#based on an actual nightmare i had today

[time-was-over]

i think i’m losing it (vent in the tags el oh el)

[readychilledwine]

can we have rhysand with an emotional reader again? maybe meetings made her feel unsupported

A Heavy Burden

Summary - After a long day of tense negotiations, Rhysand finds his wife wondering if this all was worth it.

Warnings - mental health, implied misunderstanding and communication, implied Azriel was illiterate fan theory, slight misogynistic thing when you consider the places reader was dealing with

A/n - Slowly but surely, you all are about to see the mass amount of things I have queued from old and new requests. All almost 48 and counting of them 🫠 2025 goals include getting better at getting to what is sent to me faster, along with finding a better system for requests so I'm maybe only working with 5 at a time instead of pressuring myself to put out requests instantly.

✨️Rhysand Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

The clanging of your crown in the marbled floor was the first thing that caught Rhysand's attention. The second was you sitting on the balcony in your dress, in the middle of a cold night, just being still. Today had been, for a lack of better terms, a nightmare. 

Your proposal for remodeling the Illyrian camps had been met with conflict and comments regarding if you truly had power.

Your proposal for creating a shelter system for females and children in Hewn City was met with questions of your status and abilities.

Your family dinner at home hadn't even been safe from remarks from the Inner Circle that he knew had you questioning how they saw you.

He shouldn't have been surprised by you doing this by tossing the symbol of your power aside like it was nothing. Your ideas were frequently met with debate, tension, and sometimes, his advisors screaming like children at each other. As a test, you once had him present the idea you had for it. It had been met with excitment until the passing of the paprrs was signed and stamped by you.

You had a habit of smiling in the face of adversity. Taking a gentle approach instead of using the authority he had given you. You had become the kindness to his image of cruelty. A match many felt was odd but truly made by the Cauldron for balance. You shouldered it all well, but even you, his strong wife, had a breaking point. 

Rhys moved with near silence to you, lowering himself behind you and knowing it was serious this time when you didn't make a joke over his knees popping. “Talk to me,” he murmured as he pulled you to him, wings appearing to wrap around you as if they were a shield.

You only sighed, chin resting on your knees, “I feel insufficient. I feel like no one believes in me. I feel like I'm just here as a glorified placeholder.”

Rhysand hummed, kissing the skin of your bare shoulder, “What about today do you feel made you feel that way?”

“How everything I purposed for the two areas begging the most for change was met. Illyria acknowledges that the camps are rundown. I purpose a cycle of upgrades, funded by us, by the way, that would allow the camps to be safer, warmer, and have more resources. I am told I don't understand Illyrians and what the camps need despite my plans being based on the needs given to Cassian and I.”

You took a breath, eyes shutting to relax and fight tears before continuing. “When we then spend the second portion of our day in Hewn City. I am addressing the so-called concern for female and children resources. It is meant with your uncle screaming at a more forward moving male that I'm powerless. I have no clue what females need, which is odd since I am one. Then, lastly, my proposals do not matter.”

Rhys nodded, nose buried in your hair to calm himself at the memory of everything, “Then we come home and instead of being met with support-”

“Our family tells me I need to take my heart out of things and start acting like a ruthless High Lord and stop offering mercy. That that is the only way fae will ever actually respect me."

“Thus attacking your character when you were already in a fragile state and needing support instead of, well, we will call it constructive criticism, though, I know it did not feel that way.” His voice was soft in your ear, offering that comfort you had been seeking.  “And, y/n, your heart does not need to be taken out of the conversation. Your heart is why I pursued you. It's why we are married. Why I didn't care a mating bond had landed into place yet. Your heart chose me. It is precious to me. It belongs in the decisions we, as High Lord and Lady, make.”

Another soft kiss was placed on your shoulder. Then the nape of your neck, pressing in  as if he could make every nerve in your body calm down with just the strength of his love. “I will handle Azriel and Amren,” he assured you. “Though, I do suspect Azriel realized his comment came across much harsher than intended.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, “He's 538 years old. He's been with you all and consistently speaking and socializing for over 525 years. He shouldn't continue to be coddled for his childhood illiteracy and lack of social understanding, especially when we hold a barely 21 year old Feyre to higher standards.”

You felt his shift, the deep sigh as his forehead touched the back of your neck, “He doesn't mean to be harsh with you. Please consider what he does for a living, who he is normally dealing with.”

You nodded, “But he also needs to consider time and place then.”

“He knows, trust me.” You did chuckle at that, knowing your husband was more than likely being yelled at for access to you. His calloused hand moved into the dip of your dress, stopping once it rested over your heartbeat. “This is the most beautiful thing in my world. The most important thing.” He subconsciously synced his breathing to yours, only content once the two of you were in harmony. “I know a heart can be a heavy burden, darling. I know it seems easier to shut it out right now. I know it feels like you should become more cold. I know you're hurting.”

The tears began then. Your thumb moving to wipe them away, “I just feel wearing my heart on my sleeve is counterproductive to what the Court needs-”

“The court needs more of it, actually,” he immediately stopped you, knowing where this was going. “The court as a whole needs more care and heart, Y/n. Change begins when one person cares enough to push for it, and even the smallest stone will make ripples. You have inspired me to take better control of Illyria and Hewn City. You have inspired countless in Velaris to work to help the Court's lower income families. You have inspired my heart, my darling.”

He pulled you impossibly closer, “Be glad of your big heart, y/n. Pity those who don't feel anything at all." One last soft kiss touched the back of your neck. “Come bathe with me. Let's wash today away.”

The idea had your body already relaxing as he stood, knees popping again. “Old ass male.” And there it was. A sign of you. A sign you would be okay. A sign you would fight.

“Cruel little thing,” he purred back. “Mocking my war injuries.” He pulled you up before a tendril of darkness and starlight handed him your crown. “Put this back on. You dropped it.”

[ssalballoon]

ljósálfr gale and dökkálfr astarion! 🦋🥀 bringers of dreams and nightmares

based on the hit mobile game fire emblem heroes. download it for free today! (Please Do Not)

a lot of notes on the designs under the cut, i had so much fun with these!

gale

- the eyes on the wings are mystra's

- the colors are based on his aurora stargazing scene

- he's based on the dream-king freyr, who takes human children in unfortunate circumstances and turns them into fairies that become "their most extraordinary selves" but can never return home. he feels guilty for intervening in their fates, but the ends justify the means to grow the power of his realm :-) he mourns the fact that humans stop dreaming (as in losing their ambitions) as they grow older

(feel like this is the type of thing god gale who's slowly becoming more like mystra would do and convince himself nooo it's completely ethical i'm being benevolent actually)

astarion

- the eyes on the yellow wings are cazador's

- one set of wings are yellow inspired by his longing for the sun

- the flowers are the same flowers on his grave, the garden star-of-Bethlehem

- he's based on the character plumeria, who's the bringer of lustful dreams and is disgusted by the humans who have such indecent desires. (she's one of the humans transformed/kidnapped into a fairy) she puts up a sensual front but hates the way people leer at her. nonetheless she must deliver those vulgar desires as dreams, doing a job she hates :-) all she wants is true compassionate love removed from lust... is this ringing a bell 

please don't let any of this trick you into believing feh has a good story. but also expect more feh x bg3 from me in the future lol

[mrpenguinpants]

You are all I long for, all I worship, and adore.

— It's strange seeing your future selves being so close when you thought you both hated each other guts.

— Jing Yuan, Dan Feng (& Dan Heng) + Sunday

[Masterlist]

Suspend your disbelief for the timeline of lore, please.

Update: When I originally wrote this, I wanted to do an entire "Fly Me to the Moon," series of fics based on time travel. Hence the title. Shout-out to that one person who was waiting for me to write Sunday. I didn't, but I see you. It will happen soon.

Jing Yuan

This is the worst. The absolute worst thing ever. In the entirety of your living long life, this is the absolute worst moment so far. Were all the good times leading up to this moment? Did the Aeon's have some sick agenda, or were you randomly selected to be messed with today? If you had the option of eating literal trash bags for the rest of your life or continuing to live in this moment, you'd rather chew your own arms off. Maybe if you start now, you can save your future self the pain and humiliation of succumbing to...whatever this is.

"Aw, you were so cute when you were younger,” you - at least you think it’s you. This stranger wears the same face as you although a bit older. Perhaps alien would be a more fitting name? - this stranger coos as they cup Jing Yuan's face in their hands. Pinching cheeks with barely any fat on them with the sweetest smile you never knew you could even make. Jing Yuan, one of the seven Arbiter-Generals of the Xianzhou Alliance's Cloud Knights who stared down an actual Lord Ravager, looks two seconds away from bolting like a scared cat. He hasn’t moved an inch since this started and honestly, as mortifying as this is, it’s way worse for him than it is for you. So naturally, you’re turning a blind eye and holding Yangqing hostage from saving his precious general of sweet words and praises.

”I see we didn’t get along at this point in time,” a deep voice muses above you from a man you’re very blatantly pretending to ignore. An older Jing Yuan stands beside you, amused at his younger self having a barely contained stroke. If it wasn't bad enough that a future version of yourself suddenly appeared, Jing Yuan just had to follow. Always a nuisance no matter his age. Maybe if you hold your breath, you’ll pass out and everything will blow over. It sounds less painful than trying to eat yourself from the outside in any way. Before you can start, a hand, heavy yet somehow gentle, is placed on your shoulder. “I don’t recommend trying to self-induce a suffocation. Nor attempt any cannibalism on the self either.”

Okay. That’s creepy. Do senior citizens suddenly gain mind-reading powers? You’ve heard the story that if a man stays a virgin until he’s 30, he'll become a wizard. You let out a huff of amusement at that thought, maybe that’s what’s happening. That amusement gets cut short when you realize that somehow, you fell for this 30-year-old virgin. You refuse to accept that out of spite. That story was meant for short-life species anyway.

“For all intensive purposes, I’m choosing to believe this is a nightmare and the first step to waking up from one is to induce pain,” you answer blandly, your grip on Yanqing finally waning as the boy sprints in for the rescue. Only to get swept up in the storm as your other self switches her attention to the kid. Sticky fingers and starry eyes have Yanqing disarmed before he can even lift a finger to summon his ice sword, falling prey to the musing of a Xianzhou auntie. Nevertheless, Yanqing does his job correctly because it allows Jing Yuan to finally escape as he stumbles over to you and his other self.

"How far the mighty have fallen," you snicker behind your hand at how ruffled Jing Yuan looks. His hair is a bit fluffy from how many times your future self ran their hands through it, and his cheeks are a bit pink. Probably from all the pinching. There's even a deep chuckle next to you to accompany your words as Jing Yuan coughs into his fist before straightening up properly. You can see Yanqing being given sweets behind his back and that alone buys the kids complacency.

"My apologies for that," Jing Yuan says as the older Jing Yuan simply laughs in response. Unserious and unfretted in everything.

Huh, now that you look closer. He has laugh lines.

"It is I that should apologize. We have disturbed your schedule with our, ahem, compliments," Other Jing Yuan chuckles once again, as if the fact that he has time traveled into the past was a small "disturbance". Aeons, you hate this guy in every form.

They go back and forth, talking in that faux politeness that never truly goes anywhere before you finally had enough of this. You're not sticking around for this tea-time pleasantries any longer than you need to. It's the exact reason why you left your position as the "Divine Foresight Counselor" and passed it off to Qingzu as soon as you could. Unfortunately, you're going up against two Jing Yuan's, so the moment you shift your shoe to take a step back to remove yourself from the conversation, two pairs of golden eyes snap to you. One is smiling, the other is frowning.

"Heading off?"

"Where are you going?"

You look between the two, older and younger, and you can feel your head beginning to hurt. You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead, before ultimately picking the lesser of two evils. If you have to look into those love-stricken soft eyes one more time, you might actually pass away.

"Out. You don't need me here anymore do you, General? Or do I require your dismissal now?" you ask bluntly, turning to the Jing Yuan you're used to. The one who's supposed to be in this timeline. "If you need anything, I'm sure Diviner Fu would love to be of assistance."

You don't bother to wait for Jing Yuan to say anything, pivoting on your heel and marching out of the Exalting Sanctum. You glance at your other self, a bitter feeling rising in your chest when they look at you disapprovingly. You can tell they want to say something but one brief look to the side, where the two Jing Yuans stand, and they close their mouth and turn around. Regardless, there's no reason for you to stick around longer. As long as the time travelers stay within the exalting sanctum, no one will know they ever appeared in the first place.

As you near the exiting doors, nodding to the guards on each side, you spare one last glance back. Your sudden departure hasn't halted anything and Jing Yuan is speaking to both his other self and you. Yanqing huddles close, one of his hands in your other self's hand, as he tries his best to participate in the discussion. Realistically, you should set aside your petty pride and march back to help. Do something other than running away and letting everyone else pick up the pieces for you. But the doors are already open and you need a sweet drink desperately.

There's been a growing sour taste on your tongue every time your Jing Yuan stares longingly at the other you.

Dan Feng

There isn't a single word to describe the situation you're in right now. Strange? Uncanny? Just super weird? You've seen and done a lot of weird things in your long life, but this is the absolute weirdest thing that has ever happened to you - and you've seen a star collapse before.

“If you keep making that expression, it’ll stick on your face,” Jing Yuan muffles his laugh under his hand, keeping up with your brisk pace as you not-so-subtly run away from the situation thrust into your hands. A tactical retreat you call it. You give Jing Yuan a pained grimace for a brief second before focusing straight ahead again.

“Jing Yuan, I will make sure your promotion to General is riddled with paperwork,” you say straight-faced. He knows you’re lying, you adore your pseudo-nephew too much to do that to him, but it does make him jolt and respectfully keep his mouth shut. However, in exchange, it makes the third pair of footsteps all the more louder. The source of your current predicament and Jing Yuan's amusement. You peer over your shoulder at the young man just to make absolutely sure that you're not hallucinating. A tall, slender young man with blue eyes, fair skin, and black hair stares right back at you before quickly averting his gaze back to the ground. Even with his unique coat and clothing, he has the splitting image of that old lizard. Even though this stranger is younger...and without a stick up his ass either.

He said his name was Dan Heng. A "traveling guard" for the renowned Astral Express. He had sworn on his life that he was telling the truth but that didn't change the fact of who he looked like. If Jing Yuan hadn't been there to vouch for him, then you would have attempted to throw him off the Luofu yourself. According to Jing Yuan, he found the young man "asleep" under one of the ginkgo trees, but otherwise wasn't doing any harm to anyone. He had just appeared with no way to return to where he came from.

At least you have one thing in common: you both don’t want to be here.

"So, are you a distant relative? Is this your first time visiting the Luofu? Oh! Are you here to visit him for vidyadhara business?" Jing Yuan spitballs one question after the other, his barely contained excitement shining through. He had slowed his pace to walk side-by-side with Dan Heng, illustrating the differences between them. Jing Yuan barely reaches Dan Heng's waist, the standard cloud knight uniform looking plain compared to the other's elaborate coat. Teal clashing with blue. Although, they match in their one red accessory flapping in the wind.

Dan Heng awkwardly coughs into his hand, before giving Jing Yuan a rather embarrassed look, "I don't think it'd be wise for me to say anything. If you have any questions, you should ask my teacher..."

Dan Heng shoots you a look as he says the word 'teacher', to which you raise an eyebrow right back. You've never seen this specific man in your life, let alone taken on any students. You don't even like kids that much unless their name is Jing Yuan and even, he isn't fully nestled in your heart. But that's another weird thing about this whole situation. This mysterious "teacher" apparently came along for the ride, yet the man won't spare a single detail about them. Vague descriptions that could be for anyone but wouldn't be a definite confirmation. All in all, it's been a headache and not something you wished to do on a bright and sunny morning. It's frankly out of your pay grade to be babysitting wandering travelers, even if they look like the High Elder.

“We’re here,” you call out, abruptly stopping your near sprint as you feel two bodies collide into your back. One has the decency to step back with an apology while the other clings to your arm as he peers around your waist.

"The forge?" Jing Yuan questions, tilting his head almost fully sideways as the three of you look up at the unassuming blacksmith shop.

"Yep, we're visiting the only adult of the group. Come on, Yingxing should still be inside," you say eyes forward but your arm reaches behind you to hold onto the retreating body of Dan Heng, who has been quietly trying to step away as soon as you confirmed just where you were. Jokes on him, you're the master of running away from your problems- retreating. You're the master at tactical retreating.

Although it’s muffled, you can hear some commotion going on inside. Maybe an unruly customer who didn’t read the fine print and is now venting their frustration? You share a look of confusion with Jing Yuan as you strong-arm Dan Heng into coming inside.

Entering the store, it looks relatively normal? There's nothing out of place or anything to show there was a scuffle, but the argument is getting louder sounding from the back of the store, into the forge. Which is strange for two reasons. Firstly, Yingxing may not be a dragon but he guards the forge with his life. Secondly, the only other people allowed in aren't even in the area. A mutual understanding passes through the three of you, Dan Heng finally giving up on trying to escape with the death grip you have on his arm, and you all tip-toe to the back door. Jing Yuan being the smallest reaches the door first, his head peeking out, your head above his as you squint into the room, and Dan Heng above yours with a look of defeat.

“You selfish old lizard! I’d outta cut your tail off right now for all the trouble you caused you senile son of a-“

"Please calm down, this is still the High Elder you're speaking to!"

What you see is something you'd never expect to see, and you need to reiterate that you've seen a literal star collapse. An older version of you is being held back by Yingxing as they throw threats and cusses at Dan Feng, who looks relatively unbothered by the promises to maim him.

“Teacher!”

Dan Heng, who has kept the most monotone voice imaginable since meeting him, suddenly pushes himself forward. A small "ah!" comes from Jing Yuan as he flops onto the floor from the sudden movement. A spear you've definitely seen before materializes in his hand as he goes to swing at Yingxing, only to be parried away by an identical spear. If you thought the tension between your first meeting with Dan Heng was rough, this feels like the Aeons themselves are fighting against each other. Yingxing and the other you have gone slack in surprise as two vidyadhara's who share the same face are kept at a standstill. Two cloud piercers pointed at each other, poised and ready to strike again, the air growing more humid with sticky beads of water vapor suspended in the air. Well, if you had any doubts about Dan Heng looking way too similar to Dan Feng, this pretty much confirms it. They're the same person.

Your eyes slide to the other you.

A falling star has nothing on this.

Sunday

There's something off about this entire situation, and there are enough oddities to begin with, but there's just something that doesn't sit right with you. Was there such a thing as a second puberty? Is that what a "mid-life" crisis was? Aren't you supposed to dye your hair and buy a sports car when that happens? Because the person walking next to you is certainly not you. They're too...peppy.

