

“It was not a promise when I said that you could ask me another time whether I would like to drink with you.”

“You remembered!” Cecelia exclaimed. “Wonderful. Splendid. Marvellous. Today will be the day you will redeem your promise.” She stood up, walked to her dresser, and inspected her face and hair which sat perfectly.

“I have asked Newman if he was so kind as to organise some beverages and prepare the salon for us. Of course, he was. A very dutiful man. If he was not so devoted to our dear Cloudia, I would take him for myself.”

Cecelia turned towards Cedric and held out her arm to him. He sighed. “Did I ever have a choice?” he said, taking her arm and guiding her out of the room.

“Did anyone ever have one?”

***

“Is there not something you would like to ask me?” said Cecelia, leaning towards him and speaking in a low voice, while she led him to the salon.

“How are you able to navigate through the château so confidently even though you have spent the entire day in your room? This place is a mess!” Cedric replied, shuddering at the hundreds of different staircases they passed. Who was the architect Lambert Charbonneau had employed? Had he gone wild when the Baron had said to create “the most dazzling building” or had he been insane?

Cecelia laughed. “I may have spent my day in my chambers, but I talked to Newman, don’t you remember? I ask him about the way to the salon, and he went to ask Lisa about it. Apparently, the one whose room she currently occupies left her a very remarkable little book. I keep saying this to Cloudia, and now I will say it to you too: I could very well spend the rest of my life in a single room or stitched to a bed or sofa and still be able to acquire all the information I want.

“Now, when I asked whether you have a question or not, I did not prompt you to give me this question. While entertaining, I doubt it is all you have in mind.”

Cedric was silent for a while. “While we were travelling, why were you being so weird towards Milton? For example, why did you make the Countess withhold from him that you would accompany us as well?”

Cecelia tugged on his arm to make him bend down and poked his nose. “I am slowly training you to ask the right questions, and it is working fantastically!

“Well, you have to know, dearest Not-Kristopher, that I do not travel with anyone I have not researched before. When I had to cross the Irish Sea to get to England and marry Michael, I requested him to find out every man’s name who would be on the ship. I had never been on one before, and I did not want to take any risks. Michael gave me all the names and I spent an afternoon finding out everything I could about them. One of them was a wanted axe-murderer who planned to kill everyone on board and steal the ship to escape to mainland Europe. Michael and I reported him, he was arrested, and we could calmly take our journey. Never trust anyone – that incident cemented this for me.

“When Cloudia first began to meet with Milton, I was very eager to dig out everything concerning him. She was not very happy about my plans though and made me promise that I would, as long as they would keep meeting at least, not research Milton. Now, their relationship has not exactly soured, but it took quite a turn after his failed proposal – a very fortunate circumstance because it allowed me to research him now when it became important. I would have never set foot on his damned ship if I had not dipped into the waters of his past and secrets before.”

“So… and why exactly were you being weird towards Milton?”

“How impatient! Is it because I am not Cloudia that you cannot listen to me for more than two sentences?” Cecelia shook her head. “Anyway, while I conducted my research I came across a tiny, but highly interesting rumour.

“As you know, Milton owns a trading company which is primarily focused on food and whose profits significantly increased upon him inheriting it. The other heads of trading companies despise him for that; this hatred infamously peaked in Flavian Hunt conspiring to kill Milton. A few people believe Milton’s success is founded in some dark business.”

Cecelia inspected her fingernails. “He is a weapons smuggler.”

Cedric stared at her. “What?”

“Milton’s innocent, overly friendly aura could not be real; not a second, I believed his little act. Surely, it is only a rumour, a very tiny ember which seems to be going around for a little while now, but still has not sparked a fire.”

“What if it is only a rumour? A rumour planted by some envious rival?” Cedric suggested.

“Of course, this is a possibility. But what sounds more plausible? Nobody has a white soul, and I doubt that Milton has one. If only I could get anything out of Baroness Salisbury…”

“Baroness?! What Baroness…” Cedric interjected, but Cecelia kept on going.

