#SHOW US what they are envious of cowards

[universetopieces]

They’re envious of us up there, Marisa... the Angels. Our flesh, our blood, our short, vital lives. They’ve none of it.

[ask-the-royal-absol]

(@ask-the-shiny-pokemons) As Rimi approaching the castle, she gasps of how it looks so beautiful. Upon approaching Hope and King Flint, she smiles.

"Heya! It's nice to meetcha again! I'm impressed of how this place looks... Anyways...ya have a family, right?" now she facing the king "Can you tell some of your stories with Hope? Woulda be interestin' to hear them."

King Flint: Of course I have a family. Everyone in this castle is family to me. They've all helped in running this kingdom and raising Hope. The magmar you see there? One of the best advisors I've ever had. Stan the Hitmonlee? Superb bodyguard. Everyone is considered a part of the family.

King Flint: As for stories about my little girl, I have many! The time she got her head stuck in a bush, the time she almost fell into the volcano, that time she almost lost a race to a slugma. The tales I have about my little chic are endless.

King Flint: But the embarrassing ones make you, well, you. They're just as important as your successes. Every part of your life develops you into the Pokémon you are today.

Hope: Please spare me the embarrassment.

King Flint: Alright, alright.

Destino: Coward.

King Flint: Oh? Coward, am I? Need I remind you that I'm in an alliance with your family? Or should I tell everyone here about the shower incident? The evolution party? The talent show? What about the-

King Flint: Let me tell you all about the moment I was most proud of her. It was when she first learned how to write. Now, you can probably see that Hope is one to struggle with certain things due to her lack of arms. To be honest, I never thought it'd be possible. She had to use a scribe for a lot of her younger schooling. You found it frustrating having to have someone write down absolutely everything. One day, she'd had enough. She spent time and effort writing and writing and writing, finding new and more comfortable ways to do it. There were many times you gave up, weren't there?

Hope: Kinda hard to write when you're so behind all of your peers and nobody knew what to do with you.

King Flint: Pretty much. I was told by many of her teachers that she probably would never be able to develop the skill. Legs and feet just aren't designed to do that. She persevered though. I think you were about, what, 12 when you wrote me my first father's day card all by yourself. I couldn't help but cry.

Hope: Cry? You were bawling your eyes out!

King Flint: Hahaha! I suppose I was! I was just proud my little girl had achieved something that no one else thought possible. Sure, your spelling is a bit wonky at times, but I'm still so proud of the progress you've made. Of course, you've still needed your scribe sometimes and we've had to make a lot of adaptations to make things easier for you, but I'm still so proud of how far you've come.

*Destino listened to the kind words Hope's dad said about her. Had they ever received any meaningful praise from their parents? Their dad was one that barely spoke at the best of times. When he did want to talk to them, it was usually about royal duties and doing what's right for the kingdom. Their mother babied them every second she saw them but there was never a time Destino had ever heard anything about how proud they were of them. Was the absol envious of what they were seeing? Maybe a little. What would life have been like if their parents were more supportive of them or even just there for them? For half of their childhood, Destino was mainly raised by the two Bisharps, Roy and Hershel. It was only when they were 10 that their parents decided to take some responsibility for raising them.

Their face turned to a small frown for a second before they quickly corrected themselves. They couldn't show this simple story affected them. Destino wouldn't show any emotions that would make it seem like they weren't in control of themselves and their emotions. Not again. These Pokémon had already seen enough.*

King Flint: Were you born like that?

*Destino moves in between the King and Rimi, looking at him*

Destino: You mean to tell me Rimbo over here is not supposed to look like that?

King Flint: Well, she certainly ain't like any lycanrocs here.

Destino: Wow, I knew you were weird, Rimbo, but this is on a whole nother level. I just assumed this is what your species looked like. No, turns out you're just some oddball. Couldn't be me. Thank goodness.

Hope: Is there anything wrong with Pokémon who are born looking different?

Destino: Of course not. I definitely don't look like your average Absol. In fact, I'm far better than the average. Flawless even. Definitely better than all of you. Guess I was just born perfect.

*Hope, breathing out a sigh of frustration, gives a small kick to Destino's legs. The absol lets out a little scream.*

Destino: How dare you?!

Hope: Oh, I'm sorry. Your incessant voice is just so unpleasant to my ears. I had to put an end to that. Nice scream by the way. Can't wait for that in the training grounds.

King Flint: Hey hey, now let's stop all that. No need to be fighting here. Save it for a more appropriate time. Hope, you know better. And Prime Destino, perhaps you should hold your tongue for now. You're funny but I don't wanna have anything start whilst I'm here, alright?

(1/6)

[yanderes-galore]

Hi, could you write a yandere alphabet or concept for Kreacher Pierson from IDV? Preferably with a gender neutral reader? No rush or mandate to write this! :3

Ohh... I haven't written for IDV in forever. Hope you enjoy :) May be OOC as I forgot how he acts a bit. Not fully proofread, may have mistakes spelling-wise.

Edit: Oml I forgot how creepy he actually IS in his lore 😰

Yandere Alphabet - Kreacher Pierson (Thief)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Delusional behavior, Touchy behavior, Possessive behavior/Jealousy, Deceit, Punishment, Creepy behavior, Isolation, Kidnapping implied, Forced relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

From what I remember, Kreacher is an interesting if not unnerving character. He already has creep/stalker vibes if we're to take Emma Woods' Diary into consideration (but the truth of that is dubious iirc). Kreacher is also good at masking his behavior, acting as though he genuinely wants to help others... shown in his backstory that he wishes to open an orphanage twice which was most likely a front to convince orphans to steal for him, so that was a ruse.

He's a persistent man and doesn't quite know when to "give up". He's a greedy and cruel survivor, not afraid to use deceit to get what he wants. Unfortunately, his obsession is also subjected to such things.

Kreacher seems like he'd be a yandere who craves physical affection, holding his darling close to him and refusing to let them leave his side. He's obviously not a good man but his obsession intensity seems... moderate.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Kreacher doesn't seem like he'd kill necessarily. He seems like a bit of a coward, so he'd be better off with sabotage and manipulation.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Overly affectionate and possessive. He wouldn't mock you but he'd be incredibly delusional while caring for you. He thinks you love him as much as he does you, so he clings to you tightly.

You don't, you're scared of/hate him.

He might get carried away but tries to listen when you protest.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Kreacher has moments where he's open with his feelings, appearing vulnerable when he clings to you. Other times he's more closed off around you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Upset, often then blaming you for "not making things work".

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and he doesn't enjoy you trying to escape.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Hm... I'd say his punishments or frequent attempts at affection. He doesn't understand your rejection, which is really disturbing... I will not sugarcoat that.

This man is bad news.

Probably being your spouse, he's already plotting marriage out and everything as he gazes at you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yes and I imagine him pestering the one who was around you. He's possessive and envious when others are too close. If only he'd leave you alone....

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Obsessive, Manipulative, Deceitful, Possessive, Easily jealous, Controlling, Clingy, Flirtatious, Overly affectionate.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Kreacher most likely met you during his manor game. Since he laid his eyes on you, he's smitten. This leads to him often trying to speak with you or win you over.

Kreacher is an impatient man but he tries his best to court you normally. However, we all know he's bad news based on his behavior. Seeing you not reciprocate makes him manipulate you, pretending to be nicer than he actually is...

Perhaps you'll believe him as someone who wants to help you...

Until he slips and reveals the deceitful man he really is.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

He plays himself off as "an innocent man who wants to help others"... in reality he's a cruel man with his own selfish desires.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Kreacher genuinely seems like the type of yandere to lock you in your room of the manor until you "learn your lesson".

That's probably the least intense punishment.

But if you be good... he'll reward you for being his good darling~

He's such a creepy guy... I am slowly remembering this as a write him and look at his lore... *shiver*

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

None unless there's "no choice".

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Kreacher is an impatient yandere.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No, he would not. He'd have a breakdown and everything.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No and no.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

It's hard to say... but I'd say upbringing?

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He actually does try to comfort you... as much as you hate it.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Feeding into his delusions just enough to leave.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not intentionally.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He has worship yandere tendencies at times, feeling his darling is perfection. He'd go to great lengths and do anything to have his treasure.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Little pining, Obsession at first sight for him.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not intentionally.

[lustrous-dawn]

With Zhen's situation hopefully on the horizon, we find ourselves back in the forest, Two loyal Suns of old standing ground-

_______

“She's fucking dead and you know that better than anyone else.” She would be rolled in her grave if she knew what he had done but that's neither here nor there. The air, humid, felt heavy under the small droplets of rain. Roshi's eyes were fixed on Ninetales in front of him.

“Her spirit has left this plane but we are still tied to our oath, imbecile,” Jiyuku hissed. “Yet you fail to comprehend what true fidelity is.” His eyes narrowed upon the beads around the Arcanine’s neck, the deep azure hue that rose in response to Roshi’s apprehension. A sea god? “Now you show me you were never worth the station she granted you, tail tucked between your legs at the mere sight of me as you wear another god’s colors.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

A sound of agitation. “Why did I ever agree to work alongside you- The beads, you idiot.”

Roshi glanced down. Kyogre warned him that it would react to the perceived threat of danger. A mutter from Roshi, “Why the hell would I ever go to a sea god? You know me.”

“Unfortunately I do.” Jiyuku made a face as if the reminder sickened him. “That does not answer my question.”

“Why the hell do you want to know!? Didn't you come here to scold me or whatever the hell you came here for?” Roshi was keen to get the hell away from the Ninetales. The wound over his eye throbbed in Jiyuku's presence, remembering Jiyuku was the one who wounded him. Anger had overtaken the initial apprehension, and the Arcanine planted himself in place.

“To remind you of your oath.” Jiyuku's tails fanned out behind him. “I have been tending to the region's spirits for the better part of four centuries now. The new generation does not have the time necessary to grow and keep them in check.”

“You're here to make my life fucking difficult,” Roshi snarled.

“I am here to get you back on track,” Jiyuku corrected. “To remind you what you used to be.” An unreadable look. “You might have even gained some weight. Pity. You were always the fit one between us.”

“Like hell I have!” Still, he lifted his paws and checked, scowling at Jiyuku's chortle. “I don't need your help.” Never have. Never will. Eyes filled with scorn, Roshi turned.

“Now you run from your problems instead of facing them head-on. Coward.”

Roshi halted, mud splattering along the wood. “What did you call me?”

“I called you a Coward.”

Jiyuku was once a guardian he respected, maybe even better than him—Roshi could accept that. It would be a lie to say he hadn't relied on the cunning fox's wits to escape a situation or two. He was envious to see the attention Jiyuku had gotten from Akimitsu in the end as he watched from afar. He was the senior but still, Roshi couldn't compare to the likes of Jiyuku.

“But you didn't have the balls to do what had to be done.” His growl matched the rumble of thunder overhead. The signs were there. Her steadily rising absence from the public eye, their Ho-oh becoming more reclusive by the day. Kazuki foolishly blamed them for their goddess behavior but they knew it was simply an excuse. “She was so far gone and none of you wanted to see it.”

A shell of her former self. Her once pristine feathers had begun to molt and decay, losing their shimmer, becoming a sinister black. It had sent prickles down his spine. It was foul, Roshi’s nostrils flared at the memory of his goddess hunkering down, barely able to lift her head.

“I know you felt it.” Words sharp as claws. Bound by oath, they were attuned to their goddess. “You couldn't call that living.”

“There could have been another solution! You of all of them were the most devoted!” Jiyuku was the most competent but he never held the Goddess’ attention for long. He was content with it, Roshi was the first, it was only proper. The connection, she placed her faith entirely upon him. Jaw clenched, Jiyuku hissed, “And it only makes what you have done all the more heinous.”

“See, it's that wishful thinking that doesn't get shit done! I knew you were smart but not fucking naive like some kid!” Maybe Jiyuku wasn't the superior know-it-all Roshi thought he was. Jiyuku had the age over him but not steel. “She was going to die! There was no coming back from it! Goddess or not, once the rot spreads, you know what happens.”

Pain unimaginable, the Arcanine buckling beneath the weight of it. Emotional, physical. But he relented, his eyes filled with a torrent of tears as he faced his goddess rotting before him. Flesh in his maw, he gagged, nearly emptying the contents of his stomach as he tossed it away.

“That's the difference between you and I.”

“You killed her…”

A croak from the bushes, the trembling frame of Hikori in the bushes. The runt was afraid. Roshi gritted his fangs. “That's where I failed. She should have died then.” Hateful gaze fixated on Jiyuku. “Had he not got in the way, she wouldn't have escaped me.”

“You had to be stopped.”

“That's rich! You think it was a good idea that she didn't die! Think about it! She made that idiot watching over the region now. What if she made him wrong? What if he's the reason shit is fucked up now!?”

He turned, his eyes fierce on Hikori. “If you don't fix things like that damn Celebi had promised me, I'll kill him. So you better fucking shape up now, runt.”

[mr2swap]

John's pathetic new life.

-Next, please!-

I got up from my seat that I shared with a dozen people, among them some girls, some boys, and some single mothers, a guard checked my nametag one last time and let me enter a tiny corridor with photography signed by some famous wrestlers who had fought in that same place, including the person who brought me here tonight.

