#and fully stabbed her sword two feet into the ground before getting down on bended knee 🤧

[crabbarts]

how do you do fellow jeanclare fans... original post by @haxo-wolfie!

[joontier]

The King’s Guard | Chapter 4 

–> Pairings: kim seokjin x reader; jeon jungkook x reader ; min yoongi x reader

–> Rating: R | Genre: historcal drama, smut, angst, fluff | warnings: explicit language, intense pining, swearing, infidelity, implied dubious consent! (drunk yn, implied coercion), dom! daechwita yoongi, oral male receiving, unprotected sex, v rough sex, choking kink, pain kink, boobie spanking, edging, basically yoongs wanting to fuck yn’s brains out,  voyeurism, sweaty sex, jk hates yoongi’s blonde hair with passion

–> Word count: 8.9k

–> A/N:  This chapter is dedicated to the araw to my gabby @mintseesaw and tkg enthusiast @dameleia ILYSM BOTH u guys dont know how much i value the support you have given to me and this fic!!! I told yall i was gonna post this tomorrow but here we are BC I AM A: 🤡 Feedback is always appreciated! <3

The King’s Guard - Masterlist  ||  navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 4 

“Ugh, what kind of rat is trying to bother me now?” the man mumbles, dragging his poorly-worn, boot clad feet against the soil. It’s far too late in the evening, and he swears to his ancestors he will not hesitate to choke this man to death if all this noise will be for nothing. The banging won’t stop, and the servant finds himself uncharacteristically exerting more energy in quickening his steps as a neighbor shouts about keeping the noise down.

“What in the king’s name do you-“

The man comes face to face with none other than the captain of the royal guards himself who’s already handing him a pouch containing more payment than he will ever receive in his life. “I need you to do something.”

Once Jungkook had told the man of his orders, he turned on his heel, leaving the man to return to his house. With no hurry, the captain heads back to the palace, letting himself drown in his thoughts, reminiscing the past as he kicks a few stray pebbles along the path.

“Jungkook-ah, catch this!” Yoongi pretends to throw the ball in the air as Jungkook lurches forward, looking up. The older boy bends over in laughter, one arm hooked around the ball he ‘supposedly’ threw. Yoongi’s chest beams with pride, and mirth, having fooled his younger brother yet again.

“Hyung! That’s unfair!” Jungkook stomps his foot on the ground, a cloud of smoke dispersing around his feet at the strength of it. Their mother watches with adoration from where she’s preparing their lunch inside their house. Shaking her head at their foolishness, Min Misun continues to add their homegrown herbs onto the chicken stock, occasionally peering at her two sons.

They’ve been arguing more often these days, fighting even over the simplest of things. Misun is well aware though that the alleged ‘despise’ they hold against each other is nothing but playful banter between her two boys. At the end of the day, they know they enjoy each other’s company the most and that they hold the strongest bond between siblings.

They are coming of age soon too, and that endless stream competitiveness coursing through their veins is something brought about by their youth and will remain the same as never anything more than two boys playing around. The two would always make Misun choose her favorite between them, but she’d just shrug them away and tease them incessantly about not telling who her favorite was, much to her sons’ demise. She loved them both equally with all her being.

Quite astonishingly, while one was lacking in something, the other would be extremely good at. Not that they were already good at everything – as their father had taught them a vast majority of things, passing on the importance of being knowledgeable in the many fields of life.

While Yoongi excelled at swordsmanship, Jungkook was an expert at archery. One was unbeatable at field sports while the other genuinely enjoyed games that required more thinking than physical movement. They were polar opposites most times, but when they teamed up together to play (or fight!) against the other boys at the village, they were unbeatable. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses the most and used their unspoken dynamics to their advantage.

Just like that one time Yoongi found his younger brother getting pushed around by stronger, bigger, and older boys in the marketplace. Yoongi immediately leaves the sack of rice with his mother, running towards the circle they’ve formed around Jungkook. The older sibling pushes his way through the small crowd of boys around their age. Yoongi finds poor Jungkook trembling with fear in the midst of it all, but maintains his head held high, trying his best to appear brave even when he feels his cowardice taking over him. As soon as Yoongi reaches the center, he takes hold of his brother’s hand, dragging him out of the commotion. But definitely not before taking out the biggest one – delivering a punch straight to the boy’s face that had him falling backwards. “Pick on someone your own size,” he told the boy and threatened him with an even more painful punishment if he dared to hurt his brother once more.

Or that one time when it was Yoongi who found himself in trouble, having been accused of stealing a chicken when he was merely passing by the merchant’s stall and the actual thief slammed the chicken against his chest. With Jungkook trailing a few steps behind, seeing the whole fiasco, he placed a foot out to trip the robber. The thief unfortunately stealthily avoided his foot, getting away. He caught a glimpse of his brother concurrently being confronted by the stall owner, and takes another look at the man who was getting farther. Cursing under his breath, Jungkook takes after the robber. The young boy, being blessed with strong legs, catches the thief in no time and dragged him back to the merchant, demanding his brother to be freed from captivity.

A few more moments pass and Jeon Yeongkwan arrives from the forest after having collected firewood all morning. Yeongkwan greets his wife with a kiss, while the children scurry towards their father to greet him with a hug.

As Yeongkwan joins his children in playing, the family’s lone horse starts neighing wildly, signaling someone’s arrival. He immediately ushers his children and Misun inside, telling them to stay quiet until he deems it safe for them to come out.

He’d retrieved his trusty sword he’d kept on the bottom drawer of his closet, he takes cautious steps towards the threshold, warily gripping the weapon in his hands. He hates the fact that he’d have to use this a little too soon after the Great Colonization, but if it means keeping his family from harm’s way, he’d gladly wield it with all his strength.

With the southern city nearest to the neighboring countries, it makes the city most susceptible to colonizers. And just because the turmoil had already ended, it wasn’t enough assurance that there weren’t any foreigners left on their land lurking around to make another attempt to take their lands once more.

Peering from the corner of the brick wall surrounding their house, Yeongkwan watches a nearing horse carrying the city’s emblem. He visibly relaxes at the sight, but remains wary nevertheless. There had been rumors of foreigners impersonating citizens, taking the emblems for themselves and posing as residents of the country, and he could never risk the safety of his family

As the horse draws nearer, he sees the man atop the steed clad in the palace’s uniform. What other reason could bring a palace worker here when he’d already retired from his position as general of the southern army? He’d already made his intentions clear with the king; that he wanted nothing more than to spend his remaining days in a quiet place with his family.

It was a difficult time for the entire country, undoubtedly, and citizens had not fully recuperated from the recent conclusion of the war. Yeongkwan hopes that this man’s arrival doesn’t bring with him news of new trouble. If he was being honest, it had been a great honor to have served the king and to have fought with him side by side, and eventually spared him from death at some point. Yeongkwan loved the south clearly, he was born and raised there after all, but when he had wed Misun and blessed him with two sons, nothing else mattered more to him than his family of four.

Yeongkwan had only joined the army because of the king’s orders that at least one man from each family join the militia – a proclamation nobody in the city could contest. But it was the thought of his family well-being and safety from the colonizers that kept him alive. He’d instantly been promoted to general as the previous man holding the title had been slain in battle, and Yeongkwan was the one who plunged a sword into the colonizer who tried to stab the king at the back. He was grateful for the offer of a high military ranking but had expressed his desire not to continue working for the militia. Gratefully, the king had honored his request after the war had ended.

Now that another palace worker has found himself back to Yeongkwan’s family home, the patriarch can’t help but worry over what might be the cause of this man’s unexpected arrival.

The man pulls at the reigns, definitely making the horse halt its trotting. “Are you Jeon Yeongkwan?” The man hesitates for a moment before giving away his identity. “Yes, that is me. Can I…help you with anything?” He glances at the sword he’d rested against the wall.

The messenger doesn’t say anything, but instead retrieves a scroll from a satchel attached to the horses’ saddle. “To Jeon Yeongkwan, a message from King Daesin, ruler of the south. You have been invited to a private supper with the King tomorrow evening in celebration of the successful cessation of the foreigners from colonizing our country. The rest of your family’s presence will be highly appreciated.”

Yeongkwan nods in acknowledgment, this time truly breathing a sigh of relief. The messenger re-rolls the parchment and places the same on  Yeongkwan’s hands and leaves without any other words. Misun approaches her husband as soon as the mysterious man was out of sight, placing a comforting hand at the small of his back. “Who was it?” His two sons likewise approach him.

“The King has invited us for dinner tomorrow evening.”

Misun immediately squeals in excitement, surprising the three boys of the household. “Does that mean we get to see the palace? Oh! We need to get new clothes then? How am I supposed to sew you three new clothes? We only got old ceremonial ones kept in our room but I don’t think those will still fit any of you…” She taps her chin subconsciously, deep in thought and worry.

Yeongkwan, absolutely smitten with Misun’s hidden charms and unable to control his adoration for his wife, places a chaste kiss on her cheek, “I think you’ll look beautiful in anything, my love.” Their two sons gag at the sight, passionately cringing at their parents. Yeongkwan chuckles, as Misun hides her reddened cheeks in the crook of his neck.

“In the near future my sons, when you get to marry the woman you love more than yourself, you’ll understand.”

Misun had worked on their clothes all night, and by the time she finished, the sun had already risen. She worries that she might not look presentable enough with the darkening circles under her eyes for having stayed up late, but with her husband’s constant reassurance and praise, he managed to convince Misun that she looked more than presentable.

As they reach the royal hanok, a royal guard knocks on the door once, announcing the arrival of the Jeon family. “Jeonha, former General Jeon Yeongkwan has arrived with his family.” The door opens, revealing a majestic room, one nearly thrice as large as the boys’ shared sleeping quarters.

Yeongkwan kneels to the floor, bowing in courtesy. The two boys continue to marvel at the room, mouths agape as each of their parents tug at their pants to follow suit. 

The king of the south rises from his seat, approaching the family he had wanted to meet for so long. “Rise, my old friend.” King Daesin places a hand on Yeongkwan’s shoulder, beckoning him to stand up. 

“Are these your boys?” he asks the former general, ruffling Yoongi’s and Jungkook’s hair at the same time. “Fine young men, you are. Just like your dad...A few years back that is,” the king observes, squatting down so he can face them at eye level.  Yeongkwan smiles at the king, while the latter lets out an amused chuckle at the former’s sons who are unabashedly staring at the king of the south.

“Jeonha, it is my greatest honor to introduce to you the love of my life, Min Misun.” Yeongkwan steps aside to reveal his wife. Misun bows, letting her knees touch the floor as courtesy. When Misun rises, they meet eyes, and Daesin’s lips part lightly in astonishment.

Misun was definitely a wonder to take in. During the recesses of the war, he had been told of stories of the lady by the husband himself, who claims that there was no other woman in the nation who could compare to his wife. Daesin just wasn’t expecting that Yeongkwan’s stories had not been biased after all.

The king of the south recollects himself and bows curtly to the lady as well.  At that point Yeongkwan knew, this was a battle he wasn’t going to win, because what the king wants, the king gets.

As the brothers aged over the years, the two learned to reconcile their differences and bonded over their similarities and strengthened their own abilities. Then came the subject of girls, when the now young men found attraction towards the opposite sex, both spending more time talking over the fairer sex rather than arguing over small things.

“Hyung…”

“Continue your reading, Kook. You know our father’s sentiments about our studies.” Yoongi reprimands, not bothering to spare his little brother a look as he continues to indulge himself in Confucian canon and likewise jotting down his remarks on a separate notebook. 

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak, but Yoongi beats him to it, again. “And stop painting when you still have three more books to finish.” 

The younger boy deflates at his brother’s words. “Hyung, you know how I feel about studying right?”

“Yes, and unless you want to get scolded at by both our parents, I suggest you put that away now and continue it later, when we’re done studying.” 

“Fine. I will, but you have to answer my question first.” 

Yoongi quickly puts his book and brush down, looking up to face Jungkook. Better to get this over with quickly, than to reply with a snarky comment and eventually exert more energy trying to banter with his brother.

“Have you ever liked a girl?” 

The older sibling gets genuinely caught off guard with Jungkook’s query. “Well?” the younger man raises a brow expectantly. There is no escaping this now, Yoongi thinks, pursing his lips as he racks his brain for an answer. 

“I-...yes,” Yoongi sighs, accepting his defeat. 

“Wait...what?! For real? Well, well, well - I’m surprised some girl managed to soften my perpetually stoic, cold-blooded, ruthless animal of a brother.” Yoongi narrows his eyes. Of course, what was a conversation with Jungkook without his little brother trying to rile him up. Yoongi gets back to Confucius. 

“Hyung, hyung,” Jungkook tries to get his attention once more, ceaselessly tugging at his sleeves. If Jungkook literally thinks, that after years of having to deal with this - that he can still annoy him by doing this, well...he’s definitely right. 

“What now?” 

Yoongi closes his eyes, trying not to release all the pent-up frustration he’d been holding in for years. Once again, Jungkook’s lame methods of trying to divert both of them from focusing on their readings had proven effective. 

“Let me guess, you have a thing for Head Court Lady Kyo don’t you?” Jungkook teases, now poking at Yoongi’s sides, who’s desperately trying to keep his ticklishness at bay. “What?! No! The old lady can flirt with whoever she pleases for all I care!” The younger man laughs at Yoongi’s indignant reply. 

“Hmm, if it’s not Head Court Lady Kyo that you’re fantasizing about every night, it must be a younger one then? I never took you for someone who’d find girls calling you ‘orabeoni’ quite...arousing,” Jungkook snorts, pouring himself a cup of tea and raising the same right in front of Yoongi’s face. “Well, geonbae to you, hyung. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you. We all have our preferences anyways, right orabeoni?” The younger sibling emphasizes his last word with a shrill voice, clutching on Yoongi’s arm and rubbing his face against the silk. 

“You’re disgusting Kook. Stop trying to make ridiculous excuses just so you won’t continue your reading,” Yoongi reminds Jungkook once more, though he can’t deny he also got distracted himself. With a deep exhale, Yoongi closes his book and sets aside his readings. They have the rest of the day to finish it anyways.

“Fine, ‘wanna see her?” 

Jungkook raises his fists in triumph. “Of course! Let’s see if you have good taste in women.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, momentarily stretching his limbs after having remained seated for so long. “Let me warn you Kook, she’s nothing like you’ve ever seen before so, so…don’t fall in love with her, okay?” He isn’t sure if his tone was serious enough for Jungkook to see right through him, but he prays for the same nonetheless. ‘Because she’s mine. I’ll make her mine,’ comes the final words of Yoongi, voice barely above a whisper. Thankfully, Jungkook doesn’t hear him. 

“Honestly, hyung, I doubt we even have similar tastes. Considering you have history with Head Court La-” 

“Say her name one more time and I’ll cut off your balls in your sleep.” 

That effectively shuts the younger boy up. 

The pair traverses halfway across the South’s palace, Yoongi leading Jungkook to the southern princess’ hanok. “Hyung, we aren’t supposed to be here. Didn’t mother specifically tell us to not to go anywhere near the royal families’ private hanoks?” 

“Relax. We’ll watch from here, and then you tell me if my girl is anywhere close to your beloved Head Court Lady Kyo.” Yoongi grits through his teeth, taunting Jungkook with a quick raise of his brows. 

“Whatever you say, hyung,” the younger one chuckles, this time genuinely curious who’s the mysterious girl who had managed to snatch his brother’s heart. 

If only Jungkook had enough guts to tell his brother even half the truth… at the same time, he feared that if he did such a thing, Yoongi wouldn’t have taken him seriously. It wasn’t really that he wasn’t genuinely curious who’s the girl his brother won’t stop daydreaming about, but he too, had grown affections for someone as well, and Jungkook thought if maybe he heard Yoongi speak about his feelings, he would have an inkling of an idea how to handle his own. 

The two brothers were nearly inseparable, but with Jungkook’s introverted self and Yoongi’s stoic character, they never really found themselves talking about things on the more serious side. They were close, but not close enough.

Yoongi, being the ‘perfect’ son that he was, used his idle time reading and training as what their parents had strongly reiterated them to do. While Yoongi was busy being the ideal child, Jungkook was out on the fields of the palace, constantly satiating his hunger for the practicality of all things natural instead of reading it from books with Chinese symbols. 

Jungkook dislikes reading with great fervour. Actually, most of the other boys his age in the same village share the same sentiments so he can’t seem to figure out why Yoongi keeps on reading.

With Jungkook out enjoying the real world, he’d taken great interest venturing the ins and outs of the Southern palace, particularly the woods by the western gates. 

One day, after lunch, the young boy found himself back in the woods by the west gates, this time bringing along his beloved bow and arrow with him. He’d figured this was the best place he could practice his skills in archery. As he was getting ready to target a bird resting on a high branch, Jungkook hears the rustling of leaves nearby, the sound immediately making hide beneath a tree. 

He had company. Jungkook chews on his bottom lip, immediately regretting not heeding to his mother’s specific orders. “Never venture near the royal families’ private hanoks.” Her stern voice rings throughout his head. With a deep sigh, he throws his bow and arrow to the side, putting his hands up in surrender as he moves from the trunk of the tree. 

He walks forward cautiously with his eyes closed, face twisted in an exaggerated grimace. Jungkook waits for someone to grab him, yet nothing happens. Prying one eye open, he’s surprised to come face to face with a girl, who’s wiping away her tears with the sleeves of her jeogori. 

Genuinely astonished at the sight he wasn’t expecting, he takes another step forward, studying her appearance. She was wearing clothes of the finest silk, one that could only have been afforded by nobility. There’s mud all over the bottom of her hanbok though, which probably meant she’d been in the woods for quite some time, and judging by her distraught condition, Jungkook only presumes one thing and one thing alone: she’s lost. 

“A-are you okay?” 

His question only seems to have driven the girl to cry harder, because she’d gone full-on sobbing, shoulders shaking violently as she cried into her palms. “Hey,” Jungkook hesitantly extends his hand out, unsure of whether he should be touching the girl or not. He settles on patting the girl’s hair lightly from a distance. Albeit the distance being uncomfortable and awkward, Jungkook’s ministrations effectively seems to calm the girl down. 

Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise when the girl surges toward him, enveloping him in a hug. With one of his hands still awkwardly hanging in mid-air, he lets it fall gently back to the girl’s head, continuing his earlier actions. The two stay like that for some time. Jungkook’s arm is starting to get sore, but he can’t seem to bring himself to complain, not when the girl in his arms is still hiccupping her tears away.

“I’m…sorry,” the girl says, pulling away from her embrace. Jungkook wants to tell her she could stay in his arms for as long as she wanted, enjoying the feeling of being someone a stranger could literally, and figuratively lean on.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook repeats, gesturing to a fallen log nearby to make her sit and get some rest. Beside her, Jungkook patiently waits until she’ll give him an answer, genuinely concerned at her condition and what could have possibly led her to the woods all by herself.

The sat there on the log for quite some time, and the girl finally speaks. “I was following a butterfly around home,” the girl says, toying with her skirt. “I thought I was still near where I lived but the next thing I knew, I’m already stuck in the middle of the forest.”

“Did you get lost too?”

Jungkook shakes his head no, and the girl finally faces him. The boy is rendered speechless. Even with a few small traces of mud on her face, this girl seated beside him has got to be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his entire life. Admittedly, he hasn’t seen plenty of girls, but she has got to be on top of the list.

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but holds back. Instead, he retrieves a piece of cloth from the pocket sewn by his mother on his pants. “You’ve got a…um…something…face…I um…” the boy gestures to his face, fingers pointing to a portion of his face and hoping he gets the message across. “Oh!” The girl’s eyes widen in realization. She wipes her face with her soiled sleeves, only adding to the dirt on her face.

The young boy bites his lip, trying to fight the wide grin that etches itself on his face. “Here, let me help you,” Jungkook offers, rising from where he’s seated and nears the girl. Gently, he places a finger to tilt her head up, and tenderly wipes the dried mud off her face.

Every brush of Jungkook’s fingers against her soft skin sends a spark through his veins. He tries his best to focus on the task at hand, but being blessed and cursed with the attention span of a three-year-old, he feels his fingers start to tremble slightly. Plus having to resist just taking your face in his hands, to have and to hold your smooth skin against his palms, his hands start to get all the more clammy.