“… and then there are all the other highly suspicious things about Milton and… Oh, look! We have arrived!”

A servant opened the door for them, and they stepped into the salon. Apart from them, only Milton – of all people – was there, hunched over piles and piles of papers in a corner. Cedric had almost missed him.

“Speaking of the devil,” Cecelia whispered to Cedric before she let go of him and headed straight to the table and seating area Newman had prepared for them.

There was no reason for me to believe Cecelia. Still, I hesitated before I approached Milton.

Cedric had made only one step towards him when Milton lifted his head. From the door, he had looked far more submerged in his work.

“Hello, Kristopher,” Milton greeted him with a smile when Cedric sat down on a chair opposite him. “I am sorry for the mess.”

“It’s no problem,” Cedric said, glancing at the “mess” he was referring to: There were many large piles of documents, but each pile had been neatly put together. The only thing that was “messy” about them was the fact that they were covering the entire table.

“What brings you here?” Milton wanted to know.

“Cecelia is forcing me to have some drinks with her.”

“I see. I hope you will enjoy yourselves.”

“She certainly will; I, on the other hand, am not sure I…” Cedric glanced at the paper on the very top of the pile closest to him, and for a moment he was confused because of it and did not know why before it dawned upon him that he could not read anything written on it. Not only wasn’t it in English – it did not seem to be any other language.

“Uh… Milton? What is this gibberish?”

“Oh, that…” Milton fumbled with the pen in his hand. “These documents contain classified information. Only those who concerns them should be able to read them, and to make sure that really only the right people can do something with these papers, they are written in code."

Dammit, Milton. I did not want to believe in Cecelia’s words – I wanted to trust you, but you were not making it easy for me.

“It is only a silly little security measurement. I guess everyone could break the code if they were dedicated enough…” Milton trailed off.

“Well, I certainly am not. In the end, all I would get would be boring numbers, right?”

“Oh, yes. They are not exactly interesting to everyone…”

Cedric nodded. "So if anyone ever tells you I was stealing your corporate information, you know that they are lying and only want me to look bad.”

Milton chuckled, and to Cedric, it sounded genuine. If he was really a weapons smuggler, shouldn’t his laughs be more pressed? “I will keep that in mind.”

“Very well.” Cedric stood up. “I think I will leave you alone now. You seem to have a lot of paperwork ahead of you…”

Milton looked down on his lap and twisted his pen in his hands. “Uh, not exactly…”

Cedric frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I am almost finished for today.” Milton picked up the single piece of paper that he had been balancing on his lap.

Cedric stared at him. “When did you come back from your stroll?”

“Two hours ago.”

“These are like a million papers! And you have worked through them in two hours? How did you even get them in here?”

Milton shyly smiled at him. “A butler, Alphonse Batteux, was so kind as to help me. I think the next time I will work in my room…”

“This is insane. Don’t you have a secretary to help you?”

“No. Even if I had, they would not be here anyway, right? Also…” Milton looked down at his last file. “I like doing paperwork. It’s very calming.”

“Baron, as you are free in a minute, do you want to join us?” Cecelia asked, coming over to them with a grin on her face.

Her words reminded me of something Milton had said after breakfast: that he would either work in the library or the salon. Who had Cecelia made spy on us for her? Or how had she found the random passing-by servant who had overheard exactly this crucial piece of information on which she could base her entire crazy plan of making me redeem my “promise” to elevate her chances of getting Milton to agree to have some drinks with her so that it would be easier for her to get the pieces of information she wants out of him?

A spy it had been. Definitely a spy.

We were here for barely a day, and Cecelia Williams had already wrapped the staff around her finger.

