#but at least I can understand why they became terrible people in their fear of the unknown when operating under compromised agency

[gch1995]

Imo yoda has got to be one of the worst if not THE worst council member. Although I can understand the hate obi wan gets I can appreciate his character and think he can be redeemed to an extent. He shows sympathy and understanding at times and you can see he does care for anakin, but the cult he was in fucked him up; including his ability to empathise and understand others. Although he follows the council extensively he tries his best to make exceptions for those he cares about. (knowing about anakin and padme but choosing to ignore it because he knows anakin is happy like that, training anakin despite the council not wanting him to, yes I know it was qui gons dying wish but that is apart of it to an extent) the thing is being raised in the order took a massive toll on him and he seeks too much approval from them and doesn’t ever question their ways. He is a heavily flawed character but he does have redeeming qualities. Yoda on the other hand? None. Zero. Absolutely nothing. Nothing, not one thing about his character is redeemable. (Bit of a rant) This little green cunt is happily shown training a group of kids with lethal weapons in his fucked up cult. He is 500 fucking years old but never bothered to even attempt at learning how to speak normally, including when ordering the slave army he controlled. This fucker spent all his life supporting and feeding into the fuckery of the order whilst constantly telling himself it was the right thing. Arrogantly sitting in his little chair allowing slavery, making child soldiers and allowing god knows how much abuse to happen to others. This shit is responsible for approximately 700 years worth of abuse towards god knows how many others. This fucker straight up denies his responsibility for everything he’s done. And it’s not just the abuse. He’s caused billions to suffer because of his arrogance. The thing is, while I can find myself looking at a character like obi wan and thinking

“wow, this character is heavily flawed but has a lot of interesting aspects and I can sympathise with him at times. I like his character and the evolution of how he reacts and responds to situations although it’s sad considering his past and how those actions devolve into something horrific and unhealthy to the point where he becomes the abuser and carries on that line which is sad. Even though there are many things that he is responsible for there are times when it’s not his fault and I can empathise with that without excusing the ones he was responsible for even if they were heavily affected by the things he went through”

But when I look at yoda?

“I hope this cunt burns in hell for eternity for the things he’s done”

Legitimately cannot put into words just how much I hate him. He’s the one who’s heavily responsible for the way obi wan turned out and most of all:

He’s the one who tried to manipulate, gaslight and force Luke to kill his own mess of a father that he created.

I genuinely think he cannot be redeemed (for me, at least. I’ll never forgive that little shit) for everything thing he’s done. (Sorry for the long ask)

Definitely, agree with you! Within a Star Wars canon-divergent AU narrative that actually framed Obi-Wan’s bad choices and flaws as seriously bad ones in the story with stakes that he either learned from and self-improved upon before it was too late and/or didn’t learn from and suffered negative consequences for as a result. Yeah, he loses people he cares about, and, at least in regards to Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano, that is partially his own fault. However, while I do feel some sympathy for him and realize that he’s flawed, it’s difficult for me to get on board with his character in canon as he is written because he never actually learns from his mistakes on screen, nor are there any real stakes in him making seriously bad choices and not learning in comparison to Anakin and Luke. I don’t hate him, but it’s hard for me to get invested in a character who can always magically get the upper hand in his duels with his enemies or opponents suddenly getting baited, provoked, pushed into a corner, or dumbed down for him to be able to effortlessly defeat them. He also repeatedly gets away with being an asshole in many of the same ways that Luke and Anakin get framed as wrong for and/or suffer consequences for in the OT and PT movies when they don’t learn to be better. Yeah, Obi-Wan loses people he cares about, and at least in regards to Anakin and Ahsoka, that is partially his own fault, but there is no sort of humbling or meaningful development in canon for him.

Still, because, as you said, Obi-Wan also was a victim of Yoda’s cult who did genuinely grow to care for Qui Gonn, Anakin, and Ahsoka, in spite of being really bad at it, he does have a lot of potential to be a better character in canon-divergent/AU material that actually has him facing real stakes and learning to take real self-accountability for his bad choices before getting to earn the hero treatment in the narrative. Within canon and especially his fandom of diehard Kenobist fans, though, Obi-Wan is such a grossly overrated Gary Stu that I’ve genuinely began to find his character more annoying and boring than he was before.

Yoda, on the other hand, really doesn’t seem to have any sort of real conscience or significant guilt for being an asshole. Nor does he really feel like a person at all because the only things he cares about are avoiding the dark side and staying in power. He also has no real backstory, so I don’t understand why he’s become an unapologetically apathetic asshole, learned nothing throughout his life, and remained willfully in-denial for the past several centuries. I don’t understand why he was allowed to be in charge for so long. I don’t understand why he is the disaster of a person he is in the series because there is no development for his character. With Anakin, Obi-Wan, Padme, the rest Republic senate, and the other Jedi they may not be wholly innocent, but I can understand why.

#anti yoda #i agree that besides Palpatine Yoda is the worst #Yoda is the worst Star Wars character #yeah technically Palpatine is more evil but at least he is framed as a bad guy #yeah Anakin Obi-Wan Padme and many of the other members of the fallen Jedi and Republic have committed inexcusable atrocities too #but at least I can understand why they became terrible people in their fear of the unknown when operating under compromised agency #at least we know they were actually victims who were products of broken systems and there is genuine humanity beneath their asshole side #i really don’t like canon!obi-wan kenobi #because he’s a Gary Stu #it annoys me because in contrast Anakin and Luke are constantly hit with warnings and negative consequences when they’re assholes #and it shouldn’t be that easy for obi wan to not feel the temptation of going too far dark at all #because in many ways he has many of the same flaws that Anakin and Luke display and/or develop #but somehow we’re supposed to believe he’s so great at avoiding temptation #in spite of also having a hair trigger temper being vindictive towards enemies and fighting dirty all the time #Kenobi has potential in stories that give him more conflict and stakes for being an assholr #or have him actually grow #but within canon and especially his diehard fandom obi-WAN’s character annoys me #I’m critical of obi-wan for how he’s treated in the canon narrative and his fan base but he does have potential #he did care about the skywalker boys in spite of often treating them both badly particularly Anakin #and he does have occasional moments when he questions Yoda’s and the council’s bullshit #so in a canon-divergent/au or a story from his pov that doesn’t completely let him off the hook for being an asshole #and refuses to let him actually be a hero until he actually can admit he fucked up I could see potential

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Here's a bit of an odd one, how would the children of Skeleton act and look like?

For example, I'd imagine the children of HorrorTale being slightly chubbier than most children, due to the fact that Willow and Oak continuously feeding them more than they need, to make sure they never deal with the starvation they suffered with.

Or, Wine's children being more refined than the rest, with impeccable balance and fashion sense.

I guess another way to phrase it, what would be the ideal child for each of the skeletons?

Undertale Sans - The kid has high self-confidence and loves pranking people. He can be a little shit at time because Sans encouraged him a little too much to prank people. They're also a hardcore science-fiction reader.

Undertale Papyrus - Energetic, very self-confident and screaming every time they're excited. They're extraverted and tend to go towards people easily. Unfortunately, they also took that bad Papyrus habit to not tell when something is wrong and just shake it off.

Underswap Sans - The kid is chill and tired of his father's energy, like many people before them... Blue is not normally constituted.

Underswap Papyrus - He thinks he's cursed at this point because his kid is hyperactive like Blue was and seems to never be able to hold in place. He doesn't understand why Blue's kid is totally the opposite. He's pretty sure they have a DNA problem at this point! What if they got swapped during their conception? ... Oh wait.

Underfell Sans - His kid's first word was "Fuck" and he never stopped saying it since. The kid is chaotic and will purposely try to fight with people just because they can. The fact his dad is encouraging them definitively doesn't help. They have a strong father-son bond though.

Underfell Papyrus - It's the perfect kid, very polite, and happy to help with anything. For the 12 first years of their life at least. After that hormone strikes HARD and they become a rebel, answering their dad and screaming back without fear, searching for fights with everyone and trying to prove the world they deserve to be in it. Edge is going to have a hard time with teenage hood. At least he can finally realize what he made his brother live through at the same age. Red keeps saying it's karma.

Horrortale Sans - The kid is a bit weird and feral, sometimes randomly acting like an animal to Willow's despair. Oak doesn't see what's wrong with that. The kid is for sure well fed however. Oak got obsessed with that as soon as he became a dad, and even once his kid is an adult, he's staring if they don't finish their plate, wondering if they're dying or something.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow did anything he could to give the kid the life he couldn't have, giving them thousands of differents activities to try, and sports at school, and creative activities. The kid has now bad anxiety because he never grew having one second to themselves. Willow feels terrible he overpressured them. That's fine, the kid also loves his father and reminds him from time to time he also has anxiety too.

Swapfell Sans - The kid is a little pest. Nox was a bit too overprotective with the child, giving them what they wanted and making sure they were well protected. All of this turns against him after a while as the kid doesn't listen to anyone, even him eventually, is arrogant as hell and thinks they're the center of the universe. Great job, Nox.

Swapfell Papyrus - Chaotic bastard could only create another chaotic bastard. The kid is a prankster, a problem and a disaster all at the same time. They don't even do it on purpose. They can't do anything right, everything, even the simplest task turns horribly wrong. The kid is somehow also incredibly lucky and escapes all the consequences. Rus created a monster.

Fellswap Gold Sans - That's when Wine realizes he has a problem with education because the kid turns exactly like Coffee did, a sweetheart craving for affection but with so many insecurities even he is overwhelmed. He tries to fix it though this time. He's still overprotective and ready to kill anyone looking more than three seconds at his child lol, but he's getting better at it. But looks down anyway. The kid has a high fashion sense though, yes indeed.

Fellswap Papyrus - The kid is scared of everything and his father can't really help with that because he is also scared of everything. They both use the other as a lifebelt and so they are very fusional, but to the point it can be unhealthy. But they will learn to be better eventually. It's just going to be HARD.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

[lorillee]

Hi how would you accomodate Obito's character to match, as you said, the fake ideal Kakashi has of him in his memory at the beginning of the series (if you want their relationship to go that way, which is 1000% more interesting than what the manga gave us) ? Like, if Kakashi has a fake idea of Obito in his head, Obito must have been at least something remotely heroic in the past, no ? Also, in this configuration do you think Adult Obito should be acknowledged as 100% Creepy in the story to contrast Kakashi's memories, and how ?

i fear that i may have opened a giant can of naruto discourse worms but since i actually have opinions on this i might as well share. its not really changing obito's character in any form its just genuinely how i read this relationship because thats the way it makes the most sense to me.

obito was genuinely just some kid who had a good heart but was a little annoying and wasnt terribly punctual or collected and was more than happy to mildly buck his responsibilities and the expectations people had of him to help people out which isnt inherently bad but also easily lends itself to endangering the mission/task at hand and as a result baby kakashi thought he was annoying and stupid and a spoiled brat who doesnt know what the real world looks like. they were literally not even anywhere close to friends until like the 5 minutes before obito epicly dies by which i mean. and this is like so so so tremendously important to understanding my view of this relationship. kakashi barely knew obito at all, and he didnt know him because up until those last 5 minutes he barely even respected him as a person and therefore had absolutely no vested interest in learning. this, combined with the fact that obito was . again. just some kid who was trying his best but wasnt like outstanding is absolutely crucial because its directly because of kakashi's growing insane survivors guilt complex that his perception of obito goes from "kid with a good heart who did the right thing when i did not" -> "paragon of justice and morality and everything that i am not".

like kakashi as a guy is somebody who very consistently takes far more responsibility for bad things that happen than is deserved - if kakashi and obito had gone to save rin earlier it literally would not have made a difference, but because kakashi knows he made the wrong decision in trying not to save her at first he blames himself for obito's death nonetheless. as rin dies by his own hand (both thereby being "his fault" + violating the deathbed promise he made to the last person he got killed) and then minato kicks the bucket not too long after, kakashi's survivors guilt complex balloons into something genuinely kind of deranged. like seriously kakashi really truly does hate himself so so so much and its a bit dire. he blames solely himself for things that are not entirely or even mostly his fault and at multiple points in the final arc literally talks about how prepared he is to die and when he's saved is caught entirely off-guard and immediately starts talking about how worthless he is (GUY WHO WANTS TO DIE SO BAD ITS CONCERNING) and asking why obito bothered moving kaguya's attack and when anybody ever tries to give him credit for the positive things he did contribute he immediately moves to give it to somebody else and minimize his own impact.

with this in mind you can kind of see what happened with obito - while kakashi is a tremendously skilled ninja on his own, it was the sharigan that ultimately became the centerpoint of his abilities - the sharigan that obito gave him. with this comes the ability to attribute all the good he's done for the village/people in it to obito while bolstering his already preconceived notion that it wasnt obito who shouldve died back then but him because if it were obito he wouldve been able to do everything that kakashi has done except he also has the added bonus of being fundamentally a better person who wouldve made the right choices who wouldve been a good leader who wouldve saved rin who wouldve saved everybody who was the one out of the two of them who truly understood sakumo's will and would have always always always succeeded where kakashi has failed time and time again but because hes dead because kakashi got him killed the best he can do is try. and he cant move on he cant ever move on because this eye of obitos is always always always there and he'll never be able to forgive himself because he's failed in every way he could have and would never deserve it. by the time the main series rolls around obito really isnt a person in kakashis mind but a very prominent focal point to project his insane deranged guilt complex onto and then feel miserable about because he has serious mental issues. like its truly not about obito as the guy he actually was because kakashi barely even knew him at all, its that because so so so many of kakashi's biggest achievements and regrets in life are tied back to obito's death its just entirely inescapable and especially so for somebody as riddled with guilt and self-hatred and responsibility as kakashi.

like people like to pretend this relationship is romantic but if im being honest. that is objectively 1)stupid but also more importantly 2) BORINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG ITS SO BORING ITS SO BORINGGGGGGGGG when your other option is kakashis deranged mental scape projection bag turning out to be an actual real person who shouldnt have been put on this massive pedastal, causing kakashis entire life and meaning up to this point to come crumbling down because it turns out obito's been spiraling off the path that kakashi has been obsessing over for years except in the end this too is kakashis fault because its always kakashis fault and worse yet its not even him who convinces obito to turn around because no matter how hard kakashi tries he'll never ever ever ever be good enough he'll never be able to fix his mistakes he'll never be able to be forgiven and he'll never be able to forgive himself.

also side note while i find obito's fixation on rin to be insanely annoying and notably weird and definitely in poor taste, intentionally making it creepy is doing nobody ANY favors and i would decidedly not want that in any direction. the contrasts between what kakashi remembers and what obito has turned into have to do with selflessness and maturity and the consistent choice to do the right thing into assisting in the murder of thousands of people for an incredibly childish and selfish pipe dream - imo intentionally focusing on how its frankly a bit weird for a guy pushing 30 to still be hung up on a girl he knew when he was 12 is detracting from the main point and serves no narrative purpose and what id much rather do instead is chop the romantic beat entirely because that would do wonders for his entire character in making him at the very least less annoying.

also also the way this ask is worded is a bit weird imo like its not like obito started out being a terrible person and if he was all along then itd kind of suck and also defeat like 100% of the point. like i would definitely say throwing yourself into a pack of overwhelming enemies to save a friend falls into the heroic category, and, while him giving kakashi the eyeball is absolutely horrifying and appalling and 57 different levels of messed up, from kakashi's pov<- authors note interruption: originally i was typing this up in the tags but then it became too long i have to give my opinion on the eyeball scene. i have to. we're side tangenting here but okay like because the thing about naruto the series and kishimoto and their respective politics is theyre kind of at odds with each other and a solid 50% of the things kishimoto says in naruto i think he like doesnt actually agree with or is alternatively too scared to commit to so im not really sure how exactly we're supposed to interpret obito giving kakashi his eye. and im aware to some extent that the shippers are like omg….. sooooo romantic while throwing on the veneer of omg child soldiers…. so horrible……. <- purely for the ~angst~ factor but. My Opinion. and we're back at it again with the mildly edited "discord messages from when i was watching" copy-pasting:

frankly imo if you make the focus of this scene on literally anything other than how horrifying the system is 1) you kind of suck and 2) youre tremendously dumb. because like there are so many tremendously bad implications going on here between the fact that kakashi who is clearly 13-14 max despite what his voice will have you believe is a JONIN without ANY of the necessary leadership or experience skills was sent with two other twelve year olds on their own with NO adult supervision (!!) on a mission to blow up a bridge in the middle of a war (!!!) and that when one of them got half crushed by a rock his only thought was to get one of the other children to TAKE OUT HIS EYEBALL WHILE HE WAS STILL CONSCIOUS (!!!!!!!) AND STICK IT INTO ANOTHER CHILD’S EYESOCKET (!!!!!!!!!!) WHICH STILL CURRENTLY HAS AN EYEBALL IN IT EVEN IF ITS NO LONGER FUNCTIONING MEANING SHE WILL HAVE TO GRUESOMELY SCOOP OUT THE REMAINS BEFORE SHE CAN PUT THE OTHER GUYS EYEBALL IN IT (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) AND NONE OF THE CHILDREN INVOLVED HAVE ANY PROBLEMS WITH THIS (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) this is NOT romantic this is horrifying the fact that a child had to do an EYEBALL TRANSPLANT on TWO CONSCIOUS PATIENTS in a BATTLE FIELD because konoha lost a sufficient amount of adults that they decided that in order to win the war they were okay with putting CHILDREN in horrifying situations and nobody DID anything about it !!!!!!!!!!!!! and the fact that these children are so completely desensitized to this idea that again obitos first thought is "yeah here let me give you my eyeball so you can fight" IS SERIOUSLY SO BAD LIKE HELLO.HELLO. HELLO?!??!?!?!?!?!?! THE KONOHA WAR MACHINE SITUATION IS DIRE.

^in the whole context of this i was complaining about shippers but the same sort of sentiment still applies to glorifying this in any manner. like as an outsider looking into this fictional world i can very easily go "wow! this is horrifying! this is not heroic this is tremendously messed up and a society that has allowed this to happen needs to kind of be razed to the ground."HOWEVER. this does not mean that kakashi himself does not see this as something indescribably heroic and in fact he would have an incredibly hard time seeing it otherwise given The Mental Illness and also his entire childhood and way of life from birth. like if we're being honest im always thinking about the scene where iruka and kakashi are arguing over whether or not team 7 is prepared to take the chunin exam because iruka rightly points out that theyre very young and inexperienced with the implication that given people older than them have literally actually died in these exams they really should not be doing this and kakashi responds that he was six years younger than naruto when he became a chunin as a justification and its just so insanely illuminating to his perspective on a lot of this because its been so insanely twisted by having literally grown up on the battlefield and then after that joining anbu bc from his perspective theyre twice as old as he was with the added bonus of it being peacetime so its literally fine even though for the viewers it is decidedly not.

and like in some instances he does recognize how badly the ninja system has screwed over everybody personally (see: when sasuke fights all of them after killing danzo and kakashi notes that sasuke is absolutely a product of his environment) but in other cases hes just so completely blinded by having been intrenched in war and child soldiering from birth that its very very hard to be able to take a step back and look at it objectively (and especially for somebody like kakashi who if he genuinely acknowledged this might also have to confront the fact that if child soldiers absolutely 100000% should not exist in any situation ever several of the things he blames himself most for in his past would really not be much of his fault as the adults who put him in those situations in the first place. which he would rather kill himself than do). also real quick id like to take a moment to share this parallel because it SERIOUSLY makes me deranged IM OBSESSED WITH ITTTTTTTT

^ and added commentary from cartoonrival who put anything i couldve said about this into a single line

so while as viewers we ought to think the entire eyeball scene is genuinely horrifying and, in the words of my dear friend goosewhisker, "a commentary on how [the ninja] system feeds on the corpses of the people who protect it", kakashi absolutely views this as something to be aspired to and incredibly heroic because hes messed up in the head a bit as a result of growing up under the konoha war machine and if you were to go "well actually obito sucked all along" it would literally only be undermining the point the story is trying to make imo. anyways this has gotten severely derailed but this is has been my thesis on kakashis relationship with/at obito and if youve stuck around this long.well thank you for reading

#ask #anon #lorillee.txt #hatake kakashi #2.2 thousand words.......... sorryeverybody. but you know how it is with me and kakashi #and also obito but in an incredibly negative direction #it is nice to have extensive thoughts again though #this is why i need to get into more ''insanely written but compelling despite itself'' media

[evita-shelby]

No one but you

Or Buck and Diane won't leave me alone and they demanded an au of them getting together.

Cw: unplanned pregnancy, mentions of illegal abortions, cheating, spoilers for Masters of the Air (and some for Peaky Blinders since Diane is a Peaky Blinders OC)

Link to No one has to know

They shouldn’t have let come this far, and yet they are meeting up in a hotel room because neither can stop themselves from this. They loved each other, they were each other’s peace in this hell and yet, there was no guarantee this would change for the better tonight.

She waits for him on the bed that might as well be theirs considering how often they come here. She’s nervous, she’d broken up with Tom last time he was on leave because she knew he would never raise a baby that wasn’t his. It had hurt, she loved him, but she loved Gale, and it was his baby she was having.

He didn’t know yet. He would leave this room knowing that but whether he is willing to leave his Marjorie to raise a child with her is another thing entirely.

Diane had known of someone here who could take care of it before it even showed, and yet, she hadn’t wanted to erase a future with a blond-haired baby boy that was a perfect mix of them both.

John Gale Cleven, blonde haired with his smile and her mismatched eyes. Conceived in love and sin under a tree.

“Are you feeling better, Di. Helen said you weren’t in today because of it.” He asks with concern as he left his jacket on the hook and, for a moment, became Gale Cleven, not Major Gale Cleven with a sweetheart back home.

“Yeah, just needed some time off.” She smiles nervously and hates herself for not being careful. This was the last thing they needed, but she doesn’t want to get rid of it, and it’s better if she tells him now. “Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”

Buck knows exactly what she means and goes through every stage of grief--- except anger----as he crosses the room and joins her on the bed. “How far along are you?”

“A month, maybe more.” Diane answered avoiding his eyes, she has no idea why she’s bracing herself? Rejection? No, Gale Cleven isn’t the type to do that. Shame? Actually, both were already keeping their entire relationship a secret because both had someone waiting for them, so it could be that.

“Does your Tom know?” Gale held her hand in comfort, and she shook her head. He knew she’d ended things with Tom, but never the specifics of it.

“He thinks it’s just the guilt of our arrangement that led to me breaking things off with him. I didn’t want to make it worse when I still wasn’t sure if I was pregnant.” Diane leaned against his shoulder knowing her fears about him tossing her out like last week’s trash for getting pregnant. “You don’t have to do right by me, I have enough money to not care what people think of me as an unwed mother,”

That is a lie, the word whore will be thrown around enough for Gale to feel the insult all the way in America.

“I’d marry you even if there was no baby, Diane. At least we won’t have to hide any longer.” A small consolation even if it means setting themselves on fire to make this wrong into a right.

“A small consolation, isn’t it?”

And it is.

While what men did off the clock was no one’s business, Gale’s reputation of an honest and principled soldier does take a hit.

Bucky is angry on Marjorie’s behalf, and angry at him for not listening to him. Even worse for not telling him.

“I love her, Bucky, and she’s having my baby. I feel terrible for what I did to Marge, but its too late for that now.” He can’t just abandon his own child, and even if everything’s gone to hell, Buck can’t regret choosing Diane over Marge.

She understands what he’s going through, she is here and perfect and this was their only chance to be together.

“Can’t argue with that, Buck. So, when’s the wedding?” he gives him a pat on the shoulder, still smarting for this betrayal of their friendship and yet still there for him as always.

“As soon as her folks come from Birmingham, and we get a license. I don’t want to risk the baby being born on the wrong side of the sheets if I don’t come back.” Buck answered getting to the good part. “I was thinking of you being my best man.”

“Only if I can sing at your wedding.”

Even with Bucky’s caterwauling and the night bombings, it’s one of the happiest days in his life.

It’s September, when Gale Winston Cleven marries Diane Elizabeth Shelby a month and two weeks since they made love under their tree.

She looks beautiful, in a plain white dress and whatever flowers the children at the base managed to make into a bouquet for her.

He gets three days in London as his honeymoon, three days and two nights in a townhouse owned by Diane’s father, a man who understands why he can never accept a medal in this godforsaken war.

“I’ll come back; I promise. Take care of yourself and the baby, Di.” He said before every mission and kissed her goodbye because now she was Mrs. Gale Cleven not the nurse he pretended was only his friend.

The letters from home had come, angry, disappointed, and resigned. Marge’s had tearstains from crying, his mother was happy for him even if she compared him to his father, but they understood why he did this and wished them the best.

If she makes you happy in ways I couldn’t, then I hope the two of you will be happy together, Marge had written and with that her letters ceased all together, her photograph sent back and replaced with Diane on their wedding day.

When he asked her what she thought Tom did with his picture of her, she shrugged and answered, Tom had torn it up, burned the pieces, and tossed the ashes in the shitter.

But Tom and Marge were their past, Buck and Diane were now each other’s present and future.

“I love you.” The words still come as whispers, and yet they no longer carry the guilt or shame they used to come with.

He has six more missions to go.

Six more and he will get to see the mysterious Arrow House before going to train boys in the States. They’d have to face his family and friends sooner or later, sooner seemed better if it took them away from the bombs.

Being Mrs. Cleven is great, they are out in public as husband and wife with nothing to stop them. Some dirty looks are there because everyone knew about Tom and Marge and yet none of them can truly judge them because everyone sought comfort any way they could.

They are given a tiny house on the base because, they do provide space for married couples serving together. She does her work he does his and at the end of the day they are each other’s peace here.

Gale kisses her hungrily when he comes back from his missions, seeking release from his torments in her and relishing having no reason to stop loving each other anymore.

“Twenty-two. Three more and we get to go home.” Buck trails his fingers on her arm and kissed her shoulder so sweetly Di wished he didn’t have to go.

She had a bad feeling; she’d seen the results in the cards and felt a stab in her heart when Gale’s card came next in the sequence and known this was a mission he wouldn’t come back from. The young witch had told him about it, but he assured her he’d always come back to her.

He loves her and she loves him even if death tries to part them.

“I know, can’t wait to see where you grew up.” She pushed back the preemptive grief and smiled through it. She has good news too, something that will give him some bit of joy before everything goes to hell. “The cards say it’s a boy.”

He smiles broadly, almost silent in his joy as he embraces her tightly as they lay in bed. “Would you mind if we named him John?”

“Not at all, love.”