When their eyes meet, Jungkook feels his heart thudding heavily against his chest, before he finds himself blinking rapidly. He lets out a cough as he looks away, not noticing the blush that mutually spreads across their cheeks.

“What’s your name?” she queries, secretly fanning her face to cool the heat on her cheeks. Jungkook ponders for a moment, remembering his father’s daily reminders of not talking to strangers. He’s thankful his father didn’t mention anything about talking to pretty strangers. He settles on a nickname he’d made up at that moment.

“Call me Kookie.”

Jungkook swipes at his sleeves furiously for the hundredth time. “Will you stop fidgeting?” Yoongi complains, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “Can’t you see? There are insects crawling everywhere! I get it okay! This is my punishment for disturbing your studying. I apologize already!” Jungkook continues swatting at the poor insects who’d been callously flung from the boy’s silk-covered arms.

“Are you even waiting for someone? Or you just brought me here to suffer?”

“Shush it, will you?!” Yoongi huffs, getting annoyed at Jungkook’s nagging. Well if his brother won’t stop irking him, Yoongi decides he might as well have brought him here as punishment. “Shh, here they come!” Yoongi gives a sharp tug at Jungkook’s sleeves, nearly causing the latter to fall into a shrub. The younger teenager follows Yoongi’s line of sight – the now opening doors of the private hanok of the southern princess.

Four rows of court ladies file out, hanboks with shades of turquoise and blue walking in unison as they leave the princess’s quarters. “Keep your eyes open! She’s coming.” Yoongi whispers harshly, placing his two palms around Jungkook’s head to make sure he doesn’t lose focus. “There are so many of them though!”

“Not the court ladies, pabo! Her!”

At the end of the line was the girl Yoongi was pertaining to – she was still young, yet the stance that she held and the aura she gave off was equivalent to that of a queen’s. It was the princess of the south, dressed in her ceremonial clothes: multiple layers of red silk, embedded with the emblem of the south and a dragon imprinted on the back. Her head was adorned with several hairpins of pure gold and rare gems – determinative of your rank in the royal family. It was the princess. Yoongi had a crush on the princess. A girl of a rank way out of their leagues.

The princess of the south was rumored to have this beauty like no other, with the face and wits of no ordinary girl. She was revered as the hidden treasure of the south, someone who could bring two battling nations together as one.

Unfortunately for Jungkook, the princess of the south was also the same girl he’d helped not so long ago, the girl who came crying into his arms when she got lost in the woods, the girl who was the only reason he enjoyed visiting the palace after lunch just so she could tell stories of her daily activities, the same girl who exclusively called him Kookie – the same girl he fell for. Jungkook hears his heart rip into two.

It was you.

“Jeonha, the captain of the royal guards is here to see you.” Not bothering to wait for Yoongi’s permission, Jungkook pushes the guard aside and lets himself inside the guest’s hanok, likewise ordering the southerners to leave them be. 

“They’re not your people, Kook. You can’t tell them to do things just like that.” 

Jungkook lets a smug grin adorn his face. “You’re right. They’re not just yours, they are our people. So leave, now.” From one corner of the room, the General of the Southern army - Hoseok, remains seated with a steely face as he eyes the younger man, the grip on his own cup of wine tightening. ‘How dare he talk to the king like that?’  Yoongi nods curtly at Hoseok, wordlessly telling them to leave them alone. 

“So, are you here to finally give your hyung a proper welcome?” Jungkook remains silent, staring at his brother. The younger man watches as his hyung discards his headband, throwing the black piece of cloth to a nearby table. Jungkook sneers, finally taking in his brother’s appearance. What was with the yellowish hair? What a disgrace to their family - what a disgrace to all of humanity. 

He isn’t sure if it’s the jealousy speaking, definitely not used to his brother hogging all the ladies’ attention in the palace. Was there something wrong with having normal black hair? Since when did strange locks become a thing with women? Yoongi speaks, drawing Jungkook back to reality and away from his brother’s golden locks.

“You know, wearing the emblem of the capitol doesn’t instantly make you one of them, Kook,” Yoongi starts, pouring himself a cup of wine. Jungkook disregards his brother’s comment.

“Where is Seokjin?” 

“Why are you asking me that?”

Just as Yoongi parts his mouth to say something, the hanok’s door slides open, and a disheveled man enters. “Jeonha,” the man bows from the waist, immediately scurrying to his king. He whispers something to the blonde-haired man, a scowl forming on his face as the man finishes what he has to say.

“My sincerest apologies, Jeonha,” the man bows again, not daring to look at the king of the south. Yoongi has his jaw set at the news brought by this stranger, Jungkook observes, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches his brother. Yoongi nods his head towards the door, once again ordering the man to leave the premises.

Jungkook is tempted to ask what the man reported to Yoongi, but he knows better, definitely sure that his brother wasn’t going to give him anything. “Where is Seokjin?” he repeats, emphasizing each word through gritted teeth.

“What’s it to you anyways? Don’t tell me you’re getting soft for the queen?” Jungkook stops himself from bellowing - it’s far too late to disturb anyone in the palace. “A bit rich coming from you, isn’t it?” 

Yoongi’s brows furrow in confusion at his brother’s words. Of course, Yoongi doesn’t know. He was never one to ask about Jungkook’s feelings anyways. The older sibling decides to let go of his brother’s questionable words.

“I have other things do. Excuse me.”

Yoongi walks past his brother, leaving his brother inside the hanok as he searches for something to eat. Jungkook grabs at a near vase, hands tightening around the neck of the ornament in an attempt to control his anger. He intends to smash the China to the ground, but returns the vase back to its place, takes a deep breath, and decides to follow his brother. Just like old times.

“Jeonha,” Hoseok rises abruptly from where he’s seated as he sees his king exit the hanok. “What are we to do now my King?” General Jung questions, pertaining to the man’s report just earlier. Yoongi cards a hand through his hair, fingers stopping just before the ponytail. “I…I’ll think of something.” Anxiety is evident in the king’s voice, so Hoseok decides to say nothing else, quietly trailing behind his king.

As Yoongi vocalizes his intentions of heading to the kitchen, he decides to go the long way round, wanting to pass by your hanok before he grabs something to eat. Yoongi finally reaches the corner of your hanok, surprised to see light flooding onto the wooden pathway. You leave your doors open this late at night?

When the two reach your door, they take a peek inside revealing you dancing around, a vessel in one hand and clothes with the other. There aren’t even any guards around your hanok. “Jeonha, I never knew women of the capitol enjoyed solo drinking sessions as well? You two would seem like a great pair.” Hoseok nudges Yoongi a little too strong, that the king of south bumps against the door, the sound exposing their cover. Yoongi glares at the general who deflates under his king’s stare.

“Who’s there?” Yoongi hears you giggle as you call out and he sees a court lady crane her head to the threshold. “Can I help you with anything, my Sirs?”

“Just passing by, right Jeonha?” Hoseok coughs, side-glancing Yoongi with wide eyes. His king disregards him completely. “What’s your queen doing?” Yoongi turns to Chaeyoung who gulps and takes another look at you who’s busy twirling and swaying gently as you hold the fabric close to your body.

Yoongi takes a closer look, realizing that it wasn’t just any fabric you were clutching onto, but your husband’s royal garments. “Is she okay?”

You’re clearly not okay.

“Am I okay?” you ask yourself, laughing obnoxiously at no one in particular. “I’ll take care of her, you can retire to your quarters now.” The blonde-haired man says to Chaeyoung.

“You can’t make her leave, Yoongi. If you want her to leave, I have to take one of yours as well.” You point a finger towards Hoseok who’s eyes widen at your proposal. “M-me?”

“Do I look like I’m referring to somebody else?”

Yoongi chortles at his general. The amount of skills he had in fighting was on some days…the same amount he lacked up there. Yoongi places a hand on his shoulder and proceeds to give Hoseok a pat on the back. “Go on then. I’ll be alright.” Hoseok sighs, escorting Chaeyoung with him. “Agassi, shall we?”

Yoongi finally lets himself inside your hanok, sliding the doors close behind him. He strides towards you, placing a hand over your grip on the vessel of rice wine. “Come on, Jungjeon-mama. That’s enough.”

“Oh, since when did you start addressing me by my title?”

“Would you rather me address you by your name then, __________?” Your name sounds nice falling from his lips, enjoying the way you’re letting him to call you casually like this.

Your grip won’t budge on vessel either, so he resorts to poking your waist, hoping you were just as ticklish as he observed years before back at the southern palace. You let out a giggle that Yoongi concurrently deems music to his ears, and takes advantage of your loosened grip on the vessel.  He sets the wine down on the table, now tempted to take a sip for himself.

“Where’s your husband, __________?”  

You don’t answer. You aren’t going to give this man anything he asks for despite your intoxicated state. You silently pray that sobriety will soon fall upon you, as you don’t think you’ll be able to stand being in the same room as your unexpected visitor. Strangely, you likewise wish that you could’ve drank just a little more, just so you won’t feel his presence in your room. As you remain silent, busy with your thoughts, the king of the south answers his own question.

“Word spread around here that he’s left to pacify the South,” Yoongi shrugs, taking a step towards you and craning his neck forward, seemingly gauging your reaction even when your back is facing him. 

“Well, absolutely no turmoil is going on in the South, else I wouldn’t be here gracing you with my presence. I can personally assure you that fact.” 

You feel your stomach drop, getting more sober as you feel him take another step towards you. Seokjin couldn’t have lied to you, or worse, couldn’t have kept anything from you - especially something this big of an issue. On top of that, everybody knew it was the southerners who were causing all the trouble. Or was it now? 

“Gracing me with your presence?” you echo, the statement laced with venom on your lips. Letting out a scoff, you turn on your heel to face the obnoxious king of the south. 

“I guess nobody told their beloved queen it was the west that was causing all this trouble? Obviously, what better way to alarm the entire country by using the emblem of ‘the traitorous South’ as you people would call us.” Yoongi rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of the wine. “On the bright side, it’s nice to know we still have that certain effect on people, even years after the Great Colonization.”

“Poor girl you are...with an even sadder fate for her husband.” Yoongi pours himself a cup of the wine you’d carried all the way from the kitchen. Your jaw is clenched, gaze set hard on Yoongi who seems the least bit bothered. Sadder fate for your husband?

“Oh right, I’m betting you’re also unaware of the fact that the shortest way from the capitol to the south was through a narrow path through a forest located in the West?”

You’re dumbfounded, secretly wishing Yoongi hadn’t seen the look on your face as he told you about the west, but you couldn’t help it. Surely, he’s trying to take advantage of your drunken state and would attempt to coerce you into something against your will by lying straight to your face.

“Still don’t believe me? Why do you think King Donggeun hasn’t come down from his throne when Crown Prince Baekjoon has already turned of age? Surely, you must have taken notice that the west has least casualties of the ‘uproar’ we had supposedly caused in this country? Not to mention the casualties in their city are not even that significant – in fact, the villages that were attacked were those nearest to the borders of the south and the north, majority of which housed citizens coming from both cities…”

All sorts of emotions boiled inside of you. Yoongi’s revelation felt like a whole log just fell on you, and you were absolutely helpless.  You were beyond perplexed, finding the need to rest your behind on the bedside table.

“But, it’s never too late you know… Being the merciful king that I am, I can help your husband. Send him a handful of my men if you must.” You gulp as you look him in the eyes. Yoongi will most certainly not be willing to help your husband just like that, especially when Seokjin has already made proclamations that had definitely brought dishonor to the name of the south. The thought of Seokjin having to face danger all by himself crossed your mind, betraying your thoughts and your heart once more.

The price you will have to pay for Seokjin’s safety will surely to come at a large cost – that you already know. But for your husband, you were willing to have yourself at Yoongi’s disposal, whatever the price may be. You stand up once more, turning away from Yoongi. You presume he isn’t one to give anything for free.

“And at what is the price I have to pay for your assistance, perhaps?” He doesn’t see you gulp.

Yoongi sets his cup of wine down, simultaneously darting his tongue out to moisten his lips. Slowly, he pads over to you until he’s almost pressing into you. Close, but not asserting his certainty of having the upper hand now. “I think you already know what I want, Jungjeon-mama,” Yoongi whispers salaciously, words ghosting against the shell of your ear.

It’s shameful how agonizingly hard he is under his pants – but he couldn’t help it – he finally had you in his arms. This proximity alone shouldn’t have affected him that much, but he couldn’t help it. All those years of pining after you, watching you in secrecy back at the Southern palace as you went about your royal duties, sneaking glances at you when you visited the training grounds where he studied sword fighting.

Tonight he wanted to get himself on you, to fuck you until you won’t even remember your own name when he finishes - this was your payment and it is not for your wish for him to send Seokjin reinforcements.

This was your payment for making him long after you, even after all these years and after all the women he’d met – he still chose you in a heartbeat.

He hated that you had to leave the Southern City, he hated how your stepmother had to treat you so badly, giving you enough reason to run away from the palace, he hates how everything he had done in the past just to get close to you was all in vain. He hates how he ran after you that night, only to see you already in Seokjin’s arms. He hates Seokjin for having married you, being proclaimed as the perfect husband when he could have done a totally better job at it. Yoongi could’ve worshipped the ground you walked on, but yet here you were alone in the palace while your own husband just left you with the responsibility of taking care of the whole nation just like that.

He hates the fact that you’ve completely snatched his heart from the day he first saw you, accompanying your father to the training grounds. You had shot arrows straight into the sack targets with no trouble, easily beating the rest of the boys training in the field. As cliché as it sounds, it had seemed like you shot an arrow through his heart as well.

But most of all, he despises the fact that he loves you. And he hates it all the more that he knows his own brother had fallen for you too.

Snagging your hair between his fingers harshly, you let out a gasp as he makes you look into his eyes. His hands move to discard your robe and wildly grope at your chest. A smirk grazes his lips when he feels your nipples harden under his touch. 

He highly doubts that he has the same effect on you as you have on him, but at this point he couldn’t care less. He wanted to get himself off on you, intent on making you feel at least a hint of what he’s felt throughout the years.

Yoongi smashes your lips together, the bittersweet taste of wine on his mouth pressing roughly against your own. He grinds his erection against your lower stomach, effectively causing you to gasp one more time. Taking advantage of your surprise, he closes the distance one more time, slipping his tongue inside your wet cavern. 

The king of the south pushes you further towards the bed until the back of your knees hit the edge, instinctively making you sit on your bed. 

“Undress me,” he orders, placing his hands on his hips, likewise pulling his top upwards for your convenience. You glare at him through your eyelashes, and returning your eyes to his crotch. As you see his dick twitch beneath the confines of his pants, a smirk etches onto your face. Two can play at this game, and you’re going to make sure he gets a taste of his own medicine. 

Languidly, you lightly trace the outline of his dick, watching intently as it twitches one more time you feel a small wet patch near the waistband of his silk pants. You continue trailing the pad of your finger against the smooth fabric. 

“I don’t like being teased, princess.”

“The queen doesn’t like being ordered around.” 

Sending him another glare, you give in to his whims, pulling his pants down his legs. His cock springs free, standing tall and proud. The pale expanse of Yoongi’s skin is a sharp contrast against the angry, red tip of his dick like it’s begging for your attention.

“Like what you see?” the man says from above. You don’t answer, unwilling to give him the satisfaction he thinks he deserves. Yoongi shivers as you take the base of his cock in your palm. You revel in his responsiveness, loving the way he basically shudders under your touch.

He doesn’t know if he’s going to last as long as he wishes tonight, but he swears to the gods above and to all his ancestors that he was going to try. He hates the fact that this is the only way he was going to have you, that never in a million years would be willing to give yourself to him.

Yoongi is drawn back to reality as you place a light kiss on the bulbous head of his cock, you languidly pepper kisses along his length. Yoongi looks down on you with hooded eyes and a swollen bottom lip that he’d bitten down on for so long.

He taps the tip of his shaft against your lips, coating them with the semi-transparent liquid that’s veiled the tip of his length. With bated breath, he nudges the head against your mouth, urging you to part your lips for him. “Open up, jagiya.”

You comply, letting his dick slowly enter your mouth; he pushes his length inside until he hits the back of your throat. He withdraws and pushes his cock back inside, inhaling sharply as you graze your teeth a little.

“You take my cock so well, princess. Fuck,”

He pushes you roughly to lie on the bed, as his hand busies itself with fisting his cock as he waits for you to get comfortable. “Did I tell you to place your legs on the bed?” Yoongi tsks at you, spanking each of your breasts as punishment.

The king of the south harshly spreads your legs and without warning, Yoongi begins to impale you on his cock at a merciless pace, hands hooking under your ankles to bring your legs to rest against his chest. “You like that being fucked roughly, don’t you jagiya?” He doesn’t give you time to answer as he bends forward, bringing your legs to rest against your chest this time as his hands wrap around your neck. The rings on his fingers are cold against your heated skin, and the way he experiments and pressing his fingers tighter around your throat as he matches it with his pace. The combined pain and pleasure just seems to bring you closer to your high.

“I’m not done with you, ______. Don’t  you dare cum just yet.”

He lifts you from the bed with no trouble, and you feel the rippling of his muscles even underneath his top. Without having to pull out of you, Yoongi settles you down on a table with the height just about Yoongi’s thighs so he could enter you at a better angle.

Miraculously, Yoongi slows down his pace, and you’re unsure if it’s in consideration of his or your welfare. This position doesn’t help with your impending orgasm as with every languid roll of Yoongi’s hips he easily hits that particular spot. He toys with your nipple, tweaking and twisting the bud between his calloused fingers. With nowhere to hold onto, your hands shoot up to his arms silk-clad arms digging tiny crescent moons on his skin even with the fabric separating your nails from his skin.  

Yoongi was willing to fuck you against every piece of furniture if you’d let him, and if he’d have enough stamina to last for quite some time because the thought of having you writhing under his touch can easily bring him to cum.

Still not satisfied with this position he carries you toward a the wooden foundation in the middle of your room. He needs to have you begging for him, moaning endlessly on his cock.

“Tell me you want this, princess. Tell me you need me.”

He needs to hear it fall from your lips, because he knew this was only ever going to happen once, and he wanted this one moment to forever be engraved in his brain, because he knows you’ll never be his.

“Yes, fuck Yoongi, please,” you mewl, dragging your nails against the pale expanse of Yoongi’s back. As he continues to slam into you, your fingers find purchase on his hair, giving it a harsh tug as a particular thrust hits that sweet sweet spot inside of you.

You momentarily wonder at how Yoongi has managed to hold you up all this time and not lose momentum at all. As if on cue, Yoongi lifts you higher again, the hem of his top brushing against your clit. You were so, so close. You moan loudly at the sensation, letting your head fall onto Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Oh, you liked that princess didn’t you, hmm?”

He pushes you further against the foundation, if that was even possible, and takes one of his hands holding up your ass to transfer to the front, looking for your clit. Yoongi finds your nether bud in no time, and starts rubbing circles with the pad of his thumb.

Shortly after his punishing thrusts and the abuse on your clit, you reach your high, a high-pitched sob piercing throughout the room. Your body continues to tremble with the intensity of your orgasm as he cums inside you, rope after rope of white coating your walls.

Jungkook hears, sees, and feels you moan one more time, the lewd sounds of your fucking still ringing loudly through his ears. With a deep exhale, he turns on his heel, leaving the spot he’d stayed at for the rest of you and Yoongi’s… The captain couldn’t even bring himself to say the words.

Subconsciously, his feet bring him to a familiar hanok he has not visited for a while. He silently slides the doors open and heads to the room of someone he hasn’t paid attention to for the past few days. He takes off his boots and his scabbard, setting them down in a secluded corner of the room.

He spots Haesoo’s sleeping form on the floor. He joins her, hooking an arm around her waist. The young court lady wakes at the action, a scream escaping her lips. Jungkook is quick to place his palm on her mouth, pushing her shoulder backwards so she can properly see him. She relaxes at her realization, turning her body so she could face him.

“What brings you here Captain?”

“I missed you, is all.” What a lie.

“If you really missed me, why won’t you talk to me during the day?”