When you first saw the "future you", you had assumed they were a figment of someone's imagination. A dream perhaps? In Penacony, it would definitely be possible, but who would want to dream of you? The other you didn't seem that weird either, just a bit older and more well-mannered, but otherwise exactly the same. They had greeted you cheerfully, even coming up to shake your hand because "it was the polite thing to do when greeting friends.". You didn't know how to react to that wording so you brushed it aside. Maybe in the future, you're some big shot? That's kind of exciting to imagine.

"So...any idea how you got here?" you ask, turning to the other you. It's kind of funny that you're escorting yourself but you doubt the future you remember's the winding pathways the Bloodhounds take to the main base. Although your boss is quite nonchalant, Gallagher has always had a steady head on his shoulders. If you can't figure out a way to fix this time travel business, he can at least play damage control.

"I'm not entirely sure. I was about to set out to welcome some new friends on behalf of my husband, and then I was suddenly here. Oh, I hope he isn't upset with me for disappearing," your other self hums, a hand on their cheek, before quickly jolting up, "Ah, I guess I should say our husband now."

You let out an awkward laugh to match their giggle. Although your future self doesn't look that much older than you, it seems you managed to get hitched with someone great. They always seem to slip the word "husband" into every sentence, heck- you're making new friends because of him. Your mother would weep tears of joy learning that fact. Although it does make you curious just who your supposed husband is. The only man you see more than once in your life is Gallagher, and respectfully, he's not your type. But then who else? Perhaps one of the patrons? You've heard the news that the IPC sent a handsome gambler with beautiful eyes. Perhaps that's who you've fallen in love with? You don't want to ask because you don't want to mess up the timeline and frankly, you don't want to ruin the surprise. To be honest, even though you never thought about marriage, it kinda makes you giddy knowing that in the future, you seem to love your husband so much. A bit too much but it's probably the honeymoon phase train never stopping.

You still can't help but shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong.

There's just the slightest sinister curl in their smile. As if they're secretly laughing at the expense of everyone while keeping on an angelic facade. It's unsettling and makes chills down go your spine when it's your face that does it. The only time you've felt this sense of unease was when you accidentally stumbled into Gallagher's private meeting with the Head of the Oak Family. The Halovian had simply smiled, inquiring who you were and holding his hand out for you to shake. Your fingers had just brushed against his white glove when Gallagher stepped in, gripping your wrist hard enough for bruises, and forcibly pushed you out the door.

"Someone not important."

That's what your boss had said. You thought he spoke so harshly because he was pissed at you for possibly giving the Oak Family a bad first impression. He pretended it never happened and you never brought it up, afraid he might fire you from your job.

"I don't mean to pry, but are you alright?"

You blink, shaken out of your thoughts by your future self's question. They smile at you kindly, a slight tilt to their head as they wait for you to answer patiently.

"Oh! Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a bit..." You let out an awkward laugh. Your voice sounds weak even to you, but the other you just nods in understanding. Perhaps it's because it's technically you that you're talking to, or that feeling of foreboding, that you feel like you need to explain yourself, "I guess I haven't been sleeping well. Gallagher has me running errands on the other side of Penacony in preparation for the Charmony Festival. Between you and me, I think he's dumping his errands on me so he can slack off."

Your lighthearted chuckle tapers off when the other you doesn't respond in kind to your joke. In fact, bringing up Gallagher's name has completely cleared their face from that prim and proper mask. Leaving behind a blank expression with disinterested eyes before a blink, and there's that same smile smeared on.

"You speak rather fondly of him. It seems I'm farther into the past than I originally thought," they mumble to themselves. Although you pick up on the words easily, you double-take just to make absolutely sure those words came from them. Sure, Gallagher isn't the most traditional-looking boss but he's not a bad person. Especially not to you. When you were looking for a job, he was the one to approach you out of the blue to work under him as a Bloodhound. If he never showed up, you would have most likely wasted away as a paper pusher for one of the families. He's always forgiven your mistakes and always offered to escort you home even though you can take care of yourself. So why is your future self so unfriendly to someone you currently hold in high regard?

"Oh uh...did something happen between us and Gallagher? I mean, I always suspected I'd get fired but I don't know, I always thought we got along. I mean, he has been acting a bit weird since that Oak Family Head came around but he's probably just stressed, right? Oh wait- I don't think we should be talking about this. I don't want to start a butterfly effect, especially so close to the festival-" you muse only to get interrupted.

"If I were you, I wouldn't trust that dog so easily," your other self spits with so much venom that you take a step away. Is it possible that you misjudged how close you were with Gallagher? Your other self talks about him as if he had betrayed them on a personal level. This shouldn't be possible because you and Gallagher have a strictly professional relationship. Unless you potentially knew him before you arrived in Penacony? To be fair, your memory gets a bit hazy looking back but you're sure you would remember someone like Gallagher.

"Wha- Hey, I don't know what happened but you shouldn't call him a dog-"

"We're here."

You stop in your tracks. What? We're here? You look up and realize that you've completely walked off the beaten path and happened upon a door. In fact, if you remember correctly, this was the door you stumbled into when you first met that Halovian. When did it become your other self escorting you rather than the other way around? You thought they wouldn't know these back alley pathways anymore.

"Why are we here?" you ask tentatively. Realistically, you know nothing bad will happen to you, at least not physically. You're their past. Whatever happens to you will affect them. A small scrape here will become a scar for them later.

"You haven't been sleeping well correct? I remember when I used to have headaches all the time. But you'll be okay now, he'll make things all better. While it's a bit early, I'm sure you'll understand. You are me after all," they smile sweetly, taking your hand in theirs as they pull you in front of the door.

"Come now, let's go meet our husband. He's been eagerly waiting for you for a long time."

---

Small author's note: I fell into a pit and wrote way too much. If I didn't cut it off, this fic would take another year to finish. That's why there's no real ending, lol.

[canthelpit0]

Cry Baby

Pairing: Matt x crybaby!popular!reader

Wordcount : 3.3K+

Summary: you were popular. The jester of the group. But atleast it was something. Nobody knew just how much you’d been struggling, until your secrets were exposed in the school cafeteria.

Warnings: swearing, angst, crying, mentioned of depression, Matt’s PoV, sensitive!reader, mentions of SH, SH mocking, humiliation, exposing secrets, fake friends, hurt/comfort, pet names (baby), use of y/n

(A/N: I wrote this based of this song. Bcs I was listening to it and had this scenario in my head, so I wrote it down.)

You had always been a bit of a crybaby.

You’re the oldest sibling. Your mother thought she couldn’t have any children, but she had. You were a blessing to her.

So after you were born you were never put down. Someone was always with you. To keep you from crying, entertaining you. Caving to your needs.

But once you got to kindergarten, it seemed that all those times your parents hushed you and made sure you didn’t cry had bottled up.

You didn’t speak a lot. You didn’t like socializing with people. You kept to yourself and that’s how you liked it.

You had severe attachment issues to your mom though. Because of her always being with you to soothe you, her not being there seemed like a nightmare.

So when she dropped you off at kindergarden, every day, you would cry, begging your mom to stay.

Eventually you got used to it, but you quickly found a friend to cling to.

Emma, was your one and only friend. The only person you talked to.

It was pretty much the same in elementary school. You’d trod around and talk to people. You were a bubbly social kid.

But you were also easy to break.

You didn’t have a lot of friends. All friends you had were only people you’d hang around in recess.

Emma stuck with you though.

Until, middle school.

In middle school you’d, for some reason, fallen into a depressive mindset.

Emma and you were in your awkward middle school phases. And in that time she’d become really rude.

And one day during a fight she told you how much she hated listening to your sobs.

You’d been vulnerable around her. You had trusted her.

And she’d broken that trust. By telling you that every time you had seeked her comfort she actually didn’t want to give it to you.

Your heart’s too big for your body.

You two stopped talking after that day. Until four months later Emma apologized for her words. You, being an empath, excepted the apology and went back to being friends with her.

Little did she know that her words rang through your head while you cut yourself.

A few months after you became friend again, she moved. She moved out of the country. You never saw her again.

So for high school you had taken it spoon yourself to mask your depression and ‘get over yourself’.

You started to dress more basic, learning to do your make up, hair, skincare. And basically everything to hide your miserable state the best you could.

Somehow it worked.

You had good facial proportions, and just a little bit of work you looked like a basic mean girl who is full of herself. But that was exactly the point.

Somehow, once High school started, you managed to get into the clique of the popular girls.

You were always so upbeat, cheery and talkative. No one could ever guess that you’re the most depressive mother fucker in a 50 mile radius.

Though as much as you would like the power of being the leader of the group, you were not. You were more like the jester of the group than anything.

You had held your mental breakdowns to a minimum. Holding back as much as you could. You only had Few panic attacks nowadays. And if you had one in school, you always had a touch up make up bag there.

Now it was senior year. You got ready like usual, not knowing that today would alter your life and the way people perceive you.

Matt’s PoV

I watch in horror.

Y/n is one of the popular girls in our school.

I’m not too popular. But I’m well known, all due to the fact that I’m a triplet. And due to the fact that Nick and Chris are really extroverted people.

Both of them are currently not with me.

Chris is sick at home. While Nick is in the library with some of our female friends.

I sit at my table with the lacrosse team around Me.

The entire cafeteria has their eyes focused on y/n.

She was arguably the prettiest out of all the popular girls.

But right now she was crying, Biting her lip. Her head tilted forward in shame at the claims her group was throwing at her.

The leader of the popular girls, Kelly, was accusing y/n of stealing her boyfriend at first, yelling right in her face. She yelled right back at Kelly though, not scared to stand up for herself.

But Kelly being the leader of the group, all the other girls sided with her.

I never understood why people would talk, or would argue, about stuff like this in public places. It was humiliating.

I was getting second hand embarrassment just watching.

The insults were getting more and more personal by the second.

Nobody was doing anything, captivated by the scene unfolding in front of them. Some people have their phones out filming for, ..who knows what reason.

I drown out most of the insults-

“IS THAT WHY YOU FUCKING CUT YOURSELF?” Kelly yells right back in y/n’s face.

The cafeteria had already been quiet. But with those words even the quiet conversations stopped. It seemed like everyone’s attention snapped back to the scene.

It was the passerby effect in full force. No one was doing anything, too shocked. Not even the teachers that were present said anything.

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

My ear start ringing, my eyes staying glued on y/n.

To me, it was obvious that something about y/n was off. She was polished to perfection. To a concerning degree. Nobody was that perfect.

So the revelation didn’t necessarily shock me. But the fact that Kelly was heartless enough to air y/n’s business out like that.

“I don’t.” Y/n’s words cut harshly through the quiet cafeteria. Her words are insistent like she was telling the truth.

She was a great liar, yet everyone would believe Kelly over her. Even if it was a lie.

“Oh but you do.” Kelly scoffs looking at the people y/n used to call friends. They all nod at Kelly’s statement.

“You have those scars all over your wrists.” Kelly points out nodding down to y/n’s wrists.

It’s like everyone takes a collective look down at her arms to see if something is actually there.

Me being so far away from their table I can’t see it clearly. But I really don’t want to anyway.

I watch as Y/n lets her head fall forward letting out a small laugh, shocking everyone in the cafeteria including me.

Y/n’s hands are trembling and shaking. She purses her lips looking back up at Kelly who looks at her with superiority.

Y/n picks her head back up and leans her head up to readjust her hair. Her hands ball into fists before she crosses her arms, trying to keep her composure.

Even from being a few tables away from the scene i can clearly see the tears running down her cheeks.

She huffs a laugh through a sob.

“Some friends you fucking are” she says harshly her glare focused on the girls around Kelly that she used to call friends.

The cafeteria is silent again for a moment the only thing heard being y/n’s soft sniffles

“Crybaby” one of the girls huffs under her breath, but its loud and clear in the silent cafeteria.

“Fuck you Rebecca.” I hear y/n’s voice snap at the girl. Despite crying her tone was still sharp.

“What’re you gonna do about it, gonna go home and cut yourself some more?” Another one of the girls in the group scoffs.

Y/n lets out another miserable chuckle hearing the comment.

I purse my lips remaining seated. I probably look miserable right now. I don’t want to be watching this. Hell I would like to stop this, but I can’t.

Before y/n can fire back though more and more comments from all the girls pore out. And the more: “you gonna kill yourself?” “you gonna cut yourself?” remarks they make the more humiliated y/n looks.

By the end of their relentless comments and bullying y/n is crying sobbing. And as someone with anxiety I can see the inevitable anxiety attack, in the way her entire body shakes.

With a strong “fuck you all” to her former friends y/n turns in her heels and leaves.

The cafeteria is quiet for a moment before the room breaks out in conversation, everyone gossiping about the scene they just witnessed. Debating how much of what was said was true.

I feel sick to my stomach knowing I had watched a girl just get torn down by her own, so called friends, like that, and didn’t do anything.

I mumble an excuse to my friends leaving the table. They don’t even seem to care emerged in their own conversations about the ‘gossip’.

I speed walk out of the cafeteria to find y/n.

There are only two places I can think of her being at. The girls bathroom, wich is probably not the case since she looked like she wanted to get as far away as possible,

Or her car.

She’d parked next to my van today. So I run out of the school to my car, to see hers still parked next to mine. I glance into it and she’s not in the drivers seat.

I get closer, catching my breath. I look through the window of the backseat seeing her sitting there curled up in on herself.

I knock on the car window catching her attention. Y/n’s beautiful teary eyes meet mine through the tinted glass.

She presses on a button on her car keys, the car unlocking.

Immediately I open the car door and slide in. My gaze soft as I look at the hyperventilating girl in front of me.

I close the door behind me. I gently take the car keys out of her hands. She was clinging to it like her life depended on it. I lock the car again and then lean to the front of the car and toss her keys on the drivers seat.

I turn back to y/n, she had her legs up to her chest hugging them while she continues to sob.

“Matt” she breaths out my name so tenderly.

We weren’t friends. But we shared one class in which we partnered up sometimes.

“Sh, you’re okay y/n” I breathe out. In an instant, my arms wrap around her smaller frame pulling her into me. I hug her from the side, her sobs wracking her body.

“No, no it’s not okay.” She lets out an irritated sigh, her breath hitching as a sobs Tores through her body again. “I just lost all my friends.”

I purse my lips holding her head. I cradle her into my chest. She didn’t deserve to have her stuff aired out like that, but all she was worried about was loosing her fake ass friends?

“Oh baby.” I sigh out. The nickname slips through my lips so effortlessly I didn’t even notice.

I keep her head cradled into my chest while I feel tears start to form in my own eyes.

“They ruined it.” She chokes out again, her voice shaky.

I breathe in heavily. “They ruined what?” I ask gently.

“My reputation”

I pause. My lips quiver at the sound of her cries. I try to blink away my own tears.

“That’s all you care about?” The words leave my lips before they register. I know she cares about all the things others say to her. She just seems like the type to.

“Matt, I spend so much time,” she sobs through the few words she said. Pausing to cry some more at the thought of it. “So, so much time, perfecting myself.”

I hear her pause again, and by this point I can’t hold back my own tears. I let out a soft sob crying with her as I hold her even closer to myself.

“I didn’t want anyone to know. It’s none of their business” her words are soft. But the more she talks the more quiet she gets.

In a way she was like me. Masking her sorrow like that. She always just seemed too perfect to be true.

Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect face. Great humor, nice, kind, popular.

But nobody ever questioned it. She had everyone fooled. She was a great liar. And even though I had my suspicions she never gave me a reason to believe I was right.

I just thought I was delusional for reading into things.

But I was right.

As much as I wish I wasn’t.

“I’m so sorry.” I whisper. I try to breathe hard as to not sob like she was. I wanted to comfort her not cry with her.

She pulls away slightly. I look at her. She still has tears running down her cheeks, not looking like it’d stop soon. She looks up at me through her tear stained lashes, her mascara only slightly smudged.

Her lips quivers as I see another wave of sadness wash over her. “Why are you crying?” She asks her voice shaky. She lets out another choked sob.

Her hands cup my cheeks as we both cry looking at the other. “Please don’t cry,” the sight of my tears only seems to make her more sad.

But seeing the way she looked crying, I only wanted to cry harder.

She still looked perfect. Though her makeup was smudged slightly, her hair messy, her perfect features stained with her tears.

I gently grab her wrists slowly pulling her hands off of my face. I pull up the sleeve of her longs sleeved shirt and flip her arm to look at her wrist.

My gut clenches at the sight of the tiny white healed marks. They were barely noticeable anymore.

I had noticed them before when we had partnered up for some project. But out of respect I didn’t say anything. Besides they weren’t that bad, thin, white stripes messily across her wrist.

For all I knew it could’ve been her cat. I don’t have a cat, and neither have I seen self harm cuts before, so I wouldn’t know the difference.

I purse my lips. I let my head fall forward slightly my eyes closed. I feel sick to my stomach knowing someone as perfect as y/n was, or had been cutting herself at some point.

I hear a choked sob fall from her lips. I feel her intense stare burn through my scalp.

I pick up my head again, my eyes immediately looking to hers. She was crying again. Making me also shed a few tears again.

I bring her wrist up to my face leaving a gentle peck on it.

She watches me. The sight only making her cry more. She closes her eyes briefly.

It wasn’t like she’d expected me out of all people to shame her for her scars. But she also hadn’t expected him to just kiss them.

“You didn’t deserve that sweetheart.” I whisper under my breath. I pull her back in leaving a firm kiss on her forehead before cradling her head back into my chest.

She breaks out into sobs again her arms going under mine and hugging me tightly.

She was clinging to me tightly, her sobs wrecking her body, and also making me cry.

I gently pat down her hair,as she keeps crying, trying to soothe both of us.

“Y/n.” She pulls back slightly, her arm still wrapped around me. “Do you still..” I trail off not wanting to say it. Because if I say it, it’ll be too true.

Her lip quivers as I see her glossy eyes shed tears again. She lets out a gut wrenching sob again pressing her face into my chest again, mumbling “I’m sorry”s over and over again.

I sigh sympathetically, rubbing her scalp. I knew from experience, that after crying so much, your head would hurt so bad. And even though she was still crying I wanted to soothe her.

“Honey.” I say gently pulling her away from me. Our eyes meet briefly before she looks down in shame. I gently grab her cheek again making her look back up at me.

“Where do you cut?” I ask softly. I grimace at the words leaving my lips. I calmed down not crying anymore, but my eyes staying glassy.

Her eyebrows are scrunched together as she slightly pouts. Her eyes were still glassy, threatening to break out in sobs again.

“I don’t do it often..” she whispers under her breath, trying to over herself. Her eyes close briefly shame written all other her face.

“Where.” My tone is still low, but more firm, demanding an answer.

“My thigh.” She lets one of her Chanda fall from around me resting her hand on her very upper right thigh.

My eyes soften even further. My tears had dried in my face by now, but I felt just about ready to cry again.

I shift slightly. Her hand that had still been around me going to the bottom of my shirt and keeping a firm grip on the fabric.