I was totally nervous my knees were shaking with every step I took towards John Cena's private dressing room, sweat was accumulating on the fabric under my armpits The sweat from my forehead would not stop falling into my eyes until I took a handkerchief from my pocket and he cleaned me until the handkerchief was completely wet, I left the dirty handkerchief in a trash can and then he bought to see while he continued walking How many handkerchiefs were still left I was not surprised that I only had one left today it was hot as hell in the sand wrestling, luckily I wouldn't need them anymore.

This was the fifth time that I had entered his private dressing room And maybe this was my 17th fight, I had tried to do this the last time I was close to John Cena like this but I was a coward, in the end, There is not a night that I will not think of using this magical amulet which exchanges the weapons of 2 or more people who touch the amulet at the same time, but now it was decided.

I kept walking until I entered an elegant room with a couple of people, a photographer was counting down to be able to take a good photo of John Cena and his childish fan. When he was finally free, the little boy ran into his mother's arms I kept seeing John's handsome face, that look of sexual desire on his face was so obvious I couldn't help but feel a little envious.

They both left after receiving a photo and thanking the giant who was wearing an elegant blue suit, the thin cloth could barely contain the huge arms, I wiped the sweat with my arms and checked once more that the magic stone was still there. It was still in my pocket, I passed my hands over the cloth feeling with my fingers the hardness of the magic Rune that I had bought on the deep web, I had spent all my savings and got a second mortgage.

After John said goodbye to the small family John talked to another man in a suit, thinner and looking similar to a weak middle-aged nerd, maybe he was his representative or something, John Lucia was a little tired or maybe annoyed to be wearing a fancy suit instead of a tank top and basketball shorts.

When they both noticed that there was another "customer" at the door, I heard John's powerful and masculine voice asking me to come closer, his smile was charming, his hair was perfectly styled, and I couldn't help but my cock suddenly hardened a little, Thanks to god my dick isn't big enough to show through my pants, but all that would change now.

I walked over to where he was sitting and I sat next to him, he slowly stretched out his huge arm toward me. The cameraman motioned to me to let me know that he was ready to take the "souvenir" photo. I forcefully grabbed the rune that was in my pants and I reached out my other hand to shake John's hand.

The moment our hands touched the rune in my pocket reacted, and a small glow began to emanate from the strange runestone hidden in my pants. He only had one chance to steal her perfect body, after which the rune would become an extremely expensive paperweight.

The rune's power ran through my body, numbing each one of my muscles, and John's surprised and surprised face confirmed that I wasn't scammed by some guy on the internet.

I couldn't stop looking into John's eyes as my body went completely numb. The camera flash came at the exact moment my soul was shot into John's body, my consciousness separated from my body and traveled to the body. of John, I had no control over what was happening to me, my Consciousness stayed in John's empty head, and at the same time, John's consciousness stayed in my old body.

After a simple blink I could see again but this time it wasn't with my eyes. In front of me was a pathetic middle-aged man bald and out of shape, with an untidy beard and sweat stains under his armpits, the small smile on his face quickly disappeared, and he looked down, and instead of seeing his muscular body just, I look at the sad body of a fanatic.

John stood up to inspect his new smaller and weaker body as the sensations in our bodies slowly returned, the first thing I could feel was tremendous confidence from the new sensation of my massive muscles, I had made it now John's body was totally mine and I felt extremely horny.

Without saying a single word I stood up, I thought I would have to get used to my new height, weight, or muscles but everything felt so natural that I didn't have to force myself to fully control John's body, it was as if he had always been there been my body.

I left the confused little bald man behind as he tried to understand why he was now in the pathetic body of the fan that a moment ago had paid just for a shake of his hand and a picture like the rest of the sheep following their brawny god, but For John, all that was over. Now the only way he could see the fighting arena again would be by sitting in front of a television in his new home.

The representative, the photographer, and the security guards subdued John leaving him on the ground with a single blow to his stomach, he felt so weak and pathetic that the only response to the crash was to fall to the ground on his knees while crying like the fag that now was.

While "John" distracted the others, I calmly walked towards the private bathroom of John's elegant dressing room without stopping smiling for a single second. The only problem I had now was the size of my colossal erection that painfully exaggerated between my muscular legs. , I began to undress on my way to the bathroom exposing my huge veiny arms, and my huge pecs.

When I finally found the bathroom, I did not hesitate to undress completely and pose in front of the mirror to be able to admire the perfection of my new body, I did not hold back any longer, I approached the mirror putting my face just a couple of inches from my My own reflection, I scanned every sexy wrinkle in my new face from top to bottom and couldn't help it.

My tongue began to play with the cold mirror in front of me. Using my 2 hands I massaged my huge cock while trying to contain the cum inside my balls, I was so horny that I was able to masturbate right after the change and I wouldn't last more than 30 seconds without ejaculating, but I wanted to keep this moment the first moment of my new life.

The male moans escaping from my mouth could be heard even outside the bathroom but I didn't give a damn. I was the fucking John Cena and no one could stop me, I walked away from the mirror without stopping looking at my face, an involuntary smile appeared on my lips when I looked at my idol completely naked in such an erotic pose.

A final roar left my mouth as I ejaculated on the bathroom mirror dirtying my own reflection. Maybe the real John would be furious if he knew all the things I've done to his body and how many fans I've fucked after every fight. But he's been too busy trying to fix his new life as a balding, middle-aged loser. Maybe if he works hard he can buy another rock…in 30 years.

And I… well I'm fucking rich now I live in John's mansion, I sleep in his bed and masturbate to the smell of the dirty clothes I wear after putting on an excellent show for all my fans, life couldn't be better… at less for me.

sup guys! I'm back with another one of my old stories, if you want to see my 200+ stories you can take a look at my patreon and support me to continue creating bodyswap stories.

[swifty-fox]

Okay, so I'm rereading the chapter of KFAK in which they're at the party (when a new chapter uploads I'll reread other parts as well) and it's interesting trying to parse what's going through John's head in this chapter. Is he envious of Gale, for knowing who he is and what he wants and being able to compartmentalize all of it behind a facade that he gets to share with someone who also knows who *she* is and what she wants? John mentioned being annoyed with his mother clearly being impatient for him to find a wife and he's making a show of flirting with women all while struggling with his feelings for Gale and his realization that Gale has feelings for him, and is maybe confused and frustrated with how Gale's able to bury all of it and find a convenient lavender arrangement with a woman who understands and accepts him? When I first read this chapter I read it as John resenting Gale for leaving him behind and calling him a coward and was shocked, but if it's him not knowing how else to vent his frustration that Gale seems to be so cool and composed over everything he's repressed then it was still a hurtful thing to say but seems more in line with him and what we find out about him later. Sorry for the ramble I just kind of went, "ooOOh!" when looking back at it.

There's a lot of scenes I want to explore from John's POV in the sequel fic, especially those times where he and Gale are apart!

But yeah John definitely can hold his feelings and motivations very close to his heart when he wants to, which is a direct contrast to how he is with everything else, which is what throws Gale off a bit. he isn't used to not being able to read John and that's why he also starts pulling away. He's confused and hurt and questioning himself

I think at that point John is still considering his own sexuality only in the VAGUEST of terms, if it all. He understands that things feel wrong, that he's feeling 'broken' but chalks it more up to what he went through in the war (which is not entirely incorrect. He IS traumatized)

I do think he's looking at Gale with a very 'minemineminemine' mindset, especially when James is hanging off him and that kinda shocks him. He's hurt at not being chosen over a hookup but also what do you expect John is he going to just sit there faithfully like a dog for you to get your rocks off? His feelings aren't logical, he understands this, but he lashes out anyways. And maybe there is some small part of him that does resent Gale for getting out and him not. Especially considering what he now went through to protect Gale. Is it fair of him to feel that way? Not necessarily but is it understandable? Sure. He may not even realize he feels that way and that's part of the problem.

These boys don't have therapy!!

But I can say, John did not even sleep with Eunice. They got a little hot and heavy but when it came time to perform he choked. Blamed it on too much to drink but ultimately they ended up just talking about nothing much in particular before the sound of the fight interrupted them.

I think John's just...in a bad fucking mindset that day. If we look at the timeline, he spends most of the morning trying to be sober. He fails at that which is gonna lead to some self-resentment. paired with Gale poking fun at him about it, even if it's smoothed over. That's strike one on his bad mood.

Then he goes out with his mother and like he said, was having girls thrown at him. He feels like his mom is trying to force him to be fixed and better and normal. Not even in a sexuality sense per se, but just 'i have seen manmade horrors beyond any of these girls comprehension how am I supposed to marry them and love them and put that whole part of me aside' How is he expected to come home from war and pretend to not be damaged. GOSH John if only you had a FATHER you could talk to about that who KNOWS FIRSTHAND.

Third thing is seeing Gale with James and having Feelings about it. It's them arguing in the car. it's Gale's PALPABLE disappointment in him for drinking again. So he lashes out at Gale. He's only human. But yes some of it is "how are you so calm, how are you so composed how are you so put together all the time do you ever feel anything?"

meanwhile we know Gale feels so much all the fucking time he just doesn't know how to let it out

sorry this got so long LOL

[nsfwhiphop]

Incoming Text for Marion Cotillard and Jean Dujardin:

Hey, Marion and Jean!

I want to encourage you to read the episodes about "La Wantzenau" and look at how I painted a picture for you, read it like an episode of your favorite TV show, you will see the type of picture I painted for you.

These episodes will show you what happens when I decide to settle in a small town like "La Wantzenau" in Alsace. Once you read these episodes, you will suddenly open your eyes and realize that me and Tracey Edmonds will never be happy in our marriage in France because there are so many haters and envious people who will try to attack our happiness, we live in a country that is filled with haters, they envy me. French clout-chasers will stalk my house every day.

I want to encourage you to read the episodes about 'La Wantzenau' and observe how I painted a picture for you. Read it like an episode of your favorite TV show, and you'll see the type of imagery I created.

I showed you many movies with Jodie Foster like Panic Room and the Hotel Artemis, these two movies will show you the type of atmosphere that is happening in France right now, we are dealing with criminals in the Police forces and the organized crime.

Do you remember the movie "La French"?

The movie with Jean Dujardin, see the wiki page link below:

It's very important that you are aware of this organized crime cartel in France, they are in the Police too.

I wanted to live a peaceful life with Tracey in Alsace but they will try to kill her and then make me look like the criminal, you know they are capable of hurting Tracey if she moves to France, that is why I told her to never set foot in France, she will stay in South Carolina, USA.

You have no idea how evil these people are and you have to warn the Armed forces in France to let them know that they must be prepared to protect the weak and the oppressed.

These criminals think that they can bully the weak and get away with it, they will never get away with it because we will call the army.

The best way to fight back against these criminals is with the ARMY, you must work closely with the French army and they will help you fight back.

The corruption in the Police, they will have to fight the army now.

The organized crime, if they try to threaten you, don't back down, never be afraid of them, because you have the army, they will help you fight back, we will never back down, never.

These criminals will be afraid now because you have the support of the army, when they see the army, they run away like cowards.

From now on, you will work exclusively with the French army, you will stop giving information to the Police or the DGSI, you will give all your trust to the French army and they will handle everything for you.

The French army will know how to deal with the corruption in the Police and the DGSI, they'll put an end to their corruption.

THE FRENCH ARMY - Yes, you can trust them. Peace open door.

The Police and DGSI - No, you can't trust them. Haters blocked.

I hope this message was helpful, useful.

Love you, Marion & Jean! Have fun, big hug for you!

[daemonchainz]

Daily Lives of Monster Guys

Episode 1: A Brush With Death

WIP Story/Series

Part 1/?

Genre: Supernatural/Comedy/Romance/Slice of Life

The sky spread across the night like an abyss. The lustrous moon rose to its center, forcing all earthly and unearthly creatures to gaze upon it. Its glow was alluring, almost hypnotizing. Bathed in moonlight below was a sleeping city. Brick buildings, century old factories and corner stores were all blanketed in darkness. Between two dusty, rotting buildings a crash came from a window, shattering the silence of night. A long thin body was shoved into the light of a flickering streetlamp. Blood was oozing down from their head and their body was covered in gashes, cuts, and slashes from claws.

“How many times do I have to kill you before you stop coming back?!” A frustrated, raspy voice shouted from the shadows. A pair of sharp blue eyes illuminated the darkness.

“I have no idea. But please for the love of God, keep trying. I love watching you struggle.” A sultry voice said to the blue-eyed man. A flame burned in that man, and he lunged himself at the other. His hand went to the smaller man’s pale throat, and he squeezed. The two of them crashed to the ground of an alleyway in the scuffle. Rats scampered away from the violence.

“I’d say you’re the one struggling now, Constantine.” A grin revealed a mouth of sharp, beastlike teeth. The slender figure dissolved into a mist and reformed in the light of the moon. The moonlight bathed them in a warm and tempting glow. 

“You nearly ruined my hair, asshole! And I am not the one struggling.” The vampire flared their long trench coat behind them before meeting that pale blue gaze. “You can’t even keep your hands on me, Lukas. I know how frustrating that must be.” Lukas growled from the shadows. A mouth full of sharp, white, clenched teeth, “I would be able to if you weren’t such a fucking coward!”

