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millytempesta · 4 years ago

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Mine and only.

Chapter 2, chapter 3.

Paring: Bokuto Koutarou X reader

Rating: fluff.

Summary: After another date went horribly wrong, all that (y/n) wished for was for the only man in her life that ever understand her, to become a human.Little did she knows that her pet owl wished for the same thing, and that magically their dream became true.

Warnings: This story will contai SMUT.

A/n: I realized that this chapter is a little rushed, it’s the first time I’m writing somethin, sorry. Also I'm already sorry for all the spell and grammar error, english is not my first language.

Tapping sound is all that can be heard around the office.

Tap tap tap…“Ugh…” a groan can be heard from one of the desks.“My head is killing me…” (e/c) eyes scan the office, almost empty at this hour of the day.The clock shows 8.45 pm ‘Only 15 more minutes left and I’ll finally be able to go back home’. Her eyes land back on her desk, where a small frame is situated. Her small hand takes hold of it, studying the picture inside of it. A dreamy smile appeared on her pink lips. ‘My Bo, he must be worried I’m this late… I need to finish this quickly!’. With a look of determination the (h/c) haired girl turned back to her computer and started typing again.

‘For my Bo!’

“And.... Done!”, with a satisfied nod, she turns off the computer, ready to finally head back home. ‘I should stop by the store to buy some of Bo’s favourite food as a sorry, and maybe some more wine for the weekend’ she thinks happily, moving to the elevator, but before she could even get near it a squeaky voice calls her name. "(Y/n)! (Y/n)! Wait, I need to tell you something!!!” The blond girl jogged to her with a huge smile on her face. With a sigh, the (h/c) haired girl turned to face her, already knowing what was going to come. “You are not going home, are you?”

“… Yes…?” A whine escapes from the younger girl in front of her. “But it’s Friday night, we don’t have work tomorrow and the day after! Come to have a drink with me and my friends, you’ll have more fun!” With an apologetical smile, she answered “I’m sorry Ichika-chan, but I’m too tired today… Maybe the next time okay?”

But was only met with a disappointed look “You always say so, but never come… You know, in my group of friends there are a lot of hotties, I bet you’ll find someone of your likening”. “I’m not-” the blond girl waved her off “Yeah yeah, you are interested in dating at the moment, because you all heart belongs to Bo… Yeah same story every time, when will you change your mind? You are already 25, you won’t be young forever you know? It’s now that you need to experiment, to truly live your life. Not passing all your time playing the housewife, you can do that once you’ll have your kids.” Green eyes lock on (e/c), searching for something that apparently she did not find, since a defeated sigh escapes from her lips. “Look, I don’t like to nag you every time, I am just worried about you… Since that guy accident happened you stopped going out, closing yourself in your apartment with Bo… You know I like him, but I miss my friend, and I want too some time to spend with her, getting drunk, doing stupid things and talking about sex experience of the night before”. Guilt starts expanding in the older girl for making her friend worry so much and making her feel left alone.

(Y/n) didn’t have many friends, they all stubbed her in the back. Ichika was the only constant in her life, way before she met Bo. She knew about this point that all the little girl said was only for the best, that’s why she always found it almost impossible saying no to her. With a sigh she locks eyes with her “I promise you I’ll come tomorrow night out okay?”. A huge grin spreaded on Ichika’s face, happy that her friend decided to spend some quality time together. “Hey I’m counting on it, I’ll tell the guys too. We are gonna have so much fun tomorrow!!”. With a last hug and excited exchange of location and time, the two went their separate ways back home.

After stopping by the shop, (Y/n) finally arrived home. Opening the door she announced herself “Booo, I’m hoome”. A loud flap sound can be heard before a big gray and black mass of feathers appeared from the bedroom door. “CRIP”. A big horned owl made his way towards the girl, who is waiting for him with her arms wide open. Yes, the guy who is stuck on her head 24/7 is none other than her lively and cuddly pet owl.(Y/n) and Bo met 1 years ago, during her morning jog in the park, where she heard his screaming. A dog had one of his wings in his mouth, shaking the poor bird from side to side. She couldn’t leave him there, so she runned to him and scared the dog away. Turning back, she felt like an electric shock runned through her, when yellow eyes met her (e/c) ones. It was like in that moment, a bond formed between the two, proved when the injured animal itself moved closer to her, letting the girl lift him in her warm embrace. It was only natural for her to take the pet in her home, taking care of his healing and loving him beyond any other relationship that she ever had. In exchange, the horned owl, once healed, didn’t once leave her side, always waiting for her to come back home, and going out hunting for treasure to show her on her return.

“Hi big boy! I missed you so much!” she says sweetly, stroking the bird’s head who is resting on her chest. With an annoyed tone, the owl looked at her “HOOT!” Trying to calm the bird stroking under his chin,“I know, I’m late… I’m sorry, I had lots of work to do” she tried to explain. But that seemed to don’t convince him, as he took a step back and opened his wings to her “Hoot hoot!” showing how he was not happy about it. Fidgeting with her hands, the girl looked at the owl through her lashes, and with her best pout she continued “But I bought you your favorite for tonight… Will you forgive me?”. At that the howl started jumping happily “Hooooooot!!”

A giggle escapes her at the cute image of her happy pet. Moving to the kitchen, she started unpacking the groceries, taking out the rabbit for her pet, and the vegetables to prepare her pasta. After some cooking, she placed their food on their plates and moved to the sofa, where her olw was waiting for her. “HoooOOooT!” he started jumping as soon as he saw her with the food. Giggling she sat on the floor, placing his plate next to her “Calm down, or you’ll spill it everywhere!”. Ignoring her warning, he started devouring the food, sending bits of it everywhere. Shaking her head she turned and started eating her food “At least I know you like it, cooking for you always brings me so much satisfaction”. In response she received a purred like “hoooot”, emphasizing her point.

After they both finished she sat on the sofa, bird laying on her tummy, watching some action movie on the tv, Bo’s favourite.

When the scene with the main character kissing came, a sigh escaped the girl’s lips. “Hoot?” a curious sound came from the big feathers-like-tummy-warmer. Without looking at him she started talking “You know… I miss it…”. Looking down at the confused yellow eyes she continued “I miss being kissed, touched… I miss being in love, being for once the one pampered” Turning back to the screen, another sigh escapes her “I’m going out tomorrow night, I might pass the night out if I’ll find someone…”.

“CRIP” Suddenly the bird stood up and flapped his wings. “Hey I’m coming back in the morning okay? And we’ll have a cuddle day together-” The bird interrupted her flying away in the bedroom “Booo, please, it’s only tomorrow night” no response. After some seconds, worried, she made her way in the room, but found it empty. It’s not the first time the bird went out, so she tried brushing it off and decided to go to sleep, knowing he would be back and cuddling next to her. But after one hour of waiting under the covers, alone, she started panicking.

Bo always came back during night time, never letting her sleep alone. Moving to the window, relief washed on her, seeing her pet sitting on the big tree in their garden. She could swear she saw her bird in an emo-like mode, pouting at her when their eyes met. “Bo… What are you doing there? C’mon, get inside” she said using her sweet voice. The owl seemed conflicted if giving up on his sulking state, but apparently deciding she didn’t deserve his time that night, he turned his back to her. “Bo… I can’t sleep without you… Please… I need you next to me…” at that his ears perked up and, rotating his head of 180°, he looked back at her. Smiling, knowing she already won, she finally said “You are the cutest bird, and best horned owl I ever saw, and I loooOOOoove you!! Can you now come and cuddle on the bed?”. Pumping his chest out -provoking her to roll her eyes- he quickly made his way on the bet, jumping in a way that meant for her to get into bed with him. “I’m coming, I’m coming” she said giggling. Cuddling near the soft feathers, her eyes became heavier. With a yawn she gave her the good night and before falling into the land of dreamland, a whispered “I love you Bo” made his way out of her.

This night couldn’t go worse.

She knew that going out was going to be a total mess. She knew she had to stay at home with Bo, watching some action film and eating meat all day.

But no… She decided to go out…

And now she found herself having to kick out the guy she met that night, who was screaming like a mad man at her, saying the worst offences she ever heard, in complete contrast with the world he was telling her when he was trying to get in her pants, because he tried to hurt her pet. On his defense Bo tried to attack him, having seen him as an intruder on his territory and a threat for her owner, probably not understanding the moans that escaped her while he pushed her against the wall. But she couldn’t find in her to be worried about the man, who risked his eye probably, when he tried to grab Bo’s wings as a defence from his claws. All she could see was her lovely pet, risking to be seriously harmed from a stupid madman. And now she found herself with a sulking owl and a man screaming at her door at 1 in the morning. She’ll have to deal with all the noise complaints tomorrow. “I’m sorry… I should have known better to take a stranger in the house”. No response from the bird, who was now under the small table, back turned to her. “I put you in danger, when I promised you no harm would have come to you in my presence” Her voice started shaking. Still no response. A tear fell from her eyes “I am so sorry Bo” a sob escaped her. Closing her eyes, she let herself cry, knowing how much she fuked up, and that maybe her pet would never trust her again. A soft and warm wing spread across her back, followed by a softer head nugging at her harm. “Hoot…” he sounded so fragile. She turned and looked back at him “I am sorry Bo, it won’t happen again”. The owl nugged his head under her arm, making her space for him to cuddle her side. “Hoooot” the purring-like sound made her smile, a reassurance for her that he was no more mad.

Taking him on her arms, she made her way to the bed, laying down with the soft animal on her chest. That night she fell asleep with the weight on her body increasing, and with the most beautiful voice whispering in her ear a soft “I love you (Y/n), I promise you I’ll protect you from all those men”.

#haikyuu!!#hakyuu x reader #bokutou Koutarou x reader #fanfic #smut #lemon #fluff #reader

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drjackandmissjo · 4 years ago

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float among the stars and fly to Mars and back

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

OR The Men In Black AU no one asked for

Feysand Masterlist --- Ao3

Feyre Archeron had, since she had been a little girl, always believed that there must’ve been more to the Universe than their little Solar System.

Granted that there was nothing ‘little’ about a star and the nine planets (Viva la Pluto!) and the many other cosmic rocks that rotated around it, quite the opposite if you looked at it from the perspective of a tiny 7 years old, yet for Feyre, after her school had taken them to the city’s planetarium for a field trip, their Solar System had become undoubtedly small compared to the greatness of the unknown sky above. She had got home that day with stars in her eyes, literally because they had been given stickers of stars and planets, and she and her friends thought it was a good idea to stick them on their faces and eyelids, and had begun to constantly look up.

And she had not stopped since.

Many of her classmates laughed at her interest for the sky, thinking she only thought aliens were real because of movies and the TV, but the truth was that Feyre didn’t even want to acknowledge life outside of the Earth unless she had all the cold facts and hard proves laid out in front of her. To her, the Universe was a big adventure waiting to be explored, full of different atmospheres and gravities and temperatures, and it was simply wonderful. And yes, it was statistically impossible for such a vastity to have only one liveable planet, considering how well creatures could adapt to different environments, but that was not the point.

Which was why at 25 years of age, fresh off the most prestigious university in Prythian with a bachelor’s in aerospace engineering and a PhD in astrophysics, she had sent her curriculum all over the continent, to the best space programs and some. She had graduated valedictorian of her class, scored the highest marks with her thesis and just genuinely worked her ass off to maintain the full scholarship that had landed her at the Day Court University. She was gonna get what she deserved!

Or at least she thought. Weeks passed and she got no answer at all. She was not expecting to be submerged by requests but, by the Mother, at least some acknowledgement!

“No news is good news” wasn’t part of her vocabulary and she was growing impatient by the hour.

In the meantime, she still kept her job at a local library in her university town, not particularly wanting to go back home to her sisters who had never shown her any support in her academic career. Besides, it was not like they would provide for her anyway: she had learnt since a young age to take care of herself, knowing that if she didn’t nobody else would.

It was on the third week of no reply, that someone walked in the shop during her shift. A tall man in an impeccable black suit strutted in like a model on the runway. As soon as he opened the door, the bell rang, signalling a customer and letting Feyre slip on her Retail Smile, which she had practised for years to make it impeccable.

Coincidentally, it was also the same condescending smile she reserved to people who thought they knew more than her in her own field before she crushed them with stone cold facts without breaking a sweat. “Oh, you believe that astrology and astrophysics are the same thing? Sit your ass down, Tamlin, you’re in for a lecture,” had been one of her best moments, followed by a quick “Nothing’s in retrograde, Ianthe, you’re just a plain basic bitch.”

The customer was her dictionary definition of ‘hot’: elegant, tall, with deep russet brown skin and dark unruly curls that framed his forehead nicely. The stranger also knew how to wear a suit, which was a rarer and rarer phenomenon, that didn’t hurt a bit.

It was such a shame that he was clearly a douche, given that he wore dark sunglasses inside her little bookshop after the sun had already set down.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely, watching as the customer scanned through the files of books mindlessly. He lazily reached up her counter with an entitled smile that almost made her punch him the face. “Could you point me to the sci-fi section, Darling?”

The fact that he looked like a thirty-something made the term somehow less creepy, or perhaps it was the fact that he was attractive. But Feyre could not, for the life of her, let that slide down. “I’m not your Darling” she said in her most saccharine voice while throwing daggers at the customer. She was completely out of fucks to give, stressed and anxious, half an hour away from closing time and with her manager on a vacation far away.

Besides, she doubted Alis would give her hell for mouthing an entitled but attractive customer who was patronizing her. If anything, she’d probably push Feyre to flirt with said attractive customer. Cauldron knew that woman wanted her to have a relationship more than anything!

“I apologize for my poor choice of words, I am truly sorry. Didn’t mean to sound rude nor impolite.”

Feyre was quickly taken aback. He truly did sound apologetic and not condescending at all. But he also could just be a great actor. She crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly looked at him, signalling that she was still not convinced by his behaviour.

She would usually be not this bold with customers, but there was something about the stranger that seemed to put her at ease and to let her nature pass through her nurture.

He scratched his neck, probably uncomfortable with the energy Feyre was radiating, and finally took off his sunglasses, revealing the most gorgeous pair of violet eyes she had ever seen.

Immediately, Feyre went from thinking he was a douchebag to understanding that his pretty eyes didn’t work. Which was probably why he didn’t take off the sunglasses at night.

But then why in the Hell would he take them under the store light and not outside, where it was already dark?

She was on the fence, too many contrasting details that sent her rational side derailing, looking for answers that she knew she wasn’t gonna get. Unless she played her cards right.

“Apology accepted” she claimed, truly smiling as she saw the hot stranger visibly relax.

“If his eyes are purple, that means that he’s basically blind, so where are his prescription glasses?” she wondered, eyeing him up and down as she would with any specimen to analyse for a lab. She was a scientist, after all, and Cauldron Damn Her, she needed answers to each and every puzzle that came in front of her.

“I am looking for the sci-fi section. Would it be possible for you to show it to me?” His voice was sensual and low, a rich baritone that seemed to be able to get to her very bones, if she wasn’t careful enough.

“Would you rather me show you our audible or kindle selection for the genre?” she quietly asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. She was only making assumptions with the tiniest bit of information by her side, after all, so she had to be careful not to make an ass out of herself.

“No, what for?”

There went it. The ease with the customer had said it made it completely clear that she was utterly mistaken. She quickly tallied her notions of genetics, trying to understand how such a colour could be created without a damaging mutation.

Realizing she still hadn’t answered and was actively zooming out, staring into the space between the stranger’s brows without really realizing it, Feyre shook her head, saying a quick “Never mind,” before leaning over the counter to point to her left.

Counterintuitively, that had not been the greatest of ideas. There she was, already on a rollercoaster with a rather pretty stranger in an empty store, leaning towards him without thought or restraint. “It’s down that row, you can’t miss it,” she quickly said, moving fast into her original position to avoid any more embarrassment, “There’s a sticker of a Martian next to the tag.”

The customer raised one of his brows in a RDJ-esque way, sparking even more interest in Feyre’s stomach. “How do you know what a Martian looks like?”

“I’ve been scarred by the Tim Burton movie, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to forget them anytime soon!”

He nodded along, “Ah, yes. Apparently there had been a revolt after that film was released due to its controversial portrayal of the Martian Race, by making them look like a green oversized Arquillians. Such a bad political move, if you ask me, considering we’re right in their direct laser trajectory!” The stranger then laughed, a crystalline sound that resonated throughout the store as he began to walk away towards the direction Feyre had indicated.

She had been so entrapped by his laugh that it took a minute to register his words. He had already disappeared between the rows and all she could do was dumbly stare at the spot he had been as her eyes widened in shock.

“No fucking way in Hell!” her mind screamt as she stumbled to find a different solution to the situation at hand. He was clearly pranking her, saying words that didn’t really make sense. He had asked for the sci-fi section, after all! So he must’ve been a nerd, albeit a really hot one, that was just referencing some sort of obscure specie from an equally obscure piece of media.

The only problem was that she was a nerd that knew all of the obscure sci-fi knowledge. She had spent most of her life looking up at the stars and wishing to know more about them, and what better way to start than by watching and reading everything that had to do with her favourite topic. She was used to be on forums, to talk with people that had her same interest and to explore all her crazy theories.

And never once in her entire career as a proud nerd had she heard the term ‘Arquillians’. Vulcans and Krill and every single type of alien that made the Star Wars universe, sure. ‘Arquillians’, never once by mistake in the deepest bottom of reddit.

Feyre was about to debate with herself whether or not she should’ve run to the stranger to demand explanations, when he appeared in front of her, holding a copy of ‘The War of the Worlds’ by H. G. Wells, one of the most iconic books ever written and one of her personal favourites.

“He’s definitely messing with me” she reasoned as she grabbed the book and scanned it, ready to place it in a bag, when she noticed an envelope laying on her counter. It was a non-descriptive, black envelope with some sort of a six electron configuration in minimalistic drawn atomic orbitals. The image was wrong, depicting the electrons in a specific spot on the ellipse rather than in a general area in which they were thought to be empirically.

She raised her head up, looking expectantly into the stranger’s eyes and telling him as such. One of her hands also crept under the counter, towards the baseball bat Alis kept down there just in case.

“Wow. Took you less to realize it than most people!” he cheerfully said, his violet eyes shining with some unknown feeling behind them.

“Realize what?”

“That those are not electrons.”

She snorted at that, unable to keep her sarcasm in. “And what should they be? Wasps?” she asked, amused by their exchange as she grabbed his credit card to pay for the book. It was pitch black too, apparently like everything that revolved around the pretty stranger who was going to get his head open like a melon if he kept up with his antics.

“Why don’t you tell me, Miss Degree in Astrophysics.”

Feyre froze with her hand mid-air as she was giving him back his card. Her expression shifted in cold distance as she sobered up. They were getting on dangerous territory

She was far from powerless: she had a weapon at hand and several years of martial arts by her side, but she doubted she could take down someone the side of her customer in her skinny jeans and Avatar: The Last Airbender shirt. But there was also the counter separating them, which seemed protective enough for Feyre to answer his question.

“First of all, it’s only theorized and not proven, that planets could share an orbit around a star, but I fail to believe that three pairs would form this symbol without colliding against each other and disrupting the harmony of the system. Second, who the fuck told you that?”

“Well, you did, when you sent your exquisite curriculum around” he replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

That was the last straw of weirdness she was willing to witness. “This is getting very creepy and I’m gonna ask you to leave” she said coldly, grabbing the bat with both hands and leaning it over her shoulder, ready to attack if the necessity arose.

The stranger blinked twice and then took a step back, raising his hands in a placative motion. “Pardon me, I still have not grasped human social skills to the full extent, despite my long stay.”

“You are human” she retorted back, unable to keep her voice from shaking. This was absurd, ridiculous, impossible. This was everything she had ever hoped for since she was a child. This was a walking nightmare.

The smile he gave her didn’t look human, nor the way his violet eyes reflected the light, seeming to sparkle with amusement. His lips opened as his tongue wetted them, revealing sharp canines. Feyre had never seen a scene more captivating than when the stranger moved a strand of curly hair behind his ear with deliberate slowness, showing off the pointed tip of his ear. “Correction, I look humanlike.”

“You’re messing with me” she rationalized, refusing to believe that it was possible. Anyone could buy fake vampire teeth and elf ears at any Halloween store or online. But they usually didn’t look this real. Perhaps it was make-up: she had seen so many videos on YouTube and Instagram of artists literally transforming in different things with make-up.

He just shrugged, unaware of Feyre’s rocked existence. She both wanted to believe him and not. She didn’t know what she truly wanted.

“Why would I? I was just sent here by my agency to give you personally the invitation for a job interview, which I think you’ll find fascinating.”

She was speechless. Couldn’t even begin to think about where to start speaking.

This had to be the cruellest prank someone had ever pulled on her.

The stranger cleared his throat and moved once closer to the counter, resuming his initial position. Since Feyre didn’t seem to be hitting him anytime soon, he took the liberty to lean on the counter with his hands splayed out. He had long and lean fingers, like the ones of someone who played an instrument, a piano or a violin, and Feyre ignored the twist her stomach did at the sight.

