#im a blender guy… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kortac-sweetheart · 2 months ago

Text

(rhythmically chanting and banging fists on table) ANGST TIME ANGST TIME ANGST TIME!!!!!

hurt/no comfort!! character study disguised as x reader fic lol, simon hates himself, #1 avoidant attachment king simon, double his trauma and give it back to him, sort of 141 x reader but centers mainly on simon, emotional rollercoaster, military inaccuracies as usual, very brief mentions of heavy violence/bodily harm, veeery dialogue heavy, long as fawwwwwk

i’m not gonna make a part 2, don’t really have any ideas for it

🚨🚨🚨VERY CANON DIVERGENT!!!🚨🚨🚨

reader has callsign: dandelion/dandy

thinkin abt: simon “ghost” riley and you, the latest (much beloved) recruit to TF141

you stick out like a sore thumb here, he thinks. a bright eyed, spry (and frankly naive) young thing with an eternal spring in your step. always smiling at people, and waving— saying hi and making pleasantries with whoever was passing by, you were his complete opposite in many ways.

it’s not like he didn’t trust you per se, he did— on a very basic level. the bare minimum that was required to work with you on deployments but nothing more.

you were suspicious, a variable, a wild card— there had to be something else beneath that… bright and friendly veneer of yours, he just knew it. even if kyle, and johnny and price couldn’t see it, he knew that it was there.

something lurked underneath that gilded facade of yours, and he wasn’t too keen on meddling with it like the others did.

but the longer you stayed with them, the more that you eased yourself comfortably into their lives and routine. when love and laughter trailed in your wake, flourishing in your every move; it was the opposite with simon. a molten, sickly contempt filling his chest and spreading to the tips of his fingers, as he wondered—just how long were you planning to keep up your facade?

he remembers one time, when he and the team were stuck in a derelict safe house during a snow storm waiting for exfil. he distinctly recalls how you hadn’t complained or frowned once, even when johnny whinged about the supposed frostbite in his toes or when price grumbled about the snow in his beard.

when your fellow sergeants were pacing back and forth for warmth (all the while complaining about their teeth chattering) you’d simply smiled at them from your spot on the floor, spreading your arms like a mother bird inviting her chicks under her wings.

johnny dove in immediately, nestling into your side and tucking his face into your shoulder, clinging onto you like a life raft in stormy seas. while kyle on the other hand, was a little more hesitant— but after witnessing johnny feeling so content, he soon settled down next to you too. when they were comfy you even rubbed your hands up and down their backs, humming to them.

“‘s this alright? a little better i hope?’” you had murmured quietly to them, unwilling to break the tranquil atmosphere.

“a litl? lad, yer so warm ye migh’ as well be a space heater! ahh— now this’s great…” johnny had nuzzled into you further, visibly relaxed into your soft and rhythmic touches, eyes drowsy and heavy thanks to your comforting warmth.

“alright? it’s more than alright, you’re nice and warm. and i…feel much better already..” kyle had scooted closer to you, huddling into your warmth, even pulled johnny in closer too, the both of them resting their heads on your chest.

you only laughed at that, a light and airy and unnervingly carefree thing. continuing to rub their backs as you all fell asleep together, right there on the hard floor.

in turn, he merely silently scoffed, staring at you all but cuddling with your fellow sergeants from his spot in the corner of the room.

he watched you then, like a hawk— and either you were more oblivious than he thought or ignoring him on purpose, because you didn’t pay him or his glares any mind at all. and honestly, he didn’t know which he wanted it to be.

infuriatingly, on top of that shining, positive personality of yours that never failed to see the silver lining in all things, you were incredibly diligent— a go getter, in every sense of the word. doing solo missions that no other wanted to because according to you, “someone has to do it. and if no one else wants to, then i will.”

miraculously, you always returned unscathed for the most part. even on the most dangerous of missions you’d manage to pull through one way or another, returning to base exhausted and weary but with that ever present smile on your face. you accredited it to the “good luck” hugs and cheek kisses and sweet encouragement the team (excluding simon, not him—never him) would give you before you set off.

what meaningless drivel.

you got along just fine with everyone else in the task force (more than fine actually, you got along exceptionally well with everyone except him).

constantly clinging to johnny’s arms with a huge grin when walking side by side in hallways; and never missing a single leisurely afternoon tea and gossip session with kyle. hell— he’s even seen price adore you in his own “subtle” ways. smiling and chuffing like a proud father, pulling the rim of his boonie hat over your eyes as you playfully swatted at him and laughed all the while.

it made his skin crawl.

there was something about you. something beneath your oh so charming charade that felt… familiar. it was like he was staring at his own reflection in the mirror, sent back to a time when he was young, too.

it clicked one day. you were the spitting image of him when he first joined and was still starry-eyed. when he thought that he would do good in the world.

you were exactly like him before reality set in and he realized there was no honor, no glory, no valor to be found on the battlefield.

you reminded him of when he thought he could be someone, and do something to change the world. when he thought that he could escape his father’s enduring stain upon his life.

when he thought that he could be more than the good for nothing son of a deadbeat father.

but it was during another stay in a safe house a few months later that he finally glimpsed underneath that carefully crafted mask of yours.

it wasn’t out of the ordinary that sleep eluded him, he reckons he gets about three or four hours a night if he’s lucky. but he just couldn’t sleep at all tonight. didn’t know why, didn’t bother to question it either, so he opted to sit outside, alone, and stare at the stars until sunrise.

well, that was the plan until you stumbled outside too. frankly, it was a marvel you didn’t wake anyone else up with the way you tripped over your own feet in the dark, the motion activated porch light providing nearly none at all. he only spared you a quick glance, before lighting up a cig and returning his gaze to the twinkling stars again.

you just barely managed to haphazardly sit down on the other end of the bench without bumping into anything else on the way, slumping over tiredly with your head in your arms.

it was weird, seeing you this way.

contrary to popular belief, simon wasn’t entirely heartless, surprisingly enough. so he silently slid down an opened water bottle and a granola bar to you, however, you didn’t notice. instead you were… crying, by the looks of it. barely audible sobs, shaking shoulders, trembling like a plastic bag caught in an updraft.

it felt like he was sighing a whole lot more since he met you.