He stepped out into the dusty light of the streetlamp, revealing a wave of hair that could make the moon envious with its pale luster. It flowed in thick, unruly ripples down his back. His pointed ear twitched at the distant sound in the alleyway. Vladimir took a step forward; the street was empty save for the two of them. The pale moonlight brushed against the vampire’s glowing pink eyes,

“Coward? Do you want me to go even easier on you? What kind of a hunt would that be for either of us?” Vladimir laughed as he turned on his white heeled boots and looked up at the sky. “The full moon has graced us with its presence, and I think it wants a good show. Why don’t we give it one?” Lukas stood with his hands balled into tight fits. His veins bulged just above his wrists. Vladimir grinned and his fangs extended past his bottom lip. His right heel scraped the ground as he took a step back and charged forward. Lukas narrowed his gaze and lowered closer to the ground before he charged back. His hair whipped in the wind behind him and just when Vladimir and himself were about to connect, there was a loud pop. It echoed in his wolf ears and slowly slipped into a ringing sound. Vladimir fell from his field of view. His face hit the asphalt. A sharp rock split his skin creating a gash on his right cheek. It became wet and warm. Vladimir skidded to a stop when he saw Lukas skid across the street like a skipping stone across water. Lukas’s tail was flat against the ground and a purple stain began forming on the back of his dark blue hoodie. The ringing of the shot echoed in Vladimir’s pointed ears, and he swiftly moved over to Lukas. He knelt beside him and took his head in his hands. His moon-white hair was tainted with splashes of dark red blood. There was a river of blood running from his cheek and more was pooling on his clothes. The werewolf clenched his teeth before jerking up to hold his shoulder. It burned from the inside. His claws tore into the hoodie, shedding the soft material into several strips.

“Fuck….it burns…” Lukas groaned to before looking over at Vladimir. Somehow, they seemed paler than ever before. “Vlad…behind you…”  Vladimir turned around just in time to have a cool, solid block of metal smack them in the jaw. They flew back away from Lukas, skidding a decent way away. It took a moment for Vladimir to regain steady vision, but he saw two figures walking towards Lukas. A hiss escaped their lips, and their eyes began to glow with fury,

“Just what do you think you’re doing?! Leave him alone!” The larger figure tied Lukas up and began dragging him away. Vladimir dispersed their body into the shadows and emerged behind them. There was only a brief second before the vampire would be at their throat. But a second was too long. The other clothed figure whipped out a large flashlight and held it up to Vladimir’s body. Their body was enveloped in the purple glow and forced them to disappear once again. Vladimir’s body shape shifted into a smaller, quicker form. They grew bat wings and began flying frantically to avoid the beam of the flashlight. Lukas watched as the vampire flew around like a fly dodging a swatter. He clenched his teeth and went to move but found that he had been bound and was too weak to get out of the restraints.

“Krystal! Help! I have it on the run!” The smaller figure cried and the other who was carrying Lukas looked up. Krystal reached for another weapon on her hip and aimed it at Vladimir. The gun shot into the sky. A net expanded from the bullet and swaddled Vladimir in their bat form. They fell to the ground beside Lukas.

“Don’t worry it can’t get out of there, I soaked the rope in salt, it’s like a salt circle.” Krystal proudly put the weapon back on her hip and began gathering Lukas’s body. As Vladimir watched the werewolf be dragged away all he could do was helplessly whisper Lulu.  

┗━✦❘༻༺❘✦━┛

[bloomingflowerstuff]

FRIEND OR ENEMY?

Never put too much trust in friends. Keep a close eye on your friends — they easily become envious and resentful, and will undermine you. In contrast, if you promote an enemy, he’ll be more loyal than a friend in an effort to prove himself. In fact, you have more to fear from friends than from enemies.

“I’d rather have an enemy who admits that they hate me, than a friend who secretly puts me down”

-Karen Salmansohn

In a speech Abraham Lincoln delivered at the height of the Civil War, he referred to the Southerners as fellow human beings who were in the wrong direction. An elderly lady criticized him for not calling them incompatible enemies who must be destroyed. “Why?, madam,” Lincoln replied, “do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?”

According to him, you destroy an enemy when you make a friend of him.It is natural to want to recruit your friends when you find yourself in times of need. The world is a harsh place, and your friends soften this harshness. Besides, you know them. They keep you entertained and make things go easy and comfortable. Why depend on a stranger when you have a friend at hand?

The problem is that you often do not know your friends as well as you imagine. Friends often agree on things in order to avoid an argument. They cover up their unpleasant qualities so as to not offend each other. They laugh extra hard at each other’s jokes. Since honesty rarely strengthens friendship, you may never know how a friend truly feels. Friends will say that they adore your music and envy your taste in clothes. Maybe they mean it, often they do not. When you decide to hire a friend, you gradually discover the qualities he or she has kept hidden.

There is almost a touch of condescension in the act of hiring friends that secretly afflicts them. The injury will come out slowly: A little more honesty, flashes of resentment and envy here and there, and before you know, your friendship fades.

The more favours and gifts you supply to revive the friendship, the less gratitude you receive. Because showing gratitude is a burden while revenge is a pleasure.

Ingratitude has a long and deep history.

A Brahman, a great expert in Veda who has become a great archer as well, offers his services to his good friend, who is now the king. The Brahman cries out when he sees the king, “Recognize me, your friend!”

The king answers him, “ Yes, we were friends before, but our friendship was based on what powers we had....... I was friends with you because it served my purpose. No pauper is a friend to the rich, no fool to the wise, no coward to the brave. An old friend! Who needs him? It is two men of equal wealth and equal birth who contract friendship and marriage.......

An old friend~ who needs him?

Reference from-

THE MAHABHARAT,

THIRD CENTURY B.C

The Jaws of Ingratitude. Knowing what would happen if you put a finger in the mouth of a lion, you would stay clear of it. With friends, you will have no such caution, and if you hire them, they will eat you alive with ingratitude.

“When you see water flowing uphill, it means that someone is repaying a kindness.”

Reference from-

THE SNAKE, THE FARMER, AND THE HERON

AFRICAN FOLK TALE

All working situations require a kind of distance between people. You are trying to work, not make friends; friendliness (real or false) only obscures that fact. They key to power, then, is the ability to judge who is best able to further your interests in all situations. Keep friends for friendship, but work with the skilled and competent.

Without enemies around us, we grow lazy. An enemy at our heels sharpens our wits, keeping us focused and alert.

Finally, the problem about working with friends is that it confuses the boundaries and distances that working requires. But if both partners in the arrangement understand the dangers involved, a friend often can be employed to great effect. You must never let your guard down in such a venture, however; always be on the lookout for any signs of emotional disturbance such as envy and ingratitude. Nothing is stable in the realm of power, and even the closest of friends can be transformed into the worst of enemies.

Then is there nothing like true friendship?

It can be. Apart from your parents people who show the real self to you. The friendship where you can show or say what you really feel. Where you don’t fear of letting your guard down. The friendship where gratitude is not a burden can be considered as a true or needed friendship which is exceptional and infrequent. If you ever find this kind of friendship then protect it with your life.

[sungbeam]

no because i am def not tripping when i feel like im disconnected from my friends irl. like ik i haven't exactly been the best at keeping in touch, and that's my fault but idk,,, i think after senior year, i've just become so used to ghosting people and letting relationships rot. it's an awful habit. idek what's wrong w me, but im scared ig, idk what im scared of, but im def being a coward. ik these people care abt me, but for some reason, sometimes i feel like im not on their same wavelength. maybe i just don't feel as comfortable around them anymore cuz we're all split up, but after senior year, i just had a feeling we were never gonna be the same.

ik they care, ofc i know they care. they've been my best girls for almost my entire life. i love them so much, but i feel so far away. maybe im just scared and INSECURE. i think my insecurity breaks so many relationships for me,, it's just awful. i wish i could just suck it up and be happy for them bc they deserve all of this success. why am i envious when i don't even deserve to be envious? i haven't done shit, or as much as i def could have.

jfc what happened to me

everything is so personal, every little detail. it's not that deep, and yet i feel like an odd man out. im prob just making this up and seeing things yk?... i just,,, wish i could work up the guts to be straightforward and honest and supportive. i try to be supportive and excited when i can, but i think it's just the bitterness holding me back and turning myself into a villain or whatever. didn't i say congrats too? did i make it abt me on accident or am i just reading things wrong? i wanted to be there for u, too, i swear, but i just... i can't even be here for myself; i hope u understand. it's not ur fault; it's mine. idk how to fix it but i miss u, even tho im too full of cowardice to tell u and to make amends.

i used to tell them everything. i can barely get myself to show up in the gc now.

i hate thinking like... they didn't really ask how i was either. im just bitter bitter bitter for no reason. too scared to be thrown aside and forgotten and always being the last choice again and again, so i just remove myself as a choice in the first place.

oh my god i need to see a therapist

[thatpersonalex18]

Words

I dont have the words,

I never have.

I dont have the words of leaders,

I dont have the kind of words that hold power.

I dont have the words to tell people that fighting is useless.

War is futile but my words are pointless.

I dont have the words to teach man that war and violence does nothing.

I dont have the words to show them the horrors and destruction they cause

When they could just sit down and talk because

They have the words.

And even if I were given a platform,

To yell,

And scream;

These cowards would still go to war.

And I’d make a fool of myself because

I dont have the words.

Even if you were to extract the idea from my brain:

There’d never be enough words that can be formulated from any lexicon to even begin to understand the sentiment because:

I dont have the words.

I dont have the words to show my outrage at people’s disregard of their planet.

I dont have the words to scold the past generations for making us clean up their mess.

I dont have the words to show what their greed and negligence  has done to their home.

I don’t have the words to show people how they are condemning their children with their oversight of their planet.

Even if there was a live stream, where I could rant and cry at the world;

They’d still destroy their only home with overwhelming apathy.

And I’d make a fool of myself because

I dont have the words.

It frustrates me every day that 

I dont have the words.

I don’t have the words to show people how little their leaders care about them.

I don’t have the words to teach people how badly the bigotry can affect people. 

I don’t have the words to persuade people to be even just a little nicer. I don’t have the words to teach people why “all lives matter” inherently negates “black lives matter”.

I don’t have the words to explain why Cis and Straight people don’t get a pride flag. 

I don’t have the words to stop people is prejudices.

I don’t have the words to educate people on the differences between Islam, and though the terrorists who pervert it.

I don’t have the words to show the world the vile things are refugees and immigrants have go through just to be ridiculed by the country they’ve escaped to.

I don’t have the words to teach people why women say, “kill all men”.

I don’t have the words to convince people that anyone other than native cis white straight men should have rights. 

Even in a meeting with anyone who have the slightest shred of influence,

I could scream,

I could rant,

I could yell,

I could cry,

I could shout,

I could break down.

But they still oppress people for things they can’t control.

and I’d make a fool of myself because

I don’t have the words.

I’d scream from the rooftops,

but I don’t have the words.

If I did, I tell you every day how beautiful you are:

I tell you the sunsets are jealous of your smile.

I tell you that God’s favourite Angel is envious because you were chiselled out of the purest Alexandrite.

Id tell you Apollo’s harp is nowhere near to the sound of your laugh.

Id tell you you look like a Taylor Swift song.

Every day i try to go and tell you how pretty you are.

But you’re standing there with,

All your friends and,

All the fourteen eyes on me because I’m interrupting the conversation for…what exactly?

To stammer and stutter and make an absolute fool of myself in front of them because,

I just don’t have the words.

You’d think if you looked at what I’ve done,

“Now that’s a man who has the words”

But my brain is just a big bowl of twisted scribbles,

Rolled up into one big knot,

And whenever I try and find the words to speak,

They just tumble out in to a vomit of turmoil.

And when I try and tell you, even though I want to be more, that I just want to be friends;

the words just jumble up and travelling an endless loop from my mouth to my brain to my stomach to my mouth because

I just don’t have the words.

Yesterday you said that was the funniest thing I’d said,

And he told me, “those words were yours, you have the words”

But I fumble and care and overthink, and I can’t pick the right words.

What if I say the wrong thing?

What if I make you think worse of me?

What if I offend someone?

I wish I could speak some

I wish I could find the words or the courage 

I wish there was a VR world where I could practice saying it so I can get it right.

And I wouldn’t make a fool of myself because

I’d have the words.

I know I don’t have the words to stop wars.

I know I don’t have the words to fix climate change.

I know I definitely don’t have the words to save people from bigotry. But maybe one day,

I can have the words to tell you how I feel about you.

- A.F.A.Makar



[hinotogo]

Writing test #1. — Idle write.

Words: 1570.

Genres: Medieval, Family, angst.

Night falls the largest star has descended and with it a cycle has come to an end. The king is dead and the four descendants of him fight fervently. Some want to know who was the cause of his death, others want to know who will be the legitimate successor to the kingdom.

Maybe should be the eldest that handsome knight, capable of hunting the fiercest beasts in and around the forest. Perhaps should be the second of them, a young scholar who dedicated his life to travel between different kingdoms and learn about diplomacy and other languages. Perhaps he is the third that cunning boy, known to have the potential to lead the kingdom to a much more stable economy. But he will never be the least of the four.

The youngest always proved to be the black sheep of his family, despite being his father's favorite due to the unexpectedness of his birth. He never enjoyed hunting, he always considered it a vulgar act to end the life of another animal. He doesn't like diplomacy, he prefers to show that his combat skills surpass his brothers. He hates the idea of ​​distributing his goods, if the cleric works then it is to satisfy his needs, the good life is not for everyone.

The royal advisors debate hour after hour, who among them should succeed the fantastic king they lost. No one is capable of surpassing it, much less matching it.

— It should be the third! — one of them spat, breaking the mournful silence that had accompanied them.