They decided on John Egan Cleven when he leaves for Bremen. Bucky would be his godfather, of course, and the godmother would be Janey Dogs, one of Diane’s best friends who happened to be Romani as well. Janey’s father, Johnny, had two wives even if it went against tradition and the law, but he was the exception amongst the families they traveled with, something Buck still couldn’t wrap his head around.’

“I’ll come back; I promise. Take care of yourself and the baby, Di.” Those are the last words he says before he goes on the mission he did not come back from.

No one save for Bucky understands the pain she feels and promises he will be avenged when they part ways, Bucky to Germany and Diane to her parent’s home in Birmingham.

Bucky’s captured two days after.

She writes to his mother to comfort her; she promises to use her dad’s and her own money and influence to find out what happened and if necessary, demand they return his body home.

He's not dead, Di feels it in her heart that he’s alive and tells his mother so.

They begin corresponding, taking comfort, and learning every little thing they can about Gale’s life before the war, during the war and now as he is held in a German Prisoner of War Camp.

Diane writes letters to him the moment she learns where he is, assures him they are fine here in Arrow House. She tells him about the estate, the gardens, about her family and how well she gets on with his mother through letters.

All of them holding anything that can help them survive long enough to escape the Germans. It takes a while for him to write back and sends Bucky’s apologies for getting captured too and asks her subtly what they should do next.

“You used to do the same with Marge’s letters,” Bucky points out as Buck inhaled the still fresh smell of Diane’s perfume in her letters.

It was as comforting as Marge’s had been back at Thorpe Abbotts, he had almost forgotten that. He still felt guilt for hurting her that way, but Gale couldn’t say he regretted choosing Diane and his son that day.

“I know. If I hadn’t fucked it up, they could’ve been friends.” The blond admits to seeing the similarities in the two women.

“What does Mrs. Cleven say?” Bucky asks as the most trusted of their men gather pretending to listen go on about his wife.

News from the front and what her readings say they should do are hidden in meaningless phrases, made up gossip and anything she can make up under the guise of a lovesick young bride. He writes back in a similar code asking her to ferry the information they manage to hide in love letters to anyone important enough to be of use.

Gale sees his twenty-sixth birthday at Stalag Luft III. He doesn’t tell her what he did to stay healthy enough to live, as far as she knows he’s being kept well. She tells him his namesake, Winston fucking Churchill, has put her in contact with Allied Intelligence to come up with a fool-proof escape plan when the invasion begins.

Stay put, stay safe, we will be waiting for you as we always are, she wrote.

Winter of 1943 turns to the spring of 1944 and on May 14th of 1944, John Egan Cleven is born in great health contrary to the lie of him being premature like they told his family.

On June 18th of that year, as his Father’s Day gift, Buck receives a photograph of his son and a lock of blonde hair wrapped in a thin ribbon with a code.

While the invasion of Europe had begun that summer, they couldn’t escape safely until 7 pm, January 27th, 1945.

“Di says evening of January 27th of next year. Do you think we can stay put until then?”

“Gives us enough time to plan this shit right.” Bucky lights up at the news and quickly forgets all the times he doubted Diane’s abilities for telling them to stay put. “Nurse, heiress, psychic and spy, you sure know how to pick them, Buck.”

“Meatball picked her, if anything I should be thanking DeMarco for the mutt.”

Seven months to have the allies close enough for them to escape safely.

And they do, with minimal casualties they reach allied soldiers after escaping during the Moosburg March on January 27th of 1945 at seven in the evening just as Diane had said.

“I told you; I’d come back, I always do.” Twelve days later, on February 8, 1945, he is reunited with his wife and his son at the same tree they fell in love under.

#diane shelby #buck cleven #buck cleven x diane shelby #masters of the air meets peaky blinders #gale cleven #masters of the air fanfic #no one has to know fic #mota fanfic

[maxsix]

Favourite KPOP Songs of 2023

So I am 3 days late posting this but I wanted to do it to keep up the tradition. It's fun looking back at old lists. My criteria isn't so much based on technical merit but rather the songs that I wanted to listen to over and over again for whatever reason.

Cupid by Fifty Fifty. No doubt, this is social media's song of the year. I have never seen a song that is actually good become so organically viral, only to be reduced to absolutely nothing because of abysmal management. Not even New Jeans was this widespread this year (to me). Cupid was playing at my local supermarket and even people who know nothing about kpop loved this song. It ranks low for me because I'm definitely sick of hearing it by now. Regardless, it is still a very well written pop song.

Ayo by NCT 127. Okay, hear me out: NCT is like durian. You either completely understand why it is called the King of Fruits or you think I should be put in jail for saying that. If you are a brave connoisseur who refuses to be confined by societal pressure, then know what it's like to open your third eye and consume NCT for what they are: completely weird but never boring. It's an experience. If you don't get it, I don't know what to tell you.

Tinnitus by TXT. Temptation is my least favourite TXT album from the last 3 years but I think that is mostly due to how much I hated Sugar Rush Ride. I've been re-listening to a lot of their material again and okay, I'll give this one a pass: it's a mood. Thanks Kang Taehyun. I don't know if it was very intentional but his voice is all I hear on the final version. Man, that dude's voice always gets me somehow, I don't know how he does it.

Rover by Kai. It's not even that good of a song and yet, it was everywhere and I was gaslit into liking it. The viral dance made it the hit it became but to be fair, much of this was really down to his star power and ability to make really good choices that suit his strengths (dance first, vocals second). This is EXO Kai we are talking about after all; when he delivers, he really delivers. New Gen boys can take some notes.

Drama by Aespa. This is like Asian Junk Food. It's objectively so terrible, full of empty calories, no nutritional value but they took the Terrible and sprinkled MSG on it, so now it's TastyTerrible. As someone who wants to learn film editing, the MV is excellent and an example of top tier editing without choppy cuts. I have not noticed editing this neat and time consuming since Seventeen's 'HOT'.

Back To Me by The Rose. A group with solid talent and well written songs. I wish every success for them to be honest. I am posting the live video because they are one of those groups who are better live and won't give you The Fear watching it. I wish I could've seen them because I genuinely just love their voices and sound. They've filled the void left behind by Day 6.

Hard by Shinee. It's just your typical weird and perfect Shinee pop song but with a distinctly 90s flavour in my opinion. They are just all so talented that it's virtually impossible to ignore them. SM production is always so slick but with Shinee it is something to gild the lily rather than hard carry the entire song and group. Onew vocals never takes a day off, he was flawless even in the raw recordings.

Kitsch by IVE. It's just so cute and comforting in the way a harmless little pop song can be. It's like a fresh breeze. There's no pressure to do anything but enjoy it. In the absence of Blackpink, they are definitely my favourite girl group at the moment.

This World by Ateez. I do actually prefer it to Bouncy because it has that dystopian and almost gothic feel to it. I don't think it would've made a good title track because it's not as explosive as Bouncy but it 100% would fit into a movie or montage sequence. It absolutely goes so hard in the car, especially at night.

Flower by Jisoo. I think this was just a very smart choice for her and her team. It did not have anything too complex or overly dramatic. It suits her elegance and brand perfectly. It was also very pleasant and kinda of prettily boring? The dance was very popular and cute without being obnoxious. She is very much a Great Gowns Beautiful Gowns and "Go on girl, give us nothing!" idol but I have a soft spot for her. I can't believe we live in a world where Jisoo has the best Blackpink solo song.

3D (Alternate Version) by Jungkook. I did not like it when it was released (with that awful rap feature) but the purely Jungkook and performance versions of it really improved everything. I am really happy that Golden is as good as it is, because I think most Jungkook stans from 2013 lived in fear he would only release Mid Tier pop songs. I think most features on the album are unnecessary. Jungkook has presence and star power on his own. Everything else diluted what we all came for.

Blue Blood by IVE. It's an unexpectedly more mature sound from them and I loved it. I think the driving backing track makes this one of the best driving songs. It has this dark eloquence to it, which I always vibe with. One of their best B sides for sure.

Off The Record by IVE. This was the best track off their album this year. That title track was heinous. OTR was so calm and comforting and there is something about it that reminded me of Gfriend and OhMyGirl where it's just a good song with any histrionics. I do not think IVE suit that bad girl crush concept at all. They always had this expensive High Teen aura and it really took at hit with Baddie imo.

Ring (Unplugged/Acoustic Version) by TXT. This isn't cheating, they released this one on a July 2023 album. Even if it was cheating, I would've still put it on here. It's well written, well produced, well paced and suits everyone in the group. But personally, I always saw this as a Kang Taehyun song (even though he didn't even write it). His aura is all over it. Controversial opinion but I think this has one of Yeonjun's best rap verses because the slower tempo works so much better for his voice and flow.

Crazy Form by Ateez. Ah the Male version of Junk Food with MSG. I don't think it's anywhere near their best song but it's a good fun time and after the tough year(s) we have all had, it's nice to jam to something silly. It's very SKZ adjacent but in my opinion, with much better production and editing because the team behind Ateez are better at it. I'm also including this because it made me really see Jeong Yunho. If you know you know.

Roll With Me by Hyungwon/Shownu. Technically The H/S version of Wildfire is my favourite from them this year but since it wasn't official, I'll go with my second favourite release. It once again proves that Hyungwon is my favourite man (musically) in Monsta X. I like his style, tastes and instincts. It's true that he is my overall favourite in MX but I'm mature now! It's not just the visuals, I truly put his musical output as the number 1 reason I like him.

Standing Next To You by Jungkook. Listen, listen, listen.....I have been following this dude since 2013. I always KNEW he could give more and be more. Even though SNTY isn't even 100% of what I think he can do, it was enough for me to feel all these 10 years were not wasted lol. This deserved this stop purely for the instrumentation and production value alone. Granted, it is very westernised but good music is good music. This is the only time where a feature (remix) actually added something.

Silver Light by Ateez. The sister to Cyberpunk. It is really like its title: a sparkling God Ray of light that cuts through the darkness. It's mysterious but also so hopeful and comforting. They just scraped in with this at the last minute but it is already one of my absolutely favourite Ateez songs. Instant love from 1st listen. The type of song I wish I was more conscious and present for so I could go back to experience it again for the first time. Park Seonghwa supremacy because this is now a song I associate with him. He's not even my Ateez bias but he is my favourite and the most important Ateez member to me. How that works, I do not know.

My favourite song of 2023:

Chasing That Feeling by TXT. They achieved the trifecta in 2023 for me: favourite song, favourite lyric, favourite choreography. I'm not even going to link to the official MV because the choreography needs to be seen unobstructed and undiluted. This is the type of song that I barely have any critiques on (and if I did, they would all be minor). The type of song that I would put as my bio. The type of song I want my best friend to play at my funeral. This era was also the one that pushed Choi Soobin into my life when he knew damm well that my heart has been closed for business for the last 12 months. The power this song had on me was all consuming and cannot be overstated, ok?

#favourite songs of the year #top 2023 kpop songs #there are a lot of songs i liked but don't listen to a lot #i don't think any of this is a surprise #i'm a nice friendly pop girl now i promise #ateez #txt #tomorrow x together #exo kai #aespa #nct #5050 #jungkook #ive #monsta x

[firefurious]

thinking of grace as the muse and the process of eventually regaining past memories and how complicated and messy that is. to some extent it's manageable, if weird. i think the more distant things, past lives from ages ago, would be distant enough it's manageable, depending on the experience. there is, of course, the fact a lot of the experiences are not things she experienced and a lot of them would be really bad, traumatic events.

they say in game you feel as if you lived those things yourself, so it wouldn't be like remembering something someone else lived; it's reliving that trauma as if it happened to her. even the milder, if they can be called that, but like... life stuff like marriages and children; she never experienced those things, but it would feel like she had. it'd be confusing, to say the least, as she tries to adjust to it and to what she is in the middle of all that; but i think it gets far worse when it comes to experiences and feelings related to people she's close to.

calliope and apollo, for example, are shown to be close throughout ages. whether they were friends or like family or if it had romantic undertones, it doesn't matter; what matters is grace has her own feelings about him, but then there are other feelings that come from calliope and all the previous incarnations and things they lived that feel like grace lived them, good and bad. how do you separate what's you and what came before? how does that influence things? how does it change things?

the same goes for persephone, and with her we have a better defined relationship with calliope. they were romantically involved. they fought badly. it'd feel to her as if she had been in love with persephone — and as if she had been the one often clashing with her too. it's impossible that for a time, especially when first regaining these memories, they wouldn't mess with her. how do you not let it change how you feel when the previous experiences feel like they're yours?

given how grace is as a character (driven, headstrong, with a good sense of who she is despite feeling... adrift) and the fact we hear in game some incarnations are able to retain their current personalities rather well, keep their names and everything, i like to think that would be the case with her. i don't expect, even in the long term, she'd want to be called calliope (the idea seems wild to her initially, but after regaining the memories i feel she'd understand better why others would do it, even if it wouldn't be her choice); and i think it's obvious the memories and feelings would change her to some extent, because we're all shaped by our experiences and those feel like her experiences, but i also think past the initial confusion (which would be great and messy) she'd be able to continue being herself.

during the process though i'm certain things would get confusing and more volatile, no matter how careful and mindful of everything she tries to be. there would be terrible days; tears that are hers but aren't, anger that is hers but isn't, fears that are hers but aren't. feelings for those closest to her she isn't sure are hers or some past calliope's. knowing what it's like to kill, or give birth to a child, or lose a wife, knowing great joy and great sorrow from things that would've seemed so distant from her reality before. it's a little insane; it'd make her feel a little insane. having support certainly makes a huge difference, but ultimately a lot of it is in her head and she has to go through it alone.

i think it's also after that that she'd have a better concept of like, immortality. because although she is immortal, she's in her 20s — she can't conceptualize what eternity looks like. but having lived through all those lives, in a way... that changes things. she'd get it better. she'd get some other things better, about what she became and her powers and what's that all like, as well as about some of the other gods and how they were and what they've been through. she knows some things, but living them (or feeling like she did) is something else.

but yeah, ultimately while it's all part of who she is and what she became, i don't think they'd define her. in a way, the adrift reprise where she's the muse is aligned with this, i feel. it's finding herself through these other lives, too, that are invariably part of who she is, but do not make the whole and don't change the core.

#* grace: study. #* out of character. #thanks doll your reply gave me brainworms..

[justanotherthrowaway1950]

Fire Lord Zuko's Life Sucks

A lot of ink has been spilled on how terrible Zuko’s life was, especially pre-banishment, until he realized that his father and his father’s regime were irredeemably evil, thus allowing him to finally escape the grasp of his abusive family and help usher in a world based on peace and love, not death and fear.

But in my opinion, I think Fire Lord Zuko's life post-Smoke and Shadow is almost as bad, if not worse considering the stakes, as his life pre-turning on Ozai. Especially if you take a moment to analyze the post-Smoke and Shadow status quo from his perspective.

Highly abusive father who has tried to kill multiple times and hated you from birth is in jail for life after you (rightfully) betrayed him and was partially responsible for getting his soul mutilated. Despite your desire to see him find at least peace, he has no shown no signs of changing whatsoever, and therefore will likely spend the rest of his life in his dank cell, irrevocably estranged from you. That is outside of moments where you foolishly go to him for help, thus allowing him a chance to manipulate you like the boy who still deep down wants his father’s love that you are. Not that it bothers you (it does).

Highly abusive and mentally ill sister who has tried killing you and your loved ones multiple times is now free thanks to you, and is now hellbent on turning you evil. And that the only way she stops, short of another psychotic episode, is by successfully breaking you, or due to you, or one of your allies, killing her. That is if you can kill her considering her exponential power growth and potential to keep growing since she still hasn’t reached her prime. Moreover, the reason why she became even worse, and was able to recruit people to her terrorist cell, is due to the systemic abuse present in the asylum system you thought would help her.

The love of your life broke up with you in your time of need, though justified due to you keeping secrets from her even though she saved your life, before betraying you for her father.

Your people don't really respect you at all, seeing you as the Avatar's puppet. And to a point they are correct since you made them give up their “hard-earned” colonies as well as pay reparations to the rest of the world. So they constantly try to kill you to the point that you have to hire foreign bodyguards to protect you since you can't even trust your own men.

Your uncle, despite having actual political experience, has essentially abandoned you to reform your nation after a 100 years of war to live his best life in the city he besieged for 600 days.

Your friends can't see you outside of diplomatic settings, or when serious shit happens, since they have to rebuild the world. Not to mention the fact that if you step even one foot out of line, no matter how justified, they will kill you. Though to be fair you did ask them to kill you if you ever went down your father's path.

The rest of the world rightfully treats you with skepticism, knowing that you are one bad day away from being your father's son.

Even though it is completely understandable, and you are glad to have her back in your life, a part of you hurts at the realization that your existence is directly tied to your mother’s trauma. Moreover, part of the reason why she doted on you is because she could delude herself into thinking that you could have been the child she should have had with your step-father. Additionally, even if she didn’t mean it, and wrote it only because years of abuse and trauma messed with her judgment, her letter claiming your were a bastard could have not only have led to your death as a child if your father was just a bit smarter, but also could have led to your sister inciting a civil war if not for her dropping said letter for reasons unclear.

Honestly, in light of the above, if it wasn’t for Kiyi, Ursa, and his sense of honor, along with his never give up attitude, what reason would Zuko have to live right now? Because unlike the audience, Zuko doesn’t know that everything will turn out ok, and that he will end up as a highly revered Fire Lord. 

All he knows is that is his family life, along with his love life, is in shambles, his friends can’t be just friends with him due to political realities, and he is constantly facing threats to his life and regime, with none bigger than the threat posed by his sister, who has (apparently) re-established the gap in combat prowess that existed before he visited the dragons.

Hence why I hope the 2025 Gaang movie, along with the standalone Zuko movie if it is still a thing, allows Zuko to get his life together and start becoming the revered leader that LoK says he became. 

Because despite being a literal king with very few bending rivals, being Zuko right now is suffering in my opinion.

#zuko #azula #ozai #ursa #iroh #mai #ukano #kiyi #noren #the gaang #kyoshi warriors #kemurikage #fake kemurikage #fire warriors #asylum abuse #the promise #the search #smoke and shadow #2025 adult gaang movie #zuko movie #zuko meta #justanotherthrowaway1950meta

[zmgirlfriend]

Zombieman Headcanons...

... That no one wants/asked for. But I’mma drop them anyway because Zombieman material is sorely lacking at the moment :’( Seriously, I’d love to read other people’s headcanons of him, even if you/they think they’re silly and no one wants them. I looooove seeing other people’s interpretations of him~!

A mixture of SFW and non-SFW headcanons under the cut. These are generally gender-neutral. It’s probably better if MDNI.

SFW (General):

~ZM is almost useless when it comes to advanced technology—not related to guns, at least. That being said, he’s pretty handy around the home; he can fix broken walls and patch up ceilings; fix outlets and replace fixtures; could even do basic car repairs if he/you had one.

~Is actually a pretty okay cook. Used to be terrible at it, but got better as he got more and more acquainted with bachelor-life.

~Speaking of which, he’s single. His rank in the HA is mostly due in part to just how much work he gets done. His deal isn’t so much that he’s addicted to work, as much as it is that he cares greatly about protecting people. And as such, he doesn’t have much time to date.

~Building on that, he has gone out on dates before, but he’s found that most of his date-buddies are usually only into him because he’s famous, or that he simply doesn’t have enough in common with them.

~It’s also implied in the manga by Genus that he probably wasn’t a great person before his experiments/before he became a hero. The data book says he doesn’t like talking about his past, either. That being as it is, I imagine he also has fears about people not accepting his past if they ever find out about it, so he also finds trouble in dating because he has difficulty in opening up to/being vulnerable with people

~In fact, part of the reason why he has such a soft spot for kids is that he envies their options (still not at a place where they can go down the wrong path like he did) and their innocence toward how rough the world can be. He wants to protect that.

~Kinda basic, but he’s really into the detective/noir scene: movies, books, aesthetic, etc. He’s not necessarily a bookworm, but he does have a fair collection of detective novels.

~This loser likes elevator music and no one will convince me otherwise—just really into the oldies and has it playing in the background while he fiddles with/repairs/prepares his guns and other weaponry

~Probably one of—if not the most—down-to-earth guys of the S-Class; really doesn’t let the fame get to his head. He tries to avoid fanclubs/fanboys/fangirls when he can, but does have a soft spot for the children that look up to him.

Relationships:

~He’s not at home as much as both of you would like, so if you want to be his partner in life, you have to either be prepared to spend a good amount of time alone, or be a hero who’s talented enough to be able to keep up with him

~That being said, he’s still a great boyfriend that makes up his lack of personal time with you by making sure the time you do spend together is filled with lots of love

~Zombieman wouldn’t just take a lover lightly; if he’s with you, it means that he trusts you a great deal, and you probably know all of the sordid details of his past and experimentation

~He’d be very understanding of a partner that has a dark past if they truly show that they’re reformed

~He’s sterile. This gives him mixed feelings on the very rare occasions that he even thinks about it. If he weren’t a hero and didn’t feel so much responsibility to protect others, he would definitely like being a dad. That being as it is, he is a busy man, and fears that he wouldn’t be as good a father as he would want to be.

~If the world were to ever calm down, and he therefore had more time for his personal life, he would be up for adopting a child with his long-term partner if they so desired.

~Isn’t a huge fan of PDA. He doesn’t want his fans to cause trouble for his partner for one, and the other part of it is that he would much prefer to keep his affections private, because he can get heated rather easily.

~Building on that, he’s can be quite touchy-feely when you two are in private: hands around your waist; resting his chin on your head if you’re shorter than him, or, jokingly using your shoulder as an awkward arm rest if you’re taller than him, just for the laughs; lots and lots of head pats and ruffles—really likes playing with your hair when your head is on his lap. Just a fan of cuddling on the couch in general.

~He’d likely be a little hesitant with you at first if you aren’t a fan of children. If you outright hate them, I have a hard time seeing that he’d be able to relate with you. You have to definitely be able to get along with Child Emperor at the absolute least.

~Building on that, if you love kids, then he warms up to you a bit quicker.

~Is open to marriage but doesn’t consider it a great priority for building a family with you. If you want to get married and the time is right, he’ll be right on that. If you don’t need to get married to prove your love, he’s right there with you.

~Isn’t really the jealous type, but he could be depending on the person and just how close you are to them. He trusts you fully, and can even find humor in others flirting with you, just because he knows that you’re his and he’s yours.

~But if it’s someone from the S-class that shows interest in you, he does become just the tiniest bit territorial. He wouldn’t do anything brash to claim you as his in front of the competition, but at the very least he’ll step to your side to remind the other person that he is—in fact—present, and very much still your boyfriend.  

~If you want him to quit smoking, he’ll definitely try his best to do so; even if he finds that he can’t do it that easily, he’ll at the very least make a point of not smoking around you.

~If you’re a smoker, but don’t have regeneration abilities, he can be a bit hypocritical of you smoking. He cares about your health and wants to keep you around for as long as he can, so he’ll definitely want you to quit, or at the very least cut back—for his sake.

~What he looks for in a partner first and foremost is kindness, sympathy, and the ability to feel empathy. Patience is also a definite virtue.

~Likes being both the big and small spoon, so he leaves it up to which one you want to go for.

Miscellaneous (SFW and Non-SFW):    

~No strong opinions on his sexuality. Might have a preference for women, but hey, maybe not. I could also see him as being demisexual, but still with a general preference for female-presenting people.

~During spicy times he likes to take the lead and be on top; but especially likes positions were he can see his partner’s face.

~Likes every part of his partner’s body, but is especially an ass guy. Expect random spanks around the house if you’re okay with that. He’s really respectful of your boundaries, so if you’re not, don’t worry.

~ Is strictly monogamous—does not want to share at any capacity.

~Call it what you will—self wish-fulfillment if you want— but I do genuinely think he’s not too much into casual dalliances. He’s no virgin by any means, but he prefers to keep his sexual activities to people he cares about. He might have been fairly active in his younger years, but as an adult, he is far more in control of his base desires and his priorities have shifted.

~Gets in to drunken shenanigans that make you wonder if he’s even the same person.

~Platonically, he opens up a bit more and is prone to doing goofy things he would never do when sober. Is also a lot more clumsier and brash, but otherwise harmless. Just a happy drunk in general, but that can quickly fade into being a sleepy drunk if he doesn’t watch his intake.

~Romantically, he becomes a lot more forward with you and will be more open to PDA. But also definitely the type to spurn your kindness/(pre-consented) advances and say something like, “Dun’ touch me! I-I’ve got a boyfriend/girlfriend/partner already an’ they’re way b-better than you!” And it’s half-sweet—half-offensive, and you’re not really sure how to take it. Only when he’s nearing on black-out drunk, though.

~When he is home with you he has a pretty healthy sex-drive. The deed can occur from anywhere between three to seven times a week if he has the time. If not, he does prefer to have sex/love-making at least once a week for bonding purposes. Is totally understanding if you don’t want/can’t do the deed for whatever reasons.

~Will definitely have an after-sex smoke break, usually after ten to fifteen minutes of pillow talk and making sure you’re okay with it.

~Is a healthy medium in “size,” probably more girthy than long. He’s not small by any means, but he’s not blow-your-mind big, either. He’s actually pretty satisfied with his size and wouldn’t change it if given the chance.

~Speaking of which, ZM is not vain by any means, but he is pretty pleased with his body in general. The man is fully aware that he has cake, and that’s the way he likes it.

~He differentiates between love-making and sex. Prefers the former, but is always up for the latter if you are.

#Zombieman #zombieman x reader #mdni

[bnuuywol]

"If you can't walk I'm gonna have to carry you, alright? We can't stay here."

Phoenyx swallows down the heartbreak that Elidibus's words instill within him before he's absorbed into the Crystal Tower. He doesn't understand why the words affect him so deeply, but hearing the Exarch's pained groan behind him draws his attention away from that internal struggle. He runs up to him, taking a knee beside him. "Are you alright?" He asks, though the amount of crystal now overtaking his body is rather alarming.

"I concede, I may have overexerted myself." the Exarch responds with a gentle smile.

"May have?" Phoenyx gives him an incredulous look. "Your knack for dramatics is rivaling my own, I'm gonna have to step it up."

"I daresay with what you went through recently you've still got me beat, my friend. No need to endanger yourself any more than you already have."

Phoenyx doesn't like the resigned look in his eyes. It reminds him of the look he had that day before sealing himself away in the Crystal Tower. Gods, that feels like a lifetime ago now. "Can you stand? If you can't walk, I'm gonna have to carry you. We can't stay here. I fear if you're stagnant too much longer you'll freeze entirely." The statement is meant to make light of the situation, but it's nonetheless met with a sad smile. Phoenyx's expression drops. "G'raha—"

"Steady now, and listen. I told you before that I had a plan, and that when all was said and done, I would ask a favor of you. We have averted the Eighth Umbral Calamity. Found a way for everyone to return to the Source, and…last but not least, we have secured the future of all the people of Norvrandt. We have won, my friend. So I hope you'll forgive me this moment of selfishness. And…while I wouldn't want you to feel obliged…"

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't have a selfish bone in your body. Name it."