I put my hand on her waist my touch featherlight, not wanting to overstep. “Is this okay?”

She purses her lips. Her eyes stay locked on mine as she tries to read what I’m trying to do. But she ultimately nods.

I put both my hands on her waist and pick her up from next to me putting her on my lap. She lets out a shaky breath her eyes going wide.

“Is this okay?” I enquirer my tone staying low.

Her bottom lip wobbles again. She closes her eyes briefly. “I don’t wanna go anything.” She breaths out her voice small and almost afraid.

My own eyes widen for a second looking back at her. I just realized how bad this looked without context. But I’m not a dick. I want to comfort her, not get in her pants.

I take my hands from her waist putting them on my thighs. Yet she doesn’t make a move off of me. Her hand stayed bunched up on my shirt.

“God, I don’t mean it like that.” I breathe out. “Just, me comforting you would be easier like this?” I says slowly.

Her gaze goes up to meet mine again, her lip quivering holding herself back from crying again.

She leans forward resting her face on my collarbone. She puts her other hand on my chest too as she starts to sob again. my right hand goes to her back rubbing it gently. While my left hand goes to her thigh massaging where her scars presumably were.

Her crying makes me tear up again. So we just cry together. My hand rubbing soothing motions into her back, and my other hand finally going up to cradle her head into me further.

I whisper encouraging words. Until eventually her cries die down, and so do mine.

She pulls back slightly, her eyes red rimmed and puffy. The tip of her nose and her cheeks red. And her lips as puffy as her eyes. She is a pretty crier, but the sight still makes me feel remorseful.

I put my hand back on her right thigh gently rubbing circles on it. My other hand going to cup her cheek. She leans into my touch relaxing more. She looked more tired than anything now.

“You can always talk to me, you know that.” I breath out, finally feeling like the lump in my throat was gone.

Her hand cups my wrist keeping my hand in her face. I start to rub her cheek gently looking at her pretty face.

“You can stay with me, Nick and Chris. Alright?” She nods slightly in answer.

I move my hand from her cheek to her hair rubbing at her scalp slightly. “You want me to take you home pretty girl?” I ask softly.

After all we were still in the school parking lot.

“Please.”

Masterlist

A/N: I actually cried writing this. the first part was actually literally me. and i also used to cry a lot, and cut, so this just made me cry while writing, bcs i relate to it so much. i love you all, stay safe & clean <3

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos , @ecliphttlunar , @orangeypepsi , @klaus223492 , @char112244 , @sst7niolo , @slut4chriss , @mattsturniololoverr , @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n , @st7rnioioss , @t1llysblogs , @nonat-111 , @blahbel668 , @rockstarchr1s , @sturnsintrouble , @nayveetbhh

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: 4.7 K

summary: child soldier joins taskforce 141, part SIX; one, two, three, four, five; seven

warnings: violence, description of a panic attack, description of an injury, death, nightmares

a/n: this part is probably a little more chaotic, but I tried to make it make sense. next part is going to be the final one! Hope you enjoy it!

Once all geared up, it‘s time to jump into the vehicle and drive to your old camp. From time to time, you feel a burst of slight anxiousness and anticipation, recognising some specific places as you sit in the back of the truck beside Farah. You still have doubts in the back of your mind, quietly contemplating while taking in the surroundings.

Riley sits by Ghost in between his legs, tongue sticking out while getting small back rubs from his owner. She was imported later on as you got your equipments, now being on the mission with the rest. Farah‘s team is with another vehicle, creating a line of a total of four trucks.

»Building‘s in sight. Three armed guards at the entrance, two on the roof.«

Price informs as he looks through a pair of binoculares.

»They usually have more guards inside, also taking guard. Probably about four.«

You add, getting a brief nod back from Price as the rest takes the information in. He sits back on the passanger seat as one of Farah‘s men drive, stopping by an edge of a small cliff. The camp is about 1.5 miles away from your current position, taking a deep breath, you look at it from this perspective. It feels wrong to stand here, getting a brief feeling of getting into trouble before Ghost speaks up. He commands Riley to stick close to him, the dog staying by his left foot as he checks his rifle again.

You all pair up, being together with Farah and are now getting to a high and well hidden spot to set up your sniper rifles quickly. Ghost and Soap also make their way silently, making sure they don‘t get spotted by any of the guards as they approach the building. Gaz and Price are a few feet behind them, about to keep watch for them and the guards.

It seems to go as planned for now, being as calm as possible beside Farah. Rifles are set up and you lay flat on your stomach, looking through the lense of the gun to mark the positions of the guards, and informing the rest over the comms of the progress.

There are indeed more guards than what it looked like at first, actually being a little surprised about it. Usually, they had about four guards looking for any unwanted guests around the small base, trying to figure out why they have more today. Did the know about this? A secret tracker?

You check your clothes for any potential trackersor mics, but it‘s imppossible since you changed your clothes regurarly and would‘ve noticed it way earlier. Sighing out, you get back to watching the guards stands or walk around the ground.

»Getting paranoid?« You don‘t bother looking beside you to Farah as she is busy with some equipment, probably measuring some more stuff.

»Never.« There‘s no need for an honest response, being sarcastic about it even, which earns a small huff from your right. She glances towards you while you focus on watching the guards.

»Something that‘s got your attention, then?«

You answer with a small grunt, not seeing much but the guards being seemingly oblivious to your presence.

»Why don‘t they have comms? Do they all go around without even a walkie talkie?«

You ask yourself as you keep your eyes on one of the guards, him just standing stoicely as he stares at nothing in particular. Farah looks through her own pair of binoculares, also noticing it.

»This is even better. How did they manage to train children when they‘re so uncareful?«

She mumbles back rather thoughtfully, making you shift in your position a little.

»Fear. And I don‘t think they are this unorganised.«

You answer back, really just assuming, but having been there for almost ten years made you overhear and see things you probably shouldn‘t have. Gaz speaks through the comms, making you concentrate on the actual mission again.

»Bravo-6, at your sign.«

You and Farah settle on the guards at the roof top, taking the one on the left while Farah aims for the second one.

A sharp shot goes through the air and you follow, taking out the two guards on the top with your teammate with a scary accuracy. The remaining guard is alerted immediatly and go inside, probably about to inform the ones inside about the shooting.

Now it needs to be quick and even more efficient. You both make your way down to the building and take your hand gun out, on high alert now. Farah gets in front of you and you follow her, seeing Ghost and Soap already being inside the entry as they fight the last four gaurds to ground, being stealthy as they do so. Riley takes out the last guard on her own, biting at his neck until he becomes limp.

It‘s the first time you actually feel thankful for the camp. Thank any God up or down that they are stupid enough to not have any communications on them. Hopefully they don‘t have any alarms around as well. Not that you ever experienced one in your time of being there.

You two change positions with Price and Gaz, them going forward to join the other pair instead. It‘s getting closer and more real, you know it‘s about a few minutes before you join them and lead the way to the directors room. Sighing out softly, you take a hiding spot behind one of vehicles and watch, waiting for a sign to join them inside.

Ghost and Soap currently make their way fully inside, checking for anyone before they enter the security room to cut off the cameras. Soap makes some pictures for evidence, taking some photos of the entrance, making sure the small camera stays secured in one of his pant pockets.

They exchange a few words over the comms, listening intently while keeping a close eye on your surroundings. It seems like most of them seem to be training right now, and by the current time, it‘s very likely. It is convinient, being able to get in as the soldiers are distracted and the superiors train them or have some meaningless meetings.

After what felt like too intense moments of silence, Ghost speaks up, telling it‘s clear now that the cameras are cut off. Just in case, they import all the camera footage into an extra USB-stick before continuing. Riley stays by their side, sniffing at the air a bit.

Finally, the other pair and you can go in, forming your team whole again to get to the directors room. You have an uneasy feeling but ignore it, rolling your shoulders to release some tension. Once you got inside, the taskforce is already there just by the entrance, Price nodding to you. Without wasting any more time, you lead the way up the stairs, the rest following behind. You all sweep each floor, reaching the third and last one.

»Down the hallway, on the right. I think they‘re having a meeting since we didn‘t see any of them around.«

You briefly state before Price gets to the front again, making you stand behind one of the others. For some reason, you feel the need to be at Price‘s place, as if you should be the one to storm in. This is all too familiar. As if it happened before already. The room you‘re about to enter is full with your superiors and commanders, being still slightly intimidated by them.

But before you could say something, Price kicks the door down and storms down, pulling as soon as one of them draw their gun at him. Fortunately no one dares to draw their gun again as the rest of you storms in quickly, pointing your barrels at them.

The room is tense while Price shouts orders at them, the few old men in the room slowly moving as the follow his commands and get to the floor with their hands raised. You watch carefully, eyes flicking to each of them at the same time to make sure none of them try funny tricks.

It seems to be without any success as one of them – one of the younger ones – draws his gun at you, being frozen in place. The rest of the commanders seem even more surprised as they recognise you, Ghost covering you quicker than you could comprehend what‘s happening, and takes the threat down. He falls limp to the ground, the room filling with Riley‘s barking and growls at the men.

Before it gets too much, Price sends and Soap quickly put handcuffs on the remaining few men, taking them by their arms harshly to get them outside. You get informations from Farah and Alex that they are currently rescuing the rest of the children, getting more vehicles for them. You get orders to sweep the remaining hallways and rooms with Gaz for any children that were left out, leading the way again.

You sweep the third floor as the others go out of the building to get the enemies out and safely into a vehicle. The third floor seems to be clean, going down stairs to check for the other rooms in the second. Time moves fast and before you know it, you are both back in the first floor and continue the search. It seemed clean of children for now, being done with all the rooms and getting to where the K9‘s should be. An uncomfortable shiver runs down your spine and Gaz seems to sense it, glancing to you.

»You alrigh‘, Bane?« You exhale shakily and steady your rifle in your arms, hoping the dogs are caged in. With a small nod, you both move forward and Gaz follows you, being more alert.

You get the door open, trying to be as silent and careful as possible, but the dogs had sensed your scent already. They start to bark and you try to stay composed and calm, it not working as one of them charges at the barely open door. You flinch and try to move away as fast as possible, but the aggressive Rottweiler is faster and has way more anger. The dog catches your ankle in its teeth and roughly shakes his head, growling dangerously at you. Drool drips from its mouth, making the scene even more revolting.

Gaz acts quickly and shoots it down, taking you away from the door to close it before another one comes at your way. It all happened so fast, you couldn‘t even scream or fullly process what happens before it happened.

You take a step to lean against the wall, your mind reeling. It‘s difficult to from a straight thought, vision getting blurry while you attempt to examine your ankle. Your teammate is quick to be by your side, helping you stand upright with his arm under your shoulders. He says or asks something, but you can‘t hear him. You want to cry, but you don‘t want to show him that you‘re in pain.

He senses in how much fear and panic you are, cursing under his breath as he tries again.

»Bane! Can you hear me? You need to focus, can you look at me?«

You don‘t respond once again but you do look at him briefly. You look as pale as the wall behind you, breathing shallowy. There is a tightness in your throat and chest, and you are unsure of what to do. Gaz has never seen you this panicked before. Kyle is helpless for a moment too, before he tags you along the hallway, relieved you are both on the first floor right now and don‘t need to walk a lot.

He supports your weight and makes sure you don‘t put pressure on your injured ankle, blood trailing on the floor from your wound as you limp to the exit.

It feels surreal and you finally get why you‘ve been feeling so strange. All the time, you‘d been having some kind of déjà vu.

You don‘t know how or when you got to one of the vehicles, Soap quickly coming to you free side to support you. There are no medics in sight, but Farah quickly gets her med kit out. She hasn‘t seen your injury yet, but seeing you limping like that is enough to set her instincts flying. Alex tries to calm her down in some way, seeing how frantic her movements are.

They set you down to sit on the ground, Farah being by your side in no time and examines the bite wound briefly. She rolls your pants up just enough to take a better look at the bite, having no time to clean the blood as it‘s gushing from it. The procedure feels even more painful than the actual bite, but you sit through, a few grunts and winces escaping from you. The team gave you some space as she treats your, doing it as efficient and fast as possible.

The wound is finally wrapped up, but the pain seems to get worse by the second. It burns and stings, also feeling as if your ankle is getting squeezed by something really strong. You notice just then that your cheeks are wet, wiping at them to realise you cried either during the treatment or while Gaz carried you out. Either way, you still need a few moments to calm down.

Farah exhales and pulls you into a hug, your resolve finally breaking. All it took was a stupid dog biting your ankle and a strong embrace after stopping the bleeding.

You don‘t want to cry or show any signs of vulnerableness, but it‘s too late. Right now, you don‘t care if someone is laughing at you for crying or hugging Farah back, her words finally coming through.

»I‘ve got you, okay? It‘s done. I‘m here.«

She whispers while rubbing your back, feeling her heart clench at your sobs. Seeing those poor soldiers that she just escorted from their ‚training‘ and seeing you injured made herself crumble and wish she could undo any pain you‘re feeling right now.

Finally, the air seems to et easier through your nose and lungs, your grip on her loosening as your face is still burried in her shoulder. She doesn‘t let go though and waits until you‘ve calmed down completely. It takes a few deeper breaths for you to calm down, letting go of her eventually which makes her let go as well.

It‘s embarrassing now, wiping at your eyes and cheeks with trembling hands. Your ankle has now a dull ache, feeling a faint heartbeat that makes you uncomfortable once more.

Ghost tries to hold Riley back, not wanting for you to feel scared again or have another possible panic attack.

You hear a dog bark from a short distance, turning your head just to find Riley barking at something. It seems to be nothing, but it soon turns out that there are a group of unfamiliar vehicles approaching you. The trucks are dusty and dirty, probably not having been used for some time, but you recognise them. It doesn‘t take long for the rest to get who it is, quickly making sure the children are escorted safely before you make your way out of the area as well.

You scramble yourself back up on your feet, ignoring the stinging pain it gives you when you put pressure onto it. The other vehicles approach fast, the soldiers at the back pointing their guns at your group already and starting to fire.

Your team gathers quickly again, feeling how an arm is slung over you, before you are carried towards your own trucks, realising that Soap just swept you off your feet and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You are seated back on one of the seats in the back beside him, seeing how he points his own gun to the enemies and starts firing.

»Giv‘ me a hand, kid?«

He shouts through the loud sounds of the firearms and the truck speeding off, needing to make sure you don‘t accidently fall out of it.

You don‘t think too much and reload your own rifle before starting to shoot after getting some position in which you won‘t fall out from. There‘s a small but noticable metallic thud that you hear, looking beside you to see a grenade laying between you and Soap. Without thinking, you grab it and throw it back, it exploding right before the vehicle of the enemies, which makes one of their tires to pop, and send the vehicle to crash.

One down.

»Good job, kid! Only two more to go.« Soap praises briefly before the next vehicle is in close enough range to fire at them, trying to aim for the driver. If only these stupid roads weren‘t so bumpy, you could actually land some decent shots. But they only seem to damage to windshield and not go straight through the glass, also getting annoyed at how bad the rest of the soldiers in the truck aim at you both.

With a low curse, you grab your own grenade and throw it to the vehicle in front of you, hoping it will do the same like the last one. It manages to hit the glass and punch right through it, exploding only a second after inside the vehicle. The driver is most likely done for and the truck loses its control, it flaming up as it drives off to the side and crashes.

There‘s not enough time to praise or express some proudness of your stragedy since the last vehicle seems to be the most stubborn one.

They seem to have some kind of machine gun that they point towards you, ducking quickly to avoid getting genuinely mauled by it.

»Drive faster, will ye! Why don‘t we have more explosives with us?!«

Soap curses at the driver which turns out to be Price at the drivers seat. He speaks through the comms to you, speeding up to full capacity to try and escape the enemy.

»We have ‘em! Use your eyes!«

The captains rough voice sounds through the comms and you are already searching for any of these things he just told you the truck has, just now seeing the case that looks useful. With quick hands, you muster the lid open and Soap is already pulling out a grenade launcher and pointing the heavy thing towads the other vehicle.

After two satisfying clicks, the machine gun the other team used is broken, now pointing at one of the wheels to get it down. It crashes down finally, some pathetic attempts of controlling the big vehicle are useless as it catches fire like the last one. You drive off the scene, being slightly startled of an explosion. The second truck you put down just exploded.

A stabbing pain catches your attention, looking dwn to your ankle again. Oh, right… you were bitten by big dog just a moment ago. The bandages around your ankle are still tight, some blood haven seeped through while you were defeating the last few enemies with Soap together.

The man beside you notices how you seem to be concerned about something and finally sits down normally besides you, even when it‘s still a little inconvinient at the back of the truck.

»Still achin‘?«

You pull your legs closer to yourself, trying to put it into an easy position.

»Dumb question, must be hell after fighting those guys.« He answers his own question at how careful you move. That raises Gaz‘s attention as he is in a vehicle with Farah and Alex, talking through the comms.

»How‘s Bane? Is the leg still on?« His voice goes through your earpieces, being forced to reply to it. You wouldn‘t want anyone worrying over you for no reason.

»It‘s there, in one piece. Could be worse.«

You answer back and sigh out exhausted, really wanting to just be somewhere safe and alone. This mission was really draining.

The rest of the drive was mostly silent, only hearing some brief comments from Your teammates as they talk among themselves from time to time. Once you arrrive at the base, you feel relieved. For most of the time you have been zoning out and thinking about other stuff, not sure how the rest will go on from now.

Soap helps you get out of from the truck, leaning against him to not put any weight on your injured ankle. Farah makes sure to get the bad guys out and into another vehicle to drive them to a cell, saving the interrogation for later.

Ghost keeps Riley close by, still careful not to let the K9 too close for your comfort. By now you feel much more calm and collected, even though everything still feels a little weird. Soap offers you to sit down but you decline, settling on using him as your support. He doesn‘t seem to have anything against it, his arm staying around your shoulders to make sure you don‘t fall or lose blance.

»What do you know about the dogs back there?« Price asks once he is back in front of you, getting the feeling that these couple of bastards hide something more.

You briefly explain what you know, it being the same things you told Ghost before. Their K9‘s having been ‚trained‘ to be more aggressive and bite everything that moves, not able to recognise what‘s actually a threat. The captian nods and processes the new information, hoping to finally get to the bottom of this soon enough to put them into their deserved cell. If not the Gulag even.

After finding out some more stuff, Farah gets to your team again, Alex taking some care of the people they are escorting to a temporary place to spend some nights in before they figure things out.

She sees you leaning against Soap, him having a supportive arm around your shoulder to give you a little more balance.

»Why are you standing here? Get inside and rest. You all know you‘re welcome here.« Farah scolds lightly as she sticks by your side and guides you both to a tent, telling some nurses what had happened for them to take care of you. Soap settles you down with a small frown before he gets back to the rest, petting Riley to have something to busy his hands with for now.

