#and if nothing's wrong with me why the hell am i like this?

[sturniololuvz]

“who the hell are you?”

Meanmatt! x Partygirlreader! -part 7.

⸻

It’s been three days since you closed the door on him. Three days since you told him to prove it.

And you meant it. You meant every word.

But that didn’t stop you from checking your phone too often. Or playing that moment over and over again in your head — the way his voice cracked when he said “you make me feel things.”

He meant that, too. You know he did.

So when his name pops up on your screen at 12:42 AM — FaceTime — you hesitate.

Then you answer.

The camera’s shaky at first, and when it settles, you see him: hoodie on, hair messy, one arm behind his head like he’s been lying in bed staring at the ceiling. His eyes are tired. So tired.

“You’re awake,” he mutters.

You scoff. “So are you.”

A pause. Then he gives a sad half-smile. “Touché.”

Neither of you says anything for a second. It’s not awkward — just… full.

“What do you want, Matt?” you ask softly.

He looks away from the screen, like he’s embarrassed. “I just… couldn’t stop thinking. And I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

“To prove it?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “To prove it.”

The silence isn’t heavy this time. It feels like space being made.

He shifts slightly. “Can I say something?”

You nod.

“I don’t want to be this guy.”

You frown. “What guy?”

“The one who makes you cry. Who makes you question yourself. Who pushes you away every time he starts to care.”

You stay quiet.

He swallows hard. “You asked why I’m like this. Why I said all that shit. Why I ran. And I think… I owe you the truth.”

Your heart thuds.

He looks into the camera like he’s looking at you — like this is harder than he wants to admit.

“Every girl I’ve ever liked either lied to me, used me, or left when things got real. Every time I gave someone access, they walked out with a piece of me. And I started thinking — maybe if I’m mean first, if I ruin it before it gets close — I get to walk away with something left.”

He pauses. You say nothing, because your throat is already tight.

“But then there was you,” he continues. “And you didn’t back down. You matched my energy. You didn’t care when I was cold or sarcastic. You just called me on my shit and kept showing up anyway. And that scared the hell out of me.”

Your eyes burn.

“I didn’t mean to kiss you,” he says quietly. “I mean — I wanted to. So bad. But I didn’t plan it. And when it happened, it felt like everything I’d been trying to avoid just… hit me at once. Like fuck, this is real. And real things? They fall apart.”

You blink quickly. “Matt…”

“I told myself I didn’t care,” he goes on, voice thinner now. “I told myself you’d be fine. That you were just some party girl who didn’t feel things that deep.”

Your breath catches.

“But then I heard you cry,” he says, breaking. “And I knew I was wrong.”

He goes quiet. And when the screen shifts again, you realize he’s rubbing his eyes — and not just because he’s tired.

He’s crying. Again.

“I wanted to be better,” he whispers. “I wanted to be the kind of person you deserved. But I didn’t think I could be.”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tears come slow at first, then all at once — silently falling down your cheeks as you stare at his broken expression on the screen.

And then he notices.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle, panicked. “Why are you crying?”

You shake your head. “Because I thought you didn’t care.”

“I do,” he says quickly. “I care so much it scares the shit out of me.”

Your lips tremble. “Then why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because you ruin me,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You make me want things I’ve never wanted. Like being soft. And safe. And good.”

You let out a choked laugh-sob. “That’s not ruining you, Matt.”

He smiles, broken but real. “Feels like it.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, in a voice so small it barely sounds like you: “I liked you anyway.”

His expression shatters.

“You still do?” he whispers.

You sniff. “Maybe.”

“Enough to stay on the phone with me ‘til we fall asleep?”

You wipe your face, nodding. “Yeah. Enough for that.”

Matt exhales, relieved.

“I’ll stay on as long as you’ll let me.”

You lay back against your pillow, finally letting your body relax.

And through the screen, Matt does the same.

He watches you. You watch him.

No more lies. No more pretending.

Just two people who are tired of running.

And when you both fall asleep — phones still propped, faces still lit — it’s the first time in days either of you actually rests.

