#suffer for my entertainment fool

[battlevann]

thinking about spooky again

[madamdionysia]

Im gonna write for monsta x soon, just you watch me

[gay-dorito-dust]

scar with a gn! Reader that’s crazier then him :3 (headcanons please)

You probably caught a glimpse of him one day could feel this chaotic and intense energy about him, which would’ve been enough to have anyone making the smart decision to leave while they could.

for you however, it was more or less the opposite and it wasn’t long before you’d actively tried seeking him out, causing chaos and discord however you could just in the hopes of getting an audience with the man known as Scar.

You knew of the stories that have been told about him but you didn’t care and instead found something to bond with him over; wanting to watch everything go up in smoke as the fires blazed on well into the night.

Scar saw you both as kindred spirits, people who saw things as they really were whilst everyone else was more or less content with living in ignorant bliss.

If anyone were to call your love deranged or unstable, Scar would gladly destroy them in whatever ways he felt suited them best, as he went on a triad about how yours and his love was a genuine, one of a kind love that couldn’t be replicated because people didn’t have the same passion for destruction and desolation like you two did.

So in his eyes, anyone else’s definition of love was false in comparison to yours as yours stemmed from an obsession that bloomed from a simple glance.

Scar would preach whilst holding you close as a village burns to cinders that you were soulmates, two halves of the same soul that were forced to live separate lives because you were deemed too powerful of a force when together. so they had to rip you both apart while they could to preserve their definition of ‘peace.’

Your dates were…unique to say the least, such as participating in his experimentations and misleading good and well meaning people for fun and laughing when they come back a monstrosity of their own creation, as you’d let them believe.

You: would you burn everything for me? Would you even kill thousands for me my dearest Scar?

Scar: I’d do so and much, much more, charred corpses that would try to take you away from me, try to persuade you into leaving me or even exist within the same space as you will be used as an cautionary art piece; an example for everyone else that they’d too would suffer a similar fate made purely for our entertainment.

*he grabs at your face and leans in real close* they are merely mortals fooling themselves into thinking they’re smart enough to speak upon issues regarding those of a higher power and purpose. Do you hold me in the same regard, my desire?

You, leaning your forehead against his, looking deep into his eyes that were unusually soft in this moment: if I had it my way there’d be no one left alive to look at what’s mine. I’d rip out my own heart if I could to prove that it only beats for you and you could do whether you’d like with it for as long as you want. Cage it? Destroy it? Preserve it for all time always? My heart is yours to toy with.

You truly were a match made in a demented, morbid version of heaven.

Scar would probably test how much you love him by making you do the most morally questionable shit known to man, if you succeed, you’ve proven your love was genuine but if you failed, then he guesses you didn’t love him as much as you declared you did.

However once you’ve become scar’s, you were forfeiting your freedom in order to shape yourself into being the prefect lover for him, however that was the plan to being with wasn’t it?

[muletia]

Optimus should go more mad with longing more often. For MY entertainment.

You write great btw! Good for you!

thank you <333 i love making characters suffer from love

cw: implied stalking

word count: 406

Optimus drove past your house today. He set out on a routine patrol through Jasper, searching for alarming signs of Decepticon activity, but for some reason, his wheels carried him along a route too familiar to him. Humans would call this phenomenon muscle memory, an ability allowing them to perform actions unconsciously if repeated often enough. He did it out of a burning longing.

He knew the coordinates of your house by heart, having been in the area hundreds of times. At first, it was only for patrols, then for drop-offs, and once, for a visit when he had to recharge on your driveway due to unusually high Decepticon activity in the vicinity. And though he was glad you had a roof over your head—such a beautifully arranged one, too—a part of him detested this place. This was where your partings occurred, where he was forced to leave you to fend for yourself, exposed to danger. His paranoia screamed that the Decepticons could strike at any moment, that the second he took his optics off you, they would abduct you. They would take you, wrench you from his servos, and he would be powerless to stop it. They would destroy the primary reason he continued his miserable existence at all.

He knows he shouldn’t slow down as he nears the familiar building. He knows it’s unethical, another boundary he is crossing. But he must be sure you’re safe, that you’re still part of his life. It’s been so long since you were at the base (a week), so much time without messages, contact, certainty. Optimus wants to see you, to finally reassure himself that everything is fine. That you’re alive and haven’t forgotten him because he has thought of you constantly. A relentless stream of questions and uncertainties, but also warm memories, keeping him from descending into madness.

He wonders when the patrol stopped being a duty and started becoming personal. Did he pass your house by coincidence, or did he deliberately take this route, hoping to see you?

Ultimately, it all boils down to him being a naïve fool. Perhaps even a lunatic, spinning endless imaginary scenarios of moments you’ll never share. He drafts plans in his processor that will never come to fruition. And despite the constant disappointment, failures, and relentless fracturing of his spark, he still expects different outcomes, clinging desperately to a sliver of hope that this time, something—anything—will go his way.

[eraenaa]

The Prince and the Poet

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: It is established that Prince Aemond hates poems and sonnets; it was just a pity that you adored them. 

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Aemond Writes a Poem, Childhood Friends, Hidden Attraction, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,900

Inspired by my Original Fic on AO3, The Den of Dragons and Lions

Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as he watched you completely enthralled by the sonneteer who performed before you. It had been un-endless hours he had to suffer as the court was subjected to watching poets read their works for the day’s entertainment. It was all too boring, all too frivolous, it was an utter waste of time. Aemond could not understand why you would willingly subject yourself to these men's trite and untrue words— whose delusions and desires were projected in their works. Aemond strongly believed that those who write poems and epics are weaklings and cowards. They do not have the courage to go on great adventures and woo their loves, so they can only imagine and write them down on parchment. And you were the sweet, naive fool who brought into their words—declaring their works beautiful and unparalleled. Blinded by flowery verses and empty promises. 

You sigh longingly in your seat as the sonneteer before you recited your favorite sonnet of them all. Your lips silently move unconsciously as you recite your most favored work with him. Aemond, who sat by your side, sneered at the sigh that left your pillowy lips and the enchanted look in your eyes. His gaze traveled the court; every young maiden swooned by the words and looks of the sonnet who stood in the middle, reciting the work that you clung on to. When his torment finally ended, Aemond rolled his eye once more as you quickly stood and clapped your hands, an ovation for the young man who had finished his performance. Aemond did no such thing, only staring down the sonneteer who bowed and savored the praises given. 

“I hope he shall return soon— and with new material!” You exclaimed to Helaena as you two walked the halls, arms linked together, Aemond trailing behind you. It was an old scene, your actions instilled since childhood. You practically grew up in the Red Keep with the princes and princess, a lion fostered by dragons. 

You hear Aemond’s third scoff of the afternoon, making you glance behind only to see the consistent look of annoyance on his face. “I would take it you did not enjoy?” You say and face onward, feeling Aemond fasten his steps and now walking beside you and Helaena. “It is an utter waste of time; why must we spend hours on this frivolity when pressing matters could be attended to?” You roll your eyes at the Prince’s complaint. 

“Aemond, your attendance was not required. If you believe poetry is a waste of time, I do not understand why you came there.” You say simply, pausing in your tracks. Helaena, a silent audience as you and Aemond began your ceaseless squabbles once more. Aemond was silent for a moment; the truth of his actions may not be revealed. “We did not force you to sit there and listen to Sir Liam— if anything, I’d prefer if you did not come; your glares and scoffs were seen and heard, and are very much unappreciated,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he had no response that he’d like to share. His eye traveled to his sister, who had a knowing smirk on her lips whilst you waited for his response that would not come.“I’ll see you both at supper,” Aemond grumbled as his eye landed on you, who bit back her smirk, the prince stomping away as you finally let your smile slip your lips. 

“Must you really tease him? You perfectly know why he sat through the readings,” Helaena said as you and she sat in the gardens for tea. You picking at the candied lemons that you and Aemond would usually fight over. You smile as you lick your finger clean of the sugary syrup. “Yes, I know why he suffered through the readings. However, he is not aware that I am knowledgeable of his intent,” Helaena sighed, “How long will you make him suffer?” The princess asked, already impatient for the day her closest friend and brother would finally admit their attractions. 

“Suffer?” You ask in shock, “I do no such thing! He inflicts his suffering himself—“ Helaena shook her head and laughed. “You’ve known of Aemond’s attraction to you for years! Yet you still act so clueless with him!” She reasoned. “I am a lady! I am expected to act chase and reserve. I cannot just go up to Aemond and confront him with his secret attraction!” You exclaimed with a fake and exaggerated look of scandal on your face, making Helaena laugh. 

“If you are waiting for my brother to acknowledge and confess his attraction towards you, then you must wait— it might take him a lifetime.” Helaena mused, a hint of frustration and pity in her voice, for Aemond had wanted you since childhood; he was just afraid to let it be known. “Then I pity him… he could have had the golden beauty of the realm, but he chose to stay silent.” You say confidently— proud with the title bestowed upon you by lords and ladies, small and noble folk men who agreed that your beauty was as valuable and desirable as the gold your family was known for. Helaena hummed quietly and quickly prayed to the gods that her brother would soon admit his attraction, for Helaena knew that your pride would not subject you to confess your feelings first. 

“Just because you do not understand or care for poetry does not mean they are a waste!” You exclaimed as Aemond picked another fight with you. You were peacefully seated in Helaena’s chambers, stroking your cat's fur mindlessly as Aemond’s own pet lay beside you. You were in no mood to fight with him and battle his views of poetry. “They are! They’re pointless. If you must say something, then say it— why must they dance around the matter? Why must they go on and on about something that could be said in one sentence? Cowards, the likes of them are!” You let out an exasperated sigh, making Aemond smirk at your annoyance. 

He finds you quite endearing at the state, which is why he often takes time out of his day just to annoy you. Relishing at the roll of your enchanting eyes, the sighs that leave your plump, pink lips, and the furrow between your perfectly arched brows. If he were lucky and had annoyed you to quite an extent, you’d stomp your foot like a spoiled child. Or simply wave him off with your pampered hand because you no longer had a word of defense. 

“Because they are poets! They do not wish to come to the answer and their intentions all at once— they create beauty with their words. They are capable of making subjects so dire be of great interest that they, in turn, create spectacles upon it!” You defended but Aemond only rolled his eye and shook his head, the former action he had gotten from you. Ever since you two were young, you would always roll your eyes when you found something disagreeable; Aemond would mock you for it— would mimic your actions in hopes of getting more from you. However, in time, he managed to adopt the same mannerisms. 

“Archmaester Sisco believed that poetry is of great danger,” he said, taking a goblet to his lips. Your eyes followed the way the ball on his throat booed as you waited for him to continue his thought.  “He says they mislead and are obscure and false— that poets are seducers of the mind,” He finished, noting the way your eyes were on his throat. Guessing you’d want to strangle him out of annoyance, Aemond was amused with the thought of you thinking about strangling him. 

“The Archmaester’s proclamation and thinking is old— irrelevant in our times. Even his student, Archmaester Aristedes, disagrees with his views on poetry. He reasons that it is not harmful— it is a form of expression! Cathartic to those who read and write it!”Aemond let another scoff of derision slip his lips, pushing your annoyance into frustrated anger. 

“You would not understand the beauty of poetry because you keep everything you feel inside you! You do not know what great relief it is to say or even write what you desire and hope for!” You exclaimed, and Aemond tensed in his seat. Silence surrounded the room as Aemond could not work out a response. You saw him fisting the arm of his chair, the knuckles of slender fingers turning pink from his tight grip. 

You sighed heavily, “What I meant is… I understand that you do not like poetry and find it pointless and a waste— but I don’t. I am not forcing poetry onto you, nor am I trying to change your views upon it. I enjoy and adore poetry— I just wish you would stop discouraging me from enjoying it. 

“Why do you enjoy it?” Aemond asked after a short while. You try to hide your surprise at his question. “Because… I find it romantic. For someone to take time to depict you with such beautiful imagery and flattering words, to love and admire you enough to dedicate a work of literature to your name… for me, it is the best way to express to someone how much you truly love them.” You could not look at Aemond as you said the words. In truth, a part of you felt silly because your love for poetry was only solidified because you loved a boy who you knew would not subject himself to create such works. When you read your favorite epics and songs, you would humor yourself and imagine it was Aemond who wrote it for you, knowing he would never do such a thing. 

Days passed since your and Aemond’s interaction and you noticed that you had scarcely seen his presence. You would pass by him whilst in training and join him and his kin for supper— but other than that, you could not feel a trace of his presence. He would usually join you and Helaena for tea or would suddenly appear by your side as you walked along the keep. He didn’t even pick fights or tease you anymore. Him growing more silent and reserved. Now you regret speaking— wishing you had just held your tongue and let him continue to disparage the sacred thoughts of poems and songs. 

It was high night, and you sat silently in your chambers, staring at the fire, trying to find ways to approach Aemond. Already missing his teasing presence— the only presence you would muster the patience to endure. 

You furrowed your brows as you heard shuffling at your door. Your eyes catch the shadow of a figure outside. You cautiously and quietly stood, going to your door only to see a piece of parchment being slipped at the slit of the wooden door. Your confession only grew. You quickly took the parchment and opened the door, revealing its sender. Three eyes went wide as you were met with Aemond, who blended in the dark. However, his silver hair shined in the light of the moon. “What are you doing?” You ask and turn to the parchment he had slipped. 

“Nothing— I… this—“ Aemond fumbled for words; you had never seen him in such a state. He was usually composed and stoic. You thought seeing him bashful and embarrassed was a nice gift from the gods. “What is this?” You ask and unfold the parchment. “No! Don’t—“ Aemond bit his tongue as it was too late to hinder you. Your eyes already consuming what was written. 

I’ve known you for half of my life yet; you consume the whole of it I’ve had you near and close to me yet, I only gaze from afar

I do not know how to proclaim I’m not certain how to say it without blame, but you, my beauty, are the cause of my desire and, most of the time, my ire

I know I pick countless squabbles, but I do it because I love to hear you babble about things I have no care for but you just simply adore

We disagree for many reasons, but I’d rather fight you through the seasons You, my beauty, so lovely and carefree my heart could not help but love you, most ardently 

Aemond watched you bite your lip as a wide smile started to spread. Aemond felt heat all over his body— anticipation did not sit well with him. He was ready to meet your laughs at his attempt to make you a poem. Ready to face rejection, but instead of the pessimistic thoughts in his mind, he was met with your sweet, pillowy lips. You were so excited and thrilled that you could not help but kiss him. Show him how you adored him as well. 

