#i am the number one 'can we please pin down our action items' person at all meetings sorry
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Who is in Control? - Part 2
A/N: Unedited smut because ya girl is ALWAYS thirsty for Henry Cavill. 🔥🔥🔥 Catch up on Part 1 HERE! Masterlist
August Walker x Reader
Also, if I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!
Word Count: 2570k
Warnings: dirty filthy CONSENSUAL smut, language (Just don’t scroll past the cut if you don’t want to read smut)
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“FUCK!” Ethan slammed his hands abruptly on the table. “Damnit, we missed him. He’s gone.”
“We’ve searched nearly every smelly crevice London has to offer. We were so damn close!”
“Lane’s gotta be with him. If we hurry, we can still sniff out his tracks.”
Ethan eyed Y/N suspiciously; “Think Y/N. Where would he go next?”
Y/N scanned through every memory she could muster. Her frontal lobe throbbed as she rubbed the spot aggressively.
“Hazlitt’s! That’s where we’d go.”
“You sure?”
“I know it. 100%”
“Why there?”
“I’d read to him when we were in bed together. Hazlitt’s is a hotel. He surprised me when he actually listened one night. I was reading an autobiography about essayist William Hazlitt. He was the one to find out William had died there. My morbid curiosity found his gesture macabre yet sweet. It was his way of showing he’d cared without saying anything at all. And before you say anything ridiculing, don’t.”
“Shit, what the hell did you do to him? No wonder he’s on a damn rampage.”
Dryly chuckling, Y/N didn’t quite know how to follow up, fumbling over her fucked up feelings once again.
“It was our place where we could just be ourselves. Away from the world and constant bloodshed. No alterative motives, no plan of action, just us. If he’s as heartbroken as he’s letting on, I bet that’s where we’ll find him. Besides, who doesn’t enjoy a trip down memory lane, hm?”
“I underestimated you, Y/N. Fucking the information out of him AND tricking him into thinking it was love. You’re a fucking genius.”
She coldly glared at him, her mind already two steps ahead of Hunt pissing him off to no end.
“Seriously. When did it stop being a mission?”
“The SAC told me to keep an eye on him, make sure he stayed in line under a watchful eye. They teamed us together as an experiment. I can’t pinpoint when, it just happened Ethan. I mean we’ve worked side by side in the field for three years! THREE YEARS.”
“He’s scared of you. You’re his one weak link.”
She mulled his comment over. It was a truth she wasn’t quite ready to admit. Yes, she wanted to make him hurt but killing him was an entirely different story. She prayed her strength was hiding, just waiting to surface when called upon.
“Clock’s running. Let’s go.”
So, Y/N followed him through a skinny corridor alley getting to the car at an inhumanely speed.
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Ethan and Y/N surveyed the perimeter looking for an obtainable entrance point. The dumbfounded clerk had confirmed a Mr. Patrick Bateman checking in. Taking after his favorite character, Y/N knew what room they’d find him in. His impeccable taste for detail consistently blew her away. Room 916. No doubt in her mind. The day they met, or as he likes to better describe; the first time he ever felt noticed.
“Let me go in first. Try and reason with him.”
Irritation came off him in waves crashing nonverbally disagreeing with Y/N.
“Too dangerous. This isn’t negotiable.”
Undermining his own words Y/N spoke; “I’m not asking for permission, I’m telling.”
Just then, the door swung open, Y/N sauntered towards a seeable back exit adjacent from Hunt’s point of sight. Walls bare of color and life lined the narrow hallway. The dimness bordered into eerie. An unknown sound skyrocketed her frenzied nerves. 913…914…915…
The garish gold numbers stood conspicuously still. Invisible weights kept her place. A knock resonated off the white dilapidated door.
Nothing. No response, not a sense of movement. Can’t fool me that easily Walker.
“I know you’re there—watching me through that stupid peephole wondering what in the literal hell I’m doing here.”
A chain clanged loose as the door astutely opened. Never had she met a man as devilishly handsome before. Towering over her 5ft7 frame, he smirked.
“Don’t give me that look. We need to talk.”
August didn’t flinch a muscle remaining inaudible. All of a sudden enigmatic emptiness consumed her.
“By all means, please come in.”
Good to see his charm and charisma hadn’t yet abandoned him.
“We both know you didn’t come alone. How long I do we have?”
“15 minutes, maybe 20 if you’re lucky. And I dare say luck isn’t on your side today. Why did you leave?”
“Getting straight to the point then my love?”
“Don’t give me that shit, Walker. I’m seriously not in the mood.”
The air conditioner hummed in the background forcing goosebumps to prickle her skin. An unexplainable chill drifted around them; a veiled noose of destruction lingering just out of sight. Y/N walked towards the window gazing up at the luminated stars.
She’d always been fond of constellations and their profound mark on the universe. Heavy footsteps followed making their way to her. His breathe tickled along her collarbone standing mere inches away. His hands reached for hers interlacing their fingers placing a wet kiss to the exposed column of her neck.
“How far are you prepared to go?”
Her neck slanted at him in childish annoyance.
Y/N snorted; “I will go further than you. However, many weapons you’re willing to bring, I’ll bring more. However low you will go; you will never dig deeper than me. I will win, because what this will cost me in pain, I will pay. My resources are limitless, I will always outbid you, and I will never, ever back down. Am I clear?”
The seriousness in her tone amused him giggling quietly. His rebuttal was quick and brash.
“You must seriously hate the person underneath that attractive flesh of yours.”
“Already to the petty part of the evening? Always a sour puss, Auggie.”
Closing the space between them, August pinned his upper body to Y/N’s back. Her head landed powerfully on his shoulder; his fingers brushed her pulse point teasingly.
“Neither of us are getting out alive darling. Have you paid your penance? Shall we be rejoined in the afterlife or reign in hell? I do wonder.”
Ignoring him Y/N pressed further; “Where’s the plutonium? Death is but a ploy of distraction.”
“Clever girl. Reverse psychology won’t work on me, Y/N. Try again.”
His right hand wrapped entirely around her delicate neck into a light chokehold securing her in place.
A hushed rough voice similar to a forgotten whisper slipped through; “You’re the one who has to live with your choice. Everyone else will get over it, move on, no matter what you decide. But you never will.”
His left hand stroked the button of her jeans undoing them in record time. The zipper was the next offensive item to go before he shoved her pants around her wobbly knees. Paralyzed in fear, Y/N didn’t risk moving a single muscle.
“Do you want me to fuck you? Here, now, pressed against this chilled glass, exposed for the whole world? I’ll gamble just one glance from a stranger down below will get your rocks off.”
His next words terrified her; “Only I can make you feel this alive. Tell me I’m wrong.”
She fought the searing intrusion growing between her thighs. He spoke directly to her reflection like he was talking to a ghost.
A concoction of pants and grunts were the only distinguishable noise escaping Y/N. August’s hand slithered underneath her blouse groping her covered breasts. Still she didn’t move to stop him. She was putty in his glorious hands ready to be molded into whatever he needed or craved. immersed terror sent a jolt of unexplainable excitement to her core.
Y/N cowered ashamed of her body’s biological reaction. But something in her brain told her to let him see the demon hiding in plain sight. Suddenly, Y/N reached back fisting the hair along his neck and pulled, hard.
Her behavior shifted on the cusp of absurdity. The ruthless killer long submerged had finally met her match, someone just as vile as she believed herself to be.
“You’re not the only cold-blooded asshole in the world. Hate to burst your villainous bubble.”
“I know, my darling. I’ve waited so patiently to see you in this darkened light of misery. After this, you won’t be able to go back to work without seeing every speckle of shit sprinkled before your eyes. CIA, FBI, MI6, they’re over and you my dear play a dear role in their long-awaited demise. Once you cross this line, which you undoubtfully will, Agent Y/N is dead.”
August swept her hair to one side nipping a trail along her collarbone. Her blood pressure steadied showing him she was calm, in control, and spontaneously impulsive.
Gauging his reaction, Y/N leaned into August; “I know. You’re my Hades and I’m the beloved Persephone. We’re written in destiny, baby. You and me.”
Her voice expressed a detached, cunning, and malevolent mischief. Her words made his skin crawl and cock harden. She was truly magnificent.
“Did you know that I’ve dreamt of your blood spilling while I fucked you raw? Holding a silver tipped blade on that very neck of yours, watching the fear grow as I rode you like a wild stallion. There’s no more denying the predatory urges I desire with you, for you....to you. We could have the world at our finger tips, Auggie. Quite frankly, you don’t scare me a bit and it pisses you off.”
August bit down sinking his teeth into her peachy flesh leaving a crimson imprint in his wake. Y/N yelped; her underwear flooded with moisture. Her feet wobbled closer to the glass as August shoved her forward. With her breasts pressed against the window, she heard the fasten of his zipper undo. Her nipples hardened in response. August’s dick pressed vigorously into her ass cheeks hitting every spot but the one she wanted. A feral growl betrayed her as she pushed back in resistance.
“Mmhm, who’s the horny one now?”
“I’ve grown familiar with villains that live in my bed…”
The lace grazing her hips snapped painfully watching her panties fall to the floor.
“Ouch! Easy asshole.”
“Vile words from such a pretty mouth. Obviously, there’s lessons to still be achieved with you yet.”
“You foolish brute. You should be thanking me for covering your tracks, saving that scrumptious ass of yours. Oh, my pet…when you will realize you are the one at my disposal now?”
Finally, skin to skin August lined up with her entrance. His tip rubbed teasingly against her parted folds pushing in a few inches. His shallow thrusts only spurred her on. He didn’t dare let up on the vice grip of her hips. An unnaturally strained whimper strangled the surrounding room. Pre cum leaked from the tip stirring the aching in their bellies.
“You have no idea how disturbingly gratifying it is to have found an equal, a partner of sorts with a taste for blood and sadism.”
His mocking grew old quickly as his hands continued their firm hold.
“We put Bonnie and Clyde to shame. Pathetic for running, idiotically oblivious to their own demise that lot. They didn’t appreciate the art of murder. The true pleasure of control. No room for impulse or error. Unappreciative of valuing a method to morbid madness.”
Without a word, he sunk in Y/N in one quick push. Her hands jutted out leaving imprints along the steamed window.
“Ah, fuck Auggie.”
Again, August snapped forwards unrelenting in his cruel pace. Y/N met him each and every movement in their ferocious dance of dominance. She squeezed her pelvic muscles painstakingly tight around his cock. August’s eyes rolled to the back of his head attempting to picture anything to keep him from busting that very second.