⸻

a/n: soooo…..

taglist : @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxra-cxm @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @bernardmatthews @bugs-tags @emely9274 @arianna1342 @stevielovesmatt @riggysworld @ph3ebssturniolo @whore4chris @amelia4chris

[wordsarelife]

—the archer

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

summary: when you state starts worsening, you hope to pull away from everything without someone noticing. but mattheo notices the signs, and he won't let someone he lo— he won't let you slip away...

warnings: mentions of depression, of harming behavior and worsening condition of someones mental health, angst with a happy ending, cursing, like a lot of it

note: this just came out of me. originally i hadn't intented for it to be so depressing, but here we are lol. the ending is happy i promise and there might be a love confession

there was a party today. you had heard about it when two slytherins you didn't know the names of, had discussed their outfits for the night.

you couldn't remember when you had last been to a party.

you couldn't even remember when someone had last invited you to one. you had stopped showing up at things a long time ago. and some time after that, people had stopped wondering where you were— and you were relieved.

it was easier to spiral when no one noticed.

when there wasn't someone you had to constantly find excuses for. why you didn't leave the bed. why you didn't eat for two days before you had a real meal on the third. why you weren't you anymore.

it was easier when you didn't have to explain. it was easier, because you didn't know how to explain.

it felt like any room you entered these days was filled with people who could see through you, knowing you weren't who you pretended to be. that you weren't worth their time. it was easier to realize that than to continue pretending.

you avoided mirrors when you walked through the halls of the castle. you didn't raise your hands in your classes, if you even went to them in the first place, and you stopped caring about what others thought of you.

all of it had been going great, until the last person you had expected, showed up at your door.

mattheo riddle and you had been friends since your first year in hogwarts. you had naturally floated toward his group, being born as a pureblood in one of the richest families in the wizarding world.

if money would've been able to fix whatever the hell was wrong with you, you were sure you would’ve never had any problems in the first place.

mattheo and you had known each other much longer, even before hogwarts, but you wouldn't have considered each others friends, so you never really counted that.

mattheo’s group had once felt like home— not because of how much they liked you, but because they never asked why you were quiet some days and reckless the next. they had grown up around chaos too. they understood the unspoken rule: you don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.

at some point, they had stopped being your friends and started being people you avoided in the hallways. you’d cut them off so gently they hadn’t even noticed at first— a missed class here, a forgotten lunch there. and then, eventually, nothing at all. you thought that was the cleanest way to disappear.

but mattheo had noticed. evidently.

"what are you doing here?" you asked as you opened the door. your roomate had been gone for a few hours, probably at that party you had heard about earlier, so you were alone in the room, leaning against the door and staring mattheo down like he had greatly offended you by showing up.

"oh look, she can actually talk" he noted sarcastically, stepping around you without an invitation and sitting down on your bed, facing you.

you sighed, before you closed the door. "and what is that supposed to mean?"

mattheo wasn't the one to talk about things gently. "well, exactly what it sounds like" he shrugged "i thought there had to be something wrong with your voice, because you haven't opened your fucking mouth in weeks"

"you're so dramatic"

"am i?" mattheo asked with furrowed brows. "because i sure as all aren't the one shutting themselves off in their little rapunzel tower. wanting to be left alone so badly they forgot all basic manners when they enter a room. here's a tip: people appreciate hearing the word 'hello' from time to time."

you shook your head, rolling your eyes at his attitude. "maybe you shouldn't knock on doors when you weren't invited."

"maybe you should stop moping around like someone stole your favorite hair-tie"

"oh fuck off, mattheo" you crossed your arms. "you have no idea what's going on."

"no?" he repeated, trying his best to provoke you. "then enlighten me. what's been going on with you? and it better be good, because i didn't come all this way to hear some stupid excuse of you feeling tired." he leaned back, waiting for you to talk.

"but i do feel tired" you said, your tone totally different than before, "i feel so tired, mattheo"

mattheo looked you up and down. he noticed the bags under your eyes, how you had basically shrunken under his gaze and the way you coudln't even look him in the eyes while you talked.

"tired of what?"

