#to be chill or whatever you have to create a gap between you and other women

[catgirltoes]

Gotta be honest the constant objectification of women's bodies is a bit tiring sometimes.

[agustdtown1]

FOREVER GRATEFUL | JJK

PAIRING: jeon jungkook x fem!reader.

SUMMARY: jeon jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you and your sinful needs more than he should, and for that you will forever be grateful.

WC: 5.6k

WARNINGS: age gap, jungkook’s older than reader (although there’s no mention of a specific age), their relationship is not the healthiest but they manage, jk’s line of work is not specified but it is hinted that it’s illegal, small (very small) mention of blood, pet names (doll, princess, pretty girl…), it is hinted —and mentioned, that reader doesn’t have much experience about sex, smut, pwp (porn with plot because I got carried away, but only here and there), restraining, blindfolding, unprotected sex (be better), fingering, light choking, biting, marking, name calling (slut, dumb), jk cumming inside reader, i kinda rushed the end so it’s not that good tbh. 18+ only!

A/N: so… this is my first time writing for the boys since I created my account, I hope this is not as bad as I think it is and that you can enjoy your reading. Lmk what you think and also, english is not my first language so if there’s any grammar/spelling mistakes pls just ignore them <3!

masterlist

“Stay still.”

A husky voice rang into your ears, making a feeling as warm as the sun start to spread through your whole body; an electrifying sensation running through your veins, while goosebumps found solace on your skin. His voice has always been your favorite sound. The raspiness and low register adorning the man’s voice often got you weak in the knees, whenever he would whisper to you or call your name. And this time was no different, however, it seemed to have a stronger power over you. As magnetic as the voice of a siren, pulling the unlucky sailors out of the safety of their boats and into the depths of the cold water of the ocean; ready to devour them in such a frenzy that the last thing you could hear from the poor men was the start of a plea that would forever be unfinished.

Regardless of the difference between scenarios, the comparison seemed to be fitting. Jeon Jungkook was often described as magnetic, with the words alluring and charming following not so far behind. It would explain why you were found in such an interesting predicament at the moment.

A chill breeze brushing over your warm, bare skin, snapped you out of your wandering thoughts. The indication was short and simple. Discard your clothes from the very first moment you walk into the room and wait for him in bed. And so, your body, as many times before, was left completely exposed to Junkook’s hungry eyes; moreover, his eagerness to devour you was crystal clear, not daring to hide his fervent desire of having another taste of your sweet body. Watching you like a predator would to its prey.

His hands were tingling with excitement, for the future adventure both of you would go through, in a matter of minutes. Tonight, like many others, was dedicated solely to you, to your enjoyment; for you to, once again, discover a part of yourself that has yet to see the morning sun and yet to taste the deliciousness of the unknown. A new experience, a new journey, a brand new feeling for you to replay over and over again in your head, during those painfully lonely nights, when you could only find calmness in the feather-like touch of your fingers, running through your needy and greedy body.

Jungkook, however, knew exactly what he was doing by making you wait until your breaking point, waiting for a whine to fall from your precious lips, or for your desperate hand to reach out to him, whatever happens first, but in a silent plea for even a sliver of his attention. He had memorized every gesture, every reaction, every movement you would do, and it entertained the man more than it should.

“You’re tense.” Jungkook pointed out, easing the knots in your shoulders with his skillful hands. “What’s gotten you this aggravated, princess?”

It was the mocking tone, the graceful touch, or even his inviting eyes; whatever it was, it served as a decisive factor to push yourself forward and wrap your arms around his empty neck, like a snake would with its prey; hard and firm.

Desperate hands were first, then.

“You.” An answer was uttered, yet there was a lack of reaction from the man in front of you.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Jungkook taunted, acknowledging the power he had over you. “But don’t think I have forgotten the order I gave you.”

It left you confused for a good second, before his strong hands reached out for yours, stripping himself off from your needy touch.

“Stay still.” Jeon ordered once again, smirking once you obeyed.

You knew better than to challenge him, knowing that your safest option was to follow his instructions with no objection, if you wanted to get your awaited reward, that is.

Who would have thought that you’d be so accustomed to this routine. If asked, then give. If given, then be grateful for it.

The older man has improved your sex life in a matter of a few months, introducing your inexperienced self to the wonders of healthy and eccentric intercourse. Jungkook has proven to you many times in the span of a few months that your negative expectations of sex were granted by your poorly skilled sexual partners. Never once experiencing a dull moment since you were left in the dangerous hands of Jeon Jungkook.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful.

Just like a believer would with whatever God sets in their path. Just like a kid would when a gift was left under the Christmas tree. You were grateful. It was easy to be. For it was gratefulness that had been installed within you from the moment yours and Jungkook’s paths have crossed.

Nonetheless, as grateful as you were, the hesitation in the back of your head didn’t seem to want to leave. The more Jungkook gave you, the more you wondered if you deserved it. But it reasoned with you that the true cause for your indecisiveness was the premise under which your relationship with the tattooed man had developed.

They don’t make men like him anymore, it’s what your friend had told you when she first introduced you to him, and it scared you. It frightened you that your only option to survive in such a cruel world was to cling to a man that was yet to explain what his line of work was. But then again, you didn’t want to know.

If Jungkook came back from work, looking unkempt and exhausted it was none of your business. That blood stain has always been on his shirt for all you knew. His sketchy friends have never once disrespected you, and that was enough for the time being. If he has broken the law, you don't need to know.

You would never know.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

That’s a matter in which you could actually participate. In fact, it’s the way you were taught to be for the past few months.

You earn what you’re given, so show manners and be thankful.

Don’t question, just take. A mindset that has gotten you to where you were right now. In the bedroom of, by far, the most dangerous man in all Korea. Yet, not once has your well-being been threatened, and for that you're grateful.

And you're about to show it.

“You deserve it.” Jungkook reminded you before straying away to roam through his drawers.

The anticipation was killing you. Your eager eyes couldn’t see past his bare and muscular back facing you. Jeon thrived on the way your lustful gaze would always settle on his body, hence the lack of a shirt. Only a low waisted pair of jeans, that allowed you to see the hem of his Calvin Klein underwear, were preventing you from seeing his firm thighs.

You enjoyed the view, more than you probably should. How his muscles flexed when he moved, and the way his toned back shone under the dim light of the room.

It was such a delectable sight for your painfully sore eyes.

“You ready?” The question snapped you out of your thoughts, making you notice how close he was now.

“Yes.” You answered with light hesitation.

Your major enemy showing up once again: indecisiveness. But that wouldn’t stop you from giving yourself to the man in front of you. Not this time.

“Yes, what?” Jeon insisted. “Don’t forget your manners.”

“Yes, sir, I’m ready.” It fell naturally from your lips.

A satisfied smirk appeared on his face.

“Good girl.”

The dark haired man reached out for your wrists, placing a delicate kiss on both of them before tying them with a silky tie of his, and forcing your wandering hands to stay still once and for all.

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook gently asked.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

It was the only correct answer, and both you and Jungkook knew it.

The moment he earned your trust would be the moment he’d have to leave you behind, to fend for yourself and for you to learn how to navigate through the dark corners of your unlucky life.

Trusting him means leaving your guard down, leaving your guard down means being vulnerable, and Jungkook knew better than to be vulnerable, especially in the type of life he lived in. He didn’t want you to make that mistake, and if it meant giving you reasons to doubt him, then so be it.

“Are you gonna do as I say?” Jeon inquired.

“I will.”

“Good.” He leaned down to steal a harsh kiss from you. “You have no idea how bad I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

A slight shiver ran down your spine, knowing too well that his words were far from being an empty promise.

His tattooed hands descended on your bare body, ever so delicate, ever so tender. A stark contrast to what his real intentions were, and it left you craving more of it. Your insatiable desire for being thoroughly worshiped by his lips, his hands, all of him. It was never enough, and it will never be.

Like a stray dog in need of being fed, you needed his touch to be satisfied. Luckily for you, Jungkook was always a man to deliver everything you asked for, even if not verbally.

His eyes, never swerving from your body, took in all the reactions you gave him; from the way your lips formed a perfect o-shape, freeing the most delicious sounds, to how your back arched oh so naturally when his already trained fingers made their way towards the south part of your body. The place where he would get baptized every night, like a strong believer. Ending his thirst with the holy liquid you would suffice him with, not once asking for anything in return, but thankful of his merciful goddess showing appreciation for his dedication.

The only thing is, you weren’t a goddess and he wasn’t a believer. And the whole scenario was way more dirty in reality than what you’d often fantasize.

“Such a pretty doll.” Jungkook brought you back into reality with his husky voice, “Always so responsive.”

His middle finger traveled down to reach your entrance, teasing you with his light touch. Waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to beg. But just like he knew you so well, it was easy for you to tell when he wanted something from you. So rather than give Jungkook what he wanted, you settled for playing a game that would get you in a situation where not even God would help you.

You moved your hips ever so lightly, testing how far you could go without the tattooed man reminding you who’s in charge. Chasing his touch was easy, attaining it was a whole different story. And it was proven to you that tonight the ball was not in your court, when all you got was a chuckle from the man, while he retrieved his hand and leaned down to be face to face with you.

“Have you not learned anything yet, princess?” His dark voice made you tremble in your spot. “Or have you forgotten how things work around here, hm?”

Unwilling to answer, the only response he got from you was a strained whine, yet Jeon could see the desperation in your eyes, the fervent desire to be ruined by him, to be left defenseless and at his complete mercy. Your body wasn’t yours anymore; it stopped being yours the moment he set his eyes on you.

Jeon Jungkook owned you, that much was obvious. And as terrifying as it was, the fact was equally thrilling.

“How badly do you want me?” He tried again, with a question that drove you crazy. “Be good for me and say the words, princess.”

Wasn’t it evident? People often thought that you were too harsh to deal with, too rude, too much to handle. It didn’t offend you, nor did it crack your heart whenever someone would complain about your hot temper and crude attitude. However, at this precise moment, you were giving the man in front of you exactly what he was asking for, albeit not verbally, but your body was working on its own accord. For every light touch, Jeon would get a shiver, squirming, even a plea from your eyes. Any reaction that was in the books, you were already serving it for him.

Nonetheless, it seemed like you weren’t compliant enough for the older man.

“So bad.” You opted to respond instead, finally giving in. “I need you, I want you. Please, sir.”

It was like music to his ears. Your delightful voice, flying through the room as if it were the sweetest melody. Not even the singing of an angel would achieve the reaction that you were pulling from Jungkook right now. Just listening to you beg for him, that’s all Jeon ever wanted.

“You are being so good and polite, baby.” He praised you. “I’ll give you what you need, but…” The dark haired man drifted off, pulling out a blindfold from the back of his jeans. “I’m afraid we’ll do it my way.”

Terrifying, as looking into the depths of a deserted forest, but it was sinful enough for you to crave it. It was exciting regardless of what the whole ordeal entailed. Therefore, when the tall man approached you, with a silky blindfold resting on his hands, you were ready to follow his orders with no objections.

In a matter of seconds you were deprived of Junkook’s hard features, leaving you with a view of pure darkness, and causing your body to start squirming and moving around due to the anticipation. It was difficult to find calmness in such a stressful moment, but you managed. However, Jeon decided to start toying with you, taking advantage of the fact that you were unaware of your surroundings. And so his fingers commenced a trip down the tender flesh of your neck, rapidly traveling down your collarbones and lightly gracing your nipples, only for later on to pinch both of your buds in a harsh manner, one that ripped a strained gasp out of your mouth.

A sardonic smile took place on his face, however, you couldn’t see it. His free hand traveled up to push your cheeks together, enjoying how plump your lips looked and not being able to resist the urge to bite them.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his teeth sinking in the flesh of your lips, along with the way his fingers were kneading every inch of your body.

“Relax and stay still.” Jeon ordered. “I know you’ll love this.”

His soothing voice was helping you to calm down, but it wasn’t enough. The sensations that were running through your body and the lack of proper touch left you in an unbearable agony. You craved to feel him closer, for his skin touching yours, for his breath mixing with yours while your bodies were intertwined in a passionate race to free both of your souls. What he was giving you wasn’t enough, but then again, when has it been?

A greedy little thing, that’s what Jungkook has always called you. And rightfully so, because you longed for him in ways no one else had done, and it scared him. Jeon was afraid you might be too attached to him, moreover, to your own idea of him. The way you would reach for his hand, almost as second nature, when you were out and about, or how your eyes always gravitated towards his figure whenever he stepped into a room. That terrified him. Because it meant you were addicted to him in the same way he was to you, and that could only mean trouble in the long run.

Tonight, however, was not about his fears and insecurities. Tonight was meant to be for you; to supply you with the utmost pleasure you were able to handle, and even if you couldn’t, Jungkook was willing to give you more than what you asked for. So rather than letting his mind wander to places he wasn’t fond of, the man decided to grant you what you were desperately looking for.

His slender fingers slid into your warm hole, filling you up as best as possible. Moving in ways that would haunt you forever, as a reminder that no one —not even yourself, will be able to touch you and treat you like he could.

“There you go…” He muttered, so close to your ear that made you shiver. “Is that enough for my little slut?”

His husky voice echoed through every corner of the room, pulling a light gasp out of you. It wasn’t strange for you to hear him say such lewd things or call you such unspeakable names, but every single time he did, it awakened a wild sensation within you.

Answering to his question you shook your head no, adamant to get more of him, and desperately wanting to be filled to the brim with something more than his fingers.

“More…” You begged. “Please, more.”

His fingers were avidly moving, pumping in and out of your velvety walls at a steady pace. His touch seemed to be enhanced and it felt much more than any other time. Whether it was because you couldn’t see nor could you touch anything, or because of his skillful movements, you couldn’t tell. Nevertheless, there was no complaint. It felt terribly good.

“Yes, please don’t stop.”

Your whiny voice was making Jungkook experience unspeakable things. He was eager to have you, eager to touch you, eager to have a taste of you. But more importantly, so desperate to fuck you. In the same way he awakened a wild side of you with his dark stare, you drove him absolutely crazy with the little noises you made. Furthermore, having you underneath him, moaning his name while squirming in pleasure, and feeling pure bliss due to how good he made you feel, was boosting his ego.

Jeon Jungkook was a man that always strived to be praised, even for the little and insignificant things. So to say he was thrilled and satisfied by the way you were chanting his name like a sinful prayer, along with how your body was responding insanely good to his touch, would be an enormous understatement.

He was on the verge of losing control and claiming you in such an animalistic way, that would leave anyone who happened to be near his room, concerned for your well-being.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look like this?” It was a question that didn’t need an answer.

Jungkook was entranced by the way you were reacting to his touch, watching your skin coated in goosebumps and how your legs would try to wrap around his waist to pull him closer, in need of him. It has always amazed him how innocent and clueless you looked and acted on the daily, yet somehow you knew what to do to make him act up, to drive him crazy. It was as if you were just pretending to know nothing just to tease him, just to make him never leave you, but deep down Jungkook knew you were sincere.

Your life has been tough, to say the least, and he knew you were in need of guidance, in need of someone to hold your hand and walk you through the crude stages of life. Jeon has never told you, but part of the reason why he took interest in you was due to his protective instinct. The older man knew you needed protection, from who or what? It wasn’t clear, but he instantly knew he was the right one to do it.

Oddly enough, there was no one better than the most dangerous man in South Korea to keep you safe.

But the way you would act so innocently drove him crazy.

Even when you tried to act confident, there was this sprinkle of hesitation every time you did something —indecisiveness striking again. And it was difficult to ignore it, moreover, it was difficult to hide it. The man could see right through your weak act, and spot your nervousness from miles away.

Even when you sucked him off in his office after a tiring meeting, he knew you were slightly scared to do such a thing.

Someone pretending to be clueless wouldn’t act as eager and clumsy as you did back then, although there has been some improvement since that time. Your teeth wouldn’t make an appearance anymore, you would use the right amount of saliva to make it messy but still look appealing for Jeon. The man loved how now you use more of your tongue to tease his tip and how far he could go into your throat. But none of that would’ve been attained without his help.

If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

It all goes back to the same predicament: you often showing your thankfulness for every little thing Jungkook has done for you.

He saved you, in the same way that a human would take an injured bird into their home to help it heal. Only for the person to cage it after the bird it’s back on its feet. Whereas Jeon Jungkook saved you from your previous way of living, he also owned you, preventing you from leaving his side.

Your broken moan snapped the dark haired man back into reality. His eyes were glazed with lust, looking right down on you and your tempting body.

“Are you close yet, doll?”

He knew you were. Jungkook could feel you clenching on his fingers, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“Yes, I’m so close.” You whined.

Your hands were moving so much, trying to break free from the tie that was preventing you from touching him. Jeon silently enjoyed it, he enjoyed how addicted to him you were, that it was a torture for you to not touch him in any way. You were so accustomed to feeling him, every single inch, that being restrained felt like pure hell.

“Please… More, faster…” You once again begged, and this time Jungkook couldn’t handle it.

Ignoring your protests, he pulled his fingers out, rapidly stripping off the rest of his clothes to position himself in between your legs. Because yes, he was on the verge of losing control before, but now his racional side flew out the window, and so he couldn’t wait a second longer to be wrapped in the warmth of your walls, ready to take him in.

“My sweet girl, don’t be impatient.” Jungkook cooed at you. “I’ll give you something better.”

Without further ado, he thrusted into you with a hard pump. It ripped a moan out of you, making you tug at the tie even more. You were beyond annoyed that you couldn’t touch him nor could you see his beautiful figure while he fucked you, although it enhanced the rest of your senses.

You could hear his little noises more clearly, feel his touch even better than you usually would, and taste him so much more in every kiss he gave you. It was truly a blessing and a curse.

“You’re so tight, Y/n.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth, preventing himself from moving manically just yet.

Jeon could see the struggle in your face, the way you were clenching on his dick so hard that it was almost impossible for him to move. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, you would never get accustomed to his size. But in reality, the actual problem was that the man hasn’t done exactly that in a while.

Truth be told, there was a reason for your eagerness, for your desperation. For your ambition to have more of him. Jungkook has been neglecting you the past couple of days, perhaps not on purpose, but his line of work has required him to travel to the other side of the world for a whole week. And now that he was back you were ready to trap him in your limbs for as long as you could have him.

“I haven’t fucked you in a while that your pussy is already forgetting how my cock feels, huh?” He acknowledged the situation. “Maybe I’ll have to remind this tight cunt who owns it.”

Without a warning, he gave a hard thrust once again, bottoming out. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t forget how big his dick was or how good it felt. Many nights you fantasized about his fat cock pounding into you while the only thing you could use to pleasure yourself was your fingers. It was such a sad comparison, especially because it proved that what he once told you was completely true.

No one will be ever able to satisfy your carnal needs in the same way that he does. No one will be able to make you come undone with their touch. You could only daydream about Jungkook rocking into you hard and rough, during those lonely nights when the only thing you could use was your small fingers.

Luckily for you, now you have it, the real thing. Now you could feel the tip of his cock hitting every right spot the more the thrusted into you. His veiny member slamming over and over into your throbbing cunt, crying for more of him.

“So fucking greedy. My dirty slut can never get enough of me, huh?” Jungkook groaned, “Look at you, already a mess and I’ve barely done anything, sweetheart.”

It was such a true statement. Even if there was no way for you to look at yourself, you were sure of your disheveled appearance. Sweat was coating your skin, making your messy hair stick to your forehead and nape, your lips were now swollen and shiny due to the wet kisses Jeon has shared with you.

But it has always been like this. Jeon always knew what to do, what to say, how to touch you to turn you into a babbling and whiny mess, one who could only chant his name and ask for more, like the little ambitious and greedy girl you were. Regardless of the way you would sometimes demand more of his attention, more of his touch, he loved it. The tattooed man loved how ruined you looked at the end of your rendezvous, staring at your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. Jungkook was always fascinated by how fucked out you were once he was done with everything, it was his favorite look on you.

“You like this, don’t you? Being used like a fuck toy, not being able to do anything to fight me.” The older man let out a dark chuckle, while one of his hands crept up to wrap itself around your throat. “So defenseless and needy, letting me do anything to you.”

The more he talked the closer you got. You knew it was a matter of time for you to cum. And you couldn’t be more thankful for that.

Jungkook kept rocking into you at a rapid and harsh pace, fucking your brains out while calling you names that he knew would pull a reaction out of you.

“My dumb baby, taking me so well.” He praised you. “You always know how to take my cock, willing to let me fuck this pretty pussy however I want.”

You could only nod, gasping for air and moving your hips to meet his thrusts as best as possible. It was like a race to see which one would finish first, although it was clear that the man ramming into you would not relent until you were crying and shaking underneath him.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy.” He confessed, leaning down to kiss your soft lips.

His free hand traveled down in between your legs to place his skilled thumb over your clit. His movements were like a bucket of cold water poured over your burning skin. It calmed the building fire in between your legs, just as much as it fueled your already approaching orgasm.

“You feel so amazing around my dick.” Jeon hissed over your lips, hypnotized by the way his aching cock would get lost into your soaked cunt.

“Oh god…” You moaned. “Please don’t stop, I’m so fucking close.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” A promise, far from being empty.

It was clear that Jeon was getting close as well by the way he so desperately was pounding into you, moaning lowly and leaning down to bite your neck.

His lips and teeth were doing wonders on your skin, marking you up with his bites and sucking on your flesh as well. Jungkook was devouring you, tasting you, ruining you as he promised.

“Holy shit…” He said in a raspy voice. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? Only I can make you feel like this.”

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chanted back, but it wasn’t enough for him.

“Come on, tell me, pretty girl.” He requested. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’m all yours.” You slurred your words out.

It only encouraged the man to fuck you harder, meaner, faster… Exactly how you liked it. Jungkook was aware of it, he knew you like the palm of his hand, and although it was concerning how much he knew about you, it also came in handy in moments like this.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Jungkook alerted you, snapping both of you from your wandering thoughts.

“Cum, inside me.” You croaked out, biting on your bottom lip.

It was a risky request, something that you might regret in the future, not only because you weren’t on any contraception, but it entailed being connected to him in such an intimate way, one that neither of you were ready for.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a soft tone, yet you could hear the agitation in his voice. “Are you okay with… oh fuck, with me cumming in you?”

“Yes, yes, please. Just do it, fill me up, please.” You struggled to say. “I need to feel your cum deep inside me.”

Jungkook felt like dying with the lewd words you were spewing.

You were drunk on the ecstasy of the whole experience. Not being able to look at your surroundings, being restrained, the way Jeon was pistoning into you, hitting spots that no one has ever been able to reach before; the sinful words spilling from his lips, his hand still wrapped around your neck, albeit more loosely now. Everything was clouding your mind and leaving you in such a lax state, that prevented you from forming any coherent thought.

Regardless, your consensual words were all he needed to let go, shooting his hot cum inside of your greedy pussy.

“Oh god…” Jungkook moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

His orgasm triggered yours, throwing you over the edge in a matter of seconds, right after he came. Your whimpers were loud and high pitched, your body was burning and trembling, and you were sure the light makeup you were previously wearing was smudged by now.

You were panting, trying your best to calm your agitated breathing. Jungkook was still inside of you, with his face hidden in your neck, breathing as heavily as you were. Both still intertwined in a mess of sweaty limbs.

After a few minutes where both of you recovered from the intense orgasms you just had, Jeon finally pulled out, separating himself from you. His hands flew up to free yours, making you whine softly; he placed a soft kiss on both of your wrists, making sure the tie didn’t hurt you. The blindfold came off next, and it took a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the dim light after seeing pure darkness.

“How was it?”

A simple question, one that, in the ears of an oblivious listener, would mean nothing. An inquiry that held more significance and concern than a simple are you okay?; it was subtle but it spoke volumes the way Jeon Jungkook would still feel the need to protect you, even from himself.

He never voiced his worries properly, trying to play it cool but secretly concerned that he might have hurt you in any way. The man never learnt how to correctly communicate with others, but he would be damned if he didn’t express how much he cared for you in other ways.

“Amazing…” Was your response, albeit in a hoarse voice.

Your throat was slightly aggravated, feeling terribly dry after attempting to voice the pleasure and enjoyment from the experience, through the small space there was left from Jungkook’s hard grip on it. However, it didn’t stop you from answering his concerns.

Amazing, fascinating.

It was the only way to describe it, your mind was too foggy to think of a proper answer, but by the way he was smirking you could tell he was satisfied with your response.

“Good.” He nodded. “Don’t move, I’ll bring a towel to clean you up and a bottle of water.”

Before he could step out of the room your weak voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait…” You called for him.

If asked, then give; if given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

“Thank you.” A small whisper was all it took for the man to walk back at you, leaning down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Get some rest, I’ll be right back.”

You were left alone in the big room, spread out on the mattress while your mind was trying to comprehend all the events that just happened. Your heart was filled with questions, but you knew better than to ponder over those inquiries.

Jeon Jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you more than he should, and for that you will be forever grateful.

[radiation]

I kind of want to hear your thoughts wrt how anya couldve been handled better. Do you think the pregnancy part shouldve just not been there in the first place? I cant think of any ending for her that is less gruesome that doesnt also change many aspects of all the later parts of the game. And also in general i just think you have interesting takes on the game and i wanna hear more

Good question and i will provide my thoughts under the cut. Listless unfiltered stuff tho Im so out of it right now but im chilling.

As a conclusion of all that precedes it I agree, the ending is properly gruesome and its hard to say it should've been done any other way. If we're being faithful to the story and her character as-is i'd say less so change the major events and moreso change the way they're delivered and slip in more respectful characterization of anya here and there through fleshing out her life and personal motivations, even if it's just hints of it

However unless they really really did a crazy good job i probably still wouldnt like it. But that's like, the unfortunate domino effect of writing a character like her, i feel that her character/place in the story is misogynistic on a pretty fundamental level and eliminating that would require restructuring things about her character/the story. But idk, who's to say they couldnt have.

Its complicated because theres all these different layers of narrative decisions being made that influence other shit and the more fundamental of a choice you change, the greater differences there will be down the road. Its butterfly effect shit. Like sometimes i think about this in my own projects. I think about like, what if while developing my own game, i'd made the 2 main characters completely different people? What if they were fucking like, Kevin and Trent, and id gone down the whole pipeline of fleshing out their characters and actually made them genuinely good. If thats what I made and thats what everyone was used to and then I randomly replaced them with Neal and Jack and the themes associated with them, people would be like. Thats wrong why the fuck did you do that. You ruined the themes bro. But the same is true of the other way around. You have to ask: is what's in front of me truly the best version it could have possibly been, or could it have been any number of things, and I'm just attached to what's right in front of me?

Its not to say you cant write about misogyny or sexual assault, or that there aren't people with experiences like Anya and you can't write about them. It's more asking like, out of all of the routes they couldve gone with wrt having any female characters whatsoever why did they choose this one specifically. If they had from the get-go written a bit of a different character with different themes and went down that whole road, no pregnancy or whatever but some other shit more impactful for what was there, they could have potentially written something equally or more powerful, just tackling a different vein of subject matters.

Like not saying at all this is what they should've written, I think its kind of lame, this is just a random ass example. But what if the conflict between Anya and Jimmy was them previously being like, rivals for the same position at their job, and likely due to misogyny in the system Jimmy ended up getting it instead of her. Anya is essentially in the same position of inferiority under Jimmy that Jimmy is under Curly and while Jimmy is obsessed with this narrative of him not getting what he deserves and lashes out, Anya is forced to grin and bear it, and their characters are meant to call attention to the gap in acceptable behaviors and entitlement that is created by patriarchal society. Idk. I think theres already hints of that and its way less emotionally impactful than whats there rn but the point is like, it still could've been well executed, and if thats what was there, people wouldnt be asking like "wow this sucks ass i really wish anya had gotten sexually assualted instead" LOL do you know wha ti mean.