“Hunt will be arriving soon. We can run, start anew, create chaos elsewhere without any government supervision. Say the word and I’m yours.”
Y/N barely made out his panted speech due to the pounding of blood running through her ear canals crashing like waves. She was too turned on, too lost left unable to process what August was offering instead moaning raucously loud.
Slapping of skin resonated as their ends soon approached desiring nothing more than to cum. His balls slapped against her as his cum dribbled down her inner thighs. He rammed harder causing Y/N to stumble remaining deep inside her. August halted all movements finding a pair of sapphire eyes staring into his. Y/N shifted her hips in hopes of resume.
“Fucking move, Walker. I want to cum.”
“What’s your decision; orgasm or death?”
Silence stilled; August’s patience was disappearing at an alarming rate. He rutted upwards into her forcing an exhale from her lungs.
“You embarrass yourself with the question if you didn’t already know the answer.”
Anger blinded him compelling him to rip her face towards him. In his moment of rage, August thrusted powerfully reading her body like the back of his hand. She was on the cusp of orgasming and he took full advantage of that knowledge.
Barely a whisper graced his ears; “Yes, forever yes.”
Her pussy constricted pulling him in deeper than ever before as they fucked like wild animals. Taking whatever offered succumbing closer to orgasmic ecstasy.
“Good girl.”
August stiffened bending Y/N at the waist driving violently into her dripping cunt. Not more than four thrusts later, August tensed feeling Y/N constrict around his length sending a shiver down his spine. Breathy grunts could be heard through the walls as he filled her with his sticky cum. She devoured every drop placing her hands on his ass keeping him in place at her sweet spot. Her orgasm overtook her like a summer thunderstorm on a midnight sky.
She quivered speechless as she surrendered to his touch. This breath tickled the back of her glistening neck. Hot white emission gushed out of him painting a mural in her womb. They didn’t move from their current predicament still coming down from their highs. All too soon, August removed himself tucking himself back into his pants. Y/N stayed in place untrusting of her jelly legs.
“Shit, I needed that.” A tiny queef escaped her now drenched lips watching in awe as small spurts of his juice ran down her legs like raindrops. She swiped a finger against the white liquid sucking it dry. August felt his cock twitch in his pants wanting to fuck her all over again.
“We need to get out of here now.” Tossing her a towel, she cleaned herself observing August scramble his life remnants together.
“Where to next?”
That devilish smile she so longingly adored frighteningly arose to life, his pupils darkened at her questioning nature, before reaching his hand towards hers. She accepted interlocking their fingers as one. In two seconds, time, August pulled her into his grasp kissing her in passionately. Their kiss was messy, vile, and monstrous. Y/N already craved another round but knew better than to push. After all, they were on a time constraint.
“India. We’re off to India my dove.”
“I hear their Murg Makhani is quite delectable.”
“I have a friend in Kashir but we must move quickly. We need something to knock Hunt off our scent.”
“I’ve just the idea.”
Just one glance was all it took for August to read her mind effortlessly.
“By all means lead the way.”
A wickedly foul smirk scrabbled to the surface, unearthed from a long-sealed lockbox.
“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.…”
~~~~
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Masque
⇢Pairing: Art thief!Taehyung x Museum curator!Reader
⇢Genre: Thief!AU
↳[PWP] [Smuuuuut]
⇢Word Count: 7,536
⇢Warnings: PWP - dubcon, sleeping drugs, abduction, objectification, mirror kink, orgasm denial, oral (female receiving), light bondage, praise kink, objectification, lots of teasing, cumplay, dirty talk, no protection (please practice safe sex okay)
!!! Seriously if those warnings trigger anything, please don’t continue. This is just a smutty fic and is not worth your anxiety. !!!
⇢Part One of the Masqued Universe. [Part Two]
⇢Masterlist
⇢Summary: World infamous thief Vante only steals the most valuable and exquisite of art.
⇢A/N: So… I was working on my other fic, and while cute high school fluff is fun, this suddenly popped into my head and………. (It’s not like Taehyungs very glamorous outfit had -anything- to do with this PWP… right? It’s not like him laying on the bed for the concert had anything to do with this…right?????? Its not like him in the VLIVE all sexy in his black shirt had absolutely anything to do with this… RIGHT?!!) the thirst is real y’all. I only meant for this to be a quickie but no…
MASQUE
-Just in on Action 7 News-
World famous criminal art thief Vante has left his calling card yet again. We interview owner of Seoul National Museum of Fine Art and Craft, Park Se Hoon. Now live with reporter Kim Seokjin.
Kim Seokjin: Yes, thank you Min Yoongi. Can you hear me in the studio?
Min Yoongi: Loud and clear.
Kim Seokjin: How are you preparing for the art thief Vante?
Park Se Hoon: Our museum is fully equipped to the latest state of the art laser alarm systems, including other secrets that we cannot divulge for security reasons. Just because infamous thief Vante has suddenly decided to choose our museum is Seoul as his next target, does not mean we will not be prepared.
Kim Seokjin: Even though he has never failed yet?
Park Se Hoon: Based on the evidence from his last theft in Venice, Italy, the art gallery there has provided ample guidance and assistance so that this never occurs again.
Kim Seokjin: Could his calling card have anything to do with the recent announcement of the exhibit ‘Rare Treasures of the Dynasty Royalty’?
Park Se Hoon: Most likely, yes. The items we are presenting have been in tight, government security for many decades.
Kim Seokjin: What item do you think he will be targeting?
Park Se Hoon: *clears his throat* I am not at liberty to say yet, for security reasons all information of the contents of the exhibit will not be released to the public until opening day.
Kim Seokjin: Could it be that he has decided to steal the rare jade jewelry set worn by the Joseon Dynasty queens? Doesn’t it include a rare hair pin and necklace?
Park Se Hoon: No comment. That question was not included on the interview packet that your news station provided.
Kim Seokjin: But how are you going to deal with the thief Vante? Sir? Could we see the calling card? Sir?
Min Yoongi: It looks like the interview is done.
Kim Seokjin: Well, it seems like the general public is going to have to wait for opening day of the exhibit. Once again, titled ‘Rare Treasures of the Dynasty Royalty’. Now back to the studio.
Min Yoongi: That was Kim Seokjin with Action 7 News.
The museum had been in a state of constant flurry ever since the calling card of Vante, world infamous art thief, was attached dramatically on the entrance of the Seoul National museum of Fine Art. The card itself was extremely plain you thought, when you and the museum staff crowded around it. The card was a dark black card stock, with a fancy ‘Vante’ inscribed with a shining silver ink.
Vante’s calling cards had never changed over the years- even from his first heist, all that the thief provided was his name. No matter how long he had been in this game, a whopping five years, art thief Vante had continued to be just as elusive as he was an enigma.
As much as Vante’s calling card had caused the constant state of stress in the museum, you viewed it as a challenge.
You had gotten hired at the Seoul National Museum of Fine Art and Craft right out of university- you thanked your art history professors that had connections with various museums all over the world, and to your surprise, you were able to apply for an internship at the museum your third year, which naturally led to your current position as a curator.
Some of your fellow curators had suggested to you and your boss to not include the jade set-
but the government was endorsing the exhibit this time, confident at providing unlimited amount of resources to you and the museum to keep the national treasures safe from Vante.
Plus, you are stubborn. And your boss is stubborn. You know that he was more interested in the prestige associated with displaying works for the government, but for you it was a dream come true. How could you ever pass on the opportunity to curate some of South Korea’s oldest and most precious items? Your drive to showcase the history and culture to the public was strong. Art deserves to be seen by others. To be appreciated.
...Which is why you are walking through the exhibit yet again with your handy clipboard, making sure everything makes sense and flows correctly. Even with a week until the exhibition, things were still being carefully curated and put into place- and you had to make sure that as many pieces as possible were put on display for all of visitors to see and enjoy.
You wander through the exhibitions space, being careful to move out of the way from people placing a beautiful celadon vase from the Goryeo Dynasty safely on the pedestal, the beautiful green shining under the display lights. Every time you see something new being put away, your heart flutters in its chest in excitement. What was once pictures, now is a tangible object for you and the public to fully appreciate.
You snap yourself out of your little daze, bringing your wrist up to check your watch. It’s about ten minutes until the secret delivery of the ornamental jade hair pin and necklace set, arguably the showstopper of the collection for its delicacy and elegance, you anxiously begin to head to the receiving bay of the museum, your steps quick.
Park Se Hoon, your boss and owner of the museum stands very rigidly by the door, clearly just as anxious (if not more) as you. You hurry towards him, and the sound of your arrival makes him jump slightly. He covers his embarrassment with a glare, but you don’t feel any animosity behind it.
“It’s only five minutes until you arrived, why weren’t you here sooner?” You can tell its his ‘I’m going to be your boss, but I’m just as nervous voice’.
You clear your throat and bow your head slightly in apology. “I was observing the installation of one of the Goryeo vases. I apologize for my delay, but I am here now.”
Se Hoon wrings his wrists slightly, not bothering to respond. His eyes aren’t even looking towards you, just trained towards the door and his watch.
A phone alarm rings, and Se Hoon struggles to get the device out of his pocket.
“Yes sir, I understand. I am here with chief curator Y/N to handle the delivery. We are waiting at the door.” He motions at with his head, and you walk forward to open it. You’re met with the stereotypical scene of four men in black suits, with a perpetually grumpy face. He hands you the large briefcase, and waves his hand towards Se Hoon.
Se Hoon scrambles forward. Clearly, the passcode is being whispered. Why you aren’t allowed to know it, you’ll never understand, but soon enough the sour faced looking man is motioning for you to the hallway that leads to the exhibit area.
You get the hint.
By the time you reach the display case for the hairpin and bracelet set, your hands feel sweaty, briefcase heaving in your hand. You walk towards a temporary table to place the briefcase down slowly, and step to the side so Se Hoon can open it. He has shaky fingers as he switches the numbers to their correct code. You glance away, you already feel the imaginary daggers from the guards.
When you hear the click of the briefcase open, you turn back, reaching in your blazer pocket to fish out a pair of white gloves that you put on quickly. Se Hoon doesn’t even have to motion you over before you stride towards the pieces.
When you see them, you stop for a moment just to appreciate the beauty.
Honestly, if you were Vante, this is the piece you would steal. The lavish phoenix design with its beautiful inlay jade feathers with flowers lining the phoenix, the detail a sight to behold. The necklace really showcases the jade, the large piece of jade in the front is being embraced with the phoenix, the wings and tail spread outwards, with a fluttering of engraved jade floral beads to hold the piece all together.
