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blankdblank · 1 year

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Garlic & Clover

Pt one of a mini series that is currently unfinished. Now, for this it might seem a bit hard on the Dwarves, I love them, but sadly this plot bunny was not the kindest on them at the culture habit Dwarves have to not overshare outside their trusted circles and kin. They will make nice in the end, promise. Just have to get there first.

If you wouldn’t mind let me know what you think and if you also want to be tagged or taken off the tags let me know. Stay warm and cozy out there in yoru corner of the world. :)

@theincaprincess, @lilith15000, @devilishminx328, @jesevans, @tigereyesf

...

“She reeks of garlic again,” you could hear the words echo through the stone halls. Not an uncommon occurrence, nor the silent forced grins and greeting nods of the head you mirrored on your way to an invitation only dinner at Oin’s home.

Once one of the bubbliest of the members of the Company, rules and social decorum had you back to those days at your final foster home. The one you were told you had to bear or you would be cast to a group home, the one you could never do or be respectable enough to be kept around when guests came over.

Middle Earth was nothing like the tiny flower bed of clover you had been allowed to grow up in the attic to focus on while you were pretending you didn’t exist. A magical forest like any you hadn’t seen before in your wildest of dreams. And it was there you found what your Gran would have called a sign from the Saints. A four leaf clover on which you wished in a return visit to clear out your things before they would throw them out and found yourself in the middle of a band of Dwarves accompanied by a Hobbit and a Wizard.

“I miss you,” echoed deep down in your very core to your long lost Gran and lost loved ones.

You studied hard and still it was never enough, all the way to a pair of Masters Degrees in Psychology and Linguistics. You hoped it would be enough, sent to live with one of the top Criminal Psychologists in the world and one of the most renowned masters of Dead Languages and forgotten histories contacted for the most essential of rare cases that had them living in infamy. Another notch on their belt. Another trinket to boast about and never touch.

The door opened and you smiled bowing your head to the servant who allowed you in after seeing you had brought the servant you had been forced to hire to act as your morality compass for others to see you were never alone to be improper in public situations. One who kept their distance by the very scent of you.

While your nose burned in a now tolerably miserable way behind the servant you strolled through the uncomfortably homey dwelling filled with hearty chatter and laughter. Through the roar of painful pasts you kept a grin in greeting all of these supposed friends who eyed the towel wrapped dish in the basket you bore with both hope and dread. “I brought some boiled potato slices and some oiled veggies. We can never seem to have enough.” You said convincingly with a weak chuckle the others laughed gladly at in ease for not having to relive your first dinner invitation while you convincingly held back the wish to act on this latest crack in your heart.

Four years you had lived here and still to this day the appalled looks on the faces of your supposed friends stabbed at you in a stunning refusal of your chicken pot pies in a try to surprise Thorin at his first meal out of the healing tents.

“I miss you,” again it echoed in your heart while in the taking of your seat at the table as the final guest and around the simple dish of yours free of anything personal to you or your past their clan dishes had every memory with your Gran roaring. Family dishes with hints from around the world that had tears brimming in your downward cast eyes to every bland, bitter or oily to the oddly edge of being burnt while being perfectly moist. Every bite unflattering to the next no matter how you tried it with some of the most lifeless bread you had ever tasted.

Somewhere out of the back of the apartment a soft sound of the twins Dis had given birth to had your free hands clench atop your lap in a faked adjustment of the napkin laid there. Enabling a touch of the ring on your right hand, rose gold and meant to memorialize the husband and child lost long before the pull to this world. A teardrop diamond angled at the tip out of the band that drops into a V, the band topped by small diamonds, an heirloom from your grandmother paired with the newer similarly diamond topped rounded halo band like a crown to hint to your son’s name meaning of King. War had taken the one and an infection set in by injury from an accident took the other who were buried together where you couldn’t visit anymore. Not far away from the joint plot holding the parents you never met.

“I miss you,” pooled into your chest like a slow flood of inescapable melancholy to chase off the thought you had to be cursed to lose all you loved. Not unacceptably long your hands left your lap to adjust to help you finish this meal. Muffled compliments came from those who dared to sample your safe dish while you stomached your small yet un-insulting portion.

Dessert would be next and yet still under thirty you took your required leave to return home, or at least to the four walls you were granted. Down nearer to the markets and workshops where the young lived supervised to protect their morals, even those not of Dwarf blood where you had been given lessons and chances to conform. Not one who understood how badly this hurt. Behind your door your breaths wavered as you glanced at the apron from your Smithing lessons, for which you had to change and get some rest to attend in the morning.

…

“How long do I have to bother with this? The Lass has the patience but in the time to teach her the craft her life would be spent. She’s no metal in her bones.”

Audibly for you at least the crack of the dam was heard and a glance over the shoulder of your teacher the Wood Smith he had been speaking to shifted his gaze with lips parted at the astonishing to them quiver of your lip and instant tears you forced a smile through.

On the verge of buckling to their knees at the unexpected reaction, that had every student and Master in this forge in stunned silence. All watching the folded leather apron you had intended to put on set on the station to your right. And in a frail but determined tone you said, “I am unquestionably thankful for your efforts to teach me, and I cannot put into words how painful it is to know I will never be enough to be worthy of it.”

Straight around you turned and in a flurry of sniffles and wiped away tears that had every Dwarf and namely the Dams stare your way at the unthinkable tearful young female on her way back to her protected quarters. No one had died and so there was clear fault to have stirred such a reaction and since there was no family involved one of the Ruling Clan would have to be sent to investigate.

Not that you would know them personally, as since the moment you met them it was made clear that any in depth information on family or their internal workings beyond the simplest of things such as hunger, exhaustion, or wish to smoke, play music and be merry was not permitted. Only outside of kin signaled and intention of courtship alone. So those degrees you had worked so hard for were all but useless and there was apparently no way to find employment as a therapist here.

All the way to the door you had managed to keep just a few feet ahead of your assigned shadow, and once at it your trembling hands worked the lock to open the heavy stone barrier that after another step through the small opening you said, “I plan on peeling and cooking with garlic. No need to sully your reputation any more by lingering to reek like me. I know you have plans to marry into a good clan. I won’t be leaving again today.”

The door was shut in the servant’s mid step a good six feet away and for an awkward moment they paused and waited as if you would change your mind then turned away. Inside however your face scrunched up in a collapse of that façade while you blindly found your way to the kitchen to stress cook.

Even behind tears you could feel your way on muscle memory alone. You knew just what you wanted, what she would make you. A surefire cure for a breaking heart. Garlic bread, lasagna and a ratatouille to go with it on top of several servings of a cake you had baked the day prior in some pretend game you always held as if you could be welcome to stay for dessert and intrude on time to discuss personal things.

“I miss you,” again and again the words were pressed into the dough for the bread and the making of the pasta on a press you had made yourself in now past tense lessons never to be had again. A project that had them scratch their heads along with the other tools you made to help with noodle making and other baking tools. Possibly saltier that usual due to shed tears you missed their falls while you worked the meal together, including the Dwarf loathed garlic.

Dinner wouldn’t do much as you had to eat it alone again except for the knitted pair of otter dolls you had made on your nights in when you got tired of stabbing your fingers in tries to learn embroidery.

Above the front door a small hawk flew through the messenger door that spun behind it to shut again and landed on your raised arm as the minimal counter space was already taken up.

“Hello,” you said. From around its neck you accepted the pouch with the letter inside you brought out with a soft, “Thank you,” small offering of treats and some water on top of your table you carried it to allowed it to rest while you sat down to read the letter from King Thranduil.

*.*.* Thranduil *.*.*

‘King Thranduil,

I know we only met and spoke a couple times but I was wondering if you might be able to possibly offer an official invitation so I might take up your generous request to visit your kingdom?

I understand if the offer has been revoked after all these years, yet Lord Elrond lives too far away to write to conveniently for a response.

Could you still issue an invitation anyways with a symbol of a flower in the corner to show that it is fake to just me so that I can follow Dwarven tradition and have a proper reason to be able to take leave of King Thorin’s Halls?

Either way I shall forever be in your debt.

Yours Sincerely,

Jaqiearae Pear

P.S. If you cannot recall me I am the one who kept you from treading on the ducklings between two of your meetings.’

The words across the page had the King pulled back to that first week when you had stayed in his guest rooms, fully bound and yet as the guards had tried to bring you to him the curious stares up at the architecture and questions had him curious himself and offering much more comfortable rooming for you and the Company. Moonlit snow like white unruly curls to match the deep purple eyes containing silver flecks like mesmerizing constellations on a petite body slightly taller than any Dwarf yet far too short for any race within the East only adding to his prisoner’s alluring mystery.

Just a sudden hand in the center of his chest while his eyes were on a set of pages held him in place. And that same curious stranger with that same curious innocent glowing gaze was behind that hand that held him in place so effortlessly even when both wrists were bound in mithril chains linked to a belt that could be grabbed by a guard if need be. Much unlike the Dwarves confined to their rooms between meals with the King. From your hands downwards his eyes followed yours to the smile worthy sight of a line of ducklings he almost had broken in his distraction in a shortcut through a garden.

“Why would Miss Pear imagine I would rescind my invitation?” he murmured to himself and then promptly moved to his desk to write out a lengthy invitation to be taken as open for as long as you wished.

He had crossed paths with you a few times in Erebor since then, far beyond chance of forgetting you.

The last time after being turned out after a few minutes of a fruitless trade talk when in passing he greeted you kindly and rather boldly you offered him and his group a meal. With your shadowing servant to a delicious yet unfamiliar meal the group spoke of the change of the seasons in the Kingdom to keep the known decorum.

Since that first meeting he knew there was something you wished to say and that was why he allowed you to roam at your whims and keep his best architects enthralled with someone who was hungry to learn everything they could.

With a hawk regrettably two weeks late after returning from a trip to Lothlorien he sent off his reply and hoped the wait had not been taken as a refusal to aid in most likely some time away from the strict lifestyle of the Longbeard Clan compared to that of the Silvans.

*.*.* Jaqiearae *.*.*

“There’s no flower,” you whispered to yourself in your own tongue that had the bird’s head cock to the side as you sat mesmerized that the kind King who didn’t spread the distaste for who ruled the Company you were a part of onto yourself. Across your lips a grateful grin eased that at least in all this you might have a glimmer of a friendship somewhere since Gandalf had left you here.

They were supposed to be your friends and you stupidly assumed they might smudge traditional rules to still keep daily meetings. Yet you barely caught a glimpse across the crowded marketplace or the bustling streets of Dale when you were able to shop there as they each had their own roles in the final stages of the rebuild of that ring of the city.

Now you were merely a ward of the King Under the Mountain and nothing more. Not even allowed to be employed or courted until you reached your 50th birthday and set to live off of a set allowance from the Crown as you were laughably also too young to enter into contracts and left out of a slice of the ocean of gold shaped pie.

With a sigh the knock on your door that clearly belonged to your assigned shadow had you on your feet and in a childlike tantrum stomping your way to the door you opened to find her there with a bow of her head, “Miss Pear, Prince Dwalin is here to see you.”

Through the door you stepped and at the set of chairs you were to use when meeting a fellow unmarried person alone you sat down with a cross of your ankles. Ignoring the chill of the marble floors on your bare feet and the wooden seat on your lower thighs your shorts didn’t cover, not even with your oversized flannel you had changed into from the more conservative thick layered shirts and pants supplied to you by the trunk full to keep you like the few other wards well dressed as per order of the King.

Across the small table from you Dwalin bowed his head in return for your flash of a grin and cleared his throat. “Miss Pear, we were made aware of an upsetting earlier today in the forges and we wished to settle any misunderstanding or discomfort any of the Smiths might have caused you.”

You shook your head and said, “They didn’t do anything but state the truth. I’m absolutely useless here.”

His head shook and still holding his far from familiar tone meant solely to absolve this issue on official business alone, “Miss Pear you are a ward-,”

“I am my own person!” you cut him off and his mouth parted, “A fully grown adult being treated like a useless child! You’re supposed to be my friends and I can’t even get any of you supposed friends of mine to even talk about anything of substance or try a single nibble of what foods aren’t remotely Dwarfly to sate your comfort!

I wear your clothes, eat your demanded dishes in monthly dinners, speak your language and none of you even bother to ask me what I might like or feel comfort in!

Well I’m so sorry that you all missed your home so terribly that that you can’t bother to show the least bit of respect to someone in the same boat as you! I can’t ever go home even if I wanted to and none of you have ever missed the chance to spit on my heritage or culture!

So if you don’t mind I have dessert inside and much like the last few years I fully expect to be eating all of it myself to gather strength for my trip to the Greater Greenwood. King Thranduil has issued me an official invitation and I will not do him the disservice of making him wait for my company, something nobody who isn’t paid to do so inside this mountain feels free to accept without a structured invitation!” Up you popped and promptly went inside your room. Slammed the door and huffed your way to your table to angrily eat your way through the cake until you decided to get packing to leave as soon as possible even if it meant using the river that sprouted from this mountain.

*.*.* Durins *.*.*

“We spit on her heritage and culture?!” Thorin just about growled, not out of anger at you but more for how they had slighted someone they had only meant to ever shield from harsher cultures to have been dumped upon. He drew in a breath then asked, “What did she mention about an invitation from Thranduil?”

Right away bylaws of the Wards of the King Under the Mountain were to be brought up to consult each for the majority of requirements and restrictions to see what wiggle room they could make to grant some more comfort where obviously some was lacking. Social constructs however would be hard to broach the topic of as you were still of ward age in their culture. Yet clearly the issue had to be seen to be made as flexible as possible since clearly for some time this pain had been stewing until it bubbled over today.

By the time they made it to your quarters however you would be gone.

#Thranduil x oc #therapist oc #fallen to middle earth #Deprssion #hidden pasts and skills #Dwarf culture #Durins #Erebor #Letters to Kings #healing power of lasagna #the hobbit #LOTR

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plantinghobbies · 7 months

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Growing Pains

Two: Sure I’d Never Be Found

Author’s Note: Back from some traveling and finally had dedicated time to write. I’ve been overwhelmed by the support for the first chapter. Thank you so much, revisiting your notes kept me motivated when I struggled to focus or hit a block. The incredible @solipsisticno1 also helped keep my ass in gear. This’ll be a fast and slow burn (I’m a Gemini so cannot escape my love for duality). Welcome all constructive critique, favorite parts, questions, etc - so grateful for any and all feedback. Ok, here’s more of Tess and Matty.

It’s the longest he’s spent near mountains since he left home. Growing up, the idea of vastness had scared him; he doesn’t like to be reminded of how small and microscopic his existence is in the very grand scheme of things. Sometimes, he’ll lie awake at night fixated on just how tenuous life is, how quickly something outside of his control could end it. He wonders what he’d be remembered for – his art or his infamy? On particularly bad days, he wonders if he’d be remembered for long at all.

But the panoramic views of the peaks from the house the label rented him have the opposite effect. After years of touring in cramped bunks and living in packed cities, he feels the space around him palpably, like he’s been curled into a ball for too long and is finally able to stretch out.