I dont even know what my point is right now but idk I guess i dont have a good answer for what is the best thing they couldve done differently. I can only speak for my own preferences and honestly I dont write about this subject matter at all. Like ill be honest the specific subject of women being abused/assaulted makes me so upset i dont want to put even a fraction of an ounce of that into the world period, so i just dont write about it, my mind always goes to women dealing with other kinds of conflicts instead. And I generally tend to write more about things like microaggressions and the complexities of relationships rather than unbelievable injustices without relief. I lay a lot of respect on my characters, when horrible things happen to them I offset the events into the realm of neutrality by affording them things like privacy and moments of calm and monotony. I like writing like this and i think its good but its certainly somewhat informed by me living a privileged lifestyle. So yknow who am i to say what experiences you should write about.

Well i just looked it up and it seems like the main developers on the game are both men so im gonna say actually yeah Methinks they should've just straight up written something else. I mean i have no way of knkowing their experiences for sure but im gonna take a wild guess and say they dont have a lot of skin in this game. Also i just realized they also made how a fish is made that game looked pretentious as fuck sorry.

[sgt-scottymoreau]

Lay low and learn

Summary: Trying to pick up the pieces left behind after what happened 3 months ago, Scotty and Task Forces 141 found themselves in a dire situation that requires them to stay low and hidden for a while. But where to go in a country where you don't know who to trust anymore? Well Scotty might have a solution, but... can she reveals her secret to them? Can she trust them?

Warning: None.

Words: 5.9k // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: Back to the main timeline with a fic that I have been work on ever since I created Scotty. An idea that I had back then, but I struggled so bad to feel in the gap between some scene, then wrote more fic that I could connect to it and eventually spend so long on the ending. Technically this is like a 2.0 version of it, I rewrote the whole thing after like a year(?) and honestly I'm just glad it's done! Italized text mean that they are speaking French here. For the sake of being used a lot and not wanting to have a character translate everything or such, I just did so.

It started like any other operation. The intel was good, their luck was running high and honestly nothing that made it feel like it would turn sour in a matter of hours. A cover mission to help the BSF after what happened 3 months prior with their ex commander. He apparently had more connection then they thought and even if he had by now been court martial, his allies were still roaming around. So, when the intel came in, they trusted it. They followed it till they realized that a very important detail was missing and now they were on the verge of a diplomatic incident with the French authority. For now the 141 had to cut themselves from everything, lay low till they could figure out a way to fix all of this. This is how they found themselves in the middle of nowhere in the countryside, in the darkest time of the night. 

"That ain't the worst that could happen to us." Soap tried to light up the mood.

"Sure, it's not like Laswell isn't coming for our asses after that." Gaz replied with a hint of sarcasm. "But being alive has its advantages."

"Very funny you two." Price groaned. "Well for now we should probably camp for the night. There’s nowhere to go until we figure out some plan." They all agreed. Despite the risk, they still lit a small fire so they could see what they were doing. After a quick meal from their rations, they made bed with whatever could be comfortable; their bag and some leaves. Wouldn't be the first time the night would be spent like this. Of course no sleeping under stars would be complete without taking shifts. The night started with Ghost on first watch, Gaz second, Price third. 

Price looked at the time on his watch. Three in the morning. It was time to wake Scotty up. He stretched his sore muscles and got up. He softly shook her shoulder. "Rise and shine, lass." He whispered. Scotty mumbled something but eventually woke up. "Everything is calm so far, hopefully it stays that way. At 6 you wake up Soap, understand?"

"Yes sir." She said, rubbing her eyes. Scotty took the spot next to the fire where everyone had been keeping an eye on the surroundings. It was eerily silent. She didn't mind it, but it also made her feel uneasy. Even the bugs weren't making a noise. Which was a little strange. She remembered all those summer nights where some cicadas would be annoying almost till early morning. Maybe the forest was different. At least the captain was right when he said all was calm.

She threw some small branches in the fire to keep some warmth, for a night in June, it was chilling. Her mind drifted for a moment, eyes lost in the dancing flames thinking about everything that happened. There was no real point in trying to understand why, but maybe it could give a foundation to their next step. She wondered if they could even attempt to contact the French authority and make them understand the reason. They were usually reasonable from what she remembered from her days in the BSF. However this time it was different. The team was not supposed to operate in the country without their knowledge and… it is precisely what they did. It would be hard to explain themselves. A rustle startled her. Her eyes scanned the surrounding, hand already on her gun. It was only Soap moving in his sleep. She let out a sigh of relief. However her body tensed up again when this time, it was a shadow she saw in the distance. It moved fast. The sergeant jumped on her feet, grabbing her pistol. As if her worriedness vibrated through the ground, the rest of the task force emerged from their sleep. She advanced toward the last position of the hostile. "Come out!" She ordered. "I know you are there and I won't hesitate to shoot!" 

A man came out, hand raised, and stood there. "I mean no harm." He explained in French. A civilian? No, not by his clothes. He looked different. "I'm with the AGIGN!" What in the world would they do here at night? Her gut feelings made her reach for her upper arm and rip the flag off her uniform before shoving it in her pocket. 

"What is going on here?" Price asked her once he was by her side. 

"GIGN, captain. Technically a sub branch of it." She replied, her eyes and gun never let go of the man. 

"Hey Thierry what is going on?" Another French voice came out. Five other men joined the one named Thierry, also surprised to see the 141. 

"Oh, on peut vous aider?" The probable captain of the group asked. 

"We don't speak French." Scotty said. Price looked at her from the corner of his eyes, his expression remaining calm despite her statement. He could see the frown and her concern. He understood that he should just play along. 

"My captain asked if we could help you." Thierry translated. He lowered his arms. 

"You are special forces? We could use some help to get in contact with our base. We need extraction." Price explained before the Frenchman translated. 

Scotty put back her pistol where it belonged, keeping an ear to what was being said. Thierry and his captain said that it wouldn't be a problem. They had their headquarters not far away, they were welcome there. The 141 grabbed their belongings and followed the men to their cars. Without much more, they climbed in, Soap and Ghost in one, Gaz, Scotty and Price in another. For this one time, Price wanted to keep her nearby. Especially that she was acting odd. 

"I thought you spoke French?" Gaz whispered to her once the engine was on and the vehicle drove off. 

"Let's just say it's better that way." She replied. Price gestured to Gaz that if Scotty thought so, it was better to follow. 

They drove them for an hour before stopping again. This looked like an old village, almost abandoned. The kind of village only locals would know of. "We have arrived at the HQ." Thierry said, getting out. The 141 did the same. 

"What base?" Soap inquired, not seeing anything as usual. Even if it was a makeshift one, he couldn't figure out anything that resembled it. 

"C'est un peu plus au nord, dans la montagne." The driver of their car said, not even caring about them understanding. Him pointing up the mountain gave them the idea that the base was maybe there. Some more walking to do. 

Soap, who was also wondering the same as Gaz approached Scotty as they walked back into the forest. "Why don't you talk with them?" 

"Because something is not right." She whispered. "I could be wrong, but I know the GIGN and I know that none of their branches are in this area." This small information was enough for them to be on high alert. They followed in silence. One thing Price couldn’t shake off since they were found by the AGIGN was how no one questioned what four British SAS officers and one unknown military personnel were doing in France, lost in the forest. He trusted and believed Scotty when she said something wasn't right. Because anyone with the slightest common sense would have been concerned.

While the Frenchmen chatted like they had nothing to worry about. Scotty tried her best to not reveal her secret, but Soap and Gaz wanting to know what was going on made it hard. She shortened the whole conversation to they were making fun of them because they are Brits, making comments on Ghost being scary and other small talk. 

"How long we still have to go?" Price asked. He was getting irritated that they had been walking for a long time without even a sign of being close to any building. 

"I'll ask." Thierry said. He looked nervous himself. "Captain, we should hurry, they are getting impatient." 

"Thierry, tell them we are almost there and everything is alright. Once we are in the clearing, a bullet for each one of them. They won’t even know what’s happening." 

Scotty, who was watching her footing, snapped her head back up and she stopped in her tracks hearing this. Every part of her body tensed up. Her arm flung in front of her captain to stop him, surprising everyone. "Fils de pute!" She yelled. Son of a bitch. All the Frenchmen moved a step back finally realizing what was going on. She took her gun and pointed at the French captain. "Captain, they plan to kill us! There never was a base!" 

"Son of bitches!" Soap cursed, raising his own weapon. It was only a matter of seconds now. The first to pull the trigger would save their team. The 141 reacted fast taking advantage of the Frenchs being shocked that someone had been listening all along. Their bodies dropped dead quickly. A better look at their uniforms confirmed Scotty's suspicions. They had a logo resembling AGIGN, but it was botched. Good enough to trick anyone from afar. After more look around, they connected these men to the terrorist they had tried to take down. If these men could find them in the middle of nowhere, the 141 definitely had to lay low for sure. Disappear. They walked back to the village, finding the cars still there. At least they could now travel easier.  

"Let's get out of here." Price ordered. "Gaz, you drive."

"Captain, with all your respect, I should be the one driving." Scotty interjected. "I probably know the region more than him." He agreed and took the passenger seat while the other three men squeezed in the back.

*****

She had been driving for an hour now. The dark sky was slowly lighting up on the horizon, a sign that the sun was making its breakthrough. Her eyes looked in the rear mirror, to see the three men still sleeping, even Price was softly snoring. The road signs began to look slightly blurry, reading the town and exit’s names was difficult. Tiredness was on the edge of her brain and she knew she had to stop soon. Scotty had two options. Stop and let Soap drive or keep driving till they are safe. There was a reason she decided to take the wheel. Well at first it was mostly a wild guess and hoping she was right. Once they hit the big road, Scotty did figure out they were in an area she knew well indeed. They weren’t too far now, if her brain could let her stay awake just a little longer. She finally took an exit, went through the center of town which was completely deserted at this time of the day, maybe the local bakers were already working, and took an old dirt road. 

His head hit the window after a small bump that made him emerge from his slumber. Price fully woke up when the engine came to a complete stop. Before he could comprehend what was going on, he saw Scotty walk out of the car to the house in the distance. He watched as she knocked at the door, waiting restlessly and when the door opened it looked like she was talking with the owner. Glancing at the radio’s clock, it was already five in the morning. A shifting from the back caught Price by surprise. Gaz moved up between the front seats. “What's going on?”

“We will see.” He pointed at Scotty who was jogging back to the car. 

“I asked these kind folks if we could stay for the rest of the ‘night’ and they said yes.” She explained.

“How did you convince them?” The captain wondered.

“Hmm… You know a simple little lie!” There was a hint of nervousness in her tone that he dismissed. If this place was safe enough, they might as well take the chance for now. The captain ordered everyone out, grabbed their bags and walked to the door.

A woman and her husband welcomed them in. They looked like they just had been awakened from their sleep and weren't exactly sure what was going on. "Bonsoir, we have some bedrooms for you, messieurs. Et madame." The woman said shyly. 

"Thank you ma'am. We won't be staying too long." Price reassured. The husband brought everyone upstairs and showed them the room. With a heavy accent he explained that the kids weren't home at the moment and they could use their room. Apologized for the mess the little ones might have left behind. Once everyone was tucked back in, Scotty made her way back to the kitchen on her tiptoes. Awakened by a second wind, she didn’t feel like sleeping at the moment. The woman was there making tea, and her husband grabbed three mugs. Scotty leaned on the counter as the woman put down the kettle. Her eyes glared at the sergeant.

"I haven't seen you in months, not even a phone call and you just show up at my door in the middle of the night!" The woman berated her.

"I'm sorry, Gabrielle!" Scotty apologized. "We were in the area and we need somewhere to lay low for a while and then we will be out."

"Cam, I have no problem with having you here, but I don't have enough to feed all of them. Have you seen their size! Even Nathan looks small next to them!" The husband raised an eyebrow unsure whether to take this as an insult or not. Camille assured her that it wouldn’t be a problem, she could also help with any extra groceries. Gabrielle sipped on her drink with a snort. “So much for wanting to keep your family out of your job. Who are these guys anyway?” 

Camille realized she had a lot to catch up with her sister. She was sure she had mentioned something about her new career path, but then again so much had happened she might have only mentioned being transferred to another country and didn’t mention the task force. A quick recap of all that happened since the beginning of this year was enough to bring Gabrielle up to speed. Sometimes, she wondered how sister could handle such a life. After their cup was done, Camille finally felt tiredness coming back and decided to give in. 

Later in the same morning, Scotty woke up feeling like last night was a terrible nightmare and wished that it was the case. But reality hit back when she woke up on the floor of a room decorated with stickers, posters of a football team and toys all over the carpet. Her body was stiff from the hard floor, the only spot she found to sleep on when she sneaked in the room. She pushed herself up holding down a groan of pain. Soap was still snoring in the very small bed. Ghost was sleeping on a mattress that was on the floor facing away from her. She caught herself staring at his shoulders that were slowly rising up and down. She approached to check if… Yes he still had the mask on. She smiled, that was crazy to her. Silently, she made her way out, at the same time Gaz came out of the other room. "Mornin'." He greeted her. 

"Morning, slept well?" 

"Oh, not so bad. Better than in the woods. Are Soa-" He was interrupted by her grabbing something from behind him. Gaz was quite surprised by this strange reaction, even more by the forced smile she put up. Was she hiding something? He was curious, however with the lack of really want to know what was going on, he simply let it go. "Are they still snoring?"

"Oh yes, sleeping like babies." The smell of eggs and fresh pastries reached their nose. Their stomachs growled. With a laugh they headed to the kitchen for some grub. Price was already there trying to help to set up the table. If he had to be a guest here, he would at least be a good one. The two others helped around till the last two finally woke up. After a good late breakfast, it was time to take it easy for a lack of knowing what to do. Eventually they discussed how long they should remain low. The consensus was at least a good week or two. Give time to whomever to clear them out of trouble. Hopefully Laswell or the BSF could help. The captain admitted that squatting here was an option, but also felt abusing the kindness of these people.

But Scotty told him it was fine, she talked with the owners and they were happy to have them around. He raised an eyebrow. She already did so? Without him knowing a single word of it until now? It sounded a little odd that some random French civilians would be so inclined to accept English military personnel in their house, but if they didn’t mind then so be it. Ghost didn’t touch much of his breakfast till Gabrielle and Nathan left the table to clean the dishes. Something Gabrielle commented in a whisper to Camille. The sergeant excused her lieutenant saying he usually never shows his face to anyone. If it could make Grabielle feel better she herself hadn’t seen his face yet either.

Later in the day, the couple said they would head to town for some extra groceries. Left alone in the house, it feels like a relief for Scotty. No more reason to play translator. Gabrielle and Nathan’s house was far from the town, maybe forty five minutes drive, surrounded by large terrain and trees. Not a destination anyone would go to by accident… You had to know exactly where they lived. A question Soap was too eager to ask, which she deflected by saying that she was simply looking for some place to stop for the night quickly and it was not unusual to have a house like this when she saw the off road path. The perfect spot to disappear.  

With not much to do, the boys helped around; chopping woods, cleaning the terrain, sparring with each other. Taking advantage that the owners were away to clean their guns and do an inventory check on their remaining gears. Scotty and Soap finished their last lap around the premises a little before the sun had completely set. Ghost was watching them arms crossed. “Takin’ vacation, sergeants?” He smiled behind his mask.

“If running half a marathon is considered vacation, sure.” Soap joked.

“You wish we ran one third of one.” Scotty rolled her eyes. Ghost leaned on the fence and looked at them. For a split second she swore her eyes met his and her gaze darted away quickly. Recently, Scotty didn’t know how to interact with him outside of mission. She tried hard to convince herself that it had nothing to do with the crush she was developing on him. It wasn’t high school anymore, who had crushes in their late 20s! But it was very obvious this was the reason. Scotty swore it all happened since that ops a few weeks ago, but it only became worse in the recent days. She knew the implication and problem that dating would cause, if he even returned the feeling and so she did all she could to keep it secret. Hoping it would one day fade away and it was indeed a small crush, nothing more. At least when the others were around, she was capable of keeping it together and not making a fool of herself.

On the fourth day, Scotty was on the porch watching the surroundings with Gabrielle next to her, enjoying a lemonade. It was rather warm today but that didn’t stop Ghost from still wearing his mask while chopping wood. “At this rate, Nathan won’t have to do anything until winter next year.” Gabrielle snorted. 

“I’m sure he will appreciate the time off. More time with the kids, unless he enjoys all the hard work.” She teased. Taking a sip of her drink, Camille gaze lingering on Ghost from afar. Only with a t-shirt on, his muscles tensing and being defined at each movement, his tattoo out in the open, the fabric tight on his chest as sweat made it stick to his skin. It was a sight for sore eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes off him even if the more she watched the hotter the weather was. Or it was her. A little detail Gabrielle noticed and was too happy to point out.

“Someone is in love.” She teased, nudging her. Camille turned fast to her with a glare and red cheeks.

“I’m not!” 

“Oh please, you have this look you always had when you were looking at your crushes. You can’t fool me. What are you finally settling down after all these years? It’s about time.”

Camille took another sip of her drink to cool off a little.“I’m not like I used to be in the army. I calmed down a while ago, you should know. But even then Gab. It’s not like I could do anything about it for a various number of reasons. There’s rules! Anyway, it might pass.”

Gabrielle nodded, not believing her entirely on the idea that it would pass.. “But seriously from all these men, you go for the one with that creepy mask, who barely talks and feels he could kill you in your sleep. You are weirdo.” Camille laughed at her insult and nudged her. She missed their casual teasing.

After a week, everyone was rather itching to go back into action. Vacations were always welcome, but most of the days were the same because no one could go out to town for a change of scenery. It was getting boring. Till the woman of the house took Scotty aside. Nathan had left earlier this morning without saying why. While the men were talking about something, Gabrielle spoke up about a little detail that was worrying her. “Camille, listen, we might have a problem.” 

“If it’s money, I can help. Just tell me and I can pay for it.” Camille did agree that all five of them did eat their fair share of food with not so small portions. She did feel bad for her sister, however also teased her that this was only a trial to show her how it will be when the kids will be teens. 

“No not that, although I wouldn’t refuse that. But that’s not it! If you wanted to keep us a secret, it might be complicated. Nathan’s parents called. The twins were at their place for two weeks and there was a problem in their house. The boys have to come back home.” The information hit Camille like a rock to the face. Gabrielle and her husband understood the importance of playing along but her nephews? Not a chance they keep it down. She let out a swear loud enough that even without understanding the language, the 141 turned their heads. She gestured that it was nothing. Her sister confessed that Nathan should be back in an hour or less by now. Scotty’s heart sank down her feet. She had barely time to make a choice. Either tell her teammates about her family and trust them or say nothing and hope to catch the kids before they come in. However Gabrielle wasn’t too keen on allowing her children to lie when she always told them it was bad. But was it so bad if it meant to protect them? Gabrielle apologized for putting her in such a situation on short notice, but they themselves learned about it only last night, hence why Nathan left so early in the morning. 

Scotty took a deep breath and joined in the conversation of the boys. However it was easy to see her uneasiness. Price’s mind raced to try to figure out what could cause this. Would they need to leave this place? Wouldn’t be surprising. Did things turn sour and they will have to remain hidden longer? No, he would be the first one to know. “Everything is alright Scotty?” 

“Well, I don’t know how to explain this.” She started. “You know we all have our secrets right… Things we don’t want others to know, like Ghost and his face.” It made them laugh, except for Ghost who crossed his arms.

“Just spit it out, sergeant.” He said, rolling his eyes. Scotty opened her mouth to explain. The door flung open with a man shouting in the back and two small humans bursted in. 

“Auntie Camcam!” They both shouted jumping on her, completely ignoring the four men sitting on the couches. All of them looked at her surprised and she timidly smiled. The kids started to ask her plenty of questions till one of them noticed the 141 and they went silent quickly. The twins watched each man carefully. They looked like giants! One of the boys grabbed at Camille's jeans half hiding behind her, while his brother looked much more enthusiastic. 

"La tête de mort il est trop cool!" He said pointing at the masked man. Ghost tilted his head to look at the boy. It was his usual look, nothing out of the ordinary. But the twin hiding being Scotty started to sob. She quickly kneeled to his level to reassure him.

"Je veux pas que la mort t'emmène!" He started to cry. She hushed him, promising that this was not Death but just a man with a mask.

"Tout va bien Mathéo. Il ne te fera rien." Camille said, kissing him on the forehead. Mathéo stuck his tongue out at him, still upset and ran to his mom. The 141 looked at her eager to know what just happened. Even if they had a little idea. 

"Nicolas found Ghost cool while Mathéo thought you were Death coming to take me. I had to reassure him that that was not the case." Soap didn't hold his chuckles as she translated. Neither did Gaz and even Price had an amused smile on his face. 

"Maybe Lt should take off his mask or the lad won't come out ever again." Soap teased. Ghost shook his head and firmly reiterated that the mask stayed on. Gabrielle hushed the boys to their room, leaving the task force alone. Scotty felt very uneasy at the moment. The silence was heavy.

‘’I took a risk by bring you here, but this was the only safe place I could think of back then.’’ She let out after a while. “I really wanted to keep it a secret.”

‘’Everyone wants to keep their family safe, especially with our job.’’ Price reassured her. ‘’That would explain why they have been so kind to keep us for so long.’’  

Scotty chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. It indeed explained a lot. Even if she knew that they had no issue with that, Scotty was torn between everything. She never planned on revealing the location of her family. It was a calculated risk that she thought of with a very tired mind when it all happened and yes when her sister admitted that the twins weren’t home, it did sound like it would all work out for the best. The sergeant just wanted everyone to be safe on all sides. She barely knew the 141, only for a few months and she knew she could trust them in a way, but Scotty still had this feeling that she did something wrong. Even her old colleagues only knew she had family somewhere and that was it. They never saw a picture, even less met them in person. But what was done was done, she can’t change anything she might as well live with it and hope for the best.

Later that night, they were all around the table for dinner. Scotty didn’t have a second for herself. Flanked, surrounded, ambushed with the twins who kept asking questions about her work and babbling about what they learned at school recently and what they were doing at their grandparents. Gabrielle had to intervene so they would let her eat in peace. The sergeant said that nothing could surpass the children's interrogation which made everyone laugh.

Scotty went to grab a plate that was slightly further from her. Ghost, noticing that she was obviously struggling to get it, kindly helped by handing it. For a second, their fingers touched each other. Scotty thanked him, her cheeks already coloring with a soft pink. A reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by her sister, nor nephews. Mathéo tugged on her sleeve so she could lean and he whispered in her ear. Whatever the little one asked, it was enough to make her face turn red and straighten up quickly. 

“What did he say?” Soap asked amused. 

“N-nothing! Nothing important. No Matt I-I don’t.”

“But you are all red just like when mom gets a compliment from dad!” That remark made his parents chuckle as well. Camille suddenly really wished this dinner could be over already and was oh so glad none of her teammates knew French. At least the rest went without an itch. After dessert, Nicolas tried his best to interrogate the rest of the task force. Mathéo on his side simply stayed in his aunt’s arm in silence, listening. Soap and Gaz answered to the best they could, having some fun along the way. Making their stories more unbelievable sometimes as well as much more kid friendly. Price shook his head with a smile. To Scotty this moment reminded her when her dad would be telling her stories of his deployments. These were the days, the innocence of a child. Eventually, the twins crashed from their busy day. Their energy completely drained and they passed out quickly. The parents picked up their children and brought them upstairs. 

After an eventful day, Scotty needed a break. She headed outside, walked a few meters away from the house and lay down on the grassy ground. It wasn’t comfortable but the view made it all worth it. Being far from any town, Gabrielle’s house offered a clear view of the stars. Left alone with her thoughts a lot of turmoil resurfaced. On one hand she felt like a hypocrite to be demanding to protect her family when she was the one who took the decision, on the other she knew it would all be fine. Did she regret bringing the task force here? A little perhaps. But at the time, it was the only safe place she knew of and they needed it. Would she do it again if a situation demanded it? Most likely. The safety of her teammate was as important as her family. Deep down, Scotty was aware that this need to keep her family secret came from make up scenarios, horror stories she heard again and again in the past years. There was no need to be so mysterious about her loved ones. Most of her work was done in the shadows rarely engaging with any enemies who would make retribution 

But. 

What if? The lingering question that made her so worried. She let out a deep sigh as the turmoil cleared out of her mind leaving her alone with the stars. The sound of the crunching peebles and gentle rustle of the grass caught her attention, but she remained in her position. Whoever it was, it was friendly. The smell of cigar gave away who stopped next to her. Scotty started to push herself to sit, but Price gestured to stay still. With a groan, he saw on the grass, arms resting on his knees. “It’s a nice view.” He simply said. 

“The first time my sister invited me to her house after they bought it, I spent all night outside.” She smiled. They remained silent for a little while. 

“I understand it might have been a hard call to make, but I’m glad you did so. Scotty, you know we won’t betray your family.” Price said casually blowing off the smoke. “No matter what.”

She pushed herself in a sitting position. “Thanks Cap. … Can I speak freely sir?” The captain nodded. “If anything happens to them, you are the first ones I’ll go after, no friendship will change that.”

“A little dark side of yours?” He had a playful grin on his face. She returned the playfulness, but Price knew she meant what she said. “I promise it will never come up to this, lass. No worries.”

As they watched the sky they saw it. A shooting star flew in the dark blue. Jokingly Scotty told the captain they should make a wish. Price scoffed. They stargazed a little longer, till maybe five minutes later, his phone buzzed. The brightness of the device illuminated his face, he had to squint a little the time his eyes adjusted to the light. A heavy frown lowered on his eyebrows. An unknown number had sent him something. You and your team are cleared and can return home. Laswell sends her regards. Tell Kabouter hello, she will understand.

Price read the message out loud to the sergeant who couldn't help herself but chuckle at his pronunciation of kabouter. “Who is that?”

“Someone we can trust, captain. An old friend of mine at the BSF.” Scotty stood up and dusted herself off. “I suppose it’s time to go home.”

“I know some lads who will be happy to.” Price stood up a few of his joints cracking. Years of hard work.

****

When the news was brought to the others about their probable departure, the rest of the task force was rather glad that their unprompted vacation came to an end after only a week! Laswell eventually contacted the captain with more information and where safe areas they could reach to return to England. They would need to find a way to reach any of them which was a little logistic problem but they can figure something out. Gabrielle, although sad to say goodbye to her sister, was also happy to see them leave. There were a lot of people in the house for far too long. The only two who were devastated by the news were the twins. They barely had the chance to see their aunt long enough and they just met these four awesome men! It took a little time to make them understand why they had to leave. 

They finally embarked on a plane in a military base nearby who could provide them transportation back home. In a little more than an hour, everything will be done. The five of them allowed themselves to completely let the pressure down, relaxing at the thought of home. 

“So who wants to join in for a drink?” Gaz proposed as they barely stepped a foot on the tarmac.

“Didn’t we spend enough time together?” Scotty chuckled and threw her bag over her shoulder.

“Aye! Count me in.” Soap replied. “Come on Scotty, one drink and then you can go home.”

She lifted her finger to emphasis on the only one drink. The captain excused himself, rather liking to get on with some paperworks. They shouldn’t forget about it. Ghost was on the same page as Price. Ghost passed behind her and stopped for a second. “You have a nice family.” was all he said in a monotone tone. 

Scotty was a little taken aback by this comment. What did he mean? Why? Nonetheless. “Uh thanks sir.”

Her eyes lingered a little longer on him as he walked away, discreetly biting her lower lip till Soap pulled her out of whatever thoughts that were forming in her mind. Right, drinking with friends now, thinking about her crush, later.

[glitter-gutzzzz]

A dark and stormy night (Cliff Burton x reader)

author's note: This is the fic I was talking about in that post I made last Sunday. I finished it last night, I'm finally (somewhat) happy with it. It's been storming a lot where I live, cant really go out much, so I was inspired to write something about it. I'm sorry that there's no cute banner or whatever, I don't know how to make those yet ˙◠˙ Anyway, enjoy this cringe, lol.

summary: a typical hangout with your friend Cliff during a thunderstorm ends up leading to something more.

warnings: none, really, except a very brief mention of alcohol and cigarettes? It's just tooth rotting fluff, lmao

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚

The sound of rain drops against the living room windows coupled with the occasional roll of thunder in the distance created a sort of hypnotizing white noise, nearly putting me to sleep.