"Promise me you'll take me on your next adventure. A journey. Together. That's all I ask."

Tears well up in Phoenyx's eyes, but he nonetheless smiles and gives him a nod. "I promise. I wouldn't dream of going without you." He pulls out the vessel for G'raha's soul, knowing his friend intends for him to return it to the Source. But he can't help the feeling like he's losing him yet again. "Besides, who else is going to beat me to the punch and scurry away with the prize?" He teases, a throwback to the way G'raha had messed with him upon their first meeting.

A breathy laugh escapes the Exarch's mouth. How wonderfully ridiculous he had been as a boy. That interaction sparked a friendship between them that grew stronger and stronger with each foray into the Crystal Tower. But Phoenyx had become more than just a close friend. He became his very inspiration. A beacon of hope for him to hang on to through these terrible times. Saving his life is all he could ever have asked for in this life. If it all truly were to end here, he could rest easy knowing his hero, his best friend, would live to see another day. "If I were to tell you that this isn't the end─ that we will meet again─ would you believe me?"

"I'd tell you we better. I'm not having you make another grand sacrifice on my behalf, is that understood?"

"Understood." G'raha pauses, beaming at him. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"Everything." He rises with great effort to standing, placing his hood back up upon his head and walking gingerly towards the space in front of Emperor Xande's throne. "My friend. With you, my mind and memories shall travel to the ends of the world and beyond. But in this place shall my body stand immovable. May it serve as an undying promise, not only to those who looked to me for leadership, but to any soul who has known despair, that hope is everlasting."

As the crystal overtakes G'raha's body, the reality of the situation sinks in. There's no guarantee that bringing him as he was now back to the Source will meld at all with the soul of his younger self who still resides there. A swarm of emotions overtakes Phoenyx as he finds it difficult to bear losing him again. He hears the footsteps of presumably the Scions arriving behind him, but he feels as frozen in place as the crystalized body of his friend before him. He holds the vessel for his soul tightly to his chest and silent sobs rack his body. Once again losing someone so close plagues his mind with the ever recurring thought: How long until there's no one else left? How long until I am once again alone?

#ffxiv #ffxiv wol #wol oc #phoenyx eldritch #g'raha tia #shadowbringers era #shadowbringers spoilers #my writing #hi hi hi i felt like talking about how close phoenyx and g'raha are #also that ending..... there's a reason endwalker was soooo fucking hard for him #cause he's always feared losing everyone and being alone #the unending journey

[ridiasfangirlings]

Hi! I saw the ask thing a mijig of Yata being a dangerous strain, and he could tell people what to do, and I got to thinking, what if when Yata's mom was pregnant she'd gotten sick and almost miscarried Misaki but the Slate basically reacted to this and brought Misaki basically back to life and so that was when he was born but as a result of this he's a dangerous strain (I like that idea for some reason) and his entire body is just rotting from the inside out as he grows up, and his parents are really abus8ve because they think he's a monster cuz of this condition?

This kinda gives me Made in Abyss vibes, with baby Yata dying but the power of the Slate brings him back. Wait, what if one of Kagutsu’s clansmen was actually Yata’s bio-dad, when he joined the clan Yata’s mom was pregnant and since Kagutsu’s trial involves burning the thing that’s most important it like caused baby Yata to die in utero (I think it was Orange who made a joke on Twitter that if Fushimi Niki became Kagutsu’s clansman Fushimi Saruhiko would explode, I’m pretty sure that was a joke but let’s run with it anyway). However because of the connection to the Slate Yata was revived in a way similar to Hisui, where his survival depends on the existence of the Slate and its energy, but rather than being a King Yata becomes a Strain instead.

At first he seems like a normal baby and Yata’s mom is relieved but wary, like all the doctors are amazed because they were sure her baby was dead but here he is alive and well. But then strange things start happening, like when Yata cries the whole house shakes. I like the idea that Yata has no idea he’s a Strain or that he has these powers, at least not for a long time, so at some point he probably internalizes the idea that he’s just cursed somehow. Terrible things happen around him that he can’t control and he doesn’t know why, he doesn’t mean to hurt anyone. His dad disappears one day and never comes back and then his mom remarries and at first it’s fine, even though Yata still tries not to see the look of fear in his mom’s eyes when she glances at him. Then one day Yata sneaks into baby Minoru’s room to see his baby brother and the crib starts to shake violently. Minoru starts to wail and Yata reaches over to pick him up, wanting to protect him, but then his mom runs in and just slaps Yata’s hand away as she scoops up the baby. After this Yata’s family doesn’t even pretend that they’re not afraid of him and in this AU I imagine Yata feeling even more like an outcast than he did in canon.

Then he meets Fushimi and for once he feels like someone actually understands. Maybe the first time Yata’s powers manifest in front of Fushimi rather than being afraid Fushimi’s intrigued, and rather than thinking Yata is cursed Fushimi just snorts and says that curses aren’t real. Yata’s a little incredulous, like okay curses don’t exist but superpowers do? Fushimi then tells him about rumors on the internet, that playing jungle can give you powers, but here Yata already has them and is there a world beyond this small useless one they live in. Yata’s excited to realize that maybe he isn’t dangerous, maybe he’s just powerful, but at the same time the whole thing is terrifying because Saruhiko’s become so important to him and what if one day Yata accidentally hurts him.

When they join Homra is when Yata finally learns that he’s a Strain. Kusanagi is concerned when he hears Yata’s story about how his mom said he died in utero and Mikoto says Yata has a weird ‘feel’ to him, which leads to them actually taking Yata to Kokujouji for help. That’s when they discover that the power of the Slate revived Yata but it’s also rotting him from the inside, the more he uses his powers the more unstable he becomes, much like a King. Having the Red power helps mitigate this some, because Yata can learn to use Homra’s power rather than his own, but it’s still only a matter of time. Yata’s scared but also so proud of being in the Red clan now, it’s like he’s being protected by Mikoto himself (and meanwhile Fushimi hears this and begins to wonder, what will happen to Yata when Mikoto’s Sword inevitably falls, and maybe when he defects to S4 it’s not just out of his own issues but also deciding that the only way to save Misaki is to find a way to make someone not a Strain and he can’t learn that in Homra).

#Yata Misaki #Talking K #okay this is interesting to think about #Yata who's internalized that he's cursed and then learns he has powers #and only Saruhiko supports him #but then he meets Mikoto and suddenly things seem better even though his life is in danger #but then Saruhiko leaves bc Fushimi wants to find a way to destroy the Slate and save Misaki

[hanmi-xo]

CHAPTER 4: "Chaos & Confusion"

| We Who Remain | Chapter List |

Previous | Next ------------------

I walked along the corridor to find the cafeteria. The sun rose with its rays hitting the trees causing the pathway to glow in between the cracks of the branches. The path there was peaceful. The green leaves danced while the tree held onto them. The sound of birds chirping filled the air. They were perched on the trees as they sang with one another. It was serene.

I soon heard the voices of people.

There were a good amount of civilians coming out of the dorm building. The campus slowly became lively with single individuals, small families, and elderly couples. It felt like a small town.

The bustling noise brought my attention to the building that appeared to be the cafeteria.

I followed the crowd and entered the building.

~

The place was well organized and had different levels of seatings. Although there were only a few stalls to get food, it appeared we could only get portions like every other safe haven canteen.

Upon standing in the line and grabbing my food, I began to wander the place in hopes of getting a good seat. There were stairs to go to the upper seating and I made my way up. There was still a good amount of people and it bothered me.

I know Dokyeom wants me to fit in, but where and who do I sit with?

I heard footsteps behind me and I quickly turned around. The man's eyes met mine. He froze for a moment and his eyes widened with fear. He brought his free hand up and pointed at me as if I was some kind of monster.

"You again!?" He yelled in shock.

I sighed. It was that guy with the lab coat. Jihoon was it?

"Oh, it's you," I say with a tilt of my head. I was not interested in causing another commotion.

Dokyeom says I have to be nice. I rolled my eyes at the thought of him. I heard Jihoon shuffle as he tried to go back down the stairs. It was like he was avoiding me.

I'm not too surprised to be honest. But I need to make a friend, and I don't have a lot of option.

"Hey," I call out to him. "Jihoon."

He froze in his spot once again. He was trying to sneak away but failed terribly. He slowly turned his head to look at me.

"That's your name right?" I ask him.

He slowly nodded his head with closed eyes. I can see fear run through him. As much as I felt bad for bothering him, he'll understand once I explain my situation.

"Yes... that's my name," he slowly says. "Why?"

I smiled upon hearing his response. "I'm sorry for what happened before. Can I sit with you?"

I tried to put my most innocent smile. I have to be friendly. At least until I can go find Dowon.

He squinted his eyes at. It was like he was trying to read my mind whether or not I was being sincere with my words.

Of course I was. I'm not that terrible of a person. Or so I believe.

I know I threatened him earlier, and he could have died- but I didn't pull the trigger...

Actually, that still doesn't make anything better-

"What if I say no?" He asks me.

I smiled to hide my disappointment.

What the hell am I supposed to say?

Oh yeah I'll find someone else to sit with?

We all know that won't happen. I embarrassed myself already earlier today. The least I could do is apologize to someone that I met earlier.

"Then I'll cry." I pouted at him. Men are weak to girls who cry. Well... that's what Dowon told me.

I watched as his face scrunched up in disgust at me. He was judging me as though there was something wrong with me.

I internally screamed seeing how he reacted the opposite of what I hoped for.

I slowly stopped pouting and realized how ridiculous I looked. I sighed before straightening myself out.

"Listen, okay?" I tell him. "Just this once, then I won't bother you ever again."

His expression slowly changed into a look of deep thought. He was deciding whether or not he should let me eat with him.

Yes. Please say yes.

He sighed before looking away from me. "Fine."

I grinned brightly with happiness. "I knew you were kind."

He frowned at me before rolling his eyes. "Don't make it weird."

"Whatever you say!" I pranced down the stairs and followed after him.

He sighed once more before leading the way. I followed him like a child. He knew this place fairly well. If it was me, I'd get lost.

"We're not eating at the cafeteria?" I asked him seeing how far we were getting away from everyone.

"No," he replied. "There's hardly any seating. That usually happens to late comers."

He gave me a look as if I was to blame. I closed my lips with an awkward smile.

That's probably because I caused a commotion earlier and slowed down his and everyone else's schedule...

"I apologize," I softly said.

In response he sighed. "It's whatever."

~

As we walked further away from the bustling section of the building, I realized some of the hallways looked the same with their bare walls and nameless doors but other ones had more color with bulletins and pamphlets.

It was strange.

"Hey Jihoon," I called for the man's attention.

"Yes?" He responded before looking over at me.

"Why are some hallways barren but others aren't?" I ask him.

He stopped for a moment before looking at the hallway we were in. He hummed in thought.

"Some of them are locked for private uses. If more people join the community, then they would be used as bedrooms," he replied. "Empty halls just mean nobody resides in the area. So wherever room people are stationed in are where the bulletins are usually at."

I raised a brow. "I thought there would be a more complicated answer."

He chuckled from my words. "Many people ask about that. I was here since the beginning of the plague. I know the place pretty well."

He smiled with pride. It was like he was showing off, but he quickly changed expressions and started glaring at me.

"I swear, if you try anything funny-"

Ah there's the suspicion of me.

"Relax," I interject. "I'll be long gone. So don't worry about me."

I don't plan on sticking around. Besides, I doubt anyone would want me here other than Dokyeom.

I don't really have anyone to go home to anyways...

The thought of my parents ran through my head along the possible situations my sister could be in right now while I stroll in this safe building. Who knows what trouble she could be in.

I realized how quiet it got and saw Jihoon staring at me. It was like he wanted to ask me something, but he hesitated to do so.

I didn't bother asking what's on his mind- or rather, I didn't think I should. I don't plan on getting attached to him or getting to know him. Just like everyone else in the world, I know this will all be temporary until I find somewhere else to go.

~

Jihoon opened the door to what seemed to be a small office with a large window that took over one side of the wall. There was a white bed and a few other things that seemed like it belonged to a laboratory.

"Is this your office?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he replied before sitting down in his office chair. The chair moved as he slid in causing the wheels to rumble.

He pulled out a stool from his side and motioned me to sit with him.

The place was rather well organized, even his desk was clean. I sat in the stool and placed my food next to him.

There was an awkward silence between us as I gazed at everything in his office. He had books neatly stacked on his desk next to the wall along with notebooks and journals.

He seemed to be working on something. I heard him pick up his metal chopsticks with a clank effect upon them hitting each other.

"Are you going to eat or just stare?" He asked me before putting his hands in prayer.

He was getting ready to say his thanks for the food. I quickly copied him upon realizing my rude table manners. We soon started eating after. There was a moment of silence while we ate before he decided to speak.

"There's a rumor going around that you're Staff Sergeant Lee's lover."

I almost spat out my food.

What. The. Fuck.

"HUH?" I said as I tried to stop myself from choking. "Hell no!"

He stared at me with wide eyes. He began to laugh seeing my reaction.

"Ah," he said with an amused smile. "I guess that's wrong then."

I raised a brow at him as I wiped my face with a napkin. I sighed before debating whether or not I should tell him that he's in love with my sister, but I held my tongue.

"Let's just say, he's like an older brother to me," I explain to him. "I've known him for awhile so he takes care of me like family."

Jihoon nodded his head before taking a sip from his canteen.

"Family, huh?" He repeated after me.

I nodded my head slowly as I finished my food. He stared at me for a moment before looking at the object in his hand.

"Where's your canteen?" He asks me.

"My canteen?" I raised a brow before staring at the one in his hand. "Oh, that."

I hummed in thought as I remembered how I left it outside my room.

"I left it outside my bedroom," I tell him before swinging my feet above the ground. "Why?"

He gave me a questionable look. "I got those for you, you know?"

I stared at him with wide eyes before judging him. "Oh, so you're the one sneaking around the building. I have you know, I don't accept things from strangers."

He scoffed at me.

"Listen, everyone gets those necessities." It was like he was scolding me. "I have you know, I woke up earlier than I usually do because of orders."

Orders? I tilted my head at him.

"Orders from who?" I dare ask. "Staff Sergeant Lee?"

He frowned at me. "Who else would it be?"

I scrunched my face. It would make sense that it was Dokyeom, but even so, I don't particularly care.

"I'll be fine without it," I mutter. "I'll find something else to use."

I began to put my trash together while Jihoon stared at me perplexed.

"You're really on edge, aren't you?" He suddenly says.

His voice came out rather confused instead of annoyed. It was like he was trying to read me, but he couldn't.

"Why wouldn't I be? The world is screwed over and I don't have anyone to really rely on." I say with low eyes. I picked at the stains on my bowl with my chopstick.

I didn't bother looking at him. I didn't like talking about my feelings, especially not towards a person I just met and almost shot.

I heard him move in his chair and I turned to look at him. He seemed to be thinking of something while he looked at me.

"I'll get you a new set tomorrow if that makes you feel better," his voice came out rather sympathetic. "I'll sanitize it and everything so you don't have to be so anxious."

I squinted my eyes at him. Was he feeling pity towards me?

I sighed. If this was his way of trying to form some kind of acquaintance between us then so be it. I wasn't entirely against the idea of knowing someone will go through the hassle of getting me something thoroughly cleaned.

I began to feel bad.

I leaned my head on my hand before staring at this man that could have died earlier today.

"I'd appreciate that Jihoon," I tell him.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Don't make it weird."

I laughed at his comment. "I'm not. Just being grateful that's all."

He shook his head at me with amusement, but before he could speak, I heard a scream.

It was faint but I could hear it.

My ears perked up and I got off the stool. I reached for my gun, but what I felt was a different object. I looked down and remember how Dokyeom took my handgun and gave me a knife as replacement.

I narrowed my brows.

"Shit," I muttered.

Jihoon soon stood up. "What's up with you?"

I hushed him with a hand towards him to stay quiet. He tried to speak again, but I hushed him once more, signaling something was going on. There was a moment of silence.

It was almost inaudible, but I heard it.

There it was.

A snarl with a follow of a bang.

It sounded like it was hitting a door.

I turned to look at Jihoon and he stood there with his eyes wide. He must have heard it too.

"Stay here," I tell him.

"You're going to check it out?" He said with surprise. "Are you crazy? We should tell the guards!"

He went to grab his radio off his coat pocket.

"You can do that," I tell him while I heard him switch stations on the device. "Just stay here, I'm checking it out."

Before he could protest, I left the room with a shut of the door. I was careful not to make too much noise as I followed the sound.

It was coming from the hallway we were just at. The barren hallway where no one is supposed to reside.

I squinted my eyes as I tread lightly. I had to be careful. Who knows what's going on in that room.

I looked down at the floor and saw no blood, but the closer I got to the room, the louder I heard muffling with the follow of clamping of teeth.

Jihoon said the door was supposed to be locked... Nobody should be inside there.

I slowly turned to the knob to see if it was true, and it wouldn't budge. I frowned. I heard another bang and I backed away from the door.

"Are you crazy?"

I turned to see the man who followed after me. He was light on his feet. He made little noise and was carefully whispering to me in fear of what could happen.

"I told you to stay at your office," I whisper back.

He glared at me. "I may be a researcher, but I can't leave a woman to defend herself."

I narrowed my brows at him. "Stop playing hero and go back."

The snarls soon got louder with a follow of a bang. He backed up while I took out my knife.

"Go back, Jihoon," I tell him once more.

He stared at me with detest. He was certainly against my words.

"Atleast tell me your name before you get yourself killed," he quickly says.

I looked over at him. Was he being serious?

"How the hell do you not know my name?" I say with a hint of confusion.

He looked at me with full offense. "Nobody told me your name." He tried to keep his voice low. "They just referred you as the young lady stationed in room 4-7 they saved last night."

Is he fucking for real?

I sighed. I don't have time for this.

"Noe Jaewon," I quickly say. "My name is Noe Jaewon. Now just go, Jihoon."

He stood there for a moment before looking at me with shock. He didn't say anything before nodding his head. I didn't question his reaction since I had more important matters to deal with.

I turned to look back at the door that suddenly seemed quiet.

The silence was eerie. I didn't like it.

I didn't like it one bit.

The door began to bang repeatedly. It was trying to break the door down.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Jihoon stood next to me as if he felt frozen in place. I couldn't speak nor could he. It was like we were waiting for the inevitable. If we ran now, our backs would be vulnerable to that thing.

Silence.

It stopped. Or so I hoped.

The door flew open and I quickly pushed Jihoon out of the way before jumping the opposite direction. He fell to the ground while I landed on my feet. I was crouched to the floor when my eyes met the beast.

It looked human, but it also didn't.

It huffed and puffed as if it just turned. Behind the monster laid a woman in a lab coat whose body was mauled into pieces. The scent of blood reeked the air with the splatter of blood everywhere.

Glass was shattered through the window with the follow of blood stains. I could only imagine what happened to the poor woman. How she got dragged into the room before getting killed inside.

The monster twisted its head as it looked at me before turning to Jihoon who was struggling to get back on his feet.

It was analyzing us. It was like it had some sense of consciousness or control over him. I watched its every move as I raised my knife to it. Whatever it was planning, I had to be ready for it.

It snapped its head up as if it was in a trance before letting out a hellish screech. It was ready to lunge at Jihoon.

"JIHOON RUN!" I yell.

I watched as the man shuffled to his feet before running as fast as he can. His steps were light, and the beast ran after him.

I dashed as fast as I can as I chased the mutant. It wasn't an evolved so it was much slower than the others, but its speed was still fast.

"SHIT,"  I cursed under my breath.

I followed them down the twist and turns of the hallway, and I could hear Jihoon telling the civilians to run the moment a person shows up in view.

Their retreating figures weren't fast and some stumbled to the floor. I felt fear running through me of what could happen to them.

Once the beast reached them with their shaking bodies, I expected the worst.

But nothing happened.

It continued to chase Jihoon as if nobody else mattered. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Mutants attack any human they see, but this one- what's wrong with it? Why was it acting different?

I ran past the scared civilians as I got closer to the beast.

I don't know what the fuck was going on, but I knew one thing.

Whatever this mutant was up to- was not normal.

I took out my knife and jumped on its back. I pierced the metal into its neck in hopes to slow it down, but atlas, it kept going. I held on to it in hopes of not letting go.

"Why the fuck aren't you slowing down!?" I curse at the beast who ignored me.

It stumbled for only a moment when I jumped on it before it continued to target Jihoon.

I deepened my knife in hopes of wounding the thing, but it was acting as if it was numb to the pain. I don't understand why it didn't hurt. The neck and brain are its weak points, so why the fuck was it acting as if it was immune?

Soon, Jihoon ended up at the cafeteria were everyone was at. I could only assume he was avoiding dead ends which lead him back to where we once were.

I gritted my teeth in fear of what was to come.

The doors flew open by the beast's strength before it threw me to the ground. My knife flew out of its neck and blood splattered everywhere.

I watched the civilians freeze upon seeing us. There was a moment of realization as they witnessed what was happening. Jihoon stared at the beast as he tried to catch his breath. He stood in front of the seated civilians who began to panic.

Their screams filled the air as they began to run for their life.

I picked up my knife and lunged at the beast again. I was aiming for its head. Suddenly it snapped its head at me. Its head went backwards before turning its body to me. I felt a chill run down my spine upon feeling its hand on my forearm.

It stopped me from stabbing it, and I couldn't move from its grip.

It opened its jaws before closing it. The sound of clamping began as it repeated the action. It was threatening me.

I quickly dropped my knife and used my free hand to catch it before trying to stab it with my left hand. I had to stop it from biting me.

It was a direct hit to the neck once again, but it didn't wince in pain. Rather, it looked at me as if nothing happened. As if the blood he lost was nothing to it.

Then it hit me.

It was regenerated itself.

The wound on the neck I once punctured was healed like it was never there. I felt a chill run down my spine and a rush of fear take over me.

I needed my gun to kill this thing, but I didn't have it.

I didn't have anything to that was fast enough and durable enough to kill it.

It grabbed my free arm with its other hand before trying to bite me. It was aiming for my arms. My adrenaline rush kicked in. I kicked the thing away from me as I pulled my arms from its grasps.

It stumbled backwards with my knife still in its neck. My heart raced as the mutant snarled at me. I grabbed a knife from one of the tables before getting ready for it its attack.

"Come at me you stupid fuck," I mutter under my breath.

It ran straight at me and was ready to kill the thing. The moment it tried to reach me, I swiftly moved to the side and got behind it.

In one quick movement, I kicked it behind its knee causing the monster to fall. I swung my knife and it pierced its head which caused it to screech.

I crouched down on top of its back to hold it down just in case it tried to escape. I let the knife sink deep within its skull with a crack heard forming once puncturing its bone.

Then I hit it- the brain.

It's screeching turned into dreadful incoherent sounds as though it was in pain.

Then it stopped moving.

It got quiet.

I felt my hand shake as I yanked the metal out of its skull. Blood gushed out and my knife dripped with blood.

The scent of its tainted spilled organs began to sit in my nose before me realizing how much blood I got on me not from just stabbing its head, but from the overall chaos that just happened.

I panted as I tried to calm my nerves. I got off the thing, and I felt my legs get weak from the after effects of my adrenaline.

I stumbled towards one of the nearest tables before settling in a chair. My hands and legs shook vigorously as the beast's blood dried on my clothes, face, and hands.

My eyes remained on the corpse with my knife still ready for it to get up. I heard soldiers and guards arrive to the scene, but I didn't bother looking at them.

I felt everyone's eyes on me. Those who witnesses the event and those who just arrived.

But I didn't care.

What bothered me the most was how this thing entered this place. How this supposedly tight security safe haven was supposed to be one of the best.

I was mad, but I was also perplexed.

How did nobody see this thing enter this place?

And why did it only target Jihoon?

I heard someone call my name, but I remained still. I had too much on my mind and my heart was racing too fast for me to respond to him.

I felt their presence come next to me, but I couldn't look at them.

"How the hell did it get in here?" I mutter.

~

I sat on the white bed. Through the window, I could see Dokyeom outside talking to a man who wore a bulletproof vest. The man seemed to be in high in position with the way the guards stayed close to his side even when he entered the cafeteria after I killed the thing.

I heard Jihoon on the other side of the door and I could hear his discussion with one of the female doctors.

"I can't believe that happened," I heard her say. "Taemi is really gone..."

There was a moment of silence before Jihoon spoke.

"I can't believe it either, Soyeon," he mutters. "Staff Sergeant Lee and Seungcheol are discussing what we should do next... Everyone is on edge... I don't understand how that thing could even come in here."

I heard their footsteps come closer to the door and I watched as the woman peeked her head inside to look at me.

"Hey," she greets me. "We'll have that blood sample of yours tested to make sure you aren't carrying the plague, okay?"

I nodded my head. "Okay."

She took a blood sample off my finger for safety precautions. Tainted blood on me could have entered my system and they have to make sure I won't turn into those mutants.

She slowly nodded her head at me before pointing. "For the time being, we'll have to leave you here with the door locked because of regulations. If you need to shower there's a bathroom over there, okay?"

She was quarantining me from everyone else just as expected. Jihoon then took her place so he can talk to me.

"Are you doing okay, Jaewon?" He asks me.

I slowly nodded my head. I was still in the process of getting over what happened. The after effects were hitting me while I tried to get over it.

I couldn't get it out of my mind how this incident was very similar to what happened to the other safe haven my parents resided in.

"Hey, Jihoon," I call for his attention.

"Yes? What's up?" He asked with wonder.

Was it too much to ask him for a favor? I bit my lip in hopes he would agree to do so.

"You're a researcher, right?" I asked in remembrance of how he introduced himself.

He nodded his head with confusion on where I was going with this.

"If it's too much to ask- can you do me a favor?" I say with low eyes.

"If it involves getting you out of this room, I can't do that," He tells me.

It was like he knew me pretty well after a few hours of being with me, but he didn't know me well enough.

I shook my head. "No, it's not that."

He raised a brow in anticipation of what I may say.

"If it's possible- can you get a sample of that mutant from earlier?" I ask him.

He seemed a bit surprised from my request, but he also didn't seem to be against the idea.

"Do you want me to do some research on the subject?" He asked me. "I can. I just need permission from Staff Sergeant Lee and Seungcheol."

I looked outside to see the two men who were talking were gone from the perimeter. They seemed to have gone elsewhere while security roamed the area.

Everyone had to be scared of what happened.