If he wasn’t messing with her and if he was in actuality a fucking alien, would that be even allowed? Moral? Ethical?

“Look, I know you have an analytical mind, so I’ll be quick,” he began, his smooth voice washing over Feyre in an equally calming and disruptive way, “In case you have wondered why you still haven’t gotten a single reply for your applications, it’s because something big in Velaris is calling out to you. And my agency believes in dibs.”

“What’s there for me in Velaris?”

He smirked at her, a cocky gesture that made her want to strangle him quickly. “Don’t you wanna find out?”

Damn him, damn his perfect face, damn everything. Feyre had many strengths: she was patient, passionate, artistic, kind. But her downfall would always be her curiosity, her desperate want to know.

“I don’t particularly want to get murdered, so no” she tried to play it cool, but inside she was burning alive. Every muscle was taut, every nerve active. She hoped he couldn’t see through her bluff, she prayed the Mother he didn’t think her to be a pathetic little girl.

The Alien, it was impossible in her mind to call him that even if he had confessed it in the most subtle way possible, regarded her with shiny eyes and a grin that promised trouble.

Feyre had always been terrible at staying away from trouble.

“Pity. We could’ve used someone with your talents. If you change your mind…” he motioned to the black envelope, that still laid on the counter untouched. Too many Mission Impossible movies told her that the message was most likely to destroy itself after it opened.

Slipping his sunglasses back on, the alien turned around to leave and suddenly Feyre realized she didn’t want him too. She had too many questions.

“Wait!” she called as he had his hands on the handle. He slowly turned around and looked at her expectantly. Or at least she thought he was: there was no way of seeing his violet eyes behind the black lenses. Suddenly, all of the questions that had filled her mind a moment prior escaped her grasp. Except one.

“Let’s pretend I believe you. What are you?”

The smile he gave her was genuine, blinding and warm. “I am an Illyrian, but I doubt you know of us.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added. “I’m Rhys, by the way.” She couldn’t understand why he looked sheepish out of the blue, it was almost as if he was a teenager revealing a secret crush.

“Feyre.”

“Well, in that case. I hope to see you soon, Feyre Darling.” And with that, he left her utterly alone, with a black envelope and stars in her eyes.

Part Two: The Letter

Feyre had waited until she had gotten home to even think about the black envelope, least of all to open it where someone could immediately walk in with their prying eyes.

Not that she would have had any, after all she was just about to close shop for the weekend and the only people she was in speaking terms with were Alis, who would never call her at such a late hour, and the stray tabby cat that lived near her building and for whom she always left some milk and some food whenever she went out to work. She had playfully began to call him Lucien, after a former college friend she had fallen out with that shared the same ginger hair with the cat, and constantly damned her landlord for his ‘no pets allowed’ policy, but alas, she couldn’t do more.

She had always appreciated her privacy, but lately it had become very close to loneliness, with her being too engrossed with her work to maintain a social group of friends. Not like she missed the assholes she used to hand out with in college anyway. They could all rot in their expensive clothes and expensive cars and expensive degrees, cause Daddy Dearest is a powerful donor and alumni.

Yet it wouldn’t have been so bad to have someone to hang out with when her mind became too loud.

Not too bad, if the alien, “Rhys” she reminded herself, was to be believed. The Night Court was adjacent to Day, but she had left nothing there worth justifying the trip back in case she did move to Velaris.

Velaris. The city of starlight, they called it. Feyre had always wanted to visit, but never could afford it with her tight budget and her focused plan to graduate valedictorian. In the end, she only got that, her impeccable career, which was truly the only thing she cared about. Loneliness was feeble compared to her fear of failure in what she believed was her destiny. It is a funny thing, destiny, it smacks you in the face when you least expect it, and smack Feyre in the face in the form of a very attractive stranger with possibly the best news ever it did.

She had almost expected him to appear out of the blue as she walked back home. Thankfully, he didn’t, but that didn’t mean she slowed her pace before being inside her complex doors and that didn’t mean she didn’t have her keys at hand throughout the entire journey.

It almost felt like she couldn’t breathe properly before she got inside, door locked twice behind her as she leaned against it to help her mind to stop spinning.

Too many things had happened in a too short time for her to cope properly. She needed answers, but she equally needed a strong drink.

It wasn’t until she had managed to calm down her beating heart, that Feyre sat down at her desk and placed the black envelope on her closed laptop.

“This better not be a sick joke” she thought as she ran a paper cutter through the edges. She had wasted too much time on this already for it to be fake or, worst, disappointing.

The paper inside was, predictably, black. She could start to see a theme, linking everything that had happened to her that evening.

The silver writing was subtle and not to bright, perfect to not cause her an headache reflecting the light from her reading lamp.

Feyre almost expected to see alien signs and letters, to not be able to understand what was written as some sort of challenge to test her knowledge. Luckily for her and her dyslexia, it was in English. Still a struggle, but very doable.

“Doctor Archeron,

We have been sent a copy of your resumé from one of our affiliates. We apologise if this letter comes out as brusque due to the circumstances of your possible recruitment.

We are more than pleased to inform you that we have envisioned your request. Our Agency specializes in your field and your accomplishments are remarkable. We are particularly interested in your research in the attrite of different materials against the atmosphere, which you created a masterful thesis around, we were mostly drawn by your detailed research with the Martian atmosphere.

We know that was not part of your resumé, but we have read it and it is very insightful.

We would appreciate if you were willing to come to Velaris for an Interview with our Head of the Research Department. We think you would be interested in a position and we are open to discuss a fortuitous partnership.

In case the way you received this letter was not direct enough, Our Agency values privacy and secrecy above all, and therefore we would request for you to not discuss of this with anyone.

Attached you will find your scheduled meeting time with the address, plus a train ticket to reach Velaris and the booking of an already paid room.

We are truly hoping to be able to work with you.

Our Best Regards,

MIB”

Feyre had to read the letter three times, for the meaning to stick in her head.

Any thought of it being a joke flew out of the window. No one in their right mind would ever read what her supervisor had claimed to be a ‘monstrosity of twenty pages without pictures about materials and Star Trek’ simply for a joke. No matter how well thought the joke could be, the Mars piece was the penultimate point of her research, before the conclusion and not even featured in the syllabus.

Her mind became crowded with a thousand different thoughts. Her emotions were all over the place, running around and doing flips and diving into her subconscious.

She leaned back on her chair, letter momentarily forgotten on her desk as she covered her eyes with her hands and just focused on her breath.

In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

She could rationalize this, just like she did everything else in her life. She had jumped to conclusions with her emotions only once in the past 10 years since she had started college, following her loneliness and the pressure to date the guy that screamt red flags for many reasons, yet she had ignored them all because he was gentle at first, filthy rich and nice looking.

Never again, she swore to the mirror after she had managed to end the toxic relationship that had developed.

Feyre did what any rational person would in her situation: grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down a list of pros and cons.

PROS:

Job opportunity in my field

ALIENS?

Secret Organization

Area 51?!

Already estranged from family

Secrets!

Velaris!

Best food

The Rainbow

Seaside

Best Library in Prythian

Snow in the winter

Fresh Start

CONS:

Moving

Finding a place

Totally new city

Know literally no one

Have to quit job with Alis

Already told her I was waiting for replies

She has a replacement ready

Could still be a prank

Too complicated to be a prank

Definitely an opportunity

Am I really thinking about saying no?

It took her longer to come up with cons. Besides, her gut told her to do it, and so far it had never lead her astray.

Worst case scenario: she comes back and waits around for another reply to her resumé.

Best case scenario: the job of the literal dreams, that can possibly exceed expectations, in her favourite city in the entire world.

Besides, she already had a paid train ticket to and from Velaris and an already paid room in what, if the website was to be believed and it was, was a 5 stars hotel in the creative centre of the city.

Before she could doubt herself even further, she grabbed her phone and shoot a quick text to Alis. The older woman didn’t believe in phone calls past 8 pm, considering her nephews would be already asleep by then, or at least she hoped they would.

Her thumb ran over the keyboard as she frantically wrote, in the most cryptical wording known to womankind, that she would have a job interview in the Winter Court on Monday and that she needed the day off. It didn’t matter that she was going to the Night Court and that her meeting was scheduled for Sunday at 11 am, she figured that, if she had to be secretive, better start as soon as possible!

Feyre didn’t move from her position with her phone pressed tightly in her hands until, ten minutes later, Alis replied with a thumbs up emoji, followed by ‘you’re wasted at retail’.”

Feeling lighter than she had in months, she rushed into her room to begin to pack for the upcoming weekend. The train would leave the next afternoon and would get her back Monday after lunchtime. She had to prepare, in case she could go out on Sunday night for a ‘I JUST GOT THE JOB OF MY DREAMS!’ celebration and shenanigans.

Perhaps with a very cute and nice alien with violet eyes, she thought as butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the idea.

Part Three: The Agent

Her old pencil skirt clashed with the aesthetic of the entire building.

At first she had thought that the whole black attire Rhys was wearing when they met was only due to personal preference, and that the black letter was used to be more secretive or something along those lines. Yet when she hopped, literally hopped on the pavement out of excitement, off the taxi she had taken from the hotel, she immediately realized her error.

To say that they were peculiarly attached to their aesthetic was an understatement: floors, walls, dresses, desks. Everything stuck to the black and white palette, making Feyre extremely aware that she had underdressed as she stuck out like a sore thumb.

In her defence, that was her lucky outfit: hair tight in a professional bun, glasses because she couldn’t be bothered with contacts on important mornings, white blouse and beige skirt she had bought for her graduation in high school and that she had worn to every job interview since then.

Of course, she had brought a full professional black outfit from home, but she had decided that morning not to take a chance. So far, that combo had never failed her, and it wasn’t going to betray her now, by the looks of it.

Upon arriving to Velaris the night before, she had spent the entire time daydreaming about what would happen that morning. Countless of scenarios had created and resolved themselves in her mind. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw as soon as she walked into the address the letter had given her.

It was a perfectly non-descriptive building, something akin a factory that had been converted in offices or lofts, inconspicuous amongst the other nearly identical buildings. Perfect if you didn’t want to be found. But while the outside looked like it hadn’t been renovated in over a century, inside it was completely different.

It was modern, sharp and very Tardis like. And it apparently had several levels underground, so it was ‘bigger in the inside’!

She couldn’t keep her awe in, because not even a few steps in and a short and scary looking woman came approaching her, her silver eyes blazing. “Every human has the same impression” she said in lieu of a greeting, and Feyre could only stand there and nod dumbly.

The woman, if she was human at all, reached to shake her hand, “My name is Amren, I am the chief of MiB. I assume you are not familiar with our Agency, correct?” her voice was cold and dangerous and Feyre had no doubt in believing that she might not be from Earth at all, if her ancient like eyes didn’t give her away.

“No, ma’am, I’m not” she replied curtly, unsure of what to say. No, she had not heard of their Agency. Stars, that was the first time someone had referred to it with its proper name! But she had also dug as deep as she could, trying to find information about all that crazy situation, conscious that her every move must’ve been tracked.

Amren gave her an appraising nod, as if she knew every single detail of Feyre’s life, “As you should” she said calmly, before beginning to walk away, motioning for Feyre to follow her through a maze of bodies and beings and desks. She was kind enough to point a race there, a post here, but refused to get too much into detail. “You’ll find someone else to ask” had been her curt reply before resuming her random naming game.

She only stopped leading her around when they reached a black shiny door that was open, revealing on the inside the only colour in the entire building, or at least that was what Feyre thought. Inside, there was one of the most gorgeous females Feyre had ever seen, long golden hair in contrast with her tan skin, a red dress that hugged her like a second skin, and a smile that could blind and that could counter as a weapon, if needed. When she saw them approach, she immediately jumped to her feet with agility and elegance. “Hello! I am Mor!” she chirped with enthusiasm, avoiding Feyre’s outstretched hand and going straight for a hug. Amren loudly scoffed, “Be professional, Morrigan,” she reprimanded the blonde, who simply winked at her before returning to her side of the desk, motioning for Feyre to seat.

She awkwardly looked at Amren, trying to convey her disorientation through her eyes alone. There wasn’t a name tag at the door, not any indication of what was going to happen. For all Feyre knew, they could be about to wipe her memory clean and dispatch of her in the garbage.

“I hope I will see you around, Dr Archeron” was her only reply, before leaving her alone with Morrigan, who still hadn’t diminished her smile.

“If they made me come all the way up here just to kill me, I’ll be pissed.”

“Dr Archeron, please have a seat, we have quite a lot to discuss.” Morrigan then proceeded open an enormous folder and began to pull out all sort of wavers, undoubtedly that Feyre would need to sign to give her life away. Mother Help Her, what had she gotten herself into?

“So,” she began, her energy still up and running as she maintained a kind and comforting expression, “Feyre, can I call you Feyre? Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

She could only nod quickly, before she was once more submerged by the blonde’s voice.

“Marvellous! I’m sure you want to know what in the Cauldron is happening, right? I mean, you get a letter that basically tells you to uproot your entire family and that you’ll have a job, but it’s described as vaguely as heck and you get here blindly and possibly terrified. Trust me, I know the feeling, it sucks. But it does get away pretty quickly. Now, you’ve got questions, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Please, call me Mor.” Her eyes were kind, a deep brown that harmonized perfectly with the rest of her, and Feyre didn’t have it in her heart to disagree. After all, if things went well, as they seemed to be going, they’d be on first name basis. Stars, maybe they’d even be friends!

“Mor. Very well,” she gave her a quick smile, trying to keep her nerves down, “Will you be the head of my department?” “Cauldron no!” she laughed, so crystalline and contagious that Feyre almost followed suit, or at least she would have, if her heart wasn’t practically beating out of her chest. “That’s Azriel, you’ll meet him soon. I’m just HR and well, I’ll walk you through this major life change. Is it okay?” “Oh, yes, of course. Truth to be told, I don’t even know what I’m here for.”

How pathetic it was of her, to go to a foreign Court without even knowing what she could be facing. But, no matter how much she thought about it, her brain couldn’t wrap around what a secret agency could want for little old her. Sure, she was brilliant and hardworking, but she was also young. And employers didn’t like young.

Mor gave her a sympathetic smile, slightly nodding her head as she moved some papers around, looking for something. “I know, I hate having to be so secretive whenever we recruit, it only leads to confusion. The number of people that refused to be interviewed just because they thought it was a prank it’s concerning.” “I did believe it to be a cruel joke in the beginning…” she trailed off, still not 100% positive that it wasn’t. “I’m so sorry about that. That’s the downside of being in a Secret Agency that deals with Aliens! But let’s get down to business!”

Feyre couldn’t resist: in the quietest voice possible, she filled the space Mor’s voice had left, uttering the most indiscernible ever “To defeat the Huns!”

She knew she had made a mistake when Mor stopped with a sheet of paper mid-air to look at her expectantly. ‘SHIT’ was her only thought as she stumbled to apologize in the least embarrassing way possible: “Sorry, I don’t know what came to me, it’s just a silly song from…” But Mor cut her off enthusiastically. “Mulan, yeah! One of my favourites. I’m pretty sure we’re on the way to become best friends, Feyre!”

Her smile was blinding, and for the first time since she had stepped foot out of the Velaris train station, Feyre felt herself relax. It had been quite a while since someone didn’t mock her for still knowing all the words to Disney Songs and it had been quite a while since someone seemed to truly want a friendship with her. She wasn’t used to this anymore.

Her throat constricted and all she could do was nod, suddenly filled to the brim with emotions. “I just have a couple of questions that you have to fill out for me, before we can move on to what you’ll do and, most importantly, how much’ll be. Spoiler alert, high secrecy means high cash!”

“That should be your slogan!” She accepted the pen that was given her, ready to start and finish this. Nerves wore out into excitement and she was about to combust. “I’ve been trying to have them change it for ages.”

She chuckled lightly, before giving her entire razor sharp focus to the piece of paper. She could already imagine the questions: was she able to do this mathematical equation? Could she resolve that chemistry problem? Did she know this and that Law Of Physics?

But nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared her for the little array in front of her.

For on the paper, there were written five questions, with adjacent a ‘YES’ or ‘NO’ to be crossed.

Feyre could just raise her puzzled eyes up at Mor, who gave her a shrug and went back to re-apply her blush and highlighter.

She expected to do calculations, to waste time. She didn’t expect to be done in less than three minutes.

‘Do you have living relatives?’ YES

‘Are you in contact with any of them?’ NO

‘Do you have a relationship or partnership?’ NO

‘Are you able to keep calm under pressure?’ YES

‘Are you able to swim?’ YES

“That’s it?” Feyre asked, unable to put together the pieces in front of her. To be honest, the thing that was bugging her the most was the last question. That was the most out of it.

Mor simply smiled at her, giggling a little, “Yeah, we wouldn’t have sent you that letter if we weren’t sure you could take it,” she happily said before taking the paper and scrutinizing with analytical eye. “You’d be surprised by the number of people who can’t swim” she stated, answering her unspoken question with a disbelieving look and a shake of her head.

“Excellent, by the way.”

“Thank you, it was a pretty hard test!” Feyre joked, momentarily terrified of having said the worst thing, before Mor followed her suit with her laugh.

“I know! But it’s mostly to check finally what we already knew.”

Feyre snorted at that, “Good to know I was being watched.” It wasn’t that big of a problem anyway: every single social media used their private information to get money, so of course a secret agency about freaking aliens would keep a possible employee in check! “If it’s any comfort, you won’t be from now on. It’ll be like you never existed or…” “Died?” “Yeah. Morbid, I know, but it’s the price of the job,” Mor claimed, sliding a folder with her name on it over the glass desk. “Not really a problem, I’ve got no one that would miss me too much,” she quickly said, opening it up and almost falling off her chair. The first page was a detailed list of what she would earn and it was a lot. Probably more than her entire tuition would have costed if she hadn’t managed to get a scholarship, and all of that for one year?

“You weren’t kidding about the slogan, uh?”

On the next few pages there was written down a non-disclosure contract, which was understandable, and the secrecy policy she would have to follow. Bye-bye Instagram! Not like she used it much anyway, there were too many pictures of marriages and babies for her liking, and she didn’t like already to share every minute of her private life over social media.

And, finally, on the last page was the thing she was most scared and excited of: the inscription told her that she would work on the research department, studying what she loved the most and finally getting all the answers she needed. She could be able to explore the stars from her desk and also in person, with trips to adjourn her curriculum and work! A tiny little clause on the bottom also read that she could be assigned intergalactic! field! work! alongside of an agent, if the situation arose.

She couldn’t help herself when tears started to swell her eyes and fell down her cheeks in two streaks, nor she cared if she was ruining her make up.

She had never been happier.

“What do you thing, Feyre?” Mor was suddenly nervous, as if doubting that her answer would be anything other than a big fat yes. Probably seeing her cry didn’t seem like a good sign and all Feyre could do was nod enthusiastically as she gladly accepted the box of tissues the blonde woman was handing her. She knew she must’ve looked awful and batshit crazy.

“Where do I sign?” she asked finally, after having managed to regain her composure, wiping the rundown mascara from her cheeks, trying not to smudge it all over her face.

What followed was a quick work on the paperwork, the proper signature and stamp and boom! “Welcome to MiB, Dr Archeron!” declared Mor, jumping to her feet to cross the desk and to bend down and hug.

Feyre held her just as tight, trying to keep all the emotions away. Later, after getting back to her hotel room, she’d have all the time in the world to cry as much as she wanted, but now there were more pressing matters. “Ready?” asked Mor, dragging her away from her office and into a maze of halls that Feyre didn’t even bother to try and memorize. She’d have all the time in the world to do so, after all.

Their first stop was on the wardrobe and armoury, where she got her measurements taken and was fitted in the most exquisite looking black suit she had ever seen in real life, the materials soft and luxurious under her fingers.

“This feels like a 007 movie,” she joked, marvelling at the figure she cut in the mirror, immediately finding Mor grinning at her.

“Our gadgets actually work,” Mor fired back, causing Feyre to go into a fit of giggles that had the blonde join almost immediately.

It was a wondrous feeling, being able to connect instantly with someone. She had rarely had meaningful friendships and relationships in her life, some of them were entirely faked from the other side and she was just used for someone else’s gain, but she hoped that what was beginning with Mor could fall into one of those categories.

Truth to be told, she didn’t think having any romantic relationship would be the best thing when just moving into a new city and a new job, but she was a sucker for Friends To Lovers trope and who knew? Maybe the future could be bright for her, and not only in her work life.

There was also the topic of a certain pair of violet eyes that had occupied her mind for the previous two days, but she was pretty sure that was a hopeless route: no one in their right mind could take a liking of her, especially when they looked like that.

She was so lost in her own mind, trying to scratch away the way Rhys’ smile had made her insides turn into gelatine, that she didn’t realize Mor had taken her in front of a slightly ajar black door. Without seeing the label on it, she could understand where she was by Mor’s little excited squeal as she pushed the door open with a flare.

