#It’s so cool to watch them be themselves because they didn’t have thousands of people watching them at the time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maitaitiu · 1 year ago

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recall

read on ao3 | 6672 words

courage need not be remembered; for it is never forgotten not even if you swallow a Stone that tears your memories, your personality, your very soul from your body in exchange for immortality

To become an Immortal Dragon… is to lose oneself.

Her personality, her body, her memories. Gone, in a flash of light.

It was a death, in a sense.

How ironic it was, to die in every way except literally for the sake of gaining immortality.

Zelda didn’t even try to quell the trembling in her hands as she held the Stone out in front of her, its golden hue reminiscent of so much. There was no point in trying to hide her fear anymore; nobody was watching.

There was nobody left to, anyway.

It really wasn’t fair, was it?

She never asked for any of this.

What she wouldn’t give to be home; in the arms of her loved ones, in a world where there was no Calamity, no Upheaval, no Goddesses.

None of this hurt and pain and waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting, how many times did she have to walk into the arms of Death before it would grasp her tight enough to not let go?

The Goddesses were toying with her. And she knew it. And she played along.

Because really, what other choice did she have?

Accept failure? Let everyone die, again, again, again!

After everything that had happened?

No way.

The Goddesses, the stars, the moon and sun, the Dragons and Spirits of anything and everything. They could laugh themselves to death and take the universe with them for all she cared.

It was cruel.

She didn’t want to die. But at least, she’d always thought, on days where she felt especially awful, when she did eventually kick the bucket: there would be people waiting for her. People she missed dearly, so dearly, the gaping wound in her soul was still tender from their untimely loss.

This was different. She couldn’t even have that anymore.

But there was nothing to be done.

Zelda closed her eyes and tipped the Stone into her mouth.

I am going to die.

Pain ripped through her entire body, through the air itself. Glowing, molten gold light spewed from her chest, her hands, her throat, everywhere, everywhere.

And yet; her mind was clear.

She had been moments from death oh, so many times.

Too many times, said a voice in her head, sounding like Urbosa and Sonia and Mineru and Link and Daruk and Teba and Buliara and so many more all at once, I’m sorry this is the world you inherited, Zelda.

At least this time, there was no blood. No rain or dirt or tearstains or one of the thousands of different weapons that had once been aimed at her heart.

It was quite a nice day, actually.

She staggered forward. One goal. She could not dream of anything else except that her repeated sacrifices would finally mean something.

She reached for the Sword, and the cool metal hilt rapidly matched the impossible temperature of the light spilling from her being.

Her hands gripped around the Sword, as though it could save her from the Holy fire that tore her body apart from the inside out, her final plea; her only plea, broke desperately free from her throat as the world vanished in a blaze of blinding, burning white.

I am going to die.

She watched in horror as Mineru fell to the floor like a stone. The other Sages’ frozen bodies betrayed how their expressions matched to hers, though hidden under their intricate masks.

Rauru’s rage, his grief, his pain, flooded the room.

Choking.

First his wife was murdered, and now his sister, too?

A glow of blue from the corner of Zelda’s eye at least allowed her to breathe. Mineru would be gone, intangible and lost behind the impenetrable mist that was death, but, thanks to her abilities, she would still be able to speak with them. At least, for a while.

At Rauru’s unspoken command, the Sages attacked once more. He dodged them easily, and Zelda pulled the arrow, the spear, the trident, the sword- Goddess, she couldn’t remember anything but agony anymore- back, and again, he stepped out of the way, and right into Rauru’s merciless death-grip.

She knew what would happen. She had borne witness to this scene months ago, thousands of years into the future.

Nothing would change. There would be no future past that.

Her father had been more correct than he’d ever have known.

She really was the heir to a throne of nothing.

I am going to die.

She was a fool for thinking this would work; that he would be deterred by a show of cunning and wisdom. That much was clear the second she saw Sonia’s knees buckle.

She raced to her friend- though that word felt far too simple for the way she saw Sonia- and shook her, and cried out over and over, pleading with her to wake up.

The scene felt familiar.

How many times had she stood idly by as a woman she might consider something akin to mother die in a horrid fashion at the hands of someone who was cruel for the sake of it?

She distantly heard Rauru’s furious voice and his cold laughter, but all she could see was Sonia’s blood as it stained her hands, her dress, the castle, and the whole world in a deep, violent red.

I am going to die.

Gloom- no, malice, malice- hurtled towards her, and in a flash of blinding blue, Link was between her and the very essence of evil, the Master Sword in a hand that was swiftly ravaged by the poisonous mire.

He must have been in agony, and yet he still managed a powerful swing into the gloom, and the Sword shattered.

Zelda’s breath caught in her throat; Link’s immediate cease of all movement betrayed his own horror.

He spoke. And Zelda listened, and hardly understood a word, didn’t recognise a single name aside from her own and Link’s, outside of a vague recollection of reading it somewhere once, though she would know them far too well, come time.

The figure laughed a dry, pained laugh, torn from ragged, half-dead lungs, and let himself fall backwards into the abyss as the earth crumbled and the cavern’s ceiling rose and rose and rose in a shower of blood red evil.

“Link!” Zelda cried, suddenly awake to his injury, as he stumbled, grasping at his arm- oh, it was too familiar- and she made to run to him, when the world beneath her feet gave way and she didn’t even have time to scream.

I am going to die.

She wasn’t. She knew that logically.

But her heart raced all the same.

She paced around the dining room, fretting over her outfit.

“Is this too formal? Perhaps it is. I should change. But… oh… everything else feels so informal…”

Link stared at her, not unsympathetically, but obviously quite bored of the cycle that had repeated since before dawn.

You look fine. You always do. His expression told her.

She believed him.

But would the schoolchildren think the same?

She paused her pacing when Link’s hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

You’ll be fine. They’re going to love you… Miss Zelda. he signed, one handed, a cheeky smile playing on his face at her “new title”.

A laugh bubbled from her throat, and she playfully pushed him away.

Or do you think they’ll call you Miss Princess?

“Oh, shut up!” she laughed, and so did he, nerves from the past month that had lead up to today finally released her from their clutches, “You should really drop by the school sometime. You’re a good example of how not to be an adventurer.”

Link simply stuck his tongue out at her, unfazed by her light-hearted jabbing, secretly glad she could be stressed about something mundane for a change.

I am going to die.

He remembered her. Of course, he did. She should have known that just from the look on his face.

Apprehension, adoration, fear, exhaustion. Relief.

All mixed together.

Despite the horrid amount that it had cost, Zelda felt a weight lift from her shoulders at Link’s unabashed expression of anything and everything that he was thinking or feeling.

And then her whole body seemed to suddenly fall weak and frail; a hundred years of using one’s entire strength to hold down the Embodiment Of All Things Evil would do that to a person, and fear gripped her tightly as she fell.

Perhaps she’d been too optimistic, and there was no future waiting for her specifically after the horrific ordeal of it all.

A hundred years… she was practically running on stolen time.

Of course… of course.

Her knees grazed the grass, and she was prepared to slumber for eternity, when Link caught her.

And the way he carefully lowered her to the ground, rested her head in his lap and brushed his fingers through her golden hair with a gentleness that might be shocking considering his vicious display of sword fighting, archery, and who knows what else he used against that Goddess-forsaken boar just a few minutes prior, but she was not surprised.

She was content to lay here though, at least for a little while.

She’d wake up in a couple of hours, and it felt like there was a future on the horizon after all.

I am going to die.

It didn’t matter.

Everyone else was dead anyway.

She might as well do this.

The Sword was safe, under the watchful gaze of the Deku tree.

Impa and Purah and Robbie… she knew not if they were alive.

If they were, it surely wouldn’t be for long.

Link, too. His heartbeat had been petering out the last she heard. Perhaps the brave Sheikah warriors had not made it to the Shrine of Resurrection in time to save him and had dumped his body somewhere in an effort to save themselves.

She wouldn’t fault them for doing so.

But they were oh, so selfless. She hated it. She didn’t deserve such treatment.

Maybe they hadn’t made it at all.

Maybe they hadn’t even made it past the Dueling Peaks.

Zelda’s fingers curled around one of the bangles on her wrists.

The sky was dark, gloomy, a deep blood red.

There would soon be nothing left to lose anyway.

She stepped into the castle and let herself drown in the golden light.

I am going to die.

Please run, she was begging, both inward and outwardly, please run, save yourself. Please. Please.

He was so exhausted, battered and bruised from every angle. A nasty burn from a Guardian laser had torn through both his Champions’ tunic and several layers of skin and muscle on his back.

They- the Champions- her friends- were all dead. She couldn’t let Link die, too.

Please run.

He stumbled. The vibrant red light of a Guardian’s eye, preparing to strike, lit up the bloody marks on his chest, and Zelda screamed.

“NO!”

Glowing, molten gold ripped itself from her hand, from her heart, from the air and everything around her and inside her, and it smothered the evil glow in the Guardian’s eye.

Horror and awe froze her in place, staring at the triangular mark that had now burned itself into the back of her hand, until she heard Link collapse behind her.

No. No no no no no!

Not him, too.

Please, no…

I am going to die.

She ran and ran, unable to move on her own, only continuing forward in thanks to Link’s incessant dragging.

She wished he’d just leave her to rot in the mud.

It’s all she deserved at this point.

Vah Medoh shrieked far above the trees, and both Hylians looked up.

Zelda tripped over her own feet upon seeing the horrid pink light that plagued the Guardians had infected the Beast as well as it fired onto the Field.

Not in their defence.

But searching for them.

To… to…

A white-hot laser screamed from Medoh’s beak and blasted apart the trees just a few meters behind them.

The heat of the blast stung her bare arms, though the rain doused the fire immediately.

And if Medoh… if Revali, her friend, was unable to control the Beast, then surely, surely, he was… dead.

Then certainly, the others…

Zelda crumbled to the floor, and she heard Link splash back towards her through the mud.

She half expected him to reach and grab for her, to pull her upwards again to continue running toward an impossible goal, but he only knelt down in front of her, and his movements ached with the same resignation that she felt deep in her bones.

Mipha, fiercely protective and patient, Daruk, unreservedly and loudly kind, and Urbosa… Oh, Urbosa, her closest confidant, the closest thing she’d had to a mother ever since her own had been ruthlessly slaughtered…

Dead and gone and lost forever.

What was the point in running anymore…

Zelda flung herself at Link, a flurry of tears and utter, complete anguish, and somehow it did not surprise her when he held her close to his chest with shaking hands.

I am going to die.

It’s awake.

Not now. Please, not now!

Everything seemed to be crumbling; she held tightly onto the only thing in her immediate vicinity that wasn’t.

Urbosa.

The woman urged Zelda to go with Link, to find somewhere safe; leave the Kingdom behind if necessary, and a flash of anger shocked through Zelda’s core, clearing her mind- even if only temporarily.

“No!” she snapped, “I will not flee!”

All her beloved friends were about to run headfirst into danger, her complete and utter failure to do anything worthy of their protection or care or time should not exempt her from doing the same.

She had to do something.

Anything.

Urbosa’s eyes narrowed in contemplation, in worry and admiration, but knew Zelda’s decision would not waver, and the situation was too dire to even attempt to argue.

“Please, stay safe. Promise me, Zelda.” Urbosa’s voice was steady, but Zelda just barely heard it wobble for a fraction of a second.

Zelda nodded. She could try, at least.

And just like that, Link’s hand was on hers, pulling her away from her friends as they prepared to storm directly into the bloody jaws of Hell.

I am going to die.

Her lungs burned and her legs felt like they were moments away from falling off. How long had she been running?! It felt like forever; only made worse by the uneven, shifting sands of the desert.

How had the Yiga even found her?!

Her whereabouts being kept a secret was probably the only thing she could agree upon with her father at the moment, and yet they still had managed to find her during one of the few times she was alone.

A strangled cry wrested itself from her throat as two more assassins appeared out of nowhere, blocking her route forwards, and she collapsed into the sand, shuffling as fast as she could away from the two new assailants, and only ending up closer to the first.

Cornered against a rock, Zelda thought her heart might explode with how fast it was pounding, and a whimper broke free of her lips when the Yiga who’d been chasing her all this time drew their weapon- a wicked, curved sickle.

Her eyes closed, unable to face her own gruesome demise, her failure, and the Yigas’ footfalls slowed.

She swore she heard them chuckling to themselves, behind their hollow masks. Toying with her.

She felt the presence of one of them too close, heard the rush of air as a blade descended, when-

CLANG!

The sound of metal violently meeting metal, and then tearing fabric and flesh other than her own prompted Zelda to open her eyes and look.

Stood directly in front of her – how had he gotten so close?!- was Link, as his gaze flitted furiously between the three Yiga, one of whom- the one with the sickle- was now cradling a heavily bleeding arm.

Link brandished his sword threateningly, and took a step towards the Yiga, and they all stopped moving, snapped their hands together, and vanished in a poof of red smoke.

Zelda was still frozen, pressed up against the rock as Link picked up the sickle, and she watched as his face wrinkled in disgust, and he hurled it far away into the sand dunes, where it was quickly buried under the shifting, golden waves.

And her lungs still ached, but at least she was free to breathe again.

I am going to die.

Perhaps a sword to the gut would be less painful than her father’s disappointed glare.

Zelda kept her head as high as she could, knowing the second she was out of the forsaken throne room and in the safety of her own quarters, she’d likely burst into tears and cry herself to sleep.

“What I don’t understand,” his voice was grave, and it twisted painfully into her heart, “Is what is wrong with you, Zelda. Do you not grasp the severity of our situation? If you cannot fulfil your duty, everyone- everyone- will die an agonising death. The whole kingdom will be gone.”

She bit down on her lip as hard as she dared to.

Whether to keep from shouting that she was trying, so, so hard, or to keep from bursting into tears, she didn’t know.

“Your brain is too full of dreams of being something you can never be. I understand that this is unfair; were you alive for any other part of our history, you likely would have been able to pursue your passions.” Zelda thought he didn’t sound like he cared much about how fair any of this was, “But you are not. You do not have any option to deviate from your destiny. Failure, straying… none of it is an option. You will be allowed two days to recover from your journey, and then you will resume your training. Do you understand me, Zelda?”

She sucked in a breath slowly, and let it go as steadily as she could.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She said, and at the very least, she could be proud of the fact that her voice did not tremble.

I am going to die.

Her hands hurt, and it took Impa offering her a cautious hand up for her to truly realise it.

“Oh, Princess, you’re bleeding!” her friend exclaimed, and knelt down beside her, a roll of gauze already in hand.

“I’m alright, really,” Zelda responded, distractedly; completely frazzled by what had just happened.

At least her knight had the grace to look guilty at pushing her to the floor, even if it was an accident, and even if it was so that he could block the explosive attack of a rogue guardian with a cooking pot lid of all things.

She let Impa patch up her scratched hands, though her gaze remained on the knight, watched how he glanced around over and over, watching for any further danger.

Shock from the sudden explosion, the surprise at being knocked to the floor; it all swirled together in Zelda’s stomach unpleasantly.

What in the world had happened to that Guardian?

Why did it just fire on them?

It was nothing like any other malfunction she’d seen with the mechanical beasts…

Her stinging hands itched to rip the thing apart to figure it out.

I am going to die.

Fury shot through her veins; her hands trembled as she clenched her fists so tightly that her nails left deep indents in her palms.

Really?! She wanted to scream- and she would, later, in the privacy of her own quarters- a knight appointed to follow me everywhere? And not just some random soldier; it has to be him?! That irritating silent prodigy?

As if she didn’t have enough on her plate at the moment! Trying to stay sane while enduring all the gruelling training to unlock her Sacred power, trying to maintain the very few friendships she had, trying to explore her own passions and research the ancient Sheikah technology as more and more kept being dug up, and even just trying to simply exist, would all now be a million times harder as some glorified babysitter with a sword was now tasked with tailing her everywhere.

It was not fair!

The fact that it was that stupid prodigy boy- who was barely a month older than her! - made it even more insulting.

Look at him, who was able to defeat grown men when he was barely older than a toddler, the order seemed to say, mockingly, look at him, and see just how much you lack in comparison.

Maybe his presence would make her angry enough that her power would awaken just to get rid of him.

I am going to die.

What a pathetic way to go out. Dragged from the world due to a fever.

Zelda scowled as she shivered and shivered under the quilts that Urbosa had wrapped her in. All that time in the Spring of Power, praying and praying and praying, wishing desperately for something to happen.

Perhaps the vague wishes were the problem.

After all, something had happened. She’d passed out.

And now she was here, back at their little campsite- ‘they’ being her, Urbosa, Impa, and a handful of guards- with a wet rag on her forehead and wrapped in Impa’s jacket and the aforementioned quilts.

“You’re awake,” Urbosa’s voice was gentle with concern, “How do you feel, Little Bird?”

Zelda sniffled, and forced herself to sit up, despite the aching and chill that weakened her bones, “Fine. I need to-”

“Rest.” Came a second voice: Impa’s.

She was sitting a little way back under their makeshift canopy tent, and it was clear she’d not moved at all since Zelda had been- presumably- carried back.

“You need to rest, Princess.” She insisted.

“No.” Zelda shrugged off one of the quilts and started on untangling herself from the other, stifling the cough that wanted to escape and reduce her to more shivers, “I must continue my training.”

Urbosa’s hand rested on her shoulder, and Zelda stopped her battle with the quilts.

“I must,” Zelda reiterated, though her voice was very small this time.

“Little Bird…” Urbosa sighed, her hand now moving to caress Zelda’s hair, the other pulling the girl into a hug, “Please rest. Your training can wait until you have recovered.”

“But-”

“Please. Rest.” Urbosa repeated, “If not for yourself, for me, and for your friend, Impa, and for the Royal Guardsmen, all of whom have been worrying ever-so-much about you since you collapsed.”

Guilt washed over Zelda, and evidently that hadn’t been Urbosa’s intention, as the woman spoke again, though this time it fell on unhearing ears.

Why must they worry about someone who keeps disappointing them? Zelda thought, distraught and embarrassed, I don’t deserve their kindness…

A cough wracked her body and she found she had very little energy to fight as Urbosa laid her back down and tucked the quilts back over her.

Perhaps if I do die here, the Goddess will take pity on them all; it’s not their fault that their Princess is such an abject failure, Zelda thought, as she unwillingly fell into the arms of sleep.

I am going to die.

Zelda barely noticed how her knees shook under the water as her fists came down angrily to splash the surface; ripples danced mockingly around her as she just barely held back a scream of anger.

Why won’t you answer me?!

She couldn’t even begin to guess what she was doing wrong; she spent practically every waking moment praying- well, except for when she was studying, and, oh no, what if that was the problem? What if the Goddess was angry that Zelda wasn’t actually devoting every waking moment to Her?

Tears stung at her eyes and her teeth chattered, obstructing her already shallow breaths.

Was the water always this cold?

How long had she been out here now?

A glance upwards revealed stars twinkling above her in an inky sky. Perhaps they were laughing at her.

Perhaps…

Strangely, the stars seemed to disappear bit by bit, and she felt very light all of a sudden.

Oh, well. She’d rather the stars and the Gods laugh at her than face her father’s disappointment and the knowledge that her endless failures were leading to the demise of the entire kingdom.

The final star vanished into the abyss, and Zelda felt it surround her, too.

She let herself float in it.

Distantly, someone called her name.

I am going to die.

Shame made her skin prickle as she strode through the corridors of the castle. She tried her best not to pay attention to the staff’s whispers, but she worried her discomfort was showing plainly on her face, as they only seemed to grow in volume as she walked.

She knew the idea of dying of shame was a ridiculous one, but the way her ears burned, and her heart pounded as she turned a corner- heading toward her study- she wasn’t so sure about its implausibility.

Another failure at another Spring. She was running out of Sacred places to visit. Every day she awoke terrified- that this would be the day the Calamity returned.

And while an absolutely gigantic mechanical Beast had been recently dug up in Hebra, with reports of possibly three others in other regions, she wasn’t sure if a huge weapon would be enough; if it was, what use would there be of her power in the first place?

The Legend of the Calamity had stated that four Champions had “piloted” Beasts (perhaps the ones currently being excavated?), to weaken the Calamity, but that afterward, a Hero with the Sword of Evil’s Bane and a Princess shrouded in Sacred Light had worked together to seal it away.

And then… and then… even if these mechanical Beasts were the ones in the Legend, even if she could unlock her power… they had still not found a person who was able to wield such a Holy sword. Hell- they hadn’t even located the thing!

So, she had to come up with something. She must be missing something about her power. Perhaps she needed the Sword? Perhaps the Beasts must all have pilots?

That was why she needed to get to her study; the one place she could actually think.

Her pace quickened, and she rounded another corner; the sooner she could sit in her study and lock the door, the better.

