#it's a war in my mind. && matt

[poindexterpng]

i spent an unbelievable amount of time tier ranking the marvel characters and i have no one to share it with so im posting it here

[themostbritishamerican]

the last battle section where theyre running for their lives and you dont know if theyre gonna make it and deli just keeps failing those con saves and he says he'll run his body into the boulders taking whatever damage he needs to knowing full well he only has a couple hp left but he should be able to make death saves right bc its just poison damage and colins a knight so he should have some medicine skills he can make a medicine check and deli will be fine right?? this was the anxiety going through my head i stg ive never felt stakes like that since the cathedral fight it was so fucking good

[matt-murdockk]

Time

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

words: 2.8k

summary: On their wedding night, (Y/n) disappears in Matt’s arms-blipped without warning. For five years, he mourns her, tormented by grief and hallucinations. When she returns, unchanged, he’s convinced she’s not real. (angst mostly with fluff ending)

warnings: angst, cussing, lack of proofreading rip, set in infinity war - endgame timeline (reader getting blipped, etc)

a/n: Listen, my boy Matt is the PERFECT practice for writing angst. I just like to put him in situations and watch him like he's in a fish tank and I'm outside tapping on the glass. This man absolutely cannot catch a break and while I am partially to blame (cause I'm writing it this time), just how Matt is written in general is in a way that it just makes sense to put him through shit. He is a walking amalgam of Catholic Guilt, adrenaline, and poor decision making and I love him so much. This one is a boatload of angst but I threw in some fluff in the ending because well, we deserve good things.

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

The apartment door creaked open with the softest thud, and then her back hit it as Matt pressed her gently against the wood, lips grazing her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He was smiling.

That rare, devastating smile he only wore when it was just them.

“You’re supposed to carry me across the threshold, remember?” she whispered, breathless with laughter.

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” Matt murmured. “Just wanted a moment alone with my wife first.”

Wife.

The word made her stomach flip in a good way- warm and giddy and ridiculous.

He scooped her up easily, one arm beneath her knees, the other at her back, and she looped her arms around his neck like she’d never let go. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“I’m legally required to now,” he said with a smirk. “It’s in the vows. Carry you everywhere. Worship the ground you walk on. Try not to lose my mind over how good you look in that dress.”

“Flawless delivery, Murdock,” she teased. “Truly. I can tell you definitely wrote your own vows.”

He chuckled against her shoulder as he carried her through the doorway into the quiet, dimly lit apartment. Candles flickered. Soft music still hummed faintly from the speaker they forgot to turn off before the ceremony.

And for a second- just one perfect second- it was all stillness. Just them. Just this.

He set her down gently, hands lingering at her waist. They kissed again, slower now. Softer. Everything feeling like it had finally settled into place. She pressed her forehead to his, heart beating a little too fast.

“I think I’m going to cry.”

“I’ll beat you to it,” he murmured, eyes closing, nose brushing hers. “You’re here. You’re mine. We made it.”

She smiled, eyes glassy. “We did.”

They stood there for a while. Just holding each other. Breathing the same air. Wedding bands warm against skin.

But then-

She shifted slightly in his arms. Her brows furrowed.

“Matt?”

He straightened a little, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

“I feel... weird.”

He tilted his head, concern filtering through his features. “Weird how?”

She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I don’t know. It’s like- I just got dizzy all of a sudden. Like the room’s moving.”

Matt gently guided her toward the couch, helping her sit down. “Okay. Just breathe. You might be dehydrated. Or just- adrenaline crash.”

She tried to smile. “Yeah. Big day. Lots of emotions. Too many speeches.”

She stood too fast. Her hand slipped from his.

“Careful,” Matt said, already reaching for her again. “Take it slow- ”

“I think I need to throw up,” she mumbled, voice shaky.

“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, already guiding her. “Bathroom’s just- ”

She staggered.

Her balance tipped.

Matt caught her by the waist before she could fall. “Hey. Hey, I got you. It’s okay- ”

She didn’t answer.

Her body felt... lighter. Unsteady. Like her weight was shifting in his arms.

He tilted his head, trying to focus on her. “(Y/n)? You with me?”

She looked up at him.

Confused.

Scared.

“M-Matt, I...”

And then her voice just- cut out.

His arms were suddenly empty.

He blinked.

No sound. No step. No breath.

Just... gone.

The faintest warmth lingered against his fingertips- and then something like dust scattered through them.

“What the- ?” he whispered, stepping back. “(Y/n)?”

His hand shook. Her scent was still in the room. Her heartbeat-

No. No, that wasn’t right.

He turned, listening harder, straining his senses.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The silence grew louder. His throat closed up.

“(Y/n)?”

He moved down the hallway. Checked the bathroom. The bedroom. “(y/n), c’mon. Say something.”

No heartbeat. No motion. Not even the creak of a floorboard. Like she’d never been there. Matt’s chest started to cave in.

“Okay, this isn’t- this doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Maybe you passed out. Maybe you hit your head. Maybe- ”

His foot bumped something.

Her ring.

Her wedding ring.

Lying on the floor.

His knees hit the hardwood before he could stop them. “No.”

He crawled forward, hands blindly reaching, as if she might be hidden just out of reach.

“(Y/n)!” His voice cracked. “Where are you?!”

Still nothing.

Just the flicker of the candles.

Just the soft sound of ash settling.

“No, no- God, no!” He stood again. Stumbled. Slipped.

“(Y/n)!” He shouted so hard it tore something in his throat. “Talk to me!”

He made it to the front door. Opened it. Nothing. No one. No footsteps. No sounds of retreat. Matt’s breathing picked up. His fingers trembled as he unlocked his phone, nearly dropping it before hitting Call.

Foggy.

It rang once. Twice-

Pick up.

The sound of the city outside had changed. He could hear it.

Screaming. Tires screeching. Glass shattering six blocks over. Someone crying for help. Sirens multiplying like wildfire. It all surged into his head at once- too much, too fast.

He pressed his palm against his ear, gritting his teeth. “Too loud. I can’t- ”

Click.

“Matt?” Foggy answered, out of breath. “Hey, shouldn’t you be- ?”

“She’s gone,” Matt said immediately, voice fraying. “Foggy- she was right here, and then she just... disappeared.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?”

“I mean she turned to ash in my hands,” Matt snapped, breath catching. “I was holding her. She said she felt sick and then- then she just... she was gone.”

There was a pause.

“Matt, hang on- wait- ” Foggy’s voice shifted, panic creeping in. “I think... Matt, something’s happening. It’s not just her.”

Matt stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m outside and people are vanishing. Right in front of me. There was a guy walking beside me- just turned to dust. A woman screaming for her kid, and the kid vanished. A guy in a cab just disappeared behind the wheel, Matt. It crashed into a light post.”

Matt pressed a hand to the center of his chest like he could anchor himself to the sound of Foggy’s voice. But even that was drowned out by the chaos around him.

“I can’t hear her,” he whispered. “Her heartbeat- her breathing- it’s just gone. Like she was never here, foggy.”

Foggy’s voice came through again, strained and tense. “It’s happening everywhere. I can’t keep up. There’s shouting, people running- I think half the crowd outside just vanished. I’m not exaggerating.”

Matt stumbled toward the couch, hand landing on the coffee table. “She was right here.”

“I’m coming to you,” Foggy said quickly. “Stay there, Matt. Don’t go outside- Jesus Christ, someone else just- ”

The line crackled. Cut out. Came back.

Matt’s hands were shaking as he reached for the remote.

The TV flicked on.

"...mass disappearances reported in New York, Chicago, London- this is now confirmed to be a global event..."

Footage played- Times Square chaos. Pedestrians turning to dust mid-step. News anchors looking off-camera in horror. Phones on the ground. Car alarms going off in every direction.

“We are receiving reports that approximately half the world’s population has- vanished.”

The camera panned to a child’s stuffed toy, untouched, lying in a pile of ash. Everything was still. Except the noise. And the empty space beside him on the floor.

“She was right here,” he said again, softly. Like it might undo it.

“She was right here.”

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

five years later

She came back mid-step.

One foot lifted toward the bathroom- and when it landed, everything was wrong.

The apartment was darker. Colder. Rearranged.

The soft glow from the corner lamp was unfamiliar. The kitchen counter had a different crack. The rug was new. The air carried a different scent- like dust and time and a city that had moved on without her.

“Matt?” she called, voice hoarse.

Silence.

She stepped further in. The living room looked lived-in, but not by her. Not anymore. Not for a long time. The coffee table was cluttered with open case files. There was a cane by the door she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded faster.

“Matt-?”

And then he was there. He stood in the doorway like he’d been carved from stone, unreadable and unmoved. Then, quietly- too calmly- he said, “So. You’re back.”

She stopped cold.

“Matt-”

He tilted his head slightly, almost as if studying her. “Took longer this time.”

“What…?” she breathed.

“Usually you show up around hour thirty-six,” he said, like it was a fact. “Right after the exhaustion hits but before the whiskey does anything useful.”

Her stomach twisted. “Matt, I’m not-”

“Don’t,” he cut in, sharp. “Don’t do that.”

She swallowed hard. “This isn’t what you think.”

“No?” His voice was soft, even, lethal. “Because it looks a hell of a lot like every other time I’ve lost my mind and imagined you standing in this room.”

(Y/n) blinked, her chest rising and falling too fast. “Matt, I- I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, no trace of humor. “You wouldn’t.”

“I was just- I felt sick and then it was cold, and everything looked wrong and-" Her words tangled, tripping over each other. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Matt?”

Nothing.

She took a tentative step forward. “Please. Say something. What happened? What- what’s going on?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp, like a scalpel slicing through skin without even trying.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

Her breath caught. “What- what do you mean, again?”

“I know your routine now,” he said, voice tightening with each word. “You show up, confused. You ask questions. You cry. And then just when I start to believe you might be real- when I almost let myself feel something again- you vanish.”

“Matt, I don’t- ”

“No,” he snapped. “Stop. Just stop.”

She froze. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his jaw locked, eyes unreadable.

“You know what it’s like to bury someone without a body, (Y/n)?” he asked. “To sit in this apartment with your ring in my hand, trying to convince myself that ash on the floor was all that was left of you?”

She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “I don’t remember anything-”

“Exactly,” he said, bitter. “You never do. That’s the trick, isn’t it? You pretend like you’re all confused. Like you don’t know what’s happening. And I- I fall for it. Every time. Like an idiot.”

“Matt- please, just listen to my heartbeat-”

“I did,” he cut in. “I’ve heard it before. Right before it disappears.”

Her lips trembled. “I swear I’m not-”

“You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice suddenly shaking, but no less cruel. “You don’t get to come back here like nothing happened. Like you didn’t leave me bleeding on the floor that night. Like I didn’t spend years trying to claw my way out of what you left behind.”

“I didn’t leave you,” she whispered.

“But you’re dead,” Matt hissed, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat off his skin. “You died. And whatever this is- this illusion, this dream- it doesn’t change that. You don’t get to hurt me again.”

He said it like a closing statement. Like a sentence passed down after a trial that never had a chance. But he didn’t stop there.

“You think this is easy for me?” he went on, voice low, cracking at the edges now. “You think I want to keep seeing you in doorways? Hearing your voice when I close my eyes? You think I haven’t begged for it to stop?”

(Y/n) stood frozen, lips parted, tears streaking silently down her face.