“whot? whot is i’ sergeant? spit i’ out already ‘fore i leave.” he barked at you, tone more fitting for commands than verbal comfort.

you hardly spared him a glance, rather opting to blankly stare between the slats in the picnic table and into the yawning void of the dark ground instead.

“do you…(hic) do you think i should’ve been born?” muttered so quietly in the calm of night that he has to strain his ears to hear.

when it registered, he sputtered, wholly taken aback by your question.

“whot the hell are’ya talkin’ ‘bou—“ you cut him off before he could finish, still staring hunched over with your head in your hands.

“my father. (hic) he’s a terrible man, a notorious criminal to boot. everyone hates him… and for good reason, too. (sniff) beat my mother and me black and blue whenever he wanted…and he…abandoned us…a long, long time ago. and i just— why was i born? why am i here? trying to outdo all the bad he’s doing in the world, it’s pointless. but i keep trying. and for what?”

you blubbered, hands grasping wildly at your hair as you sank further into your despair.

in that moment it’s like his neurological pathways completely rewired themselves, because he sees it now, as clear as day.

you’re the same sad bloke like he is.

it’s fucked up in a way, he supposes. even though you’re going through it right now, he finds macabre comfort in knowing he’s not alone. problem is, he has trouble in spilling his guts, unlike you it seems.

it takes a moment for ghost to reorient himself to answer you, a brief pause in the air when only the wind and the chirping of crickets could be heard.

ghost starts, “if yer lookin’ fer some trite ole’ motivationa’ bollocks ‘bout findin’ yer purpose ‘n life from me, well…yer not gonna get any. but, i know“ and then he stops.

ghost has to think long and hard about his next words. your bond is still too delicate, too fragile, too fresh, for him to spill everything, he thinks— and so he opts for something a little more guarded, safer.

“i know… what ya been through sarge twasn’ easy… been… been through a lit’l somethin’ like it myself in fact. but ya’were born fer a reason, whether i’s clear to ya’r not. s’up to ya to find yer way’n life. s’only up for ya t’ decide. not yer father, er yer mum, er me, er anyone else but ya.”

there’s a brief stillness that lingers in the air again, and ghost briefly contemplates if he fucked up saying that and should back track instead. he tries to steal a glance from where you’re sitting on the far end of the bench but it’s still too dark to see anything clearly.

you turn to look at him, or his general direction rather—fingers picking repeatedly at your nails.

“really? but he—“ he cuts you off right there.

“are ya yer father?”

you don’t hesitate in answering him this time.

“no.”

“thas’ right, yer ya own person ‘member? whotever he’s doin’, he’s doin’ it—not ya. yer not an extension of’im, yer you. ‘nd thas’ all tha’ ma’ers. ‘nd o’ story.”

“…i— i still feel like i have to make up for it somehow…” you can’t see it, but simon quirks a brow at you over that.

“were ya tha one to commit those crimes? no? then ya dun hafta answer to ‘em, simple as. quit guiltin’ yerself over things ya didn’ do, sergeant.”

he knows it’s not that simple, nothing ever is, but is there really anything else to be done about it? the best you can do is ignore what you can’t change and focus on what you can.

there’s a pause that lingers in the air again. as you’re mulling over his words and letting them sink in, and simon is more than happy to shut up for a moment. he doesn’t think he’s talked that much in a single sitting with anyone else besides johnny in a good while. you bring out odd behavior in him, he thinks— odd but not necessarily unwelcome ones.

his ears perk up when you speak again and he can hear the smile in your tone. “you’re surprisingly alright at comforting people when you want to, lieutenant.”

while the remnants of your nightmares aren’t all gone, it’s a little easier to breathe now that you aren’t carrying the burden all alone. his words, however crude still ring objectively true— like a lighthouse, he and his words illuminate a path through the tempest of your thoughts.

you don’t stare at the ground anymore, turning your attention instead to the gently glittering stars above.

ghost scoffs again, but it’s unlike his usual ones. there’s mirth twinged in it this time as he watches you stargaze from his peripheral. joy fits you better, he thinks.

he finds that he doesn’t mind the quiet on-and-off conversation that easily flows between you. chatting about all sorts of things until the sun crests over the horizon and it’s back to another day of hard work.

the ice between you two melts just the tiniest bit then.

it got easier and easier for simon to stomach you being so buddy-buddy with the rest of the task force after that. however, he didn’t notice just how much more lax he was around you until johnny pointed it out one day.

johnny had felt that there was something unusual about simon during the whole week. there was a strange sort of… look in his eyes, completely different from his indifferent glances at you from before. but he didn’t know what exactly; the word frustratingly prancing on the tip of his tongue. until he observed a little closer, a bit longer one time during break.

fondness.

it was fondness reflected in his eyes… for you. was he just seeing things? did someone knock him over the head with a cast iron pan or something? but even after rubbing his eyes, it still lingered with ghost’s gaze directed at you.

well, at least he knows ghost likes you now, too.

now wasn’t the time to bring it up though, and he all but forgot about it until your weekly movie night rolled around. and the scene on screen had a close up shot of the lead leveling a nasty glare directed at the guy he was fighting.

“wai’!” johnny snapped his fingers. “tha’ reminds me! ah noticed ye hadn’t glared at the lad once this week Lt.! somethin’ happen ‘tween yew two?” johnny half joked from his place besides you on the couch in the rec-room, you were long asleep and snoring at that point, movie paused in the background.

and although kyle and price didn’t chime in verbally, they also glanced at him curiously, two sets of eyes flicking between the blanket burrito you were rolled in and where he sat, relaxed in the recliner.

he just snorted and shook his head in response, hand leisurely swirling his glass of whiskey.