And finally- finally- the door was in sight.

She hurried across, not hearing the approaching footsteps behind her.

“Ah, Princess Zelda!”

A quick glance back was enough for her to recognise the Court Poet, a light blush painted on his pale cheeks and a scroll in hand. His mouth was open, ready to ask a question.

“Sorry,” Zelda rushed to speak before he could, and managed to get out a brief explanation. “Busy.”

And then she shut the door in his face, hardly sparing the Poet a second thought as she locked the study door and collapsed into the chair by her desk.

She’d allow herself a minute to be upset about her failure; the whispers; everything.

And then she’d get on with everything else.

She had to.

I am going to die.

This was annoying.

Like. Really, really annoying.

She was supposed to be training today- eleventh birthday be damned; there were more important things in the world than presents and cake, and she was grown up enough to know it- but she’d been so sick since last night, even her father had insisted she rest today.

But the thing was, today was supposed to be rest for how sick she had been! Not a day for her to get worse!

Her father was too busy to watch over her, but there were a few handmaidens bobbing in and out of her room to check on her; two knights stationed outside the door and two on the outside of her balcony. The staff were annoying. She didn’t need to be babied!

Only one person had been able to coax an expression other than a scowl from her.

Lady Urbosa, who had travelled all the way from her home in the Desert just to help Zelda get to and from the Spring of Courage.

She was nice, and told Zelda interesting stories while she was confined to bedrest, didn’t say silly things like “oh, you’re so brave” whenever she threw up (wasted) every bit of food she tried to eat, and had been nice enough to move the vase of flowers away from Zelda’s bed because the smell of them was giving her a headache.

Zelda also was very aware, that if she were brave enough to ask, the woman would tell her stories about the late Queen. Zelda missed her mother desperately; even though it had been years and she felt she should be over it by now, she did still ache for her.

But, as much as she’d like to, she wasn’t daring enough to ask that.

And still, as nice as Lady Urbosa was, she couldn’t completely get rid of Zelda’s ire.

Being cooped up, so dreadfully sick that she hadn’t been able to even manage to keep down half a slice of bread, and being under a completely unfair amount of pressure was a simple recipe for an extremely miserable child.

Miserably, Zelda shimmied further under her blankets, despite her rising temperature making her sweat so much she looked as though she could have been out in a rainstorm, and she selfishly, silently, wished that the illness would dispose of her completely so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.

Her father would be dreadfully disappointed in her failure to even conquer a simple illness, though, which would be a shame…

But hey, at least, if this sickness did snuff her out, maybe she could see her mother again.

I am going to die.

“Father, please don’t!” she exclaimed, running after him as fast as her little legs allowed, “Please! I promise I can do better! I can get my power! You don’t have to take Terrako!”

Her father- no, the King- stopped his march down the corridor so suddenly that she almost crashed into his legs.

A flicker of hope ignited in Zelda’s heart as she caught a glimpse of her only friend as it wiggled in her father’s arms, its mechanical chirps warbling out; it sounded as distressed as she felt.

“Princess Zelda. Take this as an order from your King.” His voice was cold, and Zelda stood up straight instinctively, feeling her hopefulness die out immediately, replaced only with the emptiness that had plagued her after her mother had… “You are to focus on your training. Not building… whatever this thing is.”

“Terrako.” She corrected in a whisper, as tears pricked at her eyes, and she raised her voice properly, “Please. I can focus. Don’t take it away, please.”

A smidge of guilt flashed across the King’s face, though in the coming years, Zelda would be sure she’d completely imagined it, as he’d continued speaking as though she hadn’t said anything at all.

“This… it will be confiscated until you can prove you have been putting in the effort required to play your part against the Calamity when it arises,” he said, his voice the same regal, distant one that she would hear when she eavesdropped on court sessions, “Am I clear?”

Zelda felt herself deflate.

“Yes, sir.” She said numbly, and received no response as the King turned back and continued his way down the hall, leaving her to stand there, fists clamped around her skirt as tears sneaked out of her eyes and tumbled down her face.

I’m sorry… This is all my fault. I have to do better.

In a whisper, mostly to herself, she added, “Good-bye, Terrako.”

I am going to die.

One tiny mistake would be enough to make her crumble. A stone in her shoe, tripping up, her plaits being too tight against her head; any one of those, and countless other possibilities, would be enough.

And she couldn’t let it happen. Not now, not ever.

Her mother was gone. She and her father marched behind the casket that held what had once been her mother, but was now just a stone-cold lump of scarred flesh.

Zelda didn’t envy whichever of the castle staff had been the unlucky ones to change her mother’s lifeless and bloodied form into clothes that were clean and befitting a Queen for the funeral.

She was sure that she could still smell the blood.

No. No. Don’t think about it.

She kept her gaze forward, looking toward an unseeable point in the distance. The future, perhaps.

If there was such a thing.

Zelda felt like she’d died alongside her mother that night.

And if she were anyone else, she’d have probably been wailing and beating the ground, begging for anyone, anything, to make everything better and to bring her mother back.

But she wasn’t anyone else. She was the Princess. And she had to act like it.

So onward she marched, stalwart and blank-faced, as people who had never met her mother stood on the sidelines, behind rope fences, openly weeping as though they’d lost a dear friend.

Zelda hated them. What right did they have to cry?

Grief was choking her, responsibilities her mother had been shouldering now placed on her, and they were crushing.

She should be the one crying.

She felt like she was going to burst.

She wanted to run home and run to her room and for her mother to come in and say it was all okay; it was a bad dream.

None of that would happen.

Somehow, a stone had made its way inside her shoe.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she marched onward.

I am going to die.

This was just a continuation of her nightmare. It had to be.

It had to be.

Moonlight was the only thing that dared be in the room; Zelda had frozen in the doorway, her gaze stuck on something that just couldn’t be real.

Please don’t let it be real.

The air reeked of rusted metal, and Zelda’s face was soaked with tears she hadn’t even realised had begun spilling from her eyes.

“Mama?” she breathed, managing a tiny step forward toward the still figure on the floor, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

The woman did not reply from where she lay, entangled in once-pristinely white blankets, now soaked with a dark stain that just kept growing.

With her eyes locked on the terrifyingly still form of her mother, Zelda didn’t notice the thing that was in her path.

She tripped over it- something hard and sharp- and felt a small cut be torn into her foot. She landed on the ground, and her hand, attempting to catch herself, came to rest on the blood-soaked body in the centre of the room, and her head twisted around to search for the offending object.

The entirety of Hyrule had likely been awoken that night by the screams of a little girl as her gaze fell upon a bloodied sickle that glinted dangerously in the moonlight.

I am going to die.

Zelda clung to her mother’s dress, nerves threatening to bubble over into tears, but at least she could hide those in the elegant skirt.

She didn’t fully understand what her parents were talking about, or what the Oracle lady was talking about before, but the word Calamity rung in her ears in a way that was almost painful.

It was bad. Very bad.

She knew that much.

Her parents were talking about sending parties of soldiers to all the villages across Hyrule in search of a person who could wield a Sacred sword, as well as any other strong fighters and strategists who could help.

Plus, they were discussing what role she, Zelda herself, would play against this “Calamity”. Apparently, because she and her mother were descended from the Goddess herself, they had a special type of Holy magic that could stop evil.

It had sounded cool when she’d first been told about it, but now that the idea of actually having to do something really scary and use a magic she hadn’t shown any signs of having… it just sounded horrible.

She didn’t want to have to face down a monster on her own!

Finally, her parents seemed to remember she was there- she doubted they’d actually forgotten about her, but it sure felt like it- and her father scooped her up and into an embrace.

“Don’t worry, my sweet Zelda,” he said, and she hid her face in his coat, “Your mother will tell you all you need to know about your power. We’ll have the strongest fighters the world has to offer by your side.”

She sniffled. She still felt so scared.

Her mother’s hand gently stroked her hair, as the woman hummed Zelda’s favourite lullaby to her.

“You won’t be alone for this, Zelda.” her father reassured her, “We’ll be here as well.”

And it was nice to not be alone.

But it didn’t change the heavy weight that now dragged her shoulders downward, that pressed upon her chest to the point where it was often hard to breathe, that twisted her brain into terrifying nightmares where a faceless monster would raze the whole world and ashes rained from a blood red sky.

I am going to die.

Zelda wailed and wailed, because that was all she could do.

She was (according to the whispers of castle staff when they thought nobody was listening) developmentally behind other children her age, being four and not able to speak as much as she probably should, would have likely gotten her bullied, if she attended a school instead of being educated by scholars in the castle.

She’d tripped in the garden and scraped her knee, and it was bleeding.

Never in her entire life had she felt so much pain… and she didn’t know how to shout for help, so all she could do was cry and cry and cry and hope that someone would hear her.

“Oh, no, darling!”

Zelda turned her tear-streaked face to the sound of her mother’s voice.

And no sooner than had she laid her tearful eyes on the deep, royal blue of a formal dress, Zelda felt herself scooped off the floor and a hundred kisses being pressed onto her face.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” her mother asked, as she carried the tiny girl over to one of the garden benches.

“Fell,” was the only word Zelda knew that would answer. She sniffled, and more tears ran down her cheeks, “Am I gonna die?”

“No, Zelda, you aren’t. Okay?” her mother reassured her, rubbing circles into her back, “We’ll have to go and get some medicine to clean your knee, and then bandage it up, though.”

Zelda winced. She’d had that cut-cleaning-medicine-stuff put on a splinter a little while ago, and it had really stung…

“But then we can go and read a nice story afterwards to feel better. Would you like that?”

Hm… That did sound nice.

She nodded, and touched her face as she realised her tears had dried up.

“Lovely,” her mother said, and pressed another kiss to her forehead, “Shall we go and find the doctor then?”

“Okay…” Zelda mumbled, and clung to her mother’s neck as she was picked back up.

“You’ve already been so brave, my sweet little bird,” her mother soothed as Zelda sniffled again, “Can you try and be brave for me, for just a little bit more while we go and get patched up?”

“Okay, mama.” Zelda agreed quietly, exhausted now after the whole ordeal, and let her head rest on her mother’s shoulder and her eyes droop closed as she was carried inside to safety.

She could be brave for as long as she had to be.

#is this whump. anyway.#totk #botw #totk spoilers #ask to tag #tloz #words #first stanza was gonna be the like. summary. but ao3 said it was too long so :(

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honeeysagee · 6 months ago

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this means goodbye pt.2

★5,008 words★ summary: Bucky has to go, and Sam lets him, which cause them both to question whether their love deserves to be fought for. ★★★

The first time Sam Wilson saw him again he had prayed that morning - actually got down on his knees and prayed for a sign that he was moving in the right direction. And when his prayers seemed to dissolve into the ether, leaving him with nothing but the echo of his loneliness, he rose, wiping away the remnants of his plea, and faced the day with a heaviness that clung to him like a shadow. His knees weak with uncertainty as he moved throughout his day and life, craving. He still had this hunger that could not be fed.

He knew it was there but couldn’t identify what it was. It ate at the inside of him. In his mind, he imagined it to be the hunger of yearning. A hunger born from his inability to have something and call it home again. The need to feel something close to his heart and hear it again, even if it was just in words. To touch again, and taste another flavor. So, Sam decided to walk the streets of New York. He would look in store windows for inspiration and hope that one of them might give it to him. But when his feet found themselves in the doorways and window displays of the stores in Manhattan, he felt no inspiration. Just emptiness. And maybe a little bit of fear because he didn’t know how long it would take him to find some kind of fulfillment again.

For the last two years, he was a husk of himself. A shell. It was as though someone had sucked out all his emotion and left nothing but a hollowed vessel behind. He felt empty, broken, and useless. That was when the hunger set in. He craved something real and substantial to hold onto, and he wanted to feel that again.

He sighed as he settled into a cafe just north of his apartment. The sun hung low in the sky and the breeze carried with it fresh scents of coffee and baking bread. Sam closed his eyes as the cool air brushed his face, and breathed deeply. Something was calming here. The smells were rich, enticing, and familiar.

Then, and only then, he heard it.

A laugh.

A loud, throaty laugh. Like laughter that is forced through too much tension and has lost its sense of humor. Sam knows who it belongs to. He was once the person - the only person - to bring it out of him. It was a rare occurrence for Bucky to truly laugh, especially around other people. He was always so stoic - cold and distant - but Sam knew him better than most.

Sometimes, Sam had caught him laughing - sometimes, Sam could make him smile. Sam was the only person who had ever made him really laugh. Not just a small chuckle, but actual full-out laughter. Sam remembered it well, he’d never forget it.

Bucky's back was towards Sam, but he was sure it was him. He could recognize Bucky anywhere, especially after these many years. The way he walked, held his body and spoke. This was Bucky Barnes, and he was in the cafe, laughing freely with a woman at a table near the window.

His smile was wide and genuine - his cheeks slightly pink from the heat of the day, his eyes crinkled in laughter. Sam had seen this expression a thousand times before but, now it was different. Different than the usual frown, the downturn of his lips, or the tight line across his forehead that was always there, even in a smiling situation. His laugh was light and free. As though there wasn’t anything in the world to worry about.

Sam couldn't stop staring. He didn't want to. It was the first glance he had of Bucky since that night in New Orleans. Seeing him was like finding a piece of himself that he misplaced. He hadn't been looking for it, but its absence was noticeable. Sam wondered how Buck could smile so easily - wasn't the world caving in on him too? Wasn't it harder to get out of bed? Didn't he, too, reach for emptiness and sigh when that's all he received? Didn't all his emotions writhe within him and a hunger he couldn't feed replace them?

The more Sam watched Bucky's body light up with joy, the more he grew envious. He grew angry. Envied how much this mystery woman was baking Bucky smiled and laughed. Angry because he hadn't so many months trying to figure out how to be better - if that was possible - so Bucky would choose him for once. Envied the man he was before Bucky left. Angry that he had to change to so much.

But beneath the anger, beneath the envy, there was something else—a longing so profound it threatened to consume him whole. A longing for something he couldn't name, couldn't quantify, couldn't even begin to understand.

Sam couldn't take it anymore. His feet were already moving him through the cafe. Through the tables, chairs, and people between him and everything he thought he didn't want anymore. Towards Bucky, who was so far away now and so completely unaware of his approach. Sam took another step. Another. Then another. Two more. One.

One step from him and Bucky. Just one, but he couldn't move. Couldn't bring himself to confront him. What would he say? 'You took my heart. I want it back’? His mouth went dry at the thought of speaking to him. His tongue felt heavy as a rock and he feared he might just lose it. His palms grew sweaty and slick. Sam felt sick at the pit of his stomach as if he was about to throw up. He squeezed his fists. Squeezed. Until the skin turned white with pressure.

The laughter bubbled around him, filling the air with a sense of warmth and camaraderie that felt like a cruel mockery of his own shattered existence. Sam's chest tightened with each peal of laughter, each joyful sound a reminder of everything he had lost, everything he had been unable to hold onto.

He tried to breathe, tried to force air into his lungs, but it felt like he was suffocating like the walls were closing in around him, trapping him in a prison of his own making. Panic surged through him, a tidal wave of fear and desperation that threatened to consume him whole.

He staggered backward, his heart pounding in his chest, his vision swimming with black spots. The café spun around him, a dizzying blur of colors and shapes that seemed to warp and distort with each passing moment.

And then, without warning, he was stumbling towards the door, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. He could feel the eyes of the other patrons on him, could hear their murmurs of concern, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All he could think about was escaping, escaping the suffocating weight of his own despair, escaping the laughter that echoed in his ears like a cruel taunt.

And so, he fled.

In his wake, Bucky caught a glimpse of a familiar, brown-stained leather jacket. He waited for it again. Waited for those dark lashes and those beautiful brown eyes. He didn't get the chance to.

★★

The second time Sam Wilson saw Bucky Barnes was in his own home and in his own front yard.

Winter had settled in. He had spent the past three days trapped in his Brooklyn flat, trying desperately to make sense of his life. Trying to see how this new reality - the reality where he was the one everyone depended on now, had a team to care for as well as a family, and he was finally someone he could be proud of - worked for him. He had done so much of the work for the cause, but Brooklyn wasn't home. His sisters and his nephews were.

So, he packed a couple of bags and headed home for the winter. He would spend his days caring for them and his nights working to make his place homely. He would cook and clean play games and read stories until he fell asleep under the comforting blankets of his warm bed, and he didn't miss anyone. He missed nothing and no one.

That morning, Sam made breakfast for Sarah and the boys. He and his sister swapped childhood stories while the boys ate and listened. This was slowly becoming one of Sam's favorite pastimes. He liked seeing the happiness on his sister's face when he recounted stories to his nephews - the things that brought a tiny, content smile to their faces. And, for a short time, he forgot what had happened. Forgot about the screaming that night. Forgot that he had to run to Brooklyn because the silence afterward was killing him.

Yet, he was better now. He was.

A car horn blared from outside.

Sarah stopped mid-story; her gaze drawn towards the kitchen window. She looked out in surprise and then suddenly at Sam. He looked back at her questioningly. AJ and Cass raced to the window to see it was the one person they'd been waiting in silence for Uncle Bucky. They raced to the front door, each boy trying to be the first one to reach him.

Sarah stood.

Sam stayed in his seat - he looked straight ahead like he was being interrogated. He didn't look at her; he stared at his cup of coffee. He didn't know what to say. His hands were pressed tightly together, knuckles turning white. He swallowed the hunger down.

"I'll go talk to him. Just stay here, okay?" Sarah pleaded because she knew, deep down, that her brother was hurting. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, tell him everything was going to be fine, and that he shouldn't beat himself up over losing someone. But she couldn't do that. That wouldn't help. She knew Sam needed to do this at his own pace.

Bucky stood in the yard, hopeful.

Sam watched from the safety of the kitchen as Sarah stepped out to greet Bucky, her silhouette framed against the winter light streaming in through the window. He could feel the weight of her concern, her unspoken worry for him, hanging heavy in the air like a shroud.

As they exchanged words, their voices muffled by the distance between them, Sam felt a pang of guilt tug at his heart. He knew he should be out there too, facing Bucky head-on, confronting the ghosts of their shared past. But the thought of it made his stomach churn with unease, his mind clouded with uncertainty.

He wanted to be strong, to show Bucky that he had moved on, that he was okay without him. But deep down, beneath the facade of composure, he tried so desperately to maintain, Sam was anything but okay. He was drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions—regret, longing, and an overwhelming sense of loss that threatened to consume him whole.

And as he sat there, alone with his thoughts, he couldn't help but wonder if Bucky felt the same. If he, too, wrestled with the demons of their past, haunted by memories of a time when they were more than just strangers passing in the night.

But before Sam could dwell on it any longer, Sarah returned, her expression a mix of concern and compassion. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

"He wrote you something," she said softly, her voice tinged with understanding. "He said it explained everything."

Sam nodded, his resolve wavering but not broken. With a steadying breath, he pushed himself up from the table, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his uncertainty. As he made his way to the door, he couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter would change everything—that the second time he saw Bucky Barnes would be the beginning of something new, something uncertain, but perhaps, something beautiful in its own right.

Sam hesitated before opening the door, his fingers trembling as he gripped the knob. As he lifted his arm and twisted the handle, a rush of adrenaline filled his body. It was almost too much. Almost all too much, especially since he hadn't seen him since…since he had left that morning.

It felt like years ago.

It was.

"I thought you wouldn't want to see me."

Those were the first words that came out of Bucky's mouth after Sam had stood completely still in front of him and made sure he wasn't looking at him but through. His words sounded hoarse to Sam's ears. Something desperate, broken, and full of regret. Like the pain that lay behind it. And for some reason, it stung even more to hear it coming from the man who caused it.

"I don't."

A small envelope rested between the two of them. Bucky's hand was outstretched, bridging the gap of years between them, but Sam wasn't moving. Bucky wasn't giving up.

His eyes darted to the paper in his grip, scanning it quickly before returning his attention to Sam, a hint of a frown wrinkling his brow. He dropped his hand and tucked it into his pocket, his expression twisting with sadness. His lips pursed slowly, and his shoulders tensed like they were preparing to snap. Confusion flashed behind his blue eyes.

"Sammie, I want to apolo-"

"I can't take personal documents from people like you without a government witness present." Sam was formal - his persona working overtime while he was cracking behind it. His voice held none of its usual warmth, and he was careful to keep his expression blank.

"People like me?" Bucky asked, taken back but the sudden use of formalities. This wasn't his Sam. He was too guarded now. Too closed off. Too distant. Not Sam at all. He didn't nod or try to correct himself, but instead, he continued looking out. Bucky swallowed his pride and nodded finally.

"I'll see you around then."