“Friendly afternoon drinking does always sound marvellous, and, as we will be having dinner soon, the drinking will not become too heavy. It’s unfortunate, but we have to be presentable after all. The Comte and Comtesse, and the Baron and Baronne will join us, I have heard. We would not want to leave a bad impression, would we? And, Baron, as far as I remember, we have never really talked, and like this, you can continue your conversation with His Grace as well!” Cecelia said without making any pauses to breathe that could allow Milton or Cedric to protest.

Milton put his pen down and clutched his hands together. “Very well. I am not much of a drinker, but if it is only a little bit…”

Rest in peace, Milton. It was good to have known you.

Cecelia’s grin widened. “Oh, how wonderful.”

***

“It has come to my ears that you, Mr Bonham, Baron Beauchene, and Wentworth went out into the forest today,” Cecelia said when they were all seated and the butler Batteux had poured each of them a glass of wine.

“Yes, we did,” Milton replied, taking up his glass. “Aurèle joined us as well. Baron B… Firmin was quite happy about this development because, seemingly until now, Aurèle never wanted to accompany his father to one of his nature studying trips. Firmin studies wildlife and plants, you see; he is especially interested in birds.”

How did someone like Firmin even manage to marry a Dupont? From all Cloudia had told me, it would have made more sense to me if Firmin had been rejected. Or, perhaps, bird-watching was just his hobby?

“How very interesting.” Cecelia raised her glass to her lips and took a sip. “Your Grace, what are you saying about it?”

“It must have been very nice to have an expert in your group,” Cedric said and glanced at his damned glass.

“It definitely was. Firmin was able to continue filling out his notebook on the nature of Nanteuil-la-Forêt, and we were able to get a university-level lecture on it.”

“Have you ever been to university, Baron?” Cecelia asked.

“I would have loved to, but I could not. I had to help with the company and this took up all my time.”

“How unfortunate. Don’t you think it’s unfortunate, Your Grace?”

Cedric numbly nodded.

“However, with your title and company, a degree would be superfluous. Why should you do something you do not need to do?”

Milton nodded briefly and after twirling the glass in his hand for a while, most likely he was debating whether to drink the wine or not, he raised it to his lips – and drank everything at once.

Cedric stared at him. Even Cecelia was baffled.

Bashfully, Milton put the glass down and clutched his hands. “I am not very fond of the taste of wine – or any kind of alcohol – and prefer to finish it all at once so that I do not have to endure the taste for too long…”

“Are you not hurting yourself in the process?” Cecelia said. “Drinking an entire glass of wine at once is no easy task for many because of this.”

“It does hurt. Like with the taste, I prefer to have to withstand the pain for only a short while though…” Milton paused. “I can drink it normally if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no, do not bother. It is tremendously fascinating. Can you do this with something stronger as well?” Cecelia inquired while pouring whiskey into his glass.

“Uhm… I suppose I could, but I thought we were only drinking lightly?” Milton remarked.

“Oh, one or two glasses of something stronger will be fine! Trust me.” She held his glass to him.

Milton stared at his glass before he hesitantly took it and drank everything at once again.

“Milton… are you fine?” Cedric asked when Milton had put down his glass again. He itched to throw it out. Part of him did want to get closure on the question whether or not Milton was involved in some illegal dealings, but he did not approve of Cecelia’s method of getting this piece of information out of him. Cedric was still sure that Milton would answer that question normally, but how could you embed “Are you an arms smuggler?” into a casual conversation without it becoming awkward?

“I’m very well,” Milton replied, and judging from the look on his face, he was telling the truth. “Thank you for asking. I have just remembered something: How did your visit to Nanteuil-la-Forêt go, Kristopher?”

“It was fine. The Lady and I have not found its inherent magical component, though we did have some cake.”

Milton smiled at him. “You still have time. I hope you will find it eventually.”

Cecelia handed Milton his refilled glass. This time, Cedric had not seen what she had poured into it – and to be honest, he did not want to know.

“It seems as if you are greatly amused by my drinking habits, Marchioness,” Milton said, taking his glass.

