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acoldsovereign · 2 months

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Hi, Guillotina! I know you're still in the midst of setting up your blog and all, including new rules for followers (as you've said already), but I hope it's okay for us anons to still send you random IC & OOC asks! If not, you can delete-- I'll understand. ;w; I won't comment on recent dash stuff but I just wanted to check in and see if you/the people involved were okay???? I know you care about Saiyans a lot. Like, a lot, a LOT-- maybe more than anyone I know or seen so far. (In case I sound like a creep, I swear I'm not!) I was here when you first had Google Docs and had a really cute section about relationships/shipping stuff with Bardock. (Was also here when you first set up your Sites page and had an even *cooler* section about the diversity of the Saiyans' gene pool, explaining why Maiz looked so different! Not to mention your cultural & biological headcanons as well but that's neither here or there). So, I just wanted to check in on you. 🥺 I also say this because of your recent Toriyama post (didn't know he said that about female Saiyans omg! Everything makes so much sense now, haha. I was confused for years man 😭 ). Point is, I see how much Saiyans mean to you overall and I think it's rad to see as a fellow female fan of the series! Can you explain more of your muse choice to me? Like, what went into making her? I know you said she came from a fanfiction but I remember on your old blog, you also said she predates it?? Sorry If I'm misremembering! I just think you and your blog are cool! Keep on trucking!

{{ Heyo! Yes, that rule is still in place, anon! I will ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS enjoy receiving random asks (IC or OOC) from mutuals and anons. Though I'm private nowadays, I will extend this courtesy to non-mutuals as well! (How else am I supposed to know we're a potential match as writing partners if I don't extend that olive branch, y'know?). With that said-- awwww, you were here for all for that?! 🥺 My pre-Sites days too and during them?! That means you've kept an eye on me ever since I stepped onto the RP scene here.... You're an OG, you know that right?! I didn't expect this sweet and heartfelt message, so thank you so much for taking the time to write this out. I'm smiling so much like a goofy goober. This means the world to me. But yes, I'm okay. I got two new good friends out of said dash stuff (though we were mutuals already, anyway/had already been interacting). Anyway, yeah, I'm good! They're good, too! Thanks for checking in with us!! I'll tell them you sent good wishes, granted if they don't see this beforehand. :3

About Saiyans meaning a lot to me-- yeah. I wish I could remember the interview it was revealed in, but he was asked about it at some point to where he said something to the effect of "I didn't know how to design them/couldn't figure out their appearance", something like that. It stuck with me because like I've mentioned in my Toriyama post, many toxic (as in sexist/misogynistic fanboys and overall creepy ass people) tried to make DB a thing I wasn't allowed to participate in, all because I was born a girl which was and is-- bullshit. Women aren't a different fuckin' species, man. We like the same shit as men sometimes and that's alright. Trying to put me into a girly girl box is what made me into a rebellious ass tomboy (much like Videl who I somewhat related to, growing up). Only in my late teens/early adult years did I embrace my femininity (yes, I was vain and shallow like Bulma at times. I was also a bit too loose with money when I had some, so I understand her casual attitude regarding her wealth, but that's neither here or there). Point is there was and always have been room for female fans of the series, so when I heard that from the horse's mouth himself? Yeah, it was a wrap. That was it. Nobody could tell me SHIT. That's one thing about me: If I learn something is true and it makes my life easier, I will not listen to anything else. I'll do my own thing. I'm a bit stubborn like that but trust me, it's a good stubborn. Otherwise, I'm very open-minded about many things and I'm a good listener.

As I stated on more than one occasion, I started RPing in a chatroom of an anime-pirating website, while I watched DBZ Kai. After I finished the anime (and lost my original RP group of friends), I coped by scouring the Internet for more RP forums and platforms, of which eventually led me to Facebook. I ran into some mishaps here and there in the DBZ RP space but that aside, the highs were worth it and I stayed for a long while. I mostly specialized in Android/Cyborg OCs and Saiyan OCs. So yes, you are right by saying Maiz (as in RPC!Maiz's template) comes from my 2018 fanfiction but also predates it by SEVERAL YEARS because every female Saiyan I had from the age of 12 and up was essentially a prototype of who Maiz would become. Long story short, Maiz grew with me, even when her names before were: Rayearth (my og username on the chatroom/anime website), Beats, Serori, Celeri, and later Jinjā. Rayearth was able to go Super Saiyan and she was the angry-punchy type. She was closer to Vegeta in temperament and haughty as all hell. Beats was a bit more humble with a hint of cockiness. This was around the time I started playing around with morality and all that, so she was less of a Vegeta type but still rough around the edges. I think I implied she could go Super Saiyan but can't remember if it happened in any threads. Serori was much more humble and quiet-- introspective. However, she could be hostile if approached too quickly or suddenly. She was the first low-class Saiyan I ever made. Celeri was a jump off of that because someone had the same name as my OC so I changed her around*. She was extroverted, but not too much. I guess you could call her a quasi-Goku type, if Goku was Mid-Class and a woman. I changed the rank because I wanted to explore the classism aspect of the Saiyans and my OC's relationship between her and her inherent power. She was morally gray, if I remember correctly.

*A bit petty of me, I'm sure-- but I was immature and a moody teenager who only had her creativity to express herself with. Anything too similar to me back then felt like an attack on my personhood and individuality. Thankfully, I'm a mature adult who's grown past that trauma response from childhood.

Jinjā came in 2015. I was 16 going on 17, about to enter college. Stopped RPing some time before this, because well, I had to focus on school and life stuff. This is what she originally looked like:

She has no story, because she wasn't made with one in mind. I just missed having a female Saiyan to think/write about. She was truly random, a burst of inspiration that heavily looms over Maiz's current design. Jinjā has red, short, choppy hair because Seripa/Fasha was her base design. I wanted something different to make her stand out, or else she'd just look like a clone or twin. That's all. Fasha being the base is also where the earrings comes from, since she had them. (This was just before I started embracing cosmetics and accessories). While she didn't really have anything to her, the basic idea was to go back to my roots: a rough-and-tumble Saiyaness who can pack a mean punch and rock your shit even if it kills her-- even if she fails. Hence my attempt at blood and making her look badass/intimidating. Muscles and female anatomy was hard for me, still is slightly-- but I'm getting the hang of it. Anyhoo, I believe my intentions-- if I fleshed her out more-- would've been for her to be a Bardock-type. Fun fact: Battle of Gods came out a month before this redesign did, so I got some confused looks when asked if this was SSG (Red) and I said no. I wasn't a huge fan of the movie so I didn't really see it until later. Only clips and such on YouTube. I warmed up to it eventually.

While going back to college for the second time (2018-2019), I got into Super properly with the introduction of Broly in DB Super: Broly. I enjoyed the Future Trunks/Goku Black Saga but the narrative nightmare within the anime's climax (and the manga's middle part) was a tough pill for me to swallow. The movie though-- despite the minor grievances I have with it-- hit all the right spots: Saiyan lore! Saiyan culture! POLITICS!!! Space-Opera! Sci-fi!!!!!! Around this time, I was finally inspired to do something else for this fandom I've had a tumultuous relationship with-- write a fan fiction. Jinjā's redesign was imminent:

She got renamed in reference to her mom, who was now Seripa/Fasha's older sister as a nod to the latter being a design base. Karne comes the Japanese spelling of karnels (kaneru, if I have that correct) because she's frustratingly slow to anger like popcorn-- the pun she's based off of. (Fasha in other media, such as the games has always been described as the opposite: short tempered, fierce and feisty. She's staunchly loyal to her crew too, as implied in the movie and in those same games if you pay attention to her dialogue). With this, it only made sense to have the updated version of Jinjā follow the pun as:

To summarize: Maiz became Maiz in 2019, in the wake of DB Super: Broly. (It came out that year in the U.S). In the fanfic she originates from, she is the last female Saiyan, and that weighs on her all the time. Incidentally, Story!Maiz is much more sympathetic while remaining a frosty a--hole. Her trauma is much more apparent and while she's not exactly the nicest person in the Galaxy, it's much more clear to see why: she has attachment issues, which makes getting to know her difficult, she has trust issues, anger issues from surviving a bloody and rather violent/sudden genocide of her people at a young and tender age, she can't remember the last time she slept well, has frequent nightmares of being abandoned by her mother (she was the one who shoved her into an escape pod). She thinks there's no value to her life because she's been traveling through outer space with Turles for six years consecutively and there were several planets/galactic sectors who didn't even know what a Saiyan was. They were lucky to find remains. (Cut tails, boots, bones, dust/ashes, name tags, etc etc. The sights were very, very grisly. And she kept seeing the same things for six. Years. Straight). All of this turned her into a very bitter, negative person who became a straw nihilist. She kind of just wanted to pass away quietly in some corner somewhere, not because she felt remorse for being a Saiyan/the effects of her kin but because she had her entire life upended on a sadistic whim. There was nothing to live for in her eyes. She thought Turles was stupid for having hope after a while and became jaded. While she was stronger than Turles in terms of raw power, she had a issue with not wanting to preserve her ki for important situations. He constantly had to watch over her like a big brother and she absolutely resented him for it (misguided anger, anyone?). It didn't help that he remembered more of Saiyan life than she could. All in all, she was tragic and a bit too edgy probably, but she would grow out of her frosty shell with the introduction of Broly. She reluctantly bonded with him over time on their ship as Saiyan Squad (what I called them out of text) made their way to Earth to settle the score with Vegeta. Paragus didn't do anything for her but make her angry at first-- all this time she's convinced herself there were no more Saiyans and then she sees this old man still kicking somehow? Of course she'd be livid. (Paragus, over his short presence in her life until his death at Vegeta's hands proved to be effective; he became a makeshift father figure and imparted some words of wisdom of which she'd take to heart, post Broly fight. Turles was pretty devastated too and they would finally be the brother-sister duo he's always known they could have been. It's bittersweet and sad, tbh).

Anyway, that's the evolution process. As for why she looks like this in universe-- I'm gonna be honest and say I got it from Father of Goku. There were different looking Saiyans in there, two women have blue hair. Super Saiyan has green eyes and blonde hair. Who's to say there aren't natural green eyed Saiyans who existed? Or blondes? Dark hair can mean black and/or brown, so why not both? Same with dark eyes! Make them brown, hazel, chestnut, almost black or straight up black. Etc etc. (As a reminder, Fasha has purple eyes! PURPLE). If you look at official artworks/some colored manga covers and whatnot, Goku's actually tan. Hell, Future Trunks is basically apricot or a peachy skin tone. If you want a triple whammy??? Read the manga. No, seriously. There are OFFICIAL scans that has Trunks with red hair instead of the Super Saiyan blonde. And those are mistakes from Toriyama himself. Look at Z Broly and all his in between stages-- blue hair, greenish-yellow hair, etc. It's really not that hard to create a unique looking Saiyan, or justify it-- so I feel like the whole dark hair and dark eyes should be overlooked/not a big deal. I also just don't like how restrictive it is from a narrative/in universe standpoint. It's not fun to play with.

Anyway, thank you so much. I know this was long. 😭 My bad. I enjoy talking about Maiz very much and her concepts.

#Intergalactic Messages - Received #Grayfaces of the Galaxy (Anons)#Art of the Mun (Tina) 🎨🎭#{{ Funny I got this while I'm working on the rule page again... why is this hard. All I have to do is copy/paste and edit wtfffff aUGH.#{{ There's so many other things I have to explain but that would take an entire day. Just know I mixed Super and Z Broly canon for the fic.#{{ And I STILL can't find my redesign of Turles. But just imagine a really cool mohawk and a nicked ear and a scar on his nose.#{{ And obviously RPC Maiz is WAAAAAAYYYYYY wayyyyyyy different from her original story counterpart.#{{ I dont think i need to explain that but if anyone has questions go ahead i guess lmao 😭 just know it's gonna be a long ass answer-#{{ put under a readmore because i feel like this answer is so long.

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darklydeliciousdesires · 3 years

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Burning Rage.

The smut drabbles continue! Now it’s time for a little Viking action :D Ragnar Lothbrok - “I don’t give a fuck that we don’t like each other. Take off your clothes. Now.” For @princessphilly

You despise him. The feeling is completely mutual too, the only reason you are forced to be within one another’s presence being the fact that your father, an earl within Ragnar’s kingdom, pledged three ships full of fighting men and women in order to successfully raid with. He’s good friends with your father, but you two have never gotten along.

You do not like being told what to do, even when the order comes from your own king. He somewhat lets you get away with it, though, being that you are a valuable shield maiden to him. One evening as you sit with your fellow warriors, he catches your eye from the next group over, jerking his head back and making a motion with his hand that he wishes for you to follow him as he rises from his seat at the fire.

You glower in his wake for a few seconds before finally following, Ragnar turning to make sure you are there, exchanging much the same look of displeasure. Entering his tent, he lingers for a few moments before closing the fastening, walking over to the floor bed and turning to face you.

“Take off your clothes.”

You frown, startled by such a request, looking on at him incredulously.

“I’m waiting.”

“And I’m not taking my clothes off.”

“I’m your king, and I have just given you an order.”

“But we hate each other. Why on earth would you want to see me naked?”

“So I can throw you on this bed and fuck a smile on your face, you miserable bitch.”

“I reiterate, we hate each other, so why would you want that?”

He sighs, annoyance with you rising sharply, as usual. “I don’t give a fuck that we don’t like each other. Take off your clothes. Now.” You frown with venom as you undress, hating that you’re caving to his command. You have no choice, though. He is your king, after all. You guess it isn’t all bad, though. Hate him you might, but you have to admit, even though the acrimonious resent, he’s one of the most attractive men your eyes have ever beheld,

Once naked, you walk closer to him, your chin tilted upward in defiance. He takes in your nakedness, his mouth tilting into a smile, his eyes glittering with desire.

“It would almost be an uncomfortable juxtapose, to revile someone so fucking beautiful. But such would be pointless, as I plan to do nothing but enjoy you, despite how I feel,” he tells you, reaching for your waist, his fingers stroking swirly patters across your warm flesh.

You huff, rolling your eyes. “You talk too much.”

“I do?”

“Yes, Ragnar. Shut the fuck up.”

Raising his eyebrows, his hands suddenly grip, pulling you hard against his chest. “Make me.”

With your mouth crashing against his in a heated exchange, you do just that. Oh, and it’s criminal, how good it feels, how expertly he kisses you, how he feels against you, your breath hitching in your throat as his hand moves to tease at your folds, grunting with desire when he feels that you’re wet for him already.

Your hands paw, mouths devouring with hungry, lusty kisses, Ragnar’s swift skill stroking you to an absolute froth between your legs before he pulls you astride him down onto the bed, your joint effort freeing his cock from his thick, leather britches and straight into the snug hug of your hot cunt.

“Fuck,” he growls, biting your lip, his tongue soon to push into your mouth again as his hands clasp at you, one at your hip, the other tangling in your hair. “See? There is nothing better than sex with someone you absolutely cannot stand.”

“I’m inclined to agree, my liege.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever acknowledged me as such.”

Smirking, you pull away from his mouth, pressing your hands into his hard, wide chest and flattening him to the bed. “And it’ll be the last, too.” Sitting up, your spread yourself a little wider, slipping down until you’ve sheathed him to the hilt, your cunt split so wide by the hot mass of his erection. Fuck, he feels too good. How dare he be that beautiful a man, and have a cock that feels like that.

“Stop resenting the fact you enjoy me and just enjoy me.” Grabbing the tops of your arms, he hauls you down, kissing you ferociously as his big arms tighten around you, hips driving up against you strongly, fucking you with keen gusto and having you wailing helplessly against his mouth.

You only break those magmatic kisses for long enough to shed him of his tunic and britches, needing him naked, sinking back onto his gloriously thick cock and riding him hard, feeling him hitting your summit so deeply, little shocks skitter through you. He sits up beneath you, sucking and biting on your nipples in turn, the blue fire of his eyes shining brighter than you’ve ever seen as he watches you intently. “You fuck like a beast,”

“Well, if there’s anything I am to agree with you upon,” you smile, watching him return it.

“Finally, I’ve found something you do not argue with me about, you feisty mare.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

“You are feisty, like a mare in heat. Just as difficult also.”

“Fuck you!”

“I believe you are doing an excellent job of fucking me already.” You both share laughter, Ragnar silencing you with his mouth, turning you over and pinning you down at your neck, pounding you with nothing short of barbarity, taking out every little bit of rage he’s ever felt that has been invoked by you, just as you move back against him with intensity and assiduity matched.

An anger fuck, You’ve never had one before, but you know as your crest swells and you shatter for him, lying in a panting, sweaty, entangled mess in the aftermath, it shan’t be your last.

You also know that perhaps, you don’t quite hate your king so much any longer. The way he kisses you as he strokes your sweaty neck signifies that feeling is entirely mutual, too.

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

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Rose Bushes

Two: The Crossing

Word Count: 8K+

Author’s Note: So, these will definitely have to be weekly updates, simply because they take so long to write. I hope that’s ok with every, and also, like, thank you so much for reading and enjoying! The feedback has been amazing!

Warning: discussion of abuse, murder, and kidnapping.

More chapters can be found here. [updated weekly]

Never mistake her silence for weakness. Remember that sometimes the air stills, before the onset of a hurricane. – Nikita Gill

Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI Academy. Quantico, Virginia.

There are few blessings in a line of work like the FBI, but an undeniable fact in Quantico is that men never see the women coming: specimens of the opposite sex are rare in the Quantico buildings to begin with, field agents even more so, the rarest category being a woman, in a field position, of an adequate dating age who was single. For the moment Agent Y/N Clarkson entered the FBI Academy two months ago, she had been mistaken for every inferior job her male counterparts could fathom - she had been an intern, a secretary, an accountant, an analyst, a lawyer, a human resources manager. If a man linked the position to the female sex, Clarkson had been mistaken for it, as many young, attractive women were. And for Clarkson, until the day before, her most consistently misogynistic co-worker was a man in counterterrorism named Fred.

When she walked into work one particular morning, armed with coffee and donuts for the team, Morgan and Reid were more than confused; it was suspicious. In the 64 days that Clarkson had been working there, Reid had seen her laugh on only six separate occasions, and somehow, she had only smiled four times. In fact, the woman was such an enigma to the rest of the BAU that the younger members had begun keeping tabs on what information they could get on her personal life: Morgan had a board under his desk tracking all the information they had gathered.

First, they knew that Agent Clarkson was a month and a half younger than Reid. They knew she had grown up between Maine and Virginia, they knew that something led to her having PTSD. Prentiss was quick to add that she was single, no signs of rings, no friends or family displayed in photos on her desk. She worked often using 24-hour clock, which seemed to hint at a law enforcement career before the FBI, but Garcia had come up empty after scouring the police databases in every US state.

But there she was, setting down fresh brewed coffee, that filled the bullpen with warm smells, at her desk across from Reid and opposite Morgan, and promptly handing the donut box towards the wide-eyed Doctor. Morgan leaned back in his chair, examining the smug look on Clarkson’s face as she handed him a coffee.

“Morning, Agent Morgan.” She smiled and nodded to him as he took his coffee, turning round to place Reid’s on his desk, taking the time to handle it with a napkin, knowing of the boy genius’ ongoing battle with germs. It took a few more moments for her to settle herself in her chair and log on to her computer, which was when Derek began to speak.

“Spencer.” He called, pulling the doctor’s attention away from the chocolate-frosted sprinkle donut Clarkson had bought especially for him. “Tell me something. How is it that Clarkson, the Ice Queen herself, has not only come into work today with a smile on her face, but offerings to share?” Morgan quizzed, Spencer taking a bite of his sweet treat and looking over at his colleagues, chewing for a moment before swallowing.

“Statistically, such heightened levels of joy come from activities one doesn’t do as often as they wish, thinking along the lines of seeing a loved one, getting a promotion, sex…” Reid suggested, watching Clarkson’s smile return to the deadpan expression he had come to know from his newest team member.

“Y/N, if you needed some stress relief, I would have happily obliged.” Derek looked over the divider, and Clarkson rolled her eyes in response.

“Firstly, I would suggest saving the flirting for Garcia. Secondly, I don’t understand why my good mood has to immediately be linked to my sex life. It's a highly inappropriate discussion for the workplace.” She scolded the pair, earning laughs from both of them. A cold glare shut Reid up immediately. “If you really must know, I upstaged someone.” She said, letting a small smirk settle on her lips. Derek pushed his chair out, quickly making his way into the walkway between her and Reid’s desks, the two men intrigued.

“See? Now we’re getting somewhere. Who was it?” Derek asked, and Clarkson tutted, standing up from her seat and picking up the last of the coffees, meant for the absent Prentiss and JJ. Hotch and Rossi were out of town, the team set to deal with paperwork for the next few days.

“It ruins all the fun if I tell you, Agent Morgan.” She pouted, feigning sympathy for the men. “Doctor Reid.” With that, heels thudded against the carpet below, Clarkson ascending onto the walkway and heading for JJ’s office, armed with coffees and a swing in her hips. A tap on the door later, Clarkson was handing over coffees to JJ and Prentiss as the latter paced the room, reading through a letter of some sort.

“You done?” JJ asked, taking the decaf coffee from Clarkson with a smile.

“Almost…” Prentiss muttered, finishing the last few sentences before exchanging the letter for her coffee with Clarkson, who began to read. “Whoo. I can see why you’d meet her.”