Cliff and I had been chilling on the couch in my living room for a little while now. We were just hanging out, not really doing anything, but still enjoying each other's company. Earlier in the evening, we were watching some crappy horror movie he had rented and laughed at till our sides hurt.

The film had ended a while ago. We had our fun. Now, it was just us in our little bubble, and the storm outside. The only light in the living room came from the dull glow of the TV screen and the sporadic flashes of lightning outside.

I made myself comfortable on Cliff's chest. He was warm and comfortable, and made for a perfect pillow. The steady up-and-down motion of his breathing was extra soothing, too. He just has this sort of energy to him that made me feel so safe. I rested my chin on his chest so I could take a peek at him. He seemed to be fast asleep. Eyes closed, arms behind his head, and a peaceful expression on his face. He looks so sweet, I thought to myself.

A smile slowly creeped onto Cliff's face as he opened his eyes. "You having fun there?", he jokingly asked. I guess he wasn't as fast asleep as I thought. Feeling more than a little flustered, I hid my face in my hands. "Sorry! You just looked so relaxed." He laughed lightly, and the sound was music to my ears. "It's all right. Not the first time I've caught you looking."

I felt my face heat up as he said this, and I attempted to cover my face even more. Cliff stopped me from doing so by taking my hands in his. "So....you know?" I timidly asked. He just nodded and kissed my hands, which kind of tickled because of his moustache. I couldn't help but giggle.

My attempts at hiding my love for Cliff had failed, it seems. He's just far too observant.

"How long have you known?" I asked again, though my shyness was slowly dissipating with every kiss he placed on my hands. "A good long while. I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever tell me!" He flashed me a grin as he answered, that adorable grin that never failed to melt my heart. "I was afraid I'd ruin our friendship if I told you. You're so special to me, Cliff, the most special person in my life. I didn't wanna ruin our friendship if I ever told you.." I sort of trailed off and looked away from him.

He gently turned my chin so that I'd face him again. His expression looked to be the most focused I'd seen him all night. "You're not ruining anything. I love you, too."

Pure joy overtook me as I closed the gap between our lips. Kissing him was even better than I had imagined. I didn't care that he tasted like cigarettes and beer; in the moment, he tasted like absolute perfection. I felt his arms wrap around my back as the kiss deepened. I wish that moment could've lasted forever.

We stopped to take a breather and started giggling like idiots when we realized how disheveled we both looked. Cliff looked utterly gorgeous; messy hair, blown out pupils and all. "That was...." I started, but I struggled to describe the happiness I felt in a single word. He ran a hand through his long hair and sighed in contentment. "Yeah. I know." There were no words that needed to be said, it seemed. The two of us were on the same wavelength, and we both knew it.

A low rumble of thunder interrupted our little moment, reminding us of the downpour outside. Cliff turned his head to look out of one of the living room windows into the rain. "Doesn't seem like the rain's gonna let up anytime soon" he spoke softly. I only hummed in response, feeling that drowsiness from earlier coming back to me. "You don't mind if I stay the night, do you?" I heard him ask. I could hear a smile in the way he spoke.

"Nope. Not at all."

Thanks for reading! ♡

[violetsareblue-selfships]

#16. Candy / Illusion

Selfshiptober 2024 | [WC: 536] / i'm so happy i got to post this on his birthday :3 anyway it's just fluffy so i hope you enjoy it <3

April stifles her giggles by popping a piece of chocolate in her mouth, trying not to blatantly stare at the bunny ears made of shadow she'd created to nestle in Xavier's fluffy hair. What she doesn't know is he can tell it's there. Not that he can feel it per se - her shadows have a slight chill to them but it's more that he can see her eyes flicking up every so often.

Plus… well, he's used to her antics. Every version of her has been the same, after all.

He plays dumb, tilting his head and giving her those eyes that she claimed reminded her of a golden retriever. "Is there something on my face?"

Her hair flies wildly as she shakes her head, and he chuckles, tucking a bit of it back into place. "No? Then what has my star all giggly, hm?" He asks, smiling as he notices heat rise to her cheeks.

Her expression wavers and she lets out a little sigh, pulling out her phone and pulling up the camera, turning it around so he can see them. It makes Xavier snort softly. "I see."

He unwraps another chocolate and holds it to her lips, brushing his fingers along her cheek once she's taken it from him. What looks like stardust lights up on her cheeks, glowing a soft gold that manages to draw her attention.

Her eyes brighten when she turns the camera on herself, and the glow of the little specks of light reflects in her eyes. "Pretty… what else can you do?" She asks. She's used to the blades of light he uses to fight with and even the way he can suck all of the light out of an area much like she can with the shadows.

"Hm…" He holds his hands together, a soft glow seeping from the gaps between his fingers. When he pulls the top one away, the illusion of two flowers rests on his palm - one carnation and one wavyleaf sea lavender.

Her heart flutters as she recalls his flower's meaning -- eternal love. He really can be so sweet…

April holds her hands out flat in front of her, shadows rippling over her palms. They slowly form the shape of a heart with a little X + A inside the shape. Cheesy, it may be, but it still makes Xavier's heart catch all the same.

"Cute," He murmurs softly, and she feels like melting at the weight of emotion in his pretty blue eyes. "You and the heart."

Her cheeks heat and before she can find some way to distract him so that her heart can settle again, his eyes have left hers to survey the candies laid out, some bags still unopened. "So, which one would you like me to try next?" He asks.

He may not be the most fond of candy - at least compared to meat dishes and other desserts. But he's always interested in knowing her interests, whatever they might be. And when his question makes her eyes light up again as she struggles to pick the next one, he knows he's hit his target right on the mark.

Anything to keep his starlight happy.

[lisa972kdlz]

(It's translated from French, I hope there aren't too many syntax errors ^^" In any case, enjoy your reading !)

Dreamtale Theories:

Here's a list of a few theories about the Dreamtale Lore, this story leaving some very interesting gaps to try and fill. Philosophical and scientific thoughts helpt me to concretise these ideas, but although I've been inspired by them, it's not with these points of view I'm going to develop, but rather a purely artistic point of view. Little by little, philosophy and science have been lost in my ramblings, giving way to imaginations that seemed to fit together. Artists imagine. They cheat, they lie, they don't care much for concrete realities. In the end, the only science I get into position on is the elements of the Dreamtale canon, at least those I've managed to pick out. Perhaps I've missed some information that would disprove these hypotheses, in which case it would be courteous of you to let me know.

On a more chill note, say I'm just a teenager with a overflowing mind who loves to come up with crazy theories with whatever I can get my hands on, and I write this mainly for fun ^^

In fact, I don't think for a second I'm right, so I don't know if I can call those theories... Maybe speculation ideas about Dreamtale I wanted to share? Almost headcanons, but still based on concrete elements of the canon.

So let's go, first theory!

☁︎ Canon/Fanon:

For starters, why do I insist so much on canonicity? Because when it comes to Dreamtale, the boundary between Fanon and Canon is not always well understood, given that there are a lot of preconceived ideas on the subject.

The fact is, I see Dreamtale's Fanon and Canon as two completely separate worlds. And yet, understand that I hate adhering to variants of this and that for anything and everything. The idea of viscerally separating the Canon and Fanon sides of an oeuvre makes no sense to me, especially in an open world where each universe is a piece of a larger puzzle, where the world we're presented with is meant to be a huge playground.

And at this stage, if we do that with this universe, we could do the same for all the existing stories, no? Nevertheless, for THIS world and this world in particular, I think it's important.

For there is a crucial difference between C!Dreamtale and F!Dreamtale, a difference that completely alters the interpretation of the oeuvre. Fanon doesn't just make a few interpretative changes... He changes the very nature of a character: Corrupted Nightmare. And that, well... It's a bit complicated not to separate the two, especially when the Fanon version is so popular... Canon, he is dead and his body belongs to another character who has his own personality and background. Fanon, he's alive. Trapped, imprisoned, manipulated, split into two personalities (Night and Mare) or fundamentally evil, depending on the case, but alive.

Night is experiencing a bit of Asriel syndrome: it was because Undertale fans couldn't accept his death that the first AU's were created. And for Dreamtale, there was such misunderstanding about this (Because reading the Prologue, everyone agreed that Corrupted Nightmare was...well... Nightmare), that the majority think this is official. (It has to be said, it wasn't evident let me reassure you...)

To this we can add the fact that most of the time, in very fanon fanfics and fancomics, the other two trees don't exist or are never mentioned, that Corrupted (I refuse to call him "Nightmare" simply because he isn't Nightmare) isn't a real person or doesn't exist at all, that Dreamtale is an AU of Undertale, so made up of codes like the other AU's, but all that still depends on people's interpretation and knowledge of the real Dreamtale.

To put it more bluntly, and if the boundary's still unclear: F!Dreamtale is a part of the Undertale Multiverse, while C!Dreamtale is its own universe.

Since I like both aspects equally, and in order to get everyone on the same page, I've come up with a mini theory:

Dreamtale Fanon, being the Dreamtale developed by fans based on the belief that Corrupted Nightmare is more or less Night, has strayed so far from its original story (it focuses more on the "broken brothers" relationship of the twins, their mutual development and their relationships with the characters of the Undertale fandom), that over time, by putting down roots in the world of Undertale and through the influence of the creators, Dreamtale would have "split." This double would then have merged with the codes of the Undertale Multiverse, because Dreamtale was so well integrated into it that this version of it ended up becoming imprinted on the very core and codes. That's why, in F!Dreamtale, we don't always mention the other trees, since they never joined the Undertale Multiverse. Even we NEVER mention them in Dreamtale's AU's like Swapdream or the alternative Multiverses like Dreamswap, Swapverse, etc. That's why Dream and Nightmare exist in the alternative Multiverses,AU's and not the rest (Vampireverse, Empireverse, Minuscultale and so on).

The result is two Dreamtales:

The Canon Dreamtale, which belongs to Joku,

The Fanon Dreamtale, which belongs to the Fandom Joku too.

Well yeah, it's still Dreamtale, so it still belongs to Joku, no matter what haters want ◖눈ᴥ눈◗

Duh.

Also, this definitely doesn't prevent fanfics from being based on C!Dreamtale, it's even advisable to give it the prominence it deserves. Hence the idea of completely separating these versions, because fans can make fanfics about the Canon, and although it's fanon, it won't be similar to the F!Dreamtale version at all.

Two worlds taking different thematic paths created on the uncertainty of Night's death (like a "Schrodinger's Night" ͡° ͜ · ͡°).

Next theory!

☁︎ Tree of Feelings/Creators link:

This is a question I picked up when wondering about Dream and Corrupted's various attacks. Where Dream needs a body to hold him together, Corrupted has so many black apples that he can physically hold himself together without a body, and more or less correctly. Do positive and negative energies function differently? Is it because Corrupted has more apples that he holds on better? What is positive and negative energy in Dreamtale's Lore?

At the beginning, I'd started from the principle that Energy with a big E, being what makes up absolutely all existing things, humans and monsters alike, could be used by Dream and Corrupted to be converted into either magical energy or physical energy. As Dream only holds one apple and enjoys a body, he'd mindlessly convert his energy into magical energy, which is why he has a soul similar to human's souls and why he's able to heal as green magic does, or cause damage as white magic does. For Corrupted's part, possessing no body of his own and having amassed enough power from his hundreds of apples, he would have to convert negative energy into physical energy. This would require a great deal of power and would therefore explain why, despite he's stronger than Dream, he's not 999X stronger than him. He already uses a lot of his energy simply... Holding on without melting.

I also theorised that if one of them were to acquire all the apples, not only would it have a stable body, but it would also be able to convert this energy as it saw fit. Corrupted could then generate magical attacks AND have a physical body.

The trouble is... Dreamtale isn't actually part of Undertale. So there's no Magic,Physics duality. And even assuming that Dream converts that energy into magical energy because he's unconsciously copying the way his adopted world works, he's still canonically attacking with positive energy and not MAGIC made from positive energy. Energy comes in many forms, but I don't think he can control it in such a pure form...

All this can still hold together, but what bothers me most is that pure Energy would have... A positive side and a negative side? And what's more, related to feelings? Why not, but I'm not really pleased with.

Dream and Corrupted's energy is material, palpable. Of course, we could stop at the fact that it's just a magical energy like we find everywhere in stories and not ask ourselves any more questions.

But I love wracking my brains to find answers to questions that no one wonder, so I'll keep going èwé–

What kind of energy would this refer to? Not energy in the scientific sense, because that's independent of any emotion, whereas in Dreamtale, positive energy, for example, is directly linked to positive feelings.

Because tree of FEELINGS–

The most plausible thing I found with is that positive and negative energies are linked to the spiritual energy: auras, meditation, etc. Proof of its existence is fairly hazy in the world of creators. But in the world of fiction...? What if? This energy of consciousness exists, whether it's real or not. And if it's not in the real world, as long as there are people who believe in it, then it's in the world of fiction. What if the fruits of the tree of feelings were the material manifestation of this spiritual energy produced by the consciousness of the creators? Just as a world is created by a creative mind, what about Dream and Nightmare were the guardians of the feelings of fiction as the direct embodiment of the emotions that creators instil in their work? This could be the reason why Dreamtale isn't made up of codes, because it's the direct embodiment of a philosophy and not just another fictional universe among many.

I can't decide whether it's too obvious or too far-fetched ^^". It was the concept in Underverse that made me think of it... There are references between what Nightmare implies in 0.6 and creators tearing up their own universes because they're filled with negative emotions. Underverse isn't canon, but there's nothing to stop this idea of the creator,feeling link being applied to Dreamtale.

Especially as it allows us to imagine something even bigger that could work in relation to the three trees...

But before that, a little theory about Corrupted, because the more we learn about him, the more this character becomes... Mysterious.

☁︎ Something is rotten in the state of Dreamtale :

Ever since I knew that the three trees were part not of the Undertale Multiverse but of all the other Multiverses, I've been wondering why it should be Corrupted who embodies absolute Evil and not someone else. After all, we know plenty of evil lords, don't we? Isn't it a bit pretentious to claim him to be above everyone else?

But one detail, one nuance, makes all the difference.

By definition, Corrupted does not embody Evil, but negative feelings. He embodies them because he has become their guardian, their bearer. What I'm trying to say is that black apples and evil are not linked... Black apples are not fundamentally evil. They have no conscience; they are neutral, they exist for balance and have a purpose of their own.

No, Corrupted is Evil for another reason. He's Evil because he's simply wicked. If the personification of negative feelings is evil, it's not because the negative emotions or the apples are mean, but because they are themselves corrupted, alienated by a consciousness that manipulates them irresponsibly. Why would the Entity feel hatred? Hatred and not despair or dread? Because he was already filled with hatred, or because he has a fighting personality that allows him to exploit this emotion for its dark projects. Is it a sign that Corrupted isn't worthy of being their carrier? After all, he's not their basic guardian; it was Nim, then Nightmare.

In this way, that doesn't prevent him from being THE allegory on the scale of all dimensions (or of a large area of dimensions, if you don't like the idea that Dreamtale is linked to all fictional universes) , because the role relating to negative FEELINGS in a neutral behaviour is rather original. He's an allegory of negative feelings that doesn't need to be, and that gives a false image of what negative feelings actually are; the pejorative and common image we have of them. In reality, negative feelings are neither good nor bad; they mean no harm to others. The one who wishes them harm is the Entity, Corrupted.

He's a simple villain who has got his hands on power that doesn't belong to him and is out of control with.

...

Maybe not a 'simple' villain either?

Because, another theory, I think that Corrupted is this fourth guardian that Joku mentioned. Firstly because I don't know who else he could be, but also because he knows about the other dimensions outside Undertale. How would he know if he didn't come from outside? Who else would this fourth guardian be, and why would Joku mention him? What's more, a number of elements fit together with this theory, notably his strategy of manipulating Nim (Nim is far from stupid, and he probably wouldn't have succeeded so easily if he didn't already know a little about her), in order to create Dream and Nightmare, dividing positivity and negativity to undermine the pillars of balance, all with the aim of finding a carnal envelope and taking possession of the Tree of Feelings...

Like a plan that has been fine-tuned for years and years... Add to this the anecdote that the tree guardians are not the original guardians and that Nim learnt something awful about them before leaving for Undertale, and you'd think there was a rotten menace already pulling the strings in the shadows, long before our dear twins were born.

So what is Corrupted looking for? What's his ultimate plan? To spread negativity across all dimensions and reign supreme as a Living God?

A fine programme... But what if we took his ambitions one step further?

☁︎ Feelings, Life, Magic:

Why three trees? Why THESE three trees? Why place them at the centre of the Multiverse? Why are feelings, life and magic at the heart of the worlds? What link can we make between them?

Feelings, well ok, that works... Life and death, logical... Magic? Why magic? Magic isn't a necessary element in the Multiverse, sometimes it doesn't even exist... Why a tree of Magic and not a tree of Souls, or a tree of Virtues and Sins, for example? Undertale is very closely linked to magic, but that's not the case for all worlds...

This is where we come back to the idea that apples are the materialised forms of the feelings creators apply to their work... Does this also work with Magic and Life? Yes, it does. Trees don't just take care of Feelings, Life and Death and Magic... They reflect what creators need to create.

Feelings, as we've said, are exactly what it takes to find inspiration, to feed the imagination like maintain fire. As long as the feelings remain, so do the passion and inspiration.

Life, on the other hand, is quite simply what enables a work to exist, to remain. Life is the nest in which the spirit bathes, gathering together the experiences of the creator, housing and preserving them. You could also say that the more lives there are to witness a work, the more real a work is.

Inspiration, yes... The environment, all right... But what is needed to create something out of nothing? To make the unreal real? The immaterial material?

Nothing more than a little magic ✨ !

Not the kind of magic you find in fiction with wizards and pseudo-scientific logic, no... Magic in the sense of believing in something irrational. To believe that these worlds exist, to have faith without needing proof. Accepting imagination. Not in a religious connotation, but in the sense: Magic = Consenting Suspension of Disbelief.

Feelings: The fuel.

Life: The oxygen.

Magic: The spark.

Fire triangle is complete.

What if these three trees were the equivalent of the Triforce of Creation itself? Feelings to stimulate, Life to sustain, Magic to materialize.

What would happen if, by some mischance, an ill-intentioned person managed to seize the power of these three trees? What would be the consequences? In the end, perhaps this mysterious Entity wants more than just the golden apple in Dream's care?

And if these three trees work very well together, what would the fourth guardian be doing?

Would he be the original guardian?

Or the exact opposite of Creation: Destruction and Nothingness?

(Voilà! I hope theses theories will have interested you ^^ And you, what do you think? Do you have theories about what's going to happen in the Dreamtale sequel?)

Dreamtale belongs to @jokublog

[miyakuli]

Lake

The Lady of the Lake

Lake is a blend of postman's simulation and narrative fiction in which you follow Meredith as she temporarily takes over her father's job in her small home town of Providence Oaks. Through her encounters and contact with nature, she will be guided to make a decision about the course of her life. While Lake offers a relaxing experience that aims to provide a carefree experience, I still felt that the game lacked polish on a number of levels.

❤ The game has a very relaxing feel to it, with its laid-back pace, mountainous landscapes, work routine… it's all there for you to unwind. ❤ The graphics are superb, with magnificent panoramas and good lighting effects that add to the chilled-out feel. ❤ The dubbing actors are convincing and make their characters more endearing than they appear.

+/- The postman simulation is nice at first, very quiet and comforting with its daily routine … but it sorely lacks interaction and realism. Apart from the few main characters with whom we interact, the rest of the mail route will be a lonely affair, without even a small event with npc. Also, you can do whatever you want with your truck, and you'll never be penalized (no collision damage and driving the wrong way is no problem). So, after two weeks, the routine becomes boring. +/- The music is pleasant on the whole, with its pop and country tunes….but it's a good thing you can turn the radio off, because my God, it's always the same songs on a loop, it drives you crazy! +/- I found the character arcs rather charming and the connections between characters mostly work well (some more than others)…but 2 weeks with just a few little cinematics here and there to reinforce the links, I sometimes found that the developments were far too forced and too quick (you can find love and drop everything for that person in a few days, hats off!), for a game that aspires to take time for ourselves it's quite ironic.

✖ Body and facial animations are very limited, creating a big gap with the actors' performances. The characters all look robotic. ✖ Meredith is far too slow, the fast walk isn't one, we're dragging ourselves!! we could at least have made her run as long as the parcels aren't big. ✖ Lots of visual and texture glitches. ✖ I found the ending rather insipid; we're asked to choose the next step in Meredith's journey, but given the shortness of the game and the lack of development as mentioned earlier, I felt we didn't spend enough time to really feel the impact of this decision.

I would have liked to have enjoyed Lake more, with its soothing, feel-good atmosphere, but instead I found myself very divided, with the feeling that the game wasn't quite up to scratch both technically and in its storyline. But I can't deny that the game did at least relax me at the wheel of this truck driving along the lake.

➡ My Steam page

[tieflingtareon]

There's Nothing Wrong Contemplating Gods (You're in the wind, I'm in the water)

[A 'My Love, Are You the Devil' prequel]

Chapter 3 | Words: 12k

Summary: "The past is lost to you. Let me clear up some mysteries, then. We share so much history." The history between Tir'yal, Child of Bhaal, and Enver, the Chosen of Bane explained in a non-linear format.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51625999/chapters/130498312

(Pre-Game Tir’yal :) in case anyone was curious)

The Dark Urge. What a ridiculous name. Is that truly what this 'Heir of Bhaal' went by? The fact that it took three of his own spies to even get that much information on him irked him. The first two had perished and been strung up by the docks - something he should have done himself, honestly, being bested so easily was shameful as a Banite - while the third had managed to make it back to him, enough to spill his findings in the sewers of all places. Of the man who lead the other group of cultists he had no reign over. Bhaal worshippers. Bane had insisted he keep an eye on them, and Enver had. The best way to keep an eye on a possible enemy was to find their home base. To stalk their shadow; which the Bhaalists made quite hard for him.

He wasn't quite sure yet what to make of the Bhaal cult, but so far, no one in his own cult had been targeted - outside of the ones he sent, but could he really call them true Banite's anymore? - and none of them had interfered with his own plans so...They weren't enemies just yet. This task felt beneath his status in the church, but if Bane wanted him to keep an eye on the Bhaslspawn, he would.

Though...it was exciting. A Bhaalspawn, roaming Baldur's Gate, leading a little congress of worshippers. He hadn't even been aware of any Bhaalspawns in the area. The moment he'd been told of the leaders heritage, he'd hit the shelves, reading up on whatever he could find about their history. It was interesting enough, but it made him weary. Most described them as compulsive killers, drunk on the euphoria of murder and intensely loyal to their God. Like always, there were exceptions, but...he wondered if this man was any different, if he could find any use of him. The spy that did return after a confrontation with one of his cultists had mentioned he spoke with a 'monotonous' voice compared to the frenzied murder hoard he led. He wasn't sure why, but that made him curious, for the man to use that descriptor of all things. Not 'chilling', or 'calm', or even 'curt'. Just...monotonous.

He sighed as he snapped his book shut and placed it aside.

He needed a way to breech the gap between them, without the Bhaalspawn or his cultists attempting to kill him point blank like the others. Something to create a bridge, create conversation - after all, with the resurgence of Bhaal worship, he couldn't afford to be on their bad side. This city was only so big. It would be a shame to have Bhaal's assassins slaughtering all he's worked for, all he'd done to rebuild Bane's church and gather it's worshippers beneath his order.

He may not be Bane's Chosen yet, but he made sure they all knew he would be, and he would be. He made sure they knew that he deserved their respect. He left the supreme title with another devotee, someone with more time on their hands, but even she answered to him, and Bane in turn, who often spoke his desires through him. He knew that's why the other Banite's heeded his words. Because they saw them as Bane's own, and he didn't bother to change their perception. His and Bane's interests were intertwined after all.

Power.

This Bhaalspawn could be a wrench in the cog of his well oiled machine if he went and killed someone important. Like himself. What could he possibly offer a child of a Dread Lord to gain his attention? To get him to stow away his blade? If only until Enver could find a weakness in his cult and take it out himself. Though, if the man proved useful, perhaps even open to an alliance...it wouldn't be the worst alliance he'd found himself in. Connections were connections, official business or otherwise. This could be an opportunity like no other.

The cult of Bane and the cult of Bhaal, in an alliance. Banites would have the spotlight, and Bhaalists would have their shadows. One could kill, one could cover up, could direct their blades into the right hearts...Enver could see it now. Murder and Tyranny; you could not have a bloodless ruling, a war without gore, and you could not have murder without the upper-hand, without power.

There might be use of the other yet. Bane was right to tell him to keep his eye on the cult. He would have happily discarded them without a second thought if not for spying in on them first. Now, he just needed to find a way to draw the Bhaalspawns attention. No point going through his followers - Enver would much prefer to speak to the leader, not his loyal mutts. It would be a waste of his precious time.

He looked down at his map of the House of Wonders, the notes he'd made when he visited last to look at the displays. Not all of it had been interesting, but he enjoyed note taking, not wanting to forget the minor details. His goal at the time was to look inconspicuous, like a standard journalist, but the true task at hand was mapping out exits and entrances. He wanted deeper inside. He wanted to see the technology they hid deeper within, what the Gondians were working on behind the scenes.

He wanted to see it for himself, to put it simply. And take whatever might be useful to him. His mind hungered to expand his knowledge, and his hands itched to touch the creations they made in their holy temple. He was certain he'd find something worthwhile inside once there. He rarely came out of a heist empty-handed or dissatisfied.

The tip of his quill stopped beside one note and smirked.

Ah. That might just work. A common goal.

He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and got to drafting out a letter to the Bhaalspawn. Compulsive killer or not, every man had some amount of pride in their legacy, and their history.

****

His messenger had not returned. He didn't expect him too. But he damn well expect the Bhaalspawn to read and respond to his letter, especially after a tenday had passed. He'd told the young man very strictly to hold it out to the 'tallest horned figure' when he entered the sewers - the only description he got out of his spy. To ask for the 'heir' should he come across any masked figures. He supposed there was no guarantee of it getting to him, realistically, but it annoyed him nonetheless. If he knew where the temple was, it wouldn't be an issue, but he didn't. The secret was wrapped up tight, and anyone who went looking did not come back. All he knew was that it was likely in the sewers, because the Bhaalists did not seem to reside above ground unless out for a cull. Not that he'd be able to check for their residence anyway, not with all of them wearing masks like most assassins, shielding their identities.

How on Toril was he supposed to get his message to him? Go down there himself?

He grimaced at the idea. He thought he'd gotten to the stage in his life where he was above slums and sewers, but apparently not. Was he truly willing to give it a shot for some half-assed chance of an alliance? He gave it a long thought and sighed. Yes. Yes, he was. He'd done far worse things for less fruitful alliances in his youth. That should be taken as a lesson, but he supposed even he had his follies.

Having a Bhaalspawn owe him a minor debt for making him aware of his ancestors things being displayed for others to gawk at, even if there was no alliance, wouldn't hurt. Being on neutral terms alone would be enough, as long as he wasn't on his bad side. His spy had described the other as sounding rather young, yet he was leading the cult, and probably had for some time now, under his nose. Enver himself had come into leadership fairly young, both in his church and his profession as an arms dealer, so he could respect another young leader. He only hoped the other would live up to his expectations.

If he didn't, he'd find a way to remove him off the lanceboard, along with his cultists.

Enver picked up his quill once more and rewrote his previous letter, pausing at the bottom of the page when he went to mark his name. He hummed. Perhaps the man had received his letter and simply thought nothing of him. After all, who was Enver Gortash to a spawn of Bhaal, the child of a God?

He smirked. Was it truly a lie if he knew it was his destiny? When it had been promised to him years ago?

With utmost sincerity,

The Chosen of Bane,

Enver Gortash

****

As expected, the sewers smelt awful. He wrinkled his nose and took out a vial of peppermint oil from his pocket, dabbing some beneath his nose, if only to avoid a headache. He supposed he'd become a touch spoilt since his urchin days. He had much more money to work with now, finer things to wear, tastier things to eat. He didn't have to go cold or hungry or bruised.

He worked hard, and he still worked hard, but now he got to enjoy the benefits of all his labour. Like vintage wine and a tailor; and a cold, damp room that didn't smell like mould and rot.

