𝕄ℂ𝕐𝕋 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕆𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤

𝕄𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕠 𝕁𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕠 ~ 𝔸𝕤 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕧𝕖, 𝕊𝕠 𝔹𝕖𝕝𝕠𝕨 ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟛

I've been grinding out Fallen London since the last part, prepare for canon-accurate references.

Also if any of yous play Fallen London, my username is ready_ame_fire, send me a calling card :D

MCYT: FallenLondon!Mumbo Jumbo

SMP or AU: Fallen London AU, once again, setting credits to iamsolarflare and thanezain's ao3 story: The Incredible Case of the Body Swapping Serial Killer [Please read this if you can, it's so much better than my writing]

Type: You know what time it is? IT'S ANGST TIME!

Pronouns: They/Them

Notes: Y/N = Your Name. May include some [unintentional] Sunless Sea references in canonical overlap

Premise: Part three to the last oneshot. Realising the only way to see Mumbo again is to reconcile with Grian, you pay him a visit and argue a LOT. And then something terrible happens...

Trigger warnings: Swearing, violence, you and Grian argue badly, I decided I wanted to write Grian to be mildly suave/hot [sue me], Grian says the fuck word more than once, there's a lot of Grian, mentions of/acts of possession, mind fuckery, THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE

Y/N's POV

Knocking on the door in front of me was a risk that I took. It had been too long I'd put off this visit, really I should have gone immediately, but it let myself slip into pride and vain distractions, procrastinating this for several days. I regarded the boarded up ground-floor windows of the house wearily, having not had much time to gaze at its structure and quirks on my one prior visit. The brass knocker I'd rapped against the rotting wood moments before started off as a rusted hoop, but as it neared the bottom of the circle, two offshoots appeared in symmetrical tandem to extend down and curve in at the end to form the shape of two exquisitely carved wings. Two carved wings that were far too exquisite for a house in Moloch Street where the air was thick with smog and sinister whistling of steam trains perpetuated the air, waiting with bated breath to take more unfortunate souls down to hell.

"It's open!" I was expecting the wood to swing open as a reference that my arrival had been acknowledged, not a muffled call from deeper within the skeleton of lodgings before me. Perhaps the occupant was anticipating a guest who was not me, and it should have been prudent to announce my identity such as this was the case... But if I did that, I would be told to leave.

What I ended up taking as my action was to slowly and deliberately enter the house, making a big show and noise of closing the door and stepping along the floorboards harsher than usual to pronounce my arrival. Should I simply come in as someone rather uninvited silently, that could be seen as an attempt at something shadowy or dangerous, and I could very much find myself in the position of several prolonged chess games to live another day.

The hallway was small and cramped, dark wallpaper bearing down over me like some sort of carnivorous monster. I slowly took off my overcoat and top hat, then worked at loosening the knot of my scarf. Normally such thick attire wouldn't have been necessary, but it was particularly chilling today, the encroach of winter on the cusp of the air. Or as close to winter as the Neath had, anyway... The only door I could see was ajar to my direct left, the rest of the corridor stretching out towards a kitchen with an archway marking its entrance, or up a set of stairs laden with threadbare carpet. I took the door.

I steeled myself and reminded myself I was here to be nice, and could not afford to let my temper in the way. The man I'd come to see was sunken into the cracked leather of an armchair, quill scratching away into a moleskin journal with a crinson cover. He didn't look up as I came in, eyes focused behind tortoiseshell glasses in his page.