The nurses take good care of you, even offering you a small lollipop after the treatment. You accept it, noticing it‘s cherry flavoured. What a coincidence.

Your ankle had been bitten by the dog pretty hard, the way he shook his head had caused for your skin to have gone off quite a lot at the area he bit down. Luckily, you didn‘t bleed too much. The nurses told you to leave the bandage on and change it every night. It‘s obvious this will leave a messy scar, having gained another against your will.

The sweet flavour of the lollipop has helped with your thoughts though, staying seated on an extra bed while you quietly think to yourself. Finally, Price finds you and helps you up to leave back to your own base. Nikolai is already waiting by his helicopter, helping the others with the loading of your equipment. The sun is setting, it actually being almost nine in the evening by now. The mission had really taken a toll on you. Both emotionally and physically.

You get seated inside the helicopter, not being allowed with the loading this time. Riley gets a seperate transport again, meaning that Ghost won‘t need to restrain her from trotting over you happily while you‘re still clearly exhausted.

It‘s dark when they got finished with the task, settling inside afterwards. Once again, Soap settles beside you while Kyle takes a seat at your left side and the other two settle in front of you.

You don‘t bother putting your headset on though and straight up lean your head against Kyle‘s shoulder to relax in some kind of way. Nikolai puts on some music on once more, making sure it isn‘t as loud as the last time and flies you all back to your base.

After a short nap, you wake up to the rest talking among each other.

»Nik- we have plenty of MRE‘s in here, we don‘t need to stop by--«

You can hear Price argue as quietly as possible so not to wake you up, barely making out what they‘re saying at the moment.

A loud groan interrupts the captains voice, seemingly still not happy and stubborn to get his idea across. Soap mentions for you to put your headset back on, having a more amused look on his face. Once you wear it again, the rest notices and Nik lights up in excitement.

»Oh, awake? Do you know Mcdonald‘s? We should stop by and get us someting, don‘t you think so?«

»Who‘s McDonald‘s?« You ask back confused, still being slightly groggy from your short nap. Well, the nap that lasted almost an hour. A short silence follows after your confused question, while Price stands next to Nik in the cockpit, seemingly giving him puppy eyes to coax him into stopping by the fast food restaurant.

»No, Nik-« price gets interrupted again and the vehicle take a turn, making you a bit surprised.

»My heli, my rules.« Are the last words before he lands in a rather secluded area, not seeing anything beside darkness and a forest.

You can hear a mischivious laugh from the pilot before he gets off his seat and takes his wallet with him. Without any further discussion, Soap follows, having seemingly been on the same side as Nikolai. Price groans quietly but follows them to the fast food chain that shouldn‘t be too far off. »You do know this is going to the report?« He grumbles while walking beside him, soon being too far away to hear any of their bickering.

Kyle leans back in his seat once more, it being silent for a moment with just you three being inside for now. They return after some longer moments, them carrying smaller bags with them.

Soap hands you a happy meal and a capri sun, being a little surprised about it, but appreciated it. The rest gets whatever they ordered for themselves, Ghost not having ordered anything for himself this time. You try out the food they brought you, quietly enjyoing the chicken nuggets beside your teammates as you are all eating together and continue your way back to the base.

The rest of the flight goes by rather silent and peaceful for now, no longer antics or loud music playing in the background. You manage to fall asleep again, laying against Soap‘s shoulder this time.

Unfortunately, a nightmare plagues you, and you consider just never sleeping again with the amount of nightmares you still get, even with a nice company like them.

»I want to storm in! It‘s only fair, you always get to enter first.«

The very familiar voice pleads as she gets in front of you, making you smile slightly.

»Because I am the first in command. You shouldn‘t go in first, Halime.«

The conversation becomes more blurred and fast forward, getting in front of the door that leads to the basement, needing to get one last thing before finally going back to your dorm.

She somehow managed to change your opinion and enter first, not even realising what‘s happening first before her figure sags down and becomes limp.

You have no choice but to take out the hiding enemies out first and then tend to your close teammate, seeing how lifeless her eyes already look like. It‘s scary and the basement seems to shrink itself around you, the body in your arms slowly vanishing until she fully disappears and you see nothing but darkness.

There‘s a loud rumble waking you up from the unpleasant flashback, feeling a migraine form around your head. It seems like you landed just now, it being lighter outside again.

With a small sigh, you gather yourself up and leave with the rest, determined to not get any help on walking this time.

Riley arrives just a few hours later, not able to see her for now after the short debrief your team had, currently having to stay in your bed and rest. Even when you feel restless and even worse after that grueling nightmare, there isn‘t much you can do but stay in your bed and try to sketch something, having no energy to do so however.

a/n: again, next part is the final one, i will try to make the most out of it :3

[dynamightsfave]

bakugo katsuki—interviews

bakugo katsuki fucking hates interviews. in every shape and form. public conferences? "i did my fucking job. the building crashed down because the base sucked ass. that's not my fucking fault" one on one interviews? "why the fuck do they have so many damn questions about my methods? let them try and do what i do!" talk shows? "if you're not gonna ask me about my job, i don't know what the hell i’m doing here, my personal life is my goddamn business. also, if i wanted comedy i’d go to the fucking circus, at least the clowns wear their actual uniform instead of shitty suits"

safe to say, dynamight is every interviewer's nightmare. he's a wonderful and attentive person off camera (he’s still an asshole, but a nicer one), but when you start asking him questions and place a camera on his face, the brass defensiveness, one of the things that lingers from his stubborn teenage years, shines through. that and that mouth that curses more than a sailor in their golden years ever has. there's offers to take him of course, being in the top ten heroes ranking of not only japan, but the whole world. he's mostly partnered up in these interviews, so there's someone to lead the talking and answer for him when he doesn't want to give into "the stupidest fucking question he's had the misfortune to hear". 

red riot and shoto are the ones that are usually designated as his babysitters, but other old classmates have appeared onscreen with him as well. even deku, now a teacher, has made special features. but there's never much demand for an individual interview with pro hero dynamight, and if there ever is, bakugo usually rejects them without looking much into it.

which is why, his secretary was very confused when the mention of a last attempt at a talk show made his boss perk up rather than frown instantly. his lip didn’t instantly curl with a groan and his red irises didn’t meet the back of his skull. instead, he curiously eyed the schedule placed in front of him, and gave a curt nod in thanks when he was done. ryu developed a sense of uneasiness that took over his system. surely that was a sign of the end of the world. but he couldn’t really say anything, pinky and chargebolt recommended the interviewer and swore it would go well. maybe they were right? they needed it too, dynamight hadn't appeared on many public events lately. so there's that, now he just had to pray bakugo didn’t fuck it up.

and that brings us to right now, with dynamight taking a seat in front of you and the public’s applause dimming. the tension that fills the air lingers in the audience, and for once, bakugo and his interviewer seem to be completely at ease. ryu can’t help to think to himself that this is yet another sign that the world is about to end, and he wonders if he should call up his family to say a final goodbye. for now, maybe it’s better he focuses on what’s in front of him.

"great explosion murder god dynamight!" you smile at him, as if he was a friend you’re glad to see again, "so glad you could make it!"

you have that magnetism that makes every guest comfortable around you, familiarity being the base of your show. it’s a big part of why it became so popular, the charming host that interacts with their audience and speaks their mind in such an easy way.

katsuki smirks, chest a bit puffed and fingers drumming the armrest.

"sort of didn’t have a goddamn choice, did i?" while his response only makes the people watching tense more, you only chuckle, nodding as if you understood like nobody else.

"we’re our managers’ puppets aren’t we? either way, wonderful to have you," and goddammit, you never sound insincere, "these days it’s hard to have a minute of great explosion murder god dynamight"

"you know what they say, villains don’t rest. and if they don’t rest that just means us heroes have to work twice as hard as them" did he just answer without cursing? oh the world definitely ends today.

bakugo maintains eye contact with you while he lounges on his seat like he owns the place. he’s made hundreds of interviewers and others shrink with that attitude of his, but from the looks of it, you’re not only not one bit bothered by it, but you almost encourage it. your arms flex as you lean in towards him, agreeing with him.

"all right, since i don’t want to waste much of that precious time of yours..." eyes twinkling, you could even say teasing—dare i say flirty—, you tap a small melody onto your notebook with your pen, "let’s dive right in to the questions! promise this won’t be long. first off, i want to solve a doubt i’ve had for some time now"

he arches a brow, accepting the challenge. there’s the same amusement in his eyes that yours have, it sends chills across the room. it’s so weird to see the bakugo katsuki being not mean to someone that isn’t a little kid or a polite fan.

"i’ve said it a couple times now, and i have to admit it’s a bit of a mouthful. “great explosion murder god dynamight”. why that name? how on earth did you come up with it?"

it’s funny. you say it as if it isn’t a mouthful. quite the opposite, it rolls off your tongue like quick, flowing as if it’s escaped a million times, a prayer you know by heart. bakugo rolls his eyes, similar comments follow him practically every day everywhere he goes since he made the name up. he’s built up skin to them, not that they ever bothered him, he’s pretty proud of his hero name. some might say too proud.

"it’s a reflection of everything i am," he winces after a second, "maybe not the murder part."

"i do hear die is one of your favorite words tho"

"yeah well, it’s good to let the emotions out or whatever the hell. i try not to say it as much anymore, people say it’s rude or some shit," his hand makes a fast motion, as if to sweat it off, he really doesn’t give a damn, "anyway, the name’s like that because it had to embody how fucking awesome i am"

"ah, that makes sense," you nod along, not bothered by the curses, "a loud and bright name like your explosions. it does suit you"

at the compliment, the smirk returns to his lips, a small huff with it. he shuffles around to sit higher, now getting an idea of how this interview is going to go. katsuki finds that he doesn’t really mind it, at least the questions are off to a good start. and the host... well let’s just say he likes this one.

"i know, i picked it myself," he states, and you can’t help but laugh at how sure of himself he is. reminds you of a 6-year-old, not a single ounce of doubt in his body about how cool they are.

"would you say it was inspired by something else? maybe a hero you look up to?"

"nah, ‘t was all me," liar.

"i see. a unique name to say the least. but on the topic, is there any hero that you look up to? someone you aspire to be like. other than, i'm sure, best jeanist"

"obviously," he repeats, "but i mean; every kid and their goddamn mother has dreamt of becoming all might, he was n.1 longer than anyone. i’m sort of a basic bitch that way. when i was little i wanted to be like him, so i followed that dream until i made it real. and now i push myself to be as great as he was and more. plus ultra and all that bullshitr"

"wow. sounds like hard work," he grunts in agreement, and you purse your lips, "we all agree all might is a one of the greatest symbols we have, must have been incredible to be able to study under him. you mentioned the school’s motto. can you tell us about that? the ua days?"

katsuki smiles, his eyes drifting away to his hands. you can’t help but think he looks rather handsome, reminiscing his high school.

"in one word: it was fucking insane. he brought a lot of insight about what to expect in the actual field, and how to treat with bystanders—the little motherfuckers—, and he was always pushing us to do our best. he’s the sort of person you just know cares about what he’s doing," he explains, "our homeroom teacher, mr. aizawa was also very much like that, even though he didn’t look it. ua students are lucky when it comes to teachers. but they’re all ungrateful snotty brats"

it’s the first time bakugo katsuki has ever said something nice in public, even if it has some mean side dishes (wouldn’t be something bakugo katsuki said otherwise). at this point, it’s just you two in the room. no lights, no cameras, no audience, not even the questions you’ve jotted down in your notebook. only a conversation between two people. katsuki wonders if it’s a you effect, and he figures it must be, because he’s never as comfortable as he is talking to you. it comes so easy.

you smile, and it takes everything in you to not reach and put your hand on his arm at his words, the reminder of all the people watching in the room and through the cameras a dying reminder in the back of your mind. you like having him here, and you frankly don’t understand why other hosts dread his visits.

"sounds like a wonderful experience. i’ve talked to others from your course and they all speak of it with so much fondness, just like you. even with the hardships you had to endure," you clear your throat, voice dropping to barely a mutter. even the mic strapped to your blouse has trouble picking it up, "but i’m sure you don’t like thinking of them, i know i don’t. so, i know you’ve said all might and eraserhead are big inspirations, but do you have any other people you admire?"

you know you’re pushing your luck. your tone is far too friendly to be considered professional now and he’s not one to be heartfelt on camera. but if you could just get him to confirm what cellophane and shoto said last week... what you just know is the truth, but dynamight is a bit too proud to admit. you can see it in the way he looks away and puffs his cheeks to blow air.

"i mean, obviously, i’m incredibly grateful to best jeanist and edgeshot, they fucking saved my life," his cheeks grow the slightest bit of pink under your intense gaze. he almost chuckles as you nod entranced and edge just a tiny bit closer awaiting for the true answer. he guesses he might as well indulge, so, with a much lower tone, he continues, "and ya know, in class there were others that were pretty good too. not as incredible as i am, but close enough. if i had to pick any, maybe shitty hair and the dumbass deku. i guess"

screw the lights. your smile is blinding. it shines so much bakugo suddenly doesn’t feel like the answer was practically yanked from his throat. this is too much for his rearranged heart.

"that’s funny, they speak pretty highly of you too," you giggle. your eyes clash, and the small smile that forms on his face is instinct, he can’t control it. one, two, three.

"of course they fucking do. they better, else i’ll crush their bodies," he huffs, snapping back to his position before he was gobsmacked by you.

"all right, i’ve just got a couple more questions before we let you go," you get back on track too, despite the heat on the back of your neck, "uhm... oh yeah! well i guess you’ve answered this already, but just in case. you said red riot and deku were people you admired as heroes, i take it they are also the easiest to partner up with? i know pro hero deku is out of commission at the moment, but back when you still worked together"

dynamight actually thinks about this one. he furrows his brows, and his weight shifts on the sofa. he hums as his hand strokes his chin.

"well, it depends on the job. generally, i do like to partner up with them, we understand each other very well, as do everyone form our class. the time we spent training with each other pays off. so yeah, they’re easy to work with. but also, the half ‘n half bastard is quick to respond to what i do, and ponytail is a great strategist when it comes to infiltration or a mission that takes planning. the damn rabbit gets on my nerves a lot, but we make a good team. she should start thinking about retiring though, before she starts dragging me down"

"it’s lovely to hear the heroes of japan are so tight and coordinated. i must say, hearing you praise them is refreshing," your lip gets caught in your teeth in an attempt to stop the growing smirk, but your eyes betray you.

"oi, don’t misinterpret what i’m fucking sayin’. they’re all still pains in my ass, each worse than the last one"

"uh huh... okay, last question. if you weren’t a hero, what would you be?" that takes him aback.

"fuck you mean? i was always gonna be a damn hero. i don’t know. maybe one of those people that handle bombs in the army or some shit like that," he shrugs, but then a beat passes, "a firefighter"

"final answer?" you arch a brow. he grunts an affirmation, "o-kay! well, it’s been a pleasure to have you here, i hope we did not waste much of your time, but you’re free to go now. i appreciate that you didn’t shout"

he chuckles, following your steps as you get up and circle your table to get to him and say goodbye. the audience is clapping for you two, ryu is releasing the breath he’d been holding all throughout the interview, and the camera people are preparing to shut off. you reach him, and just like his smile before, his next actions are pure instinct. even more, they’re almost a routine.

his hand reaches for your waist, and he effortlessly pulls you closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. now, in this routine, it’s not common that you tense up. usually, you wrap your arms around him and nuzzle into his chest. you look up to him, eyes wide, and it takes one millisecond for him to realize what he’s done. he curses under his breath, and you laugh.

"welp, there’s that. no more hiding this," the stunned public is so silent they hear your whispers, "see you at home?"

katsuki gives you that low laugh you love, squishes your waist, and nods.

"yeah, see you at home"

ryu dials his family to say his goodbyes as his boss steps off the stage and the audience recovers from the shock. he prays the call gets through before the world suddenly explodes.

luckily, the world doesn’t combust, and he lives to see the heart magazines with your image on their covers and headlines screaming about japan’s favorite talk show’s host and potty mouth’s newly discovered relationship.

[eight-cats-in-a-box]

Here's the ratchet piece I promised!! Unspecified, but I had TFP Ratty in mind while writing this

Ratchet x Cybertronian!Reader

No use of Y/N. Or even. Like. Gendered pronouns. Except for he/him, and that's for Ratchet.

DING DING DING COME GET UR FOOD

Ratchet twitched slightly when he felt you lay your helm on his shoulder, the weight familiar, if a bit startling. "Primus, you startled me. What do you want?" The soft rumble of your engines and a huff is his only reply, or he thinks it is, until you murmur something in his audial.

"Did you fuel today? You've been meaner than usual, Ratty." He sighed, leaning into you slightly. The feeling of your frame surrounding his was always a comfort he was happy to indulge in. "Not yet, but I'm still at half-capaci-" He hadn't even finished his sentence before you were shoving a cube of energon into his servo, a low rumble coursing through your chassis.

"Drink." He inhaled sharply, surprised at the force in your voice. The low prickle of worry-sadness-fear that Ratchet could feel through the spark-bond sent a pang through him, and he sighed. "Fine, fine. Since you clearly won't be dissuaded." He chugged it quickly, and the whole cube was gone in little more than a few seconds.

"Thank you, sweetspark." Ratchet nearly broke his keyboard at the tone of your voice. You sounded relieved. It made sense, given his habit of not fueling. He didn't notice the cracks forming in his equipment as he gripped it tighter and tighter, until- "Ratty, we need that. Try not to break it, yeah?"

Ratchet froze for a moment, processing, and laughed, revelling in both the feeling and the sound of your shared mirth. He felt lighter than he had in a long time, and as you gently touched your nose to his, nuzzling against him like an Earth cat, it was like the weight of the world had been lifted off him.

As the two of you calmed down, he leaned against you, sighing softly. "...You want to go cuddle?" Ratchet felt more than heard your excitement, yelping as you scooped him up and ran off, carrying him to your berthroom.

Ratchet was half-expecting to be dropped onto the berth, pleasantly surprised when you lowered him onto it like he was made of glass. "I'm not-"

"Fragile, I know, Ratty. Is it illegal to be gentle with my conjunx now?" Tease. He huffed as you laid down, squirming until you got comfortable- which just so happened to be with Ratchet cocooned in your arms. "Comfy?"

Ratchet sighed. He was, actually. The soft hum of your spark, coupled with the general background noise the base made at night was slowly pulling him into recharge. "I needed this." He murmured, unwilling to disturb the peace of your shared habsuite. A sentiment you agreed with, if your soft noise of contentment was anything to go by.

Slowly but surely, Ratchet drifted off into recharge. No nightmares touched him that night, his usually fitful processor soothed by your familiar EM field. And he knew that even if he was haunted by terrors long-past, that you would free him. And he would do the same for you.

Masterlist

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König of the Icks (cont.)

I'm going to a buffet with friends today, so I have come to a horrifying realization. König had to go out into public spaces. Oh no.