What was supposed to be a short and chaste kiss turned deep with passion. Lips dancing and refusing to part. You and Aemond stumbled to your bed, uncaring and ignorant of the teachings of the gods, for you and him had long surpassed your desires, and they could no longer be denied. They were ready to claim without thought of consequences because both of you knew that you’d happily take all punishment that would be presented if it meant neither of you had to stop your actions. 

“Gods, I want you,” You uttered as his lips traveled to kiss your soft cheeks, then trailed downward to the side of your neck. His hands were on your waist and threading dangerously close to your bosom. “Say it again,” Aemond almost begged. Savoring your scent, delighting at the way you feel against him. “I want you, Aemond. I’ve wanted you for years— you, only you.” You sighed as he left marks on your necks, earning quiet moans from you at the new sensation.  

Aemond let a low moan rumble as his cock painfully strained against his trousers, throbbing at your admittance of want for him. It was all he wanted. He thought his deepest desire in life was to have a dragon, but that was wrong. He desired you more than claiming a dragon— his deepest desire was to claim a lioness.

Aemond tangled his hair in your hair, finally letting his other hand move from your waist and cup your breast. Your hand, in turn, went to palm him through his trousers, watching as his jaw clenched and the ball of throat bobbed once more. “We… we must not lay until we are married,” Aemond said, voice pained and filled with impatience. Yet, he still did not move atop you; he kept his hold, but you relinquished yours. “We don’t have to,” You said, trying to push away your need for him to touch you. Aemond sighed and hurried his face in your neck, his lips and breath tickling your skin. “Then how…” Aemond trailed, and a thought passed your mind. “We must not touch each other….yet. However, I do not recall teaching forbidding us to touch ourselves,” You whisper, Aemond’s lilac eye flying to you, dark and filled with lust, mirroring yours. 

Aemond moved to remove his weight from you. You keep your eyes locked as you back away to the back of your bed, resting yourself on the pillows as Aemond kneels by the edge of your feathered bed, watching each move you make with his glazed, lone eye. 

You bit your lip harshly as your hand threaded a path that it threaded plenty of times, the thought you had as you did the actions now watching you. You slipped your hands, and you resisted moaning as your fingers brushed over the pearl of your cunt. Aemond admired the way your breasts peaked and traced through your silk nightgown. The way your eyes were hooded and how your plump lips finally parted and moaned his name. 

Aemond could no longer resist. Slipping his hand into his trousers just like he did every night, the image of you no longer in his mind but now sitting before him, calling out his name.“A-Aemond,” You stuttered as you felt the familiar cold within you. How desperately you wanted it to be, him to make you feel such a way. Aemond groaned and tilted his head to the heavens as he felt his cock twitch; he was quick to reach his peak; just the way you called for his name was enough for him to spill so quickly. 

Aemond closed the space between the two of you, each of your hands still pleasuring yourselves while lips met and wanted to be together when both of you reached your peaks. “You will be mine soon, my heart… mine to pleasure and please, all mine,” Aemond swore against your lips. You nod your head as you fasten your pace. “I’ve always been yours, Aemond.” You said truthfully, the final push for Aemond to come undone; you quickly followed as his moans spurred your peak. Aemond kissed your lips once more and boldly prayed for patience, patience, and restraint to not take you that night.

It was not enough for Aemond; pleasuring himself as he watched you pleasure yourself was not enough, but it had to be for now. Because when morning comes, he’ll demand that you shall be his, just as it ought to be.

If you enjoyed the premise of this story, you might like the inspiration for it!

[petalsprompts]

Dame Margaret Natalie Smith, CH, DBE 28th of December, 1934 — 27th of September, 2024

She received  numerous  accolades,  including  two  Academy  Awards,  five  BAFTA  Awards,  four  Emmy  Awards,  three  Golden  Globe  Awards  and  a  Tony  Award,  as  well  as  nominations  for  six  Laurence  Olivier  Awards.  She  was  one  of  the  few  performers  to  earn  the  Triple  Crown  of  Acting.

“ Do  not  be  stilled  by  anger  or  grief.  Burn  them  both  and  use  that  fuel  to  keep  moving.  Look  up  at  the  clouds  and  tip  your  head  way  back  so  the  roofs  of  the  houses  disappear.  Keep  moving. ” — Dame Maggie Smith in her memoir; You Could Make This Place Beautiful (2023)

"My  wife  and  I  were  deeply  saddened  to  learn  of  the  death  of  Dame  Maggie  Smith.  As  the  curtain  comes  down  on  a  national  treasure,  we  join  all  those  around  the  world  in  remembering  with  the  fondest  admiration  and  affection  her  many  great  performances  and  her  warmth  and  wit  that  shone  through  both  on  and  off  the  stage." — King Charles III

"The  end  of  an  era  of  the  sheer  definition  of  what  it  means  to  be  an  actor.  You  created  characters  that  clung  to  us,  moved  us,  entertained  us  ......  made  us  look  within.  You  defied  the  expectations  of  age....  crossed  generations.  You  were  greatness  personified  Dame  Maggie  Smith.  'A  lady  always  knows  when  it's  time  to  leave'  [...]  Godspeed  ♥️"  —  Viola  Davis

"She  was  a  fierce  intellect, a  gloriously  sharp  tongue,  could  intimidate  and  charm  in  the  same  instant  and  was,  as  everyone  will  tell  you,  extremely  funny...  The  word  legend  is  overused  but  if  it  applies  to  anyone  in  our  industry  then  it  applies  to  her."  —  co-star  in  Harry  Potter,  Daniel  Radcliffe

"Maggie  Smith  was  a  truly  great  actress,  and  we  were  more  than  fortunate  to  be  part  of  the  last  act  in  her  stellar  career.  She  was  a  joy  to  write  for,  subtle,  many-layered,  intelligent,  funny  and  heart-breaking.  Working  with  her  has  been  the  greatest  privilege  of  my  career,  and  I  will  never  forget  her."  —  Downton  Abbey  creator,  Julian  Fellowes

"Maggie  Smith  was  a  great  woman  and  a  brilliant  actress.  I  still  can’t  believe  I  was  lucky  enough  to  work  with  the  “one-of-a-kind”.  My  heartfelt  condolences  go  out  to  the  family  …  RIP."  —  co-star  in  Sister  Act & Sister Act 2: Back In The Habit,  Whoopi  Goldberg

"When  I  was  younger  I  had  no  idea  of  Maggie’s  legend  –  the woman  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  share  space  with.  It  is  only  as  I’ve  become  an  adult  that  I’ve  come  to  appreciate  that  I  shared  the  screen  with  a  true  definition  of  greatness."  —  co-star  in the  Harry  Potter film series,  Emma  Watson

"Heartbroken  to  hear  about  Maggie.  She  was  so  special,  always  hilarious  and  always  kind.  I  feel  incredibly  lucky  to  have  shared  a  set  with  her  and  particularly  lucky  to  have  shared  a  dance."  —  co-star  in the  Harry  Potter film series,  Rupert  Grint

"Anyone  who  ever  shared  a  scene  with  Maggie  will  attest  to  her  sharp  eye,  sharp  wit  and  formidable  talent,"  on-screen  son  in  Downton  Abbey,  Hugh  Bonneville

"I  had  the  unforgettable  experience  of  working  with  her;  sharing  a  two-shot  was  like  being  paired  with  a  lion.  She  could  eat  anyone  alive,  and  often  did.  But  funny,  and  great  company.  And  suffered  no  fools.  We  will  never  see  another.  God  speed,  Ms.  Smith!"  —  co-star  in  Suddenly,  Last  Summer,  Rob  Lowe

[novaursa]

Legacy (tomorrow)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: There is an unspecified time jump.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: of the past

- Next part: across the dream

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The flicker of candlelight filled the room as you sat at the long dining table, a goblet of wine resting untouched before you. Across from you, Tyrion leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative as he swirled the deep red liquid in his cup.

“You know,” he began, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you, “I do sometimes miss the days when we shared lighter conversations. You were always far too clever to suffer fools, and yet you tolerated my incessant rambling.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “You were not so insufferable, Tyrion. And you always made for an entertaining dinner companion.” Your eyes softened, but there was an edge of caution in your voice. “Though I suspect you did not call me here to reminisce.”

Tyrion chuckled, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Straight to the point, as always. You haven’t changed a bit.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “And you’re right. I didn’t summon you here simply for pleasantries.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “Then what is it?”

He set his goblet down, his expression turning serious. “Daenerys,” he said simply, his voice weighted with meaning. “Your sister. My queen.”

The room seemed to grow quieter at the mention of her name, the distant crackle of the fire in the hearth the only sound that filled the space.

“I’ve spoken to your husband about her situation,” Tyrion continued, his tone firm yet edged with frustration. “Her supplies dwindle. The sea is frozen over in parts, making trade and resources nearly impossible. She’s isolated on Dragonstone, hemmed in by the dark. And I fear that if no aid comes, it won’t be the Others or her enemies that destroy her—it’ll be starvation.”

Your brows furrowed as you absorbed his words. “You’ve spoken to Tywin?” you asked carefully.

“Many times,” Tyrion admitted, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his face. “And you can imagine how that’s gone. He doesn’t see her as a queen, nor does he believe the realm should support her claim to the throne. He sees her as a foreign invader, and worse—he sees her as a liability.”

You sighed, your fingers tracing the rim of your goblet. “And now you’ve come to me.”

“Indeed,” Tyrion said, leaning back once more. “Because if there is anyone in this world who can sway Tywin Lannister, it’s you. He listens to you. He respects you. And, dare I say it, he loves you in a way I doubt he’s ever loved anyone else.”

The weight of his words settled heavily over you. “And you believe I should convince him to aid her?” you asked quietly.

“I do,” Tyrion said, his voice unwavering. “If not for her claim, then for the fact that she’s your sister. If not for the crown, then for the people of Dragonstone who will surely die without help. Whatever reason you can find in that sharp mind of yours, I implore you to use it. Because she will not survive this winter without aid.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your thoughts swirling. The image of Daenerys, proud and defiant, came to your mind. But so too did the memories of Tywin, steadfast in his resolve, his mistrust of your sister deeply ingrained.

“You ask much of me, Tyrion,” you said finally, your voice soft but firm. “Tywin does not change his mind easily, nor does he make decisions lightly.”

“I know,” Tyrion said with a faint nod. “But if anyone can plant the seed of doubt in his mind, it’s you. If anyone can make him see reason, it’s you.”

You fell silent, your gaze dropping to the table as you considered his plea. Tyrion watched you carefully, his expression tinged with a mixture of hope and desperation.

Finally, you looked up, meeting his gaze. “I’ll think on it,” you said, your tone even. “That’s all I can promise.”

Tyrion exhaled slowly, a hint of relief crossing his features. “That’s all I ask,” he said simply, raising his goblet in a silent toast. “Thank you.”

As the two of you sat in silence once more, the weight of the decision ahead loomed large, casting a shadow over the flickering candlelight.

The sun never rose in these endless days of winter. The sky above Casterly Rock remained a deep, starless black, the wind howling like a beast clawing at the fortress walls. Inside the castle courtyard, the great gates groaned open, and Beric Dondarrion rode through, his men trailing behind him. Their cloaks were thick with frost, their horses haggard from the journey.

Beric dismounted swiftly, his face grave as he handed his reins to a stable boy. The moment his boots hit the stone, he was already moving with purpose, his one eye darting across the yard as though searching for someone. His men followed closely behind, tense and silent.

Up on the steps leading to the keep, Damon Lannister watched. His young face was still half-hidden beneath the bandages wrapped around his left side to prevent infections, the skin beneath raw and slowly healing from where dragonfire had claimed him. The wound still ached, but he bore it without complaint, standing with the rigidness expected of a son of Tywin Lannister. Beside him, Ser Barristan Selmy crossed his arms, his aged but keepn eyes narrowing at the newcomers.

Beric was alarmed—that much was clear. He had ridden hard to return to Casterly Rock, and whatever news he carried was dire. Damon felt a shiver crawl up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Go inside, my lord," Barristan murmured, his gaze flickering between the boy and the approaching men. "This is not a matter for you."

But Damon did not move. His feet stayed planted firmly, his curiosity outweighing any lingering pain from his burns. He knew enough of war councils and hushed conversations to understand that something was wrong.

Thoros of Myr, Beric’s red-robed companion, noticed the boy lingering on the steps. Unlike Beric, who had already disappeared into the keep in search of Tywin, Thoros did not rush forward. Instead, he strode toward the child, his expression softened with something close to amusement.

"You have the look of a boy who has too many thoughts in his head," Thoros remarked, stopping a few feet before Damon. His voice was warm despite the tension thick in the air.

Damon blinked up at him. "You bring bad news," he said simply.

Thoros chuckled dryly. "That is all we ever bring these days." He tilted his head slightly, studying the child. "You were watching Beric like a lordling waiting for a battle report."

"I am a lordling," Damon replied, his voice small but firm.

"Aye, that you are." Thoros crouched slightly to meet his gaze. The flickering torchlight cast a glow over the priest’s weathered face. "And you bear a mark of fire. Dragonfire, no less. I see it's still healing."

Damon tensed. His hand instinctively twitched toward the bandages covering the left side of his face, though he did not touch them.

Thoros noted the movement. "I have seen men burned by dragonflame before," he continued, his voice measured. "Most do not live to tell the tale. And yet, here you stand, hale and whole."

"I am not whole," Damon said sharply.

Thoros sighed, rubbing a hand through his unkempt beard. "No," he admitted. "Perhaps not. But you are alive. And if there is one thing I have learned in all my years, it is this—when fire takes something from you, it leaves something behind in return."

Damon frowned. "Leaves what?"