"You won't," Sam answered simply. Then, before another word could simply between and fix this mess they made, Sam slammed the door.

★★★

The third Sam Wilson saw Bucky Barnes was the evening he decided to put on his best suit. The blue silk shirt fit perfectly across his broad chest and tailored trousers hugged his hips and ass with enough grace to make anybody swoon. The cuffs of his sleeves reached well above his wrists. A pair of dark, fitted sunglasses completed the picture. Even without his hair gelled to perfection, even though his face was clean-shaven, and his skin freshly washed. He was the image of perfection.

Everything from his shoes to his posture to his smile screamed power and authority. It seemed ridiculous to Sam, considering how he'd spent his life running away from that image, but he supposed he was used to the fact by now.

The Hero's Gala had invited him, and he was expected to attend as an honored guest. So naturally he had agreed - even spent all night and morning writing a speech he wasn't sure of. He imagined Steve in his place, and when that familiar voice in his mind told him it wasn't enough, he called it a night and got dressed.

By the time Sam had arrived, the hall was filled with hundreds of people mingling and talking. He had hoped the noise would drown out the sound of his heart drumming against his rib cage. After a quick hello with a few of his acquaintances and an apology to a few other guests he had been avoiding, he made his way to Carol Danvers - his second in command when it came to in-field battles.

"You look pretty, Cap," She whispered to her glass as she raised it to her lips. That brought a chuckle out of him. Nice and warm.

"You don't look bad yourself, Danvers." Carol smiled brightly at him, her blue orbs softening, a small smile playing on her lips. Sam was happy with himself for not breaking eye contact with her, the tension between them long gone and replaced by mere familiarity. Friends.

The evening was beginning to pass by quicker than he would like. The count was slowly winding down, and New Year was coming closer by the second. He was about to excuse himself, to excuse himself and leave as fast as he could when he spotted him. Bucky. In a corner booth, hunched in a shadow, the man in question staring down at his drink and seemingly lost in thought.

He wore a completely black suit. His clothes were sleek and elegant. His hair was styled up, falling in neat waves over his forehead. His jawline was sharp, his cheeks smooth, and his cheekbones defined by the subtle curve of his lips. His eyes were a brilliant shade of green, and the corners were crinkled in an attempt to conceal the pain that had settled into his features. Sam found himself taking a tentative step forward.

Sam, however, found himself and walked to the door. He whispered suddenly, 'Come to me' and 'Come home' in his mind. In a far, far corner of it. Even if there was a moment where Bucky could hear him, Sam was sure he wouldn't come. Not after he offended him.

The light of New York and the cold air rushed to Sam. He breathed deeply, allowing the fresh scent of crisp winter air and snow to fill his lungs. The balcony was quiet beside the sudden hum of music that was happening on the inside. He let go of a breath and inhaled it back in deeply.

He didn't even hear the door open behind him.

"It's nice to see you again, Sammie." Bucky's voice was quiet yet firm, carrying some trace of its former sweetness and gentleness. Sam's whispered yearns had paid off, but to what extent?

He was unsure.

Sam turned around to face him; his arms crossed as he looked Bucky straight in the eyes. He didn't know why his body betrayed him by reacting in such an unfriendly manner; he knew it was irrational, but he couldn't stop it. It felt as if a fire burned deep within his chest.

"It's Captain, now," Sam was more than elated to say that. "Is it still James?" The name tasted like ashes in his mouth, but somehow, Sam knew that if he let them linger for too long, he wouldn't be able to say it anymore.

Bucky nodded. "You've never called me that before," he whispered, his eyes never leaving Sam's. There was an unspoken plea there, begging for forgiveness, begging for understanding, begging for friendship. For all of that, Sam gave nothing. I shouldn't have to, he thought.

"How's the Lightening Squad or whatever you call yourselves?" Sam questioned, turning his gaze from Bucky to the lights of the city. They were a vibrant red, their colors shining so beautifully beneath the night sky.

Bucky shrugged lightly, following Sam's gaze. They both knew that Sam knew who the Thunderbolts were. They had caused enough trouble between the two of them. It's hard to figure out a name like that.

"Thunderbolts, and we're good." He grinned softly.

"That's great," Sam said with forced enthusiasm. He could feel the disappointment seeping into his tone. Bucky didn't seem to notice it, though, because he was busy taking in his surroundings once again. Sam could tell. His fingers wrapped tightly around his glass, his knuckles white, his breathing shallow. His lips parted slightly, revealing pearly whites that shone in the bright lights of the city. Sam seemed just as affected by it as he was by everything else. "It's uh-" Buck hesitated for a moment, "-Nice out tonight, isn't it?"

It was.

But Sam seemed distracted. "Cap…"

Finally, Sam smiled and nodded towards the city before him, "I sold the apartment here," His eyes twinkled from something unsaid yet, "And I moved back home."

He waited for Bucky to say something, anything, but the only sound he heard was his own calm breathing. Bucky nodded slightly, his eyes glazed with a sort of wonderment that Sam hadn't seen on his face since he first met him.

There were a million things Sam wanted to say, to ask. His mind buzzed with unspoken words, with the longing he felt deep down but couldn't voice. The tension between them hung heavy in the cold night air, each of them waiting for the other to break the silence, to bridge the chasm that had grown between them.

"You should told me," Bucky joked, but there was truth in there, "I would have come and helped you move boxes, Old Man."

Sam's jaw tightened. "You weren't exactly around to tell," he replied, a bitter edge to his words. "James."

He hated himself for saying it, hated the way that name rolled off his tongue so easily, so seamlessly. He tried to swallow the lump of bitterness forming in his throat. But it remained. And it kept growing, pushing its way past his teeth, past the tightness in his chest, and making the edges of his vision blur.

The silence was tense.

Bucky leaned his back against the railing and pushed his hands in the suit's pockets - he wouldn't control his hands if they found their way to his. If his body somehow winds up on his and pleads with Sam to take him and take him back. Nor could he stop himself if Sam planted a rejection to his ears, and his body decided to swan dive over the balcony. So, he placed his hands in his pockets.

"You know, I didn't know have to face you," Bucky confessed. "I wasn't - I'm not the same person."

Sam's eyes softened slightly, the anger within him dimming. "You didn't have to face me," he said quietly. "You just had to be there."

Silence hung heavy in the air. Neither one of them dared to speak. They couldn't bring themselves to, no matter how much they wished they could. The cold wind blew harshly through their faces, bringing goosebumps to their arms. They both pulled their coats tighter over their shoulders and sighed in relief as they saw one another.

Bucky stepped closer, the tension between them electric. "I'm here now," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "And I want to be here, with you, if you'll let me."

Sam opened his mouth to answer but stopped short when a voice interrupted him, "Captain." He turned towards it and looked towards Carol, who was leaning out the door. Her eyes shifted between Sam and Bucky.

"Danvers," Sam gained her attention again. "You need something."

Her eyes widened a bit. "Right. Sorry," her eyes darted from Sam to the man standing beside him. "They're asking for you to come make the speech." Carol had a suggestive look on her face, and Sam knew if he could read minds she was making every dirty joke in the book. He ignored it.

"Or I can just improvise," Carol offered - her eyes matching the lights of the party, "So, you can… catch up." She smirked knowingly, nodding towards Bucky before she closed the door gently. Both men watched her disappear into the party. Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings that were threatening to consume him. The atmosphere was suddenly stifling and thick, and Sam couldn't stand to hold it any longer.

Sam leaned over the balcony, watching the city lights. He hated them. They blocked the view of the stars. Maybe, that's why he decided to move him. It had nothing to do with the possibility of running into Bucky Barnes

"I thought 3 years apart would be enough time. I thought I could just rip you from me," Sam was confessing, laying his cards on the table, "And I would somehow feel whole. Yet, we're still connected." He shook his head with a small smile. Something Bucky had never seen from him. His heart ached.

"Of course, we are." He added. "I ripped out so much of myself, and I'm left with nothing. This big. gaping hole and the only thing I can think to fill it with is more you. I don't want to."

Sam stopped and finally looked at Bucky. His Bucky. The one that was broken and bruised, but still beautiful. Bucky took a tentative step forward. Sam didn't stop him. "I'm sorry," Bucky's pleading expression was painful to watch. "You know that I am."

Sam felt his resolve crumbling, the walls he'd built around his heart beginning to fall. He took a deep breath, the weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He fought to keep himself steady. "I know." He managed. The pain that was evident in Bucky's features tore through his heart like knives, but he continued anyway. "I know, but I also know it's going to take me a while to just exist outside of you. I've been living my life always following behind. First, Steve, and now, you. I need to be alone right now."

He was struggling to even utter those last few sentences. "After you left three years ago and never came back, never utter a word, I felt like someone had just carved me open and left me there to bleed out. I don't want to feel that ever again. So, I need to protect myself first and figure out how to fix it. Fix me."

A torrent of emotions surged within him, a mixture of guilt, regret, and a deep, abiding sorrow for the pain he'd caused.

He felt his chest tighten as if an invisible hand was squeezing his heart, making it hard to breathe. Sam's words cut through him like a knife, each one a reminder of the times he'd turned away, the moments he'd let slip through his fingers. The memories of their friendship, the laughter, the camaraderie, all of it now tinged with a sense of loss and missed opportunities.

Bucky's mind raced, filled with the haunting image of Sam's eyes, once so full of life and determination, now clouded with a weariness that seemed to seep into his very soul. He could see the cracks in Sam's armor, the vulnerability that lay beneath the surface, and it tore at him to know that he was partly responsible for that.

A wave of self-loathing washed over him. How could he have been so blind? How could he have let things get this bad? The weight of his mistakes pressed down on him, almost suffocating in its intensity. But beneath the guilt, there was also a flicker of something else—a glimmer of hope. Sam had said it was going to take time, but he hadn't shut the door completely.

The tear that had escaped was soon joined by others, cascading down his face as he struggled to find the right words. His voice was shaky, barely above a whisper. "Sam… I'm so sorry," he choked out, his throat tight with emotion. "I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted this."

He took a tentative step forward, his hand reaching out as if to bridge the gap between them, to offer some form of comfort, but he hesitated, afraid that his touch might be unwelcome. Bucky's eyes searched Sam's, looking for any sign of forgiveness, any indication that his words were getting through. He could feel the desperation in his own heart, the burning need to mend what was broken, to heal the wounds he'd inflicted.

He felt exposed, raw, as if his soul had been laid bare. The vulnerability was terrifying, but it was also liberating. For the first time in a long while, he was letting go of the mask he'd worn for so long, allowing himself to feel, to truly connect. And in that moment, despite the pain and the uncertainty, there was a spark of something precious—a chance for redemption, for renewal.

He spoke again, "I'll wait," He promised. "Wait until you want me again. Wait until you think I fit back into your life, and we'll pick up right where we left off." He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts. "I'll wait for you. For us."

He waited for a beat. His heart dropped. And then it skipped a beat. And then a beat…

He exhaled slowly, staring into Sam's eyes, hoping for something - anything. A response. An acknowledgment. Anything to show that he wasn't alone. He wasn't giving up. He wasn't letting go of Sam. Not yet.

The countdown to midnight began in the distance, voices chanting in unison as the seconds ticked away. The final seconds of the countdown echoed around them, and as the clock struck midnight, the sky above erupted in a blaze of color. Fireworks lit up the night, their vibrant bursts painting the darkness with streaks of red, gold, and blue. The sounds of celebration from the party behind them faded into a distant murmur as both men turned their gazes upward, watching the spectacle unfold.

For a moment, they stood side by side, their differences and distances seeming to fade in the glow of the fireworks. Bucky had never been one for making wishes, but as he watched the sky light up with a kaleidoscope of colors, he found himself wishing for something with all his heart. He wished that Sam would come back to him, that they could find a way to heal together, even though Sam was standing right beside him.

As the final fireworks faded, leaving trails of smoke and the lingering scent of gunpowder in the air, Bucky smiled, "Happy New Year, Sam."

A hand was placed on Bucky's back. Sam was closing the distance with a warm embrace the both of them needed. A hug. They melted into it. Welcoming the feeling and neither wanting to pull away. This was the closeness they'd craved. Sam's hunger was nowhere to be seen.

"Happy New Year, Bucky."

#black literature #bucky x sam #samwilson #buckybarnes #angst #writer #black tumblr #marvel #mcu #female writers #writing #samwilsonangst

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fixfoxnox · 2 years ago

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Something In The Orange - Part 2

Chapter Summary: As Roach's return to the military continues, he learns he isn't as alone as he thought. Time passes, and he gets closer to the 141.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, sorta graphic depictions of violence

Note: This fic is also being posted to my Ao3 if you would prefer to read it there!

Word Count: 7k

"Hold on don't let go

It's worth the climb

These mountains become

Hills over time

And when the what if's

Outweigh all the knowns

You're right where you wanted"

"Hold On" - Cawlings

Getting his name back was the shock that Roach needed to pull that uncertainty that realizing Griggs didn’t remember had brought to him. All at once he felt filled with hope, hope that he didn’t think he’d truly had until that moment. He was one step closer to being himself again, and it felt good.

As the years went on, Roach’s name stuck, and along with his actual name, he and Jackson made names for themselves within their unit. In fact, they were considered good enough that when Griggs was placed in charge of the Demon Dogs, he requested that Roach and Jackson be transferred to the unit with him. It was a step in the right direction for Roach and he couldn’t help but be pleased. He felt closer than ever to the 141, he just didn’t quite know how close he was.

“I don’t feel good about this.”

Roach turned to raise an eyebrow at Jackson. “Nervous?”

Jackson snorted, “When am I ever nervous?”

Roach gave a chuckle, “Fair point, but hey,” he nudge his side, “You know if you are you can talk to me about it.” Roach pushed himself up further in the back of their transport. He and Jackson sat side by side, whispering to one another to avoid being heard by their teammates across from them. They were being transported to meet up with a soldier by the name of Alex and some resistance fighters. They were supposed to aid them in capturing the elusive Omar Sulaman, also known as the Wolf. “Even if you’re not nervous if you want to talk to me about anything, you can.”

Jackson had been seemingly lost in thought the whole journey to the meetup area. Roach had never seen him like that before, the man almost always seemed to have a rather cool and collected air surrounding him.

Roach watched with a raised eyebrow as Jackson glanced around the transport almost skittishly before his eyes found Roach’s again. “Okay, but listen, you’re not allowed to say I’m crazy.”

Taken aback, Roach responded, “Of course, what’s up?”

Jackson leaned towards him, “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

Roach shook his head, “I mean, Jackson we’ve been in this area before-”

“No! Not like that, I mean,” Jackson shook his head, “This all feels so familiar to me. The location, the situation, Griggs, being Sergeant Paul Jackson. Hell even the hunt for the Wolf,” he stopped then and muttered something to himself that Roach only just barely caught but was enough to send a shiver down his spine: “at least it isn’t Al-Asad again.”

“Al-Asad?” Roach questioned, “Khaled Al-Asad?”

Jackson stared at him in surprise and disbelief, “Roach? How do you know that name?”

Roach sat up fully then, staring Jackson down, “Al-Asad was a puppet in the middle east, he was being used by Imran Zakhaev. Marines were sent to hunt him down in the middle east but nearly thirty thousand of them died because of a-”

“Nuclear bomb,” Jackson finished for him. The two stared at each other in shock for a moment, understanding slowly filling both of them. “I died when the nuke went off,” Jackson admitted.

Roach sucked in a breath, no wonder he hadn’t ever heard of Jackson in his old life. There were so many names on that list, and Jackson had never been mentioned in any of the lists of important people who’d died. “I was killed too,” Roach admitted, “Betrayed and shot years later while trying to hunt down Imran Zakhev’s successor.”

“Holy shit,” Jackson muttered, “But you remember. Like me, you remember?”

Roach nodded and the two sat with the new information for several seconds, trying to take in the fact that they’d finally met someone else like them, that they’d been sitting beside each other as friends for years, never knowing that the other had suffered an eerily similar fate to them.

Just as Roach opened his mouth to ask a question, their transport stopped, the other members of their team climbing out of the truck with no knowledge of the discovery their teammates had just made. Knowing that the two needed to move, Roach settled on, “We’ll talk more later, and hey,” he made sure to look Jackson in the eyes, “I swear this won’t be the same as last time.”

The beginning of the raid was fairly easy thanks to the tanks and air support that followed the ground crew. Alex or Echo 3-1 proved to be useful when the group came to several booby traps set up. Roach made sure to watch Alex disarm them, trying his best to learn the process just in case they needed it later.

Once they’d made it through the alleys, they were able to meet back up with the tanks, one look at Jackson let Roach know how nervous the other man was becoming, even more so when the tanks were taken out by an IED and they were forced to find cover as they were faced with an onslaught of enemies.

Very quickly, both Roach and Jackson realized that the onslaught would be too much for the group if they kept on how they were. “Demon 1-2, this is Roach, we need to move now. If we stay here we’ll get pinned down.”

“I’m with Roach, we’ve got to move!” Jackson replied as well, popping up to take out a group of four enemies who had gotten dangerously close to their position. Roach did the same a moment later.

“I agree,” Griggs responded in their ears, suddenly they heard him shout, “Pop smoke and flank, up the high side!”

“Popping smoke!” Alex called. As soon as the grenade popped and smoke began filling the air the group pushed up and engaged the enemies that had been holding them back. They took them down fairly easily, but things could never truly be that simple, a mounted machine gunner coming through on a truck made sure of that. Only a second later and Alex had thrown smoke again, allowing the group to take down the gunner and push further up to flank the retreating enemies.

The next area came with a machine gunner hidden away in a nest in one of the buildings, his near-constant fire forcing the group to hide until smoke was thrown yet again. “Jackson, Roach, you two stay out here and cover us,” Griggs told them as he and Alex were able to push up to the building with the machine gunner’s nest.

Roach did as he was told, moving up a bit further to begin mowing down enemies in a way that he’d often been told left “no enemies for everyone else to take down.” Jackson joined him a moment later, their gunfire allowing them to continue to push up further until they’d pushed the enemies back past the building and closer to the hospital that they were aiming for.

Another moment later and they were joined once again by Griggs, Alex, and the rest of the squad as they continued to push towards the hospital, jumping from cover to cover and doing their best to thin the enemy forces out. As they grew closer, Griggs decided it would be best to call in one of the gunships to aid them, “Demon 1-2 to Red Hammer 7 - We're taking fire from troops defending the south entrance of the hospital - Request immediate suppression, over.” Then, moments later, “Marines! Hold up! We have overhead ordnance comin' hot on this grid!”

Sure enough, moments later and the group were all watching, some cheering as the building lit up with gunfire and missiles. The small break couldn’t last long though and once again the group was on the move up to the hospital, still having to fight their way in. It was once they’d cleared the lobby that Griggs stopped and made his way over to Roach and Jackson. “Jackson, you take three demons and make your way up the back, Roach, you stick with me.” Roach wanted to complain, but Griggs didn’t give any room for that, turning back to rejoin Alex.

“You gonna be okay?” He asked, turning towards Jackson who was looking rather uncomfortable with his marching orders. Roach couldn’t blame him, he was sure that if this mission had been similar in the slightest to the one he’d died on, he’d be nervous as well.

Jackson nodded to him after a moment, “I’ll make it.” He held a fist out to Roach, “See you on the other side.” Roach gave him a soft smile before bumping their fists together. They both gave each other one last nod before Jackson and his three men were taking off to the other side of the hospital and Roach was rushing to catch up with Griggs and the others.

The group pushed further into the hospital, suddenly coming face to face with several civilians and Al-Quatala fighters, Roach was quick to call, “Civies ahead!”

“Civilians,” Griggs mimicked, “Check fire! Check fire!”

Very slowly the group progressed, making sure to avoid hitting any of the civilians trying to escape the hospital as they pushed on. Eventually, they made it to the stairs of the second floor, “All stations, Demons are moving up to the second deck. No sign of the Wolf.” Roach could hear Griggs and Alex exchange some words after that, but he ignored them as the group came up to the second floor where they were faced with rooms of wounded and dead civilians.

“Shit,” Roach breathed out.

“Just… check ‘em,” Roach heard Griggs say, “Check all of ‘em.”

Roach watched carefully as the group made their way into the room, his eyes locking on to one of the civilians ahead who seemed to be more alert than the others. Sure enough, moments later and the “civilian” was jumping for a gun sitting next to him. Roach raised his gun to take out the target, but it seemed that Alex had been paying attention just the same and was quick to send the man to the ground.

Roach felt relief flood his system as Griggs called that the room was clear, but that relief was quick to fade as he heard Griggs ask into the comms, “1-2 to Demon 3, how copy?” That was Jackson’s group.

“Demon 3 dropped off, sergeant,” Another member of the team mentioned.

