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waitmyturtles · 1 year ago

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FINAL UNPOPULAR OPINIONS ON STEP BY STEP, EPISODE 12

It’s over. It. is. over. Good grief. ONE HOUR AND FORTY-TWO MINUTES. I’ll spare the supporters with a read-more. It’s a short-ish meta pour moi, and I drafted some of this last week in anticipation for what I thought would happen today, inspired by meta from others.

I’ve been thinking about what would happen in this Step By Step finale since a great conversation last week with @stuffnonsenseandotherthings about whether or not people should have continued with this show. I’m filled with frustration, with lost hope for this show, but like -- a part of this frustration is exactly because THE POTENTIAL FOR THIS SHOW TO BE GREAT WAS EVIDENT WITHIN THE SHOW, FROM THE BEGINNING TO THE ALMOST-END. It was there, in front of our faces.

I’m gonna break this down, inspired in large part, before I watched this finale, from the incredible meta penned by @bengiyo and @respectthepetty on being queer in a majority non-queer workplace (I shared these links last week in the post linked above, but I loved their pieces here and here and here and here).

The following is a drama I would have LOVED TO WATCH, if the actual show had not gotten HIJACKED by too many competing narratives -- ESPECIALLY the very long narrative and focus, over multiple episodes, of rummaging through Pat’s wavering emotions and my being led to believe that what we were watching was a Pat growth story. I’m basically plucking out the very best parts, in my humble opinion, of this show, and tying them together in a screenplay that I think would have been the most compelling storyline to watch. [Thanks to @lurkingshan for hearing this from me last week before today’s finale aired, because as I expected -- this thought process that I had last week LANDED (and it landed accurately because the finale ended exactly the way I sadly expected it to, godfuckingdamnit.)]

1) Jeng is a leader in a company that he’s been with on-and-off over the course of his career. He’s being pressured by his dad to take the company over. Instead, Jeng wants to prove his self-worth by making a department that he had founded, successful -- maybe even the most successful department in the company. Simultaneously, Jeng’s dad knows Jeng is gay, and is not happy about it.

2) Jeng is taken by a new employee, Pat. Pat is in his department. Jeng sees Pat’s potential, but is such a perfectionist as to interfere with Pat’s growth. Pat calls him the fuck out about it, and Jeng begins to change (which, as I’ve written about in the past, is fucking hard to do).

3) Simultaneously, Jeng is so pressured by filial piety to organize himself to take over the company, that he works another damn executive-level job to decompress. (This strikes me as similar to how Tong in KinnPorsche may have developed his lifestyle, in part, to avoid taking over the family business, as Kinn hints to Porsche.)

4) As Jeng falls more and more for Pat, he begins to struggle to hold himself together. Jeng ultimately reveals to Pat that Jeng is gay. Pat is shocked.

5) Jeng confesses to Pat. Pat is again shocked. Pat is disturbed, recounting how Jeng toed the boss-employee boundary. Pat rejects Jeng. Jeng is devastated.

6) Chot sends Pat back to Jeng. Pat confesses to Jeng. They get into a months-long relationship.

7) Jeng loses himself in the relationship. He engages in favoritism in the workplace. He ultimately UNDERMINES Pat’s growth by buying Pat’s success, literally. Jeng’s dad, frustrated at this development -- and maybe even by their relationship itself -- reveals to Pat the duplicity. Pat dumps Jeng.

8) As we learned today: it’s two years later. Jeng is primed to take over Jian Group. But: Pat comes back to Jeng’s life -- Pat literally unblocks Jeng.

9) Jeng realizes he can’t work in a company that doesn’t tolerate equity and equality. Jeng is happy again with Pat. He hands his resignation letter to his father. Jeng goes to live forward his life with Pat, likely as a chef, in their joy as a couple.

Again: that’s a drama I would have loved to watch. THAT is a narrative. THAT has complication, drama, trauma, movement. It’s more of a workplace drama than it is a romance. It’s Jeng’s narrative. It’s Jeng’s development and POV.

(It doesn’t quite explain why Jeng acted like such a DUNCE in point #7, but I would hope that my fictional-fictional screenplay here would explain it. Maybe Jeng buys Pat’s success to PROVE to his dad that Pat, and the digital marketing team as a whole, are worth keeping and investing in. I don’t actually know -- because I wasn’t implicitly or explicitly TOLD this in the actual show.)

INSTEAD.

GODDAMN IT, INSTEAD.

I still don’t fucking know what narrative we really got, AND WHY. We got a PAT perspective, a Pat narrative, as we have gotten for the majority of the series. But this Pat narrative went NOWHERE. Pat never matured, never grew. We got a romance narrative of the most broken quality. We got a romance narrative that essentially told us (thank you to @lurkingshan and @neuroticbookworm for hearing this in advance) that Pat likes to date, break up with, and GO BACK TO questionable partners with questionable power dynamics in Put and Jeng (citing @heretherebedork here on a similar point). That’s.... not a very heartening narrative for dear guy Pat -- a man, as I said earlier, with whom we spent a TREMENDOUS AMOUNT OF TIME examining his initial hesitations and spurts of growth vis à vis romantic partners (and MLM salespeople).

Compared against this questionable romance narrative....what was Pat’s brief workplace story? Pat -- at work, you actually ended up being a fucking badass! You started your own company with Chot and Ae? Winning awards? WINNING THE DAMN FJORD PITCH AGAINST JIAN GROUP? BADASS! (Although -- GAH -- @bengiyo pointed out that.... could Jeng have INTERVENED to throw the game for Jian Group so that Pat’s firm WOULD win the pitch?? FUCK. GAH. I don’t know that I want to go there, but it seems honest for this show.)

Anyway. Let’s sit with that for a second... oh wait, okay, we’re not gonna sit with that. We’re gonna brush off that y’all won the Fjord pitch. And focus on... a karaoke night project for a restaurant. Okay. Wow. Ooooookay. I really wanted to spend more time with your workplace successes, with the win of that HUGE PITCH WITH FJORD, but okay, karaoke night. Okay.

You’re.... you’re friends with Put now. We will have you meeting Jeng again... you’re angry.... okay wait, you’re unblocking him, okay. Okay, wait, wait, okay, Chot, and Ae....AND PUT?!.... are encouraging you to go back to Jeng? PUT?!

You’re drunk (again?!), and you’re...singing.... YOU’RE....

YOU’RE APOLOGIZING TO JENG? YOU. ARE. THE ONE. APOLOGIZING? WHAT?

Jeng DISSED on you and your talent two years ago, my man!

Okay, and. Reconciliation after a hangover where Pat doesn’t remember what they said the night before? And then.... they start over, but it’s kind of awkward, and like -- not filled with reflection or like, is that too much of an expectation?

And Jeng hands over the resignation letter, but without explanation or context as to whether or not there COULD have been a way for him to be a leader at Jian Group WHILE in a queer relationship -- because we’re left to ASSUME all of this, as I did above? We are left to ASSUME that multiple entities in this universe, from Ying to Jian Group, just profit off of the queer community, without explicit explanation? (I can’t, I CAN’T assume or conjure narratives on my own -- successful storytelling needs to tell the story.)

And, as I expected -- we are left with an unearned romance ending... with...with Pat...who has experienced SUCCESS ON HIS OWN, WITH HIS OWN COMPANY, MOOLAH BABY -- asking Jeng... to buy him ...furniture? (After Jeng quit his corporate job, so even working as a chef, we are left to assume that Jeng has the resources to buy out a furniture shop? Fine, it’s IKEA, but still? Nepo chef manchild?)

OH. KAY.

I just. KLSDJFLKSDJFLKJWEPRJKSPOFKDSLKGNSD.

This show scooped Pat up and was like, buddy, you just can’t do it on your own, so we’re gonna do it for you. You’re NOT gonna grow in two years, emotionally. Or, like, your professional growth WILL HAVE NOTHING to do with your emotional growth. (I call bullshit on that, btw, as an old auntie. Take your wins and grow from them. Goddamn.)

I would have liked to see Pat roll up in a damn suit and briefcase, take some DOCUMENTS out of that briefcase, and read THE RIOT ACT to Jeng -- IF the Pat romance narrative was even called for.

Instead, we got a milquetoast rush to a WEAK romantic ending.

Y’all, I am saying. THE POTENTIAL FOR THIS SHOW TO BE GOOD WAS WITHIN THE SHOW. THE POTENTIAL FOR CELEBRATING LOVE AND SUCCESS WAS ALL HERE, IT WAS ALL HERE, I’m tapping at the damn script and chewing on my damn cigar.

I didn’t see Pat grow. Instead, I saw Pat dealing and processing his emotions the same. exact. way. as he had two years prior. Filled with frustration, no words used to communicate what was up, and/or getting drunk in the process. And going back to the dudes that dissed on him. OH-KAY.

Might I ask, then? What was the point of this show?

I dunno. It doesn’t help anyone that Ben and Man are not necessarily actors that I’ll run back to watching. Maybe Man, in another show, if a pang of nostalgia hits me. But, in the end -- I was hoping, HOPING, that a compelling narrative would arise out of the mess we’ve been left with, episode after episode. Instead, as the series wore on to the end, the confusion of all these narratives only got worse.

That’s it, this is all I got. I was thinking of watching Hidden Agenda for Joong’s face, but -- let me get to Lovely Writer first on the OGMMTVC, and I am GOING to be watching that show VERY FUCKING CRITICALLY, GAAAAH. I’ll be metaphorically honing my keyboard.

Peace out, SBS! May you never come back in any sort of fashion, unless someone decides to take pity on your carrot cake ass and make an apologetic follow-up miniseries out of you. Do not color me surprised if Dee Hup and Tee Bundit decide to take that route, and I will have to scroll past the gifs on my dash if it does happen.

#step by step #step by step meta #jeng x pat #pat x jeng #jengpat #man trisanu #ben bunyapol #tee bundit

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fillyoursoulxx · 2 years ago

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louis beaumont || headcanons

he inherited his first name from his father, damien louis beaumont.

his father is an entertainment lawyer. he reps a lot of musicians but he’s dabbled in athletes and actors as well.

his mother is a speech pathologist.

growing up his folks were typically pretty busy. his dad wasn’t around a ton, but his uncle elijah (m.ichael ealy), his dad’s brother, filled in the gaps.

he and his father love one another, but they have a hard time understanding each other. eli was good at being the middle man for that, connecting with louis on a level that he couldn’t with his dad for a long time.

at the age of 15, scandal rocked the family though. Eli was accused and convicted of fraud and embezzlement. it was pretty devastating for Louis. Having him out of his life and ostracized for the mistakes he made was rough. Louis blamed it on the hustle mentality, one he saw demonstrated in both his parents as well, and vowed he wasn’t going to follow in their footsteps.

he’s been a bit lost career wise because of it. his parents are want him to really dig into to something, anything. law or not, but he just can’t find a good fit. the one thing he does really enjoy, he’s protective of. he doesn’t want all that stress and pressure of family and friends egging him on or ‘expecting’ anything in particular from him.

so all of his scripts, screen plays, pilots are written under the pen name Lucas West, which he pulled from some random internet generator.

his family owns a lake house that they used to visit at least twice out of the year.

– more to be added soon –

#louis::|| hc

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coffeeandjournaling · 2 years ago

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Field Guide to Memory

A keepsake game by Jeeyon Shim and Shing Yin Khor

Materials

game manual

journal

pen, art supplies

printer (if you want to use the ephemera provided)

some common items for one prompt or another (coin, leaf...)

Premise

Accomplished cryptozoologist Dr. Elizabeth Lee has gone missing and is now declared dead five years after her disappearance. Her ongoing research on the Pronghorned Desert Rat remains unfinished and is currently held hostage by the Institute for Theoretical Evolutions. As her former student, you set out to finish what your mentor started to save these endangered critters and reconnect with Elizabeth and her legacy in all new ways - some surprising, some humbling, some devastating. This is a game about community and finding peace in the knowledge that no one ever truly leaves this world as long as they are remembered.

Mechanics

At the beginning, you use the character sheet to create your persona. Each in-game day then provides you with the next piece of the narrative as well as one or several prompts to journal about. Most of the prompts are presented as some sort of in-game correspondence or other ephemera/facsimiles for you to react to. You journal in three different categories, as given in each prompt: your diary, your field notes and your correspondence (each is basically exactly what you would expect from their name). If you take notes on cryptids, answer some official letters or reflect on your time with Dr. Lee, each journal entry brings you closer to the whereabouts of the Pronghorned Desert Rat. Some prompts bleed into your reality as the player - you might be asked to destroy parts of your journal or go outside to answer a prompt and gather materials. Bit by bit, you’re creating your own artifact, a chronicle of your efforts, as foreshadowed by the keepsake aspect of the game description.

Thoughts and Examples from my Playthrough

Field Guide was my first foray into solo games and a truly magical experience. The game has a very strong narrative, aided by a pleasant and engaging writing style that manages to feel consistent and still leave room for distinct character voices. You’re drawn further into the story by the lovingly designed ephemera and facsimiles, effortlessly fitting into the gorgeous layout of the game manual (which feels like a horrible name for something that is much more than just a guide for you to follow). Sitting down every day to answer prompts was always thrilling: What piece of Dr. Lee’s colourful past will be unveiled today? Which challenges lie ahead? Who is going to join my ranks of allies? Each journaling session was satisfying in a different way, each prompt unique and engaging.

The simple yet elegant layout, the ephemera and the writing spark your creativity to create beautiful, clumsy, neat, human ephemera yourself. I haven’t drawn for a good while before I started to play and suddenly found myself doodling again without pressure or anxiety. You don’t need to be an artist - the game doesn’t judge your skills, only challenges you to try. If that’s not your cup of tea, there’s enough material to be printed and used as a base for your journaling. It might help to have some stickers, washi tape and similar stationary supplies at hand, but maybe your character prefers a simple black pen in a blank notebook.

If you decide to play, you will be busy for a few weeks, at least. I do recommend you take your time, as intended by the game - it’s a much more lasting, reverberant experience and will stay with you for a good while after. Some of the “reality-breaking“ aspects had me wait on the next journaling session for a couple of days until I could do what the prompt asked me to - while you can always use your imagination, of course, I found the waiting time to be beneficiary to my game experience. It felt wonderful to finally get back into it, like I waited for a letter in the mail that finally came. Honestly, don’t rush it. And don’t worry if you leave the game to rest for a bit - it’s gonna marinate in your head and get even better. Linking the game to real-world places and experiences connects you that much more with your character and the story you’re building. I don’t think I’ll forget that day at the park although I was alone and the weather was terribly bleak - yet I enjoyed myself immensely.

A lot of the gameplay relies on you getting introspective. You might reach into places that feel uncomfortable for you. While the mood in general is a lighter one, with bright memories of your mentor just as frequent as the more sombre ones, it can get pretty dark here and there. Personally, I liked these parts best, but if you’re looking for an overall fluffy and happy adventure, this might not be for you. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried a little at the end.

Finally, the cryptids! There’s of course the Pronghorned Desert Rat, a small horned critter on the verge of extinction (according to Dr. Lee). If you are not able to attach yourself to your late mentor, these wee guys will motivate you to keep going. Learning about them, their behaviours and characteristics, was some of the most intriguing things about the game. With them come a few more cryptids that are part of their ecosystem and a few others you will have to explore or make up yourself, as well as - light spoiler! - some sexy cryptid costumes for a burlesque show. The concept of the ecosystem is also adapted to describe the community you build to achieve Dr. Lee’s goal. The theme of connection is weaved strongly into every aspect of the narrative and gameplay, so much so that you begin to think of it even at times you’re not playing. What makes a community? I think that is one of the question the game wants you to find an answer to.

Even though you have plenty of creative freedom to answer your prompts during the game, the narrative is mostly linear. There’s a predetermined ending that you can embellish to your liking and will be different for each player, but I reckon a second playthrough for the same player, even with a new character, wouldn’t differ significantly and isn’t necessarily worth it. That being said, the time you spend with it is plenty and I find the game worth the cost for what it is.

This might be your cup of coffee if...

you prefer to be guided in your solo adventures.

you enjoy a well-designed manual full of fake memorabilia and ephemera to use in your journal.

you’ve always wanted to be a cryptozoologist.

you take pleasure in exploring a character in-depth, especially in relation to other characters and how they impacted yours.

you are open to experimental mechanics.

You can find the game on itch.io. Both creators also have their own patreon - your support garners you access to some of their smaller projects, which are also worth a look!

#solo rpg #review #journal #long #beginner friendly #reality encroaching #keepsake #drawing #drama #field guide to memory

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akitohsworld · 4 years ago

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It's okay to be sad - MC/GN!Reader who bottles up emotions

Short story with additional scenes

I was emotional and wanted to write something mildly angsty +with happy end

|Lucifer, Leviathan, Satan

You're perfect at masking your emotions. It comes naturally to you, no not in an 'oh I'm so different than the rest" manner. But in a 'I shouldn't be dramatic'- kind of way.

You know, the seven brothers, they all have problems. Problems that to you, were maybe evident. Because you came to them with your human standards and your human socially acceptable behaviour and your human psychology.

You judged them under those standards because it's all you've ever known. That's normal. It made sense.

But that also meant that you could see:

Lucifer's prideful, cold, distant demeanour due to guilt and sadness.

Mammon's greed as a form of escapism.

Leviathan's envy and due to an overwhelming inferiority complex.

Satan's masked, distant anger issues due to his own insecurities (father issues).

Asmodeus narcissistic personality due to his struggle with self image and self worth.

Beelzebub's gluttony to fill the emptiness, maybe distress.

And Belphegor's constant tiredness because of depression.

Whatever the real reasons, the real cause, you knew that specific behaviour came from underlying issues. Underlying problems, that, when thrown at you, were never meant to be personal. It was them 'acting out' due to their own pain.

Although, this gave you more the reason to forget your own issues. Even if for a little while, you could indulge in the feeling of being a helpful person to others. You felt needed. You felt loved.