“You know we can’t, jagiya. Besides, can’t I just visit my favorite girl without having questioned if I really miss her or not?” Lie. Again. One more and Jungkook might just spend the rest of the night challenging himself how many more times he could lie in such a short time span.

Haesoo shies from Jungkook’s gaze, but Jungkook places a finger on her chin and makes her face him again. He inches toward her, lips not meeting just yet, each of their shallow breaths fanning against their faces. Haesoo takes initiative, pressing her lips against Jungkook’s own. The captain easily deepens the kiss, lightly biting on Haesoo’s bottom lip that effectively makes her part them instantly.

Jungkook quickly shuffles to get on top of her, grinding his erection shamelessly against Haesoo’s crotch. She gasps at the sensation, fingers quickly toying with the waistband of his pants.

“You really miss me that much, hmm?”

“Of course, darling.” Another lie. Third time’s the charm right?

Jungkook rips apart the sleeping robe Haesoo has on, his mouth instantly connecting with her breasts, groping and sucking harshly at the hardened nubs. He wasn’t usually this messy and urgent, but he badly needed to cum – painfully hard under his pants only because of you.

The captain doesn’t even bother to prepare Haesoo, plunging himself into her pussy without warning. Jungkook pounds into Haesoo unapologetically, fucking her into oblivion, just as Yoongi did to you earlier. He imagines that it’s you moaning his name right now, chanting his name fervently like a prayer, chest heaving like it was your last day. He wishes that it was his cock buried deep inside your cunt earlier instead of his brother’s and he knew he could have done a far better job at pleasuring you than Yoongi. The captain hooks his palm under Haesoo’s thigh, raising her leg up so he’s hitting her cervix at angle pleasurable to them both.

He’d fucked Haesoo on the floor, he’d fucked her against her closet too, and similar Yoongi, he’s fucking Haesoo against the wall too.

Jungkook ruts into her endlessly, with a silent wish that he flushes you out of his system with every snap of his hips, he wishes that he had never met you in the woods in the first place, he wishes that he didn’t have to join the King’s royal guards, he wishes that he wouldn’t have to see your pretty face the whole day, he wishes that you weren’t desirable at all – that way maybe he and his brother wouldn’t have fallen for the same girl.

He wishes he wasn’t in love with you.

Of course, another lie.

A single tear trickles down his cheek, and he hopes that Haesoo won’t notice with the fine sheen of sweat on his face. He feels his thrusts falter just like his resolve. His chest constricts once more tonight and it’s definitely not because of poor stamina, but because of his emotions overwhelming him.

“I love you,” he whispers breathlessly, resting his head against the wall. Haesoo hears.

“You love me?” Haesoo takes his face in her small palms, pushing his head backwards so she can take a proper look at him. She swipes at another tear that rolls down Jungkook’s cheek.  

“Of course, jagiya.” Jungkook sends her a sad smile in her direction.  

Maybe if he keeps lying, it’ll all come true at some point. She gives him a lingering kiss this time, resting her forehead against his. “I love you too.”

[taglist] : @aretha170 @strxwberri-milk @vivpurple7​ @wheredoiwhaaat25​ @hodginss​

© joontier 2020. All rights reserved.

Korean vocabulary used will be posted on a separate post for easier viewing! 

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

[Extra #8 - Lan Qiren’s visit to the Xuanli Child Horde(tm) at Jinlintai. This can be read as running parallel to Part 9 - Lan Xichen and Qingheng-Jun briefly discuss Lan Qiren’s return the previous evening from this particular visit while they have tea in the Gentian House.]

[Masterpost]

A quick brief on the children’s names and ages (now with courtesy names for the three brothers):

Jin Ling (金凌 - rise above) - First son, 20 // [Rulan (如兰 - Orchid-like)]

Jin Fei (金飞 - to fly) - Second son, 17 // [Ruhao (如昊 - as the limitless sky)]

Jin Yu (金雨 - rain) and Jin Yan (金焰 - fire) - First and Second daughters, 14

Jin Zhuang (金 庄  - solemn) - Third son, 12 // [Ruhai (如海 - as the sea)]

Jin Lu (金 露 - dew) - Third daughter, 7

Jin Ye (金 烨 - breathtaking/blaze of fire) - Fourth daughter, 3

--

Lan Qiren can’t exactly fault his brother for not leaving the mountain. It is, after all, better than a lifetime of genuine seclusion, and in Lan Qiren’s opinion he’s really not missing much in the wider world that he couldn’t live perfectly happily without in Cloud Recesses. And he’s missing out on quite a great deal of headache as well.

It’s a well-known fact that Lan Qiren is often unhappy with the state of things in the other Sects that he visits, though he is of course nothing but polite to his hosts unless they ever do something to earn his vocal displeasure. He has had fewer and fewer causes to express such displeasures over the last few years, however, and he’s not willing to look too closely to see if it’s because the general population is altogether becoming more tolerable or because he’s growing softer and more tolerant as he ages.

If anyone had told him 20 years ago that Lanling Jin would be his preferred Sect to pay a visit to, he - well he wouldn’t have laughed in their face, of course, but he certainly would have doubted the soundness of their mind - perhaps to their face. Even after watching Jin Guangshan’s paper-thin reputation crumble like so many well-placed tiles (which had been immensely satisfying to watch) before his passing and his children (then just the eldest two) rising up to take his place, he never could have anticipated the sort of changes they would make - or how much he would come to appreciate their righteousness and fairness.

He had only had the opportunity to properly instruct Jin Zixuan during the summer lectures at Cloud Recesses when it had been his generation’s turn, but over the years he has, of course, gotten to know the rest of Jin Zixuan’s siblings - Meng Yao in particular, naturally, thanks to his courtship and subsequent marriage with Lan Xichen - and he has found them to be good, solid people. Even young Mo Xuanyu, though his eccentricities are..numerous.

The responsibility for Lan Qiren’s immunity to Mo Xuanyu’s strange behavior is to be laid solely at the feet of Wei Wuxian. When the child had come running into Cloud Recesses as a boy and loudly declared himself married to serious little Lan Wangji - who had agreed - he had cemented a permanent place in Lan Qiren’s life, whether he liked it or not. He’s immune to quite a bit more impropriety these days than he would have ever expected for himself as a younger man.

“Grandmaster Lan,” Qin Su says now with a smile where she’s waiting to greet him at the base of the steps up to Koi Tower and he returns it with a twitch of his lips that’s hardly visible through his beard. She seems to see it all the same as her polite smile grows into a grin as she reaches out to take his arm - quite improperly, though he’s long learned not to comment on it. The atmosphere at Lanling Jin in terms of familiarity and joyful disregard for formality of any kind in familial circumstances is rivaled only by Yunmeng Jiang these days.

“Qin-guniang,” he replies as they start up the steps. “I trust everything is well.”

“Of course! I wanted to see you when you arrived, that’s all. I’m leaving in a few hours to visit my parents and I won’t be returning until after your visit is concluded - I’m glad I could be here to greet you!”

Lan Qiren has never put much store in small talk. He tends to find it unnecessary, particularly when it’s unwarranted. Should anyone ever ask him, that is still the case. He isn’t quite sure, himself, why it doesn’t seem to apply to the Jin family anymore.

“Great Uncle Lan!!”

Lan Qiren doesn’t jump at the small voice shrieking his name when they reach the top of the stairs, nor does he startle when a small gold and teal blur comes streaking out of the Fragrance Hall to clamp thin arms around his legs. He looks down to find little Jin Lu giving him a gap-toothed grin as she squeezes her arms more tightly around his knees. A nurse comes running out of the hall a moment later looking a bit harried and Lan Qiren offers her a nod as he drops a hand down to ruffle Jin Lu’s hair.

“You are not to run away from your caregivers, Jin Lu,” he admonishes with his typical stern frown. She pouts up at him instantly, eyes wide and pleading with her little bottom lip jutting out so far he wonders how it’s possible. Lan Qiren heaves a put-upon sigh that makes Qin Su giggle softly at his side before he reaches down to dislodge Jin Lu’s arms from around his legs so that he can scoop her up and place her on his hip.

“Oh! Master Lan, really - you don’t have to,” the nurse starts, already reaching for the girl.

“It is fine,” he replies before she can fully voice her protest. “I imagine this will be easier in the end than attempting to keep her away. Could you tell me where it would be best to take her?”

The relief on the nurse’s face is palpable as she tells him she was on her way to take the child to her father in the family gardens for a lesson. He nods along and dismisses her with his thanks and then turns to the child in his arms once she’s gone.

“A-Lu.” The girl in question just grins at him around her fingers in her mouth and glances sidelong at Qin Su beside him, uncaring of his admonishing tone. “You frightened your nurse by running away from her. You shall apologize when you see her next.”

“Yes Great Uncle Lan,” she takes her fingers out of her mouth to reply dutifully, still grinning, and Lan Qiren sighs with a shake of his head.

“Let’s go find your father, you troublesome child,” he mutters and Jin Lu lays her head down on his shoulder as a giggling Qin Su tucks her hand into his elbow again, redirecting their steps towards the family gardens instead of the guest pavilions. They exchange a few more pleasantries as they walk, Jin Lu a silent audience on his hip, until they’re interrupted by the sound of wood clacking on wood. They turn the corner into the gardens to find Jin Zixuan sparring against his second son, Jin Rulan an attentive audience at a safe distance from the practice circle.

“Stop! Dad, A-Fei tapped your forearm, you’re injured.” Jin Zixuan nods and tucks his arm close to his chest as Jin Ruhao takes up his ready stance again, a grin on his face.

“You’re getting too slow for your strapping young sons, dad,” he teases with a laugh just before Jin Zixuan lets loose with a flurry of quick stabs and sweeping cuts, perhaps overcompensating ever so slightly for the ‘loss’ of the use of his left arm. It works anyway though, likely due to Jin Ruhao being the less-skilled of the two of them, and Jin Rulan calls out to award another injury - this time to his brother - within moments.

“What’s this, then?” Lan Qiren asks Qin Su as they draw closer slowly.

“A training game Jiang Wanyin taught the children the last time he visited with Nie-Zongzhu,” she replies with a fond smile. “The boys have progressed far past being content with only practicing their forms and training with the other disciples. They still do, of course, but to continue actively improving they must spar either with each other or with A-Xuan. They fight with wooden practice swords and treat it like a real fight with a spectator to keep track of ‘injuries’ that will hamper their ability to keep fighting. The bout is over when both parties are too ‘injured’ to continue or one is disarmed.”

“I see. The boys are improving quickly if they are ready to train personally with their father.”

“I don’t like it,” Jin Lu declares from where she’s hiding her face in his neck. “They shouldn’t hurt each other!”

“I agree wholeheartedly, A-Lu.” Lan Qiren infuses his voice with as much solemnity as possible. “Your brothers should not harm your father. Are you worried that his skill is inferior to theirs?”

“No!! Dad’s the best!!!”

“He is very skilled, that is correct. Therefore it will be nearly impossible for your brothers to hurt him as they are still learning, and your father will be merciful and refuse to hurt them in turn. Is that not so?”

“Hmmmmm. Yes,” she finally relents, grumbling about it but willing to accept it for now. “Down please, Great Uncle Lan,” she adds with a squirm and he bends to set her down.

“Stop!” Jin Rulan calls as soon as her little feet touch the ground, leaving plenty of time for Jin Ruhao and Jin Zixuan to disengage so that Jin Lu can run safely right into Jin Zixuan’s waiting arms.

“Jin Rulan has excellent awareness of his surroundings,” he notes just loudly enough for the boy to hear as he and Qin Su follow after Jin Lu at a much more sedate pace. Jin Rulan’s pleased smirk is visible even from so far away.

“Who won that round, A-Ling?”

“Who do you think, stupid?” Jin Rulan snarks back and Jin Zixuan shushes them with a tired look on his face.

“Boys, honestly. Don’t make your Great Uncle think that I raised you without manners. A-Fei, I won but you’re improving quickly, it’s becoming more difficult for me to win each time. We have to work on your tendency to step back too far when you block. A-Ling, your observational skills are improving as well, I expect to see that in our sparring. Good job both of you, go wash up and have tea with your mother, it’s time for Lu-er’s lessons.”

The boys bow first to their father and then to him and Qin Su at his side before they turn to head towards the path that leads to the inner family residences, nudging and shoving at each other as they go.

“Grandmaster Lan,” Jin Zixuan greets with as good of a bow as he can manage with Jin Lu perched happily in his arms to play with one of the thin gold chains in his hair. “I apologize I wasn’t able to welcome you properly.”

“Training the children is more important,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “What is Jin Lu’s lesson this afternoon?”

A look crosses Jin Zixuan’s face that Lan Qiren doesn’t have time to interpret before the man is responding, perhaps a bit slyly, “Calligraphy. Mine is adequate but...would you perhaps be willing to teach her? She has passed the basics for her age and is improving quickly.”

Lan Qiren clears his throat as Qin Su raises her sleeve to cover her mouth at his side, the movement delicate and graceful, but it does a poor job of hiding that she’s trying not to laugh at her brother’s shamelessness, shifting the duty of teaching the child to him knowing he won’t be able to resist.

“Great Uncle Lan can teach me?!” Jin Lu gasps with wide eyes, looking up at her father in awe. “Please?!”

“Yes, yes, alright,” he agrees with a harrumph and Qin Su doesn’t even bother to hide her tinkling laugh.

“I am afraid I must return to my preparations for my trip so I will leave you here, Grandmaster Lan, it was lovely to see you. A-Xuan, I’ll inform you or Li-jie before I depart.”

Lan Qiren accepts her departing curtsy and turns his attention back to Jin Zixuan and his daughter just in time to catch Jin Lu’s arms as she leans away from her father’s chest to reach for him. The handoff is seamless, and then Jin Lu is on his hip again as Jin Zixuan rotates his right arm slightly to loosen up his shoulder.

“I admit I’m envious of Lan arm strength,” he says ruefully as they begin heading to the guest pavilions at slightly less sedate pace than Qin Su had led him. “I worry for the day xiao-Ye will be the last of her siblings to grow too big for me to carry.”

“Time passes whether we will it or not,” he replies quietly, his thoughts turning to the day he had finally been forced to concede that Lan Wangji was both too old and too big for him to carry through Cloud Recesses anymore. “It is inevitable, but there is the hope of future generations to provide further chances.”

“That is true. My children have certainly had no shortage of family members ready to carry them everywhere rather than tire their feet,” Jin Zixuan teases, reaching over to pinch Jin Lu’s cheek that isn’t smushed against Lan Qiren’s shoulder. She giggles and turns her head the opposite direction to hide from his pinching and Lan Qiren hopes that his smile is tucked far enough in the opposite corner of his mouth not to be visible. Jin Zixuan glances over his shoulder as he chuckles and he pauses on the path. “Ah it seems we’ve picked up an extra pair of shadows, Grandmaster Lan.”

Lan Qiren turns to look as well to find Jin Zhuang following behind them, far enough away to muffle his near-silent footsteps, with little Jin Ye’s hand in his own.

“Jin Ruhai, Jin Ye,” Lan Qiren greets as Jin Zixuan waves for the children to approach so that Jin Ruhai can bow.

Lan Qiren truly doesn’t have a favorite grand-niece or nephew, he finds them all quite charming and wonderful in their own ways, but it’s been obvious since the boy was quite young that Jin Ruhai is surprisingly calm and even-tempered, so much so that even as a baby Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had affectionately decided his name would be a character for ‘solemn’. It’s a fitting name, though as he grows older the boy typically radiates a sense of contentment and satisfaction under that serious facade. So much like a young mirror of Lan Wangji.

The boy lets go of his youngest sister’s hand to offer an absolutely perfect salute - quite impressive for his age - and the girl rather adorably leaves her hand extended straight out for him to take again once he’s straightened.

“You two are supposed to be eating your afternoon snack in the Fragrance Hall,” Jin Zixuan points out with another weary sigh. Lan Qiren remembers the days of attempting to keep track of Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji as children (the former of whom was quite fond of sneaking into the kitchens at random times throughout the day and the latter of whom seemed to always slip away at the first opportunity to play with his rabbits or tuck himself into a comfortable corner of the library to read things far beyond his age level). He truly doesn’t envy his nephew-in-law attempting to keep track of seven strong-willed, free-spirited children.

“Ate,” Jin Ruhai says almost too softly to hear with a resolute nod. He looks at his second youngest sister perched in Lan Qiren’s arms and then back to Jin Zixuan with a stubborn set to his jaw. “Great Uncle Lan,” he continues with a pointed glance at him again.

“You can wait until he settles in to visit with him, Zhuang-er, he just arrived.”

The look on the boy’s face grows so morose that Lan Qiren can’t resist clearing his throat a little and adopting his sternest tone as he says, “It is fine, Jin-Zongzhu. I am not so frail as to need to sleep after taking two days to travel comfortably, let the children come along.”

The glint of moisture in Jin Ruhai’s eyes is promptly replaced by a smug sort of satisfaction as he tugs Jin Ye gently forward to fall into step behind them as he and Jin Zixuan turn back in the direction of the guest rooms.

They finally arrive at his usual quarters without further interruption. Lan Qiren is pleased to see the doors to the gardens for this section of the complex - the Lan rooms - have been left open, the scent of peonies and the magnolia tree in bloom nearby suffusing the space, a pleasant breeze fluttering through the wall hangings.

He sets Jin Lu down on her feet and she promptly darts away from his side to begin investigating the room for anything new since the last time the space had been open for her to explore.

“I have some correspondence I need to reply to,” Jin Zixuan says apologetically from outside the threshold. “Zhuang-er, Lu-er, xiao-Ye, be good for your Great Uncle Lan please. I don’t want to hear later that you need discipline.”

“Yes dad,” the two older children chorus - Jin Lu from where she’s sticking her head under his bed and Jin Ruhai from right next to his elbow. Jin Ye only reaches up to tug on Lan Qiren’s belt to get his attention and then she sticks her arms up to be held now that her sister has gotten down. Lan Qiren waits until Jin Zixuan turns away from the open door to head back towards the more official buildings before he reaches down to oblige the toddler, lifting her up and holding her securely perched in front of himself so she can reach out to pat a little hand against his cheek.

“Xiao-Ye,” he greets and she slips her hand down to tug on his beard with a clear, happy little giggle that makes him smile. “I believe it is nearing time for you to nap.”

“Wanna play,” she pouts instantly with another tug on his beard.

“I have been asked to teach your sister her writing, and Ruhai will observe. You will nap, we will wake you to play when the lesson is finished.”

Lan Qiren can tell instantly as a whine builds in her throat that she’s used to fighting against this particular part of her schedule, but no child in the world is capable of being more stubborn than him. He pulls back the quilt on the bed just enough to set Jin Ye down on it and he wraps her up tightly, elbows bent so her hands are poised up near her shoulders in case she should need to pull herself free. He indulges in a few passes of his hand across the top of her head and almost instantly her whining is cut off by a wide yawn and some long, slow blinks.

“Go to sleep, child, we’ll be here when you wake up again,” he soothes and she relents to close her eyes.

“Wow. She usually only goes to sleep like that for mom and dad,” Jin Lu breathes when he rejoins the other two children on the other side of the space, sitting at the desk where Jin Lu has busied herself laying out some of the paper left in the room for him to use alongside ink and brushes for two.

“I have experience,” he replies simply. “Ruhai, you will grind ink for your sister and then observe her practice.”

The boy nods and leans forward instantly to begin the process with his usual care, moving slowly to ensure he doesn’t splatter anything. Lan Qiren watches carefully, silently correcting the boy’s posture and form with gentle taps of the end of a brush before he’s satisfied enough to begin grinding his own ink. He takes time to show Jin Lu how to properly hold her brush before he lets her touch it to paper. She still moves with some of the natural clumsiness of childhood, but it quickly becomes clear that Jin Zixuan had been telling the truth when he said she has mastered the first set of skills typical for her age group.

Jin Ruhai is an attentive audience as Lan Qiren guides Jin Lu through her practice, settling comfortably into the familiar role of a teacher. He becomes absorbed in it, watching Jin Lu’s hesitant strokes become bolder, more confident as the lesson progresses. So absorbed, in fact, that he’s startled to look up near the middle of the hour to find Jin Yan and Jin Yu flanking the door, arms crossed over their chests as they watch on. Not for the first time he wonders if they will ever be sent to Meishan Yu for training with the Spiders like their grandmother’s Jinzhu and Yinzhu. They would be excellent fits for it, the way they move silently when they want to and always seem to work in tandem, always on their guard.