“Shit,” Griggs said, “Find them!” he called to the team. Roach felt like his heart was in his throat. He nearly wished he had a cross around his neck then, some form of comfort that would help him feel as though his prayer for his friend's safety would actually work.

The group continued pushing up into the building only to be met with a long hallway where Al-Quatala had set up another machine gunner at the end of the hallway. The rest of the team held back, but Roach, determined to get to his friend quicker, and Alex alternated throwing out smoke grenades that allowed them to slowly move up, taking out enemies along their way to the gunner’s nest where eventually Alex dropped the man and the rest of the team was able to move up behind them.

Finally, the group pushed up to the room that held the man they’d come for, the Wolf. Griggs and Alex used the snake cam to see what was going on inside and after a moment Alex pulled back to report, “Positive ID on the Wolf, three marine hostages. He’s gonna kill them, we’ve got to breach.”

Roach felt his heart drop when he learned that there were only three in the room. He could only hope that one of them was Jackson. As Alex moved around the back of the room to flank them, Roach moved in position to breach.

When the go was called the group bust into the room and took about the Al-Quatala fighters that were left standing, Alex already pinning the Wolf to the ground.

Roach was quick to move around and help untie each of the Marines, noting with dread that Jackson wasn’t among them. “Sergeant, Jackson’s not here.”

Griggs turned from where he’d been speaking to Alex and after taking in the three marines he let out a curse. He walked over to one of the Marines who was a bit more present, “Hey, brother, where’s Jackson?”

The man took a moment to respond before, “Trip mine on the way up, the Al-Quatala fighters set it off while we were close to it. Jackson took the brunt of it so they left him behind.

Griggs was quick to look over to Roach, “Roach.”

That was all Roach needed and soon he was darting out of the room and heading as quickly as he could down the winding hallways of the path that the marines would have taken. He could feel his heart in his throat and he knew that a few other Marines were racing after him, but he wouldn’t dare stop to wait for them, not when Jackson could be dead on the ground at that point.

“Jackson? Paul!” Roach turned down one of the hallways and immediately spotted where the trip wire had been set off. It took him only a moment later to spot his friend. Sergeant Paul Jackson was laying in a pool of his own blood, one of his legs mangled beyond anything Roach had seen on anyone living.

Roach slid to his knees next to his friend, checking his pulse and finding a weak one fairly quickly. He moved as fast as he could then, kneeling just above Jackson’s bleeding leg, where he guessed the artery was, and placing his full body weight there. He was quick to pull his scarf out from around his neck then a carabiner from his belt. He wrapped the scarf around Jackson’s leg did his first loop and tightened it as much as he could. He looped the scarf through the carabiner next tying that as tight as he could. Immediately after he started to twist the thing around. Just as he continued twisting it two of the other marines ran around the corner, both stopping short at the sight of Jackson.

Roach continued twisting but quickly barked out, “Left, you call medics, right, see if you can find an actual tourniquet, NOW!”

As the two marines lept into action Roach turned his attention back to the task at hand and finished turning the carabiner to the best of his ability. Holding it as tight as he could, he pulled a rubber band off of his wrist and used it to secure the makeshift tourniquet before using the ends of his scarf to add another layer of security and ensure it stayed tightened.

He kept pressure on Jackson’s leg with his own body weight as well, hoping that it would help keep his friend from tipping over into death's arms. It wasn’t even ten minutes later and the medical evac team was swarming the hallway. One of the medics took over holding the pressure the same as Roach had and within a few seconds Jackson was being attached to a cot and moved outside to be airlifted to the nearest working hospital.

Roach followed the medics the whole way out, watching as Jackson was lifted up into the air and carried off. It wasn’t until a medic approached him that he pulled his gaze away from the chopper.

“Are you hurt?”

Roach looked down at himself, finally noticing the blood that soaked his hands and his clothes. “No,” he spoke quietly, “It’s not my blood.”

Roach didn’t get to visit Jackson until a few weeks later when he finally had a bit of leave that he immediately used up to rush to the hospital where his friend had found himself a resident for the time being.

The nurse was kind enough to point him in the direction of Jackson’s room. Roach walked as fast as he could to the room without running down the hallway, quite a feat in his opinion.

He stopped dead outside of the room when he arrived, finding that Jackson's room was nearly filled to the brim with people that he could only assume were the man’s family. Roach watched silently from the door, observing the way that Jackson laughed at something one of his family members said. It made the heaviness that had settled on his chest over the past few weeks disappear. Seeing his friend with color back in his cheeks and so full of life was enough for Roach.

Just as Roach turned to leave he heard a call, “Sanderson?”

He turned back abruptly to find the eyes of every person in the room looking at him. His nerves shot up, but he did his best to focus his gaze on Jackson who was giving him a wide grin. “You’ve not called me that in a while.”

Jackson shrugged, “I figured it would seem less rude to my family if I called you Sanderson, you know some people probably wouldn’t take too kindly to being called Roach.” Jackson turned to his family then, “Guys, this is Gary Sanderson, we call him Roach. He’s the one who applied the tourniquet to my leg.”

In a flash, Roach was being dragged into the hospital room with numerous people crying and pulling him into hugs. All he could do was look to Jackson for help, but the man seemed to find his awkwardness amusing as he just gave a shrug and a grin to his friend. Eventually, after hearing nearly everyone’s thanks for saving Jackson, the group decided to leave the two alone for a few minutes.

Roach sat down shakily next to Jackson’s bedside. There was a comfortable silence that filled the air for a moment, neither quite sure where to start. Finally, Jackson broke the silence. “What have you heard?”

Roach shook his head, “Griggs just gave us the basics. You were alive, stable, they had to amputate your leg.”

Jackson nodded, taking in Roach’s words for a moment, “The doctors said if it hadn’t been for your tourniquet I would have been a goner.” Roach felt nauseous at those words. If he’d been any later or hadn’t been able to stem the bleeding…the thought of what could have happened sent a shiver down his spine. “I’ve been honorably discharged, of course.”

“How do you feel about that?” Roach asked after a minute. Jackson took a second to answer, considering his words carefully.

“Honestly?” He asked after a moment, Roach encouraging him with a nod, “Honestly, it's a bit of a relief.” Jackson turned to look fully at Roach, “I joined the military again because, well, I thought it would be the only way I could get back to normal.” He shook his head, “Then when I got back into it, I just felt…afraid. Afraid and sad I guess.” He let out a sigh, “I think I’m ready to live a life outside of the military, to really use my second chance.”

Roach nodded, fiddling with his hands for a moment, “I’m gonna miss you in the squad.” He paused, “I know that’s a bit selfish, but it’s the truth.”

Jackson let out a barked laugh, “It’s not selfish, I’ll miss seeing your dumb ass on the daily too.” Roach let out a chuckle at that, “And hey, I expect some phone calls, and maybe even some visits from time to time.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Roach threw out playfully. There was another bout of silence for a moment before suddenly Jackson was fixing Roach with a hard and serious look that took most of the air out of his lungs in an instant.

“Listen to me Roach, I know what it feels like to be you, desperately reaching for the normalcy of a life that's gone. Do not let it consume you.” Roach looked away, “I’m serious Roach. I know that you think getting back to some semblance of your old life will help, but that may not be an option. If you let your old life control you, you’ll get yourself killed.” There was a pause, “Tell me you understand.”

Roach gave a hesitant nod, but it wasn’t until he gave a fully confident one that Jackson leaned back in his bed, tiredness in his eyes but satisfaction clear on his face. After a moment Roach stood, “I’ve got to get back to base. Get some rest, Paul.”

He moved to leave the room only to be stopped by a call of his name from Jackson. He turned only to be forced to catch a box the man threw at him. “A replacement,” was all Jackson said in response to his look of confusion, “Stay safe, Roach.”

Roach didn’t open the box until he was back on base and in the safety of his bunk. It was a nice little red box, nothing fancy aside from the ribbon that kept it closed. He carefully pulled the ribbon to the side, setting it down beside him before lifting the lid off the box. A small smile crossed his face as he took in the contents.

Folded neatly in the box was a scarf, meant to replace the one he’d used to make the tourniquet for Jackson’s leg. It was a similar beige to his last one, though this one had a few more embellishments, particularly a few embroidered bugs that decorated the edges of the scarf.

He pulled it delicately from the box and saw that one corner of the scarf had also been embroidered with “Roach” in black.

Roach set the scarf out on his lap, observing it for a moment longer with a smile on his face before his eyes trailed up and locked on to the bunk next to his, where Jackson had slept for the past several years. He felt the smile fall from his face as, for the first time in years, a feeling of loneliness settled onto his shoulders.

The next three years were rather lonely for Roach. He continued to make visits with Jackson, his friend having been released from the hospital a few months after the hunting party for the Wolf. Roach couldn’t spend all of his time with Jackson though, so he decided it was time to refocus himself and return to the reason he’d come back to the military in the first place.

Soon after the end of the operation to capture the Wolf, Roach decided he needed to leave the Demon Dogs. While he appreciated being brought onto a specialized team with Griggs, Roach also recognized that he was unlikely to be scouted out of the group. Military respect went a long way and almost no one would be willing to swipe up a member of another team. So, he returned to a regular squad with glowing reviews from Griggs added to his file.

While Roach couldn’t exactly check to see if the 141 had already formed, he could keep an ear to the ground and piece things together with his own knowledge, which is exactly how he learned that this world had its own Shepherd, and the man had already betrayed his country.

“...officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark.”

Roach found that listening to the radio in between missions wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t the real reason he’d taken to sitting at the second level of the training complex. No, the real reason was quite simple. Roach found that the second level of the training complex was the perfect area to listen in on others' conversations. Particularly some of the higher-ups on the base, as well as the soldiers who liked to use an area nearby for their breaks.

At first, he’d felt bad about the practice, eavesdropping wasn’t exactly something he liked to do. Soon that guilt disappeared. He found that people on base knew that he would frequently sit and rest at the training area, but none of them thought it wise to move to different locations for their conversation. If his fellow soldiers weren’t bothered, then Roach wasn’t either.

“Yeah sure, power surge.”

“What? You think something else was going on?”

“I don’t think, I know.” Roach perked up a bit at the voice. Private Smith, a rather chatty and egotistical newcomer to the unit, but a newcomer with a lot of good information on things going on outside of the base. He was behind the training center nearly every night to smoke and chat shit with one of his friends on base. “You know my brother works at the pentagon?”

“Course, he’s pretty up there in rank.”

“Well, he told me that the explosion was actually from a missile.”

“No fucking way dude.”

“No seriously! Apparently, General Shepherd was illegally sending missiles to some guys in Russia, but Al-Quatala got a hold of them. They launched one at the Pentagon.”

Roach could feel his heart start beating faster at the mention of Shepherd, he’d hoped that Shepherd of all people wouldn’t have made it over to this new world. Or, that this world's Shepherd would be dead before he’d had a chance to come across him.

“Shit dude, tell me they brought the asshole in?”

“Nah, coward dipped before the guys could grab him.”

Roach felt his stomach churn at the news. He brought a hand up to his throat, hoping somehow the pressure would keep him from puking his guts up. Not only was Shepherd still alive, but he was missing. Out, somewhere in the world, was the man who’d killed Roach and the man he loved.

“Man, I wonder what squad got caught cleaning that mess up.”

“It was a multinational group,” Roach snapped back to the men’s conversation then, his entire world came to a stop as he froze completely, “My brother called them Taskforce 141.”

That day couldn’t really let Roach’s emotions rest. His luck had never been good enough for that.

With the hit that learning Shepherd was alive, came the warring feeling of joy in learning that Taskforce 141 was still around and already in action. Those two things alone would have kept Roach up all night, but the world decided that it wasn’t quite enough. That night, on a Russian plane, a terrorist attack occurred, with only one of the attackers left behind to be found, an American.

Luckily the attack hadn’t been enough to bring about WW3, something Roach was grateful to learn after weeks of anxiety after Makarov’s terrorist attack. No one but him and, maybe, Taskforce 141 knew it was Makarov, but Russia and the US were much more willing to try to avoid war in this life, something Roach was endlessly thankful for.

Over those weeks Roach had found himself clutching the cross necklace he’d made a point to get after that fateful mission with Jackson. He didn’t find himself returning to the religion that he’d abandoned before joining the military in his first life, he didn’t think he could ever do that. But, he found that the weight of the cross provided him with comfort and reminded him of the home and family that he had in this life. He was sure he’d switch it out eventually, but for now, it did the job he needed it to.

It was while fiddling with his cross and trying not to let his mind spiral during dinner that Roach overheard two of the cadets at one of the nearby tables discussing the new arrivals at the base. He didn’t pay any mind to them at first, knowing that people were constantly coming on and off of the base, and with that the soldiers were constantly gossiping. So it wasn’t the discussion of the new arrivals that caught Roach’s attention, but rather what they were saying about the new arrivals.

“You see those guys that touched down today?”

“The Europeans?”

“Yeah!”

Roach was already tuned in to the conversation at the mention of Europeans, it wasn’t every day that the base hosted SAS or other European forces. Still, he was only loosely paying attention.

“Yeah dude, those guys were weird as hell. And talk about breaking regulation?”

“I know! The guy with the mohawk? Like seriously?”

“The mohawk guy? I was talking more about the dude with the creepy skull mask. He caught me looking at him and I really thought he was going to shoot me.”

Standing from the table abruptly caught the attention of a good few people, but Roach paid them no mind, shooting out an excuse about feeling tired before oh so quickly leaving the cafeteria and rushing to the outside of the base. It was already late, so he did his best to quickly pinpoint where exactly the Taskforce would have gone.

There was no doubt that the team would end up speaking with the Platoon Sergeant of the unit Roach was on, and, knowing his SFC, the discussion would be likely to pass by Roach’s usual perch at the training area. So, taking a chance, Roach took off towards the training area, hoping above all hope that he wasn’t too late and would be able to catch sight of the people he’d spent his entire life trying to find again.

The rush up to the second story of the training area was nothing new, and nothing that had to be rushed as nearly an hour passed with nothing happening. Roach tried not to be impatient as he waited, but after waiting almost an entire life again to see them, he felt he had a right to be impatient. Luckily he didn’t have to wait much longer than an hour.

Just as he started to believe that he’d been too late, his straining ears could hear a number of people approaching, being led by his Sergeant.

“...up there is our training area.”

“We’ll want to see your men run it. Along with a few other tests.” Roach easily identified the voice as belonging to Captain Price. He felt his heart skip a beat, knowing that just below him were the members of Taskforce 141.

“Right. Listen, Price, I have to ask. What is this about?” Roach could hear the group stop just below where he sat. “You know you’re welcome here, but why exactly do you need to see my men run the training area? And you asked for their files? I’d like to not be kept in the dark on my own base.”

Roach could hear a bit of shuffling around below, his mind racing as he took in the information. Could Price be scouting for new members of the 141?

Finally, there was a sigh before, “You know about the terrorist attack right?”

“The one on the plane in Russia? What about it?”

“It was organized by a man named Makarov, he’d hoped to start a war between the US and Russia. It failed. For now.”

“...you’re going after him?”

Roach tried to ignore the way that his nerves had been set alight at the confirmation of Makarov's existence in this world. Needing a distraction, he began slowly peeking over the edge of the training area, hoping that if he moved slowly enough, he would go unnoticed. It seemed to work as soon he was looking over the edge of the training area and down at the group below him.

The first person his eyes locked onto was Captain Price. The man looked exactly the same as Roach remembered, though maybe a bit younger than he’d been when Roach had met him in his first life. Still, he was eerily similar to the way he’d been when Roach had last seen him, all the way down to the facial hair and hat that Roach had always secretly thought was a bit silly. It was, oddly enough, nice to see the man. Even though Roach hadn’t spent much time with the Captain, he was a friendly face from the 141 and a man that Soap had trusted more than anyone else.

The darker-skinned man next to him was unfamiliar to Roach, so his eyes skipped over to the next person who happened to be none other than Soap. Soap also looked extremely similar to how Roach remembered him, though he had to admit, far younger. The most notable difference was that his beard wasn’t fully grown in, instead being nothing more than what Roach would call a bit of scruff. The sight of Soap had a happy feeling fluttering through Roach’s chest. The two had become close friends during Roach’s time on the 141, and the man had been one of the few people that Roach worked with who had never abandoned him during a scenario where lady luck tried to take him out.

Soap was standing quite close to another person, and it wasn’t until Roach locked his eyes onto the different, yet easily recognizable, skeleton mask that he realized exactly who it was. Ghost.

Roach couldn’t see his face, but that didn’t matter, this was how Roach knew him to be a majority of the time. He felt his heart pick up the pace and his cheeks flush. After all the years Roach had spent trying to hold on to the memory of the man he loved, he’d been terribly worried that when he finally saw Ghost again, things would be too different. Seeing Ghost and feeling that rush of affection through his body was one of the best feelings in the world.

Roach couldn’t pull his eyes away from the man, trying desperately to commit the sight of him to memory as Captain Price continued to speak.

“Aye, we’re going after him. It’s an assassination mission at its core, but the unfortunate fact is that we need another person.”

“Why?”

Price glanced back at his team, “We’re only four. While we’re experienced, we don’t know the area and Makarov is clever. We want one of your men to be our guide.”

“If they’re just a guide, then why the pickiness on who you choose?”

“They’ve got to be able to hold their own,” The darker-skinned individual chimed in. Based on his voice, Roach connected that he was British and started to run through the names of possible people who he could be. The closeness to Price rang in his mind. He remembered Soap mentioning an old teammate who’d died in the hunt for Zhakaev. Was it Gaz?

“This is a very dangerous op, if they aren’t good, it might be that none of us make it out alive.”

This was Roach’s opportunity. Though it was supposed to be temporary, perhaps if he proved himself it would turn into something a bit more permanent. It was exactly what he’d been waiting for. The conversation continued between the group, but Roach’s eyes moved back to Ghost, once again taking time to just watch.

Ghost’s mask looked different, though Roach was sure it was something that the Ghost from his past life would have loved to have. He couldn’t help but wonder how this Ghost had made the mask.

It was while Roach was absentmindedly following this line of thought that Ghost began looking around the area, as though alerted to a pair of eyes baring down on him. It didn’t take very long for his eyes to drift up to where Roach was peeking out from the training area.

When their eyes met, Roach was quick to drop back down so he couldn’t be seen, an icy feeling flooding his system at the knowledge that he was caught. Sure enough, only a second later and he could hear Ghost’s voice.

“Quiet! We’re being watched.”

“What?”

“Training area, second floor.”

“Woah, Woah! Put the weapons up!” Roach could have laughed. Of course, the taskforces first reaction would be to pull their weapons.

“We need to go see who that is. It could be one of Makarov’s men!” Price’s voice was hard. Roach could hear the hatred for Makarov in his voice, a hatred that was similar to what Roach had heard from the man in his past life.

“It’s not one of Makarov’s men! Just, just hold on.” The Sergeant sounded a bit tired and Roach winced, knowing exactly what was about to happen. “Sanderson?”

Roach considered his options. He could just run off back to the barracks, but with his luck, he’d get caught and be in more trouble than it was worth. His Sergeant already knew it was him, so what point was there in trying anyways? So, with those quick thoughts in his mind, he decided to just bite the bullet and stand. He didn’t quite like that this was the 141’s first time meeting him, but he couldn’t control everything.

He pushed himself to his feet and ever so hesitantly peeked out from behind the wall of the training area until finally he could be fully seen. “Sergeant,” he nodded meekly.

“How long you been up there soldier?” Came the harsh-sounding question from Price.

Roach winced a bit. He’d always made an effort not to get in trouble on base, he absolutely despised being yelled at. “About an hour and a half sir.” He responded.

Price seemed a bit surprised at that answer, but Roach’s Sergeant chimed in on his behalf, “There was no malicious intent or following Price. Roach likes to sit up on the second deck of the training area. Everyone on base knows that if you stop here to talk he may overhear you.” The Sergeant ran a hand down his face, “It’s my fault for not remembering.”

“Roach?” Came the question from Soap.

“It’s what everyone calls him, he’s had the name practically since he enlisted.”

“I remember your file,” Came the voice of Price. Roach’s eyes shot over to him. “You used to be on Grigg’s squad right? The Demon Dogs?”

“Yes sir,” Roach responded.

“You were on one of the teams that helped with the initial capture of the Wolf. What are you doing back on a basic squad like this? No offense Sergeant.” Roach watched as his Sergeant waved Price off before everyone’s gaze was once again directed at him.

Roach shuffled for a moment before clearing his throat. He couldn’t exactly tell them he’d left the Demon Dogs in hopes of eventually joining their task force, so instead, he offered the next available truth he could. “I joined the Unit with Sergeant Paul Jackson. He was the reason I joined. During the mission for the Wolf, he was injured, an injury that resulted in his discharge. I didn’t really have a reason to stay anymore.”