But as obvious as their behaviour made their problems for you, as undetectable your behaviour was for them as you were a natural at masking to be fine. That was what you had to do. That's what the detached society in the human world looked like. Nobody wanted to be vulnerable, but everyone wanted to belong, fit in.

What do you do to fit in?

Exactly. You're fine. You're normal.

Everyone has problems.

You pass Leviathan's room one day, hear him sniffling, sobbing and he just sounds so incredibly devastated and lonely to you. You can't stop yourself, you knock. The sniffling stops and you hear him try to calm down, in fear of his brothers hearing and teasing him for it. And then he asks:

"Wh-what do you want??"

In your head you already ticked a box.

Mistake number one: He hasn't asked for a code.

"Levi, it's me", you respond, voice as soothing as you could possibly manage.

"Y-(y/N)? Uh- uhm"

Mistake number 2: He normally immediately tells you to come in or opens the door himself.

"Can I come in?"

"...", he says nothing, probably because he is debating. Probably, because he can't decide if he wants you to see him like this... What if you think he's annoying?- But he also doesn't want you to go because he doesn't actually want to be alone. He wants comfort.

And so, instead of answering, he cautiously opens the door, peaking outside, hoping to see some kind of rejection, or sympathy in your immediate reaction.

You just shoot him a sympathetic smile. A smile that says 'hey it's okay', a smile that says 'I will never judge you' and you go in, as he opens the door, taking a step back.

You close the door behind you, so that no one sees him and, without a word you just reach out to him, inviting him in for a hug. And he just immediately falls into your arms and begins to start sobbing uncontrollably. He burries his face in your shoulder and hugs you tight, just as you soothingly rub his back, pressing your cheek against his.

"It's okay. I'm here", you mumble as your hand pats his head and softly caress his purple locks, "It's okay. You can cry.. just let it all out"

And he shakes even harder as you just stay like that for what feels like an eternity. While he calms down, muffled sniffles dying down, you part, but not fully. Just so you can see his face.

His eyes are puffy from crying, and he looks better, not so devastated anymore, but still very distressed.

Your hands cup his cheeks and rub the tears away lovingly, giving him time.

"A-aren't you wondering why I'm c-crying...?", he tries not to, but you know he's worrying about your motives. He's worrying about you caring or not. He's worrying about being a bother. He's worrying about you hati-

"Yes, of course. I'm worried", you smile, "But I don't want to pressure you. If you want to talk about it, then I'll gladly listen and if I can be of help, I'd-"

And his tears well up again as he hugs you tightly once more. "Th-thank you, (y/N), you're the best."

Afterwards, he would tell you the reason and you would hug more. And finally, you would ask if he wants to cuddle up and game or watch anime to calm down and distract yourselves. Having dinner in his room and just cuddling until the next morning.

That's what Leviathan's break downs looked like. And you were always happy to help. Because you cared for him.

Everyone has problems.

Satan and you had these afternoons. Just at random, he would hit you up to just sit down somewhere and rant. Rant, rant, rant and finally letting his anger out in one choleric blast. Sometimes ending in maniacal, distressed laughter.

Why did you have these sessions? Because you wanted him to have an outlet. You wanted to make him feel understood and not judged.

For everyone else in the Devildom, his wrath was "just" a result of his sin. But you knew, that it was more than that. It was bottled up emotions and a deeply routed insecurity.

It made him angry, he hated it, to be compared to Lucifer, to not feel like his own person.

And you knew that.

Why?

Because you listened to him. You gave him the space to talk and rant about what made him angry and why. Without judgement.

Yes, you were definetly a therapist without a license. But that didn't mean that he didn't feel better after each rant. He loved you for being that safe space he missed in his life.

After another one of many explosions, you would normally put a hand on his shoulder. Your eyes asking if he needed more time. He would, strangely, calm down instantly. He just felt so serene with you there.

"It.. just made me so mad and I'm getting angry just thinking about it", he would say, trying to search for a calmer way to explain himself.

"No, that's perfectly valid. Nobody has the right to do that/ Feeling the way you feel is your mind's way of telling you that there is a reason. It doesn't matter if you know it or not, it's there and that makes it valid.", were things you would say to make him feel validated and accepted in his emotions.

"Why do you think, you feel that way?/ What do you think was the thing that really stung about what they said?", were questions that would follow.

And when you offered a hug, he would gladly hug you and enjoy the comfort of your hands rubbing through his hair, almost making him purr.

"Thank you for telling me.", you would say.

"Thank you for always listening.", he would respond.

And both of you would be smiling.

Sure, it sounded tiring. And sure, sometimes it took all your mental capacity to really be of help to him. But you were appreciated and you cared for him. He cared for your opinion because he cared for and respected you.

Everyone has problems.

Lucifer on the other hand, would be a tough nut to crack at the beginning. He masks all his exhaustion, his overthinking and his worries by working until he collapses from exhaustion.

It was basically his form of escapism.

Late at night, you'd come to his study. Bringing him snacks and some tea. You didn't even have to knock most of the time. He would open the door with magic and wouldn't even look up.

You look at him, burried in his papers from head to toe. His pen sliding over the paper swiftly, as he mumbles work-related things to himself in concentration. You muster up a sympathetic smile, even though you just want to sigh and shake your head.

"Scones?", he asks as he stops for a second to look at the platter you put before him. He smiles gratefully, "Thank you. I appreciate it."

You wordlessly put your arms around his head and feel him tensing up for a second, before relaxing against your touch, putting an arm around your thighs, rubbing them absentmindedly.

"You should take a break", you'd tell him, as you had so many times before. And he'd weakly nod, sighing.

"I appreciate your concern, but there's so much to do."

"I'll make you take breaks, Lucifer", your fingers caress his head and he sighs contently, "I'll tell Diavolo."

"Oh anything but that", he chuckles. The first sign of him being too exhausted is his inability to properly react to a threat like that.

Lucifer, bless him, is a bit of a buzz kill. So he normally doesn't take kindly to remarks like that. And that's when you know.

"You're taking a break. Now."

And he would just grip onto you more tightly and not say anything. Deep in thought.

Your voice would soften as you ask him:

"Love, tell me what's going through your mind."

"I can't hide anything from you, can I?", and with a defeated, but grateful sigh he would spill everything that worries him, that pains him, that makes him insecure. About Diavolo, the Devildom, his brothers... Everything really. And then, you would take his hand, and guide him to the bedroom through the connected door. And he would let you help him wordlessly, as you loosen his tie, unbutton his shirt and help him change. Afterwards, you would lay down cuddling and sleeping, too tired to do anything else.

The next morning, you would make him take a bath in his demon form. Helping him groom his feathers, wash and proceeding to get wet as he shakes himself like a bathing bird. And just like that his mood would be enhanced, he would feel happy and full of energy.

A well-deserved break was something you were willing to force him into. Because you cared for him.

Everyone has problems.

Yes, everyone has problems.

And that's why you didn't even think about yours. That's why you didn't want to think about yours.

And nobody notices at first.

Because that's just how you deal with everything.

Because when it threatens to overflow, you can just pretend to have an occasional bad day.

Because you don't know how to deal with them.

Because even though you behave like the absolute reliable therapist, you're your worst client.

But one day. One day your mask cracks. You can't stop it. It just happens.

Because one day you'll reach your limit and nothing can stop you from doing so.

It doesn't matter what triggers it. A thought at breakfast, a comment you took personally, someone who looks at you strangely, food that you don't like. It doesn't matter.

One day, your mask cracks.

It's a small crack.

But it's noticeable.

Maybe you snapped out of it in the middle of overreacting. And you just excused yourself saying you're tired and go to the bathroom.

But it's too late.

Because now that they saw you reacting uncharacteristically their eyes are fixed on you more than ever before. They notice, and they will notice, the crack. They can't put their finger on it, because you hide it well, but it's definetly there.

And you break down in the bathroom, desperately clutching at the sink, looking into the mirror and trying to calm down while tears continue streaming down your face. You wallow in self pity and self deprecation. It just comes over you, like a wave.

And suddenly it's time to leave.

Lucifer knocks on the bathroom door, after telling his brothers to leave already. Everyone noticed. But he wants to make sure you're okay without them around.

You wipe your tears, wash your face and try your most natural happy-go-lucky smile. But he notices your puffy eyes. He reaches out to ask you what's wrong, but you distract him with whatever shenanigans his brother is doing at the moment and quickly go off to put an arm around Asmo and Satan, asking them 'what's up' in the most natural way you can muster. As you talk, you think he will, they will, eventually forget, or maybe ignore your behaviour. That nagging feeling that is telling them that something is not okay.

Throughout the day, you get more random hugs than usual, more attention bits than usual and also more treats from Beel than usual.

You can't hide it. Because no matter how normal you think you behave, there is something 'off' about you. It could be you being a bit too cheerful, a bit more tense, or a tad to unresponsive. Either way, there is something on edge about you.

You go to the bathroom again, this time at RAD. You enter one of the stalls, have a quick cry and go out to wash your face. You go out and meet Lucifer and Diavolo in the hallway.

You're even more on edge now, because you can't lie. So, you try to just wave at them and pass them quickly, trying to look like you need somewhere to be.

"(y/N).", Lucifer would call out to you and you would flinch in the most subtle way, before turning around smiling

"Hey! I need to go- what's wrong?", which would be technically the truth.

"We need to talk later, alright?"

And your stomach drops so hard, you'd think it hit the floor, when you try to seem as unbothered as possible, faking concern. "Of course? I mean, we'll eat dinner together so"

He would just worriedly look at you and force a smile as you went your way.

He knows. He knows. Oh no, he knows.

Thinking up excuses to questions you were making up in your mind is proving to be too exhausting and frankly, you're too preoccupied with 'being fine'.

But the damage is done. You're mask is this close to breaking. It only takes three little words to break you at this point.

RAD ends and you walk home in silence. You simply don't have the energy to mask anything more than a semi-interested, seemingly invested smile as you listen to Asmo talking about the newest skin care serum, and Mammon talking about his newest cash grab. Superficial topics they picked up half heartedly to make the atmosphere less tense.

And finally you arrive at the house of Lamentation.

To your suprise not even Beel goes directly to the kitchen. You wordlessly follow them, as they enter the living room in silence.

"Honey, sit down please.", Asmo says, sympathetic look on his face as he pats the spot beside him on the couch. You mask a confused expression and a:

"Uh? Okay...??", as you sit down, everyone else taking their place next and in front of you. As you all sit or stand in a circle.

Neither Belphie nor Asmo directly cuddle up to, or lay on your lap, even though they're sitting beside you and that's what they always do. They're giving you space. And they all have a worried expression on their faces.

"So, (y/N)-", Satan begins but he is cut off by Mammon.

"Are ya okay?"

That's it.

And in a flash Asmo's arms are around you, Belphie offers you to hug his pillow before he hugs your waist, Satan gets you tissues and rubs your back, Beel crouches down before you, food in his arms and a worried sad puppy expression on his face, Levi stutters and doesn't know what to do besides sitting down beside Beel and try to comfort you, Mammon short circuits and just sits down with the others while putting a hand on your knee and Lucifer asks if there's something you need, or if you want space. When you shake your head he joins the others on the couch as everyone group-hugs you, letting you cry.

The mask breaks and falls as you feel your stomach sink to the floor. Your face contorts in pain, trying to calm yourself down. You can't even form words as you take a breath to speak.

Your head just falls to your hands and you sob and cry, in front of them, for the first time. You feel so small, and the world feels like it's crushing down on you in a single motion.

The occasional 'don't apologize ya idiot', 'you have nothing to be sorry for', and 'its okay to feel sad sometimes' responding to your incoherent sentences.

It's good to help others, but remember the world is made of giving and taking. It's okay to receive help and be vulnerable around others. It's okay to confide.

Just as you think your favourite people in the world could never be a bother, just like that it's okay to assume that that feeling is reciprocated.

You're not alone, you don't have to wear a mask.

It's okay to be sad sometimes.

Because everyone has problems.

If anyone alludes this to not actually wearing a literal mask against Covid I swEaR tO gOD yoU'Ll cAtcH thESe hAndS 👀

#obey me #headcanon #short story #mc #gn reader #mammon #satan #lucifer #belphegor #beelzebub #leviathan #asmodeus #mild angst #tw: depression

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sequinsmile-x · 3 years ago

Text

Riptide

Chapter 3 - The End

Words: 7k

Rating: Mature. Major character death. Mentions of canon typical violence.

Read over on ao3 via this link, or below the cut!

Please let me know what you think.

July 2026

Her mother convinces her to go for dinner. Emily had put her off for months, not wanting to try and hold herself together like she usually did in front of Elizabeth. The ex-ambassador may have been well into her 80s now, but she was still formidable. Aaron had always been good at being their go between. At stopping Emily from getting so riled up by her mother that she would react.

She knows he would want her to go, which is how she finds herself sitting opposite her mother in a restaurant, not making much conversation and pushing her food around her plate.

“The trial is next week isn’t it?” Elizabeth asks, making Emily freeze. “I read about it online.”

Emily looks up at her mother and puts down her fork, reaching for her glass of wine instead. “Yes, it’s next week.” She clears her throat. “The prosecutors seem to think they have a very solid case.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. He deserves to go away for the rest of his life.”

Emily nods in response. The idea of being in the room with the person who had taken Aaron from her was sitting on her chest, pressing down and making it hard to breathe. “I’ll be glad when it’s over.” She admits.

“You do know it’s not your fault, don’t you?”

Emily looks up at her, and her mother is looking at her firmly despite the kindness to her tone. She isn’t even sure where that has come from, why her mother seems to know exactly what she’s been thinking for so long. Aaron did always say they were more similar than Emily would care to admit.

Emily opens her mouth to answer but no words come out. So she shrugs, and the stern look on Elizabeth’s face sets harder.

“Emily. It was completely random. There was nothing you could have done.”

“He was there because of me.” She finally says, a hoarseness in her voice that had settled there months ago and just wouldn’t leave. “If I had just…he was there because of me.”

Her mother puts her hand over hers on the table. “He loved you. The way a mother always hopes their daughter will be loved. And he was a good man.” Elizabeth pauses, a crack in her own voice Emily wasn’t expecting. “He wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for this. There was nothing you could do, and it certainly wasn’t your fault. Ok?”

Emily looks at her mother, sees the certainty in her eyes and for the first time since she found out Aaron was dead she feels something unfurl in her chest. A small release of pressure that finally created some room in her lungs for a slightly deeper breath. She lets her mother’s fingers link with hers and she squeezes them, giving her a slight nod.

“Do you want me to come with you to the trial?”

Emily shakes her head, a smile on her face. “No, it's ok. Penelope is coming with me.” She looks at her mother for a second, and thinks that somehow Aaron was still managing to repair their relationship even though he wasn’t around anymore. “Thank you, Mother.”

“Anytime, Emily. I do love you, even if I haven’t always gone about it in the right way.”

“I love you too.” _________

Emily has lost count of the number of times she has been in a courtroom. Giving evidence in the cases they had solved, dealing with defence attorneys who belittle their work, tried to make them sound like they didn’t know what they were talking about.

This was different. She was sitting in the gallery, Penelope sat next to her, and there was nothing she could do here. She couldn’t influence the outcome. All she could do was listen as both sides recounted different versions of the same day, the same hour, that had changed her life forever.

She sees Jack and Jessica arrive. They sit in a row behind her, Jessica leans over the seat and gives her a tight hug. Jack sends her a smile, the unanswered texts she had sent him hanging between them in a way that felt stifling.

Emily sits there, day after day, listening to details of how Aaron, and the other victims, had died that day. Details she knew off by heart, things she would never allow herself to forget. Penelope sat by her the entire time, despite how affected she was by it - not able to cover her own emotions as crime scene photos were displayed for everyone to see. It had been her job for many years, and Penelope had seen worse, but this was her friend. Someone she had loved, and she struggled. Emily remained stoic, holding herself together as if she was fractured glass as she focused on the outcome she hoped they would get.

On the third day of the trial the prosecution shows the CCTV of what happened. Emily hadn’t been prepared to see it, to watch Aaron get shot by a man who didn’t even give him time to put his hands up. She jumps in her seat when it happens, despite there being no audio. Penelope grabs her hand between both of hers and squeezes tightly. Emily is grateful for it, using her friend as something to keep her present.

The jury is only adjourned for four hours before the verdict comes in. Emily feels like her chest cracks open when the guilty verdict is read out. She hears Penelope and Jessica cry, turns to see a look of relief on Jack’s face with tears running down his cheeks.

She keeps her own emotions back until she’s outside, telling Penelope she needs a moment. As soon as the fresh air hits her the tears come. Relief, devastation and just about everything else pouring out of her as she finds a bench outside the courthouse to sit on. She sits with her head in her hands and sobs. The sounds tearing out of her are completely unbidden, something she cannot control.

“Emily?”

She looks up to see Jack standing next to the bench, an unsure look on his face. She tries to wipe her tears away but they are immediately replaced. “Jack. Are you ok?”

He gives her a half smile and shrugs, and he looks so much like Aaron it breaks her heart even more. “Can I sit?” Emily nods and turns her body towards him as he sits next to her on the bench. “I...I wanted to apologise.”

Emily furrows her brows at him, wiping at her cheeks again. “What for?”

“For blaming you.” Jack says, looking at her sheepishly. “I always knew it wasn’t your fault, that the only person to blame was the guy who did it, but I was just so angry.”

“Jack.” She sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s ok.”

“It isn’t.” He says, shaking his head at himself. “You love him too.”

Emily nods at that, her chin wobbling as she tries to stave off another round of tears. “Yeah, I do.”

They sit in silence for a couple of minutes before he clears his throat. “I was thinking, next time I’m in town we should go for dinner or something?”

She smiles at him, a genuine smile that feels foreign to her. “I’d like that.” _________

A naive part of her expected it to get better after that, that the trial being behind her and Jack speaking to her again would make her feel better. Some days were easier, the pain was still there, the gap she felt in her chest very present, but she could make it through. She could laugh at Tara’s jokes at work and not feel guilty. She could go for a drink with the team and feel like she was living again.

