little tidbit parasite lore...

KILLJOYE and Roger both have dual colored eyes, yeah?

this is a tell-tale sign of the presence of a major parasite - though it is not an attribute from a specific type of major parasite so you can’t tell the type just from the dual colored eyes.

It is either a single attribute given by the major parasite OR the result of the major parasite (with an eye color changing attribute - not all major parasites have that attribute) merging with a minor parasite that has a eye color changing attribute. There’s enough space for both of them, sharing is caring :]

major and minor parasites tend to merge together as this lessens the possibility of straining the bond between parasite(s) and host and actually improves bond stability.

however major parasites cannot merge with modified minor parasites, which increases the possible strain on the bond - this only really becomes a problem if there’s like. more than 5 modified minor parasites. At that point, as a Parasite Merge isn’t possible, a Parasite Override might occur.

This is just a fancy way of saying a parasite gets killed off lol

It’s usually a hositle occurence that can happen between modified (minor) parasites that are incompatible - it’s purely because they’re modified that this even happens in the first place.

So a major parasite initiating a Parasite Override is not with hostile intent, it is to show mercy because the bond is being strained and modified minor parasites get real miserable when the bond is strained and can turn on the other minor parasites in an attempt to relieve the strain - but this can make the bond unstable, so the major parasite should nip it in the bud before it affects the host negatively.

With all that said, in the present day with modified parasites easily available, there are modified minor parasites that can give dual eye color changing attributes - so you can’t really tell anymore that it’s caused by a major parasite and it’s not really uncommon to see people with dual colored eyes walking around.

In the Shadows (Romantic Analogical Pining)

Words: 1,832 Warnings: Food, Animals/Pets, One-Sided Pining Characters: Logan, Virgil Ships: Analogical Universe: Gen Human AU Genre: Pining, Fluff Additional Tags: Pining!Logan, Oblivious!Virgil

   Logan couldn’t help it. He was not observing the screen as the movie wrapped up. He was enjoying seeing Virgil emote along with the characters. Virgil picked at the dregs of the popcorn absentmindedly and kissed popcorn bits off of his fingers, engrossing Logan even further. Logan had selected the movie, even, for all intents and purposes, he should be watching it. But something about the way the lights from the screen bounced off of Virgil’s face had drawn his attention and enveloped him. He was lucky that Virgil didn’t seem to notice him outright starting at that mesmerizing lopsided smirk and listen to him mutter critiques of character choices to himself.

   The movie ended and Virgil patted his legs and deposited the empty cup in the paper popcorn bag before standing up out of the seat. Logan panicked when Virgil looked over at him and grabbed Virgil’s sleeve to stop him. He had to say something. He was utterly enchanted by Virgil, and it felt like the affection might burst out of him if he kept avoiding it any longer. Virgil paused and peered at Logan in confusion.

   “What’s up, L?” Virgil asked curiously.

   “Virgil, I…” Logan trailed off, swiftly losing his nerve. He swallowed heavily and drew a struggled breath. “Prefer to watch the credits. These people put significant effort into the creation of the film and deserve acknowledged.”

   “Oh, sure,” Virgil nodded and settled down into the theatre seat again. “You’re totally right, I feel like an asshole now,” he murmured, and Logan could barely hear his voice over the blaring end credits song playing over the speaker system.

   Shit. Logan shook his head. “You’re not,” he corrected him. “No one else is bothering to stay, either,” he pointed out.

   “Just because everyone’s doing it doesn’t make it right. No, I liked the movie, it’s worth watching some names scroll.” Virgil shot Logan a small smile, making his heart clench in his chest. “If I hated it, though, I’d storm out of here,” Virgil added with a roguish look before glancing up at the gigantic movie screen again. Logan watched Virgil’s pupils scan the movie before turning to study them himself.

   Virgil started whispering interesting sound last names to himself as he read along. “Holy crap, Killmaster is such a cool name,” he muttered reverently. If Logan wasn’t leaned in so close, he might have missed it.

   “If the last name was from a profession and not chosen, I would wonder if their ancestor was a gladiator or perhaps a legendary hunter,” Logan mused quietly, though he had no reason to other than the fact that it was polite to talk softly during a movie.

   “A legendary badass,” Virgil hissed back, bumping Logan’s bicep with his shoulder. Logan’s heart jumped at the contact, and once more he was overwhelmed with the need to try and tell Virgil his feelings.

   “Virgil, have you ever… struggled to tell someone something important?” Logan asked, hoping he didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt.

   “Sure, all the time,” Virgil nodded, keeping his eyes on the screen. “What kind of thing? Maybe I can help,” he offered guilelessly. Logan gripped his jeans nervously.

   “How to inform someone that you like them,” Logan clarified, his throat betraying him and tightening as he spoke. He exhaled harshly, trying to calm back down.

   “Oh, that’s a tough one. I guess, for you, it’d be best to be straightforward and say you like them. Just force it out if you have to,” Virgil suggested thoughtfully.

   “I see.” Logan wrung his hands together and glanced down at the ground. Being direct. Logan wasn’t good at using flowery, romantic language. Virgil was right. He just needed to do it. Logan took a deep breath to steady himself. “I like you,” Logan said evenly, looking at Virgil hopefully.

   “Yeah, exactly like that. You got this,” Virgil looked to Logan with that little smile that usually melted his heart. But at the moment, it was too wrapped up in confusion to react. Did Virgil not… Perhaps he was so caught up in trying to express his feelings that it did not occur to him that Virgil wouldn’t be interested in hearing it. Perhaps it was best if Virgil didn’t understand.

   Logan sat back and examined the credits in silence. He was deeply conflicted between the desire to clarify his feelings and respecting Virgil’s space. If Virgil didn’t even think of Logan like that enough to have the context that Logan was confessing, it seemed like Virgil wanted to remain friends. Or perhaps cut ties altogether after this, now that he knew Logan liked him. Pining helplessly hurt, but being completely cut off would be worse. Logan had to prevent that outcome at all costs. He would rather remain friends than be nothing to Virgil, and if he had to quell his feelings, he could do that. He hoped.

   The last of the credits rolled, and Virgil got out of his seat once more, holding out his hand to help Logan up. Logan gave him a compressed smile and stood up on his own. Virgil tilted his head in confusion and shrugged lightly, and they walked out of the theater together.

   Virgil and Logan walked into the mall and Virgil pulled out his phone to check the time. Logan panicked, wondering if he was already looking for an excuse to leave. He had to come up with a way to combat it. He needed more time to prove he could be just friends.

   “I have some free time. Do you want to go around the mall? I haven’t been in ages and probably need to walk off all that soda. I’m feeling a little jittery,” Virgil offered, scanning the area.

   Logan let out a sigh of relief. “I would like that.” Logan nodded, gripping at the hem of his shirt.

   They walked together down the narrow hall that connected the theater to the food court. Virgil stuffed his hands into his hoodie pocket and Logan mirrored him by shoving his fidgeting hands into his jeans pockets. They meandered the mall together companionably, and Logan felt relieved that Virgil didn’t opt to just leave after the confession. Virgil pointed out interesting things to Logan as if he had never said anything during the credits.

   “Oh, dude, look at those birds,” Virgil stepped up excitedly to a pet store window, glancing back to Logan with a hopeful look on his face.

   “They are lovely, yes,” Logan agreed with Virgil’s unspoken compliment as he beamed into the window.

   “Let’s go in.” Virgil pulled at Logan’s polo and headed into the open store hastily. Virgil rushed up to the large cylinder full of parakeets and leaned in to watch a pair grooming each other. He sighed happily and circled it, checking out all the birds it contained before moving on.

   Next, Virgil looked at all the various tank pets. He cooed at dwarf hamsters, stuck out his tongue at the lizards, hissed at the snakes, and lingered at a tarantula he seemed enamoured with. Virgil seemed determined to look at every pet in the store, and Logan had to admit he loved seeing him be so animated, even if he was trying to deny the part of himself in love with Virgil. He could pretend he watched Virgil purely platonically on the outside, at least.

   Virgil got permission for the pair to enter the cat enclosure and stepped in quickly. Virgil sat down on the bench and held out his hand instead of approaching any of the cats. Logan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms to watch Virgil’s determined face. Logan had concluded that Virgil was so interested in the small creatures that he was paying zero attention to Logan, and thusly Logan could secretly enjoy Virgil’s presence without maintaining any pretense.

   A black cat with a small tuft of white fur on its chest walked up cautiously to Virgil’s hand and sniffed it carefully. It reared back twice, seemingly unsure. It backed up and watched as other cats did the same, not letting Virgil touch it yet. A white cat bumped its hand against Virgil’s hand and he stroked across its long body. The cat looked incredibly satisfied and kept circling around again to get more pets from Virgil. The black cat approached slowly, sniffing again. Virgil raised his other hand for the black cat to sniff once more.

   The white cat wandered over to brush up against Logan’s legs, startling Logan from observing Virgil. Logan knelt down to let the cat sniff its hand before he offered it a few pets as well, since it was working so hard for the affection. The black cat didn’t push into Virgil’s hand, but instead hopped right up into Virgil’s nap and nestled in. Virgil made an expression like his heart exploded, rubbing the cat’s cheeks. The black cat purred so loudly even Logan could hear it over the light purrs of the white cat Logan was still petting.

   “Oh my god, I love her,” Virgil whispered, looking up at the poster on the wall with her information. The cat’s name was Shadow, and she was two years old. Compared to the kittens, she had a very reasonable adoption fee and was listed as ‘skittish, but affectionate’ in her personality profile, along with ‘vocal and independent’. Logan had to agree with that assessment.

   Virgil sat with Shadow for a few minutes, and the white cat had lost interest, wandering off to play with a ball track toy instead. Virgil kept stroking Shadow’s cheek tenderly, totally taken in by the cat. Logan stood back up and returned to viewing Virgil and Shadow interact.

   “Are you going to adopt her?” Logan asked softly.

   “My lease has a no-pets policy,” Virgil murmured, his face betraying how absolutely heartbroken he was. He stroked the cat’s back sullenly, sagging into himself.

   “My lease does not,” Logan blurted out, and Virgil’s eyes shot up to Logan’s in surprise. Logan cleared his throat, disbelieving the words that were coming out of his own mouth. “I could adopt her. That way, you may come over whenever you like to see her,” Logan offered. Was he truly willing to adopt a living creature just to hold on to Virgil? Yes. Yes, he was. “I would need help taking care of her, of course,” he added as Virgil stared at Logan in astonishment.

   “You’re serious?” Virgil asked flatly, his hand never moving off of shadow.

   “Necktie.” Logan pulled at his tie and dropped it on his chest, smiling at Virgil.

   “Right, right,” Virgil chuckled and looked down at Shadow. “Then… you’re sure?” Virgil asked meekly.

   “I’m certain.” Logan relaxed and moved to sit on the bench with Virgil. If Logan had an excuse to see Virgil every day he could, he’d happily care for a cat. He wouldn’t mind the company for his lonely, pining heart, either.

   “Thank you,” Virgil whispered softly.

                                             𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙸𝚅𝙴...          𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙽.

a vessel must be first and foremost a physical thing,  an organic form.          and she’s looking at you.          the shape of her eyes are sharp and not as large as they are wide.          they are lined with   dark,   sooty   lashes     -     which are thick but not especially long.          her irises are a dull mix of gray;     look at them too closely and you might see how her irises are like a circle of television static or the blend of gray found on a barn owl’s feather and face.          [     because of this the static can easily fizz away to all black or all white or create enough absence between the bits of gray for specks of blue or green.     ]          now despite the boring colour of her eyes,    the quality of her gaze is undeniably clear and bright:     clear     -     with sharp determination,  interest,  and wickedness.          bright     -     nothing hidden   (  or so it seems  ),  smart and engaged,  a certain sparkle in her eye,  a certain knowing,  along with wonder and fun.

                           but a vessel must also be hollowed,  to house its parasite or maker.          the eyes are the windows to the soul:     a look inside a body’s walls,  beyond flesh and bone.          but charlotte has no soul.          there is no warmth,  no flickering of life behind this doll’s eyes.               absence pervades.          the deep,  flat darkness that inflates her eye - balls is as still as a lake’s surface in the night;     but those oh - so - still,  oh - so - quiet black - waters are never empty,  are they?          behind charlotte’s eyes,  that darkness is certainly not   empty either.          there is the pull of something living in the space that her pupils reveal.          the darkness itself is fluid,  writhing thing     -     an extension of the primordial void placed inside the vessel’s head.     it looks out and watches the world through charlotte’s eyes;     it looks out and it watches   you.          therefore,  eye - contact with charlotte can sometimes feel strange and unsettling,  as though there are two someones staring back at you.

                                   now,  her eyes are not any more memorable than the rest of her;     neither are they exempt from being warped in each person’s unique perception.          what does tend to stay consistent about meeting charlotte’s gaze,  however,  is that resulting deep feeling of knowing that you’ve just seen something inexplicably strange,  ancient,  and unnatural.          both the fluid darkness,  the blank canvas of her irises,  and the actual physical shape of charlotte’s eyes are subject to distortion depending on both charlotte’s and the void’s mood and thoughts;     changes can include the shade of gray itself darkening and lightening,  the sly curl of that darkness behind the glass of the cornea,  or the sudden,  violent upheaval of those writhing black - waters.          because she shares her eyes with the extension that lives within her,  the disparity between charlotte’s state of being and the void’s own inclinations can cause simultaneous contradictions in the distortion of her eyes,  meaning a mismatch between charlotte’s outward expression and the significance of her gaze.

                                     nothing can belong completely to the vessel.          charlotte’s eyes are one of the features that have the most difficulty staying intact with the rest of her humanness and it is because the presence of primordial absence is so heavily concentrated there.          as a result,  the eyes are especially prone to   warping out of normal reality;     during especially horrifying distortions of her appearance,  it is common for her eyes to be the first to reveal the true nature   of what she is:     to show the ancient absence,  an origin of decay.         the shape of her sockets change and bend.          the whiteness of the scleras bruise to ugly yellow,   bluish,   shades.          her pupils dilate against the will of bodily regulation and at the worst,  the dark absence will overwhelm reality completely and charlotte will cease to have eyes.          instead,  sitting in inside misshaped sockets are two black pools of deep,  deep black - waters.          and the thing looking out from underneath the black surface isn’t charlotte.

The Forgotten - Chapter 19

@elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall @xanderling @cry-btch @kol-and-elena-fanfiction @geekofmanyfandoms

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18

"I'm not sure that distance was the right idea,” Elena held her cardigan closed. She wrinkled her nose against the brisk smell of brine that blew off the water. "I haven't run from anyone since I was human."

"Don't think of it as running," Kol pulled their bags from the boot of the cab, "think of it as regrouping."

She tipped the cab driver and went to take her suitcase. Kol snatched it up.

She scowled but followed all the same.

"I don't need to regroup,” she stormed through the door he held open. "I can handle Klaus."

"Darling," he shut the door and led her into the bedroom, "don't take this the wrong way, but no you can't."

"I put him down once," she pouted, dropping to sit on the bed. The white comforter was as soft as a cloud and jet leg beckoned her to sink into it.

He put the bags down on the dresser and joined her. His knee nudged her leg.

"You had the element of surprise on your side," he turned her chin toward him with one hand. “He failed to see the trick coming, but he won't underestimate you again. If he even thinks you have the dagger then you won't get within striking distance, and he has nine-hundred years on you so you can't begin to match him in a physical altercation; neither can I for that matter. I couldn't before, and I definitely can't now."

"We have magic on our side,” she rolled her eyes.

"How much offensive magic have you learned?” He traced her jaw with his thumb. "How much black magic do you know? Fighting with Nik would require it."

Elena smoothed her hand over his jaw and down his chest, catching his open jacket between her fingers.

"I don't like black magic,” she rubbed a metal button with her thumb.

"Neither do I,” he tucked her hair behind her ear, “but it does have its uses, however, if you prefer we can stick to offensive magic. I might be immune to the daggers now, but I don't want to be anywhere near Nik until I can hold my own in a fight."

"I wouldn't mind avoiding Klaus for the rest of eternity,” she closed her eyes. Her spine chose that moment to check out and she fell, boneless, against the bed.

"I wouldn't mind that either,” he chuckled, leaning back on his elbow. He hovered over her and traced the length of her nose with his finger. He could sense her nearing sleep. "However since Nik has taken up residence in the city where the girl you are so desperate to help lives I don't think that is an option. It's also the place that your son calls home.”

She peeked through her lashes and saw the line between his brows. She reached up and cradled the back of his neck.

"He loved you, you know?” Her fingers slipped into his hair. "For weeks after I couldn't get him to sleep, not until I found the record you used to play in the nursery at night. Honestly, I think that's what inspired his love of jazz.”

"He didn't know me long enough," he shook his head. A part of him had been excited at the prospect of raising that little boy. "It's probably just as well; I would have ruined him. I'd have made a terrible parent."

"You'd have been a wonderful father," she met his eyes.

"Does that mean you'd be open to trying again?" He chuckled.

"What?” Her brows shot up. "You mean another baby?"

"We’d bring this one in through less nefarious means, but yeah," he admitted, surprising himself with his honesty. "Maybe one day..."

"When the chaos dies down?” She tilted her head. "I might get grief from Thierry for waiting so long to give him a sibling, but... but that sounds nice."

"Yeah?" He listened to the crashing waves and her steady heart.

"Yeah,” she smiled, "although, most people date longer than a month before discussing kids."

"We had the first one before we started 'dating’,” he smirked, tasting the word on his tongue. "Its not the term I would use to describe us."

"How would you describe us?” She mumbled; sleep was beckoning. "How would you introduce me to someone?”

"Ask me a hard question,” he teased.

"I'm serious,” she shoved his chest playfully.

"Hello,” he pretended to address an unseen associate, "have you met the light of my life: Elena?"

She blushed.

"Light of my life?” She blinked.

"That accurately describes you,” he bent, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Light,” he drew her hand to her heart and then moved it to his, "dark."

"They say opposites attract," she chewed her bottom lip. "Light of my life," she mused, "I like that."

"How would you describe me?"

"I don't know; boyfriend doesn't sound right."

"You can never go wrong with lover,” his eyes twinkled.

"Alright,” she giggled. "So tell me, lover, why'd you choose Santorini?"

"I thought you'd never ask," he grinned.

He jumped to his feet and pulled her with him, laughing when she protested. "You can sleep later,” he promised.

Elena sighed, but allowed him to drag her through the front room and out into the blinding sunlight.

"Santorini is known around the world for many things." he walked backward with his hands on her waist, "the caldera, lava pebble beaches, and witches who practice ancestral magic, but the reason I brought you here was so I could show you this."

He spun her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, smiling when he heard her breath hitch.

Elena stared up the length of the cliff at the buildings that glowed golden in the setting sun.

"It's beautiful..."

"Pales next to you,” he murmured into her hair.

"Flatterer,” she turned with him and felt her heart skip again as she watched the dazzling display. Vibrant orange and pink filled the sky and reflected off the Aegean as far as the eye could see.

"That's definitely more beautiful than me,” she whispered.

"Nothing is as beautiful as you."

++++

Music thumped from the interior as the door swung open to allow a couple of tourists stumbled out; they were well on their way to inebriation.

"Ya know,” she twirled to stand in front of him, "I'm not really a club kind of girl."

"Do you think I'd waste time on such an inane activity when a young girl's life is on the line?” He covered his heart, eyes sparkling in the night.

"Alright,” she snickered. "If you didn't bring me here to dance to outdated, repetitive music, then why did you choose this place?” She gestured over her shoulder.

"Look there,” he nodded toward the building.

Elena gave him a curious look, but did as instructed, approaching the concrete wall and running her fingers over the weathered stone until her nail caught in a groove concealed beneath ivy; she pushed it aside and bent her knees.

Kol came up behind her as she studied the symbol.

"It's…”

"Hecate's wheel,” Elena murmured. She traced the labyrinth within the circle and then ran her nail around the central spiral. "Rebirth and divine thought," she glanced sideways, laughing at the awe which had slackened his jaw. "What? Did you think I spent ninety-seven years pining?"

"I hope not,” he found his voice, "that would have been horrible…"

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

"Not even a little?"

"There may have been some pining," she teased, "but I am an excellent multi tasker, and you left a lot of books."

She didn’t realize she was gravitating toward him until the heat from his body penetrated her dress. "What's the significance of the wheel?"

"It's the symbol of the local coven, and the paint was recently touched up, so it's safe to say they are operating inside."

"So we are going clubbing," she smirked, glancing down at her oversized sweater. "I don't think I dressed right."

"You could always leave it at the coat check," he suggested, pulling the open front down and barring her shoulders.

"Uh-huh,” she shivered. His hands slipped the sweater from her arms with only the briefest instance of skin on skin contact. "Did you forget to tell me so you could undress me in public?"

"Madam," he feigned outrage, “what exactly do you take me for?"

"A sly fox,” she shrugged before skirting around him. She glanced over her shoulder to see him holding her sweater and watching her. "Coming?"

He grinned, following her inside, but by the time he checked her sweater she had disappeared. There was too much noise and too many overlapping scents for his supernatural senses to sort through; any trail she had left vanished under a heavy layer of body spray.

He melted into the crowd to search.

On the other side of the room hearts worked double time in every body and Elena resisted the urge to slap away masculine hands. She hadn't fed since the previous evening and she was hungry.

She turned around slowly, allowing the lingering touch, though it sickened her. She smiled up at the young man and crooked a finger. Utilizing the head tilt and sultry eyes she had perfected in the seventies Elena led him through the crowd until they were hidden in a corner; from there she compelled.