When he’d announced his plans to spend the band’s hiatus working on some solo material with Jack in the States, he’d been most nervous about telling his band mates. Even though they’d always been supportive of each other branching out in various ways, this felt different somehow. It was one thing for George to work on remixing the odd single or producing with other artists, it was quite another to put out a whole solo record as Matty was planning, with a potential tour as well. But, as they had for the last twenty years, the guys had his back one hundred percent.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the call from his mum that came in the night before he left. She’d seemed antsy when he’d seen her for a bon voyage dinner two nights ago, but he chalked it up to her not wanting to say goodbye.

“Matthew, I’m still not sure if I should even be telling you this, had to really talk myself up to it. But I know I’d be kicking myself later if something happened.” There’s a tremor in her voice that he hasn’t heard in years.

Oh God, he thinks, she’s sick. Worse, she’s dying. His mind already flashing to her funeral, him attempting to perform a song for her before he breaks down in tears, failing her in this final act.

“You know I am so proud of you, and I wouldn’t ever dream of questioning your sobriety. But you’ve never been on your own like this without your support system – and lord knows neither have I – but it’s not easy. So I just need to say be careful, be vigilant, ask for help when you need it. I’m a plane ride away.”

The indignation that reared up at him was visceral. 34 years old, several years in recovery, and she still didn’t trust him. Looking back, he knows he could have handled it better. He’s proud of himself for not blowing up at her, something a younger version of him would have absolutely done. But he knows he was curt, wanting to punish her, inflict hurt like what had welled up in him at the thought that his own mum doubted him.

After the first few days of wandering his house, un-showered and aimless, he’d begun to see what his mother meant. The process of writing and recording is inherently unstructured, at least for him, filled with days where he does nothing and nights of manic activity. It’s him, sitting around with his own thoughts, picking at the scabs and scar tissue of his past. He didn’t realize how much he relied on the rhythm of others - the band, the tour - to provide structure for him. For the first time in his life, he is without those things, and the space that it creates feels like a blessing and a curse.

In the couple of weeks since, he’s settled in a bit more, has found a gym and can now navigate to Jack’s studio and back without relying on his phone. The word routine has always rubbed him the wrong way, evoking images and associations that make him uneasy. Boring. Pedestrian. Old. When he left rehab, they’d armed him with a written routine to help ease his transition back to his “everyday life.” It was cookie cutter shit that he hadn’t even done in rehab, let alone out of it – daily meditation, making his bed, a gratitude journal. One glance at the word and the list of to-dos had him pulling up his dealer’s number before the plane had even landed.

When he finally got clean for good, a new therapist suggested he develop a structure in lieu of a routine. At first, Matty didn’t understand the difference, and he’d worried that he’d once again sunk a ton of time into bettering himself only for the system to fail him.

“What do you like to do for fun?” His therapist, David, asked. The question caught him off guard, he was expecting the beginnings of a diatribe on the benefits of eating healthy.

“You mean, besides heroin?” Matty often tried to get a rise out of David but had yet to succeed, his shit-eating grin met with nothing more than a stoic quiet. Sometimes, when he was bored or couldn’t focus during their session, he’d imagine what David’s home life was like. What does this guy do for fun? Is he a Saturday golfer and Sunday churchgoer like he looks? Or does David leave the prim façade at work, shedding his tweed jacket on his way to a BDSM club or an after-hours rave?

Finally, David indulges him. “Yes, besides heroin.”

That was easy. “Music.”

“Ok, but music is also your job, which can be a source of stress. What do you like to do besides making music?”

He’s embarrassed to admit he’s a bit stumped. Over the years, he’s amassed a laundry list of abandoned hobbies – some lasting for a few days, others a few months. But only one has ever lasted long-term. Well, social media but that’s more of a habit he’s adopted to avoid other, worse vices.

“Umm, honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t really ever been able to keep up with one long-term besides writing songs.”

“Ok” David smiled “let’s start there.”

In the end, he was glad that he stuck with it. Nowadays, Matty had a simple list of things that he liked to do that help him feel his best – he isn’t regimented about doing them, which he thinks is how he’s been able to stick with it for so long. They didn’t cure his addictive cravings but they kept them at bay. He still resented the amount of effort that was required for him to have a “normal” day - but it was better than the alternative.

Given how late he got in from the studio the night before, he should still be in bed. He and Jack had been holed up for almost two days straight, capitalizing on a burst of creative energy that had them laying down the rough cuts of three songs and the outlines of a fourth. When Jack had finally gone home to Margaret, he’d kicked Matty out of the studio as well, demanding that he shower, eat and sleep – in that order. He’d caught a few hours of shut eye but the chord progression he’s stuck on has him unable to quiet his mind enough to rest. What’s new? Unable to even muster the focus needed to make tea, he settles for coffee instead. The expensive coffee machine gurgles next to him as he stares out the window, realizing that he can’t remember the last time he’d been outside. Maybe “touching grass” (he refuses to admit that he might be too old for certain phrases) would help unstick it?

It’s the first time the front porch has seen any action since his arrival and he takes a minute to get situated, shifting his chair this way and that. Finally satisfied, he looks up just in time to catch the vaguely familiar side profile of a woman walking by with her dog. Before the image registers in his brain, she’s gone. He finishes his coffee then heads out to jui jitsui before meeting Jack.

That afternoon is one of the most productive days in the studio so far, he feels like they’re getting somewhere. He’s desperate to sustain the momentum, to try to quell the intrusive, insecure thoughts that he can’t do this on his own. No amount of encouragement from Jack has helped, he needs to see it for himself.

He’s not above relying on superstition and decides to do everything the same the next day, including watching the sunrise on the porch, staring at the coffee as he swirls his mug. The jingling of a leash has him tilting his head up, eyes journeying up long legs, tracing an hourglass figure that had been hidden by the bar, meeting her piercing eyes – yep, that’s her. He leans forward in his seat, casting about for a witty comment to put her on her heels the way she had put him on his with that story the other night. But he doesn’t get a chance, her eyes seeming to look right through him as she passes by.

At first, he convinces himself that she just didn’t see him, unable to accept that he hadn’t left any impression on this woman. The next few days find him inching his chair closer and closer to the sidewalk each morning, but her and her dog just sail past without a second glance, seemingly immune to his presence. And listen, he’s not a dickhead - it’s not like she owes him any acknowledgement. He understands more than most how rare uninterrupted time to yourself can be in this day and age. But he hears her daily greeting to the older man who sits on his porch reading the paper a few doors down! So, it feels like she’s ignoring him specifically and intentionally – and the question of why is driving him mad. It scratches at sensitive scar tissue where his admittedly oversized ego meets a more fragile self-esteem, seizes on feelings of being unremarkable and weaponizes them. Has his overactive mind casting about for various reasons for her silence, most of them bad. She doesn’t recognize him, not even from the other night. Or worse, she does.

The rest of the week in the studio is a bit of a wash.

Saturday finds him bored and antsy, with little to do and even less motivation. Trying to occupy himself, he sets his sights more firmly on getting a rise out of her, any acknowledgement really. Just to get her to crack once, he tells himself, and then he’ll leave it be. He doesn’t dwell on why he gets so bothered by apathy, physically shakes away memories that surface uninvited in his mind - his mother’s glazed expressions, his exhaustive attempts to garner her attention. Getting a reaction from people was his coping mechanism long before it was his job.

Pulling the Adirondack chair - so cliche but also so bloody comfortable – right up to the fence, he positions it at an angle in clear view of the sidewalk. Sure enough, as she approaches, her eyes land on him from behind her sunglasses. He only knows this because her step falters slightly, head dipping into the barest of nods as she passes. The thrill that Matty gets from even this subtlest reaction is a welcome change from the monotony of the last few weeks. He can imagine what George would say if he saw this “Christ mate, you’ve got to get out more.” But George isn’t here, none of them are – and that’s the problem isn’t it?

The next day, it becomes clear that she is, in fact, fucking with him. She’s walking toward him, her mouth opens to speak – Matty slides forward in his chair at the sight, ready to declare victory – and then curls it into a smirk at his earnest reaction. It’s obvious enough that it had to be intentional. Oh, game on.

His tendency to hyper-fixate is a blessing and a curse, making him a better artist but an occasionally insufferable human. He’s determined to not let her get the best of him this time around, spending downtime in the studio brainstorming how to get her to break first. The answer comes to him as he’s standing outside, having a cigarette between writing sessions. The sign hanging in the window across the street is just too cringe, too cliche, too absolutely perfect to ignore and Matty strolls out of the store with it not two minutes later.

The next morning, he’s giddy with anticipation. As she turns the corner her head is down, almost as if she’s determined not to see or been seen. At the last second though, she glances up and clocks the sign leaning against the outside of the fence right, him seated next to it with a sly smirk on his face. She stops, stares, and then - right as he’s certain she’s going to maintain their silent standoff - she barks out a laugh. It is loud and raucous and feels like a well-won prize after two weeks of continuous effort.

“Oh my god, where did you get that?” She seems surprised to hear the sound of her own voice. If she’s disappointed that she’s “lost,” it doesn’t show. He begins to tell her, in his trademark roundabout way, a winding story about the fucking writing block that him and Jack ran into which led to him being outside, to seeing the store but then back around to the song that he was working on. She is nodding along but glances at her watch twice, the dog trying to pull her to keep moving, bored of him. She opens her mouth to interrupt him, a split-second pause where she huffs and seems to question herself, before rushing out with “Listen, I gotta get this guy to the park or he’ll have a meltdown, you can tell me the rest as we walk.”

She walks on, not giving him a chance to respond as he hustles to catch up with them. He meets her on the sidewalk the next morning, not giving her a chance to pass him by again.

#Matty Healy fanfiction #Matty Healy fanfic #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic

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softforloki · 2 years

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I was wondering if you could do one where reader is always taking care of other people. That she has had barely any time for herself. She is getting worn down and no one seems to notice besides Loki.

Loki and reader have been together for a long while and he notices it and she refuses any help when he offers it.

Few days go past and she is growing tired and reader has been falling asleep and not eating and Loki decided he needs to do something

So the next day he lets her sleep in and tells everyone to get out. They all nod in understanding and he makes u food. Makes you laugh, there’s taking a relaxing bath together and massage and then after you braid their hair when he goes into his female form (genderfluid Loki) you even cuddle and you rest your head on her chest and they laugh about it as you fall asleep once again.

YES. Yes. I love everything about this.

Summery: Loki watches as you run yourself into the ground, then is there to pick you back up.

Word Count: 1,924

Warnings: Slight mentions of nudity, nothing overly explicit tho

Masterlist

Rest and Relaxation

As the on-site clinical psychologist of the Avengers meant that you were never not doing you job.

Each and every person on the team had a seemingly never ending list of personal problems. The day you’d asked Tony to list a few of his stressors, and he’d replied “I’m going to need two bottles of whiskey and fifty feet of paper to even begin.” would forever be known as a day that would live in infamy.

Interestingly, it was also the day you started drinking.

Loki knew you had to take care of people- it was literally your job- but when that caused you to fail to prioritize your own wellbeing, that was when he started to have an issue.

“Darling, are you well?” Loki stood behind where you sat at your desk, placing both hands on your shoulders comfortingly.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” You barely looked up at him, your fingers never ceasing their clicking across your computer’s keyboard.

“Because you missed dinner. Have you been here the whole time?”

“It’s fine, I had a snack earlier.” You dismissed.

“What are you even doing?”

“Compiling a list of books and texts on the study of alcoholism as a coping mechanism. Both Tony and Thor tend to turn to booze when they’re trying to get through something emotionally- which I’ve told them multiple times is unbelievably unhealthy, but don’t listen to the licensed mental health counselor, I guess- so I’m trying to find them some actually concrete evidence so they don’t just have to take my word for it.”

Loki normally found it adorable and endearing when you spoke of your occupation and what you learned. This was different, though. You weren’t talking excitedly about something you were passionate about, your words were tense, manic, even. You stumbled over them in an effort to get them all out.

“Dearest,” Loki began, gently pulling your swivel chair away from your desk. “I think you need a break.”

“I’m fine, I have to-”

“It’s not your job to micromanage everyone’s behavior.”

You scowled, pointing indignantly to your framed college degree hanging on the wall of your office. Loki couldn’t help but let a chuckle slip at the look on your face.

“I was under the impression that your job involved you giving your expert opinion to your clients on how they can better handle themselves. Whether or not they improve is entirely up to them.” He pointed out. “I believe you told me once, “I get paid regardless of whether they get better or not”, does that not still hold true?”

“That’s different,” You insisted. “With regular clients, yes. But I act more as a consultent with you guys. My job is more to monitor everyone and step in if I see someone going off the deep end. Besides, I’m genuinely worried about Tony and Thor.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at you. “If I let you continue here, do you promise that you’ll go take a break when you’ve finished with this?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done, anyway.” You smiled weakly. “I’ll go get a snack, or something.”

Loki sighed and acquiesced, letting you roll your chair back to the computer. He leaned down to kiss your cheek. “Your work here is admirable, love, but please don’t run yourself into the ground for our sakes.”

“Hmm,” You leaned into his touch, gazing at him so lovingly that it made his knees go a little weak.

It had not escaped Loki’s noticed that you hadn’t agreed not to keep tiring yourself out.

. . .

He couldn’t blame you, Loki realized. He certainly wouldn’t want to be put in charge of the mental and emotional wellbeing of the Avengers, a group of people who had long histories of trauma and other personal problems.

You were working as hard as ever, gluing yourself to your computer for hours at a time, or sitting and talking with a member of the team, trying to convince them to either get their own therapist or take better car of themself for stretches of time that seemed to go on forever.

To their credit, a few of them started to take your advice (mostly after Loki haggled them to do so), but it still didn’t stop you from crashing and burning.

Loki had only started showing up to group meals with the team at your behest, but you starting showing up less and less. He stopped seeing you around the tower at all, having to seek you out in your office.

He knocked on the door one evening after the table had been cleared at dinner. “Darling, you missed dinner.” He held the plate of food carefully in one hand, knocking again with the other when you didn’t immediately respond. “Darling?”

Still no reply. Loki cracked open the door, peaking inside. You were slumped over at your desk, head cushioned by your folded arms. He silently approached you, gently setting your dinner on the desk, and leaning over you. You were fast asleep.

He sighed, smiling fondly at you. He carefully eased you out of your chair and into his arms. He magically transported you to your apartment, setting about putting you to bed. He made a mental note to later take care of the food he’d brought to your office as he carefully changed you into sleepwear.

“Sleep well, my sweet.” Loki whispered, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead as he tucked you into bed. Before he left, he made sure your alarm was turned off.

. . .

You woke up the next morning to the smell of breakfast cooking. You looked around your bedroom, confused, not remembering coming back home. You were even more confused when you saw that you’d slept in.

You got up, feeling more well-rested than you had in days, and went to investigate the kitchen.

Loki stood at the counter, pouring coffee into two mugs. He turned at the sound of your foot steps. “Good morning, my darling love,” He greeted with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, actually. How did I get here?” You rubbed your eyes, squinting at him.