They offer him a respectful bow - more respectful than he ever sees them offer anyone else in the extended family - and only step further into the room when he waves them in.

“Hi Great Uncle Lan,” Jin Yan greets as she steps forward to sit beside her younger sister, careful not to jostle the girl or the table as she folds her legs neatly underneath her.

“Wow - you got xiao-Ye to take her nap,” Jin Yu marvels as she approaches the bed where the toddler is still sleeping, tiny snores escaping her parted lips.

“Indeed. I do not recommend waking her yet, A-Yu.”

“Yes, Great Uncle Lan.” The girl backs away from the bed immediately to join her sisters, sitting on Jin Lu’s other side to peer down at her work. Jin Lu ignores them to stay focused on her work, Lan Qiren is pleased to see, continuing to practice the new character he had shown her with the tip of her tongue just barely poking between her teeth as she concentrates.

“Hey, this looks great, Lulu,” Jin Yan praises and Jin Lu’s concentration breaks just enough that she grins, tongue still out. “A lot better than ours was at her age, don’t you think Yuyu?”

“Better than ours now,” Jin Yu snorts as she leans back on one hand to lounge, the opposite knee propped up to support her extended arm.

Lan Qiren is just opening his mouth to admonish her posture (it’s far too improper even though she wears trousers) when there’s suddenly the sound of running footsteps on the path outside and panting. All eyes - except for Jin Lu’s - turn to the door to find the swordmaster of Jinlintai leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath. He sketches a hasty approximation of a bow.

“Yan-guniang, Yu-guniang,” he manages after a moment. “Your afternoon training is not yet over, I have promised Jin-Zongzhu to instruct you-”

He cuts himself off as Lan Qiren holds up a hand to pause him. “My grandnieces are attending a lesson with me,” he says smoothly. “I will inform Jin-Zongzhu of the change in their schedule, you need not worry.”

The man seems about to argue for a long moment before he seems to think better of it. He sighs and nods, retreating with a quick bow.

“What are you two training with now?” he asks as he turns his attention back to watching Jin Lu’s brush.

“Uncle Sang sent us new knives made by our favorite bladesmith in Qinghe, but we decided we want to wait to really practice with them until Uncle Jue can show us how,” Jin Yan replies while Jin Yu nods her emphatic agreement, still looking down at Jin Lu’s paper. “If we’re going to fight with Nie blades then we want to learn how the Nie would do it.”

“It is good to seek a well-rounded education in any area of study. Variety is invigorating to the mind,” Lan Qiren replies with a glance up to find the twins practically preening under his approval. “I am sure Nie Mingjue will be pleased to demonstrate to such enthusiastic students.”

“Done!” Jin Lu states, setting her brush on its holder and crossing her arms resolutely, a proud, lopsided grin on her face. Jin Yan and Jin Yu instantly lean closer, crowding and jostling the younger girl between them until she giggles as they look over the page. Even Jin Ruhai leans in, eyes scanning the page from his sideways perspective.

“Beautiful,” he praises gently with a smile and Jin Lu positively beams as the twins nod and start pointing out particularly pleasing lines, chattering over each other easily.

“You have improved,” Lan Qiren cuts through the chatter to agree before turning to his nephew. “Ruhai, have you practiced the score I left with you two months ago?” The boy nods quickly, his eyes wide. “Would you like to show me?” Another nod as his hands come up to rest on the table as if already resting on his instrument, though he frowns after a moment. “You may use my guqin. I will prepare what is needed.”

There’s a quick flurry as Jin Yan helps him clear the table of the calligraphy supplies - Jin Lu’s practice sheet gets safely set aside to be shown to Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan later - and Jin Yu follows his nod towards the bed to go wake Jin Ye from her nap. With the table clear, Lan Qiren calls his guqin from the pouch in his sleeve and settles the instrument on the surface next, Jin Ruhai swapping places with Jin Lu so that he is now in place to be instructed and she can sit to the side to observe.

Lan Qiren watches Jin Ruhai check the tuning of the instrument with careful brushes of his fingers and then he looks up to check on Jin Yu and Jin Ye. He can’t help but smile ever so slightly as he watches the teen pinch her younger sister’s round cheek, bearing faint creases from the blankets that had been pressed into her skin. Jin Ye is still sleepy and not willing to do much work to support her own weight as she sits like a sack of potatoes in her sister’s arms and so Lan Qiren holds his hands out to take her and settle her in his lap while she rubs her eyes and yawns, trying valiantly to wake properly.

The twins settle back into their spots on either side of their brother, clearly enjoying their position so close to the source of the afternoon’s entertainment. The boy seems to steady with their presence at his sides and Lan Qiren watches his hands settle firmly on the strings. He takes a deep breath in and then begins to play, his fingers sure on the strings despite his moment of nerves.

An unusual stillness accompanies his playing. Jin Lu stops fidgeting with her fingers, the twins slip into the perfect stillness of those who are utterly aware of themselves at all times - a trait he’s noticed in every skilled fighter he’s ever come across - and even Jin Ye relaxes, slumping further and further backwards until she’s slouched down against his stomach, legs dangling over his crossed shins.

The piece isn’t a terribly long one, nor as complex as the next score Lan Qiren intends to teach the boy, but Jin Ruhai’s mastery of it is impressive. Again, Lan Qiren is forcefully reminded of Lan Wangji, always most at peace when behind his instrument to play with and/or for the people he loves.

There’s silence in the room until the last note fades with a shiver into the air and Jin Ruhai pulls his hands back from the instrument. The stillness lasts for one more moment before it’s interrupted by Jin Lu sneezing suddenly and her siblings laugh as the quiet breaks.

“I had to hold that in the whole time!!” Jin Lu laughs as she rubs her sleeve under her nose, one eye screwed shut as she giggles. “I didn’t want to mess up A-Zhuang’s song, it’s so pretty!”

“Is that what you practice in your room after dinner every night?” Jin Ruhao suddenly calls from the door and Lan Qiren looks up to find that the two eldest boys have found them, clean and dressed in fresh clothes and apparently done visiting with Jiang Yanli. They step inside the room and move to sit at the table - which is quickly becoming very crowded - on either side of Lan Qiren, directly across from the twins.

“That’s a song from Gusu isn’t it, Great Uncle Lan?” Jin Rulan asks as he and his second brother settle into their spots.

“It is. It is a traditional folk lullaby.” Lan Qiren hesitates for the briefest moment before he adds, “It was your Uncle Ji’s favorite as a boy.”

“Did Uncle Chen have a favorite?” Jin Yan asks curiously and Lan Qiren nods.

“It is the next piece I would like to teach Ruhai, you will hear it when he has learned it.”

“Maybe you can play it for them as a gift the next time they visit, A-Zhuang,” Jin Ruhao suggests and Jin Ruhai visibly perks up at that idea, eyes going bright and his entire expression resolute as he nods. Lan Qiren doesn’t even have to ask to know that he’ll devote himself wholeheartedly to learning the next song until he masters it as soon as he can.

“Oh, my heart!!” A sudden cry from the door has all the children sighing with varying degrees of fondness and dismay as Mo Xuanyu swans into the room. “All the children sucking up to their Great Uncle! How come I never get a cuddle pile, huh? You don’t love your poor Uncle Yu!”

“We hang out with you all the time, Uncle Yu,” Jin Yan sighs heavily, tipping her head back to look at Mo Xuanyu upside down. “What are you doing here? We’re busy hanging out with Great Uncle Lan.”

“Ungrateful child,” Mo Xuanyu chirps with a smile and a tap of a fingertip to the underside of Jin Yan’s chin before he flicks her throat in retaliation.

“Mo Xuanyu,” Lan Qiren greets and warns simultaneously - the gesture was clearly teasing and it couldn’t possibly have hurt his grandniece, but Lan Qiren is protective, he has never once claimed not to be.

“Grandmaster Lan,” the man returns with a nod, hair ornaments tinkling softly as he moves. “I was asked to round up the children for dinner which usually takes the better part of an hour, thank you for corralling them all in one place for this poor tired uncle.”

“Children, go prepare for dinner,” Lan Qiren instructs and everyone but Jin Ye gets to their feet, stretching stiff limbs and nudging each other playfully as they file out of the room. Their laughter echoes in the courtyard as their voices rise, jokes and good-natured chatter filling the air.

“Uh-oh, you’ve got a little bug stuck on your robes there,” Mo Xuanyu chuckles with a nod to Jin Ye. “Never fear, Uncle Lan! I’ll save you from this awful creature!” Jin Ye giggles as she holds her arms up to be swept into Mo Xuanyu’s embrace with a twirl for an extra flourish, the skirts of his robes swishing around his ankles.

Lan Qiren sniffs a bit as he gets to his feet and straightens out his own robes, readjusting his belt to its proper place and brushing himself off as Mo Xuanyu rubs his nose against Jin Ye’s in an affectionate gesture, both of them smiling. He clears his throat next and Mo Xuanyu glances over at him as Lan Qiren settles his arms behind his back, tipping his chin up ever so slightly.

“I spent this morning traveling and this afternoon teaching the children. I also need to prepare for dinner.”

“Ah of course, of course. I’ll just deliver this little bug to her mother, see you at dinner Uncle Lan!” He calls that last over his shoulder as he sweeps out of the room again and Lan Qiren stands in the still silence for a long few moments. He shakes himself out of his reverie quickly enough and begins the process of getting bathed and changed into fresh clothes for the evening spent happily with his family.

Perhaps it was once a surprise to realize that the Lanling Jin is his favorite sect to visit, but now..though nowhere will ever match the love he has for Cloud Recesses, anywhere that contains so much of his family will always come very close to it.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap) - Part 14

Summary: Sam inherits Steve Roger's crime empire after a handful of his men betray and kill him. The rest of the crime world, sensing an opening, go after Sam and the territories he's inherited from Steve. Thankfully, Steve left him a number, someone to call if he ever needs help. Someone, Steve claimed, he can trust. But can Sam really trust a mercenary with that much blood on his name? And that many knives in his pockets.

WARNINGS: (there will eventually be all of these things) blood, violence, murder, shooting, stabbing, sex, blood play , food related things: malnutrition, feeding, blow jobs, bathing/washing, chronic pain. Limb loss and regrowth. Bullet wounds. Gore.

18+ Content: Make Good Choices Kids <3

Ao3

He's walking home, leg and shoulder throbbing, head pounding and then swimming with every alternate step, when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He stops, leans against the nearest wall with a sigh, his elbow propping him up so there's no pressure on his shoulder. He digs for his phone, dropping his head when he remembers he'd left it sitting on the table at Sam's, a bullet hole in the middle of it.

He moves his eyes around the street quickly, scanning for something that was becoming more and more difficult to find, but he found it. He limped across the street and slid into the phone booth, leaving the door open. He shoved his metal hand into his pocket and growled, he didn't carry fucking pocket change. He squinted through the dirty window and hummed to himself, limping back out onto the sidewalk, and up to the man sitting with his back agaisnt the fence.

He dug his wallet out, flipped it open, and grabbed two, hundred dollar bills.

"Got any change in that cup? I'll trade ya." Bucky held the bills between his fingers, wide eyes looking down at the man inquisitively, the scruffy man scrambled to his feet.

"You crazy man?" He said, eyeing Bucky hesitantly, keeping his distance. Bucky shook his head once, trying not to sway on his feet.

"Just really need to make a call." He said, trying his best to smile. The man stares at him for a short moment and holds out the cup of change in his hand.

"You can have it all." He says, snatching the bills from between Bucky's fingers quickly when he holds them out.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Bucky says, turning back to the phonebooth carefully.

"Thank you. Honestly thanks." The man says before scurrying into the dark. Bucky sighs and slides into the booth again, shoves his change in, dials Wade's number, and waits.

"Wade Wilson's House Of Pancakes, how may I help you?" Wade's voice rings cheerfully down the line, Bucky's mouth twitches but he's too tired to laugh.

"How's the arm?" Is all he says.

"Eehhh it's about the size of a three year olds arm, ultimately unhelpful, still extremely entertaining to look at." Wade muses, and Bucky hears him sit up, he'd probably been laying on the couch.

"You can fight with one arm right?" Bucky asks, his body falling agaisnt the side of the booth.

"Yeah probably. What's goin on? You okay?" Wade asks, Bucky smiles now, he sounds worried.

"I'm being followed." Bucky says, breathing deeply past the aches in his body.

"Sam?" Wade asks.

"Not Sam." Bucky answers, and he hears movement on the end of the line.

"Where are you?" Wade's voice says, closer now, like he's holding the phone with his shoulder.

"You still slipping trackers in pockets?" Bucky asks, his eyes falling closed.

"Uuuh...nooo?" Wade's voice, high with guilt, answers. Bucky snorts, shakes his head.

"Turn it on. Come and find me." Bucky says, his shoulder throbbing under his shirt. He should have asked Helen for a transfusion before he left, he was such a fucking idiot. He shakes his head.

"I'll be there. Who is it?" Wade asks, and Bucky can hear him grabbing weapons, hears the tell tale sound of his swords sliding home.

"Who the fuck else would be at a time like this?" Bucky asks, forcing himself fully back onto his feet.

"Fucks sake. The dynamic duo from hell." Wade sighs.

"Lemme grab like... five more guns, and I'll be there. Tracker's on." He says, Bucky can hear him stomping around, digging through Bucky's stashes, grabbing his guns.

"Okay. Thanks Wade." Bucky sighs.

"Hey." Wade says, firmly. Bucky blinks and shakes his head again.

"Yeah?"

"Just hang in there. I'm coming for you." He says, going still on the other end of the line. Bucky opens his mouth to answer and hears the line click. He doesn't waste anymore change. Just sits the cup next to the phone, for the next desperate caller, and steps out.

He limps past two alleys, his skin tingling. He can feel them getting closer, their eyes on him. He knows she's close. Knows she's gonna take him soon. He's too weak to fight her off right now, and she knows that. Other wise he'd have an arrow in him already. His foot steps past the next building and a hand comes down on his shoulder. He screams, an arm wraps itself around his throat to muffle the sound as his legs are kicked from under him. His vision goes dark before he hits the ground. His last thought before sinking into darkness, that he really needed to learn how to let Helen do her fucking job.

~

His head is pounding. And his shoulder. And his leg. He tries to move. Can't. His hands are tied behind him, feet secured as well. He holds in a groan and blinks his eyes open, not moving.

The room is dark, a small square of orange light shining in from what Bucky assumes is a street light outside. He can tell the room is small, there's not enough sound for it to be large. He presses his toes down, gently, there's a small amount of give. Carpet on the floor. So an abandoned apartment most likely.

He takes a deep breath, trying not to move. He fucking hates being tied to chairs. His arms are secured behind him, feet tied to the legs. He can feel a pulse moving through his metal arm, she'd disabled that easily. The pulse would stop eventually, but not soon enough. He blinks slowly, waiting for his eyes to adjust a bit more before lifting his head. He can vaguely make out the outline of a door several feet in front of him. The window is behind him. And he has no fucking clue how many floors up they are.

"I know you're awake." Her deep voice says from the shadows.

"Wasn't trying to hide it." Bucky says, dropping his head back, eyes moving over the tarnished popcorn ceiling.

"Yes you were." She says, easy. And Bucky can hear the smirk on her face.

"If I was trying to hide it, I wouldn't have moved." He said, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. He hears two sighs, one on each side of him.

"You're always so argumentative." A different voice says, he sounds annoyed.

"Argumentative. Someone's been keeping up with their word-a-day calendar." Bucky says, smiling into the dark at the voice. A fist slams into his cheek, his head wips to the side, his neck popping with the force of it, the sharp tange of blood flows over his tongue.

"Funny Barnes. You got any more jokes?" The voice asks, closer now. Bucky lifts his head slowly, licking his lips as he looks toward the voice, a face semi visible in the dark now.

"I've always got more jokes." He says, and spits a mouthful of blood at the man next to him. He starts to laugh and is promptly cut off by fingers grabbing his throat. A hand clamps down on his shoudler, fingers digging into the wounds there, Bucky screams around the grip on his neck.

"Clint. Enough." The woman's voice says, sounding bored. The fingers digging into his skin disappear as a light clicks on above him. He watches as Clint backs away from him, stopping when his back hits the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Bucky moves his eyes to the right, she's leaning against the wall too, red hair looking like blood in the low light, her foot proped against the wall behind her.

"Natasha." Bucky nods once. She does the same, her lips a permanent smirk on her face. Bucky moves his eyes back to Clint.

"You got somethin on your face Barton." Bucky sneers, smirking when Clint wipes hurriedly at the blood Bucky had spat there. Bucky feels the pulse in his arm quicken. His head pounds as he looks up at the singular lightbulb above him.

There's silence. For a long moment. He does his best to push the aches in his body away, trying to focus. The silence is pissing him off now, and he knows that's what she wants.

"What can I do for the two of you today?" He asks with a sigh, wishing they'd just get it over with. He wanted to go home and sleep. Or take a shower. One or the other. He'd get both done eventually. Probably. His eyes snap to Natasha as she moves forward.

"We just had some questions." She says, sounding innocent. Bucky watches her move toward him, slowly, her movements smooth and calculated.

"Oh yeah? And what if I dont have the answers you're looking for?" Bucky asks, looking up at her now as she stands in front of him.

"Oh you have the answers we're looking for." She says, bending down, her hand resting on the knee of Bucky's wounded leg. He nods slowly, licking his lips.

"And if I don't feel like sharing?" He asks, knowing what her answer will be before she even moves. Her hand moves fast up his leg, fingers curling into the bullet wound and squeezing. Bucky bites into his lip, holds back the scream. She lets go of him and smiles.

"Listen. I don't wanna hurt you Barnes." She sighs.

"I do." Clint says from behind her, Bucky glances behind her, sees the idiot inspecting one of his arrowheads, turning the shaft slowly between his fingers before looking up at Bucky with a smile. Bucky smiles back, and then returns his attention to the more pressing danger.

"We just..." she paused, pacing a few steps away, arms crossing, she turns back to him.

"We have a request." She says, looking down at him. His brow furrows.

"What kinda request?" He asks, knowing that it doesn't really matter.

"It's about your new owner. Ya know, the guy holding your leash now." She says, smirking down at him. Bucky's stomach turns, as he looks at her, he forces himself not to move, not to react.

"You're such a good little pet." Clint says, stowing his arrow away, crossing his arms again, glaring at Bucky.

"Doing as your told. Following all his little orders." He finishes, taking a few steps forward, Natasha's hand goes to his shoulder, stopping him. They both look down at him.

"What kind. Of request?" Bucky asks again, hoping this time they'll get to the fucking point. They stare at him for a long time. Bucky almost asks again, his lip twitching with annoyance.

"We want a free pass." Natasha finally says, her eyebrows twitching.

"A free pass." Bucky says slowly, was she fucking kidding.

"Or not free. We're willing to pay." She says, smiling again.

"Which is more than he's willing to do for you. At least that's the word on the street." Clint says, glancing at Natasha, both of them smirking.

"You're gonna pay me... to what? Let you kill him?" Bucky asks, his fists clenching behind his back, his ankles straining agaisnt the bindings there. Natasha and Clint both look at him and shrug, their faces moving into identical pouts as they do. Bucky snorts and shakes his head, letting his chin fall to his chest as he laughs.

"It's a good deal. Everyone's had enough of this little game. And after what you did last night, you think that's gonna stop them?" Natasha asked, crouching in front of him.

"It's only gonna get worse. And this loyalty of yours?" She cooed, moving her fingers to the hole in Bucky's jeans again, pressing them into his thigh.

"It's gonna get you killed." She sighed, her fingers pressing harder, dragging a scream out of Bucky. He looked at her, his breathing heavy. His eyes moved to Clint as he lowered himself down next to her. Bucky flexed his fingers behind his back. The pulse running through his arm was fading.