"Relax,” her pupils dilated in the gloom, "and don't scream."

She heard his heart slow. He wasn't as tall as Kol – closer to Stefan's height actually – so she lowered her head and inhaled, running her nose over the veins. One could never be too careful; there was a reason she didn't like clubs. One accidental high and she and Marcel had spent a week cleaning the mess.

She didn't smell anything so she cradled the side of his neck.

"What are you doing?" He shuddered when she traced the vein with her tongue.

"Sh,” she covered his lips with her thumb. There was a familiar sting in her gums, and then her teeth sank into his throat. She heard the gurgle, but he didn't fight or scream. She pulled back before he lost too much and compelled him to leave, drink some orange juice and forget what had happened.

"There is nothing quite as arousing as the sight of a beautiful woman post feed."

The voice came from over her shoulder, the accent unfamiliar, but the scent ingrained in her subconscious: vampire.

She left the blood on her chin and spun around. He appeared a few years older than her with dark hair, even darker eyes, and a charming smile; if she were seeking a model for Eros he would have been a perfect choice.

He was too perfect.

"I'm with someone,” she licked her lower lip.

"You can do better than someone who would leave you alone,” he walked her backward, placing his hands on either side of her body, dangerously close to her waist.

"That's a bad idea,” she warned. "He didn't leave me alone."

++++

Kol made his way toward the bar and was rewarded with another symbol carved into a wooden door in the corner, but no sign of Elena. At least there was no sign of her until someone bumped his shoulder.

He frowned at the man as he leaned over the counter. A moment later a glass of bright orange liquid was handed to him. He downed the juice and Kol spotted twin puncture marks on his throat. Standing so close he could smell her all over the man.

He knew it was just about food, but he couldn't stop the growl when he pictured Elena pressed against another guy with her lips on his neck.

To keep from killing the human she had left alive he turned away and started searching the corners. He found her in the third, trapped in place by a Casanova wannabe.

He slipped through the crush of people. Halfway there he saw the man's face and felt his blood pressure rise. He supposed that answered one of Elena's questions; she had succeeded in suspending his sire line because he knew that face. He knew that face well. The last time he had seen it had been after Rebekah came to him in tears.

He made it to the corner when Elena slapped her hand against his chest. Her tone sent rage flowing through his blood.

"Back off,” her eyes narrowed.

Kol reigned in his rage and tapped the younger man on the shoulder, just a little harder than necessary; he had the audacity to sigh.

"I'm busy at the moment," he didn't bother turning.

"No you're not," Elena scoffed.

Kol tapped a little harder.

"Take a hint, fíle,” he growled.

"Take your own advice,” annoyance flashed in Elena's eyes.

The third time Kol didn't bother tapping. He grabbed his arm and spun him into the wall a few inches to Elena's left. He waited a split second, just long enough for his anger to morph into terror, before he struck; cartilage cracked under the force of his punch, and blood poured from his nose.

"Stavros,” he pinned the man by his throat, squeezing when he opened his mouth. "No, no; I talk, you listen, understand?"

Elena tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Do you see this beautiful woman?" He saw Elena blush from the corner of his eye. "If you ever come near her again, without her express permission, I will make what I did in 1427 look like child's play. Have I made myself clear?"

Stavros nodded.

"Good,” Kol dropped him, “now get out of my sight before my merciful mood passes."

Elena watched him flash away and then turned to Kol; the question burned in her eyes.

He slid his hand from her shoulder to her elbow as he leaned down and licked the line of blood, dragging his tongue from her chin up to her mouth and inside tasting the remnants of her meal in the sensual kiss.

"He wasn't even that good," he murmured, straightening up.

"I was hungry," she hummed. "Are you going to tell me what that was about?"

He took her hand and led her through the crowd.

"Kol?"

He pushed open the door and led her into blissful silence.

"Kol?” She pulled his hand at the bottom of a set of stairs. “Who was that guy? What did you do to him? He looked terrified? Or should I be asking what he did?"

Something flashed in his eyes.

"Come on,” she moved in close, running her hands up to his shoulders, “don't start keeping things from me now."

"It doesn't paint me in the best light, darling."

"I'm pretty sure I've seen you in bad lighting," she rolled her eyes. "Why don't you start with his name?"

"Stavros Kouris,” he sighed, lowering his eyes.

"Now we're getting somewhere,” she teased, using the tip of her finger to lift his chin. "Why do you hate him? It goes a lot deeper than coming onto me."

“He courted Rebekah in the fifteenth century," he met her eyes. "As a favour to her I turned him."

"Why didn't she do it?" Elena's brows drew together.

"It's a very bad idea to turn someone who has genuine romantic feelings for you, darling; it leads to a sire bond. Rebekah wanted to save him that, but it turned out to be unnecessary. He didn't love Rebekah; all he wanted was immortality."

Elena swallowed. “What did you do to him?"

"You'll remember me mentioning Viking Origins?" He cleared his throat when she nodded. "Are you familiar with the blood eagle?"

Her eyes widened; an image flickered in her mind: a man with his back cut open, ribs broken and spread, lungs outside the body. She remembered reading that the victims rarely made it to the last part; as a vampire Stavros would have felt it all.

"I'll take your silence as a yes, and now you see the monster,” he pulled away.

She tightened her grip and pushed him into the wall.

"I see a good brother, who happens to be a brute," she tilted her head, ducking to meet his eyes.

"I can honestly say I wouldn't have done that to someone who hurt a person I love, but that's only because I wouldn't have thought up a torture technique from a thousand years ago."

"You wouldn't have,” he shook his head.

"Part of me never wants to figure out which of us is right," she laughed. "Now, let's go see these witches."

They were halfway down the hall when her mouth watered.

She gave a dainty sniff.

"Do you smell that?"

"Blood,” he nodded. He moved ahead, pushing open the only door; light spilled out into the hall, but the wood caught on the body of a girl no more than sixteen.

He spared a heartbeat to check for hers before carefully moving the girl to the hall in complete silence. He prepared to heal her but stopped when Elena dropped to her knees; she had her wrist in the kid's mouth before he moved back inside.

There was a second girl dropped over a mahogany table in the corner, and a third sprawled in a pool of her own blood: both dead.

His ears led him to a second door, engraved in ancient symbols sacred to the coven. Inside a human heart fluttered, clinging to life, but he couldn't cross the threshold.

He cleared his throat to gain the woman's attention.

"Witch blood is amongst the sweetest, but four classifies as over-indulging.” His breath caught when she spun around and he saw the face her jet black bob framed. Her sweeping lashes fanned out around eyes the colour of ice and just as warm.

"Kol Mikaelson," she purred, running her eyes over his form. "Are my eyes deceiving me, or have you finally returned to me?"

He felt Elena stiffen behind the outer door.

"Would you believe neither, your presence was not expected,” he heard the clicks of Elena's boots and glanced sideways when she stopped.

"Running into me is always a surprise,” her eyes flickered to Elena, “but a pleasant one. I'm afraid you've come late to the party," she twisted the limp girl around in her arms, "but we might be able to split her three ways; there's little more than a taste left."

"These are children," Elena spat, disgust dripping from her tongue. She tried to enter the room, but was stopped by a threshold.

"It's a sacred space,” the woman nodded to Elena's feet, "and these children were some of the most powerful witches in the coven, and,” she licked her lips, “delicious."

"Let the girl go, Ariadne,” Kol shook his head.

Something shifted in the woman's eyes and she smiled a slow smile.

"Very well," she pulled her hands back, "but it's a true waste of a rare delicacy."

Elena watched the teen slump against the wall, too weak to move further away; without attention soon she would die.

"Now how about healing her,” Elena crossed her arms.

Ariadne left the young witch on the floor and sauntered toward the threshold. She tilted her head and blinked up at him through her lashes.

"Friend of yours?” Elena leaned back to examine the symbols for some way in.

"Lover, actually,” Ariadne glanced at her.

"Former,” Kol shifted on his heels. "It's no use, darling; the only way through this door is with an amulet.” His eyes dropped to the metal between Ariadne's breasts.

"Would you like a taste?" She caught a drop of blood with her finger.

"Are you insane?" Elena checked the dead girls, but came up empty.

"He loves witch blood,” she smirked, but made sure to stay behind the barrier. "Do you remember the first time we shared? We drained an entire coven and then reveled in the blood."

"You need to stop talking,” he gritted his teeth.

"Are you not in the mood to reminisce?" She lifted her hand, reaching for his jacket across the threshold. She gasped in pain.

"He said stop talking,” Elena squeezed the wrist until she heard bones creak, “and I'm saying take a hike."

She yanked hard enough to dislocate Ariadne's shoulder and tore the amulet from her throat.

Ariadne cursed. She moved to attack, but her path was blocked.

"Leave," Kol pushed her away, “now." He was mildly surprised when she listened and a second later he was alone with Elena. "She's already gone, love."

He turned around to see her closing the unseeing eyes.

"Fifteen…” she murmured, swallowing a lump in her throat, “maybe sixteen." She swiped away a tear and took a deep breath before carrying the dead girl into the other room.

Kol reached to take her.

"I've got her,” she cradled the girl before gently laying her on the floor. “Exquisite taste you've got there," she grumbled, casting her eyes to the door.

"She was different back then," he wanted to reach out, but doubted she would appreciate it at the moment.

"Back when you slaughtered an entire coven,” she deadpanned.

Before he could formulate a response three older women and two men raced into the room. They were followed by a teenage girl with blood on her throat.

"That's her,” her copper hair gleamed in the light. "That's the vampire that saved me."

"Though we were too late for the others," Kol frowned.

"What are you doing here?” The shorter man asked. “Vampires are not welcome here."

"We were looking for a witch who might help us to understand a ritual known as the harvest,” Elena squared her shoulders. "Like if it really works. Do the sacrifices come back? Can you reverse it once it's begun?"

A woman lifted her voice and it rang through the room with authority.

"That knowledge is confidential and sacred, but,” she held out her hand, “perhaps we could come to an arrangement."

They exchanged a look, and Kol placed a hand on her hip.

"What sort of arrangement?"

"Agatha," the taller man hissed. “They are vampires."

"Perhaps it has escaped your notice Constantine,” Agatha lifted her chin, "but we have a vampire problem. Three of our brightest are dead, and I am willing to exchange information for service."

When nobody objected Elena leaned into Kol's hand and met Agatha's eyes. She thought of Davina Claire, soon to be dead.

"What do you want?"

Agatha glanced down to the dead and back to them.

"I assume you've met Ariadne."

@elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall @xanderling @cry-btch @kol-and-elena-fanfiction @geekofmanyfandoms

Jungle Park [10]

Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

➜ Words: 6.8k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

It’s another one of those nights.   “Hello! Where are we off to this evening?”   “Blue Plaza restaurant, please.”   “Certainly.” Your hands grip the wheel and you glance behind your shoulder to make sure the coast is clear before pulling off the curb of the road, making it towards the destination.   Things have been working out well lately. With the extra shifts you’ve been taking on, driving for nights on end, you were able to pay your bills at the end of the month and then some. Your savings were accumulating nicely, giving you a head start on rent for next month. And from being ahead of the finance game, you were able to take fewer shifts and catch up on much needed sleep. It also helped that you were getting a bonus soon since it was the end of the year.   For the first time in a while, things were going pretty great.   A sudden loud clang on the side of the little taxi snaps you out of your thoughts and you peek in the rear-view mirror to find a passenger. Immediately, you rip off your seat belt, opening your door to help her in, but she beats you to the punch and finally opens her own door, falling into your backseat in a drunken mess.   “Are you alright?” You twist yourself back to look at her.   The girl has honey blonde locks, dressed in a pretty black dress. She nods, waving her hand tiredly. “Bring me to a hotel,” she slurs her words and sighs tiredly, pressing her cheek against the passenger leather seat in front of her.   “Pardon?” Right when you’re about to ask her to repeat herself and clarify what hotel, the gorgeous female suddenly whines and from your peripheral vision, you notice someone coming towards the cab. He’s carrying a taupe coat in his arms, probably belonging to the girl, and you notice his mess of black hair, the white dress shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow and crisp dress pants and leather shoes.   The man’s form emerges from the shadows, becoming visible in the street light. And the familiar timbre of his voice has you whipping back faster than your brain can register, gripping your wheel until your knuckles turn white.   “Wendy! You forgot your coat.” He approaches the door of the taxi, chest rising and falling and he pops his head in, turning towards you. “Sorry about this.”   You make a disgruntled noise from the back of your throat in acknowledgment, refusing to turn around or even glance in the rear-view mirror. The girl, Wendy, tugs his sleeve and clings onto him. “Come wutih hme,” she whines and pleads. “Pretty pleawse? Hoseok?”   Hoseok sighs and relents after a beat, sliding into the backseat and shutting the door. You’re trapped.   “The Downtown Marriott hotel, please,” he says.   You don’t respond, turning on the radio instead as a method of distraction. Your posture is horrific, slumped in your seat, and driving quickly, but still under the speed limit. You’ve been uncomfortable a lot in your life, but this has to be on your top ten list — your day job’s boss sitting in the backseat with his lover while you’re driving, still trying to keep your pathetic night job a secret.   Wendy is clinging onto his arm, pushing herself on his side, breasts pressed against his bicep. Hoseok remains tense. “Come wiutih me. I need you,” she whimpers and before you can stop yourself, your eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror. The woman’s dress is riding up dangerously, thighs rubbing together, practically grinding herself onto him, and you feel sick to your stomach.   There’s only been one time that a pair had intercourse in your backseat. You would’ve kicked them out had they not handed you a hundred in cash to just drive them to a motel. But right now, you don’t know if you can handle if Hoseok and this girl were to go down on each other.   And the discomfort brewing in the pits of your intestines is not just because you’re a driver who doesn’t want passengers to make a mess or even because he’s your boss.   The horrible feeling begins somewhere deeper. A green monster crawls upon your shoulder, creeping over your body and a lump forms in your throat. You wish you didn’t care. You’re not supposed to care. But you do.   Envy. Jealousy. Hurt. Betrayed. He never told you that he was with someone. But maybe you should’ve known better. There was no reason he should’ve told you if he was with someone either. It’s not like you’re friends. He owes you nothing. Pathetic. Idiotic. Foolish. Naive.   You damn yourself over and over again, tears stinging and burning your eyes.   “You’re drunk, Wendy.”   “No. ‘M not,” she cries out. “Touch me, Hoseok.”   “Stop it.” It’s a firmer whisper this time and you peek at the mirror. “You’ll regret this.”   “No. Won’t. Promise.” Her reddened, velvet lips latch onto his neck. She cuddles up to him, practically on his lap.   “I think you missed the turn,” Hoseok suddenly pipes up, disregarding the female and looking out the front windshield. You jump at the sound of his voice addressing you.   “Sorry,” you manage to mutter underneath your breath.   Your eyes betray you again, glancing in the rear-view mirror and you’re surprised when his eyes meet yours. Hoseok stares, locking his gaze, and he tilts his head ever so slightly. His brows furrow, lips parted...but then his trance is broken by the girl at his side. “I don’t feel so well.”   “Are you okay?” He pats her back gently and scans her features. “Do you need to throw up?”   “No, not that. Wanna lie down.”   “We’re almost there.”   Hoseok keeps looking at the mirror while you keep your pupils glued on the road. Thankfully, you make it there in the next two minutes and the door opens. Wendy lugs her legs out and slumps over your yellow vehicle. The cold chills sweep in, stealing away the heat. “Thirty dollars,” you grumble in a low voice.   Hoseok digs into his pants pocket, pulling out his wallet and handing you the correct amount. With your head kept forward, your arm awkwardly bends back. Your hands accidentally graze each other when he gives you the money, his skin ghosting on yours and it has you ripping your arm away like his touch burns. You cringe at how suspicious you’re acting.   “Excuse me.” Instead of leaving, he stays put as if waiting for you to turn around. “Excuse me?”   “Whatta you waiting for? Hoseok,” Wendy whines and shivers against the wind, stomping her feet and crying out for him.   He finally looks away. “Okay, hold on.”   The lawyer gets out, shutting the door as the girl leans on him. But before he can turn around and peek his head through the window again, you slam your foot on the gas pedal. The taxi zips away, out of sight.   //   Sometimes you wonder why you like to suffer so much. While sitting next to Jimin at a conference table and looking over some details for the party, you imagine a world where you felt closer to the brunette rather than his dark haired partner. Being with any boss is inappropriate and irresponsible, but if you had a choice, you would’ve vouched for him without a second beat.   Jimin has been nothing but kind to you since the first day you arrived. He is benevolent and understanding. You have confidence that he would treat you well and not let you feel so miserable. If only you had a say in the matter. If only you had a choice. If only…   “Y/N?” He lifts his head, his brown irises meeting in yours. “Are you listening?”   “Yeah, sorry, Jimin.” You shake your head, blinking, and bringing yourself back into reality.   “Is there something bothering you?” He sits straight, giving you his full attention.   “I know this is inappropriate to ask….”   “It’s fine.” Jimin leans in and gives you a cheeky grin, eyes crinkled in half moons. “We’ll keep it between you and me. No one else has to know.”   You smile, put more at ease and it gives you the courage to take a leap. “How...how old is Hoseok’s girlfriend?” It’s not like you particularly care about her age, but you find it’s a better technique than straight out asking if he has a significant other or not.   “Girlfriend?” Jimin has a bewildered expression. “Hoseok doesn’t have a girlfriend.”   “Oh.” You swallow and the lump in your throat has magically vanished. “I thought I saw him with someone last night.”   “No.” The lawyer giggles. “Trust me, if he had a girlfriend, I would know. I’m the poor kid’s only friend.”   “I...see…” There’s a chance you were mistaken, but they looked close. Maybe it was a one night stand or maybe Jimin’s mistaken and his friend is just exceptionally good at hiding a secret. Then again, you know Hoseok can’t lie or keep a secret for the life of him. Then just who was she?   Jimin’s irises twinkle in interest. “Is there a reason?”   “No, I’m just curious,” you brush off and flip through the list of vendors. “Yesterday, they seemed pretty close.”   “Hmm…” His lips are pouted. “No, don’t worry. He’s been single for years now. The man knows nothing, but work.”   “I—...I wasn’t worried.”   Jimin hums a note and looks through your notes, choosing colours for the streamers and decorations. After a moment of quietness, he pipes up again. “Speaking of which, you should run over all this with Hoseok too.”   “Does he not know?”   “He has an idea, but he doesn’t know it’s coming up soon.”   “Yeah, I can do that.”   //   No, you can’t do it.   You realize it now that you’re standing in his office, sitting across from him as he tears his eyes away from the computer monitor and to your face. Your palms are clammy and your forehead is sweating. No matter what he does, you can’t help but think of the other woman kissing up all over him and it makes you severely uncomfortable to where you think you might just pass out. Maybe if you did, you could go on medical leave and get away from this.   “A Christmas party?”   He echos your words, hearing them after a delayed moment.   “Holiday office party,” you correct. “It’s inclusive for everyone.”   He looks over the papers that you’ve presented him with, skimming the budget and break down of costs. “This is a waste of time and resources. All the years before, we just had a thirty dollar cake in the break room during lunch.”   “No, we’re not doing that this year.” A spark of annoyance finds itself in your voice. “I looked it over with Inyoung and this is perfectly in the budget.”   Hoseok doesn’t hide that he’s impressed with how meticulous you are with this. “And how many people will there be?”   “Anyone in the office and their families and any partners. Maximum of three other people per employee. It’s reasonable and everyone can fit in here.” It goes quiet for a second and you add, “Jimin’s already approved.”   “There’s potential for liability issues. If someone gets drunk—” It’s obvious that the two of you are thinking of the same person...Taehyung. “—then that would be unpleasant for all parties.”   “I’ll hold a seminar beforehand,” you reason with him, for once stern and refusing to waver. “Everyone needs this. It’ll be good for office morale. We can afford to—”   “Okay.” Hoseok cuts you off with a beaming smile. “I never opposed to it, Y/N.”   “Okay.” You release a breath of relief before shifting on your feet, not knowing what else to say. “Well, since there’s nothing else...I should go...”   “Wait. Y/N. You don’t have to feel uncomfortable around me.”   “Pardon?”   “I’m sorry. Last week when I reprimanded you for being late, I realize that it was overly excessive. I was being unprofessional and letting other matters affect me. It had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry for that.”   “Oh. That’s not—... umm...i-it’s okay. It’s understandable.” For a moment, you thought he was mentioning something about last night. “I know that your position is stressful. Not everyone can do it, so I understand.”   “I just thought it was my responsibility to let you know that.” He nods and then hesitates, staring at you intensely that it’s bringing you to a sweat. “One more thing….do you….do you do anything in your free time?”   You frown. “What do you mean?”   Hoseok decides to cut straight to the point. “What were you doing last night?”   “I was at home.” The lie comes easier than expected, rolling off your tongue without needing to consider it. “Is there something the matter?”   “No. I thought I saw you, that’s all.” He smiles, leaning back in the swivel chair.   “Well, there’s supposedly seven people in the world that’s supposed to look like you,” you tell him with mischief glimmering in your orbs, drawing him away from the subject.   Hoseok grins. “Somehow, I doubt that.”   “Me too.” You don’t think there’s anyone else in the world that’s like Jung Hoseok and you hope there isn’t anyone like you, someone who’s dumb enough to keep running back again when they’ve been kicked too many times.   //   The more seminars and meetings you lead, the easier it becomes. It doesn’t feel like you’re in a room full of strangers anymore. Some way or another, you know each person. “It’s an after work party, so feel free to wear whatever.”   Lisa lifts her hand to clarify. “Does that mean we don’t have to follow the dress code?”   “Yes. We encourage people to wear festive things, but you can wear whatever you want as long as it's appropriate. If you don’t know, feel free to swing it by me and I can check it out. Better safe than sorry.”   Taehyung’s arm shoots into the air. “Can we wear nothing?”   “No.” You shoot down the horrific idea without a second to spare. “You must be fully clothed.”   “Are you an idiot?” Sunyi gives an incredulous expression and his mouth draws open in offense.   “It’s a genuine question!”   “Will there be food?” Jin asks the important questions and you nod.   “Yes, we will have catering, so don’t worry about that. They’ll be rotisserie chicken, steak, fish, and also a vegetarian option.” There are satisfied exchanges and murmurs that ripple through the room and you continue with a smile, “Also, please remember that this party is not an excuse to get drunk.”   Seulgi’s eyes glimmer in interest. “They’ll be drinks?”   “Yes, but everything in moderation, please. Remember that whatever you do, it will haunt your professional career and goals forever. This is not a frat party. This is not a school reunion. You are not in your own home. It’s a family friendly workplace office.”   You convey the message loud and clearly. It’s pathetic, really, but a simple approving look from Hoseok is all it takes for you to feel accomplished.