It’s breathtaking.
This is the reason you decided to become a curator- just so you could have the opportunity to really be up close and personal with each piece of art- and you’re soon swept away in your own world.
Se Hoon clears his throat.
You delicately lift the hairpin first, and walk slowly and carefully towards the stand for it, placing it gently onto the display. The necklace is next, and the pair together are bewitching with how they demand your attention. No wonder the queens of Joseon wore this - it draws viewers in, mesmerizing them, and even when Se Hoon closes the glass display cases and locks it, you still cannot take your eyes away.
Se Hoon leaves you to staring to escort the four guards away, letting you have your own space to appreciate the piece.
Maybe Se Hoon does understand, even just a tiny bit.
EXHIBITION DAY.
It’s launch day, and you feel extremely nervous- you stayed at the exhibition extremely late- an entire evening passing you by before you were startled by the sounds of chirping birds greeting the sun.
With every exhibition comes nervousness, and you can’t help but feel the weight of expectation this time- as all eyes and from the high and flighty politicians who promoted this event were on you and your execution of this exhibition.
As there was going to be masses amount of press today, you decide to dress very simple, but classy- you never could go wrong with a classic black dress and heels. Your dress is sleeveless, however you decide to layer a simple sheer black long sleeve underneath. You want to go for a professional look that showcases your position as a curator of the exhibition, yet you also want to shy away from the attention, as you know the swanky politicians and government officials will want the spotlight. It’s a combo you know makes you look good, and feel just a teeny bit more confident (even when your heart is pounding against your ribcage like crazy).
Museum badge ID slung around your neck, you grab your small purse and head out the door of your apartment to the car.
The drive to work is the same as usual, but you can’t help but feel extremely distracted, your eyes half paying attention to the road in front of you. You go through your checklist in your head once again, trying to remember if you missed anything from your walkthrough last night.
All of the security features for the exhibit had been installed in segments over the week, and the most amount of effort went towards the the jade piece. The pressure plate system, seemed to be convincing enough… however you can’t help the unsettling feeling that lingered from last night.
Your mind wanders to Vante. Would a pressure plate and a fingerprint locked display case really be enough to stop him?
You hope so.
The day is progressing smoothly- so smoothly in fact that you get lost in how well the public reaction is to the exhibit, the impossibly shiny smiles from all of the politicians and government officials have given you enough handshakes to last you for a while. You are surprised when Se Hoon pulls you into his office with a sharp tug.
“Have you seen anything suspicious?” He whispers harshly, but you don’t know why he’s whispering in the privacy of his office. You blink owlishly in response. The shine of silver lettering catches your eye from behind your boss, glittering on his desk.
Oh right. Vante.
“Surely he would not attempt anything in the middle of the day, during peak hours. If Vante has any decency, he would at least wait until the evening, allowing for the public to at least get one day to appreciate the exhibit in full.”
“Are you suggesting that he will be successful?”
“No, I am merely answering your question as to why I haven’t seen anything suspicious yet.”
Typical- your boss has a very nervous personality. You think it’s because he always aims to please the sponsors of the exhibits. Oh well, he manages to provide you opportunities like this one. You can’t help but dwell on his worries though, and you chew on the inside of your cheek. As the exhibition continues onwards, you know there is going to be a time when he makes his move. When though, is a mystery.
Se Hoon sighs, rubbing his forehead in defeat. “Make sure you check in with security as the opening day draws to a close.”
You simply nod, and turn away to walk back towards the door. You barely hear Se Hoon, mumbling under his breath to himself. “He’s going to steal them, isn’t he?”
The opening exhibition event comes to a close, and does so without a hitch. You and Se Hoon have just checked with the security team for this meeting, and things seem to be going okay.
“So far, no word from Vante. The police and guards are here, and the alarm systems are fully set into place. Don’t stay here too late Y/N- enjoy the rest of your evening and celebrate the success of your curated exhibit.” Se Hoon looks drained from the events of today, and you can tell how badly he just wants to return home. You bow politely. “Of course sir. Have a good rest of your weekend.” He smiles warily back, and then swiftly moves to the exit of the building, and you when you see his figure retreating, you quickly kick off your high heels.
A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you return back to your own office. You wish you would have brought some extra clothes with you. As much as it would be great to get out of this dress and back in the comfort of your own home, you feel like it’s your responsibility to triple check the numbers of today, as well as make some notes about opening day for future reference.
Walking to your office, you stop at the shared drink dispensing machine in the small lounge, pressing the button to brew yourself a cup of tea- you need some warm tea to ease the tension you had built up for the day.
You make your way to your small office, ready to compile the analysis of today on your computer, and when you sink into your desk chair, you can’t help but sigh in relief.
You take a moment to pause in your typing to take a sip and you stretch your arms above you. A yawn tumbles from your lips, and you realize you should maybe take a break. You slip on your heels begrudgingly again, deciding you need to make a quick trip to the ladies room.
When you step outside your office, you notice how it’s almost eerily quiet in the museum. You can’t help the increasingly unsettling feeling beginning to manifest from deep inside your gut. You hear the hum of the lights, and the click clack of your heels sounds almost jarring as you make your way down the hall. You feel on edge, sensitive to every sound- the closing of the bathroom stall, the flush of the toilet, the washing of your hands… everything seems off. You make your way back down the hallway as quickly as possible, your steps fast.
When you from the bathroom, you happen to glance at the small clock on your desk. Your eyes widen. It’s really that late?
Your eyes sweep back to your document on your computer. Perhaps you should try and shake off your feeling of uneasiness by refocusing on your work. You take another sip of tea- it seems to have cooled down a bit since your trip to the restroom. You settle into a rhythm again, distracting yourself with your work. The longer you type however, you begin to feel extremely drowsy, and the text on the screen blurs a bit in front of your eyes. Your hands hesitate over the keyboard as you feel your eyelids droop, but you shake yourself out of it. You at least need to finish this paragraph, but once again, you catch yourself, this time your head droops to the side.
You haven’t felt this tired in ages. Perhaps its all of the stress and anxiety leading up to this day, you think, and even though you are stubborn, you barely have enough energy to save your document and log out of the computer. Thank goodness you have the day off tomorrow. You sit back in your chair, and exhaustion begins to take over you, the result of the long day.
Your eyes flutter close and like a strange pull, sleep overtakes you in a heavy wash, and you are powerless to say no.
When you open your eyes, they feel hazy and unclear, and it takes you a moment before you can focus on anything in your surroundings.
You attempt to try and rub the bleariness from your eyes, but you feel restraints on your wrists. Looking towards your wrists, you are quickly shocked at your lack of clothing on your body- not a scrap of clothing on you - including sheets. Just what is going on? You attempt to curl in on yourself, as some sort of cover for your exposure- however there seems to be restraints on your ankles as well. You feel panic begin to bubble in your chest.
You look at your wrists again, eyeing the soft material that inhibits your movement. Your restraints are elegant, if you can call them that- silky black ribbons are tied snugly around your wrists and your ankles-it seems as if there is enough movement to where you can prop yourself up, but your arms are pulled back so you cannot untie the ribbon with your fingers. Desperate, you extend your mouth to your wrist, perhaps you can loosen the ribbon with your teeth?
Your captor seems to know what they were doing- you can’t even reach your wrists with your mouth.
Putting your escape from your restraints on pause, you decide to assess your surroundings. Now is not the time to panic, its time to think with a clear head so you can get out of this predicament that you have found yourself in (if you just keep telling yourself it, you’ll be able to keep your hands from shaking from distress).
It’s an unfamiliar place - but it’s extremely grandiose, and sickeningly so - its a large room with cherry hardwood floors and cream walls, you think, but from the dim overhead light, its a bit hard to discern completely. You seem to be positioned in the middle of the room, the bed against one of the walls. You notice many framed pieces lining the walls, but from the dim light you can’t quite make out what they depict. You close your eyes for a moment and your nose is filled with a soft floral scent that floats amongst the room, tickling your senses.
You shiver, and you feel cold - you are finally realizing how your exposed skin is sensitive to the cool air in the room.
A chuckle. Your eyes widen at the sound. “You’re finally awake?”
You turn your head frantically, eyes searching for the hauntingly baritone voice, and then you see him- a figure with a dark velvet mask shifts in the armchair, legs uncrossing to sit forward, elbows leaning to rest on the arms of the chair, chin cradled in a slender right hand as you feel him appraise you, though you cannot see his eyes, as they are hooded from the shadows of the mask.
You begin to feel heat blossom from your chest, spreading to your neck, cheeks and ears, your body reacting to being surveyed at such intensity.
You know it’s him without even asking. “Vante?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound as timid as it did, and you wince a at how weak you sound, even to your own ears.
“Ah, so you know me? I’m flattered.” You can feel his voice perk up in happiness.
You scoff, glaring at the figure who still casually waits in the chair. “Don’t act so bashful- everyone knows who you are. Thief.”
He laughs at he venom that laces in your voice. You ignore how velvety his voice sounds.
“That I am my dear. Welcome Y/N, art curator, to my humble abode.” Your eyes widen in realization that he knows your name.
“This is your home? Why am I here? And how do you know my name?” Your words tumble from your lips a lot more rushed than you had intended.
“So many questions. I suppose I’ll humor you.” You see a flash of white teeth as he smiles in amusement.
“This is just one of my hideouts, but yes. This is my home. You should feel honored, only a select few have ever had the opportunity to come here.”
You grimace. “I don’t feel honored one bit.”
He continues to answer your questions.
“I knew that I needed to steal you for my collection the moment I saw you while I was canvassing my target.” You continue to glare at him.
“Originally, I was only going to collect the jade set, but to think, that I could have both you and the jade set makes this particular job the best one yet. And like with all my research and planning for any of my targets- of course I know your name.”
“I’m not a piece of art to steal, world wide thief Vante.” You muster up the iciest glare you could muster, trying to pierce through his mask.
Vante begins to tut, with small shakes to his head.“My dear, look in the mirror. You are the finest art that any thief would die to steal.” His hands gesture to his side, and It’s hard to see, but you attempt to prop yourself up on your elbows to glance at what he’s talking about.
You tremble at the naked form that reflects back at you, legs open to reveal the folds of a very exposed core. It feels like a dissociative experience- you don’t recognize the dilated pupils that stare submissive and wide with worry back at you, and you struggle to clamp your legs in some sort of decency. It doesn’t work.
It’s then when you notice the elaborate bronze work surrounding the mirror. How did you not notice it before?