"He's not even paying you. And Steve's gone. You don't have to be loyal to this asshole. Just... let us take care of it." Clint said, smiling at Bucky. Bucky wasn't sure if he was trying to be disarming or not, but whatever it was, it wasn't working. Bucky nodded. Groaning as Natasha used his leg as leverage to stand, Clint disappearing from veiw as well.

"We have a past Barnes. You owe me." Natasha said, her voice hard now. Bucky snorted and looked up at her.

"You're gonna drill me about loyalty and then throw that in my face?" He asks, moving his wrists past each other in their bindings.

"My loyalty saved your fucking life. Unless you remember things differently?" He said, feeling the pulse in his arm die, he twisted his wrists again, slowly.

"No. I remember. But I've paid that debt. Twice over. So now," she leaned down, her fingers grabbing Bucky's thigh again, her other slamming onto his shoulder.

"You owe me." She growled, digging her fingers into his shoulder so hard Bucky could feel blood seeping out of his bandages. He closed his eyes, face pulled tight, biting his tongue to hold in the scream, refusing to give her the satisfaction.  And then hears footsteps, slow and steady. He opens his eyes, looks up at Natasha, she's smirking down at him, fingers wiggling against his wound.

"I do owe you. But you can't fucking have him." Bucky smiles as her face drops and rips his arms free, the door behind them slams open at the same time.

"Hey! Strawberry shortcake! Fuck off back to legoland!" Wade yells, tossing a sword into the room. Natasha and Clint dive for the walls. Bucky looks at his feet, Wade's sword stuck in the floor directly between them.

"That was such a convoluted reference!" Bucky yells, grabbing the sword, Natasha dives for him and he falls back, kicking the chair at her as he goes. It smashes into her, breaking and freeing Bucky's legs in one go, throwing her back into the wall. Bucky stands, shoves his first into Clint's face twice and spins to press his back to Wade's, his eyes locked on Natasha as Wade watches Clint.

"What happened to the guns Wade?" Bucky growls, leaning agaisnt the man behind him as his knees threatened to buckle.

"I thought this would be more dramatic!" Wade said, ducking a punch from Clint and kicking him in the chest.

"You left them in the fucking cab again didn't you?" Bucky asked, grunting as Natasha landed a kick to his ribs.

"I left them in the cab again yeah. So embarrassing too! Cuz I set a reminder on my phone. But the cab got here sooner than I expected!" He paused as they both ducked attacks coming at them, before straighting again, backs pressed firmly together.

"Which you know never happens!!!" Wade finished, leaning back further to look at Bucky over his shoulder. Bucky shook his head.

"Can we just get the fuck out of here please? We can talk about you losing my guns, later!" Bucky yelled, kicking a gun out of Natasha's hand, earning a glare from her.

"Okay yeah that's fair! Window?" Wade asked, grabbing Clint and spinning, Bucky staying pressed against his back as Wade turned and tossed Clint at Natasha, she tried to catch him and was shoved back agaisnt the wall, her body leaving a hole in the drywall before they crumpled to the floor.

"Window." Bucky nodded, both of them diving for it.

Bucky regretted jumping as soon as he followed Wade through the glass. They were nearly five stories up. Bucky watched Wade slam into a fire escape, his foot getting caught. Wade reached out. His only good arm grabbing Bucky's metal one as he reached back. Their fingers locked around each other's wrists and Bucky swung up under the fire escape, both of them yelling with strain as he swung back out, hanging onto Wade, four stories up.

"Fucking GOD. DAMN IT!" Wade yelled. His eyes clenched shut in pain as he held onto Bucky. Bucky moved his eyes up Wade's body, he was hanging from his foot, the appendage lodged between two rails on the fire escape above, twisted at a sickening angle.

"Fuck." Bucky breathed, his eyes moving to the window, waiting for Natasha and Clint to appear and start shooting. When they didn't, he moved his attention back to Wade.

"Good catch." He said, grinning up at him, his feet dangling beneath him.

"Well this fuckin sucks." Wade sighed, looking up, down?, at his foot.

"Ooooh that looks so bad. Oh god." He made a gagging noise.

"Do not throw up in your mask!" Bucky warned, pointing at Wade with his free hand.

"I can get you loose, gimme a second." He reached up, grabbing at Wade's belt, muffling a scream behind his lips as he pulled himself up with his bleeding shoulder. Wade did his best to help, pulling him up by his wrist where they were locked together. Bucky grabbed at the fire escape and tossed himself on to it with a pained growl. Leaning over and looking at Wade.

"You okay?" He asked, kneeling down to look at Wade's foot. He scrunched his nose up, brushing his fingers over Wade's ankle and immediately pulling them back when Wade screamed. He pressed his fist to his mouth, holding in his own gag.

"I'm gonna have to twist it to get it out." Bucky said, grimacing at the groan he received in return.

"Just cut it off." Wade said, sounding forlorn. Bucky was about to question him when a sword flew up and onto the fire escape, barley missing Bucky.

"Jesus. Don't fucking kill the messenger. Damn." Bucky grumbled. He looked over the balcony at Wade, his arms, arm, was dangling below his head.

"You sure you want me to do this? You're already regrowing an arm." Bucky said, spinning the sword in his hand as he looked down at Wade. Wade didn't even try to look at him.

"Yeah. Fuck it. What's one more body part between friends." Wade sighed. Bucky looked down at him, he crouched next to Wade's foot again, trying not to look directly at it.

"All the things I've done to you? Not sure friends is the right word for us babe." Bucky said, smirking when heard Wade groan.

"Don't try an turn me on when you're about to cut off my foot! That's so fucked up!" Wade called, Bucky peeked over the balcony and looked at him.

"Just trying to distract you." He said with a smile, leaning back and then leaning back over to look at Wade again, his arm was now crossed over his chest grumpily.

"It worked though didn't it? A little?" He scrunched his nose up, nodding knowingly at Wade. Wade stared at him before letting his arm fall back over his head with a huff.

"Of course it fucking worked! Now would you please cut my fucking foot off so we can go home!" Wade yelled.

"Stop yelling! You'll wake the neighbors!" Bucky yelled back, raising the sword above his head as Wade laughed beneath him. He brought the sword down fast, it moved through Wade's ankle like butter. Bucky heard him curse and leaned over the railing, watching him tumble through the air, hitting the ground with a sickening splat. He bent down and picked up Wade's foot.

"Sorry!" He called over the edge, then headed down the stairs and ladders of the fire escape.

Wade was still on the ground when he reached the bottom. Bucky nudged him with the toe of his good leg.

"You good bro?" He asked, laughing when Wade lifted his hand and gave him a thumbs up, a high pitched whine coming out of him.

Bucky lifted Wade to his... foot, and drapped his arm over his shoulders.

"Can we go home now?" Wade asked, his head falling onto Bucky's shoulder, he sounded pitiful.

"Awww... no." Bucky said, pulling Wade close as he began to limp toward the street.

"What? No? Where are we going?" Wade whined, hopping along next to Bucky.

"Wait did you get my foot?" Wade asked, seemingly not caring that Bucky hadn't answered him.

"I got your foot." Bucky said and then stumbled, his knees buckling under Wade's weight, and the blood loss, and the bullet wounds. He stopped, looking around them in the dark. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon and Bucky needed to get them off the street before that happened. His eyes fell on the locked fence next to them, caging in some kind of construction sight. He pulled Wade's arm from around his shoulders and let him fall agaisnt the fence.

"You're gonna leave me!?!" Wade whined, the eyes on his mask going wide.

"I'm not gonna leave you." Bucky huffed, leaning down to where Wade had sunk.

"Here, just hold your foot, I'll be right back." He pressed Wade's severed foot into his hand, patting Wade's head absent-mindedly as he moved past him, and limped toward the gate. He grabbed the lock holding the chain together and pulled, breaking it easily. He grimaced as he limped through the gate, squinting through the low light to find what he was looking for. He hummed in his throat when he saw it and made his way to it slowly.

It took him almost ten mintues to get back to Wade, a puddle of blood had spread around his ankle before his healing at kicked in good enough to stop it. Bucky stopped in front of Wade, watching as he picked his head up and looked at what Bucky had brought back.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Wade said, glaring up at him.

"I'm really not." Bucky said, looking down at Wade.

"Now, get in the wheelbarrow, and let's go." Bucky sighed, holding onto the handles tightly.

"Cocking sucking. Motherfucking. Fuck!" Wade grumbled and then yelled as he pushed himself off the ground and clumsily lowered himself into it.

"This is ridiculous. I mean this is fucking embarrassing. I can't believe you're making me do this." Wade sighed dramatically, looking up at Bucky, his head tilted back. Bucky looked down, lowing himself a bit closer to Wade.

"You're the one who made me cut your foot off. This is what you deserve." Bucky pressed a quick kiss to Wade's forehead before picking up the handles on the wheelbarrow and limping along, moving slowly, but moving.

"Besides, you actually expect me to believe this the first time you've ever been in a wheelbarrow?" Bucky asked, pushing Wade carefully across a side street.

"Ya know what!?" Wade asked, sounding heated.

"What?" Bucky asked, his voice flat.

"No that's- that's actually fair yeah, I have been." Wade said, his voice calming as he petted his severed foot held against his chest. Bucky watched him for awhile, walking slowly as the sun rose higher. He stopped the wheelbarrow, setting it down next to the pay phone from earlier.

"Who could you possibly be calling at this hour?" Wade asked, his voice was wobbling a little, Bucky couldn't tell if it was on purpose or if he was heading for hysteria. He shoved a few quarters into the phone, ignoring him. The line picked up on the third ring.

"Sam."

"Bucky?" He sounded groggy, like maybe he'd actually managed to fall asleep after Bucky had left.

"We have a problem." Bucky says, licking his lips and pressing his forhead to the cool filthy glass of the phonebooth.

"I'll be ready when you get here." Sam's voice said, no sign of sleep left.

"It'll be a few. I've got... some company." Bucky says, not elaborating.

"The more the merrier." Sam's unamused voice says before the line cuts off. Bucky smiles and walks back out to Wade, picking up the handles and walking back the way he'd come just a few hours ago.

"A problem seems like an understatement." Wade says, his head falling back and to the side, brushing Bucky's hand. Bucky looked down at him, quirked his eyebrow and nodded.

"Yeah." He sighed, stopping for a moment to rest his leg, he bent down, his hand patting Wade's shoulder.

"I'll elaborate on that later. But for now." He stood back up, slowly pushing Wade along.

"Let's go introduce you to Sam." He said, smirking when Wade gasped.

"What?! But my arm! Oh my god and my foot! I'm a mess and you expect me to just walk in there-" Bucky cleared his throat.

"You expect me to just roll in there, no arm, no foot, and just what? Just what huh? Just introduce myself?! I can't even STAND!" He yells, waving his hand around, Bucky shakes his head, just glad he's not waving his foot.

"You'll be fine." He reasures, not well, but he doesn't have much left in him at the moment. Wade goes quiet, for almost too long, and then speaks again.

"What's he like?" He asks, looking up at Bucky with wide eyes.

"Is he beautiful?" Wade sighs, deamily, reaching up to akwardly pet at Bucky's face. Bucky jerks his face away playfully and Wade drops his hand back to his chest. They walk along in silence for a moment.

"You didn't answer my question." Wade points out, his voice low and teasing. Bucky's mouth twitches, his eyes moving over the pink and orange sunrise painting the sky, lingering over the warm colors, before he answers, simply.

"Yeah. He is."

[kingreywrites]

Take every dare

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 1720

Summary: [Set in season 2]

When Eugene had invited Rapunzel on a date today, he had expected them to go see some beautiful scenery, or maybe grab some fresh fruits to eat. There wasn't much to do on the road, but as long as they were with each other - and as long as Rapunzel found beauty in everything - he was sure that they would be fine and enjoy themselves. He should have known that, with their luck, it wouldn't happen quite like he had envisioned it.

Warning: A bit of hurt and blood mentions.

Note: A little scene I wrote for fun! Not my best work but I hope you’ll enjoy anyway!

Read on ao3

When Eugene had invited Rapunzel on a date today, he had expected them to go see some beautiful scenery, or maybe grab some fresh fruits to eat. There wasn't much to do on the road, but as long as they were with each other - and as long as Rapunzel found beauty in everything - he was sure that they would be fine and enjoy themselves. He should have known that, with their luck, it wouldn't happen quite like he had envisioned it. At least, this time, it was thieves and not a weird monkey supposed to predict their future - then again, there was a dozen of them, and only two of Rapunzel and him (well, Pascal might count, so three), so, perhaps, the monkey had been better…

Ha. Who was he kidding, he'd take attempted robbery over monkey hair on his face any day.

"You really couldn't have chosen a worse target," Eugene laughed, raising his sword as Rapunzel let down her hair with a smirk.

The thieves looked at each other, puzzled, then proceeded to attack them, foolishly thinking that their superior number would be enough to bring down the Princess of Corona and her - quite dashing - former thief of a boyfriend. Something they promptly learnt to be a mistake, as Rapunzel knocked out three of them in one swoop of her hair. Eugene laughed, paring his opponent's sword easily before knocking him out, going to his next target as his girlfriend was taking care of virtually everyone else without even breaking a sweat.

Boy, did he love that girl.

His new opponent was better with a sword than the first, for sure, but he was still no match for Eugene - one slick move from his hand and the goon was disarmed. Eugene grinned, ready to say something witty, when the guy had the crazy idea to simply… Run right into Eugene’s sword. Eugene yelped, and then tried to get the sword away, not too keen on actually stabbing anyone, but it meant that dear stupidly buffy thief - he’ll call him Steve for time related purposes - could throw his whole body weight at him with no obstacles.

With a yell, Eugene fell backward, crushed under Steve as a white hot pain in his back took his breath away.

His brain disconnected for a second or two, before a growl made him come back to himself. Above him, Steve was raising his fist, ready to strike down and Eugene squeaked - not the most heroic sound, for sure, but his amazing face was on the line. He didn’t have his sword anymore, had probably dropped it as he fell, and his other hand was pinned under Steve, so he was in for a real bad time... Until something blond obscured his vision.

"Eugene," Rapunzel called worriedly as she casually grabbed Steve with her hair and threw him to the side without a second thought, "you’re okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed, feeling lighter now that he wasn’t being squished under someone else, "thank you Sunshine!"

She smiled and grabbed someone else’s leg to destabilize them as Eugene got up. His ribs were pulsating in pain, and he nearly doubled over again as he stood up - the world swam around him for a few moments, but he bit his lips and powered through, hoping that Rapunzel didn't see the pain on his face. She would be worried. He also really hoped he hadn’t broken anything, because it would be a pain to deal with. Quite literally. Sighing, he went to collect his sword, trying not to bend down too much as it ignited the pain again, and seathed it right as Rapunzel took care of the last thief. She was beautiful like that, and he couldn’t help but smile as she pumped her fist in the air with a grin, Pascal clapping on her shoulder. 

"Here goes our peaceful date, huh?" Eugene joked as he pushed an unconscious thief’s arm out of his way with his boot, wondering what they should do with them.

"Ah, it’s funnier that way," Rapunzel teased, before frowning. "Are you okay, though? That guy made you fall pretty hard."

Eugene hummed, and was happy to see that, despite the pain, his breathing was seemingly fine. That had to mean nothing was broken, no? Though, he still felt not quite right. The buzzing pain in his back felt as if it was seeping through his whole body like poison and, as he watched Rapunzel walk toward him while talking to Pascal, he couldn’t shake off the impression that sounds were becoming muted around him. His next step was wobblier than he expected, as if the ground under his foot was soft - but when he looked down, it was to see that it was as firm and solid as everything else.

He raised his head and noticed concern on Rapunzel's face - and noticed too that the world was tilting dizzyingly to the side.

"Uh, Sunshine?" he said, his voice sounding far away to his own ears. He took another step, swaying. "I think… I don't feel so well..."

His legs crumbled under him and his vision tunneled right as an intense pain exploded in his entire body. He thought he heard Rapunzel yelling his name, but he blacked out before even hitting the ground.

Eugene woke up to a hand softly stroking his hair, getting it out of his face. He wanted to smile, but his head was pounding, his mouth was dry, his cheek was stinging and- wait. His cheek was-

Something slapped him hard and his eyes popped open, indignation on his lips until his movement made him cringe in pain.

"Eugene! Are you okay?" Rapunzel cried out, relief evident in her voice as her hand cradled his head.

"You… You slapped me?" Eugene sputtered.

"Oh, yes, sorry, but you weren't waking up- hey, don't move," she said sternly, one of her hand holding him down, "you've been stabbed."

"I've been what?!" he screeched.

"Stab- no, I mean, not stabbed stabbed, but you fell on a piece of wood that was sticking out, and it's still in your back, which is probably why you passed out and- and-"

Rapunzel stopped herself, taking a deep breath and Eugene could feel his fear recede as he softened. Her hands were trembling in his hair. She was freaked out more than enough, he really shouldn't be panicking and pilling more stress on her. Especially since, despite the general pain coming from his back, Eugene didn't feel that bad. His hand sneaked its way into her empty one, and he drew a smile out of her, like he had wished to do. Gently, she helped him sit up fully and he had to bit the cry of pain that wanted to escape his lips - though, going by her frown, she had seen right through him.

"We need to get you back to the caravan," she said in a whisper, voice heavy. He couldn't see his own back, but he could guess that her gaze was focused on the blood oozing from his wound, and that it must be bringing back bad memories. He nodded, squeezed her hand and she focused back on his face - better.

"We'll have to go on three dates to make up for this one," he grinned, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Pascal levelled him with an unimpressed look, but Rapunzel's lips went up, and even the frog smiled.

"Hmm, we'll have to," Rapunzel said softly, helping him to his feet. His back still hurt, his ribs were protesting and the world still didn't seem as solid as it should be, but he managed to stay upright after a few minutes of Rapunzel supporting his weight.

They chatted along the way to the caravan, Eugene much more steady on his feet as time passed. His injuries weren't that bad, they had just been a shock to his system. He hadn't even been passed out for too long, really, but he had scared Rapunzel half to death going by the nervous glances she threw his way every five seconds. Eugene wasn't about to tease her for it, though - he understood where she was coming from better than anyone else, and could only wish to forget the cold panic that had washed over him when he had heard the word "stabbed".

They didn't have to say it outloud, but they both refused to let themselves think of Gothel, and both tried to distract the other from the memories.

Rapunzel's hand slipped back into his gently, and he squeezed, hoping to tell her that everything would be fine. Then he met her eyes again, and lost his breath at the way she was gazing up at him - like he was the most precious thing in the world. Eugene knew that she loved him. He knew that he was her dream, just like she was his. But right here, right now, he could see in her eyes all the love and the affection she couldn't always put into words, and any lingering pain from his injury seemed to fade away as he leant down to kiss her.

Then Eugene made a wrong move and pulled at the wound, and yeah, ow. The pain was still here, his bad.

"Come on," Rapunzel breathed out, her worried frown making a comeback - though her eyes were still shining and her shoulders seemed less tense after their kiss. "To the caravan."

"Aye ma'am," Eugene grinned.

Getting the piece of wood out was not a pleasant experience. Cass was the one to do it, grumbling about it all the way through while Rapunzel crushed his hand in hers, but Eugene was sure sure that, despite her words, Cassandra had tried to be gentle with him. He appreciated it. Appreciated it a whole lot less when she slapped a bandage over the wound without warning.

However, less than pleasant experience with a pointy thing meant a more than pleasant comfort offered by Rapunzel. His ribs were still aching and his back still hurting, and maybe they would for quite some time, but that night, Rapunzel cuddled closer to him and whispered in his ear how much she loved him, and kissed him, and slept in his arms - and he thought that it wasn't so bad in the end.

Eugene slept peacefully, knowing that they had three more dates to look forward to.

[jflashandclash]

Tales from Mount Othrys

Ajax: Fidget Spinners VII

           “Well,” Hades demanded, “How does it look?”

         Pax was stunned into silence—an unusual thing for him. Normally, when he got nervous, he blathered. The helm hadn’t turned his brother invisible. It liquefied him. Was that a side effect of being Mayan? Instant liquefaction upon contact with Greek artifact? Hades didn’t seem alarmed, just eagerly awaiting a response. Did he turn into putty every time he put on his helm? If so, gross. More props to Persephone for kissing this ooze master.