Art from This Post

König is an absolute menace in public spaces. Namely restaurants. It's so humiliating going to a restaurant with him

He eats so much that it becomes a public spectacle, which is awful because if you didn’t have social anxiety before, now you and König are now in the same boat

He really does feel bad, but he gets so hungry! You have to understand that he needs three meals and an appetizer. He does! Stop looking at him like that!

He gets to the point where he starts to try and hide his food from other customers because it makes him feel bad. Kids have commented on it while walking by. He feels absolutely humiliated by it. If he can, he’ll find a seat anywhere out of sight just to get some peace of mind.

The thing is he isn’t fat, so people are just amazed by him. He’s really not fat, I mean sure yeah he’s got some fat reserves but he’s not fat by any means. He’s just big. He’s so big and tall and he just has so much muscle, and then he works out so much? He really just eats a fuck ton. This is a man who regularly packs away 3000 calories.

You better be glad that he’s in a PMC because that’s the only way you guys can afford eating out. He’s a nightmare. This is a man to run up $100 at a McDonalds. He’s their favourite customer, and he knows and he hates it so much.

He gets a lot of coupons and he hates it. He racks up points so quickly that frankly it’s horrifying. You go out one night, cash out your points, and the next time you go out there’s more points to be cashed. You’re not saving money, he’s just hungry

So, the thing about König being a big eater is that he’s banned from so many buffets. The only ones he isn’t banned from are the ones that he has purposefully made friends with the owners to ensure a safe seat. He will battle his social anxiety for the sole purpose of making sure you don’t face the humiliation of being kicked out because your husband eats too much.

He’ll do it for you.

When König has to deal with other public spaces, he’s still a nightmare. He gets so awkward and anxious, but because he has an image to keep up he won’t tell you that anything’s wrong. He’s the type of guy who can have a panic attack in public and nobody will notice. It’s impressive, but it’s not healthy

You have to learn how to talk for him and make requests on his behalf. If he needs to find shoes from the back in his size, you’re asking for them. If he needs to use the washroom, you’re asking where it is. He won’t give you any support in this. He’ll watch you flail and won’t do a damned thing. Sorry, but he’s too anxious to help

He’s a strange creature in public. He’s so anxious that he just exudes an aura of intimidation and rage. Something about how he walks quickly sets people on edge. The way he stares without blinking frightens people. He’s almost always wearing a sort of face mask, so that doesn’t help either.

Before you, he was going out in public with the full mask every single time. Every. Single. Time.

Speaking of the mask, that thing is nasty

You have to pry it off of him to be able to throw it into the wash. He hasn’t washed it in ages because he only has one mask and the way to the laundry on base was through a public hallway so he never felt like he could make the trip back without the mask.

His mask has an actual smell to it. It reeks of sweat and grease. It’s absolutely disgusting. If you look close, the black cloth is covered in stains. Some of them have some horrible origins. They’re just vile.

Trying to get König to clean the mask is an uphill battle every single time. He gets worried that when it’s in the wash or dryer, he’ll have to make an impromptu trip out into public. You tell him to get a second mask, but he’s strangely attached to his current one. It’s almost like Linus from Peanuts and his blanket. You just can’t separate them.

He gets so fussy about face masks. When you finally convince him to start using some different masks, he gets quite attached to those as well. Unfortunately, this also means he doesn’t like the backup masks being thrown in the wash, and don’t you dare tell him to use disposable because he’ll throw a fit about it.

König is a bit of an ecowarrior in all the weirdest ways. He won’t be explicit about it, but you’ll notice some traits here and there and you’ll pretty quickly put the picture together.

He was a nature kid, as mentioned in this post, so yeah he’s totally into nature stuff. This also means he became much more protective of the environment than most

This means he carries a litter bag and some plastic gloves at all times, and yes he’ll pick up the most disgusting vile things off the ground without a second thought

Sometimes he’ll tease you with it, which is absolutely disgusting

He takes timed showers, and this includes when he showers with you. No sexy showers unless you ask for them.

He is conscious of always trying to use biodegradable products if he can, or sustainably produced

This also means he complains about the cost all the time even though there’s cheaper solutions right there

The one time König will forget his social anxiety is when he sees somebody litter. God help both the litterer and you when he spots it happening.

He will walk up (and remember he walks uncomfortably fast so he looks far more aggressive than he is) and grab the litter before shoving it back into the poor idiot's hands. He’ll then go on a rant about keeping spaces clean and how they’re the reason that public spaces look ugly

He doesn’t realize that he’s probably terrifying the poor person as he goes off, so there’s no way they’re gonna get anything out of this. They’re not going to learn, König is literally just wasting his breath

He will go off until you call him back as subtly as you can. This will usually take a couple of attempts

Some people try to get up in his face, but that doesn’t usually last long. Unfortunately, it does cause a massive scene that König won’t notice until afterwards and then he’ll feel terrible

This means you have to cheer him up after. Good luck.

[rifari2037]

When , did you , Start Paring Aang and Toph and why do you pair them, Together are there similarities between the Two .?

"Do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?"

Unlike Zutara that I remember well when I started ship them, I don't really remember when I started ship Taang (and Sukka). But, it was long time ago because I found them so cute together.

Taang have potential, but it needs time or another season to develop their feeling. Because, while Zutara had some romantic moments, Taang didn't have moments like that so it would be forced if they ended up together in season 3 (just like canon).

Then, how could they have potential if they didn't have romantic moments?

Their connection

Aang had connection with all his master bending. Katara was there to saved him, Zuko was there to captured him. Their connection with Aang makes these two characters always face each other and had their own development.

Meanwhile, Toph wasn't in the connection between Aang with Zuko and Katara. She had her own connection to Aang. In the swaps episode, Sokka and Katara saw a vision of their past, but Aang saw a vision of Toph before even meeting her in person.

There's an interesting theory that Aang not only saw a vision of his future, but also his past. Because in Nightmares and Daydreams episode, Toph has no face in his dream. It was parallel with Avatar Kuruk's lover that her face stolen by Koh.

Instead of water, Aang was connected to earth, Toph's element. Even though earth was a difficult element for Aang at first, but it was element that Aang often used in battle after mastering it.

In final battle, earth was the element that re-opened his chakra and made him enter the avatar state.

They compliment each other

Just like fire and water, air is the opposite of earth. They are different, but compliment each other.

Air is the element of freedom. Aang is free person. He is Toph's first friend and also the one who offered her freedom, something she really wants and needs.

Earth is the element of substance. Toph is persistent person. She is the one who taught Aang to be tougher and stand his ground, something he really needs to get out of his comfort zone.

They have same vibes

Toph and Aang are still kids and they act like kids. They like to have fun. That isn't something wrong. In fact, they have the same vibe so that neither one is having fun, while the other is taking care of him.

Yes, Aang is the one who makes Katara child again, but still they don't have the same vibe. Katara has a motherly nature, so Aang's childish nature makes their relationship like mother and son.

It's different when Katara with Zuko. Zuko is more mature, so when Katara is with him, she doesn't have to act motherly. Instead, it's Zuko who look after her, brings her things, and reminds her to rest.

Their Culture

Believe me or not, I found this from Aang/Kataang stand and it made me wonder. If Katara and Aang's cultures are different, then what makes them suitable to be together?

Cultural differences actually don't matter if they can respect each other, but this is Aang's expression of water tribe culture.

Katara : Bato, it looks like home! Sokka : Everything's here, even the pelts! Aang : [Sarcastically.] Yeah, nothing's cozier than dead animal skins.

And this is Aang's expression of water tribe food

Hama : I wanted to surprise you! I bought all this food today so I could fix you a big Water Tribe dinner. Of course, I can't get all the ingredients I need here, but ocean kumquats are a lot like sea prunes if you stew them long enough. Aang : [Sticking his tongue out in disgust.] Great!

According to the post I got, Aang can wear Earth Kingdom clothing because it doesn't use animal materials. He can also wear fire nation clothing, but I don't think all types of fire nation clothing, because there are fire nation clothing made of leather.

The people of Earth Kingdom aren't vegetarian, but not all of their food from animal based. Aang doesn't seem to have a problem with their food.

Btw, Aang has problem with Fire Nation food too.

Aang : [Looking at a meat display. Disappointedly.] Oh, we're going to a meat place? Sokka : Come on, Aang, everyone here eats meat. Even the meat! [Points at a hippo cow eating a piece of meat swarming with flies.]

So, yeah, for me Aang and Toph not only have potential in the story, but also have chemistry with each other.

[writelikeurruninoutoftime]

the seven’s grindr messages

Jason: sorry man not interested

Percy: dude I didn’t even tap or talk to you…

Jason: good because you aren’t worth my time

~2 hours later~ Jason: hi

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jason: I’m straight. I literally just got this app out of boredom, but you’re actually my type. Can I be honest?

Percy: sure lmao

Jason: I didn’t think I would message anyone on here but you’re cute and I kinda like that you won’t get pregnant

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Frank: would you wanna hang out again?

Leo: sorry no

Leo: I had a nightmare about you

Leo: seemed really real

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Leo: hey you interviewed me yesterday

Will: I did lol

Leo: I just wanted to follow up and see if I got the job

Will: you’re following up through grindr…

Leo: I’m trying to show I have initiative

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Leo: just took a tranquilizer won’t be able to move very much in 20 min what’s up?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Leo: you more fem or masc with your voice?

Lit: idk lol

Leo: Alto, soprano, base, or tenor?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jason: did you smoke meth in my bathroom?

Nico: no I don’t smoke meth I smoked crack in your bathroom

Jason: that’s not really better ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jason: by the way why is your profile picture a burning building?

Leo: yes my house

Leo: nice

Leo: how big is your cock

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Frank: so some examples of what you like?

Percy: tentacles

Frank: ok

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nico: how are you today.

Will: good, how are you?

Nico: I’m great but you knew that already.

Nico: *sends random picture of an old shed*

Nico: daddy wants to take you to the woodshed

literally all of these come from this post

[freyito]

I need more Gallagher, I think I’ve read everything x reader about him

So here are some ideas, you can also do other characters with this of course

Gallagher x reader he’s had a long day and accidentally snaps at you. hurt/comfort

Gallagher x reader you accidentally fall asleep at the bar while he’s closing up. Fluff

Gallagher x reader the once married got divorced years past you meet again and realize your still in love trope…

Gallagher x reader close proximity. Smut/fluff

Gallagher x reader he’s the first person to buy you flowers. Fluff/comfort

Gallagher x reader after an argument you go missing… perhaps on your own terms out of anger or your actually kidnapped, either way soft fluffy ending

Gallagher x reader comforting after a nightmare, could go either way or could be both

That is all, 👋👋👋👋

✭ pairing(s): gallagher x gn reader

✧ a/n: URGH ANON YOU GAVE ME. SO MUCH INGREDIENTS. I HOPE YOU KNOW IM THANKFUL. while i love EVERYTHING YOU'VE GIVEN ME :3... i've chosen the first three ehe :3... this one will be based off the third one YAAAY. ALSO HAPPYYYYY NEW YEAR!!! kinda happy this one will be my first post! i had a lot of fun with it if we couldnt tell ^^

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, previous relationship, so much yearning (but like. not enough.), fear of commitment, mention of weight loss, depression, SIOBAHN THE GOAT, little bit of lore-building (he has a dog.), not proofread

✎ wc: 8k

ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴅɢᴇ

He was never like this. He had never lingered on his past for too long, an irrational fear of having it chain him down. After all, today’s Gallagher could be different from yesterday’s. No matter how well crafted the lie was, there were always some sort of leaks through the cracks, like just how much he loved you.

He was never made to be loved and love. He was simply a lie, and he knew that. He perpetuated this lie to you for all those years, simply because he was too greedy to admit his own nature (or perhaps, creation). Because, like the selfish creature he truly is, he did not want to let go of you. Most people seek out love, and he was no different, meme or not. He was created with the heart of a human, so who would fault him for making such an error? He lived and loved like any human would, no?

He wanted to be stubborn, by god, he wanted to be stubborn. And he truly was, right up unto the end. He held onto you like a man starved, only a step away from getting on his knees and begging you. But in the end, his love won out. You wanted the divorce, and he didn’t want to hurt you more than he apparently was, so he went through with it.

It hurt. It truly did, it hurt so much he still feels the sting after years. He tried to rationalize it every day he could, tell himself that you would’ve found out eventually, and he would’ve ceased to exist. But that made it even worse, it made him curl up on himself on those lonely nights in the room that was supposed to be yours, it made his throat tighten and his hands shake and he felt like such a goddamn fool. Someone like him shouldn’t be crying. There was no room in his facade to cry. So why did you make him feel this way? By now it had been several years. He should be over it. But he isn’t. And he resents himself for that.

You had moved on by now. A nice quiet life away from the heart of Penacony, a promotion, and an absolutely positive attitude once you weren’t weighed down by the ring. It’s not like you disliked Gallagher. There were never any fights, no contempt for one another, no reason to think he didn’t love you. But you were scared of the commitment. It only took you two years to realize. How did you stay with your job so long, but not Gallagher? You didn’t know. And it only served to make you feel even worse about the divorce.

You always find yourself thinking of him now and then, his face never truly leaves your mind. You couldn’t keep a partner for long at all, always searching for some little piece of him in them. While you didn’t want to, your subconscious was just as stubborn as the man himself. The two of you didn’t text anymore, and you assumed he had your number blocked. So, you yourself had assumed he moved on, and in the silliest, saddest part of your mind, you chose to accept that. Perhaps he got a new partner, maybe he’s even married again by now. He deserves it, you think. He was one of, if not the kindest souls you had the pleasure of meeting, let alone sharing a few years of your life with. So, you hoped he was happy.

Which couldn’t be farther from the truth. His days had become so monotonous that they started to blur together. Wake up bright and early, get some breakfast (which consist of the most mediocre meals, cereal and/or poptarts. Milk if he’s lucky enough), rush to work, patrol, break, patrol, home, and back to sleep he goes. He barely takes much care of himself anymore, his stubble much more of a mess than when you left him, hair still untamed. He’s done his best to watch himself and keep up, but in the end, the most he can do after work is drag himself to bed.

He’s missed your face oh so terribly, missed your laughter and humming and simply your voice. What a treat it would be to come home to that once more, sweep you up off your feet after you’ve had such a long day and pamper you in bed. He’d go on and on about how you need to eat properly, get enough sleep, and take care of yourself. Even if he’s had a stressful day, even when it is so very apparent by the way he dragged his feet when he came through the door, the way his voice was low and groggy and he could only get a few words out like he didn’t want to speak, the way his eyebags had gotten deeper, he still had his priority; to care for you. Now, he’s met with no one to care for, refusing to acknowledge himself without you.

Days off for him are a rare occurrence, and when he does get one, he chooses to sleep most of the day. He’d do it every day, if he could. He’ll get up and allow himself a shower, perhaps order some food if he really feels like it. But going out now, even to just treat himself, it’s impossible. Gallagher doesn’t want to bear facing the world without you. Even if it has been three years.

It’s obsession, he tells himself, though it is not. He loved like a dog, and had convinced himself since the moment you two started dating that there would never be a rift or a tear between you two. Years later he still grapples with the truth. He understands that perhaps there will never be a second chance, given how long it has been, especially without so much as a text from you. But, he wants one. So badly. He’d do anything, as he’s repeated to himself so many times, to have you back. To love you once more, to truly love you. And he hates himself for it.

Lately, his schedule has changed. He gave his supervisors full control over his schedule, choosing to open up his availability when you left. Only now had they taken full advantage of that, with the vacancies the Bloodhounds had after the Charmony festival. Despite being Head of the Bloodhounds, a different team handled the schedules, and completely disregarded the years of his life he gave to the Bloodhounds and flip-flopped his schedule around. He was pulling more doubles than ever, night shifts that turned into day shifts, his days off dwindled to one, and ultimately his health was thrown into limbo. Due to the changes, he was unable to sleep properly, at most, he got three hours.

Because of this, he didn’t have time to go to the Dreamjolt Holstery, choosing to put his job over his hobby. Which ultimately made him feel worse. While he tried to protest the changes to his schedule and the fact that it’s been stressful on him, his superiors ignore this, continuing on with the rough and unpredictable schedule. It takes a while for him to break, as strong as he is, he can only take so much.

Time blurs together for Gallagher, what felt like years could be just months, weeks, or days. Everything felt the same to him, even with his skewed schedule. Somehow, in between his shifts, he finds himself at the Holstery, hazy and tired out of his mind. Thankfully, there weren’t many patrons tonight, a few vagrants like himself spread out within the corners. Siobhan was surprised to see him, schooling her expression into neutrality when she saw his state.

Disheveled, tired, near half-dead. He greeted her with an unintelligible mumble, slumping down into a chair. He passes out right then and there, ultimately succumbing to the stress that had fallen on him over the years. Siobahn stares for a moment, unsure of what to do. When Gallagher had stopped showing up at the Holstery without a word, she was worried. The hound always found his way back, but he had been gone for months. And now here he was, in arguably worse shape then he had been for several years.

Coincidentally, you had a week off because of the Charmony Festival (and the subsequent tragedy that happened after), and you found yourself quite bored. It had been quite a while since you drank, seeing as you really only trusted one bar. You chose to leave it be after the divorce, not wanting to disturb Gallagher at all. But you can’t help but miss it. Surely it’s been a long enough time by now, so why not go pay the bar a visit? Surely Gallagher has moved up.

After a couple moments of debating, pacing around your apartment and thinking out a very overcomplicated plan of action if he were to be there. You’d leave immediately of course, avoid any of the awkward conversation, or perhaps any spite he had towards you. What if he came in while you were mid-drink? Then it feels like it’d be unavoidable… Still, you muster up your courage and walk out of your apartment. There shouldn’t be any hard feelings, anyways, right? It had been quite some time, and you two must have moved on by now. Surely you two would be okay if you were to meet again…

The cool(ish) night air calms your nerves, though. You can’t remember the last time you had a nice night stroll like this, even in the buzzing streets of Penacony. The city never truly slept, no matter what had transpired even seconds before. The dead of night could be just noon for people, or even morning. As such, most businesses kept running 24/7. It was always odd to you, even as a Penacony native, but you got used to it eventually. Bright flashing lights in your face at almost all times when you were out, endless ads about random things you’d never need for your daily life, and salesmen trying to corral you into their stores, to get you to buy luxuries even you can’t afford. Such was life, there was no tranquility in most Hours, anyways.

However, it all goes silent the minute you enter the elevator in the Reverie. The idle chatter from the lobby is shut away by the metal doors and a ‘clink’, as the elevator starts its ascent. You stand square in the middle, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you wait for the elevator to reach the floor. You can’t help but grow nervous with each second, all those silly, impossible events happening in your head again. What if you did see him? What would you do? It’d be hard to act normal after all these years.