“I have spent five years trying to forget the exact way you said my name before you disappeared. Five years trying not to hear it in someone else’s mouth. Five years waking up thinking you might be there- just once- and then realizing that all I’ve got left is a bed that’s too big and silence that’s too loud.”

He was pacing now, hands in his hair, breathing hard, unable to stop himself.

“You were my wife. You were supposed to be the rest of my life. And I had you for minutes. You were ripped out of my arms before I even got to love you properly. Do you understand that? Do you even get what you left behind?”

“Matt-”

“I grieved you like a man who’d never believe in God again,” he growled. “I went back to that night a thousand times in my head-wondering if I missed something, if I could’ve saved you, if I’d just done one thing different-”

“Matt-”

“I begged,” he snapped. “I begged God to bring you back. I lost everything trying to survive you. And now you show up here, looking exactly the same, like time hasn’t touched you, like you’re just picking up where you left off- like you didn’t burn me to the fucking ground-”

“Matt.”

She said it once.

Quietly.

And then she reached for him.

He flinched on instinct, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, gently, deliberately, she took his hand in hers- still trembling from the weight of his words- and guided it up between them.

To her chest. To her heartbeat. Right there. Steady. Real. Alive. His breath hitched. She kept his hand pressed there, fingers wrapped around his wrist like she could anchor him to this one undeniable truth.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m not in your head. I don’t know how or why or what the hell happened, but I’m here.”

Matt didn’t move at first. Just stood there, hand pressed to her chest, like he didn’t trust what he was feeling. Like it might stop if he acknowledged it out loud. Then- suddenly- he let out a shaky breath and pulled her into him, hard.

His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “What the fuck.”

Her hands gripped his shirt like she was afraid he’d drop her again. “Yeah, what the fuck. I don’t know what’s happening.”

He laughed once, breathless and half-broken. “Yeah. Me neither.”

They just stood there for a second. Breathing each other in. Trying to recalibrate. Then, against his chest, she mumbled, “You look like shit, by the way.”

It slipped out before she could stop it. Matt let out an actual laugh- short, incredulous, almost like it startled him.

“That’s not funny,” he said, wiping at his eyes, still half-laughing.

She smiled weakly. “Little bit funny.”

He shook his head, still not quite believing any of it. “God, I missed you.”

And then he kissed her.

Desperate and real and messy- too much force, too much urgency, like he didn’t trust it to last. His hands found her face, holding her like he needed proof she was solid. She kissed him back just as hard, fingers in his hair, anchoring him to now. To her.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And that was enough.

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

a little bonus content because well it was funny in my head

A few days later

She was curled up next to him on the couch, legs tangled, one of his old hoodies hanging off her shoulder. The TV was on, volume low, neither of them really watching.

She was still catching up- on everything. The blip. The aftermath. The years she missed. Sometimes it hit her like a freight train. Other times, like now, it just snuck up and poked her in the ribs.

She turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “Wait a second.”

Matt tilted his head toward her. “Uh-oh.”

She sat up a little. “So… technically, you’re five years older than me now?”

He blinked. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on right now?”

“It’s a valid question,” she insisted, grinning. “I married a man my age, not some grizzled thirty-something.”

He scoffed. “Grizzled?”

“I mean, I don’t see any grey hairs, but-”

“I’m blind, not deaf. I heard that smirk.”

She tried to hold back a laugh. Failed. “So you’re like… what, thirty-eight?”

“Thirty-seven,” he corrected flatly.

“Oh no. I married an older man.”

Matt deadpanned, “And I married a time traveler. Guess we’re even.”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “You gonna start calling me ‘kid’ now?”

He turned toward her, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth. “Only if you want to see how fast a five-year age gap doesn’t matter.”

Her face flushed. “Okay, grandpa.”

Matt groaned. “Regret. Immediate regret.”

She laughed, leaning back into him again, warm and solid and finally, finally real.

“Still married me,” she said, smug.

“Still would,” he replied, without hesitation.

And that shut her up for a minute.

[dreaamdiary]

CHRIS X READER QUICKIE IN THE SHOWER BLURB (18+)

you should’ve know better then expecting to take a normal shower when staying over at chris’ because of fucking course they have an ongoing war over who takes a shower and timing it at that.

you stood in the middle of his bathroom, maxed out with the eucalyptus scent of his body wash and steam curled around the edges of the foggy glass blurring your vision of chris, who stood beneath the shower, head tilted back allowing water to run throughout his body.

he cracked an eye open and turned down his music, noticing you in nothing but a towel and your usual annoyed expression.

“um, yeah?” his voice was lazy like he was seconds away from falling asleep mid-shower. “ya don’t fuck with knocking no more?”

“chris when am i taking my shower?” you asked, arms crossed over your chest, holding the towel in place.

“relax ma, you just gotta’ wait.”

“no, i’ve already been waiting for two hours, im tired n’ i wanna’ shower before i knock out.”

chris exhaled dramatically but not budging from his spot, “guess you should’ve went when i told you right?” he said in a teasing tone, you could detect his low laugh through his breath.

“chris. shut the fuck up, being sassy and shit.” you rolled your eyes at his remark, actually starting to regret not taking him up on his offer to shower earlier.

he grinned, running a hand over his wet hair, “you tryna’ fight me over the shower right now?”

“i didn’t think i’d have to wait on matt too, get your shit fixed,” you groaned and rubbed your temple.

a beat passed before chris huffed and sticks his head out the glass door, hand out and waiting for you to jump in, “fuck it, get in.”

“no,” you shrug simply.

“no? s’not like i haven’t been inside you or anything” he absentmindedly joked, not caring how agitated you were at the moment.

you narrow your eyes at him, “i want to actually shower, chris.”

“and you can do it now or in bout’ a hour, which one baby?”

you hesitated.

then sighed in defeat, unwrapping yourself from the towel and throwing it on the rack. chris watched with a satisfied expression and a smug smirk, knowing he would get his way regardless.

taking your hand, he pulled you in, hot water immediately hitting your skin, welcoming relief and relaxing your muscles after the long day y’all had.

chris stood close behind, his body heat mixing with the steam of the water and his gaze fixed on you.

“stop lookin’ at me” you pointed out, reaching for your vanilla body wash.

“you in my shower, ma”

you rolled your eyes again, but felt the way your stomach flipped. the tension was so sexual and thick, undeniably built up in the small space.

your tried to ignore it, bending over, minding your business and scrubbing suds all over your lower half.

chris shuffled closer, his breath heavy and fingers trailing down your sides and resting low on your hips, slow and deliberate. “since y’already here…” his voice dripped with lust, low and raspy whispering in your ear.

“move, babe—”

you couldn’t even finish your sentence, he was already gliding his tip between your folds, teasing you slowly. your now pressed against the cool tile, chris turning your head to his and connecting your lips. the water ran between you, but neither cared to move.

your body felt like it was on fire as chris’ hands mapped their way around it not missing an inch of you and finally slipping his full length into your sopping cunt, eager to suck him in all while maintaining the sloppy kiss.

“ohhh, fuuuck” chris groaned out, his head thrown back to the ceiling and mouth hung open while your gummy walls clenched around him, squeezing him in so tight like you were perfectly made for him.

“mmh, chris” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling his tip kiss your cervix over and over again. your shower sponge was long forgotten as chris held you up by your neck, leaving traces of saliva as he kissed it and fucked into you at the same time.

you looked down at your bodies colliding, water droplets bouncing off your pelvis’s and splashing you in the faces while your overwhelmed with pleasure. your whole body is leaning on chris, allowing him to plow as deep and fast as he needed.

growing worn out you laid your head on his shoulder and panted out, barley audible, “you’re.. sucha’ liar…”

you gasped feeling your arousal build up in your stomach and moans bubbling in your throat.

“i didn’t lie baby, jus’ tricked ya” chris grunted lowly and moved his hand from your jaw to your mouth, attempting to muffle your outburst of moans. he brung the other hand down to your clit, messaging quick circles causing you to shake in his arms.

“cum—cumming”

“shh…that’s my good girl, you gonna’ squirt f’me baby?”

chris choked out groans as he thrusted his cum deep inside, stopping and releasing your juices with each movement while you creamed all over his dick, leaving strings and streaks of your cum as he fucked you both through your orgasms. “fuck, fuck, fuck..”

“ugh, chrisss,” you whined out his name as you felt yourself come down from your high. chris began to loose his rhythm, the constant slapping noise fading out and revealing loud thuds followed by nicks voice echoing from upstairs.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

you froze like a deer in head lights as chris sighed against your neck, “awe shit.”

“YOU TWO ARE ACTUALLY RIDICULOUS, GET THE FUCK OUT THE SHOWER,” the hollering got even louder, honestly impressing you, so loud that it sounded like he was right outside the door.

chris carefully slipped out of you, legs still twitching and pussy so sensitive to the touch.

“he’s so dramatic.” chris muttered behind your neck, using his hands to stabilize you on the floor.

“chris, you could’ve just gotten out the shower and we wouldn’t be in this situation”

he glared at you for a second before sending a slap to your ass while you climbed out the shower, “nah, don’t start complaining now, y’know what you were doin’.”

𓂃⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝒯𝒜𝒢𝐿𝐼𝒮𝒯 𓂅 𝑀𝒜𝒮𝒯𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝒮𝒯 𓂅

[scribeofmorpheus]

Why Dragon Age Veilguard isn't a "Cathedral"

Concept art by Matt Rhodes

"To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals."

What is inherent with Veilguard that keeps bothering me is the fact that the world's choices truly didn't matter--and it doesn't simply bother me from a player perspective, it's not simply a grievance borne of frustration to what I (as a longtime fan) have lost. It's about the very culture of the arts under capitalism's new media habituation cycle [x][x].

Yes, I spent hours of my life playing and replaying each instalment of Dragon Age. Yes, I painstakingly curated a 'canon' world state by replaying what came before in preparation for Veilguard. Yes, I am even more unsatisfied with the end product--time hasn't helped, it's just widened the divide. But, and I can't stress this enough, these very personal gripes aren't what hit home the most. It's the inherent disregard of legacy. A legacy that the previous writers and game developers were building towards.

In the DAV artbook, "cathedral" is the word used to describe the process of making a game. Matt Rhodes' exact words are: "One artist can make a painting, but it takes a team to build a cathedral." Cathedrals took centuries to build. The architect who drafted the first blueprints would likely never see his work realised, he had to rely on those who came after him, like-minded and passionate, to see it through--for the culture, for the future, for legacy. Painters took on several apprentices for this reason too--giant frescoes were not completed by one man's hand, even if it is one man's name that immortalises them. Similarly, if you weave a narrative around choice, what good does it do to take it away at the final act if not to fall to caricature?

To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals.

Late-stage capitalism and profit-margin-obsessed game producers forcing developers to churn out meager content, to make a known brand into something it's not, to chase a fad or a popular trend... o, how reductive and cliche you've been forced to become Bioware. We have lost the cultural thought patterns relative to Cathedrals. We know only of barn-raised churches--done in a day but unlikely to last the turn of the seasons.