“Is that a mirror from Versailles?” Your eyes widen in shock.
“Of course, I needed a mirror for this particular location. So I stole it.”
After you get over your initial shock in seeing a grand mirror stolen from Versailles, you then do a double take- you notice the beautiful splashes of green against your neck, and entwined in your hair.
“Is this…?” Vante chuckles deeply at your slow comprehension.
“I told you- on this job I took the most valuable pieces of this collection of display- the jade set and you.”
Panic now floods your system full force, and you tug on your arms and legs against the restraints in roughly, ignoring the bite into your as they tighten further. “I shouldn’t be wearing this! This needs to be properly preserved and on display! Let me go this instant!”
Vante shakes his head, his smirk deepening.
“I was worried how I was going to display the jade set, but now I see how it encircles your graceful neck and nestles amongst your lovely hair.”
Ignoring your pleas, Vante finally stands from his position from the chair, and he slinks towards you- reminding you of a panther that creeps towards its unknowing prey. He sits next to you on the bed- but does not touch your figure at all. “Don’t struggle too much, I wouldn’t want either of my precious pieces of art being ruined.” He says, and you freeze at his proximity. He stares at you through the mirror, eyes ensnaring your own from behind the mask. You’re caught.
His voice lowers now that he is closer to you. “This jade set was begging to be worn again, and what a splendid return back to society- art displayed perfectly on art.”
You do not dare to even blink.
“You and I are very similar, don’t you think? We aim to collect the most exquisite of arts.” You angrily glare at him. “Not at all. I’m not selfish like you- I like to share with the public.” You spit back, hissing through your teeth. “Now, now.” Vante raises his hand from his side, reaching over to touch you to trail a single, slender finger down the curve of your side, leaving a path of goosebumps on your skin. You involuntarily begin to quake, and you hear him chuckle lowly in response. His eyes still does not leave your own.
“While you are perfect, we need to put you in a state of perfection.” Vante says, mostly talking to himself, in a hushed voice. His finger pauses at your hipbone. You feel your throat begin to close up, too terrified of the possibilities of what he’s going to do next. You want to yell in protest, but no sound leaves your lips.
He must have taken it as a sign of acquiescence, because he hums, sounding like a purr of a satisfied cat. He finally breaks eye contact, only to lower himself to replace finger with soft lips. Your hips jump upwards in surprise, and he uses a free hand to graze his knuckles on your hip in comfort. “Shh… nothing to worry about. I always treat my artwork with the upmost care.” You feel the fabric of the mask nudge against your skin, as he begins to press languid kisses up your stomach. The action is soft and gentle, tricking your body into relaxing under each press of his lips to your heated skin. Your mind is working overtime, processing your conflicting emotions.
He continues upward, kissing the valley of your breasts, and upwards still, until he pauses to gaze down at the necklace that lays across your neck. You feel the warm puffs of his breath hitting your skin and you want to squirm- the hovering almost worse than the direct kisses from before. Your breaths are becoming shorter, the longer he stills.
Perhaps you should have taken deeper breaths in preparation, but Vante leans forward, dipping his head to nip slightly under the space near your ear. You feel your eyes widen, and that’s when you feel his tongue, the warm and wet sensation too much all at once. You let out a small moan, and you instinctively pull your wrists forward to grab something, anything to ground you- but your restrains hold you back.
The sound of your moan seems to embolden him, and he presses his tongue harder into your neck, only to pull the skin into his mouth to suck gently and the skin. Perhaps the sleeping drugs Vante slipped into your tea has made you lethargic, or perhaps its just been too long since your last sexual encounter- but your back arches at the feeling, your eyes closing to concentrate on the growing desire coming from the pit of your belly.
He raises from your neck, only to whisper into your ear. “If you keep reacting that way my dear, I’m only going to have to decorate you with the most pretty of colors.” You release a shuddering breath, labored and uneven.
And then he’s found your neck again, his tongue searching for your most sensitive of spots, flesh pulled between teeth to create the most beautiful hues of deep reds. And when he finds it, almost at the junction between neck and shoulder, your whimpers deepen into a low moan of longing. Longing for what, you aren’t sure, but it’s there where he stays the longest, just to hear the sweet song of your voice.
You hardly notice, but his hands hand has begun to knead your breast, the weight filling his hand nicely- you notice the growing need from between your legs- your juices pooling onto the sheets below. Your thighs tremble in earnest- you desperately want him to relieve the pressure there.
“Please…” The second that word escapes your lips, Vante stills his mouth, only for you to feel his lips smirk against your neck.
He drags his tongue down your body, only for his mouth to latch onto a nipple. You are so overwhelmed by the sensations of your chest that you don’t notice wandering hands massaging your inner thighs, fingers dancing across your legs.
It’s when his finger teasingly traces the lips of your pussy do you react- eyes flying open while you tug on your legs and wrists. You whimper at his soft pets, his fingers occasionally dipping into your folds, teasing you further. Your legs strain against your bindings, and you push your pelvis forward just to have more.
He lets go of your breast with a pop.“I’ll make sure to paint you until you have a lovely glisten, don’t you think?” And with that, he dips two of his fingers in, only to pull them out again, spreading your juices onto your thighs. “Look how much paint you’re making, we’ll be done in no time!” He continues to spread your slick, but infrequent plunge of his fingers make you whine- your hands squeeze the sheets beneath you, knuckles turning white. You wish you could grab his hands to force them to the place you need the most.
You find tears prick your eyelids in frustration. “Vante…” What else do you call him? You need to grab his attention, you’re slowly losing your mind, begging for his touch.
“I suppose you deserve a reward for painting yourself in such a pretty, pretty sheen.” His fingers finally stay inside, beginning to pump them in and out. You try and clench your thighs together, just to keep him there.
Messy moans tumble from your lips as he hooks his fingers upwards and twists. You’re getting close, your walls are a vice around his fingers, begging for them to help you reach the high you so desperately crave. Vante clears his throat, and his velvety smooth voice touches your ears.
“How would you feel? Being displayed in public, at the museum? The audience would be grand- oh how they would live for begging for attention- your glassy eyes, your trembling hips, the way your nipples peak in excitement, your pussy glistening prettily with your own mess!”
His fingers don’t stop their ministrations, the lewd, wet, sounds of your pussy greedily sucking in his slender and long fingers and he continues to pump them inside of you.
You shake your head in embarrassment, biting your lower lip between your teeth to prevent further moans from slipping out. You don’t want to admit how much his dirty praise is effecting you, or the idea of your wanton body on display, shameless for everyone to see.
“I thought you like to share?” Vante says, his voice coy- dripping with saccharine sweetness.
You let out a frustrated and needy groan.
He’s relentless, and you feel him add a third finger. The squelching sounds only intensify. You can feel yourself wanting release- you’re so close- clenching around his fingers desperately, angling your hips just so you can reach your high. But Vante has yet to press down to what you really want- your clit swollen in desperation for the attention it really needs.
Your lips feel bruised from them being abused between your teeth- As if he can feel your need, his hand decides to still and he removes his fingers, and you whimper at the loss.
“Not yet my dear. You haven’t reached a state that I want to capture yet.”
Through hooded eyes you watch him as he lifts his fingers to his mouth. You hear him groan as he tastes you, and you feel yourself flood with your slick as you watch how his tongue laps around his fingers, the pink muscle teasingly on display.
“Now that I’ve tasted you, I don’t think I can stop myself.”
You feel yourself clench around nothing, already anticipating his suggestion. You try to alleviate your pressing needs- his denial of your release makes you impatient and needy. You feel the mess you’ve made onto the bed beneath you, the sopping puddle is slippery, but does not provide you the relief you are so desperately are seeking.
His breath fans across your abdomen as he lowers, and he begins to kiss a path of sloppy kisses that starts at your navel and continues downwards toward your thighs. Once his kisses reach your slick, you can feel him hum in bliss, your taste sweet and addicting, his tongue lapping up what he can. As he continues to close onto your cunt, the nose of his mask bumps into your clit, and your hips push forward. He’s pulled into your trap of your taste, and without further thoughts he licks a stripe, from the base of your cunt to your clit. He finally flattens against your swollen clit, and the feeling is overwhelming. The groan you held back is released, and you whine - you can’t do anything but continue to pull helplessly on your restraints.
He continues to swirl his tongue around your clit, and he has to push your hips down with one hand to keep you still. “I thought,” he says in between licks - his voice muffled, “that the pretty ribbon would keep you nice and in place…” You barely register his words, you try to come up with a response but all that spills from your lips are your incoherent cries.
He’s toying with you leaving your clit to tongue your folds, but it seems he’s in a good mood because he plunges his tongue, and the wet muscle entering inside to try and lick you dry.
You find yourself reaching your to the point of an orgasm once again, much faster than the first time when he was just using his fingers. It’s so close, and you know that just a few more thrusts of his glorious tongue will leave you in shambles. But he knows your telltale signs the second time around, and he pulls back- a string of your slick stretches from your cunt to his lips, breaking when he peers up at you, a smirk displayed on the edges of his lips.
Your groans transform into whimpers, and you blink tears of frustration. Through your tears, you see his lips and chin covered in you- a shiny contrast to the dark velvet mask. Vante reaches a hand forward to brush your tears away, leaning forward to kiss you, the mask bumping against your face. At first all you feel is the soft pecks, attempting to comfort you. You grow impatient- and when you are impatient you are bold. You lean forward, swiping your tongue at the seam of his lips, tasting the remnants of yourself tingling your tastebuds.
A low chuckle escapes his lips, and the soft comforting kisses morph into sloppy teases of small nips and tongues that rub against each other, sharing your taste from you back to you again via his tongue.
You long to thread your fingers through his hair, to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, just so you can explore fully the planes of his mouth, but you are once again met with frustration.
It’s all becoming too much. You pull away, panting as you catch your breath.
“Please Vante…” You say, your voice sounds so needy and broken that it sounds foreign to your own ears- “Don’t tease me anymore. I need to…”
His hand lifts from where it was resting beside you to brush your cheeks, the pads of his fingers wiping away the tears that fell from your lashes.
“I know just what I need to put the finishing touches to my masterpiece.”
Vante moves off of the bed, and your eyes widen- he’s not going to leave you like this, is he?
“Wait…!” You plead, your voice sounding frantic. Did you say something wrong?
He hushes you softly, his hand ghosts down your thighs, only to end up at the bindings of ribbon on your right leg. His fingers tug at the constraints, and soon enough your right leg is free. You must have tightened the knots quite a bit as you strained against your bindings- your ankle begins to throb.