If it was possible, Feyre’s eyes would turn into anime hearts and stars, in a typical Sailor Moon fashion. Inside, after a set of stairs, there were rows of desks, surrounded each by microscopes and spectrometers. Humans, or humanoids, and aliens alike wore black lab coats, contrasting with the white of the walls and the equipment, working alongside each other in harmony. There were several grand doors, religiously black, on the back of the room, which she assumed lead to the bigger equipment.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. At university their laboratory had been severely restricted and she would have to rely on other’s data, but here the possibilities seemed to be endless.

“Pretty, right?” asked Mor, a smile on her face. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover.

“For a specialist, pretty would be an understatement” a quiet voice chimed in, seemingly out of the shadows and making Feyre jump to her feet and hold to the rail for dear life. The voice belonged to a man wearing a white lab coat with black accents, politely extending his right hand at Feyre to shake it. “Dr Archeron, I am Agent A.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” came her trepid reply. She didn’t know why, but she immediately was washed over by the impression that this man, if he was human, was more dangerous than he might let on. Be it the fact that he looked like he blended in the shadows and belonged alongside of them or be the act that he had freaking wings? Holy Cauldron how had Feyre not realized that he had wings, proper angel-like feathery wings that grew from his skin and seemed to ruffle under her gaze and, Dear Mother, she was about to faint.

She knew her eyes must’ve reached a comical stance as she took them in, when Mor gently pushed her with her shoulder. “You can call him Azriel. After all, you’re the one with a PhD!” the blonde cheerily said, winking at her and bringing her back to the reality at hand.

Feyre gave him an apologetic look, trying to make amends for the staring, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He gave them a soft smile and nodded his head gravely alongside Mor’s words: “Unfortunately, that is true. I did not attend Earth university. In Illyria we have a different education” he explained, beginning to walk towards the door at his back and motioning for them to follow.

“You’re Illyrian?” Feyre asked, suddenly remembering her first alien encounter as her cheeks heated up. She wondered if she might be able to see him again, even only to thank him for bringing her the envelope. She knew that he must have been only following orders, but he didn’t have to stay and make sure she didn’t freak out too much.

She was met back by a puzzled stare from Azriel and a shrug from Mor, who momentarily looked at each other as to confirm that that was probably an information she wasn’t allowed to know yet. “And you are familiar with our specie because...?” began to ask Azriel, a suspicious tone in his voice that made Feyre froze from the inside. It wasn’t even her first day and she had already fucked up big time, that was a new record!

She was about to reply, to defend herself, when a deep voice came from the door, which opened from the inside and revealed two figures standing there: one had matching wings as Azriel’s and the other was someone she didn’t think she’d meet again so soon.

“Because I introduced her to our existence, dear brother” Rhys said, violet eyes sparkling as a wide smile appeared on his lips.

“Hello, Feyre Darling.”

She couldn’t fight the stupid smile that took up her face at his sight, nor she could control the way her cheeks flared up, the redness there for anyone to see.

The man that stood next to him eyed her up and down with a puzzled expression, his brown eyes twinkling with understanding as he, not so lightly and not so subtly, elbowed Rhys on the side, causing him to wince. “First of all: Hi, I’m Cassian,” he started, holding his hand out for Feyre to shake, “Second: You’ve met?” he asked, gaze running back and forth between them as his eyebrows shot up comically and emphatically.

If the ground decided to open up at that specific moment in space and time and swallow her whole down, Feyre would be okay with it. Extremely okay with it. Actually, she’d bring a shovel to sink down lower if necessary. “He brought me the envelope…” she whispered, trying to draw the least attention to herself and justifying the entire thing in the least embarrassing way possible. “Of course, cause mailing it would’ve been too mainstream, right, Agent R?” Azriel chuckled, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe casually, wings folding behind him.

Rhys fretted nonchalance with a wave of his hand and a bored expression: “I was going to be in the city anyway, I thought, why waste money on stamps?”

Out of all the things that had happened to Feyre in that weekend, that must’ve been the weirdest. “You were going to mail it? So much for secrecy!” she exclaimed in disbelief, eyes darting to Mor as if asking confirmation about it all and at the same time trying to understand if they were secretly pranking her.

“You’d be surprised about how many postal offices rely on aliens to work” came her curt reply, followed by a solemn nod from the three males.

She’d have all the time to understand if they were pulling her legs or not, and all the time for an eventual payback, she reasoned, dropping the subject without too much fuzz. “Alright,” she croaked, shrugging her shoulders and turning expectantly to Azriel, waiting for her superior to say something.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, ushering both Rhys and Cassian away from what Feyre assumed was his office. “All of you, that’s enough! I have to finalize my work with Dr Archeron before we’re ready to properly start.”

“Not so fast, brother!” Cassian yelled, chest puffed out as he languidly strolled over to where Feyre stood, towering over her. She had to resist the urge to clutch to Mor’s arm for dear life.

“Do you know how to fight?” “Ten years of Karate when I was a child and 4 of Krav Maga between high school and college,” she replied without missing a beat, raising a brow in a silent question as she held his stare.

After a couple of heartbeats, Cassian’s face broke into a wide grin: “Impressive! I’ll hold you to that one of those days,” he said, leaning almost conspiratorially and blocking Azriel’s face from her view, who yelled in outrage a very shocked “Agent C!”. He was pointedly ignored by Cassian, or Agent C, ‘What’s up with that?’ she wondered as she looked up at him, who kept on talking.

“I’ve got only one more question: do you know anyone in the city?”

She didn’t know how to reply nor why it was suddenly their topic of discussion? Was this guy hitting on her in the most random, yet not the most uncalled, way ever? She should mention that long hair was a turn off, no matter how manly and in style the man-bun was supposed to be. “I can give you two replies,” she cockily stood her ground, crossing her arms at her chest and assuming a defensive stance, just in case she had to headbutt him in the chin, “no and technically I shouldn’t be supposed to so…”

He took one look at her before clasping his hand on her shoulder with raw force, giving her what seemed to be the most platonic expression of affection ever: “Okay, I officially like you! But you’ve just got a new job, you ought to celebrate!”

Feyre considered it. On one hand, she had brought an outfit specifically in the case she got the job, which she clearly had just gotten and had to work out only the minimal details. And partying alone in a city she didn’t know at all was not an option. On the other, she really didn’t know these people.

But one look into Mor’s direction and instantaneously she knew that she’d love to hang out with them all.

Her only reply was a quick yes in affirmation, but she was soon overpowered by Mor’s cheers. “YES! We can go out together! We’ll show you Velaris’ night life!” she cried out in happiness, hand up to high five Feyre as Cassian held her closer to his side and fist-bumped the air.

She was having quite a bit of trouble, not liking small spaces and Cassian’s side hug was definitely a tight fit. She wanted to remove herself from the position, to try and regain the control of her breathing that was starting, so very subtly, to accelerate alongside her discomfort.

These people seemed nice and wanted to include her, her rational brain knew that, but old wounds didn’t always manage to mend right and panic was rising. Feyre tried to speak, but her throat felt constricted, and her eyes darted around the two, hoping one of them would stand down a little.

Luckily for her, her knight in black armour arrived just in the nick of time before she erupted like a volcano. “Let her breathe! Mor, Cassian, back off from poor Feyre,” Rhys intervened, helping her untangle from Cassian’s limb and letting her have her space. He quickly let her regain her breathing as the pair moved to Azriel, their next prey. The man was shaking his head as they both raised valid arguments and Cassian ‘Triple Dared’ him not to be a killjoy.

That scene alone served to strengthen her resolve to hang out with them, only to be able to witness the pure and unadulterated chaos that would come out undoubtedly.

All of the sudden, it felt like she and Rhys were in a different plane, the others to engrossed in their planning of the night to pay them attention. “Thanks. But, yeah. I have no idea where to go and I suppose I deserve it” she joked, laughing lightly while cringing internally at her own awkwardness. She had always been able to flirt her way through any situation, be it with men or women or anything in between, yet with him she felt like an high school girl with a crush. Perhaps it was because he was a literal alien that looked like an ancient Greek god and had a smile that managed to lit up Feyre from the inside.

Smile he was now giving her freely and without restraints. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach, count each one of them.

“How are you finding out agency so far?” he asked, as a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks out of the blue. A blink and it was gone, so quickly that Feyre thought she might have imagined it.

She was about to reply that she hadn’t done much sight-seeing, self-doubting whether or not she should push herself to ask for a tour or if it was too forward too soon, when a loud voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Shut up!” Azriel bellowed from behind her, causing both hers and Rhys’ attention to turn to him expectantly. “All of you have more important things to do other than bother me and Dr Archeron. And no, Agent C, while we’re at work we use our titles so stop talking! We’ll tune in the details later, Agent M, but I assume you have other more pressing business to attend.”

“Actually…!” Cassian had begun to disagree, but Rhys had been quicker and had planted his hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

He quickly nodded to Azriel as he struggled to maintain his hold as Cassian put on a childish fight, that culminated with him licking Rhys’ hand like he was some sort of overgrown five year old on the school ground. Feyre couldn’t help the laugh that got out of her at Rhys’ affronted face.

“That’s enough!” he yelled, moving to shoo away both Cassian and Mor, who pulled Feyre in a tight hug before leaving and whispered in her ear ‘I’m so glad you’re part of us now!’. She could only respond back with a squeeze, her throat constricting with sudden emotion.

“Agent A, we’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Thank you, Agent R, I appreciate that!” came the exasperated reply from Azriel, who immediately disappeared inside his office, undoubtedly to avoid any more anarchy, motioning for Feyre to follow. She turned around to salute and wave goodbye at the improbable trio leaving, only to find Rhys standing in the doorway, looking at her.

He winked, causing Feyre’s cheeks to heat up, and bowed gracefully. “Welcome on board, Feyre Darling,” he said, before disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways and glass that made up the MiB headquarters.

Feyre pinched herself, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. One more step and she was done, she would finally have her dreams answered.

She’s have her answers, her opportunities, what she worked her entire life for. And if she could manage to have the life she had always wanted, with people that cared about her, that would be the icing on a perfect cake.

A part of her brain whispered that she didn’t deserve it, that she was an imposter and that everyone would realize it. But Feyre had had several years of experience in dealing with her own negativity, considering herself a pessimist as a coping mechanism because it was easier to expect the worse in every situation, and immediately shut that voice down, focusing her breathing to steady her beating heart.

Sending up a prayer to the Mother, she closed the door at her back and took a seat in front of Azriel, slipping on her glasses and putting her hands flat on the table.

“Shall we begin?”

15 notes · View notes

minstrophywife · 6 years ago

Text

DeMasqued

⇢Pairing: Art thief!Taehyung x Museum curator!Reader ⇢Genre: Thief!AU ↳[PWP] [Smuuuuut] ⇢Word Count: 5,383 ⇢Warnings: PWP - fingering, bondage, Oral, male receiving: face fucking, deep-throating, cum play, cum marking, videotaping, objectification kink, sensory deprivation (blindfold), breathplay, hair pulling !!! Seriously if those warnings trigger anything, please don’t continue. This is just a smutty fic and is not worth your anxiety. !!! ⇢Part Two of the Masqued Universe. [Part One] ⇢Masterlist

⇢Summary: It seems as if the memory of you isn’t enough, and so Vante decides he needs something more concrete to remember you by.

⇢A/N: I want to thank everyone for the overwhelming support that I received with Masque, and so I made sure that I got this done as soon as I could. I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations! It’s a bit shorter than the other one, but it’s full of smut.

Okay but for real, don’t treat national art like this Vante. It was preserved in a temperature and humidity controlled room for a reason.

DEMASQUED.

- Live with Action 7 News -

It’s time to have an open discussion about the missing jade set which was reported stolen by the Seoul National Museum of Fine Art and Craft.

Min Yoongi: As we all know by now, the famous jade from the ‘Rare Treasures of the Dynasty Royalty’ has been reported stolen, as of this morning.

Kim Seokjin: While the museum hasn’t officially declared the set was stolen by the world infamous art thief Vante…

Min Yoongi: There is no other person who could have stolen it.

Kim Seokjin: Especially when he left his calling card of intent behind the day before.

Min Yoongi: Action 7 News has tried to come in contact with Park Se Hoon for another interview- however the museum staff and owner have declined any further media requests until further notice.

Kim Seokjin: It must be damage control- I suppose the response is more tense this time because the government was involved with this exhibit this time around.

Min Yoongi: It could be seen as an embarrassment for the government officials, as I believe they were the ones to provide ample security to the museum.

Kim Seokjin: What I am more interested in is the fact that- even after managing to evade security, and not leave any evidence behind to indicate who Vante is, the master thief only decided to take one item.

Min Yoongi: *eyebrows knit together in thought* Yes, it seems like when he leaves his calling card, he only has one piece in mind to steal. This correlates with the other, previous instances of theft.

Kim Seokjin: Either way, notorious art thief Vante has been successful yet again- and I believe that he is gaining more confidence every time he sets his target.

Min Yoongi: *nodding his head* It seems like it, He only let the hair pin set be viewed by the public for one day, before stealing the whole set. He must have especially wanted this specific piece.

Kim Seokjin: I wonder why? I mean, I went to the exhibit on opening day, with Action 7 News, and yes, the piece is visually striking and beautiful, but it seems like an interesting thing to choose to steal.

Min Yoongi: What do you mean exactly?

Kim Seokjin: I guess what I am trying to say is that, in terms of displaying purposes, don’t you think one of the many beautiful celadon pieces would be apt to steal?

Min Yoongi: I think you are assuming exactly -how- Vante chooses to display his victories.

Kim Seokjin: We all know that Vante doesn’t resell the items that are stolen- which means he must display them or keep them somewhere, probably in his own home. Maybe like trophies?

Min Yoongi: I’m re-emphasizing my point here… how do we know how Vante wants to display his collection?

Kim Seokjin: … I suppose you are right. We won’t know either. Because I have a feeling Vante is going to continue to be successful in stealing his next target.

Min Yoongi: I agree. We are running out of time, so we’ll discuss this further after we are able to have an interview with Park Se Hoon once again.

Kim Seokjin: To commercials.

What were you going to do with your day off?

You decided to turn off your phone, throwing it on your bedside table, face down. You decided to avoid your TV as well- with the TV came the possibilities of seeing the news.

Anything to avoid the inevitable chaos that you knew was occurring this very minute. Was it a bit irresponsible? Perhaps.

So you pace around your apartment, grabbing whatever random food in your fridge, and that book that you’ve been meaning to read since your birthday- a gift from your mother. You curl up on your couch, cocooning yourself in blankets as your own shelter.

When you are reading you try not to pay any attention to the band of mottled purple and blue hues that lay across your wrists, hiding under the oversized sleeves of your hoodie. When your thumb brushes against it, you shudder.

My perfect masterpiece.

Your book drops to the floor with a thud.

After that you fumble to put on some music- anything really- just to prevent the haunting of lips by your ear, and the low baritone of a chuckle the settles deep under your skin.

You are mine to ruin.

But nothing can quiet the amount of anxiety and guilt that slowly builds throughout the day, and soon enough your phone ends up in your lap- your face staring back at you blankly at the dark screen.

Your thumb hesitates over the power button of your phone.

You are mine to create.

Your thumb presses down harshly on the power button.

99+ Missed calls

25 Voice mails

120+ Text messages

Voicemail 1 of 25: Y/N - this is Se Hoon. This is an emergency. I know that it is your day off however this is urgent.

Voicemail 5 of 25: You probably are sleeping in huh? Well when you wake up, you need to come straight to work.

Voicemail 19 of 25: *frantic* He stole the Jade set!

Voicemail 25 of 25: Hey, so Se Hoon flew me immediately from my consulting job in Japan. Text me before you head in.

Your eyes warily travel up to the clock on the wall of your office, and you groan outwardly when you see the time. It looks like another late night tonight. The first night you braved the museum and the shouts of Se Hoon, you accidentally fell asleep on the couch in your office to rest your eyes, and the resulting cold and aching muscles prompted you to bring a blanket and a pillow the next day, and honestly, you do not regret your decision one bit. It has been a trend the last couple of days, and the hour or two of rest in between more work helps immensely.

The chaos that ensued at the museum over the preceding few days was surreal. The exhibit seems to have drawn in a far more larger crowd that even on opening day- you suspect everyone wants to see for themselves if, in fact, Vante did take the jade set.

Art displayed upon art.

In fact- a nap sounds really good.

But, if you can push through, tonight should be the last night you need to stay late at the museum- after numerous (long, drawn out and almost unnecessary) meetings with the board of trustees, the conclusion that was reached that some sort of replacement for the exhibit needed to be selected. It would be the quickest way to divert the public’s attention from the missing jade set (no it won’t), the officials concluded.

Which, of course, that responsibility landed on you. So after more meetings, and more discussions and countless hours of pouring through the museum and the government’s own personal collection, a decision was finally reached- one of the beautiful hanbok’s worn by Joseon dynasty elite. Tonight you needed to select which one, before handing it off to be displayed properly the tomorrow.

Which means you have to search the large warehouse basement of the museum.

You really don’t want to get up from your desk, but the promise of sleep in your own bed rather than the office sofa is what finally motivates you to rise, and you grab the catalogue before you head downstairs to the basement.

As you are in the elevator, you shiver- perhaps its the pull of sleep or your body weary from long nights- either way you wish you wore something a bit warmer to work today, instead of your silken dress shirt. It was the comfiest thing you had while still looking formal.

Curse the meetings with the officials. You should have brought pajamas to change into you think bitterly.

The elevator door opens with a soft -ding- and you walk out in a daze. It’s eerily quiet in the basement- you hear the slight hum from the fluorescents above your head, your shoes clack almost too loudly down the hallway.

You arrive at the door soon enough.

Waving your ID card in front of the door, as well as using the consistently rotating key code that Se Hoon provided to you for this evening, you walk into the room. The basement storage is cool and dark when you step into it- you blink your eyes as you attempt to adjust to the darkness. The museum storage room is temperature and humidity controlled- as invaluable pieces of art need to be handled with the most care.

Where is that light switch? You fumble along the wall, and another shiver passes through you- this time starting at the base of your spine, but it doesn’t fade- it lingers, almost like a sneeze that wants to escape but fails to in agitation- and this feeling is putting you on edge- your shoulders tense.

Just as you touch the edge of the switch casing, a trace of fingers encage your eyes, and a long arm encages you around your waist. You feel the heat of his palm through your blouse, against your ribcage. Your surprised gasp is caught in your throat.

It can only be him.

Your heart quickens, body blooming in heat with anticipation.

“Hello my dear, did you miss me?” His low whispers are teasing the shell of your ear, his lips hovering but not touching just yet. Your eyelashes tickle his fingers as you close your eyes, your breath quickens as you struggle to respond- his deep baritone effecting you much more than the haunting of it.

He must think you are shy.

“Because I most certainly missed you.”

A soft cry leaves your lips. “Vante.” It’s all the confidence you can gather at the moment, your body too overwhelmed by the memory of his hands, lips, tongue and the very real presence of him behind you- and your trembles in anticipation.

Your reply stirs him, and you feel his hand leaving your eyes. There is a quiet ruffle of clothes, coat brushing against your arms.

The way he presses you against the wall, along with his arm that still encircles your waist does not suggest escape, and you vaguely wonder what it means that you don’t want to move from him at all. Instead you lean further back into his space.

You think smell a subtle floral scent- lavender maybe? Tease your nose, but you don’t get a chance to ponder the scent- silken fabric brushes over your eyes- and soon enough you feel the ends being tied together behind your head, the warmth of Vante’s arm leaving your stomach.

You suddenly are hyper-aware of the heat from his fingers as they grasp lightly around the base of your neck. And then-

Then, he’s pushing you softly from behind, but honestly you feel as if you are floating in space, Vante as your tether, your lifeline.

You then vaguely realize he’s removing the clipboard of the catalogue from your fingers, and he’s twisting away slightly and your fingers clumsily try to grasp his hands- afraid that he’s going to leave you alone. But the presence amongst your throat never leaves, and he returns to settle behind you once again and you realize how foolish you are.

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. He must feel your flush on his fingertips, see the red blossom- because you feel the hand that had removed the clipboard return to your collarbone, dipping lower and lower to tease the edge of your bra. He lazily traces the lace trimming there, in no rush, his cheek rests against your hair.

“My beautiful masterpiece…” His voice sounds strained, a whisper as if he’s afraid you are an apparition. He slowly begins to unbutton your blouse, each syllable that rolls off his tongue is punctuated by each button freed. The blouse flutters down to the floor.

He them teases the hemline of your skirt, fingernails scratch lightly on your thighs as your skirt begins to bunch around your waist as he brings the fabric upwards. And upwards still, along the curve of your ass, until he finds your zipper, and the skirt falls, the loud sound of your zipper a jarring sound against your heavy breaths. And then the skirt slips down your legs to join the blouse.