“It is a truly fascinating talent and gift. A gift I would love to have to amaze the Ladies of the Gossip Table,” said Cecelia. “Have you shown this talent of yours to others as well, Baron?”

“Please call me ‘Milton,’ Marchioness. And while there are others who know about it, I have never put it on public display.”

“You should! It would stir quite the talk at parties.”

“I do not doubt that it would, though I am afraid that this is not something I would ever do,” he stated and gulped down his glass of unidentified liquid.

Again, when he put it down, he still seemed completely unaffected.

I had no idea what Cecelia had put into that drink, but she seemed to have had great hopes for it because her face fell momentarily. Something told me that her mixture would have even knocked me out – and I was a Grim Reaper! What was Milton then?

Cedric stood up. “I think this was enough. Cecelia…” However, before he could get any further, a footman entered the room and bowed. He said something in French that Cedric could not understand, but part of it had sounded like his name…

Whatever the footman had said, it managed to surprise Cecelia for the second time today.

“What did he say?” Cedric wanted to know.

“He said,” Milton told him, “‘Duke Underwood, The Most Honourable Marquis Dupont would like to see you.’”

***

I asked the footman if I could speak to Cloudia first. He said no.

I asked him if he had made a mistake. Again, a no.

I asked if it could wait – the Marquis was an old man, and it was so late. Surely, he would rather rest? No.

I asked if he knew why he wanted me and not Cloudia, his grand-niece? He said no.

I asked if he knew what the Marquis wanted to tell me. No, again.

And then, he stopped answering any of my questions.

It was highly unnerving. Over and over again, I recalled all the bits and pieces Cloudia had told me about him because I wanted to know who I was about to meet. It did nothing to ease my nerves; instead, it only made everything worse. When the footman opened the door to the Marquis’ rooms and shoved me through it, my nerves were frazzled.

I whispered to the footman that I would refuse the meeting – why had I not done this before? – but he only closed the door behind me.

The Marquis’ room was decorated like all the others. All was ordinary; only he was not.

He might have been lying on his bed, multiple cushions lifting up his upper body and head, but he might as well have sat on a throne.

“What is your name?” the Marquis asked. Despite his age and ill countenance, his eyes and his voice were still full of strength and subtle malice.

Thank God, Cloudia did not inherit this.

I hoped.

“Not the one you use to introduce yourself to others,” he continued. “I do not want the lie; I want the truth. The one you gave to my sister’s granddaughter.”

Cedric could not help himself and flinched.

“My servants are my ears and eyes in a world I cannot explore on my own anymore. However, they can only see and hear, not observe and listen. They also do not speak a single word of English; I always make sure they do not. Certain words are not meant for the ears of many.

“So, tell me, what is your name?”

“How do you know that ‘Kristopher Underwood’ is not my real name? Why don’t you assume Cecelia Williams is lying about her name?”

“I do not have to assume anything: I know that both your names are not your real ones. In her case, she changed it upon marriage. You have never officially changed your name; you illegally bear a name that is not yours. ‘Cecelia Williams’ is her name now; ‘Kristopher Underwood’ has never been yours.

“I know the names of all who have arrived yesterday except yours. I know that Wallace Underwood never had an heir, but I do not know who you are. However, seeing you in front of me now, I have a suspicion. My servants described your appearance to me. Say, when was the last time you have washed your hair?”

Cedric groaned.

Yes, he was definitely related to Cloudia.

“It is such a pity,” the Marquis said, “that you are neglecting it so much – your impressive silver hair.”

“What do you want with me?”

“I want your name. I already know enough – why are you still hesitating, son?”

Cedric took a deep breath and looked him into the eyes, but the Marquis did not look into his. “And what is yours?”

“I,” he spoke, “am the Marquis.”

He was giving me an aneurysm.

“I am not quite sure why I am even here – don’t you want to speak to Cloudia? She is your sister’s granddaughter, as you have said, and you have never met her before. Don’t you want to talk to her?”