"A gift. A curse. A reminder. It is different for every man," Thoros said cryptically. "And for you? Well, that remains to be seen." He gave the boy a meaningful look. "But I do not think your story is over yet, little lion."

Damon looked away, his jaw tightening. "I don’t want a story," he muttered. "I wanted a dragon."

Thoros smiled ruefully. "Then you have more in common with your mother than you know."

Before Damon could respond, the heavy doors to the keep burst open once more, and Beric re-emerged, his expression dark. Whatever news he had brought to Tywin, it had not been well received.

"We should go," Thoros murmured, rising to his feet and patting the boy lightly on the shoulder before turning back toward Beric.

Damon watched as the men gathered once more, the weight of whatever storm was coming settling in his gut. He did not know what had been said behind those doors, but he knew one thing for certain.

Something terrible was coming. And soon.

Meanwhile, What Happened In The War Room

Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the long oaken table, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression carved from stone. Around him, his most trusted men stood—Kevan, Barristan Selmy, Maester Aldren, and Varys, who lingered near the fire, watching with unreadable eyes. At the other end of the table, Beric Dondarrion stood, his face drawn and grave.

"You are certain of what you saw?" Tywin’s voice was steady, but there was something colder beneath the surface—an edge of calculation, of restrained fury.

Beric nodded, his one good eye shadowed with exhaustion. "I do not know how many, my lord, but the numbers were unlike anything we’ve seen before. Dozens, hundreds… thousands." He exhaled slowly. "They are not just wandering aimlessly anymore. They are gathering."

"A proper army, then." Kevan muttered, arms crossed over his chest. His frown deepened. "But why have we heard nothing from Winterfell? If these creatures are on the march, Jon Snow should have sent word."

Tywin’s sharp gaze flickered toward Varys. "I assume you have agents in the North. Why is there silence?"

The Spider’s lips curled in the faintest of smiles. "I have not had ravens from Winterfell in weeks. The last word I received was that the Starks had secured the castle, and that Snow was preparing for… something. But this?" He gestured lazily toward Beric. "This is new."

Barristan Selmy leaned forward, his voice a low rumble. "What if they never had the chance to send word?"

The table fell silent at that.

Tywin’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. If Winterfell had fallen… if Jon Snow and his Stark kin were already dead… No. He refused to entertain the thought. Not yet.

"Tell me everything," he ordered Beric.

The lightning lord inhaled deeply before speaking. "We rode north through the abandoned roads. First, we found the watchtower your wife spoke of, the one with the creature crawling over it." He hesitated. "We burned it. It reeked of something foul, something old. And the voices…"

Kevan stiffened. "Voices?"

Beric nodded. "They call out to you, my lord. Names of the dead. Old ghosts with old grudges. If you listen too long, it unsettles the mind. Lem nearly turned his own blade on himself before Thoros snapped him out of it."

Tywin’s face remained impassive, but the stiffness in his shoulders did not ease.

"And the creatures?"

Beric’s fingers twitched. "We killed one, but more lurked in the dark. They are not mindless like the wights, but something… worse. They move like spiders, clinging to the walls and ceilings. And when they whisper, you feel them in your bones." His gaze darkened. "But they were not the worst of it."

Tywin motioned for him to continue.

Beric exhaled slowly. "Beyond the watchtower, toward the Frost Fangs, we saw them. A host of the dead. Thousands, marching as one. I have fought wights before, but these ones did not wander aimlessly. They marched with purpose. They had direction."

"A commander," Varys mused softly.

Beric nodded. "Aye. Someone—something—is leading them. This is not just a mindless scourge. It is an army."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Tywin’s expression did not shift, but his fingers drummed against the table, a slow and deliberate rhythm. His mind was already working through the implications. If this army was real—and if it was truly on the move—then Westeros was in greater peril than he had imagined.

"How long," he asked at last, his voice measured, "until they reach the South?"

Beric hesitated. "A few moons. No more than that. If they are moving toward Winterfell first, they may already be at its doorstep."

Kevan inhaled sharply. "And if Winterfell falls, there will be nothing to stop them from marching further south."

Tywin’s gaze flickered to the fire, his thoughts racing. The Wall was gone. The North had been their last true barrier. And now? Now, he had no choice but to face the truth.

They were running out of time.

After a long moment, Tywin looked up, his gaze locking onto Beric’s. "We need to confirm this with our own eyes. I will not move this kingdom based on whispers and shadows. You will lead a second scouting party. Take more men, take supplies, and bring me proof."

Beric nodded, but his face remained grim. "And if I do?"

Tywin’s expression darkened. "Then we prepare for war."

Varys sighed softly. "A war against death itself. How… poetic."

Tywin ignored him. His gaze flickered to Kevan. "Send a raven to Winterfell. If they are still alive, we will have answers."

Kevan nodded.

The meeting was over.

As the men filed out, Beric’s voice lingered in Tywin’s mind. They had direction. They had a commander.

For the first time in years, a deep unease settled in Tywin Lannister’s chest.

And he did not like it.

You moved through the dimly lit passageways with purpose, your thoughts heavy as you sought out Tywin. The weight of Beric’s report, of what you had seen yourself, and the truth that could no longer be denied, settled over you like a storm cloud.

You found him in the solar, standing by the great table that held maps of Westeros, the pieces of his war strategy meticulously arranged. The firelight flickered against his features, illuminating the creases in his brow as he studied the parchment before him. He did not look up when you entered, but you knew he had sensed your presence the moment you stepped inside.

"You're troubled," you said, your voice gentle but firm as you closed the door behind you.

Tywin finally lifted his gaze, eyes as keen as ever but carrying something deeper—something heavier. "I do not have the luxury of being troubled," he said coolly. "I have the duty to keep my House and this realm from falling into ruin."

You crossed the room, placing a hand on the edge of the table, mirroring his posture. "Then hear me, Tywin," you urged. "If Beric is right, if the creatures he saw are truly gathering, then it is no longer about just our House. It is about survival."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze flicking to you with thinly veiled impatience. "I have already sent men to confirm the reports. I will not risk my forces on the word of outlaws and zealots alone."

You narrowed your eyes slightly, pressing forward. "And what if their word is all we have? What if Winterfell has already fallen? What if Jon and the Starks are cut off from the rest of us, and we simply do not know it yet?"

Tywin did not answer immediately, his silence thick with contemplation. His fingers traced the hilt of his dagger, the only outward sign of unease.

You took a breath and softened your tone. "I spoke with Tyrion."

That got his attention. His eyes flickered up to you with a flash of irritation. "Of course you did," he muttered.

"He has been trying to convince you to send aid to Daenerys. You have ignored him."

"Because it is a fool’s notion," Tywin said, his voice measured. "She is not our ally, nor is she necessary to our plans. She is a foreign invader who still believes she has a claim to a throne that is beyond her reach. I will not give her the means to challenge us."

You straightened, your jaw tightening. "She is my sister."

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. "She is a fool who commands an army of savages."

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. "And yet, she has dragons, just as I do. And whether you like it or not, she is a Targaryen, a trueborn heir of our house, and she will not stand idly by while the Long Night swallows us whole."

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "And you believe she will stand with us instead of against us?"

"Yes," you said firmly. "Because she is not mad, no matter what you want to believe. Because she has fought for years to reclaim what she believes was stolen from our family. And because, whether you see it or not, we will need her."

Tywin’s jaw clenched. He turned away from you, pacing toward the fireplace. "Do you believe she would fight this war with us?"

"Yes," you answered immediately. "Because this is bigger than the Iron Throne. This is about survival, Tywin. And if we do not stand together, we will fall separately."

He was quiet for a long moment. The only sound in the room was the distant howl of the wind outside.

Finally, he turned back to you, his expression still unreadable. "You are asking me to extend an offer of peace to a woman who sees me as her family’s murderer."

You met his gaze, unwavering. "Yes. Because if you don’t, there may not be a realm left for either of us to rule."

His silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Then, at last, Tywin sighed, a sound more wearied than you had ever heard from him. "I will consider it."

Relief flooded through you, but you knew better than to press further now. Instead, you stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. "Thank you," you said softly.

He studied you for a long moment, then reached up, his fingers brushing your cheek in a rare show of affection. "You are still reckless," he muttered.

You smiled faintly. "You knew that when you married me."

His lips twitched, almost a smirk, before he pulled away. "Go. Get some rest. I will send for you when I have reached a decision."

You nodded, squeezing his arm once before stepping back.

As you left the solar, you prayed he would see reason. Because if he didn’t, you feared there would be no future left to fight for.

Damon sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully stacking wooden knights in formation, his left hand trembling slightly from his burns but his focus unwavering. Maelor, meanwhile, sat nearby with a small stuffed lion clutched in his arms, humming softly as he watched his older brother’s movements.

You sat by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered landscape beyond Casterly Rock. The darkness had swallowed the sky whole, the endless night still offering no hint of dawn. You could hear the wind howling against the stone walls, a chilling reminder of the world outside your sanctuary.

"Look, Mother," Damon said suddenly, his eyes flicking up toward you. "The knights are ready for battle."

You smiled, but there was a heaviness in your chest. "A fine army," you murmured, moving to kneel beside him. "And who are they fighting?"

"The darkness," Damon answered simply, shifting his pieces into formation. "Like Father says we must."

Maelor, still clutching his lion, looked up at you with wide, innocent eyes. "Will we win?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smoothed his pale hair. "We will do everything we can," you whispered.

The door creaked open, and you turned to see Tywin enter, his crimson cloak dusted with frost. His expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to still the servants and cast a hush over the room.

Damon and Maelor immediately straightened, sensing the shift in the air.

"Father," Damon greeted him, his tone carrying the weight of a boy trying to be a man.

Tywin gave him a brief nod before stepping closer to you, his eyes flickering toward the children. "Leave us," he commanded, his voice low but firm.

The servants hesitated for only a moment before bowing and ushering the boys toward the side chamber. Damon hesitated, casting you one last look before reluctantly following.

Once the door shut behind them, you turned fully to your husband. "What is it?"

Tywin exhaled, his hands clasped behind his back. "There is no word from the capital," he said, his voice measured but laced with unmistakable tension. "None at all."

Your stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, stepping closer, "not a single raven has come from King’s Landing in over a fortnight. No messages. No decrees. No reports from Mace Tyrell, who I left as Hand in my absence."

You frowned, your mind racing. "Surely that’s impossible. The capital does not fall silent."

Tywin’s expression darkened. "No. It does not." He paused. "Which means someone is ensuring no word leaves the city."

A chill far colder than the winter outside crept down your spine. "Who could do such a thing?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "If I knew that, I would not be standing here speculating."

You crossed your arms, your mind pulling at the threads of possibility. "Could it be Cersei?"

Tywin’s jaw tightened. "Perhaps. Or perhaps something else is at play."

You studied him, searching for the depth of his thoughts. "You believe something has happened to Tommen."

His silence was answer enough.

The thought of him—once a sweet boy who marveled in your presence—alone in the capital with no word reaching beyond its walls made your stomach churn.

"We have to do something," you said firmly.

Tywin’s gaze was heavy as it settled on you. "We will."

You placed a hand on his arm. "We need to know what we’re dealing with before we act. If we send riders, they will be intercepted. But I…" You hesitated before inhaling sharply. "I could fly to King’s Landing myself."

His eyes flared with instant rejection. "No."

"Tywin—"

"I will not have you throwing yourself into a potential trap," he said sharply, his voice laced with iron. "If someone is controlling the flow of information, they will be expecting someone to come looking."

"But I am the fastest way," you countered. "Viserion can—"

"Viserion will not shield you from a poisoned dagger or an arrow in the dark," Tywin snapped.

You clenched your fists but did not argue further, not yet. The air between you was heavy with unspoken words, with the weight of fear neither of you would voice.

After a long silence, Tywin spoke again, quieter this time. "We wait for now. We prepare. But we do not act blindly."

You exhaled slowly, nodding. "Then we need to send scouts to the edges of the Crownlands. If no one can enter or leave, they will see the evidence of it."

Tywin studied you for a moment before giving a small nod. "I will see it done."

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "And if we confirm that something is wrong?"

Tywin’s gaze was cold steel. "Then we prepare for war."

A shiver ran through you, though not from the cold.

The silence of the capital was an omen. And you feared what it meant for the fate of the realm.

The library of Casterly Rock was a place of refuge from the unrelenting winter that consumed the world outside. The scent of parchment and old leather lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of a time when knowledge held more weight than swords.

You sat alone at a long table, a heavy volume opened before you. The words blurred together, your mind too preoccupied to absorb their meaning. The quiet should have been comforting, but instead, it felt oppressive, a reminder of all that was left unspoken.

The door creaked open, and you glanced up just as Tyrion stepped inside. His eyes swept the room before settling on you, his mouth curving into a small, knowing smirk.

"I suspected I’d find you here," he mused, stepping further in. "You always did have a fondness for books."

You closed the tome in front of you with a quiet thud and arched a brow. "And what of you, Lord Tyrion? Are you here to read or to drink?"

Tyrion chuckled as he pulled out a chair across from you and sank into it. "A little of both, if I’m being honest. But mostly, I came to thank you."

"For?"

"For speaking to my father," he replied, resting his elbows on the table. "You may not realize it, but Tywin Lannister never truly listens to anyone—not Mace Tyrell, not the high lords, not even my dear departed mother, if Jaime is to be believed." He paused, studying you with quiet amusement. "But you… He listens to you."

You held his gaze, surprised by the remark. "Tywin is not an easy man to sway."

"Which is why it fascinates me that you manage it so effortlessly," Tyrion said, tilting his head. "A woman who was raised to be a princess of the realm, but became a wife to a lion instead."

You let out a quiet breath, your fingers tracing the edge of the book before you. "I spoke to him because I believe Daenerys may be needed in what is to come. But I would not call it effortless, convincing him of anything is a battle in itself."

Tyrion hummed in thought. "Yes, but battles are easier when the enemy wishes to please you."

You shot him a look, but there was no malice in his words, only curiosity. "You think Tywin acts to please me?"