And don't even get me started on the music of Veilguard either. From Origins to World of Warcraft to Everquest to Baldur's Gate to Dungeon Siege, you can hear the intricate interconnected weave of sounds inspired by the Dungeons and Dragons-esque fantasy genre. You hear it in the repeated use of certain instruments, in the harmonic weeping notes of a bard-like singer or the foreboding echoes of drums as if of war. In tavern songs. But then, rather than hire someone who loves these worlds and this genre, who is a hungry artist looking to make a name, a legacy if you will, for themselves with a spectacular score, you hire any already sated composer, one well-into the encroaching years of career fatigue, whose notes repeat in countless projects, who feels less concise and more uninterested with each new project. One who has long since cemented his legacy. Someone in it for a paycheck and nothing else! And, to top it off, you let him compose something so minimalist? I am offended actually.

Cathedrals! We should have witnessed the final tile being placed on the Dragon Age cathedral. Instead, some architects walked up, tore down the interior and installed IKEA furniture and called it authentic before having to call the previous architects to come and fix the "load-bearing issues", forcing them to rush and add a coat of varnish and a few 'aged' details for authenticity.

[sturnmeovr]

♡‧₊˚ Babydaddy!Chris x Sweetheart!Reader – Emotional Support

Chris was a mess; it was three in the afternoon, and he was still in bed. Trapped under his thick comforter, hiding away from the sunlight that took over his bedroom. A groan leaves his lip whenever he hears light knocks coming from the other side of his room, “go away!” 

“C’mon kid,” Matt jiggles the knob, cracking the door slightly to poke his head in, “you gotta eat something — it’s been three days.” Nick abruptly kicks the bedroom door open with his foot, “you’re gonna eat these mini pizzas we cooked with love, just for you — or Matt is gonna hold you down while I shove them down your throat,” he spits out, stalking across the room and snatching the comfort off of Chris’ curled up figured. Chris fights his hardest to win the tug of war battle, but he loses, practically giving up, due to the lack of energy in his body. You’d think he’d be fully rested with all the 'sleep' he had gotten the last few days, never leaving his memory foam mattress unless his bladder told him he absolutely had to. Chris wasn’t sleeping his days away like his brothers assumed, a lot of the times he was up thinking about you and his unborn son. About how he ruined the only relationship he ever had with the girl who meant the most to him — the girl who was carrying his baby, the girl who he was certain he wanted to marry one day. 

The last conversation he had with you, he was telling you how sorry he was, how much he missed you, that he needed you home with him. Your only reply was that you needed more space, so that’s what Chris has been attempting to do. Only problem is — he can’t get you out of his fucking head. Chris often stays up all hours of the night, scrolling through your Instagram or the old snapchat conversations he had saved, looking at the old messages from when everything was normal and okay. He was absolutely gutted; he missed everything about you, and he wished he never took the bond you two shared for granted. 

“M’not hungry,” he croaks out, grabbing a pillow to throw over his head in an attempt to block the sunlight that blinds him. Matt lets out a lengthy sigh, “you have to eat something,” taking seat on the edge of Chris’ bed, and rubbing a hand down his back in a soothing manner. It killed him to see Chris in such a sad state, he was usually the life of the party, so it was odd seeing him moping around the house like he had been the last two weeks.

“Chris, seriously,” Nick chimes in, “it’s not the end of the world, kid.” Nick was a bit more insensitive to the situation than Matt because of how close he had gotten with you throughout yours and Chris’s relationship. You were like the little sister they'd never got, when Nick found out about Chris cheating on you, it broke his heart a little bit too. Nick didn’t pick sides, but he definitely showed you more support than he did his own brother. You were pregnant with his nephew for crying out loud. Chris was wrong and he knew that there was no excuse for his actions. Nobody wanted to see Chris in the state of mind he was in, but it wasn’t anyone else’s fault but his own. Nick definitely wasn’t the one to baby him, unlike Matt who loved playing the therapist role to both you and Chris. 

Chris dramatically throws his pillow back and glares at Nick, “it is the end of my world, Nick.” Nick rolls his eyes at Chris’ over-exaggerations, he knew you distancing yourself would last long since you were due in a couple weeks. Plus, you had been texting him the whole time you were gone, updating him on your plans and how you felt about the Chris situation. You were at a crossroads, but Nick knew you too well, he knew you'd crack once Chris applied enough pressure like you usually did.

The two brothers share a similar look, biting back smiles at Chris’ dramatics. Matt snatches the pillow away from him, “c'mon you’re getting up.” He tosses the pillow across the room, adding it to the pile of dirty laundry and Chris’ thick comforter. Another groan erupts from Chris’ chest, the mattress making it come out a bit muffled, “I’m not leaving from his bed until my baby momma tells me to.”

“Fine,” Matt huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ll FaceTime her so she can see how foul you look — seriously, man. I can smell your feet from the next room,” he tells him before tapping a few buttons on his phone. Chris lays there motionless, calling his brothers bluff. He didn’t think Matt would actually FaceTime you but when your voice sounds from the other side of the phone screen, “yes — Chris?” Concern weaved through your words like a tight braid, your tone makes Chris sit upright in one swift movement. As much as he wanted to cry out to you, confessing his true feelings and expressing how sorry he was, he didn’t want you to see him in the state he was in, he knew you'd feel bad. The last thing he wanted was you to be upset over his own fuck up. “What’s wrong with him?” your voice sounded worried. Chris would be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart warm, knowing you still cared made him feel like there was still hope to repair the relationship he damaged so badly. 

Matt opens his mouth to speak but Nick quick wittedly cuts him off, “let’s start with the fact that the kid hasn’t showered in days ‘cause he won’t leave his bed,” pinching the bridge of his nose in disgust. Chris knew his brother was just poking fun at him, only trying to lighten the mood by cracking jokes. A long sigh can be heard from your side of the phone, “well if he checked his phone then he’d know I’ve been texting him for over an hour.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, Chris' eyes widen and he's scrambling for his phone. He taps his finger against the screen a few times, only to reveal 6 unread messages and 2 missed calls for you. The last one reading - “I miss you 😑” 

Overjoyed with emotion, a bright smile forms, making his lips curve upwards. Chris stands up on his bed, tangling a hand thru his brown locks before snatching the phone from Matt, “you want to come over? I can pick you up, we can get dinner on the way,” he rambles on, desperately shooting out any suggestion, hoping and praying you'd take his offer. He didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see you. Your absence left him physically and mentally ill. 

“Yeah,” you squint at him, studying his expression. He looked thrilled and exhausted at the same time. Dark circles made their mark underneath his puffy, bloodshot eyes. His hair is messy and tangled like he hadn’t been using the apple scented conditioner you introduced to him while you were gone. Seeing him so unkept broke your heart, but not more than the revelation of him cheating. You shake your head, pushing the negative thoughts to the back of your mind before clearing your throat, “I need to talk to you.”

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

The sight of an all-black, tinted out Audi parked in front of your best friend's house makes you take an uneasy breath — you knew exactly who it was. You sigh loudly, tugging your jacket on to protect you from the cool night air. Your best friend, noticing the hitch in your breath, chimes in from the open living room, “he’s here?” 

“Yea,” you breath out, your voice barely audible as you look over at her, “I’ll be back soon. Jus’ gonna get some food and talk for a little.” If it was up to your bestie, she’d lock you up and throw away the key for good, hiding you away from him at all costs. You can tell she’s stopping herself from saying what she really wants to, “be careful and make good choices,” she forces a toothless smile before turning her attention back to the tv. She didn’t want you to go back to Chris; she hated the emotional damage he forced on you, mainly because she was always the one to pick up the pieces once you were shattered and broken. She was a great form of emotional support for you, much like Matt was for Chris. Regardless of anyone else’s opinions on yours and Chris’s relationship, your due date was right around the corner, and you were vulnerable. You couldn’t fathom the idea of raising your newborn son without his father. Each time you thought about it the idea made you sick to your stomach. 

You make your way to his car, pulling the passenger door open to reveal your babydaddy. The familiar scent of his cologne sends a chill down your spine, it was comforting in a way. You sink down into the passenger seat, setting the purse he gifted you last week on the floorboard of his car. Chris was determined to win you back. He made sure he still came in clutch whenever you were craving random food combinations, he left presents and takeout food on your best friends' doorstep with cute notes attached to them - “not a gift to win you over, just a gift to show my appreciation” and “Chinese food because I know Bear won’t let you live without it. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry.” It was sweet how attentive he still was, even if you weren’t one hundred percent present, he still showed he cared and that meant something to you, aside from his prior shitty decisions. 

“Hey,” he stretches, a gummy smile plastered on his face. You could tell he was happy to be within a close vicinity of you. You set your eyes on him, taking his appearance; he was freshly showered and doused in his signature, making it obvious he was trying to look his best for you. As weird as it sounds, you missed the smell of him so much that it was always like a new craving for you. He shoots you a playful look, already reading your mind because he knew you that well. “You look good today,” he coos, placing a hand on your thigh to give it a squeeze. His firm grip sends tingles thru your core, his touch was another big thing you had been craving while you two were apart. 

You swat his hand away while a dark shade of redness makes its way to your cheeks, making Chris throw his head back to bellow out a laugh, “too soon?” He knew he still had a certain effect on you which is why you never stay around him too long, you’d fold under pressure quick. As much as you wanted to let your smile break thru, there was no time for games. Furrowing your brows at him as you desperately try to hide your red cheeks, “this is serious, Chris — we don’t have time for jokes.” 

His smile falls into a slight frown, and he shifts in his seat, “I know that. Sorry, I jus’ miss you.” Chris reaches down into the compartment of his door, pulling out one of your current pregnancy cravings, “I got you gummy bears,” he presses his lips together in an awkward manner. It was weird to him, not being able to touch and kiss you like he used to – like he really wanted to. A mix of emotions swirl through your gut. You felt guilty for putting him through the emotional trauma of not having his nearly due girlfriend by his side, you knew he was worried if you’d come back to him, worried if Bear would come earlier or not. At the same time, it was validating that he cared enough to go through all these lengths just to get you back – camping outside of your best friend's house, showing up with presents and food cravings. The most important part was him actually leaving you alone when you told him you needed more space. It gave you a lot of time to think about your next move. Was Chris texting another girl worth throwing all the work you two put in?

“I miss you too, but that’s not the topic of discussion right now,” you mumble, looking down to your lap, smoothing a hand over your bumps as Bear kicks repeatedly as the sound of Chris' voice, like always. You weren’t there to make Chris feel worse about what he did, your absence was enough to make him sulk in his own sorrows. By the way his brothers had been texting you nonstop about Chris not even getting out of bed to do his bare minimum daily routine, you knew it was time to stop distancing yourself and actually work past the problem, whether it meant going back to him or not.

A faint smile forms at his lips when he hears you finally say you miss him, “you do, really?” One thing about this whole fucked up situation, Chris never failed to expression his emotions. It was a big change for him, but then again, he acted like a new man ever since he found out you were pregnant. 

“Of course I do, but that doesn’t —,” you fiddle with the sleeves of your jacket, your small voice getting interrupted by his raspy one, “it doesn’t excuse what I did.” You watch as he gnaws at his bottom lip out of nervousness, his wet hair making water stains on his white t-shirt, “nothing will — I know that, Y/N.” 

It was known Chris loved to call you his Sweetheart, so anything less was gut wrenching to you. He was more serious than you had ever seen him. Chris turns his body towards you, his hard gaze fixed on you as his own way of letting you know he meant everything he was about to say, “but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be a better man for you and Bear.” His words make their mark on you, making you nod in agreement to everything he was saying. Maybe it was his convincing demeanor or maybe it was because you missed his company. Or maybe it was because he was saying all the right words, telling you everything you wanted and needed to hear. You open your mouth to speak but quickly close it, not knowing what to say, so he does it for you, “I have a therapy consultation later this week,” he starts, clearing his throat before he reassures you once more, “I’m willing to do whatever it takes – however long it takes, seriously.”