“s’nothin’.” kyle and price shrugged and left it at that, returning their attention to the resumed movie. but johnny could see, could see very clearly ghost glancing at your sleeping face when he thought no one else was looking. with that look of fondness once again returning to his gaze. ah well, if he won’t admit it aloud then maybe it’s best to leave it be.

ghost thinks he was ultimately the naive one between the two of you. you do and make him feel all sorts of strange things after all. made him soft and weak for you, unknowingly wrapped him around your finger, just like everyone else in the task force.

because when he looks at you snoozing happily between kyle and johnny, when you’re stubbornly staying up late to help price with paperwork, when you join him for coffee in the rec room and ask him to show you around manchester on holiday, a part of him foolishly thinks this might last forever.

but good times never last.

it was stupid, so incredibly stupid what you were planning to do. going out for this mission—solo? it was a suicide mission! you were walking straight into a death sentence without even thinking twice about it! while simon wasn’t a man that believed in superstition, there was a horrible sinking feeling plaguing him, like molten lead weighing in the pit of his stomach regarding your mission.

as soon as he heard you were being deployed deep into enemy territory for hostage rescue alone he stormed off angrily to find you.

the door to the rec-room slammed open, door handle banging loudly against the wall as simon stomped over to you shaking with rage and… fear.

“jus’ whot tha hell do ya think yer doin’ sergeant?!” you straightened up immediately, swiftly turning to face him, hands still clutching your bag.

“i’m preparing to be deployed solo later this week, lieutenant.” your voice and hands fought to remain steady against his infuriated yelling. eyes staring squarely at his regardless of how badly you wanted to look away.

“i know tha’! but alone?! ya can’wait ‘till we’re all ready to deploy with ya?! yer walking ‘ead first ‘to a suicide mission, y’idiot!” he hated it, hated that stalwart look of steely determination on your face. hated how eerily similar it was to his, when he was younger.

“i can’t, sir. those hostages need help as soon as possible, you and captain price are already occupied with paperwork, kyle is injured and johnny is set to deploy solo soon as well. by the time we’re all ready it’ll be too late.” curse you and your stubborn tenacity. he simply doesn’t get it. why? why couldn’t you see that it’d be your last if you went?

“‘nd whotabout’ya huh? yer gonna die if ya go alone no doubt, ‘nd what happens to yer plans for the future then huh?! ya can’t see them if ye’aren-“ you leveled him a iron willed look.

“and what about theirs’ lieutenant? what about their hopes and dreams for the future? i would gladly give up mine in exchange for theirs. i know what i signed up for when i joined, and i’m not afraid of it.”

you’re a fool, he thinks, his throat constricts and palms grow clammy with anxiety, frustration festering within. you remind him too much of what he wanted to be when he first joined.

resolved, staunch, dedicated, the prim and proper picture of what a soldier should be.

“ya—“ he tries to argue against it once more, but with that resolute look gleaming in your eyes it’s simply futile.

you’ve already made your choice.

“you said that i was the only one who could find my way, my own meaning in life. not my mother or my father, not even you, lieutenant. and i know that this is what my life is meant for.”

he grits his teeth, hands balling into fists before he tosses them up in the air, still simmering in anger.

“bloody hell— fine! fine then, go‘nd throw away yer worthless life ‘nd see ‘f i care! god— ya make me bloody sick sometimes, who’re ya even tryn’ to’mpress huh?! fuckin’ ‘ell— why did i even bothe’ wit’ you anyway?…”

ghost only spares you a single glance over his shoulder before shaking his head and storming off once more, muttering a fleeting, “…right fuckin’ pillock you’re.” underneath his breath.

in his haste to leave he entirely missed the way your eyes unwittingly grew glassy, salty tears streaking down your cheeks. missed the way you frustratedly rubbed them away with your sleeves, missed as you tiredly heaved a deep sigh and kept packing your bag with shaky hands—more than determined to prove him wrong.

for the whole week leading up to your deployment, it was like time rewound itself to when you first met ghost. he was cold, closed off, even more so than before— it’s as if he didn’t even know who you were at all.

and it hurt. god— of course it hurt. the only man you were ever able to confide your struggles in, ignoring you, and sometimes even glaring at you as if you were a threat to him—to the team. it’s as if you meant nothing to him.

all those times you kept him company through sleepless nights into early mornings, the times you relaxed together in the rec-room, laughs you shared pre deployment, all the times you watched his six out on field, when you trained together, when you almost died together. all of it, it meant nothing to him.

a delicate, mutually built bond, reduced to ash on the wind in a single night.

no matter how many times price or kyle or even johnny, would tell him to lighten up, he never once did. that scowl remaining permanently etched on his face whenever he looked at you.

and it wasn’t like you were entirely foolish. you knew that this mission was dangerous, reckless—deadly. but at the end of the day, it had to be done. even if there was only a one in one billion chance that you’d make it out alive, you’d still take it.

to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, to make it out by the skin of your teeth, to brave the fiercest of lions’ dens, as long as there was a chance— no matter how minuscule, you’d take it.

because you knew intimately well what it was like.

to live without hope, because that sickening gut wrenching, mind numbing realization that help will never arrive is all too familiar. you remember far, far too well what it was like to claw yourself out of hell— when there was no one to help you, no one but yourself.

it’s a miracle that you’re even alive today, and in turn you’ll become a miracle for others. for those without hope, you’ll reach out to rescue them— like you wished someone had done for you all those years ago.

no one should ever go through that again. not if you can help it.

nothing is ever guaranteed in life. not tomorrow, not the next minute, nor even the next second. but in turn, your death during this mission is not guaranteed either. and that sliver of hope is all the reason you need to try.

and as much as simon dreads it, tries to run from it, tries to will it away—the inevitable date of your (death sentence) deployment marches along regardless of his feelings.

he can hear you clearly, in the hallway outside of his barracks. hear you gather up your things and do a once over like you usually do. can hear your footsteps tentatively pad over to his door, and can sense the hesitance emanating from you before you even knock.