The party begins a week later when the night sky has been painted over the horizon. People are scattering on the streets and entering toasty buildings to hide from the chilly breeze nipping at their noses. The sidewalks are illuminated from street lamps and twinkling fairy lights. Hoseok’s own eyes are being blinded by the mosaic of colours strung on the fake coniferous tree in the center of the office floor.   There’s festive music playing in the back, melting together with the murmur of conversations and creating a cheerful atmosphere. There are snacks on the table, fruit punch and eggnog, gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies, s’mores, a basket of candy canes, rice krispies and cupcakes and a veggie tray. The real catering food will be served later on, but everyone seems to be enjoying themselves so far. There are two kids who are secretly sneaking the cookies into their pockets, adults mingling and drinking together, other kids running around even when they’re not supposed to, and a teenager in the corner, doing nothing less than brooding.   Most employees are hanging out with their family or friends they brought along, but Hoseok hangs back with Yoongi who didn’t invite anyone either.   “Y/N did a good job, huh,” Yoongi remarks.   “I expect nothing less.” Hoseok smiles, arms crossed as he leans on the wall outside of his office.   “I’m surprised you approved it.” The lawyer sips on his eggnog. “Didn’t you say that parties were a waste of resources?”   “Well...I might’ve changed my mind.” Hoseok’s eyes betray him and they stray off. He finds Jimin having fun playing host, entertaining friends and husbands and wives. But his pupils continue to move until he catches sight of you. You’re colouring at a table with a four-year old before dragging over the teenager in the corner to help you with a snowflake craft.   Yoongi follows his line of sight and cocks his eyebrow upwards. “Are you sleeping together?”   He frowns and looks away. “What?”   “Hey, I don’t know.” Yoongi’s lips are pouted, rounded cheeks puffed out and he shrugs nonchalantly like he means no malice in his question. “For you to be into office parties is frankly shocking. We didn’t even have a cake for my birthday.”   “Oh, come on, Yoongi.” Hoseok laughs and throws an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “You still can’t be bitter about that.”   “I wanted vanilla buttercream sponge cake,” he timidly mumbles. “It’s not a lot to ask for.”   “Want me to go run and get it?”   “It’s not my birthday anymore.” It’s obvious that the man is still holding a grudge and is resentful. The taller male can’t help but laugh loudly at how childish Yoongi is. He also can’t remember the last time he had a casual conversation that wasn’t about work or clients or things related to the court. They’re both workaholics to the core — the only difference is that Hoseok has better habits than Yoongi.   “Okay, okay. I’ll make sure to get the biggest cake when it’s your birthday again and I’ll tell Y/N and Jimin to make it big. We’ll have a festa honouring you.”   Min Yoongi grumbles. It’s amusing how young he looks, like a boy who could pass as a middle school student, yet his personality is that of an old man’s. There are occasional bursts of energy that course through his small body, mostly when he’s teasing and bothering Sunyi for his own enjoyment. But a lot of the time, Yoongi comes across as tired and lethargic. Not a lot of people know, but Hoseok has always been sort of a battery pack for his friend.   They’ve been friends for a long while, having articled at the same place together years ago while they were students-at-law, much like Jungkook is now. The two men both understand each other the most since they share a passion in work. Hoseok has always been more resilient against stress and acts as a stable pillar for Yoongi to lean on. On the other hand, Yoongi is one of the few that know about Hoseok’s true nature and the struggle of how being the strict boss contrasts against his personality.   “You can relax, you know,” he comments while fiddling with a few snack bags on the table.   “I am relaxed.”   “You’re watching.”   “Well, it’s my job, right?”   “You shouldn’t feel so pressured to be the boss all the time.” Yoongi bites into a s’more and hums in approval. He stacks four more onto his plate and then follows Hoseok back to the corner of the room where it’s quieter. “Jimin and you play weird games of bad cop and good cop and I think you’ve been bad cop for too long.”   The corner of his mouth tugs. “Then maybe we should make you a partner of the firm so you can be bad cop.”   “I wouldn’t be a cop,” Yoongi corrects and chews thoughtfully before inspecting the next graham cracker s’more to make sure none of the kids put random shit on it. “I’d be an army sergeant.”   “Oh please, you can act tough all you want, but you’re a squishy marshmallow, Min.”   The lawyer narrows his eyes. “You’re beginning to sound like Sunyi.”   Hoseok laughs, putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder again. “Thank you for your consideration, Yoongi.” The moment his lips pucker, Yoongi’s already trying to pull away, bending backwards and disgusted by the idea of Hoseok’s mouth plastering on his cheek. They push and pull, making Yoongi groan and yell something about sexual harassment and filing a report with you before Hoseok giggles and lets go.   “Oh please, you act like we haven’t spanked each other before.”   “Don’t remind me,” he mutters. “And don’t remind Jimin either.”   When the two men laugh boisterously and happily, Yoongi infected by Hoseok’s giggles, it catches your attention and you look over. A smile spreads across your face to see that they’re enjoying themselves. And even though you return to playing with Taehyung’s cousins and Seulgi’s younger brother, your ears are perked and hyper aware, capturing each of the man’s sounds, voice and laughter, whether you want to or not.   //   The little office party continues into the night. The catering arrives and everyone forms a line at the buffet table, balancing plates of food on their hands. There’s also karaoke and somehow Lisa convinced Yoongi to sing Santa Baby, and he’s decided to serenade an embarrassed Sunyi who was trying to braid Naul’s granddaughter’s hair. The hired Santa also arrives right on time. Jimin wanted to be Santa, but you didn’t think it would be appropriate since not only were kids sitting on his lap, but also Taehyung and Jin. The troublemakers also peer pressured tipsy Namjoon and Jungkook to sit on Santa’s lap and tell the stranger what they hope is in his red sack when he comes to visit their home at night.   In the meanwhile, you’re finally taking a break and standing back to observe the masses.   “You did a good job.” Hoseok slides beside you, handing you a cup of eggnog that you take gratefully, but you’re still caught off guard from his praise.   “I-it’s nothing, really.”   “No, we haven’t had such a great office party in so long.” He turns with a smile. “You sure you don’t want to permanently switch into party planning?”   You grin at him. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily, Jung. I’m going to stay here as HR for a long time.”   “Good.” There’s a slight pause. “Is there anything you want for Christmas?”   “What do you mean?” The office didn’t do Secret Santa or any kind of exchange of presents this time around. You thought there was already a lot going on this year and you didn't want to pressure anyone to give gifts.   Hoseok shrugs. “If it weren’t for you, Jimin would try to organize something and get stressed and he would come to me complaining. You save the two of us a lot of trouble. And you gave this office a party, so maybe I can give you something in return...if it’s in my ability of course.”   A hum leaves your throat and you pretend to think. “How about an apartment complex?”   He scoffs. “I don’t think so.”   “Then a raise?” It starts off as a joke, but when he doesn’t immediately laugh it off, you stand straighter, unable to resist the glimmer of hope that seeps into your irises.   “Hmm….” The edge of his lip pulls into a smirk. “We'll see about that.”   “Wait. Really?!”   “Maybe.” Jung Hoseok throws a brief wink in your direction. “No promises.”   Your mouth draws open. But before you can make any reply, Dahyun has padded across the room in quick steps, holding a white note in her hand. “Hoseok, there’s someone here for you.”   He frowns, taking the note and opening it. “Who?”   “Me.” Someone glides into sight with her high heels skimming along the carpet. Her red dress hugs her frame and curves, honey blonde locks draping over her shoulder, arms crossed and black purse slung on her shoulder. You recognize her immediately, only she’s more put together this time.   Hoseok’s brows raise. “Wendy?”   Dahyun dips her head, taking the cue to leave. The woman’s red stained lips expand into a smile and she reaches over, giving a hasty squeeze before parting away from the lawyer. “Thought you run out on me permanently.” Her eyes roam towards you and her pretty eyes become even bigger. “And who is this?”   “I’m Y/N.” You shake her hand, musing how dainty and soft it is. “I work here as HR.”   “HR, huh?” Wendy steps back and eyes you up and down once. “I’m Hoseok’s fiancée.”   There’s a moment of silence.   The woman bursts out laughing, throwing back her head, and Hoseok is at a complete loss for words. “No, she isn’t. She’s my old mentor,” he rushes to explain in frustration. “Can you please stop making that joke?”   “But I love the look on your face, kid.” She brushes him off and turns to you, covering her mouth with a single hand as if she could block him from hearing. “Don’t worry, I’m about twenty years too old for him.”   “Twenty?”   “I have nothing against large age gaps, but I prefer my men mature,” she disses Hoseok with a cackle. “And between you and me, I’m turning fifty two this year. But between me and the rest of the world, I’m still in my late twenties.”   “Th-that’s amazing. You look really young.” You’re completely baffled, not able to detect a wrinkle on her face, only faint lines that you thought were from smiling so much. “I mean….really young. I thought you were younger than me.”   “I love her already.” Wendy briefly grins at Hoseok. “You flatter me too much, but trust me, it’s all the expensive creams and makeup.” Her perfectly manicured fingernail points to her face. “None of this is real, but no one needs to know that.”   “Wendy?” Jimin approaches with a drink in hand. His cheeks are dusted pink and you wonder if Seokjin snuck in a bottle of vodka somewhere. You swore you saw something underneath his desk earlier.   “There you are!” The older woman goes over to hug the brunette. “I can’t believe you didn’t invite your most important client to such a great party.”   You frown, confused at the development. “Client?”   “I’m getting a divorce,” she says to you and waves her hand. “My soon-to-be bastard of an ex-husband had an affair with my sister. It’s terribly complicated and disgusting, so let’s not get into too much detail.” She shifts on her heel and glares at both lawyers in front of you. “I thought who would be better than to deal with my messy divorce than the firm of my smartest mentee. Looks like I was wrong.”   “It’s only for employees,” Jimin giddly giggles out, a bit drunk from the eggnog. “It didn’t even cross my mind that you would want to come.”   “You should know how lonely I am these days.” Wendy wipes a fake tear away from her lower lash line. “But on another note, my secretary called. You wanted me to sign something?”   His eyes light up in recognition and he hums, drinking the rest of his cup before setting it down on the nearby table. “Let me go grab it.”   The man saunters off towards his office and the older woman is left longingly staring at his empty cup, unusually quiet for a while. Then after a deep inhale, she looks off at you. “Say….where can I get myself a drink like that?”   “You’re not allowed to drink,” Hoseok spits out.   Her arched brow lifts. “Says who.”   “Me.” He is unamused. “You’re a liability when you drink and I really can’t help your case if you’re sued for sexual harassment. Plus, I have a responsibility to protect my employees.”   The almost-divorcee snaps at him like it isn’t her fault. “If you’re ever in my position, Jung, you’ll learn how desperate you become when you’re lonely.”   Hoseok rolls it off his shoulders, not granting any leeway. “Yeah, well, there are kids around. This isn’t a bar or adult party. You’re in my office right now, so you go by my rules.”   “What are you trying to insinuate? That I can’t handle my drink?”   “That you would fool around with a lamp if you’re drunk enough.”   While they bicker back and forth, you watch the exchange between them, trying to observe the dynamic of their relationship. Though it doesn’t take long before you’re interrupted and she spins to face you like you can help defend her position. “These accusations!”   “Y/N.” Hoseok is visibly becoming exhausted and his voice is pleading. “Is there any non alcoholic eggnog left?”   You hitch your thumb over your shoulder, already turning. “I’ll go check.”   “Thank you.”   Wendy grumbles in dissatisfaction. Yet, she helplessly complies and watches you stroll away. Hoseok becomes quieter as well, eyes still pinned at your backside without you noticing, and the woman steals the opportunity when it’s just the two of them. She finally asks the question that’s been on the tip of her tongue ever since she caught sight of you. “Is that your girl?”   The scrunch between his brows is made immediately. “Pardon?”   “She’s a cute one,” the woman muses. “Very pretty and seems like the sweet type.”   “She’s my employee.”   “Never stopped anyone.”   “It’s unprofessional and inappropriate.”   “Doesn’t have to be if you’re responsible enough.”   Hoseok is completely done with the exuberant lady and is ready to call it quits when he offers one last sullen expression. “Didn’t you tell me a long time ago not to shit where I eat?”   “Well, you eat and shit at home and no one cares.” The woman shrugs, not having much regard for boundaries anymore when her dry spell has lasted for ten years due to her shitty spouse. “Maybe you’ve just found that home.”   “You are unbelievable.” Hoseok disregards her with a sigh and slight smile, shaking his head.   “You’ve become too jaded,” she notes and coos at him, “The Hoseok I knew from five years ago was bright and bubbly. He was cheerful, positive, and maybe a bit too loud for my eardrums.”   Part of him wants to say that he’s still those things, except he doesn’t feel like arguing. “Well...things change.”   “I’m not so sure about that.” Wendy smirks. “Before I interrupted you, it seems like you were having a good old dandy time. Haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time.” She pats his shoulder once. “Good to have you back, Hoseok.”   Jimin returns with the paper and she signs it. Hoseok is stuck contemplating on what she said, what Yoongi said as well, and he doesn’t notice when you come back with the drink. Wendy soon closes up the conversations, citing that she has some place to be and she needs to pick up her daughter before her soon-to-be ex-husband brainwashes the child into hating her own mother, something Wendy doesn’t doubt he would do. You nod and she hugs you, letting you know with a whisper in your ear that it was a pleasure to meet you. She doesn’t even bid goodbye to Hoseok and Jimin when she saunters away and the former mutters something about her being cruel.   Just like that, the party returns in full swing. Eventually, you find yourself standing next to Seulgi’s younger brother who you pulled away from the corner a few hours ago, away from his phone, and now keeps glancing at you. You’re merciful enough to pretend not to notice, though it’s beginning to make you sweat.   “So….” He tries to break the ice and you commemorate his bravery. “Do you have a boyfriend?”   Seulgi would probably not appreciate her younger sibling’s antics at the moment.   “How old are you?”   “Old enough….” His cheeks become rosy and he adds, “....in a few months.”   “Y/N.” Someone thankfully saves the day since the last thing you want to do is politely reject someone’s advances at a holiday party, and a teenager at that who’s at risk of feeling insecure. The angel that rescues you is standing just a meter to your left and you’re practically holding a sign that reads ‘thank you’. “Would you like to discuss that raise now?”   “Y-yes, of course.” You bid the teenager goodbye before walking off with the man that has his black dress shirt tucked in his dress pants, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as usual. His hair is gelled back to reveal his forehead, except for a section of his bangs that curl into a comma shape. Yet, even when he appears incredibly professional for a casual dress code, the plate stacked with a tower of cookies contrasts against his appearance.   “I had to wrestle this away from the kids,” he tells you quietly and you stifle back a laugh.   “Are we really going to discuss the raise?”   “Nah, maybe some other time if you don’t mind. Just thought you should get a break.” Hoseok leads you to the elevator and pushes the button to the ninth floor. “You seem tired.”   You’re surprised at his observational skills and consideration. “I’m not feeling too bad.”   “You didn’t invite anyone? No family?”   You shake your head. “I’m going home over the holidays anyway, so I’ll be spending a lot of time with my mom.”   “That’s good.” Hoseok also decided not to invite his sister, lest she come in and make an embarrassment of himself in front of the entire firm and have her treat him like a literal baby. He was going home too and there would be plenty of time for the siblings to re-acquaint themselves and want to rip each other’s heads off by the end of the week.   The elevator doors part and you’re met with a completely vacant floor. The walls are empty, space unoccupied, carpet illuminated by the outside light pollution and it’s peacefully silent.   “It’s...empty?”   Hoseok hums and walks off to where the windows take up the entire wall. He opens the latch at the bottom that lets a sliver of air into the floor. You can hear the cars rushing past, the white noise of the metropolis drowning in the back. “It’s been up for rent for the past month. No one’s here, so it’s a nice and quiet place.”   The city view is absolutely phenomenal, the entire skyline and lit skyscrapers are right in front of your eyes. It’s a beautiful onlook of the city. The lights twinkle together like stars, giving you a sense of what a modern picturesque painting would look like.   You sit down on the carpet and Hoseok plops beside you, cookies placed in between.   Soon, the sound of chewing blurs together with the noise of tires on highways.   “Thanks,” you murmur.   “For what?”   “I don’t know.” You shrug, thanking him for being so kind, for being so friendly when he has no reason to. But all you manage to say is— “This.”   A grin draws on his face and he reaches for another sugar cookie. “It’s what friends are for, right?”   “....friends?”   “Well, I’m still your boss and you’re my employee, but you told me that we were friends once, right?”   A sense of sad nostalgia hits you and it makes you sadder that you’re the only one who feels it, that he has absolutely no recollection. “Yeah….we were.”   “It’s easy to talk to you,” he admits quietly mid-chew and you fiddle with the hem of your sweater. “Sometimes I’m afraid I lost myself, but with you….I don’t really feel that way anymore.” Hoseok quirks his head to the side, a sharp inhale taken from the seams of his sugary lips and it’s almost like he’s commenting to himself, “I bet we were close.”   “Nah. Not really.” You laugh and your knees gather together, eyes still staring out at the city and soaking in the breaktaking sight.   “You know, I wish I had your job,” he says out of the blue.   “Why?” You’re smiling already and you reach out for a cinnamon cookie on the plate, snapping as you bite down and the sweet taste exploding on your tongue.   “You’re the fun one around here,” he whines childishly. “Planning parties and retreat trips and helping people with their problems.”   “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone call HR fun.” You giggle while finding a way to make him feel better. “I have to enforce a lot of the firm’s rules. I’m not that fun. And you can be fun too.”   “No, I can’t. I’m the mean, old boss around here.” His hands come out in front of him and his fingers wiggle like he’s going to attack you with tickles. “The devil.”   You laugh at how playful he’s being and you loll your head to one side. “Too bad no one knows that you’re really just a goofball.”   “I wouldn’t say a goofball.” He pouts exaggeratedly, bottom lip jutting out. You almost forgot that Jung Hoseok had a knack for being cringely cute and used to use that technique to get what he wanted, back in the days when his words weren’t so persuasive.   “Then a dork?”   He gasps theatrically, sitting straighter. “How can you call me that? I’ll fire you.”   “Jimin would never let you,” you tease him and his infamous pout returns while he licks the frosting off his thumb and picks a gingerbread cookie out of the pile next. If the pair of you end up with cavities before the end of the year, you wouldn’t be surprised, but you’re enjoying the moment too much to stop. “If you really want, we can do a job switch. I would be more than happy to be a boss for a day.”   “And risk you ruining all our client files?” The lawyer shakes his head. “You’d probably piss yourself in front of the court and ruin our name forever. I can already see the headlines: ‘lawyer soils pants in front of judge’.”   He laughs hysterically at the idea much to your dismay. “Hey! I am….decent at public speaking, okay?!”   He’s still chortling, cheeks aching and he continues with the upper hand, “You could never be the boss. No one would take you seriously. You’re too cute.” Hoseok’s clean hand lifts to affectionately pull on your cheek in the gentlest of touches. You jab at his ribs and he jolts away with a yell.   Your cheeks heat up unwarranted. “I’ll sue for verbal abuse!”   “Calling you cute is verbal abuse?” He eyes you and you’re fully aware that he doesn’t mean it flirtatiously. He’s always been friendly, outgoing, and upbeat. In his heyday, a lot of people would become mistaken from his personality, so you know better than to take the comment to heart.   “You’re giving me psychological trauma. Plus, I know plenty of lawyers who would be happy to sue you.” You put your hands on your hips. “They just so happen to be on the lower floor right now.”   Hoseok laughs loudly at your insinuation of his employees celebrating at the idea of suing him in court. He backs off right away. “Okay, maybe so, but we’re not in the workplace right now. Last I checked, this is after hours and we’re technically no longer in the firm.”   “We’re still in a five hundred meter radius and you’re still technically my boss.”   “You’re gonna need some kind of witness or evidence so your case isn’t built purely on hearsay.”   It’s quiet for a long moment. You’re not sure how you’ll win this battle and after thinking, all you come up with is a mumbled— “.....dammit.”   Hoseok laughs again and then he pats his chest several times where his heart should be. “Don’t worry. I won’t give you a reason to sue me, but if you ever need to sue someone, hire me. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, you know. I don’t just offer my services to anyone. Now I know my specialty is in divorce matters, but I still have a wide skill set.”   “The only person I would ever need to sue is you.” The mischievous glint in your irises are unmistakable. “And you obviously can’t be my lawyer if I’m suing you.”   “You’re right.” Hoseok grins happily, a faint dimple pressed in his cheek. “That would be an obvious conflict of interest.”   The open sliver of air lets in a cold breeze. You should be shivering from the winter wind that nips at your nose and brings chills to your spine, frost bites that nibble at your skin. But when you’re doing something as simple as sitting next to Hoseok on a quiet floor, you can’t feel anything cold inside or out.   It’s warm.