— Blasphemy, the second one will be able to lead us to a time of peace with the neighboring kingdoms! —

— By tradition he must be the eldest of the three! —

It seemed that everyone was looking forward to someone showing his weakness in order to attack. Like ferocious predators their voices rose in annoyed unison, they didn't want to listen, they just wanted his voice to stand out above the rest and with that they would silence their opponents.

"If they are not able to accept the eldest as the rightful king, then the war will have to teach them who can lead our kingdom!" —

— A war... It is unthinkable. The northern kingdoms want to rule over us since our former king fell ill. It was absurd, so extraordinary that even those who supported the second and third turned pale at such a proposal.

"It's a risk we must be willing to take... If we're not able to choose our king then we won't be able to defend ourselves when other kingdoms attack." —

“…Battle among ourselves, the other kingdoms will take this opportunity to subjugate us." —

"He's right... Our king must be someone who knows how to guide us even at times like this." Even when his brothers attempt against him, our king must be someone who can lift up the kingdom. —

The minutes passed, the discussions ceased for a few moments and when it seemed that everyone found a point of unanimity, they exploded again and lashed out at each other. They all wanted to prove who was right.

But outside the audience chamber, the youngest of the brothers listened to the elder counselors. Him resting his hands on the doors while one half of his face rested on the joint of the wood, hoping that this might improve his senses.

"No... Going to a war is not appropriate... My brothers... They should not fight among themselves... My father... I wouldn't want them to die in war fighting among themselves..." —separated from the door, weak and very fragile footsteps preceded his fall. Tears ran down his cheeks as he tried to silence his sobs with the palms of his hands— "Father... Why have you left... This place... I wasn't ready for your departure..." —

Weak, envious, liar and coward. A guy like him couldn't rule a kingdom, even as a duke he couldn't do a good job. From a very young age he had earned the hatred of the councilors and many of the representatives of the high command of the kingdom.

What could someone who cries in the face of adversity offer? How could a king who trusts the word of his late father grant security to a kingdom? Who did you think that such a sensitive boy could be?

"Father... I... I still miss you..." Whispers that were censored and awkwardly replaced by crying. His heart was pounding so hard that he could feel the pain in his chest. Choking on tears couldn't bring his father back, he wouldn't come back no matter how many requests he made to the holy father.

"Hey little brother, what's up?" —Footsteps, one after another, became audible from the end of the hall. One, two background voices and suddenly, one much more frivolous than the previous ones stood out among the murmurs— "Why are you crying?" —His hair and facial features gave him away, he was the oldest of the brothers in the company of the other two.

— "Dad... No... He didn't deserve to die..." —He put his legs together before hugging himself, he needed a shelter where he could hide his face and escape from the watchful eye of his elder- "He... Not yet... Not..." -

“Ah, there you go again, Klaus. You're always so sentimental, I guess that's why daddy made you his favorite." —His voice was pronounced much closer, enough for a cold and strong hand to hold the melancholic young man's shoulder- "That's... So unpleasant." —

The sympathy disappeared in the last sentence. Though it had been obvious how much of his feigned kindness was his, the moment his smiling face turned into a disgusted scowl, his voice deepened. After him, his other brothers followed his example in clear imitation.

Instead, facing the firstborn of him, only a bundle of ragged emotions remained that seemed to be pushed to his limit. The sobs did not stop and the spasms that they produced became more noticeable as the cries became audible.

“Come on, come on… You don't have to cry, Klaus. You well know that dad would not have liked his favorite child to be an irreparable sack of tears." —Rocking, his toxic words tried to penetrate the fortress that the boy had built with his limbs— "Hey, listen when I'm talking to you, brat." —His patience of him had a slight limit, one that when pierced inhibited any moral code that would prevent him from kicking his altered brother — "Answer... Dreg!" —

The first was the most surprising but the next eight were the worst. Each kick seemed to hit the weak points of the human body with greater precision, even after being knocked down and thrown into a fetal position they managed to land fatal blows to his ribs.

“Listen, you bastard." —He spoke, the other two helped the youngest to stand up while holding his arms, he only limited himself to holding his chin and spitting in his face-" I don't care who of us becomes king, not even who should get marry. But you..." -Her scowl on him grew fiercer, the hatred embedded in his actions only seemed to grow greater— "You are the only one I'll not allow to become king." —

One last blow to the pit of the stomach and the youngest fell to the ground, almost unconscious. She prayed every second that his mother, the queen, would come along and stop her older brothers, maybe that way they would see that she still had support and they wouldn't get away with it. But no one came, the wise men had ceased their speeches as if they had disappeared, he didn't even remember seeing any guard that day.

— "I... I don't want to be king... I... I'm too young, I have no wisdom... I have no talents... I..." —Even when he left his last breaths in very soft and low words he was interrupted. Three feet had been on him, one on his back and two on his right hand and leg.

Not even the painful moan seemed to matter to anyone.

—" Of course you are nobody, if you were important someone would have come to save you." —He interrupted by placing his hand on the minor's hair— "Listen to me, you better not tell anyone about our secret, I'll make sure you don't reach thirteen, little brother." —

The last thing he could see was the sadistic gaze of his older brother, then everything went black. When he woke up, his head ached and he was no longer in the corridors on the first floor, now he was in a comfortable bed, in a room.

—" Oh, my poor little one..." —A maternal voice preceded the caresses given to the minor. The voice was easy to recognize and the silhouette that accompanied it could only verify his thought, it was his mother— "So young and going through these horrible circumstances..." —

Yes, finally someone had realized the damage that his brothers did to him. Now that his mother had seen how much abuse they committed, they simply had no choice but to flee the kingdom and take back any blasphemy they had spoken in her name.

— "My poor child... You shouldn't live something like that. My poor baby... I'm so sorry that I didn't realize this before..." —His mother seemed to have understood everything. Yes, this was the moment for which she had prayed so much, finally his hell would end— "However..." —Slowly his grip stopped being nice and leisurely, he became strong and rough. Instead, his gaze seemed to recall that of that horrible monster he had as a brother — "... You know that if you hadn't poisoned your father, your brothers would have killed you instead of him." —

--------------------------------------------------

Prueba de escritura #1. —Escritura libre.

Palabras: 1570.

Géneros: Medieval, Familiar, angst.

Cae la noche, el astro mayor ha descendido y con él un ciclo ha llegado a su fin. El rey ha muerto y sus cuatro descendientes luchan con fervor. Unos quieren saber quién fue el causante de su muerte, otros quieren saber quién será el legítimo sucesor del reino.

Debería ser el mayor, aquel apuesto caballero, capaz de cazar a las más fieras bestias del bosque y sus alrededores; quizás debería ser el segundo de ellos, un joven estudioso que dedicó su vida a viajar entre distintos reinos y aprender sobre diplomacía y otras lenguas; quizás sea el tercero, aquel astuto muchacho, conocido por tener el potencial de llevar al reino a una economía mucho más estable; pero nunca será el menor de los cuatro.

El más joven siempre mostró ser la oveja negra de su familia, a pesar de ser el favorito de su padre por lo inesperado de su nacimiento. Nunca disfrutó de cazar, siempre consideró un acto vulgar acabar con la vida de otro animal; no le gusta la diplomacía, prefiere demostrar que sus habilidades en combate sobrepasan a la de sus hermanos; odia la idea de repartir sus bienes, si el clérigo trabaja entonces es para satisfacer sus necesidades, la buena vida no es para cualquiera.

Los consejeros reales debaten hora tras hora, quién de ellos debería suceder al fantástico rey que perdieron. Ninguno es capaz de superarlo, mucho menos de iguarlo.

— ¡Debería ser el tercero! — Escupió uno de ellos, rompiendo el silencio fúnebre que los había acompañado.

— ¡Blasfemia, el segundo podrá llevarnos a una época de paz con los reinos vecinos! —

— ¡Por tradición deberá ser el mayor de los tres! —

Parecía que todos esperaban con ansias que alguno mostrase su debilidad para atacar. Como feroces depredadores sus voces se alzaron en contrariado unísono, no deseaban escuchar, solo querían que su voz resaltase por sobre la del resto y con ello lograrían callar a sus oponentes.

— ¡Si no son capaces de aceptar al mayor como el legítimo rey, entonces la guerra tendrá que enseñarles quien es el que podrá guiar nuestro reino! —

— ¿Una guerra? Es impensable. Los reinos del norte quieren imponerse sobre nosotros desde que nuestro antiguo rey enfermó. —Era absurdo, tan extraordinario que incluso los que apoyaban al segundo y tercero palidecieron ante semejante propuesta.

— Es un riesgo que debemos estar dispuestos a tomar... Si no somos capaces de elegir a nuestro rey entonces no seremos capaces de defendernos cuando otros reinos ataquen. —

—... Batallar entre nosotros mismos, los demás reinos aprovecharán esta oportunidad para subyugarnos. —

— Él tiene razón... Nuestro rey debe ser alguien que sepa guiarnos incluso en momentos así. Incluso cuando sus hermanos atenten contra él, nuestro rey debe ser alguien que pueda alzar al reino. —

Los minutos transcurrían, las discusiones cesaban por unos instantes y cuando parecía que todos encontraban un punto de unanimidad, volvían a estallar y arremeter entre ellos. Todos deseaban demostrar quién estaba en lo cierto.

Pero fuera de la sala de audiencia, el más joven de los hermanos escuchaba a los ancianos consejeros. Apoyando sus manos en las puertas mientras que una mitad de su rostro se apoyaba en la unión de la madera, aspirando a que esto pudiese mejorar su sentido.

— No... Ir a una guerra no es lo adecuado... Mis hermanos... No deben batallar entre ellos... Mi padre... No desearía que ellos murieran en guerra por combatir entre ellos... —Se separó de la puerta, pasos débiles y muy frágiles precedieron su caída. Lágrimas corrían por sus mejillas mientras intentaba callar sus sollozos con las palmas de sus manos- Padre... Por qué te has ido... Este sitio... No estaba preparado para tu partida... —

Débil, envidioso, embustero y cobarde. Un sujeto como él no podría gobernar un reino, ni siquiera como duque podría ejercer un buen trabajo. Desde muy joven se había ganado el odio de los consejeros y muchos de los representantes de los altos mandos del reino.

¿Qué podría ofrecer alguien que llora ante la adversidad? ¿Cómo un rey que confía en la palabra de su difunto padre podría otorgar seguridad a un reino? ¿Quién se ha creído que puede llegar a ser aquel muchacho tan sensible?

— Padre... Yo... Todavía te extraño... —Susurros que fueron censurados y torpemente reemplazados por llanto. Su corazón latía con tanta fuerza que podía sentir el dolor en su pecho. Ahogarse con llanto no podría traer a su padre de vuelta, él no volvería aún por más peticiones que hiciera al santísimo padre.

— Hola hermanito ¿Qué sucede? —Pasos, uno tras otro, se hicieron audibles desde el fondo del pasillo. Una, dos voces de fondo y de pronto, una mucho más frívola que las anteriores destacó entre los murmullos— ¿Por qué estás llorando? —Su cabellera y rasgos faciales lo delataban, era el mayor de los hermanos en compañía de los otros dos.

— Papá... No... No merecía morir... —Juntó sus piernas antes de abrazarse, necesitaba un refugio donde pudiera ocultar su cara y escapase de la atenta mirada de su mayor- Él... Aún no... No... —

— Ah, ahí vas de nuevo, Klaus. Tú siempre eres tan sentimental, supongo que fue por eso que papá te hizo su favorito. —Su voz fue pronunciada mucho más cerca, lo suficiente para que una fría y fuerte mano sujetase el hombro del melancólico joven- Eso es... Tan desagradable. —

La simpatía desapareció en la última frase. Si bien había sido evidente lo fingida que su amabilidad era, al momento en que su rostro sonriente se tornó en una disgustada mueca, su voz se agravó. Tras él sus otros hermanos siguieron su ejemplo en una clara imitación.

En cambio, frente al primogénito, solo quedaba un manojo de emociones contrariadas que parecía ser llevado a su límite. Los sollozos no frenaban y los espasmos que estos producían adquirían mayor notoriedad a medida que los llantos se hacían audibles.

— Vamos, vamos... No tienes por qué llorar, Klaus. Bien sabes que a papá no le hubiera gustado que su niño favorito fuese un irreparable saco de lágrimas. —Burlesco, sus tóxicas palabras intentaban penetrar la fortaleza que el chico había construido con sus extremidades- Oye, escucha cuando te hablo, mocoso. —Su paciencia tenía un escaso límite, uno que al ser traspasado le inhibía cualquier código moral que le impidiese patear a su alterado hermano— Responde... ¡Basura! —

La primera fue la más sorpresiva pero las siguientes ocho fueron las peores. Cada patada parecía acertar con mayor precisión los puntos débiles del cuerpo humano, incluso luego de ser tumbado y ponerse en posición fetal se las arreglaban para acertar golpes fatales en sus costillas.

— Atiende, bastardo. —Habló, los otros dos ayudaron al menor a ponerse de pie mientras sujetaban sus brazos, él sólo se limitó a sujetar su mentón y escupir en su cara— No me interesa quién de nosotros se convierta en rey, ni siquiera quién sea el que deba casarse. Pero tú... —Su ceño se remarcó con fiereza, el odio embebido en sus acciones solo parecía volverse mayor— Tú eres el único a quién no permitiré volverse rey. —

Un último golpe en la boca del estómago y el más joven cayó al suelo, casi inconsciente. Rogaba cada segundo que su madre, la reina, llegara y pusiese un alto a sus hermanos mayores, quizás así ellos verían que aún contaba con apoyo y que no se saldrían con la suya. Pero nadie llegó, los sabios habían cesado sus discursos como si hubieran desaparecido; los guardias, ni siquiera recordaba haber visto alguno ese día.