“You feel asleep in your office last night. I brought you here. You’re taking a day off.”

“Lokes, I can’t-”

“You most certainly can. I’ve already told everyone that you’re not to be disturbed. They were all quite understanding- it seems I wasn’t the only one to notice your lack of self care.”

You sighed, knowing there was no arguing with him. “I’m sorry you have to do all this. I’ve just been so busy lately I haven’t had time for much else.”

“You needn’t apologize, love, it’s alright.” Loki pulled you into his arms, his hold on you tight but secure. “I’m always happy to take care of you.”

He kissed you, and you finally let yourself relax. You realized just how much you’d missed this. You’d been so busy trying to solve everyone’s problems you’d left yourself no time for Loki. Your hand creeped up to tug lightly on his beautiful hair as he deepened the kiss, humming in contentment.

When you parted, you reached around him to grab one of the coffee mugs. He laughed as you attempted to maneuver yourself so you could drink, but still be held by him.

. . .

You were drawn into the bathroom by the sound of running water that was too loud to be the sink, but was definitely not the shower.

You peeked inside to see Loki crouching at the bathtub, carefully monitoring the gradually increasing water lever. You watched, smiling in realization that the hand which turned the hot and cold water knobs was smaller, daintier, and more prettily manicured than before.

“Hey there, pretty lady.” You joined Loki by the tub as she looked up at you, a flirtatious smile on her lips.

“Hello, darling. Care for a bath?”

“I can’t remember the last time I relaxed and took a bath,” You admitted. “Join me?”

Loki pressed her lips to yours in a chaste kiss. “As you wish.”

You undressed as she finished adjusting the water. She let out a low whistle as you exposed more of your skin, to which you responded by throwing your shirt at her face.

You slipped into the hot bath as Loki followed your lead and began stripping. She’d gotten it perfect, because of course she had. The water was perfectly warm without being scorching. She tucked herself behind you, pulling you close so you were practically resting in her lap.

Her hands crept up your arms and over your shoulders, gently squeezing as she went. You groaned appreciatively as she carefully kneaded the tense muscles, her lips trailing kisses in the wake of her hands.

“Loki,” You practically whimpered as she mouthed at your neck.

“Feel good, love?”

“Feels perfect. You’re perfect.”

She chuckled, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning forward to rest her head on your shoulder. “And you are divine, and deserve the best things I and this universe can offer you. I’d pluck the stars from the sky if you asked me to.”

“I think I’ll pass on the giant balls of heat.”

Loki laughed at that, pinching your side. “You make it sound utterly unromantic when you put it like that,” She complained.

“I’m just saying; it’s a cute idea in theory, but a disaster in practice.” You protested, squirming away from her fingers.

When you were dried and dressed, Loki pulled you into your bedroom. She collapsed with you in tow, landing in a tangle of arms and legs.

You laughed, grabbing a lock of her hair. She always let it hang longer when she presented femininely, so tonight it cascaded down her back instead of pooling at the shoulders. Either way, it was gorgeous. “Can I braid your hair?” You asked.

“Oh, please do. You always make it look so pretty.” She quickly sat up and turned around so her back faced you.

You followed suit, leaning over to your bedside table to grab a hair brush. You ran it gently through her perfect inky curls, marveling at how it seemed to flow like water through your hands. Loki always liked when you did her hair, so you’d taught yourself to do every type of braid you could think of. You decided on a relaxed fishtail tonight, so you could have tendrils loose in front to frame her face.

You were silent as your worked, savoring Loki’s quiet hums and low groans of pleasure as your fingers brushed her scalp. She leaned into your touch, eyes slipping closed as you deftly wove strands of hair together.

“Done,” You announced, tying off the end.

Loki brought the braid over her shoulder to see. “I love it.” She declared, shifting so you could see her face.

You smiled, taking her hand in yours. “I love you,” You told her.

“I love you, too.” She pulled your gently down so you were lying on the bed again. You adjusted so you could lay your head on her shoulder.

“Thank you for taking care of me today.”

“It was my pleasure. I look forward to doing it more.”

You laughed, snuggling further into you. “Hopefully I’ll learn how to do it myself so you don’t need to.”

“Don’t think I won’t still pamper you.”

“I wouldn’t think that for a moment.” You kissed her gently, feeling her smile into it. “I know you too well.”

She laughed quietly, holding you tightly as you drifted off to sleep.

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki x reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki odinson x reader #loki friggason x reader #marvel loki #loki marvel #marvel loki x reader

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letapollojusticesayfuck · 1 year

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fic masterlist (Nov. 6, 2022)

A collection of links and descriptions for my Ace Attorney fanfics are found below--though you could always just visit my AO3 profile and browse them that way!

stop the presses scoop of the century (read all about it) | event of the decade (extra, extra!)

Apollo Justice writes tabloid articles to help pay his law school tuition. Thanks to the wild world of Internet virality, this leads to him starting a relationship with Klavier Gavin, famed rockstar prosecutor

smile for the camera (and keep your fingers crossed)

After a photo of Klavier and Apollo sharing dinner winds up as front-page news, the whole world obviously assumes they're dating. Correcting them seems like it wouldn't be a big deal, except that for the first time since the breakup of the Gavinners, people are paying attention to Klavier's music, and Apollo feels like he's gotta at least do something nice for the guy after he kind of indirectly ruined his life, right? Anyway, it's not like he's going to do anything as cliché as falling for him for real.

thank you for the music (for giving it to me)

Apollo's the first to admit that he's not a Gavinners fan. So why did he agree to accompany Klavier to the premiere of Broadway's latest musical, a play whose plot is based entirely around the band's discography? As the performance unfolds, however, both Klavier and Apollo come to realize that the writers have borrowed more than just Klavier's songs--they've based the story on aspects of the lawyers' real lives, too. Except--hang on, did the two protagonists just kiss?

fame vs infamy (the price of writing fanfic out of spite)

In which Apollo Justice becomes the most popular fic-writer in the Gavinners fandom. (and, along the way, realizes his Big Gay Crush on Klavier Gavin might not be as hopeless as he thought)

perspective

Klavier Gavin, through the years. (an introspective look at the man behind the rockstar façade)

keeping all your hopes alive

After their chance to prove themselves as competent detectives with a big break in an important case goes south, Kay finds her partner Ema drowning her sorrows in their shared office. They have a heart-to-heart--which ends with Ema crashing on Kay's couch (and the acknowledgement of some inconvenient shared feelings between them).

undeniable you (the currents pulling me onward)

Kristoph Gavin is found dead in his prison cell, and Klavier Gavin is the prime suspect. With nobody else available to defend him, Apollo Justice flies in from Khura'in to take the case--but during the course of the trial and its aftermath, long-hidden secrets come to light.

love at first sight (and other common misconceptions)

Klavier's always been certain that when he runs into the person he's going to fall in love with, he'll just know. Apollo believes the exact opposite--that you can't fall in love with someone without getting to know them first. After a bit of convincing, Klavier's starting to see Apollo's point.

let's get old and boring

five times Klavier considers proposing to Apollo, and the one time Apollo gets tired of waiting

Klavier and Apollo Get Scurvy

Klavier and Apollo make a bet to see who can spend the least money in a month on daily essentials. Too bad that in their pursuit of victory, neither one of them remember that fruits and vegetables are kind of important.

Musically Inclined

Sometimes, you've just gotta sing showtunes at the top of your lungs when nobody's around, you know? (Otherwise known as: 5 times Apollo walked in on Klavier singing songs from musicals, and 1 time the opposite scenario happened)

dubiously legal date ideas

Kay Faraday wants to brag about the cool date she and Ema went on--unfortunately, Klavier Gavin doesn't see the romance in breaking and entering.

funeral march

In the aftermath of Lana Skye's trial and the toppling of Damon Gant, Phoenix goes to look for Miles. Their ensuing conversation is perhaps more revealing than he realizes at the time.

shameful

Apollo's just trying to investigate the month's latest crime scene--it's not his fault Klavier keeps being strangely helpful for a rival prosecutor, not to mention distractingly attractive. Ema Skye, however, just wants to be able to present her newly-discovered decisive evidence without having to deal with copious amounts of flirting.

flying cars, smuggling rings, and other futuristic things

Ema's trying to deal with the paperwork from her most recent case--however, Kay's more interested in her thoughts about what the future's going to look like.

morning revelations (to sleep beside you from now on)

It’s not until he sees Klavier beside him, golden hair strewn over the pillow like some sort of Renaissance heroine, that Apollo Justice realizes he’s in love. Apollo wakes up next to Klavier and has to come to terms with his feelings for the prosecutor.

lyrical clarity (knocking some sense into you)

Apollo doesn't pay attention to who's part of his favorite bands--he just appreciates the music as-is. Of course, this means that he's entirely caught off-guard when it turns out that the lead singer of his favorite group is none other than Klavier Gavin. Naturally, he goes to confront Klavier, only to find that there's still more truths to uncover--and a lot that they've still got to talk about.

lonely luxury

After Kristoph's execution, Klavier finds himself alone with his thoughts--until Apollo shows up to remind him he's got people he can rely on for emotional support.

wednesday, 1:22 pm

Ema and Kay take a moment out of their busy schedules to catch up for coffee. (advocating for prosecutors getting bullied is definitely typical date conversation, what do you mean?)

still living (celebrate this new beginning)

Immediately following the untangling of the truth behind DL-6, Miles Edgeworth seeks solace alone in an empty courtroom. However, Phoenix Wright is nothing but a persistent friend.

grave misunderstandings

Apollo Justice has been alive for three hundred and sixteen years, but in all that time, he has never met anyone quite like Klavier Gavin. ...okay, perhaps alive isn’t quite the correct term to use here. Apollo has only been alive for twenty-three of the years he has existed; for the remaining two hundred and ninety-three, it’s more accurate to say he’s been undead. Or: Apollo thinks Klavier's human. Klavier thinks Apollo's human. They're both wrong.

the best-laid plans

Klavier Gavin has planned the perfect proposal--dramatic enough to fulfill his love of Grand Romantic Gestures, yet simple enough to meet Apollo's more straightforward nature. All he has to do is not mess up the decorations! Apollo Justice just wants to know how his boyfriend ended up tangled in several meters of blue fabric.

sweet distractions (M-rated)

Klavier and Apollo grab some frozen treats one summer afternoon in People Park. Unfortunately for Apollo, watching Klavier eat his ice pop is pretty distracting, and doesn't seem to be doing anything to help with the heat.

in effigy (E-rated)

Apollo discovers some scandalous Gavinners merchandise in Klavier's closet. Klavier, having no shame, decides that this is an excellent opportunity to have some fun with it. or, The One With The Official Gavinners Dildos

demo tracks and instrumentals

Klavier, Apollo, and the multitudes of ways in which they find themselves drawn to each other (a collection of drabbles written in response to tumblr prompts and asks)

#lucy's writing #my writing #lmao me forgetting my own tags more like #lucy's thoughts #HEY LOOK AN UPDATED ONE!!#making these fancy graphics took all day

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evolutionsvoid · 2 years

Photo

I mentioned in the entry about the Nauthveli that looks can be deceiving. I bring that up again for this one, as this is another Illhveli that doesn't make its infamy obvious. Outsiders who spot these beasts laying on the shore or playing in the water may not think they are a danger. Rather, they usually find them cute! Look at them splash about and put on a show! How harmless! This is the wrong thing to be thinking when you see one, as most locals say that the correct response is fear. Fear that they will get closer to your boat, fear that they will get curious about what you are doing. Much like most wildlife, it is a whole lot of fun and games when watching them from afar, but not so thrilling when they start closing that distance. The species I speak of is the Hrosshvalur, or Horse-whale. Though it is a mammal, this "Evil Whale" is actually a seal, not a whale (nor a horse.) You can see it in the anatomy of their flippers, as well as the fine layer of fur that covers their bodies. The bright hairy mane that runs down their neck should also be a clue, but unfortunately they aren't the only Illhveli to sport such a crimson look. The Raudkembingur also has this fiery look on its head and back, but it should be noted that their crest is made of finlets and runs down the entire body. The Hrosshvalur's mane is full hair and is only found on the neck and tail. Why these two share such a look, no one really knows, but some suggest that perhaps this seal mimics the Red Crest to scare away possible predators. This mane is also a part of the reason they are called the "Horse-whale," along with other features that bring to mind the equine. Not many sea creatures sport such a full head of hair, but the Hrosshvalur is able to make it work due to the oil it secretes. This special oil makes their fur water repellent, keeping it from getting soggy and bogged down. It unfortunately makes these creatures reek, as that oil has an awful smell when brought out of the water. It is quite the pungent odor, like a strong damp musk. When they are upon the shore in their colonies, you can smell them a mile away. Perhaps this is a hidden blessing, as it keeps people far away from these beasts and lets them know when one is near. Thankfully, they aren't all that graceful on the land, as their bodies are better suited for swimming. They can crawl onto shore and even traverse hills and rocks, but it certainly is a slow and awkward process. This is why they stick to the beaches and shores, as it keeps them close to their preferred environment.

Swimming is obviously their strongest suit, and it is required because the ocean is where their food lives. When they plunge into those polar waters, they are immediately on the hunt for a tasty morsel. Since they stick to the waters closer to the surface, where the light is, they rely on sight to locate prey. Their big eyes are the tool they rely on the most, and they are finely tuned to pierce through the water and spot the smallest target. What they are looking for are fish, squid, crustaceans and even floating sea birds, all of which are torn apart by their fearsome set of teeth. You wouldn't know it when their mouth is closed, but when they yawn, you will see the shredding chompers they sport! They use their powerful flippers and agile swimming to chase down prey and outmaneuver them. Once they find their opening, they zip in and clamp on with their jaws. A quick thrash of their head stuns or finishes off their victims, and then they can devour them. When feeding on larger prey or feasting on a whale carcass, they will latch on and roll their bodies to help rip off meaty chunks. Though they are big, fast and mighty, there are plenty of other things in the sea that see them as just another meal. The mentioned Raudkembingur and the Sverdhvalur are just a few of these beasts that would consider having Horse-whale for dinner. When faced with this threat, the Hrosshvalur turns to their speed to outrun predators. Even when close combat is called for, they can use their teeth and clawed flippers to fight back. They also possess a hardened layer of skin that runs down their back, which serves as crude armor if things get dicey. It certainly isn't as strong as the Skielungur's, but it does the job! Even though they may fall prey to other Illhveli, they put up quite the fight and there are always plenty more of them! I imagine some locals wish more of them got eaten, as that would make for less problems on their end.