"i don't know, of everything" you threw your hands around, pointing around you. "of my life"

"and you think disappearing from everything is gonna solve that?" mattheo asked. "because if you don't live your life you suddenly stop hating it?"

you said nothing, biting down on your lip while simply staring at him.

"this is not how it works, okay?" he stood up, crossing the room and taking your shoulders into his hands, as if to shake sense into your body. "and you think this is fun to watch? think we don't care? that we've simply forgotten you, because you tried to make us?"

"you should've"

"fuck that" mattheo shook his head, exasperation flowing his features. "enzo and theo ask about you daily, pansy tries to take notes in class to save them for you, draco sits at the library every thursday waiting for you to show up, even though he knows you won't. and blaise still brings up that stupid inside joke the two of you had every time someone orders peppermint tea. we didn't stop caring just because you wanted us to"

you pulled your shoulders back, frustration bubbling over. “you don’t get it, mattheo. you can’t just care your way through this. It’s not that simple.”

he tightened his grip on your shoulders, eyes fierce. “try me.”

you pushed his hands away, running your owns through your hair as you turned away from him. "i don't need whatever you're trying to do, okay?" your voice grew louder. "i don't need someone to tell me there's something fucking wrong with me, because i already know it"

“i’m not here to tell you anything,” he repeated, his voice low but steady, following a step behind as you turned away. “i’m here because i’ve been there.”

you paused, shoulders stiffening at the weight in his tone— not angry, not sarcastic, just… raw.

“don’t lie to me, mattheo,” you muttered. “you don’t know what it’s like.”

"oh, i know what it's like, okay?" he breathed, waiting a few seconds, before he finally continued "to look in every mirror and hate what you see, to not want to get out of bed because you feel like whatever you do, you have no fucking control over what will happen, to stop enjoying things you once loved and to stop wanting to be around people who you once loved."

"mattheo—"

"i'm not trying to tell you what the fuck is wrong with you" mattheo interrupted. "i'm trying to tell you that there might be a way out of it. but staying here and shutting everyone out won't make it better. because after a while, people start accepting that you don't want to see them, parties get thrown without anyone even thinking about inviting you and some day you really won't have anyone who cares and then you're genuinely at the worst fucking point. a point with no return."

"we're already way past that point" you shrugged. "so, what does it matter?"

"we're not, okay?" mattheo replied angrily. "because that's not something you just decide like that. you still have us, even if you don't want us to care. and you're fucking stupid if you really think i will continue watching this until you reach a point of no return."

"then stop watching!" you snapped, spinning back toward him. "if it's so hard for you, mattheo, then leave! stop showing up at my door, stop dragging me out of my own head just to yell at me for being different than you want me to be! i didn't ask for this—"

"you didn't have to!" he interrupted, stepping closer, eyes burning with something wild and sharp. "because it's not something you ask for. if people care about you, they're going to show up, whether you want them to or not."

tears welled up in your eyes, as you stared back at him.

"you think this care?" you asked in disbelief, trying to swallow the tears as you screamed. "barging into people’s lives when they’ve made it very clear they don’t want you there? yelling at them for not being who they used to be? you think that makes it better?”

“i think someone has to care enough to try,” mattheo shot back, brows furrowed. “and clearly, no one else is knocking down your door!”

“because i don’t want them to!” you shouted. “i didn’t ask for anyone to play hero or to fix me or care! i don’t need pity, mattheo!”

he stepped forward, jaw clenched. “this isn’t pity—”

"then what the fuck is it?" you snapped, the tears now flowing freely. "because this does look scarily close to it. what do you want from me?"

"i want you to stop acting like you’re the only one who's ever gone through hell!” he shouted, his voice rising again. “you think you’ve cornered the market on pain? on loneliness? on pushing everyone away because it’s easier to fall alone than drag people down with you? congratu-fucking-lations if you really think that's an achievement.”

you flinched like he’d struck you— but it wasn’t the volume that cut. It was the truth buried under every word.

“you think i want to be like this?” you hissed, voice shaking. “you think i chose to wake up every day and feel like I can’t breathe? you think i don’t hate it?!”