You raise a brow at him, staying quiet as your thoughts run rampant through your head, picking at the skin on your fingers as you try to muster up a response. Therapy; he was willing to go through therapy if it meant keeping his relationship afloat and his family together. Chris can practically hear the gears turning in your head. He knew you were thinking carefully, going through all the possible outcomes, and weighing out the future, not only for your relationship but for your unborn son. Chris watches intently as you pick at your fingers, he had picked up on the nervous habit of yours a long time ago. He knew you too well. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and stop you from damaging yourself any further, but he knew it wasn’t the right time. Hot tears brim the waterlines of your eyes, you suck in a deep breath before looking at him, your mouth gaping open to speak but the words get stuck in the back of your throat once again.

You could see the pain in his eyes as he watches you struggle to speak, his voice lower than before, “I don’t want to miss anything.” He sniffles, a stray tear escaping his eye and rolling down his cheek, only to get whipped away by Chris’ large hand rather quickly. The sight of him crumbling in front of you made your heart ache, you knew what he was implying, he didn’t want to miss out on fatherhood or the chance at a picture-perfect family. You didn’t blame him; you wanted Bear to grow up in a two-parent household as badly as he did. Both you and Chris knew nothing other than being raised by two amazing parents, and that was a long-term goal for the two of you. A family, marriage, a few pets, and a big house on a large plot of land built specifically for your family; it was something you talked about and planned with him for the last eight months. The thought of letting go of all those dreams and goals you and Chris shared together made you queasy. 

He sucks in a breath, “fuck – sorry, I told myself I wasn’t gonna do this in front of you,” letting out a deep breath and pulling sleeves over his hands to collect the tears spilling from his eyes. You sink back in your seat, his outburst felt like he drove a stake right thru your heart, he had never been this open with you. Of course, he expressed how badly he wanted you back and how sorry he was, but he never broke down crying and pleading for you back. The therapy consultation just topped it off, he was willing to work through his faults for his family. You look over at Chris, his body hunched forward while his head is buried in his hands, his wet hair still making water marks on his white t-shirt. 

“I’ll come home,” your voice is shaky and your hands tremble. Chris picks up his head in one swift movement, fixing those icy blue arctics on you. He wipes his face, sniffling once more, “you will? Y’really mean it?” His words come out pushed together as he fights back his sobs. You nod to him, holding your index finger up, “under one condition.” 

Chris’ eyes are puffy, his face red from crying, “anything – anything you want – y'name it.” The urgency in his voice tells you he’s serious, “I’ll sleep on the couch, diaper duty forever – anything, sweetheart.” He lets his intrusive thoughts win by scooping your hand up, interlocking your fingers and bringing it up to his mouth to plant a light kiss to the back of it. The feather-like feeling of his lips leaves goosebumps on your arms and a pool forming between your thighs, you bite back the smile pulling at your lips before looking him in the eye seriously, “couples therapy.”

wc - 3163

♡‧₊˚ Cheys Note - Long awaited 🫣 I'm so sorry, I rewrote this twice and I still don't know if I like it or not 😩😩 I hope you guys enjoy, though!! Name reveal coming soon if you guys haven't figured it out already 😋😋🫶🏻 Lmk what you guys think, I apologized in advance to everyone I pissed off with this one lmfaoo. Love you guys <3

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© sturnmeovr - Please do not copy my work. Please ask to use my work as inspo.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSLEEPING INSIDE HER * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N wants to be impossibly close to Matt.

FEATURING　matt sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　cockwarming.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Y/N had an appreciation for all love languages, practicing each one individually with her favorite people, but it wasn't news to anyone that her favorite was physical touch. The girl loves to always be very close physically to the ones she loves, giving tight hugs and kisses on the cheek, valuing moments and people that allow her to act in such a way.

When Y/N fell in love with Matt, her love language was precisely what made her feelings for him apparent, her body always seeming to seek to be next to his, her hands lightly touching Matt's arms or legs as they interacted automatically, and that was exactly what encouraged Matt to take the first step.

After Y/N and Matt started dating and Matt stated many times that he loved the girl's way of showing her love for him, she felt comfortable enough to act however she wanted; Her body began to always look for his, now being able to sit on his lap on specific occasions, place her hand on his thigh or her arms around his waist, caressing the covered or, sometimes, exposed skin with her fingers.

Kisses became frequent, a quick peck on the cheek or forehead, simple pecks on the lips or a war of tongues. For Y/N, the closer, the better.

It is well known that physical touch between a couple increases the feeling of emotional well-being and even strengthens the bond, intimacy and connection, and for Y/N and Matt, it meant many things: love, passion, excitement and rest, too, a way to recharge their energy.

That's why, when Y/N finally entered her house after a long day of work, all she thought about doing was clinging to Matt. She reached blindly for the lock on the front door, placing her key there and locking it, before walking in the dark from her living room and down the long hallway, until she reached her bedroom, which she shared with her boyfriend.

The girl knocked twice on the door, before slowly opening it. Her face lit up when her eyes found Matt sitting at the computer desk located in the corner of the room, his headphones on top of his head, muffled melodies of some Dominic Fike song coming out, while his fingers blindly typed words, his blue eyes fixed on the screen where a Word document was open. Y/N assumed he was writing some video idea for the triplets' channel or his personal channel, which he hadn't appeared in a long time.

Y/N closed the door behind her carefully, not wanting to scare Matt with a loud noise, thanking in her mind that the lights in the room were low. The girl placed her bag on the floor before walking towards her boyfriend, lightly touching his arm to show that she was there, finally gaining the brunette's attention.

Matt lifted his head, lowering his headset automatically, his eyes focused on the girl's face, a big smile stretching across his own.

"Hi baby, I didn't hear you coming." The boy whispered, Y/N smiled back, wrapping her arms around Matt's shoulders and pulling him against her, wanting to be close. The boy wrapped his own arms around her waist, taking advantage of the position created by her, while he laid his head against her clothed belly, being able to close his eyes for a few seconds and rest his mind.

"I came in slowly, 'didn't want to scare you." Y/N whispered back, leaning down a little so she could kiss the top of Matt's head, her hand stroking the area gently, smiling as she heard a contented sigh escape her boyfriend's lips. "Have you showered yet?" She asked, the fresh scent of soap answering her question.

Matt shook his head positively, looking like he didn't want to move, his computer task already forgotten.

"Turn off the computer, sweetheart. I'm going to take a quick shower and then we can go to bed." Y/N asked in a low tone, kissing Matt's head once more before pulling away, laughing at the boy's grumbling.

Y/N walked to the bathroom, taking off her jacket and throwing it on a corner chair on the way, finally being able to undress completely when she reached the small room, throwing her clothes in the laundry basket before getting into the hot shower.

Her shower was quick, her anticipation of finally being able to lie down with her boyfriend getting the best of her, and before Y/N knew it, she was already finishing drying herself off. The girl hung her towel, now damp, in the proper space inside the bathroom before leaving, the cold wind from the room meeting her naked body, making her shiver. Y/N started walking to their closet, but stopped halfway, an idea popping into her head.

She turned around with an lazy smile, walking quickly towards the door, her hands stopping on the latch and turning the key, locking it, finally being able to go to her bed where Matt was already lying under the covers and shirtless, ready to sleep.

Y/N went to her own side of the bed, lifting the blanket and laying down in the cold space from the lack of human heat, grateful to see that Matt was only wearing boxers. The girl let out a low laugh when she saw Matt's confused expression as his blue eyes runned over her body.

"What are you planning, hm?" Matt asked, turning sideways and facing her, running his large, cold hand around his girlfriend's waist, making her shiver, pulling her close.

"I need to feel you as close as possible today." Y/N whispered, looking him in the eyes. Matt quickly understood, cockwarming was not a new thing in their relationship, having discovered that they both liked it when Matt didn't take his cock out of the girl after a rough session, afraid of hurting his girl because she was too sensitive, staying there for a few hours while they talked.

"Are you needy, my love?" Matt asked quietly, lowering his hand that was still on Y/N's body to her thigh, caressing the area, pulling her impossibly close, smiling when he saw the girl sigh and nod, lowering his face enough to capture her rosy lips with his.

Their kiss was simple, just a movement of lips, no tongue involved. Matt knew that if he deepened it, the situation would take a different turn, and he was too tired for that right now.

Y/N smiled in pleasure during the kiss, her hand resting on Matt's chest, loving the contrast between her cold hand and his warm chest.

Matt broke the kiss, sealing their lips one last time before pulling away, appreciating the closeness of their bodies. Y/N took her hands to Matt's boxers, questioning him with her gaze briefly and finally lowering the piece of clothing after receiving a nod from the brunette, who raised his hips slightly to help her with her action, removing the piece completely with his legs.

Y/N opened the drawer of her bedside table and took the lubricant, opening the package and pouring some into the palm of her hand, closing it before bringing her smeared hand to her boyfriend's semi-hard cock, pumping him a few times as she watched his expression, blue eyes closing briefly at the sensation.

When the girl thought she had spread enough, she turned her body, facing away from Matt and stretching so that she put the lubricant back in the drawer, closing it. Matt took the initiative and took his hand to Y/N's leg, caressing the skin and pulling it up, his free hand taking his cock and directing it towards the girl's intimacy, inserting the head of the member into her hole.

A soft, breathy sigh left Y/N's mouth, her eyes closing in sudden pleasure. She bit her bottom lip to keep any noise from escaping as Matt slid his entire length into her.

Once fully inside, the brunette lowered her still raised leg, his right arm passing under Y/N's head carefully while his left arm wrapped around her waist, burying his face in his girlfriend's neck, holding himself back from moaning.

Matt loved the feeling of being inside Y/N, along with the heat of the sticky walls that squeezed his cock so deliciously, pulling him deeper inside, if that was even possible. The girl tried her best not to move her hips, remaining still.

Matt ran his tongue between his lips, wetting them while he also controlled himself by pressing his chest against her back and pulling air through his nose, loving the smell of the body cream and soap that exuded from Y/N's bare skin.

His blue eyes closed, feeling warm and comfortable. The girl pulled the blanket higher, preventing the cold air from the room from reaching their bodies, delighting in the feeling of Matt inside her and the warm bed, finally being able to rest in peace.

© vanteguccir

[oopsiedaisydeer]

i saw sparks

angst, leadsinger!matt, post break-up, unresolved feelings, live performance

word count - 1k

Thousands of faces blinked back at Matt as he brought his mouth to the microphone, fingers skimming the strings like he was afraid they might burn him. The guitar hummed beneath his touch, low and warm, a ghost still loyal to his hands.

The first chord rang out like muscle memory, like heartbreak.

Flashlights from people’s phones lit the arena up, painting the walls with man-made stars — tiny, electric sparks, hearts poured into one as they swayed in time with Matt’s strums. He didn’t look at them. Couldn’t.

He stared past the crowd, past the lights, as if she might be somewhere in the dark.