Like I brought up at the beginning, this species has a rather cute and harmless look, despite their size. For those who have watched other species of seals and sea lions, you may just think this is a bigger cousin of theirs. They certainly show the same playfulness and intelligence as the others. Though they are quite big, outsiders tend to see their presence as a funny animal show, some performance to be watched and enjoyed. They have seen sea lions perform at circuses before, so here is just a bigger version of it! Sadly, this is not how this species functions. Just ask the actual circuses and animal wranglers who legitimately tried to use these creatures in their shows. The boats they sent out to capture one never returned, and just take a guess what happened to the crews. While the Hrosshvalur may look like they live a happy carefree life, all that tends to vanish once strangers get too close. I mean, to be fair, a lot of things run with that mentality. If you were playing around at a park or having a fun picnic then looked to see some strangers standing there staring at you, you probably would get in a sour mood. This is how the Horse-whale thinks. They like to have fun, but other species are not invited to join in. When boats get too close, or they get too close to the boats, they tend to get angry. With their size and speed, any tantrum is a serious threat to life and limb. They can ram into boats or even leap on top of them, like a Stokkull. Their weight crushes everything beneath them, and if your ship remains afloat, now you got a furious seal on top of you. Encounters become more frequent when this species realizes that boats tend to have plenty of fish, so they flock to these vessels for a free meal. From there, things always go south. It doesn't help that they will actually eat people if given the opportunity. A person swimming or flailing in the water instantly puts them in hunting mode, so they will treat them as prey. One strike is all it takes, and folk are dragged to the depths.

Their smarts and eyesight cause plenty of problems, as they are quick to spot faraway ships, and they always wonder if these vessels have food. In their waters, some swear it is impossible to avoid the attention of a Hrosshvalur. When you see that crimson mane heading your way, you know there will be trouble. If this happens, it is advised to get the harpoons out and any hefty object you can throw. Once the Horse-whale gets close, it will tend to stick its head out for a better look. Aim for its big eyes and open fire, as that is the best way to drive it off. Sadly, you can't exactly go with the tactic of "remain calm and hope it leaves," as this species always finds a way to stir up trouble or find an excuse to throw a tantrum. Funny enough, one of the things that can drive off a Hrosshvalur is another Illhveli! Since other species eat them, it is a possible for a predator to take notice and arrive for dinner. I heard of one tale where a crew was fighting off one of these Horse-whales, and were failing to drive it away. One sailor was able to get it in the eye with a thrown blade, and it caused the beast to briefly pull back. Just as it was about to ready itself for another go at the ship, an Illhveli burst from the depths and caught it in their jaws. In a flash, the two vanished into the deep, and the waters became calm. The crew was left in stunned silence, and then quickly made their way back to shore. Clearly they had used up all their good luck for the week, so they weren't about to test it again! Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian --------------------------------------------------------------------- We are almost there! Almost done!

#illhveli #evil whale #seal #sea monster #art #drawing

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novelistash · 2 years

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Geometry brought me into the lab of a Metagross breeder. My time as a Normal Gym Trainer, my short lived reign as an elite four in Sinnoh, my epic loss in Unova, and even my "research project" in Alola had absolutely no impact on me walking into the office of a pokemon breeder. Instead, my love of topology and atomic structures brings me into the lab of an office I thought I'd never reach.

Psychic trainers are esoteric and elitist and breeders are ten times worse! But those with a love of steel can't be secretive. They can't afford to. There are so few of them that they need the input of outside minds to find breakthroughs into the cryptic workings of pokemon that are rarely thought of as sentient.

The golden years of my Pokemon journey were in Sinnoh. I climbed every hill, spelunked every cave, and beef every berry I could find. I cooked so many Poffins, that the smell of them gives me flashbacks to restless nights. I thought so of my training would be the greatest thing I ever did with my life, but it wasn't. Looking back, I was another Garchomp trainer mocked for sticking with Lucario and Honchcrow far past the point of them being useful.

No, my greatest accomplishment to date was proposing the idea that pokemon weren't composed of atoms, they merely attracted them. They used the properties of this world to exist in it, but they were extradimensional beings that influenced the world using geometries beyond our understanding. I hinted at the idea with Bronzongs, and the idea went on to help researchers discover dimensional folding inside the bell of the adults.

I was asked to join research efforts at the time, but I cared more about scoring an ultimate victory over Cynthia...and my rival from Hoenn, Spiral.

Now I'm back in Hoenn. Back in the same lab that asked me to look into the potential for breeding in Metagross. Fifteen years ago, I came here to grab a fresh Belldum and turn it into an exploding force of death. Trainers celebrated my ingenuity, but researchers turned their back on me-and rightfully so.

My time in retirement gave me an appreciation for the small pleasures in life and an awareness for my great mistakes. I've been tinkering with multi dimensional geometries as a hobby for a few months now, and it's given me a second chance to step into Fenomenal Labs-the leading Metagross research facility, located in Hoenn.

Fifteen years ago Dr. Statum gave me a Belldum to further the research of the cryptic Pokemon, and he hasn't held my betrayal against me. He alone is why I'm back in Fenomenal Labs. He's one of the only researchers still there, but my infamy precedes me. Interns as young as twenty look to me with scorn...or maybe I'm seeing what my guilt wants me to.

Dr. Statum is excited to talk to me. We talk for hours about cutting edge algorithms trying to integrate information and time into forth dimensional models that go so far beyond my tinkering. I forget about my betrayal, I forget about dinner, and I forget about the sun. When the staff comes in for the morning shift we apologize to each other until my bowing almost makes me comatose. I rest in a bed made for researchers with honor instead of trainers motivated by glory.

I wake before Dr. Statum and his colleges show me around the campus. A young genius writes on a window with sharpie in the mess and everyone looks in with curiosity and admiration.

This is the life I gave up. I turned my back on research and knowledge. I was given a life capable of calculating the motions of our solar system and I used it's brain to reconstruct it's form.

Fission.

The Metagross from my past. The one that I truly wronged and ultimately betrayed. It was a brilliant mind with a love of learning and I dedicated its life to battle. It lived five years. It died in pain, sending me empathic tremors of apology. As a trainer, I did well. As a human being I have nothing to be proud of.

Dr. Statum finds me and jumps back into the conversation precisely where we left off. I follow immediately, but insist that we talk over dinner. I ask about facility and those under and above him and he remembers why I'm here.

He wants to give me another Belldum.

How can I say yes? How can I take on the burden of raising another life when it meant so little to me only a decade before?

But I'm not that person any more. I'm not a trainer looking for my next badge. I'm not a hero looking for a new tactic. I'm a lone soul living a life without risk or excitement. What would I even do with a Belldum?

Are you still in Hoenn, Spiral? Or have you moved on? Maybe I should.

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whatifbutnot · 2 months

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Undated diary entry, Villa Diotari, Switzerland

I am at my last, I can do no more. We must leave, weather or not. My only hope is that there remains a sanatorium in Europe which news of us has not reached, that we might be taken in. Not only are my nerves most hotly strained, but the infamy of this place has grown to a degree which must surely end any hopes of returning to polite society. We will be forever pariahs, the subject of knowing looks and outrageous gossip. I truly believe we will never be able to return to our lives. Once the immediate scandal has died down, we must assume new identities in a place where we will not be discovered by our old acquaintances, maybe Patagonia, or the Dutch trading colonies.

The final extremity was the appearance of Augusta Mary, Byron's older half-sister. I had known her, lightly, during my earlier acquaintance with Byron, and recall finding her somewhat over-awing in her worldliness. It seems she had a corresponding sense of me, as something of an ingénue. While time has changed my feelings - if nothing else Byron's correspondence has rendered me knowledgable in the ways of the world - it appears she still sees me in the manner of a nut to be cracked from its husk and gravely masticated.

It started with her very greeting, which was much more physical than the moment called for. She took the opportunity to whisper a remembrance into my ear which was not in any way appropriate for one of my now married status. There followed a series of implications which betrayed her lineage, being the sort of suggestions that only a Byron would make. I warm even thinking of them. Thank God that Sophia truly is an ingénue, in her condition she could ill bear the anger that full understanding would have granted her.

No word would discourage her. If anything, resistance made her more outrageous in her behaviour, progressing from mere speech to physicality, the caressing of a hand, the touching of a knee. And then, during dinner, the placement of her stockinged foot in a place where only a wife's foot should be placed.

This cannot go on. Though I know I am strong enough to resist her brave physicality with its threat of robust and degenerate carnality, I fear that her determined assault may give me no choice in the matter. Even as I sit here writing this, Augusta Maria may be slowly removing her stockings, the concentration needed necessary leading her to bite her lower lip, in preparation of a further assault on my dignity. Even thinking about this makes my manhood warm with anger. No, no, I cannot place myself in a position where I might be unable to resist, perhaps tied down, being disciplined for my resistance, maybe being roughly penetrated in a way that only a wife should roughly penetrate a man. One's dignity and reputation could not bear it.

Tomorrow we will leave. Tonight, when Sophia has taken the draught I have made her and is securely asleep, I shall go to Augusta Maria to tell her of my escape and the failure of her plans.

I fear my masterpiece will not be completed. I shall leave it here with the memories of this place. On balance, I do not think I shall be too sorry to end the enterprise, I do not think the world is yet ready for the sort of work I was creating. It is too adventurous, pushes too many boundaries. I will leave Theodoric where he stands, having killed the villain but turning to find the body it not where he had slain it.

#and so it ends #not with a bang #but with a whimper #and vice versa #it's a shame #I really wanted to write that work of genius #maybe the work of genius is the friends we made along the way #that bear for instance #trapped in a cabin with lord byron #oliver darkshire #writing project #rpg

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julianxreese · 3 months

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Let It Out // self para

It was such a struggle fumbling with the keys to his apartment, that Julian's grip of Dodger's leash around his hand tightened as the dog yanked and pulled like a fire had been lit under his tail. Not quite unusual, the two year old puppy always lacked a calm switch, bouncing around the apartment with untamable energy. Honestly, they were both growing stir crazy lately. The recent earthquake sent their city reeling and construction to repair the streets near his complex mostly locked himself and Dodger stuck inside with nowhere to go. Adding to that, Julian didn't trust his mind when left alone nor can he trust his choices. He wasn't an impulsive person, he has never been impulsive, but people change.

"Alright, alright, big guy. Relax." His attempts to coax the dog proved futile as he closed the door and dropped to his knees, giving Dodger a few head scratches before unclasping the leash and watching the Labrador retriever immediately bolt in the direction of the kitchen. Julian rose to a standing position with an exasperated sigh and placed the leash on the hook hung by the front door for convenience. He waited a moment, and then another, and then another, the anticipation of Dodger's barks for his dinner or even the sloppy laps from his water bowl to reach his ears catching Julian by surprise when neither happened. He's probably sitting in there and waiting, the thought occurred. "Dodge?" He moved toward the kitchen curiously when the sound of glass clinking stopped Julian in his tracks.

Julian's imagination immediately began running wild, from a lowly burglar breaking into the home right down to even an assassin laying in wait for the attack. He knew one, however, and Judas would surely warn him if someone placed a bounty on his head, right? Nobody in Hedgestone knew how deep his connection lay already, they couldn't. Julian went so far as rationalizing this intruder was a figment easily explained away by the dog simply knocking something off the counter. "Dodger, come here, boy." Julian called out uneasily.

"You know, that's the flaw of dogs, they're so trusting." A voice came floating from the kitchen before the body in which it belonged to crowded the doorway with Dodger at their side. The figure, tall and built slender, held a glass of bourbon in one hand he sipped at with a mannerly fashion only present in the higher social circles. And he was just as fashionably dressed as Julian remembered back in their high school days. "Maybe even too much."

"Chandler." Julian breathed an enormous sigh of relief, steadying his heartbeat as well as he could. It hadn't been long since he found himself in the other male's presence, a quick run-in at the Urie mansion after Austen's resurrection became public knowledge. The brief pleasantries were tainted by awkwardness especially with how the house of cards that was his relationship to Morrigan came crashing down unceremoniously. He always admired Chandler's confidence roaming the school halls like he owned it, head held high, and tenacity spilling from his lips. Julian could never adopt the loquacious candor Chandler presented with performance, and though the last name contributed to Chandy's infamy, Julian never saw him as cold-hearted or standoffish. "Come here, buddy." The man directed a murmur towards the dog and patted his thigh, watching Dodger trot over to stop at his master's rightful side. His gaze came to settle on the man, "Whatever the hell it is you're here for, I really don't have the mental capacity right now."

Chandler hummed lightly, glancing between the puppy and his owner, "I hope you don't mind that I let myself in. You weren't home yet and I personally didn't have the mental capacity as you so described it to make the tedious journey all the way back here. My time's far too precious, you know." He released a scoff and crossed the threshold into the living room before taking a seat in an armchair that was looking a little worse for wear. Every piece of furniture contained within Julian's apartment had been well-maintained apart from the one Chandler sat himself in. Which only bore a tell-tale indication of constant use. "We need to talk, Julian. Sit."

"Talk? Oh, now you want to have a little chat." Julian's words ran dry in his mouth, experiencing an understandable array of emotions given instructions from someone you do not want visiting your residence and stringing the sentence humankind has learned can only follow dread. "I think we both know what this is going to be about." He stated after a pause, shrugging an arm in defeat and finding a spot in the middle of the couch. Dodger didn't hesitate jumping up on the cushions and resting his head in Julian's lap. If there's one sliver of comfort he could focus on, it was that.

"I assure you, you don't. Not completely, anyway. And do spare the dramatics." Chandler crossed one leg over the other casually and touched his lips to the glass he still totted, allowing the silence rise between them until it would leave Julian slightly squirming. The art of intimidation isn't a lesson obtained without an expert leading by example. His father, both birth and adopted, didn't hesitate proving their throne of power at every opportunity. Julian shifted uncomfortably in his seat from where Chandy could see which he didn't enjoy as much as he imagined. "You see, dove, I don't hide the lengths I will and have gone in further establishing my loyalty to family. I'm a bonafide Urie through and through. My position, the wealth, all pale in comparison to my sister's happiness." He sat back comfortably, continuing the spiel, "You made her happy. I'll be the first to confess that I'm forever the captain of this secret Julian and Morri ship however doomed for failure it became." Chandler waved a hand dismissively, "No matter my personal liking of someone, Morrigan's safety is and has always been my priority."

"I'm not a threat to her." Julian couldn't be certain that was the point being presented. He never sensed an inkling of a doubt Chandler was the type of person who traveled the ends of the earth for those he held most dear. If their roles were reversed, god forbid, he would do the same for Casey and has gone to lengths protecting his sibling. Julian traded his life for Casey's when the borders closed for good knowing his time in Hedgestone was sealed anyway.

"Oh?" Chandler observed as the dark-haired male spent the pause digging around in his jean pocket and produced a cell phone. Nothing but the sound of Chandler's fingers tapping the surface filled the air until his searching came upon a video sent through a chain of text messages. The moment he pressed play and turned the screen around, Julian's stomach immediately dropped with recognition. There, displayed in color complete with sounds, was his private meltdown at the batting cage a couple days back. Being present there and experiencing the anger was one thing, watching himself was somehow worse. The defeated expression along his features must have caught Chandler's attention for the other resumed, "When the outside world sees a man who's centered his personality around patience and a calm head lose his shit so ferociously, people begin asking questions. They start making connections and all roads lead to their guarded leader."

"You had me followed." Julian mustered the statement quietly, feeling a nauseous bile linger in his throat.