“i know you hate it!” he snapped, stepping closer again, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to pull you in or throw something across the room. “that’s the fucking problem! you hate it, and instead of fighting it, you’ve just decided to rot in it!”

"oh, fuck you!" you bellowed, stepping back in utter disgust. "just because you know what it feels like doesn't mean you can act so high and mighty, like you have any type of authority over the way i deal with it."

"i'm not trying to!"

"then what the fuck do you want?" you shouted, your voice growing impossibly louder. "you come here to tell me how to deal with my problems, but you don't want to control me, but at the same time you do... it’s just back and forth with you. do i need to spell it out for you to get it? i don't need whatever this is, so what do you still fucking want from me?"

"you really think i came here with a plan?" he screamed back, matching your tone. "you really think i sat down and thought about how i approach this mess of a situation best? no, because you don't sit down to plan how you're gonna save someone who's drowning, you just get there and you try your best to fucking save them, that's how it works."

"you can't save people who don't want to be saved."

"why are you so fucking stubborn?" he bellowed. "i've never met someone as infuriating as you. it's fucking annoying."

"yeah? well congratulations," you snarled, breathless. "add it to the list of things you hate about me."

his expression twisted, like you’d struck him. good. let it hurt.

"you think i can just stop feeling like this?" you spat when he didn't answer. "oh, poor mattheo, he cares so much even when people don't want him to, he’s such a great person. god, it must be exhausting being you with care that comes so easily you don't even know who to place it onto next, you fucking twat"

"i don’t care because it’s easy!" he exploded, angrier than you had ever seen him before, taking a step forward. "i care because I fucking love you, okay?!"

the room grew quiet, your arms falling to your side as you narrowed your eyes at him. mattheo took a breath, but didn't say a word.

"what?" you asked, softly, your voice almost not there. maybe you didn't even want him to hear it.

but then his voice returned so suddenly you almost got whiplash. “fuck. i love you, alright?”

you stared at him, lips parted, every argument you had prepared suddenly useless.

he shook his head, furious at himself now. “i didn’t mean to say that. i wasn’t—this wasn’t how i wanted to—” he stopped again, ran a hand through his hair, defeated. “but it’s the truth. and I’m so fucking tired of hiding it.”

the room fell dead silent. your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

mattheo waited for you to say something, anything, but you kept quiet, so he was the one who spoke.

"you want to know what all this is? this fight, this yelling, me showing up at your door like a bloody lunatic—it isn't me trying to be a fucking hero. this is what love looks like when it’s terrified.”

"terrified?" you repeated, your voice almost giving in. you suddenly felt very lightheaded, like you would lose conciousness at any moment.

"terrified" mattheo nodded. "i don't need you to say it back or anything, that's not the reason behind it. but i need you to survive and i’m terrified you won’t."

"mattheo, i—" you shook your head, biting down your words, unsure what you should answer. all the words were suddenly buried so far back, you couldn't even imagine reaching them ever again.

"you don't have to say anything" he said. "this is not some fucking ‘get better so i can love you’ situation. because i'm gonna love you wether you want it or not, wether you get better or continue to hide in your fucking room for all eternity— so fuck that, okay?”

he took a breath “i want you to get better for yourself" he said softly, even managing to sound friendly while constantly cursing.

"because i remember how you spent hours outside just because you liked the way the sun felt on your body, or how you came to the library every thursday to work on your history of magic papers, not because you actually needed the extra time, but because you knew draco needed it, but would always be too stubborn to ask for your help.”

you sniffled, tearing up even further. the way he looked at you and the words he said broke your heart but stitched it back together at the same time.

“you used to love chocolate cake and pumpkin juice, the sound of snow crunching under your feet, listening to music at parties, dancing, laughing— living."

"mattheo—"

"no, please, let me finish" he muttered softly. "i know whatever you're going through feels impossible to overcome and it won't be easy, i can promise you as much… but even though you probably feel so fucking disconnected to everything that was before this— you aren't, because the you from before, she's still in there" he softly touched your cheek with his hand and you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

"i can tell, because you're crying while we're fighting, and you always did that, even when we were children." he counted on.