What the Heart Wants, Chapter 2

What the Heart Wants, Chapter 1

ANS Week, Day 2: Rain Dark | Impactful | Nourishing | Fresh

Wilant will always be a pleasant diversion, a breath of fresh air when court life gets too stale --

But Zen breathes easier in Wistal.

Shirayuki may be happy in her scarves and stockings three layers thick, her bed stacked high with flannel blankets and down-stuffed quilts, but for Zen -- for Zen, home will always be the warm sun on his skin and the scent of honeysuckle and wisteria wafting through open windows. It is the cobbled streets of the city and the marbled halls of the castle, the calm, starry nights, and the strawberries so fresh they’re still sour from the vine.

Izana clearly feels the same; the moment they ride past the check point, his shoulders ease, his seat more natural on his steed. When he walks Wistal’s halls, still dirt-splattered from the road, there’s a spring in his step, a surety in his gait that is too marked to be purposeful.

He is a king, and this is the seat of his power. Even as a prince, Zen feels it too; that subtle shift in the air that infuses him with the confidence of his station. Obi’s reminded him all too many times -- on the road or in an inn, he is anonymous, a man like any other traveler, and a knife kills a prince just as easily as a swineherd. But here, here --

Here he is Zen Wisteria, Second Prince of Clarines. It chafes as much as it comforts.

Do not take too much heart in the thought, Izana had drawled at the observation, enjoying his disguise as Lowen, court pharmacist, far too much. Father died at home as well.

As if he could forget.

Mother comes with them to Wistal.

He’s not sure of the specifics behind the decision -- he was only privy to what he assumes was Izana’s last-ditch effort; a quiet lunch where Mother acquiesced without much struggle or fanfare. The only protest she gave was the token, tired sigh of, but I am not sure why I must needs convalesce in the city.

“It would set our minds at ease, Mother,” Izana tells her, but Zen recognizes the tone, recognizes the smile lurking at corner of his mouth.

It’s a good opportunity for her, he had said, years ago now, as the books in his office pressed in around them. A place for her to hone her skills, to make connections.

He had, of course, not said what he meant: A place where she will not be near you.

Zen is older now, more experienced in the subtle manipulations that oil the gears of this court – he hears what isn’t said:

It would set our minds at ease to know you aren’t near that man.

It’s him that Mother turns to when she has run out of her arguments, gaze patient and inquisitive, as if asking him to make the decision for her. As if asking whether he will allow her to be taken, as Shirayuki was from him. As if asking if he will let this trap spring for her as well.

The smile he wears doesn’t fit his mouth as he says, “You should come.”

She blinks once, almost as if taken aback, before her expression is once again inscrutably polite.

“Should I?” she murmurs faintly, lifting a delicate cup to her lips.

“Of course,” he presses. “Wistal is so nice in the summer.”

Her knuckles are white when she sets down her tea. “I suppose it would be nice. I have so missed the gardens…”

Mother’s garden sits in the South Wing, walled on two sides to keep it private from the larger, public gardens on the other side. If he’d stood on one of the delicate wicker traps mother called chairs, he’d be able to see the roofs of the pharmacy, maybe even the window shyly tucked back from the main thoroughfare that had marked Shirayuki’s office when she was in Wistal.

He hadn’t tried, of course – these things were barely safe to sit on, more for decoration than habitual use, no matter what Mother tried to convince him of – but just the knowledge of it warms him, makes him feel closer to her even when she’s miles away, in a city only now starting to melt at summer’s height.

It almost makes these teas worthwhile.

A breeze gently rustles through the garden, shaking the wisteria overhead, and Mother tilts her head back, letting it cover her sigh. Zen’s too used to her habits, too used to these useless teas, and he sees it for what it is, for what the deep set of the lines on her face mean. 

How strange it is, to see someone suffer in paradise. 

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, as he always does – it is the one thing Izana will ask after, catching him on the hall to some appointment or another, is Mother feeling recovered? Her answer is always the same.

“I feel quite well,” she tells him in her mild way, fond smile curling her lips. “As I have since I was rescued. I promise, I am not covering for any foul treatment done by our kidnappers.”

He hums, feigning agreement. “You know how Izana is. He wants to make sure you’re safe.”

“I am safe as I am anywhere.” She takes a sip of tea, eyebrows raised. “Surely you do not think I am some stranger to abduction? Why weren’t we both --”

“I don’t remember,” he lies, heat creeping up his neck. He doesn’t need to be reminded of the time they nearly both were carted off to Sama when he was hardly old enough to hold a knife. Gods know, Izana remembers it enough for the both of them. “I was very young. But I’ll take your word for it, Mother.”

“I understand Izana’s caution,” she says after a moment. “But I’m afraid I still do not understand why he feels I should be kept at Wistal. After all, my allergy…” She gives a theatric sneeze.

Zen’s mouth pulls flat. He knows – it is the same reason Izana has kept him here, all these years. They have a chronic habit of loving inappropriately; a condition his brother thinks can only be cured through quarantine and distraction.

For once, Zen hopes he is right.

“Well,” he starts, dropping his serviette as he stands. “Tea was lovely, as always, but –“

“You must get back to business.” She smiles, too knowing. “A man cannot run a country by himself.”

No, but he can certainly send his brother to distract their mother alone just fine.

Annoyance spikes in him. It was Izana’s grand idea to bring her here, but now it is solely Zen’s duty to entertain her, to keep her mind occupied on top of all his other duties. As if he has no other, more pressing work than to make sure their mother --

That their mother was not spending her days, forlornly gazing north, as she was right now. He sighs, fingers tapping at the table.

“I’m sure another letter from Shirayuki will arrive soon,” he offers, desperate. “It’s been a few weeks.”

Mother smiles, faint. “That would be nice.”

“You seem to be getting along well,” he adds. He had never thought about his -- his someone having a significant relationship with his mother, not when he barely had more than a fondly cordial one himself, but it was...nice. Izana’s doubts had made his own blossom, but his mother’s approval...

Well, it was nice not to be alone in this, for once.

“She’s a lovely girl,” his mother agrees. “She’s giving me some wonderful advice about how to fix up this garden of mine.”

He glances around, unable to find any obvious change, but nods. “I’m...glad. I’ve always found her to be...”

“Special?” his mother offers, when he cannot find the word. “I agree. I like her quite a lot, and it would be...” Mother hesitates, as if trying on the words, to see if they might fit. “...most pleasing to me, if we were to grow close.”

For once, the knot in his chest eases. “That would please me too.”

She hums, a smile lingering about her lips. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Oh!” He coughs, trying to cover his flush. “Right. Yes. I -- I will see you soon.”

“Tea tomorrow,” she reminds him.

“Right, yes.” He nods. “Tea tomorrow.”

He reaches for the door to the castle, only to have it jump from his hands. He looks up startled, and meets wide amber and slit pupils.

“Obi?” It’s not fair to meet him this way, when he’s at the bottom at the stairs and Obi’s at the top. He’s tall enough as it is.

“Master!” Shock melts to a sly smirk, mouth rucked at one corner. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“I’m the surprise?” he shrills. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Lyrias?”

His eyes dart to one corner, the picture of innocence. “His Lordship had reports he needed delivered to Sir Zakura, and he said I was his fastest messenger.”

There’s a boast in that, but there’s no refuting that Obi moves faster than a man should be able to on the roads. It’s best not to think about; things like that can keep a man up at night. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here. At my mother’s private garden.”

“Ah!” Obi lifts a hand, rubbing at the back of his head. “Yes, well…Miss sent me with a letter too. Said I should deliver it personally.” He smiles, sheepish. “You know how she is.”

Zen nods. “Good, I think my mother could use the good news today. She’s been a little listless since the last.”

Obi’s mouth quirks at the corner. “Oh, I’m sure this will put her in a chipper mood.” He winks. “Don’t you worry.”

Mother doesn’t call him for tea the next day. It worries him for a while – she had been so out of sorts, after all – but Obi distracts him before he heads back north, taking him out for street food in the city and drinks and not returning him until the night shift has already started. By the time he receives the invitation the next day, Zen’s feeling steady enough on his feet to chance it. Besides, tea has always settled his stomach.

At least, that’s what he thinks, up until he sees his brother lounging at the table, long legs spread out across the brick like a brag.

Zen stomps across the garden, dropping himself down into the chair next to him. “What are you doing here?”

Izana holds out a hand, as if encompassing the garden without moving a finger. “Mother invited me.”

“Mother always invites you,” he grouses, “you just never come.”

“Well,” Izana hums, “today she especially requested my presence. So I have come.”

Zen takes in a breath, but when he goes to speak –

“Good,” Mother calls out, tremulous smile on her lips. “You are both here.”

“Of course,” Izana says smoothly, smile just curling his lips, “I come when you call, Mother.”

Zen stares. Honestly.

Mother smiles knowingly. “How kind of you.”

Izana’s eyes narrow. “Is something --?”

“I only wished to let you know,” Mother pushes out, as if every word was an effort. “That I will be marrying Mukaze.”

“You can’t just let this happen,” Zen blurts out when Mother has left. “You can’t just let her --”

“Perhaps you did not notice, darling brother,” Izana drawls, staring at his nails. “But Mother did not ask.”

“But you’re the king, you can just --” be high-handed, like always –

“I could.” He drums his fingers against the glass, parum-pum-pum-pum, the only part of himself he allows to move. “But I think you will find that will not stop her. We would only find a cold bed and a rope of bedsheets out the window.”

“She’s on the first floor,” Zen offers mildly.

“Then maybe she would leave a note,” Izana allows. “The point is, I may be the king, but she was once queen, and there’s hardly a court between here and Viande that would not give her sanctuary.”

“But Mukaze is a fugitive in Tanbarun!” he presses, hoping his brother has forgotten just how he came by that knowledge. “And an exiled nobleman to boot. Surely King Shenezard –“

“I am aware of just what King Shenezard will think about that,” Izana cuts in. “This is not about stopping Mother. We can’t. It is about mitigating the damage.”

“You can’t just --”

Izana holds up a hand. “There is nothing I cannot do brother. And if making this disaster of a marriage into something feasible is what Mother wants, then it is what will be done.” He hesitates, and says, softer, “It’s what she deserves.”

Zen frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Izana stands, a wistful smile at the corner of his lips. “Good. Then I have done one thing right.”

Despite how he argues, not a single ear will listen to reason. Not his brother, not his mother, and – most surprisingly – not Haruka, who merely waves him away and asks him if he does not have something better to do with his time. Zen can’t countenance it; for years he’s been all but forbidden from making Shirayuki his wife, told that she needs to prove herself –

And now his mother is going to marry her father. The mountain vigilante.

Time marches onward, and in all too short a measure, Zen find himself waiting at the Starlight Gate to received their illustrious guests. They have come from all over – dignitaries from Viande, from Ivora, from Sama, even Ambassador Prak, who offers his mother the most heartfelt of congratulations from Her Most High herself. It’s not until the last day that the visitors from Lyrias arrive, a great party that is a dozen carriages at least, full of half the most powerful players in the North, all come to see their queen remarried.

It is no surprise that Haki alights from one of the first carriages, Makiri’s arm looped in hers. Mother greets her warmly, a kiss on both her cheeks.

“You look well,” Mother gushes. With a sideways look, she adds, “Doesn’t she, Izana?”

His brother looks fit to choke, but he covers it well, his expression warm as Mother passes his fiancée to him. “Of course. You look radiant as always, Mistress Haki.”

He lifts her hand to kiss it, earning him a warm look in return. “His Majesty is too kind.”

“Perhaps,” Mother wonders aloud, as Haki is passed on to Zen, “we might look forward to a double wedding this week.”

Haki’s pale face flushes vibrant red, and Izana looks much the same. “Mother –“

“I am merely speculating,” she says easily, turning to the next guest. “After all, you don’t seem to know how to end an engagement –“

“Mother!”

“Oh look,” she gushes, turning her back to them. “It’s Duke Rodatrad.”

Mukaze comes not in a carriage, but on horseback, flanked by the whole of the Mountain Lions. They are, at least, well-dressed; still, Izana looks nearly faint at the prospect of his mother’s husband’s impropriety.

He sweeps off his horse, up the steps until he can hold Mother close to him, no air between them, and –

“Yuck,” Kazuki groans, echoing the sentiment of both royal sons. “Yuck.”

Itoya reaches over, cuffing the back of his head. “Be respectful.”

Kazuki frowns, but relents with a much quieter, “Gross.”

It is of course the carriage he is waiting for most that is last. Shirayuki sways down the steps, smile bright, if tremulous, and accepts the embrace his mother offers. Obi stays a respectful distance back; he’s not a guest, per se, but a guard.

Zen wants to rush to greet her, to hold her as close as his mother does, but –

“Dear sister,” Izana drawls, pulling her into his arms. “I’m so pleased that our families are finally joining.”

“T-thank you…brother,” she murmurs awkwardly as she steps out of his embrace. “I’m…glad for it, as well.”

It is midnight when someone rouses him, one of Izana’s personal staff that urges him to don appropriate attire and meet at the Poet’s Gate. Zen knows better than to balk, though he does grumble as he fumbles with his pants, nearly knocking over the lamp on his beside table.

He makes it just in time to stand alone on the portico as the carriage arrives, unmarked and pitch black, blending in with the night. It’s an effect rendered wholly unnecessary the moment its occupant opens his mouth.

“There now, Sakaki,” Raj crows, far too loud, as he spies Zen’s shocked face. “Did I not tell you we would be the best surprise of all?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“It would be better,” Izana drawls, unfurling from the shadows, “if you were the best secret as well.”

Against all odds, Raj pinks in the moonlight. “O-of course! No one is as circumspect as me! Isn’t that right, Sakaki?”

Izana’s disapproval is so weighty, not even the prince’s manservant dares break it.

“Come then,” he says finally. “Let us go to my office and settle this.”

“There is of course, one formality that must be take care of before the…festivities may begin,” Izana says, fixing his gaze on Mukaze, who bears it as well as any man could. “You may have been a vigilante for the past two decades, but you were a lord’s heir once. Certainly you are not insensible to what must be done.”

Mukaze eyes him. “I certainly have a few ideas about what you may be asking.”

“Your claims in Tanbarun,” Raj interjects nervously. “You must relinquish them.”

His eyes narrow. “I was already disinherited. I don’t see what I have to --”

“Both of you,” Izana says calmly, his gaze sliding to where Shirayuki sits beside her father. She stares at him, wide-eyed, and oh, how Zen wants to go to her, wants to tell her –

“It’s up to you, kid.” Mukaze looks down at her, eyes soft in a hard face. “I’m not getting that title. But you could. It’s your future.”

He doesn’t hear it, but he sees her lips move as she lays her hand on his arm. Dad.

“I don’t want it,” she says, so soft. Her fingers grip tighter. “I don’t know that life. It’s not mine. This is.”

“Kid --”

“Be happy, Dad.” His hand lays over hers. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I will,” he promises, watery. “What do we need to do?”

Raj snaps, and Sakaki lays out an official-looking document on the desk.

“Sign this,” the prince says. “It relinquishes your claim and the claim of both your issue.”

Shirayuki frowns. “Issue?”

“Children,” Raj manages, awkwardly. “And grandchildren. And so forth.”

She hesitates then, but –

“It’s all right, kid,” Mukaze says. “You don’t have to –“

Her name scrawls across the page, aggressive and bold. “Done. There isn’t anything to miss.”

Mukaze reaches out to her, her hand clasped in his. “Shirayuki –“

“And now that that business is done,” Izana begins, stepping around the desk, paper in his hands. “It is my duty to give you this.”

Mukaze takes the scroll in his hand, breaking the seal. His brows furrow as he reads its contents. “What is this?”

“Think of it as a wedding gift,” his brother says, smile lurking at the edge of his lips.

Mukaze stares, as if the words no longer make sense. “Is this…?”

“The rights to land along the Tanbarun border, as well as the parcels contained therein.” Izana shrugs. “The incomes are nothing to be too excited about, but I doubt you are over-concerned with that, Earl Orundel.”

“Earl,” Mukaze breathes. “You want to make me an earl.”

“No, you are an earl.” Izana’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “I know, it is a demotion after margrave, but –“

“What do you want?” Mukaze demands. “This can’t – you can’t –“

“Mukaze.” Izana lays a hand on his shoulder. “My mother cannot marry a common man.”

“He never was,” Mother murmurs, catching Mukaze’s hand in hers. “He has always been more.”

“Of course.” Izana’s face grows soft, looking at them. “But this is not about the content of his character, but politics. You know you must accept this.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “I know. I know.” He takes in a deep breath. “Fine. Earl it is.”

It’s a bad idea, he knows, but – Obi catches his elbow in the hall, and winks, says, come on, Master, you need a drink –

And then he’s stumbling through the garden, alcohol buzzing through his veins, making his thoughts too loud, drowning out the words that Mitsuhide says, Kiki’s sharp answer –

“Oh well, you know His Majesty is happy,” Obi’s voice cuts through the noise. “You should have heard him when he first saw. I’ve always wanted a sister.”

It’s not thoughts that buzz through him but anger – this isn’t fair, it’s not, not when he’s waited so long, been so patient –

His gaze swings up, sees lights on, and –

And he’s tired of being so dutiful.

“Zen.” His brother only manages to summon mild surprise. “You’re here. And…intoxicated.”

“I’m not,” he snaps, the slam of the door punctuating his sentence. “Intoxicated, I mean. I’m here.”

“Clearly,” Izana drawls, eyebrows raised. “Though to what purpose –“

“You know what purpose,” Zen spits, the anger nearly choking him. “You told me – you said for years – that you couldn’t just – just – hand respectability to Shirayuki, that she had to prove herself. And then to her father, you hand a county!”

“And all its constituent titles and parcels, yes.” He settles back, far too comfortable. “Is there a point you wish to come to?”

“You didn’t want me to marry Shirayuki!”

He expects the accusation to slap, to make his brother recoil in confrontation, but –

“I never made a secret of that, brother.” Izana stares at him like he is the one being confusing. “She had no title, and no contacts. When she arrived here, she had no known skills, and was fleeing her own country for defying its prince. And you wanted me to make her a princess.”

“Shirayuki is a good person –“

“Of course she is,” Izana agrees, derisive. “But you could not have known that, not truly, in less than a month. And all the good intentions in the world would not give her what was needed to become a contender for your wife.” He looks at him. “It is not our lot in life to marry for love, but for Clarines.”

“She would be good for Clarines --”

“Perhaps.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “But would Clarinese have been good for her?”

The question catches him off-guard – he’d never thought of that, of what it would mean for Shirayuki to be his wife –

But that wasn’t the point.

“And Mukaze is good for Clarines?” He huffs, barely able to breathe through his rage. “And now that she is his heir, that she’ll one day be --”

“If you were paying attention, she is Viscountess in her own right.” Izana eyes him, disappointed. “But are you asking if now she would make for a good match? A viscountess would be too low, even for a prince, but an eventual countess – yes. I would have considered it.”

“Then --”

“But brother cannot marry sister,” Izana remind him. “Lest you have forgotten our laws.”

“We aren’t --”

“In every way that will matter, you are.” He sounds almost…sad. “Even if I wanted to, I could not give my blessing now.”

“All these years, and you just – just hand a title to her father, to what? Play with me?”

“Play with you?” Izana stands, looming over him. “Do not dare put this on me, brother. You could have married her at any time, had you done what mother did.”

Zen laughs, not kindly. “Just tell you it was happening? I would have love to have seen --”

“No.” Izana’s face is cloudy. “Been willing to risk your title on your herbalist girl. But you never dared.”

There is nothing he can say to that.

“I had always wondered if you would,” Izana admits, sitting down. “But in the end, it doesn’t matter. You cannot, not now.”

Anger has burnt the alcohol from his veins when he reaches the gardens outside the west wing, The windows are dark in the rooms – Mitsuhide and Kiki might be sleeping, but Obi is still out prowling, he assumes. Shirayuki turned in early, just after dinner.

He finds a rock, large enough to fly true and small enough to not leave evidence. He throws it, wishing there was some wind to pick up his cloak dashingly in the moonlight when it raps against her window.

It takes eight for her to actually come.

“Zen?” she murmurs, sleepy eyes opening wide. “What are you doing here?”

“Come down,” he says beseechingly. “I wanted to see you. To talk.”

She hesitates, then nods.

It’s been months since he’s seen her, and he feels every one of them in silence that settles between them. She keeps pace beside him as easy as ever, but still - still --

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he says.

She nods eagerly. “Oh, good, I was – I thought it was me.”

“No, it’s this – the marriage,” Zen says. “I almost feel like I don’t know how to act.” How I’m supposed to act.