"Of course I had you followed." Chandler lifted his gaze in an eyeroll and released a sigh surrounded by impatience as he shoved the device back into his pocket. "You've been followed even after our cover was blown, Julian, I personally saw to it during my time away from St. Cascadia. Morri isn't aware yet of the precautionary steps I've put in place, but she will once I take my leave." He debated showing her the video that accompanied the explanation. Chandler despised keeping secrets from Momo, but she would've been outspoken about her objections. "If somebody like me possesses the means to snag this footage, what makes you think the gossip bitch herself hasn't already?"

"No, no, no, why would you have any possible reason to do that?" Julian sharply sat up further in his seat to a point where Dodger lifted his head with slight alarm, but the man couldn't see straight. There have been eyes on him since the relationship toppled, watching him, anticipating his next move as if he were seconds from causing a woman he loved harm. Chandler's reasons hardly mattered now, surveillance or no, there's now digital evidence proving Julian approached dangerous territory. "I don't need you breaking into my apartment and telling me I've slapped a target on my back, Chandler. I suffered with it for years watching her from the sidelines. Seeing how the world treated her, how every person in our school looked at her, the mantle she took after what happened to her father and Desmond-"

Chandler raised his hand and swiftly interrupted the statement at the mere mention of their deceased brother, "Please, waste your breath and continue lecturing me on the burdens that come with being a leader. It's not as if I wasn't there attending unbearable lessons with Dezzie." He spit with sarcasm, pinching the bridge of his nose before leaning forward in seriousness Chandler couldn't stand. "Don't assume I'll send off this video for Savitri to peruse and post. I'm a petty bastard, but perception is everything." Especially from Hedgestone's many residents. "I understand how it seems you've been abandoned and left to drown as the rest of the faction moves on, dove. You two chose distance and that was supposed to save your life." Chandler straightened his posture with demanding assertion, "What you have been tormenting yourself over, you can't have it both ways and straddle the line. You can't love her and expect to remain the golden boy-next-door you've painted for the world's viewing."

Wasn't the notion sensible, believing a man harboring the best friend status found Julian's breakdown useful and present everyone's most reviled blogger the perfect opportunity to post the bombshell on a new target they haven't written about before? Julian knew the only reason the other male refrained and she wasn't in this room. Somehow, he cannot appreciate it the way Chandler hoped for, as if he preconceived a sign of gratitude. "Save my life? Staying in Hedgestone and watching as you both carry on as if you didn't destroy what little life I tried building consumed me, Chandler." He exclaimed in exasperation, shaking his head repeatedly. "Morrigan doesn't want to be with me anymore, I'm nothing. It was her kingdom or love and you know her choice."

"I cannot speak on Morri's behalf and give you a false sense of hope by promising she desires another whirlwind romance with her high school sweetheart, but you also can't proclaim standing at her side while simultaneously showing disgust for the blood on her hands. So to speak," Chandler's hazel gaze pulled from Julian and rested on the back of his own hand, inspecting the nails coolly. "Take a walk on the dark side and embrace who you could be if she happened to take you back. It's not a bad place to be garnering a leader's favor, handsome. Don't think of it a treachery or betrayal." He looked upon the oldest Reese through a half-lidded stare coated by playfulness. "Own it."

Julian could do nothing but process the words with mass confusion, staring dumb-founded as he pictured himself standing at the edge of a vast forest, nothing but swirling darkness reaching forward and claiming him. He traveled along its length for many years, always staying safe at the border, but never making a valiant dare hopping the fence to see what awaited on the other side. His foot slowly inched over, flirting the temptation, particularly regarding his interactions with dangerous people, and yet he still chose righteousness. Maybe he wasn't completely good. He wasn't innocent, perfectly behaved, nor angelic. What made him saintly maybe became an attractive appeal for Morrigan, but loving her turned his soul to poison. This is the eternal dark without a dawn. "You want me to own it. I mean, I had no way of knowing I was inflicted with whatever this is after I've lost everything. Right?"

"Ah," Chandler released a hum and nodded once in understanding, "Right, this is about wonder boy's little hot dish of gossip he calls an expository article." He himself threatened violence upon the reporter when the written piece crossed his phone's screen. An attractive imbecile, if he has ever been acquainted with one. "How rude it should be of me to send an assassin after him, would it not? Justified, but rather impolite. I'd prefer burying my own bodies."

Julian opened his mouth and expected a response to spill, ultimately closing it instead when there were a half dozen sarcastic statements that could have been offered. No, Leonardo's article did not sooth his anxieties and convince him he wasn't tearing the hair from his skull for no silly reason. "Yeah, so," He mustered, "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that, you know, in case he disappears and I'm questioned. I don't really care to drop the soap for your benefit."

"No need dropping the soap when I have a view of that perfectly chiseled bottom for free any day." Contemplation covered his sharp features before the matter at hand pulled him back to reality. "Look, you haven't lost anything, Julian. Anyone who judges you for what your heart cannot help yearning are not true friends. It's not my responsibility to speak for Momo, but I will say this," Chandler rose from the chair to a standing position as his nimble fingers worked on the buttons of his designer coat. "Beyond the frigid distant dictator, I think she still loves you. You're the one who got away. The teenage dream, the..." He rolled his wrist as if it may help conjure the thoughts, "The reason why I do not have little nieces and nephews to spoil rotten by now."

Julian hesitantly followed the other's lead and stood up the same time Chandler had, folding his arms across his chest so he wouldn't fidget. "You really think if past events were different, we'd have children." A fantasy, a world without Douglas' existence suffocating his daughter's choices of the man she would spend the rest of her days with, just the two of them and any number Morrigan wanted for children. Whether it is one or three or ten, Julian would abide if her happiness persisted. "I know you're only saying it to make me feel better, but as long as I make sacrifices for her, I'll keep losing everything."

"And here I am, left playing the matchmaker." Chandler extended a hand and gently ruffled Dodger's head as he squeezed past both him and the dog's owner to reach the front door, shrugging, "You know the choice you're faced with, dove. Though, I'm tickled by an inkling you have already made it."

"Maybe I have. Now, it's up to Morrigan." Julian rounded the couch and met the other at the apartment's exit. The last few days brought an accumulation of extreme exhaustion and here Chandler arrives to dump the avalanche when all he needed was a beg for pitiful mercy. He was talented at that, wasn't he, throwing himself at clemency's feet and kissing the ground she walked. Why shouldn't his pleading extend towards her right hand man?

"Good. I knew I liked you for a reason. Other than those rippling pectorals and that hair even I'm jealous of." Chandler reached out his hand again and flirtingly wound a lock of Julian's curls around an index finger, humming as the man pulled away in annoyance. Releasing a chuckle, he dropped his arm and nudged open the door, "Allow me to arrange a meeting and perhaps, I'll see you around the mansion more often. God, how I have missed that face."

"Chandler?" Julian knew he should let this go and save the conversation for another day, but he waited over a decade for answers. He watched Chandler turn around at the sound of his name with the same curiosity shared between the two men. "You left me in that hallway with excuses, did you forget that?" Julian sure didn't. "I spent weeks debating whether I should've stood at those gates and waited for someone to come out to tell me what the fuck happened, but no, all I had were your words. That I was just a distraction, your amusement, that I'd been used for my naïve outlook." He stepped forward, closing the space that much further and feeling the same anger spike. "Is this you saying she actually loved me?"

When they were standing next to each other, Chandler only just noticed he towered over Julian by a few inches. Somehow, he knew the subject would land here. Their last chat at school after the incident at home. The unimaginable torture of the three Urie children and the reason he vanished on his travels. God, how he dreaded this confrontation. "I know you possess the brains in that pretty head of yours, Julian. Think about it," He tipped his head back, "You are bombarded by confirmed tales about our father from myself, you know the horror stories from Morrigan. One day, everything is fine and the next, we're no longer attending classes. Leaving me with the task of shattering a relationship Morri cannot do herself. Fill in the blanks, dove."

His worst fears realized. Julian couldn't face the fact he was being told complete lies back then and he was struggling coping with it now. He thought back on that day, pinpointing details overlooked by the initial shock. Something about Chandler's demeanor screamed exhaustion. The rings around his eyes, the irritability alone, hinted toward what had caused the haunted look on the other man's face. No smiles nor playfulness, only hidden desperation. "Tell me what happened, Chandler. Did he touch her?" He couldn't help playing the defensive even if the man in question was buried six feet under.

Chandy breathed a humorless chuckle, shaking his head with overwhelming sadness. "I can't, Julian, I'm sorry. Only four people know what happened and two are dead. It's in everyone's best interests if we keep it that way." He turned on his heel and placed a hand to the doorknob, the deja vu creeping along his spine of history repeating itself. Chandler's mind flashed backwards in time, to his torment implemented by his adopted father. His memories shut down a long time ago and he had no choice but leave that boy behind. Leave Julian behind. Something told him he couldn't do that this easily now. "Look," Chandler turned slightly, "You will never fully grasp the sacrifices Morri made for you, Julian. She, my brother, and I risked everything for you. We protected you...and I protected her." He allowed the statement sit for a second.

"If you can't tell me anything, then why come here at all?" Julian hissed through his teeth in frustration. That's what this is, a constant running in circles and a haunting of a ghost's tormenting whispers. This is the reason why he found himself at a batting cage, losing his marbles, and taking the insanity out on a meaningless fence that did absolutely nothing. It mattered little compared to what Morrigan must have endured at the hands of her father, something now left to his imagination. Just another reason he was relieved Douglas was gone. "Why play matchmaker now, as you called it? What are you really doing here, Chandler? Just enlighten me for once."

"Oh, handsome," Chandler reached out his hands and began straightening the collar of Julian's shirt with a wistful sigh, wanting to speak a million sentences and offer the brutal reasons why he does what needs doing. The mender, the guard dog, the loyal sibling protecting his sister's happiness. Even in that moment, though, he could appreciate Julian for merely what he was born with. Chandy and Morri always had that trait in common, a real taste for the attractive ones. "I'm fixing it."

Julian stood stock still, knowing the other's fussing had been a standard habit he relented complaining about. Maybe it was a method of caring, of acceptance, or it could have very well been an obvious flirtation. "How?" He brushed Chandler's hands away and stepped back while his gaze searched the other's expression. Clearly, guilt doesn't just weigh heavily, it also brings his ex's best friend to his doorstep in the search for mending past mistakes. Admirable. And confusing all the same.

Chandler considered this briefly, pondered his own plan weaving a solution for Morrigan and her past lover. Momo forever carried her shackles as a leader and guarded her heart safely, but if she understood how dire the situation became with regards to Julian's place in the dark from their secrets, she would know Douglas' leash shattered the day he died. One promised meeting and she could have everything if she asked it of Chandler. "Trust me." Trust me now like you trusted me back then.

"Chandler," Julian began as patiently as he could muster, "That's not a comforting answer-"

"Ah, ah, ah," Chandy shot out one hand and placed a finger to the man's lips in order to silence him which, he could have found rather humorous seeing how easily it succeeded in doing so, "It's the only answer I can provide for the time being. As of now, don't do anything stupid until you hear back from me, capeesh?" He patted Julian's cheek amusingly and didn't bother staying for drinking in the oldest Reese's stunned silence before finally taking his leave.

Chandler's last goodbye adhered to the basic identifiers of his ostentatious personality, finding new and improved ways earning jaw-dropping moments, making memorable exits no one could question. His mouth curved in a displeased frown as the straight and narrow road ahead veered into a completely different lane. It was slowly driving past an horrendous car crash one could not look away from, a beautiful disaster of mangled decisions and gruesome scars that would take ages to heal. Julian fought his losing battle for the very last time.

Right here and now, all he can do is dive headfirst and hope this isn't the death of him.

#self para: let it out #ft. chandler fitzgerald

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npiyr · 2 years

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There is a fundamental flaw to you line of questioning and thought There are killings dealt and battles fought Difference that you see, is murder valuable Or a polyphony Killing of another for a greater cause is justified By the life of the man who died But to kill with cruelty and without necessity is murder surely And evil made purely manifest

When we discussed it before I disagreed and I do still To kill to remove, to delete is evil But if so what is good? What can a man destroy and not be misunderstood? If we were to conclude the justification of satisfaction from killing many Some can live and some can die but with infamy in the form of you I see the fact stretched out across your face, you do not care You never cared Justice is a joke if none are spared

Revenge is a pathetic fantasy for children to latch onto You cannot simply destroy all who wrong you To rhyme rhythm with the words of pain you bleed I would suggest that you reflect upon yourself Discard what you feel and leave your empty on the shelf Thief of future, murderer synonymous And far flung the western hero Who so many laid low Oh hark and hear the dinner bell, carrion is served Vulturous hegemony of death in black sacrifice Demon formed makes cracks in ice, empty belly does not suffice

Gurgling with a Jabberwock’s smile Stay away a longer while Vorpal blades can cut and slice in grim soliloquy And by morning dawn they leave Great bird of virtue is the bird that eats my intestines from my chest They steal my existence, they steal my best But to eat they need and to be consumed is the circle for me I blame them not

Murder takes form as evil in absolute And killing takes form as the circle’s home I killed an animal 3 days ago with my hands A moth I crushed without a thought Twas’ not pointless but no battle fought So is that a murder? And then am I a murderer? What fundamental question must I answer to know the meaning of justice? Perhaps there is none and this is a cosmic joke

#poetry #poem #please tell me your personal opinion of the dichotomy between murder and killing

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markadoo · 2 years

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Eat your fucking heart out, Post.