“I have told you what I want.”

Cedric sighed. “Marquis, why are you so fixated on names?”

“Names hold power, son. They hold power and contain stories: of marriages, of favouritisms, of adoptions, of great tragedies, of love and joy and sadness and many more. I have always had an interest in stories. ‘Duke Kristopher Underwood’ tells me the story of how you met my grand-niece and came to work with her. What does your real one tell?”

Something told me that, if I were to try to escape, I would find the door locked or the corridor full of ready servants – or both. The windows would be unbreakable; the walls impenetrable.

This château had been built to protect its inhabitants from the outside world, and what was to be a safe haven could easily become a prison.

“My name is…” His heartbeat grew faster. “Cedric Kristopher Rossdale.”

The Marquis smiled. “As I have expected: another tragedy. And such a sad one. Rossdale is such an old name.”

Cedric sucked in his breath. “Now that you got what you wanted, tell me where the Clockmaker is. That’s the main reason why you have called me, isn’t it?”

“I have never said such a thing.”

“But that’s the reason why we are even here!”

“But not the one why you are here. You have come to tell me your name.”

Cedric clenched his fists. “Can’t you give me the location anyway? We do not have much time, and I am already here.”

“I will give out this piece of information when the time is right and I will only give it to the right person. This is not now. This will not be you.”

“If this is all, can I go now?”

“Nobody shall hinder you, son.”

Cedric turned around and when his hand touched the doorknob, the Marquis spoke again.

“People grow into the names they are given or take. I have not always been ‘the Marquis.’ For a brief time, I had been someone else. ‘The Clockmaker’ has not always been his name either: He grew into it when it was given to him.

“Amélie told me that my grand-niece is calling you ‘Undertaker.’ When do you think you will grow into that name?”

***

I could not stop thinking about my conversation with the Marquis.

Dinner had passed and, afterwards, we had all retreated to our rooms. Most were already asleep. Only I turned back and forth, unable to fall asleep myself.

Cloudia had still been pondering over the murder case at dinner; if she had not, she surely would have noticed that something was wrong with me. Of course, I would talk to her about it – just not now. Now, it was time for me to process the conversation myself. Now, it was time for it to haunt me.

Something greatly unnerved me when I thought back to the meeting, but I could not put my finger on it. It was on the tip of my tongue but I could not taste it.

It was horrible.

With a sigh, Cedric rolled out of his bed. This night, sleep would not find him, and he would not find sleep. At least, he hoped to find some peace while wandering through the silent corridors.

Cedric lit a candle and grabbed the clothes he had worn during the day, and when he shrugged on his jacket, a bundle of papers fell out of it. Frowning, Cedric picked them up and unfolded them. My dearest Not-Kristopher… it began and he cursed under his breath. When had Cecelia put the papers in his pocket?

Cedric was about to scrunch them up and throw them away when the word Milton caught his eye. His heart beat faster.

This was the summary of what Cecelia had learned about Milton.

I should not read it. It was a breach of privacy. I liked Milton, did not believe that he could hurt a fly, let alone be a smuggler. And still, there was his file in my hands…

No, it was not right. Who knew what was written in there? Nonsense, I guessed. It came from Cecelia after all. And still…

And still…

Cedric shook his head and put the papers on his desk. He adjusted his jacket and went to the door, but right in front of it, he stopped.

For a minute, Cedric lingered there, staring into nothingness, and then, he turned around. With sure steps, he walked to the desk, sat down, and smoothed out the papers.

My dearest, Not-Kristopher, I hope that you are aware that after you have read these papers, you have to tear them apart and burn them in different fireplaces…

***

Somewhere, United Kingdom – May 1843

~Cloudia~

A chuckle came from behind the door. “How amusing for Simon’s daughter to come to visit me,” said Oscar Livingstone, former Met detective, now incarcerated Yard Ripper.