"If you can, Jihoon- that'd be great," I tell him.

"Okay," I heard him say. "Go rest, and I'll tell you what I know by tomorrow."

The door then shut and I was left alone in the room. I could hear the door lock with the follow of Jihoon and Soyeon's footsteps getting further from me.

Then there was silence. All I could hear was the sound of my breathing and the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall.

It was noon and so much happened already.

I should shower, then I'll rest. So much for fitting in. I made a commotion twice today. I could only imagine what everyone is thinking.

Escort.

Would I even become escort with these conditions?

"Dowon, don't die yet. No, not yet. I'll find you," I mutter to myself.

My sister is still out there. I have to leave this place once the opportunity comes.

I grabbed the towel and spare clothes left for me on the table before making my way to the bathroom.

I need to clear my mind and clean this gunk off me. Maybe I'll feel better by then.

~

I woke up to the sound of what appeared to be coming from the doorway. I stared at the ceiling above me that wasn't as bright as it was before. From the looks of it, the sun was setting. I looked at the clock that kept ticking to see the time.

6:32 pm

I slept that long? Was I that tired?

I got off the bed and my body began to feel groggy. That nap didn't make me feel any better. My mind felt clouded and my legs felt tired.

I dragged my feet to the doorway and tried to open it.

It was locked.

I sighed. Of course it's locked. I'm quarantined.

I was trying to remember what happened before I fell asleep since I still felt tired. The knocking began again and I could clearly hear its coming from the other side of the door.

"Yes? What do you want?" My voice came out rather tired and annoyed.

No response.

I sighed. "Listen, I'm not trying to get into any more trouble. I already did enough today."

I felt something come from underneath the door and it hit my feet. I looked down as I analyzed the object. I crouched down while rubbing my eyes to see what it was.

Paper? A written note?

--------- This wasn't an accident. Don't tell them what you know. - X ---------

I narrowed my brows upon reading the paper.

What the hell?

Was this person telling the truth or were they messing with me?

"Hey," I softly whispered. "Who the hell are you?"

Silence.

I shook the doorknob but it remained in place. Whoever was on the other side was making sure I wouldn't know their identity. I didn't hear footsteps, though. Was this person still here?

I then heard footsteps, but they weren't going away. They were getting closer to the door.

The doorknob then clicked.

I stepped back.

Were they unlocking the door for me?

My eyes met another pair of orbs, but it wasn't who I expected.

"Oh, you're awake?" Seoyeon said with surprise. "You missed lunch."

"Uh... yeah? Sorry about that." I said confused by her words. "Were you the one knocking on my door?"

She had a puzzled expression before turning around to see if there was anyone else nearby. She seemed taken back from my question.

"No? Did someone try to talk to you?" she asked me.

I widened my eyes from her response before hiding the note in my pocket.

"Oh, maybe I was hearing things then?" I scratched the back of my head.

I couldn't tell her what happened, and if I did who knows how she'd react. I have to pretend nothing occurred. My gut was telling me to listen to the note- it felt like if I didn't, things wouldn't go well for me.

Soyeon raised a brow. "You're probably getting paranoid. You'll be safe in here, okay? Let me go get you your dinner."

I watched as she shut the door before scurrying off to who knows where.

I looked back down at my pocket before pulling out the note.

"Who the hell gave this to me then?"

• • •

Previous | Next

#seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen ff #svt ff #seventeen horror #svt horror #original character #seventeen x original characters #joshua x oc #minghao x oc

[grozen]

Always found it to be quite funny how Russians would freak out at the notion that someone speaks several Slavic languages, which are extremely close both grammatically and in terms of its vocabulary (I became close to conversational in Polish in like three to four months), they would say oh wow that's so cool it must've been so hard to learn it, but then when I mention that I also speak the language of my ethnicity and then some more of a few others, they're like "cool I guess". Never fails to fascinate me. This sort of reaction, to me at least, proves that they don't even think of our language as an entire language, with literary culture and the like. It's like a silly array of sounds this "non-Russian" is making, but othwrwise, to them, me voicing an idea of me learning a language that isn't European in origin, Chinese or Japanese to most supposedly educated upper middle class folk is an empty sound. "Why would you want to learn Mongolian its useless" why do you want Westerners to learn Russian? Also virtually useless. Sure, sixth biggest language in the world or whatever, but everything you can read in Russian that's worth reading has been translated into English. Then there's their perception of all people outside of the aformentioned groups as being... almost barbarian I guess. I live in a part of the city that's filled with Central Asian immigrants, and I absolutely love hearing the sounds of a new language I don't recognize and looking for an opportunity to strike up a conversation with that person, ask them where are you from? Can you tell me about your people? Where my first reaction is genuine curiosity and giddiness, because wow!! Foreigner!! From a super cool part of the world!! Theirs is either fear or disdain. They're so racist. It's terrible. Even the better ones are passively chauvinistic. And I fail to understand how do they end up like this, but me, a virtually entirely Russified Tatar sans me teaching myself our language with no help and a vaguely non-Western name - aside from all this, I'm *basically* culturally Russian. Is this kind of chauvinism really genetic?? Bizarre.

The other day I struck up a conversation with a maintenance worker at my work who looked Central Asian, but had more Iranian features than Asian. Couldn't clock him as any Turkic ethnicity. He had a super neat sounding accent, so I asked him whete he was from. We spent an HOUR talking about Tajikistan and he told me all about Dushanbe and how I should come visit (after encountering him, certainly in my distant plans!), talked about how racist and depressing Russians are here, talked about lack of any social cohesion and how people are distant and alien. We agreed on many things we hated about this country. Oddly enough, he said he wanted to see a better future for it, and said people like me will be the future of it. That's nice, and I certainly hope so. But I also don't know what the future of this country will be. And if or when it falls apart, who I should align myself with.

I sort of have a feeling that Russians, in their racism, are similar to older British people. Their racism isn't overtly aggressive and violent like the American one, but it's sort of dismissal mixed with disgust - even with my limited knowledge, I do believe Britain, even after the empire fell apart, failed to go through any real de-imperialisation or mental de-colonization process. Just look at their right-wingers, most are just an actual mental case. I have a feeling that Russians are similar. Sure, there are some who won't use racist slurs, and, if you're lucky, won't see you as genetically predisposed to terrorism, r**e or murder, but there'll never be any real appreciation for the differences, and they'll either treat you as "one of their own" - as I'm always told, "there can't be any racism against you because Tatars are basically Russians" tәkъdim өçen rәxmәt, but no thanks - or as slightly lesser than you. That's the kind of treatment I've seen and sometimes experienced.

It's very depressing. Honestly, when the war began, I have tried to talk about this deeply ingrained chauvisim with a multitude of people who I considered close friends, all ethnic Russians, and almost every single one aside from ONE person never failed to disappoint me. I cut ties with someone I at some point considered a best friend, because she used a racial slur against people like me, all the while defending the fact that "[slur]s are animals! they r**e young girls and kill people! why do you defend them?" because they don't and you're just a bigot. Change, people. Be better.

#russia #racism #imperialism #nationalism #grozenrant #i know ive not posted any art but that is to do with the fact that ive not done any fanart

[dumbledore-and-grindelwald]

not so sound like a grindelwald apologist but is gellert really that awful like aberforth claimed he was that summer? i mean yeah he was expelled from durmstrang but we all know newt and hagrid were expelled from hogswart as well but they are clearly not bad person. it's just... i cant really imagine albus fell in love with a person who willing to kill at the age of 16-17 you know. i mean yeah albus admit he pretend not to see how gellert really was, but can he really close his eyes to someone he thought is a murderer? obviously gellert is more brutal than albus but i dont think at 16-17, he was already a murderer. i think ariana accident is the first time he involved in an incident that result in someone being dead and he started become murderous and willing to kill at much later stage. of course at that time he and albus already shared hatred to muggle, but i dont think it's something personal like what happened to albus. i mean at the time, it's only around 150 years after the witch hunting period, i imagine the relationship between wizards and muggle world is still tense. i think gellert start being really radicalized around the time of ww1, a brutal meaningless war caused by muggle and clearly affected the wizarding world, and when he saw visions of yet ANOTHER muggle war that is even worse than the last, that's when he snapped and became really extreme because in his mind, muggle didnt learn and would never stop if there is no one stopping them. I mean i saw people claimed gellert lied in CoG and he is just a bigot who hates muggle and use ww2 as an excuse, well they coule be right we dont know until we saw gellert backstory but i think it would be a missed opportunity if that's the route they choose for him i hope it made sense, english was not my first language

I disagree with most of this. I’ll mention that Albus never hated Muggles. He simply thought that the Wizards shouldn’t be oppressed and living in fear. The two are very different things. It’s why he emvisioned a society in which the muggles DID have a place and the result would be for their own good too, as opposed to Gellert who never planned for them to have basic rights.

As for Grindelwald:

1) For starters, Aberforth never claims Grindelwald was awful that Summer in its entirety (at least the way I read it). He doesn't even judge him morally in harsh terms when he talks to Harry. He simply shares events:

-Gellert initially laughed at him and then accused him of not understanding that his and Albus' plan would create a better world, even for Ariana.

-He says that Grindelwald tortured him.

Both of these are events. I don't think he attributes to Gellert something that is not indeed there.

2) Hagrid was falsely accused and  Newt took the fall for something Leta caused. This is not the case with Gellert. Skeeter mentions that he did experiments that even Durmstrang, which was more tolerant when it comes to dark magic, could not ignore.

I’ll accept that Skeeter is trash so her information could be sensationalized, but in his letter, when Albus says that they should use as little force as possible, he mentions that THIS was Gellert’s mistake at Durmstrang. Albus’ source is Gellert himself so Gellert definitely did something shady.

3)Interestingly enough, Albus is a much harsher narrator than Aberforth is.because his perspective about Gellert’s actions is coloured by more emotion and he KNEW more. 

For example he paints Gellert as someone who at the age of 16-17 was interested and in having an army of dead bodies:

The Resurrection Stone – to him, though I pretended not to know it, it meant an army of Inferi!

Also, this is much more condemning than anything Aberforth said in my opinion:

Grindelwald lost control. That which I had always sensed in him, though I pretended not to, now sprang into terrible being.

Albus himself saw Gellert as someone with pent up anger who had a constant darker side. No one is saying that he was a murderer yet, but when Albus says that Gellert vanished with ‘[...] his schemes for Muggle torture’, it seems that he had a vague idea even then of Gellert’s disinterest in drawing a line.

_________________________________________

Now, we don’t know what drives Gellert. 

It could be that he was raised in a bigoted family, since he seems to come from old money.

It could be something deeper.

Gellet’s muggle-hatred pre-existed WWI. His and Albus’ summer was in 1899, more than a decade before the period 1914-18. 

BUT Gellert could see glimpses of the future. So the one ‘excuse’ I’ll give him is this: Since Gellert’s powers as a seer seem to be as natural to him as Queenie’s legilimency to her, what happens if a kid or teen who has not experienced violence starts seeing visions of violence, of war, of death and destruction? What kind of psychological effect could this have, what anger and fear could it create and how would such a person end up if they proclaimed themselves the savior of their kind and set themselves on a radical path and were convinced of their own righteousness and of the necessity of what they were doing?

I think that this would give depth to his motives without erasing the corruption of his methods.

#gellert grindelwald #Albus Dumbledore #grindeldore #fantastic beasts #Harry Potter #the secrets of dumbledore #asks

[carlsainz]

an angst imagine with briss where HE is the one getting hurt by a girl he thought was his forever

to make it even sadder, this one's slightly inspired in liability by lorde :)

this became too personal, i'm sorry i'm just projecting

love's a weird thing, brendan thought to himself. you can love your family, friends, things or whatever and, albeit they're the same thing, they're always different types of love. it was a thing capable to make people insanely happy or sad, cause wars and inspire writers, artists and many other people.

some people just want to be loved by others, especially romantically, so they spend their whole lives chasing it but that's not how it happens. in brendan's case, he thought he had found his forever, the person that would love him the way he deserved, but the boy couldn't be more wrong.

when he first met her, he felt a deep connection, as if he already met her. the conversation was easy, they had a lot of things in common and the chemistry was perfect. one thing led to another and soon they were dating.

and that's when the problem begins, at least to her, because brendan thought everything was fine. he was, in fact, a needy person. that was a thing he could only share with a few people, having to disguise it under the cool side personality and everything, when in reality, deep down, he was just a person desperately needing love and affection. of course he had that with his family, but, somehow, it wasn't enough for him.

with her, he felt safe enough to show this side and he truly thought it was ok, he felt seen and cared for, but never loved, though. everything went south when she stopped answering his texts after a few months of relationship. she always came with different excuses and brendan believed every one of them.

then, she always seemed busy with something so they stopped hanging out almost completely, while the texts became more sparse. at that point, brendan started to feel the numbing fear growing inside him. the familiar fear that preceeded rejection and abandonment. insecurities took him and, during the last days, he used to cry alone in the dead of the night, thinking about how he was just a liability and not enough to anyone. not to his family, not to his friends, and especially not to his partners.

finally, he reunited enough courage to confront her. he asked her out and they went to some cozy cafeteria in the campus. there, brendan started asking if something was wrong, receiving a negative response, "no, everything is fine," she had said.

but then, at some point, she gave up on trying to being nice.

"you really wanna know what's wrong, brendan?" the boy just nodded. "you're so damn needy all the time, you need affection, then you need love, you need attention like a fucking pet. you know, when i first heard about you, i thought you were some cool dude that was really cool and nice, but turns out you're a little much for me. at first it was cool and everything because you didn't show this side of yours but i can't stand it, i only kept it going because i like what you give me. but i really can't and that's why i think we should break up."

brendan could only nod, too flabbergasted to speak as she left. when her words started to sink in, he felt terrible, like someone was repeatedly stabbing him in the heart. that was the reason he didn't allow people to see that side of him but he knew the risks and took them anyway. in his melancholic walk home, he could only think "yeah, maybe i'm a little much for everyone."

that day, he cried and cried for hours and no one was able to help him or make him stop crying, the pain too recent, the wound too open. that was also the day he fully stopped believing that, eventually, he would find someone who would love him as much as he loves them. that would understand his side and reassure him, not hurt. that day, he decided no one would ever hurt him again because he wouldn't be open to the world anymore.

#gabs answers #brendan brisson #vegas golden knights #pro blue #nhl blurb

[monkeyandelf]

This is the most perfect and dangerous magical book that has brought eternal damnation on many readers

For centuries, the Church has brutally fought against heretical books whose texts ran counter to religion. And sometimes this struggle took the form of terrible repression. One of the works, the owner of which could easily be executed for the mere possession of a book, was the mysterious "Picatrix".

God and man

Historians do not undertake to count how many priceless works were destroyed in the fire by order of the clergy. After all, even "Index librorum Prohibitorum" - a list of books banned by the Roman Catholic Church, included 45 editions of the Bible, for reading which the least punishment was excommunication. What can we say about other works.

Pages from a 14th century Arabic "Picatrix". But why was the Picatrix, a manuscript of about 400 pages, more feared by the church than other books? The thing is that its central figure was not God, but man. Using the magical formulas and rituals described on the pages of the manuscript, he, according to the author's idea, was able to attract and direct the energy of the cosmos in order to change his fate. In a sense, "Picatrix" was one of the first books on the topic of motivation and self-development. Of course, such amateur performances could not please the clergy, which is why they forbade people to read it on pain of death.

Purpose of the sage

Interestingly, "Picatrix" is the name given to the book in the 15th century by the Church itself, but its origin goes far back: the first known manuscript was created in Arabic and was called "Gayat al-Hakim", which can be translated into Russian as "The purpose of the sage".

Drawings on the pages of "Picatrix", stored in the Jagiellonian Library. 16th century. The most likely author was Maslama al-Majriti, a native of Córdoba who died in 1007 AD, but there are those who think that the manuscript was written earlier, perhaps by a Greek or even an Egyptian author. One way or another, it was Picatrix that became the most common magical text in ancient and medieval esotericism. Its first translations appeared around 1050, and they were all handwritten. It is understandable - it was extremely dangerous to print such a work.

Cursed book

It is curious that the "Picatrix" was most widespread in the period from the 14th to the 16th centuries - when the repressions of the church were the strongest. The forbidden fruit is known to be sweet, and the European aristocracy simply could not resist such a mysterious book.

Illustration from Picatrix 2015. Authors: John Michael Greer and Christopher Warnock. “This is the most perfect and dangerous magical book that has brought eternal damnation on many readers,” Johannes Hartlieb wrote to the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I in 1456 about the Picatrix. All copies of the manuscript were considered impious and forbidden works, therefore they were subject to burning. The Inquisition generally considered him to be a satanic leadership, calling the author "the rector of the devilish faculty."

What is it talking about?

"Picatrix" is a mixture of the occult, astrology, alchemy and magic. The main concept of the manuscript is that through magical texts the reader can learn to attract and direct the energy of the cosmos so that events develop according to his will. Picatrix is ​​divided into 4 books: - The first concerns the heavens, the signs on them and the secrets hidden in them. - The second talks about the movement of the Earth and its influence on living beings. - The third explains the properties of planets and stars. And also talks about how you can communicate with their spirits and other magical entities. - The fourth describes how to interact with supernatural forces acting on a person and much more.

Illustration from "Picatrix" 18th century. Interestingly, inside the book you can find many spells that were supposed to be used in conjunction with "catalysts" (these are nothing more than forbidden substances). The idea was that by inducing a "change of state of consciousness" in this way, a person could go on "astral travel" to make contact with energies, spirits, and beings from other dimensions.

Magic Encyclopedia

But you should not assume that this book is devoted exclusively to such dubious ways to achieve unity with the cosmos, magic and your soul, because it is not in vain that it is considered the first "Magic Encyclopedia" in history. As the author of Picatrix himself writes in the preface, in it he collected works from 224 ancient books.

"Picatrix", 18th century version. In support of this, the manuscript describes the creation of not only small talismans, but also entire cities built according to the principles of astrological magic. Some researchers even noticed a similarity between the "heavenly cities" and the Egyptian pyramids, which may indicate the incredible antiquity of the book. Unfortunately, modern versions of the "Picatrix" are very different from the original manuscript, which has not survived to this day. After over 1,000 years of manual copying, it has undergone countless corrections, mistranslations, and modifications. And this means that the author could lay in it something more than we see today. Read the full article

#astrology #magic

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

“There was someone in the woods.”

 Countryside, England, United Kingdom – February 1846

 ~Cloudia~

 Cloudia opened her eyes and saw the slate grey sky high above and gnarly treetops at the edges of her vision. It took her a moment to recall how had she ended up here: the hunt, the frightened horse, the fall.

Alarmed, Cloudia sat up and inspected her head. She had landed hard on the ground but she felt fine; the sudden movement had neither made her dizzy nor did she even have a headache. And when she touched the back of her head, her fingers came away wet, not from blood but from water. Cloudia stared at her hand.

  I had expected a broken bone, maybe two, or, at least, a concussion or sprain, but I was thrown off a horse and my greatest misfortune was falling into a puddle – not even face-first! It must be my lucky day.

  “How do you feel, Lady Phantomhive?” asked an oddly familiar voice, and Cloudia froze. She had not noticed that someone else was with her. She looked up from her hand and stared at Milton Salisbury. He was dressed all in black, and the colour washed him out and gave him a deathly pallor; he looked as if he was here to lead her to the underworld. There was no need, of course, and Milton simply knelt next to her, worry etched into his hazel eyes and a bag next to him on the ground. Still, she could not stop that image from appearing in her mind.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” Cloudia said.

Milton smiled and although it was only a faint smile, it was full of warmth, and Cloudia relaxed a little when she saw it. He was certainly not Death despite his appearance. “I’m glad to hear that,” Milton said softly. “I saw Domino without you, and I quickly restrained him and went to look for you. He never dismounts people without a reason and is not easily spooked; I feared something terrible must have occurred. Can you remember what happened?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what happened exactly. He got frightened by something and then threw me off. I didn’t see what scared him. I…” Cloudia replied before she halted and her eyes widened. “Did you call me ‘Lady Phantomhive’?”

Milton’s smile became strained, and he gazed bashfully down while Cloudia checked her hair. The wig was still in place at least. As her brain worked to find out how he had figured it out, she remembered the odd, lingering look he had given her in the parlour right after spotting her. “You knew all along who I am, didn’t you?” asked Cloudia.

Milton took a deep breath and raised his head. “I did.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How?”

“I’ve met you and your cousin at the Layton Gallery’s reception,” Milton said, his voice still soft and sincere. “And I never forget a face.” He clutched his hands together. “It is a wonderful disguise, I have to say, Lady Phantomhive. You played the part well too. Most would be fooled. However, your and your cousin’s faces are very distinct to me. You don’t even have the exact same eyes; yours are very faintly green. The green is barely noticeable because the blue is so dark and vivid but it is there.”

Cloudia frowned. “I didn’t even notice the flecks of green until I was staring very intently at my face one day.”

Milton blushed. “The light must have caught your eyes in the right angle at the gallery, and my mind always latches on other people’s faces…” He exhaled and tightened the grip on his hands. “Most of the time, I don’t even consciously notice such details at first. You and your cousin stood next to each other at the reception; I suppose it was easier for me to register the difference like that. When I saw you inside, it took me a second to understand why I instantly knew you were you and not your cousin.”

“It is fine,” Cloudia reassured him and then considered him with a raised eyebrow. Something had felt off about Milton ever since she had first met him; even now, she could not quite place what exactly was “off” about him, but she was determined to find out. “If you knew I’m not Keegan, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Why should I?” Milton replied, surprising her. “I may have unintentionally uncovered your secret, Lady Phantomhive, but it is still yours. My knowledge of it does not give me the right to tell it to others and expose you. Another person’s secret is not mine to share.”

Cloudia smiled at him. From what she knew about secrets from Cecelia, they were best wielded like knives, not quietly kept. “You don’t even want to know why?”

“I don’t want to pry,” said Milton. “From what I know about Keegan Morrow, however, I suppose he did not want to come, and you went in his stead.”

Cloudia chuckled. “That’s it, exactly. It really is that obvious when you know, isn’t it?” She shook her head and then grabbed a strand of the false red-blond hair. “I guess, I could have come as myself, but men become so stiff and annoying when a female hunter rides amongst them even if it is not something extraordinary. Also, Bentley specifically invited Keegan because of his tracking skills, not because you needed another member for the hunting party. I doubt they would have been welcoming if they had known about the change from the start.”

Cloudia looked at Milton, waited for him to reply, but he had suddenly become very quiet; she wondered what she had said wrong. When it became clear that he did not want to say anything right now, Cloudia stood up and brushed the dirt off her clothes. She flexed her joints and checked once again if she was bruised somewhere or had sprained something by running her hands over her body but she was perfectly fine.

  That had truly been a lucky fall.

  Cloudia gazed back up and saw Milton taking his jacket from the ground and shaking it out. She hadn’t even noticed that he had folded it up and used it as a cushion for her. The fall might not have rattled her body but it had certainly shaken up her mind so that she kept overlooking such obvious things.

“Is the hunt over yet?” Cloudia asked.

Milton shook his head.

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, as I’m all right, would you mind leading me to Domino? I have a hunt to win after all.”

“If that’s what you want, I will help you,” Milton said and stood up but did not put on his jacket yet; instead, he let it hang loosely from his left hand and picked up his bag. “Domino is quite a bit away. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring him here.”

“It’s not your fault animals don’t like you,” Cloudia assured him. “That you managed to bind him to a tree is already enough.”

The ghost of a smile flickered over Milton’s face right before he turned to go; Cloudia almost missed it. She was about to follow him when he suddenly halted and looked around. A moment later, she heard wood cracking and steps in the distance. If it had been anyone from the Disaster Trio, he would have had his horse with him, but the steps were not accompanied by the sounds of hooves.

  “Mary Louise has seen the bandits vanish into the direction where the Beaumont and Croft estates are.”

Could it be…?

  Cloudia hurried towards Milton. “We should go,” she said and reached for his right hand. Her fingers only brushed the wet hem of his shirt though because Milton flinched and recoiled as soon as she came too close. With her hand still hovering in the empty space where his had been a second ago, Cloudia blinked at him.

“I’m sorry, Lady Phantomhive. I…” Milton breathed while he shrugged on his jacket and wrapped his arms around himself. He held his bag tight. “I must have startled you.”

“Not at all,” Cloudia said and let her hand sink. “It’s my fault for taking your hand without asking first. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. In his black clothes and with his arms around himself, Milton looked so very frail and vulnerable like a child lost in an unknown place, and Cloudia wondered yet again why he was here. Bentley, Beaumont, and Flanagan were seemingly his friends – though she wondered how they knew one another as they were not even the same age; Milton looked several years younger than them – and Milton experienced in hunts, but a hunt did not appear to be the right place for him to be right now. Cloudia opened her mouth to ask him that question when she spotted a shadow between the trees – right behind where Milton was standing.

“Milton,” Cloudia called out and reached for his arm – damned it was; this was an emergency – right when a shot rang through the air.

  ***

 Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848

  ~Cedric~

 June 22

Just after midnight

 Cedric thought, while he was getting dragged through the château, that if he were to die now of hunger, exhaustion, and sleep-deprivation, he would not mind much. His last death had been thoroughly unpleasant, he had been all alone, and –

He quickly banished that memory to the deepest corners of his mind before the biting cold of that day could run out of the recollection and take hold of him again, drag him back down into the dark. Now, Cedric was warm and he was not alone. He squeezed Cloudia’s hand and he was thankful that she walked ahead of him and could not see him smiling.

A while later, they arrived in the kitchen. Cedric could not tell how long it had taken them but he knew that the time had undoubtedly been too short when Cloudia sat him down on a chair and let go of his hand to rummage in the cupboards. He curled his hand, the feeling of her skin still lingered on his, and he forced himself to stay awake and watch her. Cloudia was doing something, and he wanted to spectate; she intended to say something, and he wanted to listen. She was here, and he wanted to be awake to have the most of her.

  And this very thought startled me awake.

Like pushing my head into icy water but pulling myself back. A mind once clouded, now clear.

My heart beat faster in my chest with knowledge and with fear.

  Cloudia found a kettle, filled it with water, and put it on a stove. While the water boiled, she procured a chopping board, some bread, and various other food items: lettuce and tomatoes, cheese and cucumbers. “I’m going to make you some tea and sandwiches. I’m sorry; we don’t have time for anything more,” said Cloudia and began to slice the bread. Cedric nodded blissfully.

“How was meeting the Clockmaker?” she asked and went on to cut the tomatoes. She was frighteningly fast at this.

“Good. Jacques is the worst walking partner and Florentin irritating but it was… good,” Cedric replied, doing his best to make his voice sound normal and not deranged.