“It’s powerful, right?” JJ said with a sigh, sat behind her desk, watching the two colleagues process the letter, Clarkson chewing on her lip as she read. Another tap on the door, causing all three women to look up.

“Agent Jareau, you’re 10.30 is here.” Grant, JJ’s assistant, informed the trio, and JJ nodded.

“Just a minute-” Before JJ could finish, a red-headed woman walked into the office, stopping and standing her ground, pleasantly surprised to see three female agents in a room together, all surrounded by a feeling of distinction. It wasn’t often one would find more than two successful women in a room at any one time. The redhead held out a hand to JJ, who stood up to shake in greeting.

“Hi, I’m Keri Durzmond.”

“Hi, Agent Jareau…” JJ nodded, her eyes glancing over to Clarkson and Prentiss, none of them quite sure what to think of the woman before them.

“Emily Prentiss.” Prentiss introduced herself, a firm shake shared between Durzmond and the brunette, and Clarkson nodded for the room’s far wall.

“Agent Clarkson.” Her eyes scanned over the flustered woman while her hands folded the letter and set it down on the cabinet beside her.

“I’m sorry to rush in, but when I got the message you’d see me this morning, I could barely sleep last night. But, that’s nothing new, I haven’t been able to sleep for about two years.” Durzmond set her bag on the seat opposing JJ’s desk, her hand brushing down her blazer front, smoothing away any wrinkles.

“We read the letter you wrote to the Silver Spring Police.” JJ nodded, tension in the room still high. There was a mutual agreement that came with the information that letter held: all of them were privy to a terror, all of them women of the same age range. It is always harder to distance oneself from a case when the victim could just as easily have been you.

“Begging and pleading wasn’t getting their attention. They needed to know I wasn’t going away.” Durzmond was stubborn, and clearly tired of her situation.

“So, you’ve been getting these notes for the past two years?” JJ confirmed, gesturing for Clarkson to hand her the letter over, the younger agent doing so quickly, still seemingly caught in her own thoughts.

“I used to be in Atlanta, I moved here six months ago, and then out of nowhere another note. I can’t live like this anymore. I want my life back.” Keri demanded it.

“What did the police tell you?” Prentiss asked, her tone softer than usual.

“The detective I met with was,” she paused, “Very sympathetic, but his hands are tied unless something happens to me. Then it will be too late.” Another glance around the room, Durzmond’s eyes locked with Prentiss and Clarkson before finally landing on JJ. “Will you help me?” Clarkson took it as a queue to leave, pushing herself off the wall and moving behind Prentiss and Durzmond towards the door, all while her fellow agents shared a look.

“I’m presenting the case to our team this morning, I’ll let you know what we decide.” JJ said, keeping the confidence in her voice. Keri’s hope turned to a frown, picking up a notepad and pen from JJ’s desk, beginning to quickly jot something down.

“Lou Evans, Ed Durzmond, and Ryan Scott.” Keri said aloud as she wrote, and Prentiss raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” Prentiss asked, Keri handing the note over to JJ.

“Those are the people you’ll be calling when you find me dead.” Keri announced, the two agents left in the room seeming to give in to her request for assistance right then and there. It took no more than ten minutes for Keri to leave the BAU offices and for JJ to collect the files to brief the rest of the team, but within that time Clarkson received a call from Hotch.

Her phone began to ring while she was sat at her desk, tuning in and out of Reid’s ramblings on the formation of bacterial meningitis: the scholar was rereading the medical texts in the FBI library. She glanced at her phone, picking up the call immediately.

“Sir, how is the seminar going?” She asked, hearing a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.

“Rossi and I have been asked to assist on a case here, I would like you to fly up and join us. I don’t believe you’ve seen a case like this before, I want you to understand how to handle it.” Hotch explained, and Clarkson lifted her go-bag onto her desk, Morgan raising an eyebrow at the action. Before she could explain, JJ waved the three of them to the conference room, her male counterparts making their way over instantly.

“I can be with you in two hours, maybe less.” Clarkson assured Hotch. While her work with the team so far had been admirable, Clarkson was still very much trying to prove herself to the other members of the team. A final gulp of tea and a check of her bag later, Clarkson walked over to the conference room door, tapping slightly to alert the attention of her teammates.

“Y/N? What’s up?” Prentiss asked, the room taking their attention away from the screen displaying photographs of a partially nude man.

“Hotch and Rossi want me in Boston for a case… Could you keep me updated on Keri?” It was possibly the first time Clarkson had asked a favour of any of her teammates, and she noticed Reid pull out a notebook not unlike her own and jot down something.

“Of course. We’ll keep you in the loop. Go.” JJ assured her, Clarkson nodding before quickly striding out of the office, leaving the rest of her teammates to share a look.

“Hotch still doesn’t trust her.” Morgan said quietly, shaking his head. “He recruited her, and he’s still taking her on ‘research’ missions.”

“He did the same thing with all of us.” JJ tried to argue, but she knew that it just wasn’t true. After two months on the job, and with Hotch still seeming to hold their new recruit back, how could anyone of them trust Clarkson? Paired with Hotch’s refusal to have her at arrest sites, it left the team wondering what sort of loose cannon their restrained and reserved colleague might actually be.

“Add it to her board.” Reid said with an awkward smile that quickly disappeared, the team packing up to move out into Maryland in 30. Meanwhile, Clarkson boarded a plane for Boston, looking through the case file Garcia had sent over to her laptop, almost unhappy that she was being called away from a stalker case. Clarkson knew that Hotch was looking out for her, of course she did, but some part of her wondered if her entire FBI career would involve Hotch always stood in front of her.

Boston, Massachusetts.

Clarkson managed to arrive in Boston a little over 90 minutes later, armed with a go-bag and an overwhelming feeling she was missing out on a more interesting case. The drive to the police station was short, free of any major traffic, and an officer directed her directly to Eve Alexander, who stood talking with the lead detective on the case. A stunning woman, with the same air of authority that Clarkson held herself, the pair locked eyes and Alexander ended her conversation to focus on the arrival.

“Miss, can I help you?” She asked, examining the woman from the floor up. Black heels, the kind that cost more than Alexander’s monthly rent, matched the expensive pant suit and halter top combo the young woman sported, a string of pearls around her neck that looked older than she was by at least a generation. The cold eyes, the perfectly styled hair, the matching pearl earrings; Alexander was half convinced the woman was a young business bred socialite, perhaps coming to complain to whoever was in charge about her Porsche being towed.

“Miss Alexander, I presume? Special Agent Clarkson, Agent Hotchner is my supervisor, he asked me to assist on his interviews.” Clarkson offered a hand, which Alexander shook quickly, a smile forming on her face. She hadn’t expected a woman, but she didn’t mind it one bit.

“Pleasure to meet you. Hotchner and Rossi are currently with the children in the conference room, you can head in whenever you feel ready. I should warn you though,” Alexander stopped Clarkson as she began towards the aforementioned room, “This is an open and shut case. The woman killed her husband without a second thought.” It was clear where Alexander stood on the case, and Clarkson nodded in understanding. It was easier to be perceived as agreeing than to openly object, and with that Clarkson headed into the conference room, welcomed by the sound of a young woman raising her voice at her superiors.

“Is that what my mother said? That he hit her?” The young lady asked, her brother glancing up to watch the stranger walk into the room. Rossi nodded to Clarkson, quickly turning his attention back to the young adults before him as the young agent took a seat at the bottom of the table quietly. She was, after all, there to observe.

“We haven’t spoken to your mother yet, but we understand it’s being suggested by her attorney.” Rossi explained, the words setting the girl, who Clarkson recognised from the case file to be Sarah Henson, into a pace across the back of the room.

“Unbelievable…” Sarah’s brother, Nathan, muttered under his breath, the siblings sharing a look of complete disbelief, of anger.

“She’s actually blaming him?” Sarah spoke more to her brother than the agents present, arms folded over her navy blouse. Clarkson watched the room intently, catching the tightening clasp Hotch’s hands had on each other, the furrow of his brow.

“So you don’t believe she was abused?” Hotch clarified, trying to gauge more of a reaction from Nathan, who seemed to let his sister display the anger.

“If anyone was abused, it was my father; what he had to put up with being married to her.” Sarah stated as a matter of fact, causing Rossi to look over at Clarkson, the pair sharing a look. Why did these kids hate they mother so wholeheartedly?

“She was a lousy cook.” Nathan finally spoke up, catching all three agents’ attention. “She couldn’t do the laundry right. The house was always filthy. Hell, she couldn’t even grocery shop without some kind of supervision.” He spoke with hatred, his choice of words causing Hotch’s expression to change.

“Supervision?” He asked, and Nathan elaborated.

“She’d get all the wrong things. Wrong brands, too much or too little of something.”

“And my father was always patient with her.” Sarah added. “Always.”

“She’s just… She isn’t…” Nathan tried to figure out the right word to use, looking to his sister for aid.

“She’s not bright.”

“Are you saying your mother is mentally challenged?” Clarkson spoke up from the bottom of the room, Sarah’s eyes narrowing as they landed on her. Clarkson couldn’t tell what caused her to look at Hotch and Rossi differently, but she didn’t want to look into it.

“No, I mean she’s stupid.” Sarah huffed.

“This is your mother we’re talking about here.” Rossi interjected, his hands going into his pockets.

“No, we’re talking about a woman who killed the only real parent we’ve ever had.” Sarah corrected, her voice wavering. “Our father was kind and gentle and loving.”

“He always had time for us. Always. He was at every game, every school event, everything important.” Nathan reassured; his own arms now folded. Both were fiercely defensive of the man who raised them.

“And what about your mother?” Hotch asked, confused.

“She never went to anything. Not once in my whole life. I guess she just couldn’t be bothered.” Nathan exclaimed.

“So if your father didn’t abuse your mother, why did she kill him?” Hotch questioned, trying to understand the family dynamic. Something didn’t add up, none of the information connected yet. A woman shot her husband at point blank range while he slept and is now claiming battered woman syndrome for abuse that reportedly never happened.

“Probably just to take him away from us.” Nathan nodded through the words.

“She was jealous that he loved us more than her.” Sarah shrugged, and Clarkson looked between the two young people.

“Why would she think that?” Clarkson asked, and Nathan scoffed.

“Because he said so all the time.” The young man confirmed, leaving the agents in a state of bewilderment. Sarah and Nathan Henson were led out by Rossi, Clarkson letting out a bated breath once they had exited, pulling out her phone to see what updates JJ had sent forward on the Keri case.

“Do you see why I brought you here instead of leaving you with the team?” Hotch asked, drawing Clarkson’s attention away from her mobile device.

“It’s not every day you get a case of battered woman syndrome without any physical abuse. Those kids hold fast that their mother was an awful person.” Clarkson nodded, a small part of her glad that the case was interesting. It would take her mind off of the stalker in Maryland.

“And that their father was a saint.” Rossi spoke as he walked in, sitting down between Clarkson and Hotch. “So where do we go from here? The wife or the scene?”

“Rossi, you and I will head to the scene first thing tomorrow. Clarkson, I want you here preparing to talk to Mrs Henson. Rossi can look more into the father’s background; I need to check in with Morgan and the team.” Hotch instructed, and Clarkson did her best not to look too shocked.

“You want me interviewing a killer alone?” She had to be sure that Hotch wasn’t confused, and Rossi smirked.

“Come on, Y/N. It’s not like it’s your first time interviewing a bad guy alone.” Rossi commented, the younger agent frowning. Hotch had Rossi’s help selecting her for the team, Clarkson knew this, but his bringing up her former occupation sent shivers down her spine. She didn’t need to remember any of her early twenties any time soon.

“Rossi, we leave here 7 tomorrow. Clarkson, you head to see her at the earliest time possible. Build up trust, small talk. You know the drill.” Hotch stood up, straightening his suit jacket, Rossi and Clarkson following suit, the three leaving the conference room, separating to take on their separate tasks. Over the rest of the afternoon, Clarkson tried her hardest to battle the knots in her stomach, a mixture of anxiety for the following day’s interview and a lack of communication from the team in Maryland, and the woman who had spent two years running from an unknown man. Something didn’t sit right with Clarkson about the whole thing, it felt too familiar to her, too close to home. When Prentiss called as Clarkson reached her hotel room that night, explaining the dognapping, that little else had come from their searching, and that she would make sure someone kept her as updated as possible, Y/N fell into a turbulent sleep.

She had never been one to sleep well, it was true, but that night in particular was rougher than most. Her evening was spent tossing and turning, and by the time she got up around 5 the next morning, she had no more than 15 minutes of sleep. Her mind had been tumbling, spiralling through the endless uncertainties that plagued the new line of work she had joined, ranging from her teammates, to her superiors, to her place. She was a capable woman, able to hide the fear that had building up inside her that maybe she wasn’t ready for the work, maybe it was all too soon for her, maybe she had made a mistake. Her inability to share her past with the team had made her seem hostile, was it only a matter of time before she was asked to transfer? To leave?

As the young woman dressed that day, taking the time to utilise the room’s iron and de-wrinkle her clothes, she tried to smother her doubts with the facts of the case. She knew that Mrs Henson had killed her husband, that she was thought of as incapable by her children, knew that she was confessing to the murder and her lawyer was claiming a syndrome almost exclusively used for women who have been victims of abuse, which the children claim never happened. Clarkson applied a soft pink lipstick, even taking the time to pluck a few stray eyebrow hairs and ensure perfection looked back at her. She would have to empathise, understand the criminal, and do so all alone.

It wasn’t Clarkson’s first time interviewing someone, but it was certainly a drastically different situation: when her past occupation was more about information, this was about reason and people. Clarkson didn’t have to see interviewees as humans before, as cruel as it sounded. Instead, she thought of them as objects containing secrets, she just had to crack them.

She drove with Hotch and Rossi to the police station, the pair dropping her off as they headed out to the Henson family home, leaving Clarkson at the front door. It took a few breaths, a few moments to centre herself before she entered the building, opting to leave her holstered weapon with the officer working reception, flashing her credentials as she did so before asking to see Mrs Henson as soon as possible. Then, she was led to a private room, equipped with a table and two chairs, and a bar to attach a prisoner’s cuffs to.

It didn’t take long for Mrs Henson to be brought to the room, accompanied by two burly guards. Normally, Clarkson would have found the cuffs and chains comforting, but on such a small and thin woman it just looked wrong.

“You can take off the restraints gentlemen, I think Mrs Henson and I are capable of conversation without them.” Clarkson said with a nod to the prisoner, the guards sharing a look before complying. Clarkson was slightly taller than the woman, more because of her heels than anything else, but she had muscle under the suit she wore. She was probably capable of taking on both the men with ease; Mrs Henson didn’t stand a chance if she attacked. “And you can stay outside. I think that would make Mrs Henson more comfortable?” The question was directed to the prisoner, who just looked dazed, and smiled weakly to the agent.

“We’ll be right outside, call us if you need anything, Agent Clarkson.” The first of the guards said, leading the pair out the door, leaving the women in silence.

“Mrs Henson, my name is Agent Y/N Clarkson. Are you aware you do not have to be here talking to me? That you and your lawyer opted for FBI involvement?” Clarkson asked, breaking the quiet with a soft voice, and a small smile.

“I know that, yes.” Henson nodded.

“And you know why you are here?” Clarkson made sure, and Henson finally met her eye.

“I shot my husband. I killed him.” It caused Clarkson’s brow to crease, the certainty of the woman’s words throwing her off guard for a moment.

“Why did you kill him, Mrs Henson?” The question was simply, and Henson thought for a moment beginning to nod.

“It’s what I had to do… It sounds terrible, but yes.” Henson responded, running her fingers over her wrists, tinged red from the handcuffs. “How old are you, Agent?” She asked, looking up.

“I’m 26.” Clarkson responded, quickly pulling the conversation back to the primary topic. “Mrs Henson, did your husband Phillip ever hit you?”

“Hit me? No, never… You know, I had married by your age…” She smiled a little at the thought, like her time with her husband, at least at the beginning, had been enjoyable.

“So, he was never abusive?” Clarkson clarified, and Mrs Henson shook her head.

“Not even when I probably deserved…” Henson trailed off, and Clarkson sat back in her chair, examining the woman before her.

“Mrs Henson, you don’t have to say anything to me, but I want to help you. I can only help you if you answer honestly, ok?” Clarkson clarified. “And if you want to, we can make this less stressful? Do you want me to call you Audrey? You can call my Y/N, we can make this a conversation amongst friends.” She tried to reassure, but Mrs Henson shook her head.

“That’s very kind of you Agent, but you wouldn’t want to be my friend.” She quickly looked up and the back down, beginning to pick at her fingernails.

“Why is that?”

“Are you kidding? Look at me.” Clarkson sat up at this point, leaning into the table, into Henson’s words. “You know, my husband was always patient with me, but when Nathan was born, I just let myself go.” A tear rolled down Henson’s cheek as her voice raised. “I’m fat, I’m a terrible housekeeper, I’m a terrible cook!” She took a slow breath, looking up at Clarkson. “Believe me, I needed a husband with a lot of patience, and a woman like you wouldn’t want to be friends with a mess like me.” Clarkson had to take a second to process the words that left her counterpart’s mouth, clearing her throat and sitting up straight again.

“Audrey, can I ask about your son Nathan?” With a nod from Mrs Henson, Clarkson continued. “He talked to me and my team yesterday, said that you never attended any of his school events. No sports games, no award ceremonies.”

“He’s probably right.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Well, I was doing such a terrible job at home, I didn’t… I didn’t want to embarrass my family in public, too.” Henson sighed, and just at that moment Clarkson’s phone began to ring.

“I’m very sorry Audrey, it’s my team…” Clarkson stood from the table, knocking on the door and exiting as she answered the phone. “Hotch?” She glanced at one of the guards. “Could you get some water in there? I’ll be a moment.” Clarkson asked, and the guard nodded, heading off to fetch some refreshments.

“Clarkson, it’s Rossi.” Rossi clarified, no doubt he left his own mobile in the car. “We’re at the crime scene now, but the place… It’s nearly immaculate. Someone took the time to clean up excess blood.” Rossi informed her, and Clarkson looked back at the door she had just exited. “How is it going with Audrey?”

“Might be better for you to get back here and see for yourself.” Clarkson said with a sigh, a rustling through the phone led to Hotch coming on the line.

“Y/N, do you think Audrey Henson was abused?” Hotch asked Clarkson. “Because, if you do, I want you to inform Ms Alexander. Rossi and I will be back at the station as soon as we can.” Hotch informed, ending the call. Clarkson took a moment, twirling the phone in her hands before walking out to the bullpen, where Alexander stood, going through paperwork.

“Ah, Agent Clarkson… What do you think then? Have Hotch and Rossi come to a conclusion?” Alexander asked, and Clarkson gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“No, I have.” Clarkson corrected. “Mrs Henson was never physically abused, but from speaking with her and hearing about the state of her home, I can say with no doubt she experienced psychological abuse from her entire family.” Clarkson informed Alexander, who frowned at the younger woman.

“And your superiors agree with you? This woman shot her husband, or did you forget that?” Alexander went quickly on the accusative, and Clarkson took a step forward.

“Miss Alexander, I realise you called in more seasoned agents for this case, but when I give you an answer on behalf of the BAU, it doesn’t need to be double checked.” Clarkson said, challenging the older woman. “Agent Hotchner and Rossi will be here in ten minutes. I invite you to come into the room with us as I finish the interview. I think it could shed some light on my decision for you.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order, and the older woman took a few seconds to think of her response. Clarkson’s phone rang again before Alexander had a chance to answer, this time from Emily. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”

“How is it going up in Boston?” Emily’s voice greeted Clarkson as she answered the phone.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Any new updates?” Clarkson responded, hearing Prentiss sigh on the other end.

“JJ is freaked out, really not enjoying how much we’ve been looking in Keri’s life. Garcia has more information on Keri than we have on the unsub in any way shape or form.” Prentiss explained, stopping for a moment. “I actually called to see if Hotch was with you, he isn’t picking up his cell.”

“They’re driving at the moment, we’re about to go into a final interview.” Clarkson said with a glance to the door, Hotch and Rossi walking through and meeting with Alexander. “Keep me posted, Prentiss.”

“Promise.” She responded, Clarkson flipping her phone shut and walking over to her superiors.

“Are we all ready?” She asked, and with a stern nod from Hotch, the three followed Clarkson to the interview room, the guard opening the door to reveal Mrs Henson sat quietly, sipping on her glass of water, the other guard stationed inside.

“Thank you.” She said, dismissing the guard, taking her seat once more. “Sorry about that, Audrey. This is Agent Hotchner and Agent Rossi, and you know Miss Alexander. Do you mind if they stand in for our last few questions?”

“Not at all Agent, a busy woman like you shouldn’t have to apologise. Of course your team can stay.” Mrs Henson said with a smile, and Clarkson glanced down at her phone. Rossi had sent through pictures of the home earlier, a complete contrast to how Audrey had described it. What Clarkson would have initially assumed to be a hoarder’s paradise looked like something out of a catalogue, perfect down to the spacing of the clothes hangers and shoes. Not unlike how Y/N kept her own home.

“Why isn’t she cuffed?” Alexander whispered to Hotch, but Clarkson pretended not to hear, and Hotch shook his head, stopping Alexander from asking more.