“The fleeting memory of my beautiful creation behind my eyelids whenever I closed my eyes was not nearly enough…” And upwards again, a finger runs itself against your spine, and you find yourself arching forward, your head resting back against his chest. You bring your lower lip between your teeth, not trusting yourself to let a moan escape your lips just yet.

Your bra quickly joins your discarded clothes, and you can already feel your nipples swell- from the cold, from seeking attention- you aren’t sure. He continues even further to the final article of clothing, your panties a cover that masks the most beautiful part of you in all. He hooks his fingers at the waist band, and drags the fabric down, ever so slowly. You feel a string of your anticipation follow, your panties already sopping wet, it breaks when it dangles uselessly by your knees until you assist- you shimmy it down, stepping out when you feel it by your ankles. Vante traces the inside of your thighs, too far away and yet close enough to drag a finger through the mess you’ve made.

“…not when I had finally created perfection and I just let it slip away.” There is bitterness in his voice, and his arms encircle you once again, pulling you closer still.

You feel enveloped by him, ensnared by his long arms that keep you flush against his body. And then his lips are on your shoulder, you can feel new daubs of purple and red being added to the canvas of your skin.

“Purple suits you the most.”

You feel your body go limp, his mouth your weakness- you feel your weight held up by his arms. But then he’s lowering you, letting you fall to your knees your hands rest in your lap, a sudden act of modesty. The floor feels cold and you immediately feel the loss of heat from behind you. Another rustle of fabric, this time it brushes between your shoulder blades. But his hands never leave you, reassuring fingers thread through your hair to softly massage your scalp. Soon enough he’s spreading your legs outwards, and he grabs one of your wrists from your lap, long fingers enclose around it fully to slowly guide your wrist backwards, so that it meets the corresponding ankle. He guides your fingers to wrap around your ankle. You hold your breath when you realize what he is doing.

The sculptor is placing you where he wants.

And you are his pliable clay, molded to whatever he wants you to become.

Because you are his masterpiece.

A shaky exhale.

And then he is binding the two together, slipping the fabric between the natural space that he has created, deftly tying them to keep you in the perfect position, And when he deems one wrist complete, he follows with the other.

The ties- you imagine they are black, perhaps maybe the same silk ribbon from the first night. You grip your ankles experimentally, and the ties feel perfect and right and you feel complete- you want to paint over the fading stripe of purple that has turned into yellow over the past couple of days. You don’t want the memory of Vante to fade away.

“I thought I would be satisfied with creating art, but it was not enough. I want more.” He’s standing above you now, in front of you.

“Something is missing though,” he sounds contemplative, looking at you to try and determine what would look best, “this arrangement would look far more if we just had… I’ll be right back my dear.”

And he steps away, this time no hand to remind you of his presence. Your breath quickens the longer he is gone- time stretches until you feel uncomfortable- what if he leaves you here? You begin to shake, your confidence wavers.

You jump when you feel fabric hit your shoulders. You hadn’t notice him return.

“Waiting so patiently for me.” He coos, soothing your tension. You aren’t sure what he has draped over your shoulder, but it seems to be jacket of some sorts, but it doesn’t matter because he caressing your cheek, and then a hand at your chin pointing it upward.

And then you feel something nudge against the seam of your lips. He’s waiting for you its hot, and when you peek your tongue out to swipe at the wetness of your lip you taste bitterness.

“Its time to paint you in the most beautiful luster.”

You realize its the head of his cock that playfully prods your lips. His hand grips the sides of your jaw, tempting it open. Your lips open wider to receive. Your tongue stretches outward, and you feel the underside of his cock land on your tongue. It’s warm, all too warm. You feel the thick vein that runs underneath, and saliva begins to pool in your mouth. He’s pushing forward now, and his other hand tangles back into your hair. Before it was soft and comforting, but now he grips at the strands harshly- easing you forward. He’s sliding in just a bit too quickly, your mouth has little time to adjust. You try to push back a little bit, but the grip in your hair tightens, your scalp begins to sting.

You knew he was large, you remember when he pounded into you relentlessly. But now, as your face is pulled closer to the bed of his pubic hair, your throat protests at the invasion, and your gag reflex begins to flare. He must feel the constriction of your throat, because he pauses, and he’s wiping away the tears that have fallen down your cheeks.

“Breathe.”

You want to shake your head, but instead all that is said is a muffled and strained groan from your lips. You take a few deep breaths through your nose, the tension of your throat easing around his cock, and one final push. He’s buried to the hilt in you- and you feel his hands full of tension. He’s still holding back to the best of his ability. When he pulls back, his speed is slow but steady, and when just the head of his cock is caught between the cushion of your lips, you feel the saliva flow over, dribbling down your chin, down your neck. You barely have a second to grip you ankles in preparation. Even though you have a blindfold on, you screw your eyes shut.

He’s pushing forward again, his hands in your hair keep you at the pace he wants, as if you had control to begin with. The slip of his cock into the wet cavern of your mouth is easier this time, and when he’s fully in once again, you moan, deep from the pit of your belly that aches with want. It seems to spur him on- because his controlled pace becomes faster each time he pulls back and pushes forward again.

And then he’s fucking into your face, and you are trying to take breaths through your nose every time he pulls back. But he’s brutal, the lewd slick sounds of his cock that slides in and out of your mouth not slowing, and the amount of spit that has spilled out of your mouth is surely a mess. But you are encouraging him still, with moans as he’s using you, prepping you, molding you into the perfect masterpiece. Because you cannot see him, you realize you want to hear Vante coming undone.

Behind your blindfold, you want to imagine his face, twisted in desire from your undoing. You feel frustrated- You want to see Vante’s skin, shiny with sweat, you want to see him fall apart.

He’s becoming loader, his groans fall towards you, panting with need and want.

Your jaw is on fire, an ache that blooms.

After a particularly rough pull, like an answer to your frustrations- you feel something loosen, something slip off your nose. Blinking away the tears that have settled on your eyelashes, you realize your blindfold has fallen off. His hands grip tighter on your hair, the sting of your scalp makes you realize he’s close. You wonder if he notices that your blindfold fell off, it’s still bunched in his hands, tangled amongst the tresses of your hair.

The strangled moan that tumbles forth, down, down, down from his lips to your ears makes you feel brave.

As you look up, blinking as your eyesight adjusts to the light- and you see your own masterpiece.

Because he blindfolded you, you do not see a mask this time. Instead you see a sculpture- perfection chiseled from marble to create a face crafted from Bernini himself. High cheekbones and a sharp jawline frame the handsome high nose, and perfectly shaped eyebrows, knit together in ecstasy. While you saw his lips from your previous encounter, you were not privileged to see his face in full. You are still not sure if you should be privy to his mistake- and yet you stare at him- awestruck.

You are shocked. Your hands slip from around your ankles, you barely register the bindings tighten when your hands press against he floor.

You let him continue his brutal pace as he fucks into your face- momentarily distracted from his cock in your mouth because you are attempting to commit every detail of him into memory.

His head is thrown back, his mouth open. You see his jaw clenched, his neck bulging with tension. You moan once more around his cock, and he fucks into your throat harder, shallow but deep. And then-

His eyes are opened once again, and he stares back down at you- eyes widen slightly in acknowledgement that the silken blindfold is off your tear-ridden eyes, your own eyes not leaving his.

So suddenly, you get whiplash-

He yanks away, and you find your lips almost searching for his cock in a trained fashion with how fast he pulls out-

The first string of warmth hits the bridge of your nose and arcs upwards towards your eyebrow, preceding spurts hits your cheek, and you then taste the bitter saltiness of him when it lands on your lips, and in your mouth.

He does not let anything be spoiled- the cum that was not strong enough to reach your face he wipes on your collarbone, pooling in the small divot.

You realize he’s placing his cum exactly where he wants it. Painting you with a sheen of milky white.

His cum begins to drip down your face, joining your saliva in a mess and you feel like you want to brush it out of the way, especially when some threatens to fall into your eyes. And then you remember the other silken ties that bind your wrists and your ankles together. You whine softly in inconvenience.

You see Vante grip the silk that had been your blindfold in his hand, a small contemplation of what he should do next.

Instead he tilts head to the side, and while still looking down at you from his seated position, he grins.

“Well it seems like the masterpiece can finally see its creator.” He has a slight hesitance in his voice, hesitant and unsure. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice sound like that, and you take a moment to understand. He uses his hand to trail down your neck, fingers pressing until he finds your pulse. He rests it there, as if your steady heartbeat is an answer in on of its self.

“A masterpiece huh?” You croak, your throat dry and itchy from his relentless pounding. “Art can only be so great when it reflects its artist.”

His lips begin to quirk upwards.

“You’re handsome, Art thief Vante.” You continue to mumble, words now tumbling out in a garbled mess- you are beginning to feel unsure if he understood.

His chuckle is raspy, and you feel accomplishment. Your feel yourself clamp around nothing. Your needs feel heavy inside your stomach. You suddenly acknowledge the sticky mess of your own juices, coating your thighs and the floor.

“You should be a model, not a thief.” You still do not dare remove your eyes from his, even if you can begin to feel an ache in your abused knees. It’s almost like you are afraid he’s going to leave- now that you know his face.

“Always for sharing- aren’t you, my dear.” And you shiver, as he conjures up memories of your first encounter. His hand leaves your cheek to trail down your neck, dragging through his cum that is beginning to fall down your chin.

“Don’t you want to be selfish - just this once? You’re one of the select few who has been privileged enough to see my face.”

His fingers press lightly on your forehead and he’s kneeling down to your eye level, and you feel lost in his eyes because he’s still not looking away, and so are you. You have to twist your arms around a bit, the bindings on your ankles and wrist bite into your skin further. But you are soon on your back, legs spread wide for him to see the mess you’ve made.

Because of him, only for him.

You vaguely feel the fabric that he had put on your shoulders underneath your back, as there is no shock of the fold floor on your skin. He’s leaning over you now, resting between your thighs, his knees drag through the slick on the floor. A hand lays by your ear, another grips your thigh.

“Now that you’ve seen my face my dear, I’m afraid I really can’t let you go.”

His voice is everywhere, deep and low, teasing your ear, reverberating against your body. It almost sounds sad, twinged with longing. His fingers take no time tease, your cunt swallows three fingers greedily. There is no protest, and he pumps with fervor. The loud squelching sounds that your pussy makes echos in the room. You cry out, but its strained against your abused throat.

“Vante!”

And then three fingers are replaced by his cock, already hard and throbbing with desire for you once again. The squelching noise is replaced by the wet sound of his skin against yours, his balls slap against you each time he pistons into you.

You both are a mess, a flurry of broken words between guttural moans. But you repeat Vante, inside your head and out loud, you aren’t sure anymore- a broken chant because that’s all you are thinking about, that’s what you are filled by. Him.

Vante

As he chases his second orgasm of the night, he kisses you, he tastes himself on his tongue as he sucks on your lip- and all you hear is the sound of your bodies connecting in a brutal pace. And the coil in the pit of your stomach is starting to unfurl, ready to snap. He detaches from you quickly, a hand grabbing your throat.

At the restriction of your throat, your world turns blank, your senses too overwhelmed too acknowledge anything else but the intensity of your orgasm.

A needy moan keens from you, distantly you imagine belonging to him forever.

And its not much longer then, because you feel him pull away to paint you once more.

The last thing you remember is the deep growl of-

Mine.

This time when you reawaken, you are surprised to see yourself curled up on the couch of your office, your coat turned into a makeshift pillow, and the blanket from your many overtime nights from this week tucked all around you.

You curse when you see the time. It’s already 8 am in the morning, and you jolt out of the couch. You attempt to stand, but your knees buckle under you, and you blindly have to grab at the couch to break your fall.

You see the rumpled state of your blouse, your skirt in no better shape. You wearily scramble to the bathroom, wondering what sorry state you are in.

When you reach the bathroom and turn to the mirror, you are greeted by tear stained cheeks and red eyes. Your throat is saturated with purple and blue swatches, deep bite marks littered here and there.

But what causes you to cry out in alarm Is his dried cum still on your face, which he had clearly left for you to find when you came to.

Mine.

You spent a good thirty minutes washing away the evidence of your late night tryst to the best of your abilities, but nothing can hide the sorry state of your neck, your wrists, your ankles.

You sit in your office, until you hear a light knock.

“Y/N. Pulled another all nighter? You look a mess.” Its Se Hoon, and honestly his voice is grating to your ears.

“I saw the Hanbok you decided to choose- thank you for placing it safely in my office. Interesting choice- you chose the rare purple silk.”

“What?” You blanch, eyes blinking back in confusion to Se Hoon.

That’s right. That’s why you needed to go to the museum basement to begin with last night. To choose a Hanbok for the exhibit. You never remembered choosing one last night unless…

“Follow me to my office- we’ll need to receive approval from the committee and then you can go home.” You follow him mindlessly to his office, barely registering what he’s saying.

“You need to take a couple days off- we all do.” You nod woodenly.

And then you see the purple Hanbok, surrounded by white tissue, presented gently.

Purple suits you the most.

The silk of the jeogori is slightly rumpled.

He wouldn’t dare.

But he would.

There is a brief knock on the door, two clear raps that echo into the office. In comes your fellow curator, Namjoon.

He nods towards you, flashing a quick smile, dimples appearing and disappearing quickly, with an eyebrow raised. He’s probably deciphering your current state. You hide your wrists behind your back. The pink that dusts his cheeks means Namjoon has an inkling of what happened to you last night.

“All pieces in storage are accounted for.” He says, addressing Se Hoon. “The audit took a couple of days. However nothing has been stolen.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, and now it’s Se Hoon’s turn to Blanche in response.

He doesn’t have much time to react further, his mouth opens to speak, but before he a syllable can escape, he is interrupted by another knock at the door, this time the knock is a lot more frantic and loud against the wood.

Se Hoon grumbles in response, annoyed at the interruption.

The knocking continues, impatient. You can feel the worry through the door.

“Yes?” Se Hoon huffs, a mumbled “this better be important” does not escape your ears.

In pops in head of security. Eyes wide and feeling unsure. He has another museum guard cowering behind him.

“Show him.” He says, stepping aside and nudging the guard forward.

Your eyes zero in on the black card between his fingers immediately.

In your peripheral view, you register Se Hoon’s eyes bulging out of his sockets. He’s really had a shitty two weeks, you think.

“T-this was on my desk sir, when I went to relieve the night Officer from duty this morning.”

Se Hoon is quiet.

The head of security then begins to speak. “I reviewed the last night’s video footage, as per policy and routine.”

Namjoon speaks up in place of Se Hoon.

“I’m guessing the footage was missing?”

The head of security startles a bit, not so much that is obvious, but obvious to you.

“That is correct.” He nods in the direction of Namjoon. His eyebrows are knitted together in confusion, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

Namjoon just smiles softly.

“Now why would he want to steal security footage I wonder?”

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts pwp #Taehyung smut #Taehyung pwp #kim taehyung #taehyung #Taehyung fanfic #thief au #art thief au #bts imagines #bts x you #taehyung x you #bts x reader #Taehyung x reader #bts #bts v

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

Text

Catch Me If You Can (26/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: So you guys had some pretty big feelings about the last chapter. (I love it.) I think you might also have some about the next few. 🙈❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @stunningswan @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @superchocovian @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings

-/-

Liam has been yelling at him for thirty-two minutes and seventeen seconds.

That might be a little off, his timing incorrect since he didn’t start counting until it’d been going on for quite a few minutes, and he’s only been counting with his head. He doesn’t have a watch on, has no idea where his phone currently is except probably in the locker room, and counting in his head is the only way he’s able to keep track.

The clock on Elsa’s wall is dead. That seems apt.

Counting is very literally the only thing that is keeping him sane right now. It’s also distracting him from the throbbing pain that’s emanating from his shoulder every time he so much as flinches or shifts in the wrong direction.

Killian has felt like an idiot more times than he can count – ironic with how much he’s counting right now, he knows – but he thinks that ignoring his shoulder, ignoring the pain, ignoring the signs, and ignoring every other little thing over the past few months has been the dumbest thing he’s ever done.

This could fuck up his entire career, again, and he ignored it for the idiotic hope that things would simply get better on their own.

Things have obviously not gotten better on their own, and he was pretty much carted off of the field and out of the stadium to the hospital so that he could have an MRI and an X-ray done only to find out that he has tendinitis in the rotator cuff that was injured in the boating accident and already had to have surgery to repair it once before.

Liam is currently yelling at him because he made a joke about how at least it was only tendinitis and not another full tear that would require surgery and being out of the game completely for ten months.

Just four to six weeks this time.

That’s nothing, right?

Except the playoffs start in four weeks, and while he can’t remember the rules of eligibility right off the top of his head since this is something he’s never had to deal with before, he thinks that as long as he doesn’t miss the entire post-season, he could still play in the World Series.

If they make it that far.

Shit.

This is not good.

And his hopes for the World Series really shouldn’t be what’s going on in his head right now when he has another arm injury, which is another derailment for his career.

(He’s only twenty-eight years old. It shouldn’t be like this.)

But focusing on this one thing that he wanted, that he wants, for himself and for his team, is inexplicably both driving him into madness and keeping him sane all at once.

“How could you let all of the signs pass you by, Killian?” Liam huffs, his loafers likely going to run a hole in the linoleum floor of the hospital with how much he’s pacing. “Do you not remember what happened the last time you got injured? The lows that you went through? That’s happening again. You finally got to be happy, got to have things going right for you, and you screwed it up because you didn’t want to admit that there is something wrong with you? How fucking dumb can you be?”

“Liam,” Elsa admonishes from her spot in her office where they’ve all gathered now that he’s been released from all of his tests. It’s kind of feeling like a prison in here. “Now is really not the time to yell at him.”

“I think it’s a pretty damn good time.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Killian groans, twisting in Elsa’s office chair to look at his brother. His arm is throbbing, his medicine not quite taking effect yet but the ice pack helping a bit, and that’s all probably not helping with his level of agitation. “I am twenty-eight years old. I do not need you to yell at me like I am one of your children. ObviouslyObviously, I know that I fucked up. The insane amount of ice on my shoulder that’s pretty much going to stay there for the next month as I sit on my ass proves it.”

“All of this could have been solved if you’d come to a doctor. I’m a doctor. Elsa works in a hospital. You have fantastic health insurance. It’s not…the solution was right there. You should have told Archie too!”

“Liam,” Elsa scolds again, and his brother’s head snaps toward his wife.

“What? What could you possibly have to say? He screwed up.”

“No, you screwed up when you started yelling at him like he’s a child. But certainly not your child when there’s no way in hell you would speak to Addison or Lucy this way. Killian gets it. You can see it written over his face, and if you can’t tell that he didn’t say anything because he was scared of finding out something was going to be wrong with him again, I don’t know what to tell you. Is it dumb? Yes. But you see it happen with patients every single day. People get scared, and the confirmation makes injuries and diseases real for them.”

Damn, Elsa Jones.

“Elsa,” Killian sighs, “thank – ”

“No,” she starts, holding up her hand at him, her voice full of emotion. “Just because I understand you and am defending you doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you. I’m not going to yell at you like your brother, though.”

Elsa wipes at the few tears that have fallen underneath her eyes, and before Killian can even get up to give her a hug and tell her just how much he loves her, Liam is crossing the room and wrapping her up in his embrace so that his frame dwarfs hers for a few seconds while Killian continues to get to sulk and loathe himself for doing this.

It’s all his fault.

There’s no other way around it. That’s the truth, and there’s no changing it.

What the hell is he going to do? And is this going to keep coming back if he continues to pitch? If he does proper treatment, is it something he can monitor? Is his career really about to be cut in half? What is Al going to think when he tells him? What are any of his teammates going to think? Or the owners? All of the managers?

What about Emma?

If he’d told her all of those times he wanted to tell her, all of those times he’d meant to tell her when she caught him in pain over the past few months, she would know about his past and would most likely have had enough sense to tell him to go see a doctor since she would have a more frequent look at how he was every day than either Liam or Elsa.

But “if” doesn’t exist.

What has happened, happened. There’s no changing that.

But if he could…no, nope. No. He can’t go there. “If” doesn’t exist.

Elsa phone starts ringing on her desk, Emma’s name popping up on the screen, and Killian’s hands fumble for it so quickly that he nearly drops it onto the ground. But he doesn’t, managing to slide his finger across the phone to answer so that he can hold it up to his ear to talk.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greets and both Elsa and Liam turn to stare him down.

“Killian?” Her voice is frantic, hoarse, and he has absolutely no idea how she managed to keep on working when he’s sure that her mind was running through all of the worst-case scenarios. She’s got to be pissed at him. He deserves it. Why couldn’t he have found the time to text her before he left? Right. He doesn’t know where his phone is. “Is that you?”

“Aye, love. It’s me. I’m answering Elsa’s phone.”