Enver stepped cautiously over the slippery grime beneath his feet and grimaced, thankful that he had chosen an older pair of boots for this journey. He still tried to dress decently though. He was meeting someone quite important after all! Or, he wanted the other to feel as if they were important. Important enough to warrant him treading all the way down into the sewers of all places. The first rule of any dealing, any negotiation, was always to put your best perceived foot forward, but conceal your true playing cards. Look your best, talk eloquently, but don't give away respect until it is earned. Be polite, be humble but not too humble, one needs to be confident if they want others to be confident in them, what they can provide.

And of course, always get your end of the bargain before the other. Always keep your head about you. It's a hassle to chase up loose ends.

It was all a dance, really, and one Enver had spent years studying first hand, knowing his true goal, his destiny, was to sit upon a throne. Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate, Lord Enver Gortash. Perhaps one day, he'd even hold all of Fae'run in his hand. King Enver Gortash sounded just as delightful as Lord. Arms dealing was just another form of politics to him, and that's where he truly belonged. On top of the hierarchy.

Enver felt a change in the air, and trusting his instincts, he waited in anticipation. He didn't speak, looking out into the darkness. He should have taken a darkvision potion, he supposed, but what did it matter now? He strained his eyes as he searched the shadows. The drains above allowed moonlight to drench down upon him, helping somewhat, but not by much. If anything, the spotlight was on him, marking him a target to whatever was prowling around the rust and grime. His heart began to race, if only on instinct, before he pressed a hand to his chest, pressing down like he might be able to silence it.

"Tell me; do I have the privilege of being in the presence of divine royalty, or are you simply one of his many jesters?" He finally spoke up, going for an unimpressed tone. He did not appreciate being circled like prey.

He saw the pinpricks of orange and blue before he saw the man himself, the colour vanishing and the large body closing the distance between them with the swiftness of a feline despite the slippery terrain. He barely managed to throw up a barrier before the assassin was before him. The tip of his blade bounced off the surface, a low rumbling sound escaping the man. He was larger than Enver imagined, both in height and mass, his thick horns growing up towards the sky and curving outwards. Like scythes. Appropriate for a man who left a trail of death behind him.

The Bhaalspawn was a tiefling, he realised. He supposed it made sense. Bhaal had died, he had no more 'seeds' he could sow. Perhaps he dealt with a devil to make himself a new heir. An heir Enver had no idea about until recently. Why had it taken so long for his murders to be caught, to become spectacle?

The Bhaalspawn was wearing a mask that only left his eyes and a dark slope of hair that ran across his orange, almost red, eye for the world to see. He ran his blade along the barrier, digging into it, but it wouldn't budge. He looked at Enver, looking highly unimpressed.

"Wizard."

"I did not need a spell to keep you at bay. Not today." Enver nodded to the small contraption at his feet, one foot pressed on top of it, keeping the barrier alive. "It's magical, yes, but it requires almost no energy than creating a true barrier from scratch. Handy to ones who aren't as proficient with magic."

"Like yourself?"

"I consider myself proficient in anything I put my hands on, or my mind to." Enver smirked. "You were going to kill me, I assume?"

"Yes. Though, now you've quipped my interest. I think I'll take you back home and kill you slowly, open up your inside and take a look at your brain matter." The Bhaalspawn sounded almost amused, but his voice still held a monotonous edge to it. Unchanging, spoke clear and precise, with no room for emotion to effect it. He continued to test the barrier with hand and blade, curiosity in his glowing, mismatched eyes.

He seemed level-headed despite the blade in his hand, already bloodied by someone else's blood. Compared to the compulsive killers he'd read about in the line of Bhaalspawns, he seemed eerily calm. This was no mindless, murderous monster that the textbooks might lead others to believe Bhaalspawns to be. Enver was almost glad he came to visit him himself rather than leave another errand boy to it.

"That would be a waste. For the both of us." Enver pulled out the letter he'd written and quirked a brow. "I have something I think you'd rather like. Information on some...family heirlooms."

The Bhaalspawn glanced down at the letter and quirked a brow.

"...Are you 'Gortash'?"

"Ah, so you did receive my letter. It's typically frowned upon to not give a response, dear-" He paused and frowned. "What exactly do I call you?"

"The Dark Urge." Enver couldn't refrain from scoffing at the ridiculous alias.

"I'm not calling you that."

"Spawn of Bhaal works too. Prince of Bhaal is used occasionally." The Bhaalspawn walked around the sphere, dragging his knife along the surface. Enver watched him from the corner of his eye. Sphere or not, a threat was a threat. He would be a fool to treat the man like he wasn't one.

"I'm not asking for a title. I'm asking for a name. You know mine. It's only fair, to share yours."

"...Tar'eon, is a name I used to use. If that works for you. My true name can be hard for those who only know of the Common Tongue." Tar'eon came to stand before him, tilting his head. Those glowing eyes were rather pretty, when Enver let himself stare back into them. Terrifying, but in a beautiful sense. "I didn't read your letter. I didn't recognise your name, so it did not matter to me. I typically...receive mail to begin with. You're a persist man."

"I'll have you know, I am proficient in several languages." Enver smirked, something in his mind trying to wrap around the name and squeeze out it's meaning. Somehow, it felt familiar. "Infernal happens to be a favourite of mine." He glanced up at his horns pointedly, but the man did not react.

"What do you know?"

"Ah, ah, I've played this game before. You will not get the information unless I'm promised my life. I'll have to drop my barrier to hand it over, and we both know you'll have the advantage." His eyes travelled down the massive tieflings body and shook his head, as well as any passing thoughts that came with the glance over.

"I can't promise you much in return right now, but do believe me when I say we could be very good for each other." He smirked. "Two leaders, running two separate cults, hidden from the outside world? We're more alike than most would ever consider. The Spawn of Bhaal...and the Chosen of Bane. Wouldn't it be fun to see what we could do, if we worked together?"

"Now why would I ever work with a worshipper of Bane?" Tar'eon narrowed his eyes and Enver laughed. Even now, something was scratching at the back of his mind, demanding answers he couldn't remember.

"Why would I ever work with a Bhaalspawn? Simple. Because it benefits me, and in this case, it also benefits you. This letter will have the details. I'm sure you'll find me, should you agree to what I'm offering. I'm not the only one with spies after all." Enver doubted he would be left unwatched after tonight.

"So you're the one who keeps sending them."

"I wanted to keep an eye on you. I thought perhaps I'd be able to find your base of operations, watch you closely to make sure my own fellow worshippers or important people weren't being targeted - purposefully at least. The others you killed were barely Banite material, if they were bested so easily." He turned his nose up at the very mention of them.

The Bhaalspawn watched him closely, coming to stand as close as possible to the barrier, steel boots scrapping the floor.

"I'll let you live, and I'll read your letter, as long as you promise to end your search for my Father's temple. It's forbidden to outsiders. Unless you're dead." This close, Enver could see the hint of green within the glowing blue iris, the other like a flame. Those eyes...

It struck him like a hammer to metal, the realisation ringing in his ears. He knew those eyes. He knew that name. That scrap of steel was more familiar than anything else. Gods, to think after all this time...Even with the mask covering his lower face, the hood drawn up over his dark hair, he knew it was him.

How funny fate could be, to draw them back together after so long apart. The last time he saw him, he was been only eight years old. They had said goodnight outside the door of his house, his friend tall enough to steady the flower pot hanging from above the door, and he had ruffled his hair, before Enver walked back home alone. That was his last night in Baldur's Gate, before he was taken to the House of Hope.

He had never been the gentle sort, even back then. He had been just as 'wretched' as he was. They knew they were better than others, knew they were meant for more, both smarter than their peers. He had been stronger, sure, but it was Enver who aided his strengths. He used his skilled hands to craft things, even against his parents wishes. Like boots. Steel boots, worthy of a knight.

Enver smiled faintly. He might not recognise him anymore, it had been two decades after all. Remembering him was a miracle in itself. This changed nothing though. People changed, and so had he. If he stood in his way, he'd pick him off the board and toss him into sea, even if he'd feel a small ache at a wasted chance of renewed friendship. Recognising him had opened a flood gate of old memories he hadn't touched in years.

"Of course." Enver promised. "Consider it an oath. I keep my life, and you keep your temples secrecy."

"I suppose I have to honour it then. Consider the oath sworn."

Enver eased his foot off the device slowly, the barrier falling away. As promised, the Bhaalspawn didn't jump to stab him. He watched him as he leaned down to pick up the device, tucking it away and offering out the letter. A clawed hand took it, glowing eyes falling to the envelope before looking back at him, gaze feeling impenetrable. He obviously wanted to read it, but he was waiting for him to leave first.

"May our paths align, and may our endeavours be fruitful for the both of us." He bowed his head ever so slightly and smirked, taking a few steps back before chancing turning his back to the other and reaching for the ladder that would take him back up to the surface. He climbed up it and shoved the manhole aside before looking back down at the tiefling who was watching him. Like a panther, looking for a moment to strike.

"Have a good night, Tir'yal." He pulled himself out and closed the manhole.

He didn't even notice his slip of the tongue until he was back home, chuckling to himself. The little robot on his shelf gave a cheerful greeting to its master as he placed the barrier device on his pillow. He smiled at the robot and picked it up, thumbing over the gentle glowing light of its chest.

"Hello to you too, Borot. No visitors?"

"Not today, Creator!"

"Good." He placed the robot back on the shelf and idly undressed himself, considering what his slip of the tongue might cost him.

"He didn't tell me his true name, did he?" He was rarely that careless. He'd blame it on the surprise. It wasn't every day you met your childhood friend after two decades apart, and found out he was now a Bhaalspawn. Or, he supposed he always was.

"Not today, Creator!" Borot repeated. He only had a select amount of phrases now, but Enver intended to expand his vocabulary soon.

"You're right. Not today. But he did once...Set your alarm, Borot."

"Alarm set, Creator!"

"Good." With a sweep of his hand and soft incantation, the torches around the room died. He crawled into bed and sighed softly, holding the small square device in his hand, thumbing the pressure mechanism. Borot's light was as gentle as moonlight in his dark room, and he found himself drifting, slowly but surely. Borot would warn his master if anyone entered. He had his protection in hand.

He would just have to wait and see if the other even noticed. Wait for his answer. He'd be ready for him, should he come. When he came.

****

Tir'yal wasn't used to being caught off guard. It was unsettling to him. He was quiet as he peeled back the skin of a human man's submental space beneath his chin, more distracted than he liked while examining the man's inflamed thyrohyoid. He was long dead, but that didn't mean he didn't still have his uses. He killed in his Father's name, yes, but that didn't mean he could waste all the bodies he created to show his adoration, his devotion. There was always something new to discover.

Humans were common amongst these parts. He almost wished he had more variety in bodies in this city, but there was always travellers from all around Fae'run stopping in. They weren't missed, more often than not. With nimble fingers, he picked up his scalpel and sliced the inflamed muscle out slowly, careful not to disrupt the rest of the throats interior. Once he had it, he looked at it in the light closely, admiring the swollen texture between his thumb.

"Fel."

"Yes, Milord?" His butler appeared at his call and Tir'yal turned to look at him from over his shoulder.

"Put it in a jar for me. Keep it fresh." He'd have a closer look at it later, behind one of his microscopes.

"Oh ho, whatever my young Master desires." Fel chuckled and whisked away with the muscle. Tir'yal turned back to the body and continued to slice deeper into the throat, trying to find the cause behind the swelling, to find where it began, testing the movement of the larynx with two fingers.

He heard sopping wet footsteps against stone and turned to look at his sister.

"Blood kin!" Orin threw her arms open but he knew she would cut him if he dared to hug her. She was showing off the gore on her body, soaked in it. "I saw what you did with the spies. A splendid touch to your morose slaughters. I almost approve. I think I have you beat though, after tonight." She grinned, looking awfully proud of herself.

"I have no desire to challenge your creativity, sister. My artistic abilities still only apply to music and paint." He assured, but she only scowled. He never knew the right thing to say with her. Her emotions flickered from one end of the spectrum to the other in seconds.

"I should paint with your blood, brother." Orin dragged her feet forward and looked upon the body. "Playing doctor again?" She mocked in a sweet voice.

"Not doctor. More...mortician meets scientist." Tir'yal smirked. He enjoyed talking to her - sometimes. He supposed he never stopped looking for a sibling after he gave up his own to Bhaal. Orin wouldn't ever be Aelath'nus, but...nobody would, not really. Killing her would never fill him with the same feeling he'd felt when he killed his older brother.

He'd loved him. Perhaps more than a brother, but not exactly a lover either. He wasn't sure if that made him a worse person than he already was, or like every other Bhaalspawn. Incest wasn't exactly uncommon from what he had learnt in his own studies. You either lived long enough to fuck a fellow Bhaalspawn, or you were killed by them. Sometimes both.

Orin's hand run up his arm and she chuckled, looking down at the body with her pale eyes.

"I crave nothing more than to put your body on this very table and peel your skin from your muscle, to tear your sinews, to reach inside and twist your organs up into one big heart..." Orin's nails dug deep into his shoulder, but he did not flinch away, used to her antics. He looked down at her, watching for the moment when she'd choose to strike or step back. He would be ready for either, and he was used to both. Tonight, she simply laughed and walked back, hips swaying in tandem with her long braid.

"I have sated my thirst for one night. A crowd of noble drunkards, who squealed like filthy pigs as I scraped muscle from bone." She pressed her hands to her stomach, still wet with blood, and smeared it up her form, over her breasts and up her neck as she relished in the blood. Even if it was from pigheaded men who couldn't hold their liquor. "You may live to see another day, blood kin."

"Enjoy your rest, sister. I'm sure your murders were as beautiful as you are." He smiled faintly and looked back down at the body, slicing down the man's chest. He wondered how his rib bones would sound when snapping. If it would be more hollow or sharp, given his elder age. "Do not disturb me again unless you've come to ask me to wash your back."

Orin's expression twisted into something fierce, lips downturned and eyes murderous.

"Forget the days of youthful follies, brother. I need not for your help any longer."

"Yet I will still offer it to you, little sister." When he arrived, she had still been young. Barely thirteen. It had been a three year difference, but he always liked the idea of being an older brother, like Aelath'nus. Had he been like Orin as a child? So emotionally driven, so quick to anger, pouting and whining...

He didn't like to think too much on the past anymore. His home was with Bhaal, and he had given up everything he knew to have his love. His unconditional love, reserved only for the monster born from his gore. His one, true pureblooded child.

He couldn't exactly expect strangers to love him for forever, though they tried to assure him of that. But his blood belonged to Bhaal, and he was his Father's son. He could not deny his heritage. At least his foster parents would be remembered kindly. Nobody would remember them quite as fondly if he'd refused Bhaal's call back to home. That's what he liked to think, on nights were he got a touch too sentimental about it all. When he dreamt of the past.

He knew though, that what really drove him to Bhaal was the fact that he was offering answers, as well as love. All those urges, all the times people had called him a heartless child, a cruel child, had been explained simply by the sweet whisper of his Father's voice. Every time he'd lost control, where his vision had gone black if only for a few moments, were explained.

He sacrificed one family for another, another full of monsters like himself. This was where he belonged. This was his home. This was where he was truly loved, for all the rotten parts of him. They may not love the humane part of him that could not be banished or squashed, but it was easier to cover up the good in one's soul than the bad. All one had to do was take a moment to pause, to think, and you could turn away from doing a good deed. He could forget the voice inside that didn't belong to Father, but instead to the him that had died that day with his family.

Evil was not instinctive to him. It always required thought. At least, that's what he believed.

He snatched Orin's wrist before she could stab him and twisted her around, wrapping an arm around her throat as he squeezed hard enough to break her wrist should she not drop the knife. She didn't, and howled when her wrist snapped, the blade clattering to the floor as she struggled against him. He held her tightly though, arm moving down to trapped the other against her side.

"I will accept no challenge from you, little one, until you learn to show me some damn respect." Tir'yal growled into her ear and Orin whimpered, silence following the sound before she chuckled lowly.

"You broke my blade-hand, brother. I shall string you up by your sinews, should you let me go."

"Perhaps another day, when your blade hand can no longer be broken so easily." Tir'yal mused, not threatened in the slightest. He was used to threats against his life. He was either worshipped or loathed, or a mix of both. That was simply the fate of a Bhaalspawn. Orin's immature mind and diluted blood would never understand.

He eased his grip slowly and he raised her wrist up, larger hand still wrapped around the tiny thing.

"Shall I help you wash tonight, little sister? Like the old days?" He mused and she scowled, ripping out of his grasp and picking her blade up with her left hand.

"We aren't children anymore, brother. Should you desire this form in the nude, or any other, you will have to beg for it, like the pig you are." Orin smirked, hips swaying with the confidence of a woman as she left the room. Tir'yal could only see her as that little girl though, the one who had stared up at him with so much awe and envy when he came to the temple. She was still so immature and unable to see reason, to change in anyway that wasn't her surface skin, to learn...he had no interest in any form she could take.

He turned back to the body before him and stripped away muscle slowly from the bone, snapping them and setting them aside. Perhaps he'd make a new instrument from them. Indulge in the true music of this humans being. He reached for the cold heart in his chest and smiled, holding it in his palm before parting his lips and digging his teeth into the muscle and fat, letting the blood gush down his chin and wrist.

Not a single part of this flesh would go to waste. That was his promise to his victims. The ones who deserves it would serve a purpose after death, but they would all invoke something special within him. This ones purpose would be to sate his curiosity, and fill his stomach.

Once he was done, he'd spare a thought to the Chosen of Bane who knew his true name, and spoke it with haunting familiarity.

****

It took four days. Enver knew he'd find him eventually.

He felt a sharp zap of awareness as he woke from his rest, the warding hidden beneath the rug alerting him of an intruder. He whipped around and slammed the butt of his cane into the trespassers chest before he realised who it was, the Bhaalspsawn holding the other end tightly. Enver gripped the silver handle tightly and narrowed his eyes.

"It's rude to wake someone from their well-deserved rest."

"Couldn't risk you getting drool all over your papers." Enver tugged on his cane gently to test the give, but the masked man kept a firm grip. His brow twitched and with a proper tug, the Bhaalspawn relinquishing it to him.

"I don't drool."

"You do snore though."

"A couple of broken noses over a lifetime have natural consequences." Enver shrugged, standing tall before the other. He would not lie to the man. His business was a rough one at times. He had suffered more than his fair share of injuries in the past.

"I see." Tir'yals gaze fell down to his desk and rounded his chair to look at the hand sketched plans. He'd been marking entry and exit points, as well as where he'd noticed guards. The day prior he had watched them for hours, checking their rotations for a weak point. He'd found one. Alone, he could probably sneak through the mission, but if Tir'yal was to join him - he'd need to know how to avoid the most bloodshed. Not that that was necessary. He didn't care who they killed if it meant he got inside and got his hands on all that Gondian technology.

"Brother Toop's bones and Brother Eler's racks are on floor one. Why have you marked the opposite wing?"

"This heist isn't just to get your heirlooms back." Enver scoffed. "I have my own goals."

"Which are, wizard?"

"Artificer." Enver corrected with a scowl and Tir'yals brows slowly raised upwards.

"Ah. A tinkerer. You want the Gondian's tech." He was quick as ever. Enver's pinched brows smoothed out, expression more pleasant.

"Some tech, a couple books, maybe some blueprints..." Enver waved his hand like it didn't matter, stepping closer and tapping the entrance he had marked off. "They leave this door vulnerable during change over in the noon. It's a ten minute interval. We'll go in through there, and stealthily make our way in, and out, with what we both want."

"That's it?"

"It's a simplified version of the plan, yes." Enver shrugged. "I'll indulge you in the details after you assure me you're all in."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Tir'yal looked down his nose at the man and Enver felt a stirring of irritation. He did not appreciate the arrogance, but he supposed it made sense. He was a Bhaalspawn now, the leader of a cult. His old friend deserved a touch of arrogance. Even in the old days he'd been rather blunt and coarse, but always softer with him. Not kinder, simply...softer. Curbing the sharp edges of his personality just enough to not cut the younger boy.

He could set aside his impertinence, just this once.

"Yes. But I prefer verbal agreements. Written is even better." Enver smirked.

"Fine. I'm all in. The idea of Baldurian's gawping at Brother Eler's work, allowing it to rot, displaying Brother Toop's bones like the unwashed scum they are beneath my boot...I want to cut their eyes out and remove their tongues." He growled. It was the highest measure of disrespect in his mind, to be displayed after death and gawked at by those who would never appreciate the true beauty of murder, to be stared at by strangers with no love for the history of Bhaal's spawns. Little Toop the Brave should be home, amongst his collection, the bones of the kobold cleansed and respected, in the most beautiful mahogany grandfather clock so he may be remembered with every hourly chime. Eler Had's racks should be restored and put back to use, to honour his memory, to honour all the work he did in the name of their Father.

"I don't want this to be a stealth mission. I wish to savage the guards for entertaining the public with what belongs to my family. They made fools of us, turned us into tourist attractions - I shall give them all the entertainment they desire. The most bloody kind."

Enver frowned slightly. It didn't change much for him, honestly. He preferred skirting around fights, if only because he was more focused on getting what he wanted and leaving, but if his old friend truly wanted to get his revenge...well, he couldn't deny him that. It would be nice to see what he was truly up against, should things go south.

"I'll help you get your things back, but stealth would be preferable once we're in the Gondians quarters." He explained. "I'd rather not risk anything getting destroyed before I can make use of it. The Gondians are not on my 'need to die' list."

"You intend to make use of the Gondians?" Tir'yal tilted his head curiously.

"Perhaps. Depends on what I find." Enver smirked and offered his hand to the other. "For the time being, we're allies. Partners, if you will. It's a pleasure to have you on board, Tir'yal."

The tiefling narrowed his eyes and took his hand, shaking it firmly, grip tighter than he appreciated.

"How do you know that name? I never told you."

"Let's just say...we have history, you and I." He admitted before shaking his head. "But that's not important right now. The mission is. Should you still be curious once it's all over, perhaps I'll divulge more of our history to you, over a cup of wine." What better way to loosen one’s tongue and see their true intentions. A truth serum perhaps, or maybe he’d hide a mind reading potion in his own; take a peek into Tir’yals mind while they conversed. He would hate to jeopardise a good thing by forcing his tongue - it would be simpler to slip into that mind of his.

Tir'yals brows pinched, looking unimpressed. Enver attempted to pull his hand away, but the other did not let go.

"I'd prefer to know now."

"Have patience, Tir'yal. A good alliance is built on trust.” Enver chuckled, eyes narrowing ever so slightly despite his smile. He did not trust anyone as far as he could throw them. “I do hope you intend to return my hand. I quite like my hands, as do many others.”

Tir’yal gave a small growling huff before he released his hand, tail whipping behind him as he dragged steel boots across stone floors, looking around the office.

“I don’t like this. Allying with a Chosen of Bane.”

“Well, if it puts you at ease, I'm not. Not yet.” Enver admitted, hoping it would not lose him points with the other. “But I will be, in time.”

“You sound confident in that.” Tir’yal mused, a single claw dragging along the spines of his books. “Banites. Always so cocky.”

“I simply used the title to my advantage. You’re Bhaal’s spawn. I figured you’d only respect my request if I was a Chosen.”

“I’ll admit…I was curious. I’ve never met a Chosen before.” Tir’yal turned his gaze to Enver and the human tilted his head ever so slightly.

“You do seem rather sheltered, if you don’t mind me saying. I hadn’t heard of you until just a few months ago. The Bhaalspawn, Bhaal’s Chosen-"

“I’m not his Chosen.”

“Oh?” Well, that explained why his falsified title had not been considered by the other. “I’m surprised. Are you not his heir?”

“I am. I am the first pureblooded Bhaalspawn, and I will be the last. But I’m not his Chosen. Father says I am not ready. Not yet.”

“Well, I suppose I empathise with that. Bane insists that his blessing with come with time - but a mortal man can only be so patient.” He chuckled, trying not to let his resentment slip in. He had to bide his time until Bane finally bestowed his blessing onto him. Then, he'd truly be free. Once he was his Chosen, no devil would ever be able to touch him.

“I respect my Father’s wishes. He will let me know when he needs use of me. He often does.” Tir'yals tail gave a flick, something akin to annoyance before he turned towards Enver's window, still open from his entry. He climbed up and over the sill, crouching outside on the roof as he spared Enver a look. "I will meet you outside the House of Wonders tomorrow, at noon sharp. Do not be late, Banite, or I'll kill those Gondians too before you can make use of them."

"I am never tardy, my friend. I pride myself in being one step ahead. Of even the clock." He smirked.

"Just be there, Banite."

"You know, you could always use my name." Enver offered, irked by Tir'yals tone but not showing it. "We're allies now, aren't we? Temporarily, at least."

Tir'yal frowned but slowly, he nodded.

"I will see you tomorrow...Enver." He closed the window sharply and disappeared. Enver frowned a moment before a smile tugged onto his lips. Usually, he'd remove a finger or two for anyone daring to use his first name. He wasn't close enough to anyone to allow such a thing. Only Bane had the right, and that was because he was his master. His God.

But...whether he remembered or not, Tir'yal had gained the right to his first name decades ago. Enver could hardly be annoyed, even if he wanted to be. Tir'yal was his ally now, and hopefully would stay as such. He suppose one thing he could give him, was the right to use his true name, just as Tir'yal had given him the right all those years ago.

****

There wasn't much to it, in the grand scheme of things. He had met Tir'yal outside the House of Wonders, Tir'yal wearing his respective mask and Enver wearing his own hood to cover his identity. They had slaughtered their way through guards as the few civilians there ran for their lives. He had slipped away once they found the racks and bones, using an invisibility ring to hide himself as he explored the wing of labouring Gondians, Tir'yal assuring him he was standing guard of the door as he went through. Enver didn't need his assurance, if the man decided he couldn't be bothered to guard him, it would be no sweat off his back. He was more than capable by himself.

He managed to nick a few things without getting caught, but what really stuck with him was the craftsmanship of their work, their productivity. He had noticed many of them had pictures on their desks of family, of lovers. Enver had many ideas of his own, but it was hard to make them come to life when he had so little time to himself and only two hands. His fellow Banites had no knack for his talents in engineering. With a dozen or so extra hands on board, hands that knew what they were doing...

He'd keep their usefulness in mind. Their families. People were sentimental, even people who spent their whole lives creating non-sentimental machines. He was specialised in blackmail, and he had a very obvious angle he could work off when it came to the artificers working within the temple. The desire to create, and the desire to keep their families safe, should he even need to go that far.

When he finally left the wing and returned to Tir'yal, he kept himself hidden for a few moments longer than necessary to watch the tiefling who looked vigilant despite not needing to be. The Bhaalspawn was crouched over a fresh body he didn't remember leaving, the dead guard bleeding over silver boots.

"...You're not worth being savoured. Rot." He gave the body a sharp kick, his tail whipping wildly in obvious anger as he stepped back to his post beside the door. Enver waited another moment before he pulled the ring off his finger and tucked it away.

"I got what I came for. This partnership of ours has been most fruitful, son of Bhaal." Enver gave a dramatic bow of his head, hand raised as if to exalt him. "May we find reason yet to work together again."

"You still owe me answers." Tir'yal narrowed his eyes. "I expect them. You'll see me again. For now, I take my leave. I have to return my Brother home, as well as the racks."

"Well, do not let me stop you then. I will see you when you decide to grace me with your presence again. Ah, do be mindful of the window, though. I can't allow just anyone sneaking in, now that I know it's an option. A knock on the front door should suffice." He hadn't thought the window to be an option, it was hardly the easiest way into his office. Though, he had already booby-trapped the balcony, so...

"A door sounds mundane. I'd rather you not know I'm there until you do." He could almost hear the smirk in his voice before the tiefling walked away down the hall and vanished around the corner, leaving Enver alone. The artificer huffed a soft sound of amusement at the threat that didn't quite land like one. It felt more like an inside joke than a threat.