Did I drive you away? I know what you’ll say

He closed his eyes as he sang, voice low but still lilting, too gentle and trepidatious and conceding all at once. The words that he once wrote for someone else. Another girl. A lifetime ago. Someone that he thought he once loved. But now they belonged to her. At this moment. The one who had drifted from him so slowly he didn’t realise she was gone until her laughter stopped echoing in their kitchen.

He saw her still. Her face drifted through his mind, the abyss behind his eyelids, mouth half-curved in a smile that lapped at her eyes. The sparks that glistened all over. Matt could see her lips, curling up and down in place, incredulous and heart-aching all in one look. He didn’t know how to hold onto her memory properly, scared he’d get the timing wrong even now. 

You say, “Oh, sing one we know”

Matt opened his eyes. The sting came not from the night air, but the sheer volume of it all, people screaming words that didn’t belong to them. Thousands of flashlights, seemingly lighting up for her. Still, they all loved this song, and he could hear it in their voices, each one singing their own heartbreak.

Her face came to him again in a flashing instant in the dusk, telling him to sing her a song, just the two of them in bed. Low, soft voice. Lamplight. A hoodie of his pulled over knees. Even as she was fading from him, her light dimming. He sang anway. That was how he loved, still singing, even as his lover’s silence swallowed the room.

But I promise you this I’ll always look out for you Yeah, that’s what I’ll do

He clenched his jaw between verses, each note dragging something old and tender up through his throat.

He blinks again, and she’s gone from him. And still, his body remembered her, the press of her fingers into his ribs like she was memorising the shape of him. He’d told her sweet things, sweet nothings, promises he hadn’t meant to break.

Even here, her absence haunts him, his entire body aching and trembling with the loss of her weight by his side. Her hand on his heart, fingers spread like she was holding him in place. Her body curling into the curve of his, like she belonged there. Like he believed she always would.

Even now, he was still hers. Body and soul. Mind and heart. Some kind of protector, soldier on the front lines for a love that had left him. A war that had ended months ago.

My heart is yours It's you that I hold onto Yeah, that's what I do

His voice cracked, a fissure tearing through the smoothness of the melody. He pours all his wretchedness into the sounds leaving him, something else taking over him as he continues to play the guitar, like an extension of his spine now, trembling with him.

He wasn’t performing anymore, just bleeding.

Matt’s face looked ugly on the stage in front of all these people. And who cares if they know. She should know. She should see it, what she left behind.

It’s her that has heart. It’s her he’s holding on to. 

And Matt can’t help it. It’s just his way.

And I know I was wrong But I won't let you down Oh, yeah, I will, yeah, I will, yes, I will

He changes the song then in an instant, words coming to him now. Not when his love had sat in front of him, telling him she was leaving. But now, in the aftermath. 

The line came heavier, louder than the rest, ragged with contradiction. His voice hit the last of the inevitable like it hurt to say, hurt to admit. Because he knew, now, that it was true.

That the song she’s asking him to play is his. His promises, his failure. 

And Matt’s lost it all.

The lights dimmed slightly then, as if the song itself was bowing in grief.

Yeah, I saw sparks Yeah, I saw sparks And I saw sparks Yeah, I saw sparks

Matt stepped back from the mic, letting the words echo out like smoke. His body felt half-full. Like the song had pulled something from him and taken it somewhere she could hear it. And know. That despite his failures, he saw them. Sparks.

He turned to Chris, his brother meeting his eyes like a lifeline, bass in his hand. “Sing it out”, he says into the microphone, voice hoarse, and Chris nods, taking the lead. Soft, pretty echoes of sounds, now that words held no more meaning in this song. Matt stood still, letting the final notes ring around him.

And he watches the sparks, the flashlights flickering again. Sparks of man-made stars like a love that wasn’t enough. His love for her. The final chords hummed in his chest, buzzing down his arms like blood. The guitar was still with him, travelling through his veins even as the song began to die.

Matt smiles faintly through the ache in his ribs. “Everyone ok?” he asks, half-laughing, voice still not steady as he plays the opening of the next song. And still, somewhere in the dark, Matt thought he saw her. An undying spark.

a/n: i've been listening to the recent live version of sparks all day today and it's been hurting my heart

dividers by @anitalenia ꨄ

[broodygaming]

Aabria saying "look at these people you brought together" to Matt in the cooldown just wrecked me so bad I had to pause haha. That's so beautiful and what a good point. And something that's so hard to actually internalize. Cuz it's not just the people at that table or in that building. It's the minds who helped write the books and draw the show and paint the pictures. It's the people in chat, the people on Beacon it's the people in the street with The Traveler is my copilot bumperstickers. It's you and me and us and them and just!!

The fucking magic of creation. Of telling stories.

From people gathered around a fire telling tales of war and adventure to now, people gather still to tell stories with their friends. What a fucking beautiful thing and a fundamental part of being human.

Thank you Matt. And look at all these people you brought together.

[masterqwertster]

You know how Matt mentioned in the Wrap Up that Otohan and Eshteross had a rivalry/blood feud from the Apex War? I wish he would have actually stated that in the game. Or at least made it plainly obvious.

Like, it would have been so easy for him to put that hook out there with some different phrasing or one more little line of dialogue.

Otohan gets Eshteross's name/face from Orym's mind when she confronts Bells Hells in Bassuras. Adding a simple line like "I see he continues to get in my way." would have made it so clear that she has pre-existing beef with Eshteross. Much more so than the canon "Eshteross. Interesting. I'll have to pay him a visit. That old fool meddles far beyond his aspirations." I mean, if you already know that there's beef, then yeah, you can read that here. But when you don't, it just comes across as she got a name and saw an old orc in Orym's mind who's meddling in affairs far beyond most people.

Or Eshteross's response to being told Otohan was coming for him was "I knew this time would come." And again, comes across different if you know the beef existed, but without that knowledge reads as I knew someone powerful would come for my head eventually.

And even when Eshteross is talking with Bells Hells before they get whisked off by Keyleth to resurrect Laudna, he says "Well, if this so-called Legend of the Peaks seeks to find me, she will. I will not run. There is no safer place than my home. I spent many, many years preparing for just this." Same deal, does refer to the beef, does not do so in a manner that makes the beef abundantly clear. And saying "I've heard the legends" when they tell him Otohan's fast. Buddy, you were ostensibly there for some of those legends.

Just a little "I've survived her before." somewhere in there would have made it so clear that Eshteross had encountered Otohan before and probably would have gotten Bells Hells asking questions and getting some of that Apex War lore they never went looking for.

It's just one of those little things that could have happened but didn't.

[notquitecanon]

Not Quite Canon's Masterlist:

Just another multifandom imagines blog. All works are dated- so you can date my progress and track as my ADHD brain jumps from one hyper-fixation to the next

** Indicated NSFW. 18+ MDNI

Do Not Repost! Please and Thanks <3

Requests/asks are always open, the rat in my brain likes receiving little messages and notes of inspiration :)))

Works & Playlists below the cut!

Criminal Minds x Marvel crossover 2019, unfinished (masterlist)

Marvel: 

Spangled Stars || Steve Rogers x Reader (2019)  Whiplash || Peter Maximoff x Reader (2019)  Like a Good Neighbor || Bucky Barnes x Reader (2019)  Chance Encounter || Spiderman x Reader (2020)  Look at You || Moon Knight system x reader (2023) **  Call Me… || Matt Murdock x Reader (2024) 

See Also: Miguel O' Hara Playlist on Spotify 🎧 Criminal Minds / Marvel Crossover listed above ^^

Criminal Minds:

Christmas Vacation || Spencer Reid x Reader (2019)  Fun Facts || Spencer Reid x Reader (2020) Thief! || Spencer Reid x Reader (2020)  Missing || Spencer Reid x Reader (2020) 

See Also: Criminal Minds / Marvel Crossover listed above ^^

John Wick:

First Impressions || John Wick x Reader (2020)  With & Without || John Wick x Reader (2021) 

DC Comics:  

Zero Stars || Adrian Chase x Reader (2022)  Beverage Napkin || Adrian Chase x Reader (2022)  Stop Worrying || Adrian Chase x Reader (2022)  Ghosting || John Constantine x Reader (2023)

See Also: Adrian Chase Spotify Playlist 🎧

Ghostbusters: 

Here, Let Me || Dr. Egon Spenger x Reader (2021)  Mandatory Attendance || Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader (2021)  Happy Golden Days || Dr. Ray Stantz x Reader  Snow || Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader (2022)  For Emergencies Only || Dr. Egon Spengler (2022)   >Part 2   (Metaphorical Rescue Eggroll) >Part 3  (The Love Hypothetical) Dust and Motor Oil || Dr. Ray Stantz x Reader (2022)  Stardust & Fungi || Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader (2022)  Tell ‘em bout the Twinkie || Dr. Egon Spengler x extroverted!Reader (2023)  Hypno!kink headcanon (2022) (plotbunny free to good home) ** See Also: Ray Stantz Spotify Playlist 🎧 I Wanna Be Ghostbuster Playlist 🎧

That 70s Show:

First Dates || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020)  Snowed In || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020)  Comfort || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020)  Slippery & Cold || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020) ** 4 Things Steven Hyde Agreed To & 1 He Didn’t || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020)

Star Wars: 

From the Start || Kylo Ren/Ben Solo x Reader (2019)  Strings || Obi-Wan Kenobi x Politician!Reader (2020)  Disappointment || Kylo Ren x Reader (2020) ** Sacrifice and Devotion || Din Djarin x Reader ( 2023)  See Also: Din Djarin Playlist on Spotify 🎧

Twilight: 

Cowardice || Jasper Hale x Reader (2020)  Bad Moods || Jasper Hale x Reader (2020)  Attitude Adjustment || Jasper Hale x Reader (2020)  The Moment Before Eternity || Carlisle Cullen x Reader (2020)  Firsts || Carlisle Cullen x Reader (2020)  Spiked Punch || Jasper Hale x Reader (2021)  GTA || Jasper Hale x Reader (2021)

Baldur’s Gate 3: 

Insufferably Admirable || Astarion x Reader (2023)   > Part 2 (Foolishly Admirable - 2024)   See Also: Astarion || The Pale Elf playlist on spotify 🎧

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare: 

Keep Talking || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2024) ** Warmth || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2024)  Dense || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2024)  A thought about Poly!141 x Reader (2024) ** >>Search History || Poly!141 x Reader (2024) ** >> Virtual Breadcrumbs || Poly!141 x Reader (2024) (Part 1.5) ** >> IRL Plug and Play || Poly!141 x reader (2025) (Part 3) ** ~~~~Any additional asks or headcanons are posted under the #searchhistory on my blog!

Familiar and Whiskey || Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (2024)** Some clever sleep pun title || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2025)

See Also: POV: ur in love with Johnny "Soap" McTavish playlist 🎧

POV: ur in love with Simon “Ghost” Riley 🎧

[thehelltingvilleclub]

Josh Levy - Teddy Bear with a Lightsaber

He's not fat.. okay he's fat AND he's big boned.