There was a moment of silence before Price nodded to him. “How much of our conversation did you hear, Roach?”

There was silence for a moment as Roach shuffled awkwardly. “Almost the entire thing sir.”

Price nodded, “Can I trust that you won’t go sharing this around the base?”

Roach nodded rapidly, “Wouldn’t have anyone to tell even if I wanted to sir. And even if I did, you’d know it was me who spread the word.”

Price gave a bit of a chuckle, “I suppose that’s true. Go to bed, Roach. I want you at the top of your game for the tests tomorrow.” Price gave a dismissive nod and, with one last look to Ghost, who was giving him a rather scrutinizing look, Roach gave a salute to his Sergeant before turning and scurrying down the training area, his heart beating rapidly in his chest the entire way back to the barracks.

“You’re thinking about the eavesdropper?” Gaz asked with a bit of surprise as he spotted Price looking over the file of one Gary “Roach” Sanderson.

“The lad seems a bit meek to help us out on this Price,” Soap called from his place beside Ghost. Ghost wasn’t very touchy, but he’d allowed an exception for Soap who was pressed right at his side with his head on his shoulder tiredly.

“Only meek because we caught him out I think,” Price responded. Roach’s file was filled with glowing reviews from practically anyone and everyone who’d met him. He had a number of amazing accomplishments in his file as well. Price was quite surprised to see that he wasn’t a higher rank, that and that he hadn’t already been scooped up by a special ops team. Of course, there were the Demon Dogs which, according to Griggs’ letter in Roach’s file, he’d excelled in. According to his file, he’d turned down only a few offers to join special ops teams and all but ignored applying for promotions. “Kids file is insane.”

“Good insane or bad insane?” Gaz questioned, leaning over Price’s shoulder.

“Look for yourself.” Price slid the computer in front of Gaz, allowing the other man to see the file better.

Gaz let out a low whistle, “And the kids only on a basic team? The fuck’s wrong with him?”

Price chuckled, “Nothing wrong with him, apparently it's more like what’s wrong with the teams. He’s turned down offers from six different ones.”

“I wonder what he’s waiting for.” The line came from Ghost, ever the silent member of the team. It was a bit of a surprise to hear him speak on the subject.

“Maybe people?” Soap questioned, “Kid said he only joined the Demons cause of that Sergeant Jackson and left after he did.”

Price let out a humming noise and used the database to pull up the file of one Sergeant Paul Jackson. “Let’s see here. According to Jackson’s file, the two were essentially partners on their teams. They were with Griggs before he formed the demons. Hold on…shit.”

“What?”

“During the hunt for the wolf, I thought the kid was on one of the Demon teams that were covering from the outside.” Price turned the computer to Gaz again and pulled out his phone, “The kid was on the primary team. With Alex.”

“Who are you calling?”

“I’m getting the opinion of someone I trust.”

The room was quiet as the phone rang for a few moments, finally, on the last ring, someone answered. “Price?”

“Alex. Don’t worry, the world isn’t ending.”

“Well, that’s a relief. What do you need?”

“I was wondering if you remembered a Gary Sanderson, would’ve been called Roach, he was one of the Demon Dogs that was with you and Griggs when you went after the Wolf. He would have been with a Sergeant Paul Jackson.”

“Scouting for new members?” Alex chuckled for a moment, “Yeah, I remember the kid. Hard to forget someone with skill like that.”

“Yeah?” Price asked, “Tell me.”

“Kid was good, really good. Helped me push up a blocked hallway with a machine gunner nest at one end without taking a shot kinda good.” He paused for a moment, “I think the biggest thing from that mission though was the deal with Jackson. Guy got injured and would have bled out if it wasn’t for Roach. He applied an emergency tourniquet to the guy's leg, was good enough that Jackson got out with only losing his leg. If anyone else had found him? I’m pretty sure the guy would’ve been a goner.”

Price took in the information with a nod, “And his shooting?”

Alex let out a low whistle, “He’s good, really good. Have you watched his end-of-basics test yet?” Alex responded, “Watch it. That was the kids shooting after basic, imagine how good he is now.” There was a moment of quiet before, “Hey, I hate to do this but I gotta go, something just came up with Farah.”

“Alright, thanks for the help.” Price was already pulling up the video from Roach’s file before he hung up.

“A glowing review from Keller too,” Gaz commented. “Kid must be good.”

“We’ll see,” Price said simply.

Prev: Part 1

Next: Part 3

#call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 fanfic #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #captain john price #john price #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #ghost x roach #ghost x soap #simon riley #gary sanderson #gary roach sanderson #paul jackson #kyle gaz garrick

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fly-you-dam-fools · 1 year ago

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The Hogwarts Houses as Things I’ve Done:

Hello all! This is the long-awaited not awaited at all post about which Hogwarts House you think I'm in. I've tried to be pretty secretive of it and I don't think I've spilled about it (except to one person, you know who you are) because I've been waiting for this post.

All of this stuff has actually happened to me, some stuff is pretty funny 😂

PLEASE GUESS I'd love to see your take, and once a good number of people have guessed, I promise I'll disclose my Hogwarts House 😉

So, here we begin, in order of the Sorting Hat song in the first book so there aren't any favorites:

Gryffindor

Constantly thinks about all the things you could do to make a situation go wrong

Blasting music in the room and jamming while the family is out

Blasting music in the room and jamming while the family is in

Running around a campground randomly

That Hiccup meme supporting friend 👍

Picks dare at truth or dare and gets in trouble with the school

Constantly had to explain weird situations to supervisors in elementary school

Not liking supervising people because they always blamed stuff on us (the older ones) instead of the real guilty party (people that were younger)

Stashing trinkets behind a tree that’s off-grounds

Pretending the people running behind me are Grievers (the creepy stuff in The Maze Runner movies) to motivate me to keep running, and beat them

Types up an email or message with words that aren’t 100% soft and not-treading and clicks send impulsively

Intrusive thoughts on how long something would take to drop to the ground from a high place (like a small inanimate object)

Jams to video game soundtracks and pretends to be on a quest

Looks at videos on how to do cool sword/lightsaber tricks

Can picture themselves in a music video or dancing a super complicated number

Sends memes to friends constantly

Hufflepuff

Yells “Bless you!” to a person in another room

Initiate conversations with the new kid

Gets secondhand embarrassment from videos

Thinks about doing bad things then thinks about the punishment, then does the bad thing and feels super sorry and apologizes too much only to do the whole thing over again the next day

Gives money I found on ground to higher ups (regrets it later because I could have given it to charity)

Watches video of myself who didn’t reply to someone who said “Have a nice day”, feels bad

Blushes when writing fluff

Thinks fashion moodboards for hogwarts houses should be more varied

Constantly stubs toes on things (same place repeatedly)

Actually takes one piece of candy on Halloween when there’s no one at home

Has seriously never watched a horror movie before, but still enjoys the little thrills in other movies

Makes sure others are drinking water while sometimes neglecting to do the same

Feels bad when unable to make a commitment

Seriously finds old couples/seniors so sweet

Is absolutely and completely distracted as soon as animals enter the picture, and will spend the next 45 minutes staring at a cute little bunny on the grass (at a respectable distance of course)

Always helps people with passing things out

Ravenclaw

Wishing humans could go days without eating or sleeping just to sit in front of a computer and do nothing

Folding clothes neatly only to throw them randomly in the closet

Yells at stupid characters in the movie to do better

Has a large collection of bookmarks

Uses phone as a bookmark because we all know which is more important

Daring other people to do things and never personally playing truth or dare

Reading ahead in class reads while keeping track of who’s talking and where in the book the class is reading

“You know there’s a spell for that right?”

Putting on thinner clothes just to feel that bone-chill to feel free

Falling out of chairs. Constantly. (or sliding off)

Hearing another conversation that you’re not a part of and accidentally reacting to a joke they said

Start a thousand projects but finish none of them

Terrible sleep schedule

Goes off on alone and runs from the friend group an entire day because you want to spend time alone and run because it’s fun

Makes schedules just to not follow them

Starts way too many projects/stories but can’t/doesn’t finish them

Slytherin

Buy plants promising to take care of them only to watch them die with a neutral face

Saying to a friend to not give spoilers to a movie then searching up the plot on Wikipedia

Thinks of ways you could usurp the teacher in class

Rants in an incognito search bar

Searching up motivational quotes just to laugh at them

Makes friendship bracelets for oneself

Constantly either loves google or hates it

Has a rivalry with the internet

Goes to Apple Stores to pull up own website on Safari

Buying friendship bracelets/necklaces but not having anyone to share them with

Racks up accomplishments and certificates but stare at them in woe because they were of the past

Signature look is literally a smirk or raised eyebrow like what do you want from me

Walks around empty places with carefully planted steps, enjoying the echo that sounds across the room

Sits on a throne/chair in that pose occasionally

Is suspicious of everything that someone holds up or interesting suggestions, immediately thinking of the possible bad outcomes and how to avoid them

This actually took me quite some time to compile (from when I first made this account!!), and feel free to reblog with your thoughts and how you relate too! This is just some things I came up with myself and thought what fit into which house~ Just have fun! Please don't repost though.

Tagging some friends because I'd like their opinion, hehe: @softbobamilktae @jinnie-forthe-winnie-recs @silvermistcosmos @jiminie-and-his-pinky-finger

(I also vaguely remember doing a similar thing with asks but I totally forgot what people said (sorry 😭) and I can't find it...)

#moonfly: about me #games #which hogwarts house am I?#The Hogwarts Houses as Things I’ve Done #i'd rather stay at hogwarts

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seacee16 · 1 year ago

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when petals fall | bangchan

bang chan x original female character

warnings: none

prev chapter // next chapter

!! FULL STORY ON AO3 !!

ch. 22 ~ when enchanted roads part

It was Sunday night, and as per usual, Chan sat in his little studio with an audience of thousands watching his smiling face. He scrolled through the waves of comments coming through, answering questions and laughing at the odd pick-up lines thrown his way.

“’Chan, you look tired’”, a comment read, causing the leader to laugh softly. “Would I even be Bang Chan of Stray Kids if I weren’t tired?”

The comment section blew up in amused remarks, bringing out the truth to his statement. However, his laughter ceased, and his smile – his façade – dropped ever so slightly. Chan slumped back in his chair; head tilted up with closed eyes for a moment. He let out a shaky sigh. Maybe, he thought.

“Actually, STAY,” he started nervously. “I have been feeling more tired these days, and not just the usual comeback season kind of exhaustion. I don’t know,” he chuckled awkwardly, fingers playing with the draw strings of his signature dark hoodie. “I guess the sky has just felt too heavy to manage on my own lately.

“But I’ll be okay. I have STAY, and I have the members who always look out for me, even when they think I don’t notice it.” And I have her, Chan thought, his smile faltering. “I know that I have a lot of people who would be there for me when I need it, so I am beyond grateful. You all know me as this fearless leader who takes every burden upon himself to spare as many feelings as possible, but I’ve started to learn that sharing really is caring. That I should be able to share my burdens with the people who care about me, and visa versa. Because that’s what you do for the people you love. You carry the weight of their sky when they feel too weak to keep it up themselves.”

Chan watched as hearts flooded the comment section, filling his chest with a new warmth. Sakura had been right. He didn’t have to be strong for them. All they wanted was for him to be happy and healthy.

“The next song that I am going to play was suggested by STAYS. Let’s go!” Chan clicked on his mouse and watched as the video began to play on the monitor in front of him. A soft guitar was heard through the speakers as the old Swift song flooded the small studio.

Your eyes whispered ‘Have we met?’

Cross the room your silhouette starts to make its way to me.

Chan felt his mind drift with the melody, helpless to the memories of that night that surfaced with the flowing instrumental. The shadow dancing below the dull street lights, drawing him in like the tide. The way her eyes met his through the darkness, sparkling with a kind of familiarity that he had overlooked. They were kind eyes. Sweet eyes. Eyes that held no hostility or judgement. Then she smiled, and her dance continued. Then came her voice. Light and snarky, nipping at him playfully as if they hadn’t just met. She was the most familiar stranger. Their meeting was far from accidental. The dalliance was fated, their strings knotting tighter with each word.

He sat in silence as the lyrics crossed the screen, absorbing every strum and interpretation. Despite the steady inflow of comments from his livestream, Chan couldn’t bring himself to look at them. All he could think about was her.

This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go.

He thought about the way the Seoul skyline shone in the ripples along the surface of the Han River. Long beams of light shattering into a glowing scatter of glitter with every dip of her fingertips into the cool water. He watched her, wondering how the icy liquid failed to make her shiver. She just sat there, crouched at the river’s edge as she admired the view. All the while, Chan had simply been admiring her.

The song played on, much longer than what the idol would usually play it. Soon, the bridge was heard and Chan felt his heard clench with every word.

This is me praying that this was the very first page, not where our storyline ends.

He never admitted it, but Chan knew that things had changed since their first fated meeting. That he was different.

My thoughts will echo your name until I see you again.

Over the days that they had been apart, all he could think about was her. The way he saw traces of her in everything. The stars he saw walking back to the dorm, the faint smell of paint in the air as he passed Hyunjin’s room, the cracked headphones still laying on his desk. It was impossible to erase her existence from his memory, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much the thought of her hurt him.

Chan thought about the way she looked at their album release. He had tried to play it off, but, in the room full of executives and people of importance, finding her in the crowd came as easy as breathing. He had always loved how she looked in purple tones. The way the colour looked against her skin. The skirt of her lavender dress drifted just below her knees, a cream jersey hanging loosely over her shoulders. She looked beautiful. She always did. There had been a distance between them, but Chan had no trouble spotting the smear of baby blue on the side of her neck, only visible when she turned her head to speak to one of his members. It took all of his strength not to walk over to her and wipe away the paint, to drag his thumb over the skin of her jaw.

He hadn’t been able to rid her face from his mind since. And he tried.

These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon.

The image of her walking away from him that night struck him hard. His very thoughts from that moment repeating in his mind. I love you. Her face held a perfectly crafted smile, one made to comfort the hurting. However, her eyes were broken. Torn. Dreading every step added to the distance between them. I love you. They had only just gotten to know one another. There was no much more than he wanted to find out. What it was like to study in Japan? When her love for animals started? How she got the small scar on the side of her left hand, and how he could keep her safe from ever getting hurt again? Chan wanted to know everything about her, even if it took a lifetime.

I love you. I love you. Stay.

Suddenly, he was back on that beach in Jeju. The memory of the cold water lapping at his ankles, the wind pushing against his back, and her fingers pulling at his hair. Her lips. Sea salt and spearmint. A taste that would never wipe from his memory. That night, he had made a silent prayer to the stars watching them. He asked them to let him keep that memory for the rest of his life. He asked to never forget the feeling of her curled up in his arms. Despite how silly it seemed, he prayed. He wanted her. More than anything. The image flashed through his mind. The moonlight shining down on her, causing her eyes to glow. She had been wrong that night. He wasn’t the sun. No matter how brightly he shone, her glow would always be stronger. In the equation of them, he was the flower and she the sun to which he grew. Chan thought about kissing her as gently as the moon caressed her skin. It was all he thought about that night, the idea of sleep far from sight. It was as if she had a spell over him. An enchantment.

I was enchanted to meet you.

Chan paused the song abruptly, forgetting to let the melody fade out like he usually did. He blinked. Once. Twice. Then he looked up at the comments flowing across the screen. Some were full of hearts; some were worried by his silence. But all that he could see was the distorted reflection of his own face staring back at him. For the first time, Chan saw the love in his eyes. The same love that his members saw whenever he spoke about Sakura.

“Uhm, I think I’ll have to end today’s live here. I just remembered that I promised the kids that I wouldn’t be home too late. They’ve been on my case about getting enough sleep lately,” Chan lied, hoping that the eyes watching him would be blinded by his guilty laugh and their knowledge of his bad sleeping habits. While a handful of the newer comments begged him to stay, majority of them reassured him that it was okay, telling him to get as much rest as he could. He couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t stay up too late, STAY. I’ll see you all next week.” The boy proceeded to hug the camera, before sitting back down and finishing off in his usual pose.

The live ended with the click of a button, and Chan wasted no time in gathering his things before dashing out of the room. The door swung shut behind him, leaving the dark room lit by the forgotten monitor screen, still frozen on the lyrics that had pulled on his heartstrings. And as it shut down, the next line faded away.

Please don’t be in love with someone else.

<3 <3 <3

It didn’t take long for Chan to find her. It was a long shot, but deep down, he knew where she would be. Where she always was. And there he found her, watching the ripples dance over the surface of the Han River. Sakura was bundled up in a thick brown coat, the collar pulled up to her chin to keep out the cold. She looked warm, but her eyes were glossy and cold. His walk – or run – over to the park had consisted of him mentally preparing a speech to get her to give them a chance. To give him a chance. He wanted to be the one she called when she was drunk and heartbroken. He wanted to be the one to hold her on the difficult nights, and laugh with her during the happy days. He wanted her firsts and lasts and everything in between for as long as she allowed. A string of wishes on his tongue, yet every one of them forgotten as soon as she was in sight.

“I don’t want you to be in love with someone else!”

His declaration was loud, carried by the strong wind over the span of empty space between them. And even from a distance, Chan could see the way her body tensed up.

“Whether its Kazuki or some other guy you happen to meet along the way. I don’t want you to love somebody who isn’t me.” He approached her slowly, just like he had that first night. He was scared she would run before he could say everything on his mind. “I know I made the wrong decision. I do that sometimes. I’m not perfect. I make mistakes as much as the next man. But, Sakura, going to the river to see you again that night was the best decision I have ever made.”

It took a moment, but she finally turned to face him. Both arms were crossed over her torso in a hug, shielding her from whatever hurt may come her way. Tired eyes and cold-tinted nose, Sakura still looked perfect to him. Her eyes moved around nervously.

“Chan-“

“No, you’re not pushing me away this time. You were right. I do care about what the media says about the kids. I’d be a terrible leader if I didn’t. But I also care about you, Sakura. And I care about me, and I care about who I am when you’re with me. I have been so painfully selfless for years. It’s my turn to be selfish. This is what I want. I want this. Fuck, I want you, petal. So, I refuse to give up on this when we haven’t even tried.”

Sakura stilled, thinking over his words. The pause made his fingers pulse anxiously, his heart hammering beneath his ribs as he waited for her reply. Finally, she spoke.

“There’s something I need to know. Please.” Chan nodded.

“That night. I told you that I loved- that I love you. I didn’t give you a chance to say anything back because I knew that if you did, I wouldn’t have the strength to walk away from you. But I need to know. Did you ever feel the same way?”

“You’re really asking me that?” Chan asked in disbelief. Had I really not been obvious enough with my feelings towards her? Did she really not know?

Sakura dropped her head, hiding her face from his gaze. “Please, just tell me.”

With a soft chuckle, Chan walked up to her. His hands cupped her face and tilted it up, forcing her golden eyes to meet his own. There was something in his gaze that she had only ever seen in videos. When he was at the centre of his universe, staring out at the stars. It was raw and beautiful. It took her breath away.

“Since that very first night,” he whispered into the space between them. “Sakura Itõ. I fell for you. I fell for you like a house of cards in a hurricane. Like a sandcastle at the mercy of a wave.”

Chan leaned closer, until her lips were a single breath away from his own. “I yearned for you the way Icarus prayed for freedom, and, like he to the sun, I can’t help but be weak in your presence.” Their noses touched. A small brush of skin. He saw her eyes close in a blink, felt her eyelashes graze his cheek tenderly. “I am so deeply in love with you, Sakura. My heart is yours.”

It was gradual, but he watched as her lips pulled up into a smile. One brighter than all the others she had shown him. Her eyes curved downwards, pinching at its corners.

“I swear to god, Christopher, if you don’t kiss me right now-“

“Way ahead of you, petal.”

In an instant, his lips were lowered to hers, smiling at the contact. He felt her smile back, wrapping her arms around her neck as his own snaked around her waist. She was so happy that he could taste it. Her joy as she soft lips molded together with his own. They were soft, sweet, just the way he remembered them to be that night on the beach. Since that day, he had wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him like that again. So close that their bodies knotted together, hearts intertwined. He could feel the warmth of her skin radiating through her thin cardigan.

Like Icarus to the sun.

When they had no air to spare in their burning lungs, they pulled away, never leaving the others arms. Sakura couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from her face as the man pressed small kisses on her cheeks, covering her face in his adoration for. She pulled him closer, memorizing the feelings of having him so close. She was determined to remember it all.

“It’s blue,” she said to no one in particular, as she reached up to play with his hair. It hadn’t been styled like the last time she saw him, now laying limp over his forehead.