“Me too.” A smile breaks wide across her face. “But they’re so happy. And I’m – I’m happy for them, whatever else it means --”

“Shirayuki.” He grabs her hand, pulling her back. “This is our only chance.”

“What?”

Her breath brushes against his lips, and that’s all he needs to bend down, to press his lips her hers. She surges up into him, hands clutching at his tunic, and he pulls away.

“Run away with me,” he gasps. “Tonight, before they can stop us.”

“I don’t --”

“Marry me.”

She stands frozen in front of him, stunned. Her mouth opens –

It is his brother’s voice that comes out. “What are you doing?”

Another Way

Reveal AU -- 3x02 -- The Tears of Uther Pendgragon Part 2

Merlin x Morgana

My little twist on it is where the reveal took place. I tried to seek a very terribly timed but still somewhat thematically appropriate place to place a reveal, and I decided on early-to-mid season 3. Because here Morgana is definitely edgier and a little more evil, but still has the potential for good. Idk, I think it’s an interesting line to walk. I hope you enjoy! I might make a couple more based off of this one if the response is good :)

“I thought… because she has magic, I thought we were the same”

“In some ways you are.”

“No. I will never be like her.”

“You have learnt an important lesson, Merlin. Your determination to see goodness in people will be your undoing. But I fear that your futures are now joined forever. She is the darkness to your light, the hatred to your love.”

He felt the darkness course through the roots, the very foundations of Camelot. It spread its way through the Earth, the soil of the city, and up through his body. His head lashed back of its own accord. It clawed up the walls, rumbling in its wake, and then the towers. He felt it reach the sky and thunder roared.

Merlin grimaced and began to run. The dead had risen, and he knew very well who did it.

~{(0)}~

He turned a corner, taking his pained breathing as yet further inspiration to get to his destination quickly. Every footfall took more from his reserves than any spell ever did.

“There are times, Merlin, when you display a sort of... I don't know what it is. I don't want to say... it's not wisdom. But, yes. That's what it is.”

It was a tad bit ironic, given what he was about to do. Arthur wouldn’t be all too happy, probably. But still... He flung his arm out and pulverized a skeleton, and another when it moved to block his path. He took a distinct, twisted pleasure in launching one out of a window. He would have to apologize to Arthur’s ancestors later.

“I don't have time. I need to get back to Camelot. The kingdom is in danger and...it's my fault. I should've listened to you. Should never have trusted Morgana.”

“You did what you felt was right, and that shows great courage, but trust is a double edged sword.”

He stood before the entrance to the catacombs. The gates were flung open, shredded by a force he knew to be magic. It lingered in the air, thick as the darkness he descended into. Merlin’s eyes were golden as he calmly took the steps down. There were skeletons hidden in the darkness but he did not bother with his hands. His magic tore them apart as he passed them.

There was light as he reached the bottom. It was unearthly, pale, a shadow of the sun’s own rays. The magic was putrid and foul and older than Kilgharrah himself. Merlin unsheathed his blade, useless as it would be. His steps were quiet as he turned the corner and saw her standing there. She was bathed in the light of shadows, a vision of twisted beauty. He knew whose fault that was.

He noted the wooden staff in the center of the room, from which the light had been birthed. Its form was as twisted as Morgana’s smile when her head turned to him. He knew from her eyes that she was beginning to comprehend just how significant he was, in the scheme of things. She was beginning to comprehend that he would never stop trying to stop her. She would be right.

Still, her old confidence hadn’t left her, warped as it had begun to become. “You should leave, while you still can.”

The castle rumbled in distress. Lightning’s light striking at the illumination of the moon. Brighter, angrier, more vicious. He thought, briefly, of Nimueh. Was he the lightning? Or was Morgana? Was she the moon and he the sky? The sky thundered, and his heart did too.

“Morgana, please. I beg you. Women and children are dying. The city will fall.”  

She didn’t falter much. “Good.”

Merlin wanted to huff, but that would hardly make things better. She was bluffing and he knew it. But still, his voice wavered. “No, you don’t mean that.”

She faltered then. “I have magic, Merlin. Uther hates me and everyone like me. Why should I feel any differently about him?”

It was strange that she was seeking validation from him, pleading in her own way. Not that she knew what that was like. Morgana had never had to beg for a thing in her life.

“You of all people could change Uther’s mind, but doing this? Using magic like this will only harden his heart.”

Her eyes narrowed in frustration. “You don’t have magic, Merlin. How could you even hope to understand?”

And there it was, the moment of truth. She would hate him, if he told her the truth. If she didn’t already. Merlin wondered if she had truly forgiven him for poisoning her. Did she understand? Would she have done the same?  He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Kilgharrah and Gaius weighed heavily on his mind. She would tell Uther, or worse still, Arthur.

“I do understand, believe me. If I had your gifts, I would harness them for good. That’s what magic should be for. That’s why you were born with these powers.”

She could scream in frustration, he could tell. He probably could scream in frustration too, but she couldn’t tell. He had been wearing a mask for longer.

She fumed. “You don’t know what it’s like to be an outsider. To be ashamed of how you were born, to have to hide who you are. Do you think I deserve to be executed because of who I am?”

His first memories were of being caressed and cuddled and coddled by his mother Hunith. She was a sweet woman who worked hard and gave him everything she could. His second memories were of his delight when he could summon toys to his hand, when he made candles glow. His third memories were of being called a bastard and not knowing what it meant, except that it made his mother cry.

He remembered being called a demon child. The other children told him he was born in a lightning storm, that he was evil. And when he cried, when he wailed because the things they said hurt, the skies would darken, and rain would fall, and the other children would run to their own families. And lightning would hammer the earth.

They got bolder as they got older though, and Merlin meeker. They would hurt him. They’d push him, punch him. They would throw things at him, too. Sometimes they made him bleed and he wanted nothing more than to hurt them in return but he wouldn’t. Because he was desperate to prove that he wasn’t a monster. He was just a normal boy.

But he wasn’t and he never would be. And he hid his magic, as best he could. But it was never enough. It always slipped from his tight, white-knuckled grasp. It struck out when he most desperately wished that it wouldn’t. And everytime the villagers became more suspicious. Not just resentful of him, but his own mother as well, for spawning a demon.

And his only reprieve from that pain had been Will, who joked him through it. Who took the blame for some of the mischief that Merlin’s magic caused. Will never treated him differently. He never lied to Merlin. Will had died for Merlin. If Merlin didn’t have a friend like Will, who risked a lot and risked it often for his sake, then Merlin would never have made it to Camelot.

Morgana never had that. He could have been that, but he was afraid. He was a coward, Merlin knew as much. Will wouldn’t have poisoned his friend. He would have found another way. But Merlin didn’t. He betrayed Morgana when she had put her entire life in his hand, and he crushed it.

The rumbling brought his attention back. Her eyes were studying his own. Her pupils were dilated and searching him for the truth. For once in his life, the truth. He would give it to her.

His voice cracked. “No, Morgana, you don’t deserve to be executed for who you are. No one does.”

Her eyes widened slightly. He had caught her completely off guard. She had expected him to condemn her for having magic. Is that what he had become?

He continued. “But it doesn’t have to be like this.” He stepped closer. “We can find another way.”

They stared at each other for a moment. For one brief second, a minute, a breath, they hoped that what he said was true.

“There is no other way.” Her voice was soft, but heavy with conviction.

He nodded at her words, and stepped back. She knew he wouldn’t give up. He made a move for the rowan staff, just to get her on the defensive. She had a sword raised quickly, and he did as well. He tapped his blade to hers and the fighting began. It was a bit of a performance on both their parts. He wasn’t aiming to harm her, and for some reason she wasn’t either.

Merlin smirked a little bit. “What are you going to do? Kill me?”

Morgana got a little competitive, but she was amused. “You don’t think I can?”

They struck at each other strongly, but not as strong as either of them should have. The crack of thunder outside dispelled any of Morgana’s hesitations or distractions. She struck her first true blow, and he blocked it. They weren’t playing anymore.

He went on the offensive, striking at her head from above, she blocked it and took advantage of his close proximity. She twisted her body around and moved to strike at his abdomen. Merlin jumped back, but the tip cut at his shirt and grazed his skin.

Morgana showed surprise. “You’ve gotten handy with a sword since I’ve been gone, Merlin.”

He pointed at the cut. “Not handy enough.”

She grinned despite herself. But not for long. She tacked on a little grimace and decided to bite at him. “Awfully good with poison though, I’ll tell you that.”

His face flickered as if she had struck him with the sword. It was the worst possible time for a conversation. The castle was under siege, Arthur could have been hurt. But Merlin felt it in his heart.

He dropped his sword. “I didn’t want to. You were my friend. You are still my friend, Morgana.”

She gaped at his dropped sword. He was clearly full of surprises. But she wouldn’t allow him the chance to blindside her. “So what happened Merlin? Couldn’t find another way? Or maybe you just wanted me to die because I had magic.”

He frowned. “Is that what you think of me, Morgana?”

“It’s what you’ve shown to me. Friend.”

She moved forward with her blade aimed at his throat. He didn’t move.

“If you’re going to kill me, make it quick.”

She was puzzled once more, but she didn’t show it this time.

“Why should I?”

The blade was touching his skin now.

“Because if you don’t I will stop you.”

“And just how do you plan on doing that, Merlin? You’re useless even with a sword.”

She was baiting Merlin, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He nudged the blade away from his throat and began to move forward.

“Because I do know what it’s like to be an outsider. I do know what it’s like to be ashamed of how I was born. And I already do have to hide who I am every day. Every. Single. Day.”

He was a step away from her, and she was looking up at him, startled but entranced by the way he spoke. This was no serving boy speaking.

“I can’t let anybody else get hurt Morgana. I’m a protector. I protected you too, once. I’m sorry that you made me hurt you. I’m sorry that I wasn’t a good friend to you. But I can’t let this go on.”

She moved to stab him but he knocked her away with a flash of his eyes. Not very much, not very hard, but enough that she was at a safe distance.

Her eyes didn’t turn gold in return. She was as stuck in place as the staff in the center of the room, staring at him. The room felt different. The magic shifted, and the torches became lit all at once, contrasting the pale light of the moon with a fiery hue. Merlin stood straighter, as if he was at last being honest with himself, admitting to a heritage older than time.

He locked a look with her, and gave her a moment to sear the gold of his eyes in her memory for all of time. He reached towards the rowan staff from where he stood, and pulled it towards him with magic. It flew to him with little hesitation, as if it had always been his servant. He took it in his hands firmly, and something gave in the atmosphere. The dark magic bristled, afraid of what was to come, but powerless to do anything about it, like Morgana herself.

Merlin raised a knee and slammed the staff to it, and with a spark, he tore it in half. Morgana recalled the sheer power of the staff. When Morgause gave it to her it hummed in her hands, prickling at where she held it like a thousand needles.

“I’m not powerful enough to wield this, Morgause.”

“Do not worry my dear, that staff was crafted from the Rowan tree in the center of the Isle of the Blessed. It carries its own power. None have laid eyes on it except for our kind, the High Priestesses, and the blood god that planted it.”

Her disbelief was immense as the darkness receded from the sky. She and he both felt it retreat from the towers and the walls of the castle. They felt it abandon the undead it had summoned. They felt it rush down through the soiled soil and into the catacombs, to attack Merlin.

Wind rushed through, the only sign of the physical manifestation of the evil Morgana had summoned. And yet, somehow, Merlin stood calmly in the center, and with his glowing eyes silenced it once and for all, without moving or flinching.

It was dreadfully quiet, and Morgana hated it because she was certain that even he could hear her heart pumping. Could sense her fear. And still his eyes were glowing, as if mocking her and apologizing all at once. As he stood before her, the flames of the torches framing his figure, she wondered if he  had planted the rowan tree himself.

But her awe at his power was short-lived as the gold receded from his eyes and he looked more like Merlin and less like Death. When he stared at her with those insufferably blue eyes, when he moved to help her up, only then could she bring herself to burn with the anger that she was feeling.

Merlin had magic.

Merlin had magic, and he killed her.

She trusted him, and he did not trust her. The betrayal pulled at her throat more than the hemlock ever could have.

Her eyes water and she stood up, still holding the sword at him. It was useless of course, they both knew it. Even her magic would have been useless. But she held it up against him anyways.

“How many?” She demanded. Her voice was raw with anger. “How many of our kin did you betray? How many have you sacrificed to Uther’s hatred Merlin?”

Merlin flinched. “Just you.”

That had hurt her in ways she was not prepared for.

“How many have you killed for his sake?”

“Too many Morgana. But not for Uther’s sake. Never for Uther’s sake.”

“Then for who? Arthur?”

Merlin nodded. “He is destined to bring magic back to Camelot, Morgana. I have to protect him. He’s my friend.”

She reeled. “So was I.”

Merlin couldn’t respond to that. His heart was thudding in his chest. His throat was constricted. This was a terrible idea, but Morgana had to know.

“You’re a monster Merlin.”

His face crumpled. “I didn’t want to poison you, Morgana.”

“That’s not what this is about Merlin!” She screamed. “You knew. You knew I had magic. You could have helped me and you-you...” She glared at him. “You pawned me off for the druids to deal with. And you got them all killed. You did that Merlin. That was you. I’ve lived with it for years but it was never my guilt to hold.”

She was up close and personal now, pounding her fist on his chest with every accusation.

He let her. What she said was nothing new. “Yes, Morgana. I’ve done terrible things, I know that. But I’m trying. I’m trying really hard to change things.”

He could feel the heat of her tears as they dripped down her face. “How could you do this, Merlin?”

She stared at him, desperate for an answer for the sake of her own sanity.

“I-” Merlin did not like how he was at a loss for words. Arthur and the knights were probably still fighting. He decided he needed to sit.

He moved towards one of the tombs and sat on it, his hands clasped together. Her eyes followed him, brows knit together.

“I would say...” he began carefully, “that it wasn’t my choice. But that’s not true. It has been my choice.”

She began to open her mouth to say something but Merlin cut her off. “I’m not talking about poisoning you Morgana. I really did have no choice then. If I didn’t do it, Morgause wouldn’t have stopped the siege of the city.”

She offered nothing to that, which he supposed was a sort of permission to continue.

“I have been able to do magic since I was a baby. I did magic while still in a cradle. I could make things fly, or light up candles.”

Tears had stopped streaming down her face, and now she was listening. Guarded, but curious. If anyone deserved an explanation it was her.

“I was always told that I was a monster, Morgana. You’re just another person in a long line of people. I had to leave Ealdor when I was nineteen because if I didn’t, bad things would happen...” He let that hang in the air. “My mother sent me to Gaius. He’s her uncle, and a good friend. She sent me here to Camelot because I needed to learn to control my magic and nobody else could teach me. Let alone in Ealdor.”

He thought, for a moment, that her eyes softened. Her face resolved to neutrality soon enough.

He tapped the tomb with his fingers. “When I stepped through the gates the first person I met was Gwen. She was so kind. As we entered the citadel, do you know what the first thing I saw was Morgana? I saw you, looking down at the execution of Thomas Collins. For having magic.”

He huffed. “I came from a place where having magic made me a demon, and waltzed into the heart of a kingdom where having magic made me a dead man instead. Gaius told me as much. I saved his life with magic, and the very first thing he did was tell me off.”

Merlin laughed to himself. “He still does that. But he’s not the only one… On my first night, a voice called my name. I went down to the caverns and I met a dragon.”

She gasped, her first reaction. “It was you, you released the dragon while I was away. Gwen told me about it.”

Merlin nodded. “That was a mistake.” He looked at her intently. “One of very many of my mistakes, Morgana. But that first night he told me I was destined to bring magic back to the land. But he told me I could only do it through Arthur. If I was to fulfill my destiny, I needed to protect Arthur.”

He sighed. “And so I did. Not only because it was my destiny, but because Arthur became a friend. And despite everything, sometime I see him and I just know that… he is the king we’ve been waiting for.”

“He’s Uther’s son, Merlin.” Morgana snapped.

“He’s much more than that Morgana. And you know it.”

She changed the pace. “And what else did the lizard happen to say?”

Merlin quirked a quick smirk at hearing Kilgharrah called a lizard, but he answered her. “He answered my questions mostly, and sometimes he warned me about things… and he was wrong.”

Morgana watched him warily. “Like not telling me about my magic. That was his directive, I presume?”

“No.” Merlin said. “His directive was for me to kill you. Or to let you die.”

Her mouth opened at that but she didn’t say anything.

“He told me, Morgana, that you were destined for darkness. I told him you had a good heart.”

Merlin stood up and approached her. She didn’t move. “It wasn’t only until you began to meet with Morgause that I suspected maybe he wasn’t wrong.”

Morgana glared at him. “Oh? I’m the evil one? It seems to me that I was just making your job easier. By killing Uther, Arthur could be king.”

Merlin shook his head. “If you killed Uther, Morgana, if you did it with magic… Arthur would never accept it. He would become just like his father. Arthur has made great strides but he’s not ready to become king yet.”

“So you’re just going to wait until Uther dies of old age? You’re going to let our people suffer for that long in order to preserve Arthur’s innocence? I thought you were a coward but it turns out you were just a fool. You went to a dragon for advice and listened. Like a puppy.”

“I listened to you, too,” he shrugged “whenever you had a vision, I acted on it.”

She was brought up short for a moment but brought it around to the offensive. “And yet you couldn’t tell me about your magic.”

“Don’t you think I wanted to Morgana?”

“Clearly not all that much if the fact that it took me raising an army of the undead is any indication.”

Merlin groaned. “Morgana I’ve been alone all of my life. Nobody to tell my secret to. Nobody to share myself with. I had Will, and my mother before, but they didn’t have magic they couldn’t understand. Gaius doesn’t practice anymore. And anybody else just...died. For my sake. Or because of a curse. Or because I had to stop them from hurting Arthur.”

He looked up at her. “But then there you were with your visions. I suspected, I hoped, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe. Until that night that you told me what you suspected. And suddenly I didn’t feel so alone anymore. Because you were my friend Morgana. You risked your life going to Ealdor to fight for me, a servant. And you had magic.”

There wasn’t any particular emotion on Morgana’s face, except for perhaps the shadow of a smile that flickered on her lips as she recalled the day she went to Ealdor.

“I wanted to tell you so badly, but… Well, my excuse was, is, that all my life I had been told not to tell anyone. Since I was a small child. I have always lived in fear. It’s...it’s not an easy thing to admit for me. And you’re the king’s ward, Morgana. Add that to the fact that the dragon insisted you were evil and I...”

He motioned to her. “I failed as a friend, and I chose not to tell you. And I’m sorry. But I’m telling you now. You’re the first person from Camelot I’ve willingly told.”

She stared at him evenly for a few moments. “So what now, Merlin? I can’t stop. I’m too far gone. And I don’t think you will stop protecting Arthur either.”

“No.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you tell me this?”

“Because you deserve it, Morgana. You’re still good. You trusted me and I hurt you. So now I’m trusting you.”

“You’re an idiot Merlin.” She bit. “If I tell Arthur, you will be executed or exiled. Do you think he will forgive you? You just gave me the key to winning Camelot. What will she do without its protector?”

“Arthur wouldn’t kill me. He would be hurt that I haven’t told him. Conflicted. But he wouldn’t kill me. Just know, Camelot will always have my protection.”

Morgana bristled, working herself up again. “What has this kingdom done for you that I haven’t? Why do they deserve your help anymore than I do?”

Merlin didn’t answer her question, choosing to answer the unaired one instead. “I told you about my magic because we could find another way, Morgana. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

She sheathed her sword. “They’ll be looking for me.”

Merlin nodded.

They assessed one another until Merlin spoke.”Will you tell Morgause?”

“I don’t know.” Morgana said.

Merlin nodded, and decided to grin, despite his rapidly beating heart. “Just remember, if Arthur banishes me, there will be no one to help him put on his night shift or keep his figure trim. The last time I was gone for more than twenty four hours he couldn’t even find his sock drawer.”

Morgana stared at him incredulously as he suddenly disappeared, taking the torchlight with him. She almost couldn’t help the giggle that came out of her mouth. She was horrified and confused, and very much in need of a nap.  But she did wonder just how much Merlin had given up for Camelot. What was his play? Why would he tell her about his magic?

Arthur burst into the catacombs in a panic with wild eyes, and she startled. When he saw her the relief on his face was somewhat… heartwarming.

“Morgana! You’re safe!” His eyes wandered around the room and landed on the rowan staff. Her heart leapt up in panic, but he came to a different assumption than what she feared. “Did… did you stop the undead? With… that?” His eyes went to her sword.

She couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Is it so surprising? I used to beat you in fights all the time when we were younger.”

He shook his head disbelievingly. “Okay, uh, we have to tell father about this.”

She nodded, clenching her jaw.

Arthur began to turn around towards the stairs but stopped and said something unexpected. “Morgana? Good job. I’m glad to have you back.”

Her face made a humble smile, and she felt a small rush of affection for her brother. “I’m glad to be back.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Right, well, you wouldn’t have happened to have seen my idiot manservant would you? He’s always in the most unlikely of places after these sorts of things. Wouldn’t have been surprised if he had tripped his way down here.”

Morgana froze a little. She could have told him then and there Merlin’s secret. Even blamed the staff on him. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She had to strategize.

She laughed. “Not that I noticed.”

They began to head up the stairs. Morgana knew only one thing. She would be sharing some more words with Merlin.

For better or worse, this was far from over. But maybe… maybe they could find another way.