(this was done without the use of tools. just notepad)

Min letters: 6

adenine adenosine adenovirus adipose admire adonis adverse advise adviser advisor advisory aedile aeolian aerosol afield aidful aileron aimless airmen airspeed alerion alevin alimony allium allonym allonymous allude allure allusion allusive alluvion almond almoner almonry alpine alumni alveoli alveolus alvine amnion ampere amplify ampoule ampule andiron aneurism aneurysm animus aniseed anodise anodyne anomie anonymous anymore anyone areole arisen armful around arouse asleep asperse aspersion aspire assoil assume assure asunder audile audism aureole avenue averse aversion daemon daimon daimyo dairymen damosel dampen damper damsel damson darnel deanery defame defile define deform defray defuse deliver delivery deliveryman delusion delusional delusory demean demeanor demeanour demise demonise demure denarius denary denial denier deplore deploy depose deprave depress depression deprive derive dermal dermis desire desirous desman despair despise despoil devalue develop devilry devious devise devoir devour diaper dimple dimply dinero dinner dinosaur diploma disarm disease disfavor disfavour disloyal dismal dismay dispel dispensary dispense display displease displeasure disposal dispose disprove disproven dissever dissolve disuse diurnal divers diverse dollar dollop dolman dolmen dolorous dolour domain domineer domino doofus doomer doorman doormen doornail dormouse dorsal dorsum dossier dreamy dressy drivel driven droopy dropsy dualism dunlin duress durian dynamo earful earldom elapid elapse elderly ellipse elusion elusive emerald empery empire employ employe emporia empress emprise emulsify emulsion enamel enamor enamour endear endive endless endonym endoplasm endorse endure enfilade enfold enisle enliven enormous enroll ensample ensile enslave ensnare ensnarl ensure envelop envenom enviro environ envious eolian epidermal epidural episode eponym eponymous epsilon erasion erosion espadrille espalier espousal espouse evasion eversion evildoer eyeful eyelid failson failure fallen family famine famous famuli fandom fanion favour fearless federal federalism fedora feline feller felloe felonious felony female femoid femora femoral fender fennel

ferula ferule fervid feudal feudalism fielder filename filler filmland finale findom finery finesse firedamp fireman firemen fissure flamen flareup flavone flavonoid flavor flavorless flavour flavourless flense flimsy floodplain floral florid florin flounder floury fluidram fluoride fluorine fluvial foison folder fondle fondue foodie foolery foramen fordone foredo foredone foredoom foreland foreman foremen forename formal formalin formalise formless formula formulae foulard founder foundry foveal frameup freedman freedom freeload freeman frenula frenum friend friendless friendly frilly frumpy fulmar fulsome fumarole fundie funeral funereal funnel fusion fusional illude illume illusory impale impanel impasse impede impend impersonal implode implore impose impound impress improv improve impulse impure indoor indoors infamous infamy infernal inferno inflame inform informal infuse inland inlander inroad insane insole insular insure invade inverse island islander lampoon lamprey landform landless landsmen lanner launder laundry laurel lavender laymen leaden leaven leisure leisurely lemonade lemony leonine leopard leopardess leprosy leprous lesion lessen lesser lesson lieder lifeless limeade linden lineal linear lineman linemen linesman linesmen lineup linseed lioness lipread lipoma lively livery liveryman liverymen loafer lonely lonesome looney looper loosen lordly louden louver louvre

loveless lovely lovesome loverly loyalism luminal luminary lumine lumpen lupine madrone maiden maidenless maidenly malodor malodorous malodour mandolin mandoline maneuver manful manifold manille manner mannerly mannose manoeuvre manrope mansion manure manyfold marine marlin marline maroon marvel marvellous marvelous maslin masseur massif massive maunder mealie meander meanie measles measly measure medallion medial median medieval medlar medley medulla medullae medullary medusa medusae melanin melodeon melodious melody menial menopause mensal menses mensual merino merlin merlon messer mindful mindless mineral misdone miserly misery mislay mislead misled misplay misread misrule missal missay missel misspell misspend misuse modern moderne modernise modify modius modular module moduli modulo molder mollify monera monody monopole monopolise monopoly monorail monsieur monsoon moonless moonrise moorland moraine morale moralise

morass morose morsel moulder mousse mudflap muesli mullein mullion mundane munion murine muslin mussel myelin myriad myself nameless namely napery nelson nemesis neural neuron neuronal neurone neurosis nimrod ninefold nodular nodule nomade nomina nominal nominee nondairy nonfan nonfinal nonlinear nonperson nonplus nonpolar nonrandom nonslip nonvisual noodle noonday normal normalise normie novella novelle nudism nullify numeral nursemaid oarsmen odious odorless odorous oedema oenomel oilman oilmen oilseed oleander ominous omnivore omnivorous omnivory onefold onerous oneself onesie online operand opossum oralism ordain ordeal ordinal oriole orison ormolu osprey ourself overall overalls overdo overdone overdose overdue overfed overfill overfull overlaid overland overlap overlay overleaf overleap overlie overload overman overmen overpaid overpass overpay overplay oversea overseas oversell oversold overspend overspill overuse ovular padrone padroni pailful painful painless paisley palfrey palimony pallid pallium pallor palmer palmful palomino pander paneer panful panino pannier pardon pareve parley parlous parodise parody parole parolee paronym paronymous parsimony parsley parson parvis passel passion passive pavior paviour pavise payroll pearly pedalo pedlar pelisse pelvis penalise penfold penile penman penmen pension pensioner pensive penury perennial perfidy perfume perilous perinea perineal perineum period person persona personae personal personalise personalism personify persuade persuasion persuasive perusal peruse pervade pervasion pervious pessary pieman piemen pilfer pillar pillory pilsener pilsner pinafore pineal pioneer planner plasmid player playful playroom please pleasure plenary plenum pleura pleurae pleural pleurisy pleuron plosion plosive plover plunder plural pluralise pluralism pluvial podium poison poisonous polarise polder polearm pollard pollen polonaise polonium polymer polymerase polymerise polynomial pomade pomander pomelo ponder ponderosa ponderous poodle poolside poorly porous poseur posole possum pounder praise praiseful praline prelim preload prelude premed premise premiss presale presell preside presold pression presume prevail previous prideful primal primate primer primeval primula prison private profane profess profession professional profile profuse profusion prolusion promenade promise pronoun prosody proven provide pseudo pseudonym psylla puerile puisne pulley pullover pulmonary pulsar pulverise purfle purify purine purism purlin purloin purvey pylori pyramid radfem radium radius railmen rainless rallye ramify ramose rampion ramson random randomise ransom rapine ravenous ravine realise realism really reason redeploy redline redone refile refill refilm refine refold refuel refund refusal refuse relaid relapse relief reline relive reload remade remain remand remedial remedy remind remiss remodel removal remove rename reopen repaid repeal repine replan replay repose repulse repulsion repulsive resale resave reseal resell resend reside residua residual residue resile resinous resold resole resolve resound respell respond response responsive resume reunion revalue revamp reveal revile revise revulsion rifleman riflemen rindless rissole roadie roadmen rollup romaine romanise rondeau rondel roofie roofless roomie rosella roseola roundel rounder royalism rulesy rumple runnel sadism salesmen saline salmon saloon saloop salsify salver sample sampler sardine savior saviour savory savour savoury seafood seamen seaside season seldom selenium selfie semilunar seminal seminar seminary semipro semolina senary sendup senile senior senora senpai sensei sensor sensory sensual serein serfdom seriema serial series serious sermon serous serval servile sesame sevenfold several sidearm sideman sidemen sidereal sienna silver silvern silvery simnel simony simper

simple sinful slander slanderous slaver slavery sleepy slender slider sliver smiley smolder smoulder sodium sodomise sodomy soiree solanum solarium solder soldier soldierly soldiery solemn solenodon solenoid solidus sollar someday someone somniferous soprano soundproof souvenir spandrel spaniel spanner sparse spavin speedy spider spidery spillover spinal spindle spindly spinel spinner spiral spirea spirula spirulae spleen splendor spline spoiler sponsor spoonful spoony spousal spouse sprain spread spumone spumoni sufism sulfide sundae sundial sunder sundry sunray sunrise sunroof superfamily superfood supermodel superman supernal supernova supernovae supervise supine supreme surname surveil survey suspend suspender symposia synapse syndrome umpire unalive unalloyed unarmed underlay underlie underline undermine underpass underpay underpin underplay undersea undies undine undone undress unease uneasy unemployed uneven unfair unfavored unfired unflavored unfired unfold unformed unfree unfriend unfriendly uniform unimpressed uninformed unison universal universe unlade unladen unlaid unlearn unless unlined unlived unload unloose unloved unmade unmanned unmannerly unmanly unmoor unmoved unnamed unnerve unopened unpaid unpair unpaved unplace unplanned unpleased unpressed unprofessional unproved unproven unravel unread unreal unreason unreasoned unreel unrefined unresolved unresponsive unrevised unripe unrivaled unrivalled unroll unsafe unsaid unsaved unsavored unsavory unseal unseasoned unseen unsell unserved unsnarl unsold unsole unsoiled unsolved unspoiled unsponsored unspool unveil unversed upland upload upraise uprise uprisen uprose upsell upside upsilon upsold urinal ursine valine valise valium valley valorous valour vamoose vampire vaporise vaporous various veinule vellum velour vendor venery venial venison venomous venous verdin verify verily verism verismo vermeil vermin verminous vernal versify version versus vesper vessel villous villus vineyard vinous viperous visual volley volume volumise voyeur voyeurism vulpine yeoman yeomen yessir yourself

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softyoongiionly · 3 years

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For Whom the Bell Tolls

Just outside the boundaries of your town, deep within the trenches of the forest sits a massive tower made from smoke-stained ivory. Decrepit and ominous, it looms over your town like a warning- like a shadow...

There are opposing rumors as to what resides in the tower.

One of them, the one that just so happens to appeal to you the most, is that there is a deity living in that tower.

The one who knows.

The one who blesses and curses the deserving and offers wisdom that no mortal can.

And now, faced with the imminent demise of your family- you have no choice but to seek answers in the darkness.

What, in god’s name, will you find?

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: demi-god! au, demi-god! Jimin, mythology, slight angst, smut, fantasy

Word count: 8k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE PWP)

Warnings: likely inaccurate representations of greek mythology lmao, unprotected sex (wrap it up plz), mentions of violence/death, slightly spooky??? allusions to corruption and murder (non-explicit), JIMIN (cause he’s always a warning), probably a messy plot cause I went feral with this one. parts are unedited oops.

A/N: i have nothing to say. this was supposed to be demon porn and now we have a completely new au. SOMEONE PLEASE STOP ME. okay anyways,,,, i love u.

Corruption.

It ran rampant through your town like the plague, devouring everything in its path. One right after another, you have seen it swallow those who you had come to respect; good town folk, who at one time, moved through the world with a moral compass stronger than the one you felt you possessed, had now fallen ill to the disease.

And you understood...to an extent. The universe was not a benevolent dealer. It randomly assigns cards to its patrons and cares not about the outcome- or the losses. You understood that sometimes people were simply without a winning hand.

But the need to win was still present.

However, your town was spoiled with a type of greed that wafted through the streets and turned everything to mold. Neighbor betraying neighbor, partner betraying partner- even mother’s betraying their children...

All to please one man...

Lord Instinctus was the ruler of your province. Born into nobility, he took over the position after his father passed away and began turning the tides in his favor. Taxes were raised, work hours following suit and, harsh punishments were administered to anyone who dared questioned the new system. He forced your town to pledge their loyalty to him on the day he took over and sent ‘enforcers’ to hide out in the town in search of any signs of rebellion.

However, his cruelty was not unique. Too many men have followed the path paved before them and suckled at the teet of avarice, until they were compelled to out do one another.

To outkill one another...

What made Lord Instinctus unique was the fact that he had never shown his face before. During his initiation into the noble court, the townspeople were given blindfolds and told to face away from their Lord and simply listen. Few people broke the rules but, the ones who did were immediately executed.

You still remember the shudder that ran through your body as you heard the sound of your townspeople hitting the pavement. From that point on, the tone was set. Insubordination means death; the terms were simple.

The lack of knowledge and the possibility of death didn’t stop speculation from blooming. In fact, the appearance of the Lord was essentially the usual topic of conversation at every pub on the main street. After the freeing of spirits, both liquid or otherwise, the rumors begin pouring into the atmosphere.

“He’s probably horribly deformed...”

“Inbreeding is common amongst the nobility; it would make sense...”

“My cousin walked by the villa the other day, he said Lord Invictus had a tail!”

“A tail you say?! So is he some sort of hybrid?!”

“Oh please, that’s preposterous- he's probably just hideous...”

You bite your bottom lip, as you wipe the whiskey from the chestnut countertop, resisting the urge to smirk. Bartending was certainly not a glamorous job but, it paid your taxes and helped put food on the table for you and your family.

Glamorous it was not but, amusing it definitely was.

“I bet you he still beds a new woman every night though...”

“A pretty face ain’t worth more than all that gold he has aye?”

“Maybe he’s cursed...”

“That wouldn’t surprise me either- I hear noble families make deals with the magic folk all the time.”

“If you all want to know so bad, why don’t you just pay the tower a visit?”

With that meager suggestion, the bustle of the pub comes to halt- all eyes now on the man who mentioned a topic that is normally banned from public spaces.

“What? You can’t tell me you haven’t wondered what was up there...”

“We know what’s up there-”

“Or rather- who's up there.”

It’s said to be the home a monster.

The tower was used as a prison for the most dastardly of criminals. For years, just before the establishment of your town, it served as a last resort for the rotten underbelly of society. Countless lives were taken, madness ensued- until the revolution came. The tower was set aflame by revolutionaries but for whatever reason, it did not crumble.

The ivory merely sizzled and turned gray and then over time, it turned black. For years it was abandoned until one day, just after sunset, light emanated from the tower once more. Onlookers who were near the building went inside to see if some vagrant had moved in.

And they never returned...

Several spiritual advisors have visited the town, including religious figures from various faiths, and they have all arrived at the same conclusion: a demon has taken residence in the tower. Despite the efforts to bless the building, the light comes on every evening.

Thus, it is assumed that the demon remains unharmed.

“What about Mrs. Jeon? She left offerings for the beast and her son was cured of the plague the next morning.”

“Or Mr. Kim- he left one as well and found gold in his backyard that very night...”

“You aren’t suggesting there is a benevolent being in that tower, are you? Should I remind you of how many disappearances have occurred?”

There are opposing rumors you suppose.

One of them, the one that just so happens to appeal to you the most, is that there is a deity living in that tower.

The one who knows.

The one who blesses and curses the deserving and offers wisdom that no mortal can.

“Hey here’s a thought- how about Jacob tests his theory eh? Why don’t you go down and find out yourself? Report back to us with your findings...”

The pub erupts with laughter now, the uneasiness slowly melting away from the room.

You elect to keep your thoughts to yourself, as you finish up counting the money you had made from that evening- making sure to leave a portion for the incoming team.

The bite of the winter wind is harsh and untamed as it scraps across your skin, causing you to hurriedly put your coat on. It feels like winter never ends in your town and if it weren’t for the fact that your family stocks up throughout the year, you would be worried where your next meal is coming from.

Walking down the street towards your home, you catch sight of the tower in the distance. The way the windows begin to glow, almost makes you feel like it’s somehow staring back at you- taunting you.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t tempt you.

It always has.

Even as a young girl, you remember being drawn to the infamy, to the danger...

Your mother always told you that being curious was a good thing, that it led the greatest minds of humankind. You kept that with you as you moved through life, trying your best to understand what your purpose was.

But times were hard...

With a malevolent lord hanging over the morale of your town, digging his fingers into the heart and soul of your people and crippling them with eternal debt, it was causing you to look for answers.

And you were beginning to look in some unorthodox places.

Dinner with your family soothes the aching curiosity in your chest as you try and remind yourself of all the things you have to be grateful for. After your meal, you wrestle your little brother into his bed before telling him his favorite bedtime story. Once his eyelids have kissed, you turn out his light and move into the main room to wish sweet dreams upon your parents.

And although the pleasantries are nice, there are a few things throughout the evening that disturbed you.

The limp in your father’s movement.

The blisters on your mother’s hands.

The bags beneath the otherwise unburden gaze of your little brother.

Exhaustion was palpable.

Living beneath the weight of a corrupt leadership will do that to you.

As your head hits the pillow, you can hear your mother murmur in desperation.

“I won’t have enough to pay him this week...what are we going to do?”

“I can work extra hours at the mill- we will figure it out.”

“How could you possibly work any longer-”

You feel your chest twist with guilt as you hear the crack in your mother's voice.