Chan chuckled. “Do you like it?”

“Very much. I’ve always had a thing for blue hair,” she confessed, running her hand through the waves. A content sigh floated past his lips. When their laughter ceased, and there was a hint of quiet in the air, Chan whispered, “Don’t go, Sakura.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you-“

“Hyunjin saw the ticket when he met with you. He told me a few nights ago.” Sakura’s head fell forward, embarrassed to have been caught.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, no,” Chan rushed, cradling her face in his palms so that she would look at him. Her eyes had begun to mist. The boy frowned at the sight, wasting no time in pressing a series of small kisses to her pouted lips in hopes of a smile. “It’s okay. I understand why you wouldn’t have told me. Things weren’t that great with us back then. I’m not mad, petal, I swear.” He brushed stray her long bangs out of her face, tucking it behind her ear gently. “I really don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go,” she told him truthfully. Chan would have found hope in her words had it not been for the frown that deepened on her face. “But I have to if I want to be settled in before the semester starts.”

What?

“Semester?” Chan’s face lit up a moment later. “You got in?!” Despite the sadness she felt, Sakura managed to flash him a genuine smile. His excitement was contagious.

She squealed as the male wrapped both arms around her, spinning around with the girl tucked tightly in his arms. The sound of their laughter echoed through the darkness surrounding them.

When she was finally back on her own two feet, Sakura felt him reach up to hold her face once more. When she looked at him, she failed to see anything other than pure adoration. It made her heart flutter.

“I am so unbelievably proud of you, Sakura. You’re going to do great; I just know it.”

“But-“

“It’s okay,” he replied before her doubt could set in. He knew what she was going to say. And as much as he wanted her to stay, Chan knew that it wouldn’t be right to keep her there. Not when she had worked so hard for her future. “I will be cheering for you every step of the way, petal.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, “for being the happiness I needed.”

One last time, Sakura let her hands push back the hair covering his forehead, savouring the feeling of his soft curls between her fingers. She noticed when his eyelids fell, and the ragged exhale that followed. Maybe he was trying to savour it too. When her hands cupped his face, his own lifted to cover hers, cold skin against warm. She felt the way he squeezed her hands. The action was a silent plea for her to stay, even when his lips had told her to go.

“I guess this is where you leave,” he whispered. The words tore its claws along the length of her heart, sending wave after wave of pain as every memory with the boy resurfaced. He didn’t want to let her go. For once in his life, Chan wanted to be selfish. He wanted her.

“Leaving doesn’t mean forgetting, Chan.”

“But it does lead to change. Memories, lives…feelings.” Sakura choked down a whimper.

Rip off the band-aid. You need to be strong. Please do not falter.

She watched the way his beautiful face contorted in sadness.

I’m sorry, Chan. Forgive me.

“Can you look at me?”

Chan remained still, not wanting to see the look on her face when she said goodbye. He didn’t want to face the anguish that was so clear in her voice alone. He wouldn’t be able to bear it. Her words were a slow and merciless pain that he begged would end, but he knew that the end would only come when she left. He was torn.

“I always loved your eyes,” he heard her say. “There was never a moment where your eyes lied. So honest and beautiful.”

He felt her words creep in, and before he knew it, he was staring right back into her misty eyes. They smiled back at him. A sad smile. He hated it.

“Nothing will change how I feel about you. Okay? There were days where the thought of meeting you seemed impossible, but now that we’ve met – now that I have you in my life – Chan, I can’t even imagine a world where our paths didn’t cross the way they did. So, I need you to know that whether you forget-“

“You said leaving doesn’t mean forgetting,” he repeated her words, not liking where her sentence was heading. “I’m not going to forget you, Sakura. I don’t want to forget you.”

“Let me finish, please.” The last word hung in the air like a ghost, barely there. The girl leaned forward until her forehead rested against his. “You live a life infinitely different to mine. You’ll go one tours and I’ll sit in boring lecture halls. Nothing is guaranteed in this world. W-We may not meet again. It could be tomorrow, or in a month, or a year. But I need you to know this. I’ll always be there. Chan, whether you forget me or not, I will love you either way.”

Chan opened his mouth to speak, but the girl covered his lips with her own. It was a brief kiss, enough to stop the words from leaving his mouth.

“Don’t,” she begged against his lips, each breath shared. “Don’t say it.”

“But-“

She kissed him again, a little harder than the first time. Chan’s hands cradled her face gently, while her own dropped to grasp the lapels of his blazer.

When she pulled away, she said, “Don-“

“I love you.”

It was impossible not to see the worship in his eyes as he stared at her, begging her to listen to him. And she did. Three words were all it took to make her heart burn in her chest. She wanted to laugh. Wanted to cry. She wanted to kiss him and never pull away. God, she loved him. So wholly and to every corner of the universe. He was her living, breathing heart.

Sakura shook her head, lightly punching his hard chest. It only made him pull her closer, his heartbeat felt against her own chest. “You never listen.”

“I blame the hours in the studio, and the millions of screaming fans. It’s made me a little hard of hearing.”

“You’re insufferable, Christopher.”

“You mean irresistible.”

“I mean irritating,” she shot back.

“Adorable.”

“Conceited.”

“Confident.”

“Aggravating.”

“I love you.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Chan finished, a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face. And she did.

Sakura pulled on his hoodie and met him in the space between. She let herself memorize every taste and smell and feeling in that moment.

“I’ll wait for you,” he whispered against the curve of her lips. “For us. Please, don’t try to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“I lied,” he admitted, this time pulling away from her lips slightly. “That night when I said that I wasn’t experienced with the concept of love. I was afraid of the word. Love is permanent, but fleeting all the same. I know what love is because of them, Sakura. The kids. I’d do anything for those seven, and that’s what love is, isn’t it? Because of them, I know what love is because I love them. And I know that I love you.”

Desperate to hide the tremor in her lip, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her face in the warmth of his neck. She felt his arms wind around her waist the way it had so many times before, encasing her completely. The warmth of his body against hers fought off any cold that grazed her skin. She listened to the hammering of his heart, wishing for nothing more than to listen to the sound for the rest of her life. The rhythm was perfect, lulling, singing her name in praise with each steady ba-dum. A slow series of kisses were laid in a path from the top of her head, down the side of her face and neck, until they reached her shoulder. In between each kiss, Chan whispered a light ‘I love you’, forever imprinting the sound of his voice into her memory.

When she finally brought herself to pull away, she told him, “You are not rose, nor fox. Your heart should never be tamed by another. At least, not right now. It should be wild and free and filled with blinding love in a world choking on its own darkness. That is how you will stay unique. It is how you will always be the person that I love, Chan.”

The man let a sad smile slip onto his face. He stared down at the girl he had come to love with his entire being, taking in her light for a final time. “I believe that we will have our time. It may not be right now, but it will come. No matter how far apart we are, you will always be my one unique rose. No one can take that place, petal,” he vowed, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair behind her ear.

“Rose. Petal. That’s why you call me petal?” The boy nodded. “I always thought it was because of my name.”

The pair stood in silence, savouring their final moments together before reality pulled them apart. Chan lifted her hand to his face, and – with eyes locked on hers – he pressed a delicate kiss to her wrist. One final act of comfort. Confirmation that she would be okay. Her response came in both palms cupping his face, lifting to her toes to kiss each dimple with trembling lips for one final time. Her nose brushed his cheek as she moved to the other dip, savoring the feel of his smooth skin beneath her kiss. With hearts yearning to hang on, they finally let go. Each took a step back, one larger than the other. Both equally as hesitant. However, Sakura was the one to take a few more steps back while Chan watched her in the eerie quiet of the night.

Once she stood far enough away from him, so far that her voice would be but a whisper once it reached him, she stopped.

“See you around, stranger,” she called out, keeping a content smile on her face. It was a smile that Chan would never forget. Despite the tears glistening along her laugh lines, her grin was wide and sincere. She was more than happy to have her heart broken by him.

“Until then, petal. I’ll be waiting.”

<3 <3 <3

Seven pairs of ears peaked at the sound of the keypad at the front door, the squeak of the hinges following shortly after as their leader entered the dorm. They had seen his live. They knew why he had left so abruptly after the final song. They knew. So, they waited up, ready to take on every storm cloud that followed him.

When he entered the main living space, Chan wasn’t surprised to see all of them sitting around. He had expected it. The eldest wanted to ask why they were all still awake at such a late hour. He wanted to tease them about getting enough sleep and shoo them to bed before his façade cracked. The words from his live hung fresh in his mind.

“Hyung.”

One word. It took one word for all of Chan’s walls to dissolve, leaving behind a hurting heart. He tried to smile, tried to choke down the sob in his throat, but his friend’s voice was so gentle and so worried and he missed her so much that it pained him. She was going to leave, and all he could do was pray that their paths would cross again. But there was no certainty. There never was.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, looking up to see Hyunjin standing beside him. The younger boy extended his hand, a lilac envelope in his grasp.

“You should read it, hyung.”

The boy motioned for the rest of the members to leave the room to give their leader some privacy, but Chan stopped them. Desperate to not be alone as he discovered the contents of the letter. “Stay. Please.”

A smile graced each face in the room as they remained in their seats, watching silently as the letter unfolded in his hands.

My most unique Chan,

You once told me that people make the worst decisions when they are drunk, but we are proof that that is not true. I wasn’t drunk when I first told you my name, and you weren’t drunk the night you told me to stay. And while our happy-intoxicated choices were far from the worst, its outcomes have led us to where we are now, and it is the worst I have felt in a while.

We are not at fault. We did nothing wrong. No one can shame us for our feelings. I was not wrong for letting you into my life and you were not wrong for kissing me. You said it yourself. You’re human. So, I truly hope you aren’t beating yourself up about what happened. My sweet Chan, you did nothing wrong, okay?

If you’re reading this, then you may already know that I’m leaving. I’m sorry. I came to Seoul as an escape from the pain of otōsan’s passing. It was meant to be a time to clear my head and figure out what was next. But in my stay, I began to fear my return home, and delayed the inevitable for as long as possible. Now, I know what I want. I’ve accepted the next chapter of my life and the absence that will always follow me in some way. Because of you, I was able to face the voice in the waves and let go of a weight I once thought would always pull me down. Thank you. I can only hope that I have helped you as much as you have helped me. If I can say one thing: listen to those kids. Let them in. Allow them to support you the way you support them. Even pillars need a strong foundation. It’s okay to wallow in the shade of your clouds sometimes, but don’t wallow alone. Sit in the company of those seven boys who love you and wait. Just until the rain stops. And when it does, let yourself enjoy the sunshine for once. You’re allowed to be happy with the simple things.

You are the warmth of the sun on the coldest of winter days. My apricity. My northern lights. My little prince. You have tamed me. I’ll admit that I tried to fight it at first. I didn’t want to burn myself with a flame I had created. But it didn’t. You kept me warm, thawed out the cold, and gave me light in the middle of the dark. Now, I am forever yours to love and break. The whole point of The Little Prince is to not only see things as what they are, but what they could be, and when I’m with you, that is all I can do. Think about what we could be. I wanted you to be the one I cry to. I wanted to be the one who bears the weight of the world with you. I wanted it to be us so badly, Chan. I pray that one day it is. You are tangled into my soul, our strings of fate woven like a web.

You make me so undeniably happy, Chan. You must know that. Everything seemed better after you approached me at the river that day. Brighter. I wanted to smile again, because I knew that if I did, you would smile too. instead of this dull ghost of the person I once was, I started to see myself in a new light. Glowing and shining. And like the sun and the moon, I only shine because of you.

Thank the boys for me. I wish I could have spent more time with them all. I will remember Jeju for the rest of my life. Each of you made it a little easier on me without even knowing it, and for that I’m grateful. Their laughter filled the place of sadness and I can’t imagine how it would have been without you. I wish I had more time with them. There are so many recipes I would have wanted to learn from Felix, and there are so many books I wanted to recommend to Jisung. Percy Jackson is just the tip of the iceberg. I need you to thank Hyunjin too. He saw a lot of the worse of me, and every time he stayed without judgement. He is a great friend. They all are. You are truly lucky, Chan.

I believe that our story is not over yet, but I will be patient until the next chapter. I won’t say I’ll miss you. I am content in knowing that I have parts of you with me for the rest of my life. Your thoughts on my favourite movie. The songs you played when we were alone. The feeling in my chest when you kissed me in the waves. You are everywhere, and so I know I will never be alone again. Neither will you.

I will love you in every orbit, Nemo.

Yours,

Sakura

He reached out blindly, hands finding the outstretched arms of the other Australian as he tried to pull himself together. They couldn’t seem him like that. He had to be strong.

They have as much right to look out for you the same way that you do for them, Chan. You need to learn to let them look after you.

Sakura’s words echoed through his head, and slowly, he gave his tears permission to fall.

Lee Know stood from his place on the couch and walked up to him. Without the usual hesitation, the second eldest wrapped his arms around the leader, lightly guiding his face to rest in between his neck and shoulder. The dancer hummed softly, hearing the man sniffle and hiccup in his embrace. On the inside, he was smiling sadly. They all were. Because Chan was allowing them to help him, and that was all they ever wanted.

“It’s okay, hyung. We’re here.” One by one, the remaining five members approached them, joining in on the group hug, their leader trapped at the very centre of their love.

“Don’t worry, Lee Know. I’m okay.”

“But you don’t have to be,” Changbin replied, his hand resting on the leader’s back.

Jisung nodded, and added, “It’s okay to be sad, hyung.”

And it was. It was okay because he knew that he loved her, and that she loved him. It was okay to be sad over giving up something that made him so happy.

So, Chan grabbed onto the members closest to him and let his tears fall freely.

“Thank you,” he whispered in a voice too weak to hear.

He passed on his sky, and felt as it grew lighter than it had been in years. All because of his seven precious brothers. His chosen family.

His home.

#angst #bang chan #changbin #comfort #fluff #han jisung #hyunjin #i.n #lee felix #lee know #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #kim seungmin #seungmin #fanfic #you make stray kids stay #skz stay #stray kids #Spotify

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northwest-cryptid · 2 years ago

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Tumblr is such an interesting website because if you ask me as someone who frequents a lot of old websites, forums, and the like; it’s actually extremely similar to those sorts of “closed groups” in that it’s entirely user curated to the point 90% of the people who I interact with or who interact with me are part of at least 1 if not more common interests; for me it’s mainly ProjMoon related media. But it also almost entirely, though sadly not completely; lacks the toxicity we so often see on those sites, or even other social media sites; this is going to go a little all over the place but if you’re curious you know the drill by now here’s a little “keep reading” thing and my thoughts on everything will be below it:

We see this in a lot of forums on the internet that take up almost cult like “us vs them” motifs where even the admins involved will intentionally scare away or bully newcomers who get too comfortable and start actually, you know; using the website. However what’s really cool about tumblr is that because it’s such a diverse web of these sorta closed groups, we don’t see that here.

We totally do in some fandom spaces don’t get me wrong, but I genuinely feel comfortable just posting whatever random stuff comes to mind. I don’t believe any of my mutuals or even followers would randomly decide to say I’m no longer welcome or allowed to post in ProjMoon tags simply because “you also posted about some other random thing one time” it’s cool because in a sense this site functions as a way for us to get to know one another on a deeper level if desired, but while it gives me the power to DM someone, or send them an inbox message it also gives them the power to simply not answer it, to block me, or to go about their business as if I don’t exist and the thing is; doing so won’t effect how the site functions for them.

As a content creator albeit a casual one, using twitter was so strange because if I didn’t have enough followers for someone, they might not give me the time of day. Which yea it sounds scummy, because it is. However that doesn’t mean it wasn’t so commonplace that it was normalized and greatly accepted by other content creators who would often justify it with saying things like “we need to focus on growing our brand and if you’re not going to help us grow our brand then we just don’t have time for you because this is work this isn’t socializing.” Which man, this is why I literally go on record saying “I don’t like vtubers” I don’t mean Hololive or Nijisanji or any professional studio, I literally mean up and coming vtubers on twitter who have around 1,000 followers and think they’re such hot shit that they don’t have the time for someone with say 200 or so followers simply because “mah brand”

tumblrs system functions in such a way however, where my follower count, and your follower count are things that are entirely nonimportant. Like, how many followers do I have? Take a guess? Here’s your answer: does it matter? At the end of the day no matter how many followers I have it doesn’t really change anything about me. It doesn’t gauge my ability to make a “banger post” or to fit in with a community, it doesn’t give you any understanding of how well I can joke around or put on a show. All it does is give you an arbitrary number to judge my worth by.

What always amused me so much about my time actively trying to grow an audience via twitter was that so often I’d see these streamers with 1000+ followers only getting about 2 - 5 active viewers, and the best part about that is that genuinely a majority of the time that was them asking myself or the others they were in a collab with to also view their stream to help boost ratings, the people watching weren’t from their thousands of followers, it was literally maybe their 1 regular and the other people streaming with them or half the time literally themselves on a phone or in a different window. However they still looked at their flashy 1,000+ follower count and said “I’m better than you.”

This is how we’re raised on the internet, we’re raised and conditioned to believe if my number is bigger than your number I am socially better and that I should be held in a higher regard than you, that you should desire to be my friend because I have an inherent worth that you do not.

I mean okay hear me out real quick, when I tell you “I’m a vtuber/streamer/content creator” if that excites you at all, does it excite you because “my friend is a content creator and I would love to see what kind of silly content they make having got to know them and enjoying my interaction with them!” Or perhaps does it excite you because “maybe I could get popular by being their friend! They must have a huge following who would give anything to talk to them like I do!” While posing it like this absolutely does make it seem like a very “selfless vs selfish” reasoning, I promise it’s not that cut and dry; but at the end of the day I always find it interesting how people often find my more interesting when they hear I’m a streamer and content creator, but lose all that interest the moment they hear that I average between 5 - 15 active viewers. They don’t care that those regulars are really cool people who I’ve genuinely enjoyed getting to know and who I am always happy to see in my chat, and who I don’t address as “chat” but rather have gotten to know well enough that I can address them by their name or at the very least their username because I feel it’s a level of respect that should be shared when my audience is still small enough for me to do so. I understand if you have literally tens of thousands of messages scrolling by, you would have to distance yourself a degree from every viewer of course; but when I see someone with 3 viewers refer to their audience as “chat” it bothers me because it feels so subhuman to simply disregard the idea that there’s another living breathing person on the other side of the screen who is giving you their time and attention.

What does this have to do with tumblr? Well simply put tumblr is no different, I know it sounds silly or maybe even stupid for me to say this but I don’t enjoy looking over all my notes because “oh man I’m so popular and I get so much validation from seeing everyone interacting with me” but rather I really enjoy reading through everyone’s tags on posts they reblog from me because it’s a way for me to get to know them a little better, and it leads to me actually checking out their blogs and enjoying their original content, and this allows me in turn to piece together a little more about who they are as a person, and it makes me feel interested in reaching out and saying hi even if it takes a while for a conversation to really get started or even if they don’t respond right away or at all. I find that this site gives me a way to interact with others while being able to do my own thing and they get to in turn choose exactly how much of their time and attention they wish to give me, but they can always learn more about how I think and how I feel about things by looking through what I reblog or checking out my personal posts so they also have an idea of who they are talking to.

tumblr is a website that doesn’t ask me to fully identify myself, it doesn’t ask me to give you my first and last name, birth place, mothers maiden name, and my social security number; it asks instead for all the information you might need to start a budding friendship with someone, what am I into? What sort of things do I enjoy doing, engaging with, eating, listening to. This means you can latch onto any one aspect of those things and go “oh hey me too!” It helps break down intimidating walls and barriers.

I enjoy vtubing as a streamer because I don’t have to put MYSELF out there, I don’t have to be on camera, if I’m not having a great day and my hair is messy it doesn’t matter, if I don’t want to wear a shirt that’s okay too. However I still get to put everything that makes me who I am out there. I still share my opinions, I still play my favorite games, I still discuss my favorite music or joke around with my community. It’s why I was offended on behalf of their viewers when a vtuber I was collabing with started outright ignoring the individuality of their audience distancing themselves harshly from the maybe 3 or 4 people who bothered to come out and support them.

I am not about to tell someone what boundaries they can or can’t set for themselves, but it does feel a bit rude to not give people the time of day, when they have given you theirs. It’s why I tell my community outright “the chat box is your domain, the live stream is mine; and all my streams are a collaborative effort between you and I to have a good time.” I once admitted on stream that the entire reason I enjoy streaming has nothing to do with the potential of fame or fortune but rather because it’s simply fun to feel like I’m sitting on a couch with good friends playing a game I enjoy and having everyone sitting on the couch with me going “wait who’s this Netzach guy? I thought we were talking to the Purple dude? I LEFT FOR 2 MINUTES AND NOW HE’S DEPRESSED”

At the end of the day I’ve grown up as “the little guy” the person who didn’t have friends, the person who wasn’t good at music, art, or media; I’m not even great at playing video games or telling jokes. But what I am good at is treating people with genuine respect and kindness because I know all too well what it feels like to be judged by a number, whether it be your age, your follower count, or how much content you make.