LFRP/LFC - Lusaut de Durendaire (Mateus)

(Screenshot courtesy of @theaetherhealerffxiv <3, also sending a tag to @talechaser-ffxiv because reasons)

Lusaut de Durendaire, of House Durendaire

All these broken souls They never make me whole They don't, they don't know my heart They don't know my heart

Ricochet - Starset

Disclaimer: Lusaut is not a nice, ball of fluff and good times. He is an evil character that is meant to be cruel and a straight up asshole as well as a Sadomasochist. Because of this Role-plays with him could potentially delve into mature and otherwise adult content with dark themes. Please use discretion when asking to RP with Lusaut.

The Basics ––– –

Age: Twenty (20)

Aliases: The Devil’s Son

Birthday: 32nd Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

Race: Ishgardian Elezen Halfbreed (Miqo’te Cross, Keeper of the Moon)

Gender: Masculine, Male (He/His/Him Pronouns)

Sexuality: Homosexual, Polyamorous 

Marital Status: Single

Alignment: Chaotic Evil, on a good day he can lean into Chaotic Neutral. This rarely happens however.

Server: Mateus

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Lusaut has a very vivid blood red mane that goes down to the base of his hips, his hair has very faint darker black-purple highlights in it that form tiger-like stripes in his hair. His hair is essentially the Thavnarian Male Hair Mod by the wonderful @misteff so you have the idea on it’s appearance due to my game being on PS4 and not being able to mod him.

Eyes: Heterochromatic due to his mother being a Miqo’te, his eyes have the slitted pupils that Miqo’te have as well. His left (our right) eye is a very pale, almost completely white in coloration while his right (our left) eye is a bright and vivid hunter green in coloration.

Height: 5 foot 5 inches, due to his Miqo’te blood he is far shorter than most Elezen even at their shortest.

Build: Athletic, Lusaut is muscular in his arms and also his leg due to being trained from a young age to be a killer as well as an assassin. He has a very toned physic with a very pronounced six pack as well.

Distinguishing Marks: Lusaut has a tattoo over his left (our right) eye that is a pale grey in coloration, his body is also littered with Freckles. For an idea of how his freckles are, the 3rd row best gives the idea in the image below. Other than this he has a long scar that cuts across his face from the right of his forehead and down to the bottom left of his cheek and a very unique birthmark on his right inner thigh that looks like a pair of hearts with one looking like it’s bleeding in a way.

Common Accessories: Lusaut has an arsenal of things on his belt ranging from knives, poisons, sedatives and anything else that he can use in order to get his job done. He has various herbs and such to help him mix his poisons as well. Other than this the only other accessory he has is a Lapis Lazuli ring that he got from his father as well as an Aetherite Earring on his left (our right) ear that acts as a Linkpearl.

Additional Features: Being Half Miqo’te, Lusaut has a slightly long rather fluffy tail that is the same color as his hair. His ears, while in the area where Elezen ears generally lay on the face, have fur on the backs of them which again, matches his hair color. Lusaut also has long claws on his fingers that he paints red and trims to an extremely sharp, fine point that can easily cut skin if he lashes out.

Personal ––– –

Profession: Assassin and Interrogator for House Durendaire, personal hunter for his father Rimoux de Durendaire. Torturer when he is not in Ishgard (Currently)

Hobbies: Cooking in his spare time, Knife Collecting. He also likes claiming ‘prizes’ from his victims, usually he will take the left ring finger (if his victim happens to be married) or anything of significance to the person he is torturing/about to kill.

Languages: Common

Residence: House Durendaire in Ishgard, Transitory for the most part with most of his time spent in Inns in the various towns he visits.

Birthplace: Foundation, Ishgard

Religion: While he was raised to learn the teachings of Ishgard and specifically Halone, Lusaut has no true interest in any sort of religion as that was never a part of his training.

Patron Deity: Rhalgr, the Destroyer

Fears: Most women (personal reasons), failing his father, letting his prey get away, not being seen as a true Ishgardian

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: Rimoux de Durendaire (Alive, Ishgardian Elezen, Father), Unknown Keeper of the Moon (Mother, Deceased)

Siblings: Faust de Durendaire/Greystone (Alive, MIA)

Other Relatives: Members of the Durendaire family

Pets: He has a half grown Behemoth ‘Pup’ that he affectionately named Rama. He also has a Dalamud Red Chocobo name Lucifer.

Traits ––– -

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Never, Lusaut has never taken to smoking and never really had the chance to fully learn about it since from a young age he was being trained day in and out how to be a killer by his father. He could take up smoking in the future however if convinced to try it. Drugs: While Lusaut does not take any sort of drugs, when he was being trained by his father he would on those occasions when the boy got to be ‘too wild’ he would give him minor hallucinogenic drugs to calm him down and bend him in the ways that he wanted him to. Alcohol: Wine, and that’s about it really. He doesn’t drink often and when he does it might simply be a glass or two and that’s it. For the most part he simply doesn’t have ‘time’ for such pleasantries really and drinking isn’t really something he cares about. Though much like smoking he could be convinced to try other brews if convinced to do so.

RP Hooks ––– –

Insert Hooks Here: Honestly, because Lusaut is a newer Muse for me and I’m still trying to think of ideas for general RP hooks while I ‘flesh him out’ so to speak I am more than open to things. For the most part, Lusaut is more or less a very dark oriented RP type in which he is cruel and doesn’t exactly act nice. So dark themed RPs are to be expected and are likely going to be the general area that I would lean towards for him. That isn’t to say that lighter Ups can’t happen or fluff, I am just tossing out the warning that Lusaut is an Evil character overall and thus dark themes come with his territory.

Insert Mature Hooks Here: Lusaut is very much into men only and because of that he will not be involved with women outside of simple meetings or in the best case scenario as friends/companions. He has not interest in women in regards to sexual intimacy. When it comes to him being involved with other men however it is purely because of carnal desires and nothing more. For the most part Lusaut will usually never return any sort of romantic interest because for him, sex is a thing that he needs to have every so often due to lust. The potential for romantic interest is there however but it will not be easy to obtain because Lusaut is very... cruel. On that note, he has a very big interest in larger males and specifically Au Ra.

Voidsent/Ascians/Primals: Lusaut has quite a bit of interest for the ‘darker’ things so to speak. Besides the fact that his lustful side of him has him attracted to larger men and Au Ra it also leads him to have lustful desires for the more demonic beings of the world that people tend to be fearful of. To him it’s a walk on the wild side and if he has a rather good time then he’s likely to return so that he can continue having such good times. Obviously he has to take caution with these things as he wants to avoid being possessed or tempered by these creatures.

Hook

Hook

Contact Information  ––– –

For the most part Tumblr DM’s, Asks or Submissions are the best way to get my attention or to spark an RP. Other than that, Tells in game if I am online will also be a means to get into contact with me. If you wish to contact Lusaut in game please message me on Tumblr first before doing so. I do not share my Discord with people as it is a safe space for me and I prefer keeping it private to people that I feel are a good fit and good friends.

On that note I tend to be very shy and hesitant with RPing with people I have not RP’d with before. So please bear with me if I seem hesitant to RP with you if I do not know you, ESPECIALLY if it is a more mature RP. I am glad you enjoy my character(s) but I’m still learning how to be more involved in the community and not have major anxiety whenever I speak to new people. 

@mooglemeet | @ffxiv-crystal-rp

Bandit/Vigil oneshot in which Vigil recuperates and Bandit is detrimental? (Rating M, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of torture, ~3.9k words) - written for @blitznbandit as a Christmas present 💞💞 I didn’t mean for it to get this dark but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Best wishes and Merry Christmas! :)

.

He returns fragmented. Having lost pieces along the way, parts of him damaged, he’s less than before. Less human, less capable, less trusting. A few chunks were beaten out of him, knocking others loose in the process and therefore he’s hesitant to ask for help in patching the holes, in case someone isn’t careful enough and makes it worse.

Though it doesn’t feel as if it could get any worse.

Visual representations of his state adorn him, discolouration of skin, tears, cuts, attempts at extracting the highly sought-after information through his outer shell though they didn’t manage to pull it out of his flesh. They tried, however. Most of it is unnatural, he supposes, frightful even, renders him fragile-looking when his mind has never been as stony as it is now. He won’t break, might splinter and chip in places, but he won’t shatter. He hasn’t so far. He’s not going to now.

Dokkaebi cries. She just stands before him and lets tear after tear roll over her cheeks, unsuccessfully trying to muffle her sobs and he’s lost, misplaced his script on what to do now, how to react, and there’s no teleprompter or anyone taking charge, so they stand there: Dokkaebi crying and him fighting one of the waves bringing blurriness and further detachment which have become so intimately familiar to him by now. The whole scene might as well be a video on a screen, despite the fact that the wet ground smells of grass and cool air surrounds him.

The scenery changes, someone pulls the slim woman away and another silhouette by his side gently leads him across a canvas of places, all of them unreal and not registering in his head though less shrill than the sterile, smelly white ones in which he spent … an undetermined amount of time. He doesn’t know which day it is.

Voices underwater pose questions his subconscious knows the answer to and therefore he’s able to keep up a semblance of normalcy while his thoughts repeat the endless litany of wanting to sleep. Wanting to go home. Wanting to feel safe again. Wanting to remember what it’s like to feel. At certain points, there’s absence of sound and it makes him itchy, raises his alertness without contributing to clearing his mind and thus leaves him skittish, so it’s no surprise than he flinches violently at a small touch. He’s up on his feet immediately, turned towards his threat who isn’t a threat at all, he knows this person, can conjure up their image in his head yet couldn’t tell who it is or from where he knows them. Relaxing is hard when he’s not sure of the identity of this person, but the guy in scrubs – it’s a doctor – no, it’s Doc – says his name, Gilles, and it could be someone or it could be no one.

His fight response has been triggered and so his system is painfully vigilant even when he’s suddenly sitting down again and he idly wonders whether he’ll ever feel like anyone at all again.

.

He’s a foreign body, bumbling uselessly and getting in people’s way while they, somehow, he has no idea how, go about their lives. Imitating them is impossible as simple interactions drain him to a worrying degree, so treating his own existence as an inevitable misfortune with which all of them are stuck seems to be the only alternative. If speaking wasn’t such a chore, he’d apologise the whole day. Keeping out of sight and turning himself invisible is his preferred course of action even if it means some people startle at him walking into their peripheral vision as if he was a ghost.

By now, he’s begun to sort experiences into boxes. Not being able to trust his own memory is at best unpleasant and at worst wholly disorienting and disturbing, so he endeavours to fill the gaps and shave off excess. Some of it undeniably happened as he’s carrying the proof on his body, even if he doesn’t recall a blowtorch, while other details are strikingly vivid yet make no sense. He was held underground, not in a forest and still, he feels thick, wet leaves caress his skin and branches snap under his sole. No, there were no windows nor any indication as to his location, the photos show him what he might’ve seen in a film once yet nothing he recognises. But he drowned. In the dry cellar, forbidden to wash himself, every drop sacred, he could’ve drowned. It certainly felt like it and the cruel irony of wanting to drink it all, the knowledge it won’t kill him didn’t make it better. He’s started exclusively taking baths. He doesn’t like the feel of water on his face.

Compartmentalising helps, albeit it’s a double-edged sword as it further alienates him from those who appear to need him most. The causality of it is puzzling as he’s fine by himself yet it’s others who seek him out nonetheless, require assurances and an affirmation that they’re doing all they can. They’re the ones needing a pat on the back but he unlearned it all, so all he earns is concern at his empty stares. He begins avoiding them, the only exception being Blackbeard – the American’s voice is unimpeded by his silence, penetrates the sound barrier erected in self-defence and fills his head with words, phrases, ideas which resonate with something forgotten inside him. Blackbeard is familiar and calming and no one would guess he’s talking to a husk with how animatedly he gestures and slowly, slowly, his utterances begin to develop meaning.

.

Vigil starts healing. It’s a multi-faceted process and accompanied by a significant amount of itching, both outside and inside. His senses return to him in a more conscious fashion than simply identifying potential dangers in his vicinity and his body’s ability to obey improves though it’s still held back by overpowering fatigue; at least there are no more dizzy spells or involuntary movements. Not as many anyway. The variety of injuries invite him to scratch, especially the blisters and the scabs, the freshly opened ones – usually a result of carelessness or a motion too extreme – send out white hot, pulsing signals impossible to ignore. He becomes intimately familiar with every visible piece of writing in Doc’s office as he reads it over and over and over again. Reading anything other than single words and simple sentences is too much.

His sleep is restless and the source of most of his frustration as the exhaustion turning him sluggish and numbing his limbs is omnipresent yet relief unattainable. Sometimes, he wants to scream and thrash, pound the mattress with his fists because it’s so unfair, he’s tired, it’s dark, why won’t it work, why won’t it work why won’t it work why won’t it work why won’t it work – furious, he feels pressure on his eyes and gets up, resists the urge to put his fist through something and walks until he’s light-headed, tries push-ups on his elbows, feels stitches and bandages pull on his skin. And even when darkness does envelop him, brilliant dreams ensure he wakes up sweat-soaked and gasping for air.

He dreams of him. And in a way it’s more terrifying than just re-living memories.

.

Before he – before it all happened, he caught the eye of a predator. Felt slitted pupils lazily glide over to him, unfocused and slow as he poses no threat, was unhurriedly yet thoroughly studied and classified as easy prey. To this day, he’s unsure what made him stand out, which of his eccentricities painted a large target on his back causing claws to bury themselves in his vulnerable torso. He was hunted down and slain for sport, he assumes, incapable of defending himself; only then the dangerous creature did develop an appetite after all. Devoured whole, Vigil cowered, obeyed, surrendered.

His memories convince him that he enjoyed it. Basked in the unexpected attention, revelled in a deluge of foreign sensations, released tension under experienced fingertips ghosting over him. Every single instance lasted at least an hour and he thought each the last one, anticipated being deprived of this… this frenzied feeding sooner rather than later, yet repetition tricked his mind into believing it’d become a habit. In a way, he wasn’t wrong: it was a regular occurrence, the intervals shrinking continuously until he couldn’t reasonably predict the next one anymore, merely waited for it to happen excitedly.

The anticipation has vanished completely now. It’s been replaced by a stoic dread he insistently denies and the pleasant memories are sullied by his dreams. He would prefer to limit his nightly terrors to the faceless monsters who – who did all this to him, who altered his very being, yet they’re not the ones holding him down, kicking and slapping, trying to force him to betray the very organisation which eventually came to his rescue. It’s not them. It’s him.

.

Training is hell, icy fire licking the insides of his lungs, inflamed muscles hindering his every move. He needs to, needs to catch up on all he missed after having spent too much time idling fruitlessly, hoping moronically for everything to sort itself out somehow, as if there was a spirit for broken minds who could mend them with a flick of its wrist. If such a thing exists, it must be very busy.

No one can help him but himself, especially not the woman he’s meant to trust and tell everything that happened. She’s trying to be comforting and soft but comes across as otherworldly, shapeless and inconsequential – time and time again she brings up topics Vigil feels are entirely irrelevant and meets his badly suppressed anger with pretentious understanding, advises inane exercises he refuses to do in his spare time and hovers just around the edge of actually reaching him. Blackbeard breaks through nonchalantly, acts as if nothing has changed while picking up bits and pieces, distractedly putting them back where they belong without mentioning it. Vigil much prefers his company.

In time, Dokkaebi finds it in herself to grow cold as well, shield herself and meet his downcast gaze and inaudible words with her usual boisterous behaviour, complaining about him taking too long with everything, eating, walking, healing, and her impatience and lack of compassion help him redefine himself as more than just a victim. He remains an operator, abilities tried and tested, and therefore expecting him to function as one is reasonable; he needs to pull himself together. So he trains. And keeps failing.

The whole atmosphere shifts as soon as he enters the room. Silently, he moves and manages to steal Vigil’s breath despite his casual demeanour, causes an adrenaline rush unlike any other he’s recently felt. He’s trapped, alone, for the first time sharing space with him on his own since he came back and it’s terrifying. Golden brown eyes petrify him, lock him into place and there’s no doubt he’s here for Vigil. Probably feels like he’s given him enough time to recuperate, now he’ll demand his share once more, sink his teeth deep and leave him behind bleeding. So far, he’s kept his distance, didn’t even grace his mark with a single glance. For what felt like weeks.

Vigil needs something to do, mind aflutter in panic, and despite every cell in his body urging him to escape, slip away and hope he won’t pursue, he decides to be proactive. To him, it feels like the first choice he’s made in a while. Lying down on the nearest bench panders to his persistent fatigue and yet it hinders him not at this moment for the heady rush of danger encompassing him counteracts his usual exhaustion. “Spot me”, he demands and wraps his fingers around the cool metal bar above him.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise proportionally to how near he is and when Bandit comes to a halt right behind him, he nearly trembles. They study each other motionlessly and for an eternity, Bandit looking down, Vigil looking up. “You’re too weak”, an accented voice informs him though hands contradict it, reach out, ready to support if necessary. Vigil averts his gaze and lifts the weight, brings it into the correct position and lets the familiar feel calm him – this, he knows how to do.

“I’m not”, he protests because he can and couldn’t tell when he last said no to anyone. Repetition and concentration both put his thoughts to rest and occupy him, render him complacent as he watches two pairs of hands rise and fall gently, one of them radiating volatile energy, threatening to turn on him any second, cover his eyes, punch his throat, hold his mouth and nose shut.

He’s scared.

And then something does go wrong, a sharp pain pierces his consciousness and reflective silver fills his vision; the bar came to a stop alarmingly close to his face, mere centimetres from possibly finishing what was started a while ago. His head wound still isn’t healed fully. Dumbly, he stares at it as if mere thought could make it vanish, then capable arms work to return the weight to its rightful place. And he tells him in a judging tone: “Don’t overexert yourself.” Before Vigil can even consider talking back, more words are tacked onto the presumptuous statement: “Start easy. You’re not used to it anymore.”

And this is when it tilts over. His rage is partially unfounded, Bandit has no control over his dreams, can’t influence what his dream self does yet is solely responsible for staying away all this time – his actions, or rather the lack thereof, cut deeper than Vigil was aware, fuelled an underlying self-consciousness and insecurity. He felt discarded, unworthy, and now that he’s in better physical shape Bandit seeks him out again? Hardly a coincidence. He must’ve enjoyed how submissive Vigil was, how responsive, but felt no urge to to accept the responsibility which comes with commitment. Where were you?, Vigil wants to spit in his face, Where were you when I needed you most? I’m no toy. I’m not at your mercy. I’m not to be abandoned like this.

His fury both causes accusations to bubble up in him and holds his tongue, a learned reflex to any extreme emotion. He’s long cut off the spikes in his moods, mellowed them out so no extremes happen, keeps it all safe and sound in the middle. Sitting up, he notices his hands shaking. He’s not afraid of him anymore, somehow knows Bandit will never go as far as his projection did repeatedly, not when he’s this passive, this passionless about him. All that time he always set aside seemed to have been a lie, a convenience. He was a fool to believe it to be more.

“I missed you.”

Resisting the impulse to spew I was right here is difficult but possible. Instead, he allows a question to see the light of day which has been eating away at him for a while. “Why me?” He’s long ceased to pose it in relation to tragedies, long accepted the fact he will never know the answer. Coincidences are free of judgement, his place of birth pure chance, his capture an unfortunate event – none of it specifically geared towards breaking his spirit by a higher power or the universe itself. However, this time it might yield an answer. He sincerely hopes it does, yet with every passing second in which Bandit mutely regards him with an unreadable expression, the probability decreases. “You can have anyone.”

“But I don’t want anyone.”

The message is clear though its origin nebulous. But why. Why me. Upset, confused and upset over his confusion, he attempts to flee the conversation, extract himself as he’s unsure how to face this man, how to deal with his own emotions. Getting past Bandit proves impossible though, the slim figure is an unsurmountable obstacle, soft eyes fixing him in place and a tentatively outstretched hand has him flinch first, then accept the touch of a palm on his elbow, travelling up until it comes into contact with his still discoloured jaw. Turning away is futile, fingers wrap around his own and then a body moulds itself around him despite his resistance. He’s suffocating, refuses to breathe in this wild scent of blood, sweat and hunger, realises too late he smells the same.

Bandit waits until his thrashing has subsided, patiently holds on as if he knew what he was doing. Eventually, exhaustion drives Vigil into the arms of his hunter and he relents at the cost of his sanity, dignity, sense of self-worth. Accepting warmth and human contact is surprisingly arduous but the pay-off staggering: he thaws, he melts, he dissolves under gentle hands, in a loose embrace, and its realness leaves him reeling. Logic tells him he possesses the same body heat, must feel nice to Bandit or else he would’ve withdrawn already, yet the idea of him feeling as good as Bandit does to him now is unimaginable. He needs more.

A quiet plea is met with hesitation at first, but when he emphasises it, Bandit nods. “Let’s go then”, he says, voice shaky.

.

Before even any fabric is shed, Vigil starts to struggle. His side is still sensitive, so he forcibly removes Bandit’s hand when it brushes over it, he doesn’t enjoy the feel of the tongue on his collarbone and pushes his head away, yanks at clothing to keep the German half off him. Though it’s thrilling and the low pulsing need permeating his being is the sharpest feeling he’s had for a while, he’s worried about showing his mutilated body, about evoking disgust instead of lust, about memories of sadistic grins and fire and needles and fists and water taking control of him. His subconscious fear manifests in the turning away of his head, in refusal to make eye contact, in jerks and light kicks and shoving.