“In order to achieve a masterpiece, we must have better angles.” He says, moving to work on your left leg now. Once he pulls it free, he stills.
Instead of drawing your legs into yourself, you feel wound up with desire. You pull your knees up to your chest, providing Vante a clear view of what you want. Your eyelids lower to half mast. Are you making your needs clear enough for him? A small moan pulls from your lips.
Vante says nothing in response, no indication with what he’s about to do next. You’re frustrated- even though your legs are free, you can’t grab onto him to get his attention. Your eyes stay glued to his form, watching him as he positions himself between your legs. Suddenly you hear the sound of a zipper being pulled- it echos in the room, the sound feels amplified by your anticipation. Your legs tremble.
He still makes no move to touch you, instead he pulls his underwear down slightly, letting his cock spring free from its confines, and he hisses at the fabric brushing against it. You intake a wavering breath as you eye his length. You don’t know what you were expecting, but he’s big.
Vante doesn’t shift any more clothes out of the way, and that’s when you realize he intends to fuck you still clothed. The image is almost more delicious that way, even though you would love to see the expanse of his skin, you hold your breath in anticipation of his cock.
The tip of it is weeping with pre-cum, swollen and red, and it twitches in expectation as it knows its final destination. He grabs his cock with one hand, and steadies himself with the other hand gripping your thigh. His hips moving forward to have him tease your slit and your clit, the blunt head of his cock slipping easily amongst your slick, dripping down to make his hand messy once again.
As he’s teasing you again you feel your toes curl, and you push your pelvis closer to have more friction, but you don’t think he’s going to last much through this teasing either- his breath is becoming uneven and labored as he continues to grind against your sopping folds.
He can’t take it any longer- gripping your thigh even tighter, he enters you slowly sliding in, but taking no breaks to pause and let you adjust. As he fills you, you feel complete. Why didn’t he enter you sooner? It’s all you’ve ever wanted.
When he is buried inside of you to the hilt, he gives his hips an experimental push, and the two of you let out groans, your voices mingling together. Leaning forward, he cages you in- his arms on either side or you head.
It’s then he decides to move. Slow and deep, Vante pushes into you as your moans continue to spill from your lips. “Please-” You manage to finally say between each thrust of your captor’s hips. “I-I want to see your face. I d-don’t even know what name to s-scream.”
“I’m sorry my dear, but that would be the end of my career. It’s already bad enough that you’ve heard my voice.” You aren’t sure how he manages to maintain a calm voice, especially compared with your own wanton cries. The only thing that gives him away is the slight strain in the low baritone of his voice, you didn’t know that his voice would lower that deep.
You let out a frustrated sob- he’s still teasing you- you want more, harder, rougher- but he’s continuing his pace. He’s got you in the palm of his hand, under his control. Your cry must have caused him to feel some sympathy- because he leans forward to bring his face to your neck, wet tongue dragging over your skin.
“My perfect masterpiece.” His whispers between thrusts are becoming guttural, and he sucks another layer of purple on your neck.
“You are mine to ruin…” Voice rising, His rises from your neck, quickly grabbing your legs to swing them over his shoulders. The new position allows for deeper entry, and his thrusts become rougher as he slams into you. You let out a strangled cry- your wishes becoming fulfilled as he pounds into with force. You’re beginning to see white, your world filled only with pleasure and Vante.
“…And you are mine to create!” He shouts, voice raw, fingers pressing amongst your folds to abuse your clit, and you finally orgasm, shouting at the overwhelming sensation.
Your orgasm is what it takes for him to break, as he pulls out at the last minute. He sits even further upright onto his knees, left hand gripping the headboard of the bed whilst his right pumps furiously, until he releases, painting you with his cum.
Warm strings falls onto your chests and stomach, and he doesn’t stop until he milks himself dry, the last bit of his cum dropping into the pool of your bellybutton.
As you look up to him, and you feel slightly smug at the fact that you’ve had just as much of an effect on him just like he to you- you see his sweat dripping down his neck, his loose, flowing top now sticking to his torso, slightly see through from his perspiration a tease of his body underneath.
You don’t even know if there is going to be a next time, but your hands twitch it response, begging to be able to touch the planes of his chest and abs- and your breath hitches in your throat when you feel a finger begin to run through the cum on your stomach. You shiver at the cooling sensation of his cum.
“Now the curator has finally created his own masterpiece.” Vante says, as he continues to lazily paint abstract images, swirls of paint against the canvas of your skin. You can feel his eyes watching you- and you stare right back- now that you’re eyes are not misty from pleasure, you begin to see long lashes, and dark pupils.
You feel your stomach begin to re-inflame, your pussy begins to wet again in anticipation of another round.
The mask he has on slightly askew, and after a brief moment, Vante breaks eye contact, stilling his hand to raise from his crouched position over you. He turns his back, and you can see him readjust his mask in the mirror, but he still doesn’t spare you even a tiny glance of the rest of his face, his long fingers keeping the mask securely in place.
This whole time he’s kept his clothes on- and you are no closer on figuring out who Vante is. You try and memorize as much as you can, filing it away in your mind.
But your eyelids feel heavy, your limbs feel like lead. Even your legs which he untied before splay out in front of you, like they are still tied down by invisible ribbon.
The last thing you hear is his signature chuckle, and a cool hand covers your eyes with long fingers.
When you come to, you open your eyes to a familiar scene- warm light dances through the curtains of your bedroom, settling softly across your comforter. Your head begins to pang, deep throbs against your skull. Just what did you do last night? Memories fade in and out, panting breaths, heated touches, soft lips, powerful thrusts.
Your throat feels dry and scratchy, so you slowly untangle yourself from your sheets. The cool bedroom air hits your skin, and you realize you’re bare. You look to your wrists and ankles. Lines of purple and blue brand you, reminding you of him. Your heart quivers, a warm flush spreading throughout your body.
You stumble for a large hoodie, passing by the standing mirror as you fumble towards your closet.
You see that the hairpin and the necklace is gone. You see more swatches of blues and purples that is painted onto your skin, flowers blooming on your neck. Your hand flies to your neck- and you swear you can feel his lips there. You shake yourself out of your own trance- he still has you even though he’s not here.
Slipping the hoodie over your body, you exit your room to go get a glass of water, to quench your thirst.
You don’t see the demure calling card on your desk until later.
To be continued…? Time to read DeMasqued...
© minstrophywife.
#bts fanfic#bts smut#bts pwp#taehyung smut#taehyung pwp#kim taehyung#taehyung#bts taehyung#taehyung fanfic#thief au#art thief au#bts imagines#taehyung x reader#taehyung x you
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How do I become courageous? How do I stop letting the anxiety over the uncertainty of future, or the fear of other people's judgement, dictate my life's narrative?
Ten years ago, my Zoloft prescription ran out the day I had a tumor sliced out of my neck. The surgery was on a Monday. I woke up with chest pain and nerve damage in my face. They kept me until Wednesday morning. I left the hospital with a drainage bag attached to my neck, pinned to the collar of my shirt. I couldn’t move the right side of my face. I emailed my boss.“The surgery was a little more intense than I anticipated. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it in this week.”“Please be here on Friday.”I went to work on Friday. I couldn’t brush my hair because the pressure on my neck was too painful. The blood bag seeped occasionally on my shirt. I had the kind of sleep anyone has after their ear is partially sliced off to remove a tumor burrowing beneath it. Don’t worry — they sewed it back on. (The ear, not the tumor.)On Friday, because I didn’t understand how boundaries or rights worked, I walked across the National Institutes of Health campus toward my building looking more like a patient than an employee. My boss stared at me and then didn’t speak to me again. I wrote for four hours before I went into her office.“I need to go home.”“Have a nice weekend!” She beamed, actively looking everywhere that was not my blood bag.I smiled, sort of. The right side of my face was still temporarily paralyzed, so the left side of my mouth hoisted my cursory courtesy smile by itself.“Gonna work on my face,” I said pointing to my partially slack expression.“Sorry?”“Nerve damage. Gonna try to exercise it. Do some heavy lifting while I watch TV,” I said, my face contorting from the kind of stifled laughter usually reserved for broken ribs and strict teachers.“Ok!” She almost yelled, her own face contorting with discomfort.Over the next two weeks—tumor and medication free—I lost my mind. Stop me if you’ve heard this before. I gave away my percocet. I dyed my hair. I adopted a cat. I started a blog. And nine months later, I started a challenge called Bold Moves October. I started it because so much of my day-to-day life felt defined by inaction and complacency. Plus, the October prior is when the doctors had said, “we’re really not sure if it’s cancer or not.” Followed immediately by, “we can schedule you for surgery in three months.”It was a long three months. Death all of a sudden seemed like something that could happen. In my 23-year-old wisdom, this meant I should be more proactive. For better or worse, I primarily applied this proactivity to flirting.
We can’t all learn life’s great lessons on the first go.Anyway, that blog and that mini movement of boldness changed the trajectory of my life. One thing toppled into another. Over the next few years that blog and challenge would (directly and tangentially) get me a book deal, writing contracts, sport sponsorships, job offers, the friendship of my favorite author, the adoration of my husband, and a full-time job as an editor that would be the two best professional years of my life.The period I spent working on that blog was obviously good. It was also the most derided and insulted I would ever be. I lost friendships. I received hate mail and death threats (in 2011 no less, before every Twitter account with too many numbers in the screen name became an amateur fear monger.) I allowed people to send me anonymous messages because it was a way for people to share how they were struggling without revealing their identities. But that meant I couldn’t protect myself from anonymous and un-trackable threats. God only knows what my parents thought. (In this scenario, I am God. I know what they thought.)Courage often doesn’t feel good. The only courage that exists without anxiety is arrogance. There is not a life where you, a person who wrote anonymously to an all-but-dead Tumblr, live without the anxiety of others’ judgment. But there is also not a life where you, who—again—wrote asking for advice anonymously to an all-but-dead Tumblr, aren’t a person defined by desperate chances and hope. I apologize that you sent me that note months ago, but I assure you, it is because I too was flexing courage, letting it coarse through my veins and vanquish months of chronic nausea.Like you, I was fussing about in the woods of my life, looking for something that resembled a path. Not necessarily a path without sinkholes or poison leaves, but rather one worth them.Your path, the one it sounds like you’re trying to find, will be overgrown with the thorns of judgment and anxiety. But they’re just thorns. They’re on every path. They’re hurting you just as much on the wrong path as they will on the right one.Normally I give very ethereal advice that’s difficult to act on. It’s more like a song than an action item, but in this scenario, you don’t need to listen to someone else. You also don’t need to have a tumor spliced from your insides to remind you that at some point, our chances run out. All you need is to develop the skill of listening to yourself. For a couple of months, relax with the courage. Courage is just an instagram word for having a strong inner constitution. And that is something you can develop without framing it in the same terms we use to go to battle.