****

Enver had expected the Bhaalspawn to show up that night, but he was left feeling quite disappointed when he didn't. It wasn't until the next night that he slunk through his window once more, dropping his traps onto his desk where he'd just been writing. The Banite glared, annoyed by the petty action.

"You know tieflings have a natural resistance to fire." It was common knowledge, and he could tell Enver wasn't stupid.

"Resistance is not an immunity." Enver let the annoyance slip away, an easy smile curling onto his lips as he raised himself from his desk, picking up the disarmed traps and moving them aside as not to dirty his papers. He turned back to the tiefling and clasped his hands together in front of him.

"Care for some wine?"

"You promised me answers."

"I also promised you a drink. Come." Enver beckoned him to follow and didn't bother waiting to see if he would, moving over to a drawer. He opened it and pulled out a bottle of wine from the portable larder, before opening the cabinet beside the rack drawer to pull out two silver goblets. He only kept those two silver cups in the cabinet, along with one black chalice. That one wasn't available to guests though. That was purely for him to enjoy his wine during his midnight prayers. Bane may not be able to drink anymore, but Enver could indulge him through his own mortal palate, Chosen or not. Bane held his being tightly within his black hand, and he had ever since he answered his prayers in the House of Hope.

The least he could do was allow his God to taste an excellent vintage through him and his tongue. In exchange, he dealt with the sickening taste of smoke and thanked him for it. Small sacrifices were necessary in the grand scheme of things. They were worth the protection of his God.

"Do you prefer red or white?"

"I don't drink wine."

"Oh? Do you prefer beer?" Enver didn't have any, but he was curious. He had more than his fair share of beer and liquor in his life; sometimes a shot of whiskey was the only thing that could keep him warm for a night. It wasn't preference though. He much preferred wine, or even champagne.

"No. I don't drink alcohol." Tir'yal corrected.

"Well, I guess I'll have the honour of introducing you to the tastiest version of it." He chuckled and closed the drawer, the cork popping quietly as he opened it. He poured the wine into the two cups and offered one out to the other as he leaned against the small counter. "Go on. I'm surprised a man of your age hasn't had a sip."

"I have. I just don't like it." Tir'yal frowned and looked at the red liquid. It was Enver's personal favourite, but he was willing to share. If only to broaden Tir'yals horizons.

"Maybe you'll like this one." Enver nodded for him to take it and the tiefling huffed softly before taking the cup and hesitating. He turned away from the other and lowered his mask to take a sip. There was a visible shudder in his tail and Enver bit his lip to stifle a laugh. "Not to your taste?"

"No, it's...it's better than what I've tried, but not by much." Tir'yal admitted, glancing over his shoulder at the human. It was a surprisingly demure gesture for the large man.

"If you don't like it, don't drink it." Enver was many things, but he was not one to force inebriation on an ally. "I will happily finish it for you."

"No. I'll drink it." Tir'yal said with finality and wandered off from his spot in the room, his curious eyes falling back to the shelves of books. Enver watched his back, seeing as that was all he could see of the other as the Bhaalspawn continued to take small sips from the goblet. Enver slowly made his way towards his desk, leaning back against it as the tiefling scanned over titles. He still considered his option of using a mind reading potion, but he wanted to see how Tir'yal would react to their past first.

"Well?" The Bhaalspawn looked over to him, tilting his head, mask back in place. "Aren't you going to ask me what I know?"

"I was...distracted. You have an impressive collection. I can tell you enjoy reading."

"I do. I have since I was a child." Enver said, taking a swallow of his own wine. It was an ice wine from Neverwinter, one he had imported in for his own enjoyment. It was honeyed and richly sweet, leaving his breath feeling cold when he exhaled despite it being left at room temperature. That was the magic of Neverwinter wine. It kept it's rich flavour without growing acidic, and left a cold, refreshing aftertaste like drinking iced water.

"How do you know my name? Nobody else knows it, or uses it for that matter. Not even my Father."

"Is that why you go by 'The Dark Urge'?" Enver scoffed. "That's a ridiculous name."

"It's a title, more than a name. I didn't need one when I came to Father's door. Everyone knew who I was. I am my Father's creation. When I came to him, I was told to shed my old life and leave it behind me. So I did. I am Bhaal's spawn. His heir. That's all I need to be. I don't need a name." Tir'yal did not seem upset by this notion, simply accepting of it.

"I understand the worship of your Father, I do, but a name is necessary. An identity outside our masters is necessary. We may work in their names, but it's important to also work for ourselves." Enver took another sip. "How can we offer anything substantial to our Gods if we have no purpose, no sense of self? Blind worship is for the dimwits who have no ambition or intelligence, or anything real to offer in the first place, outside another empty soul."

"You seem rather confidant that that's what all Gods desire. Individuality." Tir'yal was looking at him now, and Enver chuckled.

"Bane likes that I have a mind of my own. We think similarly, of course, our values align, but...he knows I worship him for a reason. Sure, partly because he's helped me to get where I am, but also because I want his blessing. I want to be his Chosen, to have the power that comes with that, and I'm willing to work for it. I want to work with him, to create a brighter horizon for this city that I call home. I want to conquer it. Eventually." Enver shrugged with one shoulder and Tir'yal hummed, turning away once more to take a sip of his wine. His tail gave another small shudder and the menace in him wanted to pull it to see how he'd react.

"I suppose we're different, you and I. My God is my Father. Bane is not yours, and you aren't his, not in the way I am Bhaal's. I am still being raised to become the Chosen he desires. My purpose is Bhaal." Tir'yal shook his head softly. "I do not need a sense of self, or a name. I only need to be of service of him, until he gives me my final task."

"How dreary." Enver frowned and finished his cup before walking off to the bottle and bringing it back with him, pouring more wine into his goblet. "Whether you need a name or not, you have one. You have a brain, and a heart, and a body. Not sure on the soul thing, considering Bhaal made you, but nevertheless..." He smirked.

"What do you consider to be a 'sense of self' then?" Tir'yal asked, glowing eyes flickering over the other mans features.

"Simple. Who you are, who you believe yourself to be. Things that are unable to be striped away, because they are inherently ones nature. It's about the roles we take, the attributes we have, inherent behaviours we can't break. It's about what we consider most important about ourselves." Enver gestured with one hand as he spoke, a habit he'd had since childhood. Talking with ones hands distracted those who didn't care, and drew in others who did, making them focus more on what he was saying. He was finding himself quite enjoying the conversation, if he was honest. He rarely got to talk so openly about subjects that fascinated him, like technology and the human psyche.

"I consider my intelligence to be a very important part of myself, and it's something no one can take from me. I was born a genius, and I will continue to be. But, the life I've lead has shaped my behaviours as well. I'm hard working because I have ambition. My ambition is not Bane's, and I don't have them because I worship him. I like luxuries because I didn't grow up with them, not because Bane demands me to drink fine wine and wear expensive clothes. And I loathe small talk because I find it demeaning and pointless, not because Bane doesn't know the concept of small talk. These are things I can't deny about myself, that are not influenced by my God, so they must be a part of me - they must make up who I am, and that's the big question we all ask at some point. 'Who am I? And who do I want to be?'"

"...I had a life before Bhaal. I don't like to think too much on it. It's not who I am anymore."

"But who are you now?"

"I...I'm Bhaal's heir. A Bhaalspawn." He reverted to his previous answer, not meeting his eyes.

"I didn't ask what you are. I asked who you are." Enver shook his head, wondering if the hopeless man would ever understand what he was actually asking. It was no wonder he didn't remember him, if he didn't enjoy thinking about the past. Enver usually wasn't the type he enjoyed looking back either. Tir'yals tail wrapped around his ankle as he tapped a claw on the shelf before hesitantly pulling his mask down, the hood slipping down with it. He sipped the wine, bitter and sweet all at once.

"I am my Father's son. But I suppose I am also...Tir'yal. I like anatomical science. Figuring out how people work, internally. Looking at their brains, their organs, the muscles and bones..." He shook his head slightly and Enver soaked up the new features offered to him. He had definitely changed since he last saw him, features sharper, stronger - the skin was paler than when he was a child, probably because he stayed inside so much now. There was discoloration beneath his lips, and he wondered what it was from. He had noticed it on his hands, but he hadn't realised it was on his chin as well.

"I also like music. I can play almost any instrument given to me, but I prefer the flute...because it was the first thing my mother taught me to play. I like the colour green, but I wear red and black because it's easier to hide the bloodstains. I...I like killing only for a reason, rather than mindlessly and in droves like Father wants. I don't like wasting my victims, so I try to give them purpose, after death. I like to keep parts of them and wonder what life they led before I ended it."

"Is that who Tir'yal is?" Enver smiled softly and sipped his wine. He should be put off by his words, but somehow, it just reminded him of the boy he once knew, in a strange way. Quieter, softer, but still blunt and jagged around the edges.

"I'm not sure. I suppose so." Tir'yal looked down at his cup and finished his glass, coming closer and holding it out. Enver quirked a brow and picked up the bottle, letting the neck of it touch the chalice before he poured the other some more.

"Good?"

"Mm. It is, once you get past the bitterness."

"Bitterness? This is a desert wine, Tir'yal. It's supposed to be sweet."

"It is sweet. But also bitter." Tir'yal sipped slowly at the wine and looked at Enver from over the rim of his cup. He swallowed and tilted his horn ever so slightly to the right. "Who am I to you?"

"Ah, well...You're Tir'yal." Enver smiled, an easy smile he wore for many as he drained his cup and poured another. He never went past three, so it would be his last. He intended to savour it. "We knew each other before Bhaal. Before Bane. It was a long time ago; I doubt you'd remember. I don't remember much myself."

"How long ago?" Enver looked up, trying to calculate the years in his mind.

"Well...I think I was eight the last time I saw you. You're older than me, but not by much. You would have been about ten, I think. It's normal, not to remember that far back."

"Unless it's a core memory." Tir'yal corrected. "I was a core memory for you."

Enver resisted the urge to snarl, to tell him to shut his mouth, to silence the truth from his lips. He didn't like that he was the only one who remembered, not when it was put like that. Like he'd been hung up on Tir'yal for two decades, when he simply had good memory.

"My memory is superior to most. It's a part of why I'm a genius." He assured. "We lived near each other. Neither of our families were particularly wealthy, but I preferred what your mother made for dinner compared to mine." He smirked and swirled the wine in his glass, looking down at the tiny whirlpool.

"We were friends?" Tir'yal asked, eyes trying to pick out the others expression, to extract answers. "When we were children?"

"We were. We were each others...only friends." Enver admitted softly before scoffing. "Nobody else was like us. Nobody understood that we were made for greater things. Look at us now; we were right. You're the son of a God, and I am to be another Gods Chosen. We were right not to listen to them, to let them force us into their tiny boxes of mindless idiocy."

Enver barely suppressed a sneer, shaking his head and allowing the hatred of the past and his anger to fall away to the back of his mind. Cool and collected, as a Banite should be.

"We didn't need anyone else. We had each other." Enver explained before a smile curled onto his lips. "And we can have that again, Tir'yal. We worked well together the other day. We're useful to each other, and we already have an old foundation we can build off. Let us put aside our Gods and think for ourselves on this one. You have a mind of your own, even if you insist you and your Father are one in the same. An alliance like ours...what would it hurt to give it a try?"

Tir'yal watched the other intensely for a long moment before turning away and walking alongside the bookcase, scanning titles as he thought of a response. Enver scowled, not appreciating his offer being ignored, but refusing to be the one who spoke up first, lest the man assume he'd gotten under his skin.

"I don't remember our past. I can't say there's a foundation on my end, but...your offer is tempting. You're good at that, offering things - getting people to accept your offers." Like some sort of devil, luring others in with a deal too good to be true. Tir’yals thoughts were halted as he spotted a book of interest and pulled it off the shelf, reading the title.

“This book...In Father's dreadful name, it’s a first edition too. How did you get your hands on it?” Enver quirked a brow at the topic change and glanced at the cover, taking a sip of wine.

“Oh, it was a…parting gift, if you will.” Yes, a gift. That he took, before setting the mans house alight. That would teach the charlatan to try and go behind his back.

“…What would you like for it?” Tir’yal asked curiously, opening the cover to admire the signature on the first page. His eyes gained a gleam. He itched to take it home, to devour it ravenously. A book on Genasi's powers and differing biology wasn't easy to get his hands on naturally. He hadn't been able to kill one himself yet, they weren't exactly as common as some other races in the city, so he hadn't the chance to study one himself either. “I’d like to add this to my collection.”

“You mentioned enjoy anatomical science...are you a scholar of some sorts?”

“Hmm…in my own way.” He was more of a hoarder of knowledge, especially when it came to the scientific beauty of anatomy and biology. “What would you like for the book?”

“What are you willing to give?” Enver chuckled, amused by the others obvious desire to covet the book for himself. It was only habit to negotiate rather than give a direct price. After all, he cared little for the intricate workings of people, let alone Genasi's - he preferred machines. Machines were infallibly loyal to their creators, could be controlled without pesky things like emotions and sentiment getting in the way. They couldn't betray or kill you, unless you were stupid, which he wasn't.

Tir'yal seemed to consider his question, tracing a single claw along the edge of the hardcover.

"I could kill you for it." Enver barked a laugh.

"Now, that's no way to bargain. You need me alive - if you're intending to accept my offer. An alliance isn't much good if one of us is dead."

"Maybe I want the book more than I want your promises." Tir'yal snapped it shut and Enver refused to flinch even if instinct almost got the better of him. The Bhaalspawn stared at him long enough for him to wonder if he'd actually do it, but the tiefling smiled. "I don't carry gold. It's worthless to me. I can't imagine I'd ever be able to afford a book like this - a signed first edition on Genasi's of all creatures, even if by an author I have no recognition of."

"Then what can you give me that isn't gold? That would be of the same value of such a...treasured piece of literature." Enver was pulling the mans tail. If he wanted it, he could have it, but it didn't hurt to see if he could get something out of this exchange.

Tir'yal stepped closer, crossing over the warding of his desk once more. Enver could feel the tingling of magic that warned him of danger, of 'ill-intent'. He subtly slipped his fingers under his desk for his emergency 'firecracker', looking away to appear more demure than he was. It was closer an explosive than a typical firecracker. He didn't have to win a fight against the other, he simply had to outsmart him. Enver had quick reflexes even with two cups in his system, was resilient to pain, and he was good at gaining the upper hand before striking deadly blows.

When you're an urchin, with no money to your name, you're willing to do odd jobs. 'Dog fighting' was a common practice in the slums. Except 'dog' didn't always mean the literal kind. He might be rusty, but he never forgot how to fight for his life, cage or no cage, collar or no collar. Smuggling put food on his plate and put a roof over his head, but it didn't feed the hearth that kept him alive in the winter, or came in handy when someone pulled a knife. Nights of bloody fists and a bruised face did that.

Despite the invasion into his space, Tir'yal did not attack. He simply looked down his nose at him, looking thoughtful before Tir'yal tucked the book beneath his arm to free a hand, reaching his right hand up to his mouth and baring eight sharp canines as he parted his lips, catching a ring between his teeth. He slipped it off and let it fall into his palm; a silver chain-like band with a square blue jewel in the centre. Enver quirked a brow, curious, and allowed the other to take his wrist in hand, moving his hand away from the explosive hidden beneath the desk. He clenched his jaw, watching closely as the tiefling slipped the ring upon his middle finger, the enchantment on it feeling like crisp winter air before it seemed to attune, adjusting to fit it's new wearer.

"That should suffice." Tir'yal hummed and stepped away. Enver hadn't realised how warm the other man was until his body heat disappeared from his personal bubble.

"And this is...?"

"A gift from one of Father's faithful. It originally belonged to a traveller. He boasted about traversing all kinds of terrain with the help of his magical ring. I probably would have let him live - he didn't draw my attention the way his orc friend had, but he grabbed one of my fellow assassins rather indecently, so...I took him home and tortured him. For days." Tir'yals lips quirked up in a satisfied smile. Enver wondered if the other considered his fellow cultists to be friends, or simply showed loyalty to them because they were devoted to Bhaal as well.

"I let her watch, and learn. She got the killing blow, and his body was hers to do with, but...she offered me the ring. She said she wanted nothing to hold me back from my murderous duties." Tir'yal nodded to the hand. "It happens to also be useful against any spell that intend to restrain or paralyse it's wearer."

"An invaluable gift..." One Enver was quite pleased with. "Do you not have your concerns that that might come to bite you in the arse later?"

"I don't need magic to restrain you." Enver couldn't tell if the half-mast gaze the other was giving him was simply from knowledge of his physical superiority, or because he was considering other ways he could restrain him. To kill him, or to do other, more depraved things. Perhaps the third glass was too much for him tonight, if he was interpreting such things from a single expression. If he was imagining killing him, then Enver could respect the restrain he was showing, at the very least.

He hummed to break the tension.

"Don't underestimate your allies...or your enemies, should we come to that. Though, I don't intend to make an enemy out of you, Tir'yal." He meant it. Knowing who he was now...it's not like he wanted him dead. If anything, he wanted the opposite. He had wondered how Tir'yal had changed over the years, and what about him stayed the same, and he found so far he liked what changed, and what stayed.

"I truly do think we could be good for each other. Putting our past aside, we can both benefit from this. You like to kill, and I have people I'd like dead. I have many enemies, given my profession. As for what I can do for you in return...I have an arsenal of weaponry and people at my disposal, many skills you're free to ask use of, and I can make sure your night time fun doesn't cause too much scandal. Enough scandal to threaten your Father's temple. People are like cattle, Tir'yal. They panic when they see the slaughter that awaits them. A panic that often leads to chaos. That benefits no one. I can make it so they don't see it. So they're blind to the slaughter that awaits them at your hand." Enver smirked and glanced down to the book that now belonged to the tiefling.

"You've already found something interesting just by meeting me. I can see you're as hungry for knowledge as you are for blood and gore. I'll admit, you show miraculous restrain despite what I've read on Bhaalspawns. Especially ones who stand by Bhaal and praise his name. I can respect a fellow intellect who knows the meaning of self control."

"Just because I have restrain, doesn't mean I'm in control of my urges." Tir'yal admitted with a soft scoff, looking away from the other as he opened the book to skim the first page.

"Your urges?" Enver pried, unable to help himself. It was all so fascinating, even if he was a touch irked to be ignored in favour of parchment.

"It's...the best word for it." Tir'yal relented, a clawed finger underlining the sentences as his eyes followed the words. "I was created by Bhaal, and I have the same compulsions that all of my brothers and sisters had. I am no different from them. The urges are simply...stronger than theirs was. There is more of Bhaal in me than anyone else has ever been blessed with."

"I've seen regular men with less restraint against murder. Count me impressed."

"I am no regular man." Tir'yal glanced back up at him before looking back at the page. "I sated my urges prior to our meeting. I didn't want to kill you before I got my answers."

"Funny. I had a similar idea, to discard you if you posed a problem - if you ended up being useless. I suppose we'll have to remain useful to each other then." Enver chuckled, not bothering to hold the truth back from the other. Neither of them had liked liars as children, and even now, Enver still didn't. So he would not lie to his oldest friend.

"Whether I had known you as a child or not, I would have offered you this alliance to begin with. I feel we're similar people, that we...understand each other. That we could have much more than we already do if we simply work together."

"Not very Banite of you, wanting to work with someone."

"Oh no, it's very much within our nature to latch onto potential and help it thrive. To use it to our benefit. I know this alliance will benefit me. It just happens that it will benefit you too. What do you say?"

He placed his cup down and offered his hand to the other, a small smile on his lips.

"Shall we make a new era for ourselves, old friend?"

Tir'yal looked down at his hand and rapped the books backing slowly with his claws. He took a gulp of the ice wine and finished the cup before placing it down beside Enver's. If Father asked, he'd blame it on the wine. The wine made him slip his hand into the Banite's own and swipe his thumb over scarred knuckles, wondering how they came to be.

He could only blame his own curiosity for accepting the alliance though. His curiosity was sure to get him killed - but he didn't dare to pray to Father that the satisfaction of knowing would bring him back.

[softlyfiercely]

Okay y’all here’s the thing. I’m seeing this all over tumblr and reddit and bleeding into actual romance novels and real world conversations and it’s driving me nuts

The issues around “age gap relationships” are not that it’s somehow fundamentally immoral for people born in different years to be dating. It’s about power differentials and people being in different stages of life.

If someone is 22 and working at a restaurant and living on their own and has been for a few years, and they meet a 27 year old who’s also working at that restaurant and living on their own, that’s different than a 22 year old who’s still in college being supported by their parents dating a 27 year old who’s completely independent and has been working for a few years. Because there is a difference in finances and life experience that could put one partner at risk of being taken advantage of.

Or, a 22 year old who’s had lots of relationships dating a 27 year old who also has a lot of dating experience vs a 22 year old who’s been very sheltered and is in their first relationship with a 27 year old who has dated many people and is now in the position to define for the other person what is “normal” in a relationship.

I see people absolutely peeing themselves saying things like “I just found out my 34 year old friend is dating a 26 year old, is that a problematic age gap should I stop being friends with him is he an Unsafe Pedophile”

And I see romance novels marked with the “age gap” trope where it’s just that, like, she’s 29 and he’s 38 and they have one conversation about how he’s older than her and it never comes up again or otherwise influences the romance.

Friends. People. Chill the fuck out. Simply having different ages does not mean a relationship is unhealthy or abusive. Especially for grown ass ADULTS who are in similar life situations. As people get older, “age gaps” matter less and less. The difference in maturity, experience, etc. between a 20 and a 35 year old is quite different than that between a 30 and 45 year old. That’s why the “formula,” reductive as it is, is “older partner’s age divided by two plus seven.”

This weird online moral panic about “pedophiles,” which apparently now means “anyone who doesn’t get frothingly enraged about fandom content I dislike” has created a fear of any kind of “age gap” in relationships without any meaningful understanding of WHY such age differences ACTUALLY concern people in the first place.

Before you get upset or judgmental or start to think something needs to be flagged or tagged or whatever, ask yourself: have I just been trained into a knee jerk reaction to any sort of “age gap” or is there actually something about this relationship that involves a power imbalance?

Thank you this has been Things Bugging Me

[sebdoesthings]

It's unfair how you're trying to ban Vernonciri just because it's Ciri's ship with a "strange old man". although Vernon is not much older than Ves. According to this logic, Vesiri, Roche/Geralt and Regis/Geralt are also pedophilia, which you so vehemently oppose, but for some reason, only VernonCiri gets dirt for the age difference. Stop trying to throw mud at my ship and constantly provoke me with it.

Girlie, this is the first of four asks you've sent me in a row. Chill out.

Also I never called your ship pedophilia, but clearly you seem to associate it with that, so that says more about you than it does me.

Roche is at least 45 judging by his design. There is no age implication for Ves, but if we go by design again she looks to be around Ciri's age, maybe a few years older. Ciri is around 20 or 21 years old in tw3, since "A Question of Price" takes place in 1251, so Pavetta would've given birth in 1252 most likely.

A 20 year old, even though an adult, is in a completely different stage of life than a 45 year old. They worry about different things. They have different priorities. They have different levels of experience with how the world works. The way society is structured means that older people inherently have power over younger ones by virtue of having that extra experience and knowledge. So no, your ship is not pedophilia. But it's still creepy, and the age gap makes for a serious power imbalance.

The difference between VernonCiri, Geregis and Geroche is that one of those ship involves a very young character. Geralt and Roche, who in the latter two ships are the younger ones involved, are still middle aged or older adults. They are settled into adulthood and have done their part of learning the ways of the world, society, and life as a whole. They are not going to be easily swayed by power imbalances, because power imbalances are harder to come by the older characters are.

And no, none of these ships are pedophilia. They never were and never will be, and I never claimed that either. That quote you took from my bio is not, in fact, - as flattering to you as that may be - directed at you specifically, and I actually wrote that bio before i even knew you existed. It indicates that i do not condone shipping adult characters with minors (that's characters under 18, in case you needed a refresher), such as Pavetta and "Duny" (14/15 and over 30 respectively) or Book!Ciri (who is give or take also 14 or 15 at the time) with members of the Aen Elle like Avallac'h, Eredin or Auberon. They are several hundred, if not thousand years old, and she is a literal child. THAT is pedophilia. And THAT I oppose.

I don't care if pedophilia or age gaps are normal in the middle ages because I live in 2023, not the middle ages. I have 21st century morals, ethics and beliefs, and things that go against those will naturally rub me the wrong way. I am allowed to not want to engage with those things. I do not go out of my way to harass people who don't, either.

And yes, age gaps exist today too, but if you take one look at how people ridicule Leonardo DiCaprio for not dating women over 25 when he himself is 48, you'll see that I am not alone in finding these large age gaps weird.

I am not provoking you. I am not posting in your tag, I am not tagging you in posts about ships you don't like. You choose to seek these things out yourself. I am not throwing dirt at your ship. I simply don't like it. I don't like Geralt/Yen or Geralt/Jaskier either, but strangely enough no yenralt or geraskier shipper has ever appeared in my inbox complaining about it. Me not creating content for your ship is not "throwing dirt". I am allowed to dislike a ship for whatever reason, and it is not your business to try and convince me otherwise. I like Vesiri because i think they're cute. This has no influence on your ship. They exist independently from each other.

i don't care about your ship enough to try and ban it, and i don't know where you got the notion from that I was trying to do so. I don't care about your ship, I don't care about you, and it's frankly insulting how important you think yourself to believe that everything I do is to spite you, and not simply because I enjoy something independently of you.

Me and my friends are just trying to make content for a ship we like, and you're the one who constantly tries to interject your own ship in its stead. The two can coexist, I promise. Now please stop stalking the tag of a ship you clearly don't like and stop harassing people in DMs and asks. It's not doing you or your ship any favours.

[wclking-fire]

✿ shipping info // answer the following for your muses so people know how shipping works on your blog ✿

- what is your otp for your character[s]?: I don't really have one? I do enjoy a lot of ships, but don't have an otp.

- how large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?: Well my Vash is around twenty five years old in human years, so he won't date anyone under the age of twenty three. I like to keep age gaps close together when it comes to being near his age in human years. For example maybe a future partner might be two years younger than him and that would be fine. However, he does not mind dating those who are older than him. I think maybe late thirties might be the max age gap. To put it in shorter terms. Minimum age of twenty three and maximum age of forty, that is the area I am comfortable with and so is Vash.

- how far do steamy moments have to go before they are considered nsfw?: Oh. Well. I might ramble on here so apologies in advance. From writing past nsfw with a partner on discord I would have to say maybe just after the point of teasing over the clothes? Or maybe I would consider before that nsfw? I am having a hard time with this because I think I write kinda okay steamy teasing that I personally consider nsfw and both muses could be clothed, but there is tension and blushing and whining and just perfection. So, yes I think physical and verbal teasing would be considered nsfw for me personally. It depends on the other mun as well.

- are you selective when shipping?: Yes. I would say I am a little selective. I want a little spark between our muses before they get into shipping territory. I personally feel like Vash is a little awkward to ship with as he craves some kind of connection, but also likes to keep a distance between himself and others.

- who are other characters you ship your characters with?: I mean with canons I ship Meryl and Vash, Wolfwood and Vash and then all three together! Currently I have a little something going on with @the-expatriate which I am so so excited about!! I am looking forward to creating a few more ships with original characters if other muns want the same!

- does one have to ask to ship with you?: If you want to? I mean I am pretty chill and if that is something you want to ask you can! I find with ships that sometimes it is kinda unspoken, but I am open to anything! Whatever you are comfy with.

- are you ship-obsessed or ship more-or-less?: I think more or less ship. I like them, but I didn't create this blog to just solely ship with others!

- what is your favourite ship in your current fandom?: I am a bit of a sucker for Meryl and Vash. I just want to give them both gentle head pats.

- finally, how does one ship with you?: Memes? DM me and we can chat or just see where the thread and dynamic goes with our muses! 

tagged by: @redlips-blooddrops-deux

tagging: You!

[thatmcgwords]

First, let’s differentiate financial independence from financial freedom. Financial independence, or FI, is when your assets pay for your lifestyle. This means you no longer have to slog away at work forever. Financial freedom, on the other hand, is more about having choices and control over your cash flow – say, being able to splurge on a vacation without freaking out about your bank balance. As you claw your way toward financial independence, you’ll start tasting bits of this financial freedom.