Joshua “Josh” Aaron Levy [05/04/80] Secretary of Science Fiction AOL / Online Users: [JediJunkies_80] Theme Songs: Science Fiction Double Feature - Me First and Gimmie Gimmies | Ghost - Mystery Skulls | Aliens Exist - blink-182

Favorite Shit: Star Trek, Star Wars, Dr. Who, Twilight Zone, Kaiju, Stargate SG-1 Battlestar Galactica, Klingon, Alternate Earths, Firefly, Planet of the Apes, 12” Action Figures, Torrent Sites, The X-Files, Babylon 5, Akira, Farscape, Boba Fett

Despite his (well earned) grievances, he still hangs around these fuckers cause he can't really seem to find solace anywhere else, even online spaces. He didn't expect to find any enjoyment out of going to tournaments with Jerry, but an excuse to get good city food and walk around the comic shops they were held in were enough in his book to keep him coming back. He even managed to find a space themed tabletop he likes to play, and... y'know.. maybe other reasons..

But we don't talk about him shit uh IT UH--

Never tell me the odds.

Oh Joshybear my beloved you poor antagonistic shitsmear.

His mom is in the hospital a lot more often or just straight up bed bound, which makes him kind of never want to leave his room out of guilt.

Yes, this dingus still blames himself for it, though it's not like his father helps with that.

Whenever he isn't holed up in his room, he's trying to drag somebody anybody out of the house to do something. Anything to get his mind off of stupid emotional shit--

He often goes with Jerry into the inner city when he has tournaments, especially when nobody else really wants to go. Sometimes he even covers Jerry bus fair or just borrows his mom's car.

However, this fucker HATES driving. It makes him the most anxious he's ever been his entire life. It is nothing like video games and it is nothing like the Millennium Falcon, that's for damn certain.

He also hates trying to park because he is deathly afraid of hitting the side of someone's car with the door.

Josh actually doesn't meet Matt at the same time as Jerry, surprisingly enough. Jerry introduces them when they bump into each other at the shop for a non-tournament related reason.

Josh nearly had a panic attack on the spot but it's fine

The moment he heard Matt had never seen the Star Wars films he nearly lost his mind.

This became the entire basis of Josh's attachment to the dude: "I have to show him the cinematic masterpiece that is this damn franchise."

And that's all it is. Mhmm. Totally. Don't ask why his hands are clammy and he's even more show-offy than normal whenever he's around. Don't.

please?

He works with his dad at their Synagogue as essentially a secretary and sound technician, but hey, it lets him write his fanfictions Reimaginings and scroll through blogs in peace, right?

And it keeps him out of his dad's hair and the house, so it's kind of a win-win-win.. win?

I love him

I want to eat him.

A DOUBLE POST???? HJGDSAJKHDKSJALHDLK You're welcome

Also don't worry guys, you'll get a WHOLE lot more info on Matt soon. He's not an affiliated member of the club and I didn't have many drawings of him (despite my.. excessive notes...) so I'm cranking them out as I post this.

NOW LOVE THE BIG MAN ON CAMPUS DAMNIT.

also hi I know his pants look weird shut up nothing else looked better.

[matt-murdockk]

Killshot 0.1 | Welcome to New York

it's been waiting for you

series masterlist | full masterlist

matt murdock x black widow! reader | fluff | words: 2.7k | fic from reader's pov

summary: Killshot, meet Nelson, Murdock, and Page (ft. a very special appearance from Yelena Belova— we'll be seeing a lot of her).

I don't think there was ever a place I could call home. Be it the constant torture, shit ton of missions and moving around or whatever, I either never stuck around at one place long enough to call it home, or when I did, it didn't exactly go well. The closest thing I had to a home was my family. Not my mom and dad or whatever, never met them, don't care. My family, as in, the people who made even hell feel okay. The Avengers.

New York chewed me up and spat me out more times than I can count. I’ve bled in these streets. I’ve fought aliens, assassins, war criminals, gods. I’ve lost friends. I've lost Natasha. I've lost Tony. I've lost... a version of myself I don't think I’ll ever get back.

And still— here I am.

You’d think I’d run far away from this place. Most people would. But there’s something about this city. Something about the way it doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t care what you’ve done or who you were before. As long as you keep your head down and pay rent on time, New York minds its own damn business.

It’s loud. It’s grimy. It smells weird. But it’s honest. And after everything, I think that’s what I wanted most— something that didn’t pretend to be something it’s not.

So I found a shoebox apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s not much. Leaky ceiling, noisy neighbors, the usual city soundtrack of sirens and someone yelling outside at 2 a.m. But it’s mine. My furniture. My mugs. My books. My life.

And now— my bookstore.

Yeah. A fucking bookstore. Can you believe it?

Turns out peace and quiet isn't a myth. It's just extremely underrated and criminally underfunded. But I saved up. I fought for it. And now, every morning, I unlock the door to a space that smells like coffee and paper and safety. It's quaint, it's cozy, it's so goddamn peaceful.

It’s the first thing I’ve done for myself in a long, long time.

And for once, I think I’m okay.

——————————————————————————————————

It was just past nine when I got to the bookstore— keys in one hand, half-spilled coffee in the other, hoodie sleeves still damp from where I accidentally elbowed the sink while washing my hands. So yeah, a normal morning. I almost tripped over a cracked bit of sidewalk again— mental note: report that or, I don’t know, start lifting your feet when you walk, I guess.

The shutters were halfway up, like always. I kept forgetting to pull them all the way down before I left. It wasn’t like anyone was dying to break into a place full of paperback classics and dusty murder mysteries, anyway.

I was halfway through unlocking the front door when I heard someone clear their throat behind me.

“Hey— bookstore?”

I turned around and found myself facing a woman with a leather satchel slung across her body and a smile that was… genuine. Not that fake retail smile. Not the “I’m-being-polite” one either. Just— nice. Blonde hair, neatly styled. Sharp eyes, a little tired. She looked like someone who saw everything and didn’t let it startle her.

“That’s what the sign says,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at the window decal I painted myself in a fit of DIY confidence and three cups of coffee. In retrospect, that looks awful. What the fuck was I thinking? Remind me to get one professionally made, yikes.

She smiled, holding out a hand. “Karen Page. I work next door.”

I shook her hand and followed her nod toward the office just to the right of my shop. Nelson, Murdock & Page. Huh. I’d seen the name a few times, but I hadn’t stopped by yet.

“Lawyers,” I said, accepting her handshake. “Brave of you to admit that before ten a.m.”

She laughed, warm and easy. “We try to keep a low profile.”

“I’m (Y/N),” I said. “Owner-slash-cashier-slash-bookshelf-assembler. Opened the place last month. Still figuring out if I need a real receipt printer or if handwritten notes give it a rustic vibe.”

“Well, it already looks amazing,” Karen said, peering through the window at the front table. “You’ve got ‘Little Women’ sitting next to a hitman memoir. Bold move.”

I shrugged. “I like balance.”

“Hell’s Kitchen could use more of that,” she said, and something about the way she said it made me pause. Like she knew.

Karen shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. “We’re next door— Nelson, Murdock, and Page. If you need anything, or just decent coffee, come by.” A pause. Then, more casual, “Or if you just wanna talk. No pressure.”

I blinked. “Thanks. That’s… actually really kind. Seriously, everyone here’s been so nice. I didn’t expect that.”

Karen raised an eyebrow. “In Hell’s Kitchen? Seriously?” Then she laughed, shaking her head. “Man, you must’ve moved in on a good week.” I did not want to explore what that meant. Nope. Only peace in my life starting now. Hell's kitchen better become my happy place or else.

And with that, she turned and headed into the law office, leaving me alone in front of my shop, coffee gone cold in my hand and a faint, weird smile pulling at my mouth.

For a second, I just stood there.

This place… it was starting to feel like something.

Not home. Not yet.

But something. And I liked it.

As my train of thought arrived at a halt, I went in and let myself glance around the shop.

Stacks of books waiting to be shelved. The soft creak of the wooden floor. The faint smell of cinnamon from the candle I left burning yesterday. It was quiet— still. That kind of still that sits on your chest but doesn’t press down. The kind you could almost mistake for peace if you weren’t paying too much attention.

And then the door burst open.

I mean burst.

The bell above it didn’t jingle— it screamed for its dear life.

“HELLOOOO, LITTLE BOOKSTORE!”

I nearly dropped my coffee.

There she was. Sunglasses. Combat boots. Too much attitude for 9:00 a.m. And a wide, shit-eating grin like she was about to punch me or hug me and hadn’t decided which.

“Yelena,” I said flatly, setting my cup down before it could tremble out of my hand. “Jesus Christ.”

She threw her arms out like I should be applauding. “I heard my favorite little assassin opened a bookstore, and I had to see it with my own two judgmental eyes.”

“You mean the bookstore I told you about four months ago?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t believe you,” she said, striding in like she owned the place. “I thought you were definitely joking, but this? You? This is… cute.”

“You’re cute,” I muttered under my breath.

“I know,” she said immediately, already wandering toward the front table. “Wow. You really did it. You actually retired.”

“Don’t say it like that,” I said, watching her poke at the table display like she was searching for hidden weapons. “It makes me sound old and boring.”

“You are old and boring,” she said sweetly. “But this is adorable. Like— look at this. Aw, paperbacks. So soft. So non-lethal.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright. Why are you here?”

Yelena blinked, all faux innocence. “What, I can’t drop in just to say hi?”

“You don’t do anything ‘just’ to say hi.”

She plopped onto the arm of one of the reading chairs. “Okay, fine. I’m genuinely here just to hang out. No weapons. No missions. No ulterior motives. Okay, maybe like one weapon. Two tops. Three if we're being technical.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Missed me, huh?”

“I’m not going to say yes and let you gloat.”

A slow smile crept up my face. “You know you love me.”

She shrugged, picking up a book like it hadn’t just gotten incredibly obvious in here. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

I leaned against the counter, watching her pretend to read the blurb on the back cover upside down.

Peace and quiet, my ass.

But honestly?

I’d missed this too.

——————————————————————————————————

Cut to: greasy takeout containers, chopsticks in hand, legs kicked up on mismatched stools in the back room of the store.

Yelena slurped a noodle and pointed at me with her chopsticks like she’d just remembered something important. “Wait. Have you met the hot lawyer next door yet?”

I blinked. “Karen?”

“No, the hot one.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Karen is hot.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Not that one. The other hot one. The tall one. Broody. Looks like he hasn’t slept since 2004. That one.”

“I haven’t met anyone else,” I said. “Just Karen. She was really sweet.”

“You need to meet the lawyer,” she said, like it was an emergency. “How have you not met the lawyer?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I’m running a bookstore and not casing the neighbors for eligible brooding bachelors?”

She popped another dumpling in her mouth. “I’m just saying. You’re doing your whole normal civilian thing now. He fits your aesthetic. Tortured, morally conflicted, probably has a tragic backstory— he’s perfect for you.”

I gave her a look. “Why do you know this? And how do you know this?”

Yelena pointed at herself, smug. “Baby girl, this is what I do.”

I groaned. “You are unbelievable.”

She grinned. “You’re welcome.”

I shoved a takeout box at her. “Eat your food and shut up.”

She did. But she was still smiling like she knew something I didn’t. And I fucking hate that look because that means she already knows she's right.

——————————————————————————————————

I was rearranging the front table display— again— because apparently, that was my new favourite hobby when I didn’t want to deal with actual work. My knee hit the corner of the shelf and I cursed under my breath, just as the bell over the door jingled.

I didn’t even look up. “Yelena, if that’s you again, I swear to God—”

“It is,” came her unapologetic voice. “But this time, I brought friends.”

That got my attention.