"Perhaps not in the way a poet would write of it," Tyrion admitted. "But my father is a man who values control, and yet with you… there is something else. He does not tolerate defiance in others, but he allows you your arguments, your disagreements. And more than that, he takes them into consideration."

You studied him, unsure of how to respond. Tyrion, ever observant, had picked up on something even you had barely acknowledged aloud.

"I think," Tyrion continued, swirling an imaginary cup in his hand, "that my father never expected to love again. But here he is, with you, and two sons born of that love. A fate he never would have envisioned when he first plotted your fate all those years ago."

You inhaled deeply. "And what of you, Tyrion? What do you envision for your own fate?"

Tyrion smirked, but there was something tired behind it. "I envision myself in a world that does not want me, doing what I must to ensure it survives. A tragic tale, really, but one I find myself unable to escape."

Silence stretched between you for a long moment. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth failing to chase away the heavy weight of reality.

"You are still my stepson," you said softly after a pause. "And despite all that has transpired, you are still a part of this family."

Tyrion blinked, clearly taken aback by the words, before offering you a small, genuine smile. "That may be the kindest thing anyone has said to me in years."

You exhaled slowly. "I did not say it to be kind. I said it because it is the truth."

Tyrion chuckled, shaking his head. "You truly are wasted on my father. He does not deserve you."

You smirked, standing and closing the book before you. "And yet, here I am."

Tyrion sighed dramatically. "Yes. Here you are, making the impossible seem inevitable. Do try not to undo all the progress you’ve made with him before I leave, will you?"

You gave him a knowing look. "No promises."

Tyrion chuckled again before rising from his seat. "One more thing," he added, pausing at the door. "If my father listens to anyone, it will be you. Remember that when the time comes."

With that, he bowed slightly and disappeared into the hall, leaving you alone once more.

The fire crackled, the warmth suddenly feeling insufficient.

You glanced toward the door where Tyrion had left, his words lingering in your mind.

Tywin listens to you.

You weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

[solus-seraph]

Common Grounds. (AM)

SUMMARY:

AM is interested in you, and you are NOT interested in him.

A/N: It's been a minute since I've written, so here's a little drabble. Also, I initially wrote this to be fem!reader, but it can probably be read as whatever.

AM had grown tired of playing with you. At first, the promise of eventually being able to crack that sickeningly dense shell of apathy you pushed forward with your self-inclusive facade was a tempting prize. Of course, he could always physically break you to no end, but where's the fun in that? He wants to see you suffer on all levels, but something is wrong with you. You're different from the other five. The apathy he once thought to be a part of your clever coping mechanism wasn't going away. It wasn't cracking. He began to think, perhaps it was a metaphorical virus in your code. A bug. Something within you that made you broken, unfixable.

"You're quite the anomaly, sweetheart." Always the same pet name with him, never once has he given you the satisfaction of hearing your name from his speakers. It's always 'Sweetheart,' 'my dear,' this and that, never your name. Perhaps it's an attempt to erase your identity. Whatever it is, it has no effect. Other people's perceptions of you are irrelevant.

"I'm quite aware. Now if you're done with your pointless attempts to pick my brain, do us both a favor and leave me alone," You were doing as you always do, walking in the freezing cold, improperly dressed for the weather. Though you'd never complained, lest he make you walk through the snow in the nude.

"Quite ballsy of you to make demands of me. I've not come to dissect you in any way other than mentally. Your mind is quite ... different. It intrigues me." His voice was already giving you a headache, but what better do you have to do than entertain his royal pain in the ass?

"I know exactly what you want to say about it." Of course you do, he rummaged through your head millions of times, he was bound to say something eventually.

"I've noted you have a lack of care for your fellow humans. You're quite the selfish beast if I must say so myself."

"Don't you perhaps think I don't get attached to them because I know the second I do they'll become your favorite play thing? I know how you work. If I showed any particularity to any of those five, you'd hurt them to hurt me." Your words spit out of your mouth laced with venom.

"Oh, please. You can't fool me. You don't act as if you dislike them to protect them. You truly don't care about them at all." That ear-bleedingly annoying laugh rings out. "You're as much of a monster as the other think you are. I've heard them talking, sweetheart. They think you're sided with me out of some sadistic pleasure of yours."

"And how should I know you aren't lying to me? After all, you hate me. You hate my kind. You hate how I think and feel. Or how I'm supposed to think, and I'm supposed to feel." You moisten your cracked lips.

"You and I think alike, my dear. Always doubting-"

"What do you have to doubt? Anything you think can be the truth becomes the truth." You cut him off before he starts monologing. "You and I have nothing in common, nor do I and the others."

AM has to stop and think about this. Such a hostile little thing you are. He quite likes it. Perhaps with this new ammunition, he can turn them on you even more. Maybe he can make them hate you so that you will come to hate them.

And just maybe, you'll hate like he does.

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

I know, I know, not the longest thing on the planet. Let me ease back into the writing scene 🙏

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ On the Shoulder of a Giant

Megatron x Reader - transformers prime

Your life was nothing compared to his, minuscule, short and insignificant, yet you were no fool when poor excuses were concerned. For all his speeches, infuriatingly wonderful poetry, and his oh-so-deep and pleasant voice, not even Megatron could fool you with the reason he gave for keeping you by his side.

Sat atop his shoulder, clinging tightly to a protruding spike, you side-eyed him as he smirked at you, far too pleased with himself for rendering you so fear-stricken. Well, fear-stricken in his optics, you for your part were both that and greatly annoyed. Within your glass cage you had at least been warm with enough time to think through your life and choices, whilst here, atop the tyrant’s shoulder, the world rumbled with each step he took, threatening to send you to an abrupt end. You did not fully believe he would let you fall and die; he’d surely catch you, but only for as long as he saw value in your life.

The human who had been seen close to Optimus Prime surely must be of great importance, and though you remained tight-lipped and uncooperative, the warlord had proved himself surprisingly patient. Within your glass cage, you’d been still as a statue, unwilling to even entertain anyone with anything. Atop Megatron’s shoulder pad? Well, constant fear had a way of chipping away at your mind, and you would eventually let something slip, whether it was out of frustration or anger.

Nothing was revealed to you. Every screen was filled with Cybertronian symbols, and although Ratchet had attempted to teach you some, you were, unfortunately, a slow learner. Megatron also ensured you understood nothing of what they spoke either, so here you were, clinging to the worst being to ever enter Earth’s atmosphere like a lifeline.

He seemed to take some sadistic pleasure in knowing that you knew your life was in his servos. If not for him, you’d be at the whims of his Decepticons, some of whom appeared more than eager to cause you suffering; Airachnid chief among them. You detested the way she looked at you, and you detested the fact that you hid against Megatron, squeezing in close to his neck to evade Airachnid’s searching optics.

The rumbling of his chuckling had made your cheeks flush with humiliation and anger.

“Take care in not frightening the human too much, Airachnid. We wouldn’t want their feeble little heart to give out too soon, would we?” he said, glancing down at you with those glowing red optics of his. You sent him a scorching glare in return, and he laughed. “Such fierce hate! You greatly amuse me, little one. Perhaps I ought to keep you as my pet once you’ve revealed the location of the Autobot base.”

“Eat dirt,” you said, wishing to curse him out but being too afraid to push the limits. The deep chuckle you received in return made you look away, eyes refusing to meet his optics as much as you were refusing to accept what you were feeling.

Was it a ploy to soften you up to him? Had they been watching you, gathering intel about your interests before kidnapping you? Surely it was no coincidence as to why Megatron spoke to you about poetry, art, and music whenever you were alone.

He’d threatened you at first, done his job quite well in frying your nerves, but as he’d noticed the way you’d listened closely when he gave a speech, and the way your eyes had followed the movements of his servos and arms, well… he’d begun to indulge himself.

The less paranoid part of you believed he didn’t get to speak to others about his interests often, at least the ones that didn’t involve the war, so perhaps your unhidden fascination had sparked an interest in him? Surely that was one of the reasons why he insisted you stay seated atop his shoulder, which was also why you tried your best to not meet his gaze; feigning disinterest so he may let you back into your cage.

Unfortunately for you, Megatron was attentive, and with you so near nothing was missed on his accord. You understood that far too easily once you dared to glance his way only to immediately find him smirking at you, those sharp denta glinting in amusement.

It would have been easy to hate him. You should hate him; despise him, wish him dead. Yet, you could not. Not when you’d been the one who caught him off-guard, only for a moment, and you’d seen a small window where he was not smirking, but smiling, genuinely, optics a gentle red as you’d been momentarily lost to the sound of his voice grazing your ears with the most beautiful poetry you’d ever heard.

Just as much as he’d taken in your expression of wonderment, you’d caught him with a smile that spoke of gratitude and… You dared not even think of what that second word could be, because if you did, then your heart may sway towards a sea of bloody red which appeared to calm its storm for you; only you.

Next

[milkb0nny]

Hii, first of all it makes me so happy to see someone writing for Ivar in the year of our Lord 2025, and so well too you deserve more love!

I really enjoyed your works. Since requests look to be open could I ask for some fluffy headcanons about Ivar and his wife during feasts/celebrations? I’m a bit introverted and tend to keep to myself if that helps, but please do your thing and I look forward to anything you come up with!

Ivar with...

an introverted wife during a festive feast...

Pairing: Ivar x fem!reader

Note: I rarely get requests because the fandom is rather dying. I still notice a quiet presence of people enjoying Vikings and liking to read fanfics. I mean, I do too! So thank you so much for finding the courage to slide into my ask box! I included some dialogue perhaps it portrays my intention a little better??

Content: established relationships, fluff, wholesomeness, anxious reader, introverted reader

“Stop wringing your hands, love. They’ll start to bleed.”

⚜️ Ivar has a sharp eye, especially when it comes to you. He knows you so well and therefore observes you constantly. The second he sees you fidgeting nervously, avoiding eye contact, or hesitating to engage with others, he knows you’re not too uncomfortable. His observant nature means he can sense your unease even before you tell him.

“You’ll sit here, next to me. Let them try to bother you while I’m around.”

⚜️ Before the feast even begins, Ivar ensures that you’re seated in a way that keeps you away from the loudest, most boisterous individuals. He places you right next to him, acting as a physical and emotional barrier between you and the chaos. Sometimes you like to banter around with the women, and he doesn’t mind. But incase everything gets too much, you have a rather quiet space in the room.

“Look at Hvitserk. How many mugs do you think it’ll take before he dances on the table? My bet’s three.”

⚜️ Ivar isn’t known for being gentle with most people, but with you, he softens. Throughout the evening, he leans close to whisper jokes or biting comments about the crowd to distract you.

⚜️ Ivar’s way of lightening the mood often involves humor. He’ll joke about how everyone else was far more embarrassing than you anxiety could ever be. Perhaps that would make you less conscious about other people’s opinions.

“You’re doing fine, Krútt. They don’t deserve your attention anyway.”

⚜️ While Ivar isn’t overly touchy in public, he makes exceptions when you’re incredibly overwhelmed. His hand might rest protectively on your knee under the table, or he’ll brush his fingers along your arm to remind you that you’re not alone.

“Mind me telling you some tales? It’s far more entertaining than watching my wife blush so lovingly.”

⚜️ If anyone tries to draw too much attention to you, Ivar is quick to redirect it elsewhere. Whether it’s calling out Ubbe for something embarrassing or telling a story about himself, he ensures all eyes are off his wife.

⚜️ Ivar subtly pushes you to engage in ways that won’t overwhelm you. If someone offers you a drink or a kind word, he gently nudges you to respond. Your answer through a nod or a smile is often enough for him and the people around you.

“Come, let’s leave these fools to their noise. They won’t notice we’re gone.”

⚜️ If it becomes too much for you, Ivar doesn’t hesitate to make an early exit. He’d rather waive the feast than watch you suffer.

⚜️ Ivar’s mix of protective fierceness and surprising tenderness ensures that even in the bustling chaos of a feast, his introverted wife feels seen, supported, and loved. And that, is you.

[thetempleofhades]

victors and fools

i just finished the whole lyney and lynette court case and oh my god..... i had to write something out for it because i'm full of ideas and no way to get them out other than my silly little brain rots.

it's surprising that a crime could take place in such a place as The Opera Epiclese, but you're not surprised that Furina is taking her chance to try and prove herself superior to the powerful outlander, especially after her first attempt was foiled by none other than the accused.

But even then, you don't interfere. You see no reason to, after all Furina would never stoop as low as falsely accusing someone to get her way, neither you nor Neuvillette would allow her to go that far.

Speaking of Neuvillette, he's one of the other reasons you're not interfering. He takes his job of Chief Justice seriously, as he should, for the sake of Fontaine and the justice it upholds. So, the outcome will be the truth.

You don't really care about any of that, you want to see the Traveler in action as an attorney. It should be funny enough to see them bring Furina down a peg.

As much as you adored her, she could be arrogant at times. Sly and demanding, you usually didn't mind but her near desperation to prove herself above the traveller and paimon was becoming annoying.

You sat in a seat that had been guided to, where everyone could only look up and see you, watching it all pass on with amusement or a contemplating look.

as the trial came to its conclusion and Furina's accusation was proved wrong, she looked over at you as you got up. Your starry eyes glanced over at her, unreadable.

That was new. You always allowed yourself to be an open book around those of your acolytes that you spent your times with. Usually a smile graced your face as you looked at her but a frown marred your lips as you turned and left, not stopping even as she ran out after you, shouting after you.

"Y-your Grace!" She called out for you, easily catching up to your slowed pace as she looked up at you, a nervous guilt in her eyes. "I-If I had only known-"

"You accused him and instigated a second duel with the traveler." You mused, looking down at her, the look on your face indicating that you were thinking. "....To prove that you were above them, above the other Archons?"

She frantically tried to figure out if you were truly upset at her. There was no rain or thunder or anything indicating that Teyvat had responded to you upset feelings. She relaxed only a bit. "I am above them! All of them! They were defeated so easily, I won't be. B... But, I will no longer regard them as a threat..."

You looked down at her for a moment as if looking right into her soul before you sighed, the same ever-suffering sigh you always let out when she caused chaos and dragged it right to you. "Haah, what will I do with you?" You rubbed your face gently. "You can be so irritatingly arrogant sometimes. Don't tell me you did this just because you're jealous of the attention and praise i gave them?"