Before you can answer your question, the elevator doors slide open, and your legs carry you through the hallway without hesitance. It’s much more quiet here, a light, jazzy tune playing in the Holstery. There’s no chatter, barely any clatter of the shaker or glasses, if any, and you know you’ve found an opportune time to show up. It had been so long since you’ve even visited the Holstery, your irrational fear holding you back. The amount of dates you and Gallagher had together here, impromptu or planned, was innumerable. You always loved watching him work, and sometimes he allowed you to get behind the bar yourself, teach you how to make certain drinks. Those moments were always special, as were most in the relationship.

When you step into the bar proper, Siobahn looks at you, then smiles gently. She had been the first to know about the divorce, from both you and Gallagher. Given how she was the only coworker Gallagher had liked, and how close you two were when you started dating him, it was only fair she knew. Not that there were many people you two talked to much. But she was supportive of both sides, never taking one or the other.

In front of her, a drunkard with brown hair is passed out on the counter, head in his arms as he snores. You shrug and walk around him silently, a few more chairs down, before sitting down. Siobahn raises an eyebrow and looks between the two of you, before taking a step over so she is standing in front of you. She opens her mouth to say something, pauses, then shakes her head and smiles even wider. Her eyes dart once more to the drunkard, and you turn to look out of curiosity.

He was wearing a white dress shirt and a vest, sleeves rolled up. The scars on his arms were impressive–

Ah.

It clicks only then, the man is Gallagher. You feel your stomach flip-flop, but your expression remains neutral. You don’t know whether you should just walk out now, reach out and tap his shoulder, or just talk with Siobahn. You want to do all three. So badly. You want to leave and avoid this awkward situation before it happens, but at the same time you want to see his face again. You also would love to catch up with Siobahn, seeing as you haven’t seen her in quite a while. But your focus is drawn to Gallagher.

He looks a bit thinner than you remember, more ragged even though you can’t see his face, and suddenly your nerves turn into concern. He never drank alcohol, as far as you knew. He despised the stuff, and really only enjoyed mocktails and virgin drinks. So, why did he decide to drink himself to this point…? In the end, your curiosity wins out, and you lean over, before standing up and sitting closer to him, just one stool between you. He doesn’t smell of alcohol, which soothes your nerves a bit, so you reach out and tap on his shoulder.

He flinches harshly, jerking up with a sharp breath and a cough, before looking down at you. His eyebags are heavy, eyes having a hard time staying open. His stubble is more of a scruff, one that looks quite itchy.

“Oh,” His eyes light up just a smidge when he realizes it’s you, a big, dopey smile spreading across his lips. “It’s you.”

The words are spoken with no ire, like you expected. Instead, he looked like some lovesick puppy, all smiles and sighs as he stared at you. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart flutter. It’s been far too long since someone’s talked to you like that, let alone looked at you like that, and you are glad it is Gallagher himself.

He does his best to blink the sleep from his eyes, before reaching up and rubbing at them. He takes a deep breath, a sound you fondly remember, one he made in the morning when he didn’t want to go to work but had to. And you find yourself pining for him. You turn your head away quickly, gathering your thoughts and looking to Siobahn for help. What could she do? You don’t know, but you sincerely hoped she could come up with something.

“Ah, well, it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you,” She smiles gently, clearly holding back the word ‘two’. She herself doesn’t know exactly who she’s addressing, seeing as Gallagher’s finally awake.

“Yes, I didn’t expect to see you… or Gallagher here tonight,” You do your best to smile through it, but you can feel Gallagher’s hazel eyes burning into the back of your head. You are at war with yourself, telling yourself you can’t be feeling this way for Gallagher, just because of one look. Yet at the same time, you’ve missed him so dearly, it’s hard not to fall. Even with how ragged he looks at the moment.

Behind you, Gallagher sighs, yet you don’t turn to look at him, too afraid that if you were to catch another glimpse, you’d do something that would be contrary to the divorce and what you had told him. Siobahn shoots a quick glance to him as if now asking him to help, but when you don’t turn around to look at him, his shoulders slump. While what you said held no venom, it didn’t hold the fondness he was hoping for, either.

With a grunt, he pushes the stool out and stands up, shaking his head. You finally turn around, but he doesn’t look back, his footsteps slow and sluggish as he finally exits the Holstery. You turn back to Siobahn and the two of you share a look, falling silent for another minute. Perhaps Gallagher didn’t want to see you at all, and his smile was more out of formality and politeness than anything. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt, but you did your best to shrug it off. There was no real reason to feel like he truly wanted you back, anyways. It’d be selfish to think so.

“I guess he’s clocking out, then…” You mumble, an attempt at a weak joke.

“He had to quit about a month ago, actually,” Siobahn shakes her head, wiping down a glass quickly, before setting it down and leaning on the bar. “That’s the first I’ve seen of him since he told me.”

“I see,” You nod, looking down on the counter. You assumed Siobahn wouldn’t let him sleep on the job, anyways, so it made some sense. But why? As far as you remembered, he quite loved this job. “May I ask why?”

“Well, he said it was because of the Bloodhounds changing his schedule,” She shrugs, “So I took his word for it. He didn’t tell me much, though. And we haven’t really talked much since then. What about you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s been… a long while. Since I’ve even texted him,” Saying that makes you feel… horrible. You’ve barely talked to him, and yet he gives you one silly little smile and suddenly your heart is singing for him. “I didn’t expect to see him tonight. Well, I did, but I also didn’t.”

“Y’know, since that was the first time I’ve seen him in a bit… he also looked kinda rough. Real rough. But I mean the way he smiled at you…”

“I know. I know, I noticed it too. Both things. But I don’t think his smile means anything with the way he walked away,”

“He seemed more hurt than anything. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile like that, aside from when you two were married. Not that I’m saying you should get back together, but, he seemed quite–”

“I knowww…” You groan, lowering your head. “I’m starting to regret my decision, not like I can change it now, but the way he looked all sad and like a goddamn puppy, ugh.”

Siobahn chuckles, raising an eyebrow. She allows you to wallow in the silence for a while, before nudging you. “Perhaps it’s time to make up? Only if you want to. But I mean, if you’re feeling this way after, what, two years? Then, maybe…”

There’s a teasing lilt towards the end of her words, and when you look up at her she tilts her head with a small smirk. You hate to admit that she’s right, but also a part of you truly wants to. You’ve missed the intimacy he provided, the way his heart would skip a beat whenever you cuddled up to his chest, even after a couple of years, the way he’d fidget with your fingers when you held hands, or simply the way he’d look at you, how reminiscent his gaze was earlier of you’re previous days of love. Ugh, the more you thought the more you made up your mind.

“Fiiine,” You huff, as if you truly didn’t want to. But the way you get up hastily says otherwise.

“Oh, you’re really gonna try? You’re going to show up at his door?”

“Yeah. I am. I think it’ll be more… I dunno. It just makes more sense.”

“I’m cheering you on,” She chuckles once more, “Text me about the results once you're done. I know it isn’t my place to know, but… well, I’m pretty curious.”

“I will, I will,” You sigh, giving her one last wave before you head out of the Holstery all too quickly. It’s not that you didn’t want to continue talking with Siobahn; you truly did. But if you stayed any longer, you’d convince yourself to leave Gallagher be. And maybe that would be a good thing, but you already made up your mind. You could be chasing after a ghost for all you cared, but you figured you had to try.

The walk to his apartment was full of doubts. The night felt colder than ever, and you did your best to tell yourself to keep going. Perhaps you should’ve stayed at the Holstery and at least taken a shot for confidence. Every single part of you, even your heart, told you to just leave it be and go back to your own apartment. You see him once after a couple years and you decide to make everything right, now? But your legs keep walking, and you can’t tell if you hate it, or love it.

Before you can reach a definitive conclusion on whether to just give it up or go through it, you’re at his door. Suddenly it’s a lot more intimidating than you hoped, almost comically eerie, and you haven’t even knocked yet. Sure, it could seem all sorts of wrong for you to show up at his door, for you to even remember where he lived. But there’s no use worrying about that now, you’re stuck here whether you like it or not, and the only way through is, well, through.

You raise your hand and knock, once, twice– and the door opens. Gallagher stands in front of you, barely registering that you even knocked, looking just about as miserable as he did when you saw him at the Holstery. He blinks, trying to wash away his fatigue, before your presence finally registers.

“Mh, sorry, I can’t listen to your sales pitch,” He mumbles, as you take a couple steps back and he closes the door behind him.

“Gallagher.” That’s all you have to say, and he practically flinches, eyes widening for a second.

“A-Ah, sorry, I didn’t– I have work,” He stumbles over his words for a moment like he had on your first date, then immediately schools his expression back into something more neutral, locking the door quickly, before trying to walk past.

Against your better judgement, you reach out and grab his wrist. He pauses and looks back at you, and you swear you see a twinkle in his eye. Though, aside from that, you can feel the worry fester in your gut. If he has work, it’s so very selfish of you to pull him back. But you do.

“I’m sorry, I just,” You don’t know what to say, but neither of you pull away. Your hand loosens around his wrist, and it takes every bit of self control to not reach down and grab his hand. He’s still so warm, as warm as you remembered, and even though he looks quite beat, he still looks like the man you loved.

The silence stretches on for an unbearable amount of time. Gallagher doesn’t pry his wrist from your hand, despite how late he was for work already. He can’t find the strength to do it. He’s longed for something like this moment for quite some time, and now that he has it, employment be damned. His supervisors couldn’t give a damn about him, so why should he have to feel bad for being late? Plus, he had wanted this. So goddamn badly. If he pulled away now, all those nights hugging pillows and ‘i’m sorry’s didn’t mean much anymore. Perhaps they’d mean he had moved on. And he should be okay with that. But he wasn’t.

“I missed you,” He finally manages to speak, turning his entire body towards you. Once more, he looks like some lost puppy, and by the Aeons do you want to reach out and pet him.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can get out in your fluster. You missed him, yes, and seeing him was only such a painful reminder of that. But at the same time, seeing his state, and remembering the piss poor excuse you left him with, how could you not apologize? ‘I’m just not ready’, what a joke that was. You loved him, dammit, and you weren’t ready? He gave you everything, he was ready. He was more than ready. And somehow, after three years of him cuddling up to you every night, cooking for you, making special drinks, all those sweet nicknames and the way he softened up after an especially rough nights, it took you a year of being in a relationship and two years of being married for you to tell him you weren’t ready?

Not only that, but he had given you no pushback. He didn’t beg you to stay or try to talk some sense into you, he just nodded and let the process start. That was it. You don’t know what impression it gave you, whether he wanted you to be happy or if he didn’t care for it at all. But hearing his words now made you realize what a fool you had been.

“Don’t– Don’t apologize. It’s my fault,” Gallagher finally wrenches his wrist free from your hand, only to put his own on your shoulders. “I wasn’t enough, so I oughta apologize.”

“No, no! That’s not what it was,” You place your hands on his biceps instinctively, and– Aeons, they’re still big– squeeze. “It was me being stupid. That’s all.”

“You’re not stupid,”

“Well I was for the way I left you,”

“No, don’t talk about yourself like that,” He finally lets go, hands falling to his sides with a huff. “I wasn’t enough, I get it. There’s no reason to apologize to me–”

“There is! You were more than enough–” You find yourself getting angry at his words. You pause, taking a deep breath and calming yourself. “I just… This isn’t about that. Maybe it is. I don’t know. You look like– You don’t look well. And I’m worried.”

Another silence falls between you two, making your stomach flip-flop. You can’t push away the previous exchange, and no doubt you’ll need to return to it later, but at the same time you didn’t want to keep him.

All you can do is nod fervently, because you worried that if you opened your mouth, you wouldn’t shut up. You didn’t want to make him late for work, but at the same time you wanted to tell him to just stay home and talk now. There was no way he could get work done in that state, especially at his rank. Before you can speak your mind, he’s halfway down the hall. However, he stands up a little taller, rather than dragging his feet as he walks away, and you can’t help but feel a surge of pride along with butterflies in your stomach.

.  * 　　　 ✦     .     　⁺ 　 .

Eight hours feel like twelve hours while you wait. You decided you’d busy yourself with some chores at home to clear your head, but it ultimately made the day feel even longer. For the last couple of hours, all you could do was sit on your couch and fidget. It felt like you HAD to wait for this moment. If you started something now, you would be betraying a part of yourself.

All you had to wait for was a notification. Part of you wanted to just go over to his apartment and wait out the rest of the time. You felt an overwhelming need to apologize, your nerves eating at you all day. Seeing the shape he was in, the melancholy that lingered in the air no matter his sappy smile or his posture, you wanted to take it all away. You wanted to say it was some sort of savior complex, but to tell the truth, it was your feelings. Your silly, pathetic feelings. One little look and suddenly you were rethinking everything that had led to this point.

You could worry about it all day, but you could never reach a conclusion on whether you should give it up or push through to have this talk with him. All you could do was hope that something positive comes out from this. At worst, nothing would truly change in your life. You’d carry on as you have been, one step at a time. At best… perhaps you’d get a second shot. If you did, you promised yourself you wouldn’t let it go so easily. You wouldn’t let him go.

Just before you lose your mind, your phone vibrates. You’re way too quick to check the notification, like a lovestruck highschooler. It’s been quite some time since you’ve seen his name pop up on your phone, and just that causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach, despite your nerves.

“I’m on my way home now, if you’d like to meet up at my place”

It’s so oddly formal, coming from him. But you suppose you aren’t any better, your own texts coming off just as awkward, a simple ‘omw’ sent back. You didn’t mean to be so curt, but if you hadn’t been, you would’ve started to overthink your answer, even to just a simple text.

With a deep sigh, you get up off your couch and grab your keys and wallet, shoving them into your pockets. You take another moment at your door, trying to compose yourself. It feels quite right to see him again, to talk with him again, and you can’t stop the guilt from creeping into your veins. You are hoping for… more, again. After you left him for something so very selfish. You had stopped talking to him about three months or so after the divorce went through, rationalizing it as the fact that you and him needed to move on. You couldn’t just stay friends, and you didn’t want to impede on his own life. You made up all sorts of scenarios to keep your mind at ease, and for all you knew, you lied to yourself so that you wouldn’t look like a fool running back.

Yet, here you are. Yearning for more, more, more. You wanted to apologize– you did apologize. But you felt the need to do more. You didn’t know what was going on in his head, you barely understood why he looked like such a mess, and you, for the most part, wanted to somehow swoop in and save him. Like a hug and a kiss would fix all that was wrong. Maybe it would, but usually, that wasn’t how the world works.

Before you make your anxiety worse, you open the door and decide to push through. It’s all for clarity, at the very least. You aren’t doing this to possibly get back together with him, it’s to provide you, yourself, and Gallagher clarity. Clarity. All you can do is repeat that word to yourself as you lock your door and make your way down the hallway.

Each step makes you feel heavier, as you dread what’s to come. Every possible outcome starts to scare you, good and bad. You shouldn’t be that scared, with the way Gallagher acted around you, even if it was just a few minutes in total. But you can’t help it, the sudden wave of guilt twists at your gut and claws at your mind, and it takes all your strength to not turn on your heels and high tail it back to your apartment. You don’t know how many more times you will fight with yourself over this, but you can only hope this will be the last.

.  * 　　　 ✦     .     　⁺ 　 .

Gallagher’s apartment isn’t necessarily as well-kept as it was when you two lived together. It isn’t exactly messy, you can tell he tried to clean it up in the few minutes he had from getting back from work and you coming over. But overall, there was a certain air of… melancholy. Bitter and thick, reflecting Gallagher’s state.

He himself seemed too nervous to sit down, choosing to stand by the couch and mess with his tie. He looked even more tired than before, voice rough with exhaustion. You had asked multiple times when you entered his apartment if he’d like you to come back after a later time, and he said it was fine each and every time.

“Would you like something to drink?” His voice comes out a tad weak, looking down at you with an oddly sheepish smile.

“I– No, I can get something myself… if that’s okay,” The last thing you’d want to do is make him work more.

“No, I’d really like to. Please? I promise I want to,” He gives you the look, soft eyes, sheepish smile, once again, like a lost puppy. “Please.”

You can’t help but sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. It’s the kind of look he used when he wanted you to stay a little longer in bed when you two woke up (despite the fact that you both had work most of the time), and you cannot find the strength to say ‘no’ a second time. You give him a pitiful nod, and off he goes to the kitchen.

While he busies himself with the drink, you look around the living room. Not much has changed, save for your own items that were missing. Dog fur clung to nearly everything, as was the norm. He had brought his Doberman into the relationship, the sweetest pup you’ve met (aside from maybe Gallagher himself), who had endless amounts of energy. He had named the dog ‘Whiskey’, which… didn’t fit the dog at all. But who were you to judge? You had a puppy and a boyfriend at the time, so you were happy. You did kind of miss the dog, seeing as your apartment didn’t allow pets of any kind.

You wanted to ask where the dog was, looking over the back of the couch and into the kitchen. Gallagher was completely zoned in, a couple of different bottles of drinks and syrups on the counter, a couple ice cubes in a rather fancy whiskey glass, all while he was mixing the drinks. It is a sight for sore eyes, the tranquility of it all. There had been quite a lot of nights where you had sat exactly where you are now, and watched him work. He always loved mixing drinks, on the clock or off the clock. And you were more than happy to try most of them. His concentration softens his features, and for a spell he looks younger, more energetic, and not as weak as he has been.

You catch yourself blushing, and quickly turn your head away, turning your focus down to your hands, fidgeting nervously. What were you going to ask? Right, ask about Whiskey. Instead, you keep your mouth shut and force your mind to keep quiet. You can’t help the influx of memories that wash over you, especially in this space. Being not only close to Gallagher, but your old home, there’s a warmth that burns in your heart, one that can be extinguished all too quickly.

Before you can fluster (or perhaps hurt) yourself more, he’s placing the whiskey glass in front of you. It’s a nice, vibrant red, no doubt something fruity. A mocktail he made you quite a lot, one that you were always worried he would get sick of making. But, apparently not.

“So, uhm,” He starts, taking a seat on the couch as well. He leaves one cushion between you two, unable to allow himself to get closer. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” You didn’t expect him to start with that of all things. What did he have to apologize for? “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. I feel I have to. I don’t think I was…” He trails off, a note of sorrow in his voice.

Two years, he reminds himself. Two years, and he still felt this way. He wallowed every night, begged whatever force was out there for it to be different. Once again, he knew it was dangerous. There was no love for something such as him in this world, and yet he held onto the thought of you every waking day. For all he knew, you could be his undoing. If you were to find out the “Gallagher” you knew was not the Gallagher he was… it scared him. Yet, it scared him even more to be without you. Is it truly so bad to look for a warm hand when the clock stops ticking? Would it be wrong for you to be his final memory?

“I don’t think I was enough.” He says in an infinitely weaker and mournful tone. He looks away from you, shrinking in on himself.