"because you looked at me with the same expression you always used to have and because you can feel me touching you right now. you can feel the warmth of my hand and it feels good. because you can still feel things and you will continue to feel them more and more as time goes on. you're not beyond the point of saving, but you have to do it yourself"

"you really believe in me that much?" you whispered softly, opening your eyes and meeting his brown orbs. "even when i tried everything to push you away?"

he looked at you like he couldn't believe you were seriously asking that. "what does it look like?" he muttered sarcastically "showing up unannounced in your room, screaming at you and confessing my love didn't prove that to you already?"

you laughed through your tears and nodded. "i will try, okay?"

"one step at a time" mattheo reminded softly. "i'll be here"

“just for the record” you mumbled, leaning your forehead against his. “the way i felt about you never changed, not even when i was at my worst. because i love you too”

you looked up at him, eyes searching his face, and added, “that never really stopped.”

[wendichester]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ in the end, silence,

summary. fighting god--absurd, helpless. indeed a losing battle. even for the winchesters.

pairing. sam + dean winchester ft. chuck genre. angsty

wordcount. 525

notes / warnings. honestly, just because i hate supernatural's ending sm, i'd much rather for it to end like this. don't read if you haven't finished the show and don't want any spoilers !! kinda alternate ending // major characters death, helplessness, grief, overwhelming dread, chuck being yucky, no happy ending

It doesn't happen fast.

That’s the worst part.

It happens in pieces.

First, Jack’s scream. Short. Sharp. Cut off like breath in a vacuum. His body doesn’t fall—it collapses. Implodes, almost. Like something delicate made of light and sand and hope, and when Chuck raises his hand, there’s nothing left but scorched ground and the smell of something wrong in the air.

Dean lunges first. Of course he does.

Of course he thinks rage can fix this.

He fires a bullet straight into the bastard’s chest—iron, angel blade-tipped, blessed with blood and desperation—but Chuck doesn’t even flinch. He just smiles.

Like a man reading the last chapter of a book he's written a thousand times before.

“Still think you’re the heroes?” he asks, voice gentle. Almost fond. “It’s adorable.”

Dean reloads.

Sam already knows it’s over.

He knew when Jack fell. Knew when the world didn’t tremble. When no light broke through the clouds.

They were supposed to win.

They always did. That was the point.

That was the game.

“Why?” Sam says. His voice is rough, but steady. “Why now?”

Chuck shrugs. “Because I’m bored, Sammy. Because I gave you everything. Endings. Resurrections. Family. Each other.” His smile fades. “And still, you fought me.”

Dean spits blood. Or maybe it's from biting his tongue. "You’re not God."

“I am,” Chuck says calmly. “And in this story? The heroes lose.”

And Dean charges again.

Sam doesn’t follow.

He knows what’s coming before Chuck raises his hand.

Dean stops mid-step.

His eyes are wide—confused at first, then frightened. He tries to breathe, and fails. There’s no blood. No hole. No light. Just... the absence of him. Like Chuck reached into the very shape of Dean Winchester and unwrote it.

He drops.

No scream.

No last words.

Just a thud.

Sam doesn’t remember falling to his knees.

He doesn’t remember screaming.

But he does.

He does scream, loud enough to crack his voice into pieces, until it’s just sobbing noise and shaking fists and useless tears. The kind that come from deep in the gut—the kind that don’t save anything.

Chuck steps over Dean’s body like it’s a coat dropped on the floor.

“Your turn.”

Sam closes his eyes.

He thinks about Jess. About Dad. About Kevin. About Eileen, even now. He thinks about Castiel’s goodbye. About Jack’s tiny smile when he told them it would be okay. About Dean’s hand on his shoulder last night—steady, warm, real.

He thinks about the people they saved. The monsters they stopped. The small kindnesses that no one will remember.

And then he opens his eyes and looks up at Chuck.

“I hope you rot.”

Chuck smiles again.

“Me too.”

And then the world goes dark.

No heaven.

No hell.

Just nothing.

Later—if later even exists—there is no mourning. No monument.

No one remembers the Winchesters.

The world spins quietly.

The sky doesn’t weep. The sun rises.

Chuck writes a new story.