he doesn’t blame you. he’s been a real piece of shit to you this week, ignoring you and shooting down all your attempts at talking or reconciliation with a sharp glare. even sometimes straight up leaving when you try to sit next to him, regardless of how petty it was.

he’s more than surprised that you actually bothered to knock and try to see him one last time before you left.

you knocked on his door; once…twice…thrice…

nothing.

you’re half tempted to knock again, but you give up in the end. it doesn’t matter. he won’t open the door anyway. so you bid him farewell without seeing him, a quiet “i’ll be seeing you Lt.” slipping past your lips as you turn to leave.

silence is the only thing that responds to you. you can feel a lump forming in the back of your throat, and tears stinging your eyes, hands trembling as you try and wipe away the cascade of tears.

even if you’re unwavering in your conviction, that doesn’t mean you aren’t human like anyone else. even more fresh tears well in your eyes at the thought of simon’s recent attitude towards you, and they’re the first thing johnny notices when you come to visit him and kyle in med-bay.

when you knock on the door, he eagerly opens it with a big smile on his face— it falters however, when he notices that you’re wobbly lipped, teary eyed and crestfallen.

“dandy! s’nice ta see ya— och was’ta matter, lad?” a frown mars his sunny smile as he tenderly wipes away your tears with his knuckles as best he can.

“ya got cold feet fer yer mission? ye ken still back out now ‘f ye wannae.” you shake your head at that, still shaking with sorrow as he wraps an arm around your waist and ushers you inside the room.

“com‘nd take a seat, laddie, ah’m sure kyle wans’ ta see ye too.” and he does, perking up immediately with a grin before he notices the sorry state you’re in.

a concerned look graces kyle’s features when he sees you, he doesn’t like it when you’re gloomy and down—thinks it’s unbefitting for sunshine incarnate like you.

“dandy? what’s wrong mate? something happen?” he glances back and forth between you and johnny, trying to communicate with him wordlessly. all johnny can do at the moment is simply shake his head and rest a steadying hand on your shoulder.

you can’t bear to look either of them in the eye, instead choosing to stare at the tiled linoleum floors near kyle’s bed. it’s a few painful, suffocatingly silent seconds until you tighten your grip on your fatigues and murmur, “it’s— it’s ghost… again. he didn’t want to see me off. it’s…silly, didn’t know what i was expecting. i should’ve seen it coming…” more tears splatter onto the back of your gloves as you think about it, and the both of them mentally panic.

johnny instantly moves to comfort you, wrapping his arms around your neck from behind and nuzzling his face into yours— wiping your glistening tears away and cooing at you soothingly to distract from your woes.

kyle, on the other hand, takes the initiative to call price. and it’s only a few seconds later that his footsteps echo through the halls and he’s swiftly entering the room with a worried look on his face.

in an instant you find yourself lifted up and out of your chair by your captain, being tenderly settled down right next to kyle on his infirmary bed. kyle moves to cradle your face into his neck, leaning you onto his uninjured side as his good arm holds you close. price flanks your other side, wrapping his arm around yours’ and kyle’s shoulders, pressing a firm, reassuring kiss to your temple. and johnny squeezes in between the three of you, wrapping his arm (carefully) around kyle and price’s, hugging tightly.

their efforts, though noble and heartfelt, do little to hinder the deluge of your tears. they can still feel you shaking and shivering in their embrace and it stings them too, chest laden with hurt for you.

price sighs, standing tall and cradling your head gently against his chest— hand coming up to patiently and firmly rub your shoulder. you bury your face into his shirt, dampening it with tears, but he doesn’t mind— your captain never does.

he keeps his voice low, soft as he speaks to you, “come now lad, s’this ‘bout simon again? oh— shh shh shh shh, s’alright. s’alright to cry dandy. i’ll giv’im a firm talkin’ to for ya, i promise. ‘nd when ya get back we’ll sit’im down to talk it out ‘nd everything’ll be right as rain again…promise ya, we’ll be ok.”

his words briefly quell your waterworks as you peer up meekly at him, croaking out a quiet, “really?…”

price nods reassuringly, his hand moving from your shoulder to your hair, stroking it slowly in steady, kind motions.

“o’ course. ya know i’d do anythin’ fer ya. ‘nd i keep my promises too. so don’ worry ‘bout simon fer now, lad.”

his assurances are enough to dry your tears for now, a melancholic smile crossing your face as you pat away the last remnants of your sorrow. it’s time to get going it seems.

you sigh, eyes closed as you try to recenter yourself. after a few seconds you open them again, met with the sight of three of them still slightly worried. but you stare and smile at them adoringly, because what would you ever do without them?

“thanks guys. i really mean it, you’re too kind to me. but i fear i have to get going soon.” it’s enough to melt their lingering concern and get them moving again, like clockwork to give you farewell good luck hugs and kisses.

price is first of course, giving you encouraging, firm kisses along your cheeks, forehead and chin. his mutton chops tickling you and making you giggle in the exact way that melts his heart every time. when he’s done, he pulls you into a near bone crushing bear hug that you’ll feel for days after.

“good luck lad, yer gonna do great out there.” he beams, ruffling your hair once more.

then it’s kyle’s turn, and you lean down closer to make it easier for him to press fleeing butterfly kisses all over your face, paying extra special attention to your once teary eyelids, and ending it with a big and loving kiss on your cheek. he can’t hug you as he’d usually like unfortunately, with the broken arm and all but one armed hugs will suffice. you scoot closer to him, half kneeling on the bed as you hug him close, smiling at the little pats on the back he gives to comfort you.

“be safe out there, can’t wait until you’re back. i’ll have lots to tell you, dandy.” he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ears and smiling.

and last but certainly not least, it was johnny’s turn. by the time you turn around to face him, he’s already leaned in up close and personal— nose essentially brushing against yours as price fights to conceal his laugh with a cough and kyle nearly chokes on his own. you stare at him, bewildered, for a second before he breaks, giggling wildly as his hands cup the back of your neck to pull you even closer. he leaves countless wet and sloppy kisses on your cheeks, even going so far as to bite them too— much to your and price’s amusement.

by the time johnny’s done with his kisses and is instead trying to grind your bones into dust with the immense pressure of his hugs, your cheeks are red as an apple and hurting from smiling so much.