To do the work, I recommend a few things.
If you don’t already, move your body. I know how much people hate this advice. But if you can hike or run or cycle or even just briskly walk (without podcasts) for a minimum of 20 minutes a day, you should. Our gut, our intuition, our inner sense of self or whatever you want to call her, she’s not going to feel safe coming out when you’re in the mental thicket of other people’s narratives. Exercise is the closest humans have to Drano for the mind.
Find a journaling exercise that feels like maybe it’s a little too much work. If it feels conquerable, it’s too easy. I go back to Susannah Conway’s Unravel Your Year. Doesn’t matter if it’s a new year. Time is a construct.
Get the book Designing Your Life. You may not design an entirely new one, but it may help in making change feel conquerable, or just possible. If that book feels too “action item” oriented, try The Artist’s Way. It’s much more about knowing yourself than it is about art.
Make a list of the narratives that you feel other people are suffocating you with. Maybe dad wants you to be a doctor. Maybe girlfriend wants you to settle down a little. Maybe boss wants you to focus on the clerical side of your job. Maybe society wants you to buy an apartment you can’t afford. Whatever or whoever it is you feel is pressuring you, write it down. You need to know your demons to exercise them. You might even find, in time, that you even like some of these visions. They’re not the enemy. Pressure is. And pressure is only defeated by self. Isn’t that annoying?
Write to me again. Impress me. Give yourself a few challenges each week. Whether it’s applying for a class, trying something you’re bound to be bad at, getting up half an hour early to dance your heart out before work, I don’t care. Do some things that are for you. Not for others, not for profit, not for your future — just for you right now. And then use me for more than an anonymous submission on the internet. Use me as a deadline. Sometimes all it takes to get over the hurdle of pressure is a little validation. I’m here for that whenever you need me.
I’m recommending these things because I just did them.
I gave myself a deadline to change my life. Not that it was bad, it just felt… well it felt exactly how it did ten years ago: full of inaction and complacency. I was on cruise control, taking few chances, taking really nothing at all. So the next thing I took was an exit. I wanted to see what life looked like when things weren’t all concrete and white lines. I quit my job. I camped around the west. I picked up a few new hobbies. I journaled more than I did all of 7th grade. My year-long bout of nausea went away. I started to dance again. I wrote songs again. I wrote in general again. And I dug around in my psyche for the truth about what I always liked doing, what the through-lines in all my good jobs have been. Very simply, the strongest through-line was the encouragement and empowerment of others.
Most of the writing I’m doing right now will be private until it isn’t. I’m writing a horror film and still working on my first novel. But I need a weekly way to interact with people via writing lest I lose my lonely mind, so I’m bringing back the one thing got me into writing in the first place: answering people’s questions.
After writing Anonymous Asked, I was too embarrassed to promote the book. I’ve never re-read it. I fell into the spiral of what other people thought: of me, of the work, of my ideas. But I’d rather be fulfilled and insulted than bored out of my mind and forgotten.
So to encourage your courage, I am flexing a little bit of my own. My newsletter (of which this essay is a part) is now called “A Little Bit Better” and the whole point is that it helps you feel a little bit better. You can subscribe to it here. It will include essays like this and other bits of things that made that week a little bit better. I hope you enjoy it. I know I will. See you there.I wrote this while listening to:It’s a Storm - Young & SickSwing - Mahmut Orhan Remix by Soki Tukker and Mahmut OrhanKissing Other People - Lennon StellaScared to Death - Jax AndersonSound of Your Voice - Griff
#advice#newsletters#courage#courageous#griff#jax anderson#young & sick#soki tukker#lennon stella#a little bit better
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SCP 50015
[Author’s note. This is not an actual SCP. It was also just written for practice with a different style than what I’m used to. Anyways I hope you enjoy.]
SCP #: 50015
Object Class: Euclid
Containment Procedures: SCP 50015 is to be kept in a humanoid containment unit similar in style to that of Class D personal. However, two armed security personnel will be posted outside of the door at all time. The shift for the security personnel posted is to be no longer than two hours, and guards are not permitted to have more than one shift per day as to avoid threat of becoming an instance of SCP 50015-2. If a person has become or has been suspected to have become an instance of SCP 50015-2 they are to be sent to site [expunged] for the administration of a Class B amnestics and then relocated to a different site for employment.
Description: SCP 50015 is a creature of unknown origin that takes the form of a woman approximately the age of 25-30 years old. It was found and apprehended in the Redwood forest of California, United States of America on the date of [expunged]. Because it is one of the Foundations most recent acquisitions studies are still underway to determine its exact behavior. SCP 50015 does have a the ability to manipulate and possible even hypnotize people into doing anything that it tells them to do after a time of prolonged exposure that varies between subjects who are then known as SCP 50015-2. The means of how it does this are currently unknown. investigations are underway. For an example see incident report 1.
Incident report: On the date of [expunged], there was an attempted breach of SCP 50015 by Sargent Jamison whom had been the sole guard at the cell's door for the first three months of containment, as well as two of the junior researchers who were studying the subject at the time. All were apprehended shortly after releasing the subject and were subsequently taken for questioning. It was upon interviewing those responsible for the attempted breach that the conditions of SCP 50015-2 were discovered. All personal involved were deemed to not be in control of their actions and therefore not liable for what happened. They were then given Class B amnestics and relocated to site [expunged].
Interview log: The following is the recorded audio log of the interview between Doctor ____ and a case of SCP 50015-2
(Begin Log)
Doctor ____:Hello, how are you feeling today?
SCP 50015-2: Honestly, I feel like shit!
Doctor ____: Be mindful of expletives, please.
SCP 50015-2: Sorry, I just- this is all a lot to take in.
Doctor ____: I understand. For documentation's sake; will you state your name and rank?
SCP 50015-2: Yes, sir. Sargent Robert Jamison.
Doctor ____: And, how many years have you been employed here?
SCP 50015-2: Ten years. Five at site 15, and five here at site [expunged].
Doctor ____: The what could have possibly convinced you to try to participate in the attempted containment breach if SCP 50015?
SCP 50015-2: Listen, I don't know if there was a mistake or something, but what you have here isn't a monster like the other ones.
Doctor ____: I can assure you that SCP 50015 is indeed anomalous. We simply haven't been able to find out precisely what is happening with it.
SCP 50015-2: No- Just no! You know why you and your researchers haven't found anything is because there's nothing to find! She is not an, "it," she is not supernatural, she is just a girl! Same as my daughter at home or any woman you could find walking around the streets!
Doctor___: Sargent Jamison, I'll have to ask you to calm down.
SCP 50015-2: You know what? No! I will not! There's an innocent woman here for no other reason than you're all paranoid and seeing dangers that aren't real! Or more likely, you and your researchers made this whole thing up, kidnapped this girl, and pinned fake powers on her just so you could all play hero and save the world from the next big threat!
Doctor____: I've heard enough. Sargent Robert Jamison, you have been deemed unfit to perform your tasks at this site due to the anomalous influence of SCP 50015-
SCP 50015-2: It's not mind control! It's sympathy!
Doctor: If I may continue. You are to be take to site [expunged] for the administration of a class b amnesic and will be relocated from there.
SCP 50015-2: That's bull-shit!
Doctor____: Be thankful that you are not being held accountable for your part in the attempted containment breach. Get him out of here.
(End log)
Addendum 1: The majority of the article above is to be considered outdated and disregarded, other than containment protocol. Recently, the 05 has launched an investigation of the situation regarding SCP 50015 because of the sudden increase of the personnel that were scheduled for the administration of amnestics and relocation. Along with these scheduling were the increasing amount of rumors that SCP 50015 in not actually anomalous in nature, although all members of the team responsible for initial retrieval claim that there was anomalous activity relating to the subject. Even with these claims, they have not been able or willing to divulge the nature of the anomaly. The doctor as well as every junior reached on the team researching SCP 50015 is under going intense psychological evaluation. Until this is resolved the doctor and researchers names have been temporarily removed from all documents involving SCP 50015 as to minimize involvement from unaffiliated personnel.
Addendum 2: After intensive research it is still undetermined whether or not SCP 50015 is truly anomalous or not, though it appears that it most likely is. There is not much solid evidence for this, so we cannot affirm this at the present. One of the most suspicious things about the subject is that opinion on the validity of containment are almost entirely and unrealistically split evenly; even with personnel changing views often. The same can be said of the views of the 05 council. It has been determined to keep SCP 50015 in containment at this time, though its cell is to be made closer to that of a typical bed room with most recreational items being provided when requested. SCP 50015 is also now permitted to walk around designated areas of the facility with a singular armed security personnel between the hours of 8:00- 20:00 if desired. However, any personnel that appear to be getting too infatuated with SCP 50015 will still be subject to administration of amnestics and relocation. It is almost as though the subject is simultaneously anomalous and non-anomalous at the same time as impossible as it seems. And, either state of being is triggered by whether or not it is free or in containment.
Audio Log 2: The following is a recording of the interview from Dr. Windsor and SCP 50015
(Begin log)
Dr. Windsor: Hello, I am Dr. Windsor. Thank you for coming to this interview today.
SCP 50015: Another doctor?
Dr. Windsor: I know this all must be very stressful for you. But, I promise that we will do all we can to help you adjust.
SCP 50015: Adjust? I don't want to adjust! I just want to go home!
Dr. Windsor: You have to understand that this is for your own good. We can't tell you why yet, but it is for your own protection, SCP 50015.
SCP 50015: Why do you keep calling me that? SCP 50015... Like I'm- I'm some sort of alien, or test subject, or something?
Dr. Windsor: We just use the number code to help keep track of everything we are in charge of. Think of it sort of like your employee ID at work. Though, we could call you your actual name if you would tell it to us.
SCP 50015: Just forget it! If you people with all your fancy whatever it is you have here can't find anything about me then I'm not giving it to you willingly!
Dr. Windsor: Very well. Are you able to tell me when the first time you found out about your abilities were?
SCP 50015- I don't understand.
Dr. Windsor: Have you ever seen a super hero movie?
SCP 50015: How could I not have. They're everywhere these days.