But then other days she’d wake up and it would feel fresh. Like she was right back at the beginning. She’d find something of his she hadn’t seen since before he died, and it would feel like any progress she made turned to dust.

Emily doesn’t go into their shared office often. It was, besides their bedroom, the place she felt him the most. She’s doing paperwork at the dining room table when her pen runs out, and she finds herself rooting through the drawers of his desk for another one, because she only had specific types of pens she liked to write in and she knows he liked them too. Her hand touches an envelope and she frowns as she pulls it out.

The envelope itself is unmarked, but there is a piece of paper in there that she can see his familiar scrawl on. She settles into his desk chair, curls into it like she used to curl into his lap, and she pulls the paper out. A quick scan of it tells her it’s the speech he intended to give at their wedding, and she feels her chest tighten as she reads his words. She tries to imagine his voice, to picture him saying it infront of their loved ones, a shy look on his face as he told everyone they cared about just how much he loved her.

I’ll keep this very brief, because Dave has already embarrassed me and my wife enough.

Anyone who knows Emily and I will say that this has been a long time coming, and not just because it took me three years to ask her to marry me. Since she first walked into my office, now her office, almost 20 years ago there were many times when it felt like we were heading towards something. Things kept getting in our way, and I gave up hope that we’d get the chance. Then I saw her almost 4 years ago and took a gamble. I called her.

She was so mad. She yelled at me - a lot. She cursed at me too, but I managed to get her to agree to go to dinner with me and we never looked back.

I have some thank yous I’d like to say on behalf of my wife and I. Firstly to my son Jack, for being the most patient 20 year old on the planet, and for pushing me to propose when I asked if you thought it was a good idea.

I’d like to thank Elizabeth for raising such an amazing woman, and for bringing the love of my life into this world.

To the BAU both new and old, I thank you for being family to both of us. For helping us through the tough times as well as helping us celebrate the good.

And finally, to my wife, Emily, thank you for being you. For loving me, and for making me feel that love every day.

Emily only realises she is crying when a tear falls onto the paper, blurring a word Aaron had written. She wipes her face quickly and puts the paper away into its envelope. She places it in her nightstand, a little piece of him that she can keep.

_________

JJ invites her around for dinner. It feels almost like a pity invite, and it falls on a day Emily could do without it. When she wakes that morning it’s a bad day, the pain of losing the man she loves as sharp as it was the day it happened. She considers cancelling, but JJ looks so worried when they are at work that day she realises she can’t.

So she forces herself to go, smiles tightly through dinner with Will and the boys. Will takes them to bed and leaves her and JJ to it, sensing that they need some time. They make small talk, both carefully avoiding the elephant in the room, the tension that had existed since Aaron had died.

“Have you thought about dating?” JJ asks, seemingly out of nowhere. “Nothing serious of course.” She adds when she sees the look on Emily’s face. “Just, you know. Put yourself out there. He wouldn’t want you to be alone.”

Emily knows JJ just wants her to be better, to allow herself to have happiness in her life again, so she takes a deep breath to calm herself before answering. “No, I haven’t thought about dating.”

“Em-”

“I tried...hooking up with some guy a few months ago and it was awful.” She averts her eyes from her friend, embarrassment flooding through her. She laughs wryly at herself. “We didn’t get any further than his hand up the back of my shirt and I froze. I walked away crying.”

“It will get better, Emily.”

“This is never going to get better JJ.” Emily says, her voice unwavering as she reminds herself there are children upstairs, that she shouldn’t shout. “There is no end to how I feel about this. He’s been gone almost a year, and some mornings when I wake up it still takes me a moment to remember. And for those few seconds I’m actually happy. Because he could just be downstairs making me my morning coffee. But he isn’t.”

JJ tries to grab her hand on the table but she pulls it away. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t move on from this. I am doing my best to rebuild my fucking life around this mess. To be able to get up and live because I know he would have wanted that for me. Do you really think I don’t know that? How disappointed he would be if he was somewhere where he could see this?” Emily shakes her head at herself. “You have to let me deal with this in my own way, ok? Please. I am doing my best. And this might be as good as it ever gets.”

JJ nods, tears gathered in her own eyes. “Ok.” She wipes a tear from her face. “But please speak to us if you need to. We love you, and we care about you. We want to help you where we can.”

“Ok. I will.” Emily says, and for the first time since Aaron died, she means it. _________

She sits on the ground in front of his grave, she blows out a breath as she gently rearranges the other flowers there, emotions welling in her chest when she sees cards from the rest of the team. Emily places her own flowers down and puts her palm on the headstone, fingers tracing the granite that held his name in the way she used to trace his skin.

“Hi honey.” She says. “I can’t believe it's been a year.” Emily doesn’t try to stop the tears, knows it’s pointless. “I’d give anything to change what happened that day, I miss you so much. It’s not really getting any easier.”

She looks around the graveyard, feels the wind pick up some of her hair until she tucks it behind her eyes. “Jack and I are going for dinner later, it was his idea. You’d be proud of him. He was on the dean's list again.”

“I hope you’d be proud of me.” She sobs. “I know I haven’t really held it together, but I am trying so hard.” Emily wipes her face. “I don’t really know what I believe in, where I think you are or if there is anything after all of this. But if there is something, you wait for me ok? Because one year without you has been torture, I can’t imagine an eternity.”

She leans forward and presses her forehead against the headstone. “I love you.”

The wind catches in her hair again, and for a moment she lets herself believe it’s him saying it back. _________

December 2021

Six months later and they still haven’t found a house and it’s his fault. Aaron knows he is driving her crazy. Emily and Jack both told him as much every time he rejected a house for the tiniest reason. His son asked him what his problem was, taking Emily’s side easily as he often did.

He turns down the idea of a 3 bed in Arlington. It was admittedly a beautiful house, but it just didn’t feel right. Something about it that just didn’t seem like them. He turns his nose up at it, claiming he didn’t like the kitchen, and he sees her face fall as she sighs, sending an apologetic look to their increasingly haggard looking real estate agent.

Aaron can tell she is pissed at him as they settle into bed in his apartment that night, her back turned to him as she lays down, fury rolling off of her in waves.

“Em.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He winces at the anger in her voice, the clipped tone rarely used on him these days “Sweetheart.”

She sits up, turning to look at him. Her eyes are swimming with tears and it feels like a physical ache in his chest to see her upset, especially when he’s sure it’s his fault. He reaches for her but she shakes him off. “Do you even want to live with me, Aaron?”

He frowns at that, confused by the question. He opens his mouth to speak, to reassure her, but she speaks again, cutting him off before he gets the chance.

“Because you asked me. You said you wanted to live together, and you keep finding things wrong with every place we look at. And I don’t know why.” She looks away from him, and he watches as she wipes her fingers over her cheeks, the tears she was failing to hide from him falling down her face. “All I can think is that you regret asking, and you don’t know how to tell me.”

“That’s not true, love.” He says, stopping her before she can spiral any further. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?” She asks, throwing her hands up in the air. “Because that place we saw today was fine, Aaron.”

“I don’t want somewhere that is just fine.” Aaron says, reaching out to put a hand on her sheet covered thigh, squeezing the muscle when she doesn’t shy away from his touch. “I want somewhere we love as much as we love each other.”

Emily’s frown falls away, her face softening as she listens. “You’re an idiot.” She smiles at him and reaches out to cup his cheek. “You’re my idiot.” She strokes a thumb over his cheekbone. “But an idiot nonetheless.”

Aaron drags her into his arms, wrapping her in his affection easily like he always did. “We’re going to live wherever it is forever, Em. It’s where we’re going to grow old together. I want it to be perfect.”

She kisses his neck and buries herself further into him. “It’s not the house that matters, Aaron. It’s us being there. Together. So please, for the sake of my fucking sanity, stop rejecting places over things we can fix.”

He laughs and nods, running his hand up and down her back. “Ok, sweetheart.”

They find a place two months later, and it’s perfect. Three beds, one for them, one for Jack and a spare for a shared office. A garden they can sit in on warm summer nights, and a porch swing they can cuddle up in under a blanket on chilly fall evenings. He can picture their life there. Her planting vegetables and him secretly replanting them correctly, and never telling her so he can see the joy radiate off of her face when they grow. The two of them growing old, playing with any children Jack might have in the future. It all flicks across his brain like a memory, like he’s watching a movie of everything that is to come. Something he knows they’ll have because they’ve fought through so much to get here.

They move in on their second anniversary, Emily insisting she drives them to their new home, not wanting a repeat of the car accident they were in the year before. Aaron mentions, again, that it wasn’t his fault and she smiles at him, kissing him as she takes the car keys from his hand.

As Aaron watches her help Jack carry his boxes into their new home, despite the fact he’s only months away from moving out for college, laughter coming from both of them he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. _________

July 2022

He’s not sure what makes him think of it, what makes the idea nest in his brain. When it’s there, taking up every thought he has when he looks at her, he wonders what took him so long. Why they had been together over three years before he even thought about it.

The idea spills out of him one night when they are laid in bed. She is fresh back from a case, something about it haunting her, a look in her eyes he knows all too well. He doesn’t push her on it, knows she will tell him when she is ready, and he simply gathers her in his arms. Holding her close in a way he knows gives them both comfort. That's when it happens, when the words he’s been thinking for weeks are finally said out loud.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?” He asks into her hair, his hand running up and down her back.

She snuggles deeper into him, wraps herself tighter around him as if he was the only thing keeping her grounded. “That depends. Is it you I’m marrying in this scenario?”

Aaron smiles into the top of her head, she’s half asleep, her words blending together as her voice gets thicker. He knows he’s being unfair, he knows from all their time together that this is when all of her defences are down, when she’ll answer a question without hesitation. “Yes. Unless you have someone else in mind.”

The hand she has on his chest moves upwards, her fingers drifting under the neckline of the soft pyjama top he was wearing, her thumb lazily tracing over his collarbone. “You’ll do, I suppose.” She says, as if they aren’t curled around each other in their bed, in the house they bought together.

He kisses the top of her head and they lay in silence, and he thinks she’s fallen asleep until she speaks again. “You have to ask properly.” She slurs into his chest. “I’ll say yes, but don’t think I’m accepting this half assed attempt.”

“Ok, sweetheart.” He smiles, plans already forming in his head. “Go to sleep.”

He buys a ring the next day. _________

Two months later and they haven’t mentioned it since. He sometimes wonders if she even remembers the conversation, if she was too close to sleep to know what was being said. If some part of her thought it had been a dream. But then she’ll make a comment, mention something about a good wedding venue, or that she wouldn’t serve something as boring as grilled chicken at her wedding, and she has a glint in her eye that tells him she remembers and she’s waiting on him.

Aaron wants it to mean something. For the proposal to be something they can both remember fondly for the rest of their lives. He eventually decides to take her back to the restaurant he had taken her to when he first came back to DC, but he doesn’t want the crowd. Doesn’t want a restaurant full of people applauding as he struggles to get up off of his knees after she hopefully says yes. He knows she would want the sentiment, but not the spectacle. Both of them were private people at the very core of it, their relationship something precious to them both.

He offhandedly mentions it to Dave over a drink one night, eyes fixed on Emily as she laughs with Tara and JJ, a glass of wine each as they laugh at Spencer’s expense over something Aaron isn’t a part of. Within ten minutes he has a day the following week when he can have the restaurant to just the two of them, because of course Dave knows the owner and pulls in a favour.

Emily is immediately suspicious when he suddenly announces they are having dinner the following Wednesday. She narrows her eyes at him, but lets it slide, an adoring smile on her face.

He walks into the restaurant behind her, and watches as she stops. Recognition that they are the only ones there seeping in. Candles everywhere, Aaron briefly thinks he’s going to owe Dave a lifetime of cigars for this, and soft music playing in the background.

She turns and looks at him, eyes shimmering with tears he knows she will shed as soon as he speaks. “Aaron.”

“I had this whole speech planned.” He says, pulling the ring box out of his pocket. “But it all feels pointless now.” He steps towards her since she seems frozen on the spot. “I’d get down on one knee but I don’t think I would get back up again.”

Emily laughs at that. It’s shaky, choked up around tears that are already falling down her face.

“I just know I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.” He opens the box, revealing the white gold ring with a singular princess cut diamond. “Will you marry me?”

She closes the space between them, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling her to him. She kisses him fiercely, holding him to her as he wraps his arms around her back, ring box still in hand. When they pull away, slightly breathless he rests his forehead against hers.

“Is that a yes?”

Emily laughs, her hands tightening on his jacket. “Of course it’s a yes.” She kisses him again but he only allows it to be brief before he takes the ring out of the box and slides it onto her finger. He rests his forehead against hers again and whispers that he loves her.

Their moment is brought to an end by a flash of a camera and a squeal. They break apart to see Penelope standing there, her phone in her hand and tears on her face. Aaron groans and presses a kiss to the side of Emily’s head. “Dave is here. He’s cooking for us. Apparently he brought Penelope along as tech support.”

Emily laughs and turns back to him and kisses him, her hands on either side of his face as she pours as much love as she can into it. She pulls away and walks over to Penelope, and is in a bone crushing hug before she knows what's happening.

Penelope sends them the photo. They get it printed and put it on their living room wall. _________

“We should just elope.” Emily says, as she looked around the ballroom of the Four Seasons in DC. “It’s either that or I’m committing matricide.” She grumbles, but melts into his side when he wraps an arm around her and kisses the side of her head. “Aaron, if this is the engagement party, imagine what the wedding will look like.”

Aaron had to admit, when they agreed to let Elizabeth throw an engagement party for them he hadn’t quite been anticipating this. There were flowers everywhere. Adoring the walls the tables set up. Champagne being poured by waiters like it was water, and canapes that Aaron would bet money on being more expensive than what he used to earn a month as Unit Chief.

It was extravagant, over the top in every way and very much not them. But Elizabeth had been so genuinely pleased for them, so delighted to see her daughter so happy that he had convinced Emily this was a good idea.

“Em, sweetheart, it's fine. We handled the guest list. There shouldn’t be any surprise senators or ex-presidents making an appearance.”

“That's what you think.” Emily mutters under her breath.

“Emily, Aaron.” Elizabeth says walking over. “What do you think?” She says looking around, a proud smile on her face.

“It's really something, Mother.” Emily says, a smile on her face that Aaron knew wasn’t real.

“I’m glad you like it.” She loops her arm through her daughters. “Now, I’m going to steal you away from Aaron for a moment and introduce you to an old friend of mine. He was a Senator of California for many years.”

Aaron can’t control his smirk when Emily looks back over her shoulder at him, a look on her face that screamed I told you so as she was dragged away. _________

“One month to go.” Aaron says into the top of her hair as she settles into bed. He gathers her into his arms, her back against his chest.

“Thank God.” She replies, lifting his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t know how much longer I can deal with my mother and Penelope and their plans. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put the two of them together is insane.”

He smothers a smile into her hair, chokes back the comment that it was her idea, knowing it wasn’t worth being right over. “Soon enough it will just be you and me, travelling Europe.”

“Then it’s the rest of our lives. I can’t wait to marry you.” She whispers into the darkness of their room.

He tightens his hold on her, pulls her closer to his chest. “I can’t wait to marry you either.”

A week later it all comes to an end. _________

October 2022

Aaron smiles when he sees her name appear on his phone screen. Her contact picture is of the two of them, a photo JJ had taken at the engagement party. He’s standing behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder and his arms around her waist. She has her hand over his arm, fingers gripping at his bicep. They are both laughing at whatever Dave was saying in this speech that he all but invited himself to make.

He answers the phone. “Hi sweetheart, what did the doctor say?”

Emily groans. “You were right, it’s a sinus infection.”

Aaron can’t help but smile slightly at just how miserable she sounded. Emily was a terrible sick person and had spent the last several days insisting she was ok, even though she clearly wasn’t. He’d eventually managed to trick her into going to the doctor by saying she was really doing it for him because he was so worried about her.

“Did they give you any meds?”

She sniffs and he can hear her car door slam in the background as she gets into it. “Yeah, some antibiotics. I’ve got a meeting I have to get back to but I’ll go to the pharmacy on the way home.”

“I’ll go get it, love. You just go to your meeting and come straight home.”

“Aaron, I can’t ask you to do that.”

He already has his car keys in his hand and he shakes his head despite the fact she can’t see him. “You’re not asking. I’m offering. Just get home as soon as you can and I’ll look after you.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Well, I love you. And in three weeks you’ll be my wife. It’s kind of my job to look after you.”

“I love you too.” She says, and he can picture the smile on her face. “See you soon.”

“See you soon, sweetheart.” _________

He’s holding her prescription in his hand, and he’s about to walk out of CVS when he turns back. Emily always liked chocolate when she felt under the weather. An indulgence she always gladly took part in. Aaron walks to the chocolate aisle, picking up packets of peanut butter cups and caramel M&Ms when he hears it.

There is shouting at the front of the store, fear laced through some of the voices and fury in others. He hears a shout at the end of the aisle, and he turns. See a man with a gun at the end of it, his hands shaking.

He doesn’t even warn Aaron before he shoots. It feels like it happens in slow motion, like time slows down as the bullet leaves the barrel and flies towards him, but he can’t move. Can’t get out of the way.

As he lays on the floor, coldness seeping in as he loses blood and consciousness, he thinks of his son. Of how Jack will now be parentless, barely twenty and hardly any family left.

His last thought, as the darkness seeps in and he’s vaguely aware of sirens outside, is of Emily. Of how much he loves her, how he wished he could have given her the forever he had promised.

He thinks of her smile, and it’s the last thing he sees. _________

The knock on the door almost as soon as she gets home surprises her. She checks her watch as she wonders where Aaron is, knowing he should have made it home just before her. Her sinuses felt like they were about to burst and she wanted to get started on the antibiotics as soon as she could.

She opens the door to see who police officers stood on her porch. “Hi, we’re here to speak to Ms Emily Prentiss?”

Emily’s throat goes dry. “That’s me.” She makes no move to let them in. “How can I help?”

“I think it’s best we come in ma’am, and that you sit down.” The female officer says, a smile on her face that seemed fake.