“His name is Florentin?” She had now moved on to the cucumbers.

“Yes. Florentin Chastain.”

“Did you warn him? Do you think he will be able to keep himself safe from Townsend?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because he is like me.”

The knife got stuck in the board, and the kettle cried in the back. Cloudia hurried to take it off the stove and then stared at Cedric. “He is like you? Do you mean the Clockmaker is a…?”

“A Grim Reaper, yes,” said Cedric. Talking normally and getting the right words out instead of the wrong, damning ones was surprisingly easy even though he was currently running on wistful adrenaline and would likely fold in on himself the instant it faded away. Apparently, he still had enough sense of self-preservation. “I was very surprised too,” continued Cedric. The words flowed out of him. “He is a very old Grim Reaper who left the Dispatch a long time ago. Florentin said some people have a special ‘affinity’ to us, and the Marquis is one of them. One day, he found him, and Florentin begrudgingly became his friend.”

Cloudia nodded at his words while finishing the tea and handing him a cup and the first-finished sandwich. Cedric gratefully took both, though a little jolt ran through him when their hands briefly touched. It seemed he didn’t have this part fully under control yet. At least, she didn’t seem to have noticed.

“I talked to Aurèle about Anaïs and her faeries,” Cloudia told him and assembled the next sandwich. Cedric bit into the first one and nearly cried when he sunk his teeth into the soft bread, felt the crunch of the lettuce and cucumbers, tasted the juiciness of the tomatoes and the savouriness of the cheese. Never had a sandwich tasted better; Cedric didn’t know if it was because he had barely eaten anything yesterday or because Cloudia had made it.

“He said that the Marquis can see ‘invisible things’ too,” Cloudia resumed and then hesitated. “Anaïs calls Milton a ‘faerie,’” she said slowly. “For the Marquis, the ‘invisible things’ he sees are apparently Grim Reapers, but Milton is most definitely human – what if while Anaïs sees ‘invisible things’ too, she can see something else than what the Marquis does? It does not necessarily have to be actual faeries. Undertaker, did you notice anything ‘strange’ about Milton? Did he feel in any way ‘odd’ to you?”

Cedric shook his head. “He’s human,” he said and took the second sandwich Cloudia handed him. He had already obliterated the first. “But…” Cedric grimaced. “But my conversation with Florentin showed me that there are many things about my own world that I don’t know.” He hesitated before he continued. “How about you, Countess? Did you ever notice anything ‘odd’ about Milton?’

Cloudia craned her head to Cedric and frowned. “Why should I have noticed anything otherworldly about Milton?”

“Because… because Florentin told me the Phantomhives also have this affinity ‘to a certain extent.’ You’ve known Milton for years; did you never detect any supernatural strangeness coming from him?”

She turned back to the chopping board. “No,” Cloudia said after a while. “From the moment I met him, I did feel something was off about Milton, but it’s something mundane as I found out.”

Cedric blinked at her. He wished she would continue, wished he could see her face. However, she simply continued with the third sandwich, and he decided to let the matter go – for now. One day Cloudia would tell him about her history with Milton; he was sure of it. He only needed to be patient.

“We could try to get Milton to the workshop,” suggested Cedric. “He would love it there and I doubt we could ever get Florentin to the château. That man is a hermit.”

“We could try that,” said Cloudia, and Cedric beamed. “We need to talk more about this later when we have the time. Now we need to focus on the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders.”

“Right, you said you’ve solved the mystery,” Cedric replied and took another bite of his sandwich. It was so heavenly; if he had to choose a food to eat for the rest of his life, he would choose Cloudia’s sandwiches.

Cloudia glanced at him and grinned. Cedric ate his sandwich a bit faster. “I did solve it,” she declared proudly. “I’m not going to tell you the solution immediately because I need to check some things first.” She put the third and fourth finished sandwiches on a plate before she quickly put everything back and cleaned the knife and the board.

“I will tell you one thing though – and ask you something too,” Cloudia said when she was done. She leaned against the counter and looked at Cedric who was finishing his third sandwich. “Nothing that happened is a coincidence,” Cloudia began. “And if you despaired or longed until you nearly broke apart and still no one in the light answered, what would you do if someone from the dark were to come to you and promise you everything you have been wishing for? Would you agree, no matter the cost?”

Cedric’s eyes widened. “Countess, you cannot mean someone in that village made a deal with a devil…”

“Oh, I do.” Cloudia pushed herself away from the counter and walked to the door.

Cedric stood up and stared at her. “Countess, I would have noticed if there was a devil in Nanteuil-la-Forêt…”

She turned to him and smiled. “No, you are mistaken, Undertaker. ‘Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.’ Now, pack up the last sandwich and come – we need to prevent a murder.”

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 22

About 1:00

 Cloudia bound the horse to a tree. Like when she had come to Nanteuil-la-Forêt with Kamden, she had got a horse and a wagon in which Cedric could rest. He had been strangely cheerful during the entire ride while eating his sandwich, but then, Cedric was always happy when he got to eat something, and he must have been starving considering how quickly he had eaten the previous ones in the kitchen. Now, Cedric was standing by the wagon and looking around in every direction but hers.

“I’m done, let’s go,” Cloudia announced, and his attention snapped back to her. Cedric lingered a bit by the wagon, and she could not make out his expression in the dark. Sighing, Cloudia turned around and started walking. “If you’re too tired,” she said, “you can sleep a bit in the wagon and I will get you later.”

“No, I’m fine,” Cedric replied firmly and trotted after her.

“We need to hurry, are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said even firmer, and it sounded so silly it made her chuckle. “Also, how do you plan to prevent the next murder, Countess?”

“I know who the next victim will be,” said Cloudia and walked faster. She heard Cedric trying to catch up with her.

“And who?” Cedric asked between two heavy breaths.

“Corentin Tonnelier.”

“I have absolutely no idea who that is.”

“The farmer.”

“That doesn’t make this better! Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Because I currently only have a theory,” Cloudia told him. “A water-tight theory but I want it to be iron-clad. And for that, we need to check something first.”

“And before that, we need to try and prevent that murder,” replied Cedric.

“Exactly.”

Cloudia hurried ahead, but when she stopped hearing Cedric’s steps behind her, she frowned and turned around, wondering whether he had needed a pause and didn’t have the energy to tell or had even collapsed. She wanted to call out to him when she heard Cedric’s voice in her head.

I sense a Grim Reaper nearby.

Cloudia’s eyes widened and she touched her skull pendant necklace. This means I was too late.

This means he was fated to die today. You could not have done anything to save him. Nobody could have, Cedric answered.

Where are you? Cloudia asked.

Hiding behind some trees. I’ve seen that Grim Reaper when Jacques and I went to Florentin, and she might have seen me then too. I will stay behind until I am sure she is gone and then slowly head to the village. If I do not sense or see her in the forest or the village, I will come to you. If something happens, please call me to you.

She frowned at his words. They needed to have an in-depth talk about his journey to the Clockmaker later. Very well.

Do I need to find the farm? Where will I be able to find you? Cedric wanted to know.

The location is hard to determine as I don’t know anyone. I will tell you when I get there. Take care.

Take care came the answer, and Cloudia let go of the necklace and ran to Nanteuil-la-Forêt.

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 22

About 1:15

 Cedric slumped against a tree after ending his conversation with Cloudia. He hated, hated, hated the fact that he had to leave her alone even if he knew he had no choice. The female Grim Reaper could not find him, not alone and most definitely not with Cloudia.

Cedric sighed. The next moment he was tackled to the ground.

He struggled against his assailant but their grip on his shoulders was firm, and when he looked up and into their face, he stopped, sucking in his breath.

Long black hair in a braid. Tanned skin.

Dark-rimmed glasses.

Chartreuse eyes.

It was her, the female Grim Reaper.

She smiled broadly and said “hello” and something else in French.

“I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re saying,” Cedric replied. He kicked against her with both his feet and all his remaining strength. She lost her grip on him and staggered back, yelling out in surprise. Cedric was about to stand up when he spotted what he assumed to be her Death Scythe on the ground. She went to take it, and he kicked her back again. He quickly grabbed the Scythe, jumped to his feet, and brought some distance between them.

“What do you want from me?” Cedric asked, holding the Death Scythe in front of him like a shield. “And is this a leaf blower? How can you even cut anything with that?”

“It is a blower vac,” the woman replied annoyed in accented English. “Leaf blowers simply propel air out of a nozzle; blower vacs can also suck in air and have metal blades inside them. My Death Scythe sucks in Cinematic Records and cuts them with the blade inside.”

Cedric stared at her. “This thing shreds Cinematic Records? What did Cinematic Records do to you? How was this approved?” He shook his head. “No, before you become horrifically bureaucratic in your retelling of how you managed to get your Scythe modified like that, you need to answer my first question: What do you want from me?”

“I want to find out why some foreign Reaper has been wandering around this forest,” the woman said and narrowed her eyes. “I noticed you yesterday when you were close to my glade, and now here you are again.”

  Damn. When I had put so much effort into my glade phobia lie.

  “You could have approached me normally and asked!” Cedric replied. “There was no need to tackle me. Do you have no manners? What is your name?”

She crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Anastasie Faucher,” she said. “What is yours?”

“Edmund Oxley,” Cedric said without thinking. Before he and Cloudia had left the house, they had got changed – especially in his case, this had been essential. Cloudia had also quickly braided and pinned up his hair so that he could conceal it under a cap. Cedric had given his best not to grin like an idiot while she had run her fingers through his hair – just like he was doing his best not to grin at the memory now. The cap had thankfully not fallen off when Anastasie had attacked him, and with his conspicuous hair covered, Cedric hoped the lie would not fall apart that easily. “I was sent here for a special mission.”

“And this mission entails…?” asked Anastasie.

“It is a special and highly classified mission,” Cedric added. “Unless you manage to get special clearance from both your branch and mine, I cannot tell you anything about it.”

She tilted her head slightly and studied him through narrowed eyes. “Things have been weird in this forest and the village. This place has never seen such a string of murders, and the Nanteuillats’ behaviour is also out of the ordinary – some of them have been lurking in the forest doing something with several crates. I can see how all this could warrant a specialised investigation, but why was it entrusted to you? Someone from the British branch?”

Cedric shrugged. “I apologise, Miss Faucher, but if I were to tell you anything the brass would eat me alive. How do you think they like their steaks? I hope they eat me well-done.”

Anastasie stared at him. “What kind of an idiot are you?”

“One with special clearance.” Cedric waved the blower vac about. “Now, I will return your highly questionable Death Scythe and we will part ways. I wish you the best, Miss Faucher,” he said and handed her the Scythe.

Anastasie took it and held it tight. “Good luck on your… special mission, Mr Oxley,” she said and then vanished, presumably to her tent on the glade.

Cedric sighed and rubbed his forehead. What a bothersome ordeal this had been, though Anastasie had given him a very interesting piece of information; he could not wait to tell Cloudia. As if on cue, Cloudia spoke to him through the skull necklace: Find me by the townhall. Cedric straightened up when he heard her message. He was about to blindly walk to Nanteuil-la-Forêt when he got his senses back.

He looked around. He could neither see nor sense Anastasie anywhere, but he was not sure if she believed his story or not; she could watch him from somewhere outside his radius. Cedric inspected his surroundings one more time before he teleported.

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 22

About 1:30

 The village was quiet when Cloudia arrived, but somewhere there was a dead body to be found. If it had not been found already. She had figured out how the victims were chosen. However, as Cloudia had told Cedric, it was not easy to determine the location of the crime. Where could Corentin be? She had not even had the chance to interrogate him about Ruben’s death, and all she knew about him from Aurèle was that he was a farmer and apparently very grumpy.

  Corentin also liked to complain. Did he only complain about his inept employee or did he complain a lot in general?

It was time to make a guess and hope for the best.

  Cloudia took a deep breath and then hurried into the direction of the townhall. The streets were eerily quiet as she ran along them. The houses were dark, not a single candle on a windowsill in sight. No soul to be seen outside. It felt like walking through a ghost town.

But the windows of the townhall were brightly lit.

Cloudia grinned when she skittered to a halt one street away from the townhall. She straightened her clothes and walked in only a slight hurry to the building. The door had been left ajar, and when Cloudia looked inside, there was no one to be seen. She rounded the townhall and eventually found Yvette, Alain, and Mathieu behind it; a frightened-looking Hector was with them. Cloudia let her gaze wander over the scene from afar. Corentin had, apparently, not been hanged from the roof like Dominique or been nailed to the façade. The others must be standing right around his corpse.

“There you are,” Cloudia said when she approached them, and everyone looked up and craned their heads to her; Hector flinched. “I decided to patrol the village and when I saw the townhall alight, I came here.”

Mathieu nodded and narrowed his eyes. His head was slowly adopting the same colour as the flame in Alain’s lantern. “Where is the detective? This is the sixth corpse already!”

Cloudia wanted to grind her teeth together but smiled instead. “He is on his way, though he has been delayed. Vidocq sent me ahead, so please treat me as if I were him.” She knelt and scrutinised the body – middle-aged and wearing dirty farmer’s clothes; it must be Corentin Tonnelier, indeed. The victim’s eyes and mouth were wide open as if he had screamed or attempted to before he was killed. There had been no sign on the others having even tried to make a sound.

Corentin’s attempt had been futile though. Not because no one had heard him and come to his rescue but because the culprit had ripped out his oesophagus.

Cloudia put on gloves as she asked, “Who is that? Who found him and when?”

“The victim’s name is Corentin Tonnelier,” said Alain, and Cloudia grinned internally. “He works as a farmer. Élève Officier Monteil” – Hector flinched and quickly straightened again when he heard his name – “found his body about thirty minutes ago when he was patrolling the village. He immediately informed us at the townhall. Mayor Guilloux, his daughter, and I have been staying there since the beginning of the murders, and we quickly followed Élève Officier Monteil to the garden. Then you arrived.”

Cloudia nodded and did a brief cursory search of Corentin before she pocketed her gloves again and stood up. “I wished I had been a bit earlier,” she remarked. “I came as fast as I could and it was still not enough; I apologise for that.” Cloudia touched her necklace, and she hoped it looked like a sorrowful gesture. Find me by the townhall, she told Cedric and then let her hand fall to the side. She turned to Alain. “Please be so kind and get the body transported to the hospital, M Descombes. Détective Vidocq will arrive soon, and we would like to examine not only M Tonnelier’s body in the deadhouse but all the other victims as well. Although I and my colleague Grégoire Fouille sent Vidocq detailed reports, he still wants to see the bodies himself too.”

Alain bowed his head. “I will arrange this at once,” he said and went inside the building. Cloudia turned to Mathieu and Yvette. “Again, I want to apologise that we have not come far yet, though we do our best. Please retreat for the night; we will call for you if we need your help.”

Mathieu harrumphed. “Very well, M Gauthier. Yvette, let us go and leave them to do their work for once,” he said and walked to the townhall with no other word. Yvette followed him with a moment’s hesitation; if her father had said nothing, she likely would have wanted to stay. For the first time, Cloudia was thankful to Mathieu. At the same time as father and daughter entered the townhall, Alain and two other clerks emerged from it. They brought something to carry the body on. Carefully, they lifted Corentin on the cloth and then moved him to the hospital. Cloudia gazed after them for a while before she directed her attention to Hector.

“Élève Officier Monteil,” she said, and Hector flinched again. “You seem very upset, and I do not want to bother you for long but what can you tell me about when you discovered the body?”

Hector swallowed and then nodded. “I will tell you all I know,” he replied, his voice shaking. “But it’s not much. I… I’ve been patrolling Nanteuil-la-Forêt all alone. I started with the curfew’s beginning at ten o’clock and then slowly walked through the village. I found M Tonnelier at the end of my first round. He’s the only… person I have seen all night. I informed everyone at the townhall straightaway. That’s all. I’ve been with the corpse all the time expect for the one or two minutes when I knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer.”

“You only had to wait about two minutes?”

Hector nodded again. “Yes. I looked at my pocket watch and to where the body was lying while I waited.”

Cloudia smiled. “Thank you, Officier Monteil.” Right afterwards, she spotted a figure hurrying towards them. Even from afar and in the dim moonlight, Cloudia could see Cedric’s striking chartreuse eyes and the light glinting on his glasses.

Breathing heavily, Cedric arrived by her side. He put his hands on his thighs and gasped for air. “Officier Monteil,” said Cloudia. “This is Détective Vidocq. He is currently unable to talk to you but there is no need anyway. Please return to the barracks and if they are too far and you cannot go there yet in your state, stay in the townhall. We will take care of everything. Do not fret.”

Hector nodded stiffly. “Good luck – and thanks,” he said before he went to the townhall. Cloudia touched Cedric’s arm and stepped a bit closer to whisper to him in English: “It’s time for us to go to the deadhouse.”

  ***

 June 22

About 2:10

 Cedric slumped with a sigh into one of the chairs. Laurent and his colleagues had finally brought in all six bodies to the deadhouse, placed them in order, provided two chairs, and left them alone in the deadhouse. The six tables in a row had filled the capacity of the room, and there were only very narrow passages between them. One more body and nobody could walk in the deadhouse anymore. Corentin was the last one though; Cloudia would make sure of it.

“Countess,” Cedric cried. “My feet and legs are killing me. Please be quick: Why are we squeezed into this dinghy room with a bunch of corpses?”

“They are the victims in this case,” explained Cloudia and glanced over the six bodies which were all covered by white clothes. “Nadia Allemand, Dominique Duhamel, Gustave Beaubois, Marius Beaubois, Ruben Fournier, and Corentin Tonnelier. I told you Corentin would be the next one and I was right.”

“Good for you, Countess, but you still haven’t told me how you knew he would be the next one. Is it finally ‘later’?”

“Yes.”

“Or do I…” Cedric stared at her. “Did you say yes?”

“Yes, my tired Reaper, I did,” Cloudia said, smiling. “But I need you to confirm my theory first.” She took a deep breath. “It is time for your method, Undertaker.”

She wouldn’t have thought it possible but his eyes widened a bit more. “But, Countess, you hate my method! You say it’s ‘lazy.’”

“Yes, I do, but we have spent far too much time in this place, and there is no other way of finding evidence for confirmation and we need to wrap up this matter now,” replied Cloudia. “We are in a hurry and I don’t like what’s happening here. This has to end now; Corentin needs to be the last. Please could you check the victims’ Cinematic Records for me? Only the part when they were killed.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to tell me before I look into their Cinematic Records what your theory is?” asked Cedric. “I don’t know what to look for otherwise after all.”

She shook her head. “No, when you view their Records, you will instantly know what I’m looking for. Trust me.”

Cedric took a deep breath and stood up. “Very well, Countess. I don’t ever want to hear a single negative word about my method again though. It is a very good method and saves us a lot of time and energy.”

“We could start using it for emergencies only,” she said. “As we do now. I’m not going to become lenient because we are overusing your method.”

“It would take a lot more effort than using my method a few times to turn you lenient, Countess,” retorted Cedric with a smile and then retrieved his Death Scythe. It was always a wondrous sight: The Scythe came out of nowhere, slipping through a crack between worlds and space right into his hand with a flourish. Even in the narrow deadhouse with the pallid light, Cloudia could not help but stare in awe as the Death Scythe appeared and the blade and the skeleton’s bones reflected the light.

Cloudia kept her eyes on Cedric and the Scythe as he approached Nadia’s corpse. Carefully, he cut the body and looked at something she could not see. He had explained to her once that when he cut people with his Death Scythe, their lives would emerge from them in the form of film strips. They were like a long row of daguerreotypes, Cedric had told her, but Cloudia still wondered what they looked like exactly. She wished she could see Cinematic Records; at least she could see Cedric’s reactions to them, and right before he finished with Nadia and went to Dominique, he frowned. The frown deepened with every body and when he was done with all six, Cedric gazed at her, his eyes wide with confusion, and Cloudia knew she had been right.

With a grin on her face, she began to explain.

  ***

 June 22

About 3:20

 The sun was slowly creeping out of its sleeping chamber and into the sky as Cloudia and Cedric drove on the horse-driven wagon back to the château. Cloudia yawned and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep herself awake. Only a little bit more and she could return to her room and fall into her bed. After she had told Cedric her deduction, they quickly ended their “inspection” of the bodies and said their goodbyes. It had been a long day and night for both of them, and though Cedric did his best to report to Cloudia about his wandering with Jacques and the attack by and fantastic escape from a wild boar trying to protect her offspring, every other word was slurred by sleep and fatigue. While Cloudia wanted nothing more than to wrap up the case now, storm into a building and announce her findings, she knew it was an impossibility in their current state.

When Cloudia and Cedric finally arrived at the château, the building lit up by the mild morning sun, there were no servants who could help them with the wagon and the horse. With the last of their strengths, Cloudia and Cedric sorted out everything on their own and lead-footedly heaved themselves to their rooms. They were close together, and when it was time for them to part ways, Cloudia wished Cedric a good sleep. She wanted to turn around but he surprisingly took her arm. She looked at him, scrutinised him through tired eyes. Her mind was too exhausted to make anything out of his behaviour or the expression on his face.

“Countess,” Cedric began. Despite his exhaustion, he still said the word definitely and firmly. “I… I…”

Cloudia smiled weakly and patted his arm. “Undertaker,” she whispered. “It can…”

“It can wait until later, I know,” he said and sighed. “I hate this.”

She wanted to close her eyes but knew she might fall asleep here and now if she did. “I know.”

Cedric sighed again before he let go of her arm. Instead, he took her hand and looked at her, his green eyes steady and awake despite the dark rings under them. “Sleep well, Countess,” he whispered and squeezed her hand.

“Sleep well, Undertaker,” Cloudia returned and squeezed his hand too.

They stood there for a moment longer, hand in hand, looking at each other, before they finally separated and went to bed.

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 22

About 11:15

 I slept without dreaming. When I woke up hours later, I was rested but it did not feel like any time had passed at all. In one moment, I had fallen into my bed still dressed as “Alexandre Vidocq”; in the next, the bright midday sun was pushing against the thick curtains. I had even woken up in the exact same position I had fallen asleep in. I usually moved around a lot in my sleep. This time, I must have been too exhausted.

Today was to be the last day we would occupy ourselves with the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders. After everything was wrapped up, we would finally hunt down Nicodemus Townsend. Cloudia had said that when we were in the deadhouse.

Cloudia.

 With a jolt, I sat up straight and stared ahead.

My heart beat loudly in my chest as everything came back to me: Her and me in the kitchen. The relief, joy, and longing I had felt watching her – and the realisation that had come with it.

That I was in love with Cloudia Phantomhive.

 I leaned my head against the headboard, looked up into the canopy of my bed.

How strange it was to think that – “I was in love with Cloudia Phantomhive.” Odd words in my mind, but every word felt true and right.

How and when had this happened? I searched in my memories and I wished I could look into my own Cinematic Record to help me pinpoint a moment – even though I knew there could not have been a single one; there had not been a single one. There had been no flood, just small steady waves that shaped the shore without my knowledge. A change buried in my consciousness until the constant separation and distance had worn me thin and I could finally see the treacherous sea and what it had created.

  With a groan, Cedric let himself fall into his bed and buried himself in the sheets.

  What was I doing?

I had a long day ahead. Cloudia had to wrap up her investigation, and I had to help her. I could not stay here and hide forever.

And I could certainly not admit to her what I had finally admitted to myself. Not now because it would only take away part of her focus. Not later because what right did I have when I had been so dishonest?

To her, to me, to everyone.

After all, the reason “why” had never truly been a mystery to me; I had only wished it to be.

  There was a knock on the door. Cedric tried to wrestle himself free but the blankets were too tangled and he could not get out. Defeated, he called out to whoever was outside to come in. If it was Cloudia, he could at least die of mortification here and now and his problem would be solved. Instead of Cloudia, Newman entered though.

“Duke Kristopher,” he said. Cedric could hear him hurry to his bed; his heavy steps were still loud and clear despite Cedric’s cocooned state. “Give me a moment, Your Grace. I will free you forthwith.”

Newman pulled skilfully on the blankets and sheets. The movements made Cedric roll around a bit and before he could protest, he was already free and staring up at the butler’s friendly face. “Thank you, Alfred,” said Cedric and sat himself up while Newman provisionally folded the sheets and blankets and placed them to the side.

“You are welcome, Your Grace,” Newman replied and briefly bowed his head. “Lady Cloudia sent me to ready you for luncheon.”

Hearing her name made his heartbeat quicken, and Cedric dug his fingers into the mattress as he said, “Then, we should hurry. She does not like to be kept waiting.”

  ***

 June 22

About 11:50

 While washing myself and getting dressed, I prepared myself again and again to face Cloudia. I rinsed my hair and told myself it would be fine to see her despite my realisation. I talked to Alfred and told myself that I could converse like that with Cloudia too: normally, casually like we always did. Cloudia never had to know and everything would be fine.

I told myself all that, and by the time I said goodbye to Alfred and left my room, I believed I was ready. Nothing could go wrong; nothing would give me away.

I had been wrong.

Right when I turned around after closing the door behind me, I saw her waiting for me – and seeing her knocked the air out of my lungs. Cloudia was wearing a simple but beautiful deep blue dress that matched her eyes and made them stand out. Her hair was braided and wound like a wreath around her head. She usually wore her hair like that; she was often dressed in blue. Still, I could not help but think that she had never looked more beautiful. If I had any poems in my repertoire or if I could remember the nonsense Romeo told Juliet, I feared I would even start reciting literature.

 I had no idea I was staring at Cloudia until she raised an eyebrow and told me to come, lunch was waiting for us. I nodded and followed her to the dining room. Despite the fog in my head, I knew that this would not be easy at all.

  ***

 June 22

About 12:30

 I proved myself right, to my embarrassment. Cloudia kept trying to talk to me throughout lunch, and I could only nod as I was unable to hear a single word she said; I focused all my attention on preventing myself from staring at her. It was difficult to avoid looking at her without seeming suspicious. At least, I could stuff myself with food to excuse why I was not speaking. How convenient the torture of barely having eaten anything lately had become.

Somehow, I managed to get through lunch like that, and afterwards, we went to the kitchen to fetch some biscuits and tea which we would have while we formulated a plan. Cloudia stood by the doorsill while I – I had insisted to do this on my own, and I was rather proud of myself that I had been able to do so – rummaged through the shelves and boiled water to make tea. She continued to talk to me, and I nodded here and there because I was incapable of anything else. I wanted to hear what she was saying; I wanted to memorise all her words, but, alas, my idiotic brain could only focus on how lovely her voice sounded and not on what she was saying.

And when we finally headed to Cloudia’s room – to her room where I had been numerous times before; now the thought of going there made me feel oddly warm and nervous – I was still useless as a conversationalist.