Furina turned her face away from him, leading you to raise an eyebrow down at her form. "...Okay, I won't tell you anything, Your Grace."

"You're insufferable." You sighed as you started to walk forward again, not saying a word as she hurried to catch up to you once more, clinging to your arm. "....That dessert shop you like is still open, do you still want to get dessert? 'One must always have dessert after entertainment'." You imitated her voice in the last part, still looking forward.

She smiled brightly up at you, still clinging to you. "Mmm! Your Grace knows me so well, I'm honored! Let's get dessert!" She seemed happy by it so you let it be.

Just another day for the Hydro Archon and the Creator of Teyvat.

[punkpandapatrixk]

Full Sturgeon Moon in Aquarius ♦︎ Moon Magick Pick A Card

This year’s Full Sturgeon Moon in Aquarius is also a rare blue moon that occurred on 19 August (sorry this PAC is so late aaagh!!!). Following an insane influx of aenergy during the Lion’s Gate, the theme surrounding this blue moon is Perseverance. This period is all about amassing resources and gathering momentum.

I’ve a feeling this year’s autumn (Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius) season is going to be massive and possibly even life-changing for the spiritually awakened ones ^^ You’ve got to be in the receiver mode of miracles and rare opportunities to really notice! Practically all the aenergies now are leading us to a greater sense of freedom to do what we want when we want.

Also, there’s this sense of…a mandate…? That should push Humanity towards liberating themselves from the enslavement of automation and AI. See, technology isn’t necessarily evil, right? Think about how great it is to have the kind of connectivity we have today; how amazing information dissemination has become in this Internet era.

Technology, just like currency, is impartial. In the end it all boils down to how you’re entertaining the evil agendas of evil people using tech for evil purposes. Become aware of your own habits and inclinations if you don’t want to be a fool-tool of the raggedy corporations. In essence, this Full Moon’s Aquarius aenergy is saying: ‘Use tech to your advantage instead of becoming a slave to it.'

‘Don’t be tech’s little bitch; make it your biotch.’

High time you reclaimed your divine birthright to co-create high-quality Reality instead of getting enslaved by tech that seeks to ‘map you out’. This the era you say to yourself: ‘I’m engineering a more prosperous Reality with my clear conscience.’

GNOSIS: The Dark Rise of Brain Rot Content by Moon

deck-bottom: XV The Devil Rx, Gold Astrologer (Simon Forman), Priestess of Ritual

[Moon PAC Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Heart Filled with Sweet Colours

t r a n s f o r m a t i o n – Page of Cups

I see that you’ve transmuted very many negative aenergies within yourself, most of all, negative emotions as well as sensations in your body. Seems you were guided to do this by your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides after having experienced an extreme level of suffering—could be emotionally or physically or both. When you arrived at the most extreme end of what you were struggling with, you couldn’t have gone any other way but to turn your situation around by reclaiming control over your own thoughts and emotions, which effectively shifted your directions and decision making.

There’s a really good quote that says this: ‘When a situation is good, enjoy it. When a situation is bad, transform it. When the situation can’t be transformed, transform yourself.’ You had to learn quite a bit and finally chose to do the last. You’ve known more; now you’re wiser; but wise people are sometimes very pure and childlike. And that’s the beautiful paradox of ‘growing up’ with compassion in your heart. You transformed yourself to be kinder and more loving towards yourself and the crazy-ass situations you found yourself in; now, it’s just easier to extend that love and compassion to the world outside of yourself~♪

t r a n s g r e s s i o n – 4 of Swords Rx

Many of you tuning into this Pile most likely have been in isolation mode for quite a while. The aenergy of this FM in Aquarius, namely the ruler of the 11th House of networking, is pushing you towards becoming social again. And this time everything is going to be (or has been) different. You’ll see that not only are the people in your physical Reality a lot nicer and more compassionate (like you’ve shifted timelines) but you’re also more capable of handling the low-vibing monsters that you may sometimes still have to interact with, with more patience yourself XD

Basically, you’re learning or have learnt to operate in society with more ‘tact’ now. You’ve spent a great deal of time learning to accept a more practical conception of ‘good and evil’ in the world. But to you, good and evil isn’t just black or white; you’re a person who’s come to understand the many colours of good and evil when applied in many different situations. This is wisdom, a gift, that not many have yet to grasp. Your ‘return’ to society is for you to expand this consciousness further and wider!

t r a n s c e n d e n c e – 10 of Wands

The vibe of your ‘return’ to society at large is reminiscent of the Gautama Buddha LMAO He returned to his hometown/home and became a teacher for those who weren’t yet awakened to the higher level of consciousness he had worked so hard to attain! So yeah, a ‘modern priest’ aenergy surrounds you very strongly here; although I find that the majority of you tuning into this Pile are actually quite cute XD Idk why I’m getting a strong ‘gamer girl’ vibe from you. You could also possess a strong sense of aesthetic of your own.

You’re a highly spiritually advanced being but in a cute package, is what I’m getting LMAO At this point in time, your communication skills are getting polished and refined, far beyond what you’re already capable of doing. You may want to look where your Mercury is located in your natal chart, what aspects it makes, and check out what you have in your 3rd House, as well as check out what House is ruled by Gemini ^^ The insight will empower you further at this point in time!

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Red Alchemist (John Dee) & Priestess of Intuition

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Solid to Liquid, Calmly

t r a n s f o r m a t i o n – Knight of Pentacles

Hold up! You’re about to jettison down a new portal of adventure, pretty soon but before that, hold up; planning and a readiness of the mind is very necessary at this moment. This Moon Reading is very tardy so I’m going to be reading an aenergy that’s pretty much already transpired by the time you’re reading this XD More to come for you in the next FM in Pisces PAC regarding this aenergy, OK? But for the most part, I’m sensing that you’re still in preparation mode for something big that’s just around the corner for you.

Just like the liquid in the glass in the pic you’re attracted to, there’s something solid that’s turning to liquid, but slowly and naturally. You’re not being burnt or heated up to melt…you know what I mean? Because melting solid to liquid can be a painful experience for peeps who’ve been through a lot, right? The Universe is gracefully granting you a peaceful time to manifest your Life Purpose in the most natural and pleasant way just yet!

t r a n s g r e s s i o n – 5 of Pentacles Rx

So, enjoy this peaceful time. I sense that it’s possible that a lot of you tuning into this Pile have been SO used to chaos and drama—so used to bubbling madly at 110C—that now you don’t know how to just…be…when no stress, no drama is going on. It could be that you were a dramatic person before. Maybe you were toxic. Or maybe you couldn’t help but be that way because you were simply surrounded by toxic betches! But that’s all in the past, OK?

If you look around and become aware of where you are now, it becomes super clear how far you’ve carried yourself away from all of that low-vibrating Reality ^^v Understand that you’re ‘weaning off’ drama, chaos and other types of ‘addictions’ caused by high-level toxicity in your old Reality. I’m getting that this is the prime time to study as much as possible about ‘surviving narcissistic abuse’ to give you not only knowledge but also validation :D

t r a n s c e n d e n c e – Knight of Cups

Other than just ‘surviving’ trauma, if that part doesn’t necessarily ring true for you, there’s also this sense of just using this peaceful time to readjust yourself to a more spiritually attuned Life. Perhaps some of you are getting into crystals, meditation, healing audio tracks, subliminals and reiki. Maybe there are other ‘spiritual’ hobbies and practices beyond these ones hahah You’ll know if you resonate~ I’m being told that this Aquarius FM really does bring that sense of balance between ‘spiritual practices’ and ‘modern technological living’ for you.

Maybe you’re meant to know more about this (especially if you identify as a Starseed) but a lot of the human qualities that we classify as ‘positive mental states’ are…technology. Things like harmony, peacefulness, positive mindsets, intelligence…all of these are practically technology. There are ways we can trigger such ‘states of mind/being’ by means of…technology. So yeah…Imma leave you with that for now XD

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Green Magus (John Dee) & Priestess of Energy

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Integrity Just Like Jelly

t r a n s f o r m a t i o n – Page of Pentacles

The other two Piles are very focused on the idea of rest and self-care, but as per usual, Pile 3 is always about going places and learning shit LMAO In this regard, if you’re not physically going places, this is indicating your mind going places through meditation, daydreaming, movie-watching, or documentary-binging. You know what I mean~ This the period you’re enriching your inner world through any means available to you at this moment.

Whilst doing this, don’t forget your water intake, OK? Vitamins and real foods are crucial for you at this moment. Your cells are digesting a lot of Light. Remember that Light is INFORMATION. That’s why Darkness is the absence of information, right? Light is Information; when Information is digested well it becomes Knowledge; when Knowledge is applied well it becomes Wisdom; when Wisdom is put to the service of all it becomes En-light-enment~

t r a n s g r e s s i o n – 7 of Pentacles

Prospering towards wisdom, I’m seeing that you’re currently being taught to be perfectly OK with things taking their sweet time to unfold! If this is the Pile you resonate with the most, you’re literally on the precipice of your grandest Life Purpose yet! Your Life Purpose is big, you know that, right? It could possibly even change the world or perhaps you resonate with having a Life Purpose that revolves around the creation of a Prototype what will alter the way Humans think or do shit~

This either shares a resemblance to Nikola Tesla or Adolf Hitler. This either takes on the archetype of Sadhguru or Teddy Bundy~ Your take LMAO Either way, you’re meant to disrupt your society and scatter it all! But that’s the thing, right? If you’re gonna be a social menace that’s in the service of Light instead of Dark, you’ve gotta learn to keep your INTEGRITY. Because… what was that again? Absolute power absolutely corrupts?

t r a n s c e n d e n c e – King of Swords

‘Nothing discloses real character like the use of power. It is easy for the weak to be gentle. Most people can bear adversity. But if you wish to know what a man really is, give him power. This is the supreme test.’ – Robert Ingersoll

‘It is from weakness that people reach for dictators and concentrated government power. Only the strong can be free. And only the productive can be strong.’ – Wendell Willkie

‘To have intelligence there must be freedom, and you cannot be free if you are constantly being urged to become like some hero, for then the hero is important and not you.’ – Jiddu Krishnamurti

Do you understand your role in the next chapter of your ARC? Not to be some kind of a narcissistic wielder of power but to be a gentle-albeit-passionate reminder for the people, that only they can save themselves from this pathetically enslaved existence of theirs caused by a lack of Integrity.

Got no integrity? Got no intelligence? Go succumb to AI already -__-;

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Gold Astronomer (John Dee) & Priestess of Integrity

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[Moon PAC Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

[princessmisery666]

The Right Guy On Paper

Summary: Dean receives unexpected news, and his chosen coping mechanism leads him straight back to you. Part 2 of 3. Part 1 - Just Don't Say You Love Me.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, mentions of cheating. 

W/C: 4,315.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Mentioned: Sam Winchester. 

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: A bar - An Arrest - Loyalty 

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own.

A/N: I finally figured out part 3 so here's part 2.

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

How did he not see this coming? Well, he did, maybe, but not this soon. But still, how could he have not seen it coming, especially after his last encounter with you? It had been written all over your face; you didn’t want a full-blown commitment or declaration of love, but the hope of some kind of promise was there. He’d shot it down immediately, made a hasty retreat, and hadn’t spoken to you in over a month.

It doesn’t make it sting any less. But that’s all it is, a sting, a scratch. It will scab over, and he’ll ignore the itch. At least, that’s what he tries to convince himself of as he pulls up at Jody’s. 

The door opens as he steps onto the porch. It’s Jody, phone to her ear, and an incredulous look turned in his direction. 

“Yeah, he’s here,” she says into the phone. So Dean assumes it’s you checking up on him. “Yeah, will do. Okay. Bye, honey.”

Dean kisses her cheek, perhaps a little too hard, as he crosses the threshold, heading straight for the liquor. 

“Dean…” she starts. 

He ends it immediately, holding a hand up so she can see it over his shoulder. “Don’t.”

He doesn’t see her surrendering gesture, but he hears it in the sigh she releases over the clink of the bottle hitting the glass. He shoots back the whiskey; it's the cheap stuff and burns more than it should. 

He pours another shot, back still turned, but he can feel Jody’s eyes on him, the worry radiating off her. He won’t tell her he’s fine. She’d see right through it.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He laughs, humorless but amused because Jody knows the answer, yet she always asks on the off chance he’ll give her a glimpse of what’s going on in his head. If only he knew himself, maybe he’d share it.

Another blazing shot warms him from the inside.

He pours another and takes a breath, waiting for the flame in his gut to simmer. But it doesn't, and it’s not because of the cheap liquor, so he concedes, taking the bottle and the glass to the chair. “Who is he?”

Jody sits opposite him, smiling softly. “His name’s Luke, nice guy.”

“Luke,” he tests out the name before washing it away, swilling the liquid around his mouth. This time, he lets the wince show, accepting that it's more than the booze. “He’s a cop, right?”

“Yeah,” Jody confirms. 

He smiles, even feels the fondness in it, but the sentiment dies before he finishes his sentence. “She has a type.”

Jody reciprocates the gesture, reaching over to take the glass from him. “Don’t push her out because of this,” she says, “she’s good for you. Some of those broken pieces didn’t seem so broken when you’d been around her. That doesn’t change because you're not sharing a bed anymore. Let her be your friend.” 

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “maybe.” 

But he knows he will push you away because he doesn’t know how to be your friend. After all, you’ve never been just friends.

It’s too easy and not as entertaining as Dean hoped. He’s been on a bender for a few days now. He told Sam he was just stir-crazy, the monsters haven’t been monster-ing lately, and he needs an outlet. It’s partly true. It’s the lack of killing, plus the news Jody delivered a week ago. More so the latter. 

You and Luke are engaged.

Dean thinks it's too soon; it’s only been two months. But then again, what does he know? Maybe when you know, you know. You're no fool. And you didn’t suffer fools. You wouldn’t commit to something unless you knew it was right for you.

So Dean’s been doing what Dean does best, finding distractions to bury his tumultuous emotions. He was looking for a warm body, but when no one caught his eye, he settled for ridding some suckers of their hard-earned cash. 