“SoSo, you’re not dead then?” He opens his mouth to respond but is cut off before he even can. “Because I have pretty much convinced myself that you were dead. It doesn’t even make any sense because you obviously didn’t have something, like, dangerous happen to you while you were playing, but all I’ve known for the past threewo hours waswere that you were hurt. And then my producer walks in the booth and tells me that you’re in the hospital but doesn’t say anything else and…you weren’t answering your phone. No one was. I don’t even know which hospital you’re in. I assumed Mt. Sinai because that’s where Liam works, but I don’t – ”

“Swan,” Killian interrupts as Emma keeps babbling. “Hey, hey, Emma, love. It’s okay. I’m fine. I am at Mt. Sinai. I’ve already had some tests done on my shoulder, and I’m sitting in Elsa’s office so it’s not like I’m laid up in a hospital bed. And I don’t have my phone. It’s in the locker room somewhere, probably, so that’s why I haven’t called you. I’m sorry.”

“How long are you going to be there? Can I come see you? Or should I just go home?”

“Where are you, love?”

“Maybe ten minutes away. I don’t – I got on the subway to go to your apartment first, but then I changed my mind and got off at the one hundred and third street station realizing that you were probably not there.”

“I think you’ve got a future career as a detective if this whole broadcasting thing doesn’t work out for you.” He smiles, even though she can’t see it, and he definitely ignores that look on Elsa and Liam’s faces. He’s had enough judgment from them today even if he deserves all of it. “How’d that go, by the way?”

There’s a loud blare through the phone followed by Emma cursing, and he chuckles to himself. “Can I tell you later? People don’t know how to drive, and I’m probably going to get run over even though I have the damn right of way.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll text you directions to her office.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Killian sighs. “I’ll see you soon.”

The call ends then, and he doesn’t even have time to digest it all before Elsa is speaking again and causing him some serious whiplash.

“What are you going to tell her when she gets here?”

He shrugs, as much as he can at least. “The truth.”

“All of it?”

That familiar sense of guilt settles in him again, pressing down on his shoulders like a ton of bricks, which really isn’t helpful right now when his shoulder is already in so much pain, but this is the situation he’s built for himself.

“What are you guys talking about?” Liam asks, and Killian has to bite his tongue. “Seriously. What?”

“Killian never told Emma about the full extent of the accident,” Elsa explains, rubbing the heels of her hands underneath her eyes. “And I’m guessing he’s been lying to her about how much his shoulder has been hurting too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck,” Killian groans, leaning forward to press his face into the stack of papers on Elsa’s desk, but that hurts his damn shoulder. “She’s going to be so pissed at me.”

“It’s not like you lied about something that’s fundamental to your relationship, though,” Liam says, obviously missing the point because he doesn’t know Emma like Killian knows Emma. “I think she’ll just be pissed like we are.”

“No, no she won’t.” Killian He rolls back in his chair and adjusts the strap that’s holding his ice pack there. “Emma’s got a pretty shitty history with people lying to her or not trusting her with things, and she’s going to be pissed that I did this. I don’t…there’s no way around that. I love her, and I wasn’t honest about the struggles I was going through.”

“It’s going to be fine, sweetie,” Elsa promises, but his mind is already running through worst case scenarios too.

He’s already lost the game again, temporarily at least, and he’s not sure that he can lose anything else.

For years he thought that losing the game would be the only thing possibley of beating him down and having him lose the spark for life that he has. Now he knows that’s not true.

Losing the game would hurt. Losing Emma would kill him.

Killian doesn’t count the ten minutes that it takes Emma to get to the hospital. He doesn’t need to. He feels every second of them. Before he knows it, there’s a timid knock on the door, and then Emma is walking through, her cheeks red and her hair windblown with her eyes widened. She looks like she just ran here instead of taking the train, and the big exhale that she lets out when she makes eye contact with him has him feeling like maybe he ran a marathon too.

Slowly, he stands up from the chair so as not to jostle his arm, and even though he can tell that Emma is a bit hesitant with Liam and Elsa in the room, she walks toward him and wraps her arms around his stomach so that he can feel her over feeling the throbbing in his arm.

“Hey,” he whispers as he rubs his hand up and down her back while his lips press into her forehead. “I’m okay. It’s all okay, love. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“My brain still has me convinced that you’re dead, so give me a minute.”

Killian chuckles. “Okay, okay, I can do that.”

For someone who is so keen on time today, Killian has no idea how long he stands there with Emma’s face buried in his shoulder and his hand on her back. He has no idea.

It’s not long enough though.

Because then Emma is pulling back, the warmth of her body disappearing, and she’s stepping away to wipe out the wrinkles in her dress skirt before moving to hug Liam and Elsa too., almost like she didn’t even realize they were in the room at first.

“So, what happened?” Emma asks. “You said your shoulder? What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

His eyes dart from the green pair to the two sets of blue, pleading for some kind of help in answering her question.

“Liam,” Elsa starts, grabbing onto her husband’s forearm, “why don’t we let them talk? Let’s go get some coffee.”

“You guys can stay,” Emma offers, a sweet, unknowing smile on her face.

“No, it’s fine, sweetie." Elsa nods her head at him, a soft smile on her face as well. “We’ve spent enough time with Killian. We’ll let you guys have this moment. Use my phone to text Liam when you leave, okay?”

“Yeah, Els. That’s fine. I love you guys.”

“Love you too,” Liam answers for them before they’re taking the few steps to the door and walking out of it, letting the wood frame click behind them.

And then he’s left with Emma.

“So, what’s wrong?” she asks again, sitting down in the chair that Elsa has across from her desk while he takes back his seat behind Elsa’s desk. “Did you throw out your shoulder? I know you’re, like, a whole ten months older than me, but I didn’t think you were that much of an old man.”

His chuckle is weak, but he’s thankful that Emma is at least in a bit of a joking mood. Today has been such a big day for her professionally, and he hates that he’s taken away from it.

“I have tendinitis in my rotator cuff.” He’s about to spew out a hell of a lot of information at her, but he doesn’t know how else to do it. The worry etched across Emma’s face certainly doesn’t help. “It’s not a big deal. I’m going to be out for hopefully no more than six weeks as long as I don’t fuck it up again, so I should be able to come back for the Championship Series, not that it matters. I’m in a lot of pain today, but it’s not always so bad.”

“What do you mean it’s not always so bad? Has this been happening more than just today?”

“For a couple of weeks. Maybe a month of two. I don’t – I’m not sure the exact moment that it happened, but it’s gotten worse recently. That day in Boston where we got blown out of the water and I pissed everyone off by being a jackass? That was probably the worst of it on a game day until today.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Emma sighs, holding her hands up to him as her brows furrow, those little worry lines popping up on her forehead. “You’ve been feeling this for more than today? And you didn’t say anything? Not to me or your family or even Archie? You’re a pitcher, Killian. You’ve been warned about rotator cuff injuries your entire life, and you didn’t think to say something?”

“I was scared.”

“Of what?” she asks before she gets up to pace back and forth in the same path as Liam before her. “All you had to do was say that your shoulder was bothering you, you’re benched for a week or two, and you have time to heal. Then you’re not getting carted off in the middle of games while I’m left sitting in a booth with two assholes who couldn’t care less about you being injured and who made jokes about it while I felt like I could throw up the entire time.”

“Emma – ”

“What?”

“I have something else to tell you.”

Her eyes flicker over him as she crosses her arm over her chest, tugging her dress down and bringing attention to the fact that she’s wearing his mom’s ring around her neck. He’d nearly forgotten about that, only remembered really when his hands absentmindedly reached for it out of habit.

“What do you have to tell me?”

Killian swallows, kind of feeling like he’s going to throw up too. It’s not a big deal. It can’t be. Emma will understand. He’s lying to himself thinking that, but that’s what he has to do.

“When Liam and I were in the boating accident, when I had an open fracture on my arm, I also had a rotator cuff tear. It’s why I didn’t come back at all that season. It’s why I have the small scars on my shoulder.” Emma stops pacing and turns to look at him, worry written all over her face as his own worry constricts his throat. “No one knows about it. Only my family, Archie, and the doctors in Florida who did my surgery. I never told anyone because I didn’t want to be seen as weak. I’d finally gotten myself together, stopping the drinking and the women and every other dumb decision I was making, and there I was having my life torn away from me again. I guess I was so over being pitied and being looked down upon that I rationalized not telling anyone. I thought that if everyone didn’t know, things would be just fine. Life would go on as normal, and that’s all I wanted.”

He takes a breath and tries to figure out what’s going on in Emma’s head, but he can’t tell. There’s no emotion on her face. Absolutely none at all.

“Last season,” Killian continues. “I played with pain. It wasn’t much, and it was really more when I was working my way back than anything. By the time we made it to the Series, I felt fine. This season, not so much. It’s hurt randomly. Sometimes on game days. Sometimes when I’m waking up in the morning or in the middle of the night. Those days I can’t really move it for awhile. I – I know I shouldn’t have ignored the signs, Swan, but I couldn’t have it all taken away from me again. I just couldn’t.”

He’s not even sure if he said everything he needed to say. He’s got no clue. If he had to, he couldn’t even repeat the words that just passed through his lips. But they’re out there, and the bricks on his shoulders don’t feel quite so heavy.

“Every time we’ve talked about the accident,” Emma starts, and he recognizes the change of tone in her voice immediately, “you have never once mentioned that you tore your rotator cuff and that you had to have surgery to repair it. I would get you keeping that from me as a journalist but not as your girlfriend. How many times have we talked about that day, Killian? How often have we discussed it? How often have you sat there and lied to my face about it? And not only it. Every time you’ve been in pain this year, you’ve lied to me. This morning when I asked you what was wrong, you lied to me. In Boston when we were mad at each other, you lied to me. And those are just the times that I know of. I’m sure there are more. I can’t…”

“Swan, I’m sorry, okay?” he pleads. She shakes her head from side to side, and he rises from his the chair to come to the other side of the desk, leaning against the wood so that they’re not separated by it. “I wanted to tell you. I kept telling myself that I would and that maybe I’d work up the courage to say what was going on, but I never could.”

The clench in Emma’s jaw is visible, especially when she turns to the side to look away with another shake of her head. “I am sorry that you have been through so much, that you are still going through so much. I love you. I really do. But it almost makes it worse to me that you’ve known you were keeping something from me and still didn’t tell me. It doesn’t matter what it is. You actively lied to me, and I am not okay with that.”

“I was terrified, Emma. Don’t you get that?”

Her head turns back to him then, green eyes full of tears, and he can barely hear anything over the sound of his heart thumping.

“I think I just…I think I need some time is all.”

“Emma – ”

“No, Killian,” she starts, holding her hand up and stepping backward, “I need time. Because I’ve trusted you with so much of what’s going on in my life, I’ve let myself lean on you and need you more than I have ever let myself need someone else, and you couldn’t bother doing the same. Why couldn’t you bother doing the same? This is the same exact thing that’s happened to me every time I’ve put my heart on the line, and I – I need some time to think.”

“Emma.”

“I’ll call you soon,” she says as she rises from the chair, but he’s not sure that he believes her. “You have Liam and Elsa to take care of you, right?”

“Aye,” he nods, biting his tongue at all of the things he wants to say right now. Emma is fighting between wanting him to be okay and being upset with him. He can tell, and he has to respect her wishes right now. In a few days, it’ll be different. But damn if this doesn’t hurt. “I don’t…I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to hurt you, love. That was not my intention here.”

“I know. That’s what makes this worse.” Emma blinks, her lips pressed together, before silently walking out the door and leaving him sitting there.

Alone.

Fuck.

He knew it was going to happen, and not even that could have prepared him for it.

But all she said was that she needed time, right? She didn’t yell at him saying that they were over, that she was breaking up with him, that she didn’t love him anymore. None of that was mentioned, so there’s hope, right?

There has to be hope.

It doesn’t matter that he didn’t hurt her in the same way that Neal and Walsh hurt her, that he didn’t hurt her the way the foster system did. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t maliciously set out to inflict pain. What matters is that she’s upset with his actions, with his lies, and who is he to try to say what she can be mad about and what she can’t be mad about?

He’s no one.

Only Emma can decide how she feels about things.

He probably deserves all of this for how much of an asshole he is.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

And he’s still got to tell his team. And Ariel will have to release a statement and oh shit, Ariel. She’s going to murder him.

She really is.

Killian uses Elsa’s phone to text Liam that he and Emma are finished talking and that he’s going home now. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t give any more details. No one needs any. They know where they live, and if all else fails, he will answer their texts from his laptop.

When he gets home fifteen minutes later, though, he sees it sitting on his coffee table and ignores it. He’s really not in the mood to talk to anyone or to do anything. All he wants is to take a shower and wash this damn day away. It’s not like he’s got any deadlines anymore or anything to do.

He can’t even do his job.

And it’s his fault.

How could he have been so stupid?

The moment Killian walks into his bedroom, he sees Emma’s clothes everywhere. She’d brought over a bag of things last night, outfits that she was considering wearing but hadn’t decided on, as well as seemingly everything else she owns. She’s not the neatest person in the world, never has been, but it seems that this morning she was determined to make her mark on every single inch of this room.

She did a damn good job at it.

Killian’s sure that she was planning on cleaning it up when she came back here tonight. They were going to celebrate her tonight. He had a whole dinner prepared that he was going to cook. All of the ingredients are in his fridge as well as Emma’s favorite whiskey and a chocolate and cherry cake that he baked because he knows that she loves those.

They never even got to talk about how it was for her today.

How could he have ruined a day that was so important to her?

And he knows that he’s ruined it. He does. He knows that she’s probably in her apartment right now fielding questions from everyone about what it was like, how she liked it, if she wants to do it again. And she’s fielding questions about how he is and why she’s not with him. He doesn’t know what she’ll say, if she’ll say anything at all, and for as many times as he’s hated himself, he doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself as much as he does right now for upsetting Emma.

This is not how things are supposed to be.

He doesn’t bother picking her clothes up, leaving all of them where they are. That’s something he’ll deal with later. He’s going to take a shower right now, and absolutely nothing is going to stop him.

Except for the yellow and blue sticky notes pressed in a line on his bathroom mirror over where Emma has left her curling iron.

I promise I’m going to clean up my things later. Don’t get all tense about it if you see it all before I do.

Thank you for being such a big supporter of me and “cheering me on.”

We’re both going to kick ass today.

I love you, Killian Jones.

Killian’s stomach twists at the last one, and he carefully pulls it off the mirror so that he can run his fingers over the words there as well as the lipstick mark that she left.

“I love you too, Emma,” he mutters to himself in the silence of the bathroom.

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years ago

Text

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,089

Tag List: @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali, @shrimpmsg,

Chapter 43: Lost

“To lose your path is the way to find that path.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Four Years Ago Seoul – Itaewon; Yongsan District South Korea

Blood.

There was blood in the water.

Jimin looked like he crawled out of a mountain of pig guts, blood smears littering his face and neck. Droplets of crimson dripped from his earlobe as an angry red trail wept from a cut under his eye. Another slash decorated the bridge of his nose and he reached up to wipe at it. His fingers and hand were completely coated in red – scarlet trails dripping down his forearm and staining his shirt.

A shaky hand moved to turn the faucet off; barely aware that the water was spilling from the sink and onto the floor. It sloshed over his sneakers, soaking his shoelaces and creeping into his socks. He barely noticed as he slowly dipped his hands into the overflowing bowl of porcelain. The water turned an even deeper shade of pink and orange, growing opaque to where Jimin could no longer see his hands inside the bowl.

Water continued to slip onto the floor as he moved his wrists methodically, cleaning his hands as best he could. His eyes lingered on the dirty faucet nozzle until they shifted to spy his rosary bracelet on the edge of the dingy porcelain mouth. The silver cross glinted under the artificial light that barely encompassed the room, reflecting the pale green tiling that covered the room from ceiling to floor.

The light in the room blinked rapidly, spazzing out in time with the flash of lightning that brightened the dark and stormy world outside of the bathroom. Every so often, he was plunged in darkness – depriving him of the image of his horrible visage reflecting back at him in the mirror.

But even in the dark, Jimin could see everything.

He could see the body hunched over by the urinals, his neck spurting out blood like a fountain. His arm was twisted back, dislocated until it was eventually snapped in an unnatural way. Blood turned the man’s once white shirt completely red as thick rivers of it pooled from his lips.

An arm peeked out from underneath one of the stalls, the fingers attached to the hand all broken. There was a knife sticking out from the back of the hand as blood blossomed across the tile floor. Near the arm and between the person by the urinals was another body lying face down with one of his arms pulled behind him. There was a white item protruding from one of the shoulders, tearing through the jacket, and upon closer inspection, one would know that it was a broken bone pierced through skin and fabric.

Removing his hands from the pale red water and scooping up his rosary, Jimin shook the moisture from his hands and pivoted on his heels as he slowly wiped his palms down the backs of his pants. Another flash of lightning brightened the room, the clap of thunder rumbling the building and causing bits of plaster to crumble from the ceiling. Jimin crouched down to remove his knife from the man’s neck, more blood spurting out until the fountain grew smaller. Jimin wiped the blade over the man’s clothes to clean it off.

Flicking the blade closed, he slid it into the inside pocket of his blazer. Stepping over the man on the floor, he fished in his pocket for his handkerchief and began to wipe at the blood that was still on his neck while looking over his handiwork. It could have been handled a little less recklessly, but Jimin was forced into a small space and dealing with a trio of idiots who believed they had even a snowball’s chance in being able to go toe-to-toe with him.

Their biggest mistake? Listening to a jealous master who wanted Hoseok dead.

A phone buzzed with life and he paused, silencing his own breath so he could hear where the noise was coming from. He entered the stall and removed the phone from the man’s pocket whose neck he’d broken, spying at the screen. Jimin gently pushed the man off the toilet, dropping the phone into the bowl without hesitation. He watched it continue to ring until the water seeped into the grooves and openings of the device, causing the screen to blink wildly before it finally faded to black.

Pulling his own phone out, he dialed a number and pressed the phone to his face; making sure that it was the cheek he’d just cleaned off. They answered in three rings.

“It’s me,” he said softly, stepping over the bodies as he made for the door, “it’s done.”

The other person spoke and this caused Jimin to smirk.

“Just bring the cleaners here, Hyung. They’ll take care of the rest.”

He opened the door, scooping up his rosary beads off the sink and slipping them into his pocket.

“This will make them think twice before trying to come after you again.”

Jimin shut the door behind him as he hung up the phone, straightening his jacket and slicking his hair back off his forehead. The old building was barely anything to look at, which made the entire situation ideal for this sort of thing. His small group that waited for him bowed to him and he tossed the knife and dirty handkerchief to one of them.

“Get rid of those,” Jimin said, his voice cold.

The young man nodded, wrapping the items and then tossing them into a nondescript plastic bag.

“The talk didn’t go well?” he asked and Jimin grinned.

“It went as I thought it would.”

The man nodded, the others following on either side of him.

“They should have just listened to you in the first place. Then they wouldn’t have gone out that way.” Jimin cast a sideways glance toward the young man. “Because you’re The Crimson Claw, right?”

“Wrong.”

The man peered up at him, his expression clearly showcasing his confusion.

“I had no intentions of talking whatsoever. Because I am The Crimson Claw.”

Present Day Seoul – Cheongdam; Gangnam District South Korea

Jimin took a deep breath, his hands balled into fists at his thighs. His thumb slowly rotated over the rosary beads, completely in sync with his heartbeat. He mentally counted back from thirty. Thirty seconds; thirty beats of his heart. The world was silent in the small enclosure as tiny slivers of light broke through the small holes around the wooden box. The burgundy curtain of velvet brushed against his knuckles, providing a small sense of relief from the suffocation that threatened to overtake him.

The latch across from him loosened as the door opened. Light flooded in from the other side of the diamond grating separating him from the man who was adjusting himself in his seat. When the door closed, they were once again plunged into darkness. Jimin released the air trapped in his lungs, the hand holding the rosary moving to form the sign of the cross in front of him before clasping his fingers together in a sign of prayer.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was three years and six months ago.”

There was a pregnant pause, threatening to swallow Jimin up completely. He took another breath, the sweat tingeing his brows as his chestnut fringe clung to his forehead. Jimin felt the priest’s eyes watching him through the grating and he attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. A part of him felt like he was being judged, but wasn’t that expected? It should have been. If it wasn’t, then Jimin judged himself in the stead of his Savior.

“Go on, My Child,” urged the priest gently.

He tried to wet his lips as he floundered for the words. Jimin cleared his throat as he attempted to formulate his sentences, his hands trembling. He shut his eyes tightly, his mouth forming into a thin line. He knew the priest was waiting for him to continue, but inwardly he wanted nothing more than to run from that small enclosure.

It felt like the weight of his sins would crush him.

“I’m a Christian, Father, but we believe in The Almighty and his Grace. Prayer alone cannot save me, but I feel that simply writing things down in a journal could hardly be enough to absolve me of my sins.” The words were less heavy on his tongue and he pressed his back against the wall. “The Blood of Christ has granted me penance. I know this. But I am afraid, Father, of the wrongs I have done in order to secure the futures of my brothers and myself.”

When he opened his eyes again, they quickly adjusted to the darkness; he was used to this. It was the sunlight that hurt his eyes and made it difficult to see.