  Having arrived in the room, Cedric set up the table. The nervosity made his movements shaky, and if he did not do everything slowly and carefully, he feared making a horrible mess. It did not help that Cloudia had already sat down and was now watching him; her gaze buried itself in him and weighed him down. When Cedric was finished, he settled into the armchair that was the farthest away from Cloudia’s seat. He took a biscuit and slowly began to eat it.

For a while, neither of them spoke a single word which made Cedric nervous but he could not do anything but take absurdly small bites of his biscuit and stare at the wall behind Cloudia.

The wall bore a pretty wallpaper, wine red with a floral pattern. Leaves and blossoms alternated on the paper, were tangled in one another. If Jacques were here, he could explain in excruciating detail which plants were depicted; on his own, Cedric could not identify a single flower, though this might also be because of the fog in his head. He was not that hopeless when it came to botany but, apparently, he had become hopeless when it came to speaking to Cloudia.

Behind him, a grandfather clock ticked steadily. The sound was usually faint, a background noise easily filtered out, but now it was loud and reverberated through the room. While Cedric listened to the clock’s steady tick tack, he remembered the grandfather clock at Florentin’s workshop and how, lately, he had come to dislike these machines…

“What is going on with you?” Cloudia asked suddenly, making Cedric jump in his seat.

“Hm?” he replied and kept nibbling on his biscuit.

Narrowing her eyes, Cloudia stood up and strode to him. “You’ve been behaving very oddly since lunch and you’re going to tell me why,” she said, grabbing his biscuit with one hand and pushing away the plate with the other. “I’m not going to sit around and tolerate this nonsense. Not on any other day, and definitely not today.” Cloudia crossed her arms and scowled down at Cedric. “Please enlighten me: Why are you so quiet and dismissive?”

  Having her stare at me like that, with fury and with question, it hit me what an idiot I was. My brain must have corroded with my self-admission. What was I even doing? Staring at her like a lovesick fool and ignoring her? This was Cloudia. Beautiful, lovely, intelligent Cloudia who I had been aching to spend some time with for days because I could not imagine any better pastime than to be with her. I had felt the same for her yesterday as I did today, as I would tomorrow and forever. Nothing had changed in its fundaments.

How could even part of me dare to upset everything? To upset her?

 And with a pang, I realised the same must have happened to her before. I did not know what had happened two years ago but from what Cecelia had told me, Cloudia and Milton must have been friends until he proposed to her without making sure that it would not deteriorate their existing relationship. It had, and now, while they were cordial, a certain awkwardness always hung between them. One wrong step and nothing had been the same again.

I had no right to confess; I would not do what he had done.

But I had started to withdraw.

Just like he had.

How could I make her go through that again?

  Cedric looked up at Cloudia, keeping his gaze steady on hers. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “I shouldn’t have ignored you. It is just that I… that I am a bit embarrassed about something and I didn’t know how to tell you about it.”

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “Embarrassed about what?”

“Yesterday…” he started before he caught himself. “This morning, when we went down to Nanteuil-la-Forêt, I told you there’s another Grim Reaper nearby and we separated.” Cedric gulped; he hoped covering one mortifying fact with another would ensure that Cloudia wouldn’t suspect there to be more to the matter. “I hid but she did not only see me, she even approached me, and I was too tired to get away on time.”

  Cloudia also did not have to know that Anastasie had been able to tackle me to the ground with no effort at all.

  Cloudia’s eyes widened in alarm. “What did she want from you? What did you tell her?”

“She wanted to know what I’m doing here as she noticed me before too. I thought I was able to avoid her without getting noticed myself but I was wrong,” Cedric said. “I told her I was on a secret mission and unable to share any details. I also gave her a false name – but not too false. If she asks around, she will find an ‘Edmund Oxley’ in the British branch. Thankfully, my hair was hidden under my cap, or my masquerade would be blown very quickly. While it’s known that I dislike Edmund, I am certainly not the only one who does. If you met him, Countess, you would know what I’m talking about; he’s a rather unpleasant fellow.”

Cloudia sighed and let her arms fall loose to her sides. “This is not ideal but as long as she does not look too closely at everything, this should do. My hands are bound in these matters anyway. I hope you knew what you were doing; you could get compromised, Undertaker,” she said. Cedric’s ears perked up a little at how she had said his name. It might be the butterflies soaring through his body but had her voice sounded a fraction softer when she had landed on his name?

  No, it must be the cerebral corrosion.

  “I did,” Cedric replied. “I promise, Countess, all will be well.”

“I hope you are right,” she said with another sigh. “I feared there would be a Grim Reaper here – how could there not be one with all those bodies? Still, I never anticipated she would find and even talk to you.”

“Rest assured, Countess, it’s going to be all right,” he repeated. “And there’s one good thing that came out of the French Reaper speaking to me.”

“And that is?”

Cedric grinned. “She was stunned that a British Grim Reaper had been sent on a secret mission but not that one had been sent at all. Apparently, the villagers have been doing something with ‘several crates’ in the forest.”

Cloudia stared at him, and Cedric could see the gears rattling in her brain. “Crates you say?” she said more to herself than to him. It took a load off Cedric’s mind to see her like that, quizzing out a solution to a problem. She was back to normal, and he hated himself for having shaken her up earlier. “We will look into this later,” Cloudia stated and turned to walk back to her seat, putting the half-eaten biscuit onto the table. Right before taking the first step towards the sofa, she craned her head back to Cedric though, and his heart started to beat faster in his chest. “This encounter with the female Grim Reaper is the only thing that was bothering you, right?”

Cedric wanted to simply nod, but he feared she would interpret his silent confirmation as him being distrustful of his own voice – and she would be correct. “Yes,” he forced himself to say, keeping his voice normal and steady. “This was everything.”

Cloudia’s eyes lingered on him for a bit longer before she walked back to her seat. “Very well. Let us start planning then.”

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 22

About 15:00

 The barracks where the gendarmes stayed were at the edge of Nanteuil-la-Forêt. An odd choice if someone asked Cloudia. After all, wouldn’t a more central position be more beneficial? The officers would need about the same time to get to any corner of Nanteuil-la-Foret if their headquarters were in the village’s heart. But then, the village likely never had any major incidents that required fast responses until now.

Cloudia still thought the barracks’ placement to be poor; at least, this made it easier to talk to Hector without anyone noticing them – if Hector was there.

  Cedric and I had decided to seek out Hector first. From what we had gathered, he was not involved in the murders. Although Hector was not a very competent officer, he was nevertheless one – and we would need any help we could get to dismantle what was happening in the village.

 As we walked to the barracks, I glanced at Cedric. He had behaved very oddly after waking up, and while he had later explained himself, become normal again, and reassured me the incident with the female Grim Reaper was all that had bothered him, I still had the feeling that he was not telling me everything.

  They had walked through the forest to get to the barracks and when they finally came in sight, Cloudia stopped Cedric by taking his arm and instructed him to become invisible and quickly survey the area. They needed to be sure that Hector was there and that no one else was around who could listen to their conversation. Cedric nodded, and Cloudia noted that the movement was a little stiff, before he vanished before her eyes and presumably walked to the barracks. She looked through the woods at the barracks and the path Cedric was likely taking.

  Perhaps, saying that Cedric had become “normal” again was too generous. He had “normalised” his behaviour but flecks of strangeness still clung at the edge of all his words and movements. What could have occurred? Had something graver happened when he faced the French Grim Reaper? Or was something else entirely the cause for Cedric’s odd behaviour? I could not think of anything and it bothered me. Right now, the Cedric who was around me was not quite the one I knew and it unsettled me. The him that was not quite him. Anaïs might have called him a “changeling” if she had noticed anything off about him.

I wanted to confront Cedric about his behaviour and its cause again but he had already given me an answer. An incomplete one, but an answer nonetheless. I feared Cedric might avoid answering, avoid me, if I enquired for more. It must be rather serious that it had shaken him up so much and that he did not want to tell me.

I gritted my teeth. Whatever it was, I hoped it would pass completely soon. This was too bothersome for my liking.

  Cedric came into her view again a metre away from her. Cloudia bit back a remark; the Cedric she knew would have appeared behind her to spook her.

“Hector’s all alone in the barracks and no one else is around,” Cedric said. “We should hurry before someone comes. Hector also looks like he is about to lose it.”

Cloudia nodded. “Let’s go then.”

  Five minutes later, Cloudia and Cedric were standing in front of the barracks. Inside the forest, it had been relatively cool; now, the sun was shining brightly and intensely on Cloudia. She was glad to be wearing a cap with a rim wide enough to shield her eyes; beneath it, her hair was sticking damply to her scalp though. Cloudia knocked and heard a muffled shriek before Hector opened the door.

“Détective Vidocq, M Gauthier, how can I help you?” asked Hector. Cedric was right, he did look rather frayed. He had already looked dreadful at the townhall standing next to Corentin’s corpse; he did not seem to fare any better now: There were dark rings under Hector’s eyes which kept darting around restlessly. However, considering that neither his uniform nor his hair was dishevelled, he still seemed devoted to doing his job, even if it brought him to his limits.

Cloudia smiled. “Officier Monteil, could we come in? The detective and I have something urgent to discuss with you.”

  ***

 June 22

About 15:45

 After discussing everything with Hector, Cloudia and Cedric discreetly returned to the forest. When Cloudia thought they were far away enough from the village, she took Cedric’s arm. She was about to tell him to teleport them back to the château –

Cloudia dropped her hand and whirled around when she heard footsteps.

“Who is there?” Cloudia demanded, ready to pull out her gun if necessary.

“It’s just me, M Gauthier!” she heard a familiar voice. A moment later, Enzo Chauveau stumbled out from between some trees, his hands raised high. His eyes widened when he spotted Cedric. “And you must be Détective Vidocq! I’m so very pleased to finally meet you! I can’t believe that I met both of you here!”

Cloudia forced a smile onto her face. The “cursed house” was quite a bit away from the barracks but also at the edge of Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Apparently, Enzo and Gaspard did not only like to explore the area around their hideout but also around all of the village. An idea prickled at the back of her head, and Cloudia’s smile turned from a forced one into a genuine one. “Hello, M Chauveau,” she said politely. “I apologise for my partner not saying anything…”

“His voice! I know!” replied Enzo, grinning brightly. “I know all about you two. Well, at least, all about you the rest of the village knows too. I’ve been asking around.”

  What a surprise that Enzo had not been eliminated yet.

  Enzo turned to Cedric. “Détective Vidocq, I respect and understand why you dislike talking in front of people. And I do not need to hear your voice to know your greatness; I feel honoured enough by simply standing near you,” he told him, and Cedric nodded slowly. Cloudia was glad that he could not understand what Enzo was saying.

“The detective and I are on a secret mission. No one can know we are here,” whispered Cloudia and Enzo’s eyes began to glitter. “Could you be a little quieter?”

“Of course,” Enzo murmured back.

Cloudia smiled. “Thank you. M Chauveau, if I remember correctly, our interview was cut short yesterday.”

“Please call me ‘Enzo,’” he replied excitedly before he caught himself and added, “If you prefer that, M Gauthier.”

“Of course. Enzo, what can you tell me about your friend Dominique Duhamel?” asked Cloudia. It was not necessary anymore to enquire about this aspect of the case but she could never know what Enzo might know, and she also needed a natural start to their conversation.

“Dominique is, as you already know, the baker’s son,” said Enzo. “He, Gaspard, and I have been friends since we were little. Therefore, when he started behaving oddly before his death, I immediately noticed. Gaspard” – he rolled his eyes – “keeps telling me I imagined that but I did not! Sure, I want life to be a bit more exciting in Nanteuil-la-Forêt; however, I do not live my life making up lies and untruths in my mind! I want real mysteries, not false ones. Gaspard knows that; I don’t know why he insists that I’m wrong. I swear, detectives, I am right! Before his death, Dominique suddenly became very secretive with his notebook and nervous. He usually never shied away from showing others his notebook. He liked to create clothes and would pencil his designs into it and present them to Gaspard and me and anyone else. Dominique was very enthusiastic about clothes and proud of what he was doing. He would even make his own clothes and brag about them at any given opportunity. He was not shy or secretive in any way, M Gauthier, Détective Vidocq. Dominique only became that way shortly before he was murdered.”

“And do you have any idea why?”

Enzo shook his head. “I investigated a bit,” he said and then turned a bit red. “I know I should not have because Dominique is my friend but the situation was too odd and I could not help myself! Finally, a mystery to solve.” Enzo’s shoulders sagged. “Only I could not find out anything at all.”

“Could Dominique’s change in behaviour be related to his infatuation with Nicolette Royer?” prompted Cloudia, and Enzo shook his head again. “No. Dominique has been in love with her for years. It’s very obvious. He has also written a million poems about her which he never gave her.”

“Maybe he could have been fighting the courage to finally give her one?”

“He would…” Enzo stopped. “Nicolette’s father did begin to talk about slowly looking for someone who would marry his daughter right before Dominique’s behaviour changed. But his family has not much money, and Dominique was never interested in the family business and is, thus, unsuited to continue it. Dominique quit as Mme Allemand’s apprentice months ago and he had not bothered to find anything new afterwards. Dominique was always a bit lazy and the end of his apprenticeship greatly angered him. Alas, without money and a secure job, Dominique would have never been accepted by M l’Abbé.”

Cloudia nodded. “Thank you. This has been very insightful.” She looked around and glanced at Cedric staring blankly into the distance. “This is quite far away from the heart of the village,” Cloudia remarked. “And you and your friends’ hideout is at the village’s edge too. Am I right in my assumption that you like exploring the forest?”

Enzo nodded enthusiastically. “I do! I don’t go very far as my mother would turn part of me into a broom and chase the rest of me with it through the house but still. Forests are interesting places; I’ve found quite a lot of interesting things wandering around, though never a human skull. It would be marvellous if I stumbled over an ancient corpse.” He sighed. “My wish has not come true though. The only corpses here are too fresh and too familiar for my liking.”

Cloudia inched closer to him. She could see Cedric directing his attention to her and Enzo from the corner of her eye. “Enzo, by any chance, did you see any odd crates in the area?” she asked conspiratorially.

Enzo’s eyes lit up instantaneously. “From afar at night but only once. It was on the 14th. I snuck out at night – that was only a week ago; it is amazing how much can change in such a short period – and spotted a group of people in the dark walking into the forest. I discreetly followed them; I was so excited! I don’t think I ever went that deep into the woods and my heart beat so quickly and loudly that I feared they might hear it but they never did!” Enzo smiled triumphantly. “I saw crates too; they were taking out what was inside them but I don’t know what it was. I was too far away and it was too dark. I eventually went back home because I did not want them to notice me. I tried to find those crates the next day with Gaspard but they were all gone and the old sceptic did not want to believe me, of course. He said I was only dreaming. But it was not a dream! I swear, M Gauthier, Détective Vidocq! It was my dream to witness such happenings but it was not a dream I had asleep in my bed!”

“Calm down. Secret mission, Enzo,” said Cloudia, and he immediately quieted. “Could you make out who was there with the crates?”

“No,” Enzo whispered. “It was very dark and they were all mummed, had put on hats and wrapped scarfs around their faces. They must have been very hot.”

Cloudia exhaled. Of course, things could never be easy. “Thank you, Enzo. This was immensely helpful,” she said, and he beamed. “But this knowledge is also very dangerous. Especially considering that you told someone about what you saw. Gaspard Baudet might not believe you but if he tells someone about it who knows about that nightly escapade, your life will be threatened,” Cloudia continued gravely, and Enzo’s face fell. “However, do not worry: It is our duty to protect key witnesses and hinder murderers. Nothing will happen to you.”

  ***

 June 22

About 16:50

 Taking Enzo to the château might not be the best decision I had ever made but it was better than leaving him in Nanteuil-la-Forêt and allowing him to be killed. He was not next-in-line; still, an exception could be made in his case.

I explained to him that the Charbonneaus – Enzo did not have to know that the Duponts were currently staying in their home – were kindly housing “Vidocq” and me. His eyes turned large as plates when he heard that; apparently, he had never even seen the château up-close. Enzo bounced the rest of the way and even walked ahead of us.

I seized that moment and quickly explained everything to Cedric via the skull pendants. He had been looking very puzzled ever since I had invited Enzo to come with us. After I told him everything, Cedric still looked confused but at least not to the same degree.

When we arrived, I told some servants to please take Enzo inside and keep him in a guest room. It was important to keep him safe, though, for everyone’s sake, he should not be allowed to leave his room. The servants nodded understandingly, likely because they, as Dupont servants, were used to such strange demands. Enzo happily waved Cedric and me goodbye before he was whisked away.

  Cloudia took a deep breath and took off her cap when she stepped over the château’s threshold. It was good to be back. Their short trip to Nanteuil-la-Forêt had been more exhausting than expected, and Cedric also sighed in relief next to her.

“I can finally taaaalk,” he said and ripped the cap off his head. “I do hate being ‘Alexandre Vidocq.’”

“We could have some language lessons,” suggested Cloudia and climbed the stairs.

“In French? Countess, we will end this nonsense today – half the nonsense at least – and then we will leave France,” replied Cedric and followed her. “Why should I bother to learn French now? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

She shrugged. “You can never know. We might have to have another adventure in France.”

Cedric groaned. “I hope not. Or if this happens again, I hope it’s not an adventure filled with annoying villagers and forest wanderings.”

“I will tell Her Majesty to only send me to cities from now on.”

“Finally a sensible suggestion.”

Cloudia smiled, both at his words and the fact that Cedric seemed to be better now. She wanted to reply something but cut herself off when Anaïs skittered along the corridor, Arnaud hurried right after her. “Try to catch me, Arnau–” called Anaïs, giggling, but halted in both speech and movement when she saw Cloudia and Cedric. “Claudette! Duke Kristopher!” she exclaimed. “You’re back!”

Arnaud came to a halt a few metres away from Anaïs. “Welcome back,” he said with a smile on his face.

“Well, thank you,” replied Cloudia. “You’re playing tag again? I haven’t been able to thank you yet: Seeing you play yesterday was the right ingredient to bring everything together. Thanks.

Anaïs’ eyes glowed. It was almost a pity that she and Enzo would not meet; they would get along very well. “You’re welcome, Claudette! I do not know what you are talking about but because Arnaud and I did help you…” She grinned impishly. “…you could tell us all about it?”

Cloudia chuckled. “Later, when I’m completely done with this case.”

Anaïs beamed. “Thank you, Claudette! I can’t wait.”

“Me too,” mumbled Cedric before he looked around and frowned. “Is it only you two playing?”

Arnaud nodded. “Yes. Gérard is taking a nap, and we can hardly ask Aurèle to play tag with us; he is too fast. We wanted to ask Jacques…”

“… but we couldn’t find him,” Anaïs finished. “I guess he’s still tired from yesterday and hid himself with a pile of books in the darkest, farthest corner of the library.”

“My brother often does that,” added Arnaud. “I assume Jacques saw a lot of interesting plants in the forest and became eager to look all of them up.”

Cedric put his hands on his face and groaned. “You cannot even fathom how many ‘interesting’ plants he saw.”

Arnaud smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Duke Kristopher. He can easily get carried away.”

Cedric let his hands fall. “It is all right, Arnaud. You do not have to apologise for your older brother.”

Cloudia nodded. “He is right,” she said softly. “And now we won’t bother you any further. We will see you later.” The children briefly said goodbye to them before they ran off again. Cloudia and Cedric went up one more floor and then headed to Cloudia’s room.

She opened the door, and to her surprise, Kamden was waiting inside. He got up from his seat and walked towards her.

“Did something happen?” asked Cloudia.

Kamden shook his head, and she sighed in relief. “No,” he said. “I’ve simply been worried. You were not at breakfast and Miss Lisa said you were still sleeping deeply… and I only briefly saw you at lunch but I could not ask with the others around. And then you rushed away and…”

Cloudia took his hands and squeezed them. “Kam, I’m fine. We had a late night, the Duke and I, and needed to sleep longer as compensation. We still have another long day and night ahead of us.”

Kamden tightened his grip on her and took a deep breath before he gazed directly into her eyes. “Then, let me help.”

Cloudia opened her mouth to speak when someone said behind her, “Me too.” Startled, she craned her head and watched her cousin step in front of her and lean against the doorsill. “I have no idea what exactly is happening,” Aurèle continued. “However, if this concerns what is going on in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, you might need as many people as you can.” He scowled at Cedric. “I don’t doubt your… your abilities, Claudette, but two people might not be enough.” Kamden nodded firmly at his words.

Cloudia let go of Kamden and eased one of her loose hairstreaks back. “You are right,” she said. “I planned to ask Lisa and Newman but we might need even more people for this.” Her gaze hardened. “I’ll go to the servants’ tract. Duke, get the biscuits and the tea – we have more planning to do.”

  ***

 June 22

About 20:00

 Rendezvous had been at nineteen o’clock. Hector was an hour late.

Cloudia looked at the sun slowly setting in the distance. Earlier, she had told Hector to meet her at the edge of the village opposite where the barracks were. At nineteen sharp, Cloudia had arrived with Kamden, who had insisted to accompany her. They had waited for an hour to give Hector enough time to come; after all, there could have been delays on the road. But there was still no sight of Hector and they were running out of time.

“It seems like he won’t be coming anymore,” said Cloudia and began to walk back to the château. Kamden immediately followed her.

Cloudia cradled the skull pendant in her hand. They got Hector, she thought.

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 22

About 19:00

 With a sigh, Cedric fell into an armchair and fixed his eyes on the clock on the wall. Cloudia and Kamden must have arrived at the meeting point by now which meant that he could relax for the next hour.

  And I did need that pause. Cloudia had questioned Enzo about the place where he had seen the crates and he had described it to her as best as he could – and then she had instructed me to go and search that area for clues. I had excused myself to the bathroom and teleported to the forest where I had spent the better part of the last hour combing through the area in question. I had stared at far too many trees and turned over far too many stones for my liking until I was sure that there was really nothing left except for places where the grass was flattened. They couldn’t have got rid of that like everything else, but this was enough: Enzo had not been dreaming and Anastasie had not lied to me as a test. The crates had been there.

The question now was: What had been inside them?

  “There you are,” said Aurèle and diverted Cedric’s attention from the clock. Except for Arnaud maybe, Cedric could not say he was particularly fond of the Beauchene brothers, but at least it was not Jacques. He had seen and heard enough of him for a week. “I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom,” Aurèle continued, and Cedric stiffened. “You took rather long. Do you have any… uhm, digestive problems?”

“I neither want to bother nor disgust you with any details,” replied Cedric dryly, and Aurèle nodded.

“Why were you searching for me?” Cedric asked.

“I wasn’t searching for you. I saw you go into the bathroom before Claudette and Bonham left the château; I only wanted to make sure you were not doing nothing while the rest of us were preparing for later.” Aurèle narrowed his eyes at Cedric, and Cedric forced himself not to let out a bitter chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Aurèle, the Countess gave me the least strenuous tasks because I only got to sleep eight hours today and not much in the last few days. I would be useless if I fell asleep in the middle of everything after all,” said Cedric. “Though, I suppose, it would make quite the picture. If this were to happen, I hope I would fall asleep in a perplexing position; that would be a marvellous distraction.”

Aurèle huffed. “You would be ‘dead weight’ if that’s the correct term.”

“It is.”

“If you got so little sleep, shouldn’t you be sleeping now?”

Cedric shook his head. “My current task is to wait an hour. If the Countess and Emyr have returned by then, I will take a nap immediately. If not, I will have to run an errand.” He nodded to the seats next to him. “Would you like to keep me company until then?”

Aurèle crossed his arms and was quiet for a while. Cedric partially wanted him to refuse, but he also did have a few questions for him. Aurèle eventually sat down on the sofa opposite Cedric and took out a cloth roll of knives and a sharpening stone. “I can do this here too,” he said and set everything up on the side table in front of him. “I also do not want you to fall asleep in the middle of waiting and cause Claudette unnecessary problems.”

“I didn’t know you were such a considerate person,” remarked Cedric, and Aurèle glared at him.

“The Countess told me you talked about Anaïs calling Milton a faerie,” he said when Aurèle took the first knife. “And I wondered if you could answer me a few questions.”

Aurèle looked up from the knife and narrowed his eyes. “And what do you want to know?”

“What do you think those ‘faeries’ she can see are?”

“I do not know,” answered Aurèle. “I told my cousin that faerie lore is very varying, and there are a lot of explanations for the origin of faeries. Anaïs could refer to actual faeries; Claudette thinks she might only call the Baron a faerie because he reminds her of one.”

“I wondered that too: whether Anaïs means actual faeries or whether she uses the word to refer to something else,” Cedric said. “What different kinds of explanations for the origin of faeries are there?”

“In Christianity, faeries are ‘demoted angels,’ angels that were between Heaven and Hell when God ordered for the gate to Heaven to be closed,” explained Aurèle while scraping the knife on the stone. “Or they were, uh, outcast angels who were neither ‘good enough’ for Heaven nor ‘bad enough’ for Hell. In the 17th century, due to Puritanism, the idea that faeries are demons became popular. Some people also believe faeries might be, uhm, demoted pagan deities or elementals that personify forces of nature; the latter idea has become popular lately. The belief that faeries are old and outcast deities or angels can also be found in other cultures. For example, the Persian peris are said to be unable to enter paradise due to their mischievousness although they are angelic beings. Most cultures, religions, and mythologies portray faeries as – how to say that? – entities that even if they are more benevolent than malicious are mischievous tricksters and hold morals foreign to humans. This contrasts with their outer appearance: Faeries are often strikingly beautiful. The, eh, humanoid ones, at least.” Aurèle put down the now-sharpened knife and took another. “Apart from the theories that faeries are angels, demons, deities, or other powerful entities, there is one which says that faeries are spirits of the dead.”

Cedric stared at Aurèle, a cold shudder ran down his spine. “Spirits of the dead?”

“Yes. Some believe that, like ghosts, faeries are the spirits of those who had ‘unfinished lives.’ Their natures differ, of course. Children who were unable to, uhm, ‘pass on’ after death and turned into ghosts are said to become ‘faerie-like’ over time.

“There are also many connections between faeries and death in general,” added Aurèle, “as the dead and faeries are believed to live in the same place: the underground kingdom. Faerie kings like the Irish Finvarra or the Welsh Arawn are, therefore, often referred to as ‘Kings or Lords of the Dead,’ or even gods of the dead or underworld. Faeries are also thought to be, uh, ‘harbingers of death’ or death omens. For example, if a Scottish bodach appears as a ‘dark, grey man’ in front of you, as a bodach glas, it’s a sign that something horrible will happen soon. Some think faeries can even summon the dead.”