“Mrs Henson, I need to ask about what happened after you shot Phillip.” Clarkson said softly, Mrs Henson setting down her cup on the table slowly, taking a gulp before looking up. “Could you take us through what you did?”

“Well, um…” Henson stopped for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I had just finished the laundry, and I was, I was hanging up the last of my husband’s shirts in the closet. I looked over and I saw him on the bed, and I knew. I knew it had to be then, that it was my only chance. And so, I decided I had to kill him.” She wiped a tear from her eye, and took a deep breath, her eyes focused on the table between her and Clarkson. “I picked up the gun, and I shot him. Her eyes looked up at Clarkson. “I shot my husband.”

“That was the murder, Audrey… What did you do after it?” Clarkson pressed. “Did you sit and wait for someone to come home?” She asked, and Henson quickly shook her head.

“Oh, no, no, no. I had to clean up.” Henson said quickly, Clarkson’s eyes glancing to Hotch, who nodded.

“Why did you have to clean up, Audrey?” Clarkson asked.

“Well, there was blood everywhere.”

“And did you clean up because you wanted to keep what you had done a secret?”

“Oh no. I was going to tell Sarah what I had done the second she got home. I wasn’t hiding anything.” Henson insisted, and Alexander finally spoke up, confused.

“Then why did you clean up the blood?” Alexander asked, and Henson’s attention focused on her.

“Because the police would have been coming. And Phillip would have been so furious if I had allowed all those strangers in the house with a mess like that.” Audrey explained, a tear staining her cheek, leaving Alexander speechless. Clarkson stood up from the table, walking over and taking Audrey’s hand in hers.

“Audrey, thank you so much for talking with us. My team are going to be heading away now, but what you’ve told us is very helpful. Miss Alexander and your lawyer will be working with you from here on.” Clarkson explained, and Audrey smiled a little.

“Could I have the other glass of water?” Audrey asked, and Clarkson nodded, Hotch leading the rest of them out of the room, the guards heading back inside. Once the door had closed, Clarkson took a deep breath, Rossi patting her shoulder in comfort.

“Her life’s been punishment enough.” Hotch said to Alexander, Rossi leading Clarkson back into the bull pen to collect their things.

“I’m going to have to drag her through a trial.” Alexander sighed, leaning against the wall for a moment. “I’ll recommend she’s charged with criminally negligent homicide. By the time it’s over, she’ll probably get off with probation and time served.” She stated, running a hand over her head, taking a second to think before walking back out into the main building with Hotch, heading out the door into the street to think.

“You did a good job.” Hotch said as he returned to Rossi and Clarkson, the latter fastening her gun back onto herself. Helping find the truth felt good, and Clarkson responded with a small smile. “We’ll fly back tonight, take the day to pack. Clarkson, can you write up the report on this one?”

“Of course sir, anything you need.” Clarkson agreed.

The three stayed nearby, and as afternoon turned into evening, and Rossi surprised both Hotch and Clarkson at the station with Chinese takeout, their flight scheduled to leave late that night, it felt like a cooldown. Even though the case Morgan, Reid, Prentiss and JJ were on in Maryland was slowly but surely escalating, the victim’s boyfriend finding his windows smashed only a few hours before, Hotch knew whatever was happening could be handled by the rest of his team for the night, Rossi, Clarkson and himself planning to drive out the next morning to assist. And so, Y/N sat with her bosses in a police station hundreds of miles from her home, eating chicken chow mein and finishing up her report of the case. After the final line was written, she handed the file over to Hotch to proof-read, though he was distracted by his phone call with JJ. Rossi, to Clarkson’s right, was examining a photo of the Henson’s with interest, scopping rice into his mouth as he did.

“And there’s nothing else pending? No, it’s alright… We’ll meet you tomorrow, if nothing more happens, I’ll need us all back to normal… Ok, thanks JJ.” Hotch ended his call, sighing and finally glancing down at Clarkson’s finished report.

“Still working on the single stalker case?” Rossi asked, not looking up from his food and the photo.

“Mmhmm…”

“All of them?”

“JJ seems pretty passionate about it.” Hotch smiled a little, beginning to flick through Clarkson’s report. His eyes lingered on a photo of the family in the file, a frown forming on his lips. “You know, sometimes you can see it, but, uh… They all look pretty happy.” He remarked, causing Clarkson and Rossi to share a glance.

“Happiness is easy to fake when you only have half a second.” Rossi responded, and Clarkson smirked, taking a sip of her water. “You should see how many happy-looking photos I have with my exes.”

“Were you ever happy in any of your marriages?” Hotch asked, setting the file down on the table, giving more attention to the conversation.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.” Rossi was honest, looking from the photo to Hotch. “If I was, I can’t remember… I’m not sure if me and the idea of being married are a good mix.” The comment made both Hotch and Clarkson laugh a little.

“You kept trying…” It was more a question from Hotch.

“I didn’t have any kids.” Rossi responded off the cuff, causing Hotch to look back up.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I might have tried harder if there were children involved.” Rossi shrugged, not realising he had said the wrong thing. Clarkson picked up on it though.

“I tried…” Hotch said softly, shaking his head a little. “I gave absolutely everything to Haley and Jack, and to my job.”

“So, something had to give.” Rossi said with sympathy, and Clarkson nodded.

“Something always gives, Hotch.” She confirmed, the two men looking over at her. “The same thing happened with Charlie. There’s a point people reach where they can’t go any further, and Haley reached that point.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m any less committed as a father or love my son any less.” Hotch said, his words sure and defensive, more directed to Rossi’s earlier comment.

“Of course not.” Clarkson smiled, making Hotch smile slightly too.

“Hey, Hotch, what to I know? The only people I’ve made happy are divorce lawyers.” Rossi added.

“Well, we’ve got five failed marriages between the three of us, we have to be experts at something.” Hotch sighed, and Clarkson looked up.

“We’re experts at our job, Hotch. And it’s not fair, but we lost love because of it.” Clarkson said thoughtfully, taking a bite of chicken.

“You’re too young to be wistful, Clarkson.” Rossi chuckled, the young woman rolling her eyes. The three fell into a pensive silence, continuing their meals, all wondering exactly where their marriages went wrong.

Silver Spring, Maryland.

The past few days in Marlyand. for Prentiss, JJ, Morgan and Reid had been stressful to say the very least. First Keri’s dog was taken, then Ryan’s car trashed, sensitive information about Keri terminating a pregnancy had sent the couple into a spiral, and as of twenty minutes before, Keri had gone missing, abducted from her home. She had come in earlier that morning to the station after seeing her stalker, and sat down with a sketch artist and the team, and now that they had an image and, thanks to a bystander, the make and colour of van the unsub was driving, the team had managed to figure out who took Keri: a man named Mike Hicks.

The team were at Ryan and Keri’s home, Reid and Garcia communicating data through Ryan’s home computer, running through any other data that could be useful on Mike Hicks when another black SUV pulled up outside the address.

“Come on Garcia, do we have an address?” Morgan asked into the phone, which had been put on speaker for the room to hear, Rossi walking into the room as Morgan spoke, followed by Hotch and Clarkson. JJ was pacing behind the couch, and while the rest of the team greeted the newcomers, she didn’t look up.

“His social’s listed at a bank and the account lists… Mike Hicks, 404 Lark Lane, Silver Spring.” Garcia announced, Morgan looking up at Hotch and Rossi.

“We’ll head out with the police to his address.” Hotch offered. It was unlikely he would be there, they all knew it, but better to be safe than sorry.

“Thanks baby girl.” Morgan said down the phone, flipping it closed. “Looks like you arrived right on time.” Morgan commented at Clarkson, who hadn’t followed Hotch and Rossi outside, instead taking in the information on the computer over Reid’s shoulder.

“Like I would leave you to have all the fun.” Clarkson said softly to Morgan, in a much better mood than any of the team had seen her in, ever. The Boston case must have gone well.

“Every second we’re here, she’s alone with him.” Ryan said quietly, looking up to Prentiss who stood at his right side. He looked broken, helpless, it made sense. His fiancé had disappeared, taken by an obsessive stalker. The cogs began to turn in Prentiss’ head at the comment.

“His obsession defines him.” She thought aloud, the team looking up at her. It even stopped JJ’s pacing. “He wants to make her happy. He wouldn’t take her where he wants to go but where she wants to go.”

“Maybe someplace that means something to the both of you?” JJ suggested, looking up at Ryan. The man’s face paled, almost sinking as he thought about it.

“I proposed to her on Chesapeake beach…” Ryan said weakly, and the team shared a few glances. It had to be it. Within seconds, the team had silently agreed, and Morgan took charge.

“Ryan, you’ll ride with Prentiss, Reid and I. JJ, I want you in a car behind… Take Clarkson too. Detective, we need a police barrier as soon as possible, this guy can’t get away. Hopefully, Keri is smart enough to get herself somewhere in public.” Morgan instructed, and Clarkson raised an eyebrow. As the team headed out to the cars, Morgan walked beside her. “Whatever you did in Boston, it proved that Hotch trusts you. By consequence, I trust you. No more desk work, rookie.” Morgan said quietly, the pair breaking off for different cars. JJ took the driver’s seat, Clarkson jumping in beside her, the pair following the rest of the team in the car ahead. In the centre console, a can of soda was nestled into a cup holder, JJ sipping it periodically.

“When did you start drinking diet soda instead of coffee?” Clarkson asked, keeping her eyes ahead.

“What do you mean?” JJ seemed confused, setting the soda away.

“I’ve known you for two months, I have never seen you pick up a soda before. I mean, I hadn’t seen you drink decaf until last week.” Clarkson added, JJ making a sharp turn to follow Morgan.

“What are you getting at Clarkson?” JJ asked, finally looking at her co-worker.

“Agitated, lack of caffeine, taste changes…” Clarkson stopped for a second, weighing her options. “How long have you known you were pregnant?” Clarkson asked the question, and JJ almost stopped the car. Before she could ask, Clarkson continued. “The rest of the team don’t notice because they know you too well. I have a feeling Reid asked at some point, right? Just trusted you when you claimed to be doing a caffeine detox?”

“Will doesn’t know yet. No-one knows yet.” JJ said quietly, and Clarkson placed a hand on hers.

“They won’t hear it from me… Congratulations.” The car came to a stop at the promenade of Chesapeake beach, both women jumping out of the car with guns at the ready, following Prentiss as Morgan went round the side of a building, Reid staying with Ryan in the car. The brunette beckoned the two agents towards her, the three concealing themselves behind a corner as a message came through on the radio from Reid: “Unsub is armed and with Keri. Headed your way.” Prentiss looked back at JJ and Clarkson, who both nodded in understanding.

As Mr Hicks rounded the corner with Keri, all three spread out to block the exits, the local police falling in behind him, everyone with guns raised. In response, Hicks held the gun to Keri’s head, causing Prentiss to move her hand from her trigger.

“Ok, ok. Let’s all put these away. I just want to talk to you.” Prentiss said, holstering her gun.

“Don’t make me hurt her.” Mike’s voice wavered, his hands shook, and his grip on Keri’s arm was vice like. But Prentiss took lead, gesturing for officers and agents alike to lower their guns.

“You don’t have to do that. Michael, we don’t want to take her away from you. Keri told me she wants to be with you.” Prentiss explained slowly, looking to Keri. It was their victim’s time to shine, to play into the fantasy.

“It’s true.” Keri said through her hyperventilation. “I’m so happy now… They think you’re gonna hurt me. Put it down so we can be together.” Keri urged Mike, who kept the gun trained on her. ��Where do you wanna go first? We could, uh, we could go back to Atlanta?” Keri suggested, her hand reaching to touch Mike’s, his gun lowering in tandem. “We could find a little house.”

The moment Hicks had lowered his gun, Keri wrenched herself from his grasp, running towards the local sheriff, and Morgan jumped out from behind a neighbouring building, tackling Hicks to the ground, disarming the threat and handing the gun over to Clarkson as he handcuffed the stalker. Prentiss and JJ moved towards Keri as Ryan rounded the corner with Reid, reuniting the couple, and Clarkson helped Morgan lift the unsub to his feet.

“Nicely done, Morgan.” Clarkson complimented, walking with her colleague and the detective to the awaiting police car.

“So, will you tell me why you were in such a good mood the other day?” Morgan asked as he shoved the convict into the back seat. Slamming the door and sending the car on its way with two hits to the roof.

“Some asshole named Fred has been really, really annoying me since I got to the BAU. When I came in with coffee and donuts, it was because I had walked into his department to file a report, the case from last week with counterterrorism, and I got the chance to make him fetch me coffee.” Clarkson explained, walking back to the car with Morgan, a smile on her face. A genuine one, sweet and a little prideful, but it made Morgan shake his head and chuckle.

“Same guy went after Prentiss and JJ until he found out what they do.” Morgan said, jumping into the car, Reid catching up to ride with them, on the phone with Rossi.

“We’ll meet you back at Quantico then.” Reid finished the call, looking at his fellow agents, eyes landing on Clarkson. “How many times have you smiled?” He asked, pulling out the notebook.

“Wait… Is that what the notebook is for? Tracking my facial expressions?” Clarkson asked, an eyebrow raised. Reid quickly tucked the book away, choosing to change the subject.

“How was Boston?” he asked, Morgan starting the drive back to Quantico.

“We all got the right ending this weekend.” Clarkson said, turning on the radio and relaxing into her seat. It was enough to silence the conversation, the drive back to the BAU quiet and without tension. It was comforting, knowing that it was the first time in her BAU career that she was truly a part of the team.

Tags: @ssour-patch-kid @dxbriksx @asapkyndall @sungieeeeeee @afuckingshituniverse @hommoturttle @viarogers

#criminal minds #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #cm #cm fic #fanfiction #fanfic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotch #derek morgan #jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #bau #bau x reader

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the-consulting-strange-vidder · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas from your Sherlolly Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy your K+ rated Victorian Uni!lock Sherlolly fic!

The Arrangement

"Women's brains are no different than men's brains," Sherlock proclaimed with a sneer for the idiot masquerading as a Professor of Chemistry. "Miss Hooper's presence is a welcome one, if only to prove you wrong, sir!"

Molly's cheeks flushed with additional heat, this time from pleased embarrassment rather than mortification. Of all people to come to her defense, never would she have expected it of the brash, dismissive Mr. Holmes the younger!

Professor Magnussen raised an eyebrow but made no other response to Sherlock's outburst. Rather, he pointedly turned his attention away from Holmes and resumed his lecture.

Afterwards, as their fellow students began exiting the room, Molly waited for him by the doors. "Thank you," she said, in that soft, diffident manner she had. "I, I appreciate your defense of me earlier, Mr. Holmes."

He offered her a stiff, polite bow, but the expression on his face was anything but pleasant. "Do not thank me, Miss Hooper," he snapped. "Rather, continue to prove your worthiness to participate in our studies by providing the same level of meticulous, well-reasoned research you have been offering since the start of term."

Molly, left speechless at his abruptness, found herself staring at his retreating back as he vanished into the crowd of students in the draughty corridor.

oOo

"I would not dwell on his rudeness," her dear friend Mary advised her with a smile when she confided in her later that evening, after they had returned to their shared rooms. "My John says he is always that way, which surely you must know having spent the better part of the term sharing classes with him!"

"Classes to which he makes an appearance only on his own schedule," Molly retorted. "Were he clearly not brilliant he would be sent down for his absences, let alone for…" her voice dropped to a whisper despite the fact that they were alone, "...let alone for his...other indiscretions."

Mary's smile vanished; her expression sharpened and her eyes hardened as she stared at her friend. "And where have you heard of these discretions, Margaret Anne Hooper?" she demanded. "Who has been pouring such poisonous gossip in your ears?"

Molly flushed, but held her head high as she replied, "No one has, Mary, only my own keen skills of observation. Surely your John has noted the pallor, the slight tremors in his hands, the characteristic redness of his eyes and nose? Mr. Holmes, although brilliant, is also something of an, an idiot! He will destroy that fine mind of his unless he gives up his vices, or at least, the one involving the use of a syringe and a 5% solution of cocaine!" She gave an emphatic nod at Mary's startled expression. "Yes, I am aware of Mr. Holmes' particular vice, Mary, and I only wish I had the courage to confront him on it, or the ability to show him how ruinous such activities can be!"

"Your concerns are duly noted, Miss Hooper. However, I should note that it is actually a 7% solution, not 5%."

Both women turned and made abortive movements to rise from their seats (Mary, Molly noted rather abstractedly, pulling a rather frightening looking knife from the pocket of her dressing-gown). Molly settled back down as she found herself looking up at the very subject of their discussion. Their private discussion, in their rooms! How dare he enter without announcing himself!

She found her indignation fading, however, upon his very next words. "I am sorry, Molly Hooper, forgive me the intrusion." An apology, from Mr. Sherlock Holmes? Directed at her? Surely the End of Days were upon them! "If you would permit me to continue?" He gestured with his hat toward Mary, who blinked and slid her knife back into her pocket.

"Please come in Mr. Holmes," she said formally, even though Molly knew quite well that she and the man in question were on friendlier terms due to their mutual regard for her beau, Mr. John Watson, currently pursuing his medical studies at Oxford. "I believe you and Miss Hooper require some privacy for this discussion, but of course propriety demands that I remain to act as chaperone should your masculine nature overcome your more gentlemanly instincts."

Molly and Sherlock both gawped at her outrageous words, Molly once again flushing a furious red as her friend smiled, waved, and made her less than dignified way out of the sitting area and into her own bedroom - rather ostentatiously leaving the door ajar.

Silence filled the room in Mary's absence, Molly feeling entirely on the back foot with this whole situation - having been caught discussing a mutual acquaintance's unsavory drugs habit seemed rather dog-in-the-manger after he'd come so gallantly to her defence in their chemistry lecture!

Still, there was nothing for her to do but endure whatever words Mr. Holmes might have for her. So she nodded when he moved into the room, closing the door (mostly) behind him, and waited for her permission before taking the seat Mary had so recently vacated.

His hat remained on his lap, his ungloved hands fidgeting a bit with the brim as he kept his gaze turned on the carpet beneath their feet. Just when Molly felt she needed to say something, anything, to break the awkward silence, he spoke. "Miss Hooper, I apologize not only for bursting in on you and Ma- Miss Morstan as I did, both unannounced and uninvited, but also for my behaviour earlier today."

"Your behaviour earlier was exemplary, I assure you!" Molly exclaimed in surprise. "You defended my presence in the lecture hall - and yes, you were somewhat curt in your manner afterwards when I attempted to thank you, but, well, that is your nature, is it not?" She tried a small laugh, wincing inwardly when it sounded to her ears as more of a nervous titter than a friendly attempt to put him at his ease. Oh, social skills were not her forte and never had been!

"It is my nature, that is true," he said frankly, finally raising his eyes to meet hers. "I am dismissive and impatient and, as John has put it on more than one occasion, a bit of an arse, but I do make an effort to be less...myself...when interacting with those for whom I...that is, for my...friends."

"You can do better than that, Holmes!" came Mary's muffled shout from the other room, startling a gasp from Molly and a chuckle from Mr. Holmes.

"Yes, I can!" he called back, then turned his attention once again to Molly, his demeanor softening into something she might have dared to call affectionate on the face of another man. Without knowing why, her heart was pounding in her chest; she clutched her hands together to keep them from nervously twisting her skirts, and kept her eyes trained on his as he once again began to speak.

"Miss Hooper, everything you have observed about me, from my boorish manner to my unfortunate dabbling in chemical means to slow the frantic workings of my mind, is true." He took a deep breath. "However, what you have failed to observe is my growing...affection. For you. As a friend and, one day, I hope, something more."

Molly's breath seemed to catch in her throat at so unexpected, so thrilling, a confession from the very man for whom she had harboured a not-so-secret tendresse since first laying eyes on him, since first observing his brilliance, since first hearing his voice, no matter how scathing his words.

She opened her mouth to tell him so. To offer him encouragement, and to speak her own feelings aloud.

Instead, to her amazement, she found herself saying, "I will not allow myself to form any sort of, of romantic attachment of a permanent nature to a man who allows himself to fall into dissolution, Mr. Holmes. Once you have rid yourself of this unfortunate habit and found some other way to still your thoughts other than through chemical means so damaging to your mind, we might...speak again of this matter."

Where, she wondered, had such strong words come from? Surely some higher Power must have taken possession of her, mousy Molly Hooper? Molly Hooper who rarely stood up for herself; Molly Hooper who had had to be talked into taking up her true academic interests by her dear friends Mary and Mina when her own mother had tried to urge her against furthering her education after her father's death?

Well. She straightened her spine. No more of that, thank you very much! "Have we reached an agreement, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, looking him straight in the eye and ignoring the flutter of nerves in her stomach as she awaited his answer.

He smiled and rose to his feet, holding out one hand, accepting hers as she returned the gesture, clasping it firmly in his. "We do indeed, Miss Hooper. Molly, if I may be so bold."

"You may," she said, suddenly shy, averting her eyes. She let out a squeak of alarm as he suddenly pulled her to her feet, his face only inches from hers. "Mr. Holmes!"

"A kiss to seal the deal, Molly," he said lowly, searching her gaze and smiling when she gave him the tiniest of acquiescing nods. Then his lips descended, covered hers in a chaste, but lingering, press of his mouth against hers. "And do call me Sherlock," he implored her in a whisper when the kiss ended.