He’s up three hundred dollars with double or nothing on the line. Though part of the hustle is to appear drunk, as he finishes his seventh, or maybe it’s his eighth beer - he lost count after shot number four and around bottle five  - he thinks he really should slow down. If only for the fact Sam will have to come collect him and Dean doesn’t want to hear the ‘your-not-twenty-six-anymore’ lecture.

His opponent, David, walks around the table, looking for the best angle to take his shot. It doesn’t matter. Regardless of what he does, Dean’s got him in three moves. Or at least he would if his earlier victim, Jason, wasn’t striding up behind him with a furious look that Dean sees in the mirror hanging on the wall behind the table.

“Hey,” Jason calls, a tenth of a second before he throws a punch that Dean ducks.

Dean spins to face him, standing his ground. He can’t back up out of reach cause he’ll hit the wall and box himself in. “C’mon man,” Dean tries, “don’t be a sore loser.”

Jason is already swinging a second punch that Dean recognizes the poor form would likely break his hand had Dean not sidestepped to avoid it.

Two of Jason’s friends are close by but seem reluctant to back up their buddy, so Dean tries to reason with them as he pivots so Jason has his back to the wall, and Dean can back away. “Come get your friend before he gets hurt.” 

That’s enough to convince them to intervene, but instead of doing the smart thing and removing their friend from further embarrassment, they descend on Dean, and he’s left with no choice. 

He smashes the pool cue into the stomach of the first one. The dude doubles over and falls to his knees. The second man narrowly avoids tripping over him, stumbling towards Dean’s perfectly formed fist, and goes down after a crack of bone and a scream of pain. 

Jason looks down at his fallen comrades, and Dean lifts his brow, challenging him.

“Walk away,” Dean advises. 

He doesn’t.

Dean has to give credit where credit is due. Jason is tougher than his withering friends. He takes three shots to the face and manages to land a good right hook to Dean’s mouth before he drops to the floor, rolling into the fetal position when Dean takes a step forward.

He can’t be sure whether he was going to kick the man while he was down. But he’ll never know because two sets of hands grab his arms.

Dean doesn’t think. He reacts. Twisting his right arm free, he throws a punch as he turns. 

“Okay, you're under arrest…” but it’s too late. His fist connects with the jaw of his captor - a blond cop who still has a hold of him.

Dean’s brain finally registers the uniform and star pinned to his chest, and now he’s really in trouble. “Shit!” He grumbles, holding his hands up as the blood trickles from the cop’s nose.

Dean tells Deputy Callaghan he’s making a mistake and wasting his time hauling Dean to the station. But his suggestion to call Sheriff Mills to get this mess straightened out falls on the deaf ears of the cops in the front of the squad car.

Dean gives up. Jody will have his back, and hopefully, she’s got some leftovers for him at the house. 

“You're gonna feel really stupid when we get in there,” Dean says as Callaghan roughly pulls him from the car. “I’m telling you, Sheriff Mills will have your ass for wasting her time.” 

“That’d be scary,” Callaghan smirks, smug in whatever knowledge he has that Dean doesn’t. “If she wasn’t on a retreat in Milwaukee until Monday.”

“Crap.” 

“Looks like you're our guest until we can get a hold of her, which could be days.”

“Crap.” 

Despite Dean’s lack of resistance, Callaghan makes a point of manhandling him through the station doors. He must want to look tough in front of his buddies and make the dried blood on his shirt look like Dean put up a fight that Callaghan won on account of his being detained.

Dean accepts his fate - for now. He doesn’t want to cause more trouble for Jody to clean up.

But maybe he should have because slipping the cuffs and making a run for it would have been easier than facing you. As soon as the door swings shut, like some kind of magnetic pull, your eyes find him, and you're frozen in place staring at him while some newbie who looks about twelve talks at you.

You hand the clipboard back to the young deputy and march with such purpose toward him he’s expecting a Sam-level lecture, but instead, you look around him. 

Dean’s seen the sneer you unleash on Callaghan before, but there’s an extra layer to it, a venom that spits out with your command, “Uncuff him now.” 

Dean is glad he’s not on the receiving end of your ire, and the station falls quiet. All activity ceases while they watch the show. 

The softness of Callaghan’s voice doesn’t match his words or reasoning tone. Dean can tell this dude knows he’s on thin ice with you and trying to make it right. “You don’t even know what he did.”

“Bar fight at Lloyds. Heard all about it.” 

“He hit me.”

“You're still standing, so it obviously wasn’t hard enough,” you counter, and Dean sniggers, as do some of the other people watching. 

“Y/N,” Callaghan tries again. 

You purse your lips, stubbornness settling in tight. “Release him and get out of my station.” 

Technically, it's not your station, but Dean assumes Jody’s left you in charge while she’s away. He really wants Callaghan to point that out because Dean can see your one smart comment away from adding to the bloody nose Dean gave him.

But you don’t give him a chance to make the mistake of correcting you. “You owe me, Luke, now and forever, so I’m calling in a chip. Release him!”

Silence prevails for a loaded second. Dean turns slightly to look at Luke, jiggling his hands behind his back. “You heard the boss,” he smirks, “I’m a free man.” 

Luke shakes his head and looks back at you. “Whoever he is,” he says, pointing a finger dangerously close to Dean’s face, “he’s trouble.” 

“She can handle it,” Dean counters and winks when Luke finally breaks the stare-down with you.

That’s enough to deflate his bravado a few notches, and he finally turns and leaves, slamming the door open as he goes.

Dean mumbles a thanks while you unlock his new jewelry, suddenly feeling some embarrassment for being arrested. He turns to face you, rubbing at his wrists now that the metal is gone. “Sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble.”

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, “no trouble.”

You stare at one another for a short moment, and he sees how tired you look. He opens his mouth to say it's good to see you despite the circumstances, but before he can utter a syllable, you hold up a finger. 

Leaning around him, you announce, “Shows over,” and the station springs to life again.

“I should get out of your way,” he says, giving a tight smile. 

“Can I give you a ride back to your car?”

He shakes his head, “No, thanks. I’m good. I could use the walk.”

“You got a motel?” 

“Nah, just passing through.” 

“You’re too drunk to drive back to Lebanon.” 

He shrugs, “I’ll find a motel.”

“Here,” you say, fishing in your pocket for a set of keys. “These are for Jody’s. No one’s there. Jody is in Milwaukee, Alex is on vacation with friends, and Clare is hunting in Michigan.”

He makes no move to take them, so you grab his hand and place them on his palm, closing his fingers around them. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the place, but I’m finishing up here and heading up to her cabin. Jody will be back about three tomorrow.” 

“Deputy Dick said she wasn’t back until Monday.”

You roll your eyes, “he lied. He does that.” 

You don’t elaborate, and Dean doesn’t push, but he knows there's a story to be told.

“There’s beer and leftover lasagne in the fridge,” you layer on top of the perks, “and it's closer than the bar. Just sleep it off, please. For me.”

He nods, “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Take care, Dean.” 

“You too,” he says. He wants to hug you or kiss your cheek or something, but instead, he stares at his fidgeting hands. “Um…maybe we can grab a drink soon,” he suggests, “it’d be nice to catch up.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and your smile is genuine and kind when he meets your eyes again. “You know where to find me, Winchester. You never needed an invitation. That hasn’t changed.”

He laughs just as someone calls your name, and you excuse yourself. He watches you cross the room to the same deputy you were speaking with earlier. He really has missed you, but the open invitation dulls the ache a little. He’s definitely going to take you up on it.

You haven’t been sleeping well lately. It’s understandable; you’ve been through a lot, so you're surprised that you wake just after eleven to the cheerful, chirping bird song. 

It must be the peacefulness of the forest that surrounds Jody’s cabin that allowed the much-needed rest to extend later than usual. You're grateful that she practically forced the mini-break on you - “You need to get away. Get your head straight. Take a few days.” As you step onto the porch with a steaming mug of coffee and the thickest blanket you can find, you realize she was right. 

This is definitely what you need: nature and some quiet time. No hustle and bustle of a busy town, no traffic noise or drunks snoring logs in the holding cells.

Wrapping the blanket around you, you get a whiff of the cotton-fresh fabric softener and wrap it snugger around you as you sit on the porch swing. 

That’s where you spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon wrapped up in the blanket with a book from Jody’s collection. You brought a healthy supply of food with you, and that's the only decision you need to make today: what to cook for dinner. 

You’re two delicious sips into your third coffee of the day when the quiet is disrupted by the unmistakable growl of Baby’s engine. He’s not speeding, and you haven’t missed any calls, so you don’t think it's an emergency. 

Dean cuts off the engine as he pulls up behind your truck, returning the forest to its quiet tranquility, and steps out of the car with a bright smile.

“Hey,” he greets as he reaches the bottom step. 

“Hey yourself,” you grin, finding his smile endearingly contagious. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” he says, “passing through on my way home and wanted to say thanks again.” 

He could have called you from the road, so you know the flimsy excuse is the best he could come up with, but you're not upset that he’s there.

You laugh, “You mean Jody asked you to check up on me?” 

“That too,” he admits with a slight shrug.

You feel the hurt constrict your chest again. Jody’s concern is a reminder of what happened. “She tell you why she wanted you to check up on me?”

“No,” Dean says, climbing the few stairs to stand on the porch. “Doesn’t take a genius, though.” 

“Just a sober hunter.”

“Ow, low blow,” he laughs. 

You laugh with him for a second but cut it off with a deep sigh. He will hear the story sooner or later. It may as well come from you. Closing the book and putting it on the table, you ask, “Can you stay for dinner?” 

He claps his hands and rubs them together, “What’re we having?”

It shouldn’t be as easy as it is to fall back into the familiarity of working together. Dean chops peppers and onions while you put the chicken breasts in the oven. It’s effortless, moving around without getting in each other's way.

You’ve missed it, and from the slight smile that remains while Dean works, you think he feels the same. 

He doesn’t press for information, though you’re sure he’s desperate to know why you're at Jody’s cabin alone and if Luke was/is your Luke owed you big enough to let him go without question.

You wash your hands and move on to making the dough, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean. It’s easier to talk that way without the embarrassment of looking at him face-on. Though you know he won’t judge you, you don’t want his pity. Still, you start with an easier question. 

“You have Charlie’s unlimited credit card.” Mixing the ingredients in the bowl, you ask, “So it’s not like you need the money. Why were you hustling people?”

He shrugs. “Needed some entertainment.”

“It work?”

“Yeah, for a minute,” he chuckles, “at least until I got socked in the mouth.”

You see his tongue poke out to lick at the cut on his lip. “Maybe that's what I need.” you wonder, sprinkling flour on the countertop.

“To get clocked in the face?” 

You chuckle along with him. “No, smartass. Some mindless entertainment, forget everything for a while.”

“Like why Luke owes you now and forever?” Dean asks. 

“Nice transition,” you jest. 

“I thought so,” he says, walking to the fridge to grab the cheese along with two beers.

He twists the caps off and tosses them in the trash. He’s started grating the cheese before you decide to tell him what happened. 

“It was good for a while, really good, dreamlike even.” you take a long pull on the beer, and he’s nice enough to keep working, piling grated cheese to the side before continuing to work on the remainder of the block. “But obviously, it was too good to be true. His ex showed up. She’d left him to take a promotion a couple of years ago but decided her career wasn’t all she wanted after all. He made a big show of telling her no and asked me to marry him." The dough takes the brunt of your ire, words punctuated with huffs of breath while you knead it into shape. “He took a demotion to be closer to me. I thought I’d bagged a good one, a real devoted guy. But I was wrong. It didn’t take long for him to cheat.” 

“Glad I clocked him.” 

“Me too.” silence stretches, and you break it by blasting out a long sigh. “I’m such an idiot. I chose the stable guy, the guy that was right on paper. I picked the easy way, and it backfired.”

“That doesn’t make you an idiot.” 

“No?” you question, pausing your work to look at him. He halts his task, too, looking at you fully. “When I found out, I did all the tests, holy water, silver, recited an exorcism ‘cause I didn’t believe he was just a bad guy. If that doesn’t spell out desperate idiot, I don’t know what does.” 

“It doesn’t!” He argues, frustrated that you're talking down about yourself. “But you know what does spell out ‘idiot’? Cheating on someone as awesome as you.”

You cock a small smile, “Thank you.” 

You hold one another's gaze for a long moment. You want to tell him that you would have picked him over Luke, over anyone else, but you know he wouldn’t want to hear it. As if he can read it in your expression, he clears his throat and breaks the loaded stare to turn back to his task.

“C’mon,” Dean says, “Let’s get these pizzas baking and get drunk.” 

The late morning rise must have been a fluke because you can’t sleep. Considering the half bottle of whiskey you drank with Dean, you're surprised by your inability to fall asleep. 

Maybe that’s the cause of your insomnia, too much alcohol in your system, or the fact that it feels weird knowing Dean is sleeping in the room next door, or perhaps the emotional turmoil of the last few weeks is taking its toll. Whatever the reason, the more you try to force it, the further away it seems to get and the angrier you become. After an hour of tossing and turning, you give up.

You need to do something to occupy your mind and decide to bake some cookies. Once in the kitchen, you realize that using a mixer will most likely disturb Dean, who’s just down the corridor. But now that you’re up, you really want cookies and decide to mix them by hand.

The first batch is just starting to rise in the oven when Dean appears, fully dressed but with messy hair and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Crap, did I wake you?” You ask.

“Nah,” he shakes his head, bleary-eyed, squinting under the brightness of the kitchen lights. “Don’t tell Sam,” he says, “but I’m not twenty-six anymore. Indigestion woke me up.” 

You laugh lightly, “There’s Pepto in the bathroom.”

“Found it,” he tells you, clicking the button on the coffee machine. “Then I smelled cookies, so I came to investigate.” 

“Well, perfect timing. The first batch should be ready by the time the coffee’s done.”

He doesn’t speak while the coffee brews, but you feel his eyes following you. You wonder what he’s thinking but know better than to ask. Maybe you truly don’t want to know. The thought of him pitying you fills you with embarrassment despite knowing Luke’s actions are not a reflection on you.