Emily nods and lets them past her, closing the door behind them. She doesn’t sit, instead she crosses her arms across her chest and clears her throat. “What’s going on?”

“Ma’am-”

“Please.” She says, fear she doesn’t fully understand filling her chest. “Just tell me.”

The officers exchange a look before the male one looks back at her. “We believe Aaron Hotchner lives here?”

“Yes he does.” She stutters out. “He’s my fiance.”

“I’m sorry to inform you ma’am that he was killed earlier this evening in an attempted robbery of the CVS on Columbia Pike,”

It was news she’d delivered countless times. To victims' families, to the loved ones of team members she had failed to protect. Being on the other side of this made her entire body freeze, disbelief scratching up her spine. She looks at the two officers standing in her living room, sympathy she hated on both their faces.

“You’re wrong.” She choked out. “I only spoke to him just over an hour ago.”

“He did have his driving license with him.” The female officer says. “But we do need a formal identification.”

Emily nods, hearing the unasked question. They need her to go with them, to identify whether the man who died at their local pharmacy was the man she loved.

They were wrong, she knew it. _________

She calls JJ and immediately forgets what she has said when she hangs up, unsure why she’d called in the first place. Her friend agrees to meet her at the morgue, her assurances over the phone that everything would be ok.

Emily repeatedly tries to call him, to yell at him for scaring her like this. Her calls go straight through to voicemail. He never missed her calls. She tells herself he could have lost his phone, that he might already be back at their house wondering where on earth she had gone.

JJ walks over to her immediately when she arrives, trying to envelop her in a hug that she shrugs herself out of. Emily tries to call him again, presses Aaron’s number on her phone screen. It goes straight to voicemail.

“Emily?”

“They’re wrong.” She says, swallowing against the lump in her throat. The bitter taste of denial in her mouth. “They have to be wrong.”

“Em.”

“Right this way, Ms Prentiss.” A voice says, interrupting them. Emily and JJ turn to see a kind looking medical examiner looking at them. They are led into a small room, a body on a gurney covered by a sheet in the centre of it. Emily couldn’t take her eyes off of it, trying to ignore that it looked the perfect size for it to be Aaron.

The medical examiner pulls the sheet back and time slows down for Emily almost to a stop as she takes in Aaron’s face. He almost looks like he’s sleeping, a peaceful look on his face that she has admired countless times before when insomnia plagued her, but he looks so pale. Emily doesn’t make a noise, she just stares at his body.

“Ma’am.” The medical examiner says, her voice full of sympathy. “Can you provide a positive ID?”

Emily doesn’t say anything, she just takes a step towards him. Tries to blink away the image in front of her, everything in her brain screaming for her to wake up so she could be in bed next to him, this fading into just another nightmare he would help draw her out of.

“Ma’am?”

“It’s him.” JJ says from behind her, her own voice thick with tears. “It’s Aaron Hotchner.”

“I have some paperwork that needs filling out if you can come with me?”

“Em, is that ok with you?” JJ asks tentatively, eyeing her friend who hadn’t moved, or spoken. Her eyes still fixed on Aaron.

“Can I have some time alone?” Emily says, looking at JJ and the medical examiner. “Please.”

JJ places a hand on her arm, squeezing the muscle, as she walks past. “I’ll wait for you just outside ok?”

Emily doesn’t acknowledge her, doesn’t move until she hears the door click behind them. She raises her hand, only realising it was shaking when she moves it, and touches his cheek. The coldness of his skin shocks her.

She had never associated Aaron with the cold. He was always burning hot. The heat she sought out in the middle of the night, rolling towards him and his embrace when a chill in the air surrounded her. His touch had always burned her, taking her apart again and again until she’d laugh and ask him to stop, breathless between their sheets. His love warmed her from the inside out, making something bloom in her chest that she had never expected could happen for her, that all consuming love she thought was simply the stuff of books and terrible Lifetime movies.

He was so cold. She leans down and presses her forehead against his, tears finally coming now she can no longer avoid the truth.

He was gone.

She strokes his hair back and kisses his cold cheek, his lips. “I’m so sorry.” She says not recognising her own voice. “I love you so much.”

Emily makes no move to leave, not wanting to leave him alone. She’s not sure how much time has passed when JJ walks back in and tries to coax her out.

“Emily, we should get you home.”

She sniffs, not acknowledging her friend, and she feels a fresh wave of grief roll over her. Pulling her under in a way she cannot, and doesn’t want to, control. Their future, everything they had planned was gone. The wedding, the honeymoon around Europe he had talked her into, convincing her he needed to be shown around by her because she’d lived in so many parts of it. Their house, their plans to grow old there together.

Emily runs her hand through his hair again, tears blurring her sight until she can’t see him. “He was my home.”

As they leave, the medical examiner hands her a plastic bag full of Aaron’s things. It has his cellphone and his wallet in it.

All she can focus on is her bottle of pills, the white label stained with his blood. _________

His funeral is organised for a week before when they should have got married. She sits in the house they bought together as the wake happens around her, words of sympathy passing through the room like cold rain. Sending shivers throughout her body as she tries to reconcile the fact she will never see him again.

She sees her mother out of the corner of her eye and she leaves the living room quickly, unable to cope with Elizabeth on today of all days.

Emily goes upstairs and sneaks into the home office, the smell of him hitting her the moment she walks in.

For a moment, it gives her peace, then all too soon it’s gone. Washed away by the sound of the door opening behind her, someone seeking her out to provide comfort that won’t help, won’t ease the burden of grief and guilt that have already consumed her. _________

She remembers the first time he called her when he came back. Righteous anger flooding through her veins when he casually asked her how she was. The charming bastard made her forget why she was mad at him in the first place, years of silence forgotten in an instant as soon as he asked her to dinner. He had given her hope, something she hadn’t truly felt in a long time.

He had given her love. Stupid, beautiful, all consuming love that she had wanted to bask in for the rest of her life.

Despite the heartache, the pain. She knew she would do it all again. Go through every single moment from that first day she walked into his office all those years ago, to now. All the pain they had suffered together and apart, just so she could experience their little taste of eternity again. So she could tell him she loves him one more time, and that she always would. So she could remember the warmth of his skin, and replace the final memories she had of him when he was so cold.

It was worth it, the way she felt now, for the time they had. If grief was her penance for loving him, for being loved by him, she would gladly pay it for the rest of her life. _________

“Grief is the price we pay for love.” - Queen Elizabeth II _________

#Hotchniss #Hotchniss fan fic #Hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #cm fanfic #just so much angst #angst #major character death #Riptide

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myhockeyworld87 · 4 years ago

Text

Favorite Season

Ok so I’m making a couple stories that didn’t show up in the tags all new posts again. I apologize if you already read this.

Word Count: 8,690

POV: Jon’s

Notes: So this is me in my sad bitch hours, so let me apologize in advance to everyone. This story just sort of popped into my head when I listened to Mariah Carey’s Miss You Most at Christmas Time and so I decided to put it down on paper so to speak. Sorry I haven’t been on much lately, but hopefully that will change with the new year. Guess I needed a little cleanse, but I’ll post more on that later. Happy Reading and Happy New Year! I hope you are spending it with friends or family or both. May 2021 bring you peace, joy, health and happiness!

Sidenote: This is not my gif

Second Sidenote: Wishing Jon the best and hoping that he is able to be back on the ice soon!

People always assumed when you talked about what season you loved the most, that you meant hockey, for obvious reasons of course; it was your profession, but once you’d met (Y/N), the word season took on a whole new meaning. You’d kindly respond and tell them no, that wasn’t the season you were talking about. They then assumed that you’d meant spring, for that’s when (Y/N) walked into your life. Well, ran into was more like it. She’d been rushing to the United Center for an interview for a summer internship program, while you were on your way out. Neither one of you had been paying attention, which is how you’d ended up holding her in your arms that first time. You knew from that first moment that you never wanted to let her go.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” (Y/N) said as she tried to regain her footing.

“No, it’s my fault. I should’ve been watching where I was going.” She stepped out of your arms to pick up the strewn contents of her bag and being the gentlemen that you were, you knelt down to help her. “Here let me help you.” You picked up a small paperback book and glanced at the title. “Alors tu apprends le Francais?”

“Oh geez, this is so embarrassing,” she admitted, a blush staining her cheeks. “I just bought this book a week ago, in hopes to learn French but I’m afraid I don’t know a word of what you said…well, other than French.” She laughed softly to cover up her embarrassment, but the sound was like a melody that you wanted to play over and over again.

“I just asked if you were learning French.” You handed the book back to her with a smile, as you both stood up off the ground.

“Well, don’t I feel stupid.” She placed the book back in the bag, then placed it on her shoulder. “But yes, I’m trying to learn French. I’m hoping to go to Paris after graduation. Which gives me approximately one year to learn the language, you so eloquently speak.”

“Thank you, but I grew up speaking it, so it comes naturally.”

“Ah, well, you’re lucky.” She took a step away. “I’ve got to run. Again, so sorry for bumping into you.”

“It really wasn’t your fault.”

“We’ll call it a draw,” she said with a lift of her shoulder as she turned and walked away. It was then you noticed a small snowflake charm on the ground.

“Wait, you forgot this.” She turned back around, meeting you halfway.

“Oh, this must have fallen off my keychain again. Thank you, I would’ve been devasted had I lost this. I owe you one.”

You weren’t sure if they were just words spoken or if she truly meant them, but you decided to take a gamble. “How about dinner?”

Her beautiful eyes got even larger, at your poor attempt to ask her out, and you thought you’d just made an idiot of yourself. “Um…sure.” She dug into her bag pulled out a pen, then tore a page of her learn to speak French book out. She scribbled down her name and number, then handed it over to you. “Call me.” Then she turned and took off again. “Sorry, I’m really late.” She was halfway down the hall as you stood there glancing between her name and her. “Hey what’s your name?” she called out.

“It’s Jon.”

“Make sure you bring my page to dinner. I expect you to teach me how to say whatever’s on that.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she disappeared down the hall. You called her later that night, and then the following day and every day after that. By the end of spring her French had improved, but not to the point where the two of you could have full conversations without her questioning words here and there. Yes, that spring had been magical and if someone would’ve asked you as summer started, you probably would’ve said that it was your favorite season. But then summer did start, and well that meant you got to see (Y/N) lounging by the lake in a bikini. Your twenty-year-old self thought there was no better season than this. Again though, that wasn’t the season that would stand out in your mind. Nor would it be fall, when just after six months of dating her you told her you loved her.

It hadn’t been some grand gesture like you see in the movie. Rather it was really quite simple. You’d just lost the season opener to the Nashville Predators. It was your first season as captain of the team and you’d really felt the pressure; more from yourself than anyone else. You were the last to come out of the locker room, and you were feeling pretty defeated, but there stood (Y/N) leaning against the wall, holding a piece of paper which read, ‘Tu Les Auras La Prochaine fois.’ But it wasn’t the sign saying that you’ll get them next time that made your heart skip a beat, it was seeing her smiling face holding it that did it for you. “Je t'aime.” The words were out of your mouth before you could think about it, and you didn’t want to take them back. She looked a bit startled and unsure of what to say. “It means I love you, silly. Man, I really thought your French was getting better.”

“I…I know what you said. I just want to make sure, you meant it.”

“Je t'aime, Te Quiero, Ti Amo, they all mean the same, (Y/N). I love you. I probably should’ve said it the day I met you, but…” She still didn’t say anything and suddenly you were starting to wonder if maybe today was too soon. “You don’t have to say it back.”

“No…I mean…Yes…” She closed her eyes then, gathering her thoughts. “Damn, I said that all wrong. I love you too, Jon. Je t'aime.” Her lips were on yours then, the kiss was like so many you shared these last few months, only there was more heat, more passion as you poured all your love for her into it. “Let’s go home,” she softly whispered when you broke apart, a glint in her eye that told you she wanted to show you how much she really loved you.

Your lips quirked up into a smile. “Anything you want, mon amour.”

Yes, fall definitely was one of your favorite times, but it was Christmas that always held a special meaning.

That first Christmas would always hold a special place in your heart. You could remember it like it was yesterday.

You’d just come home from a quick road trip to Detriot. You dropped your bags off at your place and then headed over to (Y/N)’s apartment. When you got there, caricatures of her and her two roommates were drawn on the door, all three dressed for Christmas and around a cartoon tree. You had a hard time knowing where to knock for all the decorations on the door. (Y/N) came scurrying to the door. “You’re back,” she said jumping into your arms and kissing you soundly. Your lips never left hers as you stepped into the apartment.

“Mmm, I see someone missed me.”

“I always miss you, but I’m glad you’re back. You’re just in time to help me hang the rest of these decorations. I could use your height.”

“Oh, so now you only want me because I’m tall.” She released you then swatted you on the arm.

“No, but it doesn’t hurt. Here can you help me string these lights up?”

You took the strand and hung them up per her instructions. “Boy, you really go all out for Christmas.”

“But of course, don’t you?”

“Not really. I don’t even have a tree.”

“Wait, what? You don’t have a tree?” She repeated your exact words as if the thought was impossible.

“It’s not really a huge deal in my family, besides I’m usually never home because of hockey,” you told her as you finished hanging the lights. (Y/N) walked over to the closet, grabbed her shoes, and put on her coat, as soon as you were done. “Uh, babe, where are you going?”

“To go get you some Christmas decorations.” She opened the door, then looked back when you didn’t follow. “Are you coming?” You had no choice but to follow her.

The rest of the afternoon was spent picking out lights, ornaments, a tree, and more decorations than you could fit in your shopping cart, but you didn’t mind being dragged from store to store as (Y/N)’s face lit up in every one of them. “Ok, star or angel?” she asked you holding up two tree toppers, but before you could answer she kept going. “I mean part of me thinks that we should go with the star. It’s pretty traditional and well they always sing about hanging the star on top of the tree, but I like the symbolism of the angel.”

You looked both of them over when she finally decided to take a breath. “Angel, definitely.” She turned the figurine towards her looking it over, while you walked behind her, letting your hands slide around her waist so you could pull her close. When she turned back to look at you, questioning your choice, you simply said, “You’re my angel and she reminds me of you.” She kissed you then, right there in aisle C8, amidst the Christmas decorations.

“Angel it is then.” She set the tree topper in the cart and the two of you headed to the checkout. On the way there, you spotted a sprig of mistletoe and tossed it in the cart unbeknownst to (Y/N). It wasn’t until the tree was up that night, that she found it. “I don’t remember putting this in the cart.”

“You didn’t. I did.” You took the mistletoe out of her hand and went to hang it up in the archway. “If we’re going for full-on Christmas, we can’t forget the best part.” Grabbing her hand, you lead her over to where you’d just hung the little green sprig.

“You really think you need this, to get me to make out with you?” Your hands encircled her waist as she spoke the words, and you drew her in close to you.

“Well, no. This is just an excuse.” You pecked her lips quickly. “Besides, this is my first time decorating for this holiday, I might as well go all out.”

She returned the kiss, only it was more heated as you slid your tongue inside her. She moaned into your mouth before pulling back. “In that case, let’s make it a little more memorable.” She stepped out of your embrace, her fingers trailing down to the button on your pants. It slipped out of the buttonhole easily, before she slid the zipper down. You sucked in a breath, as her hands snuck inside the waistband of your boxers and she slid them and your pants all the way to the ground. (Y/N) fell to her knees, her hands skating up your thighs as you felt her warm breath fan across your cock. It twitched before you felt her lips place a kiss right on the head. Her lips trailed all the way up and down the length of your shaft, teasing you.

“Babe, you’re killing me.” A wicked glint in her eye was her answer back, as she placed her puckered lips on the head one last time before she finally took you inside her mouth. Your hands threaded through her hair as she sunk down to take most of you in. She took her free hand and wrapped it around the length that didn’t fit inside and gave it a gentle squeeze, then her mouth started to work its own little bit of Christmas magic as she hollowed out her cheeks and sucked on your cock. “Damn, baby that feels so good,” you hissed out, your hips rocking a bit into her mouth. If this was (Y/N)’s idea of Christmas traditions you were all for it, and mistletoe was definitely going to be a staple to your decorating every year.

(Y/N)’s free hand slipped down to your balls where she cupped them and you felt yourself close to bursting. Your body tingled as she hummed around your cock. With her mouth and hands on you it felt like there was enough electricity coursing through your body that you could light up a million strand of Christmas lights at the moment. “(Y/N), I’m going to…” she didn’t stop though just took your cock deeper until you swore you hit the back of her throat. It was that move, that pushed you over as you spilled your seed in her mouth. She swallowed as much as she could, though some dribbled out and you thought it was hot as hell.

That night would forever live in your mind, as you returned the favor by making her cum not once but twice under that same mistletoe. Even though, it was one of your favorite memories from that first Christmas. It wasn’t that, that made Christmas your favorite season. It was the way that (Y/N) embraced the joy of the season in everything she did. Even the simplest things were a little brighter with her around. She made everyone around sparkle and shine just like tinsel on a Christmas tree. Not that she wasn’t always that way, but there was just something special about (Y/N) and Christmas and thus it became your favorite time of year.

There had been no Christmas break that year in the NHL, meaning you had no time to head back home, so (Y/N) had invited you to her house to be with her family. They had welcomed you with open arms and you had found out, why she’d loved Christmas so much. Her family went all out, decorations were everywhere and presents were piled high. They’d included you in all their traditions, from frosting to cookies to playing Christmas charades. They even had you cut a piece of wheat for Baby Jesus’s manager, as was their annual custom to do before opening presents Christmas morning. That first Christmas had set the tone for all those to follow after it.

As Christmas drew to a close that year, you knew one thing for sure. That you never wanted to spend another one without her. It was an easy decision to ask her to move in with you, once she graduated college, and right before that Christmas that year, the two of you bought your first place together. To commemorate the event, (Y/N) had a special ornament made in the shape of a key.