(what’s up with johns and having such tight hugs, you idly wonder…)

“go’nd kick some ass laddie! but ye make sure ye come back in one piece aye? we did’n finish our movie yet!” he grins as he gives you an encouraging slap on the back.

but you can’t leave without returning the favor yet, your own smile’s bright and picturesque as you give each of them a kiss on each cheek, pulling them in for a tight group hug.

“don’t worry! i’ll be back before you know it, nothing’ll keep me away from you guys, ever, i promise. i love you all, very very much. take care good care of yourselves, ‘specially you kyle! see you all soon!” you bounded out the door, stopping briefly to give them one last smile and enthusiastic wave goodbye before disappearing down the hall.

you turned the opposite way, heading towards the landing pad for deployment— its path leading you in front of ghost’s door again. your hurried footsteps steadily slowed to a standstill in front of it, silently staring at it for a few beats as if it’d magically open for you, but it didn’t. of course.

ghost could hear your footsteps soon pitter-patter away from his door and down the hall.

he doesn’t make an effort to move from his bed. doesn’t care to turn on the light in the pitch blackness of his room. but instead he rolls over, facing away from the door. away from where you were.

he’s just like his father, he thinks.

a spineless coward.

it’s pitiful, being self-aware enough to know that his behavior was terrible, but not enough to fix anything about it. a lot of things still remain unclear to him, but he does know one thing.

and that it’s truly is no wonder why you’re so beloved.

even after he’s gone and burnt the bridge between you two, you still reached out one last time before you left.

you still wanted to reconcile with him, still wanted to laugh with him, still wanted to even see him this whole week, when all he has ever done for you, was run away. he’s hurt you, discarded you, pushed you away for his own sake, and yet still— you still tried with him.

he was wrong about you, he realizes. you’re nothing like how he was all those years ago.

you’re better than him.

you’ve kept your spark, kept feeding the fire inside of you long since his own had went out. you didn’t allow the cruelty of this line of work to erase your humanity, your compassion, your connection to others. you didn’t become the very thing you hated the most.

he really is an utterly pathetic man boy.

he wonders where he went wrong in life. what diverging path did he take to end up as he is now? was this all an inevitability? some sort of twisted hand of fate working against him? or was it a survival mechanism? what sort of evolutionary trait was this anyway?

he really is like his father, the thought endlessly repeating itself in his mind. those, like them, who never burn, never reach that full potential— they live longer. like a candle who’s wick is never set alight.

but, you.

you’re like a beautifully glimmering star, shining all too bright, far too quickly and fading away just as soon. cruel fate indeed, where the horrid and the bottom feeders live on while those noble and valiant are destined to die young.

funny how the world works that way; funny how it isn’t funny at all.

simon’s not a man that regrets many things in his life, but when he does— his laments don’t ever leave him be. clinging onto him like smoke, trailing behind him in his every action and thought— even following him into what little restless sleep he gets.

it eats at him— not seeing your face one last time before you left.

you vanished so swiftly from his life that suddenly, reminders of you crop up everywhere instead. one day you were there, and the next you weren’t.

every time he passes by the rec-room during three o’clock and sees kyle sipping tea, all by his lonesome. the only thing he can think about is how just a few days ago you were both laughing, eagerly regaling kyle with whatever latest gossip you had in store. how you’d always brew kyle a cup first, exactly the way he likes it before making your own. how you’d sit, shoulder to shoulder with him as you talked and talked, sliding him a biscuit or two in case he was hungry. he remembers how brightly you smiled at kyle, and him at you.

and it’s not an uncommon sight to see the light from price’s office seep out from under his door, even well into the night. he’s always been a bit of an insomniac, just like simon himself. he can hear price grumbling about the mountain of paperwork he’s stuck under— but he can’t bring himself to laugh. instead he lingers just beyond the light’s reach, leaning against the wall as he recalls how you were always so eager to help the captain out.

remembers how both you and price were so stubborn about it. how price would argue “‘s not healthy to stay up so late.” and you’d shoot back just as quickly, “neither is it for you, captain.” the two of you got into a staring contest before price finally sighed, conceding to your help.

and what a difference did that make. no longer did the lamp on his desk shine throughout the whole night, it was on for a mere fraction of the time. now when he passed by, he didn’t even hear price mutter complaints about the paperwork when you helped out, instead there was soft laughter and silly remarks here and there. and that whiskey on the rocks price would occasionally have? it was gone, replaced instead with a nice steaming cup of chamomile. loose leafed only and courtesy of you, of course, “only the best for captain” you had remarked.

while kyle and price were doing somewhat ok in your absence (kyle more so than price, but just barely), besides simon, johnny was by far handling it the worst.

any time that you weren’t spending around another member of the task force, you were with johnny. like two peas in a pod, you and him were practically inseparable.

frankly, anywhere that johnny was, was a stark reminder that you were gone. if not for your figure missing from besides him, then it would be the fact that johnny moped and lamented about it— both aloud and silently.

johnny was outside? simon recalls how you would always sit outside with johnny when the base had nice weather, watching him sketch the scenery. sometimes you’d draw too— always too embarrassed to show him your art (mediocre, in comparison to his you’d said.) but johnny was nothing but encouraging. or you’d lean against his shoulder and ramble on and on about all the beautiful places and sights you’ve seen, and all that you’re hoping to.

he’s in the rec-room? simon remembers how johnny would gently tug you by your hand to the couch, and lay flat as a plank on it— pulling you to lay down flat on him too. there, you’d lie on him, your cheek squished against his chest and you watched videos together. sometimes you fell asleep on him, and he’d have no choice but to drift off as well, hand resting on the small of your back to keep you steady.