Cedric wanted to reply something when Cloudia’s voice suddenly filled his head: They got Hector. In one fluid motion, Cedric stood up and glanced at the clock. It was just past eight; he had not realised an hour had passed already.

“I have to run my errand now,” Cedric told Aurèle. “I need to find Batteux and instruct him to go to a village and get the officers from Nanteuil-la-Forêt that are currently there.”

Aurèle frowned. “Should I come with you? You can’t speak French after all.”

Cedric shook his head and dug out a piece of paper from his pocket. “There is no need: The Countess wrote a note for Batteux that I have to deliver.” He waved it around as he left the room. “And you really are quite considerate, Aurèle!” he said right before he walked over the threshold and hurried away.

  ***

 June 22

About 20:40

 “I hope Hector wasn’t murdered,” said Cloudia when she entered her room, Cedric followed her. Batteux had left half an hour ago, and while Cedric could have gone to bed after delivering the note, he had decided to wait for Cloudia and Kamden’s return.

“The poor man does not deserve to have his life ended like that. I also don’t want any more unnecessary corpses,” Cloudia continued. She put her hat on a table and took out the pins that fastened her braid to her head, letting it fall to her shoulder. Cloudia went to her wardrobe and flung open its doors. “Batteux needs about two hours to get to the village. If everything goes well, he should return with Hector’s colleagues sometime after midnight. As planned, we will head to Nanteuil-la-Forêt at 22 o’clock.”

Cedric sat down on a sofa and watched Cloudia shuffle through her clothes. “You should go and sleep a little now,” she said and retrieved the bag with her special corset. Cloudia had told Cedric once that when she was twelve, she commissioned her tailor to create a unique corset for her that would double as underwear and protective gear; Wilbur had regularly re-made the corset in the years that followed.

“I will,” said Cedric. “But I wanted to talk to you about something first.”

Cloudia put the bag on a chair and continued to look through her wardrobe. “What is it?”

“I asked Aurèle about the origins and natures of faeries,” he told her. “There are many stories about where faeries come from and what they actually are. Some think they are demons or demoted angels. Others believe they are spirits of the air – or the spirits of the dead.”

Cloudia halted in her movement. “Milton is not a ghost, Undertaker,” she replied sharply.

“But what if Anaïs can both see the dead and the dying?”

Cloudia whirled around, and Cedric was taken aback by the sudden movement. “Milton is not dead,” she said firmly. “Milton is not dying.”

“Think about it, Countess. Milton is human; he is neither a Grim Reaper nor a ghost or a demon. Still, Anaïs calls him a ‘faerie,’ and she did make him wear those clothes that made him look like a ghost to her tea party. What if…” said Cedric but cut himself off when he saw the look in Cloudia’s eyes. She took a step towards him.

“Milton is not going to die anytime soon,” Cloudia declared. “He is safe in Paris with Wentworth doing paperwork. And unless Townsend somehow tracks him down there and figures out the one thing that could convince Milton to come with him, he will never get his hands on him by sheer force, do you understand me, Undertaker? I need no list, no record, to tell you that Milton is not going to die.”

Cedric looked at her. “Countess,” he said softly. “What if it is not Townsend? Are you sure Milton’s ‘phantom pain’ is only that?”

Cloudia closed her eyes. “He is not going to die, Undertaker.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because…” Cloudia pinched her nose. “Undertaker, I don’t want to have this conversation now. I cannot and will not entertain such thoughts now.” She opened her eyes and levelled her gaze at Cedric. Her eyes were steady and full of certainty but there was also something else that flickered in them for a mere second. Something that made Cedric’s heart ache and wish he had never addressed this topic – fear. “Milton is neither going to die nor is he dying,” stressed Cloudia. “You should go and take that nap now, Undertaker. I will see you in an hour.”

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 22

About 22:30

 The sun had set hours ago; faint moonlight broke through the thin clouds and let the plaque reading “MAIRIE” shine eerily and kissed the clockhands with silver. The hot day had darkened to a warm night, and Cloudia welcomed the gentle, cooling breeze that rushed through the air and played with the rim of her cap and the hem of her jacket as she gazed up at the townhall. Cedric waited patiently beside her; Cloudia’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the building’s façade: the beige, spotty walls, the red bricks framing doors and windows and the clock that slowly but surely crept to midnight.

Hopefully, she would see this place for the last time tonight.

  I had planned everything with great care. Aurèle and Kamden, Lisa and Newman must have arrived at their positions by now. Batteux was still on his way back, hopefully with the reinforcements that could clean everything up when I was done.

Everything was in its place; everything would go perfectly.

One did not need luck if one had certainty.

  Cloudia squared her shoulders and straightened her back before she nodded at Cedric. He returned the nod and went to enter the townhall first; Cloudia closely followed him.

Earlier, she had asked Alain to collect everyone connected to the victims and the murders at the townhall. Solange and Basile, Aurore and Ferdinand (little Antoine had been left with Sylvie), Armelle, Xavier, Serge, Marcel, Violaine and Maxime, alongside Yvette, Mathieu, and Alain, were now gathered in the assembly hall. Cloudia had not asked for Gaspard as Enzo would have been searched for then too, and not for Marc as well as he was still so young and did not have to be present. However, she had requested Nicolette and noted with surprise that she had not come with her father. Marcel likely did not want his daughter to learn more of this business than she had to; Cloudia could not fault him for that.

“Thank you for coming,” Cloudia said and let her eyes travel over the crowd and saw a sea of worried, scared, pale faces but also expectant, neutral, and angry ones. She wanted to smile in excitement but chose not to; it was not mannerly to lay out deductions for a serial murder investigation while beaming like a lighthouse. “In the last week, Nanteuil-la-Forêt has been plagued by great tragedy and horror ever since a stranger came to the village. He arrived on the morning of June 16 and was nowhere to be found by the afternoon. Each night from that day on until now, someone has died: Nadia Allemand, Dominique Duhamel, Gustave Beaubois, Marius Beaubois, Ruben Fournier, and Corentin Tonnelier. Tonight, this chain will break because Détective Alexandre Vidocq solved the case.” Theatrically, Cloudia pointed at Cedric who slightly bowed his head to the gathered mass.

“This took you long enough,” grumbled Mathieu from the first row. “Now, where is the stranger? It does not matter how he killed everyone; it only matters that he is found and thrown into jail!”

“Patience is a virtue, Mayor Guilloux. All will become clear when I present the detective’s deduction,” Cloudia replied calmly. “First, let me briefly recount what we know:

“The first night, Mme Allemand was murdered in her tailor shop. She had been killed with a blow to the back of her head, and her killer also acupunctured her body with needles. The second night, Dominique was stabbed in the heart and hung on the church’s roof. The third night, Gustave was stabbed in the woods, and his brother Marius followed the next night: His head was smashed with a hammer and his corpse was left in the fountain. The fifth night, Ruben was stabbed and subsequently buried in the cemetery. Last night, M Tonnelier was found dead in the townhall’s garden.” Cloudia’s gaze hardened. “The places where they were found, how they were killed – none of them was without purpose. Dominique was hung on the church’s roof for a reason; Ruben was buried for a reason. The needles with which Mme Allemand’s skin was punctured were her own: She kept them securely in an old locked tea box. A mere stranger, a wanderer who has simply decided to go through Nanteuil-la-Forêt, could not have known about the needles, would not have killed those six people and arranged their bodies as they were.”

“Are you trying to tell us that the culprit is not a stranger but a villager?” asked Xavier, his eyes wide with horror. Armelle who sat next to him pressed her lips thinly together. Marcel paled, though he had already been pale from the beginning.

“Yes,” said Cloudia, and the room erupted in panic and protests. She raised a hand to silence them. “I know it is hard to imagine someone you have known all your life – a relative, a friend, a neighbour – could be a murderer but people are rarely what they seem to be on the surface.”

“Still it is unthinkable that one of us would commit such atrocious acts,” Alain remarked and looked around.

“One of you did not commit those atrocious acts,” corrected Cloudia. “Multiple did.”

Yet again, the assembly hall was filled with gasps and wild chatter, and Cloudia held up her hand anew and waited until it died down. “Rest assured though,” she said. “All but one is already dead.”

Just as she had finished her sentence, Mathieu bolted to the stage and watched her through narrowed eyes. “Speak! Who were the so-called murderers in our midst!” he demanded. Cloudia stared down at him with icy eyes, and he quieted and recoiled from the stage.

She then looked up and into the mass. “Nadia Allemand was killed by Dominique Duhamel,” Cloudia stated, her voice firm and clear. In the back, it seemed as if Solange was about to faint; Basile held on tight to his wife. “Dominique was stabbed by Gustave Beaubois, and Gustave was murdered by his brother Marius,” continued Cloudia. All colour left Aurore’s and Fernand’s faces at her words. “Ruben Fournier took Marius’ life.” Xavier sucked in the air. “Ruben fell victim to Corentin Tonnelier.”

Right on time, the backdoor swung open and Kamden entered, a bound and gagged but struggling man in tow. Kamden’s whole body was tense, though he relaxed a little when he saw Cloudia. With some effort, he hauled the man to the stage where he let him go and went to stand next to Cedric. The man immediately tried to run but Cloudia kicked him to the ground. A muffled groan slipped out of his mouth. “And this man, townhall clerk Philippe Passereau, killed M Tonnelier.” She glanced down at him. “He should truly be more grateful though,” Cloudia remarked. “After all, if we had not caught and bound him, someone would have murdered him tonight.”

Fernand jumped up from his chair, his throat red from anger; a startling contrast to the ghostly hue he had adopted only a moment ago. “What in the world is going on here?” he exclaimed. “What is the explanation for all this?”

“Right.” Still pale-faced but with a determination Cloudia had never seen on her before, Solange stood as well. “Why would Dominique murder Nadia? Why would any of them murder one another?”

“Each person killed the previous person in the chain for personal reasons and those reasons are reflected in the methods and places they chose,” explained Cloudia. “Dominique killed Mme Allemand and displayed her in her shop like a pincushion because of his failed apprenticeship. He upset the tailor shop to make it seem like a failed burglary, though he neglected to take anything to make the lie more believable. Gustave stabbed Dominique in the heart because they were in love with the same girl and hung him from the church because that girl was Nicolette Royer, the head priest’s daughter. Marius got rid of Gustave to get his hands on their family’s woodcutting business; that’s why he killed him in the woods. Gustave’s neck was twisted to make him look up empty-eyed, presumably to underline how Marius stole his brother’s future. To avenge his best friend, Ruben angrily smashed Marius’ head. He put him in the fountain because Marius was a known thief and used to steal the coin inside it; Marius had also taken the contents of Gustave’s pockets after killing him. M Tonnelier murdered Ruben because Ruben was a lousy apprentice who could never use the fertiliser correctly – Ruben was buried so that he would eventually become fertiliser himself.” Cloudia turned her gaze to Philippe on the ground; he had stopped squirming and was now glaring at her. “M Passereau killed M Tonnelier by the townhall and ripped out his oesophagus because the farmer would complain at any given time. As M Passereau works at the townhall, he was often the recipient of his tirades.”

  I had deduced everyone’s motives after seeing Anaïs and Arnaud play – except for Philippe’s. There had been no time to look thoroughly into Corentin and find out who could hold a grudge against him. Cedric, when going through Corentin’s Cinematic Record, saw his killer though, and after describing him to Aurèle, he recognised him as Philippe Passereau and could tell us all about his hate for Corentin. Earlier, Aurèle and Kamden had paid him a short visit.

  Cloudia returned her eyes to the assembled group. Because of the secretive nature of the Watchdog duty, she had never been able to present any of her deductions like that: grandly in front of the wronged crowd. She had only ever been able to tell them to the Queen in her drawing room, to the Police Commissioners of Scotland Yard in their dinghy office, or to Oscar, Cecelia, and Barrington in the Aristocrats’ Bureau – though this did not quite count; after all, they contributed to the solving as well. Now, although Cloudia was aware that the circumstances were horrifying, her skin still prickled with excitement and ecstasy as she continued, “Dominique, Gustave, Marius, Ruben, M Tonnelier, and M Passereau all had their reasons to kill. Still, none of them did until now: In a place as small as Nanteuil-la-Forêt, one cannot easily commit a crime as everyone knows everyone. It is nearly impossible to kill and hide forever undetected. However, what would happen if there was someone, a stranger who just arrived at the village, who could take all the blame for you?

“They all took this unique opportunity to get rid of a person they despised. The stranger’s arrival was only part of the ignitor though: M l’Abbé has begun looking for suitors for his daughter. Dominique knew he would only pick one who could provide for her. With his failed apprenticeship and lack of interest in the bakery, he was left with nothing. He wanted to propose but needed money. Ruben, while he undoubtedly hated Marius for killing Gustave, would have never blindly killed him – but Ruben’s aunt is terribly sick and his family cannot afford the surgery she needs. The six culprits have not come together by chance, each of them independently seizing the opportunity to kill as soon as a scapegoat arrived in the village. No, for that, the chain was too orderly, the deaths too orderly: None of the victims fought back. They all accepted to die even though such apathy was against their natures.

“All six culprits were approached by someone who organised the chain of murders, a mastermind who brought them all together by offering them what they desired: money and revenge, a future and a way to rid oneself of pent-up frustration. They only had to ‘win’ the game: After committing a murder, they would become the next victim. The next night they would have to outrun the next murderer, and when they were found they had to surrender without a fight and head to the location chosen for their death. I suppose they were threatened that their family would be eliminated if they tried to fight back. Or were they threatened with something else, Yvette Guilloux?”

  A gasp ran through the crowd, and Mathieu was about to protest when Cloudia continued and cut everyone off. Her eyes were fixed on Yvette who still sat quietly and indifferently in the front row as she spoke, “It would have been easy for you as the ‘village’s princess’ to approach people for your plan and to convince others to stay quiet about what is happening in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, though some who were not let in on the secret have noticed a strangeness in the village. Because of your position, you could also accompany us to our investigations to ensure no one would say too much or even confess.

“Of course, not only the culprits were involved in your plan: Maxime Guilbert and his wife were as well.” The atmosphere tensed further as the others glanced at the Guilberts. “I was at the hospital: Do you feel any remorse for locking away your best friend and denying her parents entry? Forcing them to pretend to run the local inn? Did you promise them to cover Marie-Claire’s medical costs like you did Ruben?”

Silence set in the assembly hall for a moment before it was punctured by a laugh. In one fluid motion, Yvette rose from her seat and took a step to the stage. With a smile on her face and crossed arms, she looked up at Cloudia. “Détective Vidocq, M Gauthier,” she said sweetly, “you have been correct in every aspect so far.”

Mathieu’s face turned red. “Yvette, why…”

“Why I would do such a thing?” asked Yvette coldly, cutting him off and craning her head to him. “Dear papa, because I could. When you would sit inside the townhall all day, I would be outside with the people. You have been the mayor and I have been the mayor’s daughter for over a decade.” She threw an amused smile to Cloudia. “I was the village’s princess for over a decade. No one knows this village and its citizens like I do. Not that you cared as you never cared for me at all, dear papa. You did not care about what I could do because you never let me do anything. Me, your useless only daughter. Only good to be married off to the next-best old fart,” Yvette spat out.

“Everyone got the opportunity to have their wish fulfilled,” Cloudia said. “And so did you, didn’t you, Yvette? Though this was not a matter of self-fulfilment; there has always been someone else with you in the background. The money you promised, in particular, could not possibly be your own – it belongs to the stranger you met lurking in the woods around Nanteuil-la-Forêt one day. A stranger may not have committed the murders but a stranger did come to the village. A stranger who offered you all you wanted and for whom you lured away the gendarmes and orchestrated this chain of murders to distract me from looking for him.” Swiftly, Cloudia took out her gun and levelled it at Yvette. “Now tell me, where is Nicodemus Townsend?”

  Yvette smiled widely. “Townsend told me all about his mission: to advocate for justice, to gain power, to bring about a revolution,” she said with an eerie calmness. “And all he had to do to fulfil his goal was to steal a box and find someone to open it. Of course, because of the box’s importance and considering its owner, this could not be a simple endeavour. The British Queen, Townsend told me, sent her dog after him. He always said it was a man; he never even considered an alternative. But the day you arrived at the townhall, you and the detective, so proud and sharp, I knew – I knew. How I laughed afterwards!

“Aren’t men so very foolish, Miss Watchdog?” asked Yvette in perfect English.

  Cloudia stared at Yvette and she noticed Cedric stiffen and Kamden flinch behind her. Yvette laughed. “Emmanuel Charbonneau is a simpleton,” she continued in English and rolled her eyes. “You smile and bat your eyes at the right times, and he gives you all you want. I only had to ask once and he agreed to teach me. ‘So that we would have our own secret language.’” She grimaced and then glanced at Cedric. “‘Embarrassing voice’? This could be true, but considering how blankly he has been staring holes into the air, I would say our Parisian detective does not speak a single word of French. This is truly embarrassing considering your disguise. But then you never planned to stay and use it for long, didn’t you? Frankly, I expected a bit more from the feared Queen’s Watchdog and her companions.”

“Frankly, I expected you capable of answering simple questions,” replied Cloudia, switching to English too. She was still firmly holding her gun, the barrel pointed at Yvette. “Where is Townsend?”

“Where Jacques Beauchene is, of course.”

  A knife soared through the air and over the seated crowd. It missed Yvette by a hair’s breadth and landed clattering on the naked stone ground. A moment later, Aurèle stormed angrily into the assembly hall through the backdoor, another knife ready. “What did you do to my brother?”

Yvette smiled calmly. “It is good to see you, Aurèle. It has been so long. Why did you and your cousins not pay us a visit like you always do when you visit the Charbonneaus? Oh, right, you are not visiting; you are staying all alone in their château. When the Charbonneaus left two weeks ago, it was hardly surprising. But when someone spotted your brother in the woods a few days ago, it certainly was. Especially considering that you seem to be with Miss Watchdog!” Yvette clasped her hands over her chest theatrically. “Rest assured, Aurèle. Nothing will happen to Jacques. I simply met him earlier today in the forest and started a conversation. He was so very kind to agree to come with me; I took him to Townsend and now Jacques is taking him to the Clockmaker. Someone saw Jacques and faux Vidocq return to the château last night; it looked like they had gone on a lengthy trip. I was so curious to find out where they had gone, so I asked Jacques and arranged a repetition of that journey. Just a small trip amongst friends, nothing to worry about.”

“You –” started Aurèle and wound up throwing his knife when Maxime barged from the seated area to the passageway leading from the back to the stage. He lunged for Aurèle, and Cloudia shot the ground to Maxime’s feet before he could reach him. Maxime halted and so did Aurèle. “Don’t you dare touch him,” exclaimed Cloudia in French. “And now return to your seat, Guilbert, or –”

All of a sudden, all doors swung open and bullets flew through the air.

  What on earth?

  Screams came from the crowd and people flung themselves to the ground as the bullets rang through the air, got stuck in the walls, in the ground. Villagers streamed into the townhall, men and women Cloudia had not seen before, all holding with weapons: knives and iron bars, pistols and rifles. Cedric pulled back a stunned Kamden, and Cloudia whirled to Yvette who was still smiling. “A mere village’s princess, am I not?” she said amused – then, the villagers charged at them.

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 23

About 0:30

 What the hell? Cedric thought as he grabbed Kamden’s hand and dragged him across the stage. At the same time, Cloudia jumped off it and went after Yvette who had pushed aside her father and ran to the side entrance. The gathered crowd burst apart and hurried to the exits but the hall rapidly filled with new arrivals and blocked their paths. They swung their weapons around. A man with an iron bar in his hand lunged at Cedric. He quickly pushed back Kamden, dodged the attack, and kicked the man from the stage. Yelling, he fell onto two others. Cedric took hold of Kamden again. As he pulled him to the few stairs leading down, Cedric scanned the room for Aurèle and Cloudia. Coldness brushed his spine when he saw neither.

  Where the hell did they get those weapons? Where did they get those guns?!

  Kamden took out a dagger from his pocket and rammed the hilt into someone’s face when he tried to stab him. Cedric grabbed the knife from his hands as the man staggered back. Fighting one-handed was not a good tactic. Especially not in such circumstances. Still, Cedric only tightened his grip on Kamden as he elbowed, kicked, and pushed his way through the masses and to the exit.

He could not lose Kamden. Cloudia would never forgive him if anything happened to her brother. He himself also did not want him to be hurt in any way.

If only Cedric could properly attack anyone. The stolen knife was useless in his hand. No interfering with life and death. He could not stab and risk killing anyone. Anastasie would come to find him, her journal of deaths in hand. They would drag him to the brass’ representatives. He would be suspended. They would learn about Cloudia and the others too.

Gritting his teeth, Cedric elbowed a woman in the face. At the same time, a man brushed his arm with a knife, ripping the fabric and drawing shallow blood. Kamden stabbed the man in the thigh with his dagger. Cedric could not even stop and be surprised because the next second, Kamden drew out his blade, blood dripping from it. The man howled out in pain, and they had to continue their fight to the door.

  This was a poor operation. Those people could barely fight. Their inexperience made them easy to defeat but this also meant they moved chaotically, frantically. They were no rhyme or reason to what they did. They only attacked and attacked as well as they could and with no pause. Their attacks missed but came aplenty. They were plenty while we were only four – six with Miss Greene and Alfred. Damn, did something happen on their end too?

  A shot roared behind them as Cedric and Kamden finally rushed out of the townhall and into the warm night. The clouds from earlier had left, and the waning gibbous moon shone brightly against the uncovered blanket of darkness and stars. Outside, there was barely anyone but people were coming after them from the townhall. Cedric broke into a run to the gardens, not letting go of Kamden.

  That shot earlier was the only one I had heard since their arrival. They must be saving their bullets. One good thing at least.

  “Kristopher,” said Kamden, snapping back Cedric’s attention. “Let… let go of me. It wooon’t – won’t help to hold onto each other. I will keep up with you, I promise.”

Cedric glanced back at Kamden and was startled by how similar he looked to Cloudia in this moment, even with the dyed hair; in his eyes was a determination he had often seen in her. Without a protest, Cedric released Kamden and beckoned him around a corner. They pressed themselves against a high, thick bush, and Cedric carefully looked around. He heard voices from one side and steps from another.

“We need to find Aurèle,” Kamden whispered. “He… He was still close to the backdoor earlier, do you think he escaped?”

“Let’s hope he did,” replied Cedric and started to move again. Kamden followed him through the overgrown garden and to a side road.

At the end of it was a group of villagers, bars and knives in hand. Cedric cursed under his breath and broke into a sprint. At least, he had not seen someone with a gun. Blades and iron bars did nothing from afar after all. Still, he wished he could simply grab Kamden and teleport away with him, bringing him to safety before searching for Cloudia and Aurèle, Lisa and Newman.

From behind a fence jumped someone with a shovel. Kamden cried out and barely managed to dodge him. Cedric gripped his jacket and drew him away before he threw himself shoulder-first at their assailant. The man dug the shovel’s handle into Cedric’s side, making him gasp for a moment. Cedric took hold of the handle before the man could retreat and ripped the shovel out of his hands. He swung the shovel and hit him in the head. He fell down with a thud, unconscious.

“How likely is it for someone to die from a shovel-induced concussion?” asked Cedric when he and Kamden resumed their run.

“What?”

Cedric was about to ask again when a shot rang through the air and Kamden screamed. Cedric whirled around to him, his eyes wide. Kamden was holding his side, his face contorted by pain. Cedric opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a resounding wail in the distance. A moment later, someone stepped out from between some trees. Cedric got ready to swing the shovel again but let it sink when he recognised Aurèle. His dark brown hair was tousled. There were a few cuts on his face and some holes and tears in his clothes. He did not seem to mind all this though. Fury gleamed in his eyes as he walked towards them, a bloody knife in his hand. “Where is my cousin?” Aurèle yelled.

“The Countess jump off the stage and ran after Yvette,” Cedric told him. “We haven’t seen her since.”

Aurèle scowled and cursed in French – something very foul judging from Kamden’s reaction – before he glanced to the road. The mob was getting closer, and Kamden, Cedric, and Aurèle set themselves in motion.

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 23

About 0:30

 Cloudia jumped from the stage to bolt after Yvette but her familiar thick braid had already been swallowed by the crowd by the time her shoes touched the ground. Cloudia cursed and hit someone in the face with the back of her gun.

  Where the hell was Batteux with the gendarmes?

  Effortlessly, Cloudia dodged a woman’s poor attempt to stab her with a kitchen knife. She grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her against an incoming group. They all yelled as the woman collided with the others. Her knife clattered to the ground. In the distance, Cloudia heard Ferdinand shout and glimpsed him wrestle his way through, clutching Aurore tight. A man pulled at Cloudia’s jacket and dragged her back. Quickly, Cloudia drew her father’s dagger from its sheath with her left hand. She half-whirled around and stabbed the man in the side. He screamed when the blade pierced his flesh; he screamed louder when she ripped it out. She kicked him away and elbowed someone coming at her from the other side.

  What a bothersome ordeal. Damn Yvette.

  With a groan, Cloudia eventually emerged from the townhall. For a second, she considered kicking the door close and bolting it but then remembered her audience from earlier. The mob was after her and the others; they certainly would not target their fellow villagers, would they? Cloudia glanced into the assembly hall and saw someone charging out at her. Cursing, Cloudia turned and ran.

Sometime in the chaos, she had lost her cap, and the faint wind was now blowing a few loose strands into her face. Cloudia brushed them away. In the distance, she spotted a man with a gun. He raised his hand to aim at her but she was faster. With a yell, the man dropped to the ground, clutching his leg.

Hector had told them there were only a handful of firearms in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, some belonged to the police and others to a few hunters. Cloudia doubted he lied to her but where did all those guns come from, for heaven’s sake?

  The crates. The bloody crates the French Reaper and Enzo talked about. There must have been firearms in those crates. But how had they ended up in Nanteuil-la-Forêt?

And how many had been inside them?

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 23

About 1:00

 Aurèle skilfully led Cedric and Kamden through the village, through side streets, small alleys, and private gardens until the mob lost sight of them, and they arrived at an old house nobody seemed to be living in. Cedric scrutinised the area to ensure nobody was around to see them enter the building before he ushered the others inside and closed the door behind him. Dim light entered through broken windows and cracks in the façade. They pressed themselves against the old walls and caught their breaths.

“Denis is waiting for us in the forest,” whispered Cedric when his lung did not burn so much anymore.

“I’m not leaving behind my cousin,” Aurèle shot back.

“And Miss Lisa and Mr Newman,” added Kamden.