"Sherlock," she whispered, somewhat in a daze, and felt his lips briefly against hers once again.

Moments later he was gone and she was once again seated, wondering what had happened to bring all this on while Mary giggled and pressed her for details.

All she could say was that she believed she and Mr. Holmes - Sherlock - had reached an arrangement.

An arrangement she quite looked forward to altering once he had met her terms!

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royalcordelia · 4 years

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Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).

Notes: I was snowed in this weekend, which gave me some time to pour my heart and soul into this chapter. I hope you like it!!

~*~

Anne knew she was not what Gilbert’s friends were expecting. She remembered what it was like to see Winifred for the first time, with her thin gloved fingers holding Gilbert’s arm and curlicues of golden hair framing her beautiful face. Even tripping on the uneven Avonlea ground, Winifred had looked every bit like an elegant novel heroine - one that made complete sense to be at Gilbert’s side. Now Anne was the one at Gilbert’s side, it was her hand holding his forearm. She had to wonder if she looked half as suitable for him as Winifred had.

When Gilbert squeezed her hand, Anne let go of her nervous thoughts with a sigh. What did it matter how she looked ? She knew better than anyone how suitable she was for Gilbert. It was a fact that could not be disputed, and if anyone tried, she’d prove them wrong with fierce determination. Even though first impressions were not, historically speaking, Anne’s forte, she could only feel pride as Gilbert swept her before his peers with an eager smile on his lips.

His friends, much to Anne’s complete relief, seemed just as pleased. There were four, including Ron, and each off of their own distinct energies that Anne immediately got to work trying to read.

“Gotta hand it to you, Gil, that was quite a show you put on for the entirety of Toronto,” one of the boys teased with a smirk as they approached. The young lady beside him whapped him on the arm with a murmured admonishment. Anne blushed, biting her cheek against the urge to apologize for scandalizing them all, but Gilbert could not have been less embarrassed.

“Anne’s come to visit!” he exclaimed, as if his excitement had bubbled over beyond his control. Then, remembering to maintain some semblance of decorum, he said, “Everyone, this is Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, my sweetheart from back home I’ve been telling you about. Anne, this is Fred, Trevor, and Priscilla. You know Ron.”

“Ah, the ever famous Anne-with-an-E,” the same lad from before, Fred, appraised. He offered a friendly hand, which Anne accepted immediately. “It feels like we all already know you with how much Gilbert talks about you.”

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Wright,” Anne chuckled. Fred grinned when she remembered his name. “It certainly is a delight to put such lovely faces to names I’ve only read in letters. Thank you for taking care of this afoot-and-lighthearted man of mine. I’ve rested easier knowing that he’s been in good hands.”

Priscilla extended her own hand to Anne, except when the redhead moved to shake it, Priss pulled her down beside her and tucked her arm through Anne’s elbow.

“Gilbert, I think I am quite taken with this lady of yours. I’ll be seizing her from your hands presently, if she doth not protest,” she said with a dramatic flair.

Priss, Anne recalled from Gilbert’s letters, was one of the only women in Gilbert’s medicine department. It had taken a headstrong Emily Oak single handedly battling against a conference room of a male admissions officers to get them to consider accepting Priscilla’s application. After which, she exceeded every expectation of her academic success, and soared past Gilbert as top of the class. Someone has to keep you on your toes while you’re at school, Anne had said in a letter. Maybe, Gilbert replied, but if there’s anyone to concede to - and it can’t be you - I’m not opposed to it being Priss. You’d like her a lot.

“I come willingly!” Anne laughed. “I want to hear all about what it’s like to be the only female presence in your classes. You must have thrilling tales of battling unfairness and conquering injustice.”

“I do!” Priss replied earnestly.

“I admire you so much for it! Gilbert and I have some stories of our own if you’d ever like to hear them. Although, I do think I’d much rather hear yours first!”

“Don’t tempt her,” Gilbert joked, settling down at Anne’s free side. “She means it when she says she’ll steal you away indefinitely, and I won’t have that.”

A breeze caught some of Gilbert’s cologne and drifted the familiar scent to Anne, who smiled when it graced her. It meant he was close, here . Already, Toronto was every bit as captivating as she expected, but his persistent loving smile had much to do with it.

“This lot has heard all the stories I have to tell. I’d much rather learn more about you, Anne,” Priss stated. Her eyes wandered along Anne’s auburn curls, but her nose scrunched when she noticed a knotted fluff on the back of her head. “Gilbert has gone and kissed you with no consideration for your hair. Please allow me to remedy that for you.”

Laughter bubbled out of Anne, and she angled her back so that Priss might detangle the mess Gilbert had left.

“If you have anything you’d like to know, ask away. I’m an open book,” Anne said, glancing around the circle.

“Gilbert told us he had an apprenticeship with PEI’s best doctor. How true is that?” Trevor spoke up. He was a young man with a round face and a fleshy scar under his eye. But it gave his personage no hint of villainy. In fact, he reminded her of Moody back home. Perhaps this poor fellow was just as clumsy.

“Ah, I see. I am to fact-check. It’s true, at least in common opinion. Dr. Ward was Charlottetown’s best doctor, but he treasured Gilbert’s family. In fact, I’ve gone to him for my annual check up. It’s no wonder he took Gilbert under his wing because they truly are quite alike.”

“He took care of my father when he was sick, and then my sister-in-law when she was ill,” Gilbert added. Anne found his hand and pressed it to her lips. How hard it must’ve been to be away from home when your heart was still grieving.

“Isn’t that the same doctor Winifred worked for?” Ron piped in. Gilbert stiffened.

“Who’s Winifred?” Priss questioned innocently, but frowned when she noticed the subtle droop in Anne’s shoulders.

“Ron-” exasperated Gilbert, but Trevor held up a hand.

“No, now I want to know, too.”

Gilbert was determined not to answer, and even more resolute to change the subject. He didn’t intend to spend his first weekend with Anne since he’d left talking about the past. Not when there was so much future to look forward to, not when there was so much of the present to enjoy. But Anne had said they could ask any questions they wished, so she gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“She was the girl Gilbert was courting during our last year at school. I met her at the county fair in the summer,” she answered evenly.

This stunned the group to silence, except Ron, who had by then heard the entire story.

“You all don’t go around airing your dirty laundry and mistakes,” Gilbert defended against their judging stares.

It was too late. Fred was now too deeply invested in the story and leaned his elbows onto his knees to look Anne in the eye.

“That must’ve been difficult, trying to get along with someone you didn’t like for Gilbert’s sake.”

“Oh, I liked her well enough,” Anne admitted.

“You weren’t jealous?”

Anne’s gaze fell to brick of the steps. She didn’t mind Gilbert’s friends knowing, but it was different to have Gilbert hear it. Somehow, the pain she’d felt during those days felt private and shameful. To expose feelings which had long since dissipated now would only cause Gilbert discomfort.

Eventually, she confessed, “I was sick with envy. But there wasn’t anything about Winifred to dislike. Her family was charitable and she was friendly, not to mention gorgeous. Avonlea was so pleased at the match that I resigned myself to the notion that sometimes one must swallow their grief in favor of a friend’s happiness.”

Priss let go of Anne’s hair to take her hand, squeezing it gently. At that moment, Anne realized she was being understood, and the comfort it brought made her throat thick. She wouldn’t meet Gilbert’s eyes, even though she could see his fingers twitching against the urge to reach out to her.

“The victory is yours to brag to all of Avonlea about,” Priss said quietly. “I’ll help you if you’d like! Teach those Avonlea folk who to underestimate.”

“That’s alright,” said Anne sweetly. Finally, she met Gilbert’s gaze and found dense with his own shame. “The victory is mine and Gilbert’s alone. All of Avonlea knows about about it now, and the people who care about me are happy. It doesn’t matter to me what the others are saying.”

“What are they saying?” Gilbert said.

“Really, Gil-” Anne interrupted, but his brows creased and she gave an unconvincing shrug. “All they’re saying is that it must be terrible to be someone’s second choice.” Gilbert’s mouth snapped open, the argument nearly off his tongue when Anne rushed to finish. “But I know that’s not true, so what does it matter?”

Anne supposed it occurred to Gilbert right at that very moment that perhaps she’d had left some important truths out of her letters when she said that the unpleasantness of the Winifred was long forgotten.

“Golly, I’m sorry I wanted to know,” Trevor murmured awkwardly.

Anne released a sigh, and with it some of the tension she’d been holding in her heart.

“In truth, it’s actually quite the story. One of two unreceived letters of love declarations, dancing, and rushing through Charlottetown for last chances.”

“That sounds right out of a Jane Austen novel,” Priss swooned.

“I thought so too,” Anne agreed, a blush blooming on her cheeks. “But for the sake of the gentlemen in our group, why don’t I choose another story of dramatic adventure for them? Like the time Gilbert and I battled a house fire together?”

This had Fred and Trevor intrigued enough that Anne began to weave the tale together with the tenderness for storytelling she always had. Within the first few words, Gilbert’s friends came to discover he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said she was a gifted storyteller. With ease, she painted the vivid image of the burning Gillis house in their minds. They could feel the heat on their cheeks and smell the smoke. Gilbert, whose heart was still tight from Anne’s forgiveness and his own remorse, couldn’t help himself from leaning forward and press his lips to her cheek. She only stuttered her story for half a second, giggling and holding his head to her.

“I don’t even think his jacket got singed, but I was covered in soot by the end of the night,” Anne said through her laughter. He hadn’t quite pulled back when someone rushed up to them.

“Here you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for-”

Anne paused her story and looked up to see a tall young woman with black silk for hair and a delicate porcelain face gawking at her with something Anne couldn’t place. Horror? Shock? Revulsion? As soon as it was there, though, the raw emotion faded away, and the woman turned to Gilbert with practiced neutrality. It took Gilbert a split second to realize he was being addressed, his face still close to Anne’s.

“Gilbert, we’re going to be late for Global Histories if you don’t hurry,” the woman stated, almost through her teeth.

“It was awfully kind of you to come find me, but I think I’m going to skip my last two classes for the day. If you could tell Professor Harden that I’ve got someone in town visiting me, I’d appreciate it.” He stood, pulling Anne to her feet and bringing her over to the woman. “Anne, meet Christine Stuart, Ron’s sister. Christine, Anne,” he introduced.

“Your...sister?” Christine asked hopefully.

Anne snorted, and nudged Gilbert.

“If I was, he wouldn’t be nearly this handsome. Gilbert is thankfully not my brother, but my suitor. It’s wonderful to meet you, Miss Stuart,” Anne said warmly. She couldn’t tell how, but Christine seemed awfully familiar. Then, all at once, she placed the resemblance. “You look exactly like a story character I created when I was a girl. You can only imagine how much an eight-year-old orphan longed to have the looks and grace of a princess!”

Christine was neither charmed, nor flattered.

“How delightful,” she said dubiously. Remembering something, she spun to Gilbert. “Does this mean you aren’t going to the Autumn Banquet tomorrow?”

“I suppose that just depends on Anne. I’d be fine either way,” Gilbert replied.

“My goodness, that’s this weekend, isn’t it?” Anne cried. She placed her hand on Gilbert’s shoulder, and very narrowly missed Christine glaring at it. “I was so eager to get here after Bash asked me to that I completely forgot you had made plans. Of course you must still attend the banquet! I don’t mind leaving you alone for a few hours to form connections in your department.”

The Autumn Banquet, as it turned out, was a ball put on by the Toronto Science Department annually to allow the students to network and meet their professors, as well as visiting professionals in a range of fields. Gilbert had been preparing his good first impressions for weeks - successfully, too, after Anne had given him a constant stream of support in her letters.

“Nonsense! You’d be welcome to attend with me. I’d appear exponentially more intelligent escorting you,” Gilbert insisted. “Anyone who doesn’t take to you, Anne, is someone I don’t want to be around.”

Christine wrinkled her nose at this, and folded clenched fists behind her back.

“Then who will take me?” Christine tried to sound curious instead of frustrated, but her performance fell flat.

“Science isn’t your department, Chris. If you’re eager to go, I’ll take you,” Ron offered.

Christine frowned.

“I’d take you too!” Fred cut in. She opened her mouth to argue, but realizing that her options were running dim, pressed her lips together and nodded.

“That’d be fine, Mr. Wright. Thank you.”

“And you’ll go, Anne?” Gilbert said hopefully.

“I wouldn’t miss it!” she agreed, before groaning and biting her lip. “Except I’ve nothing to wear. I brought one of my old Green Gables dresses with me. Appropriate for milking cows, but certainly not for balls.”

“You can borrow one of Christine’s. I’m certain they’d fit,” Ron said.

Christine might’ve rebuffed this with a fury, but then Gilbert turned to her with optimistic eyes and said, “I could bring Anne over and then you could come with us to the banquet, after all!”

It was then that Anne realized that Christine’s heart wasn’t thorny because of a predisposition. The second Christine had met Gilbert’s hazel gaze, her hard exterior had melted, a blush arose on her cheeks, and she brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. Anne waited to feel threatened or anxious, but instead, she could only sympathize with Christine. After all, it wasn’t long ago she herself had accidentally stumbled upon the knowledge that Gilbert was previously engaged.

“If that makes you uncomfortable, then I’d be more than happy to go in what I’ve packed. People will understand once they hear that I’d surprised him without previous planning,” Anne supplied, but Christine was determined to save Gilbert’s opinion of her.

“Not at all, I’d be happy to loan you a dress. Stop by tomorrow and I’ll do your hair, as well. It is such a lovely shade of red,” she said politely.

“That’s very gracious of you, Miss Stuart, thank you,” Anne replied honestly. She tried to take the cordiality as a victory, but before she could, she saw the envy lining the edges of Christine’s green eyes.

“Well, Global Histories awaits. I’ll see you all tomorrow at the banquet.” Her dress caught dandelion floss as she disappeared away toward her class, but she didn’t look back.

Christine had only been gone a moment before Gilbert took Anne’s hands in his.

“What do you say I show you around Toronto a little bit. There’s a park nearby that has all the trees a redheaded dryad like you could want.” Anne cocked a brow. “For a city, that is. Just you and me?”

“That sounds nice,” Anne agreed, a warm smile dimpling her cheeks. She turned to the group who had split off into their own conversation. “I’m so glad I got the chance to meet you all. Thank you for your kindness. It seems there are kindred spirits even 1000 miles from home.” At this, Anne smiled at Priss.

“We’ll see you at the banquet tomorrow,” Priss said, with a wave.

They’d made it halfway across the yard when Ron called out, “Don’t forget to bring that report to Dr. Oak, Gil!”

Gilbert groaned and slumped over a little, before shooting Anne an apologetic smile.

“I don’t mind a detour,” she promised, much to her beau’s relief.

Off they went, up the brick paths of the campus, still lined with flowers and their last lingering traces of life. Anne was the recipient of many impressed glances as Gilbert’s classmates offered passing hello’s and how-do-you-do’s, an unexpected phenomena that fed her healing pride. Before long, they were passing through the grandiose corridors of the medicine department where the air smelled of formaldehyde and rubbing alcohol. Anne wrinkled her nose at the overwhelming scent, but Gilbert seemed already accustomed to it. The hallways were completely quiet other than the sound of the faint murmur of nearby classes and the clicking of Anne’s heels.

They came upon Dr. Oak’s office, only to find the door closed. Gilbert sifted through his bag until he retrieved an ivory stack of parchment, then after a moment of awkward hesitation, he slid it under the door. They turned to walk away when a muffled voice called from inside the office, “Gilbert? Is that you?”

“Wait here a moment,” he told Anne, squeezing her hand.

Just as Gilbert opened the door to enter, an older gentleman emerged out of the room. He gave a brief, polite nod to Gilbert as he passed, before sparing a glance at the waiting Anne. A jolt of awe surged through her, the same one she’d felt when she’d met Bash, Ms. Stacy, Ka’kwet, and Priscilla. It was as if her mind was prodding her saying, This is a person who is changing the world. Listen to their stories, share in their worldview, let them teach you.

The man was an educator just by the looks of him. He wore his fearlessness on his broad shoulders and had skin a cool shade of brown. Only fueling to Anne’s growing fascination was a familiar book tucked under his arm.

“Excellent taste in literature, sir,” she complimented shyly. The man stopped his strong steps and peered down at Anne with amusement. He pulled the book from his arms and held it out before her, a glint lighting his eyes when her face fell.

“I didn’t think I’d ever meet a fan of Tristram Shandy . How rare such a moment is,” he teased. Anne bit her tongue, suddenly wishing she could crawl into a hole for a winter long hibernation.

“Oh, how I wish I could attest that that I am a fan of Laurence Stern’s work,” she began with failing enthusiasm. “Unfortunately, I mistook that volume as a copy of Middlemarch, which shares the likeness. I’m afraid I have to regretfully rescind my compliment. Tristram Shandy is deplorable.”

The man let out a hearty laugh and stuffed the dreaded text back into his satchel.

“That is quite alright. It’s is an acquired taste for a peculiar type of palate. I prefer Eliot myself, though I find it’s a dangerous pastime ‘for we all of us, grave or light, get our thoughts entangled in metaphors, and act fatally on the strength of them.’”

Anne grinned. She, too, had quotes up her sleeves.

“Yet, I wouldn’t trade such powerful literature for the world. After all, ‘it is always fatal to have poetry or music interrupted’ and removing prose and posey from my life would certainly result in my ruination.”

If the pleased smirk on his face was any indication, Anne had successfully made another kindred spirit.

“I’m offering a class on women authors next semester. You should take it, Miss…”

“Shirley-Cuthbert, sir. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. I’d be delighted to, only I’m not a student here. I’m just in Toronto for the weekend visiting my beau, the young man speaking with Dr. Oak.”

“I see. Encourage him to find some time in his busy medical program to take the class just for the joy of it. I’m Dr. Clarence Sullivan if he asks.”

“I certainly will, thank you!” Anne cheered. He gave her a nod and an accompanying smile before stepping away to his next engagement.

“Oh, and Anne,” he called out over his shoulder. She quirked a red brow. “If you’re ever visiting again during the week, you’re welcome to sit in on one of my classes. I feel you could provide my students with a fresh perspective.”

Before she could respond, he had disappeared down another corridor, leaving her alone for only a few seconds before Gilbert had closed Dr. Oak’s door behind him.

“Sorry about that. Shall we?” He offered her his arm, which Anne accepted. A fluttering excitement bloomed once again throughout her entire chest, growing bigger and bigger against her ribs. As they began to walk, Gilbert cleared his throat.“Dr. Oak wanted to meet you, but she has a meeting in a minute.”

“There will be plenty of time to meet her on my future visits. I just met Dr. Sullivan from the English department. Any man that can quote Middlemarch without hesitation is a kindred spirit. He enlisted me to convince you to take his class on female authors next semester.”

“I haven’t taken that many classes outside of my medical curriculum, so it’d be long overdue. I’ll talk to Dr. Oak about fitting it in my schedule,” Gilbert agreed heartily.

As they exited the building, a warm autumn breeze swept across Anne’s freckles, carrying with it the perfume of fallen leaves and the last faint blooms of the garden.

“The longer I’m here, the more it seems I could just toss my train ticket to the air and stay here by your side,” she murmured against the wind.

“Don’t taunt me with promises you don’t intend to keep, Miss Shirley,” Gilbert teased. Without warning, he wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her closer. “Any more talk like that, and I’ll be inclined to whisk you into my arms and drag you to all my classes. Queens be damned!”

Their laughter carried them to the city gardens where the trees released their sunset leaves to the open air and the pair walked without care or worry down the dusty path.

Without knowing it Anne and Gilbert stepped into Lovegrove’s Restaurant sharing the exact same thought: So this is what it’s like to be courting. Even for Gilbert, who had been attributed some experience in courtship, the whole affair felt entirely new. In the dim lighting of the dining room, Anne was the picture of elegance, so familiar and beloved to him that he knew his heart wasn’t racing in anxiety, but anticipation. Suddenly, he felt a keen readiness to pull out her chair for her, to accidentally nudge her feet under the table, to listen to her speak her mind and to be listened to in return. It hadn’t been that way with Winifred. He wasn’t nervous about misstepping or doing something wrong. With Anne, he could be himself unapologetically and be certain she’d accept him unconditionally.

On her part, Anne was still a novice in being the center of a person’s attention. During their walk, through the park, she found herself slightly unaccustomed to the unashamed adoration in Gilbert’s attentive gaze. And now, as he fulfilled his every urge to be her perfect gentleman, Anne couldn’t help but feel a blush rising to her cheeks.

As the host lead them to their table, she felt him brush his fingers against hers. A chill traveled up to her elbow, and she bit her lips against a shy smile. Her smile only grew as he uttered a sweet compliment in her ear, pulling her chair out for her with scarcely veiled pride. “You look lovely.”

Anne dropped her shy gaze. She didn’t look any different than any other time he saw her. Maybe it was how he always saw her? After all, she felt the same way about him.

When he settled across the table, they gave the waiter their orders and stared at each other in breathless anticipation. Where could they begin? Nothing had changed terribly, except that their friendship involved quite a bit more kissing and a lot less arguing than it had in years past. Anne’s mind rushed, hoping she could find a satisfying dinner conversation.

“Anne.” Her gaze snapped up to his, and it occurred to her maybe he’d called once or twice already. “Relax. You look like you’re afraid I’ll reach across the table and bite you.”