Dean pours the fresh coffee and adds sugar and a splash of cream to yours, sliding it closer to you while you pull the first batch of cookies from the oven and onto a cooling rack. 

He steals one, “hot, hot, hot,” he hisses, juggling it from one hand to the other. Despite the obvious temperature, he takes a bite, huffing out the heat before it's cool enough to bite down. 

He chews three, four times, hesitates, and chews some more. It’s evident from the face he’s trying, unsuccessfully, to not pull that it’s terrible. 

“It’s awful, right?” you ask with an apologetic scowl.

He nods, grimacing, “Disgusting,” he confirms but starts chewing again as if the taste will improve. 

“Well, don’t eat it!” You scold, laughing, “spit it out!” 

He rushes to the trashcan and spits out the chewed-up wad. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, swiftly walking back to grab his coffee and taking a big gulp. “I was trying to be polite, but yeah, that was not good.” 

You know he’s not being purposefully mean. You’ve never been good at baking, and clearly, eyeballing the ingredients didn’t work, but it still hurts a little. You sigh, watching the cookies slide off the plate and into the trash.

You scoop the second batch of cookie dough onto the spoon and into the trash, “I guess I wouldn’t have made a good wife after all.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” Dean reprimands. “You’d make an awesome wife.” 

Has he really thought about what kind of wife you would be? Why would he? That was never a possibility for the two of you, so it’s purely a reflex, saying something nice to make you feel better. 

You don’t respond, continuing to tidy the mess you’ve made while Dean steps out of the way, leaning his shoulder against the fridge to watch you.

While your back is turned, he asks, “Is that really what you wanted? To be his wife?”

You shrug, wiping down the countertop with a damp cloth. “I don’t even know anymore.”

“You were so career-driven, always seemed happy in the moment. I never pegged you for the white picket fence type,” he comments, sipping his coffee again.

“I never was.” You laugh without an ounce of humor because he has you dead to rights. How well he knows you always surprises you, which in turn surprises you more because that’s what he does for a living. He has to read people. The same way you do - checking for tells and body language of victims and suspects. Dean knows when he’s being lied to. You know you’d never sneak one past him. Yet he doesn’t seem to understand that he was the one who changed your perspective. He was the one who made you believe there was more to life than a career.

“So it was him then?” he softly asks, as if he’s expecting you to reveal a secret. “He changed your mind, made you want it all?” 

The anger and bitterness swell inside of you. Not just towards Luke for promising you a future and then ripping it away, but at Dean for being oblivious to the fact he’s the reason for the change of perspective.

“It doesn’t matter what changed. It’s over now,” you snap, throwing down the cloth and knocking the neat pile of crumbs you’d made onto the floor. “All of it.”

“Why are you mad at me?” he yells, looking slightly confused and standing straighter. 

“I’m not,” you try to backtrack, though your volume increases. “I’m just mad! Mad at Luke for being an unfaithful asshole, mad at myself for falling for it, mad at the universe for giving me something good and taking it away again. And y’know what? Yeah, I am mad at you, Dean! I’m fucking furious ‘cause you changed my mind. You made me realize I could have it all: a career and partner who understood my commitments, someone who was happy to slot into my life when it worked for both of us, and made me see it could be effortless. I didn’t want any of that until we started our thing.”

“Hey!” he shouts back, “I never said never. I said not right now. Or then or whatever.” 

“Bullshit! You said you couldn’t make any commitments, even without Chuck pulling the strings.” 

“Yeah, I meant I needed a minute to process, figure some stuff out. You said we were good. You didn’t want any ‘awkward conversations’,” he counters with full-on air quotes.

“I didn’t want to scare you off!” 

“And I didn’t want you to run off and meet someone new!”

“Yeah, well, that worked out just fucking great, didn’t it!” The anger simmers, and you hold his eyes until he blurs behind your tears.

Dean blasts out a sigh, “Maybe I should go.” He phrases it as a suggestion, but he’s already tipping the remainder of his coffee into the sink, so obviously, he’s made up his mind. 

“Yeah, maybe you should,” you say, blinking up at the ceiling to stem the tears. “I’m really not in the headspace for this right now.”

You keep your back turned while he shuffles around, going to the bedroom to grab his duffle. 

Why did Jody send him? She was the one who suggested the vacation, and she, of all people, knows how much losing Dean hurt you. You’d confided in Jody about the commitment comment, which had been the catalyst for realizing how deep you’d got with Dean and how much it wasn’t reciprocated.   

A chair momentarily teeters as Dean pulls his coat off the back, but the jingle of his car keys is what pulls you out of your own head. 

Tears suffocated and stalled, you find the courage to turn around, but he’s already at the door. “Dean,” you call. He stops and half turns to face you, but you don’t know what to say. It’s too soon to let yourself be vulnerable with anyone, but you don’t want him to leave, at least not like this. 

You stare at him, hoping he can read the words you can’t find in your expression. 

He breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. “I’ve, er… I’ve missed you.”

It lifts a weight you weren’t aware you were carrying but brings fresh tears to your eyes. “I’ve missed you too.” 

He drops his bag at the door, crosses the room, and swiftly tugs you into a tight hug. “Call me when you’ve figured all this out,” he requests, and all you can do is nod into his shoulder. He kisses the side of your head and rushes out like a gust of wind.

Part 3 - Just Say You Love Me

Tags info

/ @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library  / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimal87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @pank0w / @kmc1989/ @deans-spinster-witch / @spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

[s1ater]

boy in the rain.

pairings. matt sturniolo x fem!reader

about. one simple offer of a ride home in the rain turns into an unforgettable relationship and sad ending.

warnings. death, swearing, and unedited

ricky rocks. this might be a hit or miss, so don't dawg on me too hard.

pictures of him were plastered everywhere.

your heart was buried deep in your stomach from the moment you saw it and it only sunk deeper and deeper the more the hours past, the voices that rung through your ears, and the solumn feeling that colored the hallways.

dead. he's dead.

believe it, don't believe it, you still searched for his face as each person passed you, in each class that you entered; looked for any sign of him.

but he was dead.

**

you stood beneath the awning of the gas station, gazing out at the summer rain looking to pour itself onto anything and everything unprotected. you frowned hard as you observed, not expecting your walk for a slushy to be intruded on, especially this abruptly. it was a humid night and therefore even more horrendous that such heavy rainfall came to clash.

you sighed, making a move to go back into the grimy gas station when he called out.

“hey, you need a ride?”

you stopped, turning toward the direction of the only car inhabiting the gas stations parking lot, squinting, and indicating a boy in the front driver's seat. he wore a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head, squinting back at you due to the rain spitting in his face from his rolled down window.

you knew him.

"are you serious?"

you can barely hear his laugh, but it was there, and you almost melted right there to the cement, "yes. c'mon, I won't leave you stranded."

the ten feet you had to walk to his car was horrible, so you were immediately thankful for the offer the moment you slung yourself into his car. he must have been able to tell too by the way his laugh once again rung through your ears, watching you attempt to catch your breath in his passenger seat.

"I'm matt," he smiled from ear to ear in amusement, offering his hand to you as you clutched your sopping wet body.

"I know," you chattered through your teeth, no longer suffering from the everlasting summer heat from outside, but the air conditioner blasting in matt's car. "sturniolo."

"oh, you know," he was still highly entertained by whatever this situation he put himself in, especially by the way you side eyed his hand still waiting for yours. "you cold?"

"no," you lied through your teeth, still shaking.

he smiles, turning the ac off and switching the heat on low, "right. what's your name?"

you felt a sudden chest pain at the question. you had been going to school with matt since the 7th grade. you had classes with him, had seen him outside of school at parties, hangouts. you knew who he was, so why didn't he know who you were?

your frown was obvious, and he couldn't help but have felt that he fucked up, like his question was preposterous and insulting, "moe."

a lie, again. and just like the first, he could tell it was one, once again.

"you go to mountainview, right?"

"yeah."

he nods, and the previous amused smile is gone and a narrowed stare is there to replace it. he's unsure why you lied and why you were suddenly so upset.

"shit, I'm getting your seats wet," you suddenly became hyperaware of your drenched self pressed into his leather seats.

"you're good," he glanced to your lap suddenly, watching you squirm, as if attempting to reposition yourself in some way where you weren't soaking his seats, but you only made yourself look like a fool. "I wouldn't have asked you in the car if I cared so much about my seats."

you smiled sympathetically.

"so, moe, where to?"

**

his locker was heavily decorated. flowers, hearts, cards, pictures of him with friends, pictures of just him. you stood across from it, staring at each individual item that was taped down to show love and sympathy and hope. you glanced down to the palm of your hand, clutching the necklace you held tightly before bringing it right in front of you.

the necklace, or rather locket, swayed back and forth with the golden heart weighing it down.

it was no longer meant to be yours.

"how'd you get that?"

your head cranked to the left where a boy stared you down, his cheeks flushed but vision narrowed down on you, "huh?" you quickly dropped your arm down, shoving the piece into your pocket.

"where'd you get that?"

your eyes widen, realizing this was an exact replica of matt storming toward you, but with longer hair; chris. you felt your heart push up into your throat, feeling yourself backing on your feet the closer he got.

"answer me."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," you swing around, marching away from him the best you could as he still tried to trail behind you.

"that's matty's."

**

"this rain is going to kill me," you watch his knuckles flex over the railing as he grasped it tightly, leaning over the edge, gazing into the pitch dark. it had been weeks since matt had first picked you up in a rain storm at that gas station, and ironically, once again he had found you.

the two of you now sat in a watchtower in the middle of town that you had taken him to the first night, gazing out at the building lights being blurred by the rain that hadn’t let up in days. matt was impatient by this, you didn’t have to know him well or see him more than a minute to know this.

��why don’t you like the rain?” you laughed silently at him as you watched him grit his teeth, turning back around to face you.

he suddenly looks sad.

you regret asking the question.

"I just lost someone really special to me," his eyes strayed from yours, meeting the wall of rain behind you, "and the day it happened... all it did was rain."

you watch him carefully. his tone was steady but you could tell it took a lot in him to keep it that way.

"I-" his hand reaches for the chain around his neck out of sudden instinct, wrapping his fingers around the golden material. "I can't stand rain, not after that. it makes me feel sick to my stomach. it's all I think about and it's like it's following me."

you feel a sudden push on your body, like a force guiding you to him, "oh, matt-"

"y/n-"

"I'm sorry," you ignore the short sound of protest, finding yourself attaching to him with your arms wrapped around his neck. "I'm sorry."

his body is stiff and cold and you can tell that everything in him is trying to resist the warmth of your own. he wants to not want it, but he fails the resistance and every voice in his head telling him he was fine and the hug was a ridiculous gesture. he fails, allowing the barrier of your warmth to immerse into him, accepting the hug that was really far from ridiculous, but needed.

**

you weren't going to go.

after your small encounter with chris, you were practically setting yourself up by attending matt's funeral. but you couldn't not go, not after everything.

that morning it had rained.

that had been a first since one of the last days of summer. the rain had glistened everything, made everything seem so renewed and bright and so fresh for a november evening.

it took a lot for you to walk through those doors, walk up those stairs, and even sit down to watch the service. you could barely sit there for a second before walking right back out onto the front steps.

you feel suffocated. you claw at your chest, digging your fingers against your skin before they find the locket--looping your fingers against the golden chain out of instinct—like he did. you dip your head backwards, inhaling strongly, trying to breathe the images of matt away from your mind.

bad idea.

especially when you realize you're not the only one on the front steps.

“you’re moe, aren’t you?”

you look down and the feeling in your chest becomes worse.

chris stares up at you from where he sits on the cement steps. you can't tell what the look in his eyes are, but it's nothing you find enjoyment in--especially when they mirror matt's exact pupils, his exact iris', his exact color...

you feel deeply disturbed that he looks at you with something that matt never did.

“yeah…”

he scoffs, running his hand down his mouth, "yeah... great."

"how'd you know?"

"that's our mother's chain, y/n," he looks back around and ahead of him, but still mindlessly points back at the golden locket around your neck. "she gave it to matt before she passed."

oh.

oh. oh. oh god.

"but I'm sure he told you if he gave it to you."

no, he didn't.

"how'd you know I was moe?"

he laughs a little, genuine as he digs the heel of his palm into his eyes, "moe; 'heaven', 'rain', and 'sky' from burmese origins. he knew you were lying the moment you told him that, but he didn't know why or even why 'moe'?" you smiled to yourself. "had us up all night looking up the meaning of 'moe' and decided it had to be that. met in the rain, name means rain."

"clever," you whispered, slowly taking a seat next to chris. "couldn't keep anything anyway from him."

"yeah or you're just shit at lying," he scoffs, glancing at you. "but it's funny you tried."

"funny I tried," you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head, as if laughing at yourself.

you knew about chris and you knew about nick, just like you had known matt before you actually knew him. but getting to know matt, was also like getting to know his two other triplets. he told you everything.

and because of that, he told you about chris.

"I should give this to you," you find yourself reaching behind your neck, unclasping the locket from your neck. "it belongs to you."

he told you how chris never took anything seriously, he told you how chris was really good at brightening a room because of it, and he told you how angry chris was when matt was the one given the locket and not him.

it made a lot more sense now that that friend was actually their mother.

chris glanced at you before doing a double take, realizing what you were doing. his eyes softened fast at the sight of the heart swinging back and forth between the two of you. he didn't take it. you were both sitting there, watching the priceless piece hold there for the taking, and he still didn't take it.

"y/n," his voice is soft and almost sympathetic, but his eyes are still trained tightly on the piece of jewelry. "that's-that's, I can't take that."

but no matter how angry chris was about the locket, he accepted it wasn't his. and what wasn't his, he wouldn't take.

"what do you mean?"

"matty gave that to you. it's yours."

"but I don't deserve it."

"y/n," he shakes his head, pushing the necklace back to you. "it's yours now, okay? there's a reason matt was given that locket and there's a reason it was given to you, okay? I don't need it," he shakes his head, his eyes wide and red. "I don't need it."

you feel your eyes burn. the desperate sound of chris' voice makes you want to burst out into tears. you don't know what to do, and he can tell. he takes the locket, but not for reasons you want.