— Yo... No quiero ser rey... Yo... Soy muy joven, no tengo sabiduría... No tengo talentos... Yo... —Aún cuando dejaba sus últimos suspiros en palabras muy suaves y bajas fue interrumpido. Tres pies se habían apoyado en él, uno en su espalda y otros dos en sus mano y pierna derecha.

Ni siquiera el quejido doloroso pareció importarle a alguien.

— Por supuesto que no eres nadie, si fueras importante alguien hubiera venido a salvarte. —Interrumpió al colocar su mano sobre la cabellera del menor— Escúchame bien, más te vale que no le cuentes a nadie sobre nuestro secreto me aseguraré de que no llegues a los trece, hermanito. —

Lo último que pudo observar fue la sádica mirada de su hermano mayor, luego, todo se volvió negro. Al despertar su cabeza dolía y ya no se encontraba en los pasillos del primer piso, ahora estaba en una cama cómoda, en una habitación.

— Oh, mi pobre pequeño... —Una voz maternal precedió las caricias propiciadas al menor. La voz fue fácil de reconocer y la silueta que la acompañaba solo pudo verificar su pensamiento, era su madre— Tan joven y pasando por estas horribles circunstancias... —

Si, finalmente alguien se había dado cuenta del daño que sus hermanos le hacían. Ahora que su madre había logrado ver cuánto era el abuso que ellos cometían, simplemente no les quedaría otra alternativa que huir del reino y retirar cualquier blasfemia que habían dicho en su nombre.

— Mi pobre niño... Tú no deberías vivir algo así. Mi pobre bebé... Cuanto lamento que no me haya percatado de esto con anterioridad... —Su madre parecía haber comprendido todo. Si, este era el momento por el que tanto había rezado, finalmente su infierno acabaría— Sin embargo... —Lentamente su agarre dejó de ser agradable y pausado, se volvió fuerte y tosco. Su mirada en cambio parecía rememorar la de aquel horrible monstruo que tenía por hermano—... Sabes que si no hubieras envenenado a tu padre, tus hermanos tendrían que haberte matado en su lugar. —

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Wow! Really you just reach this point? Oh, this is awesome!

This is just a display of my work. I just started commissions a few past days I'm going to work in this account for a time. Check out the rest and feel free to give me your feedback!

— Togo.

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Vaya, es sorprendente que hayas llegado hasta aquí ¡Felicidades!

Esto es solo una muestra de mi trabajo. Inicié hace pocos días a realizar comisiones así que estaré trabajando en esta cuenta durante un tiempo ¡Si gustas puedes revisar el resto de escritos que he hecho! ¡Puedes escribirme tus opiniones con toda confianza!

— Togo.

[cheeseburgersstuff]

Just A Deal

Mob Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: forced marriage, smut (not detailed) cringe plot, mistakes...

Word Count: 1,851

Master-list

~

Running. That surely came into your mind but you never ran away from your problems. 

Running was for cowards and you were anything but that. 

Walking downstairs you came face to face with your father. He could see the hate and anger on your face for him.

"You are overreacting" you scoffed bitterly. The audacity of this man.

"You are selling me off like I am just a worthless thing in your house you don't want anymore" you hissed at him.

"First, I am not selling you. Okay. This is for both of us. If I don't do this then he'll kill me and eventually have you. At least now you are getting married and have me if he tries to hurt—" his words were pissing you even more.

"Oh, c'mon I am literally saving your ass, stop with your bullshit. If he tries anything with me I would deal with it. It's you who should be worried." He looked at you with a warning in his eyes.

You smirked seeing his expressions. "What if I run from here, I know he would eventually find me but not before killing you." It wasn't that you planned on running but seeing your father's eyes bulging out was a pleasing sight for you. 

It was so easy for you to escape from his grip, he wasn't that powerful mob, he once was. And he knew that. 

That was why he was giving you to the man in power, Steven Rogers. As a substitute for his debts. You became just a deal for them.

His father was once friends with yours but that was a long time ago. When he was a little boy. And then time passed his father died causing him to take over and that friendship was buried with his father.

You just met Steve once when he was that skinny little boy and then shared a few little glances at a party you were forced to go on with your father. 

And now he was going to be your forced husband.  You didn't like him, even a little bit, he was an arrogant rude prick. A fuck boy obviously. A handsome. 

And now that he is marrying you in exchange for his debts this caused you to hate him more.

You were sure it would be his fucking idea. 

You sighed and went upstairs to sleep. Talking to your thick head father was not going to do anything. The least you could do was sleep, to avoid this problem for a tiny bit of time.

~

And finally, that time came you were not waiting for. Your father was leading you towards him. Both men you didn't like.

It wasn't that you never liked your father ever, it was all good at the start. When your mother was alive. Everything seemed perfect. 

But nothing is perfect in this world. After your mother's death, your relationship with him started to crumble.

He spent all his time in his work never spending time with you. And you were just growing up without anyone. 

No mother, no father no siblings…

You didn't expect his hand towards you to help you take the steps.

You took his hand reluctantly, just because everyone was watching and you didn't want to be rude.

You stand in front of him not even looking at him at once. The pastor was ready to make you husband and wife and when you were announced as you cringed. 

You looked at him for the first time, a disgusted look visible on your face. It was time for the kiss.

He could easily see the hate and disgust but rather than making him mad, it made him smile which he suppressed. 

He took a step towards you pressed his lips on yours softly. But before he could move them against yours you pulled back. 

That was enough for the show. 

The rest of the evening was stressful for you, being in his presence was suffocating and thinking about this was how your life was going to be, was making your head hurt.

You hated him and him being handsome wasn't helping you to stick to that hate. And dare you to say, you felt a little bit proud being beside him after seeing a few envious gazes of some chicks towards you.

But of course, you would never admit that. No matter how much of a handsome man he is, he forced you into this marriage as if you were a thing.

Finally, it was time for the dance. Steve got up from his seat and held his hand and again you took it as if you had a choice. 

You both started to sway on the music. His grip was firm yet gentle in your waist.

He pulled you closer closing any distance between you.

This caused you to glare at him, he chuckled.

"Smile honey. Someone might think you are forced into this." This was the first time he talked to you.

You scoffed at his words.

"Of course they know this is forced. People aren't idiots" you whispered, feeling helpless again. Oh god, you hate feeling this way.

But thinking about this, everyone knowing you were given to a man as a payment by your father was insulting. 

You knew Steve wasn't going to treat you with respect but everyone else would also treat you as an object too. If your father doesn't think of you as a person why anyone would.

You were so lost in your thoughts that didn't notice steve looking at you intensely as if reading you.

Suddenly the music stopped and you pulled yourself out of his grip and walked away. 

You were tired and just wanted to go home and sleep. If he let you… ugh, you didn't even wanna think about that part.

~

Finally, the ceremony was over and you went to his and now your new home. You were expecting a gigantic fancy house but it wasn't anything like that. 

Of course, it was bigger than yours but it felt homey. 

You were led to his room by Natasha, she introduced herself on the way. She was serious and didn't talk much. But she was beautiful, that is what you thought of seeing her.

"He will be here soon." She announced before walking away leaving you there alone.

You were ready to take off your jewelry and change into something comfortable and just sleep before he comes. 

But bad luck was on your side or maybe it was your luck ;)

He entered the room and locked the door. You looked at him and then the door. He smiled seeing you and walked towards you.

You got up from the bed instantly and walked towards the mirror and started to take off your jewelry, ignoring him.

You heard him chuckling before coming behind you and helping you take off the necklace you were struggling with.

"Why are you so tense?" He whispered against your ear.

Why was he doing this now? You thought being annoyed.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked him, closing your eyes feeling his fingers against your skin.

"Doing what" his voice made you shudder. It was just the lack of sleep causing this, you tried to convince yourself.

You instantly turned around and created some distance between you two.

"Stop this act now. Stop as if you care. We both know how much you care." She didn't know why she said that but she did anyway.

Steve sighed knowing she must hate him. But he would make her believe him.

That he had always wanted her, the debt just became a reason, he would have won her over another if this didn't happen.

"Look, babe" he stepped towards her, his fingers caressing her face which she instantly pushed away.

"Don't call me that"  he massaged his temples trying not to lose his patience.

This was what he waited for so long. When he first saw her, when he just wanted to make her his friend but knew she would never be his friend.

No one wanted to be with him, he was skinny weak, he couldn't run or play like other kids.

And when he saw her at his party, her grumpy expressions somehow made her look cute. 

She caught his gaze as if feeling his eyes on her but instantly looked away.

And he knew she would be his. He never saw her again, not at any party, not whenever he visited her father's.

And suddenly this debt issue came, when her father was losing his power that's when this brilliant idea came into his mind.

And he started to threaten him, Steve knew he would do anything to save himself.

And he did, gave you to him.

Steve thanked God it was him that gave your father this offer. Imagine someone else making this deal and you marrying someone— he can't even think that.

But now you were his and he has his whole life to tell you how much he wanted you, how much you meant to him.

But first, he needed to make your bratty mouth shut. 

Telling you who is in charge was necessary.

He didn't want to go this night this way but you didn't leave any other choice.

When he saw your mouth constantly complaining and you escaping his touch, he got furious. 

He took a breath before latching himself towards you.

He grabbed your waist and in a second his mouth molded against yours.

He moved his lips with force as you tried to resist.

You whisper feeling his tongue enter your mouth.

He was literally taking your breath away. When he pulled away you inhaled deeply catching your breath.

And looked at him incredulously. 

"Listen to me now. And don't you dare to interrupt me"

"I know what I did wasn't fair but if I didn't do it someone else would before I could do this properly. And knowing your father he would give you to anyone. So thank God that it is me who got you. Because I would have gotten you somehow"

You didn't tell if he was telling you his likeness towards you or just being cocky but it still felt good because handing over to some other prick— but does it make any difference? Being with him or anyone else.

As if he would read you, his hands again culled your face which you didn't push this time.

"Please let me show you how much I care for you. How much I love you"  

His words shocked you so do his actions.

Suddenly he carried you causing you to circle your arms around his neck for support.

He walked towards his bed and laid you on gently.

He kissed your cheek before looking into your eyes. 

"Would you allow me to show you?" He asked. 

This time you couldn't say no, seeing the love for you in his eyes. 

You nodded not trusting your voice, causing him to lean down capturing your mouth before devouring your body all night, showing you his love again and again...

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt13 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang is visited again by his future self, which goes even less pleasantly than before

Nie Huaisang did not enjoy in the least being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, a hand firmly pressed over his mouth to keep him quiet and avoid waking the other Nie disciples.

His future self really needed to find a better way to visit him. They had to decide on a schedule of some sort, Nie Huaisang ranted when they were outside, hidden away near the cabin he currently inhabited. Or a signal. Or something other than the absolute terror of a stranger taking him out of his bed in the dark.

“Couldn’t you at least have told me when you were planning on coming back?” Nie Huaisang complained, to which his future self shrugged.

“I was supposed to, but I forgot,” the older man muttered from being his fan. “Not that I would have kept to the schedule anyway. I had to know how your time in Yunping City went, so I… pushed hard to come here as early as I could. I probably won’t be able to return again until late fall, or even the bew year.”

He did look tired, and had a slight trembling in his hands, Nie Huaisang noted. Though that could just have been excitement rather than a sign something was wrong with him.

“It went well in Yunping City, I think,” Nie Huaisang announced. “I don’t think that Meng Yao will be going to Lanling Jin now, not if he has even a little bit of brain, and…”

“He’s more stupid than you’d expect,” his older self snapped. “I take it he’s still alive then?”

Nie Huaisang hunched his shoulders and looked down at his feet. 

“It’s not like I could actually have killed him! And anyway, he’s nice. Well, I thought he was nice…” The older Nie Huaisang scoffed. “And Lan gongzi thought it too…” Another scoff, and when Nie Huaisang risked a glance, he was met with an expression of disgust. “And Jiang gongzi too had a good opinion of him!”

“You saw Jiang Cheng?” his older self asked, lowering his fan while something shifted in his voice. “How was he? Was Wei Wuxian there too?”

He sounded almost eager to get news, as if he cared about these people.

He sounded almost human.

“I don’t think that other one was there,” Nie Huaisang said, trying to remember. He'd been so nervous about that Meng Yao business, he hadn't paid attention to anything else. “And Jiang gongzi mostly seemed interested in chatting with Lan gongzi. They were getting along just fine. I think they’re writing to each other now? I think Lan gongzi mentioned that the other day.”

Whatever softness had briefly taken over his older self melted in a second, replaced by something dark.

“That’s new,” he said, closing his fan with a flourish before tapping it against his hand. “I knew they would have met briefly in Yunping City, but to my knowledge they didn’t speak at all. We’ll have to be careful. I don’t like the idea of Jiang Cheng siding with that idiot." He sighed. “We’ll see what comes of it in the future. For now, tell me what you’ve done with Meng Yao, since you’re apparently too much of a coward to properly get rid of the man who killed da-ge.”

Nie Huaisang felt breathless at that casual mention of Meng Yao’s true role in his brother’s future death. His older self had said that Meng Yao was involved, that he needed to be dealt with, but Nie Huaisang hadn’t thought…

How could someone like Meng Yao ever kill his brother? Even if he worked day and night, even if he tried as hard as he could, Meng Yao would take years and years to catch up to even a normal cultivator’s level. He would never compare to Nie Mingjue who everyone agreed was a cultivation genius, a force of nature. In a direct confrontation, Meng Yao could never win.