It was only then that Anne felt tight tension in her own shoulders and her fists clenched together on her place setting. Gilbert reached across the table, taking her hand and shaking it gently. A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and the tension dissipated.

“It feels just like that day I last saw you. As if no time at all has passed,” she confessed. “Yet, I’ve read all about your first two months of university over and over. How strange it is that that happens.”

“I know the feeling,” Gilbert agreed. “Sometimes I remember our early days in school and I think, This isn’t the same girl you’ve cared for all this time. It’s your imagination tricking you. But mercifully, you’re no trick of the mind.”

“I spent much more time than I realized imagining about you - even when I thought I hated you. And you know how my imagination is.”

“Really?” Gilbert murmured, both shy and delighted.

“Of course.” Anne shrugged. “At first, they were just intrusive daydreams, tiny moments where I’d find myself picturing you smiling or writing calculations on your slate. Then when you were gone, I’d look out at the ocean and play all the different ways you’d return back home. In some of them you were a grown man finding me on the shores. Others took place the very second I imagined them, as if had expected you to appear out of nowhere. I never confronted the possibility you wouldn’t come back. It’s like part of me always knew. Of course, a point came when my imaginings took an unavoidably romantic turn.”

Gilbert had been stunned speechless, and Anne felt another hot blush color her freckles.

“I’m sorry, that was incredibly forward of me,” she said quietly.

“No no!” he stammered. “No, I just...still can’t believe you’ve been thinking of me as long as I’ve been pining after you.”

“And I can’t believe you longed for me right under my nose, and I never knew! The entire idea seemed impossible, but I clung to the possibility that you might care the same way children don’t want to suspend their belief in magic. In fact, if you hadn’t brought... guests to the county fair, I would’ve probably confronted you.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened. Then, to level the playing field he made his own quiet admission.

“If you hadn’t mentioned Ruby, I probably would’ve posted about you on the Notice Board. Even after you did, I still considered it. Had a few notices planned.”

An image came across her mind - one where she’d approach the Take Notice board, only to find a beautiful message written in his familiar scrawl. She would’ve taken it down gently, saved it somewhere special, maybe even written one or two of her own.

“We’ve been just barely missing each other all this time,” Anne said, somewhat mournfully.

“Not anymore,” Gilbert reminded her.

“No,” she agreed. “And not ever again.”

Eventually, their meals came, and the conversation took a lighter turn. Now that she’d had met all of his friends, she was more interested in hearing more about them. In turn, Gilbert - much to her immense surprise - wanted to hear all about the Avonlea girls and their various exploits. When she’d mentioned how excited she was to be learning sign language with Lily, his face had brightened.

“Can you show me some?” he asked eagerly.

Anne pondered this, remembering all her favorite practice sentences or the books she’d signed while she read. Instead, she decided on something she’d never signed before. Gilbert watched her hands, trying to catch any semblance of meaning, but fell back in his seat.

“I couldn’t even begin to guess!” he laughed. Anne repeated the question, this time speaking aloud while she did it.

“What did your T-A-K-E N-O-T-I-C-E note say?” Then, occupying her hands with her cutlery once more, she said, “Do you remember?”

Gilbert’s smile was warm and open. He nodded, murmuring his reply as if it were a secret he had long ago packed away. “One day Gilbert will be brave enough to tell Anne the truth ,” he recalled. “I almost wasn’t.”

“Don’t torture yourself with ‘almosts’. Believe me, my experience with them is vast.” She tried to keep her voice light, but Gilbert could sense the underlying weight. “Marilla and Matthew almost didn’t let me stay, we almost didn’t save Miss. Stacy’s job, you almost didn’t make it in time to end our misunderstandings. But all those things ended up for the better, just as they were meant to.”

“You’re right, not that I’m surprised,” he conceded with a fond smile. A mischievous glint flickered in his eye. “If you could’ve written a notice about me, what would you have said?”

Anne released a laugh that was almost too loud for the establishment. To dangle the poor boy in suspense, she playfully tapped her finger to her lips. She waited until he was halfway through a sip of tea to say, “Anne thinks Gilbert has a marvelously, splendid chin.”

And if nearby diners glared at them while Gilbert coughed and laughed, then that was their business. The Avonlea pair was none the wiser, content to be alone in their own little corner of the world, together at last.

Nighttime came far too soon for Gilbert’s liking. Yet, he found himself warming to the idea as Anne waited for him to finish washing in his room. He came back, fresh and clean, ready to be in her company once more. What he saw made him heave a lovesick sigh.

It was moments like these that he wished he could go back in time to somehow convince some famous painter to follow him back to the present and capture the moment before him. A photograph wouldn’t do, not when a thousand different hues of orange and gold glinted off of Anne’s loose hair in the candlelight and the silver of the moonlight turned her lacy nightdress to crystal. Surely Renoir or Monet would understand the exquisite beauty of Anne stargazing into the Toronto sky. Still, there was much to be said about Gilbert getting to keep this sight entirely to himself.

Leaning against his door frame - for fear that any movement would shatter the moment - Gilbert felt like the wind was sweeping his feet out from underneath him, pulling him into the skies above the dewy grass and the tall cityscape. Love was pulling him under its stupor, it seemed, but he was more than willing to follow. Where else could he go, except toward a future with Anne’s tender support and unyielding affection to warm him?

Yet, there was something that he could not withstand ignoring any longer.

“You didn’t mention had a bay window,” Anne said lightly, glancing back at the half-lit Gilbert waiting at the edge of the room. Her brows creased together when he remained unmoving. “What’s wrong? Is it because I’m in here, because if it is, I don’t mean to make you a stranger in your own bedroom?”

He wasn’t going to ask her to leave. Not when Ron just confessed to them that Actually, I forgot I’ve been using the guest room as storage. Anne’s more than welcome to use the bed, but the floor is covered in cases. They’d taken a peek inside, only to find that even the bed was covered in Ron’s many belongings. Anne had assured them she didn’t mind sleeping on the sofa downstairs, but Gilbert insisted she sleep in his bed. He’d sleep on the sofa.

Another cloud came over his thoughts. He should sleep outside in the cold for all he put her through. How long could he keep pretending he’d done nothing wrong? How much longer could he ignore that he’d done little on the front of atonement?

“Gilbert?” Anne called softly. His hazy vision cleared and he found Anne’s soft lips pressed together in worry. She’d moved to the edge of the window seat, clutching it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Gilbert rushed to pull together his thoughts, but they were racing at a million miles a minute with no coherent end in sight. The words she said next made all the roaring his head turn silent. “If you want me to leave, I can take the midnight train.”

“N-no!” he stammered out of his contemplation, his instincts working on his behalf.

The fingers Gilbert had been anxiously holding together fell limp at his side. Mind suddenly clear, he crossed the room so softly, as if approaching a frightened animal. Her stormy sea eyes widened when he dropped to his knees before her - a gesture of prostration, but one that put him on her eye level.

“Anne, if I could have every one of my dreams exactly how I imagined them, you would never leave my side. You’d sit here in this window every night, and I’d watch the movement in your imagining eyes in hopes that might be thinking of me.” He paused. “Do you think you could ever forgive me for being so selfish?”

“Gilbert-” Anne scolded gently, but he shook his said.

“I am so ashamed. I’ve been selfish and foolish. I should’ve known better than to think I’ve atoned for the pain I caused you, that heartache you felt was over. I’ve been so caught up in my own happiness, that I forgot I ever wronged you. I should’ve known better than anyone that heartache doesn’t merely disappear when it becomes irrelevant. But that ends right now. I don’t have much to offer you right now, but what I can give you are certainties, things that will never change.”

He took one of her hands, covering it with a soft touch, and brought it above his heart. It raced under her fingertips, matching the pace of her own heart. With a shaky sigh, he continued.

“I’m certain that you’ve never been second best to anyone or anything, especially when it comes to me, because you’re the only person ever I adored with my entire soul. I’m certain that no matter what adventures life sweeps you away on, I want to be by your side, upholding you, protecting you, being your strength. I’m certain that you will always have a safe space with me to talk and dream and cry and speak your mind without restraint. But most of all, Anne, I’m certain that I love you. I will love you enough to make up for all the times you felt like it was impossible that anyone ever could.”

A tear slid down the side of Anne’s nose - then another, then another - but still she said nothing. With her one hand still pressed up Gilbert’s heart, she lifted the other one to the side of his face, caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers. He leaned into her touch, closing his own glossy eyes.

“I wonder if you could forgive me for my moments of doubt,” Anne muttered. Gilbert met her gaze and his soul sighed as if to say There’s nothing to forgive . With a fraction of movement, he leaned upwards smiling when she shortened the distance. Her hair draped along the sides of his face when she brought her lips onto his, curtaining them away from the rest of the world. He inhaled a deep breath when she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him up to sit with her on the window seat.

Anyone peering up from the road through the lace drapes would have seen Gilbert take Anne’s face in both hands and kiss her with unapologetic ardor. The lady herself found her hands tangled in his hair, chest heaving against his own as she battled the need for air with the pressing desire to keep kissing him. For the first time in her life, she felt desirable and invincible, incandescently overjoyed to have her past fears be proven so wrong.

Another tear slid down, sending salt onto her tongue. Gilbert pulled back with a warm smile, his cheeks dimpling with adoration as he brushed aside her tears. Anne was helpless to do anything but gaze up in wonderment and say the only words she knew, “I love you so terribly, Gilbert Blythe.”

A tiny, lovesick chuckle escaped his lips before he could hold it back. In seconds, Anne was wrapped in his arms, her face buried into his neck where he smelled so comfortingly like home that she couldn’t help but grin. The slightness of her frame fit against the strength of his arms and shoulders, and suddenly, Anne forgot all the consequences of refusing to let him go.

“Anne,” Gilbert murmured in her ear.

“Hmm?”

He shivered as her fingers trailed down his back through his nightshirt.

“I’m so sorry that I hurt you. Believe me when I swear to you it won’t happen again.”

Anne pulled back just enough to rest her forehead to his.

“I’m the one that hurt you,” Anne said quietly. “Can you forgive me for that too?”

Gilbert kissed her brow, then tucked her back into his embrace.

"It's water under the bridge."

Later that night, Anne was wrapped in the cozy blankets of his bed, engulfed in his scent and warmed by his presence in the doorway as he took his last looks of her. For a moment, Gilbert allowed himself the briefest of daydreams - one where he was a doctor disappearing into the night to take care of a patient and Anne was his sleepy wife bidding him goodnight. But instead of whispering her tender farewell, she said, “Wouldn’t you be warmer if you slept here?”

“I already told you, I won’t let you sleep on the sofa. It’s entirely too uncomfortable.”

“I meant , wouldn’t you be warmer if you slept here... with me,” Anne said shyly, propping herself up on her elbow.

Gilbert swallowed. The only thing he loved more than a good night’s rest was spending time with Anne. Combine the two and the offer was far too alluring for him to pass up. He muttered a soft Alright before blowing out the last candle and sitting on the bed’s edge opposite of Anne. She lifted the blankets for him, tucking them around his shoulders when he settled down into the soft mattress. Her familiar warmth began its work easing away the last traces of his troubled heart until nothing was left but the gentleness of her presence and the faint scent of her soap. He reached out and folded their fingers together, kissing them, before settling them on the pillow between them.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, my love,” Anne mirrored.

The creaking sounds of the old house singing its night time lullabies lulled them to sleep, but sweeter yet was the faint breathing on the neighboring pillow and their gentle shared dream.

****

I hope you enjoyed! ♥ Thanks for reading!! Below are those individuals who asked to be tagged upon updates. If you’d like to add your name to the list or remove yours, please let me know!

@pterparkcr @be-feminine-be-unique @firehaireddeamer @annabel-lee23 @beinmyheart @forcordelia @ladyofhousewaters @brookie-cookie3 @peculiarly-deactivated @mrs-shirley-cuthbert-blythe @lexfangirls @amoraeternusforyou @pastaismysignificantother @spellsandbells @instantknightartisanwagon @noctislightning @lonelyscreaming @lbhmoon @findurhappy @mynameisbluenotjane @sarahisatotalgeek @takemetoavonlea @shrillrule @doodlesfan @noctislightning @awaeforlife @neomikaha @cresmix

#anne with an e #anne of green gables #shirbert #shirbert ff #tessa writes #i've gotten such kind feedback about this story so i also just wanna say #from the bottom of my vast loving heart #thank you ♥️

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skunts-own-truth · 5 years

Text

Oh no, I sleepily felt compelled to write a short story

No planning or editing went into this. Just laid down for bed and started typing. If it’s trash it’s trash, but hey, told myself I’d start posting my writing somewhere! Here you go, friends, if you want to read this sleepy-time tale of gods and curses, you’ll find it right here:

The firepits had not worked, Grenel realized as he saw his grandmother roaming the fields behind his large mudbrick dwelling. It was raining, and the rice fields were drowning in dark water and muck that came up to his grandmother's knees. She sloshed through it, lifting powerful dead legs and slamming them down back into the mud. Having not yet noticed her grandson, she would wander aimlessly. He would have to put her back down.

With that in mind, the huntsman Grenel went about preparing himself for the slaying. It had been found that dismemberment severed the body parts of the dead from the spell that raised them. Stabbing weapons, like a spear, were useless in this curse. The warriors of his tribe learned that early on, and that lesson was a costly one. The warrior cast of the united clans was but a memory now, leaving only the hunters, woodcutters, farmers, and beastmen to apply their respective trades on the freshly dead.

Wearing thick mammoth hide no cursling could chew through, Grenel moved silently around the flooded fields of rice. His grandmother was still plodding along, making a clear trail of slosh and upturned muck and vegetation behind her. It saddened the already emotionally tried huntsman to see his grandmother, a proud leader of the tribe's warrior cast, taken by this devil's curse. She deserved better than this humiliating march through the mud and deserved far better than meeting her end by the swing of a blunt axe. Still, it had to be done. So many brave men and women had died when the curslings first began to rise. The warriors had not been the only ones to perish in that tide of undeath; now only a handful of his people remained.

The rain fell hard and thunder boomed signaling a battle between gods and monsters. They wared so much in these hot months, and as a child, the hunter's warrior grandmother would tell him tales of when the gods did their fighting there in their homelands. A sight he had hoped they would see again, with her by his side of course. That could not happen now. The rage was building under his calm hunter's stance. He could hold it in, but not forever. She would eventually spot him as he prowled around the fields. That much was fine, he would need her to see him at some point.

Grenel laid simple traps as he stalked his cursling elder. They were strong things, faster than an angry cat and stronger than the beastmen's aurochs on a charge, but with the rain coming down this hard he knew he could make use of hidden ropes and simple blades in the mud. They weren't expert works of the hunter's art, but fine enough to trip and bleed the thing that had been his grandmother. That was fine enough. He closed his eyes, begged the storm to see the gods cut down in their battle so far away, and let out a soft, comforting tune. It was a song Grenel's grandmother, Varan, had taught him when he was a boy.

The tune did exactly what he had planned for it to do. The cursling's head snapped towards the sound, its body twisting under the broken neck to face the singing hunter. For good measure, he began to swing his sling around building deadly momentum. Sometimes these cursed dead only needed light damage to see them lay back to rest. As the warstone flung from his sling and cracked open her head, spilling out the rotten brains and a single eye, he knew this would not be as easy as that. She charged without any other sound than her cracking bones. Somehow, he felt he could hear that over the thunder's roar.

Grenel stood his ground, axe in hand as she ran at him like man become beast, tearing through the ground on all fours to get at him. His tears fell freely then, as her arms and legs found the ropes. They caught her, despite her strength she was sent flipping into the mud, and right onto the blunt blades in the muck. Black blood flowed out, darkening the slick brown of the earth. Still, she made no sound. Even in those last moments as his axe came down and freed her body from the curse.

He fell to his knees when it was over, shaken to the core by the grotesque experience. His grandmother's spirit could rest, but he knew his own would not. This was a cursed land. Abandoned by gods, left to rot at the mercy of evil forest things that toy with the lives of men. He was alone or felt as much. His own clan was dead, burnt to a crisp in a firepit, missing, or dismembered and sinking down into thick chunky earth. Those of the tribe that were left had little to do with Grenel besides relying on his sling to bring in fresh game. It was more than too much for the hunter, and a part of him considered walking into the fire he would soon build for the corpse.

Two days go by without another cursling to kill. The gods won their battle, the sky became clear once again. The rain allowed so much of the farmer's food to sprout in a rapid, near miracle speed that an elder actually thanked the gods out loud. Grenel could have ripped the old man's head off for that affront to all who had died in these terrible months.

The gods, he had spat at the old man, sending his sons into a rage. Grenel offered no apology, simply accepting the beating that came soon after. He had blackened both of the young fools' eyes, broken one's nose, and bit a chunk out of another... but he regretted that. The huntsman knew he should not have antagonized the old man, he was only dreaming of days long past, when the gods looked over the tribes of their land. He had no right to shout at the old man, nor to spit on him in curse. He held no grudge, though he knew that was not a mutual sentiment.

Grenel would leave only a few days later. Axe in hand, mammoth hide on, and a sack of rabbit meat salted and ready for a long journey out of his homeland. He was not a cruel man, so he left his tribe pounds of bore and deer flesh, salted and dried for ease of storage. Some had begged him not to go, while others wished he found his death in the haunted forests around their home, and he shared in their wishings. "I will not return," he told them all, "cursed in death or alive and hungry. I have no place here, nor do I feel a need to fight any more dead for land already forsaken."

There were fourteen of them in total. The strong ones, but not the strongest. The smart ones, but not those smart enough to have left long before this. Strangers bound by land, a tribe of barely over a dozen. At the rate they had dwindled already, he knew they would not last the cold months when they marched down from the Northern mounts to wage war on life. The frost always won, but if they could store enough food... perhaps they could survive to see the time of rebirth when the cold grew bored of its victory.

"Wait," said a woman in the group that had gathered to see Grenel off. He did not know her name but knew she had been born into a family of beastmen and married into a clan of warriors. She still carried a copper sword that was even blunter than his own woodcutter's axe he had borrowed from his own late wife. She towered over the hunter but did not look down on him with any sort of disdain, and for that, he stopped to listen to her words. "We have all wondered where you could possibly go when you leave here; the elders believe you go off simply to find peace in death. Our generation claim you know of a hidden tribe that you found in your travels, that you plan to abandon us to our fate as you grow fat on fine auroch raised in peaceful lands... but, none of this is true."

Her expression was serious, more so than Grenel's own. He found himself almost intimidated by her, and perhaps would have been if he had not cut down his own family's rotten corpse so recently. He stood his ground as she approached. "You are going to find the land of the gods, aren't you?"

Grenel could not bare her fierce glare, so he looked away, back towards their fellow tribesmen. His defiance was directed at them, not at her. "Yes." He said without any hesitation, "I go to see what was so important that they abandon us, their people. I go to see the monsters they face, and the great halls where they drink..." The huntsman spat, "and I will find my death in their lands, perhaps at their own mighty hands, but as I am cut down they will hear the names of my clan and they too will taste the bite of a cursling dead as it taints their precious home."

The hunter thought he would never get a chance after an outburst like that. However, no fist was swung, no rock slung, nor did he find a speartip jutting from his chest. Instead, the last warrior in the village held her blade out in front of her and pledged her sword to this death. "Then I will go with you, Grenel Godcryer, and find my death by your side... I would yell my defiance with you, and curse those loathsome beings for leaving us to our fate."

The tribe had nothing kind to say about the two departing Godseekers, so they planned to leave as soon as the hunter's new warrior companion gathered her belongings. They snuck a few extra hunks of meat from the supply Grenel had left for the tribe, and when they were sure they would not starve together in those haunted woods the pair left their old homes behind.

Grenel leaned the woman's name was Yvettle. A descendant of a prophetess of the same name, her clan had gone from nobles to farmers after the gods made priest-kings and future-seers a thing of the past by taking their godly magic away from the land. She was a soft-spoken killer he found, and thanked his luck for it. They did not talk often but enjoyed the quiet conversations when the trails got too hard to walk and camp needed to be set. She had lost as much as him; a wife, an adopted son, and a husband. Yvettle could no longer bear to stay in the cemetery their home had become and needed any excuse she could to escape that gloomy place. She had found that in him, and he did not resent her for it.

Theirs was a tired friendship, built on loss and death. As days turned to weeks, they had learned to work together well. Grenel found it a shame their tribe had set tasks for clans, as this woman could have done everyone's job alone. She was as talented a hunter as she was a herder, and her skill with a sword was as deadly as his aim with a sling. There was no doubt in his mind she could have contended for chief if life had stayed normal for their clans, and that was a shame.

As months came and gone, Grenel and Yvettle found their bond made for an effective killing unit. Like gods of war, they came together to end the lives of those unnatural things that stalked the forests and kept the tribesmen bundled behind walls and safe in their huts. Long things, boney and covered in loose skin crawled from the trees on hands of ice. Wolves that burned like the sun circled Grenel's freshly killed deer. Once, a woman in a river nearly beckoned Yvettle to save her, only to reveal herself a hungry eel below. Each time they acted without fear, and each time they pulled each other out of the clutches of death. The infernal beasts eventually left them alone, and not long after that, the pair found the first marker that proved the land of the gods was not so far away.