in the mess? you were usually sat between your fellow sergeants, more likely than not complaining about the food. rambling on and on to the both of them about how your cuisine is leagues better and you’d be more than happy to cook for the team. he’d also see price’s ears perk up at that comment, as much as he tried to play nonchalant.

anywhere and everywhere around base he’d see and hear remnants of you. even from those outside of the task force, they’d make small comments about missing you and your warm greetings. that sunny disposition that could make even the most miserable bastard smile just a bit.

even in his own barracks, he’d see traces of you lingering within. in only mere moments of opening the door he’s face-to-face with a gift that you got him a little while ago sitting on his dresser, still looking as pristine as the day he received it. it’s a little brown monkey plush with a charming face, dressed in a union jack themed shirt and holding a banana.

he shut the door, padding over to the dresser where it sat, smiling at him. gripping it tenderly with two hands as he sat on his bed, and looked over the little thing. there was a tag he hadn’t noticed before, inside it read “reminded me of you Lt! :) - dandy” with a small yellow flower scrawled right next to your call sign.

ah, yes. he remembers.

he knew you were up to some sort of mischief, if that “up to no good” smirk on your face and the way you eagerly bounded up to him had anything to say about it. he didn’t say anything at first, only giving you an expectant stare from above his crossed arms as you smiled at him.

“hey Lt! mind closing your eyes and holding out a hand for me? i’ve got something for ya!” he was half tempted to say no. for all he knows you could’ve gotten him an anthrax laced letter or a live centipede for that matter, but he tamps down the urge to say it aloud.

“why?” he quirks a brow at you, tilting his head a bit at the slight pout on your face.

“please? just this once?” curse your puppy dog eyes, but fine. just this once. he concedes with a sigh, closing his eyes and gingerly opening a palm to you.

there’s something placed in it. it’s… soft. not too heavy, but with a nice weight to it.

“you can open now!” even without seeing your face, he could still hear the eagerness in your voice. opening his eyes, he’s met with the sight of a monkey plush wearing a union jack shirt and holding a banana sitting in his palm.

“hell’s this? ‘nd where’d ya get it anyway?” he hates to admit it but it’s…kind of cute, he supposes.

“isn’t it cute? i was showing my friend around and chanced upon him in a gift shop! he reminded me of you so i got him for ya!” you beamed at him, smiling as you watched him half heartedly examine it, pulling at the monkey’s poor ears and banana.

“…” you can’t really tell what he’s thinking with that mask on… and honestly you’re slightly concerned you may have inadvertently offended him.

“do you… do you not like it Lt? i could give it to someone el—“ he hugged the monkey close to his chest, possessiveness dripping from his actions.

“y’know i’s rude ta ask fer a gift back, roight sergeant? ‘nd i never said i didn’ like ‘im either… so…thank you fer this, dandelion.”

you breathed out a sigh of relief, grinning up so brightly at him he nearly had to squint.

“you’re welcome lieutenant! glad you like him! i’ve got to go now, i’ll see you later!” with that you gave him a wave goodbye before hopping off again, down the hall and out of sight— leaving him alone with his new plush friend. and after another once over…yeah, it’s really cute, he thinks.

but it sits on his bed now, beady eyes staring into him as if he’s personally wronged it. maybe he did, certainly after what he did to you.

a wave of sentimentality and melancholy washes over him, a deep, oppressive ache that lingers in his chest and spreads to his fingers and claws the back of his throat when he thinks about you. he gets up off the bed and returns to the dresser, eye catching on another gift you got him.

it wasn’t the flashiest thing ever—that was how he liked it, but it was nice for what it was; high quality and hand crafted, a keepsake from better days long past.

it was from when you asked him to join you on holiday, a few months ago. for whatever reason unknown to even himself, he agreed. maybe it was because he sure didn’t have anyone waiting for him in his dingy flat back in manchester anyway.

he didn’t expect too much out of it but it was… nice. a little familiar but different all the same, sure was a lot warmer than the UK that was certain.

it was pleasant, a quaint and quiet little town, not so different from anywhere else really. though, he really did like the fact that it was seaside, he always thought there was something special about the beach.

on the last day of holiday, right before sunset you wanted to show him something, a special place you had found you said.

“c’mon Lt! the view’s gorgeous, you can’t miss it for the world. i promise you’ll love it!” you were leading, more like dragging him by the hand through the small woods that encompassed the town. the trail seemed like an unmanaged one, one that was only ever treaded on once or twice by you, really.

“y’sure yer not leadin’ me to m’ death?” he quipped, chuckling to himself when he heard you huff.

“ha ha, very funny. feeling cheeky today are we?” heh, he’s rubbing off a little on you it seems. he didn’t speak further after that, allowing you to lead him deeper and deeper— higher and higher into the woods. always subconsciously tightening his grip on your hand when you happened to trip or stumble a bit— even catching you when you almost fell over once, albeit with an unimpressed stare on his face that you giggled at. but when your hand had left his in order to part through the leaves, the view left behind had him stunned.

the two of you were up high, on a little cliff that overlooked the town that had a bird’s eye view of the beach along with the horizon. not to mention it was sunset by that point, the sun turned a beautiful, molten blazing orange. and various colors streaked along the sky, purples and pinks, oranges and reds all reflecting off of the water’s surface. it looked more akin to a painting than real life.

“isn’t it stunning? i found this little spot on my own when i explored around for a bit, i wanted to share it with you.” you turned to gauge his reaction, your face aglow in the light of the setting sun— bathed in lovely yellows and oranges you truly looked like your call sign then.

i wanted to share it with you.

you wanted to share this with him?

he doesn’t know why but there’s a strange lump in his throat and ache in his chest when he replays it in his head. it’s different from what he’s used to, this feeling doesn’t come from pain. it feels like his heart sinks and soars at the same time when it comes to you.

you’re not staring at him expectantly, he notices. instead you’re turned to face the sunset, legs dangling off the edge, watching contently as seagulls sail by and the waves lap against the shore. oh. you’re more comfortable with him now it seems.

his voice comes back to him.