A friend of mine always tells me they feel a little sad when their art doesn’t get as many notes as they hoped it would; and we once had a discussion about how we have been conditioned by living on the internet to desire outside validation rather than being able to genuinely be happy with something. We have to not only be happy with the creation ourselves, but also see that others also deem it important and good, otherwise the imposter syndrome kicks in pretty hard.

I still remember when I once befriended a few people in an old mmorpg only to have their guild officer ask me why I was always hanging around with their guild, I explained that I was friends with some of the members and I felt like I fit in; he then told me I was an arrogant asshole and it’s something that stuck with me because I literally didn’t know the guy. Yet to this day I always favor putting myself down rather than building myself up, and tell people that “I used to be an arrogant asshole” which is funny considering I used to be, and still am; actually a very depressed idiot who just wants to make friends with people and has an extremely low self esteem. However whenever I try to feel confident or catch myself feeling good about myself I’m reminded that I’m just “an arrogant asshole” and that’s specifically why I’m careful about the company that I keep these days.

That’s how the internet is, everything becomes a matter of “survival” where you feel a need to put yourself first even if it hurts others, and you might not even realize you’re doing it. It’s a sort of culture where we are so hardcore focused on “us vs them” that we have no idea that “they” are part of us, just a part we vaguely don’t agree with and therefore we divide ourselves off from. I have found that I walk a very fine line between “protect yourself and your mental health, block people who you don’t wish to interact with or who have wronged you, and never be afraid to set boundaries” and also “be kind to others and give everyone a chance because you never know if inviting a friendship today could be something you come to cherish in 10 years when you’re now very good friends with people all over the world all because you allowed yourself a moment of indifference and understanding.”

On one hand I believe everyone deserves respect and to be heard and to be given the time of day, but much like how a streamer might distance themselves from their audience for the sake of setting boundaries; I cannot fault someone for being even overly cautious on the internet because I have surely been burnt far too many times for opening my arms to the wrong people and inviting friendship when I didn’t realize it would end in ruin.

#Weird long post of rambling that goes completely haywire halfways through #but there's a lot of personal thoughts in here #anyways if you're interested in that sorta thing I guess this is one of my TED talk moments lol

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writer-in-theory · 3 years ago

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safe spaces (spencer reid x reader)

prompt: reader and spencer meet in a sober bar. summary: reader goes to a sober bar during their recovery and meets a man who understands them in ways no one else had. pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader category: hurt/comfort content warnings: language, mentions of past drug/alcohol use, discussions of addiction recovery, discussions of potential relapsing word count: 2.9k a/n: well, here it is. i have to admit, i’m a little nervous about posting this one. it holds a very special place in my heart, and i think it’s officially the most personal thing i’ve ever written. also, a huge thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins for this prompt, it was absolutely wonderful to write in so many ways. so yeah, um, enjoy and as always, remember to take care of yourself first <3

masterlist

It’s busier than you thought it would be.

After weeks of walking up to the door, sighing, and turning around before you could commit, you were finally seated at the bar, hand curled around a glass for the first time in years. There was no feeling of regret though—no thoughts of if your sponsor would be upset with you for this decision—because one quick glance around showed at least four other people with one hand stuck deep in their pocket, likely fiddling with the same kind of token now cooling your fingers.

You were sipping on something called a Sunrise but for once there was no fear of what it would do to you in return. There was just you, sitting at a new yet strangely-familiar bar, sipping a fruity drink and wondering when it had ever gotten to be this easy.

“What do you recommend?”

The voice was new, not any of the others that had casually faded away into the background over the minutes you’d been sat there. It sounded close, and one glance over confirmed your thoughts as a new man got comfortable two seats down from you. His long legs tucked awkwardly around the stool, trying not to take up more space at the bar than one person should. His shoulders curled forward as he leaned his forearms on the counter, fingers occasionally picking at themselves before he seemed to remind himself that he shouldn’t be doing that. His hair was gorgeous—perfectly curled and just messy enough to make you want to reach out and wrap your fingers in it.

He also wore the same look in his eyes that you’d seen a thousand times over again. That stare, completely exhausted in more ways than one and trying desperately not to reveal to the world the guilt tucked away within him. You knew this man in the same way you knew everyone who came to meetings every Thursday night at 8 pm. You didn’t know his name or his story, but you certainly knew that he had suffered in a way you understood intimately.

“I wouldn’t know,” you answered, letting out a breathy laugh over the rim of your drink. “This Sunrise Punch is good if you like sugary drinks, though.”

You hadn’t expected a man as rough-looking as he to take your word on it but his entire face lit up upon receiving his own brightly-colored drink like it was the first relief he’d felt in days.

“How did you end up here tonight?” the man asked.

You raised an eyebrow before firing back, “How did you?”

Silence. You turned back to your glass, relieved you’d managed to scare off the man who asked too many questions, the man who began the conversation the same way so many did when they wanted to flirt. It wasn’t the night for flirting, not when your fingers were tightening around the glass instead of loosening as they’d always used to.

Still, a glance at the man had your heart practically melting in your chest. It wasn’t quite pouting, but the gentle purse of his lips as he watched the ice melt in his drink was enough to make you sigh. “What’s your name?”

The man’s head whipped up to stare at you, honey eyes incredulous as he took in your expression. Was he waiting for a trick, for some sign that you’d laugh and walk away? Whatever it was he had been searching for, it was never found. Instead, he sighed and answered, “Spencer.”

“How long has it been, Spencer?”

“How did you know?” he asked over the edge of his drink, eyes flitting about as he tried to take in everything about you.

Instead of answering, you pulled your hand out of your pocket and slid the object held within across the bar to him. Spencer considered it for a long time, holding the weighted chip in his hands and occasionally rubbing a thumb over the surface, as though trying to clean away the wear and tear. He reached out to hand it back to you, fingers brushing your hand as he deposited the chip carefully in it. If you hadn’t known before, the careful way he handled your chip only confirmed it.

“Eight months is a long time.”

“It is. I came here right after a meeting,” you explained, slipping the chip and your hand back into your pocket. “I started missing the way my friends and I used to go to bars every Thursday night, thought this might help.”

“Is it helping?”

“It’s nice, being around other people who understand. It’s hard finding people who get that I can’t have a casual night at a bar anymore.”

“My friends wanted to go to a bar after work,” Spencer explained, and you couldn’t help but smile into your drink as he opened up to you. “Late into recovery, I was able to go with them if I only had seltzer. They said they understood why I said ‘no’ this time, but...”

“But how can you really be sure?” you finished, having known the feeling all too well. It was a feeling born from hopeful looks from friends, from pleading as they said, ‘you don’t even have to have a drink, just come with us,’ it was from all the times you thought, maybe you really could handle one night, as though you were ready to risk everything you’d worked toward for one night out.

“Exactly.”

“So how long have you been a recovering addict, Spencer?”

“Ten yea—” he began, though a familiar and crushing disappointment settled in his gaze before he corrected, “six months.”

“Damn.” Ten years. Your own sponsor hadn’t even been sober for that long. How had something so good ended up like this, with him looking more defeated than you’d ever seen a man before? How had ten years been ripped away, just like that? “What did it?”

“It’s a long story,” Spencer warned, hands curling protectively around his drink.

“If you’re ready to tell it, I’m ready to listen,” you offered, waving down the bartender to get another round of non-alcoholic drinks made for you and Spencer. “You know how they say no one knows you like the person sitting at the bar with you? I think that applies to sober bars too.”

Spencer laughed, tipping his head back as he did so. “I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to come here tonight.”

“Do you still think that?”

Spencer seemed to consider you again, smiling softly before saying, “I’m glad I’m here.” He was easy to talk to, that was for sure. As your conversation lapsed into what you both did for work and how you spent your time off, you wondered what it might’ve been like to meet when you were younger. Spencer, with soft cheeks and bright honeyed doe eyes, would smile up at you without the guilt set deep within his gaze. You wondered what he might have thought of you back then, wild and free without a single care for how the world worked yet. Would he have liked that version of you, the one who existed now only in pictures and memories of friends?

“Is it alcohol, for you?” Spencer asked to which you nodded carefully.

“College, you know?” you hoped to explain, shrugging your shoulders a little hopelessly. “Everyone always says that drinking is a necessity in school. I guess I just took that to heart.”

“For me it was hydromorphone, Dilaudid. I was kidnapped on the job, he was giving it to me because he thought it would help. For awhile it did, but then...”

“The ‘but then’ always comes eventually,” you sighed, knowing there had been faces in your meetings that you would never see again, of those who had tried to climb out of the hole you were all stuck in but ultimately were unable to for now. You would look down, begging them to take your hand, begging them not to pull you down as you tried to help them back up.

“I was doing well for ten years,” Spencer continued, finishing his drink as though it might instill some confidence despite the falsity of its contents. “Then someone framed me for murder.”

“Oh shit, really?”

The solemn nod was enough to confirm he wasn’t joking. “She gave me a narcotic laced with hallucinogens, exactly the same that I—” Spencer ran a hand through his curls roughly and you wanted to reach out, to grab that hand and make him promise not to be so harsh with himself. You wanted to tell him it was okay, that it was awful to lose ten years but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do it again. Desperately, you wanted to remind this man that recovery was never linear, that even in a perfect situation there would still be relapses—that all you could do was pick yourself up from them and carry on, promising to fix the thing that had broken you that time.

It was too much. The grief and pain were clear in his hunched shoulders and downturned head. It was clear as he looked up to you, practically pleading for you to give him the answers as if you had any to provide.

You had no answers to give him, but that didn’t mean there was nothing.

“I’m free every Thursday after nine,” you told the man, “you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

“What makes you think I’ve been doing this alone?”

You shrugged, wondering if Spencer was able to see in you what you saw reflected back from him. Did he see the nights spent alone, struggling to keep going one more day and wondering how on earth you were meant to keep an entire life like this? Did he see the days you walked into work and wondered, when would someone notice how much you were struggling? In turn, did he see in you the days it began to feel better? That first day you went without thinking of it once, or the first time someone offered you a drink and you said ‘no’ without any hesitation? You hoped he saw each tiny step you’d taken forward in an effort to make it here, sitting with a stranger in a building meant just for them—a safe space for cracked souls to repair themselves.

“Because I know the look of someone who’s been fighting too hard for too long,” you answered softly, standing up from your stool and stretching out your back. “I have to go, but I’ll see you next Thursday, okay?”

“I promise.”

When Thursday rolled around again, you almost didn’t go. Could you handle the feeling of sitting at a bar, waiting for a man you hardly knew to show up? What would you do then, if he never showed? You didn’t tell your sponsor where you were headed after the meeting—after all, you knew she would smile and shake her head, warning you in no uncertain terms that doing anything to alter your stability right now was a risky game.

It ended up being a baseless fear, though, for when you walked back into that sober bar, Spencer was sitting right where you’d left him a week prior. “Hi, Sunrise, I thought maybe you weren’t coming,” Spencer greeted as you slid onto the stool beside his.

“Sunrise?”

“I realized after you left that I never got your name,” he explained, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “So Sunrise, for new beginnings.”

“And for the drink,” you laughed, pointing at the second brightly colored glass waiting for you beside his.

“And for the drink.”

What started as careful questions a week before ended up as loud laughter and raucous storytelling, both of you waving your hands about in an effort to get the point of each story across to the other. Spencer told you about his team and how much they cared for him—speaking with so much love held deep in his voice that you knew this was his family. You, in turn, told him about yourself and all the little things you’d come to love over the last eight months, like the smell of coffee early in the morning or the gentle sound of shoes crunching in the snow.

It was easy with Spencer in all the ways you’d ever hoped for. He looked at you and saw beyond the damaged parts you’d worked so hard to patch up—he never once tried to force out the old you, but rather smiled and gently coaxed out the parts of this new version of you that even you weren’t familiar with yet.

“All I’m saying is you need to give it another chance,” you laughed, shaking your head at Spencer’s attitude-filled eye roll.

“The Star Wars series is the most scientifically inaccurate set of movies I’ve ever watched,” Spencer reminded you.

“I don’t disagree, but movies don’t have to be accurate to be good.”

“Science fiction movies do, that’s the entire point.”

“And, I argue that Star Wars is not actually SciFi. SciFi is all about how technology can change society as we live now. It also has to take place in the future. Star Wars takes place ‘a long time ago’ and never once tries to explain any technology in it because that’s not what it’s about. It’s all about the story. Star Wars is a space fairytale,” you explained, laughing when Spencer began to.

It was the most joyous sound you’d heard in ages, Spencer’s laugh. When he was there with you, it was free and loose, often escaping past his lips before he could stop it and shocking even himself.

“A space fairytale?” Spencer laughed, shaking his head and finishing up his third drink of the night. “I can accept that.”

“You better, because it’s right.”

The bar was emptying out by now, later into the night than either of you expected. Both of you had work early in the morning, but it seemed neither cared about the exhaustion that would set in in a few short hours.

“Same time next week?” you asked as the two of you closed your tabs and re-donned your jackets.

“Actually,” Spencer began slowly, nearly pulling your breath straight out of your chest. Was this it? Had you said something that night to scare him off? “Would you want to go on a date? With me?”

Oh, it was somehow worse. There was no sign of a joke in his amber eyes, nothing but complete earnestness that gripped tightly around your heart.

“Spencer,” you sighed, trailing off as you considered how to answer. How could you possibly say what you knew you needed to say? There was nothing more you wanted in that moment than to say yes, to take the risk with him.

It was clear what you needed to do, though. The risk was enticing but both of you knew better, knew the chances of it working out would only increase with more time. “I’ll see you next week,” you told him gently, reaching out to take his hand when his expression dropped. “Let’s make it to a year together, and then I’ll go anywhere you want to go.”

“Okay,” Spencer agreed, allowing the obvious disappointment to melt into that loose smile you’d come to love, “let’s do this together, Sunrise.”

And you would. Tonight, Spencer would bring you in for a hug and both of you would cling to one another for a little longer than necessary. He’d walk you to your car and promise to see you next Thursday. Each week you would see each other, discussing everything from the new show you were watching to what made it particularly difficult that day to stay on track.

Just as with all things, there were good and bad days for both of you. And just as you’d always hoped someone would, Spencer was there to lift you up when you needed the boost. You were there for him too, coming over to his apartment after tough cases to distract him with good movies and even better company.

You would hit a year first. It would be your first year, the culmination of so much strife and hard work all leading you to sit in your new favorite safe space with Spencer, sipping on virgin Tequila Sunrises and feeling better than you had in years.

And the day Spencer made it another year, you came over to his apartment and you cooked together. You wore your best outfit and he did his, blushing and holding hands under the dining table as you ate.

And just like every other time you were together, the two of you would end up back at that sober bar. You’d curl up in your familiar seats, wondering just how lucky you’d been to have found a safe space in each other.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid self insert #dr spencer reid #jay writes in theory

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neochan · 3 years ago

Text

GENRE | smut, idolverse!

WARNINGS | smut

WC | 2.6k +

A.N | this is a repost of my older work. i hope you enjoy it <3

You could still hear the unintelligible screaming of thousands of fans as the boys filtered off the stage and into the greenroom. Another successful concert in the long string of tour stops. You couldn’t even remember what state you were in because the days of traveling, unpacking, setting up, and doing it all again the next day ran together.

The boys were dripping sweat, immediately grabbing bottles of water and towels to wipe themselves off. They had worked harder than normal today since during one of the sets the microphone cut out and they had to perform acapella. Someone was getting fired for that.

Taeyong flopped onto the leather couch dominating the center of the room, water in one hand, phone in the other. “People are already uploading photos.” He outstretches his arm so the others could view the pictures pulled up on his screen.

“Johnny you look ridiculous,” you point out, laughing as a fan had caught Johnny in the act of wildly waving his light stick.

“I was having a good time, okay?” He chuckles and walks into the dressing rooms to change out of his stage outfit. Half of the group filtered out to change and half stayed to peruse through the gifts left by venue staff and play on their phones until told otherwise.

You were wondering where Hyuck was when you heard his voice from the hallway. He saunters in and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “Enjoy the show?” His golden skin was tainted pink, hair matted to his forehead by the sweat that was trickling down the side of his face. He grabbed his shirt and lifted it to swipe at his face, revealing his cute tummy. You had to resist the urge to poke it.

“I enjoyed hearing thousands of pretty fans scream your name” You give him a smirk knowing that he hates when you downplay your relationship.

He nudges you with his shoulder, “You know I meant the songs,” his doe eyes look into yours, his long lashes brushing against his cheek when he blinked “Besides, you know I love you and only you.”

Mark began to nervously giggle in the corner while Doyoung made fake gagging noises from the vanity he sat at. “Oh, shut up.” You say, throwing empty water bottles at the two, “And hurry up I wanna go swimming before it gets too late.”

The ride home was peaceful once the swarms of fans cleared a path for the bus. Per the managers request you slouched down in your seat so know one could see you through the window. It didn’t make much sense because the windows were tinted, but Haechan had to argue for his life to allow them to let you tag along on the tour, so you didn’t question them. Once you were on the road, you sat back up and snuggled close to Haechans side. He rested his hand on your thigh, absentmindedly stroking you with his thumb. His head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, listening to music. It was so loud you could almost make out the words but you didn’t say anything – you let him stay in his post concert utopia for the whole trip.

The hotel was about an hour away from the venue so that no one would find them, and they’d be closer to their next destination. It was nicer than the others because it actually had a pool. You and Haechan made an agreement to go swimming after the concert, and you couldn’t wait. The staff also rented more rooms, so instead of four people to a bed, it was just you and Haechan.

After checking in everyone filtered off to their rooms leaving the both of you to freely do whatever you wanted - within reason of course. You both got changed, your gaze admiring the hard lines of Haechans back. “Don’t stare.” He blushed, wrapping a towel around his upper body.

You pulled on your bikini which made Haechan go silent. You specifically picked this one because it brought out your skin tone well, and cupped your features beautifully. “Now who’s staring?”

It never failed. The butterfly feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when Haechan watched you with loving eyes. You wrapped a towel around your waist, allowing Haechans eyes to roam the tops of your breasts, peeking out from the almost too small bathing suit.

His cheeks turned pink once he noticed he was caught, “Let’s go”.

The hallways were quiet since it was almost midnight, so you wordlessly made your way down the stairs and out into the night air. It had grown considerably cooler than when guys first arrived that morning, but the sky made up for it. Pretty stars pricked the vast expanse of dark blue and black infinity. You could see the moon peaking out from behind a single cloud, casting a shadowed glow on Haechans honey skin.

The gate was closed when you walked up to it so you stopped to read, “Aw man, the pool closed an hour ago,” You set your lips in a pout, “no wonder the lights weren’t on.”

“Hey it’s okay, no lights, no cameras, they probably wont even notice we’re here if we keep quiet.” He moves closer to you, eyebrows raised expectant for an answer.

You hesitated wondering if you really could pull it off, after all you’d been looking forward to this for the whole day, “I don’t wanna get in trouble..”

“You said you wanted to swim and I’m going to make sure that happens,” He gets down on one knee, “step on my leg, I'm gonna help you jump the fence.”

He boots you over, and grabs your arms to help lower you on the other side, but his hand slips and his nails dig into your shoulder. “Ow, fuck.” You wince rubbing the spot he scratched.

“Sorry, sorry” He says giggling, jumping the fence with such quietness and ease that it looked unreal. “Come on, dare you to do a canon ball!?”

He ran ahead throwing his towel on one of the pool chairs and jumping in the water. You cringe away from the loud slap his body hitting the water made. You walk slowly to the chair, deeply inhaling the addictive chlorine scent.

He finally stands up waist deep in the water and pushes his hair back. The blue water reflected against him, making his skin sparkle. “Come into the water y/n” he splashed some water into your general direction, but not enough to touch you.

“Okay, Okay.” You drop the towel and slip into the water. It was cold. Really cold. You gasp and recoil away, but not fast enough, because Haechan has wrapped his arms around you and started carrying you towards the deep end. You struggle a bit in his grip but his arms provide an iron cage that you can’t get out of. “Haechan let me go!”

He presses a warm kiss to the back on your neck but doesn’t comply with your wishes, instead making a curve and bringing you towards the underwater benches. He fixes his hold on you so that now he’s carrying you bridal style. You stare up at him, water droplets falling off his chin. His eyes were already red from the chlorine and you hoped that it cleared up by tomorrow nights concert. His plush lips sat in a pout, strong jaw set. He was so very pretty; and all yours. You smiled to yourself, deciding to keep that image locked away in your memory forever.