I looked up and, sure enough, there she was. Standing just inside the door like she owned the place, grinning like a menace, flanked by two men I definitely hadn’t seen before. One looked like he'd be someone’s favourite lawyer— pressed suit, hair barely out of place. The other stood slightly behind, cane in hand, expression unreadable. Curious, but guarded.

“Friends?” I repeated, squinting. “That’s new.”

“They’re real,” Yelena said, completely unbothered. “I checked.”

“You check everyone.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m here.”

She turned like she was introducing royalty. “This is Foggy. He talks a lot but somehow it works. And this,” she gestured to the man with the cane, “is Matt. Doesn’t talk a lot, but when he does, you should listen.”

I looked between them. “Lawyers?”

“Unfortunately,” Foggy said, smiling like this wasn’t his first time deflecting that. “We work next door. Karen told us you opened up shop, figured we’d stop by before she shamed us into it.”

I tilted my head. “Ah. So this is a guilt visit.”

“Strong coffee and guilt,” Matt said. His voice was low— smooth in a way that made it hard to read. “Two things we run on.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Fair enough. I’m (Y/N). I own the place. Unless Yelena somehow tricked me out of it and this is an intervention.”

Yelena held up both hands. “Hey, I only scam warlords now. Relax.”

Foggy was already halfway to a display table. “This is cool. Real cozy. I didn’t even know this was here.”

“Yeah, it’s new,” I said, sliding behind the counter like it would ground me. “Still figuring things out.”

Matt trailed his fingers along the shelf edge. It was subtle, but it felt… intentional. Like he was reading more than the titles.

“Quiet in here,” he said.

“Don’t jinx it.”

Yelena dropped into the chair by the window like it was hers. “I told you this place was legit.”

“You also told me there’d be pastries,” Foggy said, eyeing the plate beside the register.

“There were!” she said, pointing at the two sad, leftover cookies. “You’re just late.”

I caught Matt’s hand hover over a spine before he let it drop.

Foggy glanced over. “He does that in every bookstore, by the way. It’s freaky.”

Matt turned slightly toward me. “It’s relaxing.”

I glanced at his hand tracing the edge of the shelf. “What is? The books?”

“The quiet,” he said. “The way everything’s… still.”

I nodded. “Yeah, well. Kind of the point. Some of us open bookstores instead of going to therapy.”

He smiled — soft, but real. “You might be onto something.”

“You say that like it’s the first time I’ve been right today.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, just under his breath. “I’m reserving judgment.”

“Careful,” I said, tilting my head. “You come back too often, I’m gonna start charging you rent.”

Matt turned toward me slightly more, something curious behind his expression. “Is that your way of asking me to come back?”

I shrugged, meeting his gaze. “Is that your way of dodging the question?”

His smile widened, and just for a second, it felt like the rest of the room went quiet for real.

Yelena, of course, ruined it.

“Okay, wow. Should I leave? Or are we all just pretending this isn’t happening?”

I didn’t look away from Matt. “You could pretend harder.”

He grinned. “I think I’ll take that as an invitation.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling too.

He smiled— just slightly. Not the kind that asked for attention. The kind that slipped past your guard before you realized it. I caught it anyway. The curse of being observant— you catch everything.

"Wait so, how is it that you've already met Yelena?"

“He represented me once,” she said lightly, walking to the counter like she owned the place. “Long story. There were knives involved. And some yelling. Matt’s very good at not looking surprised in a courtroom.”

I raised my eyebrows. That feels like something she should've told me earlier, but I let it slide cause I was in a forgiving mood.

Matt smiled faintly. “It was… a unique case.”

“I was innocent,” Yelena added. “Mostly.”

Foggy sighed. “She was technically not guilty.”

“See?”

“So how do you know her?” Matt asked, nodding toward Yelena.

I blinked. “Yelena?”

“Please don't say prison,” Foggy added.

“Classified,” Yelena chimed.

I deadpanned. “She showed up in my life one day and never left.”

Matt nodded like he wasn’t sure if I was serious. Which was fair.

“She’s the clingy one,” Yelena added helpfully.

“I’m literally not.”

She gave me a look from behind Foggy’s back. One of those looks. Eyebrows up, lips twitching. She might as well have yelled "He’s cute" across the room. I stared at her. She winked.

Foggy looked between the group of us, grinning. “God, I missed normal human interaction.”

“This is your idea of normal?” I asked.

Matt smiled again, a little more noticeable this time. “You get used to it.”

We didn’t talk about anything important, but it didn’t feel awkward either. Just easy. No pressure. No masks, surprisingly. Just enough banter to feel human.

They didn’t stay long— lawyer things to do, apparently— but as Matt reached the door, he turned back.

“Nice meeting you,” he said.

“Likewise,” I replied.

He gave a small nod— one of those subtle ones that meant something even if you weren’t sure what.

The door closed behind them.

Yelena immediately turned to me, arms crossed and smug.

“Well?”

I shrugged. “They seem alright.”

“You think Matt’s hot.”

“I think you should get out.”

“I think I’m gonna hang out by the window in case he comes back.”

I sighed and threw a cookie at her.

She caught it without blinking. “You know you love me.”

God help me— she wasn’t wrong.

I watched her kick her boots up and settle in like she planned on moving in. And yeah, it wasn’t quiet anymore. Not the kind I thought I wanted. But when I glanced back at the door— just for a second— I didn’t mind it so much.

Not anymore.

Mental note: Get some books in braille.

[wildrangers]

Hello i see you're accepting fic requests, i have a matt smith fic idea, can u do a behind the scenes w matt and fem!reader where they are both married in real life but they're rivals on cam, and when the scene cuts they're like all lovey dovey and their castmates are always teasing them 💟 tysmmm!!!

Thank you so much for this request anon, I loved this idea! I created an OC HOTD character for the reader to play and kind of worked her into different key moments from the show. I hope you enjoy 🙂

Tropes & Topics: total fluff

Word Count: 900

“What would you call the husband of the Queen?”

“Well, the king-”

“There it is, then.”

“...consort” 

Your eyes met Daemon’s, fury coursing through your veins. His head tilted, eyes assessing you. “That seems redundant, no?”

“I speak for the Queen when I say it is not.” 

There was a long pause as you two stared each other down before “CUT! Good work you two.”

“Darling! You were stupendous” Matt praised, walking towards you with his arms raised. Mostly joking groans sounded from the crew around you. “Oh, stop it you lot.”

“I always forget how angry you make me when you have that fucking wig on” you tease, wrapping your arms around his middle tightly. 

“I could say the same to you, my love” he chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your silver wig.

Your role on House of the Dragon was Anora, a close confidant and cousin of Rhaenyra. Given your character’s fierce loyalty to Rhaenyra, she shared a tense, often hostile, relationship with Daemon which you two delighted in playing as it was so opposed to your real-life dynamics as newlyweds. 

“Are you love birds ready for lunch now that you’ve terrorized the crew?” Emma’s voice called from behind Matt and you threw a grin their way. 

“Are they up to it again?” Harry seconded from behind them. 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to” you argued and Matt chuckled beside you, his arm resting along your shoulders as you followed the pair off the studio lot. 

“Oh, so you don’t remember the post-wedding incident?” Emma posed and you felt your face warm as the memory flooded your mind. 

“Wed?! Laenor has just died!” you shouted, whipping around to face your best friend and her apparent new husband. 

“No, cousin, he’s not dead. We arranged it so he could be free and we could marry” Rhaenyra explained and your eyes widened. 

“You let our monstrous uncle convince you of this?!” 

“Watch your tongue” Daemon replied, eyes blazing.

“Or what?” 

“Or I’ll take it.”

You took out the dagger you kept hidden on your side, “Well come on then, Daemon. You don’t frighten me.” 

“Enough!” Rhaenyra screamed, stepping between you both. “Cousin, this was my decision he forced me to do nothing. He wants to better support my claim to the throne when the time inevitably comes.” 

“He will be your ruin, Rhaenyra. Mark my words.”

“CUT! I think we got it guys, take five.” 

“My fierce wife!” Matt cheered, picking you up and swinging you around as you laughed. 

“Must you do this every take?” the director questioned, earning laughs from the cast and crew on set. 

“Am I wrong? She was incredible” he praised, placing you down and lovingly straightening the wig he’d disheveled in his excitement. 

“Yes, yes, your wife is brilliant and we’re all lucky to be graced with her presence” Emma teased and you stuck your tongue out at them. 

“The most brilliant one of us is you, my love” you tell him and are met with another chorus of groans as you giggle and squeeze his hand in yours.

“Oh! And you can’t forget the birthing scene from last season’s finale, that one was iconic.” Harry added and Emma eagerly nodded their agreement.

Rhaenyra wailed from the bedchamber behind you as you charged after Daemon. “What are you doing Daemon? She needs you!” 

“She needs someone to prepare for war, I can do nothing for her in that room.” 

“She’s calling for you Daemon, not me! She doesn’t want you to act on her behalf, just to be her husband.” 

“I am your king now!” he roared, turning around so quickly you slammed into his chest, his hands gripping your shoulders painfully to keep you upright.

“You overstep Daemon. You are no more than her king consort” you replied, adjusting your stance and fighting the wince of pain wracking your system.

Matt’s face completely broke, false anger draining from it, “Love, are you alright? I’m sorry everyone but she’s injured, we have to cut.” 

“Matt, it’s fine I could have finished the scene” you insisted but your argument fell flat as your ankle rolled out from beneath you. 

He didn’t hesitate, one arm gripping under your knees, the other under your arms to lift you off your feet. “Where’s the medic?!” 

“Matthew, it’s a twisted ankle, not a mortal wound” you assured but his face was panicked. “Hey, look at me” you said firmly, hand cupping his cheek. His hazel eyes met yours and you could see him fighting to control his fear that you were seriously injured. 

“I’m not putting you down until someone’s looked at your ankle” he insisted and you nodded your agreement. “I’m so, so sorry darling.”

“It was an accident, I’m fine, I promise” you replied, pulling his face down to yours for a brief kiss. 

“We have to release this as a blooper, the fans will eat it up!” you heard Emma call as Matt carried you off set towards the medic tent with the cameras still rolling.

“How could we forget? It went absolutely viral” Matt groaned and you laughed, pinching his side.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get charged with spousal abuse” you tease and he rolls his eyes as the others laugh. 