Hockey took precedence the following year, as you won the Stanley Cup and it seemed like the summer and fall flew by. One thing was for sure though, and that was that (Y/N) was with you every step of the way. You knew you had to make that Christmas extra special. It was the first time your family flew in for the holiday. (Y/N)’s family all came to your place as well that year. The house was filled with love and laughter and was about to get a little more exciting.

All the presents had been unwrapped and everyone was lounging in the great room. “I think there’s one more present here,” you pointed to a box you had hidden off in the corner. “Looks like it has your name on it, babe.”

(Y/N) took the gift and looked at the tag. “It doesn’t say who it’s from.”

“Well, that happens from time to time. You know Santa’s elves are really busy this time of year,” her mom chimed in, giving you a little wink. “Go ahead and open it.”

She tore through the layer of paper to the box, then lifted the lid, which happened to reveal a smaller box. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, laughing as she took that wrapped package out and removed the paper again. Lifting the lid, she found yet another box. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Did you do this?” She was staring straight at you because she knew this was totally out of your character. All you could do was simply shrug. The unwrapping went on for another six layers until she finally revealed a small black velvet box. All your family gasped as she went to open it. Her eyes were fixated on the container, as she slowly pulled back the lid. The look of excitement on her face was almost too much for you, and then her face fell, exactly like you thought it would. “There’s nothing in it.” She whispered, her voice small as she lifted her eyes to you. You could feel her family and yours glaring at you for pulling a stunt like this. You decided now would be a good time to put everyone out of their misery.

Dropping down to one knee in front of her, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the extravagant ring that you’d had made for her. The gasp from everyone this time was probably heard down the street as they took in their first glimpse of the engagement ring. (Y/N) covered her mouth with her hands and you saw one lone tear slip down her cheek; a happy one, you hoped. “(Y/N), I was going to leave this in the last box, but then I couldn’t. For your real present isn’t this ring. It’s me. That is if you’ll have me.” She was already shaking her head yes before you even had a chance to ask her the question. “I guess what I’m asking is if you’ll spend every Christmas from now until the end of time with me?” Another tear slid down her cheek and this time you knew for sure it was a joyful one. “(Y/FN), will you be my wife?”

“Yes, Jon, yes!” She was down on the ground in your arms kissing you before you could blink. She almost tackled you to the carpet, but your hand reached out and steadied you both on the end table beside you. That’s when you realized the ring popped out of your hand and had fallen somewhere amongst the pile of wrapping paper.

You broke from the kiss immediately. “Shit, I dropped the ring.”

“I don’t care. You’re my present and apparently my future as well.” She locked her lips with yours again. The two of you were so caught up in each other, you forgot about the rest of your family in the room; who had now gone on a search for the engagement ring.

“Found it,” your mom said breathing a sigh of relief. You took it and slipped it on (Y/N)’s finger making it official. That Christmas was definitely one of the most memorable.

The following summer you married. Most people expected the two of you to have this big grand wedding, which would’ve taken another year or more to plan, but neither you nor (Y/N) wanted that. Instead, it was a quiet ceremony with just family and close friends, exactly what you wanted, as you couldn’t wait for her to be your wife. That Christmas was your first as husband and wife, and there was more than one Mr. and Mrs. Toews ornament hanging off the tree.

Payback came your second Christmas as a married couple. There you were opening box after box. “Really babe? I would’ve expected this last year.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes, Mr. Toews.”

You unwrapped yet another box. “So is the Rolex we looked at a couple weeks ago in here?” She mimicked your shrug from two years ago. It had to be the watch, for the shrug was always (Y/N)’s go to move when she didn’t want to tell you that you were right. Sure enough, as you peeled back the paper on the last package, there was the signature green box of the famous company. “Nice try babe, but I guess I outsmarted you this time.” The hinge creaked as you opened the box, but you were shocked when there wasn’t a watch inside, but a positive pregnancy test. “Are you…?”

Your eyes locked with hers and she was nodding her head. “Yes, yes we are.” Your lips were on hers in an instant, as this time you were the one with tears in your eyes.

“I don’t get the big deal over a watch.” You heard your brother say in French in the background.

“They’re having a baby you idiot,” your dad told him, cuffing him upside the head.

Levi Abram Toews was born on July twenty-fifth of the following year, giving you a little bit of Christmas midway through the following year. His first Christmas was probably one of your favorites. At six months old, he was sitting up and just starting to crawl. (Y/N) had to move all the floor decorations up, because he started to chew on all the snowmen that he could grab. Levi’s little eyes sparkled as he was mesmerized by all the twinkling lights and bulbs. You thought you couldn’t love Christmas anymore, but seeing it through your son’s eyes made the holiday even more joyous.

When 2013 Christmas rolled around it had you hanging another Stanley cup ornament on the tree as the Hawks had won yet another one. It seemed as though the moment (Y/N) stepped into your life all the pieces just fell into place. She truly was the angel on top of the tree.

You didn’t think anything remarkable happened the Christmas of 2014 but by Valentine’s day it became clear that your wife was pregnant again, and your new little one had to have been conceived on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning. It too would always hold special meaning whenever you looked at your baby girl. Elizabeth or Lizzie as you liked to call her, joined your little family on September 25th, 2015. Making her the cherry on the cake to winning your third Stanley cup. Lizzie was daddy’s girl and everyone knew it, even your wife. Of course, there were a few ornaments on the Christmas tree that year. One with Lizzie’s picture in the cup, along with her first Christmas ornament, all got hung alongside the three Stanley Cup ornaments and Levi’s bulb. Your tree was getting quite full.

As were your wife’s hands apparently, as you could see (Y/N) getting more and more tired as Christmas 2016 rolled around. Oh, she was still her fun-loving and joyful self, but she also looked completely exhausted most days. She would dust off any concerns and tell you that was the price she paid for having two kids under the age of four. “Babe, why don’t you come and sit down,” you told her having just gotten back from your last road trip before Christmas, which was only three days away.

“I can’t. I still need to finish wrapping the gifts, then I’ve got cookies to bake, and get the food prepped for Christmas Eve dinner.”

“What can I do to help?” You asked rubbing her shoulders as she worked in the dining room wrapping the presents since the kids were finally in bad.

“You could…” She spun around to talk to you and that’s when your heart fell out of your chest as she collapsed right into your arms. Your blood ran cold as you saw color draining from her face. Gently as you could, you laid her down on the floor, calling out her name. “(Y/N)…baby…(Y/N) please wake up.” You ran and grabbed your bag knowing that you had smelling salts in there that the team used every now and then. Breaking it open, you wafted the scent over her nose, praying the whole time for her to wake back up. It took a bit, but eventually, she did rouse. “Oh thank god.”

“What happened?”

“I was going to ask you. You just fainted in my arms.” She made a move to get up but you could see that another bout of something had hit her again. “No just stay there. I’m calling the team doctor.”

“Jon, don’t. I’m sure I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.”

It was too late for her to try to change your mind as you already had the doctor dialed up. He asked a few questions, basically checking to see if she could be pregnant, but that wasn’t an option as she’d just finished her period two days ago. He recommended that you head to the hospital and get (Y/N) checked out. It was a fight to get her there, especially so close to Christmas, but eventually, she gave in and once her parents came to watch the kids, the two of you were on your way.

You rushed into the emergency room, where (Y/N) went through a series of tests. You hadn’t realized until that moment, when (Y/N) was laying in the hospital bed, that she’d lost some weight and seemed very fatigued. Your wife was always this strong and unmovable force, yet right then she looked so frail. Mentally, you kicked yourself for not noticing these things earlier. After hours of testing, the emergency room doctor came in to speak to you both. He told you that there was definitely something off in her blood work and that he wanted to admit her for further testing. (Y/N) put up a fight, not wanting to be in the hospital another minute. She insisted she had way too many things to do than just laying around waiting for them to tell her she would be fine.

“You’re staying and that’s final.” She argued with you, but in the end, you won out again.

Thankfully, she was out of the hospital by Christmas Eve and when she came home, her parents and yours had most everything done so that it was a perfect Christmas for your children. It was two days after Christmas that you received the worst news of your life. (Y/N) had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. The doctor wasn’t sure what stage it was in but wanted her for more testing before they would try and figure out treatment. It couldn’t have come at a worse time, as you were just gearing up for a ten-day road trip.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Damnit Jon, you are going. You’re the captain of the team and they need you,” she shouted back to you. The two of you had been arguing since you put the kids in bed. Your parents were still there, they had decided to stay a little longer with (Y/N) being sick to help out with the kids and her parents were only minutes away, but none of that mattered.

“I’m also the captain of THIS team,” you said pointing back and forth between the two of you. “And right now, that’s more important.”

“It’s just some testing at this point. If there’s anything more serious, you can be on the next plane back here.” Her voice was quieter now, and you couldn’t tell if she was just weak from cancer or tired of fighting, but you could see the determination in her eyes not to lose this battle. You needed her to keep that same look for whatever was to come and it was for that reason alone that you found yourself agreeing to go on the trip.

She was right, you were only a phone call away, and she could facetime you in on all her appointments, which she did. It was not the way you wanted to find out that her biopsy showed her having stage two stomach cancer and that her chance of survival was thirty-five percent.

You could see her crumbling on the screen, her mom and dad beside her for support, but it wasn’t enough. You should’ve been there damnit. Why in the hell had you listened to her? You wanted to scream through the phone but couldn’t; you needed to stay calm and be there for her. “Baby, look at me,” you said in a gentle yet reassuring voice, and her tearstained eyes locked with yours. “We’re going to beat this.” She sniffled loudly, then straightened her back, that steely determination taking over.

“Of course, we will.” What you didn’t know, was that she cried the entire ride home in the backseat of her parents’ car, or how she made her dad ride around the block several times before going inside to see your children. All the while, you were on the phone with the team doctor finding out everything you could to help your wife. The two of you found the best specialist in North America and had her records sent there. A week later, you were by (Y/N)’s side at UPMC Medical Center in Pittsburgh determining the best course of treatment.

She would do several rounds of pinpointed radiation to shrink the tumor before they would go in and remove it. It would all be followed up with some intense chemotherapy. The doctor told her she would more than likely lose her hair, and that it would make her extremely weak. They could set everything up to happen in Chicago so that she wouldn’t have to leave your home.

The surgery, which took place in February and caused you to miss a few games, went very well. The two of you stayed in Pittsburgh five days before flying back on a private plane home to your children. Who didn’t seem to understand why mommy couldn’t pick them up and carry them around anymore. Your parents and (Y/N)’s were godsends, as (Y/N) insisted you go back to hockey. You hated being away from her, though with every day that past you could see her strength building up. That was until the chemotherapy started.

There were to be six to eight rounds of chemotherapy that (Y/N) was going to have to take. They would fall in four-week intervals. You were there the day she got her first one. It took over eight hours for her to receive the treatment through her port that the surgeon had put in. She seemed to take it really well or so you thought until you found her hunched over the toilet a couple days later throwing up. She tried to shake it off, act like it was nothing new, telling you it was just like being pregnant again, but you knew better. You could hear the tremble in her voice, see the tears she fought so hard to hold back, while you held back your own. You’d give anything to take this pain away from her, but you couldn’t.

It wasn’t until round three that her hair started falling out in clumps. She was sitting at the breakfast table, the kids at her parents when she brushed it back to pull it out of her face. Strands of hair covered her fingers, a look of horror covering her face. “It’s ok baby, we knew this would happen.”

She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. “I just thought that I made it this far with it, that maybe they were wrong.” You were at her side in a minute, holding her as she started to shake from head to toe.

“Let it out (Y/N). It’s ok to be sad or mad or anything. I’m right here.” It was the first time that she’d cried about it, at least in front of you.

“It’s not fair Jon,” she sobbed into your chest. “I want to be there to watch my kids grow up.”

“And you will, mon amour. We’re going to fight this every step of the way.” She cried for a solid hour, as you held back tears of your own, telling her in a calming voice that she was going to beat this. All the while being scared as hell that she might not.

Later that day, you helped her shave every strand of hair from her head. It was the hardest thing you’d had to do in your life. You’d rather take a ninety mile an hour puck to your face then to see your wife this broken and defeated. In the end, she took a deep breath as she looked herself in the mirror, eyes still glassy from tears. “You will not beat me,” she told her reflection, then looked at your reflection. “I will fight this with every breath I have.” Your lip trembled as you fought back the river of tears that threatened to spill over at her strength. Your wife was a fighter, and you knew she would conquer this disease and you’d be beside her every step of the way.

That summer you spent every available second with (Y/N) and the kids. Treatments became a normal part of your routine. The problem was with everyone, you saw your wife getting weaker and weaker. She was practically skin and bones, even though she would force herself to eat. When she took her final round of chemotherapy in October, you breathed a sigh of relief. The doctors said they wouldn’t know if the chemo had worked for a few weeks and so you waited. Praying every night that her cancer was gone once and for all, and your wife would no longer have to suffer.

A month later, you were back in Pittsburgh, sitting in front of the doctor who held your entire fate in his hands. “I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he started to say, and your face drained, while (Y/N) gripped your hand tightly. “The chemotherapy hasn’t responded as we’d like.” Everything he said after that was a garbled mess. Your mind clouded over and there was a loud ringing in your ears. You wanted to grab this man by the throat and tell him to make your wife better. That was his job, wasn’t it? He was supposed to heal people, and damn it he should’ve done that for (Y/N). “I’m not giving up hope yet.” It was those words that finally drug you out of the blinding rage that was coursing through your veins. He proceeded to say that there was an experimental drug and that they had no way of knowing if it would work, but it might be something the two of you would be interested in trying. He handed you a bunch of paperwork to go home and read before making any decisions.

“I think you should take it,” you told her the minute you got in the car.

“Maybe we should read what he gave us first.”

“It doesn’t matter what that says (Y/N) if it means that you get to stay here with me and the kids; I think we should do it.”

“It’s not a 'we’ Jon. It’s me who has to do this. What if it has some long-term effects or…” she started to list scenarios, that meant nothing to you.

“The only long-term thing here is that you’re dead. Do you want that? Because I don’t.” You were yelling at her, and you didn’t want to, but couldn’t she see that this drug was your only option. “I need you (Y/N). The kids need you.” This time you couldn’t hold back the tears as they started to fall hard and fast down your cheeks. “Damn it, I love you and I’m not willing to lose you. Do you understand me?”

You could barely see her swallow hard as tears flooded your vision, and while you knew you needed to be strong for her; you were finally breaking. “Ok,” she whispered softly, and you grabbed her holding her to your body as close as you could with the console in the middle of the car. “I’ll do it.”

“You will?” you mumbled into the crook of her neck. You could feel the dampness of her shirt from your tears but all that mattered was that she agreed to take the treatment.

“Yes,” she answered pulling you back so she could look in your eyes. “I’d do anything for you, my love.” You kissed her then pouring every ounce of love you had for her into it.

The following day, after reading through all the paperwork, (Y/N) called the doctor and got set up to take the new drug. Once you were back in Chicago, she started treatments right away. The drug was aggressive, even more so than her first round of chemotherapy and within two weeks she wound up in the hospital, her immune system so compromised that you had to suit up in a gown and mask every time you went to see her. The kids weren’t allowed in, which killed her, but you had them facetime her every day.

As Christmas grew near your spirits were low. (Y/N) insisted that you put up all the decorations just as you had every year. She ordered the kids’ gifts online so that they wouldn’t miss out on a single thing. Her only term for taking the new treatment was that you continue to play hockey. Her parents stepped up and watched the kids while you were away. You were just returning home from a road trip, about a week before Christmas when you stopped in at the hospital to see (Y/N) before heading home. When you walked into her room, you barely recognized her. Her frail form looked almost lifeless as she lay in the hospital bed, so much so that you had to check the rise and fall of her chest to make sure she was still breathing. Thankfully she was.

“Salut mon amour,” you said in a soft gentle voice, wanting her to know that you were there but at the same time not wanting to wake her if she was asleep. She turned her head to the side to see you, a weak smile gracing her chapped lips.

A scratchy “hi,” was all she was able to muster back. You took your gloved hand and held hers in it. God, what you wouldn’t give to just touch her skin and feel her once again. But since you couldn’t, you stroked your thumb back and forth over her palm, hoping that she could somehow draw from your strength.

“How are you feeling today?”

The smile dropped, and so did your heart. “I don’t think this is working Jon.” It was too soon to tell. Even the doctors had said that. She just needed to hang on, give the drug more time to work. “I think we need to start preparing for the worst.” Her hand squeezed yours, whether it was for support or to support you, you weren’t sure.

“No, baby, I’m not ready for you to give up yet.”

“I know Jon, and I’m fighting I really am. But it’s just so hard…Hard to breathe…Hard to move. I don’t feel like me anymore.” A tear slipped out and though you had a glove on your hand, you reached up and wiped it away.

“You’ve just gotta fight (Y/N). You’ve got to do it for Levi, and Lizzie, and god baby please do it for me.” You were begging now, both her and god. You couldn’t lose her, you weren’t ready to live your life without her yet.

“I will my love…..but Jon, there may come a day when I can’t fight anymore and I need you to support me on that.” You knew what she was talking about, that if the doctors wanted to put her on a ventilator, she didn’t want that. Though if it could save her…you weren’t sure you could follow her wishes.

You nodded your head not willing to put in words something you couldn’t promise just yet. You stayed there with her for a while; until she basically kicked you and told you to go home and get some sleep. The moment you walked in the door of your house, you screamed in anger. There were all the decorations that (Y/N) made you hang with the kids and you hated every one of them. They were torturous reminders that your wife wasn’t there this Christmas, that she couldn’t be with you and the kids. You grabbed the strand of garland that hung on the archway into the living room and ripped it down, throwing the ball of mistletoe across the room. It felt good, and so you tore down some more, just letting all your anger and frustrations out. It was a side of you that hardly ever came out even on the ice. Oh, you’d definitely dropped the gloves a time or two but only when someone really deserved it. Only now there was no one to fight. It was a disease and you couldn’t throw it up against the boards or punch it in the jaw. So instead, you took it out on the decorations. Every wreath that hung on the wall you ripped it apart with your bare hands. Every Santa figurine that sat on the table, you smashed against the floor. You were just about the tear the stockings off the fireplace when you stopped. It was seeing your wife’s name knitted into the fabric that got you and instead you carefully took it off the hook and brought it to your face as if it were her and you could simply hold her that close once again.