“truly is. thanks… fer sharin’ the sight wif me, dandy.” the bright smile you gave him afterwards nearly rivaled that of the sun’s.

you patted the spot next to you, inviting him closer. and when he settled down besides you, in that exact moment the realization dawned on him. that… feeling, residing in his chest around you.

it was love.

love… is a scary thing. it’s entirely foreign to a man like him. friendship, camaraderie, mutual respect, that was one thing— but love? he didn’t think the feeling had a place in his life.

but in spite of it, when he gazes at you, sitting next to him without so much as care in the world, he doesn’t think it could be anything else but love.

it’s an excruciating thing to grapple with. you deserve better than him, he thinks. you deserve someone that’s also carefree, that can provide for you, that can be openly affectionate with you—someone so unlike him.

but when he thinks about you in the arms of another, it’s like being poked with a searing hot iron. he hates it. as loathe as he is to admit… he’s… jealous. at the thought of you with another man.

he’s scared, he’s in love, and his feelings are running amuck in his heart. he feels like he’s young again, feels like there’s hope to avoid treading his father’s path— at least in this way.

there lies a fork in the road ahead. he can withstand the pain of never growing, and sees you happy with another— someone that’s not him. but you’re guaranteed to be safe from who or what he may become.

or he can go through the pain of changing, of mapping out the uncertainties of love alongside you instead. has to put in the daily effort of loving you and caring for you— so unlike what he thought he was destined to become.

the choice becomes clear to him. a promise set firmly in stone, that he will love you till the day he dies.

it’s past sunset when he speaks again.

“dandy..” he begins, and you turn to look at him. still with that content look on your face as you smile questioningly at him.

“hm?”

he worries his bottom lip, mulling over whether he should continue or not.

“do ya think i’m a bad person?” your relaxed demeanor shifts as you sit up, more alert. he can tell that you want to ask why he’s asking you, but you don’t. though you keep staring at him, thinking, analyzing— and he feels nauseous over what you might say. but in the end you don’t say much at all.

you scoot closer to him, with your shoulders barely touching instead. and after a few more seconds of silence from you, you murmur a firm “no.”

and for a little bit, there’s a stillness that settles into the air. where all he can hear is the sound of the waves crashing, the wind blowing, and the birds cooing. his fingers inch a millimeter closer to yours.

“do ya ‘member what i said before? how i…said i had a hard time when growin’ up.” you peel your eyes away from the horizon, turning your attention to him instead.

“of course i do.” gently murmured into the night.

“well, i’m…i’m ‘fraid. scared, that ‘m turnin’ into m’father. a real piece o’ work he was. never felt safe ‘round ‘im, like i was walkin’ on eggshells or somethin’ ta not set ‘im off. i don’ make ya feel the same..roight? ya’ren’t scared of me… are ya?”

he couldn’t bear to look at you, terrified of what he might find reflected back at him. disgust? loathing?

fear?

your pinky tentatively entwined itself around his. the feeling so fragile and delicate that he turned to face you, regardless of the fear clawing at him. but when he saw you, there was no such look of disdain waiting for him. only tenderness itself staring back at him.

“lieutenant— no… simon. i’m not afraid of you. and i don’t think that you’re a bad person, i think that— the way you are, is only a result of the abuse you were subjected to when growing up. you are the way that you are in order to protect yourself, in a world where the strong will trample on the weak, you had to harden yourself to survive…”

the pinky that held his soon turned into your whole hand, cradled gently in his.

“whot—whot if ‘m destined to be jus’ like ‘im? one day i wake up ‘nd i realize tha’ i’ve followed in ‘is footsteps?”

there was no judgement in your gaze, only empathy, understanding. a look so soft and gentle that it feels like it strips him down to his very core, leaves him vulnerable but he doesn’t feel the need to hide himself away. he feels… safe, when you look at him.

“do you remember what you said to me? all those months ago? ‘you are your own person. you’re not an extension of your father.’ and how it’s ‘only up to you to find meaning in life.’ or something like that? well, the same can be said for you, simon.”

god. you said his name so kindly, with so much warmth it feels like his heart is being torn from his chest. it’s hard for him to even breathe with the way you’re looking at him so affectionately.

“there’s a certain beauty in taking control of your life. everyday, you and me and everyone else—we all make conscious choices. whether they be good or bad ones. therefore, you are not beholden to destiny. you are not destined to be anything, other than that which you choose to be. you are who you make a conscious effort to be. your father made those choices. all you have to do, simon, is choose differently.”

you rested your head on his shoulder, staring up at the stars again. chuckling when you noticed his lingering almost, moonstruck gaze on you. he didn’t say anything else, for nothing needed to be said after that.

you blinked and then sighed, a small smile on your face as you looked at him again.

“i was gonna give you this on the trip back, but— i might as well just give it to you now.” you fished around in your pocket for a bit, before pulling something out.

your hand found his once more, and you carefully unfurled his fingers one by one before placing the object in his grasp. when he looked down, there was a necklace within it. a long one, with a sturdy silver chain and two charms dangling from it.

one was a shell, not unlike those found along the shore of the beach below. with a small hole drilled into the top, that a jump ring and the chain was fed through. and the other, was a small circular emerald.

the birthstone of may. his birth month.

“d’you like it? i made it myself, just for you.” you smiled up at him again, but he was lost for words. left floundering and gaping like a fish as you observed him.

liked it? he adores it. he’ll cherish it until he dies.

his free hand gave yours a tentative squeeze. soft and unsure, but you firmly squeezed right back, reassuring him.