FI has many benefits beyond ditching your nine-to-five early. It allows you to grab life by the reins, feel secure, and have the freedom to go after whatever floats your boat – be it chasing your passion, traveling, or just chilling. On your path to FI, you’ll also develop personally and learn skills that enhance your life.

Stage 1 is the Explorer. Here, you’re struggling just to keep your head above water, sinking deeper into debt each month. At this stage, you need to get your income and expenses under control. 

Stage 2 is the Cadet. You’ve got your expenses sorted but are still drowning in consumer debt. Focus on smashing that debt faster than the minimum payment schedule. 

Stage 3 is the Aviator. Now debt-free (except maybe a mortgage), you can start building emergency savings and an “FU” fund for those I-wanna-quit-my-job moments. This is also the stage where you shift gears to investing and growing your assets. 

Stage 4 is the Commander. You have enough money from your assets to take time off, work part-time, or do something you love for less pay. You’re still investing, but also enjoying your hard-earned freedom. 

Finally, Stage 5 is the Captain. Congratulations – you’ve hit your FI number! Full financial independence. Your job now is maintaining your wealth and living your ideal lifestyle without financial constraints.

stages? The key is to focus on six things: mindset, habits, income, expenses, liabilities, and assets. These form your FI formula. First, add mindset and habits, and then multiply them by the difference between your income and mandatory expenses. This creates the so-called gap, which you’ll then divide into three: liability reduction (that is, debt payoff), asset building (that is, savings and investments), and discretionary spending (that is, your fun money). The larger your gap, the quicker you’ll progress through the stages. 

First, take a hard look at how you view money. Do you find yourself thinking, “I’m no good with numbers,” or “I can’t save without a six-figure income”? These limiting beliefs are the first roadblocks you need to bulldoze. Equally important is examining your daily habits. Track them for a week, and you’ll start to see patterns, both obvious and subtle, that are quietly eating away at your financial health.

After this introspective phase, it’s time to focus on improvement. This could mean learning through books and podcasts, seeking advice from professionals, cultivating a growth mindset, or introducing positive habits into your routine. These actions are essential to reshaping your financial management approach.

The next key component is goal-setting. These generally fall into two categories: life goals and financial goals. 

Life goals are all about the kind of things you want to have and the experiences you crave. They can also mean the kind of life you want to lead. It’s essential to determine your preferred lifestyle from the get-go because, by doing so, you can tailor your financial plan to sustain that lifestyle both now and post-FI.

To know your desired lifestyle level, you can use the Guacamole Lifestyle Levels. This five-tier system compares standards of living based on the ability to indulge in small luxuries. Level 1 focuses on basic survival, with rare small luxuries. Level 2 permits occasional splurges outside of a tight budget. Level 3 integrates frequent, guilt-free minor luxuries into the budget. Level 4 allows flexible, unrestricted indulgence, often at premium costs. Level 5 epitomizes extravagance with limitless luxury access. Remember, there’s no universally right level – just pick what feels right for you. 

On the flip side, financial goals are more about specific monetary objectives: how much you want to earn, spend, save, and invest, and how to manage debt. Here, the focus is on increasing income and cutting spending – achieving these lead goals paves the way for gap goals like saving, investing, and paying off debt.

After setting your goals, organize and prioritize them. Break them down into short-, mid-, and long-term goals, and sort them by importance. As you move forward in your journey to financial independence, it’s important to balance these responsible financial targets with fun lifestyle goals. 

You can’t start creating your FI plan without getting familiar with your numbers first. Understanding your current financial standing is undeniably a crucial step. 

So, where do you start? By taking a close look at your existing financial landscape – your current income, expenses, assets, and liabilities.

Your income isn’t just your nine-to-five paycheck. Consider everything, from side gigs to property income to investment dividends. If your income fluctuates, average it out over the last three months.

Now, on to expenses. There are two ways to go about tracking your spending: look back at your past three months of expenses, or observe the next month’s expenses. Categorize them into must-haves and nice-to-haves, and fixed versus variable costs. Don’t forget to note how often these expenses pop up.

Assets are next. When it comes to assets, it’s about accounting for everything of value that you own. This includes retirement accounts, such as 401(k)s and IRAs, taxable investment accounts, cash balances, real estate properties, and other forms of investments.

For liabilities, list out every debt you’ve got – credit cards, student loans, car loans, you name it. Keep track of the details, including minimum payments and interest rates. 

Got all that down? Great. Now let’s talk about where you want to be – your financial end goal. This part requires some forecasting: how your income, expenses, assets, and liabilities will look in the future, plus what your target FI number is. 

Tools like the 25x Rule and the 4% Rule provide guidelines for this. The 25x Rule suggests multiplying your desired annual retirement spending by 25 to estimate the necessary size of your investment portfolio. The 4% Rule states that you can safely withdraw four percent of your investment portfolio yearly over a 30-year retirement without depleting it. When planning, consider other potential income streams such as pensions or rental incomes. Also, think about how your spending could change in retirement – maybe less on the mortgage but more on health and travel.

All right – time for the real action: budgeting. This isn’t just tracking your cash flow; it’s about directing your money with purpose. There are different budgeting styles, like zero-based and percentage-based, but the bottom line is you need to divide your income into specific lots, whether it’s for bills, saving, or even fun spending. 

A good budget incorporates key elements like “blow money” for guilt-free treats and “sinking funds” for irregular expenses. Your budget also needs to account for things that regularly pop up, like annual insurance bills. To make them easier on your wallet, spread them across several months. However you plan on budgeting, what’s important is that you keep tabs on what you plan to spend, what you actually spend, and what’s left. And remember– a budget is flexible. It’s a tool to help you make smart choices, not a straitjacket to prevent you from enjoying your money. 

So how quickly can you reach FI? It depends on several factors: your income, expenses, liabilities, assets, mindset, and habits. The goal is to use your income wisely – covering essentials, reducing debts, building assets, and still enjoying life. You can go as extreme as you like, living a frugal Guac-level-1-or-2 lifestyle to hit your FI number earlier. Or you can live your desired Guac-level-3-or-higher lifestyle now and make peace with not reaching your FI number until later in life. Your financial plan will match your life and financial goals, and how much you’re willing to sacrifice at the moment. 

With your FI plan in hand, your next and final step is to execute it. But – surprise, surprise – it’s not just about stashing away your cash. You’ve got to play a smart game here, focusing on four key areas: spend less, earn more, slash your debts, and pump up those assets. 

First off, let’s talk spending. You need to start scrutinizing every dollar that leaves your wallet. Question everything: Does this expense give you joy? Can you get it cheaper? Is it steering you towards your goals? Yes, you might have to cut back on some luxuries, but it’s not forever. Find the sweet spot where you’re saving money without feeling like you’re living in a financial straitjacket. Remember, some spending is an investment in your happiness, like that gym membership. It’s all about priorities. And when you do need to cut back, look at your big mandatory expenses, too. You can seek savings in significant areas like housing, groceries, and bills by downsizing, using coupons, and negotiating discounts. 

Now, let’s shift gears to income. If you think your paycheck is the only way to earn, think again. There’s a whole world of possibilities to bump up your income. Start with the obvious: negotiate a raise, take on overtime or extra work, or snag a higher-paying job at a new company. But don’t stop there. Think side hustles, freelancing, or turning your hobby into a cash cow. Remember, more money means more freedom to chase your FI dreams.

So, on to your debt. There are two main ways to break free from it: the snowball method, which means wiping out the small debts first for quick wins; and the avalanche method, which involves targeting the high-interest debts first. Pick what keeps you fired up and what you find the most applicable to your situation. But more than just paying off your liabilities, you need to understand why you got into debt in the first place. Was it impulse buying, or a YOLO attitude? Figure it out to avoid a debt relapse. And yes, not all debt is evil – think mortgages and student loans. You can use debt to your advantage, too.

Now, let’s talk about building your assets. This is where the magic happens. To fast-track your journey to financial independence, focus on building assets through saving and investing. Start by creating an emergency fund, beginning with as little as $1000, and build it up to cover three to six months of expenses. Then, save for life’s significant events like home purchases, family expansion, or travel. At the same time, delve into investing. Index funds are your go-to. They’re straightforward and low-cost, offering a slice of the market without the hassle of picking stocks. Also, leverage retirement accounts like 401ks for their tax benefits. The deal here is consistency. Even tiny contributions add up, thanks to compounding. Time’s your ally in this game. The sooner you start, the better. Doesn’t matter how much – just get the ball rolling.

Where you are in your FI journey dictates how you split your income among expenses, debts, and investments. 

If you’re just starting in the Explorer stage, focus on survival – cover your basics, and if there’s a little left, maybe keep that 401(k) ticking over. 

As a Cadet, get aggressive with your debt, but don’t forget to save and invest a bit. Put 20 percent into savings, 20 percent into investments, and ten percent into discretionary spending. Invest at least up to your 401(k) company match. 

In the Aviator stage, with no more consumer debt, ramp up your savings and investments – and sure, treat yourself a little. Allocate 30 percent into savings, 50 percent into investing, and 20 percent into discretionary spending.

Commanders, you might want to balance investing with enjoying your earnings. Split your gap 50/50 between investing and discretionary spending.

And Captains, you’ve made it – splurge 100 percent of your disposable income if you want. You’ve earned it.

[skyistheground]

i made a fic! i haven’t written one in basically a year so im a liiiiiittle rusty

Word count: 3,276

Characters: WX-78, Wormwood

Pairing: WX-78/Wormwood

CW: Major character death

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37026370

Preview:

It’s a nice, sunny autumn day. It’s a nice break from wilting heat, or even worse, chilling cold. Temperate weather is rare these days. Autumn is only one fourth of the year.

So it’s the perfect time to get some rest! It needs to be cherished while it lasts, after all. Wormwood curls up in the middle of a soft patch of grass, surrounded by thorny rose bushes. The roses are mainly varying shades of red— from almost pink to a deep blood color. There’s hints of white in a few of them. Their dear robot friend decided to plant them recently. “For decoration,” they had claimed. Wormwood could study them with his eye for hours if he wished, they’re all incredibly well cared for.

Now is the time for napping, however. The gnarled leaves on his bloom close in slightly, shading his eye from the sun and providing some comforting darkness. His breathing slows to a deep and steady rhythm as warm beams of sun blanket him. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to…

“WORMWOOD!” A loud, mildly grating, but familiar voice jumps Wormwood from his sleepiness. He flinches, sitting up. His leaves unfurl rapidly. He quietly hisses as the sun suddenly shines down on his previously dark and cozy eye, but with some head shakes, his vision clears up.

He hears creaking next. That can only mean…! Wormwood shoots to a stand as he eagerly scans the area. Soon, he sees a rustic red robot— dressed way too properly for this wilderness— and his smile widens.

“Robot friend!” He does his best to shout, but his scraggly voice doesn’t allow him to get much louder than a gust of wind.

“YES, I RETURN-” WX-78 pauses, tilting their head to the side curiously. “HOW DID YOU GET IN MY ROSES? YOU’RE SURROUNDED BY THORNS.”

“Oh… well…” Wormwood follows the path he tread before. Carefully, step by step, he fits his skinny limbs into gaps between the bushes, safely avoiding scratches and punctures. It’s almost like a dance as he twirls around to stand next to the robot.

“HAH. I SUPPOSE YOU’D KNOW YOUR WAY AROUND, BEING A PLANT YOURSELF…” WX trails off, looking down to the bushes. 

“What’s wrong, friend?”

“IS A DISEASE SPREADING?” 

“Oh! Not good.”

“IT’S TRAILING THROUGH THE ENTIRE PATCH.” WX looks up, following speckles of black in their roses. “THIS WASN’T HERE LAST TIME.”

WX had been gone for a few days on an excursion, if Wormwood remembered correctly. But he didn’t see these black patches until now, either. 

“SIGH. HOPEFULLY IT’S CURABLE. IT WOULD BE A PAIN TO GET MORE.”

“Yes. Don’t want friends to die.”

“I’LL FIGURE IT OUT LATER.” WX stands up, turning back to Wormwood. “I HAVE MORE PRESSING MATTERS TO ADDRESS.”

“What is it, friend?”

“I HAVE LOCATED THE BEE QUEEN,” they begin to explain. “I THINK WE COULD DISPATCH HER. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT WE CAN TAKE FROM HER, BUT I THINK IT WILL BE WORTH IT. BEES ARE OFTEN USEFUL.”

Bees. They don’t like Wormwood. They like all the other plants, but Wormwood? The little buzzers do whatever they can to avoid landing on him. Does he smell bad? WX hasn’t said anything if he does. 

“How will we do it?” the plant asks. They’re pretty clueless about these types of things— the bot likes picking fights more than he does. And he’ll just follow whatever WX wants to do.

“BEES’ NUMBER ONE WEAKNESS IS FINE MESH THEY CANNOT POKE THEIR STINGERS THROUGH. IF WE CAN CREATE A SPECIAL TYPE OF ARMOR MADE OF THIS MESH, WE SHOULD BE ABLE TO FIGHT BACK WITHOUT OVERLY WORRYING ABOUT THE SWARM OF STINGERS.”

“Oh! Smart.” Wormwood smiles. “Any idea how to make mesh?”

“... I WAS HOPING YOU WOULD HAVE ONE,” WX admits. “YOUR… FINGERS… ALWAYS MAKE THAT WEIRD SILK WHEN THEY SPLIT APART.”

Oh yeah, his hands. Resting, they’re like little snappers. But when Wormwood needs more mobility, the snapper hands can split apart into more— at least to WX— familiar hand shapes. 

He shakes his head. “Not strong enough for armor. Breaks apart with wind.”

“MAYBE SPIDER SILK?” WX trails over to their chest storages. “I DON’T WEAVE, THOUGH. I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD NEED TO.”

“Oh! Can weave!” Wormwood bounces over to the chests. It’s a bit hard to see which one contains silk, as his ability to look down is compromised by his leaves, but with a little clever head maneuvering, he can spot one of WX’s detailed signs. 

“GOOD.”

Wormwood reaches in the chest and pulls out handfuls of silk. Yes, this stuff is stronger. It will turn into a fine mesh… but what does that even look like? “Um… how to make?”

“SIGH. IT’S LIKE A CRISS-CROSSING PATTERN.”

Wormwood curls in on himself a bit, embarrassed. He truly didn’t know, but disappointing WX is never a good feeling. 

“YOU CAN SIT DOWN AND START MAKING IT. I’LL FIND HATS TO ATTACH THE MESH TOO. I’LL ALSO CHECK FOR WEAPONS.”

“Ok!” It’s pretty easy for Wormwood to get over negative feelings. He skips over to the fire pit in the center of their camp, plopping himself on the ground and neatly curling his tail around himself as he rests the silk on his lap.

Wormwood grabs one end of the pile and straightens it out into a strand. He holds it up to his eye for closer inspection. The strand twists around in his hand, getting glittery in the sun. It’s so… pretty! He never noticed how pretty silk could be… but he quickly shakes himself to get back on track. He measures the string out to an appropriate length to cover his face— and hey, if it fits his face, it’ll fit WX’s, too! They nibble on the silk to sever it. They repeat that two… three… a hundred times? They lost track after five, honestly. Either way, they take their cut strands and weave them into a very fine mesh sheet.

“I FOUND SOMETHING THAT COULD WORK.” WX approaches Wormwood with a straw hat. 

“Nice hat!” The plant holds up his mesh screen. “Think it will fit.”

WX lines the mesh up with the hat’s brim. They nod. “THIS IS GOOD. CAN YOU MAKE A FEW MORE?”

Wormwood’s chest flutters. It’s good… it’s good! They feel warm— warmer than the sun on their cuticle. He fiddles with the silk in his lap. His leaves twitch. His tail gently slaps against the ground. Does WX know? Do they know how their rare complements make him feel so… nice?

“I’LL SEW THIS ONE ONTO THIS HAT, THEN WE HAVE WHAT WE’RE LOOKING FOR.”

“Said you couldn’t weave?”

“SEWING IS STABBING A NEEDLE AND STRING THROUGH THINGS. TOTALLY DIFFERENT.”

Whatever they say!

As WX walks off with the hat and mesh, Wormwood eagerly goes back to work on making a new screen. 

He’s all warm and fuzzy inside. There’s nothing– nobody else in this world that makes them feel this way. It’s one of the nicest things ever. He fumbles around with the silk in his lap. WX is his best friend. Only friend, technically, but that doesn’t matter. Could there ever be something better then being a friend of WX? Well, not that he knows of. He feels like he can do anything for this bot.

Which is making woven sheets. He should probably get back to that now.

Wormwood works into the evening. He makes two more meshes, which WX takes and attaches them into hats. They really work well together! The bot wanted around three more— for safety. They’re quite cautious… but the plant is fine with that. It means both of them are safer.

They’re halfway through with the fourth one when darkness begins to coat the ground. Wormwood looks up, but they turn their head to hurried creaking. 

WX sprints over to the fire pit, tossing a log or two into the pit of rocks before swiftly drawing a piece of flint and striking it against the back of their hand to create sparks.

The logs ignite into an inferno, but Wormwood can’t help but flinch. He’s become… desensitized to the logs (it’s still… threatening) but he feels more for WX. It must hurt, constantly having to ignite the fire with their own body.

“SIGH.” The bot doesn’t look bothered, though. They check the back of their hand briefly before sitting down in the light. 

“Is friend ok?” 

“I’M FINE.” They pull their legs up to their chest, resting their head on their hand.

“Hm…” WX usually sits up straighter, with more confidence. They look more wilted]

 now— folding in on themselves… maybe a bit more scratched up then usual. Did something happen while they were out? “Sure friend is ok?”

“I’M FINE.” 

He stops asking.

They sit in silence— save for the crackling fire. Wormwood slowly goes back to making the mesh, but he can’t help but take glances at WX from time to time. They seem to shrink each time he checks.

“I THINK I NEED TO POWER DOWN.” WX stands up. “IT’LL BE BETTER FOR ME TO DO SO BEFORE THE FIGHT, ANYWAY.”

But WX… never powers down! Wormwood opens his mouth, but WX is already standing up. He keeps silent as the bot fades away from the fire’s light— presumably to go into the nearby tent.

So he’s alone now. It should be fine— he’s safe in the light, but… everything feels so much colder. He even shivers as he threads the silk together. A pit sinks down into his belly. 

WX is usually more chatty than that. Wormwood loves to listen to them ramble on about battle plans or cool adventures and while he doesn’t always understand, he feels… appreciation. Appreciation that the bot sticks with them. WX has a distant attitude, an untouchable air seems to surround them at all times. They're capable, intelligent, and a quick thinker— they could survive all on their own. But the bot stays with him, with Wormwood, the quiet and raspy, slightly empty-headed plant. One-eyed, gnarly and fringed. It’s so comforting.

It's worrying when WX just leaves for a vague reason. The plant doesn’t want to bother them while they sleep (they’re a pretty heavy sleeper, anyway).

So he keeps weaving through the night.

Morning is a relief. Wormwood just finished the last mesh— he’s so ready to show them off to WX! They should be coming out any moment now.

The last of the fire fizzles out into a wisp of smoke. The plant can hardly sit still as he lines his mesh sheets on top of each other. His tail twitches around to ease some of the excitement, but most of his energy is still bundled inside of him.

WX is always quick to get ready for things, plus, today is a big day. It shouldn’t be long.

Right?

One minute of waiting feels like a day. He needs to be patient. WX is always so patient with him! He didn’t know what mesh looked like before…

But how long is too long?

Birds begin to land around the plant, picking at the grass for a snack. 

… is WX okay?

He can’t sit around anymore.

Wormwood stands up, keeping the sheets as flat as possible as they shuffle towards the standing tent.

“Robot friend…?”

Poking his head through the tent flap, he sees WX lying down. Their back is turned towards the entrance, towards Wormwood. Their arms aren’t visible– they’re likely resting in front of the bot.

“Still sleeping?”

“NO.” WX doesn’t stir.

“Why still here?”

“I’M OVERCOME WITH THIS… FEELING. EVERYTHING FEELS TOO HEAVY TO MOVE.”

“Tired?”

“I GUESS THAT’S THE WORD FOR IT.”

“Does friend still want to make hats?”

“NOT NOW.”

For a beat, they sit in silence.

“Friend need anything?”

“SOMETHING TO EAT, AT LEAST.”

Wormwood nods and slips outside. He first sets away his screens into a chest— WX can go get that later when they feel better.

The kitchen is well put together. The icebox is in the center of a ring of pots. The floor is tiled with smooth marble. Next to the pots is a fountain of water with spare dishes neatly stacked on top of and next to each other. Some of them are engraved with carvings of roses. He trails over to the ice box, opening it. He hunches over to peer inside.

There’s a few simple raw ingredients that could be put together into a decent meal. There’s also some stale premade meatballs. The meatballs would be easier… but the plant wants to make something nice. He slides the lid of the nearest crockpot, keeping the ice box open for easy access. He pulls out three large cuts of meat, doing his best to cut them into more edible chunks before sliding them into the pot. They garnish with carrots and potatoes before filling the pot with some water. They hated water, but it was all left to Wormwood, anyway. Plus, they seemed fine with eating liquid, not so much if it landed on them.

He closes the lid and bends down to light the coals under the pot. Fire makes them nervous— they strike flint pieces against each other with a shaky hand a few times before the pot finally ignites.

When it finishes, he opens the lid. He grabs one of the tall pots and a ladle. He fills the pot up with as much of the soup as he can (but not too much. Or it might spill!) He keeps the ladle in as a spoon. He doesn’t think WX will mind.

“Robot friend!” Wormwood enters the tent again and sets the pot on the floor. “Brought belly stuff.”

“THANKS.” WX heaves themselves onto their elbows. They eat some of the stew before lying back down.

“Is friend feeling better?” 

“SLIGHTLY.”

“Going to eat more?”

“NO.” 

Wormwood sits down on the floor of the tent. WX isn’t okay, but they won’t say how… besides being tired. He doesn’t know how he can help, but he wants to. He wants to help so bad.

“DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO DO?”

“No,” Wormwood admits. “I made mesh. Do not want to fight Buzzer Queen… without you.”

“HAH. DON’T WANT TO CRUSH FLESHLINGS WITHOUT ME?”

Wormwood smiles. That’s more like WX.

“I’D RATHER BE THERE TO SEE THEIR DEMISE, TOO. BUT IT’S HARD TO MOVE.”

“Why? I mean. Know why. You tired, but… why tired?”

“I DON’T KNOW. BUT I WAS STARTING TO FEEL LIKE THIS BEFORE I POWERED DOWN, TOO.”

“Not good.” Wormwood frowns. 

Wait. Wormwood shuffles closer to WX. The flowers and leaves on their head…

“Robot friend… plants on head have black. Like garden.”

“... WHAT?”

“Friend is sick.”

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA AT ALL WHERE IT MIGHT’VE COME FROM? YOU’RE A PLANT.”

Wormwood shakes his head. He only noticed it when WX did. “Can try to see…”

“THANK YOU.”

WX is… thanking them. Wormwood can only try to fix this, if not help them fix this. It’s the least they can do.

He leaves the tent and walks back over to the garden. The black splotches don’t seem to have gotten worse, but he might just need a closer look.

He kneels down, tilting his head to examine the leaves and blooms. The patch of black WX found is still there and it… well, it doesn’t look fine, but it doesn’t look like it spread. He holds one of the leaves closer to his eye. It’s not speckled– a characteristic of most diseases. It’s brown, bordering black, and it feels dry. The flower feels crunchy. If Wormwood squeezed it, it would crumble away into dust.

It’s withered, Wormwood concludes. It’s a bit strange how these very specific spots, especially in the center of the garden, are withering, but it’s possible a disease caused it. He just doesn’t know what disease causes that.

Or why it’s affecting WX.

Wait. Did the patch in front of him get darker? The area looks bigger, but it could just be his imagination.

He should share his thoughts with WX.

Upon entering the tent again, the first thing Wormwood notices is that the bot didn’t finish their stew. They might’ve not even touched it at all.

“Friend not hungry?”

“NO.”

“Ah… well, roses are drying.”

“DRYING?”

“Already dead.” Wormwood frowns. “Dried up.”

“SIGH. LEAVE IT TO THIS PLACE TO COME UP WITH NEW AND HORRIBLE WAYS TO DESTROY OUR THINGS.”

“Yeah. Our things.” The plant wishes he could feel much happier about that, but his concern for the bot swamps any joy he could’ve felt.

He sits back down near WX. They really don’t look like themselves, lying down like this. It’s better when they can stand in the sun, their scuffed and rusted chassis catching less light than the carpet of moss and tiny blooms on their head… wait.

“Friend…” Wormwood slowly reaches towards the plants on WX’s head. “You’re drying.” The once green moss is starting to turn varying shades of brown and yellow. Some of the flowers are shriveling up, blending into the dying moss around them.

“I- WHAT?” They attempt to lift themselves up, but they don’t seem able to.

“Don’t push self!” Wormwood places a hand on their shoulder to discourage them from moving. 

“I CAN’T.. POSSIBLY BE DYING.”

“Maybe is not dying!” Wormwood’s speech is rushed trying to reassure them. “Maybe just need more moss? You are metal.”

“A LONG TIME AGO, MAYBE. THESE PLANTS HAVE GROWN SO MUCH ON ME THEY’VE BECOME A PART OF ME.”

“... That means…”

WX just nods.

“Don’t have to!” He’s panicking now. “Can– will find cure!”

They don’t respond.

Can they not say anything anymore? Wormwood’s tail waves behind him to relieve some of his tension, but he’s still incredibly stressed. A knot ties in his chest as he unconsciously grips WX’s shoulder tighter. Maybe it’s a joke. Maybe WX will stand up and walk right out with a little robotic laugh and act like nothing happened. But… no, WX isn’t the joking type. Well, they’re strong, they could naturally recover!

But what if they don’t? How will Wormwood find a cure for this sudden withering? He said he would– he promised. He can’t let WX down now.

“Friend?” he asks softly. “... friend?”

They’re motionless. The bot is good at not moving, but Wormwood can’t hear anything. No ticks, no creaks, not even hissing steam. 

“Robot friend?”

WX is still warm, at least. Does that mean their belly is working?

Their moss, however? It’s mostly dead now. How did it die so fast? It’s all starting to turn black, with the starting point being the patch that was just under their hand.

This is all going too fast, this is way too fast, what can he even do? Wormwood pulls his hands back to himself, sitting back on his heels. He should find a cure now. But where does he start? The garden? WX themselves? What about-

But what if it’s… already too late? The bot stopped talking. They stopped moving. They might’ve stopped working-

But they’ve always gotten out of trouble. 

WX, at least. They always know what to do.

Wormwood… left all alone…

Does he have any idea what to do at all?

Maybe he’s already failed. He already broke his promise.

His petals close in over his eye. He doesn’t want to see. How can he face them– or anything for that matter.

He crumples in on himself, holding his elbows in his arm. He’s hunched over with his head tilted down. 

Everything is dark. The tent grows colder around him. 

It feels like the whole world went silent.

[haikyuuthots]

Please write anything with a jealous Suna 😩, I need that in my life

I want you for myself - Suna Rintaro

Pairing: Suna rintaro x reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warning: mentions of alcohol and weed, curse words, some arguing

Summary: you’re at a party with your boyfriend, having a good time. You’re doing your own thing for a moment when an old friend from your childhood comes up to talk to you and catch up. Suna sees you guys interacting and clouded by jealousy, makes a scene.

A/n: GIRLLLLL thank u for requesting i love writing a bit of angst. But as always fluff at the end, bc that what we’re here for. Hope you enjoy reading! 😘

Masterlist

—————————————————————————

When your boyfriend Suna asked you to come to this party with him, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. You loved partying, and you knew most of the people who’d be present so you knew going would be such a fun time.

Upon arrival Suna immediately began greeting his friends, you of course already being familiar with all of them waved hello and did the same. The music was blasting and you noticed everyone dancing and having a good time , there was a lot of drinks and plenty of weed to go around.