“Please (Y/N), please don’t leave me,” you called out to the void that was your house, as you dropped to your knees, tears freely flowing down your face. It was all too much. You’d finally reached that breaking point and just laid on the flooring sobbing and praying to God to save your wife. It was the only Christmas wish you had. Sure, you’d prayed when you were younger asking god to make you a better hockey player and then that you would be drafted in the NHL, but never in your life had you wanted anything like you wanted this, for your wife to be fine, for her to live a happy healthy life with you and your children. You’d trade everything you had if you could.

At some point, you picked yourself up and looked at the disaster that you’d made in what was once a storybook Christmas home. (Y/N) would be so disappointed in what you had done, not to the house, but to the mess that your kids would walk into when they would come home. You cleaned up the broken shards of glass, restrung the garland, and tried to salvage what you could of the other decorations you’d destroyed yet somehow the house still seemed to be missing something. There were tons of extra decorations in the closet, as your wife seemed to always buy more and more every year, well you couldn’t really blame (Y/N) as you tended to help as well. So, you dragged yourself upstairs to see what else might try and make the place a bit more festive.

It was in rummaging through the closet that you stumbled upon it. It was a simple container, not very big with the word “Love,” written in script on the top. You peered inside and were stunned to find dozens of envelopes, each marked with either yours or your children’s name on them. It was then that you realized they were goodbye letters from your wife, as some were addressed to Levi and Lizzie on their eighteenth birthdays or their graduations. There was even one for each of them on their wedding day. A gasp left your mouth at the realization that she didn’t plan on being around for any of these occasions. You weren’t sure what hurt more, the fact that she was giving up or that you’d be facing a life without her.

All that anger and hurt from moments ago came surfacing back and you had the urge to punch your fist through the wall this time, though you fought it for the sake of your kids. Flipping through the envelopes you saw different ones with your name on them. You picked up the one that was on top of the pile marked 'To Jon on Christmas Eve.’ It was heavier than what you thought and you realized that it wasn’t a letter but a video. Taking the box, you headed downstairs to see what your wife had to say.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t be watching this, as you hit the play button on the remote control, yet you couldn’t stop yourself. Maybe there would be something on here that could help you convince her to fight harder. It took a second for (Y/N) to come on the screen. She looked weak, yet still as beautiful as ever as she sat in the chair up in your bedroom. Her wig was on, probably in hopes that you’d remember her like she once was and not the sickly cancer patient she feared everyone saw.

“Bonjour, mon amour.” God, you loved how she spoke French to you. She’d been so earnest in her studies those early days and now was rather good at it. “I’m not sure where to start with this. I want you to know that this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I hope that you’re watching this after the kids’ are in bed and you’ve put all the presents under the tree. God, how I’ll miss doing that with you, but I know that you will make this Christmas and every one after special for our two little angels. They are so lucky to have a dad like you, just like I was so lucky to have you as my husband.” Tears were streaming down (Y/N)’s face as she spoke to you on the screen, just as they were flooding your eyes.

“I love you so much,” she swallowed hard, the movement visible as her body was frail. “Even more than I love Christmas.” It was a small attempt at humor on her part, and you wish that you could smile at it, but at the moment all you had were tears of sadness. “Remember that first Christmas when we bought the tree topper together. You told me then that I was your angel. Well, now I truly am. I hope that when you place her on top of the tree, you’ll know that I’m smiling down at you and our babies.” Your eyes automatically went to the angel on the tree. Her soft smiling eyes shining right into yours. A sob broke from you then, as you realized how much the angel looked like your wife. She had the same eyes, the same hair, and the same soft easy smile that melted your heart.

“I’m going to miss this time of year with you; the laughter, the joy, the mistletoe. It was always my favorite season with you, though you made everyday special.” You knew how she felt, for you had a feeling you’d miss her most at Christmas time. “Jon, I’d give anything to be with you right now. Just know that if I had to do it all again, I would. I’d go through every treatment, every needle, every single bit of it, if it meant one more Christmas with you…hell, even if it was one more day with you.” She wiped away the tears then, visibly collecting herself to continue on with what she had to say.

“But I want you to be happy, Jon. I want you to love again. I want you to find joy in not only Christmas but every day, even if I’m not there. And I can see you sitting there, shaking your head and telling me it’s not going to happen, and maybe it won’t tomorrow or the next day, but I hope it does someday. I love you too much to not want you to love again. Be happy, you deserve it.” You weren’t sure how she could ask this of you, there was no way that it would ever happen if she wasn’t in your life.

“Bumping into you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You were the best thing to happen to me, Jonathan Toews and for that I thank you. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend, husband, or father. You will always be the love of my life…and what a life we had.” There was still more of it to be had, you just knew there had to be. “I love you, Jon. Merry Christmas, my love.” It took another second and then the screen went blank.

“I love you, (Y/N),” you whispered up the angel smiling down at you. Tears clouded your vision until all the lights just seemed to melt into one giant one. This was not how things were meant to end. You laid your head back against the sofa and closed your eyes and just prayed. Even though you’d just done that hours ago, you asked God to do the impossible, to give you a Christmas miracle.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep, for you woke up sometime later to a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Jon, sweetie, wake up, my love.” You could swear that was your wife’s voice. It took your eyes a minute to regain focus, but it was your wife standing over you, in Christmas pajamas, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Her hair, you thought vaguely, not some wig because she’d lost all hers, and she looked healthy, strong in fact.

“You’re here? You’re ok,” you said jumping up and running your hands down her arms.

Her smile told you then that it hadn’t been a dream like you thought, and you looked over to the screen on the tv, to see the Christmas message she’d sent you back up on the screen. “You were watching it again, weren’t you?” she asked.

You had to shake yourself to get the cobwebs out of your brain. It was six years ago that you found the video, though you’ve replayed it every year since. That first time watching it you’d wanted to run to the hospital and shake some sense into your wife, but something stopped you. Maybe deep down you knew she had never truly given up, for she had called you Christmas Eve saying that she was feeling much better. The kids had gotten to see her on Christmas day, though there were still precautions taken. It was a week later that she was home and with you as her strength continually improved. She grew stronger every day after that as well. It was months later that her cancer was declared gone by the doctors, the new treatment having saved her life and yours in the process. She was a survivor and you thanked God every day for giving you that miracle you’d asked for so long ago. “I still don’t know how you found them,” she said to you. “Or why you continue to watch that video every year.”

“I watch it because it reminds me of how close I was to losing you.” Your arms encircled her waist now, drawing her closer to you. “And how magical the Christmas season is as it brought you back to me.” You gazed into her loving eyes, yours shining with that same love you saw in hers. “And to hold you a little tighter each day.” You did exactly as you said, squeezing her so that no space was between either of you, before dropping a kiss to her lips.

“I’m not sure it was the Christmas season that helped me find the strength to fight. I’m pretty sure it was you, Mr. Toews.” Her lips found yours in a soul-stealing kiss, as she poured all her love for you into it.

You maneuvered the two of you under the archway where the sprig of mistletoe always hung. “Well, Mrs. Toews, Christmas will always be my favorite time of year, though I treasure every day with you. Joyeux Noel, mon amour.”

“Merry Christmas, Jon.”

#Jonathan Toews #jonathan toews imagines #jonathan toews imagine #jonathan toews smut #chicago blackhawks imagine #chicago blackhawks iamgines #nhl smut #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction

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baku-no-alt · 4 years ago

Text

sriracha sauce | 11

bakugou x reader; in which Bakugou and some other students from UA are doing a work -study abroad in NYC. also Bakugou is nice to you for once

cw: violence, a tiny bit of body horror, angst

a/n: thank you thank you thank you if you’ve been waiting for this and you’re still here reading

You can feel Katsuki’s stare rip through your soul from across the room. You tear your eyes away from him, but the image of his unnaturally bent fingers is seared into your memory. You feel some bile rise in your throat, and squeeze your eyes shut and force it back down.

When you open your eyes again, you focus on the object in front of you - the stone in the center of the room. Mentally, you filter through all of the languages you’d studied in the past, but the carvings on the stone don’t resemble anything you’ve ever seen before. And, yet-

“Oi. Let her go,” Katuski repeats himself, and your heart cracks at the weakness in his voice. You almost can’t bring yourself to glance in his direction, but your head snaps over to him when you hear him groaning. One of the villains in the room, a large man with leathery wings protruding from his shoulders, is putting pressure on Katsuki’s fingers.

“Stop, please.” Your voice is garbled and your control over your quirk wavers as the intensity of the situation rises.

The man, however, doesn’t stop. He gives a small flap of his leathery wings and starts pulling at some of Katsuki’s fingers. Sparks shoot out of his palms, but he isn’t able to produce anything more powerful than that. You can tell he’s trying to hide his reaction, but his expression betrays him as it contorts in pain.

“Stop!” you scream, and you feel the familiar rumble of your ultimate move in your bones. The power of your voice surprises even you, and the winged villain staggers a few steps away from Katsuki. Relief floods through you, and you return your attention to the stone, having finally realized that you do recognize the language written on it.

Well, sort of.

Some of the markings start to unjumble themselves in your mind, and you’re grasping at straws for any semblance of what they mean.

“So we can make you use your power?” The villain grins, and your stomach turns.

The fact that Katsuki was never the target of the attack is now crystal clear. He was the bait.

“You want to know what it says,” you say to the villain who first spoke to you. What language are you speaking? Estonian? Latvian? Your words have a bright staccato lilt, and your r’s roll gracefully off your tongue.

“Don’t,” Katsuki grunts, in Japanese. You throw him a quick, reproachful look before returning your attention back to the villain.

“If I translate it, you’ll let us go?”

“If you translate it, we won’t kill you.” A woman steps forward - she’s speaking Spanish, a language you’re already somewhat familiar with, so your quirk doesn’t have to work as hard. You’re grateful - the constant switching is wearing you out. Her long, dark hair hangs in loose curls and she has two full sleeves of tattoos trailing up her arms. She runs a finger along her left arm, and the pen tattooed there seems to float off of her arm and takes shape.

She hands it to you. You notice weapons tattooed on her arms as well.

“What happens when I do?” you ask her cautiously. You step forward towards the stone, run your hand along the markings etched into it.

Everyone is silent.

“You don’t know what it does?” you ask, looking around at the group of villains in front of you. You start to feel uneasy - who are these people?

The (possibly?) Estonian man swallows thickly. “Translate it, or we’ll break your friend’s arms, too.”

You turn your focus back to the stone, unsure of where to begin. You can hint at some of its meaning - there’s something about a journey, and a bond. But everything else seems to be just beyond your mind’s reach.

“What are they saying to you?” Katsuki groans from the corner.

“Shut up,” someone in the room says in Greek.

You shut your eyes briefly and purse your lips together - it’s too much, all of these different languages. A headache begins to form.

“I need more time than this, I have no idea what it says,” you say. It’s true - the language hasn’t been spoken to you, so you’re having a hard time using your quirk to understand it.

“You don’t have more time,” the woman says curtly. She nods to the winged villain.

To your horror, he steps towards Katsuki again and grabs a hold of his hand. You try to run to him, but the woman conjures a knife from her arm and holds it in front of you.

You shake your head violently. “No - I just need more time, don’t hurt him,” you plead. You scan your eyes frantically over the stone, trying your best to glean any meaning, but it means nothing to you.

Katsuki grunts as the villain starts crushing his fingers. “Stop,” you whine breathlessly, but your voice doesn’t have the power it did the first time.

“Use your Quirk, and I’ll stop,” the winged villain says calmly in - Finnish? You can’t tell, it’s one of those Scandanavian languages.

“Don’t worry about me,” Katsuki’s speaking Japanese and your head starts to pound.

“Stop, stop talking,” you whimper, bringing your hands to your forehead. It’s too much.

“Más,” dice la mujer and you grind your teeth, willing your ultimate move to show up anytime now but you’re coming up empty and your heart rate skyrockets and you can feel the blood pulsing at your temples.

Katsuki tries his best to stay quiet but you can hear him suck in a breath as the villain puts more pressure on his broken fingers, one by one. You look away from him, the sight of his mangled hands making your stomach turn.

“Randmed,” says the Estonian villain and you freeze because it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s talking about Katsuki.

You hear the snap and immediately you’re lightheaded. Katsuki moans in pain and bends forward, trying to cradle the wrist that had just been broken. He lets out a painful sob.

Thought and understanding leave you, and you scream.

And you are devastating.

The scream rocks the room; windows shatter, people are losing their balance, including the woman - who drops her knife. You draw in a gasping breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you possibly can, and scream again, and you know you’re not speaking a language but you feel like you are - one of rage and pain and fear.

The crack splits the stone and cleaves it in two, and it falls to the floor.

While everyone is stunned, you grab the knife from the floor and run to Katsuki, who thankfully doesn’t seem as fazed as everyone else. You help him out of his chair and race through the door, grabbing him by his upper arm to avoid his injuries.

You rip the door open and race through the hallway, glancing behind you every few seconds to check on Katsuki.

“I’m fine,” he assures you when he notices, but you know he’s not.

You whip your head around, looking for the elevator or a flight of stairs. You were hoping for the elevator - 37 flights would be a rough climb down.

Shouts are coming from behind you, but they’re either too far away or you’re too exhausted to understand what they’re saying. You start to panic when it’s taking too long to find the elevator, but then you spot it as you’re running past another hallway.

You drag Katsuki in the direction of the elevator and hit the button as hard as you can to call it - and thank god it’s still on the same floor from when you arrived. The doors open and you help Katsuki in, watching the villains entering the hallway from the corner of your eye.

You smash the close door button but the doors won’t budge. Just your luck - it must be one of those fake buttons.

“I’ll handle this,” Katsuki says quietly.

“You can’t,” you whisper back, “you’re hurt.”

But the villains are approaching, and you have no choice. You take a few steps back and let yourself hit the back wall of the elevator. The doors are starting to close, but you know it’s not fast enough. Katsuki winces as he raises his arm, some sparks popping off of his hands.

When the villains arrive at the door, he lets off an explosion that sends them flying backwards, and you instinctively raise your arms up to cover your face. A fire alarm goes off, the elevator shakes and you’re momentarily deaf from the explosion.

Then you feel the burn and realize that his quirk also backfired.

Your forearms are covered in burn wounds, some places seared several layers deep into the skin. Everything is happening in slow motion; a look of horror flashes across Katsuki’s face when he sees you, and then he’s at your side as you sink to the floor. Tears are springing from your eyes and you can vaguely register him apologizing to you in Japanese, but your quirk isn’t working so you can’t understand anything else.

He’s frantically looking around, losing all of his composure. “Stop talking,” you say weakly, squeezing your eyes shut, You can’t understand him. You can’t understand anything.

You feel the elevator start to move. Then the world goes dark.

—

masterlist

@shareyourfandomfaves, @ha-tep, @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo, @ayeputita, @lookslikeleese, @alinakaisato, @loxbbg, @micheladakenzo, @bnhaismylife, @aurorahoneybuns, @anything-and-everything-here69, @overkill-is-underrated, @sizzlingbarbarianglitter, @squeaky-ducky, @hallothankmas, @thenezuko, @icythotsenpai, @kageyamasbabygorl, @your-typical-giggle, @tpsice283

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha katsuki bakugou #mha bakugou #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bakugou fanfiction

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julies-butterflies · 4 years ago

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Honestly, your writing reminds me a lot of the buffyverse. Just the perfect balance of humor and sadness and romance and heart that just feels like a vivid window into the world you've created.

God the Body...the best forty minutes of television I may never watch again. I've rewatched Willow and Tara's kiss (because I'll adore them forever), but just...the weight of it. It took me a full month to work up the nerve to watch the episode, to be ready to cry that much.

What you said about not wanting people to suffer, because of your work...It's never once felt like that for me. And I've cried a LOT while reading your work. I'll try to explain it the best I can

Grief can be so isolating, and disorienting. Your world goes topsey-turvey, supports you took for granted go flying into the abyss and suddenly it's a minefield of those glass shards. And no one's grief is identical. No two circumstances are the same. It's not possible for anyone else to know exactly how you feel, because no two hearts break alike.

Sometimes, it's because people just don't understand. Sometime's it's because they no longer want to. But some days, that feeling of aloneness can be crushing.

Then one night, I stumbled upon Let These Shadows Fall Away Like Dust. That one hit me way harder than I was ever expecting. The question of how to grieve the living, the dilemma on when forgiveness is deserved...Alex's anger, his devestation, the rawness of it all....That's my broken glass. Those are concepts I've been struggling for over a year. I'm still picking up pieces every day.

I sobbed, because it was such a relief. To see the feelings that had been scrambled up in my mind just reflected there, on my screen. The reminder I had desperately needed, that I was not alone. That even though my circumstances were different, I was not the only one trying to unravel those messy emotions.

Then again, I also read your deathfic for fun, so maybe I'm not the best judge of this. I tend to like angst. I tend to get a lot of "WHY WOULD YOU MAKE IT THAT SAD" in group chats :D

Please don't feel any pressure to respond to me quickly or anything. I never mind the wait. I'm so sorry for the rough times. Wishing that you and your family gets whatever you need to help ease your storm. Sending love and support as well.

(sorry for all the metaphors. I'm super sleepy and apparently, I resort to purple prose when tired lol)

I know exactly what you mean about Emily. I understand why people don't like her, but I just love to see her written as such a grey character. It's just so much more powerful when the love is so clearly there.

I mean, that's what a tragedy is, really. Love cut short. Grieving a future that could have been everything, if fate had not been cruel. I don't know if you know musical theater, but I like to think about the Barber and His Wife, from Sweeney Todd: the whole tragedy of that show, is that they were happy all together, and then permanently broken. How their paths keep crossing, but they never connect to heal. Never lost, but never found.