My heart beat louder in my chest. So I had been right; it had been true.

Cloudia took a deep breath to slow her heart again; in the empty corridor, it sounded so loud in her ears, and she did not want her excitement to be so obvious.

“How exactly do you know my father?”

“Is that all you came for?”

“No, but it is a beginning.”

“I have no reason to answer any of your questions.”

“You would not even do it for the sake of friendly conversation? Your voice sounds rough – nobody talks to you, right? I must be the first one in about six years to start a conversation with you.”

For a while, it was completely silent behind the door, and then, Oscar said, “Simon and I worked on multiple cases together. His partner was gone for two years, and during that time, I was Simon’s primary aide. We worked together later as well, but not as frequently.”

“That was a surprisingly long answer,” Cloudia remarked.

“Is that everything?”

Now or never, Cloudia.

“As you know, my father died nine years ago,” she recited the words she had rehearsed all the way to the asylum. “He died under very mysterious and perplexing circumstances. Until today, nobody knows what happened, and Scotland Yard has long ceased its investigation.

“I was there when my father died, but I lost all my memories of it under similarly perplexing circumstances. This is haunting me every single day – this uncertainty. Barrington does not want to tell me anything, and Father’s other Aristocrat of Evil is in America where I cannot reach her. There are not many people who were close to my father, and when I found your portrait in Father’s sketchbook” – Cloudia held it out even though Oscar could not see it – “I worked to find out who you were.”

“And it did not stop you from coming here when you did.”

She nodded. “It did not. It only added yet another riddle for me to solve. And now, I have found you. You were friends with my father…”

“I would rather describe our relationship as ‘close acquaintances’ or ‘colleagues,’” Oscar interjected. Apparently, it had not taken much to revive his joy for talking.

“… You knew him better than many others, and I thought that because of this you could help me find out what happened.”

“I am not exactly capable of helping you right now,” Oscar said.

“This is not a problem: If you agree to help me, I will get you out of here. I have a letter personally written by the Queen which says that, if I want to take you with me, you are free to go. Even your servants will be released.”

Again, silence fell inside the cell.

“If I am to help you, you will help me as well.”

Cloudia frowned. “I will already help you get out of the asylum.”

“But does it not benefit you as well? Finding out the truth about Simon’s death is a part of the bargain that is solely for you. I want one as well.”

“Wasn’t Father your… your close acquaintance? Are you not eager to learn the truth too?”

“Curious I am, but I am neither as haunted by it nor as invested in this matter as you are. Not finding out the truth will not steal my sleep.

“Don’t you believe in balanced deals? Why should anyone agree to a deal from which only one party benefits?”

He was not in a position to discuss this with me. By any means, I should be leading this conversation, but I did not. He was right. Who was I to demand something and not be willing to return the favour? Who was I to assume that anyone would agree to this?

But was it really wise to have to owe a favour to the Yard Ripper?

Cloudia took a deep breath and pressed the sketchbook close to her, holding on to it as if it was her anchor.

I hoped this would be worth it.

“Very well. If you agree to help me, I will help you too.”

“You will not ask any questions or back out?”

“I will not ask any questions or back out. I promise.”

When Oscar spoke again, Cloudia could hear the smile in his voice and she wondered how it looked like.

“Then the deal is done, Lady Phantomhive.”

“Then the deal is done, Captain Livingstone,” she replied, uncertainty and utter relief and joy warring inside of her.

“I will go and tell the warden to release you,” Cloudia said, but right after she had taken the first step back to where her guide had left her, she halted. There was a question she should ask; one she should have asked before and had to do it now even though it did not matter anymore. She had already given her word.

“What is it that I have to help you with?”

“Do not worry about it. I will tell you when the right time has come.”

#Watchdog of the Queen #main chapters #please tell me all is working well #i feel like puking #edited all day #where is the damn line you could add tumblr???#fanfiction #kuroshitsuji #undertaker #cloudia phantomhive

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