“Do you want me to stop?”, Bandit asks and kisses the hand he caught as if it hadn’t tried to pull on his hair. No judgement in his inquiry, strangely enough. He would actually stop. There is no doubt.

A violent shudder seizes his body and he couldn’t tell whether it’s born from pleasure or dismay. The lips are ticklish and he doesn’t think he’d survive it if Bandit rejected him. “No.” He surprises himself with the response; the safer option would be to give up, not even allowing for the chance to harm himself further by ruining the one hopeful thing in his life at the moment, yet the drive to feel human again is too powerful.

So Bandit continues, undeterred by the resistance he faces and – it’s different to the times before, softer, more patient. At first it seems as if he, too, believes Vigil to be fragile and therefore takes certain precautions, isn’t as rough as he was previously, but the more time passes the more one undeniable truth crystallises and makes Vigil’s heart come alive: Bandit isn’t treating him like something delicate. He’s treating him like something precious.

His caresses don’t shy away from faded bruises or bandages, touches actively follow scarring unless Vigil displays discomfort, and though he’s careful, he’s far from tentative – repeatedly, he unintentionally causes stabs of pain hindering Vigil’s attempts to wholly give himself up and revel in the familiar affections. In response, Vigil lashes out on a small scale, bites a little too hard, scratches instead of stroking skin, and never once earns any form of protest. Bandit allows him to fight back mostly symbolically, something he was never able to do in the hands of his captors. He loses his inhibitions and wonders why it feels so good to inflict pain, ponders whether it’s linked to Bandit not paying him any attention while his mind was heavily impeded, when it hits him out of the blue.

A kiss to the top of his head makes him smile, stretches his lips all by itself. During a small break, he marvels at Bandit’s body. He even takes the initiative at some point and is rewarded with an almost enamoured gaze in return which drags something in his chest to the surface; something he was sure to have lost. They draw meaningless patterns on skin lazily, let their whims decide on what they do, and it’s peaceful.

Vigil feels like himself again. Not entirely, he hasn’t reverted back to his old self, that would be nothing short of a miracle, but his sense of self has returned – he is Chul Kyung Hwa, he is Vigil, he is part of the White Tigers and Rainbow and right now, he is here because he wants to be. And he will not let misfortune define him.

.

A careless remark, nothing more, Blackbeard’s usual dry humour showcased in a blunt comment and yet its utter lack of respect is scandalising and amusing enough for Vigil to laugh. Not a loud, full-bellied laugh which could hope to compete with the American’s, no, a quiet chuckle rather but an expression of entertainment nonetheless. They’re eating together and Vigil is picky, has traded parts of it with his teammate and others, approaching them first. Bending his mouth around pleasantries remains a feat he has yet to master but even so, it’s met with genuine friendliness and relief he generously overlooks.

Dokkaebi picks up on it immediately, abandoning her conversation to grace him with a meaningful smirk. “You just laughed”, she states triumphantly as if it was her own achievement.

Days ago, he wouldn’t have replied but he’s come to realise once more that he likes her, enjoys her company. Looking back, he feels bad about not reassuring her the day he returned, piling on to her already overwhelming grief. He admits: “I feel better.”

She nods; it must be glaringly obvious. “Must be contagious, even Dom smiled at me earlier.”

“Is that noteworthy?”

“He’s had it rough too.” His expression must display some of his disbelief for Dokkaebi explains herself: “He was with us the entire time we tried to find you, probably put in more hours than even Craig. And then, when you got rescued, you… I don’t know what you were on, I wasn’t there. But you were terrified of him – of them all, but him the most. I think it hurt him. Doc told him to stay away from you for a while, just in case.”

Dreams tightly intertwined with memories, forming an entirely unfair and inaccurate hybrid which painted Bandit in a much harsher light than he deserved. He never was a predator, Vigil never his prey, and while he was indeed devoured, it was preceded by awkward half-conversations and uncertain gestures; the time they spent together valuable to both of them. He’s been unjust.

“But he seems better now, and so do you. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Yes”, Vigil agrees readily, startling her into silence. “Maybe I should.”

When Bandit and he finally make eye contact across the room after a lot of furtive glances, Vigil presents him with a tentative smile. And is not at all prepared for the wide one he’s granted in return.

Murder in the Blue Morgue -- Part 1

YESSS!

LET’S

GET

SOME

2D DADFIC

Okay, so I’ve noticed that, at least in terms of long-form fanfiction, there’s really not much on 2D being a dad or having kids, especially if you take away the addition of a reader-insert or OC significant other. I find this a little odd, because it’s sOrTa canon that 2D has a couple kids here or there (I say sorta because the email could’ve also been a scam, especially considering how little coverage there was on it in the lore, but screw it, I like the idea and it’s not impossible to believe so we’re doin’ this), and this seems to be a vaguely popular genre with Murdoc, so why not?

Also, this one sorta exists in a weird, out of time Gorillaz universe. All the members are the ages that they are now, Murdoc is there, but no Ace, and it takes place at Kong Studios for the first part, because I forgot how settings work and had already written that part. It’s not that important to the story anyway, I promise.

So, without further a due, let’s get started. Y E E T.

*****

It was exactly the kind of place where she expected a long-lost father to live. You’d figure someone who didn’t want to interact with the kids in his life wouldn’t pick a place with a demeanor that was inviting, and lost-fathers in general have a mysterious, albeit deadbeat vibe. And with that, plus the aesthetic of the band that was impossible to avoid all combined in a perfect storm that could even make someone as determined as she was on edge. And perhaps that was the point, she wondered. Fantastic. The logical part of her mind was smacking her upside the head with reminders that she had nothing to be worried about. She was making a perfectly reasonable request, and it’s not like she would be catching him off guard or anything. It would definitely be something that he could afford, and, if he wasn’t convinced, she did have a few persuasion techniques up her sleeve. And, of course, worst case scenario is that she got declined and asked to leave. Nothing to terrible would happen to her, even in a place like this. After all the band did have a public image to uphold. She would be fine. She took a deep breath, and pressed the button near the door that she assumed to be the doorbell. The black and white screen above her buzzed to life, with the visage of a large, dominating black man meeting her. Him being completely bald and lacking pupils did not put her at ease, even if she did know who he was. “Yeah, what are ya here fo’?” Of course, he didn’t mean to be terrifying, and she could understand that, with all the trouble that the band must get, they would need to be a little harsh with who they let enter Kong Studios. “Um… I’m looking for… Stuart Pot?” The name sounded awkward on her tongue, and who she knew to be Russel could definitely sense it as well. Even though she had had to put up with the name for five years now, it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that was discussed in the house, and, due to his persona, it especially wasn’t discussed in the context of issues that a normal person would have. “What business could you have with Stu?” While she didn’t know if he intended to be rude or not, the judgement practically penetrated the screen. “I, uh… it’s something financial?” “What?” “It’s something financial, he owes some people money, and-“ “Are you sure about that?” “Yeah, I’m very sure, I,” she could see his resolve to abandon this conversation wipe across his face, “Wait, please don’t go, I… I’m his kid.” “I beg your pardon?” At least she had gotten his attention. “I’m, uh, I’m his kid. He pays, or he should be paying, child support to my mom. And I have something I need to discuss with him. I brought proof.” She flashed the paper with the results of the DNA scan in front of the camera. “Okay.” Was all he said before his face blinked from the screen. She could hear steps from within the building. She took another deep breath. First interaction with this foreign group, and here she was, admitting one of the facts that she always tried to dodge in conversations. Of course, she couldn’t expect to hide anything from his band, but she, at least, wanted to try and see Stuart first, before other member interactions came up. “What’s your name, kid?” The door opened to reveal Russel again, looking down at her, the pinnacle of skepticism. “Uh, Josephine. But people call me Jo.” She shuffled her feet, not knowing if this was an invitation to come in, or perhaps more questions to see if she would slip up eventually. “Why isn’t your mom here instead, Jo?” Crap. “She doesn’t really have a lot of free time, and I’m old enough to be out on my own, so,” the gatekeeper raised an eyebrow, “I mean, it’s about me, so yeah. I’m here.” “And you’re SURE that you’ve got the right place?” He was starting to give in. “Absolutely positive.” Possibly the first sentence that she had without sounding like she knew what she was talking about. Russel sighed and held the door opening, allowing her entry into the elusive building. She took a moment to look around, everything oozing the popular image of Gorillaz. Pictures were sparse, but the way that it was decorated, you just couldn’t match it anyone other than a group that makes alternative music and has a penchant for a more abnormal side of life. “He’s not here right now, but he’s supposed to be back in a couple minutes. You can wait in the kitchen.” She followed him down a hallway as he continued to speak to her. It was impossible not to gawk at the odd idiosyncrasies of the house, the likes of which, even in normal rich people housing, she hadn’t come in contact with before. This was going to be an interesting meeting. They finally reached the kitchen, which reeked of college dorm life, despite the fact that most of the band members were in their forties. The sinks were stacked high with dirty dishes, with a smell wafting upward into the dingy light fixtures that had been around way longer than this building had. The fridge had been subject to so much usage that it looked like one of the after pictures in those before and after drugs ad campaigns. The floor and the rug under the rickety kitchen table gave a visual history of what had gone down in the kitchen, with obvious spills and stains, some food and some possibly not, that one had bothered to clean up. And the trash, though it wasn’t visible, sat, a quiet terror, by itself in the corner of the room, with flies hovering around it. “Okay, I’m pretty busy at the moment with something, but I’m not gonna leave you alone or anything. NOODLE!!” He yelled outside the door and up the stairway. Jo could feel her shoulders get less tense, as she knew who Noodle was, and already much preferred her company to Russel’s, even if she had never met. Not that she was that scared of any of the members, except perhaps Murdoc Niccals, whom she was hoping to avoid as much as possible, but Noodle was close to her in age, apparently, and seemed to have a general happy, kind, comforting, and fun-to-be-around disposition. The young Japanese woman entered the room, carrying a sense of ease with her. She scanned the room tentatively, swiftly locking her eyes on the out-of-place person awkwardly hovering near one of the chairs. “Who’s this?” She didn’t break her gaze to look at Russel. “This is Josephine, 2D’s kid, apparently. Look, I’d love to stick around and chat, but I need to finish work on that bear before it completely rots. Good luck, Jo.” “Nice meeting you…” Her voice faded out as he continued to walk down the hall not waiting for an answer. “Oh, that’s Russ. More concerned with taxidermy than with the family lives of the band. Anyway, I’m Noodle, nice to meet you!” She stuck out her hand, which Jo shook, with the same uncomfortableness that she had in all her interactions thus far. “Well, 2D isn’t here yet, but he should be back soon. Take a seat, I’ll get you something to drink,” she peered through the contents of the fridge, “Are you a fan of orange soda?” “Sure.” With noticeable deftness, Noodle placed a bottle of Fanta in front of her, pulling out Japanese soda for herself. “So,” she removed the bottle cap with her bare hands while Jo held in her shock, “You’re D’s kid?” “Uh, yeah,” Jo weakly screwed off the cap to her own drink, feeling a tad more terrified, “My mom is Kathleen Powell.” “How old are you?” She felt a tad like she was being interrogated, but at the same time, she was just glad to be in the house.” “I’m 15. 15 years. I was born in 2003.” “Where are you from?” “Uh, New Jersey. Lived there my whole life. I live pretty close to New York City, though.” “Why ARE you here?” “Um, I need to discuss something financial with Stuart,” Noodle subtly cringed at the use of his proper name, “I know, it’s more of a mom thing, but she doesn’t really have a lot of free time now, and she didn’t get off on the best note with Stuart, so I figured I would try.” “Does she know you’re here?” Jo was almost sure that Noodle was onto her at this point. “Yeah, of course.” Jo swallowed. Lying was hard. Noodle looked unconvinced. “Well, kid, relax!” Her face melted into a smile as she took a swig of her drink. Jo realized that she hadn’t touched her orange soda, and, not wanting to seem ungrateful, copied Noodle. “You seem nervous, but I promise, ‘D is a really nice guy. I’m sure he’ll be glad to talk to you.” Jo didn’t know her well enough to distinguish honesty from optimism, but either option would’ve done nothing to quell her nerves. “Are you sure, I mean,” Crap. She knew she shouldn’t be discussing this with what were essentially strangers, “I dunno, just like, his kid that he’s never seen shows up? Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t’ve asked that, it’s just-“ “It’s okay. Calm down, kid,” she looked her in the eyes again, this time somewhat less intimidating, even comforting, “As someone who has known him for a long time, you’ll be fine. It might even be nice. And even if it turns out bad,” she smiled again, “I’ll be nice.” “Heh, thanks. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.” Noodle chuckled. “With Murdoc at the door, maybe not, but Russ would never turn a teenager claiming to be ‘D’s daughter out onto the street. Why did you show up in person, anyway? I’m sure you could’ve emailed.” “Well, mom’s not exactly liberal with his email, and it would’ve been really slow. It’s kinda urgent, I guess, which is why I showed up in person.” “I see.” Noodle took another swig, and Jo once again copied. “Anyway, let’s talk about you. I’m curious what ‘D’s kids are like. Do you listen to Gorillaz?” “Well, I was sort of getting into them when I was little, but my mom told me, who, uh, who my dad was when I was 11, and since then, it was kinda awkward listening to the music, so not really. But I have friends that play it sometimes, and I think it’s good.” “How so?” “Well, I like how it doesn’t really have a genre, ya know? Like maybe you could call it alternative, but honestly, it just does its own thing. And it’s always a really nice retreat from mainstream music, and, if my interpretation is right, it even criticizes mainstream music sometimes. It’s just so different, I guess.” “Hmmm,” Noodle closed her eyes pensively, “I like you already.” Her eyes slowly opened again, and it was the first time that Jo had felt truly relaxed in this strange building. “And who’s this?” The voice came from a lanky man with spiky blue hair, a gap tooth, and black voids where his eyes should be. Or, as Jo called him, her genetic father. Leaning against the doorway, in front of her. So much for being at ease.

*****

And chapter one comes to an overly-dramatic end!

Please comment! I love it when people interact with my writing.

Tune in next time for an actual interaction with blue boy himself!

Happy Birthday, bellemeri!

December 5 - Bucky/Darcy, Bucky/Jemma or Bucky/Steve, something smutty or fluffy or both wink maybe with “What’s in it for me?” for @bellemeri

Written by @thestarfishdancer

“Sergeant Barnes?  Could I possibly beg a favor of you?”

Bucky turns from where he’d been rummaging around in the pantry at the pleasantly-accented yet hesitant voice, finding the owner to be one of the recent additions to the team that came with Steve’s not-as-dead-as-previously-believed buddy Coulson. Come to think of it, that kind of seemed to be a theme with Steve, once you counted that speedster twin of Wanda’s and himself.  

The pretty brunette shuffles her feet and seems to wilt slightly, opening her mouth as if to draw the question back. It prompted Bucky to realize that he not only hadn’t answered her question, since he was frowning in thought, he might be coming across as … unfriendly. And since he was trying to work on what Darcy called his “resting scary face”, he should probably get to responding.

“Sorry, what? I wasn’t exactly paying attention,” he admits sheepishly, feeling a bit of relief when she seems to perk up again. “And it’s Doctor…?”

“Simmons,” she supplies helpfully, bouncing a little on her feet.

“Doctor Simmons,” he repeats to make sure he remembers.”

“Oh, you don’t need to stand on ceremony. Everyone just calls me Simmons. Or Jemma, if you’d prefer. I’d hoped you might be able to do me a favor.”

She’s kind of adorable, and also very attractive. He’d noted it to himself more than once when he’d seen her around the base, and it’s much more evident now that she’s not just a glimpse from across the room. It’s enough to have him digging for the charm that once came easily to him, before the war and Hydra.

“What’s in it for me?” he asks, and he’s rewarded for his teasing tone by the flight blush that rises to her cheeks.

“A great deal of gratitude from me, and the chance to hold it over Captain Rogers’ head, since he was supposed to be my test subject?”

He’s immediately wary, and it must darken his face, because she’s laying a light hand on his cybernetic arm, a sincere expression coming over her face.  “You’re certainly welcome to say no. I’d just hoped to test the vaccine as soon as possible, as it were, and both Captain Rogers and Nat have been called out on a mission for a few weeks at least, and since you’re enhanced as well… but never mind. It was a terrible idea. Please forget I asked.”

She begins backing away, and he catches her arm, careful to keep his grip light so she doesn’t feel like she can’t pull away.

“Vaccine?”

She nods. “Yes. For the substance that some of the team got hit with at the A.I.M. base raid last month. It didn’t affect Captain Rogers as badly as the others and he metabolized it quicker, so he’s been helping me with tests.”

“Dosed with… wait, are you talking about the sex pollen?”

She blushes a bit more, but smiles and rolls her eyes a little. “There’s no such thing as sex pollen. The team was simply hit with a very strong aphrodisiac in powder form that proved a significant distraction.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says emphatically.  “The sex pollen. I can’t believe Steve didn’t tell me that he was testing it. Or Darcy. I can’t believe she didn’t blab.”

“Me too,” the good doctor says ruefully, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. “In any case, I seem to have had some success in creating a vaccine to prevent the reaction, and it would be helpful to know before a team is sent in to raid more than a thankfully-empty base.”

Bucky becomes somber at that. They could have lost people, good people, if the base hadn’t been abandoned, given the state of those dosed. Entranced by their own arousal for nearly an hour, Steve had said, like sitting ducks, whereas he’d been more under control.

“Alright,” he says. “We can give it a try.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. “I don’t want you to feel like a lab rat.”

“Yeah,” he says, then repeats more confidently. “Yeah. Hold it over Steve’s head an’ all that.”

She smiles, bright and wide, and damn but if that isn’t a good look on her. “Thank you! If you’ll follow me, Sergeant Barnes, I don’t think it will take more than forty-five minutes, maybe, or an hour, of your time.”

“Bucky,” he says, abandoning his search for the chocolate he knows Clint is hiding to follow her down the hall. “Or James, if you’d prefer.”

“Which do you prefer?” she asks, tilting her head curiously.

“I’m not sure.” He’s not sure what prompted the honestly, but he continues with a shrug. “Bucky feels like a different person, sometimes, but also…”

“Like an old jumper that still fits, but not as well as it did before?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at her in surprise. Her mouth is lifted into a half-smile, slightly sad, and he wonders what old name no longer fits like new for her.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask, however, as they arrive at her lab and she gets to bustling around, getting various monitoring equipment as she gestures at a stool and orders him out of his shirt. He winks at her as he pulls it off, delighting in her amused smile as she shakes her head at him.  Having him in the stool rather than the medical-type chair in the room is a nice gesture too; even hooked up to the machines, he doesn’t feel like he did in The Chair back in Hydra. And no one in Hydra ever pressed the electrodes to him with gentle hands, explaining what each was for in, or checked in to make sure he was still consenting to each step of the procedure, including a blood draw.

“Now, first I’ll need to measure your reaction to the drug, get a blood sample, and once it has been flushed, I’ll give you the vaccine and see if it prevents the reaction. I won’t spray the …pollen…all willy-nilly like A.I.M.’s device.”

He nods, and she dons a mask before taking what he recognizes as an asthma inhaler out, handing it to him and instructing him to inhale just the one spray. He does, and the reaction, while mild, is instantaneous. There’s a pleasant buzzing under his skin, his heart rate jumps up a couple of notches, and he suspects his pupils have blown wide by the face Jemma makes as she quickly shines a light in each of his eyes.  Oh, and he’s hard beneath his jeans. Almost painfully so.

It’s enough that the quick sting of the needle as Jemma draws blood is barely noted. Instead he’s thinking of those competent gentle hands sweeping over his skin, clutching at his back as he lifted her up against him, those gorgeous legs of hers wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. Of pressing her up against the wall so he could push the crisp white lab coat off her shoulders and unbutton her blouse, to feel her arch against him as he freed her breasts to take a pert nipple into his mouth, grinding into her…

The pleasant burn fades as his metabolism burns through the drug, just as it was getting good.

“Whoa,” he says. “I can see how that could be distracting.”

“I take that to mean the effects have worn off?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Excellent,” she nods.  “Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds, just a little longer than Captain Rogers, and about a minute less than Nat, though I’m not sure how much is because of the enhancement formula used on each of you and how much is due to the female physiology, given the rodent test subjects also showed differences between male and female physiology.”  

She’s not really talking to him, more to herself as she some notes on a chart, so he takes the opportunity to wonder at her use of a nickname for his favorite Russian assassin. He’s really going to have to ask after that.

She asks him if he’s alright waiting a few minutes more, to ensure the drug is completely out of his system, before administering the vaccine. It ends up being longer, as he finds himself asking questions about her work as she begins running analysis on the first two blood samples. He likes how she gets animated, doing that little bounce thing again as she explains what each piece of equipment is doing, never talking down to him or treating him like he’s apt to go all Winter Soldier on her at the flip of the switch.  It’s a nice change.

They do get to the next test almost too soon for his liking, as she injects him with the vaccine before letting him dose himself again. This time, there’s no change. Not even a blip on the monitor. At his suggestion, they try it again after ten minutes to see if the vaccine is burned away by his metabolism as well, but it seems to be doing its job.

“Well, thank you, Sergeant Barnes… James,” she corrects at his raised eyebrow. “I think that’s a very positive sign for the vaccine and I can see about testing it on some ordinary humans in the near future. Though I apologize… it looks like I did end up drawing more than an hour of your time.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t mind,” he replies.

“Would you mind coming in, perhaps next week, so I can learn more about the length of time the vaccine works?”