Old memories flooded his mind, reminding him of the past and of the blood he shed. The metallic taste and coppery odor seemed permanently stuffed in his nostrils back then. His hand was often forced during encounters when he donned the mask of the Golden Jackals’ liaison. It was his job to speak to others in various districts, warning them that despite being a new group and former Jade Fang members, they were not to be trifled with.

They would do things fairly and if that fairness was ever challenged, then it was Jimin’s job to pass the message along in other ways. He was given the name Crimson Claw because he had no issues cutting anyone down that dared to impede his brothers’ paths to success and good fortune. He was merciless when it came to anyone he cared for.

This same mercilessness existed quietly in his heart even when they all lived their simple, country lives in Hwaseong. It was the reason why Jimin was the last to arrive in Seoul after Namjoon made his offer to come back with him to the big city – to reach into the dark and dirty underworld and pull out a flawless diamond. Jimin’s life was his family’s bakery and it was always assumed he would take over. He could never admit to how easy it was for him to embrace the life that Namjoon and the others were suggesting they attempt to live.

Because he didn’t want to show how simple it was for him to smile in that chaotic world. He didn’t want to worry his brothers, or even scare them away. He was more afraid of losing them than he was of losing himself.

Jimin understood the true depth of his heart better than anyone. Because he was a sinner; he bathed in the sin and wore it like a badge of pride. He had no problem hurting anyone if it meant protecting the people who meant the most to him.

He would become the devil himself.

What worried Jimin now wasn’t the storm that was coming. What concerned him was the possibility of losing himself along the way.

“I have hurt people. I have ruined people. We all have. But I cannot confess their sins for them. I can only speak of my own.” He squeezed his fingers tightly together, the beads of the rosary scraping against each other. “I know I cannot bear their sins on my shoulders, but I desperately want to, Father. My brothers are good people; good men. They deserve all the wonderful things this life has to offer to them.”

“You are very kind-hearted, My Child,” spoke the priest, causing Jimin to look up at him, “and God sees that. He knows what lies in your heart every waking moment of your life.”

“If that’s true, Father,” Jimin whispered, “then he knows I’m beyond saving. I’m okay with that, I am.”

“You’re alright with being outside of the realm of redemption?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve found my place in the shadows and I will do everything, anything I can, to keep my brothers in the light.”

Jimin peered down at his hands to look at the sterling silver cross dangling from the rosary beads.

“Forever.”

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princehec-tor-kur · 5 years ago

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Unforgetable

1/?

HTK-218,666/DC is my designation, I am a clone Horde trooper of the Delta Calos devision. I am 7 seconds old. 7 seconds ago I first opened by optics and I was greeted with a world of toxic waste green. 7 seconds ago my heart started beating, 9 seconds now. I register the concept of time.

My nervous system switches on and now I feel. Cold. I am suspended in fluid. Green. Or maybe not. Not sure. Motory functions engage. First instinct is to pat against the glass wall, no push, no hit, punch, break. I feel fear for the first and last time in my nigh perfect life. I wanted to escape, claustrophobia, an illogical thought process, gone now. 16 seconds now.

The cloning tank I am in fizzes and opens. I fall to my feet. The fluid rushes out, escaping it's cylindrical mold. It pures into the drains infront. The multiple cordes holding me up disconnect from my body. Something's wrong. My body falls dumb. Bones ache. Skin iches. Something is wrong with me. I'm a... a... the word, the thought vanishes from my mind. Erased. The pain is gone. The nervous system is switched off. Strange. Or is it?

I hear a voice in my head, my voice, no, yes, our voice. It tells me to stand. I fell no ground, but I push myself up. I fail over and over again. Why can't I stand? What's wrong with me? Is there someth-... I stand up with the aid of a fellow brother. His hand grasped at my shoulder pulling me up. His claws leave deep marks in my skin. A green liquid drips out in a slow stream. It doesn't hurt. I feel nothing. Why? I do not feel curious to follow that thought process.

My brother shouts at me in my head. I follow him. I am given clothing. Yes, white, grey and green robes. Though they look black and green in my optics. Regulation atire. No differenciation or alteration of the uniform is permitted. To maintain order. Small things such as these cannot slip by, freedom in such a small aspect can snowball very fast. A domino affect.

Freedom is contagious. Infectious. Sickening and an illness. And that cannot be allowed.

'This is a healthy place.'

A quote contructed by my voice, but not ushered from my own lips. An almost mocking tone came from higher above. -Mocking? No. No. Not mocking. Brother loves us. He's the only one who will ever love us. ...I am informed by another brother through my thoughts that I will be punished with whipping for 7 rotations for the statement I thought about my Brother. I apologise. A sign of weakness. 9 rotations are added on to my sentence.

I complete putting on my robes. They do not seem heavy, nor protective. A formality rather than an armour. Armour is equipped during battle. Infact our hide should be protection enough from most firearms. I am given a tray, what is presented on it, I do not know. My brother orders me to take the tray to section A-1. A-1? As in right next to A-0, the throne room? Which Force-General would order such substances? Or perhaps Brother is having guests. Rare. But not unlikely.

I hurry to the destination, walk speedly through the corridors. They all look the same. Every turn lead to an image of a silvery, stark white hallway. An unfamiliar guest would easily get lost in them, but every clone has full scematics of any ship they are aboard to aid with the navigation of troops efficently through the maze-like warmachines. The warships were designed this way on purpose to discombobulate any boarding parties and escaped prisoners. Rare. But not unlikely.

On my way to the guest room, I pass many of my brothers on my way. All our faces are motionless, never moving, never showing weakness no matter what climate or atmosphere. Emotionless, never showing signs of temptation to sin through freedom. Brother says freedom is disorder. And disorder leads to imperfection. And Brother knows all. Brother knows best.

I am not curious.

I'm not supposed to be. I ignore most voices around me, just regular maintinance and mission reports. Telepathic communication is highly effective. Far more than verbal communication. And only the highest of ranking brothers were given the authority to breath and vibrate the air molecules in Horde Prime's presence.

10 minutes since my construction. I am now 10 minutes and 3 seconds old as I buzz the door and a youthful alien specimen answers the door. The look in her eyes I do not think I will forget. The expression on her face was haunting. A malestrum of mental states I cannot comprehend plays across her face. Her eyes widened.

The young female organism has a feline DNA base. A thin woman covered in golden brown fur, a damaged theara and a dark, crimson and black uniform covered in cuts and... burns. A lot of close calls with laser weaponary apparently. The guest is, I presume, a native from the planet we are orbiting.

Now I'm curious.

Why have I not recieved any information about life forms or about any invasion proceedures. ...Perhaps it is because I am not asigned to a landing party. Then what is my purpose? Too curious. Not good. I realise she is still staring at me, frozen. It is quite unerving. I forward the tray in her direction infront of her. She seems to snap out of the gaze and takes the tray into her own hands. My mission is complete. I step back and turn to the corridor.

"I'm sorry."

I turn back to face the female. The door slides shut. What an odd statement. I can't recall ever meeting that life form. I have only existed for 12 minutes and 35 seconds. Strange. However, I do not ponder this any longer as one of my superior officers commands me to The Briefing Chamber. And 13 minutes later I'm correct. I am not commissioned to a landing party. Well not for this 'Etheria'. I have a different mission. I am being sent to the frontlines. I am 25 minutes old.

#hordak #catra #don't know how this came about #wanna see more?#unforgetable #sorry for any spelling mistakes

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ghostmartyr · 6 years ago

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Pokémon FireRed Nuzlocke [Part 12]

Can we beat the game using Nuzlocke rules and only battling against trainers?

The current answer is leaning towards no. Still, we shan’t give up or in.

Four badges in. Next stop?

Uh. Haven’t decided yet.

So things did not go what I would call according to plan with the Grimer. Ideally, it would have been a higher level than 30. It wouldn’t need me to hold its hand through a bunch of leveling. It would immediately be an asset. Life would be beautiful. Nothing would hurt.

Only it’s level 30.

I have a Ground, Water, Electric, and Normal Type in rotation. Grass has historically been a problem, but it is much less of a problem with a Snorlax. Oak isn’t always the most useful, but he’ll be receiving a huge power boost come Surf collection.

Bark and Trunk are going to be wanting all the Attack EVs I can feed them. Sap is going to want Attack as well. And HP.

Its move pool is a huge plus, and I would be happy to have it available, but to make it available, a lot of switch training would have to happen. When Sprinkle went through that, experience gain dropped to a slow crawl. Sprinkle was only level 25, and at an even later stage in the game, but the approach taken with this round was intended to be geared towards a minimum of pokemon.

Other things to consider would be that in the first run, I lost two pokemon, and a lot of work went into making up for that. The two runs can’t be compared fairly with what levels to expect further down the road. ...I. think.

By the first Elite Four fight, Po was level 46. My highest level pokemon was 49.

It did not go well.

I need this one to go better.

Does it go better with Sap, or does it go better with maxing the heck out of the other four.

I really, really want to use Sap.

Having a status-reliant choice instead of a pure powerhouse makes me more comfortable with everything else. Minimize is good. Screech is welcome. Sludge Bomb is welcome. Acid Armor is welcome. Muk is a kickass thing to have available.

But I’m not sure splitting the exp is going to do me any favors this late in the game. Silph offers a lot of lenience, I guess, but. Cycling Road is going to go to Trunk. So is a lot else, and what doesn’t should help out Bark.

Five pokemon starts to be a lot.

Fuck.

I’m trying it out.

Sap, welcome to the team. Don’t die.

In happier news...

Good job making it this far, buddy.

Route 16, what are we catching here today?

Doduo!

Sap, prove your worth by failing to kill it.

Damn it, Sap. +123 to you and Bark. -_-

Siiiiiigh. I need 30 pokemon for the Itemfinder.

Now Trunk is just going to claim. As much of Cycling Road as possible. Bark will help when possible. ...Or do I want to go deal with Silph? Hey, past me, wtf is the best way of doing this nonsense?

..hm.

I’m going to do Silph for the sheer heck of it, I think. I don’t want to get as far as my Rival yet, but. I don’t know. I’m just not feeling Cycling Road right now. Video games are supposed to be fun, right? Let’s chase some damn fun.

And I don’t think I ever got my Route 7 thing. Let’s do that, too. Hi Growlithe.

SAP WHAT THE HECK. WE WANTED THAT.

Did I misremember how much damage Sludge does???

...

Oh.

Yes.

Yes, I did.

I very much did.

...+130 to Sap and Acorn. -headdesk-

With that in mind, actually, Sap, you and Bark want to try your hands on the dojo next door to Sabrina? Trunk can’t touch any of those guys thanks to the Super Effective problem.

..And Bark can barely touch any of them thanks to her low Defense.

Yeeeeeah, after that short experiment, we’re just gonna go straight to Silph. Where the Rockets are not a thing to be too afraid of.

Beautiful building.

Hellscape place.

...

I don’t wanna do this, either. Uh. South of Lavender, maybe?

Out of order ALL the things.

Route 13, let’s catch a thing.

The thing is a Venonat! We now wait and watch to see if it will end up dead like other recent catches for totally unpreventable reasons.

Caught!

Its name is Oak.

Route 14, in the middle of all these trainers we’re beating down largely out of order.

...Gloom’s technically not viable because Oddish and species clause, but screw it, it’s not going to be used, I’m too lazy to look up what else is here, and I just want this part done and over with. I know that’s really bad form. but. I am not a rules lawyer. once, maybe. not anymore.

Caught. Its name is Oak.

So far with trainers, the way I’m keeping my sanity with exp division is that the Bikers go to Trunk, and Bark and Sap get the Bird Keepers.

It is slow and tiresome. I do not care for thinking when I am playing my video games.

We’re in Route 18 now, and doing the same nonsense to a Raticate. This is it. This is the point. This is where I stop caring about any of the rules except the no grinding thing. Everything else is irrelevant.

Bark ffs. Stop. Sigh.

+414 exp. Route 18 officially dead.

(Also, this looks like I should have known that she would kill it, but Bark still knows Mud Slap. It does as much nothing as anything on my team can. Still not enough nothing when critical hits are involved.)

Good Rod get so that Fuchsia might have a happier ending.

Back in the realm of completely legal catches, we have a Poliwag!

Throwing a Great Ball proves the best strategy. In that it works. Poliwag get! Its name is Oak.

In other, trainer-related news, Sap hits 34 and learns Acid Armor.

We have also cleared out the section of trainers that is not Saffron and not Cycling Road that comes pre-Koga. Naisu.

-time passes-

So, post-Cycling Road, Trunk is level 41, Bark is level 42, Sap is 35, Oak is 37, and Acorn is 40. I think what makes the most sense in terms of safety is to go clear out the Silph building, then deal with the dojo and assorted Gyms.

Unfortunately.

I hate Silph Co.

So, so deeply.

Deep breath time.

Oh, wait, I want Oak to have Surf first. Never mind, we can still delay this party!

Let’s do it.

Hey, and while we’re at it, we have a chance at a Parasect!

-gasp-

We caught it!

Its name is Oak.

I don’t remember if it was me or someone I knew, but as a child, I have distinct memories of the timer flat-lining just a handful of squares away from talking to this guy. It filled me with enough sadness that I think maybe I was the one having the issues.

The Safari Zone is a lot harder when you have no idea what you’re supposed to do or where you’re meant to go.

Oak learns Surf!

We also give the Warden his teeth back, so Strength get.

I’m gonna see about catching a Route 19 thing. Due to it being something I can do that doesn’t involve the Silph building.

Yes, a Krabby. As we learned from Heero’s run, they make for excellent HM slaves.

Caught!

Its name is Oak. Sadly, I think it will be replacing Oak in the party.

Sigh.

I think we’re. back to the sad part.

(Route 17 option: Doduo. Status: caught. Name: Oak.)

UGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH.

Granted, it’s much easier without having to record every single fight, but the memories of the most recent time I did this are harsh and painful and I don’t like them.

Several floors later, yeah okay, this isn’t so bad.

I still hate it.

However, I can safely say I know who the best character in the Pokemon multiverse is.

Best. Girl.

She’s on floor 9, future self. Sorry about your life.

Because there are so many vitamins hidden around the building, I’m starting to really panic about how my team is going to handle the final parts of the game. I of course love all my children equally, but losing the first team was rough, and I can’t imagine that I’ll continue to engage with my pokemon on any level if things consistently fall to pieces in the very last sequences.

In a funny way, I think the EV training I’m softly tripping through might be hampering things a little. The balance is more sideways than my usual in-game teams have, because I’m focusing a lot on who’s fighting what. There are no random bursts of Defense being distributed, for instance. Oak is the closest to balance, and that’s because Oak had to do most everything before we had a real team (no offense buddy, you rock).

I don’t know. I’m paranoid. Things did not go well with Heero and friends. I think I want to invest in some of the X [stat] items, you know, like the way of the speedrunner, but the way I usually play these games involves brute force.

Full stop.

I can’t repeat enough how little I enjoy thinking in my video games.

But what that means is that I’m not used to using X items. And spending a turn on something I haven’t spent years of background noise thinking about could have disastrous consequences.

The disaster is something I fear. Clearly.

Sigh. There’s not helping it right now, so. Silph.

LOOK MAN, CONSIDERING THE NUMBER OF TRAINERS I HAD TO BEAT TO GET UP HERE

I kind of love that your Rival doesn’t appear to do anything at all about Team Rocket. He just shows up because hey, Red will be doing the hero stuff over there! Time to throw down!

Then he loses and just goes back to worrying about his League quest.

He’s almost like a real ten-year-old.

Acorn thank you for existing.

Wait. Crap, what deals with the Venusaur? Did I decide to just throw Trunk at that? Because that’s what I’m doing?

Yeah, fine, that works.

I got a Lapras.

Its name is Oak.

Sprinkle, I miss you.

Oh whoops. Acorn’s still in front. I don’t think I want that.

Kangaskhan without a Fighting Type is weird. Not a problem weird, because yay, Trunk exists. But weird. I keep expecting to have something super effective against it.

One Master Ball for me. Yay.

Now off to the dojo.

Where I’m going to try not to get Sap killed by letting him have this fight for great exp. I trust Sap’s moves. I trust the concept of their usefulness. Then I see critical hits and tragedy everywhere.

Sap.

Do not die.

Does my hat look black to you.

Level 37 Hitmonlee.

You know. I have the post that says this involves a level 37 Hitmonlee open in another tab. And yet. This still comes as a horrible shock and my brain is already playing taps for Sap.

The pain of one Hi Jump Kick. Not bad. I think we might make it, little guy.

We won!

And no one died!

Yay!

I guess that means it’s time for Koga.

Boo. But we’ll let Trunk punch through. Maybe with Bark, too.

Or Oak can eat a Kadabra. That works.

Trunk makes it through all the pre-Koga peeps with little trouble, and we move on to the man himself.

-gasp-

Awesome. More awesome is how everyone’s still alive. Oh happy day before we go forth and fight Sabrina.

Toxic get.

Trunk is level 46, as seen above. Bark is 44. Acorn is 42. Oak is 41. Sap is 37.

Oak’s job is to eat Sabrina. With any luck, Oak will continue to be a help with Blaine, though Bark and Sap will want some of that sweet exp too.

...Basically, what this all means is that I’ve stopped worrying about most of what’s going on with my team. I’m now just watching the levels and letting my dread run the show.

Dread and Oak. The dream team. Oak’s hit 44. I have faith.

.....Ooookay things are going awry because a Calm Minded Alakazam packs a wallop with Psychic, so I’m switching in Acorn under the assumption that he can survive one Psychic and will outspeed the thing.

Pictures taken just before disaster, fyi.

Houston, we have a problem.

Trunk wraps things up.

But. Uh.

Gyarados damage control is gone.

Acorn is gone.

What even is life without Acorn.

That critical hit would have been the end of Oak. Your oldest friend. I know we both wanted things to go differently, but I’m sure you understand why this is the end result.

I will miss you.

So much.

The lack of your warm presence will be a loss for us all.

I also no longer have something on my team with Thunderbolt, so. The script is no longer clear. I guess I can be less worried about levels, but. This right here might be the end of this round.

With a heavy heart, we head to the oceans where Acorn should have reigned supreme.

And stop Sap from evolving so he can learn Sludge Bomb at 43. Hopefully doing that won’t lead to another unfortunate accident, but if it does happen, I’m sadly resigned to it.

I don’t know how many times Sap has hurt himself in confusion in this fight, but it’s too many.

Then the Tentacruel comes in when this is finally over, and Sap hurts himself in confusion.

Yeah.

Sap’s just eating every single confusion problem of the entire run. He’s taking it all for himself.

But. we. get. through. it. As a family.

Hit Route 20, and now I have a level 8 Tentacool. Its name is Oak.

Supersonic is hitting everything and it is absolutely miserable.

Seafoam Island gives us.... Golbat! Apparently we already had a Zubat, so whoops, but in any case, its name is Oak. And needs to be moved from the D E A D box because whoops.

Does Oak want to learn Fly and help greatly with things not being awful?

Boy howdy do I.

And I am at 30 pokemon in my Pokedex, so it’s time for me to go grab my Itemfinder and Leftovers.

...Oh. Golbat doesn’t learn Fly. Well fine then. Another Oak will help me.

After all.

He is

Oak’s Aide.

Got one Leftovers. Two Leftovers. Awesome.

-many minutes later-

Sap gets Sludge Bomb! Do you know what that means?

Sap! We’ve done it! We’ve kept you alive! You’ve made it through your trying times as a Grimer!

Now let’s go into that non-haunted mansion that makes up most of Blaine’s island’s real estate.

I’m just going to shove Bark in front and. idk. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’m just waiting for Victory Road, the day of reckoning, and. Maybe better than last time.

Growlithe caught in the mansion. Its name is Oak.

Secret Key get.

Blaine, why must you be so sketchy.

Okay, so for this Gym, I think I’ll be using Sap more than expected. Bark and Oak will deal with a lot of Giovanni, because they don’t have to worry about Ground really causing an extra problem. That makes this a better place for Trunk and Sap to level up. Agreed?

Yeah sure, whatever.

I guess the other thing to consider is if Bark will really be a help in this endeavor.

She’s very, very fast, and will learn Earthquake naturally. But she can’t take a hit, and with the loss of Acorn, I’m thinking what I have to do is just have Trunk, Oak, and Sap tank everything; lots of X items, lots of Full Restores.

Most of the time, Bark can’t afford to take a second hit of anything.

If I really want to optimize, Cutting down to three out of my four might be the better call.

Ugh, that’s such a dangerous number, though.

Sap has an amazing move set. I really could just...

Lorelei, Bruno, Agatha, Lance, Rival.

Trunk could probably handle Lorelei. Sap could do the Fighting half of Bruno, and the other half isn’t really a problem. The plan with Agatha was always to teach Po Shadow Ball, but then Zaft needed Thunderbolt, so I couldn’t afford it. Lance is hell, but not one a Dugtrio is likely to improve by much.

I have no idea what to do for Oak.