And that's the tragedy of Luke and Emily: too stubborn and too late. You find that grey area, the messiness so well, and just bring it all out so wonderfully. You do the same with Bobby/Trevor, ESPECIALLY in the horror and the wild. God, that absolutely devestated me. I'm not a big fan of horror in general, and I haven't explored the genre that much but...if all horror is like yours then DAMN, I might just have to become a fan.

This got super long (lol) so I'll wrap it up now but! THE SIC FIC QUEENS TOGETHER???? When I tell you I lost it.... all too well Bobby and what you've lost reggie in the same story are killing me. I am hooked and incredibly hyped. Loved both updates so far, and cannot wait to see where the story goes!

Oh yeah and I forget: I have to ask, do you have a fan cast of the one, the only, the incredible Keith Richards? (and that goblin is so cute!!! I really want to pet the blood thirsty monster. So badly)

Love, your totally-not-undead-pen-pal, :D

-Vampire Anon

Know musicals? Vampire Anon my beloved, I am a musical theatre bitch. Take a look at my high school graduation cap! (Anastasia is my favorite musical... something about the themes of home, love, and family, the idea of always finding a place in the world even after enduring incredible hardship, that anything is survivable with faith and love in your heart... I'm also a Romanov history bitch, and Christy Altomare is such an incredible talent and human being.) Literally, talk to me about musicals anytime!

And yeah, I definitely see your metaphor... the tragedy of The Barber and his Wife was how close they came to each other throughout the whole show, existing within reach the entire time, after being separated for so long. But it wasn't the same; it never could be. Time and trauma had changed them both into something unrecognizeable, and when they came face-to-face, they could only hurt each other. At a certain point, the ghosts of your past are meant to stay ghosts. Sure, you might want them back more than anything --- but what would it mean? What would you truly be getting back?

Luke's "back", of course, and he comes home to visit his parents multiple times... but they're not the same people he left. They're older, greyer, changed by grief... while he's just the same. A snapshot forever frozen in time, a memory crystalized in amber. You can't hold memories in your hands. You can't pull them close and refuse to let them go. Eventually, they'll slip away... and to Mitch and Emily, a memory is all their son is, now. That's what's so heartrending about the situation we see in the show, especially --- so much love still exists between all of them, but it has no place to go.

Okay, sorry, it's 3am here and I'm rambling too, haha --- mentioning musical theatre was a mistake.

I'm so glad my stories have been able to connect with you, especially 'shadows' --- that one resonated with a lot of people, more than I ever realized it would. It's not the most personal story to me... but definitely one that needed to be told, and the emotion in it... hits home for a lot of people. It means so much to me knowing that story, and Alex's internal struggle, has made people feel less alone.

I think I'm going to have a hard time looking back on that one, though. We were staying at my aunt's house for the weekend where I wrote most of it; I read a few excerpts to her, and she said she liked it. She was always interested in my writing... I kind of wish I'd gotten the chance to share more of it with her.

Like you said. Grief's a funny thing. Disorienting, relentless, and crushing.

Please just remember, though --- whatever you're dealing with, you're not alone. You don't have to cut yourself on those broken pieces... one day, you'll wake up, and realize you feel whole again. It will never feel the same, and the pain will always be there... but healing around it is what makes us stronger. You don't owe anyone your forgiveness; it's okay to grieve when you've lost something, regardless of whether death has taken them from you. Grief doesn't have to be earned, it simply has to be felt.

You'll be stronger for it, in the end. I'm sorry you've been hurting so much.

Anyways! Oh gosh! On to lighter, happier topics! Please tell me...

What are your favorite fics? (Like, my fics, obviously, which fics of mine do you just go gaga over? Please praise me or else my ego will shrivel like a worm on hot pavement.) No, okay, I'm kidding --- what are your top fics for this fandom? Like, what are the ones that really resonate with you, that you could read over and over? The JATP fandom has so many greats, but I'm always drawn back to Some Killer Queen You Are by pearlcaddy (buffyverse meets jatp!! iconic!!), Lantern's Light by thefairhero (literally the SOFTEST reggie), the sky's not empty tonight by firefall (just... devastating and beautiful in a dozen ways), and literally anything by foundfamilyvevo.

How long have you been in the JATP fandom? Who are your favorite characters? What's your favorite JATP song?

And finally, most importantly... what are your favorite musicals?

(also... since u asked... behold keith richards and tremble)

#vampire anon my beloved #also... vampire anon... you're a writer #i can tell!! i can read it in your words #youre so eloquent and put things so beautifully #do you write fic?? have you posted any for jatp??

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eddiemxnsons · 4 years ago

Text

OUTSIDE — Edward ‘Hillbilly’ Jones

REQUESTED BY: @ourmiraclealigner —

hi! i really loved your take on the last request and was wondering if you could write something else when you get the chance? where the reader is really struggling with everything she’s seeing on peleliu and hillbilly tries cheer her up? maybe she gets hurt and doesn’t call for help?

TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, mental illness, suicide ideation

TAGLIST: @noneofurbusinez

SHE TOLD HERSELF that the floods of crimson fear were merely awry brain chemicals, her amygdala pinged, and then attempted to analyse the situation as an bystander; pondering how a military officer — not a human — would take action. They certainly wouldn’t be cramped ass to ankles in a mud-sodden foxhole, questioning every man lost and if there was an absent step in each incident, a step that would have yanked their golden souls away from Death’s irate tendrils. Where had she gone wrong? She had lost so many men — friends — in this ardent bitterness festering on the Pacific island.

The darkened island was an empire of misery and fear for Y/N; memories of death tucked in with the foliage, playing a macabre game of hide and seek behind trunks with murmurs of young men’s hysterical implores to a savior that wasn't there. A ripple in reality was at her fingertips as she discarded a mournful, muddied foxhole for an equivalent agony beneath the rich canopy of kaleidoscope trees, rifle haphazardly swung on a strap between her shoulder blades. The moon beamed like a flashlight clenched in a steady hand as the stars brushed the curved branches, her weary eyes fixated on the corpses abuzz with hungry flies. And upon the forest floor so woven with ancient tree roots, was subtle streams of crimson, no longer a softened light from nature's bouquet above. And the overwrought young girl in her had emerged with the ghosts behind the trees, the boogeymen of a child’s unconscious mind.

And she momentarily surrendered her obligation of nightly patrol to the small girl misplaced amidst the decaying corpses of men. A fleeting feeling rumbled in her core as if the rumpled yet headstrong woman that stalled in the rain had vanished, a young girl with braids at the facets of her freckled face, and a simper of gold in her absence. Perhaps the war was all a dream. She’d awake in her bed, murmuring of the story her conscious had trudged her soul through. Her soul that wouldn’t be dilated red with the blood of her men. Yet, imagining this itself was a fantasy and was sanity laying in madness.

She’d continuing traipsing her normal patrol with a burdensome soul, a ledger stark red with blood that wasn’t as easy to scour away like blood upon skin. A mental imprint of the young men that cursed her existence from whatever beyond existed. Ones that could pluck her through a ripple of reality, have her on scarred knees imploring for forgiveness beneath the twilight.

An absentminded hand clutched the golden cross stowed under the threadbare collar of her jacket; a dangling sheath of metal that she had prayed over too many times for her aching chest. God wasn’t here. This was a breeding ground of devastation and only the Devil could prosper amidst the chaotic sorrows of humanity’s war. Raindrops accumulated along its frayed edges as she stared at it from beneath rain-sodden eyelashes. She felt a fool for adorning it, a fool for providing false hope.

Y/N weakly lowered herself to a moss-encrusted log, every inch of her body felt as if it accommodated lead weights, her legs cramping with agonizing spasms. The frustrated gulp she took burned her larynx as she gasped for breaths of the humid air, crying despite her distaste for succumbing to this fear.

The ghostly, sweetly bloody fingers of soldiers that failed to be successes of her miraculous hands traced delves into her shoulder blades. They were ambassadors from a misery far away from the comprehension of the sane. The copper sourness exuded from the flickers of their souls in her peripheral, their wounds not healed in the bittersweet glory of the afterlife, rather stark against the ivory complexion of their drained bodies.

Y/N’s throat clawed with the irate exhaustion of her very being to implore for salvation from this eternal hell. Her hand clenched the front of her uniform just as if she was holding what remained of her soul from rotting into the abyss of a lamenting chest. She needed it to stop. Her piteous tears were waving flags of surrender, oval sorrows to the surviving company beyond the slick horizon — to Edward Jones.

Y/N wanted a life with him, oh, how she did. Yet, didn’t desire to be cradled in a life where she was broken and bruised, wrecked from the inside out by war. And that’s why she remained crouched against the fallen trunk, alright with letting the forsaken souls of soldiers take her away, take her away from the death and more dying men. She had nothing left. Ashes of a soul gradually vanishing with each final breath of a fellow soldier. It’s not what her company deserved. It’s not want Edward deserved.

All she could hear was the obnoxious banging of her heart as she peered up with her lungs clenching in her chest almost immediately; a soldier — Japanese — huddled alongside a bullet-ridden tree trunk, glowering at her, eyes searing holes into her soul. Even in the murky shadows, Y/N’s weepy eyes found his finger cramping on the trigger of his rifle.

Yet, she remained there, back constrained against a rooted tropical plant with her own rifle trembling in bloodied hands, a clasp weakening to relinquish the weapon to a congregating puddle. Her mouth was open, but it was an oblivion of silence, not even a single wisp of breath as the pair of them mounted within a tense stare-off. Her bloodshot eyes trickled over the defined, silver corners and edges of the enemy’s rifle — her gateway away from this crimson hell. She wanted to scream at the shadowy soldier to pull the damned trigger, to hush the sullen memories. Pull the trigger, kill the tarnished soul beneath. Dying was quicker than falling asleep. Her achy eyes eased shut, fingers cramping in fragility to renounce her weapon and surrender to a bullet.

Yet, the meager burst of life in her decayed soul desperately thrashed and penetrated the water’s surface her mind was submerged in, writhing against a lotus of misery. It begged for the life she could live, clamored how she wasn’t a bad person. Bad things occurred around her, but she wasn’t a rotten soul for it. She is a categorical victim of war, constantly drowned in tidal waves of guilt, regret, pain, anger. But, she did everything she could have to save those boys.

Y/N heels are what landed roughly first into the crumbly dirt as she anchored jellied legs upon the soiled ground, boots noisily striking rolling pebbles littered in the grass. She cast a hand out to seize up her rifle in a mirror position to the enemy sewed between the foliage. She was the best shot in the company, yet the trigger-happy soldier opposing her trembling stance was a faster one.

Her stomach lurched at the recognized poignant screech from the discharge of a rifle. A successor to shots that silenced golden laughter and made dull lively gazes. Y/N heaved herself absentmindedly backward to elude the contempt trajectory of the approaching bullet. Her boots slipped shortly on slick algae in the shallow water of a stream, trudging through soupy sand until she was struck frozen.

The blast into the gentle air had collapsed into her shoulder and the utter velocity of the meager shard of metal propelled her to the ground. Her chin plummeted through a dense mound of congealed mud, specks of nature’s grime embroidering with the blood splattered across her cheek. Distantly, her bewildered mind detected the silent atmosphere being hindered by fleeing footsteps, a harsh murmur from a foreign land. The soldier thought she was dead.

Her gaze was alight with so much perplexion and despair as she strained to ease herself onto her back, breaths aching her throat. The gaze poked out from eyes swathed with a solidfying concoction of blood and mud, yet her shivering hands trailed to her wound rather than to scrub away the blinding, burning substances.

Cramped fingers shakily reached to apply pressure to what she could access of the wound. She gasped through gritted teeth at the impressive surge of agony trembling her petite frame, her blood now painting her clammy palms.

“Fuck, fuck,” she panted incredibly fast, securing her hands to the accessible portions in a last desire for survival. She was a thoroughly trained medic, yet all that knowledge that was typically at her fingertips, was dissipating with her fading resolve to save herself.

A hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest almost immediately at the stark crimson soiling her hands and the brilliant white of pain ricocheting from her shoulder. Dying. She was on a path ending with the turbid shadow of Death. Dead, dead, dead. She was going to die — nobody would be coming. This is what she had wanted, trekked out into the gloomy forest with whispers of intention for death. Yet, was it selfish to forsake Death and proclaim the worthiness of her life? To say she couldn’t leave another soul behind in despair?

However, there was essentially nothing at her dispense to stanch the bleeding without proper assistance. I’m so sorry, Ed. She’ll see him one day. Take your time. I’ll see you on the other side, was her farewell penned to the company’s golden boy in a letter that’ll never be physically scribed. She had touched him for the last time, kissed him for the last time, smiled at him for the last time, spoke to him for the last time, loved him for the last time.

Her mind was prospering with a bitter fire of panic, her chest saturating with this tightening feeling of misery, letting it scorch her from the inside; was this how all those young men felt as they held her hand and cry for their mothers as they bleed out from shredded wounds on their bodies?

But, she never screamed once for any of the troopers that she knew were beyond the rain-sodden horizon — never once in palpable desperation for Edward. She craved death so badly just mere minutes before, and to wish away the desires only festered karma to strike. There was no eluding Death. This was all inevitable and attempting to play God by saving herself, someone not much worthy of living, was foolish.

Her GI-issued uniform was saturated with the rain water and the tickles of sweat emitting from her clammy skin, and it only was anchoring her further into the cradle of sludge. Her free hand reached for the swaying cross on her blemished collarbone, a glance from sore eyes squinting to the cloudy sky for salvation. For a wish that God saw her through a tranquil demise, a desire that he vowed to her that her family — Edward — would fare well without her.

With the smell of Death soaking through and through her skin, perhaps even grazing her rattling bones, she knew she was being anchored into a dusky conscious. The hand planted around the curve of her shoulder uneasily limpened and greeted the plunge of blood that swirled into the rain puddle beneath her. Ragged breaths careened from her glass chest and absentminded fingers poked and prodded at her dog tags suspended beneath her collar. Her mouth was dryer than a sandbox beneath the summer sun whilst her mind contemplated through races of agitation and sorrow being casted. The frustration was a burning rod weaving between the bones of her ribcage, cooking with the shared gaze between her and the sky.

A cacophony of disturbed dirt and pebbles shot through the tension like the bullet bound to the muscles of her shoulder. Her agitation shattered into petrifaction, absentmindedly maneuvering her tender body further into the ink of the shadows. Had the soldier returned to confirm his belief? The belief that she was long dead?

“Y/L/N!”

It was her relief for the patrol that had her ambling amidst the forested graveyard in the first place. Her relief being, by some divine yet sadistic logic, Captain Haldane and Lieutenant Edward Jones. The bitter realization urged her diminishing strength to wrench herself up to sit behind the tree, entirely absent from their view. However, whilst she careened herself up to a sitting stance, she screamed regardless of her resolve to suppress the mind-numbing anguish for the sake of herself and the soldiers not at the mercy of the prowling Japanese.

Y/N fastened her hand over her mouth hastily, clenching her teeth on the begrimed arch of her palm to subdue her whimpers as her wound scraped against rough mounds of bark on the trunk.

Their heels are what landed roughly first into the crumbly dirt adjacent to her shoddy hiding place, skidding a few feet in shell casings, shredded leaves, and rocky sand before a flash of camo green slashed through her spotty gaze. Edward collapsed into dampened dirt amidst the cluster of puddles, blood, and grime whilst Haldane hastened off to retrieve a corpsman. Edward’s expression was consumed with petrification as he regarded her bloodied body heaving against the concave of the trunk. There was so much blood and dirt on her baggy uniform and what skin was exposed.

“Why didn’t you fucking call for help?” He hissed harshly in the midst of recovering a clod of gauze from his jacket, hastily dressing it across her wound without forewarning.

If more strength could have been mustered, she would have nudged him aside and tended to her wounds with more experienced hands, but she was pinned to the ridges of the trunk with her entire body churning with waves of agony. Her chest was heaving and she couldn’t get any word uttered through her clenched throat, the pain superiorizing the need to talk. He rose a few meek fingers on her cheek to shift her amiss gaze to himself, her instinctively subsiding into the meager touch.

Her eyes were just as remarkably expanded as his as they steadied eye contact with one another, and it seemed incredulous now to call her the most dangerous in the regiment when she trembled like an ill child.

“I didn’t because...because....I can’t handle any of this anymore....” she babbled nearly incoherently despite their close proximity, “Just g-go....let me go. I-it’s okay....”

Edward glanced to her with stern glint in his narrowing eyes, “You stop that talk. There’s no outcome in which I leave you here to die. And don’t pity the dead ‘round us now, don’t believe they are dead because of you. None of them are. Their deaths - their blood — that’s all soaking the Jap’s hands, not yours. I see how you pull out every stop to save the lives of these men. You don’t see the wounds, you see the person around them.”

His present hand shifted to skim the rough patch of his thumb across the begrimed apple of her cheek whilst the other one exerted pressure to her wound. And she couldn’t refuse when his hands drew her head into the crook of his neck, embracing her tight to make her cracks remain together. Her leaden arms encompassed his torso whilst easing her cheek to his chest, the aloof ruckus of an approaching medic and her captain resounding behind them.

And she’d go on.

#band of brothers #hbo war #hbowar #dick winters #band of brothers imagines #david webster

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fairydust-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Enemy Yut Lung & Eiji one shot: Warning this one is not romantic or soft plantonic friends.

“ I’ve decided i’m going to be Ash Lynx’s enemy,” Yut Lung casually states.

Eiji freezes the implications of this statement slowly seeping into his brain. What the hell was this guys problem? He said he was just like Ash if that was the case why did he want to make his life harder?

At first Eiji had viewed Ash as untouchable, a powerful shonen hero like the ones from his childhood heroically fighting against evil men who wanted to control him but after that night. Eiji had seen the look of devastation on Ash’s face as he put a bullet in Shorter Wong’s brain. Even covered in the blood of his enemies ,Ash had such a shattered look about him.

The nights that followed were full of raw howls and heaving sobs as Eiji soothed Ash Lynx back to sleep. By day his gang members cowered from his wraith since the slightest thing they did seemed to set him off.