The words themselves stun you. Suddenly, your throat feels tight and tears prick at your eyes. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You stare for a moment, taking in the way he finally seems smaller. A man you’ve always known to be strong, who you swore you’ve never seen be emotional aside from the day of your wedding, curled up in on himself, vulnerable. Somehow, hearing them now, it hurts even more than it did earlier. And you realize you have to prove him wrong, to tell him it was you, not him, wasn’t enough.

In a moment of selfish action, you scoot over next to him and reach for his hand. It is warm, and it trembles. But he doesn’t swat your hand away, nor does he look at you. After a beat, you grab his other hand, squeezing both.

“Oh, Gallagher…” You mutter, looking into his eyes even though they avoid yours. “That’s not it. You were more than enough, I promise you. You really were.” You squeeze his hands once more, to prove your point. “Somehow, I got it in my head that.. that I wasn’t ready. Even after all the time we spent together. And that’s on me– It really is.”

Finally, he looks up at you, his eyes glossy, mirroring your own. He squeezes your hands back, and relaxes just a little.

“I didn’t mean to rush you…” He responds, voice slightly shaky. He forces a small smile onto his lips however, and it makes your heart stutter.

“No, no, it wasn’t that. I was ready. I swear. I just– I should’ve talked to you, instead of doing what I did,” You huff, shaking your head. “It was unfair of me to come to that conclusion just because of some anxiety.”

“Well, I don’t think you should blame yourself like that,” Even his voice softens as he straightens up, turning his entire body towards you. “I really do wish you would’ve talked to me, but… if you were anxious… I mean, I get it. But don’t talk about it like that.”

You open your mouth to say something, but words fail you. All you can do is nod and meet his gaze, unable to tear yours away from those hazel eyes.

“... I mean, it was pretty expensive for something as simple as that, but– Sorry, bad joke,” He chuckles sheepishly, “But it’s okay. If anything, I’m glad we’re talking about it now, instead of never…”

His eyes rake over your face, down to your hands. He takes another breath like he’s about to say something, then pauses, shakes his head, and chuckles once more.

“I’m sorry,” Is all you can choke out, your hold on his hands loosening.

“It’s okay, there’s no need to apologize. I get it, I really do,”

Gallagher lets go of your hands as well, turning his hands over and presenting his palms to you. It’s a gesture that is so small and from the outside would seem meaningless, but something you always quite loved– as were most things you have seen tonight. You had a habit of playing with his hands whenever you could, running your thumb over the back of his hand when you two were holding hands, messing with his fingers to annoy him when you were watching a movie, and tracing over the creases in his palms to calm yourself down if your mind wouldn’t shut up. It helped when you were anxious, or when you couldn’t fall asleep.

Without thinking, you use your thumbs to trace over the creases in his palms, hands still rough and calloused as you remembered. For a moment, it helps calm your nerves, allowing you to think clearly. Yet, despite that, you can’t form any proper words. You untense and allow yourself to really, truly breathe. After a beat, he drops his hands into his lap, eyes searching your face for any sort of hesitance. You find yourself chasing after your hands for a moment, catching yourself and clearing your throat as you pull away.

“... I have a question. That you can say no to, okay?” He leans back, trying to seem more confident, but he wears an unsure smile on his lips.

“Okay,” You nod, your stomach, once again, flip-flopping.

“I… want to try again. If you feel the same, of course. I just…” There’s a subtle blush that dusts his cheeks as he looks around the room, reaching up and scratching at his stubble. “I meant what I said earlier today. I missed you.”

Your mouth goes dry. It isn’t something you expected– though, it is quite welcome. But you can’t help but hesitate, it sounds a little too good to be true. You bite your lip and allow the question to hang in the air for a second longer, still unable to conjure up a response. You’d tell him you’d love to, but–

“Just– Just a few dates, here and there. We don’t have to pick up where we left off,” Gallagher chimes in at your hesitation, before shrinking away, worried that he’s being too invasive.

You look down to your lap, trying to string your thoughts together and form a coherent response. This was the best possible scenario you had hoped for, so why do you feel so unsure? You fidget with your fingers, all sorts of ‘what if’s popping up in your head. What if it ends up like last time? What if this isn’t just a case of ‘right person, wrong time’, what if it always had been ‘wrong person, wrong time’? You loved Gallagher when you first started dating, you loved him when you married him, and evidently, you loved him even after the divorce. And yet… it was hard to say yes. But you couldn’t let your anxiety eat away at you this time, you promised that to yourself at that moment.

“I’d like that,” You finally speak, voice quieter than you anticipated, and shy.

When you look up at Gallagher, you can tell he’s trying to hold back his own little celebration. He opens his mouth to say something, moves a little in his seat, then closes it. His hand raises from his lap for a second, before he places it back down. Eventually, he figures out what to do. He flashes you a simple grin, the kind that made the corners of his eyes and his nose crinkle.

“Great. Yes. Totally. Okay, I’ll uhm– well, my schedule isn’t the best anymore, so… I don’t know. I mean, this can be a date, right?” He stumbles and trips over his words, unsure if he should let his excitement be visible or not. You haven’t seen him this flustered in a long, long time. And it warms your heart.

“It can,” You chuckle, tilting your head. “I mean, I did kinda miss our movie nights.”

“Perfect! I’ll, uh, well,” He moves to grab the remote off the coffee table, eyes flickering over to you in a bout of nervousness. “Guess I’ll get it started. Ah, wait– do you want some popcorn, or anything…?”

“Ah, actually… Can I ask where Whiskey is?” You can’t help but go back to the dog, as if having a movie night without the pup felt wrong.

“Oh, I-I left him in my room. Didn’t want him to annoy you or anything… uhm, did you want me to go get him?”

“Yes. Please.”

At your eager response, Gallagher practically scrambles to get up. You listen to him pad down the hallway to his room, before he opens the door. The minute that door opens, you hear Whiskey’s claws scratching at the hardwood floor as he runs to the living room to check out the new smells. He wasn’t much of a pup anymore, around 3 years old now. His floppy ears bounce up and down as he runs to you, and he practically crashes into you when he jumps up onto the couch (and ultimately into your chest). You can’t help but laugh as his entire body wiggles in excitement, licking at your face and sticking his nose into it every time you turn your head to avoid his barrage.

Gallagher can’t help but chuckle as he watches, taking his seat back, betraying you and leaving you to fend for yourself against Whiskey’s storm of kisses. Gallagher can’t help but ‘subtly’ reach over and wrap his arm around your shoulders. He figured since you were just soooo defenseless, why not sneak in? Despite the awkward, childish anxiety, like you two had just started dating from earlier, this feels so very… normal. Regardless, you didn’t have time to react either way. Whiskey was relentless with his kisses, determined to make up for the several years he didn’t see you.

Eventually, you are able to pry the dog off of you, and the space calms down for a moment, despite the excited wagging and half-lunging at you. Considering how much he has grown, it’s kind of hard to pull him back. But within a minute or two, he finally calms down, finding his peace on your lap, laying his head on your leg and staring up at you with big ol’ eyes, begging for attention every time you stop petting him.

“Let’s see…” Gallagher hums, finally turning on the tv and figuring out which streaming service to use. “What are you feeling? Horror? Classic? I’m game for whatever.”

“Hmm,” You tilt your head, scratching behind Whiskey’s ear. “I dunno. You pick.”

With a huff of approval, Gallagher chooses a streaming service, quickly scrolling through a couple of movies, before choosing a thriller. Why not be a little cliche? Even if you were used to this stuff by now, he can’t help himself. You can’t help but chuckle and smile at his choice, looking up at him through your lashes quickly. In a moment of selfishness (or perhaps lovestruck idiocy), you lean up and press a kiss to his cheek, before leaning your head onto his shoulder fully.

Gallagher can’t help but smile like a fool, hand squeezing your shoulder. He dares not to look down at you, as if he was afraid this wasn’t real. Ironic, coming from him. But, he couldn’t help it. Something he yearned for after so long, finally in his hands… Someone he had yearned for. Whiskey, however, is quite displeased with this show of affection, giving you a lethal side-eye, as if to say ‘how dare you show him love and not me.’ Such betrayal that you have shown Whiskey, choosing Gallagher over him.

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[em1989ts]

𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞

five hargreeves x reader

word count: 1.3k

masterlist - based on this request

summary: you and five finally get to live the life you've been fighting for, but he has a hard time adjusting

content: hurt/comfort, death in a nightmare, angst, fluff

author's note: thanks again for the request!! i listened to peace on repeat the entire time i was writing this cause it's just so five, it also happens to be one of my fav taylor songs! my inbox is always open so if you got a request please send it in :) enjoy !!

not proofread!

“Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?”

~~~

You never thought there’d be the day where you and Five would live together. 

You’ve always pictured getting your own place, maybe even a cat, and living that beloved domestic life, but you didn't think it would actually happen.

It seemed like every single time you thought you were safe, another problem quickly made itself known. 

But it’s been a few months since the universe was reset, so you finally started to let your guard down. 

There seemed to be no apocalypse or assassins following the two of you around in your new lives.

That weight had left your shoulders, yet you could tell it still weighed Five down. 

You were both living normal lives now, blending in with the world around you.

Each of the Hargreeves siblings had gone down their own path in life for the second time, and it was time for Five to have the comfortable, normal life you’d always hoped he would have.

Five worked with the CIA, while you worked at a café a couple blocks away from your apartment.

He initially wanted you to stay home, knowing he could provide more than enough for the both of you, but he knew you wanted to live your own life too. 

Now that you had all the time in the world, he watched as you gradually grew into your best self. 

You explored hobbies, gaining exciting interests you never knew you had, which he admired so dearly. 

All he ever wanted was to see you so happy. 

But the constant fear of allowing himself to be happy and settled only for that to be ripped away from him never left his mind. 

After the universe was reset and the two of you lost your powers, Five grew extremely anxious. 

Sure, the two of you had learned combative skills and you were both excellent at defending yourselves, but what if? 

That question burned through his mind. 

What if the Handler came back? 

What if the apocalypse came back? 

What if someone hurt you? 

What if he couldn’t protect you?

“Ouch-” 

Five looked down at his hand, turning slightly pink after he burned it against his mug. 

“You okay?” you asked from your seat at the island in your kitchen, looking up from your book.

You had noticed he was particularly stressed today, but you could tell he didn’t feel like talking about it. 

He had checked the lock on the door at least four times now. Even the balcony doors were locked with the curtains drawn, blocking the moonlight from entering the mostly dark apartment.

You knew it was hard for him to adjust to a normal life. He had been so focused on surviving for so many years he forgot what it was like to live. 

You had tried to help him, and sometimes it worked. He would dance with you while your Frank Sinatra records played in your cozy living room. He would try out new recipes with you. 

You loved it most when you could just enjoy each other's company, without a care in the world how much time had passed, because it was never a waste. 

The two of you would spend hours together, wrapped up in each other arms or simply leaning on each other. Sometimes you would talk, sometimes you would just enjoy the intimate silence. 

You didn’t like the silence now though, as you watched his furrowed brows and shaking hands. 

You knew it was hard for him to bring up how he felt. His family always shoved his feelings so far down their list of problems he never felt like they would be important to you. 

As much as you reassured him he could always talk to you about anything, he still didn’t want to be a burden. 

“I’m fine,” he picked up his mug with one hand and walked around the island over to you. He held your head and pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“I’m heading to bed,” he said quietly, “Love you.”

You smiled, “Love you, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

As he walked into your shared bedroom, you couldn’t help but worry about the man you cared so much about, and you wish you knew how to help him. 

~~~

It was happening again. 

He was running. 

There was so much smoke. 

So many flames. 

So many bodies. 

He frantically looked around, until his eyes landed on the one body he couldn’t handle seeing in such a state. 

He was too late. If only he ran faster, if only he couldn’t stopped this, if only he could’ve saved you. 

His knees hit the gravel.

He screamed but he couldn’t hear himself. 

He hear your voice calling for him

 Your mouth was undefinable, but he could tell it wasn’t moving. 

The smoke filled his lungs. He couldn’t breathe

“Five!” 

~~~

He sat straight up. The cold air hit his sweat covered chest as the sheets flew forward. 

He was still screaming as he tried to pry his eyes open with his hands, scratching the vision out of his head. 

You were still saying his name and you reached for his eyes, grabbing them tightly and bringing them away from his face. 

His eyes were bloodshot and he was shaking intensely, but once his sight focused on you he caged you in with his arms and started bawling. 

You had never witnessed one of his nightmares get so bad. 

Of course, he’d had several ever since you’d moved in together but he’s never been this disturbed by one.

You could feel his tears in your hair and you could slightly make out his muffled chanting. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Your heart was breaking just seeing him like this, you couldn’t bear him so distressed.

You tried to calm him down as he held you, with soothing whispers and coos to calm his breathing and heart rate. 

Once he seemed less frantic, you peeled his arms off you and sat in front of him, holding his hands. 

“What happened?” You asked him softly, brushing his hair off his forehead. 

He looked as though we were going to cry all over again but he looked down and said, “I lost you.” 

“It wasn’t real, Five,” you reassured him, “I’m right here, I’m okay.”

You held his face in your palms, looking into his green eyes. 

It pained you to see him so worried.

He held his hand over yours, “I just want you to be safe.”

“I am,” you smiled sadly at him. 

“We don’t have to worry about the apocalypse anymore,” you reassured him, “There’s no more commission. There’s nothing coming after us, we’re safe.” 

He signed, taking your hands off his cheeks and holding them in his lap, tracing the lines along your palms. 

“I want more than anything for you to feel safe, Five. I don’t want to see you so scared to live a normal life, one that we’ve been fighting for so long for.” 

A tear ran down his cheek, which you wiped away with your thumb. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just- I want you to be happy. I don’t mean to bother-”

“Please don’t,” you cut him off. 

You grabbed the comforter and pulled it over the two of you, tucking you both in. 

As you faced him, you said, “You don’t need to apologize.” 

Pulling him in, you felt his face bury into your chest as your fingers combed through his dark hair. His breathing slow, his body warm against you, his heart rate slowing. 

“As long as I get to live this life with you, Five, I’m happy.” 

~~~

[friendrat]

Geez... I was just doing some reading on the internet and got a punch in the gut.

This started because I saw a post in a womb twin survivor support group where someone had posted and was describing how they were born with a pin hole in their spine, which sounded very similar to my own diagnosis of Spina Bifida Occulta.

Anyway, certain health problems are more common in Vanishing Twin Survivors, and I thought I remembered that Spina Bifida was one of them, so I was looking it up to see if I was remembering correctly.

As I'm scrolling, one link said, "Spina Bifida a vanishing nightmare." So I clicked on it, and it was a quick thing about how numbers were going down, and they weren't sure why, but part was attributed to terminating affected pregnancies. The conclusion was that if they continued "preventative measures" i.e. termination, Spina Bifida could disappear. Of course! The solution to this health problem isn't to work on an *actual* cure or improve treatments... it's to just kill the people who have it. That will solve everything.

I'm just... I don't even know why I'm surprised. They wanted to kill me then. Of course, they would want to kill me if I was born today. I don't know why I would expect anything else... but it made me so... sad.

You know... I had an older cousin who had a much more severe case of Spina Bifida than I do. And when I say older, I mean he was like my parents' age. He was worse off than me, but he was always smiling. He was always joking with people. He volunteered his time to his local church, he stood by his principals, he helped out people in need without ever asking anything in return... and when he died, the funeral home was packed. There was a line around the building of people waiting to say their goodbyes, and it kept up the entire visitation. People were parked way down the road and had to walk to get there. My cousin was a light in people's lives.

But if he had been born right now, people would just weigh his life based on his disability and determine that he should be killed before his light could reach anyone. But sure... we can eliminate this disorder by killing the people who have it. It's disgusting that people think that way. There's no other word for it.

[hogwartseighthyear]

wax paper

"your girl" series: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | (part 4)

(can be read as a standalone)

pairing: neville longbottom x fem!reader word count: 3.7k tags: rated G, house-neutral reader, fluff, established relationship, maybe a smidge of angst, no Y/N used summary: neville introduces you to his parents. note: cue me strolling in like it hasn't been over a year and a half since i last posted a fic. this is based on a request i lost a long time ago for something with neville's family (iirc). i might come back later and give it another edit since this was a bit hasty, but for now, enjoy and thanks for reading! (cross-posted here to AO3)

After spending the last several years living through an outright war, the months immediately following Voldemort’s demise were tinged with a sense of unreality.

You mourned for the lives lost and the destruction that had been wrought. You slept fitfully and replayed the worst moments of the Battle in your nightmares. Sudden, loud noises sent you diving to the ground with your wand in hand, reminding you of crackling spellfire, flashes of green light hurtling overhead, smoke in the air and screams ringing in your ears.

Yet, for every moment of grief and pain, there was hope and happiness in equal measure. Wizarding Britain was gradually reassembling. The Ministry was being gutted from the inside out, Aurors were hunting down wayward Death Eaters, repairs were underway at Hogwarts. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t look so bleak.

And somehow, in the midst of it all, you’d started dating Neville Longbottom.

You’d both confessed your feelings just after the Battle had finished, when you and Neville finally managed to escape the cacophony of noise and emotion in the Great Hall and retreat to the quiet shores of the lake. The two of you were still singed and bloodied and covered in dirt, but it hadn’t mattered in the slightest. When you finally kissed him, it felt like coming home.

It was difficult to separate you and Neville that following summer. In all honesty, the amount of time you were spending together might have been excessive, if not bordering on codependent, but considering the hell you had just endured, neither of your families voiced any complaints. May, June, and July passed in a languid procession of warm afternoons in the back garden and hours of general lazing about around each other’s homes as you recuperated from, well, your whole adolescence.

You and Neville had already accepted Professor McGonagall’s offer to return to Hogwarts to properly complete your education, and while you were looking forward to it, you knew that it wouldn’t be easy. So, you greatly appreciated the chance to take a break from life before the fall term rolled around.

One day in early August, you were doing just that, lounging on the couch and reading a particularly interesting chapter in Dragon Species of Ancient Mesopotamia, when the fireplace whooshed with a burst of green flames. To your surprise, it was Neville who stepped through the Floo into your living room.

In a rare turn of events, you and Neville didn’t actually have plans to see each other until tomorrow. Today, he, Ginny, and Luna were scheduled to meet in Diagon Alley for an interview with Farida Wolff of the Daily Prophet, who was interested in writing an article on the student rebellion the three of them led during the Death Eaters’ rule over Hogwarts. Afterwards, Neville was planning on paying his parents a visit at St. Mungo’s; fetching money from his Gringotts vault; getting fitted at Madam Malkin’s for new robes; picking up treats for Seymour, the Longbottom family owl, at Eeylops Owl Emporium; then joining his gran in the evening for a belated birthday dinner with his great-uncle Algie and great-aunt Enid.