Once he gets to the benches he sets you down and glides in beside you. “You know It’s colder than I thought it was going to be.” He lifts a hand and sheepishly rubs the back of heck, “and you look way hotter in that bikini than I thought you would.”

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a dig or a compliment.” You scoot closer to him so that your thighs were pressed against each other. Finding his hand underwater, you intertwine your fingers with his own.

“A compliment babe.” He chuckles and slouches in the water so that only his head sat above it. You both sit there for a moment until it becomes too cold to sit still.

“Well I’m going to put it to use and go swim.” You push off from the cement and paddle around. The only way to stay slightly warm was to keep moving. Haechan watched you, eyes crinkled in a smile, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It was fun to watch you play in the water but the bathing suit was making him think of other things you two could be doing.

And that was how it stayed. Haechan watching while you performed for him.

A while had passed, the calm exterior of the pool getting to you, making you drowsy. The cold blue water washed over your hands while you gently skimmed the surface, making your way over to where Haechan was. You hummed a short tune under your breath, trying to keep yourself distracted. it was close to one in the morning now, but Haechan still sat on the bench, slightly shivering from the brisk air, hands gripping his thighs under the water while his mind wandered far away from the present.

“Watcha thinkin’ about” you ask, moving closer to him, hoping to catch some lingering body warmth.

“Fucking you ,” he moved off the seat and dove under the surface, only leaving small ripples in his wake. You stand there for a second wonder how he could be so blunt, so forward in his desires; he was never like this.

He swam a single circle around your body before popping up in front of you, giving you a mini heart attack. He pushes you back against the tiled walls, “I’ve spent the last hour thinking about fucking you. Thinking about how pretty you’d sound.” His head dips down to kiss along your collarbone, and your hands grab the back of neck, holding him there while his tongue sucked bruises into your tender skin. His hands grazed the bare skin of your arms, giving you goosebumps.

He moaned into the side of your neck, biting and sucking away, wanting you to yearn for him like he did for you. He lifted his head so that his mouth hung over yours, his small puffs of breath fanning over your face while he tests the waters. “Can I kiss you?”

Without giving him an answer you pull him closer by the roots of his hair. His kissing was messy and sweet, and while your tongues moved together, his hips began rubbing circles against you, trying to gain some friction in the cool water. Small heavy breaths were the only sound you could hear, aside from the occasional splash as Haechan moved restlessly.

Your hand wandered down his chest and below the surface to where you could feel him straining against his shorts. You began to stroke him over the fabric, his hips pushing against your touch. He broke the kiss to watch as you peeled down the elastic from his hips, his cock freed from the restricting material of his swim shorts. You watched him twitch slightly as the cold water met his length.

“You can’t make any noise.” You place a single finger against his lips.

“No promises.” He whispers, a devilish smirk breaking way on his face. His hands caress you thighs, pushing your bottoms to the side. The cold water hit you, making you gasp and push into Haechan who just whimpers against your touch.

He tried to stay quiet, only soft grunts between gritted teeth and muffled moans as his hips pushed into your own. The water created resistance but it just enhanced how good he was feeling. He hurriedly grabs at your legs, pulling them up so that they sat around his waist. Your back dragged up the tiled walls, scraping your tender skin, but you could only focus on Haechans cock thrusting deeply in and out of you. He stared longingly into your eyes, filling you up completely, wanting to savor the way they fluttered in the back of your head.

“You love the way I fill you up huh?” He groans into your ear, a hand falling forward to grip the cement ledge of the pool.

You couldn’t respond without fear of moaning so you nod your head wildly. He began to bite and suck at your collarbone, pushing you closer to the edge. Looking down he sees your nipples, erect, poking through the wet fabric of your bathing suit. His eyes grow wide, hips stuttering into you. Fuck you were hot.

“Haechannie, I think I’m going to come.” You squeezed your eyes shut trying to focus on the feeling coiling in your stomach.

“Not yet.” He growls, hands moving to pin your wrists against the cement ledge, “Hold it princess, I know you can.” The water began to slosh around faster as Haechan thrusted harder into you. The sound was so loud its no wonder you didn’t hear the keys jangling against the hip of the guard making his way towards you two.

“Hey!,” he shouts running towards you, “The pool is closed! Get out! Are you two-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you and Haechan spring up out of fear and take off. It was easy to push yourself up onto the pool deck. The guard made the mistake of following you two and leaving the gate unattended. You and Haechan ran out, giggling, making your way back into the hotel. You didn’t stop until you got into the room and slammed the door behind you.

With your heart hammering in your chest you lean against the dark cherry wood . “Holy fuck we could’ve gotten in serious trouble.” You gasp out, clutching a hand against your wet bathing suit top.

“Babe we’ll be gone by morning, no one is gonna know.” Haechan paces in front of you trying to catch his breath. His shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, it was miracle he got them up in time.

“We’re so banned from this hotel.” A knock on the door makes you jump away from it, the worst of punishment's filling your mind. What were they going to do? They couldn’t arrest you, could they?

Haechan walks forward and turns the knob slowly, revealing a sleepy Doyoung. His oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder showing off his gaunt collarbone. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What do you want Doie?” you ask softly.

“How was getting chased by the guard?” he gives a sleepy chuckle, still half in his dreams.

“How did you-,” A look of realization hits Haechan, “You reported us?” He whined, pushing Doyoungs bare shoulder so that he stumbled back.

“Sound travels over water dumbasses and you guys were loud, I was trying to sleep!” Protesting, he pushes Haechans wet shoulder back.

“Well, now we’re going to be twice as loud.” Haechan slams the door in Doyoungs face and grabs you, throwing you on the bed. You give a squeal, and hear Doyoungs fist hit the door.

“I swear I’ll make a noise complaint.” He sounded more irritated than sleepy now.

“Go ahead, you’re just mad I’m getting laid and you aren't.” You playfully slap Haechans arm, but he nips at your hand. The other side of the door grows silent, Doyoung either going to report you two, or going back to his room defeated.

“Shall we pick up where we left off princess?”

#nct smut #haechan smut #nct haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct drabble #nct fic #nct scenario #hyuck smut #doyoung

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daffodilsm · 2 years ago

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𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 ! ǝǝɹɥʇ ɹǝʇdɐɥɔ

pairing: eddie munson x female reader trigger warnings: mentions of death, grief, ptsd, blood, and gore tags: kas!eddie, canon adjacent, lovers to strangers, strangers to enemies, enemies to lovers again, st5 imagine, ronance, byler summary: your mind struggles with an endless sea of questions and memories of your life with eddie word count: 3044 status: ongoing read on ao3: here ! masterlist: 🦇

Silence fell heavy within the car --- suffocating and draining. A pure emptiness pitted deep within the core of every individual there, leaving such a gnawing ache it took deep, clenched breaths to endure. While the others freed themselves of the claustrophobic trap as soon as possible, you remained inside the car upon instruction. A delegation needed before any further information was shared about the secrets Steve and his friends carried. Your exhaustion so palpable there was no more fight left in you to argue.

Apparently this Mike was the younger brother of Nancy Wheeler. Someone you knew, though granted, not well. Preppy girl, you recalled, who always seemed to get what she wanted. It never bothered you when you shared the close knit halls of Hawkins High ( you even felt pity when Barb had come and gone ) , but again you can’t help but wonder how any of them knew Eddie. While Steve, notably and rather drastically, had a personality makeover the year you both graduated, serious reparations would be needed to ever get them in a good place. Eddie “the freak” Munson wasn’t a self given title. Though he would wear it like a badge of honor when Tommy H. or Jason would get in his face, because Eddie happened to be a little too boisterous that day. But you knew what it did to him, and you knew those who wiped away red stains from his headstone must have called him that behind his back.

Those same people you watched now. Five bodies huddled together in a disarray of theatrical gestures and furrowed expressions. Their voices coming through to you in muffled nothingness. A variety of tone overlaying on top of each other as they all appeared to have something to share and say. When Nancy happened to look over with a pointed indication they were now clearly discussing your presence, you looked away. Still seated in the backseat, Robin’s choppy short strands came into your view from the front passenger side. Somehow you didn’t realize she had not exited the vehicle, and your anger has not dissipated in the slightest towards them.

You couldn’t look out the window, couldn’t look towards the front seat, so you decided to view the black coolness behind shut eyelids. A deep breath harshly whipping through your nose as your composure still needed grasping. There was obviously so much more to the story not yet unfolded to you, and it left you feeling antsy... discombobulated. A concussion from a two hundred and fifty pound linebacker would have felt better than this right now. Your feet kick slightly in torment --- the only word close enough to the way your insides twist and knot when Eddie’s features flash across your eyelids in a hellish drive in theater private showing.

Those eyes, large and round, were not meant to be that color. Red. Haunted and chilling; humanity completely lacking from each iris. You wished to wipe that image away before it could completely taint the other thousand memories of you spent staring into his October eyes. The perfect shade of brown that glowed like sunlight through satin curtains in the early, autumn mornings; reflecting it’s shade upon you in rich, heavy waves of molasses. With every stare Eddie had you frozen, stuck within his gaze and a desire to never leave it. Until finally you had nearly drowned and clawed yourself out, his remnants sticking to you like tar while your words branded him in scars.

“ Drop dead, ---- ”

A crinkle on the already low playing radio.

---- legs, pretty smile hurts my head, gets me wild. dig that steam, giant butt makes me scream i get nuh-nuh nothing but the shakes over you and nothing else could ever do !

Tears fall once more from your tired eyes, but they meet on top two rounded hills of a smile. To cry over a silly Van Halen song such an odd sentiment, but the memory it carried too precious. It occurring only months before your love went to hell.

🥀

“ God, I hate this song. ” You lied, partly. While the tune didn’t match your level of taste ( you finding i’ll wait from the same 1984 album more to your liking ), the expressions that carried upon his theatrical features made your body fill with adrenaline spiked excitement whenever it came on.

“ Oooh, that’s strike one, L/N. ” An unserious grin carrying his words as calloused torn fingers wrap around your ankle, pulling you across and closer to the edge of the bed. The pads of Eddie’s fingertips then crawling up your leg and thigh, lifting it high to his lips as the lyrics continued to spill in addicting melody alongside cupid bow pressings against your skin.

dig those moves, vampire set me loose, get it higher throw my rope, loop-de-loop nice white teeth, betty boop

Each stanza interrupted from a kiss pressed higher and higher, until his body completely came to lay over your own. His arms dropping your leg to prop himself above you in a comfortable hover; shoulder length hair spilling around you in a brown, tousled waterfall. Eddie’s lips millimeters from your own.

“ You want me to kiss you so bad, dontcha? ” The playfulness doesn’t waver from his tone, but it deters towards distraction. Eddie knew damn well you didn’t come over for that, though with the way he was staring; eyes eating you up in desire --- you couldn’t deny the temptation. But Wayne was in the next room over and Eddie needed to pass Ms. O’Donnell’s upcoming exam.

“ I want you to do your homework. ” And with a hand and a light shove, you push him towards the side. Eddie flopping dramatically ( as always ) against the sheets before giving a slight yelp. A dungeon and dragons book lodged between his shoulders blades that he reaches under and pushes to the floor.

“ That, love, is strike two. ” Eddie mewls, hands locked behind his head and feet crossed at the ankles.

“ And when did you give a shit about baseball? ” You roll off the bed, putting distance between the friction that never sizzled between the two of you. He needed to focus, as impossible as a task that was.

“ When I saw all the cute guys in their tight, sexy baseball pants. ” Laughter echoes beneath the continued sounds of Van Halen, Eddie’s hands muffling every other chuckle as he fends off your attacks with the pillow. “ How many of them you think I could get to third base with? ” Another comment met with a pillow. “ Hargrove, definitely! Right? ” Pillow.

“ Be serious, Munson. I want us to graduate together, alright? If you make me walk that stage alone, forgiveness will not come easy. ” Remnants of a laugh from his comments linger on your lips, but your tone and the words behind them carry significant weight.

You were a freshman and Eddie was a sophomore when you stumbled upon one another. One of the first pep rallies of that year and you hid away beneath the bleachers where Eddie had already perched himself with a brown paper bag wrapped tightly in a fist. A shared sip led to a shared story that became an endless amount of memories spawned over years. Memories you wanted to build upon throughout your future.

“ You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard... ” He sarcastically quoted in a silly voice, refusing to take anything seriously. Eddie knew the seriousness of his situation, however he believed that he was a lost cause destined for failure thanks to the likes of his father. He desperately wanted to care for you and make true the desires you held, but he was ( truthfully ) frightened and didn’t see any hope of it ever coming true.

“ Keep silly voices and Tolkien out of this, Eddie ! ” You walk towards the edge of the room, digging through a mostly abandoned backpack. Inside, a complete lack of organization as you de-crumbled papers that were the math homework assigned earlier that day. Stuffing the paper ( hoping they’d flattened ) into the heavy math textbook that was already on his dresser, you tossed it to the empty indention you left upon the sheets next to him. “ Study, now. Or you shall not pass ! ”

Regret immediately fills your senses as whatever focus Eddie could’ve possessed was thrown quickly out the window. Long limbs flipped and crawled off the bed, carrying him throughout the small space between your two frames. One of his hands then pressed against your stomach, guiding you back against and up onto the dresser. While his other took your chin, lifting it up to meet the eagerness of his own.

You were strong willed, but not that strong. Your every inch giving in to the passion Eddie always carried. When his lips move against your neck, a sigh is drawn out --- gasping for breath against the brush of his teeth on your smooth skin.

Though the song is long finished, the tape sizzling out into a heavy silence, Eddie’s rendition of the lyrics breath heavy against your neck. His legs pushing apart your thighs as he settled closer against your frame.

baby, you know that you want it i know what it is you know that you want it, baby when the night is through, will I still be loving you?

It took every ounce of your strength to not let it continue, or else Eddie and walking the stage to receive his long overdue diploma would really just be a fantasy. Your hands press firmly against his chest. The motion raising his eyes to meet your own, amber hues darkened with teenage lust. Pushing him back, Eddie obliged, taking a couple of steps backwards, and your eyes remaining locked as you slowly slid off the dresser.

Without any words, you turn towards the cassette player, popping out the tape and feeling his gaze wash over your every motion. While Eddie had expected you to change it to the other side, disappointment carried through his body as he fell back onto the mattress with a defeated sigh when you instead put the tape back into it’s case and left the cassette player shut and empty.

“ Study, now. ” Your breath revealing you wanted to do everything but.

Eddie’s lips part to reply.

🥀

“ Strike three. ”

Your eyes fling open, completely startled. The response from the memory that played over the song coming from within the car. From Robin. They looking back at you with intense, harboring red tinted views. Your entire body shifts within the seat, eyes blinking rapidly.

As soon as you did, Robin was no longer looking at you. It appeared as if she had never even turned around. Their head instead leaning against the glass plane window, staring out towards the quiet, mundane suburb.

“ What did you just say? ”

Robin shifts, confused by the question before slowly turning around. Their eyes not red, but their natural oceanic blue. Hues shift between you and the rest of the car --- she had no idea what you are talking about.

“ Me? I -- I didn’t say anything. ”

BOM!BOM!BOM!

The sound of a flat palm against the car window startles the both of you. A lump sent immediately down your throat as anxiety and adrenaline rush your blood stream once more. Steve, either not realizing or caring that the shit was just effectively scared out of you and Robin, waves the both of you out of the vehicle. Almost immediately, you both tumble out through the opposite doors, shaking the stiffness out of your limbs as you cross into the yard. The strangeness you just experienced, you chalking up to a tired, exhausted mind riddle by too many questions. And a deep longing for the boy you loved, pushed away, and effectively lost.

Dustin and Mike appeared to have gone off on either side of the yard, their mouths pressed near the walkie-talkies in their hands. Erica stayed near Nancy, arms crossed and shoulders pulled back in an attempt to appear taller. Robin came up next to you, and you realized just as much as you were trying not to look at her; she was also trying not to look at you.

“ Robin, your neck... ” Nancy rushes forward, pulling the small, light blue and silk scarf she was adorning off of her neck. Your eyes just catching two small trickled steams of blood before it’s soaked into the pastel accessory.

“ I... must have gotten bit by a mosquito or something. ” Robin offers an unsure explanation, tilting their head as Nancy began dabbing the two small wounds.

“ Mosquito bites don’t look like this... it must have been a spider. ”

“ We were at the cemetery for hours, it’s entirely possible it happened there. ” Steve stepped towards them, hovering just behind Nancy to get a good look at whatever was going on.

Once the bleeding had seemed to stop, Nancy nonchalantly stuffs the scarf into her pocket; taking you a little by surprise. For a girl who looked like she’d faint at the sight of blood, she appeared to have no problem with it. Just as she did, she took notice of you --- Nancy reaching out a hand in introduction.

“ I’m Nancy. Erica said you dated Eddie? ” Straight to the point, she was. A journalist through and through.

Your eyes hover to her hand to Erica, who shrugged, then to Steve and Robin, who cringed at the realization that Nancy had no idea who you were.

“ Eddie had a girlfriend? ” The tall, figure you knew now as Mike interjected, slicing through awkwardness that came as Nancy’s hand lingered untaken in the air before she finally dropped it to her side. “ He never mentioned that. ”

“ We broke up last summer... ”

“ She’s Lady Hope. ” Dustin quickly joins from the other side of the yard, pushing the antenna of the hand held radio down.

“ Holy shit, you’re Lady Hope? ” It took a brief pause for Mike to connect the name, but the name then quickly resonated in his mind. A clear signal to you that he must’ve been apart of HELLFIRE as well. “ Lady Hope is an absolute legend. Eddie dated Lady Hope? ”

The question just exhausts you further.

“ Who the hell is Lady Hope? ” Nancy inquires, though the question lingers on the tongue of all the older teenagers.

“ She is... Y/N... original member of HELLFIRE... it’s the character she played... you play a character in D&D... ” Dustin drawls out an explanation to blank faces. “ I’ve explained this to you so many times... ” Words directed to Steve who only pouted out his bottom lip in confusion with a shake of his voluptuous locks and a shrug.

Shaking palms meet your eyes, “ I’m sorry --- what... what is this? What are we doing here? We just--- Eddie’s alive and we’re talking about D&D? ”

“ No --- we, we feel it too. It’s just we’ve kind of experienced a lot of... things that are similar so our ability to... bounce back, for a lack of better words, is... ” Robin starts and falls off, realizing too late that if something lacked the words then maybe it was better left unsaid.

“ What does that even mean? Do people just sprout out of the damned ground on the regular for you all? ”

“ No, this is admittedly new — we should really just go inside. Figure things out when the others get here... ” Nancy trails, looking towards Dustin and Mike who were meant to rally the others. More unknown people… how did Eddie get caught up in any of this?

“ Byers crew will be here as soon as they can. Lucas is staying with Max. ”

“ Not surprising. ” Erica retorted to the information Dustin relayed, a brief sadness flitting her features she so desperately wanted to appear adult.

“ El and Hop can’t come until tomorrow — ”

“ Why? ” Steve interjected, a look upon his face that screamed what could be more important than the shit that happened this evening?

“ — and ” Mike continued, drawling out the single syllable “ gave no reason as to why. I tried to get it out of El, but she wouldn’t budge. ” Scrawny shoulders shrug with a shake of midnight colored hair, though it clearly bothered him not having an answer.

“ We should just wait until tomorrow then and get some rest tonight... together. It’s getting late... and I have a bad feeling things are just going to continue to get worse. Who knows how many restful nights we have left... ”

Robin’s comment drives you further over the edge. Cold palms from the cool spring, night digging into your eye sockets. Your brain completely rattled into a new direction every minute you spent around the others. Steve quickly rushed forward, placing hands upon your shoulders.

“ Hey... hey, we know. Believe me, I’ve been trying not to vomit for the past hour. It’s just --- with Hawkins, everything gets worse. ”

Puffy, desolated hues meet a matching pair you realized hid it better than you did. Gazing upon the others, tired face by tired face --- Dustin, Mike, Erica, Nancy, Robin --- the same glimmer of exhaustion lingered behind statuesque features; ghosts hiding among the living.

“ Eddie didn’t die in the earthquake, did he? ”

Steve shakes his head. Dread descends upon you like a cold, winter chill.

“ And it wasn’t an earthquake. ” Dustin says.

“ You’re gonna need to sit down for this. ” Erica sighs, being the first to turn and head towards the Wheeler house while everyone slowly follows her steps --- each of them sharing knowing glances while yours grasped for any kind of sane, logical answer amidst an impossible sounding scenario.

Eddie, what happened to you? What has happened to them?

🦇

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