“i love it. thank ya, fer the gift, dandy.” that was all you needed to hear, giving him one last smile before stargazing again. but he didn’t look at the stars, instead he looked at you, his brightest star. where your head laid comfortably on his shoulder, and your hand cradled in his.

the way you were delicately illuminated by the gentle moon and starlight, how wondrously you seemed to glow right next to him. he wished that he could pause time, so that this moment with you would never end.

he’s sobbing. he’s all alone in his barracks and he’s sobbing, choking on his tears, hyperventilating whilst clutching into the necklace you gave him as if it were his only life line.

he’s betrayed you. at every turn, he feels as if he’s done nothing but betray your trust that week. forgive him. oh please, forgive this pathetic excuse of a man.

maybe your forgiveness isn’t enough to save a man as wretched as him.

he can’t believe he forgot. he forgot all about the promise he made to himself and you that night, he’s gone and betrayed himself and you. how can he ever be good for you, for anyone, for himself if he keeps pushing you away?

he wishes you were here. he doesn’t know what he regrets more, the fact that he pushed you away the whole week or the fact that he let you leave alone in the first place or the fact that he not only once but twice, ignored you when you wanted to see him one last time before you left.

he regrets all of it. but it hits him like a lightning strike— if he were only to lament and mope around without doing anything about his regrets, it would be an even further disservice to you and all the kindness you’ve so graciously showed him.

he understands it now, lesson seared right into his psyche— into the very marrow of his bones. he won’t forget again, he promises. he’ll have a permanent reminder of it on his skin if need be. he won’t lose sight of what was important to him anymore, so please. please, make it back safe, make it back to him, safely. he would want nothing else in the world if he has you besides him. please come back to him and let him attempt to make it up to you, his sun, his moon, his stars.

everyday, every single day he’ll make the effort. he will, he’ll never forget his promise to be better than who he thought he could be. will never let himself fall into that trap of misery ever again. but his words don’t mean anything if you’re not here for them to be put into practice. his change for you means nothing if you aren’t here, so please. if there’s any god that’s willing to listen to a pitiful sinner such as him, please, let you come back to him alive and well. he will never ask for anything else.

there’s a plane returning from deployment later that day. and while many soldiers file out of it, there’s something unusual that at last leaves the plane. a body bag, on a stretcher. with two soldiers racing the stretcher to the base’s mortuary.

simon does not allow himself to think such heinous thoughts. does not give into that voice of despair that gnaws ever so slowly at the back of his mind.

he won’t believe it.

he didn’t believe, until he and the rest of the task force were called to the mortuary only a few hours later. bile rising to the back of his throat, burning it as he tries not to think of the worst. it can’t be you. surely. it can’t. it can’t be you. it must be someone else. you— you must’ve not returned yet, yes. that was it. it wasn’t you. it wouldn’t be you, wouldn’t and couldn’t ever be you.

but he couldn’t deny the truth of the matter anymore when it stared right back at him, plain as day. the mortician could only unzip enough to show your face.

there you were, deathly still and a stark pale, with a hole. right between your eyes.

simon doesn’t remember what happened after that. he couldn’t hear a single thing the mortician said besides snippets of it, “disemboweled” and “dismemberment” floating around vaguely in his mind.

you. someone as precious and loving as you, left lifeless and cold on that table.

god, take him too.

the only thing the team left with, was your comms recorder and your bloodied and dented dog tags. it should’ve been you. they should have left med bay, not the mortuary. they should’ve left med bay with you in tow, hopping happily and joking right besides them. you should’ve come home to them, alive.

they all but collapse onto the seats in the debrief room. an oppressive silence hanging over the four of them. because what could anyone say? what use would there to be to try and fill and silence left behind by you? what words to console, what prayer murmured that would bring you back to them? what words would ever bring their sun back?

price’s hand trembles as he reaches for your comms recorder, pressing play so they could hear your very last words.

all hostages out safely.

…

hey—! what are you?! the sound of your running filled the air, sticks breaking and rocks kicked aside as you tried to escape your new assailants.

there’s another period of silence that fills the room. until the recorder starts up again. this time it’s your pants. clearly out of breath from trying to escape from.. something.

why are you doing this?! we’re supposed to be working togeth— there’s a sickening crunch that resonates from the device.

silence! there’s a voice that they don’t recognize. male and gruff in nature.

who is your father? the unknown male voice speaks again.

bastard—the only father i acknowledge is my captain! your voice is strained, breath coming out in short, uneven pants. there’s another heavy and brutal slap that emanates from the device.

wrong answer. son. of. vladimir. makarov. the debrief room is so quiet, a pin dropped could be heard.

the silence remains until there’s a crackle and you could be heard again. your tone, although beaten and battered— did not have a single ounce of fear in it. remaining just as steady and determined as the day you first joined them.

this is sergeant dandelion. reporting KIA casualty to delta force command. delta force operator, dandelion is KIA. i repeat, delta force operator, dandelion is KIA.

…

i won’t make it out of here alive, i know that very well and i have no regrets about it. but… i just wanted to say. it was an honor to fight alongside you, my beloved team, until the very end. thank you all— for caring about a good for nothing like me…with bad blood in his veins, up to today. thank you!

…

and for my beloved lieutenant. i love you!

the audio from your comms device cut off there.

there’s a numbness that embraces simon, all of them, when your recording stops. while the others burst out into tears, price covers his face with his hat, failing to conceal his tears. while johnny all but sobs his eyes out into kyle’s shoulder, kyle himself barely managing to keep it together.

but simon does not cry. for no tears spilled, no prayers uttered, no mournful sentiments, no dirge for the dead, no keening lamentation would ever bring you back to him. instead, he stares off blankly, far ahead. as if he weren’t even there, as if he didn’t exist, as if he were his namesake.

because what life was there to live when your sun is gone? when your beloved is buried far and away from you, six feet underground when they should’ve been right beside you? when the last time you saw your beloved’s face was when you yelled at them? when you died with not a single regret, but simon has to carry the burden of many forevermore?

he doesn’t give a shit that you’re makarov’s son. you could be the biological son of the devil himself and even then, he wouldn’t care. because they don’t matter, makarov doesn’t matter when it comes to you.

nothing would ever take away from the light and love that you carried for everyone. not even death itself will dim your glow, he will make sure of it.

a part of simon dies that day. a part of his heart, dead; along with the only man he’s ever loved. and the only one that ever understood him.

rest well, his beloved dandelion. may you bloom beside him once more, in another life.

46 notes · View notes