But if I can set Sap up, a lot of problems become manageable. I can’t brute force this. I keep saying that, and I keep ignoring it because that’s not how I play these games. I need better strategies. Bark’s Attack stat isn’t up to being a glass cannon. She’s a glass rifle, maybe. Fantastic, but eating up resources without serving an extra purpose. She’ll be just as dead in two hits if I keep on giving her exp. Leveling could remove that weakness, but I don’t have anything to work with there.

I have to focus on three.

Damn it.

For now, let’s finish Blaine, shall we.

Got the badge.

Bill Gaiden?

So he says.

So ends the post, because I just can’t.

#Pokemon #Nuzlocke #Nuzlocke Challenge #playthrough

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dailyaudiobible · 6 years ago

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04/18/2019 DAB Transcript

Joshua 16:1-18:28, Luke 19:1-27, Psalms 87:1-7, Proverbs 13:11

Today is the 18th day of April. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I'm Brian. It is great to be here with you for another day, another time that we can come in out of the cold or the heat or whatever but just come around the light of this global campfire and let God speak to us through His word. So, we’re reading from the New Living Translation this week and out today as we go back into the Old Testament we’ll read Joshua chapters 16, 17, and 18.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word, we thank You for all of the ways that it speaks to us, how it touches every part of our lives at one point or another. It penetrates deep within our thoughts and motives. It penetrates deep into our hearts, our emotions. It speaks into our relationships with each other. It leads us on the narrow path that leads to life. It leads us to You. And, so. we thank You for Your word. Father, as we’re here in this week that the ends the season of Lent that also commemorates Your death and burial and resurrection, we enter into this fully here on this Thursday, a day that has been called Maundy Thursday to represent Your last meal with Your friends where You washed their feet and modeled for us to be great in God's kingdom is to be the servant. So, come Holy Spirit as we contemplate these things today and as we continue to sit with the question from yesterday. “What do You want me to do for You?” Come Holy Spirit into these questions, into these contemplations as we move into these holy days that commemorate our very salvation. Come Jesus we pray. In Your mighty name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what is going on around here. So, be sure to stay tuned and stay connected.

Of course, what is going on around here is exactly what we were just talking about in the prayer. These days that are in front of us, we can go through them and they can just be other days as the clock continues to spin and the world continues to rotate around the sun, they can just be other days, but these days are given to us all throughout our church history to remember the magnitude of what happened on our behalf, the magnitude of the impact on the world, the magnitude of the impact of our eternity. And, so may we drink deeply of this time.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link that lives on the homepage. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that is it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

It’s Dustin from Spokane Washington and it’s Friday April 12th and I just listened to the Daily Audio Bible and wow that was a good episode. I pretty much cried during both of them, my phone just downloaded it twice for some reason. Anyways, I just wanted to thank you Brian, thank you Blind Tony, thank you everyone who participates in creating the podcast and thank you for everyone that calls in. Whenever you ask for prayers I pray right then for you in your name and in Jesus’ name and that’s pretty much it. Oh, and, Brian I love you too. I just wanted to say that. I don’t think enough people say that enough. I know you say that every episode. Just another one back at you. Anyways, I love all you and take care. Bye.

Hello, my name is Don Perry, I’m calling for my son Tyler Davidson. Tyler has been diagnosed with bipolar schizo-affective disorder and he has been battling this and struggling with this for the last five years. He refuses to take his medication and has tried to self-medicating with alcohol and his life is spiraling out of control once again. He’s been in jail over this issue. He’s been in several mental institutions. He can’t get his life together because of this problem and its characteristic for this type of diagnosis that they will start taking their medications, they think they’re okay, and that they will just stop taking them because they don’t need them anymore. They get their life together and they don’t remember how it was before they started taking the medication. I raised him in church, he is a godly child, and he is a sweet, sweet man. He’s 25 years old now and I still, as a mother of course, moms always see the little boy inside of their child as they grow up forever and, you know, I just I know he’s just got so much of to give to God and to the world. And, you know, so my prayer is that you will please pray for my son. I don’t know what to do. I am putting this in God’s hands. I just thank you so much. Bye-bye.

Hey DAB family, my name is Scott, I live in Fresno California and I’m calling today…I don’t call very often but I was gonna call in for friend. Anyway, I have one particular friend who has been married for 30 years and they’ve had a lot of struggles and challenges in their marriage but this past week my friends wife asked him to leave and it’s kind of blowing him away and it kinda blows me away but in a lot of ways I see this a lot with some other people. I have, oh shoot, at least three people around me who are involved in some kind of situation like this and, honestly, sometimes I start feeling like, why bother if people just decide to do what they’re gonna do. And even with my friend that I’m mentioning to you, as I see some of my other friends and I come around him to talk with him, it doesn’t seem like there’s an awareness or even a desire to press in and pray for my friend. I want to pray for his wife. And for some reason she’s just shut down. And I’ve known my friend for a while, he’s a good guy. It’s just they’re two different people, you know. And, so, I guess I just ask that that where two or more are gathered, you know, we lift up this couple, this relationship. Lord, I just…I just ask that you bring them back…

Good morning my beautiful sisters and brothers. This is Don calling from New York but I’m actually calling from the More Conference on Sunday morning as we pack up to leave today. And my heart is so full and I’m so grateful. Thank you, thank you, for all of you who have been praying for us. This was very likely one of the most beautiful, well-crafted, __ precious women’s event that I’ve ever gone to, truly lovely, beautiful team, you amaze me, each of you, you really acted like one unit. It was pretty impressive to watch the way you all were with one another. Thank you so much for all the beautiful preparation. I wish I could tell each one of you what your contributions, your testimonies, meant to me. I want to note, Bonnie, your mentioning secondary losses was pretty incredible. And Ireland, when I think of you and your face I’m going to continue to smile because you make me smile. Communion together was very, very precious. Thank you so much for everyone praying. All right, I want to give a few shout outs to some of the lovely people I met, all my sisters on the bus on the way in, the shuttle bus from the airport. Danielle __ and her mom, dynamic duo, and Angie and the others. We all said we were gonna call in a little more, we’re gonna try. So, I’ll be listening for your voices. Angie from Salt lake City, I’m carrying you home in my heart girl. Jennifer and the beautiful friend from Canada game who came and I love you beauties in the back row. It was great to worship with you. Beth from Texas, __ with a rocking chair, thank you sweetie. Terry and Jenna who prayed with me. God bless all of you. So many sweet, sweet people I met. And especially it was wonderful to have time with God and the Holy Spirit. Thank you for all of you praying for us and thank you to the beautiful team.

Good morning this is Bridget from New York City. I’m calling to pray for Luke and Sharon. Dear Lord, we just pray for Luke right now Father God and I ask You Lord God that every time he comes into Your presence Lord to read Your word that You would cover that time Father God for him. Lord I just pray that as he gets distracted, as his mind becomes renewed Father that he would not allow distractions to keep him from reading Your word but would continue to read the Scripture over and over and over, following that he receives what You desire to give him through that Scripture Lord God. For Sharon, my sister, my husband, he smokes, and he has even dabbled with different types of things and my father was like that. I’ve been raised as a child by my father…not…exactly the same you experienced it but what God has taught me is that it all roots back to sin and the fact that the people that hurt me didn’t know God. Because of my mother’s choices, she allowed strangers to live in her home, which caused for those strangers to molest me and to do things to me from childhood up and my mother was an alcoholic and it all roots back to sin. And what God has taught me with my husband, in the past I personalized his smoking with him not loving me and that’s not the truth. So, I pray Father that You would reveal the truth to Sharon Lord about why her husband drinks and that she would not personalize it because You don’t personalize it God. But that she would see him from the broken place that he’s in God and that she would try to love him from that place and that through that You would deliver him God. In Jesus’ name.

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 6 years ago

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No Comicstorian, Marvel DOESN’T need a reboot Part 1: DC history

Youtube channel ‘Comicstorian’ recently put out a video detailing why he feels the PS4 Spider-Man game proves why Marvel needs to reboot their history.

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I was so gobsmacked by how misinformed his views were I felt compelled to debunk his statements in two parts, the first being a coverage of DC comics history of reboots.

“This game proves that Marvel should do what DC does and soft reboot their continuity every 4-7 years”

This is the first and probably biggest point of bullshit spoken about and I suspect my points will apply to the rest of the video’s arguments.

The idea of this one game adaptation ‘proving’ Spider-Man, let alone ALL OF MARVEL COMICS, needs to reboot their continuity is laughable at best. Did Batman the Animated Series prove Marvel needed to reboot their history? Did X-Men the Animated Series? Did the X-Men movies? Did X-Men Evolution? Wolverine and the X-Men? The 1994 Spider-Man cartoon? The Spectacular Spider-Man cartoon? The Raimi Movies? The MCU?

All of those are wonderful adaptations of the comic book characters (mostly) but none of them led to anyone rebooting anything, reorientating maybe but not rebooting. Moreover if all those more public and serialized stories were awesome and modernized the characters why does this ONE GAME prove that NOW we need to do this for Marvel?

It doesn’t prove anything, it’s just his ‘feelings’.

But there is a bigger issue with this point of view.

Comicstorian is mind blowingly out of touch with the nature of DC’s reboots.

Broadly speaking it is understood that a hard reboot in comic books is something like Crisis on Infinite Earths wherein the majority of old stories for a character are thrown out and the fundamental building blocks of them are changed or remixed in major ways.

Even for a character like Batman his origin as recounted in the Golden Age was significantly different when it came time to reboot him in the 1980s post-crisis, even though it retained the same basic ideas and story beats. For Wonder Woman and Superman this was an even bigger deal as for the most part their whole origins as understood in the 1980s were burned down and started over representing a drastically almost opposite direction for their characters. And of course 90% of their then established history was just outright deleted, in Wonder Woman’s case this being 100%. Every post-crisis WW story is the ENTIRE HISTORY of post-Crisis Wonder Woman, nothing was carried over from pre-crisis.

A soft reboot by contrast is something more like what happened in the 1990s with Zero Hour. In Zero Hour the then established lore and histories of every character were retained near identically and only smaller details were changed or tweaked. Those could have big knock on affects but those were not deliberate on the part of the authors.

Why am I defining what a hard and a soft reboot is? Because Comicstorian claims that DC engage in them every 4-7 years and this is objectively untrue.

The FIRST reboot DC technically engaged in was in the 1950s when they created Barry Allan, a new iteration of the Golden Age hero the Flash, thus dawned the Silver Age of comics.

Whilst the intention to create a new version of the Flash was deliberate, calling this a reboot as we understand the term today is kind of weird because back in the 1950s the notion of a sequential continuity that mattered in defining who exactly the characters were simply didn’t exist for DC comics. They just had general ideas of who every character was and then just did whatever they wanted, even recycling ideas every 5 or so years because it was felt that the readership would rotate in and out within that time. no mention of such similar plots occurring was ever brought up even though technically they were happening to the exact same versions of the exact same characters who’d experienced near damn the same things before.

That type of storytelling just didn’t exist for the characters. Basically Barry Allan was created as the new Flash, interacted with Superman and Batman the way Jay Garrick did all the while handwaving that Jay Garrick was just a comic book character because the writers were like “Fuck it. No one cares and it doesn’t matter.”

Except fans did care and thus it wound up mattering. Fans wrote in asking how Jay Garrick could be a comic book character in the DC Universe when they’ve seen stories where he wasn’t and where he wasn’t and how the fuck Barry Allan thinks he’s the first Flash.

This is when DC ‘rebooted’ their continuity by establishing that the Golden Age stories happened on ‘Earth 2’ and all the silver age and beyond stories were on ‘Earth 1’, with the exact point of transition for individual characters varying. This was never the authorial intention by anyone. As far as 1950s Superman writers knew or cared up until that point they’d just been writing the same Superman who showed up in 1938. Same deal with Batman though DC tried to claim that Earth 2 Batman was the guy who didn’t have a yellow oval on his chest and Earth 1 was the guy who did.

With the concept installed they then went wild with it telling stories about Earth 1 and Earth 2 and how they were similar yet different, e.g. they married Earth 2 Superman and killed Earth 2 Batman whilst they remained committed to Earth 1 (their main versions) Superman staying single and Earth 1 Batman obviously staying alive.

This wasn’t a reboot that occurred due to freshen things up or anything. It was just the Flash writer not giving a shit and doing what he wanted and DC pulling an explanation out of thing air to justify it.

Their first true reboot was in the 1980s when they did Crisis on Infinite Earths and in the story combined Earth 1 and Earth 2 whilst deleting parts of it and every other universe so that they could reshape their whole line of comics.

Did they do this just because you know the old continuity had been around for awhile and it was time to freshen things up and make it more modern?

No they did it because the writers of DC didn’t want to deal with the insane contradictory mess the old DC universe (that hadn’t had much planning and developed haphazardly) and also because they wanted their universe to be more like Marvel’s.

Remember that. the biggest reboot DC ever did was because they wanted their universe to be like Marvel’s because Marvel’s, which was like 20-25 years old at the time, was more successful.

Then the next reboot was Zero Hour in the mid-1990s. Did THIS exist to freshen things up and modernize it?

Fuck no.

Zero Hour mostly existed to pay off a Green Lantern storyline and more significantly to just clean up continuity snafus that had cropped up because DC hadn’t perfectly planned out everything the first time they rebooted in the 1980s.

Then came Superman: Birthright in like 2003. This was originally meant as a non-canon update of Superman’s origin by uber Superman fanboy Mark Waid, recycling ideas from a failed pitch he (and Mark Millar and Grant Morrisson) had made in 2000 to also reboot Superman.*

But then it was folded into DC’s continuity effectively replacing Superman’s origin story from the 1980s by John Byrne although DC kinda sorta pretended like BOTH origins counted and like between them this is Superman’s actual canonical origin and Birthright contradicted nothing.

Except it did and they later explained that Superman’s history, along with other alterations to the DC universe pre-2006 had occurred due to Superboy Prime punching a fucking wall which causes reality altering shockwaves or some shit like that I don’t know.

That idea cropped up in the 2006 event comic Infinite Crisis which was a direct sequel to Crisis on Infinite Earths and another soft reboot of DC’s history but kind of a bigger one than in Zero Hour. Whilst Birthright was an unintentional reboot of just Superman, Infinite Crisis was a deliberate soft rebooting of the entire DC universe.

Because it was just again time to freshen things up, modernize the characters and inject some creative energy into the universe?

Lol noooooooooooooooooooooooooooope!

Infinite Crisis existed primarily out of the mind of writer Goeff Johns and to a lesser extent Dan Didio, EIC of DC Comics.

In not so many words both have more or less admitted their desire to work for DC was specifically to restore Barry Allan and Hal Jordan as the Flash and Green Lantern respectively after the former died and got replaced in Crisis on Infinite Earths and the latter went evil and got replaced in the 1990s Ron Marx run of GL.

And when you know this and look at their statements and work before and after Infinite Crisis along with what actually happens and the unsubtle metacommentary within the story it becomes obvious why the story really existed.

The story existed because John and Didio, like Waid, Morrisson, Millar and probably other people at DC,were butthurt that the versions of the DC characters they grew up on had been rebooted way back in the 1980s in COIE.

And there is plenty of circumstantial evidence supporting this.

In the 2000s DC had slowly but surely already been working in silver age elements back into the DC universe, for example Superman was dealing with lots of different types of kryptonite, reintroducing his cousin Supergirl and his dog Krypto and getting steadily more and more overpowered. This is in spite of the 1980s reboot specifically wanting to restrict kryptonite to just the green kind, powering down Superman and make him distinctly the lone survivor of Krypton.

The Superman 2000s pitch by Waid, Morrisson and Millar is very revealing because it makes it very clear that the Superman/Lois Lane marriage (something that was born very directly out of the new directions of the post-crisis era) needed to go so they could get back to the Supes/Lois/Clark love triangle. In fact the proposed story of the pitch was all about Superman rebooting his history in order to save Lois’ life which would mean undoing their marriage. Along with that the pitch made Superman even more sci-fi and powered up again evoking the silver age all of them have been on record as adoring.

Even if you were unaware of this Morrisson’s All-Star Superman story was built off the back of being a love letter to the silver age Superman stories and his Batman run adopts a Silver age story as a key foundation stone for the story he wanted to tell.

Johns equally makes his adoration of the silver age obvious in almost everything he does, even referencing how great a new silver age of superheores will be in an episode of Smallville he wrote.

When Johns personally wrote Superman’s rebooted origin after Infinite Crisis he re-established various silver age elements into Superman lore, including his being Superboy as a teen, his membership in the Legion of Super Heroes, Lex Luthor being a childhood friend of Clark’s and him losing his hair as a result.

The big takeaway from Infinite Crisis? It existed because DC’s staff wanted to recreate the status quos they loved as kids and because they hated the post-crisis stuff for the most part because it erased those versions. This is especially true of Mark Waid who is candid about how mad he was that Superman got rebooted by John Byrne and asked at a panel in his youth when the ‘real’ version (pre-crisis version) was going to come back.

Wonder Woman herself underwent a kind of reboot too under J. Michael Straczynski’s tenure where her history got futzed with. This wasn’t an isolated incident.

Then DC did their second (or third if you wanna count the Earth 1-2 shit) hard reboot in 2011.

The story was Flashpoint and it set up the New 52 era. The Nu52 was again Silver Age inspired but used shitty 1990s tropes at the same time. Because Jim Lee had been given a position of power in DC by this point.

What followed was for almost every character five years of near solid deterioration. Wonder Woman and Superman got fucked especially hard, not only because they were shipped together (thus fulfilling a stupid Silver-Bronze Age ship born out of Diana being able to not die during sex with Clark) but because their characters were just....broken.

Diana devolved into this kind of Xena/300 character who had a biological Daddy (just like in the Silver Age) a mother with blonde hair (just like in the Silver Age) and generally began to have her narrative revolve around the men in her life like Ares, Zeus, Orion, her brother, Apollo, Superman, etc (just. Like. In. The. Silver. Age!)

Now that wasn’t the case for Superman. He just went back to being an isolated alien God whom Lois Lane didn’t think much of and being overpowered as fuck. They just added him this lame young and unsure of himself bullshit to make him more like post-One More Day Spider-Man. A reboot trying to make a DC character more like a Marvel one, who’d have thunk it?

Meanwhile over in Batman Barbra Gordon went back to being able to walk and became Batgirl again in essentially the identical costume she had in the Silver Age and Bruce Wayne briefly dated rarely seen Silver/Bronze Age girlfriend Julie Madison.

Barry Allan meanwhile was the one and the only Flash, Wally West the defining post-Crisis Flash had never even held the mantle and was not going to.

Basically if Infinite Crisis was the powers that be warping the DC universe to more resemble what it was like when they were kids in the Silver Age then the Nu52 was them just erasing the DC universe and replacing it with their shitty Silver Age fanfiction. It was what they obviously had deep down wanted to do back in Infinite Crisis if they’d been allowed.

And I cannot stress this enough, it failed.

It failed spectacularly.

It was the single most promoted DC reboot ever with TV adds, they made an effort to court the digital comics crowd, they had new #1s to entice new readers, they got rid of all their old history to (in theory) REALLY entice new readers.

And their sales spiked...at first.

Then gradually died and died and died.

Except for Batman, the character who famously changed the least from one reboot into the next, retaining most of his over all history.

It got so bad that DC reintroduced the pre-Flashpoint Superman (complete with his wife Lois and now with their new son Jon) and had them co-exist in the primary DC universe alongside nu52 Superman.

Then they killed Nu52 Superman off and had pre-FP Superman decide to fill in for him.

And this was all part of an initiative called DC Rebirth in 2016. What was DC Rebirth?

DC Rebirth was an effort to essentially reinstate a lot of the history and directions of the DC characters from the post-crisis/pre-flashpoint era (so like 1986-2011) BACK into the DC universe via you guess it, soft rebooting it.

Was this just because it’d been 5 years now so it’s time to freshen things up?

Jesus Christ no. DC Rebirth existed as an apology for having rebooted in the new 52!

Again Superman was a microcosm of this. Not only was the pre-flashpoint Superman, the guy with most of the history from 1986-2011, now the primary Superman but in a 2017 story called Superman: Reborn DC cosmically integrated him into the prime DC universe so that his history now stated he had ALWAYS been there as the main defining Superman and all that happened was he wore the nu52 Superman’s costume for awhile.

His history though was essentially the one we got from after Infinite Crisis so in effect they reverse rebooted Superman because the 2011 rebooted version of him was so aweful.

Wonder Woman got much the same treatment with ANOTHER new origin for her but one more in line with her Golden Age and Post-crisis origin that threw out the trash from the 2011 nu52 origin.

Sales and critical acclaim for DC over all increased after Rebirth and fans were loud and vocal about how much they appreciated DC essentially fixing what they’d broken in 2011, with Superman being perhaps the biggest example.

Superman had something like 7+ reboots across his 80 year history and the DC universe over all about 6 across the same span of time.

Meanwhile Marvel between 1961-present has never rebooted their continuity and...has usually outsold DC.