“Keep it going, I’ll just save up my annoyance with you for when we’re back on set.”

matt smith taglist: @slayraxes-blogs @littlehorrorlover

I'm always happy to hear any feedback, message me if you want to get added to the taglist! I have a few more asks waiting that will be out soon 🫶🏻

[eclipsturns]

𔓕⠀﹫ christophersturniolo needs comfort ﹙just like you﹚﹗

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ࿙࿚֒ ࿙࿚ ࡛ ֹ warning ! ۟

alright, i want to start this by making it clear that what you’re about to read is definitely an angst-style story, so, just a heads-up, the content might stir up some strong emotions, especially if you relate to the themes i’m touching on.

now, with that said, i also want to clarify that this is a fictional piece! i’m not suggesting that what i’ve written reflects what chris is going through in his personal life (which, by the way, isn’t my place to speculate about or anyone else’s, except his own), but in his openness—whether it’s meant to be funny or not—in the instagram story he posted today, i finally found the push i needed to write something and break out of my writer’s block.

so, even though the circumstances aren’t the best, deep down i’m thankful for the positive impact chris has on my life and so many others, whether he realizes it or not.

chris was drowning, sinking beneath a tidal wave of despair that crushed his ribs, a relentless, jagged weight that turned every breath into a gasping plea for air.

the house pulsed with chaos: nick’s voice sliced through the walls, a shrill blade of frustration over some edit gone wrong, matt’s slams of kitchen drawers thundered like gunshots, and the tv’s looped ad screeched in chris’s skull, a mockery of normalcy he couldn’t escape.

it was a suffocating storm, and he was a ghost in its eye, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it’d rip through his chest, his stomach twisting into sick, tight knots.

he tried to claw his way out, tossing a brittle, “y’all sound like a damn war zone, man, just chill,” into the fray, but his voice shattered mid-sentence, a fragile, desperate SOS buried in the cracks.

nick’s snort stabbed at him, matt’s rummaging didn’t falter, and chris felt it—the crushing realization that they couldn’t hear the scream clawing up his throat, couldn’t see the panic bleeding from his eyes.

his hands shook violently as he snatched his hoodie, black, frayed, soaked in the scent of his own sweat and sleepless nights, yanking it over his head like armor against the void.

his sneakers scraped on, laces dangling like broken lifelines, and he muttered, “i’m out,” so low it was a whisper to himself, a plea lost in the noise. no one turned, no one questioned, and when the door slammed shut behind him, a deafening crack that echoed through his bones.

the california air hit him like a slap, warm and cloying, wrapping around his lungs like a noose.

he didn’t do this, he didn’t go out alone; nick and matt were his lifeline, his loud, chaotic tether to sanity, and without them, the world yawned open, a vast, hollow abyss that swallowed him whole.

loneliness wasn’t just fear, no, it was a visceral, icy terror that sank its teeth into his gut, twisting until he wanted to scream, but he couldn’t stay in that house, couldn’t choke down the anguish festering in his silence.

he stumbled down the street, head bowed, hands shoved deep into his pockets, fingers curling into fists to stop the trembling. his chest was a vice; each breath a shallow, ragged stab, each thought a razor slicing through his mind, drawing blood he couldn’t see but felt in every shuddering pulse.

he didn’t choose the pizza joint, it just appeared, a flickering neon “open” sign buzzing like a lifeline in the dusk, a random spot in the california sprawl he’d usually crash with his brothers, their laughter a balm he couldn’t find now.

the door swung open, bell jangling like a funeral chime, and the warm rush of dough and pepperoni hit him—once a comfort, now a hollow echo that twisted his insides into a tighter knot.

“large pepperoni, pepsi.” he ordered, voice dead and mechanical.

his ritual, his sanctuary, the things that used to stitch him back together, but when the guy shoved the box and can across the counter, they landed like lead in his unsteady hands. chris collapsed into a corner booth, the vinyl groaning under his weight, and stared at the pizza—steam curling like ghosts, cheese glistening—but it turned his stomach, a nauseous wave crashing over him, bile rising in his throat.

he cracked the pepsi, the hiss mocking him, and took a sip, but it felt flat, bitter, a cruel parody of the joy it once held.

his eyes burned, hot and stinging, his throat a raw, searing mess as he clenched his jaw until it ached, fighting the sob clawing its way up, but it was too late, his chest heaved, a silent scream trapped inside, and the tears spilled, scalding trails down his cheeks he couldn’t stop.

then, she walked in...

not a storm, not a shout, just a quiet presence slipping into the booth across from him. her hair was a tangled wreck, eyes swollen and bloodshot like she’d been sobbing her soul out, a half-eaten slice crumpled on a napkin, soda clutched in white-knuckled hands like it was her last thread.

“you look like hell,” she said, voice soft but piercing in some type of way, cutting through the fog, and chris flinched, a choked, jagged laugh bursting free, all harsh and broken, a sound that ripped at his raw throat.

“you ain’t exactly a ray of fuckin’ sunshine,” he rasped, voice trembling with the weight of unshed tears, and she offered a faint, exhausted smile; not forced, just real, a lifeline in the wreckage.

“bad day?” she asked, and it wasn’t the shrill fan squeal he braced for, instead, she was a quiet, aching echo of his own pain, slicing through his defenses like a knife.

“bad fuckin’ everything,” he choked, head dropping into his hands, fingers yanking at his hair, a desperate anchor against the flood. “can’t... fuck, i can’t get it out. i’m fallin’ apart, y’know?” the words tore free, shredded and bleeding, and his chest caved in, breaths short and gasping, panic surging like a wildfire.

she nodded, slow, her own grief carved into the slump of her frame, the quiver in her lip. “me too,” she whispered, voice fracturing. “family’s a war zone where everyone is screaming, shoving me aside, acting like i’m nothing. came here ‘cause pizza’s supposed to fix it, right?” her laugh was a broken shard, slicing the air, and chris’s matched it, echoing her despair.

“yeah, it should,” he croaked, shoving the box toward her, a shaky offering, and she took a slice, chewing in silence.

the quiet stretched, feeling dense, suffocating, a shared wound pulsing between them, their breaths hitching in sync.

“i’m y/n,” she said after a while, wiping grease on her jeans, voice barely above a whisper, and chris blinked, the simplicity of it piercing him.

“chris,” he mumbled, though she probably knew—fans always did—but she didn’t leap, didn’t fawn, just held his gaze, steady and shattered.

“i watch you,” she confessed, soft, “but i’m not here for that; you looked like you were dying and i know that look, i live it every day.” her eyes locked on his, red-rimmed and unflinching, and the dam inside him burst: words spilling, voice cracking, tears streaming like rivers of fire down his face.

“i can’t keep goin’,” he sobbed, hands clawing the table, nails scraping wood as his voice broke into shards. “nick, matt—they’re laughin’, they don’t hear me screamin’ inside. i’m so fuckin’ stressed, so empty, and i hate, really hate bein’ alone, but i can’t stay there.”

the sob tore free, loud and ugly, shaking his whole body, and he despised it: the vulnerability, the agony spilling out, the way his chest felt like it was caving in.

but she didn’t recoil, didn’t judge, just sat there, her own tears falling now.

“i get it,” she said, voice a trembling thread, steady despite the cracks. “my dad yells and i hold my breath ‘til my lungs collapse, my mom pretends i’m not even alive, and i’m just… begging to fit, but i don’t. i’m lost, chris.” a tear slipped free, carving a path down her cheek, and she swiped it away, fierce and fragile, but they were both crumbling now, their pain bleeding across this stained table, a mirror of misery.

time melted—minutes, hours, an eternity of tears and choked laughter, voices raw as sandpaper.

she spoke of her dad’s rage, her mom’s silence shredding her; chris confessed the sleepless nights, the panic clawing his chest, the suffocating mask he wore.

it was brutal, chaotic, achingly human, and for once, he wasn’t alone, maybe not with his brothers’ noise, but with her quiet, broken presence, seeing every jagged piece he’d hidden.

“they’re still there,” she rasped after a while, voice scraped hollow, nodding at the half-devoured pizza, a testament to their shared survival. “your brothers, your fans—me, even. we’re here, chris, even when it’s fuckin’ unbearable.” her gaze met his, bloodshot but piercing, and it slammed into him—a wrenching, visceral ache, not just pain but a flicker of something else, something trembling and alive.

“maybe,” he whispered, voice a ghost, wiping his face with his sleeve, the fabric damp with tears and snot.

he didn’t know if he could hold it—not truly—but her words burrowed deep, sharp and tender, slicing through the suffocating dark. he was still shattered, still terrified, a hollow shell trembling on the edge, but there was a pulse now, faint, fragile, beating beneath the ruin.

she stood, grabbing her soda, and glanced back, her silhouette framed by the dim light. “don’t fade away, chris,” she said, voice a quiet, trembling plea, then slipped out, the bell’s chime a soft wail as the door swung shut.

chris stayed, alone again, pizza cold and stiff, pepsi a flat puddle in the can, his chest a cavern of grief—but it shifted, softened by a thread he couldn’t name.

he didn’t know if he’d go back, if he’d find her again, if this changed the tide or if he’d sink deeper still. he just sat there, staring at the empty booth, tears drying into salty trails, heart thudding a broken rhythm, lost in the vast, aching unknown.

© eclipsturns 's all rights deserved !ㅤ ꕀ ⠀⠀𔘓⠀⠀⠀

[whirligig-girl]

NWR No.1 and SLYM No.11513 at a dual gauge interchange just outside of the city center.

SLYM No.11513 is an Advanced Steam Locomotive native to Gymnome--a coal-burning steam engine operating at high pressure, with technological improvements to allow it to rival the efficiency and ease of use of a diesel locomotive, such as electronic controls, compound expansion of steam, a gas producer combustion system firebox, dual exhaust, and automatic firing and oiling. 11513 was built some time in the 2340s, and survives to 2381 as a museum piece.

NWR No.1 is a much older locomotive and from another planet altogether, built 1915 for the LBSC railway as a one-off prototype for a six-coupled shunter to replace the aging Terriers and to supplement the much larger E2-tanks. NWR No.1 made it to the North Western Railway not long after it was built, having been allocated there for the war effort. It is not clear how a locomotive built 465 years in the past on planet Earth made it intact to Gymnome, nor how its gauge perfectly matched Goo'iw Broad Gauge, at least not without invoking some kind of universe-spanning magic railroad, or perhaps the notion that this is all a simulation being run in some kind of virtual reality in some alien starship.

(no this isn't canon.)

Artist's notes:

Earlier today I doodled this in my sketchbook.

And when I got home i decided, hey, I have my Thomas 3D model, and I have the game model of the Advanced Steam Tank Engine... why not actually stage them together and draw them to-scale. The size difference is greater than I expected--partly I think this is because the Thomas gauge-1 prop was not designed with scale in mind, so it's bigger than British Railways loading gauge. Granted, they are at different gauges (standard gauge versus roughly meter-ish gauge), but the loading gauge on the advanced steam engine is very wide.

My first attempt at the drawing was from a very different angle:

But I quickly realized that you can't actually see the Advanced Steam Engine's wheels, and that's a major design aspect.

So i chose a different angle.

I constructed the dual gauge track before anything else.

And before long (the better part of 2 hours) I had the line art finished.

The Advanced Steam Engine ended up being a hybrid between the original illustration I did of it months ago, and the game model--with most of the geometry accurate to the game model, but with the subtler detailing of the illustrated version.

Thomas was meant to be a sort of hybrid of the Gauge 1 Prop from the TV series and a realistic loco. I prioritized the geometry and simplicity of the gauge 1 prop in most respects, but added details below the running board, in particular brake rigging, sanding gear, and these blade-like protrusions of the frames which i'm pretty sure are some kind of debris deflector, a british version of a cowcatcher. There's also snifters on the cylinder saddle, and the whistle is made of two different lengths to justify Thomas' multi-tone whistle.

The original background was going to be this marshland with (electricity-generating) windmills in the background, a callback to that first shot in the Thomas & Friends opening credits, but I hated how it felt like the middle of nowhere, so I introduced the retaining wall and an alien city scene.

British steam engines are generally given very shiny liveries which reflect the environment in interesting ways, so I made sure to do that justice, using a GWR 14xx autotank as reference.

By contrast, the Advanced Steam Tank Engine is kept in a more workwormlike condition, with a somewhat faded matte paint work and a fair amount of grime.

The original illustration of the advanced steam engine, for comparison.

Finally, a version with faces.