“You’re falling apart my love...if you continue pushing yourself this way, I’m afraid I will lose you and I can’t- I can’t-”

The muffled nature of her cries suggests that your father has pulled her in for a hug, trying to erase the inevitable with his affection.

“We will endure, I promise. Just hang on a little longer.”

With your father’s final words, their conversation begins to die down.

This can’t possibly go on much longer. You might be able to pick up more hours at the pub and, perhaps procure a second job but, the dues will never end.

Your family will never exist for any other reason aside from paying to the noble family.

So you make a decision. Hard work clearly isn’t the answer and revolution would only shed innocent blood. If the practical world had nothing else to offer then, you would seek answers from beyond.

Your parents retired to their rooms shortly after their conversation but, you wait until you’re sure the house has fallen silent before you make your next move. Embarking on this mission would be simple but what lies at your destination is anything but; so, you try to be prepared for the possible outcomes.

Wrapping yourself in the thickest coat you can find, you slip your dagger beneath the onyx material and slowly creep out of your bedroom.

The streets were still bustling with life; your town rarely ever rests and the pubs and shops are open well past midnight.

It might sound like the product of a vibrant town but, it’s mainly due to the ever-present demand for profit.

Limited hours mean limited sales.

Thankfully, no one really notices your presence as you traverse your way down the streets and through the alleyway. The noise echoing from the main street slowly diminishes and makes way for the sound of the wind dancing through the trees. The forest itself does not frighten you. You grew up memorizing it with your father as he taught you the fundamentals or foraging and gardening. The sound of the owls is expected as is the chill that runs up your spine with the increase of the breeze.

However, as you near the tower- fear begins to slither its way into your veins. It’s quite a sickening feeling as it seems to stop you in your tracks but, you push on anyway- determined to finish what you have started.

The wrought iron surrounding the tower is stained with rust, corroded and crackling with age, the creaking of its bars alarms you, stopping you in your tracks and forcing you to look up.

And there it is: the tower.

It stands above you like a menacing giant and although it’s presence should deter you, it doesn’t. Making an effort to be as silent as you can, you slip past the opening in the gate and begin walking up the broken cobblestone pathway.

There is nothing but dirt surrounding the perimeter of the tower and other than the moon, the only light before you is coming from the very top window. It’s glowing but the color isn’t stable- it's as if it were shifting slowly from red to green to blue and then back again. Faced with the wooden French doors, you question the idea of knocking.

If someone truly did live here, it would only be polite...right?

With a shaky hand, you knock three times as loudly as you can. For a moment there is nothing, but just as you ready your hand to knock again, the door groans and begins to slowly creak open.

The already unstable heartbeat in your chest begins to rattle without mercy as you brace yourself for whatever horrible creature might lay on the other side. Instead, however, there is no one.

The door opens entirely to reveal that instead of the simple but filthy interior you expect from an abandoned tower such as this one, there is a rather decadent home. Large marble pillars extend upwards seemingly holding nothing in place while glamorous furniture positions itself through the foray. Everything is cooled tone with greys and shades of blue, black often lining the borders of the funiture. There is no lantern, the moon lighting up the interior of the room just as it led your path up to the door.

The layout doesn’t make sense.

The tower is cylindrical and doesn’t offer enough space for such an open floor plan so, how is it that the inside looks like lavish mansion?

You swallow your fear and newfound confusion as you tentatively look around the expanse of the room.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

You take a deep breath and decide that the likelihood of someone (or something) answering that call is slim, especially given the way you were welcomed into the tower in the first place.

You place your hand inside your pocket, gripping the dagger for good measure before beginning to make your way towards the staircase. The moonlight is sufficient enough at first but for whatever reason, as you begin making your way up the stone staircase, the interior of the tower seems to slowly darken. Your grip on the dagger tightens as you stop walking, frozen in your steps, cursing yourself for embarking on a journey so reckless.

Suddenly, all of the light from the room vanishes, forcing a gasp from your throat. You manage to grip the railing to steady yourself but you have no idea what you are to do next.

And then, someone speaks.

“Well- you’re awfully far from home...aren’t you?”

The sound of the voice rushes through your senses much like the wind did. It’s too sweet for your liking but, it entrances you none the less.

“Who are you?”

As much as you try to steady your breathing, the way your voice cracks, gives you away instantly.

Laughter bounces off the stone walls, sinister and playful all at once before the voice speaks again,

“Don’t you think that’s a question I should be asking you? You are the intruder after all...”

Disembodied or not, the voice makes a valid point. You did walk in unannounced and you most certainly weren’t invited.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” The strength in your voice comes back slightly as you grip the railing a bit tighter, “I came here because- “

“I know why you’re here...” The voice is much closer now, likely positioned at the top of the stairs, “Humans are so predictable; always looking for a handout.”

This offends you greatly and regardless of the amount of danger you might be in, you let the voice know anyway.

“I am not looking for a hand out. My family and I work from sunrise until sunset to make ends meet. I’m here to make an offering- not merely to take whatever miracles that you make.” Stronger and stronger, your voice rises to the occasion, preparing itself to either spar with the beast or scream for help.

“Miracles hm?” Sinister laughter slinks down the staircase, practically teasing the exposed skin of your neck, “Is that what you think I do?”

You swallow the bile that creeps up your throat, “I’ve heard many stories- but I wanted to see for myself. Some of my people claim you’ve blessed them but, the clergy said a demon lived here...”

“Oh?” It rises with inquisition, “And you came anyway? Do I have a heretic in my presence?”

Shaking your head does nothing in the darkness but it’s instinctual, “I don’t believe in demons- at least, not the kind who dwell in abandoned towers.”

“Is there a kind you do believe in then?”

There is something in you that urges you forward, captivated by the sweet sound of the voice above you, desperate to view the owner and desperate to see the moonlight again.

“Hell is nothing but a metaphor and it’s demons all the same. There is plenty of evil here, plenty of suffering- by definition, there is a demon ruling over my town- he is draining us of our resources for his own gain. I couldn’t imagine a more accurate representation.”

Suddenly, you hear the sound of boots clicking slowly and steadily down the stone stairs. You brace yourself, still feeling frozen in your place- wishing to see whoever or whatever is front of you.

“If I did make miracles,” It muses and, now you’re able to discern that it’s only a few steps in front of you, “What exactly would you be offering me in return?”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you place all your effort into trying to make out whether or not there was an actual owner to this voice. Finally, your eyes adjust enough to see the faint shadow of a figure which appears to be sitting on the second set of stairs.

“Name your terms, I will do my best.”

“Ah ah-” The voice corrects along with a side of twinkling laughter, “That isn’t how this works...”

You’re growing frustrated with the apparent mind games but, you know it’s in your best interest to be patient; you still don’t know what you’re dealing with.

“How does it work then?”

Silence passes through the air for a moment before the voice speaks again, “You must bring me the thing you treasure the most so, that I may know your true intentions- I cannot help you until I can see you properly.”

You snort, “You’d be able to see me if you hadn’t wiped the light from this room...”

Laughter comes again but this time, it’s lower and deepened with suggestion, “I’m not referring to physical sight, human. You might not be able to see in the dark but, I can.”

For whatever reason, its response sounds salacious and riddled with an innuendo that you’re slightly afraid to comment on.

And the reaction it creates within you, only frightens you further.

“I’ve just told you that I barely have enough money to scrape by- I don’t have anything of value to give you.”

“I never asked you to bring me anything of value nor did I ask you to give it away- you’re not listening very well...I don’t know how I’m supposed to help you if you can’t follow instructions.”

It sounds irritated and fond all at once, prompting you to nod immediately, not wanting to upset your only shot at freedom.

“I’m sorry.” You breathe, “I’m just-”

“Don’t lie to me...”

Your gaze strains to try and make out the expression of the figure in front of you but, its futile- the darkness impeding your effort.

“What do you mean?”

“You were going to tell me that you’re scared.” The voice accuses, “But you’re not- even though, you most certainly should be.”

It wasn’t wrong. You should have ran when the door opened on its own, when the lights began to dim, when a voice began speaking to you...

But you didn’t.

You were undeniably intrigued.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

An insidious bought of laughter comes from the figure before it sighs, “Hmmm, maybe a little bit.”

When your lips part with something that resembles shock, the laughter comes again only slowing to a halt for the sound of the figure’s tongue tutting against its teeth.

“You are a curious girl...” It observes, “...promises of harm should not excite you and yet- excitement flows from you anyway. Why?”

It kills you to refrain from denying it but, you have no choice.

“Your voice-” A sigh leaves your lips, “it’s very intriguing.”

Maybe it’s part of the creature's abilities, you think, its voice is the main weapon to lure unsuspecting and vulnerable humans into its clutches. The only question is- what happens once it has you.

“Is it now?” The voice sounds intrigued, “Most humans don’t seem to think so. Are you sure you’re hearing me right, girl? I’ve been told my voice is the thing of nightmares.”

This perplexes you; how could anyone possibly think such a voice was frightening? Despite this creature being anything but human, it sounds very much like a man- a warm and mischievous man who seems hellbent on getting you into bed.

“What does my voice sound like to you?” It asks, a smile in its tone.

You ponder this question for a second, realizing very quickly that you can’t exactly tell this creature that it sounds like it’s trying to seduce you. But still, that does seem to be the only appropriate description.

“Sort of...like a melody.”

Laughter comes again but, this time it’s paired with the moonlight slowly fading back into the tower, covering every surface until it finally reveals the appearance of the figure.

Beautiful.

Not an it but a he...

A man with wings.

On the steps before you, he stands, leaning casually against the railing now. Atop his head is a tousled mop of sapphire hair, just below are his eyes- nearly black and hooded with the same seduction as his voice and cloaking his figure is a black linen ensemble fitted only by the same color corset. His pillowy lips and soft skin would be a masterpiece on their own but coupled with the giant pair of onyx wings protruding proudly from his back- his visuals become simply devastating.

“What do you see?” He smirks, licking over his lips.

Unable to resist, you shake your head in complete awe, all of the sensible words dying before they leave your throat, “You- are you an angel?”

The light allows you to see him now as his head tilts another round of laughter, “Try again...you’re very close.”

Perhaps the clergy was right...

“A demon then...” You resign because despite your previously-held beliefs, if this really was a demon, then you know very well you shouldn’t be dealing with him. “I should go.”

His smirk broadens, “But I thought you didn’t believe in demons?”

“I didn’t but, that’s clearly what you’re alluding to. If a winged man tells me he’s a demon, I think it’s wise that I return home.”

Through your moment of clarity, your desire for him persists- especially now that you see what he looks like. But you know better than to make a deal with a demon, even if you are desperate.

“Do you think the universe is that simple? Angels and demons? Good and evil? You don’t think that maybe- in all of his vastness, there is a chance for the inbetweeners?” He presses and now his black eyes seem to glow, his gaze slightly hypnotic.

Tightening your coat around your body, you stay staring at him for a moment before you respond, “Is that what you are? Something in between?”

He licks his lips, his eyes finally allowing themselves to wander over your figure. There isn’t much of you showing but, he still drinks you up regardless, exposing and exciting you all at once.

“I was sent by the underworld to do business for the gods...” He drops his voice to a near whisper, his gaze burning a hole in you, which now aches to be filled.

You take in a shaky breath through your nose, nodding in understanding, “Did you kill the people who disappeared here? Is that what happens when their judgment goes south?”

He arches his brow, tilting his head with his inquiry- his voice dripping with darkness, “Maybe I did...maybe I didn’t. I don’t see how that’s relevant- especially since you’ve already decided you were leaving. Which of course-” He waves his hand then, the wooden door behind you creaking open, “-you are free to do.”

There is something about him you haven’t touched on but, it’s beginning to eat you up inside. He may be an otherworldly being, possessing the tower like a beautiful virus but, he is starting to look familiar. This of course, is hard to imagine because his beauty is so striking that you don’t see how you could ever forget it. But nonetheless, you feel like you’ve seen him before.

And this is what has kept you frozen.

“Will you not give me any answers?” You border on pleading but, attempt to keep your tone firm.

He chuckles, “You didn’t come to me for answers. You came for help- which I’ve already agreed to give you.”

The supernatural discourse that has transpired, thoroughly distracted you from the reasons for seeking him out in the first place. Your situation had not changed; you were still desperate for money, desperate for justice and desperate for peace.

“You won’t hurt my family...” It’s not a question, and it leaves no room for any other response aside from the one he gives you.

“I won’t.”

Nodding, you glance behind your shoulder towards the door, “I have to go home. I don’t have the item you asked for. I can be back within the hour...”

For the first time, he looks slightly disappointed but as you complete your sentence, he shakes his head, “No. Don't come back tonight.” He insists, “If you wish to do business with me- you must return tomorrow after midnight. I will wait for you at the shoreline.”

This confuses you, “The shoreline? Why can’t we meet here? The water is dangerous after dark.”

The smirk returns to his tender lips, “I know.”

With that, he waves his hand again- causing the door to swing open and slam against the tower walls.

Jumping at the sound, your gaze shoots back behind you before returning to where the creature stood.

But he had vanished.

You have no choice but to heed his requests and rush away from the tower, the curiosity inside you almost too much to bear.

Nothing is out of the ordinary as you walk back home, at least not at first. But when you pass the massive clock tower in the center of town, you realize something strange...

The clock hadn’t moved, not even a second.

You remember very clearly reading the time as you hurried past it on your way to the tower and now, even as you’re staring at it, it stands perfectly still. Until suddenly, without warning, the hands of time begin to move again. The clicking almost startles you, your brain filling with a million questions despite your decision to turn away and return home.

Time had seemingly stood still whilst you were in the tower.

Slipping beneath the covers, you try your hardest to get to sleep despite being bombarded with images of the haunting man you had just encountered.

You know you should be terrified.

You know you should be wary.

But the familiarity of him has possessed you and, you’re determined to understand why.

The next night, with your treasured object tucked securely in your coat, you make your way back to him.

You make sure to check the clock tower before you do, logging the time away for later to see if last night had been more than just a fluke.

12:32am.

The clock tower has never lied but, you’re starting to think it might be influenced by whatever resided in the tower- magic, beast, or otherwise.

As you pass through the many trees, you begin to hear the chaotic crashing of the waves in the distance. The tower may be frightening but, few things could match the malevolent temper of the sea. In fact, you’ve always believed that nothing could. The sea was unrivaled in her cruelty, consuming the world at will, just for the fun of it- you've theorized that she likes the screams. During the day, she simmered- blue and serene, allowing boats to decorate her surface like candles on a birthday cake. At night though, her temper worsens and it’s as if she suddenly remembers all the injustice she has faced. Her waves swell to horrific heights, smashing into the seawalls built around your town, creeping over like a titan looking for vengeance.

You’ve always felt pity for her. It must be hard: being the heart and soul of humanity, being responsible for the very nature of things- only to be forgotten. Only to be mistreated...

Your boots are discarded near the last patch of grass before the sand and, your toes brace themselves icy chill of the sea breeze. You’re especially thankful for the coat now as you suspect that your teeth would have already begun chattering had it not been for the thick fabric protecting you.