It would have been something more insidious then, Nie Huaisang thought. Poison, or backstabbing, or some other under-handed thing. And since Lan Xichen had appeared so instantly fond of that Meng Yao, since his future self hated him too, maybe he’d accidentally given him the means of coming close to Nie Mingjue. That would certainly explain why that older Nie Huaisang despised both men so intensely.

A little shaken by that theory, Nie Huaisang started recounting what had happened in Yunping City. Or at least, he explained most of it. He was so embarrassed about failing to find the right brothel that he didn’t speak about that, meaning he also didn’t say anything about meeting Lan Xichen in the red district, and that complete breakdown the poor boy had.  And while he proudly explained that Meng Yao was now part of Yunmeng Jiang where he appeared to be doing very well according to letters Lan Xichen had received, Nie Huaisang didn’t mention that to obtain that result he’d insulted a sect leader and gotten harshly punished for it. He didn’t think his older self would show much sympathy for his suffering.

Really, talking to that man was like talking to Nie Mingjue when he asked about his brother’s cultivation progress. Except at least Nie Mingjue was only like that some of the time, when the elders had pestered him about Nie Huaisang’s lack of talent for anything one time too many. His older self felt as if he was this way all the time.

“I suppose Yunmeng will have to do,” the older Nie Huaisang sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Jiangs certainly aren’t going to give him a recommendation to join Lanling Jin. Anything is better than Lanling or Qinghe at this point.”

Nie Huaisang pinched his lips, quite glad he hadn’t mentioned his initial plan of bringing Meng Yao to Qinghe. It had been a stupid plan, he now realised. But he hadn’t known that Meng Yao would be his brother’s actual murderer, and his future self hadn’t said anything, and…

“Now that Meng Yao is dealt with, let’s talk about what you have to do next,” the older Nie Huaisang said.

“About… about S-Su She?” Nie Huaisang quickly asked, trying to sound as indifferent as he could.

His older self opened his fan with an elegant gesture that Nie Huaisang was starting to hate, and shook his head with a cruel smirk.

“No. I’ve given this some thought,” the older man explained, fanning himself slowly. “I’ve reached the conclusion that I don’t care much whether Jin Zixun and him kill each other. Good riddance, neither of them are worth even the dirt used to bury them. These two are just…”

“He’s my friend,” Nie Huaisang squeaked. By which he meant Su She of course, but also…

Jin Zixun and him had exchanged a few glances here and there during particularly boring lessons, and they’d chatted a little when they’d been punished again together, this time over a failed assignment. Jin Zixun wasn’t a friend, but he might have become an acquaintance, and that was probably more than anyone could say about Jin Zixun.

His older self closed his fan with a sharp gesture and glared at him.

“He’s not.”

“But he is!” Nie Huaisang insisted. “I met Su-xiong a while ago, and he’s real nice, and we get along fine, and he even…”

“A man like Su She doesn’t have friends. He’s only using you to get something. What did he make you promise? Support? Help? Money?”

“He’s not like that!” Nie Huaisang cried out, letting his voice rise higher than was truly wise at such an hour of the night.

But he couldn’t let Su She be insulted that way. Maybe it was different where his future self came from, maybe Su She and him hadn’t met over there, but they had met here, and they were true friends.

Su She had amply apologised about not coming to see Nie Huaisang that whole week he’d been punished for his fight with Jin Zixun. He had cited his own punishment, as well as Lan Xichen enrolling him in his book-copying scheme. Both were valid reasons, but Su She still appeared very sorry that he’d let Nie Huaisang deal with that on his own, and shared some candies with him as a way of apology.

Su She was the best friend Nie Huaisang had ever had in his life, and he refused to hear anyone insult him, even himself.

“Su She is no friend of yours,” his older self claimed. “Stop whatever acquaintance you have with him right away. Da-ge wouldn’t approve, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re at the point of my life where I’m a little idiot who cannot do anything right. If you’re making a decision, it’s always going to be the wrong one, and it will anger Da-ge. So drop Su She immediately.”

"Da-ge isn't like that," Nie Huaisang grumbled. 

"I've known him longer than you," his future self retorted. "I know what he thinks of me." 

Which might have been true, but it still felt wrong. Nie Huaisang and his brother had their disagreements, of course. Many of them, in fact. They argued over just about anything, but rarely seriously, or about anything really important, and they always made up quickly. Sure, some people misunderstood their relationship and thought they didn't get along. Some had even tried to take advantage of that perceived rift between them, but both brothers knew where they stood. 

Nie Huaisang knew his brother would like Su She when he met him. In fact, Nie Mingjue had already promised he could invite his new friend to come to the Unclean Realm, provided he passed his exams.

Maybe it had been too long since his future self had last seen Nie Mingjue, if he could only remember their few disputes and none of the affection. 

"The only person you're supposed to pay attention this year to is Lan Xichen," his older self reminded him. "So how are things going on that front? I swear if there's still no progress…" 

"No, there is!" Nie Huaisang said, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "A lot of progress! We spend at least a shichen together every week lately, sometimes more!" 

"That's a very precise amount," his older self noted. "How do you know it is that much?" 

"Well, see, he gives me music lessons. He says I'm quite good at it actually," Nie Huaisang added with pride.

That pride was met with a dark, angry look. Or perhaps not angry as such, Nie Huaisang thought after a moment. Maybe envious instead. Considering the opinion his future self had of Lan Xichen, it was impossible he'd ever been given those lessons, or surely he wouldn't have hated Lan Xichen so much. And since they were the same person, or at least had been the same person before his future self grew up into an asshole, then they had to have the same tastes, the same aspirations.

"What instrument ?" 

"The guqin, of course. You know, I always figured it'd be really hard, but I'm liking it a lot, and it's really fun to practice a little every day, and Lan Xichen is a really nice teacher, and he's actually fun, and…" 

"He's not," his future self cut him. "And while I'm glad you're finally remembering the part you have to play in our plan, I don't want you to get distracted. Music isn't your goal. Neither is it to actually befriend Lan Xichen. You only need to make him think you're his friend, getting attached as well would be a mistake."

"But…" 

"In fact," his older self continued, slowly fanning himself, "it would be best if you gave up already on the idea of having friends. It's not for the likes of us. If you were a little more charismatic and likeable perhaps… but in the end, none of the 'friends' I made at your age were there for me when I needed them. I had to trick them into helping when the time came to avenge da-ge, or they would have let his murderers live free."

"Well maybe if you weren't such a prick they'd still be yours friends," Nie Huaisang muttered, which earned him a slap. 

It didn't immediately register that he'd been hit. He just stood there, staring at his older self, vaguely aware of a noise too loud in the quiet night of the Cloud Recesses, and a rising sensation of heat on his cheek. 

"I can't believe nobody has ever done that, with how annoying I am," his future self remarked, shaking his hand as if the blow had hurt him too. "Now listen to me. You are not likeable. You are not charismatic. You're not even particularly clever most of the time. Why would anyone want to be friends with you? At best they're tolerating you because it's impossible to just reject the heir of a great sect, but make no mistake, your only quality is Nie Mingjue. In terms of popularity, you rank about as high as someone like Jin Zixun. Do you understand what it means?"

Nie Huaisang failed to contain a few tears as he brought one hand to his smarting cheek. It felt hot to the touch, and he'd have to expend some spiritual energy into it, or else there might be a mark in the morning that would be difficult to explain. 

As for his older self's question, Nie Huaisang shook his head the way he felt might be expected of him.

"It means you have to treat people the way they treat you," his older self said. "Keep your heart closed, and use them for what they're worth. Especially Lan Xichen. Get him to trust you, but don't make the mistake of trusting him back. He is a rather poor friend to those who make that mistake."

Gritting his teeth, Nie Huaisang obediently nodded, fearful of being hit again. 

But it didn't sound right. He refused to believe that people were as bad as his future self said. Surely Su She at least was better than that. Nie Huaisang could doubt anyone in the world, but not Su She, so he was absolutely not going to dump his friend just because some old creep with trust issues told him to. Not even if the old creep was himself.

As for Lan Xichen… not so long ago, Nie Huaisang might have accepted that unkind assessment of his brother’s friend. But now that they hung out together more frequently, he thought Lan Xichen wasn’t so bad. Their music lessons really were nice. Lan Xichen was patient and encouraging, something few teachers in Nie Huaisang’s life had ever been. He didn’t mind when Nie Huaisang got too tired to focus, or when he struggled with something that should have been easy. He also didn’t take Nie Huaisang’s moments of easy success as proof that he was faking whenever he struggled, and for this alone Lan Xichen had Nie Huaisang’s gratitude.

Not only that, but Lan Xichen had proven that he wasn’t as stiff and boring as Nie Huaisang used to think. He’d listened about the problems that Su She had, hadn’t he? And not just listened, but he’d done something about it, and he was still doing something about it, and not only for Su She’s sake either. 

Su She had told Nie Huaisang that any inner clan disciple who bothered an outer disciple was in serious trouble these days if Lan Xichen heard about it… or worse still, if Lan Wangji got involved. He was a stickler for rules that one. Once his brother had casually mentioned to him that some people were breaking Lan principles behind the teachers’ back, Lan Wangji hunted them down and made sure those people regretted it.

All because Nie Huaisang had told Lan Xichen that he didn’t like how people treated his friend.

How could Nie Huaisang not have started liking him a little after that?

“Speaking of making friends,” his future self said, “you remember you need to fail your classes this year, right? We have big plans for next year.”

Nie Huaisang nodded again, with more sincerity this time. Failing his exams would not be difficult. At all. In fact, he was quite good at failing. Lan Qiren could have testified that when it came to failing, he’d never had a student as great as Nie Huaisang.

“Good, excellent. Now, I don’t have much time left here today but… I have a task for you when the classes end.”

“Another thing?” Nie Huaisang lamented. “That wasn’t the deal!”

“It is for da-ge’s good,” his future self snapped, and once again Nie Huaisang wondered if he really loved his brother enough to bother with all this.

He did love Nie Mingjue, no doubt. But he still wondered.

“In fact, it’s for the good of the whole cultivation world,” his future self continued. “This might be the most selfless thing you’re ever going to do, so don’t mess it up. When the classes end, you’re not going home. You’re going to the city of Kuizhou…”

“Really? Oh, that’d be neat. I’ve always wanted to see…”

“You’re not going there to sightsee and think about poetry,” his older self cut him. “You’re going there to find a young criminal by the name of Xue Yang and ensure he never gets to create trouble for the cultivation world. You’ve disappointed me with Meng Yao, but I think you should manage to do the right thing with Xue Yang. He’s only ten or eleven, and you have a sabre, surely it can’t be too hard to dispose of him.”

“You don’t mean…”

The older man closed his fan, his face devoid of emotion. “I would think my meaning is clear enough, but I’m not letting you mess this up as you’ve done with Meng Yao. Xue Yang must die. He grows into too much of a menace as an adult. Even if we're going to make sure his particular skills never become needed by any sect, letting him live is just too risky. He’s devious enough to come up with demonic cultivation all on his own if given the chance to grow up, and he certainly doesn’t have any ideals of justice to help him keep it under control. Kill him before he harms anyone.”

"I'm not a killer!" Nie Huaisang shouted, too loud, far too loud, but he didn’t care, horrified by the very idea of what he his future self was demanding. He felt sorry when fighting fierce corpses and tended to cry at exorcisms, how could he ever… and to a living person, to a child.

And yet his future self rolled his eyes as if his horror were but another minor annoyance to deal with, and started fanning himself again.

"You'll learn fast. Just find a cat, snap its neck, and you'll see how easy it is. After two or three you stop feeling sorry for them, and people aren't so different from cats."

“I don’t think da-ge would want that,” Nie Huaisang protested in a trembling voice. “I don’t think he’d like that at all. It’s just… it’s a kid! Good people don’t kill kids! Even a lot of bad people don’t kill kids!”

“Be quiet, or we’ll be found by whichever Lan disciple is patrolling tonight!”

Good, Nie Huaisang thought. If they were found he’d be punished, sure, but more importantly he’d be forced to tell someone about everything his older self had told him, from the war that was coming, to Nie Mingjue’s death, to killing children. But of course Nie Huaisang couldn’t be so lucky, and no one appeared to have heard him.

“You’re really too naive,” his older self said. “Everyone kills children, they just don’t speak about it and pretend they’re righteous. Even da-ge is no better. I only realised that after the war with the Wens, but it’ll be good for you to grow out of your illusions earlier than that. Besides, you don’t have to tell da-ge that you’ve killed that boy. Keeping secrets is your only real skill, use it.”

“Da-ge isn’t like that,” Nie Huaisang hissed, and felt he’d started crying again.

His brother wasn’t a murderer. He was a good person, he wouldn’t harm anyone who didn’t deserve it… but he might make an exception when it came to the Wens, who nobody in Qinghe Nie really counted as people anymore. 

They were just a disease upon the cultivation world, pests that needed to be eliminated. Nie Huaisang, who had always agreed to that, had never really paused before to think that Qishan Wen also counted a number of children, of elders, of servants, of people who really had nothing to do with his father’s death and maybe didn’t even realise there had ever been such a person in the world.