A sword as tall as the tallest tree, made from the shining god-metal, jutted from the broken skull of a monster that surely had to be the size of a mountain in life. They did not speak as they came out of the forest to find this great blade, instead, they were possessed by a second wind. The gods were close, and neither would rest until those immortal beings felt Grenel the hunter and Yvettle the warrior's shared rage. Together, they marched into the lands of mythology to face a death they craved more than life. Side by side, they would challenge the gods and seek to defile their holy lands with their tainted corpses, and only then would the bonded pair find their peace.

#fantasy #sword and sorcery #gods #mortals #undead #short stories

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alittletournesol · 5 years

Text

Kingdom Of Jinju {MinKey} part 19/33

Chapter 19 : Maguk's curse

The Prince couldn’t tell what was happening in his dream, except for the bright colours of plains covered with flowers, when he felt himself being drawn away. A gentle brush on his knees made him slightly frown before he opened his eyes, the fading blur allowing him to distinguish his companion’s face in front of him. He took a moment to come back to his senses and remember what was this box he suddenly felt trapped in.

“Hyung, we’re making a short break to eat a bit.” Taemin said. “You’ve slept a lot, we’ve been on the road for six hours already.”

“Have we…?”

Kibum cleared his throat when he heard his hoarse voice, and he softly rubbed his eyes to properly wake them up. Once his sight was clearer, he realised he was in the royal chariot that was slowly taking him to Maguk, the kingdom of Queen Hyoyeon. However, there was no movement, and the sound of wheels rolling on the gravelled path wasn’t rocking him to sleep anymore.

“How is my hair ?” He just asked, making his friend laugh.

“You barely moved in your sleep so everything’s fine.” The young boy said before putting a few scrolls by his side. “You should walk a bit outside, while food is getting prepared.”

“Did you read during the trip ? I’ve told you not to, why won’t you listen to me ?”

“Because I’m not sick anymore, it’s amazing ! Could it be thanks to my training ? I’m… tougher, inside ? I have a soldier’s stomach now.”

“I doubt motion sickness can be resolved that way but we won’t protest, right ? What did you read ?”

“Jonghyun hyung gave scrolls to Sir Jinki for me, it’s about history I must learn to be a soldier with knowledge and spirit ! Look, I studied this part.”

The raven haired male sweetly smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm, while the latter grabbed a paper and unrolled it to show him. His first worries about Taemin being part of the army had faded away with time and, obviously, thanks to the General trustful patience and teaching. Kibum still feared the day the boy would perhaps have to put his skills into real practice, in times of war… but he refused to imagine a single second that a war could occur in a first place.

Nevertheless, he was acknowledging his friend’s improvements and felt the pride of an elder brother who saw his sibling grow up and succeed in what he wanted. A few months before, he would have been lying if he had said he was only thinking about Taemin’s happiness : it wouldn’t have been true, for he had been thinking more about the way he would find himself alone if his only friend in the palace was to leave for his duty. But at this point in time, and even more after their talk with Jonghyun a few days before… all he wanted was for this boy to be happy and to do what he wanted to.

“I still have a lot to read though.” The apprentice commented. “But not now, I’m hungry !”

“Me too, let’s get out of here.” Kibum smiled before he moved to open the chariot’s door and let the other step down first. “No, no, I don’t need help, don’t worry. Go with your friends.”

As his friend was about to offer him his hand to make him come out like he had always done, he simply smiled back at him and left, trotting around until a spot where a few soldiers were chatting. The Prince followed him with his eyes before he grabbed hold of the chariot’s door frame and slightly lifted the bottom of his coat to prevent from walking on it. He had chosen something less complex than usual to wear, willing to keep his beautiful attires for their host and not waste them for a whole day of travelling.

In no time he was standing on the grass, breathing deeply as he relished the gentle breeze grazing the skin of his face, raising some black strands on his temples. With his hands behind his back, he walked, looking at his escort. They were all so organised, separated in teams to do everything useful during a journey break. He noticed a few of them gathering to create a space where they could light a fire camp and quickly cook vegetables and rice. They unfortunately hadn’t had time to plan something else for the journey, but they knew they would eat way better once they would reach Maguk.

Not far from them, a dozen of recruits were allowing their horses to drink from the river, bringing them containers full of cereals and even fruits. The Prince smiled at the care everyone was doing their respective tasks with, not surprised in the least since he had already witnessed the way every soldier and employee at Jinju’s palace was taught about manners and respect. It was such a good change after spending years watching men and women obey his father out of fear, fear to be punished for the smallest mistake.

It was refreshing, and even though he knew from the beginning he wouldn’t miss his home… he really felt better, living in his King’s realm. After a few months, he was able to say with the purest honesty that he felt more accepted and respected than he had ever been before getting married and crowned Prince. In spite of every negative and sometimes dangerous situation he put himself in or caused… he felt grateful, because he had managed to earn everyone’s trust regardless. It was way much more than everything he had had at home.

“You seem lost in your thoughts, your Grace.”

Kibum snapped out of it when he heard the smooth, low voice addressing him, and he looked up to see the General standing next to him. He looked stunning, with his usual uniform strengthened by more metallic protections here and there to prevent any form of unknown danger they could face. It was making him look broader than he already was, and his serious expression combined to a sort of gentleness in his eyes… he was so different from him than the raven haired man couldn’t help but wonder how Jonghyun had gone from him to such a tough, strong looking man.

“I appreciate being outside.” He replied with a smile. “It makes me think about good things.”

“My apologies if I disturbed you, I wanted to give you something to drink.” Jinki said, handing his Prince a gobelet filled with water. “Have you slept well ?”

“Thank you, I really needed it. Curiously, I slept as if I had not for days. I usually struggle to rest when travelling. Taemin told me it has been six hours ?”

“Yes, we left at dawn and the sun is at its zenith now. We will hit the road again soon, I suggest you take advantage of this break to stretch your legs and back. Keeping the same position in your chariot must have numbed your body.”

“You are very thoughtful, General, it is pleasant.”

“Anything for your Grace. Taemin expressed his wish to ride once we leave, I thought I should ask for your authorisation before letting him do so.”

“Please let him, I know he hates being locked up. It will do him good.”

“I will keep you company by riding next to the chariot if you wish me to.”

“That will be with pleasure.”

The Prince smiled, touched by the soldier’s kind thoughts. Lee Jinki wasn’t the kind of man to do things only because he was told to, and even if the King had commanded him to be nice to his husband… the General was putting too much sincerity in his voice and words to just be obeying. Kibum realised they had never had the occasion to get closer, when they had seen each other almost every day for months.

Of course, his growing habit to tease him had helped to create a form of quiet relationship between them, and they could admit they were trusting each other. Minho’s assassination attempt had certainly been a peak for this mutual trust, for both the Prince and the General had literally entrusted each other with the most precious person to their respective heart. Somehow, Kibum was feeling even more comfortable than before with the idea of spending time with Jinki, even formally.

And he hadn’t forgotten the specific topic he had wished to broach with him before the attack on their King had interrupted their encounter. He felt less anxious about bringing the talk now, and he was somehow awaiting it with more impatience than before. The night he had spent with Minho had accentuated his need to make his feelings straight — or not so straight.

“I believe food is served.” The soldier interrupted his thoughts once again. “May I escort you ?”

“Naturally.”

The Prince emptied his gobelet and relished the fresh sensation in his throat, before he walked towards the campfire with the General on his heels. Despite the breeze, flames were taking well with a few soldiers protecting them with their body as a shield, while one was cooking a good amount of vegetables. Next to him, a wooden board had been put on trestles to serve as a table, with gobelets and two plates filled with cut lettuce resting on it.

That would be the only thing they would eat during the journey, but Kibum felt happy : as weird as he could be called by his friends, he loved vegetables and was able to satisfy himself with them for every meal. Once the soldier in charge of cooking told it was ready, his fellows approached but stood straight, waiting and looking at their Prince. The latter cocked an eyebrow, not sure about what he was supposed to do or say, but it hit him when Taemin suddenly crouched and wrapped vegetables in a lettuce leaf before handing it to him.

“By the Gods, put that in your mouth.” Kibum said, surprising everyone. “Do not wait for me, please help yourself.”

Curiously, all soldiers turned their head towards their General, as if they needed a second approval before breaking the etiquette. But Jinki just nodded, watching his recruits awkwardly queuing to serve themselves with a hidden smile. They all naturally knew that they should never eat before their sovereign, and having the Prince asking him to do the opposite himself had been enough to trouble even the most down-to-earth ones. However, their confused eyes were welcomed by a gentle smile from the raven haired man, and they ended up enjoying the chance they were given.

Once every man got themselves a wrap, their chief crouched in his turn and prepared a big one, in an incredibly soft way with his manly hands. As he stood up, Kibum was about to take his place but he was stopped by the General’s arm. Frowning, he looked at the other man and was about to question him when he was handed the food.

“Old habits die hard.” Jinki said, one corner of his lips slightly raising.

“What habits are you talking about, General ?” The Prince replied, smiling back and taking the wrap. “It has never been your place to prepare food for your sovereign, you are doing it willingly.”

“Please yourself, your Grace.”

Kibum slightly laughed before he complied, savouring the taste that he liked so much. He had never been fond of travels, for he wish it could last less long. But somehow, standing there near a river, enjoying the cool weather and eating on the go while hearing joyful voices talking and commenting the food and place… it felt like vacation. He noticed that Taemin was hanging with the same group of soldiers he had already seen him with before, and their laughters proved how close they had got with time passing.

Jinki didn’t leave his side, following his gaze and smiling his way when he saw the three recruits surrounding his apprentice. He was aware that these young men had followed his instructions before he had left for Baemyeong, for he wouldn’t have been able to teach Taemin for a few days. He had temporarily passed the torch on to them, asking them to train him like a brother in arms. Now he was glad and proud to see that they’ve grown that special relationship soldiers could have between each other, despite the different treatment the youngest of them was receiving.

Everyone trusted the General, so no one was questioning his choices and the way he was making a slight difference. This being said, the Prince’s companion was growing more and more eager to attend his new friends’ trainings, the only obstacle being that he was still summoned from time to time. But Jinki had noticed how rare these summonings were becoming, and he was sure Kibum would soon allow himself to completely drop his brotherly authority. This man, as young as he was, was noticeably getting more mature and earning respect thanks to it.

The whole lunch time flew by, with more wraps being eaten until there was none left. The fire was put out as well as the few dishes washed in a bucket filled with the river’s water. While everyone was getting ready to hit the road again, Kibum saw the General walk to Taemin and even though he couldn’t hear what was being said, the joy on his friend’s face talked enough. The young boy rushed to store what he had in hands in the cart provided, before he slowed down and approached a horse.

Shaking his head with a smile, the Prince walked to the chariot and climbed in, sitting on the seat that was the closest to the door’s window. It immediately felt like the space got bigger now that he was alone, and he made the most of it by stretching a bit more his legs. For good measure, he refrained from putting his feet on the opposite seat, and grabbed Taemin’s scrolls to put them next to him so they wouldn’t fall because of the slightest shock.

After a few minutes of loneliness, he heard a horse’s hooves hitting the ground and walking from the front of the convey to its end. He understood Jinki was making sure everything and everyone was fully ready to leave, and he piercingly whistled to notify the scouts to move forwards. The journey resumed for another set of hours, until night would fall and they would set camp. Kibum smiled at the memory of his very first travel as the Prince of Jinju, which he had clandestinely be part of. It had had its advantage : now he could manage a whole trip by himself, for he had seen how his husband did.

However, he was glad to have the General by his side, he still felt so inexperienced and feared doing a mistake or saying an absurdity. On this point, Jinki suddenly appeared near the chariot, riding his brown stallion, too tall for Kibum to be able to see him fully. Thus, the latter casually stuck his head out of the window, putting his arm on the rim to hold his face with his palm. This sudden position had the magical effect to make Lee Jinki laugh.

“Are you desirous to talk with me to that extent, your Grace ?” He said, unable to hold another laughter back. “This must be quite uncomfortable.”

“It is pleasant to see that my potential discomfort amuses you, General.” The Prince retorted, yet smiled. “I can handle it.”

“I do not doubt your determination. I would have proposed you to ride by my side if his Highness had not disallowed me to do so.”

“Did he ? And what is the purpose of this interdiction ? I remember he rode himself when you came to rescue me in the forest, and even after.”

“Indeed, your Grace. But at that time, bandits were threatening chariots so his Highness decided to delude them in case they wanted to ambush us. Today, we are travelling on safe roads so he expressly asked me to keep you inside.”

“All right.”

Jinki cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at the black haired head sticking out of the window. He thought for a second that he had misheard because of the noise of wheels and hooves, but the way the Prince didn’t add anything proved him wrong : the latter had accepted the command, as simple as that. Curious, coming from someone who had deliberately gone against the King’s orders to rush headlong into danger, just a few weeks before.

The General couldn’t help but remember each time he had entered his friend’s quarters during his convalescence, when Kibum had been there already. He had naturally noticed the proximity growing between both men, the gentle gestures, the whispered commands. He hadn’t been able to see more, however it had been enough for him to understand there was something more than friendship between the King and the Prince. Yet, he had never found the occasion to question Minho about it, and he wasn’t sure if he could ask his husband. It was quite personal, after all…

“Have you ever fallen in love, General ?”

The sudden question caught him off guard and Jinki could feel his own face lose all its colours… before getting them back but only a bright red. He coughed a bit and cleared his throat, refusing to look at the potential amusement on his Prince’s face.

“In love, your Grace ?” He repeated.

“Yes, you heard me right.” Kibum replied. “Love is… it is curious, right ?”

“Very curious.”

The General glanced at the black haired head, and was surprised to not see teasing eyes looking up at him. The other man was staring into space, his fingers playing with the window’s rim. He seemed extremely serious, and Jinki thought for a moment that it was the first time he was being asked about such an important matter from the Prince. Love ? He took a few seconds to ponder the reason behind such a question, until his mind sent him his own thoughts from earlier.

Was Kibum reflecting about his feelings towards the King ?

“I have.” He ended up saying, making the other man raise his head. “It was a long time ago, though, before I became a soldier.”

“How did you know it was love ?” The raven haired man asked. “I mean… I apologise if I sound blunt.”

“It is fine, what is lying in the past cannot harm me. However, I have the feeling that my love story is not what interest you, your Grace.”

“I really cannot hide anything from a discerning soldier like you, I see. Yet, I must confess you piqued my curiosity… the journey is long, would you mind telling me ?”

Jinki slightly smiled, amused by the face his Prince was giving him at the moment. He couldn’t tell where he had seen this same expression already, but he was sure these forced puppy-like eyes were familiar.

“I guess it is possible.” He eventually accepted. “But you might be disappointed, it is no touching love story with roses and chirping birds.”

“I like tragic stories more.” Kibum retorted. “Tell me, General.”

“Very well. The Queen Mother hired new female companions when the King and I were teenagers, and well… you must have been a teenager too, your Grace.”

“An extremely difficult period, hard to forget. But I presume it served you well ?”

“It did, I met one of them. Her name was Soongyu. She was in charge of her Majesty’s bedroom’s linen so she was often outside, washing and hanging sheets, while I was training in the yard. I have nothing more to say, it just happened. I fell in love with her.”

“What about her ?”

“At first, she did not love me in return. I was a very clumsy teenager and I might have scared her.”

“Curiously… it does not seem unbelievable to me. But you said it was at first, so everything went well in the end ?”

“Yes, but it was not something big. I mean, we were seeing each other outside and sometimes we met when no one was looking.”

“It does not sound as tragic as you pretended it to be. But… I do not remember one of my mother-in-law’s companions with this name.”

“That is the tragic part, your Grace. She moved away because the King’s late father, may he rest in peace, allowed her mother to go back to her kingdom of origin with her daughter when she lost her husband, and so, Soongyu’s father. I have never seen her again and since then, well, I became a soldier and vowed my life to serve my sovereign. It has been ten years.”

The Prince looked at the General once the latter was done speaking. It indeed wasn’t as tragic as he would have thought, yet it was still saddening him to hear about this man being deprived of the first person he fell in love with. However, Jinki didn’t seem sad when talking about it, it was like telling a memory among so many others. After all, a decade is enough to forget.

“Now that you know my boring story, perhaps you would like to ask me your real question, you Grace ?” The soldier interrupted his thoughts, a smile being slightly noticeable on his lips. “I am all ears.”

“If you do not mind…” Kibum replied, clearing his throat. “I just wonder… how did you know it was love and not just some physical attraction or a fantasy ? How can one know if what they feel is really love ?”

Jinki stared straight in front of him for a few seconds, pondering the question. It was clear to him, the only reason behind this wonder was that the Prince was doubting his own feelings. He wasn’t born the day before.

“I think everyone can know it in a different way, but I can tell you mine.” He ended up saying, his voice suddenly softer. “Perhaps it will help you to deal with your own.”

“I-I never said it was about me, I—” The raven haired man started stuttering, his face growing red as the General slightly laughed.

“It is fine, your Grace. According to me, you know it is love when you start thinking in a different way, a way that includes almost always the person you have in mind. You start doing your usual things, wondering if this person would find it good, impressive, if they would be proud of you. When they start taking such a space in your mind, I think it means they reached your heart.”

“I see…”

“However, the best way to know if you love someone… is to miss them. When you are separated from them, it is a period of self reflection that makes you realise. It is as if everything you questioned found an answer once you cannot reach the person anymore, even temporarily.”

“How can I be sure I miss them because of love and not because of some strange obsession ?”

The soldier smiled, blowing with his nose as if laughing. Now, there was no doubt anymore, not when his Prince was asking his questions by saying I. He was really questioning himself and needed answers, and Jinki curiously felt proud to be the one he had decided to reach out for. Still, it was a bit strange to imagine his childhood friend in this situation, even more when the latter hadn’t told him about anything.

“Obsession would be missing only the good things.” He said. “Love is missing every part, even the ones you hate, because they’re part of the person. If you are able to miss these negative things, could they be attitudes or words, I believe it means you are in love, your Grace.”

Kibum listened carefully and found himself impressed by the maturity and sincerity in the General’s words. He wasn’t surprised overmuch, nor did he regret going to him for answers. It must have been one of the best decisions he had even taken. For a few minutes, he pondered the advices while staring at the horse’s hooves walking on the gravelled path.

Was there something he didn’t like about his husband ? For sure there was. He had witnessed his quiet sulking and had hated it to the core, he would have hit him if he hadn’t remembered he was the King. He would also be lying if he affirmed he adored Minho’s enthusiasm over everything and nothing. Of course he liked it, yet it was sometimes so unbearable… That specific habit he had to always appear out of nowhere… He snored a bit…

The Prince raised his head when he realised what was going in his mind. He shook it to snap out of it and cleared his throat, as if nothing had happened. However, seeing a strange satisfied smile on Jinki’s lips was enough for him to recover his true self.

“Thank you for your wisdom, General.” He declared. “I now have an idea of the reason behind Sir Jonghyun’s attraction. Great minds think alike, right ?”

The soldier almost choked with his own saliva as he heard the shameless words, and he immediately regretted allowing himself to show his amusement. When there was such a game in the air, the Prince was too much of an expert and one had to be a fool to try him. His reaction made Kibum laugh his head off, but surprisingly, he softened rather quickly.

“Do not worry.” He just said. “My own secrets are difficult to keep, yet, keeping others’ is my speciality. Additionally, I understand why you looked more expressive and… relaxed, lately ?”

“Your Grace, I…” Jinki cleared his throat, embarrassed from head to toe. “I am not aware about what you know but—”

“I think I know the main thing, and it is none of my concern. I will just say it is… surprising, considering we are both quite different.”

“Are we really going to talk about such intimate things, your Grace ?”

“Of course not. Unless you wish to ?”

The General grew even redder and grumbled, mumbling something about his duty to check on his soldiers, before he jabbed his stallion’s side with his spurs and left a smiling Prince at his chariot’s window. As he joined the scouts at the very front of the convey, Jinki kept his mind busy by asking stuff related to the journey such as the remaining rations of their supplies or the need for some walkers to switch with riders.

However, once he was done with his checking… the man found himself smiling. He was beyond dumbfounded by the way the other man had just casually brought his affair up, and if there was someone the soldier didn’t want to be aware of this, it was Kibum. However, as surprising as it was, the latter didn’t seem upset about his first love fooling around with someone else… this someone else being the General of Jinju’s army.

No, he seemed unbothered. And somehow, Jinki felt as if it had taken a weigh off his mind.

The King was staring at the armchair near his bed, in which a man with blonde hair tied in a tiny bun was sitting with a book in his hands. It has been two days. Two days since his husband had left the palace with his best friend, and it felt like months. It wasn’t like Jonghyun was mean or neglecting him, not in the least. He was completely complying to the Prince’s desire and showed himself receptive to any of his sovereign’s wishes and needs.

There was absolutely nothing one could reproach the teacher for, and that was simply annoying Minho.

His naturally kind self was even making him regret to feel so resentful towards the blonde man, who actually did nothing to harm him. The affair with Kibum ? It couldn’t count, it wouldn’t be fair to be mad at him about it since it had happened before the King had started developing feelings towards his husband. However, his jealousy was still present, the single idea of the Prince offering his body to his teacher and not as much to him… ah, it was killing him !