The waves haven’t begun their violent dance just yet but, you can sense their temper beneath your feet. They will begin soon.

“The sea-” The voice from the tower is behind you, “it suits you.”

Breathless, you turn to face him and even though you’re more prepared for his beauty than you were last night, it still shocks you.

He’s wearing a black silk gown, that drapes effortlessly off his body, the sleeves made out of French lace and extending well past his fingertips. His wings are shuttered behind him, folded almost modestly against his back.

“Thank you.” It’s the only response you have before you reach into the fold of your coat, “I have the-”

He holds up his hand, his voice commanding but gentle, “Wait. I want you to walk with me first. I don’t like rushing through my business deals.”

Your hand slowly retreats from your coat as you warily look behind you, “You want to walk along the shoreline? I told you, it’s too dangerous- at least for me it is, I don’t exactly have an escape mechanism attached to my back.”

He smirks, his tempting gaze flourishing with fondness you cannot place, “What causes you to mistrust the sea so much? Surely she wouldn’t hurt one of her own...”

Your brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

Extending from the confines of silk, his fingers reach out to you, fluttering with invitation, “I will show you.”

And really, you’d be a fool not to accept.

Interlacing your fingers with his, you feel electricity simmer ever so slightly beneath your skin. You’re assuming it’s from the power that likely resides within him but, you don’t expect it to affect you so much.

The sound of the waves begins to softly roar in the distance but the water isn’t close enough to the shoreline to pose any immediate threat.

Not yet at least...

You begin walking alongside him as he leads you both in the opposite direction of your town border. For quite a few moments, he just gazes at the eternal stretch of sand before you, his soft mouth curved up ever so slightly. He looks pensive and serene all at once and, it confuses you.

“May I tell you a story?”

His request surprises you but, you aren’t really in a position to say no. And if you’re being honest, you really didn’t want to.

“Yes.” You murmur, feeling compelled to keep your volume at a minimum.

He smiles softly to himself, glancing towards the water briefly before beginning.

“The water has many gods...” He speaks softly, letting out a sigh, “Lir, Irish god of the sea, Tefnut, Egyptian goddess of the rain, Amimitl, Aztec god of lakes and fisherman...” His explanation already has you interested. You were taught much of the stories beyond your land but, it had always fascinated you, “The gods of the sea are known for the temperate nature, they often stay away from humans and avoid interfering with the mortal coil. Death by water is merely a request they carry out for the gods of death and destruction and thus, there is goddess who rules over the violence of the sea itself.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, the temper of the sea seems to roar to life, the swollen waves crashing aggressively, still not close enough to reach you.

Not yet at least...

“Cymopoleia, is the goddess of violent sea storms. Poseidon, her father, tasked her with overseeing the malignant waters and tending to the causalities. She was not the creator of the storms but she carried the ability.” He moves through the story as if he has told it a 100 times but he seems captivated by it nonetheless, “When it came time for her to bear a child. She conjured up a spirit from within her very core. She crafted them out of the essence of the sea and placed them inside of clamshell in her palace. She was awaiting the full moon when someone snuck into the depths of the ocean and stole them from her.”

The gasp that leaves your lips cannot be helped, you didn’t realize how engrossed you were until suddenly you recognize the port from another town nearby.

You had been walking awhile.

“Why would someone do that?” You press, shaking your head.

He sends a solemn look your way, “Many thoughtless humans believe that if they capture the essence of a god, they will become one themselves. Foolishly, he opened the clam shell and released the spirit into the world. By the time the goddess found him, it was too late- but she delegated his fate anyway. She took his life beneath the depths of a violent storm and placed a curse upon anyone who shared his bloodline. She made it so that any one of his descendants would bear the physical embodiment of his fate.”

“So, they look like they’ve died at sea?”

He can’t help but smirk, a bit of the darkness you saw at the tower, beginning to creep back. “Indeed. They are horribly disfigured and regardless of their efforts, they all meet the same fate. His lineage believes that if they send enough offerings out to sea or if they build high enough walls, that they will somehow escape their deaths. But of course, this if futile- the goddess vowed that she would continue to collect them until her spirit was returned.”

His story ends and it’s like something clicks within you. Without warning, you squeeze his hand, slowing both of you to a stop, just before the light of the upcoming pier hits you.

“Does this have something to do with my town? Is that why you’re telling me this?”

Lord Invictus certainly fit the description for a descendent of this thief and, although it bores no sense of logic- you have no choice but to believe it anyway.

It all fits together too well...

He turns towards you now, his smirk now a small smile, “It has to do with you Y/N.”

Your brow furrows, “Me? What do you mean?”

He nods to your coat, something otherworldly lingering in his eyes, “I’d like to see what you’ve brought with you now.”

Still riddled with confusion, you reach inside your coat and find that the item you had brought with you (a beaded necklace gifted to you at birth by your parents) had turned into something else.

And now, sitting in the palm of your hand- was a clamshell.

“What is this? This isn’t what I brought to you- I-” You begin to panic, confusion and fear starting to take over, “Did you do this? Did you take my necklace?”

Finally, the sinister smirk returns as his wings begin to unfurl from behind his back. Along with his shift in expression, another danger is brewing very close to you- you can feel it.

The sea is growing irritated and whipping the wind and the water up into a frenzy. As you look toward the water, you have no choice but to look on in horror as you see the beginning of something deadly.

A rogue wave.

The grip on your hand tightens as his extraordinary strength keeps you in place.

“I think it’s time I formally introduce myself-” His voice is loaded with bad intentions but it sounds sweet anyway as he burns his gaze into yours, “My name is Jimin. Son of Tartarus, the god of punishment and Nyx, the goddess of the night.”

Your eyes are wide with desperation, not fully registering what he said before he’s yanking you against his chest and turning you to face the sea. Standing behind you, he unleashes a spell of wicked laughter as his wings unfurl from behind is back to wrap around the both of you, so that the only thing you’re able to see is the wall of water coming for you.

“I have to come to send you home Y/N...your mother has been waiting for you a very long time.”

His arms are wrapped around you now, crushing you against his chest as his wings begin flapping- the wind picking up furiously around you.

“Jimin!” You scream, eyes welling up with tears, “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me! You promised! Why are you doing this to me?!”

He laughs at you, and it isn’t necessarily malevolent but merely amused, as if he in on a joke you weren’t part of.

“Shhhh, quiet down my little sea nymph...” He whispers salaciously into your ear, “...your fate will be painless.”

You’re crying now, digging your nails into his skin, attempting to break free as the massive creature that is the ocean rushes towards you without mercy. The crest of the wave arches above you proudly, the swirling darkness of the water mocking the mere audacity of your existence but, as you brace for impact- it never comes.

Only the darkness does...

And it’s the darkness that consumes you.

“Jimin!” A voice breaks into your subconscious, luring you out of what you hope was a nightmare, “You couldn’t have brought her home without scaring her? She was practically driftwood when she arrived here.”

That familiar twinkle of laughter sounds then and, it forces your eyes open.

“I’m sorry your grace- it's just in my nature.” He defends poorly, still chuckling to himself, “I can’t imagine my brothers are doing much better.”

You are somewhere extraordinary, that much is certain. Above your immediate line of sight is an ornate glass ceiling that seems to glow a cerulean blue. All around you are gold furnishings, each decorated with various moldings of sea creatures.

“She’s awake!”

Your vision, still slightly cloudy, now lands upon a being so beautiful- that you have to blink a few times to ensure you’re seeing the right thing. Draped in blue silk and decorated with gold and pearls, is a woman who looks at you with nothing but love in her eyes.

“Oh my- its really you...”

She seems tentative but, you’re suddenly overcome with joy- filled with an almost cosmic sense of peace.

“Mother!” You cry, rushing off of the bed you were laying on and into her arms.

She takes you in her arms immediately, her skin cool against yours like the tepid waters of the bay. She sniffles, tightening her grip on you,

“I knew you’d come home...I knew one day I would find you.”

And it really doesn’t make much sense does it?

How could your life swing so violently from one direction to the next?

Your life on earth seems so insignificant now...now that you’re back with her.

Cymopoleia- queen of violent sea storms and, your mother.

She explains it all to you, gently stroking your hair and fawning over you.

The spirit in the depths was you. Born into a human body, you were fated to one day meet with the demi-god of darkness, who with a bit of trickery- would return you to your rightful place in the cosmos.

Your mother assures you that your mortal family would be relieved of your memory until it was safe for you to visit them, until the gods of fate decide. In addition, Lord Invictus would be the last of the bloodline to pay for what his ancestor had done and, the fog of greed and corruption- which begin the day you were born, would soon be lifted.

The explanation is long and doesn’t leave you completely fulfilled but, your mother assures you that you have all the time in the world to understand the complexity of the universe.

Hours later, after you’ve had a decent feast, your mother instructs Jimin to escort you to your bedroom.

As he leads you down the hallway towards your chambers, you send a playful glare his way, “So- how much of what you told me was a lie?”

He merely smirks, “None of it.”

You scoff, “Even the part of about your voice? And all that nonsense about excitement and me being curious? You knew all along what was to happen- you just tricked me.”

Jimin chuckles darkly, stopping just outside your bedroom door before turning to you, “The part about my voice frightening people wasn’t a lie, Y/N. My father is the god of punishment, any mortal that hears my voice usually cowers in fear...”

“Is that why I felt so drawn to you? Because you were meant to take me home?”

His smirk broadens, “No...you feel drawn me because you want to fuck me.”

Your mouth goes completely dry at his bold statement but, you are unable to deny it- your fingers suddenly twitching at your side.

“Wh-”

“It’s not your fault really...” He murmurs, his body shifting towards you, “...it’s just the way I was made. I am used to people lusting after me- however,” Jimin reaches out then, to brush his thumb over the swell of your cheek, “-I have never known true lust until I had the pleasure of meeting you.”

“You lust for me?” You whisper, completely drawn up with desire- finally allowing your true nature, the nature of a demi-goddess pour out of your soul.

He licks his lips, his gaze upon you timid as he presses his thumb into your face, “I do.”

You turn to the side suddenly, capturing his thumb between your lips, “Show me.”

It's all it takes: that one phrase of consent being enough to unleash all the urges within him.

You’re inside your chamber seconds later, Jimin clawing at the fabric of your robe, his fingers digging into your skin as he does, his lips latching on to every part of you he can reach.

“I knew the moment you walked into my tower-” He grunts, “I knew- there was no way a mortal could be tempting, so dreadfully seductive.”

You sigh hopelessly, raking your hands through the sapphire tendrils on his head, your lips ghosting along the swell of his cheek, the tail of his brow, the shell of his ear...

“In the underworld...” He’s practically growling now, scratching his nails up the newly exposed skin of your back, “We are never taught to refuse our desires. You were my greatest challenge- it took everything in me not to devour you right there.”

You smirk now, positioning your lips at his ear, “I wouldn’t have known what to do with you though- aren't you glad you were patient?”

He grunts again, pressing his hips against yours defiantly, “Patience is for virtuous gods- “ He doesn't answer your question but, you know that he means yes. In spite of his darker nature, Jimin still believes in doing the right thing.... most of the time.

He has you on the bed moments later, his wings spreading proudly. He’s panting, his eyes completely black with lust as he nudges your legs open, determined to finally taste what he’s been craving.

For the demi-god of darkness, denying his desires for even a second is painful. He aches to fufill them over and over again...

You were certainly no exception.

But you want to keep teasing him...

Reaching down, you spread yourself open for him- feeling the visceral substance of your arousal sticking to your inner thighs.

“What are you waiting for then?” You lean up, grasping your hand behind his neck and staring directly into the abyss that is his gaze, “Defile me...”

Jimin growls, sliding into you instantly, his hands quickly bracing themselves on either side of your head. He smirks as your eyes roll back the sheer pleasure of him inside of you causing your nipples to harden.

“Oh look at that-” He chuckles, his own expression unstable with pleasure, “Are you going brain dead already hm? Is this cock that good?”

Your eyes come back into play as you stare up at him, your hands gripping either side of his face as he starts a power rhythm within you.

This wasn’t meant to last long, the carnal desire too much for either one of you to handle...

Perhaps, if your feelings permitted it- you'd make love another time.

Nodding, you moan as he increases the rhythm, pressing your forehead against his own.

“You feel so good.” You whisper, “I didn’t know it could- oh...” A whimper leaves your lips as he hits that spot inside of you, the pleasure completely ruining your ability to speak.

“Of course you didn’t- you’ve only ever let mortals play with your pretty cunt haven’t you?” He laughs, mocking you and cooing all at once, “And now that I’ve gotten ahold of it, you’re never going to want anyone else. I will ruin you ugh-” He finally breaks, his own brow furrowed with the onslaught of his release as you tighten around him, “-ugh fuck yes. I can feel how badly your cunt wants me- it's like you’re begging me to cum.”

“I want you to cum,” You whisper shakily, kissing at his mouth, “Fill me up please, I need it.”

He growls, kissing you back with just as much fervor, his hips moving so fast that the pleasure fucks with your vision.

“I’m going to make a mess of you, they will smell me on you until I can come back-” He promises, smirking ever so slightly, “and then- I'll paint the inside of you all over again won’t I? Such a masterpiece this cunt will be...and you’ll be all mine, cumming only for me.”

And he wasn’t wrong because, mere seconds later- the two of you are cumming all over one another, ruining the silk sheets with your release and clawing desperately at one another.

With the mutual utterance of your names, Jimin collapses beside you and, moments later- when you get your wits about you, he is ushering you onto his chest.

Sweaty, exhausted and satisfied, you lay together in silence for quite a while.

Until finally you speak, “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

Jimin chuckles but this time, the sound is much warmer than you’re used to, “Immortal lust, it’s a blessing and a curse but, eternal life has to stay interesting somehow.”

You trace patterns on his chest whilst he covers your body with one of his wings, the feathers teasing at your sensitive skin.

“Did you mean it?”

And he doesn’t even bother asking, he knows exactly what you’re referring to.

“I want you.” He affirms, “If you’ll have me- I felt quite possessive of you then but, I won’t insist on anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

You smile, tracing a heart directly over the spot where his heart would beat, “It fits doesn’t it? You and I?”

If the past few days have taught you anything, it is that sometimes- it is appropriate to succumb to fate. Sometimes, believing in the simplicity of destiny works out. Being with Jimin felt right and, for now, this was enough.

“It does.” His statement is simple but his expression says it all: he is elated.

You fall back into comfortable silence once again before one more pressing question leaves your lips, “Did I hear you mention something about your brothers earlier?”

Jimin nods, his eyes half-closed as he cuddles closer to you, “You did. I have six of them.”

“Are they- like you?” You murmur, unable to stop your curiosity.

He nods again, “They are.”

You think one more question will suffice but, his answer will unfortunately bring about a thousand more, “Are they all on missions too?”

Jimin’s trademark smirk shows itself once again as he snickers, “They are-” He repeats before a great sense of pride comes over his expression...

“I was just the first one to return.”

A/N: should this be a series? asking for a friend...

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