In fact the only DC title that regularly tends to outsell major Marvel titles is Batman. That character who again has been altered the least reboot to reboot.

What is the big takeaway from all this? Well

a) DC didn’t reboot (be it soft or hard) every 4-7 years. The Earth 1 and 2 concepts showed up something like 18ish years after the DC universe began. COIE occurred around 20 years later. Zero Hour was 8 years after COIE ended. Infinite Crisis was 12 years later. Flashpoint/the New 52 was 5 years after that and Rebirth was 5 years after that

b) Reboots never occurred for the sake of keeping things fresh or a sincere desire to generate new creative directions. They existed either to plug holes by careless writing (Earth2 and Zero Hour), purely corporate reasons (like making things more like Marvel), an attempt to recapture nostalgia (Infinite Crisis, New 52, Rebirth) or a desire to ‘fix’ whatever older reboots ‘broke’ (Infinite Crisis/New 52, Rebirth)

c) Reboots are not creatively healthy, they just lead to more and more retcons and reboot turning everything into a clusterfuck

d) Maintaining a fairly consistent continuity is actually creatively and financially more sensible hence DC is routinely outsold by the company that has never rebooted

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wickedwitch1997 · 7 years ago

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Katara, of the Fire Nation - Chapter 26

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25

*Warning-meantions of abuse, trauma, and suicide*

“How could you say that?” Zuko asks, stepping away from his mother, “I love her.”

“She’s your father’s weapon,” Ursa says, “He raised her, trained her, I can see the fires in her eyes, the fires your father obsesses over, the same fires that are in Azula’s eyes.”

“You don’t even know her,” Zuko says, frowning as his mother continues to talk, “You don’t know what we’ve been through together.”

“Zuko-”

“She saved my life,” Zuko continues, “You don’t even know her; she is kind and passionate, she isn’t just the weapon my father made her to be.”

“Your nation will crumble with her by your side,” Ursa says, trying to reason with her son, “A waterbender cannot rule the fire nation.”

“You don’t know that,” Zuko hisses, his scar tightening as he frowns in anger.

“You think you’re the first one to fall in love with a woman out of your nation?” Ursa asks, Zuko’s frown falters as his mother pulls a scroll from her sleeve, “Fire Lord Kazulon, married an earth bender, his dynasty crumbled and the people overthrew them. Fire Lord Maz, married an Airbender, she tried to change the nation, his dynasty crumbled, and he executed her when the riots came. Fire Lord Harraz, son of Fire Lord Darrek and his lady, Hannah, of the water tribe, his mother was claimed to be a non-bender of the fire nation, she was kept hidden from the public and her son claimed the throne, but he was a waterbender, not a fire bender. On his coronation, the people stormed the palace and slaughtered his family. Fire Lord Darrek, who handed the throne to his son in his old age was forced to watch his son, and his son’s pregnant wife, hang for treason, while his wife was burnt alive for being a charlatan.”

Zuko steps back from his mother, his face blanches at the thought of Katara being burnt alive.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zuko says, but his voice wavers as fear seeps into his bones, “Times change.”

“The Fire Lords who marry outside of their station always lose their dynasty,” Ursa says, “They lose everything, their love, their lives; neither you or that girl, deserve that… no one can rewrite the stars.”

Zuko leans back against the tree as his mind swirls, the thought of losing Katara is enough to make his heart race, he feels his stomach clench and his blood turns cold.

“I love her,” Zuko says, looking to his mother, “and I’ll protect her.”

“Then let her go,” Ursa says, she steps towards her son and caresses his unscarred cheek, “Let her return to the cold and forget about her.”

“How could I?” Zuko gapes, pulling out of his mother’s hold, “How could I forget someone like her?”

“Because you know it’s the right thing to do,” Ursa says, returning the scroll up her sleeve, “You’ll both be alive and safe, once you return the world back to its rightful order.”

Zuko shakes his head and then moves out of his mother’s reach, his heart racing at incredible speeds.

“The world is changing,” Zuko says, taking another step back, “It’s time for our nation to move forward, Katara is the one who will raise this nation higher, not make it crumble.”

Katara seeks to find Zuko after her lunch, he didn’t join her and he wasn’t in his office, Katara eats alone and then searches for the Fire Lord. She finds him out in the sparring ring, shirtless and thrashing his poor sparring partner with his Dao swords.

Katara bends water to her hand and creates a whip, she snaps the whip and it lashes at Zuko’s ankle. Zuko turns around, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair is tied up in a rough bun, tied away from his face as his chest heaves.

“How about facing a master?” Katara says, a smile quirks to her lips as she places a hand on her hip.

“I don’t want to ruin your pretty dress,” Zuko says, he steps towards Katara but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Katara can see that something is bothering Zuko, she can see the tension in Zuko’s body, it’s present in the way his nose crinkles, right on top in the middle of his eyebrows.

Katara purses her lips and then unties the sash from around her waist.

“What are you doing?” Zuko asks, looking around as Katara drops the sash and bunches her skirts in her hands.

“You don’t want to ruin my dress,” Katara shrugs, she pulls her dress over her head, stripping down to her Sarashi wrap and her pants.

Katara throws her clothes aside, and then steps into the ring, nodding to Zuko’s sparring partner and dismissing him.

Katara grabs two, short, metal poles and then faces Zuko with a smile.

“Shouldn’t you get something… sharper,” Zuko says, rotating his wrists and swinging his swords as he looks at Katara’s poles.

Katara smiles and then bends at the knees and crouches in a warrior’s stance.

Katara and Zuko move together, almost like a dance, Katara blocks Zuko’s attacks, her poles meeting Zuko’s blades, making the clang of metal striking metal rings out through the sparring yard.

“Stop pulling your punches,” Zuko says, bringing his swords down and locking with Katara’s poles.

The corner of Katara’s mouth quirks up in a smile and she pushes him back, Zuko is taken by surprise when he slips on ice.

“Oh, is that how it’s going to be?” Zuko asks, smiling as his eyebrow quirks up.

Katara throws her poles aside and summons a ring of water around herself as Zuko sheathes his swords and tosses them aside.

“Don’t hold back,” Zuko says as fire ignites on his fist, ��We’re not children anymore.”

The sound of metal clanging is replaced by the sound of water hissing as it hits fire, Katara and Zuko fight against each other, Katara doesn’t pull her punches, she gives Zuko all she’s got, knowing that he needs a distraction from whatever’s bothering him.

Zuko forgets about the conversation he had with his mother, he and Katara stand equal, toe to toe fighting with their elements.

Katara is soon covered in sweat, her hair sticks to her skin and but her breathing remains steady, just as she was taught.

Eventually, Katara sees an opening, she slides ice under Zuko’s foot and then trips him by hooking her own leg behind his, she covers his fists in ice and then watches him fall to the ground.

“I win,” she smiles, she stands over Zuko triumphantly, that is until he grabs her thigh and pulls her down to him.

Zuko pins Katara to the mat and then kisses her lips, he can taste the saltiness of their sweat on his lips. Zuko kisses Katara, over and over again, pecking her cheek and neck with rapid kisses.

“Zuko!” Katara giggles as he breaks free of the ice and holds onto her hips, “That tickles!”

Zuko laughs with Katara, kissing her again and again as she squirms under him, giggling as she kicks out her legs. The kisses relieve all the tension form Zuko’s body, the sound of Katara’s giggles are enough to wipe away all the fear and anger that was building inside of him.

Zuko looks up, his lips still on Katara’s as something catches his eyes.

“Katara,” he breathes, sitting up as he sees her necklace laying mere feet away from them, the clasp broken.

Katara rolls over as Zuko stands walks over to her necklace, Katara’s breath catches in her throat, she places a hand on the hollow of her neck, where the pendant used to hang.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says, looking back to her sombrely as she stands to her feet.

“It’s alright,” Katara says, even though she blinks back tears, “The band was falling apart anyway, and the clasp was old, it’s not your fault.”

Katara holds out her hand and Zuko places the worn necklace into her palm.

“So,” Katara sighs, stretching her back as she changes the subject, “You going to tell me what you’re so pent up about?”

“My mother,” Zuko says, his voice going soft as he fetches a towel.

“What’s wrong?” Katara asks, grabbing her dress and following Zuko.

Zuko walks in silence, he returns to his room and draws himself a bath, as he sinks into the tub, Katara walks in.

“Zuko,” Katara says, cocking her head at him, “Talk to me.”

Zuko watches as Katara undresses fully and joins Zuko in the spacious tub.

“My mother doesn’t think that we should be together,” Zuko explains, watching as Katara lowers herself into the water, settling between his feet.

Katara looks to Zuko as she settles into the tub, the warm water helps her back relax and her scars don’t throb as much when they’re underwater.

“She’s worried that it will crumble the kingdom,” Zuko explains everything his mother said to him, he tells Katara about the other Fire Lords who married outside of their nation, “I can’t lose you,” he says, looking to Katara with tears brimming his eyes, “What if they come for you?”

“Then let them come,” Katara says, she moves closer to Zuko and kneels between his legs, “I am meant to be with you.” Katara moves a strand of loose hair off Zuko’s face, smiling as she adds, “We’re going to rewrite the stars, remember?”

Zuko sighs, he looks down, away from Katara’s eyes as his mother’s words swirl around his head.

“I’ve read those scrolls,” Katara says, she cups Zuko’s face and lifts it so he looks at her again, “The fire lords were greedy, they wanted to strengthen themselves with another’s power. They married outside their nation because they wanted the strength of the other nations, they kidnapped their brides and tried to make powerful heirs. The fire lords took other nation’s brides, but they were also greedy, they were cruel to their people and spent tax payer’s money on lavish parties.”

Zuko frowns as Katara kisses his lips softly.

“Your father was well beloved because he raised the people who would raise him,” Katara says, “He surrounded himself with wealthy people, he spent their money wisely, he did everything for his nation because he knew his power lied with his people. Sure, Ozai also pushed a lot of people into poverty, but no one powerful cared so long as they were getting a cut of the action.”

Zuko’s eyes widen as Katara rests her hands on his shoulders.

“You love your people equally,” she says, pressing her forehead to his, “You want to raise the poor and give everyone a fair chance, those who break the law are punished, no matter their wealth. The people love you.”

“They riot,” Zuko scoffs.

“A handful riot,” Katara corrects, “A small population of wealthy tyrants rebel because you have taken away their master, the man who allowed them to live the lush life. You’re armies outnumber the rebels ten to one, at any moment you could send them after the rebels and crush the rebellion in one night, but you don’t, you don’t because you know how the people will react, you know that they will see you as another wealthy tyrant trying to quiet those who oppose you.”

“You’ve been reading my papers,” Zuko says, smiling as he recalls the plans that his general laid before him.

“I’m your advisor,” Katara smiles, letting out a breath as she speaks, “It’s my job.”

Katara winks at him and Zuko feels all his worry slip off of his shoulders, wiped away by Katara’s hands.

“Your people love you,” Katara says, she kisses Zuko’s cheek, “And if you love me, then so will they.”

Katara goes to stand, to leave the bath, but Zuko pulls her back down and kisses her lips. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulls her back into the waters.

“I love you,” Zuko professes, he kisses Katara’s neck and pulls her into his lap.

Katara straddles Zuko’s lap and kisses his neck.

“Fuck me,” Katara breathes, whispering in Zuko’s ear before she takes the lobe between her teeth.

Zuko smiles as his cock twitches, Katara reaches down between them and wraps her fingers around the base of Zuko’s penis.

“Here?” Zuko gapes, hissing between his teeth as Katara strokes him slowly.

Katara responds by shifting forward, placing Zuko at her entrance and smiling, Katara rocks her hips forward and Zuko slips into her almost effortlessly.

Katara lets out a sweet moan as she slides down the length of her fire lord, she rocks her hips back and forth, rotating slightly as she clenches around him.

Zuko’s hands find their way to Katara’s hips, he tips his head back and hisses out a soft curse, he doesn’t like when he has no control, but he forgets about control as Katara rocks her hips, as she runs her fingers through his hair and rides him.

The water warms as Zuko lets a breath of smoke out, steam rises as Zuko grows harder, he tries to take some control, he pushes Katara down and she grabs his hands.

“No,” she smiles, Katara takes Zuko’s hands from her hips and places them on the side of the tub, much to his disappointment.

Katara knows that Zuko doesn’t like relinquishing control, she tortures him slowly, wondering how long it will take before Zuko takes control from her. Zuko, to his credit, restrains himself from taking control, Katara wonders how far she can push it, she gets out of the tub, pulling herself away from Zuko with a sly smile.

“Come on,” Katara says, she takes Zuko’s hands and pulls him to her, Zuko growls low in his throat and walks behind Katara.

Katara pushes Zuko down on his bed and then straddles his hips again.

“Kat,” Zuko grates as Katara pushes his hands above his head.

Katara just giggles as she slides back onto Zuko, she reaches down and guides him into her. Katara leans forward and kisses Zuko’s neck as she pushes down on Zuko and he bucks up to her impatiently as she grinds on him slowly.

Zuko has had enough, he flips Katara, making her laugh as he takes control.

“You are intoxicating,” Zuko breathes, skimming his teeth over Katara’s shoulder as lust and passion consume him.

Zuko pushes into Katara, making her moan loudly, she covers her mouth in shock, but Zuko takes her hand from her mouth and pins it above her head.

“I want to hear you,” Zuko says, his breath warm against Katara’s skin as he fucks her relentlessly.

“Don’t stop!” Katara begs as her back arches off the bed, “Don’t stop, Zuko!”

Zuko smiles, he delights in the sounds emitted from Katara’s mouth, he pulls back and closes his mouth around Katara’s nipple, he bites it gently and Katara swears as she climaxes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Katara whimpers as her orgasm crashes into her, making her legs tremble and her toes curl.

Zuko’s pace quickens, he then pushes fully into Katara, pausing as his own orgasm rockets through him, covering his skin in goosebumps as he moans out.

“Fuck,” Zuko gasps, he pulls out of Katara and she rolls to the side, huffing and trying to catch her breath as her knees snap together.

Zuko smiles as Katara huffs and lays back in the afterglow.

“Damn,” Katara breathes, rolling onto her stomach.

“You are a tempest,” Zuko says, he smacks Katara on her ass and she jolts in surprise. Katara looks back to Zuko and he smiles at her.

Katara’s backside tingles and she rolls back over.

“Did you just… spank me?” Katara asks, frowning as she pushes up to her elbows.

“Maybe,” Zuko says, his eyebrow quirking up as he prowls towards her “If you tease me like that again, I’ll do it again.”

Katara laughs, her heart quickening at the threat as Zuko looms over her and kisses Katara’s lips.

“Fire Lord!” a servant calls, knocking on Zuko’s door.

Zuko groans and then he cries out as he pulls away from Katara.

“Yes?” Zuko calls, he pulls on a pair of trousers and then opens the door.

“You’re needed in the throne room,” the servant says, bowing as he stands before a shirtless Fire Lord, “There is a matter that needs your immediate attention.”

“I will be there soon,” Zuko says, sighing, he goes back into his room and looks to Katara as she stretches out on the bed.

“It’s alright,” Katara says, sighing in contempt, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Zuko gets dressed and then leaves, going to his throne room as Katara gets dressed and goes back out into the gardens.

Ursa finds Katara in the gardens, meditating by the pond as the sun sinks low in the sky.

“May I sit with you?” Ursa says, watching as Katara breathes deeply.

Katara looks up to Zuko’s mother and nods, Ursa sits with Katara, for a while, they just sit in silence.

“Do your people know about your relations with my son?” Ursa asks, breathing the silence with a breath.

“They might,” Katara says, shrugging her shoulders, “Rumours spread quickly.”

“What would they say?” Ursa asks, “About you becoming bedfellows with the Fire Lord?”

Katara looks to Ursa, she looks the mother of fire right in her eyes and sees everything that she needs to know.

“You have that look in your eyes,” Katara says, turning her attention back to the pond.

“Excuse me?”

“You have that look in your eyes,” Katara repeats, “I’ve seen the same look a thousand times in different eyes. You see me as a weapon, just like everyone else does.”

“No, I-”

“You told Zuko those stories to scare him, to make him push me away,” Katara says, she doesn’t look Ursa in the eyes as she continues, “You are scared of me, your scared of the fires in my eyes, because you’ve seen the same fires in Azula’s eyes. You see me as a weapon, a weapon forged in the fires of summer, built by the Fire Lords hands and sharpened by his wrath; you don’t see the all of me, you don’t know what I have been through, what I endured just to become this… monster that everyone fears.”

Katara turns to Ursa, a sad smile comes to her lips and tears well in her eyes.

“I’m a girl,” Katara says, her voice quivers as she speaks, “I’m a girl who was taken from her home at the age of eight, I’m a girl who watched her mother die in front of her. I’m the girl who was forced onto a ship and put into a small, dark cell; I didn’t see the sky for weeks. They gave me little food, and less water; even back then, they were afraid of what I might be able to do.”

Katara’s voice is soft as a whisper, she sees the horror twist into Ursa’s eyes as she tells her story.

“I was pushed in front of the fire lord and forced to perform in an act I didn’t know. When he was satisfied with me, he had me placed in a room, a room so small I could barely breathe,” Katara’s hands shake at the memories, at the trauma that she has fought to keep hidden, “The first kindness I ever remember was Zuko, he came into my room while Iroh was giving me lunch, he was the first person I was not afraid of. Zuko took me into the gardens, and I saw beauty, for the first time in my life I saw colours that I didn’t even know existed. I fell in love with the fire prince on that day, when I saw him smiling, when I saw the light in his eyes, I felt something inside myself that I never felt before.”

“I didn’t know what I was feeling, not back then, but I saw myself in Zuko’s eyes, and I knew that I would sacrifice myself just to keep him safe. Ozai had me fight against Zuko often, I would always take the fall, Ozai would punish me for it. At first he was mad that I lost, that he had put effort into training me and I wasn’t excelling. He burnt my back, the smell made me gag and the pain made me pass out. Iroh found me, helped me heal, and I made him promise not to tell Zuko; because while I was getting burnt, Zuko was getting praise. So I kept jumping in front of the fires, I kept getting burnt and bruised and I learnt how to harden myself, to hide my pain so that Zuko would keep the fantasy of a loving father.”

“I wasn’t there when Zuko’s face was burnt,” Katara sighs, tipping her head back to look at the leaves above her, “But I remember the smell, I remember the sound of his scream as fire consumed him. I tried to help him, but Ozai threatened my life so Zuko would not let me. My back was burnt for the last time that day, Ozai finally realised why I defied him, why I stood in front of the flames and he was furious. Ozai was the first one to tell me that I could never be with Zuko.”

“From that day on, I was surrounded by blind hatred, it gnawed at my chest and throbbed through my back. I became sharp and hardened,” Katara looks back to the water as she takes a deep breath, “I was given a job, and I was good at it, I was the Fire Lord’s weapon, and it made me hate myself. I heard the rumours, I saw the way people started to look at me, like was some rabid dog, chained to my master, ready to attack should he give the word. Zuko was the only one, the only one, who wasn’t afraid of me, not even a little bit. On my fourteenth birthday, I had been on the sea for three years, and I couldn’t take it anymore, I wanted to end it, I didn’t want to be the Fire Lords weapon anymore.”

Ursa’s heart stops in her chest as this young woman admits to her darkest demons.

“I took a knife from the kitchens and sat out under the moon, I was going to kill myself, I had the knife at my skin, I could feel it biting me, opening its jaws, ready to consume me.” Katara pauses, she swallows as a fat tear rolls down her cheek, dripping off her chin, “But then I saw fire, Zuko stepped into the night, a flame on his hands. I hid the knife, but I think he knew what I was going to do. He didn’t say anything, he just offered me his hand and took me back inside, he made me tea, and it was awful, so bad that it made me laugh. He stayed up with me all night, he made me feel better; he saved my life.”

Katara swipes her tears away and then looks back to Ursa.

“Your son loves me,” she says, “and I love him, and yet you don’t want him to love me, you want him as far away from me as he can send me.”

“It’s because I’ve seen those fires in your eyes,” Ursa says, “I’ve seen them in my daughter, and no matter what I did, I could not extinguish them.”

“Well maybe you focused too much on the fires, and not enough on the girl behind them,” Katara says, her voice hard, “those fires you see in my eyes, they allow me to love your son fearlessly, and I can say, without a shadow of doubt; that I would rather jump in front of the sun, than let the love of my life get burnt.”

@squishysuho @the-weird-fob-fangirl@thegaang6@pepewntz@solidaritree@waitingtillthesmilescomeback@miraculoushipping@auzlon@tiernanka@lovelylittleladyl@standby-reality @beealexageek @danielslilangel, @azn-quxxn @delightfullyscreechingtyrant

#Katara of the Fire Nation fic #yasss queen #slayyy #zutara #katara #zuko #ursa #bae #heart eyes #trauma #depression #next chapter will have A LOT of smut #get ready biches #i'm just getting started #climax here we come #;)#low key excited for reviews #katara is a boss and will not be threatened.

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