And he felt so belittled next to such a man, who knew so many things and certainly had no problems to please his former lover. That was it. The sovereign wanted that knowledge. He craved tips. But it was out of the question, he wouldn’t ask someone he thought as his rival about bed advices. He was a King !

“You seem troubled, your Highness.” Jonghyun suddenly said without even looking up, his voice low, soft and calm, as always. So irritating.

“What makes you say that ?” Minho cocked an eyebrow, doing his best to not sound too agressive. “You are not looking at me.”

“There is no need, I can hear your breathing change.”

Saying this, the teacher closed his book and put it on the bedside table before he raised his head. Meeting the King’s eyes, he smiled.

“How can I help you ?” He asked. “I guess you are growing bored.”

“I am…” Minho started, clearing his throat to gain enough time to find a lie. “I am tired of staying here. I can walk now.”

“Of course you can, your Highness. Should we leave ?”

Jonghyun immediately stood up and waited for his sovereign to move on his bed, offering him his forearm to allow him to hold himself up. Once he was standing, the King couldn’t help but feel a great pride : he was at least a head taller than the teacher. Here he was reduced to enjoy such a meaningless thing as long as it was something he had and the other hadn’t… how absurd.

Quietly, Minho let the blonde bring him his coat and help him putting it on, just as he let him grab the large fabric belt and tie it around his waist. His gestures were always so soft, not rushed, it was quite different with the Prince, whose grips were strong and firm when he meant them. How come such unalike men had found themselves tied with a bond that had almost had them killed ?

Once he was all ready, he cleared his throat and started walking, still too slowly to his taste, but he felt grateful that Jonghyun gave him a chance instead of grabbing his arm like everyone else did for days. They walked side by side along the east wing, quiet as usual, until a determining question had to be asked.

“And where do we go ?” The teacher asked, immediately embarrassing Minho who had no idea about this. “I know the Queen Mother is in the gardens at the moment.”

“Then we should avoid the gardens.” The King said, not missing the smile on the blonde’s lips who had certainly noticed how pressuring the woman could be since her son was weakened. “Let us go to the Library, it has been ages since I have seen a book or at least, held one in my hands.”

“Sure we go, your Highness.”

Jonghyun’s enthusiast was well hidden, yet not enough for Minho to not see it ; he couldn’t help but smile, after all it was thanks to him if the other man was now allowed to visit this somehow extremely private space. He found himself wondering if he had already read a lot of books, and which ones… in no time, they arrived in the corridor leading to the Royal Library, and the King felt his legs starting to fail him — it wasn’t as strong as a few days before, but it felt like his muscles contracted too hard to allow him to move freely, until they would unflex by themselves.

The teacher had explained him that it might be a way for his muscles to drain the last remaining of poison, tensing and relaxing like a sponge wringing. He had taken a few notes on the antidote’s effects, never hiding them from Minho since he was concerned. The latter had read them all, and had even been able to add some things he had noticed when he had been alone, or during his sleep. However, he could feel himself gaining strength again, and if a relapse had had to happen, it should have happened already. He was on the right track.

For the last meters, Jonghyun offered his arm to his King, who took it to use it as a support. That was another difference the man had compared to everyone else : when his mother, friend or even his husband would help him to walk, they would always hold him themselves, by the shoulders or the waist. They were making him walk, while the blonde just proposed himself as a simple support, allowing him to still walk by himself if he felt strong enough to.

Once they entered the Library, Minho immediately sat in the biggest armchair, sighing as he put his hand on his thigh. The teacher closed the door behind them and looked at the sovereign’s gesture, before he approached and pushed a footrest not far. He politely notified him to use it, and once the King had his legs stretched, he kneeled and started… massaging them.

“What… What are you doing ?” The latter asked, surprised.

“This will help to relax your muscle faster.” Jonghyun explained without ceasing his pressures on Minho’s legs, over his pants. “When it starts contracting, your Highness, you must do this or ask someone else to do it, so you will not be unable to walk for too long. It is nothing but helping yourself.”

“I see… Do you think I will walk normally soon ?”

“From what I witnessed, you are progressing day by day. I did not do any calculations but I think in less than a week, you will be completely healed. However, I will use the last petals I have to brew some tea. Perhaps a smaller dose will help ? I will do it only with your consent, naturally.”

“You have it, if it can free me from this.”

The teacher just nodded and focused on his massage, the tips of his fingers applying pressure exactly where it was needed. Minho could feel it affect his legs, they were growing less and less stiff. As he stared at the blonde man, he thought that he must have massaged a lot before, to be so aware of the right spots to press. Curiosity was invading the King’s mind and it soon felt unbearable.

“Have you learned how to massage like this with the Prince ?” He asked, what made the other man stop and he immediately added something for good measure. “Or even Taemin.”

“Speak your mind, your Highness.” Jonghyun only replied as he resumed his gestures. “Have I not proved you my ability to be extremely honest before ?”

“You have…”

“I have noticed the way you look at me, there is a certain amount of questions in your eyes. Your silence escapes me, nevertheless, for I am willing to give you the answers you need. Supposing I have them.”

The King slightly frowned, his eyes never leaving the face of the man massaging him. So the latter was just waiting for him to ask things since the beginning ? He remembered that Kibum had told him his friend wasn’t the kind to talk unless he’s invited to, even if he was certainly the most observant person he knew. Countless times before their arrival in Jinju, the Prince had decided to seek advices from Jonghyun, and as soon as he had asked, his elder had smiled, telling him he had been waiting.

So perhaps he should take this chance, Minho thought. After all, if he was so obvious…

“I wondered how was the Prince, in his personal life.” He heard himself say, immediately regretting.

The teacher slightly smiled, and this smile screamed the words I knew it. He took a few more seconds to remain quiet and finish his massage, before he stood up and grabbed a chair, bringing it closer to the sovereign and sitting on it. As was his habit, he crossed his legs and joined his hands together on his thighs, intertwining his own fingers. When he raised his head, his eyes met the King’s, who felt his face heating.

“What do you mean by his personal life, your Highness ?” Jonghyun asked, and the tone of his voice wasn’t ironic nor sarcastic, just engaging. “I am aware of some things related to the growing relationship between his Grace and yourself, however I cannot help if you do not speak your mind. Please be blunt with me.”

Minho swallowed with difficulty, feeling like some spy or insane voyeur… he perfectly knew what he was curious about, since the night preceding Kibum’s departure. But saying it out loud, to the person who indeed was the only one who had lived this kind of experiences with his husband… he felt so ashamed and envious at the same time, it was killing him inside.

“I want to know what to do in intimacy.” He ended up asking, holding Jonghyun’s gaze the best he could despite his face burning.

“There we are.” The teacher smiled. “So you reached this step already…”

“What do you know about us exactly ? Did my husband talk with you ?”

“He did, your Highness, for the better. Considering our former relationship, we recently exchanged about our current situations and partners, and he brought your marriage up.”

“P-Partners…? Are you saying you are seeing someone ?”

“This is perhaps the only thing I will keep to myself, if your Highness does not mind. But I believe knowing this is a relief to you, am I right ? Your shoulders just relaxed.”

“By the Gods.”

The King sighed, unable to hold his relief back any longer and making Jonghyun smile. So his friend’s husband had been worried about this, it explained so many things.

“You are safe from me, your Highness.” He affirmed. “The Prince and I are nothing more than really good friends henceforth.”

“I feel so stupid.” Minho confessed, holding his head with one hand. “I trapped my own mind in such absurdities, I believe I should apologise to you.”

“I do not need your apologies, but I will ask you a favour : trust your husband. He is willing to make your relationship evolve, this is a promise. As I told you, he talked to me about you, and even if it is not my position to repeat his words, I can offer you a helping hand for the topic you brought up.”

“Isn’t it awkward ?”

“Not with me, your Highness. However, I reserve the right to not reveal too personal things that I think his Grace will gladly tell you or show you himself.”

“Will he ?”

“Of course. He knows a lot.”

“The thing is, I do not know a lot. I will easily hold myself up to ridicule if I do not get advices.”

“Have you never been in a relationship before, your Highness ?”

“No, my position did not allow me to, for I was meant to marry a woman of my status once crowned. Before my marriage was arranged, I might have fancied a few girls from the palace’s employees, but it was meant to be temporary and hurtful so I never risked any form of commitment.”

“And in terms of intimacy ?”

“Well…”

Minho cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks burning both inside and outside as he was about to reveal something as personal. Jonghyun was so welcoming, his voice felt hypnotising and he wasn’t fearing to tell more… but still, he hadn’t talked about it even with his best friend, and the teacher was still an acquaintance. Yet, he wanted, he needed answers. He didn’t want to be ridiculous next to his husband, he also wanted to please him.

“Aside from… solitary things…” He said, “My husband and I have started something.”

“I believe you were still weakened by poison, am I right ?” The blonde asked. “So you could not do much.”

“Indeed… It was just… hum, hands ? I mean I did not do much, he handled everything and even though it was… nice, I feel a bit frustrated that I was not able to return anything.”

“Oh, I see. No need to tell more, I know what you mean. You are at the beginning, your Highness, you have nothing to fear. Here is what I can tell you that will hopefully help you.”

“I am all ears.”

“The Prince is not someone selfish, when it comes to intimacy — love making. However, he can surprise you with his sexual personality, let me explain. This is the point we are of one mind : we are neither fully dominant or fully submissive to each other. He is still quite commanding, but it is because he knows things and he knows what he likes.”

“I think I can… understand, what you mean.”

“What you have to know is that he will always be caring, for you are not like me. When I was experienced and he was not, he was just like you. But now that he is the experienced one, you are certainly touching him. Knowing him for years, I can assure that he must feel proud to be the one to teach you, and he can be extremely patient, as difficult to believe as it can be.”

“Is he ?”

“Did he rush things, last time ?”

“No, not at all. Maybe at the end, but…”

“This is normal. What are you afraid of exactly, your Highness ? That he would go too fast ?”

“I… I do not know who… which one of us will… you know… when time will come when we can reach that step… I mean… I do not know anything about it so…”

“Oh.”

Jonghyun softly smiled, acknowledging and understanding the King’s trouble. Obviously, intimacy between men could scare a bit more when it came to the actual thing, and having such a manly person fear it and assume it was a first time for the teacher. Minho’s face was drowning in a red ocean, his eyes shifty and his Adam’s apple betraying the numerous times he gulped.

“I see, this is quite a natural worry, your Highness.” The blonde ended up saying. “I will only tell you one thing. You do not have to fear anything, for the Prince knows about both ways, and has experienced them both. He will never do anything that scares you, and will always ask you before doing something. You just have to trust him, and to trust yourself. Intimacy is a matter of mutual trust, it is not about someone pleasing someone else and that is all. It is mutual consent, mutual pleasure, and even if at first, your husband might be the one taking initiatives… with time, you will take some too, naturally. You will learn by yourself to respond and return what he gives you. You have to give yourself time, your Highness.”

“He experienced both ways…?” Minho repeated, widening his eyes. “You mean, when I surprised you…”

“He was receiving me that day, indeed. But we were the kind to change often, it was all about our mutual desires and moods. He can give and receive.”

“By the Gods, I feel like a teenager discovering everything…”

“You do not have to be ashamed about it, no one is born an expert. I learned, he learned, you will learn. Just allow yourself time, and trust your husband. He will take the time you need, trust me. And if you need anything, you know where to find me, even if it would be better to ask him instead.”

“Thank you. If someone had told me that I would have this talk with you…”

“We would both have laughed, your Highness. But I believe you feel better now ?”

“I do.”

“Do you another question ?”

The King smiled and was about to answer where the Library’s door was opened, and the Queen Mother appeared in the frame. She was wearing her bad days’ face, and it didn’t look good. Standing straight and holding her head high, she entered the room and cleared her throat.

“My son.” She called, her voice firm and domineering. “We need to discuss your marriage’s future. In private.”

Maguk’s palace was magnificent. Pure white walls and towers crowned by roofs made of turquoise slates, windows rimmed with a curious white variety of wood. It screamed simplicity, but once inside, it was something else : to honour their reputation as the kingdom of fabrics and fashion, inhabited by the most skilled dressmakers and upholsterers, the walls were decorated with sumptuous draperies and tapestries.

As he was walking in the hall’s corridor, the Prince had his eyes sparkling : Maguk was the kingdom he had always wanted to visit, but never had he thought he would do so as Jinju’s King’s husband and representative. To do justice to his dream destination, he had brought his most beautiful attire and was wearing it proudly : all white, embroidered with complex and beautiful golden symbols, simple yet impressive just like this place. To put his own touch, he had expressly called Taemin inside his chariot two whole hours before their arrival, telling him what to do with his hair. Thus, he was wearing his long hair in a very complex style, golden pins holding everything beautifully and of course, his wedding gift crowning the whole thing.

He was splendid-looking.

Behind him were standing the General and his companions, followed by a handful of his soldiers. He didn’t needed more when he was inside, safe and logically sure to not be threatened. He still made sure to take a deep breath when he heard his name and title being announced before the doors of the Great Room were opened. Holding his head high, he walked in, followed by his small escort.

The room’s walls were covered with the same gorgeous draperies as in the hall, the marble floor was covered with a long turquoise carpet surrounded by soldiers in rows, that led him until the thrones. Sitting there, were the Queen Hyoyeon, sumptuous in her blue dress, and her husband, Lord Eunhyuk, General of the kingdom’s Army. Standing not far, a man in a military outfit let them know he was the Captain in charge of advising the Lord and of trainings in the field.

These wonderfully looking persons would have made anyone’s jaw drop… but what had that effect on the Prince, his General and his companion was a specific detail about the Queen. Something that made their stomach fall in their feet, something so unique yet so familiar that it was way too strange to be true. Hyoyeon smiled and stood up, imitated by her husband.

As she bowed, her long, fair blonde mane seemed to scintillate thanks to the sun piercing through the glass dome above their head.

“Welcome to Maguk, your Grace.” She said, and her voice exuded royalty. “We are beyond honoured to receive you today.”

“T-Thank you, your Majesty.” Kibum said, immediately snapping out of his thoughts to assume his role. “It is an honour for me as well to have come as a representative of Jinju. I would like to apologise on behalf of my husband, King Minho of Jinju, for his regrettable absence at this important meeting.”

“Do not apologise, your Grace, we have been briefed about his Highness’ situation. We are grateful that you still managed to come to us.”

“Without his Highness, this meeting is worth nothing.”

All heads turned towards the Captain, whose face was closed and eyes were staring at the Prince with a angered expression. Immediately, Jinki stepped forwards with his hand on his sword’s pommel, passing his sovereign and positioning himself in a defending way. As a reaction, the other man grabbed his own sword’s handle, way much more threatening than the General.

It could have gone worse if Kibum didn’t put his hand on his protector’s shoulder, before skirting him to walk towards the Captain, climbing the few stairs of the platform. He didn’t know what kind of adrenaline was pushing him forwards but once he was facing the man, he found himself taller than him and drew strength from it.

“Are you disappointed, Sir ?” He said, his tone sharper than a blade yet extremely calm. “I thought I would meet Maguk’s sovereigns and their loyal Captain, they did not warn me I would have to deal with a spoiled child as well.”

“Your Grace—” The man started.

“Do not interrupt me, I am not done. Your attitude just ruined your sovereign’s welcoming speech and left an extremely negative impression in my mind. Do you have anything more to say, Sir ? Please go ahead, but remember one thing. Disrespect me, harm me, with words or gestures, and it is the King of Jinju that you will disrespect and harm. Unsheathe your sword, Sir, and this will be a war declaration. I am all ears.”

The firm words that were pronounced, combined to the piercing gaze of the Prince, seemed to shut every single person up in the room. However, the only one growing pale was the man he had in front of him ; not far from him, Hyoyeon and Eunhyuk were staring at them, beyond impressed. Behind his back, Jinki had a whole new kind of crooked smile on his lips, while Taemin and the other soldiers were having a proud glint in their eyes.

“I believe his Grace asked you a question, Sir Park.” The blonde Queen eventually spoke. “Will you bring shame upon me once more by ignoring it ?”

“No, my Queen.” The Captain grumbled before he looked up, meeting Kibum’s eyes. “I offer you my most sincere apologies, your Grace. I was not in my proper place.”

“Indeed, you were not.” The Prince replied. “Nevertheless, your apologies are accepted.”

With these words, Kibum turned away and joined his place, nodding towards his General as a way to thank him for showing himself ready to protect him at all costs. Once everything seemed back to a calmer atmosphere, Hyoyeon smiled and stepped down the plaform.

“Such inconvenience for your arrival, your Grace.” She said. “I suggest we leave this awful room and I personally show you around ?”

“It will be an honour and a pleasure, your Majesty.”

The Prince smiled and offered his arm to the woman, who took it with pure elegance as she led him outside. Behind them, Lord Eunhyuk stood still, and the way he was waiting for everyone to leave said a lot about what Sir Park was going to live. Kibum didn’t hide a smile when the doors closed behind him, and he followed his host through the countless corridors and halls, relishing the visit and the way the Queen was telling about every tapestry and decoration with a smooth, mesmerising voice.

The raven haired man was feeling like he had been brought back to the time his mother was receiving fabrics and clothes imported from Maguk. She would always brag about it and repeat the history of the kingdom again and again, so much that Kibum knew it by heart. The only thing he had struggled to remember, surprisingly, had been the name of the realm : now, it was engraved in his mind forever.

Everything was so beautiful that he didn’t feel the visit pass, until they were back at their starting point. The sun had started to set but was still in the sky, its orangey beams making the white walls take a soft peachy colour.

“I forgot something really important.” Hyoyeon suddenly said. “I am extremely impressed by your attire, your Grace. White and gold are a gorgeous combination, yet it does not suit everyone. For sure it suits you, it looks like it was created for you.”

“This is an incredible compliment, your Majesty, thank you.” The Prince found himself blushing, even though he was feeling prouder than ever. “I must confess I chose it for this special occasion.”

“It is an honour.”

“May I say that I am also impressed by your dress. This shade of blue suits your hair to perfection.”

“This is the first time someone link my clothes to my hair… it is really pleasant, thank you.”

“Blonde hair is not common, it makes me curious, to be honest.”

“Really ? I am the first blonde person you meet, am I right, your Grace ?”

“I might disappoint you, your Majesty, but I have a dear friend of mine with the exact same hair colour as you. It is not surprising to me, what is surprising is to find a second person like him.”

The Queen raised her eyebrows, her face showing the shock she felt by hearing such a statement. She was expecting her guest to be amazed, yet not to say she wasn’t his first blonde encounter.

“This is… quite interesting, your Grace…” She said, and the way she frowned caught Kibum off guard.

“Why so ? Did I say something wrong ?” He wondered out loud, what his host immediately denied.

“Not at all, do not worry. It is just that… have you ever heard about the reason behind my hair colour ?”

“I confess I did not, your Majesty.”

“Please follow me.”

With these words, the Queen let go of his arm and started walking faster than usual. Surprised but not less worried, Kibum commanded his escort to remain where they were, except for the General. Both men followed Hyoyeon who led them through more corridors and stairs, until she made them enter a room she hadn’t shown them before. They widened their eyes when they found themselves in a completely empty place… if it wasn’t for a pedestal at the exact center, with a large open book resting on it.

As she let him approach, Kibum realised it was a register : the whole dynasty of Maguk’s rulers was contained in these pages, history of the kingdom throughout the years. When he looked up to ask the Queen about the matter, he noticed the walls. He had thought at first that the decoration was common… but he had been wrong. It wasn’t simple trees and branches’ traced on the walls. It was a whole family tree running all around the room.

“What is the meaning of this, your Majesty ?” He eventually asked, starting to worry over a simple hair colour.

“Your Grace, my hair colour is the result of a disease that has been in my family for decades, even centuries.” Hyoyeon explained, her voice a bit more shaky than before. “A disease that catches some of us when we are infants, whether we are boys or girls. It weakens us, and it actually shows up differently according to each child. The only shared symptom is the loss of our hair… and if we manage to get through it, to heal… they grow back, blonde, almost white, like mine. Like a scar.”

“It cannot be true…”

“It is, your Grace. I recently lost my youngest child to this disease, while my first born thankfully did not catch it.”

“But my friend… he is not from Maguk, he was born in Mongje, my hometown. There must be a mistake somewhere.”

“Born in Mongje, you said ?”

The Queen frowned and walked to the register, turning the pages rather quickly. The sound they made were setting a tensed atmosphere up, and Kibum turned towards Jinki to find reassurance in the General’s eyes… but the latter wasn’t able to hide his own tension, faced with such a potential revelation. Seconds flew by, then minutes… until the blonde woman placed her finger on a page.

“Two centuries ago, a female ancestor of mine who was not competing for the throne because she had too many older sisters before her, married a man from the people.” She said. “This union was prohibited, so she was banned from Maguk and lost her title of Princess.”

“What does it mean, your Majesty ?” The General asked when he noticed his Prince struggling to answer.

“This ancestor was Kim Minah, she married a commoner named Kim Hanseol. Since they could not live in Maguk as a couple, they went into exile and found a refuge in Mongje. Logic would have wanted our kingdom to stop keeping track of their descendants, but I have them here, I am not the one who wrote the last name because I was not aware of this.”

“What is the last name ?” Kibum asked, approaching the pedestal.

“It’s a boy, born twenty-three years ago, during my mother’s reign, and it is specified that he survived the disease. His name is Kim Jonghyun.”