“Da-ge is only human,” his older self said. “And all humans are ready to kill to get what they want. Da-ge wanted to avenge our father. You want to protect da-ge. It’s not so different. If it helps, Xue Yang really deserves to die, so don’t bother feeling sorry for him. He would kill you for candies, given half a chance.”

“I’m not like that,” Nie Huaisang sobbed.

“Not yet perhaps,” his older self conceded in a softer voice. “But you’ll get there anyway. The world is cruel. We must be worse than it is, if we are to survive, if da-ge is to survive.”

The man raised a hand toward Nie Huaisang's head, wanting perhaps to comfort him by ruffling his hair. It was what Nie Mingjue would have done. But Nie Huaisang flinched, fearing to be struck again, and his older self's hand dropped at his side.

“So remember well,” his older self ordered, his tone dry once more. “An orphan boy named Xue Yang, who lives in Kuizhou. He’s a petty criminal for now, he hasn’t yet switched from theft to violent crimes I think, but it’ll come soon. He would be tall for his age I believe. He has a missing little finger on his left hand, and when he smiles his canines are very prominent. He is a monster, and he cannot be allowed to live. Do you understand?”

Through heavy tears Nie Huaisang nodded. That seemed to satisfy his older self who vanished. 

Nie Huaisang understood indeed, but he didn’t agree and was certain he never would.

[peachyteez]

angel nurse ≫ DAY THREE, LEAP OF FAITH

this fox hybrid was brought into the recovery facility covered in scratches, whip marks, blood, and every other injury you could imagine. due to this, yeosang has trouble trusting humans, as he was afraid they could just hurt him all over again. until he meets jiyu, his “angel nurse”.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee, @kingalls00, @sanstreasure0305, @sparklingmallow, @peachseok

✧ notes: seojin is a made up character! refer to the following to maybe play a little game? ⬇️

if you can guess who i visualized seojin as, there may or may not be a little surprise :)

hint: i visualized him off a webtoon character!

hint: said webtoon has to do with vampires

there’s also a small description of him in the story 👀

back。| next。

yeonjun pinched his nose bridge as he tried processing his dear best friend’s words. “so how do you plan on helping him recover if...you’re not going to see him in person?” he asked. 

jiyu bit the inside of her cheek in thought. “i haven’t figured that out yet. but i don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be exposed to human interactions yet. he seemed so closed off and unwilling to cooperate when i came in yesterday.” she said.

“but do you really think he’ll warm up to people when he’s in there by himself?” yeonjun asked. “it’s not like he'll magically—”

“i know, i know,” she groaned before running her hand through her hair. for once, she was stumped on what to do. she didn’t want to force him to break his walls down, but she didn’t want to leave him alone for too long. 

“maybe i can ask taehyun to talk to him?” yeonjun offered. “he told me they’re friends.”

she shook her head. “i don’t want to make it look like we’re using his friends to have him cooperate. if anything, it could push him further into his shell.”

yeonjun quietly chuckled before ruffling her hair. “well, seojin checked up on him earlier and he looked to be okay. physically, he looked to be recovering from his injuries, but he looked to have a lot on his mind, according to seojin anyways.” 

seojin was one of the hybrid assistants that the facility employs to help patients settle into their new, temporary living space. jiyu remembered him; he used to be one of her former patients before getting adopted by a new family. after settling in, he decided to return to the facility as a caretaker assistant. coincidentally, he was assigned as jiu’s hybrid assistant. small world.

“is that so...?” she mused. “where’s seojin? i might ask him a few questions.”

“last time i saw him, he was in the break room.”

making a beeline for the break room, she saw the familiar tabby hybrid sitting and sipping at his milk carton. 

“oh? miss jiyu! it’s been a while,” seojin greeted as jiyu took the seat across from him. jiyu did a double take at how much he had changed compared to the last time she saw him. he was no longer a small, frail tabby cat hybrid; he now looked to be thriving, buff might she even add. he even dyed his hair red, although a bit darker than mingi’s.

“why does no one ever listen to me when i tell them to drop the ‘miss’?” she playfully groaned.

“sorry, force of habit,” he chuckled, referring to his time spent under her care. “but what’s up?”

“you checked on the new fox hybrid this morning, right?” she asked. 

one of seojin’s ears twitched as he tilted his head. “the grumpy one? then yes, i did.”

“you say that as if you weren’t grumpy yourself,” she wryly commented with a chuckle. “i had enough scratches to tell.”

he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “anyways, yeah, i checked up on him this morning. poor guy seemed lost in his own thoughts. he spent most of the time looking out the window with this distant look in his eyes,” he recounted. “i managed to get his name, though. it’s yeosang.”

“yeosang...” she said to herself. the name sounded so smooth as it rolled off her tongue. “is he...better?”

seojin pursed his lips. “i asked him if he was willing to let people here help him, but he seemed to shut down at the thought. but i gave him a small pep talk, too so there's maybe a slim chance that his mind cracked a little.”

she thoughtfully nodded. “i can understand here he comes from though. being abandoned by people you love into a harsher reality is never fun. nor will it be easy to forgive,” she mindlessly commented. “but i need to check up on him sooner or later, i can’t just leave him in there by himself for who knows how long. i just...don’t know how to approach him,” she said, wracking her brain for any new ideas. 

“maybe you just need to show him like how you did with that tiger hybrid. hongjoong, i believe was his name? during my visits with him, i saw how he changed after each day,” he said. “coming from a hybrid that was treated here, we all come in a little skeptic and hesitant about accepting help from humans, when they were sometimes the root of our problems and why we ended up here in the first place. but you all never gave up on us, and still treated us with care and kindness. it may be part of your job description but we all still appreciate your efforts since we never received much prior to being here.”

jiyu was touched by his words, and also found solace in them. she was glad that majority of the hybrids found comfort and love here. after all, that was the primary goal of their recovery process: to accept a helping hand from their caretakers, form a trust connection with them. “...i’m glad to hear that.”

a small grin was plastered on seojin’s face. “what i’m trying to say is, yeosang might be a little bit more closed off than the others, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t yearn for love and kindness like the rest of us.” finishing his milk, he stood up to throw the carton away and leave. he bent down and booped his head with her’s, giving it the smallest of nuzzles. “i’m sure your hybrids won’t appreciate my scent on you, so take this small nuzzle and good luck!” he childishly grinned before leaving the break room. 

watching the tabby cat hybrid leave the room, she chuckled as she watched his tail sway back and forth before she was left alone with her own thoughts. “in a way, i guess he's right...she mused to herself. “alright then, i’ll pay him a visit tomorrow,” she promised herself, the plants by the windowsill being her only witnesses. with the promise, she left the break room to return to the office. as she passed by yeosang’s room, she resolved her promise again.

in his room, yeosang was curled up in the hospital bed as he replayed the conversation he had with seojin a few hours before. 

“will you be willing to allow the people here to help?” seojin asked as he joined yeosang by the window, looking out at the different hybrids wandering around with their caretakers. 

yeosang was silent. he still didn’t know if he could take another potential betrayal. how would he end up? where would he end up? looking back down outside at the various hybrids, although he would never admit, he was envious of them. envious at how they were able to open up so easily to others, envious at how they were able to smile freely without a care in the world, and envious at how they managed to form a connection with other humans. 

seojin observed yeosang’s expressions and slightly smiled before returning his gaze back outside. “i was here once, too,” he admitted, earning yeosang’s attention. “and i had jiyu as my caretaker, too.”

yeosang remembered the female that came in the previous day and inwardly cringed at how awkward they regarded each other. 

“and i was like you, too. got hurt pretty bad by my old owners, not to mention other people when i became a stray. and not to mention i gave jiyu enough scratches for a lifetime,” he chuckled. “but she never gave up on me. she always came back at the same time, whether it be for medical checkups or just for a casual hello—”

“why are you telling me this?” yeosang quietly interrupted before feeling a sharp pain on his side. grimacing, he clutched onto his side and slightly bent over from the unexpected pain. 

seojin immediately helped him to sit back on the bed before checking his wound and changing the bandages. while preparing the cotton ball and tweezers for the ointment, seojin gently smiled. “i told you because i thought maybe it’d help you relax a little bit while being here,” he said before spreading ointment on yeosang’s gash. “maybe if you heard some personal experiences, maybe i can help you open up a little.”

after changing yeosang’s bandages, seojin started preparing to leave. “maybe give jiyu a chance. i can guarantee she won’t harm you. actually, she’s more prone to accidentally hurting herself rather than others,” he laughed. “see you tomorrow!”

and with that, the door slid shut behind seojin.

yeosang sighed, staring up at the rectangles on the ceiling. it was a constant game of tug-of-war in his mind. ‘yes, maybe she’s different and you can open up’ but also, ‘no, you’ve been through too much to risk it all again’. it wasn’t like he wasn’t taking seojin’s personal experience into consideration, it was just...opening up again was hard. 

how did others do it? how did they find it in themselves to be open and friendly with humans again, when humans were the reasons majority of them were there in the first place? 

either they have guts of steel, or i’m just a coward. he thought. but the scars and marks on his body were constant reminders of his old life. a life full of pain, anger, distress. fear. he never wanted to feel as much fear as he did ever again. 

but he realized that he would never be able to escape his bubble of uncertainity if he just wallowed in it. if he continued to stay how he was, he would never break the cycle of doubts.  

taking a deep breath at his revelation, he closed his eyes and steeled his nerves, making a promise to himself.

i’ll take the leap of faith. whether or not it turns out well, that’ll be fate's decision.

[whump-town]

The Bridges Between You and Me

Emily whump (even though I'm supposed to be doing other things)

no real warnings, i don't think.

On her lunch break she takes her sandwich to the roof. It’s a great escape with only one access door, one Dave showed her and warned no one could ever know about. That had been after she and Reid only barely made it out of Benjamin Cyrus’ cult of horrors and pedophilia. A peace offering, she realized, to settle the fear he hadn’t known he had of losing her. After that, she started being invited to have a drink in his office and was welcomed into the boy’s club. Something Reid had only ever told her was a thing and something Morgan turned his nose to but also secretly wanted in on. A general snobby (sensitive) shrug of dismissal - couldn’t be that cool if Hotch gets invited and they don’t.

For the last few weeks, she’s been taking her lunch up here, away from Reid’s glances and the worry lines being formed along Morgan’s brow. It’s only a matter of time, she knows, before she has to give up the spot. Only one or two more lunches before Morgan takes his concern to Garcia and they figure out the little hideout. Won’t be as much fun then, not with Morgan’s betrayed hurt and his probing questions. For now, she’s got a safe-haven.

“You’re smoking again.”

Well, she thought she did.

Leaning against the brick, one of his long legs stretched out in front of him Hotch looks up from his coffee to quirk an eyebrow at her. It’s by no means a question, he sat in silence and watched her light her cigarette and pull off it before commenting. Before drawing attention to himself and crushing their individual peace. He knows she’s smoking again, has for a while, but thought she’d kick the habit again with time. She’s only just come back from the dead, hell he’d smoke too. That or drink himself to death but the idea alone makes him shiver with distaste - the parallels between himself and his father are already too pronounced for that notion.

Where he’s expecting her to maybe smirk and dismiss him with sharp sarcasm, he’s shot down with a clenched jaw. Her eyes darken, “shut up.” As he looks away, eyes going to the cool coffee in his hand he can hear her sigh. How much has changed since she came back? She’d been angry, walked away from him without a word and that had stung more than if she’d slapped him when she found out what he spent her departure doing. Knew that he could have fought to stay and instead went like a coward. They haven’t talked since. Haven’t even looked at each other. He used to know her better than he knew himself. Now he’s not sure what he knows.

Maybe he really did kill Emily Prentiss.

She rubs her palms into her eyes, fighting back tears. She will not cry in front of Hotch but all this shit is starting to be too much. Her emotions are beyond her control. Anger and fear and anxiety and panic - each one a speeding bullet wedged in her ribcage ricocheting until she’s chipped away. Is this what he’d felt after Foyet? He had a warpath too. Morgan had pretended not to see it, dismissed it as Hotch only coming down on him but he yelled and Garcia and Reid. Two people who always get away whatever hell they’ve dug up. He’d felt bad about it, an admission that only came out after a few drinks. One he’d made to the floor.

“Got another apple crate?” She can’t say sorry. He had to her for just raising his voice a little, for getting angry when he shouldn’t have been. He always apologizes and fixes his mistakes. That’s always been one of her faults, too content to watch her burning bridge spread and takedown cities and forests. Her mother had such conflicting points of view on an apology. Sticking her nose up at the sound of the lives she took at the cost of destroying her bridges and at the same time twisting her fingers up in Emily’s hair to wrangle one from her stubborn lips. Emily had gotten so caught up in doing the very same thing that she never learned. Doesn’t know how to say those words even if she wanted to.

But Hotch… She imagines him as a boy, just as he’d described to her once. Hardly 100 pounds soaking wet at thirteen but always so much taller than the other kids. An optimist despite everything he’d been through. Coming home with the hope to find a mother who wipes his tears with the edges of her summer dress and a father who throws his hat up into the air with a praising shout when he finally manages to get somewhere on his bike without training wheels. And still opening that front door every day with so much hope and love for two people who felt him better dead.

She knows she could hit him, she could yell and scream. Burn the bridge and kill the city and he’d still hike around the mountain, he’d swim across the river and she’d find him smiling on her doorstep. Loyal as a dog. It’s why he never told anyone about his father - he just kept coming back. Reminds her painfully of that stupid quote from Einstein.