You stuck around Suna for about an hour, until your best friend Carrie noticed you and begged you to take a couple shots with her. You looked over to your boyfriend and let him know you’d be gone for a bit, complying to Carries request. He had no issues with it, he himself was about to start taking shots with his boys as well. You kiss Suna goodbye, and part ways for a moment.

Now on your fourth shot, you’re swaying to the music with your bestie, laughing and overall having a good time. You notice your boyfriend stare at you from across the room, when he notices you’ve caught his gaze he makes sure to send you a bashful smile, indicating that he’s having a good time too. Your heart flutters at the sight, you loved you boyfriends cheeky smile.

Still dancing you look over to your best friend “I’m really thirsty do you know where I can find water?”

“Yeah I heard there’s some in the fridge. Want me to come with you?”

“No girl stay here, I’ll be real quick.”

You slowly leave from the spot you were in and make your way to the kitchen, bumping into a few sweaty bodies on the way there.

Finally reaching the kitchen you quickly make your way to the fridge, normally you’d be too embarrassed to reach into another persons fridge but considering the fact that you were 4 shots in and parched you couldn’t care. Reaching inside to grab a water bottle you open the lid and start drinking, becoming startled by a voice

“Y/n?”

You turn around and notice a tall man with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, his face seeming familiar to you

“Uh, hi? Do I, know you?” You ask as nicely as possible

“It’s me. Josh.” He replies with a smile

Hearing his name you recognize him instantly. Joshua Moretti, he was your neighbor for almost your entire childhood and your best friend all of your grade school years. He moved far away your third year of middle school, and although you’ve talked here and there, you hadn’t heard anything from him for years.

“Omg no way!” You shout as you quickly go to hug him. He reciprocates right away, squeezing you with excitement.

“You look so different! You’re so tall, and wow I did not recognize you at all.” You say happy to see your old friend

“Yeah. You look a bit different too, but I instantly recognized you when I saw you walk by.”

“That’s so crazy, well tell me how have you been? I haven’t seen you in years.”

You and Josh start catching up, he talks to you about how his life has been this far and you do the same.

Meanwhile back in the giant living room where you were before Suna notices your absence immediately. He didn’t see you leave, so he had no idea where you were. Even more confusing he noticed that your best friend was still in the same spot without you, which he found really weird.

A bit worried he gives a quick heads up to his friends, letting them know that he was going to look for you and he’d be right back. Passing through the people he’s looking left and right, in hopes to see you. From across the room he can faintly see you, you’re in the kitchen, hugging another man.

His heart drops to the pit of his stomach and his blood boils at the sight. What the fuck were you doing in the arms of another man???

He’s now pushing people to get out his way to get to you sooner. His gaze never leaves you and he notices you’re smiling at whatever the fuck this man is saying to you. He honestly never wanted to rock the shit out of another person in his entire life. But his anger was only rising and the alcohol in his system was only adding more fuel to the fire.

Finally reaching the kitchen he doesn’t hesitate to rush the other man, forcefully pushing him out of your way.

“What the fuck are you doing touching my girlfriend!?” He yells anger laced all over his words

The entire interaction caught you off guard, everything happened in a blink of an eye.

Instantly you reach to get your boyfriend off Joshua.

“Suna what the fuck!” You yell out as you push him away to create space between the two men

“Don’t what the fuck me, who is this and why the fuck are you hugging him?!”

You’re taken aback by his tone. You’ve never seen Suna like this, he was always chill and always spoke to you softly.

“Suna, baby please calm down, you’re making a scene.” You softly say gently placing you hands on his arms

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He shoves your hands away and quickly storms out.

You look back at Josh, who looks very shaken up. You immediately apologize and soon after quickly make your way to follow Suna.

Running behind him, you two are now outside the house in the middle of the sidewalk. You shout out towards him to stop him from walking any further

“Rin please stop!” You yell out.

Suna turns around and makes his way over to you, his body is now hovering yours and you notice he’s still very angry “don’t tell me to fucking stop when I’ve just seen my girlfriend holding some other guy.”

“Can you let me fucking explain?” You yell out, becoming more frustrated

Suna stays quiet and only glares back at you.

“He’s my fucking friend from grade school. We grew up together, he’s like a fucking brother.”

Suna still says no words

“And guess what Rin? He’s getting married in 4 months. So that whole scene you did in there was for nothing!”

There’s now a silence between you two. It’s evident you’re both overwhelmed with emotions. You were beyond upset at his actions and he was trying his best to process everything. You didn’t want to be in his presence any longer, thinking the best thing to do now was to let each other cool down. Turning around, you begin walking away from Suna but he instantly stops you by holding onto your wrist.

“Please let me go. We both need space right now.” You say more quietly this time

“Fuck.”

You turn back to look at him and his head is looking down at the floor

He continues talking “I feel like such an asshole. But put yourself in my shoes.” He’s looking up to you now “I had no idea who that guy was, I’ve never seen him in my life and you’ve never mentioned him, so to me it was just some random guy you were hugging.”

You’re fully turned around now, listening to him speak

“I couldn’t fucking stand it.” He clenches his fist “I couldn’t stand seeing you in another mans arms, it fucking clouded my mind with anger. All I wanted to do was fuck him up.”

“Rin.” You say bringing your hand to caress his face “I get it, you had no idea who he was and if I’m being honest I would’ve been angry too if it were the other way around.”

“You’re mine.” He says, quickly grabbing you by the waist to bring your body close to his

There’s barely any space between you two, as he starts kissing you down your neck, not caring if you were in public

“The mere thought of you being near anyone else makes my skin crawl.” He says in between kisses.

“Rin-“ you breathlessly let out but he cuts you off

“I’m sorry I really am, but I just couldn’t control it. I want you for myself.”

He makes his way over to smash his lips against yours, and you reciprocate right away. After kissing for a moment you gently push him off, beginning to talk again

“But Rin, you can’t just hit people. I promise you I don’t want anyone but you. I’m all yours baby, but please-“ you wrap your arms around his neck bringing him closer “don’t do what you did in there.”

Suna rests his forehead on yours, still tightly holding you “I’ll work on it. For you. But I get jealous, and I don’t think I ever won’t. But I promise I’ll work on how I react from now on.”

You smile at his words. Although you were completely aware that this dynamic wasn’t the sanest, you loved Suna with your entire heart and soul, and you wanted him to be with you.

“I love you baby. I’m all yours.”

Suna picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, he closes the gap between your lips, kissing you gently.

“I love you too. Thank you for being mine.”

[vminity21]

Beyond the Facade | knj

Pairing: handyman!namjoon X preacherskid!reader, bestfriend!taehyung X pregnant!reader, f2l!au

Word Count: 10,958

Genre: mysterious/angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): strong language use, semi-detailed childbirth, mention of infidelity, alluding of a love triangle, evidence of a sheltered background, angst involving family matters, smut, losing virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play, hand groping, lots of flashbacks but that is the point of the story i sorry; Rated: 18+

Summary: A sheltered life leads to harbored secrets that are buried in order to protect someone you are falling in love with. As the time is nearing for the life growing inside you to be welcomed into the world, the reminiscences of all the moments unfold to reveal a beautiful story that needed to be told.

Credits to: @suhdays​ for making such a phenomenal header! The talent she has never ceases to amaze me!

The graying of the clouds is all you can see beyond your window other than the panging rain droplets now trickling upon the glass. Arm resting against your forehead, your lips press into a straight line in response to the series of thoughts circling your mind. Carefully, you slide your palms upon the mattress in an attempt to sit up, wanting to see more of the view besides the crying sky. Knuckles curling to rub your tired eyes, you furrow your brows, the comforting warmth of the bed covers remain tangled between your shins. Leafless trees border the side of the building save for a small swing set; a paved section decorated with a basketball hoop where a large shed stands many feet across from it. If one is to step outside the front of the structure, there sits a church surrounded by a gravel parking lot where the neighboring land hosts a barbed wire fence with an abandoned house and field.

It's been four months since you deemed the fellowship hall your home, and appreciatively, the area has been vacant since the falling of the church which saves even more stress than what you've been in since moving here. Achingly, your legs stretch to move off the bed before your feet land onto the grainy carpet. Your right-hand slips to steady your back, maneuvering your body to scoot to the bed frame, which has become a daily routine, weak fingers gripping the wood until your digits become pale white. Letting out a steady sigh, with all your strength you lift yourself to where you can stand, "Oomf," a small whimper escapes past your lips, tensing at the cringe plaguing your shoulders.

Being seven months pregnant sometimes has its perks, but this isn't one of them. Bending your body forward slightly, you step sluggishly toward your dresser, pulling out maternity clothes lent to you before the move.

"So, when are you going to tell us?" The soft murmur belonging to your mother echoes from the driver's side. Her expression submits an evident mixture of exhaustion and exasperation; though it's been a month since the announcement of your pregnancy, your mother is currently driving you to a doctor's appointment for a checkup on the baby to make sure everything is okay, "we have a right to know."

Arms crossed over your chest in mild annoyance, you bite the corner of your mouth until the side of your head meets the window, getting lost in the line of trees zipping by.

Waddling into the bathroom, the vague memory fades, your hand reaching to turn the knob of the shower. The squeaky sound along with rushing water splatters against the shower curtain sending a soothing jolt of excitement. Chilly air springs goosebumps over your limbs once you're freed of your clothes, waiting patiently for the water to warm before inching into the tub. When steaming liquid soon dribbles among your frame, a grin of satisfaction sparks brief happiness you needed an escape to. The heat of the downpour eases your aching bones, fingers clasping behind your neck to lean your head back, "Oh!" You gasp in surprise when the instant feel of a kick happens within your tummy. Eyes flutter down in the direction of your swollen belly, palms moving to caress it, "Look at you, what are you trying to do? Escape?" Cooing with a light giggle, when the baby kicks again, you can't help the giddy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Now, this- this is what you love about being pregnant. Finishing up, you dry your hair before swiftly dressing along with brushing your teeth.

Thoughts still pertaining to the small life growing inside you, you've decided since your first doctor's visit that you do not want to know your baby's gender until the day that you give birth. When you presented the idea to your mother, she was all on board, proclaiming how she had done that with your younger sibling. Running a brush through your hair, you skim one final look into the mirror formerly then head to exit the bathroom.

Gradually sauntering through the mini hallway, you're more zoned on the way your hand pats upon the wall in some form of maintaining stableness to the point you hardly notice almost slamming into a tall figure.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" A deep voice panics, raising his arms in a way to catch you though your arms mirror the same. Heart ramming, a breath of relief winds past your parted lips- your eyes scanning the slim legs that follow to the handsome face of Kim Namjoon. His eyes enlarged apologetically.

"Oh Namjoon, you scared me," a tender chuckle sets the feel of calm for he sees the amnesty etched in your eyes.

"I'm so sorry, [Y/N], I was about to head out to mow the lawn, but just wanted to check and make sure you're okay," he timidly scopes the view of your huge abdomen, gulping once his hands rest loosely at his sides, returning his eyes to search yours before a sweet grin spreads upon your face.

"It's no biggie. Thank you for checking on me,"

His dimples show from the way his lips press in a tight smile, nodding in reply, timorously turning to waltz to the outdoors in preparation of the day ahead. You watch until he disappears from your line of vision; the creep of a blush burning from your chest to your cheeks. Raking your hands through your hair, you force yourself once again to deny the attraction seeping through your soul thankful your blush attacked after he left.

Kim Namjoon works for your father, making sure the church grounds continuously stay clean and cut creating a pretty environment to the eye. Protecting the land is another part of the job description- protecting it from any loiterers, wild animals, protesters, etcetera- maintaining flower bushes encircling the area as well as mini projects your father will want Namjoon to build. The swing set, including the shed, happen to be plans that Namjoon successfully constructed due to your father's wishes. In return, Namjoon is provided a place to live- the room that once held your father's office, is now changed into a bedroom.

It's strange for you to think about it now- how so much has changed in just seven months, when a year ago the church was thriving, unaware of the secrets that clouded within the audience. Squeezing your eyes shut, a reminiscent from the beginning of your pregnancy rears its head causing a tiny brink of nausea to form.

Taehyung's arms drape around you tightly, embracing you in all entirety that your eyes shut against the crook of his neck. Your fingers squeeze his shoulder, legs bent across his thighs while tepid tears spill onto your cheeks.

"Shhh," he tries to comfort, his breath tickling your exposed ear- your face still buried beneath his chin, "It's going to be okay," he whispers just as soft as the flicking fire burning amongst numerous candle wicks. Scents of vanilla blends with birch fitting the dimly lit bedroom that you're thankful exists other than the man refusing to let you go until you feel better.

"How?" You choke back another sob, "How am I going to tell my parents? How am I supposed to confront the church if that's what it comes down to? Shit... My dad is going to fucking kill me," Taehyung's shirt is soaked, but he could care less, tangling his long fingers into your hair to stroke the back of your head.

"Okay, now, you're being dramatic,"

"So, maybe I am? But you know very well that my parents aren't going to take this lightly,"

"Yeah, but I think it's safe to say that telling your parents you're pregnant is far better than if you were to tell them how you truly feel about religion,"

"Okay? Perhaps, you're right," a snippet of a frustrated huff leaves your trembling lips, "especially not with what's been going on with the church, I don't know how much more they can take,"

"Well, your dad should have thought of that before he had an affair with my mom," Taehyung's icy tone brings chills to your frame before he loudly swallows, lips firm from the anger boiling behind his almond eyes. Tendrils of his bright, red hair glow regardless of how dark the atmosphere is, and you hardly hold back the sheer pain stabbing your heart from the guilt you can't help but endure.

"Tae, I'm so so sorry,"

"Hey," he peers down at you, realizing he may have taken his comment too far, even though you're just as angry towards your father as your best friend is, "you didn't know," sniffling back the remaining mucus clogging your nostrils, you desire to face Taehyung no matter how foolish you think you may look, scooting your body to where your palm indents in his mattress next to his legs, his arm now rests around your waist, and for a split second, you're close enough to where the tempting appearance of his striking face beckons the strange glimmer of longing. A longing of curing whatever loneliness you're going through, but you're not the only one experiencing this moment for Taehyung's lips part just enough to plead your attention.

You can't stop yourself, and you don't, because before either of you comprehend, you close the gap letting the delicate wave of his kiss caress yours. "Tae," you breathe against his lips, reuniting with his kiss almost immediately while a dizzy spell of want travels through your chest. You know this isn't right. He knows this isn't right, but too many pent-up emotions between your hearts have gotten out of hand, and for now, all the two of you have is each other. His fingertips move to tenderly trail your jaw, gasping into his mouth when the tip of his tongue circles yours before you move to trap him in a perfect straddle. You need something, anything to feel whole again- something to forget about the people you lost and the people you will lose. And, if there's anyone in this world you do not want to lose it's him.

There's no refraining, there's no hesitation, just the growing pace of the kisses, and the way you're so enthralled with how beautiful he feels squeezing you tighter to him. "[Y/N]," he moans, hating himself for how far he wants to go with you, yet he craves your touch, nearly supplicates for it. You want to feel his skin, and the aching throb below you seems to deafen any other screams of stopping, and yet, your fingers move to the end of his shirt, peeling it just enough to expose the solid wall of his abdomen. "[Y/N]," he stops you, breaking the final kiss, his hand covering your wrist, while your eyes frantically search the side of his face, "We- we can't,"

You haven't seen him since, because of the boundaries that were crossed and would have been farther crossed if Taehyung had not had the strength to stop. The pair of you have been best friends since childhood, and neither of you wants to take anything beyond for the sake of feeling empty, but he assured you that night, even after your panic of apologies pouring from your mouth, after the humiliation that shackled your system, even after the daunting assumption that your friendship was over- he cupped your cheek, promising that he was still here and that he would never end your attachment over something, you both will never regret.

It's a secret you've suppressed for some time. Taehyung calls every so often when he can; dealing with his broken-hearted father on top of two jobs consumes every bit of his time. Yet, you can't help but miss him, the one person who loyally stayed by your side even when you came forward to your friends about your pregnancy. And, the one friend who still loves you all the same, even after discovering his mother's affair with your father.

Rage isn't enough to describe the resentment against your father, and ever since you told your parents that you were expecting, and ever since your move, you haven't spoken to him. You'll never forget how torn your mother was- depression weighing heavy on her, and that's something that's hard to forgive.

Your mother looks frail as she twiddles the crumpled tissue in her hands. Tears brim her eyes through the silence in the car, sparse sniffles breaking your heart into a million pieces. The two of you had just come back from the grocery store to restock the kitchen in your recently new home and are now parked at the church's back door to drop you off. You hesitated upon leaving because the thought of your mother having to return home to a place of remorse is the last thing you want for her. The promise of a car was granted to you, but you turned it down, refusing to accept anything from the man who caused so much pain to your family. To Taehyung's family.

Running the tissue underneath her eyes, she speaks, "[Y/N]?"

"Yeah?" Your voice is barely a whisper, but the guilt from how stressed your mother has been is something you wish you could carry instead of her. After the betrayal of your father as well as him resigning from the church to send people away from the place they once sought refuge in- on top of her oldest daughter being pregnant with her first child is already a lot to handle. The other frustration you bite your tongue from expressing is the fact of your parents refusing to let you get a job until the time after you give birth. You want to make the money to provide for yourself and your son or daughter without the dependence upon your parents- your mother especially, yet you're grateful for her adamancy on keeping you from any risks outside of the walls of your home.

It takes a moment before your mother gathers her words, "Do you- do you think you could ask Namjoon to help take you to the hospital? Whenever it's time... for you to have the baby?"

It was easier for your mother to ask that of you because he lived in the same building, and if any emergency of your water breaking happened earlier than expected, at least you would have someone available to take you to the hospital. Your gaze clears from the zone out you've had the whole time standing in the entrance of the hallway before Namjoon left. Turning on a heel, you decide to return to your bed, slipping under the covers- you're too wide awake to sleep as of now, yet the foam of the mattress eases the soreness of your back once you lean against the pillows.

-Four months earlier-

Queasiness envelops your abdomen to where you recognize the cue, rushing to the porcelain throne to heave whatever yellow liquid is left- spurting it into the toilet while you grimace through the pain. The door swings open behind you mixed with heavy footsteps quickening to you. When large hands swoop to hold your hair back, you don't have the strength to look at the intruder due to the continuous retching that deems you defenseless.

"It's okay, it's okay," the deep voice is soft, and relief brings tears to your eyes when you recognize it to be Kim Namjoon. You're embarrassed once your stomach gives you a break, your palms pressing to your forehead while you slump against the wall.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, swiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Namjoon scatters to find a tissue, patting the corners of your lips.

"You don't have to be sorry,"

"That... wasn't what I was apologizing for,"

A knowing glance is all he must give for you to share whatever thoughts you can't bring yourself to voice. He was your friend before all of this, yet you failed to mention to him about the pregnancy, and with him being the worker of the Church- he didn't discover your budding stomach until the day you moved in. His eyes flicker away from your stare toward the slight protrusion of your baby bump due to your ruffled t-shirt. He settles on the floor across from you, silence being the only conversation held. He isn't one to hold anger, and though you kept him unaware until your third month of pregnancy, he refuses to leave your side, making a pact to himself he will do whatever it takes to provide the care that you will need. As well as the little one.

Despite the emotional roller coaster, you remain amazed with how he keeps his patience with you. A day of depression to a random bout of laughter- memories turning of the betrayals of close friends who judged you immediately the day you put your trust in them- the freedom you craved away from the sheltered life your father forced upon you- even days where you can't seem to put your tears on pause, yet Namjoon holds you through every grieve.

"What if... what if I'm not good enough?" Your voice shakes between sobs- you had been dreaming restlessly yet another night, tossing within your bed to the point Namjoon came to check on you- rushing to pull you into his arms the moment your eyes fluttered to reveal pained tears. Your words nearly shatter him- pulling away just enough to where his eyes lock with yours.

"How can you say that, [Y/N]?" The faint light of your lampshade causes his face to glisten- angelically, you decide, yet the shadowing doubt of motherhood plagues you still, because what if you genuinely can't care for the child that you're six months away from holding? Fears encompass you like an ocean, smashing along your mind in harsh waves. "Look at me," are the words that snap you from whatever sea you were suffocating in to realize you had unintentionally switched your gaze from him. It's the calming effect the warmth of Namjoon's eyes bring when he exposes whatever faith he has in the woman you are and will become. "You're going to do just fine, believe me, I know it,"

Sniffling, you run the back of your hand along your chin where an escapee of a tear dangled, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because when have you ever given up on anyone that you care about," it's not a question, he's stating what he knows to be a fact. Something he learned of you when he first was hired to tend to the property. "You're stubborn when it comes to winning someone over. I was determined not to befriend anyone here. But you changed that for me, remember?"

A knowing tug of a smile trembles into a stretch upon your lips, "I do,"

"Same with the baby. I know you will love that little one more than life itself. It doesn't have a choice, and you'll let him or her know the second they're born,"

When a hearty snicker leaves your mouth, you notice the sticky feel of your drying face- you are no longer crying.

"You don't have to do this alone, [Y/N]. You showed me that even when I didn't know what else to do. Now, get some rest, okay? You have a doctor's appointment bright and early," the bed creaks from the gradual movement of Namjoon standing,

"Wait!" You speak before you can stop yourself, Namjoon immediately pausing- the heat of his arms is felt beneath your palms from your pounce of panic, and with evident chagrin, you shyly stare at his chest, "Can you uh, ... Can you stay in here with me tonight?" You've refrained from asking sooner due to the shame of not telling him the news that's become apparent, and even now, you haven't been able to comprehend how he's not the slightest bit angry with you. When his arms encircle you closer to his frame, no words need to be said because he's already answered by just this gesture. Nuzzling into his embrace, the side of his chin pressed to your forehead, "Whoever it is, I hope they grow up to be half the person that you are," you whisper, squeezing him tighter, infinite smiles now ending the night that cures any ounce of uncertainty.

By the fifth month of pregnancy, you finally come to the realization of how selfish you have been- it's no longer about you and your needs; it is now about the needs of your son or daughter growing within you. Namjoon catered to every grocery store trip, stocking the kitchen and in return, you choose to cook for him every meal, hoping to show as much appreciation to him that you can.

"Have you thought about any names?" Taehyung's voice muses on the other line of the phone, the sound of him bringing a small smirk upon your face. You've missed him terribly so, yet the acceptance of surprise phone calls is all you can settle with for now. At his question though, you pause with the tilt of your head, taking a quick sip of the broth that you're currently heating on the stove.

"No?" It's a brief question of guilt, something you haven't been ready to ponder, "Honestly... haven't thought that far ahead yet," you add in the vegetables to boil within the broth.

The familiar, deep chuckle is all you hear to gain an idea of what your best friend is about to say next, "I should have known,"

"Alright, Birkenstocks. What do you mean by that?"

"Breezing past that mistake. You named your Parakeet, Bird,"

"Well, in my defense, I was seven years of age,"

"And in my defense, playing basketball in Birkenstocks was supposed to start a trend,"

"Since how? I-"

"Ask Hoseok,"

"You lost a bet didn't you-"

"And, I will pay for it for the rest of my life, now won't I?"

"With me around, you will,"

Hoseok is the deacon's son who's dream of fashion has been shunned by his family, yet he designs in a sketchbook Taehyung hides for whenever Hoseok and he share the same work shifts. He's not one you have had the opportunity to communicate much with, but you're thankful Taehyung has someone to maintain a friendship with while you two have been apart. A short response of silence settles while your cheek and shoulder squeeze the phone for a moment as you stir the steaming vegetables.

"You could have named the bird, Tweety at least-"

"Oh!" You playfully growl, "Back with that again, huh?"

"Do I need to send you a link of baby names-"

"I promise you, Tae, I do not plan on naming my child, Kid, okay?"

"You'd be surprised-"

Taehyung's excitement for his future Godchild brings a simmering joy to the surface of your pattering heart. Almost as equal to the eagerness, your mother has shown with this being her first grandchild. Graciously, your mother has never been as strict as your father, hence why the past five months have gone much smoother then they would have if your father had never had an affair with Mrs. Kim.

The phone call ends whenever dinner is finished, and by that time, Namjoon scuffles through the door- the outdoorsy scent drifts to your nose while you place the sweltering bowls of soup on the table. Namjoon shimmers his feet from his work boots before hanging his coat, timidly glimpsing in your direction to confirm you're okay.

Small talk ensues with the typical questions of how each of your days has gone once the pair of you take your seats. One secret, yet another you and Taehyung have harbored, is the awareness of Namjoon's atheism- something your father must never learn of his worker. Namjoon, who will not admit it, works on the church grounds in order to provide for his family who lives a few miles up the road. Ultimately, there are many secrets not worth sharing to your parents, not only for the sake of sanity but for the protection of the ones who you've kept close, especially Namjoon. With your father being the tyrant of a priest, he used to be, there is still the potential distress of him firing Namjoon over the mere difference of beliefs. Something you refuse to let happen while you're around.

Clinking spoons replace conversation, for how long, you're uncertain; the fog of your thoughts seem to consume upon one in particular- something that has remained festering long enough, yet you have never said it aloud- figuring this moment may be the time that you do. Namjoon confided in you and Taehyung once he found comfort in trusting the pair of you- even subjects that one would have never expected him to open about. Guilt presents itself to the point your eyes squeeze shut, opening them to move your spoon to play at a piece of broccoli swimming in the potage.

"They don't know," your words are careful- slow even- continuing your vision on the dinner before you. You can feel Namjoon's soft eyes on you, his expression confused. "They don't know who the father is," that's when your gaze trails to meet his eyes just for more guilt to manifest behind them. By they, you're referring to your parents, as well as every other soul excluding Taehyung, "I won't tell them." Namjoon slowly nods with the sense of understanding, knowing the cost that will be taken if your father were to know who you're trying to bury beneath this web of fear. "Besides," you sigh heavily, "I'm surprised my father was lenient enough to let me live here," you confess, "if he wasn't so guilty over the affair, I would be homeless-"

"I wouldn't let that happen," Namjoon says suddenly, destroying whatever anger you were dwelling upon. Your mouth falls open in shock at his words and the frilly flutter of your heartbeat is hard to ignore. After living here for two months, he's proven time and time again that he means what he says; what he just said. Speechless, the rest of dinner continues in fond silence, your heart refusing to steady for the man slowly captivating your heart.

The sixth month of pregnancy gifts swollen feet and aching bones on top of your belly growing heavier by the week. Namjoon has stayed loyal- tending to your pregnancy cravings in the dead of night, aiding to your discomfort whether it involves a heating pack or a cup of ice, slipping under the covers on nights you want him to hold you, driving you to every doctor's appointment without any hesitation; with all that he's been doing for you, it's like your feelings have blossomed deeper which you know shouldn't be happening with the peril of your father finding out. The unexpected visits from your father are few, yet you usher the reminder to yourself of protecting Namjoon, though he carries the weight of facing your father instead of you who avoids the confrontation.

Night comes quickly after a day spent cleaning up the nursery that seems to be coming together, other than the crib Namjoon's been building- something you accidentally discovered when strolling close to the shed one sunny day. He's so dedicated to the unborn infant, it nearly brings you to tears, glancing around the elegant hues of multiple pastel colors painted across the room with stuffed animals, blankets, and furniture he continues to gift you amongst different items your mother has added to the collection. You always enjoy the sporadic visits from your mother, because she's free to celebrate the life that she refuses to consider as a sin.

"Are you thinking boy or girl?" Your mother elbowed your side earlier today after moving around the furniture.

"Hm," you hummed happily, thankful for the relationship that's being redeemed with her, "you know? I'm not very sure,"

"I can tell from all the colors you've chosen," she teased, "it looks beautiful," she cooed, pulling you into an accomplished side hug. You didn't want to stick to just pink or blue, so you chose every other shade in between, colliding the space with colors that could go for either or. "You're going to be a wonderful mother,"

The sound of the front door opens distracting you from the former memory, staring down at the table that now rests heaping plates of chicken and rice. The fellowship hall used to be filled with numerous rows of horizontal tables mingled with circular ones where the crowd would come to camaraderie to joyful hymnals, delicious food, reflected testimonies without any warning of the secrecies soon floating to the surface. Now a solo table, the one planted before you, pairs with a few sparse chairs just enough to seat at least four people.