#minkey #minho #key #kibum #shinee #fanfic #historical #kingdom of jinju #jongyu #jonghyun #onew #jinki #taemin

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bodyofvvater · 5 years

Text

foil

last night i had to accept that luca and @arlessaofamaranthine‘s cosmas, my arch nemesis, defo hooked up, and also that i was defo gonna write about the aftermath, and now i’m putting the end product here where everyone can see it. it’s not my best writing and luca isnt Entirely in character (although that’s at least partially on purpose), but i had fun writing it, so here it is anyway

Luca spends more time looking for him than he would care to admit. At least he takes solace in cursing his name all the while.

Not twelve hours ago, Cosmas was in Luca’s room, a little disheveled and a lot out of breath. And Luca felt smug, letting Cosmas set the pace, knowing he thought he was in control--knowing he wasn’t at all. Afterward, Cosmas looked a particular kind of pretty, and Luca told him so knowing it would make a flush crawl up his neck. And then they drifted off to sleep, tangled up in each other yet careful not to let their hands touch. All par for the course; good bedside manner, as far as hooking up is concerned.

The problem was waking up. Cold in an empty bed, with none of the easy bickering of two friends who just did each other a very mutually beneficial favor. Maybe he should be upset; as it stands, Luca is mostly affronted.

And as if being left in his own bed isn’t bad enough, now Luca has to scour all of Skyhold looking for the son of a bitch.

Because--okay, maybe Cosmas sneaking out in the middle of the night isn’t as out of left field as he would like it to be. Luca knows Cosmas is about as far from straight as it gets. He’s not so sure Cosmas is aware of this himself.

It’s not even a week since they sat by one of the tables in the Great Hall, still chatting hours after everyone else had cleared out after dinner. And Luca mentioned growing up with no one like him around, not knowing that he wasn’t the only one. Cosmas offered a “that must have been hard for you” with all the sympathy of someone who had never had to think about it, and then that was that.

Luca might have believed him, if two drinks later Cosmas wasn’t practically straddling him, staring at his hands like he wanted to eat them.

Luca might let him, in a manner of speaking, if Cosmas hasn’t scared himself back into the closet.

It takes almost an hour of searching (why is this castle so huge?), but in the end, Luca finds him in the library. He’s practically folded in on himself, knees to his chest and chin resting on them, looking like he’s trying to blend into the chair Dorian usually occupies.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Luca wonders where the Inquisitor might have dragged Dorian off to; his active thoughts are mostly occupied with the sight in front of him. Much to his delight (and probably to the man in question’s dismay), Cosmas has done a piss poor job of not looking like he recently got fucked--if he’s tried at all. His blond hair is mussed and sticking up every which way, tangled where Luca vividly remembers his fingers clasping down. He’s got a hickey peeking up over the hem of his shirt--which appears to be unbuttoned halfway, if Luca isn’t mistaken.

He could waste time worrying about what to say. He’s not particularly fond of worrying, though, so he plunges right in.

“How long have you been here?” he asks, and tries not to snicker when Cosmas nearly jumps out of his own skin--this doesn’t exactly seem like the time to laugh at him. Later, he promises himself.

“Um…” Cosmas starts, and, okay, wow, speechless. That’s a new look on him. “I don’t know? Some… hours, maybe?”

Luca can’t resist a small scoff at that; he’s not perfect.

“Talk to me,” he says then, because he doesn’t know how else to broach this particular subject. Easier to let Cosmas do the talking.

Cosmas looks at him for a long, endless second. Luca thinks maybe it should make him weak in the knees; that might make this easier. If he could sit down next to Cosmas and take his hands and monologue about how much he loved him and how last night had meant the world to him. It isn’t true, but for a moment he considers saying it anyway, if Cosmas wants to hear it.

Instead, Cosmas speaks: “You’re a good man, Luca,” and Maker, it’s gonna be one of those speeches. “You’re a good man, and-- Our friendship is. Good.”

There’s a pause where Cosmas looks like he’s forgotten how to speak. Luca has the urge to chuckle again; he swallows it down.

“We--” Cosmas starts, then stops. A determined expression colors his features then, and he starts over; “Last night was a mistake.”

“Alright,” says Luca. Determination melts into confusion on Cosmas’s face; Luca has never realized how close the two can be.

“Just… alright?” he asks, hesitant. Like he’s scared he’s about to open up a can of worms he won’t know how to close again.

Luca saunters closer, leans against the bookcase across from where Cosmas sits. He doesn’t sit down; he likes that he’s the taller of the two in this position.

“Yes, alright,” he says, “What were you expecting? For me to plead for you to love me? Try to trick you back into bed?”

There’s a shameful silence before Cosmas sighs, “I… Maybe?”

Luca rolls his eyes; “Andraste’s ass, you’re pretty, but you’re not that pretty.”

A flash of something small and scared passes over Cosmas’s features, and Luca sort of wishes Delphine were here to tell him what that meant--but then he realizes that that would mean he’d have to tell her that he slept with Cosmas, and suddenly he sincerely hopes she’s on the other side of Thedas until he can destroy the evidence.

“It’s just that I’m… I’m not, you know, like that.”

At least he has the decency to look forlorn.

Luca suddenly feels a little sick, something cold and hard coiling in his stomach. If his pride wasn’t all he had, he might have walked away. Because it’s one thing to say you’re not into men, or that you didn’t enjoy a hook-up. Even that your friendship can never be the same.

Cosmas says it like it’s poison, and Luca knows exactly what it means. I’m not like that. I’m not like you. You’re not like me. You’re not like us.

Luca wears his best steely expression, tries to tell his rapidly beating heart to quiet. “I don’t appreciate your tone,” he says, and feels so much like his father that he could laugh if he wasn’t so angry. Or sad, or hurt, or whatever he is. It all seems to blend together.

“You know what I mean--”

“Yeah, I do,” Luca cuts him off. “I wish you didn’t.”

Cosmas looks apologetic at that. It feels like a consolation prize; Luca hates that it makes him feel a little better.

“It’s just,” Cosmas sighs, “I like women. That’s-- I always have.”

Luca rolls his eyes; “You can like both. Any. All.”

“But I don’t.”

“Forgive me for being a little skeptical,” Luca scoffs, “after having you begging in my bed not twelve hours ago.”

Cosmas crosses his arms. He looks like a petulant child. Good, Luca thinks, for once it’s not me.

“It was a mistake,” Cosmas reiterates. He looks desperate--a little crazed, maybe. Luca wants to ask why he’s this upset about it if last night truly meant nothing to him, but it feels like a waste.

“Alright,” he says again instead, “I’m not arguing that.”

“Then why are you arguing?”

“Because you’re being an ass about it!” Luca exclaims, a little louder than he was aiming for. If someone else is in the library, they certainly heard. He doesn’t care enough to look.

“I’m being an ass about it?” Cosmas asks, incredulous.

For a second, Luca thinks he sees him with the same lens Delphine does. Selfish, oblivious, destructive. A second, and then he’s back to Cosmas--a peer, a friend, and, as of last night, a lover. Both frustrate him endlessly.

“Yes, you,” he snaps. “I’m not a foil to your fragile masculinity. You jumped into bed with me as much as I jumped into bed with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m not an animal. You don’t have to worry about me pouncing on you. But whatever crisis you’re having is yours to deal with--I don’t want the blame for it after you asked me to take you somewhere private.”

Cosmas goes quiet, and so does Luca, and then they’re just staring at each other.

Part of Luca knows he’s not being entirely fair. He remembers this; remembers feeling scared and alone and different, desperate for something he felt disgusting for indulging in. Reading every novel in the library at home, wondering how all the men fell in love with those women, how they made themselves do it. Mostly just wondering if they secretly fell in love with their best friends, their fellow soldiers, neighboring princes. If it was so secret the narrator didn’t even tell the reader.

He looks at Cosmas and sees a man who knows only what he wants when he has it, and spends every other moment depriving himself of it. It must be a tortured existence, Luca thinks sympathetically, all while imagining what words he could say to cut the deepest.

“I didn’t mean to imply…” Cosmas says then, sounding a little embarrassed. “I’m not-- You didn’t… take advantage of me.”

Relief washes over Luca, smothering a worry he didn’t know he had. Suddenly he feels like crying, a little bit.

“Okay,” he says instead, barely managing to keep his voice even. “Good. I’m glad.”

Slowly, Cosmas unfolds himself from where he’s been sitting curled up. He grimaces as he stands on stiff legs, and Luca almost grumbles as Cosmas is once again the taller of the two of them.

“Look,” Cosmas says with all the guilt and pity of someone trying to break up with a partner gently. Maker, no.

“Don’t,” Luca practically begs.

Cosmas, thankfully, shuts right up.

“I told you,” Luca continues, “I’m not in love with you, I’m not an idiot. Last night was fun. That’s it. That’s all it has to be.”

Cosmas hesitates. Seems to search for something in Luca’s face, body language, something. Luca wouldn’t be able to say what if his life depended on it, but whatever it is, Cosmas seems satisfied with his conclusion. He smiles--just barely, a tiny thing, but it makes Luca breathe easier all the same.

Then he sticks out a hand to shake, and Luca has to laugh.

“You want to shake on it?” he asks.

There’s still a nervousness to Cosmas as he chuckles. “I don’t know, it felt appropriate?”

“It most certainly isn’t,” Luca says, and shakes his hand anyway. It’s better than arguing.

#the ending is so half-assed ok #i just didnt feel like writing any more at that point #oc tag #luca bellamy #cosmas etlet #also #delphine d'aramitz #is mentioned

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turtlesoupstories · 7 years

Text

A Medical Emergency Pt.2

Howdy friends! It’s wee bairn Marlo, coming to you live from a family holiday to Montreal. So many of you asked for a second part to my prompt surrounding doctor Claire and patient Jamie, which I have since dubbed A Medical Emergency (which you can read here). And, considering how angsty the last few TSS fics have been (blame Kaitlyn and Mikayla), I figured it was time to deliver some fluff for your amusement!

As always, a major thank you to my Kilt Kult buddies and fellow TSS mods for keeping me on track and reassuring me that my writing isn’t trash. Also, I owe all of you a major shout out as well, as I would never have written this fic without your overwhelming positive response. So, thank you thank you thank you from the very bottom of my heart!

Enjoy!

It was two weeks before Claire could stomach facing Jamie again. The surgery had been a success, and Claire had meticulously mended the shattered bones of Jamie’s hand. She hadn’t counted on the infection that set in, keeping him bedridden and feverish for nearly a week. Claire couldn’t help but feel responsible.

“It happens all the time LJ. I wouldn’t worry about it.” said Joe Abernathy, Claire’s fellow doctor and hospital confidante. She knew that there was nothing she could have done, that infections happen and it was out of her control, but the thought of seeing Jamie in more pain, with even the smallest chance of it being by her hand, was too much to bear. She didn’t know what is was about this Scot: his bull-headedness, the way his nose crinkled when he smiled at her as she was wheeling him into surgery, or how peaceful and innocent he looked under anesthesia, the softness of his face making him look like a child. Whatever it was, Claire found herself experiencing feelings she had never felt before, and it left her simultaneously terrified and exhilarated.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Claire had just finished a run of the mill appendectomy. Granted with a brief reprieve, she quickly cleaned herself off before heading to the on-call room, eager to take a quick rest before her pager summoned her again. Unfortunately, she found herself having to cross through the recovery wing, where Jamie lay behind the closed door of room 263. Claire had continued to follow his case, coercing nurses into providing valuable intel on his condition and moral.

“Yes, he is eating.”

“No. He doesn’t have a fever.”

“If you’re so interested Doctor, why don’t you go ask him yourself?”

Still, Claire refused to step foot in that room. The nagging guilt in her stomach surrounding his prolonged hospitalization, coupled with the more puzzling stirrings deep in the pit of her stomach, wouldn’t allow her to walk down the white tile hall leading up to his room. Unfortunately, she currently had no other option.

She went by as quickly as she could, keeping her head down and praying that no one would stop her.

“Doctor Beauchamp!”

Claire grimaced as she heard her name and reluctantly turned around to face her summoner.

“Ah, Mrs. Murray. I hope all is well?”

“Aye. Things have been goin’ on well enough for me, though I canna say the same about my brother.”

Claire felt her heart drop. Had something happened to Jamie? Was the infection back? The cold white walls of the hall seemed to stretch out before her, and her head began to spin. She wanted to respond, to ask Jamie’s sister, Jenny, what was wrong. But for the first time, Claire couldn’t find the words.

Jenny saw the distress in Claire’s eyes. “He’s been askin’ for you.” she said, “Said that you owed him a date.”

He remembered that? Claire thought, shocked that after weeks, a major operation, and a bout of illness, Jamie still remembered the date she had promised.

Claire felt her cheeks go hot. “I guess I do… I just wasn’t sure if-”

“If he was being serious? Doctor Beauchamp, ye may not have known my brother long, but you oughta be able to tell that it wasna the pain speaking when he asked to see you again. I canna tell you why, but ye seem to have him wrapped around your dainty English finger.”

Claire was left dumbfounded. Maybe whatever nagging feeling in her gut that had been plaguing her since her first meeting with Jamie Fraser was mutual. Or, maybe he wanted to see her to ask what she did wrong, how horribly she had failed to keep him in hospital for an extra week, at least.

“I'll try and see him as soon as I can; I promise. But I really have to get going now, a doctor’s work never ends.” She slowly backed away. “It really was nice to speak with you again, Mrs. Murray, and I’m happy to hear that Mr. Fraser is recovering well. Give him my best.” And with that, Claire practically sprinted down the hall, feeling Jenny’s eyes burning into her back until she turned the corner.

Forgetting about her intent to rest, she pushed open the door to the women’s room, pushing into a stall, unsure whether she was about to throw up, burst into tears, or some combination of the two. She sat, chest heaving, her head in her hands, breathing in the sanitary scent of her post-surgery, anti-bacterial soap.

Pull yourself together Beauchamp. You’re a bloody doctor for Christ’s sake!

Slowly, Claire felt herself begin to calm, her hands stopped shaking and her heart no longer felt like it was going to burst from her chest. She left the stall, and stared at herself in the warped mirror over the sink, splashing water on her face and running a hand through her knotted curls. She thought about what Jenny had said; Jamie wanted to see her.

She knew she couldn’t hide any longer, and it was time to face the music. Taking a steely breath, and making one final adjustment to her hair, Claire escaped the rest-room and made her way to the cafe.

Arms laden with all of the delicacies the hospital had to offer, Claire stood outside of Jamie’s room, unsure what was awaiting her inside. Was she about to face the angry wrath of a man betrayed by his doctor, or was she going to find the same stubborn, exuberant face she had met in the A&E? Regardless, she had no other choice than to face him. Shifting the food in her arms, Claire quickly rapped at the door, her heart racing as she heard his Scottish lilt.

“Come in.”

Claire fumbled with the door handle with sweaty palms, hardly the dexterous fingers used just hours ago as she sutured the abdomen of her patient. She entered the room frazzled, taken aback by how utterly bare it was. Jamie lay in his bed against the wall, an IV slowly dripping antibiotics into his arm. Where patients normally had the walls decorated with well-wishes from loved ones or the doodles of a young relative, the walls of Jamie’s room remained starkly white. There were no cards on the table, nor flowers, save for the traditional bundle of forget-me-nots left by nurses wilting in a hideous ceramic vase. Jamie was reading a book, but she couldn’t make out the title from where she was stood. It didn't matter, he set the book aside as soon as she entered the room.

When he saw her, his face lit up like the sun.

“Ach! Doctor Beauchamp, I wasna expectin’ you. If I had known you would be payin’ me a visit, I would have made myself look a bit more presentable.”

In all honesty, Claire couldn't complain about his appearance. The whiteness of the room made the red of his hair glow like flames, and the periwinkle of his hospital gown made his blue irises shine. It made her feel self-conscious, the horrid green of her scrubs making her look ill, and her hair hastily gathered into a bun on the top of her head. But his warm reception eased her trepidations and made the corners of her mouth lift into a smile.

“Well, I had promised you a date, and I felt it was about time I followed through.”

She pulled up a chair next the the bed, and lay out the assortment of snacks she had brought.

“I would have brought some actual food, but I didn’t want to poison you. So, pre-packaged it is.” She waved her hands over the assembled pile of crisps, muffins, sandwiches, and bottles of juice.

Jamie gave the food a skeptical look, before turning to Claire and grinning.

“‘Tis a feast worthy of God himself!”

And so they settled in, Claire’s fears quickly forgotten as she and Jamie slipped back into the quick rappeur they had shared during their initial meeting. The conversation started playfully enough, Claire inquiring about how he was feeling, and whether he was finally going to admit to the extent of damage he had taken during the brawl.

“I didna want to start anything, but the way I saw him treating the lass had me boiling.”

Claire snickered, “Chivalry isn't dead after all. You’re a modern knight in shining armour.”

Jamie, as gallantly as he could confined to a bed, bowed with a flourish, kissing Claire’s hand without ever taking his eyes off of hers.

The electricity in the room was palpable. Time seemed to slow significantly as Claire and Jamie conversed, toasting their bottled grape juice and exchanging tales about their childhood. He recounted the chaos of Lallybroch, where he was able to run wild through the highlands, causing all sorts of mischief. She told tales of her worldly adventures with her Uncle Lamb, traveling the world on archeological digs.

“But why did you go with your uncle?” Jamie asked, “Wouldn’t it have been simpler to have gotten a traditional education with your parents in England?”

She sobered, putting down the blueberry muffin she had been picking at. “My parents died in a car accident when I was young. My uncle was the only family I had left…”

He placed a comforting palm on Claire’s hand, his thumb making soothing circles over her porcelain skin.

“I ken how ye feel... my mam passed when I was a lad; Da followed her shortly thereafter. Most people say he died of a broken heart.”

It was Claire’s turn to comfort, leaning forward and brushing a stray auburn curl out of his face. Their noses were nearly touching, and she breathed in Jamie’s rugged highland scent. Despite the overwhelming sanitary odor that permeated the air, Jamie radiated the scent of the outdoors: a mixture of pine and musk, leather and whisky. It made her dizzy. The pair sat in silence for a moment, taking each other in as if the other would disappear at any moment. She could feel his eyes boring into her, memorizing every last angle of her face, and she found herself floating away in the azure of his eyes.

“You were the first thing I thought about,” Jamie said suddenly, breaking the spell that had rendered them silent. “I ken it sounds daft, but when I woke up after the surgery, the only thought in my mind was your name. Claire.”

“Well...” She murmured, a smile at the corner of her mouth. “That would imply that I was the last thing you were thinking about before you went under anaesthesia.”

“Aye. I guess that you were.”

The pair slid into a state of tranquil silence, content just to be in each other's company. Claire wanted to ask Jamie if he blamed her for the infection, but she knew just what his answer would be. It seemed utterly impossible for Jamie to find a fault in his former doctor; she could tell just from observing the adoration in his eyes. It made her heart swell knowing that she could spend just a few hours with someone and have this coursing stream of affection serving as a tether between the two of them. It was something she didn’t want to lose.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why me?” Claire asked hesitantly, her fingers tracing up and down the thin cotton bedspread, leaving soft indentations in their wake. “You didn’t know me. I could have been a bloody monster for all you knew, yet you still asked me on this ‘date’; I just... don’t understand.”

“I dinna ken it either, Sassenach, but the moment I saw you in the ambulance bay, I needed to know you. There are no words to explain the way I feel about you. It sounds daft, but I think I may be falling in love with you, Dr. Claire Beauchamp.”

In the past, a similar declaration would have sent Claire running for the hills. The very notion of being in love terrified her. It was a completely foreign feeling that she had yet to experience. Yet, sitting beside Jamie in his hospital bed, surrounded by crumpled food wrappers and crumbs, Claire she knew that whatever feeling Jamie was describing- regardless of whether it was love- she felt it, too. She struggled in vain to come up with a response, but her head was addled with thousands of thoughts.

Am I losing my mind?

Is it morally wrong to see a patient?

What if we’re both wrong?

She opened her mouth to speak, Jamie’s eyes tuned to her in anticipation for her response. The door flew open, revealing a very flustered Joe Abernathy.

“Jesus, LJ, where have you been? It’s all hands on deck, multi-car collision, multiple code blues. We need you down in the A&E!”

“I’ll be right down.” Claire responded curtly, giving Jamie an apologetic look.

“It’s alright, Doctor. Duty calls. I’ll still be waiting here when ye’re done.” Jamie smiled softly, and before she knew what she was doing, Claire found herself leaning across the bed and kissing him. He made a surprised noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t pull away. Her hands found their way around his neck and she could hear the heart monitors rapid beeping, giving away Jamie’s racing heart. It wasn’t until Joe cleared his throat that Claire snapped back to reality and pulled away sheepishly.

She jumped off the bed, straightened her scrubs and raced out of the room, leaving a stunned Joe Abernathy and a stupefied Jamie in her wake.

A sharp British shout echoed from down the hall, “Joe, are you coming?”

He looked out the door, then back at the red-headed patient sitting in the hospital bed in front of him, struggling to piece together what he had just witnessed.

“Hell of a first date!” He joked before escaping the room in search of Claire, leaving Jamie alone with the feeling of Claire’s lips pressed against his own.

Hell of a first date, indeed!

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