Dr. Windsor: Well, what I'm trying to understand the nature of your, shall we say, super powers. When you got them; how they work.
SCP 50015: My super powers? I've never had anything like that! Those sorts of things aren't even real!
Dr. Windsor: But, you did something to get our attention back in California. What was that?
SCP 50015: I didn't do anything! I was on vacation and went for a walk! You kidnaped me! And, now after being held her for months, being thrown into a prison cell, and treated like I had a life threatening disease or something you're asking me if I have super powers? You're all insane!
Dr. Windsor: You're becoming stressed. Perhaps you should take a walk and try to calm down?
*SCP 50015 does not answer as it appears to be sobbing uncontrollably*
Dr. Windsor: Please, escort SCP 50015 back to their room. And, make sure to keep her there until she has fully calmed down.
SCP 50015: I just want to see my family again.
(End Log)
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The Little Doe
Summary: In a world where the British magical community is on a verge of extinction in the next century due to the decline in magical births caused by pureblood inbreeding, laws are passed that only served to further degrade the already low position muggle borns held within society by reducing them to nothing but broodmares. The cocky arrogant James Potter finds himself with possession of the shy but fierce Lily Evans, a little doe that suddenly makes him question everything he knows about the divided society he lives in.
Chapter 1
In all of her 16 years of living, Lily Evans knew nothing outside the black walls she was caged in since the moment she was brought here as a child with all the other muggleborns , or as Umbridge likes to call them, “Filthy Mudblood Whores!” when she is particularly angry. She could barely remember how her parents could look like but she can distinctly remember her older sister calling her a freak for making a wilted flower bloom again. It was really funny how the memories she could remember depicted her being ostracised for being a witch while in the magical world she was hated for being born to those who weren’t magical. It seemed that muggle borns truly were considered anamolies in both worlds with only themselves to turn to.
Alongside the other muggleborn girls, Lily soon learned that they were brought to the ‘Mudhouse’ as they called it for one sole purpose: to learn and accept their future roles of bringing future magical offspring into the world.
Lessons concerning cleaning, childbirth, and how to obey your Pureblood superiors were routinely thought. All of which Lily found herself sleeping through, as shown by the scars in her arms as punishment for doing so. The only academic lesson that was really thought was the History of the British Magical Community, which only really focused on how a crisis regarding the decline in magical births caused by inbreeding resulted in the British Ministry passing the Handmaids’ Act in 1950. Although there was fierce opposition to the bill by those supporting Muggleborn rights such as Albus Dumbledor, Newt Scamander and a few Pureblood families, their voices were squashed by the vast number of families concerned with their future. From the whispers Lily heard around, she found out that muggleborns were already treated ina deplorable manner at best before the Act was passed so many chose to leave the British magical community as soon as they entered for more tolerant communities.
While initially pleased at the decline of muggleborns, karma served to come back ane bite the community’s ass when they learned that lack of new blood led to less powerful offspring and more squibs. Hence one of the clauses in the Handmaid’s Act strictly forbade any muggleborns from leaving the community and moving elsewhere.
“Pshh first they don’t want us, and when they do, it’s purely for our vaginas those fucking psychos”, muttered Lily under her breath.
“Ahem Ahem did you say anything Miss Evans?” Lily turned her head from the window to stare at mocking eyes of the hideous pink monster otherwise known as Dolores Umbridge, the woman in charge for educating muggleborn woman for their future roles as Handmaids. Coincidentally, she was also one of the women who helped to pass the very Act that would lead Lily to living the miserable life she has and the even worse life that awaits her.
Pausing to quickly compose herself after envisioning how it would be like to strangle the woman, Lily quickly shook her head and stood up straighter. Umbridge merely smirked and pointed her wand at Lily.
“As you can see class, this is a prime example of a behaviour that should never be commited near any Pureblood. A muggleborn woman is to stay still and quiet at all times, not letting anyone know of her presence unless required”
“What are we? Humans or statues?” Lily muttered again, causing her companion Mary McDonald to stifle a giggle.
“Miss Evans, for demonstrating that act of behaviour again, you will have to come to my office after this class to receive your punishment”
Umbridge had a wide grin on her face, eerily similar to how the Joker in the Batman Series looked like based on the muggle magazines they were able to smuggle into the building.
The rest of the muggleborns looked sympathetically at Lily who only shrugged,
being used Umbridge’s form of punishments. It was only a matter of time anyway that she was to be sent to a Pureblood household and be forced to have a dozen children.
After class and a whispered ‘good luck ‘ from Mary, Lily trudged herself to Umbridge’s office and waited outside the door. She could hear two female voices from inside the room, one that she could easily point out as being Umbridge who sounded delighted for whatever reason and another voice she couldn’t pick out but sounded pleasant despite the owner of the voice sounding rather annoyed. Lily couldn’t help but be excited after hearing this new mysterious voice, since the only people she could remember interacting with in all her years here were Umbridge, the other muggleborn girls, and the Pureblood guards who liked to leer at her and the other girls every time they walked past.
Finally after nearly plastering herself to the door, Lily could hear footsteps and quickly moved away. Umbridge opened the door and looked slightly confused when she saw her but realisation quickly struck.
“Ahh I apologise Mrs. Potter, you see I had a student who was behaving in a quite atrocious manner you see, if you would like to come another time-“
“Bring her in Umbridge, I would like to see the state you put these girls in”
Lily quickly looked up at the firm but pleasant sounding voice and took a step inside the room after Umbridge ushered her in.
“Ahem well Mrs. Potter this is Lily Evans a fifteen year ol-“
“I’m sixteen”
“ Shush child, yes this girl has unfortunately not been one of my best students. While she may fool you into thinking she is some innocent doe based on how quiet she is, she often displays great acts of disobedience”
Lily knew the irritating woman was not only referring to the minor incident that occurred today but in the past when her magic tended to spiral out of control. While Lily’s fiery personality had slowly died down throughout the years as a result of the oppressive treatment she faced, there was still some fire she held onto. Lily knew she was a powerful witch and she knew Umbridge knew that too despite her constant preaching on why muggleborn women were magically inferior than their Pureblood counterparts. As muggleborns were forbidden from having a wand, Lily developed her skills in wandless magic and using all the information she was able to learn from the outdated magical books dumped in the trash, she was able to perform such a level of magic practically unheard off from a witch with no magically education. Using her knowledge she was able to teach all of the other muggleborns and helped to hone their skills as well. Of course Lily bring Lily, used her knowledge to also annoy the hell out of Umbridge. Vanishing her chair, changing the colour of all of her outfits from pink to a hideous orange, and lifting her skirt when ministry official were sometimes around were some of her favourite tricks. As she she was not using a wand, they couldn’t trace it back to her, but Umbridge always seem to knew it was her and hence made sure Lily was never there when she had an important meeting. Judging from the warning and panicked look in her eye, Lily could practically hear the nasal voice of Umbridge warning her to not embarrass her or else.
Mrs Potter on the other hand seemed perfectly calm and even a bit amused as she appraised Lily. Lily suddenly found herself being self conscious of her appearance. From the past she could also remember children teasing her for her hair colour and many seemed to find the bright green colour of eyes creepy. The ugly red colour of her dress only served to further lower her self esteem infront of the smartly dressed woman infront of her.
“Well aren’t you a pretty one” she remarked, much to Lily’s surprise. Her gaze quickly zeroed on the necklace around her neck.
“That’s a very pretty necklace sweetheart. Who gave it to you?” Not being used to anyone talking to her in such a tone Lily nearly forgot to speak or even move until Umbridge suddenly grabbed the necklace and tore it from her neck.
“Oh forgive me Mrs. Potter, she must have stole it from somewhere! Oh you know muggleborns, can’t trust this lot!” Her highpitched voice combined with the loss of the only item she had of her parents caused a surge of magic to ripple within Lily and in a flash the necklace was back in Lily’s hand.
The sound of a pin dropping was all that could be heard in the room as everyone registered her actions. Lily quickly closed her eyes in terror and awaited the verdict of being sent to Azkaban for simply acting like a witch when the Wizarding world didn’t see her as one.
“Oh Mrs Potter I am so sorry!” Lily never thought she could see someone look so pitiful and gleeful at the same time. The slight curve of Umbridge’s mouth indicated her excitement of finally sending the redhead to the Wizarding prison.
“Don’t you worry Mrs Potter, I will send her right to-“
“I’ll take her”
The elderly stylish woman’s statement was met with incredulous looks from the other two people in the room.
“Wh- What Mrs. Potter please I am sure that there are other more suitable and obedient girls-“
“Enough Mrs Umbridge, I will take this girl and that is final. I would like all the arrangements done by today and I will be here for her tomorrow.”
With that, Euphemia Poter turned to Lily, winked and disappeared through the floo.
#james potter#lily evans#lily potter#jily#james x lily#shylily#harry potter#handmaid’s tale#ilovelilyevans
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18 Things You Didn’t Know About Kitchenaid Cook For The Cure Toaster | kitchenaid cook for the cure toaster
Feminists were quick to characterization KitchenAid sexist aftermost anniversary afterwards it alien a new band of blush products…to accession money for breast cancer.
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Writer Hazel Davis tweeted out a annual of the ad with the caption: “Are you absolutely serious, KitchenAid? #letkitchenappliancesbekitchenappliances #everydaysexism.”
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Happy June to you all!!
I am making changes to my productivity plans that I believe will boost your own productivity levels and it’s my 30th birthday this month, WOOHOO!!! Super exciting month ahead!
As always in my Leuchtturm1917, we are starting with a monthly log on the left portion of the left page along with a new productivity planning that is divided into 3 areas – Business, Family & Home, and Personal. Each area has 5 goals/tasks/to-do/events that I want to complete by the end of the month. These goals are closely related to each other. For instance, I plan to open a new Etsy shop in June meaning, one of my monthly tasks in Business area will be to design a logo, another task would be to create my first product etc. We are breaking down one very big picture into 5 manageable tasks that are easier to follow and complete. I was doing this with my previous ‘My mission’ but the problem with it was that those mission goals were too big, too general – e.g. open an Etsy shop, eat healthy, lose 2kg etc. These needs to be broken down into specific smaller chunks, hence why I have 5 goals/tasks under each area. Plus, you get to reward yourself by ticking off completed goals more often 😉
On the right page, there is my favourite mini monthly calendar for keeping track of any published or planned blog posts & videos. Focus on, not working and get in touch with proved to be very helpful and functional – we shall see how these categories work out together with our new 3 areas from the left page!