         “Um,” Pax said in a voice that he hoped conveyed thoughtfulness instead of panic.

         Hades crossed his arms and tapped his fingers against his massive biceps.

         Pax’s brain scrambled. If he were a Lord of the Dead, what lie would he want to hear about his helm? And how would he want it explained that “Sorry, we can’t give you your helm back. It ate my brother and is now lost in the ether.”

         Then, someone grabbed his arm.

         Pax almost screamed, thinking the guards knew something was wrong and were about to drag him back to the River Styx and drown him in the boiling water. When he glanced, there was no one there, not even footprints in the sand. The hand was definitely there though. It experimentally patted down his side.

         By the time Pax realized what was happening, it was almost too late. His brother had grasped Pax’s foot. Pax only had a split second to balance himself. Then the invisible Axel (or, assumedly the invisible Axel; this could have been an acrobatic Casper for all Pax knew) boosted Pax up for an assisted front-flip.

         Their audience didn’t applaud. All they saw was a spark floating over the guards’ heads. One said, “pretty,” but clearly didn’t appreciate the technical skill it took Pax to twist away from a spear tip before being gutted.

         He landed on the sand on the other side of the guard circle. Unlike Axel, his feet did make a dent, even if the landing was nearly soundless.

         Hades stood to full height in his chariot. Malice emitted in dark waves, making Pax feel sicker than the worst dead guy’s BO could make him feel. While guards were awed by the dancing spark display, Hades was not amused. “GET THEM!”

         His roar made the cavern shudder.

         Axel was probably still in the center of the circle. Pax needed to make a distraction.

         “No—my Lord—the helm! It is so stupid looking!” Pax said apologetically. “I—I can’t bear it. The shame you’ll bring upon your household—”

         “KILL HIM!”

         “He’s already dea—”

         “I DON’T CARE!”

         “This is why your henchmen lie to you!” Pax shrieked.

         All the guards turned towards Pax’s voice and the sparking of his invisibility spell. Meanwhile, Pax fumbled in his belt. He really hoped things turned un-invisible when he dropped them.

         Five of the guards were already stumbling blindly in his direction, but a rank of them was closing circle where Axel probably stood. There was no way to tell where Axel really was, but Pax had to assume the worst.

         He dropped two things. One was a smoke bomb. Upon contacting the ground, it exploded green mist everywhere.

         The other took Pax a moment to light. Once he struck it hard enough against his flint bracelet, one of Matthias’s left over sparklers spat to life. Benefits to having an explosion-and-firework-crazed friend that helped with your utility belt: always some fun goodies at hand.

         Pax tossed the decoy sparkler into the center of the green smoke.

         The guards fell for it.

         The next few seconds blurred. Half the guards had raced into the smoke bomb, getting lost in the swirls. A quarter managed their way towards the sparkler he’d dropped. A few fired shots.

         Pax dropped to the sand. His heartbeat pounded in his head. Yea, tricking idiots with swords at a distance was one thing. He didn’t realize any of these ancient looking guards had upgraded with futuristic equipment.

         “Follow his footprints!” a Fury hissed.

         Pax swallowed. He had left footprints. They weren’t obvious in the dark sand, but he could see a rotting foot soldier bend down to examine the ground he’d stumbled from.

         They’d be on him in no time.

         That’s why he couldn’t decide if he wanted to scream in horror or in relief when invisible hands grabbed him again. It took Pax every ounce of self-restraint to refrain from shrieking, “Ah! A ghost!”

         He didn’t know how Axel had crept from the circle of guards—ones that were currently tightening their ranks so much so that Pax hoped they’d stab each other if they got any closer. Talk about a friendly fire nightmare if any of them had guns.

         Axel threw Pax over one shoulder and took off sprinting. Instead of going upriver, towards the exit, the sensible direction, they raced away from the river, further into the underworld. Pax only caught ever few of Axel’s words between his breaths, “Going—kick—your—ass—”

         Pax was about to point out that they’d both be dead if it wasn’t for him, unless Axel had some other brilliant plan that didn’t involve playing chicken with the God of the Dead’s unkillable army.

         Most of the air was exiting Pax’s lungs in painful gasps. Axel could use his shoulder blades to work as a butcher if their impact on Pax’ diaphragm was anything to go off of. Pax had managed a full breath right as Axel swooped low beside a stalagmite.

         A familiar giggle rang in Pax’s ears. “Axel!” came a cheery voice, “How did you know I was there?!”

“Lou Ellen?” Pax asked with his limited breath.

Axel must have scooped her up. That didn’t answer why she’d been crouched there, but Pax wasn’t going to argue.

         “See—through—Mist—” Axel gasped. “See—Ajax—whole—time—” His pace had slowed with the weight of a demigod per shoulder, even two tiny ones. The fact that Axel could carry them like that at all was impressive, except it wouldn’t be enough.

         Behind them, someone must have noticed the spark from Pax’s invisibility shield. That, and the soldiers had stabbed his sparkler out. Hades screamed so loudly, Pax had to wonder if it was really Poseidon or Hades that caused earthquakes.

         A squadron of soldiers were chasing after them. In the air, the Furies were gaining. One of them was enough ahead that she could sweep in wide circles like a vulture. Pax didn’t want to think of what she would do with that whip if she caught three handsome adventurers. Talk about eternity of punishment.

         Pax wasn’t the type of person to point out that they needed a plan, but he also didn’t like the idea of being a free-range target for Hades. The god was sure to start tossing soldiers at them like skeet shooting—Underworld style.

         “We need a plan!” Lou Ellen said, saving Pax from staining his chaos-loving reputation.

         “We—running—it—”

         That was all Pax could understand from Axel’s pants. Although it was impossible to fully turn with his position over Axel’s shoulder, he caught sight of something large, ominous and empty ahead of them.

         Then, Pax understood what Axel had been trying to say. We’re running towards it.

         Pax figured this out as his brother’s feet leapt off the edge of the Underworld and the three of them freefell into a pit of blackness, towards a nest of potentially unfriendly monsters, and the equivalent of Greek Hell. Pax wanted to remind Axel that demigods (or Mayan warriors for that matter) should not be willing to go to Tartarus, but he figured that would be a mute point with all their screaming.

  ***

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week to see these three take a fluff bath. Because what else are you going to do in Tartarus?

[bazzledazzled]

Lost With You

Summary: Nymphs are strange and interesting creatures. They usually don’t talk to humans, but most find them quite pleasant to be around. Well, except when they’re cursing your vampire roommate with a rare disease that makes him cough up flower petals. 

Word Count: about 7k

Warnings: Swearing, blood mention, self deprecation (cause Baz)

read it on ao3

SIMON

“Aleister Crowley I’m living a charmed life. Dying in the Wavering Wood with none other than an imbecile of a Chosen One.”

“Hey!” I say, whirling around on Baz, my sword waving dangerously. Baz doesn’t even seem the slightest bit unnerved, the bloody prick.

The last thing I wanted to do on a Wednesday night was trample through the Wavering Wood with my sworn enemy. I should be in bed. I should be sleeping and dreaming about scones and worrying about the test I have tomorrow. I shouldn’t be going at it with Baz because he got us lost.

“What? It’s extremely poetic, don’t you think, Snow? You finally delivering the final blow by tripping over your own two feet but tragically killing yourself in the process. Shakespeare would be proud of this fine mess that you’ve made.” I roll my eyes, slashing away some more trees to clear a path.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Baz. You’re the one who got us lost.” Baz scoffs.

“No I didn’t. You’re the one who tackled me and did some freaky magic thing.”

“Because you were plotting something! I had to stop you.”

“I wasn’t plotting anything!” I flash him a suspicious glare.

“Does anything look familiar? There has to be some way for us to get out of here. Maybe a spell?” Baz rolls his eyes in that condescending way that he does, taking out his wand.

“Leave a trail of breadcrumbs!” His words fall strong and sure, full of confidence. His magic shimmers around us, hot like fire. The smell makes me think he set the forest on fire, but the spell simply lands on the ground, illuminating a path in a hazy golden glow. Baz turns to me with a satisfied smile and I’m so happy that I could hug him. Except I don’t. I grumble and follow the path.

As soon as I step on the path, it crumbles away and the trees actually move to block the way out. Baz furrows his brow, taking a step forward so he’s next to me.

“That… shouldn’t happen.”

“Baz… what does that mean?”

“Hold on let me try again.” He furrows his brow, this time his face seeming more concentrated.

“Leave a trail of breadcrumbs!” He shouts. Another path illuminates a little ways over. We both scramble for it, but as soon as we get there, the path vanished and trees block our exit. Baz groans, lifting his wand up again.

“I wouldn’t waste the magic, blood-sucker.” Both our eyes widen as we whirl around to see who it is. I draw my sword up, letting my magic sizzle just beneath my skin, subconsciously pushing Baz behind me.

A woman steps out of the trees. She has earthy greenish-brown skin and hair that looks like moss braided back and adorned with flowers. She’s wearing a puffy little flower skirt that almost made her look like a little kid, but her face made me squirm as it settled on us, full of a kind of malice that seemed out of place.

“Nymph,” Baz breathes, his grey eyes trained on her.

“How do we get out of here?” I say, trying to stand tall and sound confident. Nymphs always put me on edge for some reason. Some of them are fine and actually really friendly (at least according to Agatha). But others… they always seem to have bad intentions, and this one is no different.

She leans against a tree, as if debating this, a playful grin on her face.

“You don’t.”

“We don’t?” Baz sputters, sending a vicious glare her way. The nymph smiles. Her teeth are wickedly sharp and I start to wonder if nymphs eat humans.

“The Wood doesn’t seem to want you to leave,” she says, cocking an eyebrow. Baz’s expression looks pained.

“Why wouldn’t it want us to leave?” She makes a tsk sound, shaking her head.

“Because the Chosen One needs to chose a path.”

“Excuse me?” I say, bewildered. In a flash, the nymph is in front of me, eyes wide.

“Tell me, Chosen One, have you decided your path?” I gulp.

“What path?” She laughs and I feel like I’m missing out on some sort of joke.

“You see, Chosen, this is where your tree of life branches off. You’re at a crossroads, and the wood wants you to make a decision. It’s tired of seeing your lovers squabble.”

“Excuse me?” The nymph wanders away and I hope that she’s just going to leave us alone. She walks across the clearing in the wood, bending over by a log covered in moss. She picks something up, twirling it in her hands and looking it over before nodding curtly to herself. She turns back to us, holding a bright blue flower in her delicate fingers.

“There are two options for you, Chosen. Chose one, and you’ll both make it out of here. Chose the other, and he’ll be dead before you even reach the White Chapel,” she says, turning to Baz. His face pales and I get this ache in my chest that something is about to go very, very wrong. I shout out, trying to stop the nymph, but she’s already blown on the flower. The petals fall away like dandelion fluff, glowing as they float their way over to Baz. Baz sucks in a breath, his grey eyes wide. Then, he’s on the ground in a coughing fit. I rush over to him, placing a hand on his back. I look up for the nymph to yell at her or curse her, but she’s gone with a gust of wind.

I turn to Baz, and my gut wrenches. Oh no.

BAZ

That bloody nymph could burn in Hell and I wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. Crowley, I’d set the fire. Because now Simon is holding on to me, standing so close that I could kiss him (or bite him), and I can’t even take a moment to appreciate how warm he makes my chest feel or how plain of a blue his eyes are, because my chest hurts.

It feels like someone put knives in my lungs and tied them together with a coarse rope that’s tickling the back of my throat. And I keep coughing and hacking, trying to get the feeling to go away, but it doesn’t.

“Baz?” Simon’s voice sounds small. And scared. Crowley, when’s the last time I’ve seen him scared. I should be flattered, but the stabbing feeling presses in tighter and I feel like I’ll never breathe again.

“Jesus Christ Baz come on uhh—“ Snow is far from prepared for emergency situations. I grunt, trying to sit upright and fighting the urge to go back into a coughing fit.

“C’mon Snow.” My voice is hoarse. “Let’s keep moving.”

I manage to stand and then we’re back to wandering around, Simon slashing away tree branches. Except he keeps looking at me like I’m a kicked puppy. The idiot is so caught up with staring at me that he trips on a tree root. I catch him.

“Crowley Snow can you go one second without thinking about my devilishly good looks and walk like an actually human being rather than the blubbering idiot you are?” Simon’s face gets red and angry, but before I can take a moment to fully appreciate it, I’m coughing again. After the fit ends, I pull my hand away from my face. It comes back bright red.

“Baz what is it?” I go to wipe my hands on my pants, but Simon Snow has to bloody catch my hand because he’s impulsive and doesn’t give a damn about my feelings.

“Baz!” He says, dropping my hand so quickly I almost wonder if I accidentally set fires in his hands.

“What?” I sneer. There’s that concerned puppy face again. Crowley I hate it, but I also want him to keep doing it. I really would do anything for Snow’s attention.

“Are you ok?”

“Just peachy Snow, how about you?” There’s no hiding the sarcasm that drips into my voice.

“Baz your hand is bloody.”

“You’re point is?”

“That nymph hurt you!”

“Brilliant observation Snow. We can always count on you to point out the obvious.” Simon groans, running his hands through his hair.

“Jesus Christ Baz can you just not?”

“Not—“ But I’m cut off by a series of hacking. I lean against a tree for support, closing my eyes. This is how I die, in the woods, all alone, with no one but Snow.

Then, it comes out. It passes through my lips, fluttering up into the air like a butterfly and falling down between the two of us. We bend down, looking at the vibrant flower petal speckled with blood.

Well shit.

BAZ- 1 WEEK EARLIER

I’m 17 years old and we’re learning about bloody fairy tales. Ms. Posibeif is droning on and on at the front of the classroom about true loves kiss and sleeping princesses and I want to barf.

I’m fully aware of how powerful fairy tales can be for spell work. Spells from stories like Hansel and Gretel can be powerful location spells. But I don’t really see the point in learning about the magical diseases of fairy tales and what to do if we just so happen to come across it in our own lifetime. Which is idiotic because there hasn’t been a reported case of these illnesses in centuries.

But still, I listen intently and take notes as Ms. Posibeif tells us about the rarest magical disease of all. She holds a big book in front of her, her small glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose, letting the story speak for itself as she tells it.

“Once upon a time there was a gorgeous princess. She had long curly hair that she braided back elegantly, adorning it with flowers. She had rosy cheeks and a smile that could make any prince swoon. She was the loveliest maiden of all, and had a line of suitors that followed her every move.

“The princess, however, did not have an interest in any of these suitors. She found herself more concerned with the palace guard, who slaved away day and night at her door, protecting her from harm.

“The princess was wholeheartedly enamored by the knight, her beautiful knight in shining armor who’s lips tilted up the faintest bit when the princess told her a joke, a wicked grin on her face.

“Then, one night, the princess convinced the guard to forget her duties for just a single night. She invited her to sit next to her and talk to her and laugh with her. The knight begrudgingly obliged, telling the princess over and over that she ought to get back into her position, but her smile told the princess everything she needed to know. The knight wouldn’t leave her side. At least not now.

“The night grew darker and colder. The princess leaned back on the knight, humming softly to herself as the knight braided her curls. Both were in their own bubbles of serenity, but they were soon shattered as the oak door to the princesses bedroom flew open.

“Immediately, the knight jumped in front of the princess, raising a sword to the beast in front of her. It was a woman, with green skin and moss for hair. She was completely out of place in the castle, but both girls immediately recognized the nymph.

“The nymphs eyes searched the room, settling on the princess, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

“‘My lady, you sure seemed to have wormed your way into a problem, haven’t you?’ In an instant, the nymph was in front of the princess, pulling her away from the knight, who shouted out.

“‘Let me go,’ the princess demanded, a low growl starting in her throat. The nymph tsked.

“‘You should know better than to play around with feelings you don’t understand, princess.’

“‘Let go of her,’ the knight shouts, finding her voice. And the nymph listens. She steps away from the princess, making her way towards the door with her head held high. Just before she reaches the exit, however, she bends down and plucks something that’s growing in between the floorboards. She turns, holding a flower in between her fingers.

“‘Love is a dangerous game, princess. Let’s hope it doesn’t kill you by the end of the week.’ The nymph blew on the flower and the petals floated through the room, heading directly towards the princess. The princess sucks in a breath, and the petals enter her mouth, retreating into her lungs, where they begin to blossom.

“The knight goes to chase down the nymph, shouting out angrily, but the nymph is already gone. She throws her sword against the wall in anguish, upset with everything and everyone, including herself. How could she let her guard down?

“The nights terrors we’re far from over. The princess began to double over, coughing and coughing with no end in sight. Immediately, the knight ran to her side, her hands hovering over the princess's back. She didn’t know what to do, nor what was going on. Then, the princess started hacking up flower petals.”

It was at this point that I stopped taking this bloody class seriously. Sleep spells I could understand. Cursed apples and true love’s kiss seemed like a stretch, but coughing up flower petals? That was downright stupid and childish. If it wasn’t Ms. Posibeif teaching the class, I might’ve begun to question the teacher having any real authority at all. I huff, leaning back in my chair and watching as Ms. Posibeif continued the rest of the story, occasionally letting my eyes wander to Snow, who was chewing his pencil thoughtfully, completely raveled in the story.

“The princess spent three days in the infirmary, but she still didn’t get any better. The knight slaved away day and night, watching over the princess’s bed, a grimm expression on her face. Some people began to wonder if she was nothing more than a ghost. She hardly ate and was always the quietest person in the room. Every once in a while, she would stand by the princess’s bed, clutching her hand tightly as tears streaked down her cheeks. This was her fault, and she needed a way to fix it.

“By the third day, the knight was sick of waiting. She packed her things, holding her sword in a tight grip as she snuck out of the castle. She headed into the wood. She hacked at trees and trees and screamed over an over to the nymph. She screamed until her voice was hoarse and only then did she crumple on the ground and sob for her best friend, for the one person that felt like everything to her.

“‘You’ve caused lots of destruction in these woods, knight,’ a voice said. The knight recognized it immediately and she whirled around, holding her sword out in front of her. The nymph squints, studying the knights face.

“‘You are suffering,’ she observes. The knight barks out a harsh laugh.

“‘What did you do to my friend?’ The knight says through gritted teeth. The nymph walks around her slowly in an exaggerated fashion.

“‘Nothing she wasn’t doing to herself.’

“‘She’s dying.’

“‘I’m well aware.’

“‘Then tell me how to to fix it! You must have a remedy or-or something!’ The nymph shakes her head.

“‘Silly girl. You have the remedy.’ The knight is taken aback, her sword dipping the slightest bit.

“‘No I don’t.’ The nymph rolls her eyes.

“‘The princess is suffering. She has been for quite a bit.’

“‘Then fix her.’

“‘You really are thick, aren’t you?’ The knight growls. ‘The princess suffers from the painful heartbreak of unrequited love. The spell simply makes this love a tangible thing.’

“‘Who could she possibly love that doesn’t love her back? She’s the princess! Everyone’s mooning over her.’ The nymph purses her lips.

“‘Well…’

“‘Well what?’

“‘There is someone. Someone who’s never chased after her, but has always been the person closest to her heart.’ The knight furrowed her brow, trying to understand. She looks up at the nymph.

“‘You are the answer to the princess’s problems, knight.’ The knight furrows her brow.

“‘How can I help her?’ Her voice is full of sadness and underlying helplessness that makes the knight feel almost ashamed.

“‘You must show her that you love her.’”

The story goes on and on, talking about the knights internal conflict as she sorts through her feelings for the princess and how she ultimately confesses her undying love right as the princess is about to fade off into nothing. They kiss and get happily married and it’s cheesy and romantic and takes up the entire block. When the bell rings, I’m grateful as I bolt out of the class, forgetting about the story almost completely. Some people seem completely engrossed in the beautiful fairytale, but not me. There was no such thing as people returning unrequited love, so why should I even bother to let some story give me hope?

SIMON- Present

“Baz,” I say, reaching for him, then pulling my hand back. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what’s going on or how to fix it, but what the nymph said keeps thrumming in my ears. He’ll be dead before you reach the White Chapel.

“I’m fine Snow, keep walking.”

“Baz you’re not fine! You look like death.”