This time, there are no heroes. Just people who die when they’re told to.

And when he walks away from the old world—his last manuscript sealed and shelved—he doesn’t look back.

Because gods don’t grieve.

Only men do.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[elytrafemme]

long theoretical post about my friend hugging me

like. to dissect a matter that none of you are involved in and then i'll delete in the morning: my friend in college hugged me about ten minutes ago and i don't understand why. he's a physically affectionate person so we knew it was bound to happen, it was a running joke between us that we'd like schedule our hug to happen. nothing extraordinary happened tonight. in the second half -- which is when i spent the most time with him -- i was so fucked up that i barely processed what was going on? i was listening to what he was telling me, he just rambled about stuff, and it's interesting and i could recite all of it if asked and the expression he made at each part, but there was absolutely nothing in my head. and he never asked if i was okay which i think he would have if he thought something was wrong, because he's done that before. and we were alone so he could have and there would have been zero consequences. but he didn't ask me what was wrong, so it's hard to assume that the hug was for emotional consolation reasons. he wouldn't have noticed me on the brink of tears, either, he's not that observant. i would have known if he had. and i didn't do anything truly kind to him today, i listened to him talk about his interests and we hung out for a while, but that's what we do all the time. nothing happened. there was the chair thing but i thought i played that off well, i tried to have a coherent narrative about it an hour later too so he would guess what i had hoped, and i think i was successful. he wasn't distressed, i would have known. and he was tired but he's been tired a lot before and he's never acted like this. so he had zero reason to hug me unless he maybe sensed that this entire time i just really fucking wanted him to hug me, but he wouldn't have, and i would never have voiced that, because i don't want him to see me at that level. but i needed that hug badly. and i don't understand why i received it.

[wh0r3zzz]

No amount of apologies will ever make up for the fact that I'm ruining you.

[redribbonsandblood]

i feel like fucking shit

[wh0r3zzz]

Why the fuck am I still here.

[figureitoutinthemorning]

Hmmmmm okay you all can ignore this lmao I’m just going to Complain On The Internet for a bit because I’m pretty sure it’s that or tell the next person to say hi my entire life story, and no one wants that, least of all me ✌️

[marsbotz]

i ship inhun in a way that differwnt and more swagful than anyone else btw.

[arolesbianism]

so a bit ago i watched that one OnI lore summary video someone made. im assuming youve seen it considering you're the Lore Guy but if you haven't thats not important for this- just that they pitched this theory that jorge was originally from a test colony on ceres.

now at the time i kinda just shrugged like "huh, neat, not my interpretation but its pretty interesting, not super far fetched" and then forgot about it.

BUT i was playing today and got this painting of. its clearly that mythological paul whatever giant guy im too tired to remember the name but

They put jorge with a ceres animal. this either means jack shit nothing and its just a coincidence or Lore Video Guy was onto something. but also as far as ive seen this is the only in game instance of jorge having any association with ceres. I was wondering if you had any thoughts?

Ok ok ok so I just went and double checked some stuff, and there actually is in game evidence of Jorge having been part of a ceres colony!

So this log from the mysterious hermit story trait is presumably from the pod that oversaw the colony Jorge was originally from, which is further supported by the rusty toolbox noting that it has a drawing of duplicants around a massive crater, so that all makes sense and such. Well! Turns out the named crater is a real one, and it's on the real world ceres! Combined with the ending bit noting cold temperatures, it seems that ever since Jorge was introduced he had ties to ceres! Really makes one wonder just how long the team had been playing around with putting ceres into the game

[possum-tooth]

-

[volfoss]

i cant even like post about the horrors that are going on currently because im gonna get too mad but oh my god. like i would give her really good credit for writing a character like marius that has 0 self awareness about his insanely disgusting behavior bc like. that CAN work. you can make the reader feel disgust and see things through the eyes of someone who is horrible while not romanticizing the behavior. clearly anne did not get the memo for this one.

[wh0r3zzz]

I'm such a selfish person I need to be put down.

[clowningaroundmars]

what a crazy ass mfing bday this year 🤦‍♂️

WHAT is happeningggg???