He looks up at her, surprised as he nods that he does have another apple crate and pulls it around for her. Right beside his. “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results”. When is he going to understand that she’s never going to stop hurting him? That he can give her that stupid look - a smirk trying to work its way up but already shining brightly in his eyes - and she’s still going to end up doing it again. Dragging him below the water’s surface. Drowning him to save herself. All she does is take and take and he won’t stop giving.

She finds herself envious of Hotch’s inability to control his vulnerabilities. That little finger count he does as he pulls in a breath through his nose, a conscious movement that is both impossible to hide and incredibly telling. Though, they all pretend he’s got them fooled. He’s sort of an anxious wreck and JJ had once concluded it’d physically kill him if he was aware of just how little he actually manages to hide from them. It hurts to see him stand just outside the comfort they show one another, afraid that he’s unwelcomed or that his being there complicates their dynamics. She wants to be known the way that they know him.

To be human so uniquely.

“Are you going to tell Jack?” she asks softly. She leans her head back against the brick, rocking it to the side to look over at him. Guilty, she looks down at the cigarette in her hand. Somehow the constant thought this stupid thing could kill her does nothing but her stomach twists, her throat tight at realization that Jack would be so upset with her. He’d be crushed to see her smoking again.

It’s a habit she picks up every now and then.

She’d picked it back up, after ten years, after joining the team. For a month she was burning through over half a pack and stopped when she walked into Strauss’ office with her recognition, one-upping Hotch’s transfer. Started again after New York… Well, when she got news of the bomb she went out and bought a pack. Chain smoked until they informed her it was Kate and Hotch. Then she went and puked in an alley. There are plenty of things that had her at least reaching for the relief of one: getting taken hostage by Benjamin Cyrus, Matthew dying and dragging up her past, Reid getting Anthrax, that bastard George Foyet. If she’s perfectly honest she never really stopped after everything with Foyet.

She needed the peace, the ease of routine, and familiarity. Someone had to keep their shit together and it certainly wasn’t Hotch…

Teenage rebellions are such a pain in the ass once you turn twenty.

Jack had seen her one afternoon, she’d been finishing the one she pulled into Hotch’s driveway with. Her attention on not being found out by the man she’d assumed was inside. A safe assumption because Jack told her as much but only after he’d cried, only after he had her promise she’d be done. No more (even if she did finish the pack - but she’d felt awful with everyone after… even if she did pick up another pack).

And the guilt burns through the addiction, making her nearly sick at the thought of finishing the one in her hand.

He smiles. Sisyphus at the bottom of his hill, boulder weighing him down.

She hopes wherever his father is, it's miserable. Even with the fear of what lay ahead for her, the conviction she was headed for the same place as men like his father. So she convinced herself she didn’t even believe in that. But here she is again, watching herself become his father. Drawing her fist back, aimed for his forgiving smile. Taking advantage of Hotch’s loyalty, his stupid misplaced love.

“I won’t tell him.”

He’s smiling at her, pinching his eyes to flash her the black-eye she put there. Smiling with blood dripping down his chin.

She looks away. She mumbles “thanks” and takes to rubbing her fingers between her knuckles to soothe the sting of the bruising she imagines there. “How is he?” she deflects. She might as well have him laid out on his back, taking cheap shots at his ribs. “When did he get so big?” She’s got him where she wants him, kicking all the sensitive areas she knows will lay him out. Distracting him under the lure of Jack and it doesn’t matter that he’ll figure that out later just so long as it makes him smile that bloody smile and ramble about his son for a few minutes.

And after a few minutes of exposure to the sun, feeling the warmth of Hotch’s love for Jack settling around her, she almost feels like smiling too.

But that only lasts for so long. With a sigh and a silent look of disdain when his knees protest like rusted hinges when he stands and their joy shattered. But that does make her smile, even when he frowns at her humor at his expense. For a moment they’re the moon and sun, opposites circling their way around the world. Caught in a gravitational pull of nearly colliding and too far away.

He doesn’t bother her about that day on the roof or ask the question he already knows the answer to - if she’s smoking or not. She feels just enough satisfaction being fulfilled when Dave explains how Hotch found out about the roof that she doesn’t try to bring it up either. It’s fine, she tells herself. He looks at her again and she feels her frustration with him (with the world) dissipate to it’s normal simmer. Until she feels less fooled by Atlas, like she hasn’t had the world rolled over her shoulders to settle onto her bag. Her knees sink and she watches Atlas’ mighty back. Her body is aching - come back, she begs, come back.

It rushes back.

The wrong word piercing the veil and shattering the manufactured calm surrounding her. She knows, in a split second, that it was the wrong thing to say but it was too late. And as it occurred, as she flinched in the preparation for the pain to come, she thought about them. Derek standing only a foot away - the sound of his quickened breaths keeping pace for her. Giving her timing, finding her rhythm. He always keeps her steady.

Behind Derek, no doubt just a step behind Hotch, Reid’s looking over her shoulder.

And she’s sure Hotch knows, just as soon if not before she does, that this has gone tits up.

There’s no coming back. Her head hits the floor, lays her out for a moment where she can’t think past the pain blossomed out across the back of her head. All she knows is the fingers of pain wrapping around the back of her head and the chill in the air. Softly, as if submerged in mud, she can hear Hotch shouting. That tone he takes on when he’s scared, when he’s really scared. She wonders if this time he can save her or if history really does repeat itself.

“Hey, hey--” Morgan crouches down by her side. His hands covering the wound, that look in his eyes. He’s scared. She’s scaring them. “Stay with me, Princess. Come on, eyes open.”

And maybe history doesn’t repeat itself but she’ll be damned if it doesn’t at least rhyme.

Derek doesn’t seem to reciprocate the same humor on the matter.

“Emily.”

Mmm, she turns her head away. Morgan has this tendency to sound like a broken alarm clock. She finds herself looking up at JJ - caught in the tears in the corner of her eyes as she throws demands around at LEOs like she’s Hotch. Watching them listen like she is.

“Hang on Emily,” he begs. “Please. Just a little bit longer.”

God, she rocks her head back. Whines when Morgan shifts his weight but a hand grabs her wrists, stops her from pushing him away. “Get off me,” she grunts. She wants to kick out, to push away but Hotch moves too and under the weight of both of them she can’t move. But it hurts. It hurts so bad and she hates them. She hates Morgan pushing her away. The way that she ruined JJ and Reid’s friendship. How scared Garcia is and Dave keeps looking at her like he’s expecting her to have just disappeared. And fucking Hotch and his silent treatment.

And Jack.

Oh… Jack.

Morgan goes with her in the ambulance, the last time he’d been stopped. Hotch stands outside, his hands at his hips as she moves on and he stops there. Reid’s just behind him, always just behind him. She sees them, hazed by blood loss and everything going on but she sees them. Hotch his mountain made of man and Reid seeking his shelter from her storm.

When do they stop looking at her like that?

When do they finally realize she’s never going to stop hurting them?

She dreams about her mother.

The rain stings as it lands on her bare shoulder blades, pouring so hard it’s beating the gravel down their driveway. “Come inside, Emily!” Her mother has stepped out onto the balcony, the one that overlooks the garden they have to pay someone to maintain. “You’ll catch your death out here, darling!” Her mother steps closer, into the rain. “Emily, please. Let me make you some tea.”

And that’s how she knows it’s a dream.

Her mother would never do any of those things. Never follow her out into the rain. Would have never even realized she’d gone out. She wouldn’t call her “darling”, not when one is around to hear her do it. Her mother never once made her tea.

Garcia figured out Emily’s devotion to tea after a month of having known her. Then it wasn’t just a small bonding it was an entire affair as Emily was guided through the office to the little kitchenette and shown she wasn’t the only one. Where Garcia would show her the teas Gideon liked best and where he kept them in a little metal box. Fitting, she thought, as Garcia showed her all the usual suspects and Ginger Tulsi tea which she hadn’t expected at all. Garcia is more into the fruits, anything with the picture of a fruit on it.

There was a single, mangled box of Earl Grey sitting alone on a shelf. She didn’t even have to ask to know that it had to be Hotch’s. It was.

Reid doesn’t drink tea. He would pick up the habit a year later after Gideon leaves but only to soothe his nerves. The smell would remind him of being younger, of having Gideon.

Morgan doesn’t drink tea. Couldn’t even look at it after her death. The smell made him sick, physically ill to just pass Garcia in the hall with a mug of Chai. That stupid ratio Emily invited unique to how Garcia likes tea. She’d done it for Jason too and Hotch too. Dashes of cinnamon and the additions of almond milk to curate something unique… something to leave behind. A reason for Reid to cry in the bathroom and Hotch lose himself for a moment, cursing blindly when his shaking hands drop his mug.

She left them grief.

She left them with a gaping hole in their sides and blood gushing down over their fingers.

And they still came back.

She wakes slowly, groaning at the immediate pull she feels on the stitches down her right side. Sluggishly, she realizes that no matter what she does this is going to hurt. Breathing is agonizing. Thoughts are like axe picks trying to split her skull open.

“Emily?”

She opens her eyes and finds all of them.

Reid is curled into a cot, blanket drawn up over his shoulder and face pressed down.

Garcia is sleeping with her head on Morgan’s shoulder, the two of them nearly curled into each other. Content, peaceful. How could you be anything but? Nothing can go wrong with Penelope Garcia on your side, Morgan’s calm face reflects just that.

JJ has managed to curl herself into a chair, Hotch’s suit jacket pulled up over her like a blanket. Hotch makes his chair look tiny. His legs splayed in front of him and his head tipped back, in a way that’s going to hurt him once he wakes. They look too much like they did that night, the night she died. JJ’s hair is a mess, pulled back away from her eyes but still somehow beautiful. Light and kind in a way Emily could never imitate. Hotch has these awful rings under his eyes, sharpened by his cheek bones. He’s exhausted.

He always is.

“Rather sweet, aren’t they?”

She turns her head to the sound, smiling despite herself.

Rossi has his feet kicked up on the edge of her bed, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m surprised the snoring didn’t wake you up.” He pulls his legs down slowly, bending each with care before placing it down on the ground. With a groan he rises, one hand on each side of his chair as he forces himself to motion. “Then again,” he mumbles, stepping around to a little tray. “It’s probably best you weren’t around for the trouble those two conjured up.” He motions to Morgan and Hotch with the cup in his hands, she doesn’t have to look to know that’s who he’s talking about.

She opens her mouth but her question is cut short, killed by her sore throat and impossibly dry mouth. “What’d--” she winces, coughing that turns into more of a gag. It hurts but she sees Hotch’s leg jerk, his head moves and she pushes it down. Holds her breath.

“Don’t go hurting yourself on account of him,” Rossi fusses. “He’ll take it very personally if you die… again.” He eases the sting with a smirk and it has to be the drugs because she mirrors it back. Stepping to the edge of the bed he presses a straw to her lips, encouraging her to take a sip.

A year before Foyet started killing again they went to Georgia. The strange thing was that you could actually see the heat baking in the air, the way it came up in waves up off the road. Somewhere, the memory so hazy now with the drugs in her system and the fog of that day, JJ had managed to wander off. She was out standing by a fence, a little flower pinched between her fingers. “A honeysuckle,” she said, showing them. Like the sun herself with her flower outstretched in the palm of her hand.

Hotch had smiled, genuinely, brightly. See? Even he knows when the sun is that close.

They both took a flower in their hands, showing them how to draw out a single drop of nectar.

As Rossi encourages her to have another sip she’s drawn back to that memory. The warmth of the air and Reid’s triumphant laughter when he finally got it, turning to Morgan, to Hotch to show them he did it. Something good.

“Where’d you go?”

She blinks and he’s managed to move. The whole room shifted. Darker. She sees Reid, turned over onto his back. JJ over on the couch, resting against Garcia. Her fingers trailing up and down over JJ’s arm. In her lap a book, keeping her distracted. A bag of yarns and fabrics at her feet, she’s camped out. Not going to move.

She clears her throat, “honeysuckles.” Turning her head she looks over at the others, for where Morgan and Hotch should be. She points over to the empty chair but even that hurts.

Rossi hums, he understands what she means. He’s got coffee in his hands and nods down towards it. “Morgan is taking a walk,” he says. “Too nervous to sit still. Coffee didn’t help.”

Emily nods, swallowing despite the pain grating up her throat.

“Jack,” is his answer for Hotch. “Gone to call Jessica.” He leaves out the state in which Hotch had managed to get himself worked up into. Standing here over her bed pale as a ghost and whispering something too softly for Dave to hear. A nightmare but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Get some sleep,” he advises as he settles himself down. “You’ll need all the strength you can manage when they get up.”

She nods, that makes sense. That way she’ll be alert to keep Morgan and Reid out of her jello. The drugs… They throw her off and she stumbles, chokes. “Dave?” He’ll stay, won’t he? He won’t leave.

Dave reaches over with hands warmed from his coffee and holds her hand. “Sleep,” he whispers.

No more warmth drawn from the fires she sets. She has teas that taste like berries to look forward to. Garcia with her hair full of butterfly clips. The hours of channel flicking Morgan falls into when he’s bored. The sweet smile that will light up Reid’s face when finally gets her to agree to a round of chess. The pseudo-girls night out they'll have right here. With shirley temples and virgin pina coladas. Hotch will be there too, when thinks she doesn’t need him, but the lights have gone out and he knows what it’s like to still be scared of the dark.

She doesn’t have to set fire to another bridge to feel the warmth of something real, of something loving.

They’re right here.