“Thanks Snow but that’s how I always look.” I growl.

“C’mon. I just want to get out of here.” Baz pushes himself up, trying to stand upright, but he immediately starts to sway, looking like he’s about to puke or go into another coughing fit. I jump forward, putting an arm around him and pulling him up. He groans, leaning against me and throwing an arm over my shoulder.

“You’re not fine, Baz. Can you just admit that?” Baz grits his teeth.

“Fine, Snow. I’m dying and it’s all your fault can we just get moving?” I huff, but start walking. It’s slow progress. I’m clumsy when I’m not carrying half of Baz’s weight and Baz can’t seem to go longer than ten minutes without having coughing up more flower petals. Each time he looks paler and I start to worry about how much blood he’s losing. That can’t be good for a vampire, right?

Then, Baz begins to shiver in my arms. I turn to him. His teeth are chattering and he looks visibly upset. I bite my lip before pulling away from him.

“Hey!” Baz says as he loses his balance for a second. I begin shrugging off my coat.

“What are you doing?” Baz says suspiciously. I huff, holding my coat out to him. Baz just raises an eyebrow.

“Just take it, you bloody git. You’re freezing.”

“Am not.”

“Baz,” I say, touching his arm. “You feel like a bloody ice cube.” Baz huffs, but takes my jacket anyways. It fits him pretty well and I try not to think about how good he would look in some of my other hoodies. I put my arm around his shoulders again, and we trudge on.

BAZ

I don’t know what game Snow is playing at, but just wearing his jacket makes the flowers in my lungs press painfully as they claw their way up my throat. It almost makes me want to take it off and burn it, but the jacket is warm and smells like Snow and I’ll be damned if I don’t take advantage of this opportunity.

I don’t know how long we’ve been walking. It could be hours or minutes or days. Time always seems to work differently in the Wavering Wood. I never really understood why, but right now it just seems to want to torture me.

Eventually Snow’s streak of not kicking and smashing stuff lets up and he kicks a tree.

“We’re never going to get out of here,” he says with a sour expression on his face.

“I hate to agree with you, Snow, but I believe you’re right.” He looks up at me, blinking with an odd expression on his face. Before I can come up with something snarky to say about it, I start hacking again, this time coughing up a flower. Snow’s at my side in an instant.

“Jesus Christ Baz, maybe you should sit down,” he says, pushing me to the ground. I push him back.

“I’m fine, Snow.”

“We’re taking a break,” he says, sitting across from me warily. I huff, rolling my eyes. Snow furrows his brows.

“What are you doing?”

“What?”

“You have that look you get when you want to kill something.” Snow huffs, picking at the grass.

“I just… I don’t understand. What did the nymph do to you?” I stare at him for a moment. Surely he can’t be that dense. We learned about this a week ago.

“You don’t remember the fairytale Ms. Posibef told us? The one with the princesses?” Snow’s nostrils flare.

“They all have princesses, Baz.”

“The one with the princess who was in love with the knight,” I say, exasperated. Simon’s brows scrunch further and I can practically see the gears turning in his head. I can feel it too. His magic always puts off an anxious energy when he’s thinking.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Simon says. It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes again.

“What do you think? It’s the same spell obviously.” Snow’s eyes move up to meet mine for a minute and I feel my heart stutter in my chest. Curse his beautiful boring blue eyes. I want to kiss him.

“No it’s not,” he says.

“Of course it is!” I say, getting to my feet only to immediately get pulled back down as I start coughing.

“The coughing, the flower petals, the ominous nymph. It’s actually sad how on point this is.” Snow looks like I’ve just given him an impossible math problem and something doesn’t add up. I stare at him impatiently, waiting for his mouth to catch up to his thoughts.

“But that would mean you love someone. And it’s unrequited.” I scoff. I can’t help it.

“Brilliant observation, Snow.” Then the bloody cough comes back. Honestly, just let the bloody disease take me now it’s better than suffering through a conversation with Snow about feelings when I’m so obviously attracted to him and he has no idea. Crowley he’s thick but I would give him the entire universe because he is the universe. I want to hold his hand under the moonlight when flowers aren’t growing in my lungs and talk to him about mundane things and count his moles. I want to run my fingers through his coarse hair and kiss his nose softly and forget about the Families and the Mage and the Humdrum. I want soft nights with Simon Snow, where it’s just the two of us with a light breeze, our laughter mixing with the calming sounds of the forest.

Snow is looking at me odd and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“What, I’m not human enough to have an adolescent crush?” I say, thankfully maintaining every bit of my usual bite and snark. Snow’s nostrils flare in frustration and my stomach flutters as his blue eyes meet mine, full of intense and unreadable emotions.

“I just don’t understand how it’s unrequited,” Snow mumbles softly. I fix him with a stare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Crowley Baz I don’t know! You’re— you! You’re smart and posh and every girl in Watford is practically mooning over you because you’re— well— fit! Who could you possibly have a crush on that wouldn’t… like you?” You, Snow. Always you.

“Maybe it’s not a girl, Snow.” It slips out before I even realize it. I stiffen, looking anywhere but him as my eyes focus on the ground. I don’t know what look he’s giving me, but his silence puts me on edge. Then…

“Oh. Then who’s the guy?”

SIMON

Baz is gay. I mean, obviously it makes sense in a way and it’s not really a big deal, but for some reason I feel like it is. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because Baz is finally starting to open up to me and trust me. I mean, this is the most I’ve ever heard him say about himself and his personal life. It feels noteworthy. It feels significant in a way that makes my heart pound and my stomach do somersaults, but I don’t think about that. Because I asked him who he likes, and he surprises me by sighing and surrendering.

“It’s a boy in our year. He’s absolutely the most idiotic person I have ever met but he does it in a way that’s somehow charming and adorable. He’s painfully clumsy and the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.” Baz has this soft look on his face that makes my heart do more weird things. Maybe I have a health condition. I should ask Penny about it if we ever get out of here.

“Hmm…”

“What?” Baz snaps, his walls going back up almost immediately. I want to tear them down brick by brick.

“I dunno. I just always assumed your type would be someone posh and rich like you.” And then… Baz laughs. At first I wonder if he’s having another coughing fit because I’ve never heard him make that sound before, but then I realize that this is Baz’s laugh. It’s so unlike him. It’s kind of messy and his nose scrunches up and when his mouth opens I can see a glint of his fangs. His grey eyes shine and it’s a whole scene. Everything about it is imperfect in a way that Baz isn’t, but that somehow just makes it even more perfect. I want him to laugh more.

“Crowley, Snow, you just think I’m shallow.” I snort.

“Well yeah, you kind of are. I couldn’t imagine you ever falling for someone who isn’t put together and bloody handsome.” Baz rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t leave his face. I sigh, a grin spreading across mine as I stare at his smile, specifically his lips. Baz is… I don’t know. But I want him to keep talking like this. I want him to keep talking with that soft smile on his face about clumsy boys that I wish were me.

Wait…..

BAZ

Simon stands up suddenly as if he’s just been shocked. His magic is almost immediately floating around us and I wonder if somethings come to attack us as I get to my feet as well. Simon coughs, not meeting my eyes.

“We should um… keep moving. We uh… we should try to get out of here.” Crowley I haven’t seen him stutter this much since first year. Maybe I broke him by acting like an actual human being. Or maybe he became aware about how weird it is to sit in the forest with your enemy and talk about crushes.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Something about this trek through the woods seems ten times more awkward than the first time. Snow cuts away bushes and branches with his sword, a small frown on his face. I can practically see his brain short circuiting and I just want to know what he’s thinking.

SIMON

I don’t know what I’m thinking.

BAZ

I don’t know how long we’ve been walking, but I do know I’m getting worse. I can feel the pain in my chest as my lungs ache, and it only gets worse every time I flash Simon a concerned look. I need to sit down. My legs feel heavy and I feel light headed from all the blood loss. I can also smell the blood of every goddamn creature in the Wavering Wood and it’s driving me completely mad. I’m starving and if Snow ends up cutting himself on his bloody sword I don’t know if I can stop my fangs from making an entrance.

The night gets colder. I pull Simon’s jacket closer around myself, shivering. I could fix this with a heat spell, but I don’t have the energy. It begins to dawn on me that I might actually die because of the stupid curse the nymph put on me. I definitely won’t make it out of this forest.

“Hey Baz. You ok?” Simon says, grabbing both of my shoulders. His hair shines in the pale moonlight and his eyes are blue, blue, blue. I feel like I’m drowning in them.

He touches my cheek and hisses.

“Christ Baz, you’re ice cold.” I grunt. He studies my face, his eyes searching for something.

“Baz! The blood!” he says, letting go of my shoulders. I’ve only realized how much I’ve begun to rely on his firm grip when I start to fall forward towards him. His arms loop around me, holding me up and I’m too weak to swoon.

“Baz you’ve lost too much blood. You need to feed.”

“I’m fine, Snow.” I’m so tired. I cough and more flower petals come out and I feel completely and utterly hopeless. I’m in the arms of the boy I love, but it isn’t enough. Of course it isn’t.

“No Baz. You’re not.” His voice is firm. “I know you’re a vampire, alright? And I know you need blood. You’re losing more than you have in your body.” I grunt, but don’t confirm or deny any of it. “You need to feed Baz.”

“No I don’t, Snow. C’mon let’s keep going.” I push away from him, starting to trudge through the forest again. He doesn’t follow. Instead, he grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop in front of him. Flower petals escape my lips.

“Baz I will hunt down a bloody deer for you and force it’s blood down your throat if you don’t fucking take care of yourself.” I flash him a hopeless look that was far from intentional.

“What’s the use of taking another life if I’ll be dead in the next hour, Snow?” Simon’s jaw sets in the way it does when he’s gearing up for a fight. His eyes flash and I want to kiss him so much it hurts. Literally. I can barely breath. This conversation is already too much.

“You’re not going to die!”

“Bloody well seems like it, Snow,” I say between coughs. His hand tightens on mine. It’s almost painful, but it’s also the one thing keeping me grounded.

“You’re not going to die,” he says through gritted teeth. “You… can’t.”

“And why not, Snow? It was going to happen eventually better sooner rather than later, right Snow?” He drops my hand to run his through his hair and I feel myself sway on my feet. I think I’m going to fall, but suddenly he’s there in an instant, holding me against him tightly and keeping me upright. I can feel his heart pound a million beats per minute and I can barely think of what that means.

“No. You’re not supposed to die, Baz.”

“Yes I am!” I’m laughing hysterically now. Our whole lives the only constant has been that one of us, if not both, will die, and now he’s trying to change it because he thinks he’s a god and nothing can touch him. Crowley I love him. “I was always supposed to die. You’re the fucking hero of this story, Snow. You were going to have to kill me because it was your fucking hero’s destiny or some shit.” Simon’s eyes are wide and piercing into my own and I can’t find it in me to look away. His cheeks are flushed and he’s breathing heavily and I’m lucid from the blood loss. He’s so close and all I want to do is kiss him and his stupid moles until I forget my name.

“Or not,” Simon says, with the fierceness of a raging fire. I can feel his magic in the air around us. It’s thick and anxious and he looks full of worry.

“You can’t change destiny, Snow. That’s not how it works.”

“My destiny doesn’t end with you dying.”

“It bloody well does, Snow.” His hands are fisted in my shirt and he has that look in his eyes that makes me think he’s going to punch me.

He jerks me towards him so fast that I don’t realize what’s going on until his lips start moving against mine and I stop breathing.

Simon.

SIMON

Baz isn’t allowed to die. I decided that a while ago. Down the line, the Humdrum or some other monster might get to me, but Baz doesn’t get to die. He has to be the one that makes it through all this, I just know it.

I don’t want him to die. He might be a vampire and a snob, but he’s absolutely perfect and beautiful and so much more. I can’t even describe this warm feeling in my chest as I push his back against the tree, snogging him like my life depended on it, because I don’t hate him. The way I feel about him is like a fire that has been burning for eons, and it’s not going out anytime soon.

He doesn’t react at all and, for a moment I think I’ve done something wrong. He told me that he liked someone else. He definitely doesn’t want to be snogging his enemy in the forest on a Wednesday night where he could die at any moment.

But then, Baz fists his hands in my hair and pulls me up towards him, gasping like he’s just found out how to breathe again.

BAZ

I couldn’t breath. The flowers were blocking my throat and I knew then and there that I would die.

But maybe the universe didn’t want that today. Maybe there is such thing as miracles. After all, Simon’s hands are on my cheeks and he’s kissing me softly and slowly, desperation leaving him as he sighs, his fingers winding through my hair.

The itching feeling in the back of my throat receded entirely and as I pull back for a moment, gasping for air, I remember how good it feels to breathe. I close my eyes, savoring this moment to keep for forever.

Simon’s standing in front of me, breathing heavily, his blue eyes wide with curiosity and fear. My heart flutters at the blush that spreads across his face and I make it my life goal to spend every breathing hour kissing Simon Snow as I bring him back up to me.

SIMON

I don’t know how long we’ve been kissing, but it doesn’t feel like enough when Baz finally stops. We’ve somehow made it to the ground, Baz’s back still to the tree. I’m sure I look like a disaster.

“Sorry,” I say, breathlessly. Baz gives me a look.

“Why?”

“I kissed you,” I mumble sheepishly. I wish I could stop the blush that comes to my cheeks. Crowley, I kissed Baz. And I want to do it again.

Baz’s is still looking at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out.

“Yes. Yes you did,” he says curtly, shifting away from me slightly. My chest pangs slightly.

We’re silent for a few minutes. Then….

“Why did you kiss me?” His expression is unreadable. I look at the ground, tracing my fingers through the dirt and shrugging.

“I wanted to.” The silence between us stretches on for an eternity.

“I’m sorry I know you like someone else and I shouldn’t have kissed you—“ it all comes out in a rush, my feelings, my regrets, everything. “—you’re just so… ugh. You drive me crazy Baz and I know you would never feel the same, Crowley I don’t know what I’d do if you did, but I like you and I’m sorry I know you hate me—“ but then he’s kissing me again and I can’t really complain. He’s so cold, but I can’t find it in myself to care. I just want to keep him here, under my thumb where he isn’t hurting and isn’t off plotting something.

��It’s you,” Baz whispers, our foreheads pressed together. I wrinkle my brow, trying to figure out what he means. He kisses my forehead.

“Crowley Snow, I’ve only ever loved you.” I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this much in my life.

BAZ

Simon Snow is going to be the death of me. I always knew he would, but somehow I pictured something bloody with tears and pain and maybe, maybe a sorrowful kiss. If I was lucky.

Never would I have ever even dreamed that Simon might kill me like this, with soft kisses, his hands weaving their way through my hair and making it a complete disaster.

This is more than I could’ve ever hoped for, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

——

The sun is beginning to rise when we finally make it out of the forest. I fed, which was one of the most awkward things I have ever done and I hope I never have to suffer through that again, and Snow took my hand in his a while ago and it makes me feel like I’m walking on sunshine.

The nymph awaits us outside the forest and I almost lunge at her, but Simon’s hand tightens in mine. Although he isn’t doing much better himself. His jaw is clenched so tight it’s a miracle he hasn’t broken any teeth.

The curse lifted as soon as Simon kissed me. The bloody idiot didn’t even realized that was all it took. I almost felt bad when he snapped out of his euphoria after kissing me (I can’t believe it) and started panicking about me dying. It was quite sweet, but also very amusing to watch. He’s never going to live it down.

“I see you two worked it out.”

“Next time you decide to put some death curse on one of my friends, don’t,” Simon growls. The nymph just smiles and retreats back into the forest, humming a happy little tune to herself as if she didn’t almost kill me a few hours ago.

“Friend hmm?” Simon bites his lip, taking my other hand.

“I mean, I don’t know what this all means..” I frown at him. He frowns back.

“I mean.. ugh.” He runs his hands through his hair, looking exasperated. “I’m really bad at this. You know… the whole boyfriend thing. Agatha thought I was rubbish at it which is probably why she dumped me I just…” He takes a deep breath, his cheeks tinged pink.

“I don’t know what you want Baz. You’re so infiltrating and I can never understand what the hell you want. I want to be your friend, and I definitely want to be something more, if you’ll have me.” He says the last part in a voice so timid it makes me want to pull him to me and kiss every single one of his moles. I hardly have any self control around him, but I’m not losing all of my dignity.

“But the families, and the Mage… they won’t like this.” I internally curse myself that that’s the first thing I say. Maybe I’m more self destructive than I thought.

Simon huffs, jutting his chin out defiantly. “Screw them. I never wanted to be part of their stupid war.” I don’t know why, but that makes me laugh. It’s gross and I hate the way it sounds, but the smile on Snow’s face makes me melt. I take a deep breath, putting a hand on his cheek.

“If you’ll have me, I’ll be yours, Snow.” And Crowley the way his eyes light up, I can already feel myself burning from the inside out. But I like this burn. I like it a lot.

“No.” I raise an eyebrow.

“No?”

“If we‘ re doing this boyfriend thing, you have to call me by my name.”

“Snow is your name, Snow.” He shakes his head, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“Call me Simon.” I scoff, pulling away and crossing my arms.

“I will not.” I pause for a moment. “...Simon.” Then, we’re both giggling like little school-girls and I feel like everything in my body became lighter. I like this feeling. I like it a lot.

“We should uh… head back.” Simon purses his lips and nods.

We walk back up to our room, hands linked, the entire world turned upside down, and all because of that stupid nymph.

[raging-violets]

Flirty hands on teaching for Peter/Brielle

Narnia: Flirty Hands on Teaching // Prompt // Peter x Brielle

They were fighting. It wasn’t different than how they usually were together, trading thinly veiled barbs back and forth, often working hard to figure out the best way to create that knowing, amused grin from the other. A job well done.

This time, it was thier footsteps, their bodies that were trading the barbs with each other. Practically screaming throughout the emptied chamber in the Telmarine castle, swords whistling gracefully through the air.

Whoosh.

A squeak escaped Brielle’s lips as the tip of the blade paused an inch from her neck. She opened her eyes to find Peter smirking at her, arm fully extended, shaking just slightly so that the tip of his sword tickled her neck.

“Don’t let your opponent know your fear,” Peter warned, a teasing lilt to his voice at his win. “You’ll be skewered faster than you can blink.” He pulled his arm back, allowing Brielle the chance to push herself off the wall behind her.

She cleared her throat, rolling back her shoulders, smoothing down the skirts of her dress. “The only thing I fear is that you have no regard for nice jewelry, your highness,” she replied. As if to prove a point, she brought up her hand and lovingly ran her fingers against her broach, one of the fancy pieces that festooned her body. “If you put a scratch on it--”

“--i’m worth enough to replace it.”

“You can’t replace perfection.”

His eyebrows twitched upwards. Blue eyes flickering with amusement and mild horror. “Are you referring to yourself?”

She beamed. “You said it, not me.”

With a low laugh, Peter stepped back even further, allowing Brielle the chance to set herself up for the next round. Peter turned back to her, clasping his hands around the hilt of his sword. Brielle did the same, keeping her eyes on his, sure the glint in her eye matched the confident light that radiated from him.

He was the better fighter; you weren’t the king of Narnia without the fighting skill-set to back it up, but Brielle had the confidence in herself to try. And, the idea of being able to knock High King Peter off his pedestal...priceless.

As Brielle worked for the best opportunity to strike, she watched the way he held himself. As the true High King, not as the boy who struggled on how to be a king when he was yet a man. Unsure of what it was to be a man in a world that didn’t have the same traditions as birthdays, a relic fro their old lives that they’d kept going in Narnia.

And yet, she wasn’t afraid to face him in battle, even when she knew it was all to learn how to protect herself. The battle in Miraz’s castle...she’d seen the way he looked her over when all was said and done, injured with a stab wound to the side that Lucy quickly healed. Didn’t want to see that look again.

So when, on a rainy day, he’d suggested they work on her sword fighting skills, Brielle leapt at the chance. “Are you sure that’s wise?” Susan asked as Brielle helped her ready for bed one night, taking the time to brush Susan’s long, silky black hair.

“You know how to fight,” Brielle replied. “I’ve seen you with a bow and arrow. You go out there to take on whatever is threatening Narnia...as much as you say you hate violence.”