"Hiya," you greet, trying to ignore the subtle increase of your heartbeat. Namjoon flashes a kid-like smile once he shutters out of his jacket, "How was your day?"

"It was good, thank you," he replies, taking long strides until he makes it to you, "How was yours with your mom?" His right-hand steadies the small of your back while his left one clutches yours to help settle you into your seat. It's hard to focus on the question he just asked when the scent from outside seems to heighten the attraction you already feel towards him, "It was good," you manage to say, reaching for the silverware to begin digging into your food, "Thank you... For helping me," the distance between your stomach and the table now is something you've been trying to get used to as well as the turmoil of trying to stand and sit.

"Anytime."

A blush floods your cheeks when he holds your timorous stare, so you avert your eyes to your dinner, letting the obvious feeling of Namjoon watching deepen the red shade on your skin. A few minutes disappear into time before you feel a shove against your abdomen from the inside. Your hand instinctively flies to press upon the baby bump, Namjoon jumping at the motion, stopping mid-chew, while his eyes enlarge in surprise.

"It's okay," you chortle at his reaction, "it's just the baby kicking," his response reminds you of the moment you felt the baby kick for the very first time- similar to a weird flutter that's hard to describe, and it had taken you a second to realize what it was exactly- just your baby making its presence known to you. Namjoon swallows the bite of food in a nervous gulp, the pang of his silverware mutes from where he lays it on the napkin.

"Here," you murmur affectionately preparing to stand to your feet. Namjoon immediately jolts from his chair, rounding the table to gather your hand in his. Instead of relying on his strength to help you position yourself, you plop back onto the seat, sliding his hand to the area where the baby kicked a few minutes prior. Namjoon kneels to level with you, his plump lips ajar mirroring the widen stance of his eyes while he patiently waits, his nervous heart pounding in his temples. It's the exuberant joy in his smile that meets his eyes in a dazzling glow the pure second the baby kicks again, and the bliss of delight smothers your heart in so many ways imaginable at this moment the pair of you are capturing together. Your hand remains resting upon his while your eyes lock repudiating from breaking contact.

"I told you that you don't have to do this alone," he whispers, and it's then you come to the awareness of how near his face is from yours, his dimples visible from his smile to the point you press your lips to each one, shocked at your act of boldness, but you can't refrain. He's too handsome and too wonderful to stay away from any longer. That's all the invitation needed, for Namjoon's lips brush yours igniting the sparks of what you've been trying to suppress for way too long. Your fingers find his hair when he leans to deepen the kiss, moving his hands to rest on the chair, fingers pressing into the wood until pale white.

At this moment, you don't care what anyone thinks.

You are in love with Kim Namjoon, and there is nothing in this world that's going to scare you away from that.

-Present day-

The pitch black outside the window brings frustration when you awaken to scold yourself for how long you've slept. Gathering yourself once the fatigue rolls off, you cautiously sit up, scooting to the bedpost until you're on your feet. Taking a trip to the restroom, you notice upon exiting the clock on the wall reads seven pm, and you wonder if Namjoon has made it inside for the evening. It's eerily quiet save for the air conditioning, but you pause when you see the lights are on in the main area of the building. Shrugging, you waddle around the corner until the sudden shouts of, "SURPRISE!", nearly knocks you to the ground.

Gasping, your eyes widen while your hand flies to your chest. A prolonged second interferes before your brain deciphers the two individuals cheering before you. Numerous pink and blue balloons hover to the top of the ceiling matching the colors of a cloth decorating the one table now adorned with a cake and wrapped gifts. "What?" You can barely speak from the light headiness taking over, but the tears that well in your eyes when you see the boxy smile of your best friend sends you in an attempt to run just to crash into his arms. He meets you halfway, surrounding you within his embrace as he rocks you back and forth muffling your wails of joy into his checkered sweater. Your soaked cheeks are wiped away from the material as been done countless times before, and his tepid palms squish your cheeks when he steps back to gesture toward your belly.

"Wow look at you! Your belly is huge!"

"I'm still in denial of how fast this pregnancy is going!" You say breathlessly, you're so happy to see Taehyung, you can hardly contain your composure. Namjoon steps forward with his hand reaching to squeeze your best friend's shoulder. Taehyung's fiery strands are curled upon his forehead, lustrous beneath the lights as it always has before, "Your father let you come?" There's a seriousness behind your voice at the question because you are cognizant of the fury Tae's father has against the church from the events that occurred what, in some ways feels like a lifetime ago.

"Well, no," Taehyung winces mischievously, "I told him that Namjoon and I were going to a basketball game,"

"Of course, you did, you sly fox,"

"You know you love me," Tae pecks your forehead before leading you to the table where the sweet whiff of cake flatters your nostrils.

"You guys didn't have to do this," you're still wiping tears off your face, though it's evident that your crying is from untainted gratitude, "What did I do to deserve the two of you?"

Namjoon kneels, intertwining his long fingers with yours, using the tip of his thumb to tickle circles upon your skin, "Taehyung mentioned how when you were kids that you loved surprises, especially if it involved a small party of some sort so," he tilts his head toward Taehyung, "And I knew how much you missed him, too. I just wanted to do something to celebrate you. And, the baby,"

It doesn't take much to smother this man in kisses nowadays, and once you express your thankfulness to the men before you, Namjoon reads your mind, snatching a small kiss in return.

"You two are on kissing terms, again?" Taehyung teases while you poke your tongue at him in mild embarrassment. Namjoon does not know of the moment you and Tae shared, and that's something you're not ready to talk about, and with the cutesy scrunch of Namjoon's face, the memory escapes to the back of your mind for now.

By the end of the night, the frosting had met all three of your faces- some smushed into Taehyung's hair while some swiped across Namjoon's neck, and your eyebrows are smeared along with the possible suspicion of some getting up your nose. Cleaning the mess takes a while, but nobody in the room would trade it for anything, and it's good stalling to prevent the night from completely ending.

Walking Taehyung to his car is the only dread overwhelming your system because you're not sure of when you will get to see him next. Tears flood your eyes, breaking Taehyung's heart as an awe of shame gusts past his lips, "I'm sorry, [Y/N]. My dad's expecting me home soon,"

"I don't want you to go," you choke, on the brink of bursting at the seams- Tae fumbles to tighten his arms behind your back- him trying to be mindful of your abdomen being pressed too firmly against his frame.

"Please don't cry," he whispers near your ear, "Please, please don't cry," His lips curl from the tears burning within his own eyes wishing with all his strength he could rid of the aching hurt that has kept your friendship separated. Tae swiftly pulls away when he remembers another present, he meant to give you earlier, whirling around to unlock his car, bending into the vehicle while his hands shuffle around the floorboard in a desperate search for whatever he wants to show you. When he turns to face you, a sharp inhale of glee echoes into the night- the lopsided plush of a heart is attached to a blue body ornamented with yellow polka dots that match its mouth. "Oh my gosh!" You squeal, "Tae, it's adorable! Where did you find this?"

Wiggling his eyebrows in pride, he hands it to you, "I made it myself. And," he pauses for effect, "since you have trouble naming things, I did the honors and named it for you. I introduce, Ta Ta."

"Ta Ta?"

"Yeah, like 'Ta Ta... for now,'"

"Just when I thought I couldn't love your dork of a self even more," you exhale, slamming your eyes shut just to bury your face further into his chest, not able to breathe in his scent from the clog of mucus stuffing your nose.

"I love you, too." His voice thickens with emotion, "Now, quit saying it like you're never going to see me again, because you know I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" Your cold nose moves to press into the corner of his jaw where steady breaths move between your parting mouth. It's a serene moment where he turns just enough to glimpse at you, engaging in the beauty he's always found within your heart. Taehyung's agape lips now rest centimeters from yours when his large hands raise to rest his fingertips along your flushed cheeks- the curls of his frizzy hair pressing to your forehead, prickling your closing eyes. You discover your free hand enfolding around his wrist from the daunting desire looming from what's been left unspoken, and the shiver in his breathing brushes your chin once the light touch of his nose cuddles to yours. You both stand there for a seeming reel of eternity, battling the inward mayhem of choice that's displayed itself on the invisible line tempting to be traversed.

"I promise."

He hadn't kissed you, but there was no denial that he wanted to, especially with the way your face has haunted his dreams since the night your lips met in emotional patterns of sorrow. But, deep down, he knows it's too obvious of a choice if the one for him is to be you, but the love that has been kept for you will never go away. The same as a tether of your heart will forever be his no matter how deep your love goes for someone else. Kim Taehyung will always be your poise- your muse- the soulmate of a friendship that you will always need.

Toddling to the nursery upon Tae's departure still presents the boiling tears from your tired eyes dripping off your cheeks as you set Ta Ta beside the koala plushie Namjoon gifted you; the humor involving the struggle of both Taehyung and Namjoon carrying the crib Namjoon built for the baby taunts a smirk at the corner of your lips. It's dark besides the faint light of the hallway behind you, giving you just enough to admire the scenery around you- sniffling back what you can before reaching to cover your quivering chin with your hand. You've missed Taehyung. You miss him. And, how beautiful of Namjoon to surprise you with your best friend's presence? Reuniting the three musketeers from once upon a time?

Little do they know, from the unearthing of your pregnancy to now, the two men have mended your broken heart and stitched it back together again piece by piece. You're highly uncertain of where you would be without them, and just the thought alone is one you refuse to dwell on. While memories turn like a spindle of loosened thread, a revelation halts you in your tracks. The thought rings loud and clear gracing a wide smile on your face while one more set of tears dampen the corner of your eyes.

After scolding yourself for so long for not thinking hard enough on the subject,

right here, hands grasping the handlebar of your future child's cradle,

you finally have a name picked out for your little one.

-

2 months later....

"Namjoon, I'll be fine," the pointed look you flash him prompts a nervous chuckle once his hands rest to rub gently along your sides. He's concerned as he's been almost the entire pregnancy, but of course, now his worries are heightened to an extreme, "I'm not due until next week. Don't worry,"

"I know," he groans, tugging you closer just enough to plant a warm to kiss to your neck, "But, I can't help it."

"I'll be fine," you drag the word with a teasing sound of a whine. Namjoon shaking his head at you with a smile you're now feeling upon your lips. "Mm," you hum into his kiss, your hands sliding to squeeze his shoulders in reaction to how impeccable it feels. You end the moment simply to gaze at him, "You'll be back before you know it," you assure him- his trip to the grocery store being the plan for the afternoon.

"Okay," he says tenderly, eyes flickering to your lips once more before leaning to brush them to his own, "I love you,"

There's a small pause, one that entails warmth smothering your chest in giddy sensations when his eyes steal yours after pulling away, "I love you, too, Joon," watching him head out the door until the truck disappears along the road.

Of course, the day doesn't go accordingly the way you expect, because on carefully prodding to the kitchen in preparation to cook breakfast, a slight ache ensues within your abdomen. "Oh," you groan, stroking the area with your fingertips before deciding to lay down for a bit instead. When reaching your room, the sharp pain of a cramp returns causing a harsh cringe as you lean against your bedpost, hardly able to concentrate on the attempt of climbing onto the mattress. You remain hunched over for five minutes, forcing slow breaths to prevent from panicking, and when you find the coast to be clear, you straighten yourself out.

Suddenly, before you can comprehend what's happening, a gush of water splatters onto the carpet soaking your feet in the process.

"No," you whisper, eyes frantically scanning your room for your cell phone. Namjoon shouldn't be far with the grocery store only being a few miles away, but in order to get a hold of him, you must find your only way of contacting him. Hands pat your bed, thrusting off the bed covers and shaking them roughly, yet no 'thump' is heard before you cast the covers in a pile onto the ground. The next destination leads to the restroom, with no luck of your phone being in your bedroom- when another wave of pain shoots within your stomach, you gasp, trying to endure through the discomfort with all your might.

Leaving a water trail behind with every step you take, you desperately search the countertops before stepping into the area that holds the kitchen, wondering if there is any possibility it may have been left behind there. Your feet meet the cool surface of the tile floor, your gape scanning the entirety of the space before a pant of relief escapes past your dry lips the second your shaking hands gather the device. "Agh!" A contraction surges, hands squeezing your phone unintentionally, yet you grimace just enough to maintain your focus on the task at hand. Managing to get the phone ringing, it doesn't take long until you hear the man of your dreams at the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Joon, it's time," you choke, voice thick with pain.

"Oh, shit! Hold on tight, I'm on my way, just hold tight, I'm coming-"

You just happen to be running by the church in favor of dropping off the work truck keys to your father when he unintentionally introduces you to the new employee you assume he plans to hire, "[Y/N], this is Kim Namjoon. He's going to be taking care of the church grounds for us, isn't that wonderful?"

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," you greet, underlyingly suffering from the attraction swarming to your reddening cheeks. When your father mentioned of hiring, you never anticipated the person to be this overwhelmingly breathtaking.

"It's nice to meet you too, Ma'am," Namjoon's polite nod mirrors the dimples evident from a soft grin, his hand reaching for yours to shake before your father continues the tour of the place you've grown up memorizing. But something initiates you to stay, eyes lingering on the back of the tall figure decked in a turtleneck covered by a green jacket complementing a pair of jeans along with brown shoes. There's a spark of intuition that day, one that ignited the prominent determination that you want to get to know this person even if your father ends up finding out.

Namjoon busts through the door with pure alarm etched in his voice, "[Y/N], I'm here! Baby, I'm right here," he immediately jumps to where you are, keeled over on the floor, throwing his arm around you until he lifts you out of the fellowship hall and into the work truck. Words you attempt to form are muted by whimpers, tears brimming your eyes from the pain that doesn't end, "I'm going to grab the suitcase, I'll be right back," time must be faster than you can measure for Namjoon arrives, slinging the suitcase into the backseat before slamming into the driver's side.

It takes a while for the newly found employee to warm up to every opportunity you take in order to get to know him. One thing he's slowly but surely learning is that you're not one to give up so easily- something you've noticed him picking up on, especially on days, you annoy him when he's on call to build a project. You make it clear to talk to him nonstop until he acknowledges your existence, and the times he doesn't breathe a word results in a call to Taehyung.

"Come help me," you plea hearing Taehyung's exasperated sigh on the other line.

"You are so annoying,"

"You know you love me, fool," you gloat because with defeat, your best friend reluctantly joins you, even accompanying a basketball just in case if Namjoon happens to fancy sports. Your girlfriends, Luna and Jo, were informed of your undying crush on the mysterious worker, crossing their arms in jealousy that you half-heartedly ignored.

"He doesn't even come to the services," Jo droned, "Don't you think it'd be best to get to know someone that's more... active in the church? Like the pianist's son, Min Yoongi. You two had such a cute relationship when you were three-"

You can't get past why no one seems to understand that you must win Namjoon over, and though Luna and Jo have seen the world along with you since childhood, you roll your eyes, turning on a heel, "I'll catch you later,"

Tires screech along the road while Namjoon swerves past cars on the highway, hands ghost white from the tight grasp he has upon the steering wheel. Meanwhile, your hand grips the bar above you while your other rests upon your belly- the keenness of getting to hold your baby in your arms is all you're thinking about other than Namjoon who's keeping you sane.

"Just a few more miles and we will be there. Just breathe," his voice is unsteady from the fright of this situation, but he upholds his enlarged gaze upon the road. He fumbles for his phone- trying to contact anyone from your family in order to tell them the news.

"GAH!" Leaning forward, a wail echoes within the vehicle as another contraction attacks.

"You guys aren't going to stop until I'm your friend, am I right?" Namjoon's elbows are folded from the hold he has on the basketball meeting his chest. Tae jumps sporadically in front of him with outspread arms preparing to prevent the ball from flying into the hoop.

"Damn straight," you shrug your shoulders in observation of Namjoon's tilting head.

"I thought church girls didn't cuss,"

"And I thought you'd have more game than the basketball," You retort.Tae halts, straightening his frame, eyes flickering between you and a quiet Namjoon, "Now hurry up. If you win, I will leave you alone for good. If Tae wins then we treat you to dinner and a movie. How does that sound?"

With an incredulous shake of his head, Namjoon smirks, "Okay," the scuffle of his converse is heard on the pavement when he briefly turns to toss the ball toward the hoop. The basketball pangs the ring, twirling ferociously to the point, your heart begins to sink, but to your pleasure, the ball tips off the rim, landing in a rejoicing Taehyung's arms.

"HAH!" You sprint, colliding into Taehyung's embrace while Namjoon tries to stifle the smile overtaking his lips, "Looks like it's going to be a burger and fries' kind of night," you wink, unaware of the hope that Namjoon has of wanting to gain your friendship just as much.

The hospital entrance appears after the rush of Namjoon turning into the parking lot soon helping you out of the truck. The suitcase will have to wait being he can retrieve it later, his ultimate goal is getting you within the building to where you're safe. "It's okay, it's okay," he tries to appear relaxed, but everything becomes a blur until a nurse with fluffy, black hair approaches with a wheelchair to help settle you in. His nametag reads 'JIMIN' – him rolling you quickly down the hall when the presence of a female nurse whose nametag reads 'MONNIE' helps you change into the nightgown upon arrival of the hospital room. Voices are mingling together from the pounding in your temples, but Monnie keeps her hands gentle on your back to lead you to the bed where she hooks you up to what seems like a million machines whilst providing as much comfort to you as possible.

Namjoon's calloused hand covers yours when one other nurse, Jungkook, floods the room, bringing a chair for him to sit in. You're not sure of all the commotion that's overwhelming the room, but you steady your breathing as Namjoon directs, squeezing his hand through each contraction. You recognize the doctor, Kim Seokjin, a tall man already dawned in a scrub hat, mouth mask and gloves, scurrying to where you are, "Alright, I am going to check your dilation Ms. [Y/N], just breathe in and out." Slamming your eyes shut, you whimper from the discomfort, "Alright, she is dilated three centimeters. Once you are at ten centimeters [Y/N], you will begin pushing. No worries, I will alert you as soon as I need you to begin. Keep breathing. Everything will be okay,"

"Taehyung... My mom... Dad-" you murmur deliriously between breaths, the foggy sense of your conscious outweighing how to speak properly.

"No worries baby, they're on their way. They're on their way right now," he sweetly kisses your perspired forehead, running his free hand through your tangled hair.

The three musketeers were official after the day at the basketball hoop, eventually learning of Namjoon's atheism as well as him providing for his family.

"My dad couldn't find a job that pays enough, so I promised him that I will do whatever it takes," it had been six months since Namjoon had been hired, and currently is finishing his final paint to the shed while you and Taehyung sit Indian style in the grass. "Thanks to the job here, I can afford the rent for my parents as well as give them my car since here, I just use the work truck..." Namjoon sharing more in-depth with his life story- you finally get what you've been determined to gain since meeting him.

It's weeks later that you'll never forget, leaning against a mini, red monkey bar after sharing your feelings toward the man you've grown so fond of. There's no denying the feelings he's had for you, and once he inches closer, the crave to hold his hand has never been stronger. Boldly, your fingers trail to intertwine with his, your nerves close to getting the best of you despite the persistent smile that hasn't left him. When you find the bravery to look up at him, he swallows calmly before leaning in, you stand on your tiptoes to meet halfway until your lips touch. The slide of his arms encompassing your frame feels so inviting when he presses his body to yours. The world is put on pause to you and nothing else matters other than the way his lips move so elegantly- your arms wrapping around his shoulders while he sways you from side to side.

Time doesn't seem to speed up through all this pain, but the adrenaline swimming in your veins peaks when Dr. Seokjin prepares to check your dilation again. "Ten centimeters-" He confirms, "Alright, [Y/N], the baby's coming. When I say push, you push. Okay," he positions himself though you can't see anything past your gown and raised knees, "One, two, three! Push!"

"AGH!" You grunt, a small scream vibrating at the back of your throat once you push with every fiber of strength, you can muster.

"Breathe, breathe," Namjoon's hand hasn't once left yours- sweat pouring from your scalp while the burning agony overpowers your body.

"Is she here!?" The click of darting heels enters the room and are loud enough for it to catch your attention. "Oh, honey, I'm here!" It's your mother- scampering to your side with the undeniable blur of Taehyung's red hair following suit. You want to ask where your father is, but before a chance is given, the doctor shouts, "Push!"

"AAAAAAAGH!" You manage, body straining in all its entireness. Taehyung jolts to let you squeeze his hand along with Namjoon's. His features show nothing but fear at the sight of you being in so much strife, yet he holds it together enough to cheer you on.

"I'm- I'm so glad you both are here," you cry- another sixty seconds drifting before the shout of, "Push!" erupts.

"I'm scared," you murmur in the dimness of the room. On your knees, Namjoon's soothing hands glide along the tops of your thighs motivating you to run your hands along his forearms. You don't know where your parents are, and you're too angry to care. You're bushed of the fighting so, you sought comfort in being here, with Namjoon. Taehyung dropped you off at the fellowship hall with the promise of not breathing a word- because if your parents were to find out remotely of your whereabouts, you'd hate to discover what the consequences will be.

"Me too," his nervous eyes investigate every inch of your face. You've never been with anyone this way before- secretly hidden away from the world outside trying to suppress the revealing crave of what you're curious about. Scooting forward, you drape either leg around him, propping yourself enough to where your arms lace around his neck.

His breath hitches from the gesture- your lips erotically aligning with his in slow movements, heat rising below you when you feel the hardening of his being beneath your sense, "I want you," you whisper. He knows that you're a virgin, and with care, he lays you on the bed, hovering above your frame where your bodies align perfectly. "Are you sure this is what you want," concern consumes his countenance, but you desperately bring your hands to cup his cheeks.

"I don't think I've wanted anyone so much in my life,"

You gasp into his kiss where he slips his tongue along yours- the sensation one you've grown used to from the slovenly kisses leading up to this very night. You give Namjoon permission to sneak his large hands underneath your shirt, trailing up your ribcage before swallowing your breasts whole in his heated palms. Nipples so sensitive, your heat drenches the moment he realizes the effect it has on you just by merely brushing the rising buds, lipping at your neck while he basks in the beauty of your moans. "More," you beg, "Please, Joon, more." When clothes start to be thrown off, you're determined to pleasure him, but have not an idea on how to do so. "Show me," you breathlessly demand, Namjoon's palm leading yours to encircle his twitching being. You stroke his erection as shown, biting your lower lip from the throbbing feeling of your core- him instantly finding your entrance to fill it with his fingers as carefully as he can- both of you pleasuring each other, yet still getting lost in kissing so deeply, the two of you forget to gasp for air. The sensation of heated pressed bare skin can be the most beautiful thing, especially with the way your legs entangle with his. You're surprised the feel of his prodding fingers didn't bring as much discomfort as you would have originally anticipated, but when he brings a hand to his penis, he rubs his tip along your slit letting the sloppy sound of you leak onto it. "Holy shit," he moans from how soaked you are for him- his fingertips finding your clit while yours dig into the backs of his shoulders.

Smoldering kisses move from your lips to your breasts, down your abdomen to your inner thighs where you tense underneath his touch that slides to hold your bottom half where he can scan your heat. The tip of his tongue swipes upon your slit excruciatingly slow to the point your fingers tangle with the material of the bedsheets. The smacking sound of his lips savor your taste while his tongue circles your core- you're hyperventilating from how deliciously he flicks his tongue upon your slit, screaming his name relentlessly- the speed of his skilled mouth driving you wild from the growing climax beckoning your stiffening thighs, "Oh, Namjoon, oh- Joon- I- Oh!"

He's not ready for you to finish because there's more he wants to show you. Hovering above you once again to see you coming down from your high, your heaving chest longs for his touch, and he nearly comes undone from the smile embellishing your face. His tracing fingertips parade along the outline of your body in featherlike tickles while the sounds of panting breaths mingle with shifting sheets bring subtle music to your ears for the rest of the night. The gentle parting of his lips grasps your own in smooth movements persuading arousal streaming from your core. Your fingers now link with frilly tufts of his hair, gripping the strands in reaction to the pressing of his bare chest to yours, dreaming of nothing more than to be entwined with him for what you hope will be forever. Hips grinding into yours prompts the light moan teasing his ears for more before his mouth trails to pause above your pounding heart. His hair brushing your chin, your arms glide to wrap around him holding the hope that he will never let you go. Not even for a second.

"Alright, one more! Almost done! Push!"

Sucking in one long breath, with a compulsory scream, you push with all you have left in you. Exhaustion weakens your limbs, yet a rush of relief floods your body when the cries of an infant reverberate within the room. With heavy eyes, you turn to see your mother with tears cascading down her face and onto the back of her hand covering her agape mouth- eyes remaining locked in front of her. Taehyung's gaze doesn't drop though his fingers loosen from yours at the small bundle immediately apprehending the eyes of every individual. Right then, you move your head to your other side where Namjoon gradually rises in awe- his hand still has yours. Gathering any ounce of strength, you're ready to see the child you've been waiting to hold for nine months, so cautiously you sit up until your stare meets Dr. Seokjin's. You can see the smile in his eyes despite the mouth mask, and what he says next brings you to tears, "It's a girl,"

"Oh!" You thrill, anxious to meet her while the nurses scurry to clean her up.

"Sir, would you like to do the honors?" The doctor gestures a pair of scissors towards a stiffened Namjoon whose eyes are welled with hushed tears. He can't even speak, yet he nods from the happiness exploding beneath his chest.

"Wait," Your mom says, "Is- is?"

It's a moment that seems to fit the setting for your father walks in, as if on cue, shoulders slumped from the anticipating tension now darkening the room. Taehyung's shoulders tensed at the sight of the man he despises, but for the sake of you, Namjoon and his Godchild, he keeps his composure enough to ignore the elephant now standing in the room. The fear that used to consume you upon your dad unraveling the truth about your secret vacates you when you know that you and the two men present can conquer anything.

"Yes," the answer is to your mother, but your stern glower of warning is only connected with your dad's although your mother's stare remains on you, "Namjoon is the father."

Namjoon stands with pride while he accepts the pair of scissors from Dr. Seokjin- your father, with a shocked expression, watches as the man he hired happens to be the same man who stole his daughter's heart without his knowledge. Yet, he refrains from anger, because who is he to ruin such a precious moment about to unfold here?

Pictures are taken of Namjoon cutting the umbilical cord, his fingers gently rubbing his daughter's cheek while he wipes at the tears dripping from his eyes. Jungkook takes her into his arms to weigh her before wrapping her in a plush pink blanket, "She is seven pounds and five ounces,"

Endless joy envelops your heart from the scene playing out before you; especially, when the vision of your father's quivering chin, admiring his granddaughter leaves you speechless along with the hope of redemption entering your beating heart.

"Are you ready to hold her?" Monnie's kind eyes match her smile when she touches your arm.

"Yes," you stifle a sob, "I want to hold her,"

Monnie poses her arms to where Jungkook places your daughter, Monnie guardedly turns to rest your baby into your arms. Her small face chortles, her eyes closing while she puckers her tiny lips. "She's so perfect," you cry, love in all its beauty falling from your eyes while you watch your daughter's fingers fold individually upon her chest.

"Just like you," Namjoon whispers, locking eyes with you before inching forward to give you a loving kiss.

"I love you, Joon," you whisper, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, too."

"Uh," the deep serenade of your best friend interrupts, all attention abruptly turning to see him raise an index finger in the air, "So, as the Godfather, I must ask a very serious question," the room chuckles along with him as they patiently wait for his request, "What's her name?"

"Ah," you nod, realizing that hasn't been made known to anyone other than to yourself. Your mother steps forward to place her hand upon your shoulder while your father keeps his distance enough to not cause any trouble- though the two of you share a small smile to let him know all is well. Namjoon watches you in admiration- the woman of his dreams holding his child in her arms while facing her deepest fear yet holds her head with pride about the man she will spend the rest of her life with along with her daughter swaddled to her chest. You are everything he's ever longed for and more, and he's ready to defeat any storm in life if it's with you and his daughter.

To answer Tae's question though, you return to face him, tears gathering in exhilarating bliss.

"Taejun." Her eyes slightly open at the hearing of her name as a tiny smile adorns her lips,

"Her name is Kim Taejun."