A glance at the clock told you that while Neville’s interview must have just wrapped up, he definitely hadn’t had time to finish the rest of his errands in downtown London already. There was no reason for him to stop by your place. And yet here he was, wearing a rather nervous expression.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” you asked, sitting upright, a worried frown quickly overtaking your face.

“Hi. Um. Yes,” Neville said haltingly.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “Did something happen during the interview?”

“No, no, the interview was fine.”

You waited for further explanation, but he remained silent.

“Neville?”

He dithered for a few more moments before taking a deep, steadying breath and finally looking at you.

“I was just about to go see my parents,” he said, standing a bit straighter, “and… I was wondering if… you’d like to come meet them?”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Neville said, this time with more conviction. “I know they don’t really— They can’t exactly, you know—” He cut himself off, his mouth twisting. “But. I’ve already told them about us, and it would mean a lot to me.”

“Okay,” you said, unable to keep the slight tremor out of your voice. “I’ll come. Of course I’ll come.” 

Meeting your boyfriend’s parents for the first time was nerve-racking on principle, but meeting Neville’s parents was especially so, considering how fiercely guarded he was when it came to them.

He’d told you what happened to his mum and dad during the First War, but it had always been a sensitive topic. You remembered how agitated he’d been when his friends ran into them at St. Mungo’s a few Christmases ago. Neville was protective of his parents; he didn’t want anyone witnessing them in their vulnerable state. And yet here he was, asking you to meet them.

No pressure, right?

You smoothed your hands over your lap and looked down at your outfit: the soft, comfortable one you’d been lounging around in all day while you read. “Oh! I should change before we go. And fix my hair. Shit, wait, give me a few minutes,” you babbled as you stood from the couch, anxiety already churning in your stomach, but Neville caught you before you could rush past him.

“Love, you look fine,” he said.

“I look like I just rolled out of bed!”

You were too busy fretting over your appearance to notice the way Neville rolled his eyes, though his expression was still unmistakably fond. You refocused only when he put his hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him.

“You’re beautiful, I promise, but”—he stressed the word when you went to open your mouth again—“if it makes you feel better, I was going to suggest we Disillusion ourselves anyway.”

It took you a moment to catch on to his reasoning. “Oh,” you said with a sympathetic wince. “How bad was it this time?”

“At least ten different people asked for my autograph.” Neville kept his voice low, as if he were saying something scandalous. “I tried telling everyone I didn’t have a quill, but then some of them conjured quills for me, so I just signed what they asked. I felt like the world’s biggest prat!”

Fame was something Neville was still struggling to get used to. He’d been largely shielded from it these past few months, considering that the two of you had been living like hermits. But on the rare occasion he happened to wander out into public, there was almost always someone who recognized the Boy Who Killed Voldemort’s Snake.

“We’ll have to brainstorm some new excuses,” you said with a resolute nod.

Really, you should have remembered that magic exists when you came up with the quill idea, but to be fair, it was better than Neville’s plan to claim that he was sick with the highly-contagious doxy flu anytime a stranger tried to approach him.

After putting on a pair of shoes and casting your respective Disillusionment Charms, you followed Neville through the fireplace, Flooing directly into St. Mungo’s reception area.

The chaos inside momentarily stopped you in your tracks. You’d never had a reason to visit St. Mungo’s before, and you couldn’t help but gawk at the various witches and wizards gathered in the large waiting room. One man swaying unsteadily in line appeared to have his legs spelled on backwards. A woman whose entire body was covered in green boils napped in a nearby chair. There was even a man seated against the opposite wall with a continuous stream of soap bubbles pouring from his ears and floating up to the ceiling.

Neville, of course, didn’t seem to be phased by any of it. He’d surely grown used to such sights after visiting for so many years.

“This way,” he said, taking your hand and leading you through the double doors past the inquiries desk. He took out his wand to remove the Disillusionment Charm only once you’d reached a quiet stairwell.

“That felt a bit… unauthorized,” you said, patting nervously at your hair and hoping you were still presentable. “Will we get in trouble if someone finds out we haven’t, I don’t know, signed in anywhere?”

“No, they keep track of everyone who passes through the Floo. Whoever’s currently attending mum and dad probably already knows we’re on our way. Although”—Neville sent you an apologetic look—“they’re on the fourth floor.”

The last time you climbed four flights of stairs at once was during the Battle of Hogwarts, caught in a panicked crowd of students rushing through the castle and ducking spellfire. The months since then had been, for the most part, very slow-paced and sedentary. Your legs were not going to like this.

“Right. Well.” You straightened and took in a big breath. “Up we go.”

You and Neville were both huffing and puffing slightly by the time you reached the fourth floor. In the brief pause the two of you took to catch your breath, you made a mental note to find a magical solution to make climbing stairs more tolerable. Some sort of numbing charm below the knees? No, tripping would be entirely too easy. A Feather-Light Charm? Possibly, though if you cast it too strongly you might be liable to launch yourself over the whole staircase and into the wall.

Whatever. You’d figure it out later.

You followed Neville along the Spell Damage corridor, straight to a door at the far end, which happened to be the entrance to the Janus Thickey Ward. He knocked, and a few moments later a lock clicked from the other side and a middle-aged witch in green Healer robes answered.

“Neville, dear!” she greeted, reaching up to give his cheek a fond little pinch.

“Hello, Miriam,” Neville said, enduring her fawning. You had to hold back a laugh.

“I’ll say, it was such a wonderful surprise to see you were stopping by. And with company, no less.” Miriam turned her twinkling eyes towards you.

You introduced yourself, giving her hand a polite shake. “I’m Neville’s—” You paused, not sure how you should label your relationship in front of Miriam. The fact that you and Neville had started dating was something only your immediate families knew, so far.

You cast a questioning look at Neville. He nodded at you, a small smile curving his mouth.

“—girlfriend,” you finished.

All your other current anxieties aside, saying it out loud still made you feel embarrassingly giddy.

“Girlfriend!” Miriam exclaimed, beaming at you and Neville. “Oh, isn’t that just delightful! I’m Miriam Strout; I’m so pleased to meet you, darling. Come in, come in.” Healer Strout ushered the two of you through the doorway.

The Janus Thickey Ward was a long, open room with a number of beds lining the walls, each sectioned off by a set of floral-patterned curtains. Despite the somewhat sterile feel of the tiled floors and the off-white walls, the residents here were long term, and the collection of personal effects made the room a bit friendlier: things like knitted blankets, family photos, stacks of books, house slippers. You could even recognize a song by the Forty Phantoms playing on a radio somewhere nearby.

“Your father’s been a bit sleepy this morning, Neville, but he and the missus were both awake the last time I checked. I’m sure they’ll both be happy to see you,” Healer Strout said, locking the entrance once again with a wave of her wand. “Are either of you thirsty? We have a new elf in the kitchens that makes the most excellent cup of masala chai.”

“That’s alright, Miriam. We’ve got it from here,” Neville said.

“Thank you, though,” you added on.

“Of course, just tell me if you need anything.” And with that, Healer Strout stepped away to tend to a nearby patient who was standing on top of his mattress, stretching to pin a photo to the wall amidst an already-excessive number of portraits. All of which appeared to be self portraits.

He looked awfully familiar, in fact.

Wait. That wasn’t…?

“Gilderoy, you silly man, what have I told you about climbing up there?” Healer Strout called out fondly. “Falling down and bumping your head is the last thing you need!”

You whipped around to look at Neville. “Lockhart?” you whispered.

He nodded with a grimace. “Don’t make eye contact, he’ll take it as an invitation to show you his fan mail collection.”

The two of you hurried away.

Neville lost a bit of his steam as you neared the end of the ward, slowing his steps and running a nervous hand through his hair. You were nervous too, but you still made the effort to send him a supportive smile. He returned it, a bit wobbly, but there nonetheless.

And then before you knew it, you were standing in front of the floral curtain drawn around the very last two beds. “Mum? Dad?” Neville said. He grabbed the edge and pulled it open.

You’d seen photos of Alice and Frank Longbottom from their Auror days; Neville’s gran had several hanging proudly in her home. You’d always been struck by Neville’s likeness to his mother. Sure, he’d ended up with his father’s height and smile, but the rest belonged to Alice: his coloring, his round cheeks, his gentle eyes.

Now, though, it was evident that the life and verve you’d seen in those photos had been drained from Neville’s parents over the years. The familial resemblance was much more difficult to pick out in their current state.

Frank was propped up in his hospital bed with a heavy quilt draped over his lap, donning a thick, knitted jumper despite the warm weather. He gazed vacantly out the nearest window, which had been spelled to show a pleasant view of the English countryside. Meanwhile, Alice was sat in an armchair between the two beds, wearing a pink cardigan over her nightdress and fiddling with something small and papery in her hands.

They were both gaunt and pale as a sheet. Their hair had turned white, and their skin had creased and wrinkled, aging them far beyond their years. Neither Frank nor Alice reacted to their son’s arrival, and you had to wonder if they even realized anyone was there at all.

“Hi guys,” Neville said quietly, stepping forward and sitting himself on edge of his mother’s bed.

It took you a moment, but you eventually managed to unstick your feet from the floor, making sure to close the curtain behind you before taking a seat next to Neville.

He cleared his throat and continued. “It’s Tuesday, August 4th, 1998. I turned eighteen last week. Sorry I didn’t stop by sooner for my birthday, but I wanted to bring someone along this time.” Neville introduced you then, telling his parents your name.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom,” you said, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

Again, they showed no reaction. Not that you thought you would get one out of them. You just weren’t used to it yet: speaking to someone so unresponsive.

Neville, however, was clearly well practiced in these one-sided conversations with his parents. “I know you’ve, erm, heard quite a lot about her,” he continued, casting a somewhat sheepish glance your way. “I just figured you should finally meet each other, now that we’re together. Though, really, I should’ve— I should’ve brought her ‘round a long time ago. She survived meeting Gran when we were twelve, after all.”

You huffed a laugh, remembering how terrifying the formidable Augusta Longbottom had seemed back then, nearly making you sick with nerves when faced with her hard, assessing eyes and stern tone. Neville had to assure you multiple times that his gran didn’t hate you the way you feared she might. In fact, after taking some time to warm up to you, she actually grew to be quite fond of you, often asking after you in her letters while Neville was away at Hogwarts.

You’d always remained quietly cautious of her, knowing how easily and often her sharp words could cut through Neville. There was no doubt Augusta loved him, surely, but that didn’t mean her standards for her grandson weren’t high, or that the comparisons she made between him and his father weren’t harsh. It was only over the course of the last year that Neville had finally gained his gran’s approval, and some of the bumps in their relationship seemed to have smoothed over.

“It wasn’t so bad. We get along pretty well these days, I think,” you said, looking to Frank as you spoke of his mother.

You weren’t expecting to find anything other than Frank’s blank stare still fixed on the window, unmoving, save for the slow rise and fall of his chest—which is why it was so startling when he sat forward and rose to his feet with a quiet grunt. You straightened your posture, briefly thinking he was going to approach you, but Frank’s eyes skipped over you and Neville completely as he shuffled past his bed.

Neville followed suit and stood. “Dad?”

“Is he okay?” you asked with a concerned frown.

“Yes, uh, he’s probably just headed to the washroom,” Neville said, already trailing after his father. “I’ll walk him there. We’ll be right back.”

They both passed through the curtain, where you heard Healer Strout call out, “You boys alright?”

“All good, Miriam, I’ve got him!”

That left you alone with Alice.

You floundered, unsure how to fill the silence between you, punctuated only by the crinkling of whatever Alice was still turning over in her hands. You tried to think of what a mother might like to speak about with her son’s girlfriend upon their first meeting, but you didn’t exactly have a frame of reference for this sort of thing. The only common ground you could find with her on short notice was, well, Neville.

“Neville is really good at Herbology,” you blurted. Then, sheepishly, “…You probably already know that, though.”

Great start.

“It’s what most people know about him. I mean, people who actually knew him before the Battle.” You realized a moment too late that the reminder that her son lived through the horrors of war might not be well received by Alice—assuming there was a chance she could understand you, even if she couldn’t respond—and you quickly moved on. “I struggled with it more the further along in school we got. I’m pretty sure the only reason I managed to pass my Herbology O.W.L. was because of Neville. He made this for me while we were revising that year, see?”

You reached underneath the collar of your shirt and pulled out the necklace that hung there more often than not. The pendant was a petal Neville had plucked from the flutterby bush the two of you had spent time tending to in one of the greenhouses. With the right combination of charms—and some help from Hermione, he’d later admitted—the petal had been hardened and polished, as though encased in glass.

You remembered how the urge to grab his face and kiss him had swooped through you when Neville presented you with the gift after your exams, and you remembered how little that urge had surprised you, even then.

“The fact that we only recently started dating feels rather ridiculous now, looking back on everything,” you muttered, rubbing your finger across the smooth edge of the petal as you peered down at it. “I can’t even pinpoint when I started… fancying Neville. I suppose I’ve always loved him in one way or another.”

You looked up to Alice, feeling somewhat shy and hot in the face after sharing something so honest, and found that her own gaze had risen to settle on your necklace. You stilled your hand and held it out for her to see. She stared for a long moment before returning to her fidgeting. Except this time, she began twisting something, the crinkling sound getting louder.

You leaned forward for a better look at what Alice held in her hands. It was a piece of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, you realized. The was a whole dish of it sitting on the nightstand behind her.

She unwrapped the gum and placed it in her mouth, then held out the wrapper for you.

“Oh… alright,” you said, taking the wrapper. Did she want you to toss it for her? There was a small bin tucked next to the nightstand, but it was clearly within her reach. Uncertain what to do, you smoothed out the waxy piece of paper into a neat little rectangle, idly admiring the gold foil around the edges.

It wasn’t much longer before Neville and his father returned. Once Frank was situated in bed, Neville returned to his seat by your side, smiling at both you and his mother. However, he froze when he caught sight of the Drooble’s wrapper in your hand.

“Neville? Are you alright?” you asked.

“Is that—? Did she give that to you?” His wide eyes darted back to Alice, whose jaw was working as she chewed on her gum.

“Yes. Was she not supposed to? I can throw it away—”

“No!” Neville’s outburst made you pause from where you’d risen to your feet, and he grimaced at himself, urging you to sit back down with a gentle hand on your arm. “No, no, sorry. It’s fine.”

“Well, if you’re certain.”

“I am.” He hesitates for a moment. “She’s… giving you a gift. It’s all she has to give, really. But it’s for you.”

You looked over at Neville in surprise, emotion suddenly twisting inside your chest. You could see some of it reflected in his face, the crinkle of his eyes, the slope of his mouth. A face you loved so dearly, made of the two people sitting across from you.

You swallowed a bit roughly and held onto the wrapper with care. “Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom.”

Neville pulled you into his side and laid a kiss on your temple.

[cenorii]

Indifference and Excella

Today I'd like to talk about an issue like indifference and its consequences. But we won't talk about whether it's bad or not, I just want to discuss how Excella's indifference changed the history of all the following games.

Excella had known Wesker since about 2003, but had been directly close to him since about 2006, when she gained control of Tricell Inc. From 2006 to 2009, she was close to him, through which she began to experience romantic feelings that blinded her critical thinking. But even without the crush, she was indifferent to what kind of person he was, and that probably always annoyed him in people (Wesker's second report states how he hates people who elevate others only for their background and not for their personal accomplishments. Excella exalted Wesker perhaps not even for his research but for his looks, that is, she did not read between the lines at all and did not pay attention to who was actually standing in front of her).

Being indifferent to his personality, she did not notice at all, so unstable man was next to her. The object of her lust had a huge bouquet of psychological problems and inferiority complexes, which he hid behind a mask of calmness.

However, even this mask gave a crack in re5, you can tell by the animation of the sudden outburst of anger.

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But while in re5 he's angry because his plan is slowly falling apart, in the Lost in Nightmares DLC, it's much deeper than that...

He just learned the truth about his life, and his anger is probably directed at that fact. He's angry at the truth and the fact that his past continues to haunt him (Chris and Jill). His past in the form of Umbrella, who he ran away from, has also caught up with him again, turning out to be the truth he had to face. Because of his pretense and “calm” image, he never learned to deal with his emotions, and I'm surprised that Excella never noticed it, since he must have been angry when the cockroaches mutated on his ship.

Based on all of this, Excella hasn't been paying attention to the fact that the person next to her isn't what she thinks he is. Chris is blind to Wesker's psychological problems too and he is clearly not the person who would suggest he go to a psychiatrist, but he, unlike Excella, has good reasons for this. For example, he's blinded by his resentment toward Wesker (for the mansion, for kidnapping Jill, and so on), he's also blinded by hatred. But Excella treated Wesker well, was directly next to him, and still missed the fact that everything in his character screams that he needs help.

Yes, if someone had offered him psychological help, he obviously wouldn't have liked it, but he would have realized anyway that someone had shown him attentiveness. He would have felt that someone cares about something much deeper in him than his external image, and maybe that would have made a difference.

Just imagine that ONE caring person could have changed the course of further history by showing of the right attention. Especially if this person had appeared long before re5, for example in 2006, when Wesker was the most psychologically unstable because he learned the truth from Spencer. Feeling that someone didn't just sympathize with him, but wanted to help him deal with an deep problem, perhaps he would have made other decisions in the future.

After all, in fact, Wesker is not so much interested in Uroboros and power, as in getting people from it who would be equal to him and consider him. His main problem is a sense of detachment, as if he is superfluous, different from everyone else as a white crow, and so he needs a society made up of white crows like him. He strives to stop feeling "different". And for the sake of this, he has made the mistaken decision to “make others like him”, because he considers "ordinary" people unworthy.

However, he turns a blind eye to the fact that all these people he considers unworthy have a chance to merge with Uroboros and become like him. So it's the same "unworthy" people, just in a different cover, you know? This is another fact that proves that he doesn't care what kind of people will become the Uroboros users, he wants that they just exist. It's important to him that there are people like him.

And if just ONE person in his past had shown genuine empathy for his personality, advising him to see a specialist, maybe the whole RE story would have gone differently. There would be no Jill kidnapping, no Uroboros, no biological weapons and the organizations responsible for them, because Wesker, based on his words, is disgusted by war and pestilence. There would be no reason for him to do all this and pursue his dream through the dirty ways. His dream are of a world without decadence, a utopia where there is no destruction. And biological weapons are precisely the tools of war, pestilence and destruction. If he had other goals, Wesker would have gone up against BOW, and knowing how well he was able to counter his competitors, the bioterrorists wouldn't stand a chance.

Let's not forget that Wesker developed many weapons against bioweapons, the blueprints for which were later found by Blue Umbrella ("Albert System Weapon"). So even being a bioterrorist involuntarily, he developed means against BOW, indirectly speaking out against his own work

Draw your own conclusions, I was just sharing my thoughts on indifference and how Excella's blind love contributed to the situation <3