“As a queen,” Susan said calmly, angling her head to the side, looking at her lady-in-waiting in the eye. “It is my duty to protect my subjects...those below me in any way I see fit. Though it may not always be the way others agree.”

“In other words, Su,” Brielle broke in. “You don”t want anything to happen to me.” She resumed her brushing. “I feel the same way.”

Susan chuckled. “Thank you.”

“Oh, I meant me. I don’t want anything to happen to me.”

And while the two dissolved into laughter in that moment, Peter and Brielle simply smiled at each other, ready to get down to business but enjoying it all the same. Brielle stepped forward, crossing her feet. Peter rushed at her, she turned her back to him, swinging out her arm.

Clang!

Their swords crossed seconds before Peter maneuvered his arms around her, pinning him to his chest as he deftly knocked her sword safely aside. Brielle tried to come back, wincing at the jarring pain in her arm, his sword bending with the pressure.

“Are you ready to give up?” Peter asked, his breath whistling over her ear. Deep chest pressing against her back as he kept his arms wrapped firmly around her. A similar wrestling move to subdue his brother when he became too rowdy, but Brielle wasn’t his brother, and his hold was loose enough for her to break free.

If she wanted to.

Loose enough for him to let her slip out.

If he wanted to.

They waited for a few moments, waited for the other to make the first move. Wondered if they’d wanted to make the first move, to break apart the hold... “Not quite.” Brielle side-stepped, knocked his sword aside and with a flourish, spun away from him.

“And we were just having so much fun,” Peter joked.

Brielle’s smile widened. She spun her sword in her hand, winced once more at her shoulder, frowned when she saw the sleeve of her dress had been ripped, pink flesh showing through. “Another bruise to add to my collection, I suppose,” she remarked. She pouted, fingering the torn threads. “Another of my favorites ruined.”

Peter gave a haughty cock of his head. “It’s just something for you to remember me by,”

“As if I can forget.”.

They started up again, a flurry of movements, eyes trained on each other as they looked for weak spots. Throughout the back and forths, Brielle received several hits on her arms, making her pout deepen each time. Made her fight harder, this time gaining the upper hand, forcing him against the wall, angling her arm so that the tip of her sword pointed at his chest, moving her body close to his.

His eyes dipped over her face, corners of his lips twitching.

“I’d say, your majesty,” Brielle practically purred. She twisted her wrist, the point of her sword lifting to press beneath Peter’s chin, forcing him to lift his head, still looking down at her. “That this point is mine.”

He took in a deep breath, his chest swelling. They were so close his breath moved her, she could feel his heart thud beneath his rib cage. “Only one if you cross your feet again.”

“Well...” she tilted her head. Counting the freckles that came out from extended patrols in the sung, lining his cheeks. “I better not do that again.”

“To think, you actually have more in your head than just jewelry and parties.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

They were back to fighting once more. A long flurry of swords clanging together as they worked to take the other down. She made her mis-step once more, not taking into consideration the amount of ground he could cover quicker than hers. His teasing comment about her attire for the day ringing through her head, when she was, once again, backed towards the wall.

She had no choice but to attack, he deflected it, knocking her sword out of her hand just before she fell flat on her back on the ground. Peter followed after her, crouching over her, pressing the tip of his sword to her chest.

His lips twitched once more, an amused smile as he continued to crouch over her. “I was planning the same thing,” he said. “Thankfully for me, you’ve always been easily distracted.” She felt the hit on her shoulder and her lips wilted to into a pout. “Point’s mine.”

“That was my arm,” she protested. “It’s not a kill.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Ed,” Peter remarked. He lifted an eyebrow, gaze dipping over her then back to his face. “Though a much more entertaining fight.” He stepped back and held out his hand, grasping Brielle’s and hauled her to her feet in a strong pull that proved how much strength he truly held.

Warmth spread through Brielle’s stomach, rising to her chest as she gave a quick curtsey to his bow, handing back the sword he’d lent.

The next day Brielle sat the library while the Pevensies and Caspian took the time to take their separate spaces within the castle.

Brielle pressed her finger to the growing bruise on her shoulder and smiled.

@darknightfrombeyond @foxesandmagic @chuck-hansens

[ Number/Ship Rom-Com | Ask Box ]

[stitchcasual]

Ferelden Fury (a da2/pacrim au, part eight)

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six) (part seven)

The race to get suited up and into their jaeger is a silent one. Hawke occasionally catches Fenris’s eye and they share a grim look, but neither of them speaks. There’s nothing to be said. Pre-flight checks are done with one-word questions and answers, and even Varric in the control room sounds uncharacteristically subdued when he authorizes their launch. And then they’re flown out toward the rift, the Fury, Siren, and Warden out front as the Child launches a few moments later, behind the protective barrier of the other three jaegers.

There’s a minute of half-hearted strategy talk between the three forward jaegers, then they all fall quiet, watching their instruments as the rift gets closer and closer. Eventually they come close enough to the darkspawn signatures for them to appear on the sensors, and Hawke can’t help but let out a low whistle. The size on them is larger than anything Hawke ever faced while he was a pilot and larger still than the darkspawn they faced a few days ago.

“Fuck,” Isabela says over the comms.

Beside Hawke, Fenris hums in agreement.

“One minute to drop.” Bethany’s voice comes through clear as a bell, and Hawke, not for the first time, admires the amount of steel that infuses his little sister at the same time as he hates that she has to employ it.

He reaches out to Fenris through the waves of their drift and finds Fenris reaching back. They stand shoulder to shoulder and watch the tides pulling at them, the persistent memories that demand their attention, and they guide each other through them, offering the fury of their own storm to combat the force of the other. In time, they come to the new forged center of their hurricanes, grim and stony and ready to fight.

The Fury lands, their feet sinking deep into the earth, and strides toward the darkspawn. The Siren and Warden fall behind and to either side of them, and the thunderous crash of their legs hitting the ground in unison sends tremors through the world and up into Hawke’s heart. The excitement that preludes a battle courses through him, and he feels an answering surge from Fenris through their connection. This might be their last battle, they both know it, but the only regret Hawke can feel in the drift is that they didn’t have more time together. They’re still together, though, for what it’s worth, and right now it’s worth everything.

Hawke reaches out to hit the comms. “So...do we have a plan?”

“Fuck up the darkspawn,” Isabela says.

“Keep them off the Child,” Zevran says a beat later.

“Try to engage both ‘spawn, Fury,” says Riordan. “You’re tougher, can take more hits. We can flank with the Siren, try to get them while they’re distracted.”

“Thank you, Warden.” Fenris smiles. “Follow our lead.”

The idea Hawke feels floating toward him spreads a slow grin across his face, and he chuckles as the Fury picks up their pace, running full tilt toward the darkspawn. Both targets turn and twist toward the Fury when they come close enough, hissing and spitting at this obvious enemy in their territory. The Fury doesn’t stop its forward momentum when it reaches the darkspawn, just reaches out with both arms to grab at any piece of darkspawn and yanks the two beasts toward each other.

It doesn’t daze them near as much as would have been truly preferable, but combat with the darkspawn is never anything less than a masterclass in improvisation. They reverse grip on the ‘spawn in their right hand and use their thrusters to assist in kneeling down quick and hard, slamming its head into the ground. It topples and writhes, and as it’s held down, the Siren’s double blades come in to slash at its unprotected back. The thing thrashes so hard it throws both the Fury and the Siren off, standing and swinging its massive head between the two jaegers, as though assessing which it should attack.

The Fury makes up its mind for it, sending a couple shoulder rockets in to detonate along its belly, and the darkspawn charges back in at them, attacking the last thing to damage it. As soon as it’s back within range, the Fury hooks their hand into the creature’s jaw, holding on tight.

On their left, the Warden charges for the other darkspawn, slamming their left arm into the darkspawn, bashing it with the shield plates that line their arm. The Warden looks like it should be the tank, the way it’s armed: their favored weapon is a greatsword that springs from their right arm in separate pieces, held together by some sort of forcefield that allows it to bend and flex to stab into darkspawn from unexpected angles, and their left arm is fully three times the size of any other jaeger’s arm thanks to the heavy plates that spread out to form an elongated diamond shape. The Warden is a defensive jaeger, never meant to be a frontline fighter, but they’ve all had to do things in this war they weren’t initially prepared to do.

The Warden’s sword stabs into the darkspawn and hooks around within its body, effectively anchoring the darkspawn to the Warden unless it wants to tear out a large chunk of its body to escape. The Fury grips tighter to both darkspawn as the Siren and the Warden beat and slash at the creatures, slowly whittling them down.

“Child!” Hawke yells, his arms shaking from the strain of keeping two darkspawn contained. “Now’s your best shot at the rift, so you better goddamn take it!”

He can see the blip on his sensors that indicates the Child’s position pick up speed, juking out from behind the screen of the other jaegers as it runs for the rift. This better fucking work, but he has no time to think about that right now as the darkspawn impaled by the Warden picks up its terrible clawed hind feet and sinks them into the Fury’s left thigh, ripping past the protective plates to strike at the vulnerable cables and wiring running through the Fury’s core.

Hawke screams as his own leg buckles beneath him, grunting as he forces himself to stand on it anyway, keeping the Fury upright though unstable. The Warden’s shield arm strikes in at the darkspawn’s legs, forcing it to detach from the Fury or lose its limbs to the jagged edge of the shield. Somehow the Fury has kept hold of the darkspawn through that, and Hawke headbutts it in retribution. Through the drift, he can feel Fenris’s amusement at that layered underneath his concern for Hawke’s injury. Hawke pushes back as much reassurance as he can when the failing circuits in the Fury’s nearly ruined leg are sending spasms of pain up the biofeedback loop that lets them control the jaeger in the first place. He knows Fenris can feel it too, connected as they are, but he still doesn’t want him to worry. That’s a good way to slip out of alignment.

The Child’s marker has disappeared from the sensors when he looks, and since he didn’t hear screaming from Meredith or Orsino, he’s going to assume that’s a good thing and they’re still on their way to the rift. Once again he drops the other jaeger from his mind in favor of focusing on the present moment, where he has not just one but two darkspawn attempting to rip him and Fenris to shreds, and succeeding, to various degrees.

The Fury wasn’t built to be a hand-to-hand combatant but that was the way Hawke preferred to fight, and over the years when he and Aveline piloted together, the techs on base slowly modified the giant jaeger to complement his fighting style. There are some ranged weapons on board, there have to be when you’re fighting darkspawn, but most of her kit is designed for close quarters combat. Which is a real good thing right now, as Hawke doesn’t think he’s ever been closer to a darkspawn in his life.

“Fenris,” he says.

“Wrist blade,” Fenris answers, and the Fury’s right hand bends ninety degrees to allow a short, wickedly serrated blade to emerge, punching up and into the darkspawn’s throat. It gurgles and jerks erratically, trying to get away from the Fury and only succeeding in ripping the wound in its neck larger. If things keep on like this, Hawke feels confident they’ll be able to finish off these darkspawn before too long, and then the Child will have nothing to worry about.

“Skyhold, we may have an issue.” Meredith’s tone is clear and precise, with nothing in it to indicate just how big an issue the Child might be facing. Her next words clear that right up, however: “There’s another darkspawn in the rift.”

(part nine)

[satansluvchild]

Ch 4-  The Great Viper

* wattpad- kenyamars book- Im the antagonist of this story 

Artemisia's limb throbbed with each step; the wound on her leg had begun to knit itself closed. She'd walked for roughly two hours in the hot sun, resting her drakon form for the flight she would be forced to take shortly. All of her former plans being ruined by a bandit group rubbed her the wrong way. The drakon is fierce. They shouldn't struggle against humans, not nearly as much as she had. Thinking of the altercation, a lot of things didn't make sense.

While it was usual to run into bandits at the forest entrance or on marked paths people visited for items, this group was deep inside the forest. They also had an experienced mage, one that could cast spells quickly. Yet, something felt wrong; it was almost as they knew Artemisia would travel through the woodlands. She had been traveling slower than usual; when she encountered the group just sitting in the clearing, they made no move to stand when she appeared. When she stepped foot inside the clearing, she felt weakened, as if invisible shackles were tied to her arms and legs. It must've been planned from the beginning to kill her.

But why? Had Anaidid kingdom found out about the scouts?

If so, the situation was worst than thought; she had made the right decision to waste no time. When the kingdom found out she was not executed, they would send reinforcement to finish the job. She walked four more hours before something appeared; an enormous red viper landed on the ground in front of her. This one was bigger than usual and had a black underbelly, which meant it had evolved into a queen viper. Artemisia evaluated the situation. The queen viper was notorious for its poison fangs; if she got caught, she would be paralyzed and eaten alive. Pulling out her sword, she braced herself.

Orpheus walked after Artemisia, cautious not to draw recognition. When Artemisia had walked away before, she had been jolted. She decided to run to her home and gather a few items she knew she'd need and follow Artemisia closely. While Orpheus knew she had gotten far, she could tell which direction she went just by a sense of knowing.

I could walk with her until she stops in a village, then I will learn about this world.

The pain she felt before had disappeared, replaced by excitement and trepidation of the new world. During her time on Earth, Orpheus had been limited to where she could go. For 15 years of her life, she had only known the small town of Dorchester. Now she would be able to explore the world as she pleased.

The snake slithered toward her opening its enormous jaws. Artemisia lunged left and attempted to stab through the snake. Unfortunately, her wound had reopened, beginning to bleed profusely again. This caused the snake to become more aggressive, its attacks quicker. She dodged the oncoming snake again, feinting left then going right. This was bad; she'd already felt weakened from the fight with the bandits, breathing heavily; she tried to stab the eye of the viper in hopes of blinding it but was too slow and ended puncturing higher, enraging the beast.

Orpheus had been strolling, thinking of all the types of food she could try when she heard fighting. Then, sneaking a peek through the bushes, she saw the largest Ruby she'd ever faced. Fighting it was none other than Artemisia, sweating and breathing heavily, swinging her great sword. Looking through the Homemade satchel he'd made from viper and boar skin, he tried to find the cherished item he had brought with him. It was a Dual-edged and razor-sharp sword that he'd stolen off a boar, a reasonably short, broad, smooth blade made of folded steel. The cross-guard contained a decorative bear head on each side, marking the house it previously belonged to. The pommel was a shining aquamarine gem. Several words that looked like spells she couldn't read had been etched onto the blade.

She set her bag down and decided the element of surprise would work in her favor. Looking at the nearest sturdiest-looking tree, she began to climb it. Glancing down, she saw Artemisia stagger to her feet. Then, turning into a Drakon, she roared and began her ferocious attack again. Orpheus was amazed at the scene below. The power between both monsters could probably be felt through the entirety of the forest. Artemisia looked up at Orpheus; she didn't know whether to feel annoyed the girl still followed her or relieved she had not listened.

The snake ran towards her gnashing its fangs; while tiny compared to fully adult drakon, Artemisia was big for her age. Her stature was the reason she could grapple with the giant snake. Glancing back up at Orpheus, she noticed the girl gripping a great sword instead of a stick. This glance caused the snake to gain the upper hand. Constricting Artemisia, it was readying to bite when it died. Orpheus had dropped from the trees, stabbing it in the back of its head. Orpheus was delighted her decision had saved Artemisia just in the time. Beaming, she looked at the dragon. Even in Drakon form, Orpheus could tell Artemisia was annoyed by her not listening. The Drakon began to unravel the snake from itself. Stretching it then became Artemisia again.

 With a sullen look Artemisia couldn’t help but feel upset .”You've saved me again; how embarrassing.” 

The shame she felt from not once but twice being saved by a mere human made her stomach knot. At only 250 years old, Artemisia was ignorant and had looked upon any being, not Drakon. Now she could see her lapse of judgment. This girl name Orpheus seemed stronger than her, and this caused an epiphany to strike her heart. She would take Orpheus with her and learn how she had become strong so young.

“I have changed my voice; I will allow you to accompany me to my village. Surely they will let you in when they hear that you've saved me twice.”

Orpheus nodded and walked back to gather her satchel. Then, remembering the potion Artemisia gave her, she grasped it and handed it to Artemisia.

“Here for your wounds”

Artemisia looked at the vial, drinking half, and tried to hand it back to Orpheus. Turning to face Orpheus, she was amazed at the display. Orpheus was again huddled, clutching her stomach as if it pained her so. Was she wounded during the battle? Perhaps that's why Artemisia heard her shriek and stumble to the ground during the match. Why did she not drink the drunin? As annoying as the girl was, Artemisia did not want to watch someone who helped her die. Orpheus groaned with agony sweating and saying the exact phrase monotonously.

“not now, no, not now, why now, no, not now”

Worried, Artemisia began to walk towards her when she noticed something strange happening to the trees. They bent towards her and Orpheus; she had never seen something like this before. Terrified, she tried to grab Orpheus and run away. However, when she touched Orpheus, her heart sputtered. An intense feeling of wrongness came from Orpheus; Artemisia felt the instinct to run from her. Was she the one bending the trees? Why? Backing away, she kept her gaze on Orpheus; while she didn't think she'd harm her to be cautious, she drew her sword and waited for a sign of aggressiveness.

Manipulation?

Artemisia tried to think of a reason the once sunny girl was emitting evilness. She was confused about what triggered her. On the last occasion, she was fighting as well.

Maybe fights caused her bloodlust?

Artemisia had witnessed countless drakons get sucked into bloodlust and go on rampages; the only way to snap them out of it was to defeat them; this usually ended in death; drakons were prideful creatures and never willingly yielded.

When the smell of blood hit Orpheus, it made her realize how hungry she'd been. The burning in her head and stomach came back full strength, knocking her to her knees. She had just won Artemisia's trust; why now did she have to become rabid. Usually, Orpheus would go out early in the morning to check her traps. Still, she was interrupted by Artemisia's screech this morning. She never investigated the pitfalls. While she ate less with more time, she could not forgo food too long like a newborn. Peering up, she noticed through her vision blurred with tears the stance artemisia had taken. She stood grimacing with pain and looked for her fallen satchel; turning the bag over, she shook it, emptying the contents onto the dirt floor. Grabbing the reddish-orange fruit, she ate it with savagery, not even taking the time to relish the rare sweetness only known as yio-yio fruit.

Not enough, not enough, not enough ...

Something in her head repeated this; looking at the snake, she dropped the fruit's carcass, grabbed her sword, and marched toward its corpse. Raising the sword, she clumsily dug a hole into the snake. Oblivious of Artemisia watching her chop the snake, her focus solely on the meal in front of her. Dropping the sword, she dug her hands into the corpse and began to eat the animal's lukewarm meat and organs. Blood dyed her hands and face, the already stained and tattered toga taking the worst as the blood dripped down her chin. She could feel the strength returning to her. Sighing with delight, she closed her eyes and bit into the second heart of the Ruby.

Artemisia watched in awe; she didn't know humans could eat meat raw. She watched as Orpheus stuck her hand back into the creature pulling on another bloody organ. The scene in front of her was grisly, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. She was not used to humans; this being one of the first times paying attention to them, she felt like she didn't know a lot about them. Her first mission felt like a big success; she could tell the king many things, like how humans could also eat raw meat. She was also perplexed.

“Human, is today a special day for you?” Asked Artemisia, Orpheus seemed not to hear her question continuing to eat the meat with both hands.

Drakons only ate meat when the day was special to them or their tribe. Artemisia remembered when the tribe won back land from the Ruhu Drakon tribe. She and her family feasted on expensive raw Thornhand meat and danced the entire night away. Or the other reason would be they had no other options of food. To Artemisia, Orpheus looked like a young orphan or laborer.

That must be it, then! On the other hand, maybe she has gone a long time without food.

That didn't explain the feeling she felt when grasping Orpheus. She knew she felt something dark. The time before that, she also felt a dark aura in Orpheus that quickly dissipated.

Orpheus feel content, she ate more than intended, but her pain finally left. Looking down, she could see she did a number to her dress. Sighing, she turned and looked at the discarded items on the floor. Spotting the Skin flask, she picked it up and began to wash her face and hands. Standing again, she turned to pick up the sword a few feet away.  Doing so, she remembered the audience she had and turned to stare in horror at Artemisia, who was gazing at her intently.