“Not at all,” he says, pulling his shirt back on. He hopes he’s right about the source of her disappointment, because it’s what prompts his next question. “So… how does a guy go about seeing you before that? Say, for example, on Friday, for dinner somewhere that ain’t the mess hall?”

She stops in her tracks, surprise etching her face before that pretty blush rises to her cheeks again, making him think of all the sorts of ways he might make her flush. He leaves the lab with a date with a pretty Brit he plans to make damned sure is the first of many, a favor to hang over Steve’s head, and time enough to find that chocolate stash.

All in all, not a bad day.

6 Simple Techniques For Private Label Products

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It can make them assume regarding purchasing your products. Actually, a special tag layout with right layout and product can distinguish the quality of your item from lots of comparable products in markets. So, a label design advertises your items, produces a lively brand name identity as well as makes them stand out on a store rack.

You understand the old joke: Even if you're paranoid doesn't imply they're not out to get you. Essentially, that defines exactly how suppliers of brand-name items react to competition from personal labels. On one hand, suppliers are right to be worried: There are much more exclusive labels--" store-brand" products-- on the marketplace than in the past.

And they are jointly second or 3rd in 100 of those classifications. But on the other hand, several producers have paniced to the risk positioned by exclusive tags without completely identifying 2 significant points. First, private-label stamina normally varies with financial problems. That is, private-label market share typically increases when the economy is suffering and also down in more powerful financial periods.

dollar grocery store sales. In the depth of the 1981-- 1982 economic downturn, it peaked at 17% of sales; in 1994, when exclusive tags received great media focus, it was even more than 2 percent factors reduced at 14.8%. Second, manufacturers of brand-name items can solidify the challenge presented by private-label goods. Actually, in huge component, they can regulate it: Even more than 50% of U.S

10 Easy Facts About Labels And More Shown

Private Label Companies - Questions

. It is challenging for managers to take a look at an affordable risk fairly as well as in a long-term context when everyday performance is experiencing. Instances of prominent brand manufacturers under pressure from personal tags as well as generics aren't comforting. What manager would not worry when confronted with the success tale of Standard Cola, a private label made by Cott Firm for J.

Today the personal tag accounts for 65% of total cola sales via Sainsbury's and also for 15% of the U.K. soda market. Responses to private-label success can have significant repercussions. Consider what happened in the week complying with Philip Morris's news in April 1993 that it was mosting likely to cut the price of Marlboro cigarettes.

Meeting the private-label challenge needs the very same factor to consider a company would provide to any kind of various other rival. Although we agree that numerous national brands are under stress-- especially from the number three brand name on down in each product category-- we highly think that the private-label obstacle has to be kept in perspective. What's required is an objective approach and the same cautious factor to consider a firm would offer to any brand-name rival.

After that, they must reassess the strengths of the trademark name: Brands are far from dead. Ultimately, if their business currently create private-label products, they must weigh the costs of contending in the common market versus the benefits. And if the firms have actually not gone into that market, http://www.bbc.co.uk/search?q=labeling and branding they possibly should not. A number of variables recommend that the private-label risk in the 1990s is major and also might remain by doing this despite financial problems.

The Buzz on Private Distributor Brands

Today that space has actually tightened; private-label quality degrees are a lot more than ever before, and they are extra regular, especially in categories historically identified by little product advancement. The suppliers that agreement for private-label production have actually improved their purchase procedures as well as are a lot more cautious about keeping an eye on quality. Innovative sellers in The United States and Canada have shown the rest of the profession how to develop a private-label line that delivers top quality above that of national brands

Silences in C Minor                                                                                                Awuor Onyango

There is something surreal about girls having to interact with each other, I can never point out exactly what it is, can’t touch it and test the textures of it against the tips of my fingers, can’t spread it out against a white canvas and study the scratchings it makes, can’t paint it against skies and watch the sunlight dissect it…there’s something surreal about girls having to interact.

You and me…that was surreal. I think you just crept into me, it’s amazing how you can think from a far that someone is too loud, too critical, too demanding; how you can hide and shy away from them for years, pass off little bits of information with them as the height of conversationality, how you can take no notice of them, register no impact on your life from their presence…and then suddenly you can’t breathe right if you don’t know how the last three hours of class went for them. You can’t resist sending them unimportant notes in the middle of class, write things in their textbooks so when they are studying later they find your voice hidden there and smile and punch you lightly while chuckling ‘You are crazy’. It’s funny how other people start to notice your addiction, know immediately where you will be or who you are looking for, mention where she is before you even ask, ask you where she is; you are incomplete now without her.

Incomplete…without this girl you walked past, this girl you now spend lazy weekends and evenings with, eat beside, think beside, talk endlessly to about anything that comes into your mind. Your best friend starts to notice too when suddenly she can only find you beside the girl she introduced you to…the girl who used to be closer to her than you, who now laughs at your quirks and seems to be the only one you exist for. You are full of excuses to be next to her…but she never needs them, she never asks why you are here again, sometimes she even comes to you! You stand there armed with this excuse you spent all of ten minutes conjuring up, this sticky unwraped lolipop of an excuse that is half melted in your sweaty palm; you want to give it to her badly, to rationalize this almost automatic need to be beside her even though you know your class is on the other side of school and started five minutes ago. You want to give her the stupid excuse because you know if you don’t then your mind will wonder what exactly this is, this almost unhealthy urge to exist beside her throughout her day and you don’t want to go there ever…you don’t want to understand that truth whatever it may be, you don’t want it undressed; stay clothed forbidden truth!

You dance circles around her, she corrects your writings and gives you helpful advise on them, she helps you study and before you know it you are not the earth rotating around her sun, you are two rings of Saturn, circling each other, she is the hydrogen and you the oxygen and together you are life; is there anything you don’t depend on her for? Is she your best friend? Your best friend wonders this, you can’t say anything, you can’t say that you haven’t been best friends in a while and that you felt rejected and criticized long before this girl came along and made you feel alright for being as weird and unconventional as you are, accepted you as you were, found you lovable even. Things will go unsaid, a lot of things… but that’s fine, impregnable silence offers the darkness within which to bury all the dead and the scarred, the hurt, the disappointments, the hopes.

 Things get blurry after a while…your best friend is no longer willing to come fetch you from her, too many lazy afternoons have been spent on beds and chairs and blankets discussing everything from how she feels about this character and if the plot twist is too fake, to her family and her life. You listen…you really listen to the point where you can’t remember if you were ever offered a speaking part in any of the conversations; before you know it you’re meeting her family and they love you too, she bakes for you and you go over to her place and sit there and talk about everything you can…you remember that Beyonce wrote the song bootylicious because she felt that the world wasn’t appreciative enough of curvy women such as herself, felt the need for an anthem, for something to hold on to as she embarked on the journey to embracing her curves…she wonders how you knew this, is amused by your ability to retain barely significant factoids. She likes the way you walk, she thinks it’s seductive…she laughs at it ‘No wonder men harrass you when you’re walking around’ she laughs, her smile does things to you…this has to stop somehow.

Another guy has decided you’d be his perfect wife, this happens often by now, you’re no longer shocked or confused about this; it seems to you a kind of effort to tame your wild spirit, whatever that wild spirit is. You want to tell her this…you don’t know why, you don’t even conjure up an excuse to see her, you just find her and you tell her this with a gravity you can’t comprehend. You watch her as if your life depended on it, you don’t quite understand why but you do, you record her laugh, her smile, you look into her eyes and study every bistre line that shoots towards her pupil. ‘This is it’ something in the back of your mind states, you don’t know what that means so you swat it away and sit there, stuffing yourself with the muffins she baked with a slightly sour taste at the back of your throat, you don’t know what it is so you wash it away with apple juice.

You’re in a mood that night, something is bleeding inside of you, aching perhaps…you open the book you’ve been writing, the one about this girl with pretty brown eyes and how she is confused by life. Her boyfriend, who was also her first love and childhood sweetheart just broke up with her and impregnated one of her roommates, the guy she was rebounding with turned out to be a new client and is now obsessed with her, in order to get the client’s work done she had to resort to outsourcing something to a man she can’t stand but doesn’t quite know…but that last man, though he is cold and challenging and seemingly emotionally available, he seems to see through her; he knows her, he knows about her ex-boyfriend and about the obsessed client and about her dreams, he knows the pain she feels and knows he could make a better more stable choice for himself, but he chooses her with her laugh and her eyes and her smile, with her lost soul and her confused life…she will save him. You look at the girl again, you see that she has the same bistre lines leading towards her dark pupils, you see that she had the same full hips, the same small tangerine-shaped breasts, the same smile your heart tries to hi-five…that she was unbarebly magnetic in the same adorable yet strong way. You look at the third guy and you see his struggle to keep away from her, the cognitive dissonance that happens when society and mind are set against heart and soul and body, you watch the way he finds himself standing her up straight whenever she falls and tries to tell himself that it means nothing these feelings he has for her…you realize you are this man and every word you press against the paper to create him is a piece of silk slipping off your shoulder undressing you. You know now, you can’t suck it out of your lower lips

This is confusing now…you try and hide it from her, you can’t trust yourself to, can she smell the fear? Can she sniff the emotion right from your hair when you hug her goodbye? You realize just how much you touch each other, you try to stop because now you know your touches aren’t innocent but hers might be…when she puts her hands around your waist or pulls you to her by your waist and swings you side to side while telling you a funny story this is innocent on her part; you’re scared now. She knows you too well

There have been people who have stolen your breath and excited your heart into drum solos, they have been mostly men and they have created a circuit. You know what they will look like, you know that it will start with a look across a room or an innocent introduction by a friend, you know that you will smile and your brain will go ditzy, drunk with hormones and drowned out by your perambulating heart, that your sentences will be slurred quatrosyllabic blackholes that swallow every word in sight, you know that it will end when the excitement does, when they aren’t who you thought they were, they aren’t considerate enough or artsy enough or intelligent enough or funny enough…you start to drift away from them; you know this so well you can run this marathon blindfolded and with your feet tied together…this is what you come to know as falling in love.

You didn’t know about this kind of animal, this neurotoxin that slips into your veins undetected, you didn’t notice it when she purchased some real estate in your state of conscience, you didn’t see her claim your heartspace…you realize now why you wanted to tell her about him…what you meant to say was ‘would you be interested in my heart if I offered it to you’ instead you said ‘some other guy wants my heart; that’s not the same thing stupid! You can’t be around her anymore, but you’re too much of a coward to tell her this…too much of a coward to answer ‘because I might be in love with you’ when she asks why, too much of a coward to face whatever possibility that reply could bring. How do you explain this to people or to yourself? This isn’t what you’ve been told lesbians look like…it’s not some hyper-sexualised crush, it’s not two women trying to be men, it’s not aggressive or man bashing or any different from maturely falling for someone. Do you say ‘listen,  I still like men I just want to be in a relationship with this one girl and I swear after we break up I’ll go right back to men and men alone’? You search for the silence to bury everything in, you blame her a little for being her…if she wasn’t then you wouldn’t be here falling now would you? The blame makes it easier to stay away.

She begins to notice that she’s always the one calling, always the one asking to meet up, that nowadays she has to convince you to see her. One day she tells you she can’t do this anymore…everything is one sided, you’re not doing enough. You prefer this, you’re too much of a coward to have done anything more than accept this. You delibertely say that you don’t see it that way, you won’t try and fix anything, change anything, do more anything…then you watch her drift away from you and promise yourself it’s for the best that she didn’t know, that no one will ever know. You walk away without looking back, you drift away slowly, she can’t swim out to catch you now, you’re allowed to drown

Some days go bye fine, you manage to silence the demons…other days you come home and try to rinse your thoughts on pianists and orchestras, you close your eyes and drown slowly in the C Minor aches of Beethoven’s moonlight sonata and Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor, in Rachmaninov’s Isle of the Dead and Henyrk Górecki’s Symphony number 3, op.36, you hang your scars to dry on the strings in JS Bach’s Komm süßer Tod  and hope Ravel’s Pavane for a dead princess will gently blow the itch and the pain away, you waltz alone and barefoot in your mind to Eric Satie’s Gnossiennes. Other times you don’t even go looking for the pain, you switch on the tv and some stupid advertising firm picked Eric Satie’s trois gymnopedie as the background music to selling you insurance and you feel his fingers gently press against your pain and release each agonizing chord; her smile, you hide it in these symphonies. Some day you’ll come here again to hide someone else and it won’t hurt so much to see her again, but for now cover her with silence, wash your clothes for clues and hang them out to dry. When your life continues, let this be a lesson; someday if this happens to you again, be brave! The pain doesn’t measure out the difference between regret and heartbreak…

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When we taking a photo in a default distance, it's alluring to zoom in on existent specific you're attempting to get. Instead, attempt get near to the subject, unless it's a wild animal, in that instance we would certainly advise keeping your range or do the image in a default radius, as well as plant it later on. Photo editing software performs possess a few of the functionalities is preferred for, which comes somewhat valuable when you've decided on you've like to try your hand on something a lot more upscale than edit a picture and insert people into photos.

Photo editing software may additionally bring in stills from video, besides various reports. As well as when you're feeling a bit careless or it is merely plain uninformed regarding how to make use of a number of the resources, a wizard may aid you adjust the fundamentals just as lights, concentration, shade, as well as turning of photos. For this people who love their pictures in wider screen editions, the tool app aids you effortlessly assembled photos to create a breathtaking photograph. And also if it is actually opportunity to series off your photography skill-sets, you can easily choice some of the image planning design layouts to immediately print them in a specific measurement.

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This photo editing software is actually most ideal for excited pupils along with a great deal of attend their manpower to calculate the too technical features that will terrify quite very first time photo modifying individuals. It furthermore happen prepared with a 360 degrees scenic view plan. Probably the shiniest jewel in the deal will be actually the lovely skin layer result, which gets rid of red spots and evens out your complexion.

While there's no auto color repair work choice somewhat crucial to repair service the lousy lighting most electronic cameras record, there are actually the simple attributes of edit photos.

One of the most well-known misunderstood components of digital photography is what occurs after you made the shot in fact editing your picture. That's the time where you edit the pictures you have taken, to develop the end product. Editing your photos is the equivalent of the room dark from the time long period of time earlier. We are going to be covering some concepts for editing your pictures, from the basics like print photo and also edit pics, through more difficult effects. The cropping device permits you to transform the size of your photo, as well as likewise to transform the aspect proportion. For instance, you can cut out a photo from a rectangular shape to a triangle form. There are several factors you would certainly want to cut out, including for posting in various layouts as well as element ratios. Compared to the initial, I have chopped the picture with photo editing software to get rid of the dark component of the middle of the photo as well as reassembled making use of the policy of quarters. It makes the coloring screw much more the emphasis of the shot. You might wonder why I did not just make up correctly when taking the shot. Well, in this case, I was actually arranging a long exposure shot without any a cam stand, so had actually the electronic camera balanced on the side of the pier for security. That significantly limited my capability to perfectly mount the moment, so I just shot larger, recognizing I had to be able to crop the image properly shortly after the truth. In both situations, chopping is extremely basic and also it is just entails you picking the cropping appliance and afterwards selecting the location you wish to keep with your mouse. You use the adjustments as well as your new cropped image is prepared to go.

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Whenever the perspective band in an image is not degree, a particular of my personal petty annoyances in digital photography is. Occasionally if we are taken up in the second, this simple guideline is failed to remember however the bright side is such editing your shots with the photo editing software to make them degree is also very simple.

Leveling the video camera at the side of the boat dock meant that the shot was uneven that is specifically easy to see to the vision when the image has a clearly identified horizon line, such as the sea. The degree technique belongs to the output method, and you can simply just rotate the pic to fit. The grid will appear to assist you get the position ideal if you make use of the photo editing software. Focusing a photo is a truly basic task this will get just a number of moments, resulting in a much extra visually pleasing photo. In certain cases if we take a picture, parts of the shot can wind up being less colored than we really want. We describe the gloomy areas of the image as shadows, as well as the colorful locations of the photo as high light.

Contrast is regarding emphasizing the distinction between the brightness and dark sections of the photo. Enhancing the variance of a photo can drastically boost the graphical effect that had, by creating the borders between these light and dark areas clearer.

Coloring change is one other significant piece of the photo editing software. We can easily adjust photograph coloring in each type of means, from transforming the whole warmness of the picture such as just how blue and green it appears, to separately transforming the shade and also concentration of certain shades contents of a picture.

I simply wish to go over some really easy color corrections you may utilize to help to make your images nothing but a bit a lot photo editing software more visually highly effective. The simplest technique to regulate the different colors related to a photo is definitely with the color tone technique of the photo editing software. This transforms the look related to any coloring within a picture to generate it more or even much less saturated. As with lots of styles, the solution is definitely to choose an ideal balance also much shading the pictures often tends to seem instead abnormal. Hue images can be actually pretty useful, as well as obviously black as well as white is a great selection for all type of scenarios, in certain, architecture, and certain landscape pictures.

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Often there certainly will be something within a photograph that you really do not wish to exist, like an undesirable white spot on anyone's forehead. That is very easy to remove in all the significant photo editing software.

It is generally no problem to clear away any kind of objects taken away a photo however the photo editing software performs great on distinctive, smaller things that are certainly covered by even colorations. This is because the heal tool needs to change the location you wish to remove with another thing, as well as this works best when it has an area close by that looks similar. So as an example, a red spot on a face is bordered by a lot of in a similar way colored skin, so the heal device can quickly determine what to replace the red point based upon the surrounding location. This specific is simply because the photo editing software needs to change out the area you will to get rid of together with something besides, and also that does work most ideal when it gets a sector near that looks similar.

Photo editing software has actually become quite complex as well as impressive and it is feasible to control photograph and so they change into absolutely various from the original. There certainly are lots of photo editing software and also multitudes of techniques of getting the same or comparable results.

The purpose very most when it comes to many pictures I post process is normally to produce all of them appear as natural as actually possible. I believe this is an ideal point to start, also when you wish to go on and produce even more unique seeming images. Tone array inside a photograph is just one of the most important problems. Your eyes have the ability to usually see a broader range of shade than your electronic camera possibly record.

The meaning of image modifying is the act of changing an image, put simply. Yet that is oversimplifying an issue that is rather difficult. You can commonly execute easy picture editing and enhancing techniques such as edit a photo fairly quickly as well as quickly yet complex methods as well as electronic editing and enhancing might need photo editing software and even more practical experience.

Photo editing software is a helper that anyone can work with to adjust and enhance images. Due to the fact that photos include a raising variety of usages, numerous firms are experiencing techniques to reutilize pictures as well as make use of them on several channels.

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It's difficult to discover a wonderful smart device image that is taken with a flashing light. Many times, people make an image appearance overexposed, negatively changing shining and also subjects turn out rinsed. When you have actually taken the photo, attempt with the direct exposure tool in the preferred photo editing and enhancing application to make the photo a little clearer. Best photo editor for beginners carries out have a few of the functionalities is actually popular for, which happens somewhat beneficial when you've selected you've like to attempt your give on something more upscale than add symbols in a photo and soften photos. Best photo editor for beginners can furthermore import stills from video, along with varying reports. As well as when you are actually feeling a little bit careless or even it is actually only plain uninformed concerning just how to use a few of the resources, an assistant can assistance you to change the fundamentals just like lighting, concentration, different colors, and turning of pictures. For them who love their images in wider screen versions, the tool app aids you effortlessly put together images to create a beautiful photo. As well as when it's time to reveal off your photography skills, you can pick among the image bundle style templates to automatically publish all of them in a particular measurement. Read all about sharpen pictures with this photo editing software download or functional best photo editor for beginners for PC to resize images and convenient photo effects with masks. Best photo editor for beginners for uncomplicated print photos and comfortable colorize images. Download for free this photo editing software for prompt and intelligent sharpen pictures.

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This best photo editor for beginners is most ideal for enthusiastic pupils with a considerable amount of opportunity in their manpower to learn the too technological functionalities that will frighten 1st opportunity photo modifying customers. It also happen prepared along with a 360 degrees scenery plan. Perhaps the glossiest jewel in the bunch would certainly be the stunning skin effect, which does away with reddish areas as well as evens out the skin. While there is actually no self-regulating color repair alternative somewhat essential to repair the bad illuminating very most digital cameras drawback, there are still the vital functions of cropping photos. Among the most well-known misinterpreted parts of digital photography is what occurs after you make the photo shot actually editing your image. That is the moment where you modify the photos you have actually taken, to create the final product. Editing your photos is the matching of the dark room from the time very long time earlier. We are most likely to be covering some concepts for modifying your images, from the basics like print photo poster and blur photos, via extra difficult effects. The cut out tool allows you to change the dimension of your image, and also to change the facet proportion. For example, you can crop a photo from a rectangular form to a round shape. There are several reasons you would wish to cut out, consisting of for posting in different styles as well as facet relations. Contrasted to the original, I have actually cropped the picture with photo editing software to remove the dark part of the left-hand side of the photo as well as reassembled utilizing the policy of fourths. That makes the lightning bolt more the focus of photo shot. When making the photo, you might question why I did not just make up effectively. Well, in this case, I was actually preparing a very long direct exposure photo shooting with no a cam stand, so had the electronic camera stabilized on the edge of the pier for security. That significantly limited my capacity to perfectly frame the minute, so I simply shot bigger, knowing I had to be able to crop the picture properly as a result of the reality. In this both cases, cutting out is really simple and it is simply involves you selecting the cropping appliance and afterwards choosing the area you desire to keep with your mouse. Then you use the modifications as well as your new chopped image is prepared to go.

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