He cann’t handle anymore he’s been brutalized for far too long and as much as Eiji wished he was like those magically girl characters who made everything all right. He couldn’t just reach inside and rewire Ash’s brain or fix his heart with gentle fingers. All the love in the world could not repair the damage Golzine had inflicted.

Yut Lung had the means to tear what was left of Ash’s heart straight from his chest and crush it under his heel. Which is why Eiji said what he did next.

“ If your Ash’s enemy then i’ll be yours!” Eiji proclaimed defiantly.

Yut Lung’s usual hateful mocking expression was replaced by pure shock. Then he laughs.

“ Very well if you're my enemy” Yut Lung motions to the gun in Eiji’s hand and raises a delicate eyebrow as if to say get on with it.

Eiji raises the gun and points it at the other boy with one bullet and he can get rid of one more problem for Ash, but something about the other boy’s eyes makes him hesitate. There’s an uncomfortable familiar vibe to them that unnerves him and makes Eiji unable to pull the trigger and end things. Also killing an unarmed person, even one as vile as Yut Lung still isn’t right. It goes against everything he’s been taught.

“ Disgraceful, how can you be my greatest enemy if you cann’t even pull the trigger?” Yut Lung looks at him as if he’s a disappointing liar who cheated him.

Eiji’s plan was too escape and run directly to save Ash. he was just about to get back to that plan. When the younger boy who had looked pissed when he saw Eiji in the elevator shows up and tackles Eiji to the ground.

“ You ok?” he asks Yut Lung softly

“ I’m fine!” Yut Lung brushing the boy's concern away. “ Just get him back to his room” he snapped with irritation…

Eiji threw himself upon Yut Lung Lee who moved swiftly out of the way, he fell and smacked his head on the door.

“ Is this your way of persuading me you’ll be a good enemy or a court jester?” Yut Lung said with some amusement.

“ How did you know?” Eiji asked rubbing his head

“ I’m not the person to fall for the same trick twice” Yut Lung said …

Eiji shoves his dinner into the face of Yut Lungs servant and hurls the plate at him, the other boy dodges.

“ I’ll have another plate brought up for you, if you toss this one you can go to bed hungry” The younger boy warns with a pleasant smile…

“ How the hell did he get a lighter!” Yut Lung exclaimed furiously using expensive cloth to douse the flames to save his precious plants as the guards restrained a smirking Eiji...

“ Fine you can be my enemy, I certainly hate you enough” Yut Lung spat.

“ Great now please free me so i can save Ash” Eiji said.

“ No, though you have managed to irritate me, your technique is sloppy and unrefined. If you're going to be my enemy, you're going to become worthy of that title” Yut Lung makes a motion to his mafia goons who drag and blindfold Eiji when they take it off he sees he’s in an underground room.

“ Lets start with your breathing” Yut Lung states.

“ breathing?” Eiji demands

“ Its loud i can hear you coming, we need to change that” Yut Lung says simply “ But i need to” the mafia heir cuts him off “ I’ll keep an eye on the Ash situation” …

“ What? you have a shooting range on your estate?” Eiji exclaims looking at the fancy targets one of Yut Lung’s guys hands the boy a gun.

“ You should see the interrogation room in the basement” Yut Lung says sardonically and lines up his weapon and takes aim bam bam bam! Three straight shots in a row.

“ I cann’t tell if your fucking with me” Eiji said with a scowl.

“ Here” Yut Lung hands him a gun. Eiji frowns, forgive me Ash but i’m doing this to save you. He takes a few shots.

“ Disappointing” Yut Lung states.

“ What are you talking about i got half of them” Eiji argues.

“ Half isn’t good enough in a shoot out with me and my men” Yut Lung shot back. “ Lets talk about your shooting stance”

“ Ash showed me this!” Eiji argues.

“ What works for one person doesn’t work for everyone” Yut Lung informed him. “ Lets try some different stances and see if we can find one, That works better for you”

Eiji placed his arms and legs where Yut lung told him “ This is weaver stance its a boxer type, it might work better. You have a wider frame, Ash is more slender in build.”

It was surreal Eiji thought being taught by the one person he couldn’t stand who actually had some good advice. He found the second time he actually hit more of his targets. Yut Lung made him practice until almost nightfall...

Eiji found his days of being a captive were now loaded with lessons every day he was led blindfolded to some obscure location of the house. Where Yut Lung would instruct him on one topic or another...

“ Again” Yut Lung commands as Eiji pulls yet another acupuncture needle from his body. He was just glad they were clean; he still had awful memories of suddenly blacking out from whatever horrible substance the mafia heir put in those things.

Though he could do without Yut Lungs constant criticisms which made him want to curl in a corner and cry and took him back to his school days of struggling to balance athletics and still maintain perfect scores on every test. Eiji told himself at least the mafia heir wasn’t focused on Ash. Besides it was the same pressures he grew up with and this time he was determined not to crack…

A month later and Eiji was sitting at the dining room table apparently after no instances for a couple of weeks and Yut Lung had loosened his restrictions. Though he was still being lead to and tied to the table with one hand.

The boy who recaptured him who Eiji learned was called Sing Soo Ling was loading up and gobbling down what appeared to be multiple dishes.

“ You can at least use a napkin. I'm sure the Wong’s didn’t raise you to be a pig” Yut Lung remarks.

Sing responds by opening his mouth and giving the other boy a view of his chewed food. Yut Lung makes a soft sound of disgust as he delicately dabbles at his mouth. He turns to Eiji “ You made some slight improvements” he remarks. Coming from Yut Lung, it's almost a complement.

“ Are you seriously training this guy to be your enemy?” Sing demands incredulously

“ Honestly he wasn’t even my first choice” Yut Lung responds.

“ You ritch types are weird” the fourteen year old said.

“ i don’t go around with something called dragon fang” Yut Lung retorted.

“ Maybe if you did, you’d get taken hostage less!” Sing responded.

“ He got the jump on me. How is that my fault?” Yut Lung exclaims

Eiji watches incredulously as the two of them get into a pointless argument going back and forth there’s no heat to it really, rather a sense of comfort. Its the kind of argument he might have with his younger sister. Its just odd seeing this casual behavior from Yut Lung Lee of all people.

“ So Eiji has this guy dangled you over a snake pit yet?” Sing asks cheerfully

“ Where did you hear something so ridiculous?” Yut Lung complains

“ Servant gossip” Sing replies.

“ They’ve gotten chattier since my brothers illness” Yut Lung scowls.

“ Come on Yue don’t be so uptight” Sing coaxes

“ What’s the point of having a staff if they don’t know how to stay quiet” the mafia heir points out.

“ Their not spilling any secrets, just making up odd stories ” Sing pointed out.

“ If i hear one word of actual Lee businesses pass anyone's lips…” Yut Lung was interrupted by the entrance of a servant girl who whispered something in his ear.

“ What!” Yut Lung hurled one of the dishes at the wall.

“ Getting hysterical again!” Sing teased him.

“ Shut up!” Yut lung got up “ No one can seem to find Ash”...

Eiji sits in his room Yut Lung is too off kilter to continue his training. Sing gives him updates saying that the mafia heir spends a lot of time sending his people out, waiting by the phone and has even headed out a few times himself. It worries him that Yut Lung hasn’t actually given up on Ash. So he does push ups and pull ups every day to keep in shape. Eiji practices the stealth techniques Yut Lung showed him. He steals a pen so he can practice writing the codes on the walls he was taught to decipher and study. He has Sing bring him firearms so he can practice taking them apart and putting them back together.

Then Yut Lung visits him a few days later“ We found Ash” Eiji watches all of the tension from the past few days vanish from him with those three words. This guy was actually concerned for Ash?

“ You really are devoted to becoming my enemy” Yut Lung comments tracing codes on the walls with astonishment.

“ Ash?” Eiji asked

“ He escaped from one of Dino Golzine’s secret government funded organizations ” Yut Lung looks bothered like this is something he hadn’t known about. “ He’s been experimenting on criminals with Banana Fish” …

Its one more day then he’ll finally see Ash and the others again. “ Now before our final lesson there’s someone i want you to meet” Yut Lung leads Eiji into a room down the hall and opens the door. He gasps there’s a grown man with eyes like Shorter’s drooling on himself! He groans at Yut Lung who touches his cheek lightly.

“ Eiji may i introduce Hua Lung my older brother”

“ You used that horrible drug on him!” Eiji backs up.

Its wrong, even worse is the way Yut Lung pulls his living human puppet into an affectionate embrace, his eyes gleaming with hate.

“ Hua Lung was my former enemy” the younger boy pauses. “ Tomorrow i’ll be giving you back to Ash”

Eiji stares stunned at how his arms are still wrapped so tenderly around the one who he had so thoroughly destroyed.

“ Don’t look so surprised” Yut Lung says, misunderstanding the reason for his reaction.

“ I only wanted to deliver Ash to Golzine to force him to be my enemy” Yut Lung looked Eiji in the eyes over the shoulder of his zombie brother. “ Now you are my worst enemy, who will someday destroy me”...

“ Eiji!” Ash embraces him tightly as if he never wants to let him go. Eiji manages to persuade Ash, Yut Lung was just giving him a safe place to stay. The blond would go ballistic if he knew the truth.

Their just about to go then Yut Lung pulls him into a hug Eiji’s body goes entirely stiff he feels the softness of the other boys hands on his skin his voice in his ear like a lovers caress “ Goodbye for now, Eiji”

then the hands are gone his body feels chilled as he remembers exactly who else was embraced with such vindictive tenderness.

“ Eiji .what’s wrong?” Ash asked

“ Yes Big Brother Eiji are you cold?” Yut Lung asks innocently.

Eiji suddenly feels the full weight of the obligation he’s agreed to pressing down on him. How is he supposed to look at those oddly familiar eyes and manage to close them forever? But if he doesn't, well Eiji doesn’t want to think about it.

#banana fish #yut lung lee #yue lung #yut lung #yau si #why does he have so many names?#creepy yut lung #eiji okumura #bird & the snake #enemies au #Eiji is very unsettled #Yut lung has a weird relationship with hate #Eiji should of been Yue's enemy #Ash had Arthur and Fox to fight!#Though they screwed up Fox and Ash as enemy foils too!#asheiji #yut lung & eiji #from my one shot collection

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disslve · 4 years ago

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𝐲𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐰 & 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐲 ! this is nai and my cowboy ass is here to throw roxy @ u and also tell u bad jokes and cry over life is strange 2 because i’m still not over this game and I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT. just a heads up, i came up with roxy on a whim because this rp just looked so good, so if it seems like i don’t know what i’m talking about ... it’s most likely the case whoops . ( this is an excuse for me bringing shitty muses ). anyway, my fake cowboy ass loves to ramble so if you’re interested in plotting feel free to LIKE this post or hmu. i forgot to mention that i’m also a fake grandma so idk anything about discord at all and i still need to set it up which will happen in the next few days dsdnsdsdn.

ps: wanted connections/plots can be find in my wanted tag ( a link is on my blog ) and i’ll also list some below !

EDIT: discord name is nai #7158

* [ kristine froseth + cis-female + she/her ] —— have you met roxanne ‘roxy’ bailey ? they are a twenty-two year old junior currently studying romance languages and literatures. they live on decker house and word around campus is that this scorpio is compassionate + dedicated, as well as impatient + dishonest. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive.

basics.

full name: roxanne elise bailey

nicknames: roxy, rox

sexual orientation: bisexual

birth place: valencia, spain ( but only lived there for five years )

history.

one could say that roxy had lived an easy life, though her parents weren’t distinguished by their social status, it didn’t mean they lacked money which was enough to support their daughter in whatever she wanted to do.

truth to be told, roxy was indeed a little spoiled, the type of kids who would try all kind of things on the expenses of their parents only to quit a new ‘hobby’ again. she could barely stick to anything. she was some twisted kind of golden child, good at many things but never had the patience to continue something for long enough to cultivate it.

skipping over the part where she almost tried everything from arts, music etc. she finally found her passion ( and even roxy herself was surprised ). figure skating. she didn’t know what drew her in, she couldn’t explain it, she tried it and it felt right. roxy always describes the feeling as finding a soulmate if she feels extra dramatic that day.

unsurprisingly, she was good at it. not that kind of good at something she was at all the other things she tried before, but that being good at which stemmed from genuine interest. maybe, that is why she managed to get so far. and it didn’t take too long that people even started to call her a figure skating prodigy.

at this point at her life, she had it all, spinning the stars on her fingertips ( or warning bad pun ahead: spinning on the ice ). until, well, her parents company was in some crisis and they had to cut corners in the meantime. also oh so ‘conveniently’ roxy lived at the arse end of nowhere and getting to her practices was now even more difficult because as mentioned before they had to save their money for more necessary things. of course, there were more things , small and big, which totally threw her off ( which i am too lazy to list rn).

roxy tried to work part time, but a) the money wasn’t enough b) she didn’t want to cut more hours of training she managed to get. AND well, here comes the turning point and roxy thinking she was oh-so-smart without realizing that it would cost her career. oh-so-smart roxy came up with the idea to , well, just steal some stuff. after all, she trained with many other wealthy peers and she could just sell off their stuff or something.

at the beginning she only did it to afford certain things she needed, but soon it somehow became an addiction. she felt in control when everyone else in her life was an utter mess. however, the more she took things away from others the more she felt comfortable, doing it more often and sometimes taking things which weren’t even worth that much. it was only a matter of time until she was caught. and as if she was lucky for too long, the person who caught her pressured her into either giving them a hefty sum of money (which she didn’t have) or to quit figure skating. she decided for the latter.

well, here she was and her sudden departure was quite a shock. but she had no choice and stated it was for personal reasons.

skipping over her being devastated over it, etc. her parents managed to save their company (whatever this company is) but at this point it was already too late and roxy was accepted into holloway.

right now she actually wants to pick up her figure skating career again, however, she’s too afraid that the blackmailer is going to expose her and also she doesn’t really know who they are (lets pretend they wrote her letters, txt messages >??) and also she’s kind of afraid due to the lack of practice she had .

personality.

okay i’ll keep this short bcs i wrote way too much for her background story. but to sum it up, roxy kind of has that perfect girl facade. considering how many friends roxy has and how social she appears to be it is odd that no one seems to be able to describe her. roxy doesn’t want people to know who she truly is, and she keeps her distance as she actively avoids conflicts that might cause her to say something wrong and exposes herself.

she shields her feelings by only presenting polished version of herself, the facade of the perfect girl: kind, hard-working and polite. someone whose life is easy and someone who looks like she doesn’t have any worries. it doesn’t mean she isn’t anything of that, but it’s not as if her kindness has no bounds or that she doesn’t need to put effort into the things she does. nevertheless, she believes that she must be perfect in order to make people like her. and while, she is pretty good at masking her emotions and smile along, as soon as someone threatens to see past the illusion, she will become defensive and won’t hesitate to lie in order to preserve it.

plots.

best friends: although roxy pretty much keeps her distance from everyone else, this person had always stood by her side. maybe they knew about roxy’s sudden wannabe-thief phase ( which she is still in ) and well tried to talk her out of it ( which obviously didn’t work ). also adding some drama here and maybe they had a big argument over it and distanced from each othr because of it. however, my angst ass doesn’t want to ruin it and they’ll rekindle their friendship. they might meet again at holloway and it’s awkward at first, maybe they even have some arguments but they’ll get over it because everyone loves a good rekindled friendship story.

annoyance: someone who gets under roxy’s skin.seeing past the perfect girl face and constantly calling her out on it. maybe they just have fun annoying her and want to see what she really likes or they just don’t like roxy , thinking that beneath all of this act, she is a really unpleasant person. perhaps, they’re even doing it with good intentions and want to show her that she doesn’t need to hide who she is. whatever it is, they’re determined to expose to the world who she really is.

pen pal ??: muse a and roxy had been friends for a very long time, yet the funny thing is that they’ve never met each other nor do they know what the other look like. all they know is their name ( or maybe they only know each other by their usernames ) and their deepest secrets. maybe they already have crossed paths many times and perhaps even know each other but don’t like each other irl. or they never had noticed the other.

blackmailer: BECAUSE WHY NOT??? the person who forced roxy to give up on figure skating. maybe, they were a rival or just didn’t like her, or any other reason. they might as well, have noticed that roxy is secretly training again and might be back at their shit again.

exes: GIVE ME THE ANGST, maybe muse a and roxy used to be in a serious relationship and as naive they were back then both of them thought this love would last forever. however, at some point roxy started to distance herself from muse a, constantly cancelling their dates because of their busy schedule. at first muse a tried to be understanding towards her, but as time passed things only got worse. roxy hating any kind of conflict just decided to ignore the problem instead about talking about it and eventually stopped replying to muse a messages. muse a never really got to know the real reason behind their break up and was left with unanswered questions. but anything works

unrequited love: (this is just me throwing in my favourite way to make myself suffer) It doesn’t matter who is the one with the the one sided love because i just want some good angst.a) muse a has a crush on roxy, yet they never told her about it. yet, muse a can’t hide it and it doesn’t take too long until roxy notices it. but instead of trying to talk to muse a about it, roxy just ignores it acting as she usually does and perhaps even give them false hope that she might like them back. maybe muse a even confessed to her and because roxy didn’t want to hurt them she told muse a she’d think about it.

b) roxy has a crush on muse a but doesn’t admit it. she doesn’t want to show their vunerable side and just plays it down. maybe they’re friends and roxy doesn’t want to lose another friend. but one day she confesses to muse a on accident, making everything awkward between them.

someone she stole from: idk i thought this would be fun ? maybe she confessed to them about it or maybe they caught her but decided to not confront her about it.

fan: someone who used to watch her perfomances on their tv and is still not over the fact that she quit.

i also have a connection page on my blog if these are too specific or none of these work

i’m too tired to come up with more dsdsdnjsd but gimme everything !! THE ANGST, FLUFF, DRAMA PLS!!!

#did i use a special font just to highlight the yeehaw ?? yes #holloway.intro #this got so long djssdsdn

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