“They will be fine,” said Cedric. “Especially the Countess. None of the villagers is capable of killing her. And Alfred and Miss Greene are at the hospital, far away from the townhall. Unless they anticipated we would send someone there, I doubt there would be a mass of people. Also, Alfred’s huge. His sheer stature will likely scare them away anyway.

“At any rate, they will be fine. The Countess is a Phantomhive; Miss Greene and Alfred are Phantomhive servants. That household is made of tough stuff; they even have some unofficial motto I can’t think of now.”

“A Phantomhive servant who cannot do that is not worth their salt,” Kamden said.

“Thank you. What I’m meaning to say is: This whole operation went poorly. While we expected a fight, we did not anticipate the number of people Yvette pulled into her boat, or that they would have guns. There are too few of us and too many of them. It’s also unimportant to fight against the mob. Our goal is to catch Yvette and find Nicodemus Townsend – and rescue Jacques.” Aurèle was silent next to Cedric. “We cannot do all that if those idiots with guns turn us into Swiss cheese, do you understand?”

Kamden nodded, and Aurèle did the same a moment later.

“Good,” said Cedric and nodded to himself. “The plan is to hurry to the forest and find the main road where Denis is waiting for us. We return to the château and adjust the rest of our plan when we have regrouped.”

Aurèle snorted. “Didn’t know you would make a decent leader.”

“Me neither. It must be the adrenaline.”

Kamden faintly shook his head. Cedric glanced at him and noticed he was still holding his side. “Damn, Kamden,” said Cedric and gently lifted his hand from the wound. “Let me see. Why didn’t you say something? We should have stopped sooner.”

“No! I’m fine,” Kamden replied but allowed Cedric to take his hand without protest. “The bullet grazed me. It only stings a bit. I’m all right.”

Cedric sighed in relief when he saw that Kamden was not lying. “Good. The Countess would have murdered me if something happened to you.”

Kamden locked his eyes with Cedric, the look in them surprisingly intense. “I will not let myself be harmed and worry Cloudie if I can help it.”

“Isn’t your name ‘Emyr’?” asked Aurèle, and Cedric and Kamden stiffened.

  Goddammit.

  “Kamden is Emyr’s first name,” Cedric said, and Kamden relaxed a bit. “He only allows a few people to call him by that name as he predominately goes by his middle name.”

Aurèle raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

Cedric dug through his pocket and retrieved the knife he had taken at the townhall. He held it out to Aurèle. “Do you still have enough knives? I stole this one earlier.”

Aurèle grimaced. “A shabby kitchen knife. You can keep that, and did you bring any weapons? Do you have anything else besides that and the rusty shovel?”

Yes, an interdimensionally-stored scythe, thought Cedric. “Yes, a dagger and a gun,” he said. Cloudia had given him both though she knew he could not use them without risking punishment. “In case of an emergency,” she had said. “And if you aim well, you will only injure, not kill. At any rate, it is always good to bring more weapons; if I run out of bullets, you can simply give me your gun.”

“Does that mean I’m just a glorified pack mule?” Cedric had replied.

“Oh no. I would not call you ‘glorified.’”

Cedric sighed at the memory. He wished Cloudia was here right now. “I’ll take a quick look around. If the coast is clear, we’ll leave and head to the forest; Aurèle will lead us there.” Kamden and Aurèle nodded, and Cedric slipped through the broken door and momentarily turned himself invisible. He rounded the house. There was no one here but he could hear animated voices in the distance and they were slowly getting louder. Cedric became visible again and rushed back into the house. He signalled Kamden and Aurèle to come out.

They filed out of the house and headed into the woods with their weapons ready. They walked behind one another: Aurèle was first, Cedric last, and Kamden secured in the middle.

They walked in hurry and with care. Aurèle guided Kamden and Cedric in a zig-zag through the mostly empty streets of the village’s outskirts. Cedric saw candles burning through windows and glimpsed at worried, horrified faces before curtains were drawn shut. So much terror for money and a chance for more.

The mob found them right before they could enter the forest. This time, some even had pitchforks.

  Finally! I wondered when they would come out.

  The group of villagers descended upon them with loud howls, and Cedric, Aurèle, and Kamden sprinted into the woods. They tried to lose them in the masses of trees but the villagers were everywhere. Swinging their pitchforks, lunging with their knives, trying to bash in their heads with their iron and wood rods.

Cedric pushed someone away with his shovel and was thrown against a tree the next moment. He groaned and quickly sank down when a fist came flying. He kicked away the attacker’s legs and hit him with the shovel. Cedric jumped to his feet and rammed his elbow into the next person’s face. He whirled around and scanned the woods for Kamden and Aurèle. Damn, where were they?

Cedric hurried through the forest and swung his shovel around until one woman managed to dodge his attack and the shovel collided with a tree. The collision sent a shock up Cedric’s arms and the shovel blade broke.

“Dammit,” pressed out Cedric between clenched teeth and let go of the handle. The woman lunged at him with a knife and he barely dodged her. He dug out the kitchen knife and sliced the back of her hand when she attacked again. She cried out, letting the knife fall in shock.

Cedric took this chance to run away.

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 23

About 1:15

 Cloudia sent a knife flying through the air, pinning a woman by her sleeve on a tree. She threw another to pin her by her dress as well.

Killing them would be so much easier. Fighting back without having to take care about keeping the harm to a minimum. The villagers had been manipulated, likely persuaded by Yvette with lies that Cloudia, Cedric, and their companions were the culprits who had killed their fellow citizens and baited them with money and promises. The villagers were victims in their own way but they were so goddamn annoying. And they came in masses. Nanteuil-la-Forêt had about 350 residents and half of them were out for them tonight.

Cloudia punched someone in the face and ripped the knife from his hand as he stumbled back. She wanted to gut him here and there but decided against it. She knocked him out with the knife’s handle and kicked out the legs from under the next attacker. The female Grim Reaper might still be watching from afar. However, as long as no one died, she had no reason to come here – and this lowered the chance that she spotted Cedric in the chaos.

A woman levelled her pistol at Cloudia – she held it all wrong and her grip was shaking – and Cloudia hooked her arm around the next-best person’s throat. She pressed the knife against his throat and held him against her as a shield, daring the woman to shoot.

She wished it was not a random man but Yvette.

Damn Yvette who had run off in the beginning and was nowhere to be found since.

Cloudia gritted her teeth and walked backwards, not releasing the man until she was away from the woman with the gun. Then, she freed the man and knocked him unconscious. Cloudia ran across the small square and around the fountain where Marius’ corpse had lain. Her hair stuck to her scalp. She had lost her hairpins ages ago and her braid was hanging loosely and messily over her shoulder. Cloudia wondered what the villagers must have thought when they saw that “Jean Gauthier” had been a woman all along – if they had noticed at all.

A shot rang through the air and Cloudia whirled around. Another followed – and then she heard the sounds of hooves and shouts.

She grinned. Batteux and the police had finally arrived.

Riders filled the square and broke apart the crowds, pushing back the masses. Surprised, Cloudia counted more than the five other gendarmes who were usually stationed in Nanteuil-la-Forêt.

“Mylady!” someone called and Cloudia turned around to see Batteux running towards her.

“Thank you!” she replied. “You came just on time. The village dissolved into chaos – it’s good you thought to get extra officers.”

Batteux briefly bowed to her before ramming his gun in an assailant’s gut and pushing him back. “You’re welcome, Mylady.”

Cloudia looked around. Everything was still a mess but the police could handle that. “Batteux,” she said. “Stay safe and retreat to the château if you must. I’ll head to the hospital; I need to get to my maid and butler.”

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 23

About 1:40

 There were too many people in this damn forest and Cedric had lost sight of Kamden and Aurèle. He hoped they were at least together; Aurèle would be able to keep Kamden safe. Cedric’s lungs burned. The forest ground was soft with moss and leaves which made it hard to run on and he had not yet fully recovered from the last few days.

  I was so tired. I was so tired.

  Cedric rushed behind a large tree. The forest was full of villagers. He looked left and right – but none of them was in his line of vision.

And none of them could see him right now.

With a grin on his face, Cedric disappeared and appeared in another part of the forest. Jacques and he had been here yesterday, and it should not be too far from where he had vanished but still far away enough. Cedric scrutinised the area and perked up his ears. No villager seemed to be around yet.

Relieved, he sacked against a tree and caught his breath for a moment. When his breathing had normalised, Cedric started walking again. At some point, he had lost the kitchen knife and he now pulled out the dagger, holding it tightly in his hand while he ventured through the forest. It was the dead of night; the thick crowns of the trees held back most of the moonlight. Cedric strained himself not to run against a tree or trip. Or completely lose his orientation. He was sure he had already lost some of it. Every tree looked the same and he was not quite sure where the road leading up to the château was. Technically, Cedric did not need to find Denis. He could return to the château on his own. However, Kamden and Aurèle were still somewhere in the woods and it would look suspicious if Cedric arrived so quickly at the château without Denis driving him like a madman there.

Leaves crunched under his feet. A shudder ran over his spine as Cedric remembered his encounter with the wild boar. Right, he did not only have to be careful of humans in the forest.

And then he saw him. Just a few metres away from him.

Cedric halted – and so did he, craning his head to look at Cedric.

  The moonlight repainted him. Lightened his hair to white, darkened his eyes, though let the green inside them glow.

He had never looked as translucent and otherworldly.

Had never looked more like a faerie than in this moment, an eerie beauty in the woods.

  ***

  London, England, United Kingdom – May 1843

  ~Cloudia~

 Cloudia woke up from her dreamless sleep before Clifford came to rouse her. She sat up and rubbed her eyes and when he arrived, she was wide awake and asked right after greeting the old butler, “Did he come?”

“He is downstairs, Mylady,” answered Clifford, and the tension that had lain on Cloudia’s shoulders the last five days fell away.

Clifford placed a tray with a cup of tea and today’s newspaper on her bedside cabinet. Cloudia sipped on the tea as she glanced over the title page while Clifford set out her clothes.

“Anything interesting, Young Lady?” Clifford asked.

“A corpse was retrieved from the Thames,” said Cloudia and set the empty teacup and the paper back on the cabinet. “They haven’t identified it yet,” she continued and peeled the blanket away from her. “If it’s a noble, I might be assigned to the case.”

With a nod, Clifford stepped out of the room and a maid took his place. She hastily helped Cloudia into her dress. It was striped periwinkle blue and white and had dark grey lace details; it had been a gift from Cathleen for her last birthday. The maid wove a blue band into Cloudia’s braid and after a cursory check that everything was in place, Cloudia thanked her and left her bedroom.

She quickened her pace on the stairs. She did not want to run and give away her excitement; still, she could not stop herself from being excited at all. Oscar Livingstone was a convicted criminal but Cloudia was nevertheless eager to see him again – after all, she had to ensure he had done nothing bad in his absence. She also really wanted to find out where he had been and who this person was he wanted her to meet. Clifford had not mentioned anyone else; why had Oscar come alone? Because he was unsure whether he could bring the other person to Cloudia’s townhouse so freely?

Cloudia arrived on the ground floor with a clack of her shoes. She forced herself not to grin like an idiot while she strode to the parlour. Clifford opened the door for her, and relief washed over Cloudia when she saw Oscar sitting at the table. She trusted Clifford, of course, but she liked confirming everything with her own eyes.

Oscar had kept his word. It had not been a mistake to trust him.

“Good morning, Lady,” said Oscar hoarsely, looking at her with his beautiful pale blue eyes. It was a startling sight as always; today, it made her frown though. Something was off about him.

“Good morning, Oscar,” Cloudia returned and sat down at the table. Clifford brought her a light breakfast, and she noted that he had not placed a plate in front of Oscar. Instead, his side of the table was covered by a book. Cloudia had seen it before while looking through the townhouse’s library. The solitary Paradise Regained with the strange string of letters in the front. She kept forgetting to purchase its partner, its prequel.

“I told Clifford I do not require breakfast,” Oscar answered Cloudia’s unspoken question. “I have no appetite.”

“It does feel odd eating in front of someone though when that someone is not eating himself,” said Cloudia.

“Please don’t mind me and simply enjoy your meal.”

Cloudia buttered a scone and scrutinised Oscar. He still looked thin and pale, his years in the asylum marked on his face and body, but there was something off about him. She scanned him as Cecelia had taught her: His words were more clipped than five days ago. His shoulders were very slightly sagged. The faintest dark rings under his eyes. An itch in his hands as he played absentmindedly with the edge of a page of Paradise Regained. There was an odd quietness to Oscar as well. He was the opposite he was five days ago when he smiled and thanked her.

The realisation hit Cloudia as she put marmalade on her scone.

“Whatever you meant to do, did it not go well?” she asked.

Oscar studied her. His face at least betrayed no emotion. “You are definitely Simon’s daughter,” he said as she bit into her scone. “And yes, it did not go well.”

Cloudia swallowed before she spoke, “What did you want to do?”

“See my family.”

She stared at him.

  He had gone to see his family?

No, this could not be. I might not be Cecelia but I had done my research and I had done it thoroughly!

 Oscar had been raised by his grandparents Isobel Henderson and Ewan Seumas Livingstone, both of which had died in 1818. His mother Ealasaid had been deemed unsuitable to raise her son, though she had lived with him at her parents’ estate. Ealasaid had passed away in 1812, and Oscar’s alleged father Ranald Livingstone had died in 1798 before Oscar had even been born. Oscar had no living relatives. No aunts or uncles or cousins. Nothing.

Unless Oscar spoke of his other potential father, Malcolm Fairbairn. Next to no records existed of him, and he could theoretically still be alive. However, if the rumours were true and Malcolm had abandoned Ealasaid when she was pregnant, I doubted Oscar would even want to see him. Let alone be in such a rush to meet him.

  Cloudia put down her scone. “I didn’t know you even had a family,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You couldn’t have known,” Oscar replied. “My wife and children were and are my greatest secrets.”

Coldness went through Cloudia as his words reverberated in her mind. Oscar’s voice had sounded so gentle when he had said them. However, Cloudia’s thoughts were transfixed not on his tone but on one word: My wife and children were and are my greatest secrets.

“I never got to see and speak to my family after I was arrested,” Oscar told her. “And I never received a message from them. My wife was stopped from contacting me, I am sure of that. She would have demanded at least one conversation so that I could explain myself to her. I kept her in the dark about what I was doing, and I know she would have wanted to know why.” He was quiet for a moment and laid his hand on the book in front of him as if he was swearing on it as others swore on the Bible. “That’s why when you freed me from the asylum, it was my duty to find her and explain myself. I didn’t seek her forgiveness; I do not deserve it but I knew I owed her an explanation and an apology. It is the least she deserved after what I had done. But when I looked for her… all I could find was a grave.” Cloudia’s heart sank. “My wife was pregnant at the time of my arrest,” continued Oscar. “It was a girl, I heard. My wife died giving birth to her and my daughter died shortly afterwards.”

“I am so sorry,” said Cloudia even though she knew how weak of a response it was; still, it felt right.

Oscar did not reply anything, and they sat in stifling silence until Cloudia took a deep breath and said, “I want you not to take any offence, though I do have to remark you do not seem like someone who would marry and have children.”

“I agree,” said Oscar. “My wife… before I met her and even afterwards, I never imagined myself marrying and becoming a father, let alone marry and have children with her.”

“You say ‘children’ but you only mentioned one daughter. What about your other children? Are they still alive?”

“We had another daughter. She died when she was very young, many years before her sister.”

“I’m sorry,” it slipped out of Cloudia again. Oscar looked down at the book.

  I could not imagine the pain of being locked away for years and emerging with the world changed and all you ever loved dead, with so much left unspoken between you and them.

  “How…” Cloudia began hesitantly. “How did you and your wife meet? If you want to tell.”

Again, Oscar did not say anything for a while. Then, he raised his head and Cloudia stiffened a bit when he fixed his tired eyes on her. That was what had been off about them. Even when he had just left his asylum cell, his eyes had been sharp; now, a suffocating weariness was etched into them. “When my grandparents died, I was still in the military,” said Oscar. “As I was their only heir, the manor, their wealth, and their entire estate went to me. However, I was stationed in the Midlands, and my family’s estate is in Scotland. I was able to take leaves now and then to maintain everything, though I did most things remotely with the help of a secretary I employed. I have few fond memories of my childhood and joined the military because I wanted to get away. I saw no reason to return more often than I absolutely had to, even after the inheritance.

“A year after my grandparents died, Trudy Ashdown arrived in my home village. She was of high social standing and could have had the world; still, she had chosen to settle in that little place. There, she met her best friend. They shared a close bond, and he would do everything for her. I admit I oftentimes found him obnoxious – for example, he insisted to call me by an idiotic nickname…”

“What was it?” asked Cloudia, and Oscar shot her a dark look before he continued, “… but I would lie if I said he was not a good man. There were very few I can call a ‘friend,’ and he was one of them. Trudy’s best friend is also the reason why I met her.

“Trudy was an avid reader but there were very few places to acquire books in my home village and because of her move, her library was still mostly empty. I, however, possessed an extensive book collection. My grandparents had filled the manor with nothing but religious texts, and when I inherited everything, I decided to make the library more varied. I had collected quite a few books when I was in France and I sent those and all the acquisitions I made while in the Midlands to my manor. My secretary organised them all. It were well-known facts that I was rarely at my manor and that my library consisted of thousands of books. And when Trudy fell ill one day and complained about the lack of reading material, her friend decided to borrow some books from my house.

“He would sneak into my manor, take a few books and later carefully return them to where had taken them. Trudy’s sickness was rather severe and this went on for weeks. She had already recovered when he returned the last of my books – this time I was at the manor though. I caught him climbing through a window. I had noted by then that someone had been in my library because of the marks in the dust, but I never imagined I would find the culprit so quickly. Trudy got worried when her friend didn’t come back. Ever since I was a child, there was a rumour that a nefarious monster lived in the manor of the village’s lord. Trudy had heard that rumour as well but did not believe it to be true. Still, when her friend failed to reappear, she hurried to my manor and knocked on my door.

“Trudy had only got well very recently and her body was still weakened from the illness. But if I had never been told that, I would not have known. I opened the door and there she was: A young woman so much younger than me but with such fierceness and determination in her face and eyes that I rarely saw even in soldiers. Trudy stood in front of me, unwavering and unflinching, without taking her eyes off mine and requested to switch places with her friend. She believed I was holding him prisoner for breaking into my house and she wanted to take his place as she was the reason he had even trespassed and burgled, to begin with. Because of that, she thought the fault lay with her and she wanted to atone for what she did.” For a split second, a faint smile hushed over Oscar’s face. The moment had been so brief, Cloudia wondered if she had imagined it. “Of course, I was not holding her friend prisoner. I only made him help me clean my manor; I fully intended to let him go afterwards. I had no use for him after all. Trudy profusely apologised when I explained everything to her and insisted to help too. We were finished by the evening, and they left to return to their respective homes. I thought this was the last I would see of them but the next day, Trudy knocked again.

“This time, Trudy had a basket with her and her lady’s maid in tow for propriety. She said she felt awful for thinking I was a monster and believed that simply helping me dust was not enough of an apology. I thought she only wanted to leave the basket with me but Trudy invited me to have a picnic. She fell into the hole of believing some rumour because she did not know me and wanted to rectify it. I accepted.

“From then on, we would exchange letters when I was in the Midlands, and I would make an effort to come to my home village more often. Even when my regiment was sent to Ireland, this did not stop. Trudy was exceptionally intelligent and every conversation with her was a joy. At no point did I think she had any interest in me beyond our odd, mismatched companionship. And it was odd and mismatched.

“Trudy was the most beautiful woman I have seen, and I knew many admired her in the village. She was also unbelievably kind and gentle; if she had not been, I doubt she would have ever asked me to a picnic. She truly was an angel and my opposite in every way. Furthermore, Trudy was several years younger than me. Over two years after we met, her best friend told me that she was in…” Oscar broke himself off and cleared his throat. “Her friend must have become sick of the fact that neither Trudy nor me dared to admit that we secretly wished for more; thus, one day, he plainly told me to propose to her. After he reassured me that Trudy was indeed waiting for a proposal, I talked to her mother who told me to just ask her; she had no business dictating her daughter’s life and if Trudy wanted to marry me, she would say so if I asked.

“I pondered over the proposal for weeks. Trudy’s friend offered to help me but I refused. I wanted to do it myself. I eventually asked her on a picnic and proposed to her with a dagger.”

Cloudia stared at Oscar. “A dagger? You proposed to your wife with a dagger?”

“Yes,” he said nonchalantly. “I did not know her ring size and feared asking would give me away. I also did not know anything about jewellery and was unwilling to consult her friend or family about that; as I said, I wanted to handle the proposal on my own. Therefore, I had a dagger custom-made that was both beautiful and sharp. During the picnic, I took it out and asked her if she wanted to marry me. Trudy was rather taken aback by the dagger, not the question. When I explained myself, she laughed and accepted both the dagger and me. Her friend had been right: It was what she, we, had wanted.

“I intended to have a long engagement because Trudy was not even twenty and I was stationed in Ireland. However, Trudy persisted to marry me that same year. Not only did she not want to wait for long, but she also suspected I partially wanted a long engagement because I secretly hoped she could find someone ‘better’ than me. Our betrothal was never formally announced, and because Trudy did not wear a ring, no one in the village suspected anything. Trudy was correct of course. While… while I did want to marry her, I thought she could find someone more suitable for her. Someone less… like me and more like her. She assured me she could not do better and wanted to marry me as quickly as possible so that I could put my mind to peace and have a constant reminder of her with me in the military – my wedding band.

“We got engaged in spring and married in summer. Like before, our relationship was upheld by letters and visits. Trudy could not go to Ireland but she often travelled to Wales so that I could reach her easier. Seven years later, Charles Rowan approached me.” Oscar’s eyes momentarily darkened when he said his name. “We knew each other from my time in the 52nd regiment and got along well enough. Rowan had been chosen by Peel to helm the soon-to-be-founded Metropolitan Police Service alongside Richard Mayne, and Rowan wanted me to work with him. I agreed. I left the military and spent some months in Scotland with my family until Scotland Yard was formally formed in September. From then on, I worked as an inspector and my job often made me cross paths with your father. The first time I met Simon I did not work for Scotland Yard though.”

Cloudia’s eyes widened. “How did you meet my father then?”

“Because of Trudy,” Oscar told her. “In 1825, I was promoted to captain and Trudy wanted to celebrate this with a family portrait. Because no one knew I was married and had a family, we had to find a painter who would keep this commission a secret. Trudy asked an artist friend at Somerset House whether she knew a suitable person, and her friend referred her to Simon Phantomhive. Barely anyone knew he was a painter as he only painted for himself; he didn’t like to talk about his work and would have no reason to tell anyone about my secret family. Trudy promptly convinced and hired Simon.

“I went on leave, and Simon stayed with us for a few weeks to create the portrait. He also made numerous sketches. Every drawing in the sketchbook you brought with you to the asylum stems from that time.”

“That’s why you were in it! Then, the landscape and village drawings depict your home place?”

Oscar nodded. “Yes. Trudy and Simon remained in touch even after the portrait was done – it must still hang in the foyer of Livingstone Manor. I only found out that Simon was the Watchdog after I began working for the Metropolitan Police. Simon told Trudy then too. If… if I had found Trudy alive I would have asked her to come with me and meet you.”

“Because she was close to my father?”

“Because she was your godmother.”

  For the third time today, I felt like the ground was crumbling under my feet.

I didn’t know Oscar had a family. Didn’t know he and my father had met years before the Met was created.

Didn’t know I had a godmother.

I thought back to my childhood and stiffened. No, not even my aunts and uncles had been able to help me.

  Oscar mustered her. “Did no one ever tell you that you had a godmother at all? Her name might not have been mentioned but I thought her existence would have at least been made known to you.”

“No, no one ever did,” said Cloudia, her mouth dry as she spoke.

She expected him to say “I’m sorry” too; instead, he said, “How odd.” Cloudia blinked at Oscar as he continued, “Maybe, no one informed you because Trudy was not your godmother in the most commonly known sense because she could not provide you with any spiritual guidance. However, Trudy liked the thought of an ‘extra’ parent figure who would help a child throughout life and hold a claim to them if their parents passed away. When we had our first child, she made her best friend the ‘godfather.’ Simon asked me if I wanted to become your godfather in this sense too but I refused. I saw no advantage to binding you to me like that even if that bond was only faint.

“Trudy did consider becoming more involved in your life after Simon died though,” said Oscar.

Cloudia stared at him. “Why… why didn’t she? Or was she refused?”

“She was not refused. In the end, she decided against it. We were not doing well at that time ourselves and Simon had distanced himself from us a year earlier, though he never retracted Trudy’s status as your ‘godmother.’ Trudy still thought it would be better if she stayed away. You also have enough living relatives and your mother is alive too; she thought there was no need for her.”

Cloudia took a deep breath. “Why did my father distance himself from you?”

“I don’t know,” Oscar told her. “From one day to the other, he gradually ceased to work with me on cases and his letters to Trudy became less and less frequent. Neither my wife nor I did anything to offend or upset him, as far as we knew. I’m afraid I cannot help you with anything from that year.”

She looked down at her plate and the bitten-into scone. The tea must have long gone cold too. It did not matter anyway; Cloudia had lost her appetite by the time Oscar began talking about his family.

“I wanted to ask something,” said Oscar, and Cloudia looked up again. “Did Rowan give you any of my possessions? The objects I had with me when I was arrested?”

She shook her head. “No. He told me he got rid of everything. Was anything important amongst the items?”

“Yes, a drawing. One from Simon’s sketchbook.”

Cloudia frowned. “There is no page missing in it though.”

“Simon destroyed the book’s binding to retrieve it,” Oscar explained. “He wanted me to keep that drawing; he said he could simply get the book rebound.”

“What was on the page?”

“A portrait of Trudy. I always carried it with me.”

  Dear lord, could this conversation become any sadder?

  “I understand that Trudy and your daughters are dead but what about her mother? Your mother-in-law?” asked Cloudia. “It would be fine if some others knew that you’re alive and weren’t executed as long as they kept it a secret.”

“She died many years ago.”

“And Trudy’s best friend?”

“He is still alive but I do not want to bother him anymore. He lost enough because of me; it is better if he doesn’t find out I’m alive,” Oscar told her.

“I did also petition to free your imprisoned servants, and they should arrive in a few weeks,” Cloudia said, wanting to give him a bit of hope at least. “But apart from them, is there no one else who would want to see you?”

Oscar was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “There is no one else.”

#Watchdog of the Queen #Main Chapters #cloudia phantomhive #undertaker #kuroshitsuji #black butler #fanfiction #7 years!!! SEVEN #<3 #I hope the solution is satisfactory! #and you'll like this brick of a chapter! #(that's chartreuse and peacock blue btw)