The little cute jar can be found as a free printable in our Community library and you can use it as your monthly doodle page or as I have it here – general monthly tasks‘ list with a ‘coming next’ tag list.
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June review
Monthly tracker
June monthly review is a brilliant tool to see the entire progress of the whole month – if you haven’t tried it yet, please do! Whatever you are working on, at the end of each week, you can write down how you felt, how it went, any progress you made or mistakes etc. And at the end of the month, you write a monthly summary – how was your month? How do you feel it went? Any regrets? Anything you could have done better? How satisfied are you with the results of your actions?
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Week one
Week two
Week three
Week four
Week five
There are 5 weeks in June – what can you find here?
3 weekly goals – one for each area – Business goal, Family & Home goal, and Personal goal.
Weekly tasks – right at the top of the list, you can see 5 dots. Those are 5 most important tasks to be completed this particular week – tasks to achieve your weekly goals.
Daily boxes – every day (let’s say from Monday to Friday) you want to complete one of your 5 most important weekly tasks. Make it urgent. Highlight the task in your daily box and make it a priority to do before everything else!
Focus on – I like to use this space for any quote, doodle etc. to keep me motivated throughout the week. These are my own words, colours that I fancy to see that week, washi tapes etc. (check out my Instagram for more pictures).
Social media and water intake tracker
Weekly tracker – in the corner of the right page (you can print it out of our Community library, fill it in with your own tasks, and glue onto the page)
Number of the week in the left corner
Food log! It’s getting warmer outside which is a perfect time to enjoy fresh limes! Haha, this fruit is lovely all year round – infuse your water with it 😉
Since I am celebrating my 30th birthday this month, it seemed like a perfect idea to have this cake as a June mood tracker! There are 30 days in June, 30th birthday, 30 candles on top – it’s brilliant, isn’t it? I will definitely post a picture on Instagram when I colour it in and when it’s completed!
What a life is a gratitude log page along with #mylovelog where I will be writing/drawing/painting anything lovely my fiance did or told me during the month of June. #mylovelog is a new hashtag that you can use over the social media to share your own love log – in here, you can log anything that made you feel loved! It could be a great feedback from someone, a hug from your pet, a letter from friend etc.
I like to keep my fountain pens organized and keep track of what ink is in which pen. Also, every month, I give them a good clean and ink them up with new or previous inks. It makes a nice and functional spread in your journal!
For this setup, I used my favourite Uni Pin fine liner and a new Pigma Micron pens!
Would you like to watch the video? Come this way 🙂 → Youtube | June 2017 setup
New blog post! Let's set up for June together! #bulletjournal #betweenthesteps Happy June to you all!! I am making changes to my productivity plans that I believe will boost your own productivity levels and it's my 30th birthday this month, …
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Achievement from the comfort of your pyjamas
Horizon Zero Dawn is a “good game.”
Strap in, folks.
Horizon Zero Dawn is peak “video games.” It is all things to all people. It is an open-world, action-adventure-rpg with resource gathering, crafting and stealth mechanics.
If you were to send one game into space so that if an alien civilisation found it they would know what human beings thought video games were all about, then Horizon Zero Dawn would be it.
None of this is praise, by the way. Not really. If you asked me to give it a score I would say that the game gets seven points out of ten points. Or I would say that it gets three and a half stars out of five stars. Or I would say that it gets sixty-eight percent (because the number sixty-nine is a meme and should be avoided in these circumstances).
Let’s take a step back. Let’s talk about open world games in general.
Open world games are a genre of video game that are as popular as they are maligned. Like most genres (of any medium), it’s kind of hard to pin down key facets that a game has to have to be open world, but I’ll try- if instead of walking the circuitous ground level path to your objective, you awkwardly try to jump up steep hills, trying to catch a piece of geometry your character can stand on, there’s a good chance you’re playing an open world game.
OK, let’s take another step back. Video games are an interactive medium. the most popular games are about either sports or shooting people with weapons. Conflict, basically. Conflict is inherently the easiest thing to make a game about as you can lose, so it’s easy to give the player a lose-condition and therefore motivation.
There are other ways to motivate the player, of course. You can tell them that there are one-hundred of a thing and they have to find a lot of them, if not all of them. This is a pretty base motivation. You could put something really difficult in the game, something that takes study and mastery to succeed at. The problem with this is that it’s much harder to make a system like that than it is to put one-hundred of a thing in a space.
Open world games often rely a lot on finding lots of a thing. I don’t know how I can say this without being rude, but open world games are generally a time sink. Without a well crafted world that you want to see, there’s no more depth in finding one-hundred of a thing in a hedge maze, or block of flats. Moreover, the only difference between an open-world game like this, and a linear story based game (something like The Last Of Us, which is more similar than you’d think) is the extracurricular padding.
Experience points is another good one to motivate people. Start at level 1, kill an enemy, get 10 experience points. Get 100 experience points and you can get to level 2, and then you’ll be strong enough to fight the thing that gives you 12exp. Get to level 5 and you'll have enough points to learn a new skill! Pretty great, huh?
Crafting is good as well. There’s a very popular game called Minecraft that, as well as lots of mining, had lots of crafting. You get some wood and that makes sticks and planks, and with some sticks and planks you can make a shitty pickaxe that can get you a few stone. Some stone gets you a better pickaxe and then you can mine coal and turn enough stone into a furnace, put the coal in it and smelt copper, and so on. The player is enticed by a branching tree of options as they find more and more things, and they are encouraged to explore and forage to build up supplies of these items.
Horizon Zero Dawn has all of this, which is why people like it. Problem is, it never gets out of the kiddie end of the pool with it. It’s the base level amount of a system, and it’s obvious how shallow it is after an hour (that’s why I said “kiddie end of the pool” because that’s the shallow end. Please fund more of this writing on Patreon).
Crafting is just some of a thing to get more space to carry stuff. That’s it. Then you can stop crafting. Levelling up gives you 10 more hit points, and 1 skill point to spend on a skill tree that is basically useless beyond 5 incredible skills that make the game a cake-walk (Double arrows/triple arrows/sneak attack/better stealth/more resources). There’s no weapon customisation beyond some modifications, but there’s no strategy here, just find the best ones (purple, because fucking obviously) and slot them in.
The story is the usual “chosen-one” power fantasy that gets bonus points for at least being about a woman. Robots threaten the world, oh no. Try to stop them ok? Second act (hugely telegraphed) plot revelation, third act triumph, post credits sequel bait. Knocked that shit out in a weekend, mate. It doesn't successfully say anything or mean anything to anyone, despite trying very hard to send a message about the dangers of hubris, or trees being super. If anything, the takeaway message is that humanity is a collection of bumbling savages and should have been consigned to extinction at the first opportunity.
To be fair, games are about systems. At least, all the games people play, are about systems. Maybe, if you want a good story, then do something like read a book, you fucker. A good story in a game is hard to come by, mostly because it’s very difficult to mesh an interactive medium with linear story telling (and even harder to do non-linear story telling).
Systems and mechanics are what keep people hooked, and differentiate the medium. But a game where the systems and mechanics can ultimately be “solved” are boring. This is the best weapon combo, this is the best armour, these are the best mods for the best weapons and best armour.
There’s some good time to be had with the gameplay, as you learn the combat. You can scan enemies and see their components, and you have you actually learn how to fight things. They’re not simply big bubbles of hit points, with a red spot on them that does double damage. There’s fuel tanks you can rupture, or you can shoot off their weapons, or tie them down, or lure them into traps, or apply statuses. And that’s fun! it really is. At least three of the aforementioned three and a half stars I would give this game come from fighting things.
The combat is good because you have to learn how to be good at it. You have to have a plan and an approach. You can’t waltz in with you spear and start whacking shit as you will lose, and personally I think that’s great. Well, fighting the machines anyway. Fighting humans is a clumsy mess, as they are actually blobs of HP with a head that takes lots of damage.
The rest of the game makes me super sad though, because it’s full of all these gamer-contrivances. It’s full of real menial shit that is only in there because most gamers (at least the most vocal ones) are time-rich kids who need something to do. So give them exp to grind, give them a map full of shit to tick off a list, none of which does anything.
Give them main story quests, side story quests, AND THEN errand type quests. Make them walk to a place, start a quest, walk to another place to talk to a person, click the now mandatory button that highlights the things you need to interact with before going to a third place to kill some dudes, before finally going back to the first person who tells you “thanks” and then to fuck off as dispassionately as the whole affair started.
Make every ledge the player character can climb obvious so when you need to scale something vertically, you’re just doing a dot-to-dot that is impossible to fail. And then make other waist-high walls insurmountable because whoever was meant to come around and paint this edge in worn white paint didn’t get here yet.
The world is large but ultimately uninteresting. There’s no sense of place or sufficient landmarks to encourage you to learn where you’re going. You rely entirely on fast travel and the numerous on-screen arrows to get around, never once did I feel lost or small, I felt the opposite. I felt like the centre of the universe, I felt like the whole place was built just for me. Which, again, comes down to the bizarre decision to make climbable objects so obvious, it breaks my immersion, because “a creator” has clearly done something.
It makes me sad, genuinely sad, because this is a “good video game.” People like it because of these things, not in spite of them. They like it because they can sit down for 3 or 4 hours and they will feel like they've achieved something... All I see, for the most part, is the total waste of time that video games are. They are the illusion of progression and achievement. They are the chips of the cultural world; objectively better than nothing at all, but ultimately of no value. No amount of “Triple-Cooked” BS is going to stop them from just being chips (triple cooked = triple-A, support me on Patreon).
If this is the height of games, if this is a masterpiece, then we truly are doomed. We don’t need to strive for better, for more meaning in our games, what we need is a dozen shallow systems that a player can indulge themselves in between school, work and masturbation breaks. That’s what gets the big bucks after all, a psychological trick-room where you’re lauded for “achievement” from the comfort of your pyjamas. You did it! Who’s good player?! It’s you! Yes it is!
And I know, I am being hugely elitist, this is a personal attack on you and the thing you like, and that makes me reprehensible. Maybe I’m just doing this to be contrarian or to be noticed. If this game had gotten bad reviews, I’d say I loved it.
A lot of people put a lot of hard work into this game and I respect that. It frequently looks stunning and... well, I don’t want to delve into consumer advice as a deflection here. It’s fine. The game is fine. It’s a fine game. Did I feel tested or challenged, did I feel I had to improve myself to overcome? Rarely. Do I feel like I learned something, anything, about the world, myself, my fellow man, or even anything about “video games?” No.
7/10. 3.5 Stars. 68%.
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