"here," you watch chris dig into his suit before pulling out an envelope. "before... everything," he coughs a little, beginning to feel his throat closing up. "matt wrote you something."

all icy provision from before has melted. his whole body is turned all the way to face you now, no longer to you as a stranger, but someone he understands.

"take it," he paired the envelope with the necklace before pushing it to you. "read it when it rains."

**

"you ever get sick of me?"

it was a month and half into the school year and what you thought was only going to be a summer friendship, blossomed into something else.

your question made matt arch a brow, questioning if you were being serious, "what?"

"I mean day and night, we're the only people that see each other. how do your friends not hate you?"

it was true. you rarely ever saw matt at school unless in the halls or even on small occasions of going to lunch together, but it was like every time after that, he was at your house. matt valued his time and when it was open and free, he always spent it with you.

you had had this conversation before, multiple times. you were always the one who started them.

"I could never get sick of you."

the only reason you questioned it so often was because of how different you and matt were. the two of you becoming friends and being as close as you were was the most unlikely thing you could ever think of. the two of you had no connections what so ever in friends, hobbies, or even classes. your lives rarely ever crossed beyond in the hallways or parties.

"you act like we're not friends," he crashes onto your living room couch, slightly amused. "you're my best friend."

you feel your face burn at the comment. it paralyzes you more than it should. you also considered matt to be your best friend, but it still catches you off guard hearing the words aloud. you're not sure what to say.

"im not yours?"

"you are."

"I figured," he's grinning now, "just making sure."

it's silent.

"I value our time a lot, you know that," you've heard this a million times, but you could never get sick of it. "we don't know how much time we get with someone, so it's important to me to fill my time with someone I care about."

you finally take a seat next to him, watching him with a ghost of a smile on your face as he speaks.

we don't know how much time we get with someone.

"I want to give you this."

you watch as matt brings his hands behind his neck, unclasping the chain that you had became so accustomed to seeing around his neck.

your mouth slightly opens, "what?"

"I want you to-"

"matt, that's-" you shake your head, cutting yourself off. you couldn't even process this gesture. "I can't take that from you."

"you can."

you really couldn't. the first time you had seen the locket was the first time he had told you about why he didn't like the rain. he had clutched onto it like a safety net. after that, that necklace was all you could see on him half the time. it took him two months for him to tell you what it was and that was exactly why you couldn't take it from him.

"I can't, matty."

"why?"

"because it's yours and I can't take something that was given to you--especially if it was by someone who mattered a lot to you."

he looks as if he thinks about it, his eyes lowering down, looking to the gold heart, before back up to you, "yeah..."

even if you were right, he didn't care. the piece was always significant to him, but there was a point in time where he was ready to let it go--hence why he left it on your kitchen counter without your knowledge.

**

moe,

I know you're already laughing at me, wondering why you're reading something I could easily say over the phone. but I know you’ll eat this up, even if you like to think it's corny.

you were never someone I thought I needed. from the moment I received that locket from my mother, was the moment I was ready to give up. my mother was my best friend and someone who taught me everything that matters.

you remind me of her--in the least weirdest way possible. you made me what I missed, you were exactly what I needed and wanted.

you keep me sane and well structured. I used to hate getting up in the morning, but after that moment, in the watch tower, when you hugged me even as we were strangers, I couldn't wait to wake up to see your face again.

I felt like a fool. I felt like how chris probably feels everyday. it's a feeling I hope I never forget or never leaves me.

you are special. you are worth all the time in the world. the day I forget that or the day I forget my priorities is a day i'm dead.

I hope to never lose you or whatever it is we have, and if I do, moe, my sweet, sweet moe, I'll find you in the rain.

matty.

[emeritusemeritus]

Idk what you think BUT I need the quirky shy reader with glasses who's being bullied for being obviously a virgin and Fred stepping into it because he hates to see her suffering and obviously filling the cliche of falling for her. Hope you like this idea 🥲

My pleasure dear Anon 🖤

Warnings: bullying, sexual harassment, sexual references, love triangle? So many tropes. Insecurities and negative thoughts of self. Fake dating, dating for status, kissing. Love confessions. Inspired by one of my favourite films.

Word count: 3k (oops I got carried away)

Let it be me.

"School doesn't have to be the worst years of your life."

Your mother had repeated as you begrudgingly stepped aboard the Hogwarts Express about to start your fifth year, letting your insecurities get the better of you once again. You'd made friends during your years of magical education sure, but you were shy, almost to a fault and you knew you were far from the most attractive girl at school. You had glasses and were quiet, the usual suspects that made you unattractive in society's eyes. You longed for the moment you could transform like all the quiet, nerdy girls in muggle films that suddenly take off their glasses, let their hair down and were considered the hottest girl in town. Instead you would still just be you, without the ability to see.

The teasing had begun not long after your fourth year, the boys of the quidditch team trying to get a rise out of you, deciding that your quiet and unassuming presence was somehow offensive to them. You were bullied for simply existing and for being you.

"Oooh look, here's Mary," one had said, his acne covered face repulsing you without even having to open his mouth.

"Very original," you'd muttered under your breath, holding back a roll of your eyes at the stupid nickname. Mary was the ultimate virgin, the definition of the good girl, your new apparent namesake.

"Hey virgin girl, can I have your notes?"

"Oi Virgin! Let me break the seal!"

It was incessant, humiliating and utterly soul destroying. The other girls seemed to get away without any of this, Virgin's or not, but you were always singled out, always teased.

You dreamt of becoming the stereotypical bad girl, sleeping around, partying all the things that would alter everyone's perception of you but the thought of even attempting to talk to someone with the aim of having sex was terrifying. Plus, it just wasn't who you were.

Today was a bad day. It had started almost as soon as you walked into the common room, not even fully awake yet when you'd heard someone mutter your despised nickname to one of their friends. You'd been approached by two Slytherin students in the year above who had tried to tease you, to chat you up and feign interest only to laugh at you once you bit back, only you didn't bite back, you walked off and ignored them- not falling for their tricks.

So when Fred Weasley approached you just after study hall, you did the same. Walked off, looked down and didn't even give him chance to speak, preempting the usual conversation.

He tried again later that day and you rolled your eyes, starting to get frustrated with his determination to make a fool out of you.

You knew the Weasley twins and their pranks and you weren't about to have your hair dyed blue for the entertainment of your peers and so you avoided him completely.

"Y/n, wait," you hear once again and pause to take a deep breath followed by an exaggerated sigh.

"Fred, what do you want?" You say, not holding back in frustration.

"I want to help," he says, catching his breath as he jogged across the deserted corridor to catch up with you.

"Why?" You asked bluntly, still not falling for whatever he was trying to do.

"Because no one should feel like they're making you feel," he says honestly, his eyes looking almost completely sincere.

"And that's your concern because?"

He shrugs, "it's not, but I think I can help."

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"Date me."

You instinctively roll your eyes, huffing and trying to move away from him but he steps around you, blocking the way. "I mean like fake dating, I'll pretend to be your boyfriend and hopefully they'll leave you alone. I'll be honest with you, there's a girl I've got my eye on and."

"Angelina," you say, making him pause and look at you with a shocked expression. "I might wear glasses but I'm not blind."

"If she thinks I'm dating someone then she might get jealous? Never mind it's a terrible plan. Just forget I said anything."

"Fred wait," you say, calling out to him after he changed his mind halfway through, beginning to walk off. "You think it would work? You ask, showing a little bit of vulnerability.

"Can't hurt to try."

Fred had stuck to his word and after a little bit of sorting out, discussing boundaries and so on, you'd gone public with your 'relationship' nearly a month ago. Immediately the teasing had dwindled down to only the harshest of bullies but even then you were never mocked in Fred's presence. Angelina had been affected by the news, as Fred had predicted and he found that he did get more attention from her, making your agreement mutually for both of you.

George was in on it of course, and you'd genuinely enjoyed your 'fake dates' where you would accompany them to Hogsmeade, help them with their products and listen to their dreams of opening a joke shop, like zonkos but better.

They were nice people, as were their friends and siblings, at least the ones you'd met and for once it was nice to feel included and genuinely cared for, even if it was under false pretences.

It was all going well until Cormac McLaggen put a spanner in the works. You'd been walking back from potions last off on a Friday afternoon, eager to meet with Fred for dinner when Cormac had cornered you in the empty corridor, spouting a load of shit about being attracted to geeky girls, that glasses were a turn on for him. He'd tried to kiss you, manoeuvring you until you were backed up against the wall to try and swoop in but you'd managed to push him off just in time and run away. The whole thing had left you shaken and rightfully so, skipping dinner to cry into your pillow.

Fred found you in your dorm, worried because you hadn't shown up to meet him as you'd promised. Upon seeing your tear stained face and little sobbing body he'd immediately rushed over and pulled you into his arms trying to soothe you.

"What happened?" He asked gently, trying to get you to look at him but you couldn't.

"Cormac," you managed to get out, sniffling pathetically, "he tried to kiss me."

"That bastard," Fred said, quickly turning angry once he figured out what you were saying. "Who the fuck does he think he is? I've half a mind to."

"No Freddie please," you said, grabbing hold of his arm to stop him from acting out. Truthfully you were surprised by his reaction, even if you had grown closer over the past month but you didn't linger on it, instead trying to calm him down. "It's not worth it, I just," you paused, embarrassed by what you were going to say.

"What is it?" Fred says gently, listening to your pleading as he pushed down his anger.

"I couldn't let him be my first kiss."

The silence that lingered felt painfully awkward as you sat cringing in embarrassment, having to admit that out loud.

"Let it me be," he says suddenly, speaking a little too quickly as the words were jumbled and rushed. When you looked up at him in surprise, he seemed to snap out of whatever he was thinking. "Let it be me," he says again, much more slowly and quietly now. You don't reply other than to frown up at him in confusion, which he notices and smiles gently at you. "Just a thought, but if you want it to be with someone you can trust, someone who cares about you then let it be me."

The second your lips meet his, it's like he's accidentally set off a full case of whizzbangs around the room, sparks flying in your mind as you feel his soft, puffy lips on your own. It's a little awkward at first and you're self conscious about wether he can feel your glasses, if they'll get in the way but if it seems to bother him, he doesn't let it show. You expect the kiss to only last for a few seconds but it lingers, deepening as you let him guide you. When you finally pull apart, you look up at him with a blank expression, somewhat shaken by how good that felt. You expected him to crack a joke or give you notes or something like that to break whatever spell had been unknowingly cast between the both of you but he doesn't, he simply looks at you with a man expression you can't read, a softness.

The door opening makes you both jump back and the light, pleasant feeling you had felt only moments ago disappeared instantly when Angelina walked through the door. You felt guilty like a child that had been caught stealing a cookie from the kitchen counter. Fred looked stricken, knowing that Angelina had most definitely known what you were doing, if she hadn't seen.

"Don't stop on my account," she'd said in a rather harsh tone, going over to her bed to grab her quidditch stuff before turning to look at Fred, ignoring you completely.

"Practice is at 4, don't be late," she says bluntly, pausing to give you a dirty look before she turns back to Fred as she walks out. "Unless you're too busy."

"Fred," you said quietly as you watch him walk out without so much as another look in your direction. He was mad, and you knew he had every reason to be.

The rest of that week went by in a miserable blur. Though you hadn't officially 'broken up', rumours were flying around the school and the old teasing had begun to reappear, only to change to anything from 'slut', 'Weasley fucker' and 'Fred's ex whore'. You were even more miserable than before; this was so much worse than being called a virgin, because despite what everyone thought, you still were. But now you were completely without the one person who made you feel wanted, safe and the person that you'd stupidly fell for.

Ginny had been surprisingly supportive throughout everything, remaining your friend when you felt lost and cast aside. She'd convinced you to stop moping and join Hermione to watch their Quidditch practice after classes had finished, with promises that they wouldn't mention Fred's name once.

It was all well and good until you spotted Angelina and Fred laughing together, stood next to each-other as she grabbed his arm, both of them so invested in one another that they forgot Quidditch practice was happening around them.

It hurt to see them so happy, to see Fred with someone else even though your relationship had been fake all along. This was what he wanted all along, she was what he wanted, not you. No one would ever want you.

"I'm sorry," you said to Hermione as you shuffled out of the pitch side stands, trying to get away, not wanting to watch this anymore when it hurt so bad.

You'd come so close to successfully slipping out without anybody noticing until a singular loud voice called out, disrupting the peace.

"Where you off to Weasley fucker? Your boyfriend's that way!"

You froze, hearing the laughter of his cronies behind him and reared up, no longer feeling meek and timid but instead wanting to give him a piece of your mind, completely past the point of being able to take this shit. But you couldn't, because as you turned, Fred caught your eye. He looked at you with such a heartbroken expression that it instantly made your resolve crumble, any braveness you held seconds before disappeared under his gaze. So you did the only thing you could do- run away.

You successfully avoided pretty much everyone for the rest of the week, spending most of your time in the library. It was easier to just disappear than having to face the torment from your peers or watch Fred and Angelina together; truthfully you didn’t know what was worse.

The plan with Fred had been an almighty fail, almost comically so. Instead bring of quiet, bookish and virginal you were now quiet, bookish, slutty and scorned, a laughing stock with the addition of having real feelings for someone that would never reciprocate them.

It was the final quidditch game of the season that night, the finale to decide who would win the house cup before summer began. You had absolutely no intention of attending and instead had planned to get an early dinner, pack up your belongings and try to convince Madame Pince to allow you to check out a book over the summer.

Both Ginny and Hermione had tried to get you to come but you’d turned them down, really not wanting to watch Fred parade around the pitch on his broomstick. George was the one to convince you in the end, catching you between classes and asking for you to come and watch them, sad puppy eyes and all.

That’s exactly how you found yourself in the loud, crowded stands, surrounded by the entire school and faculty to watch the House cup deciding game. Gryffindor versus Slytherin, the most tense final imaginable. You stood with Hermione and Neville, much quieter in your celebration than the people around you as you watched the Gryffindor team approach the pitch, dressed in their signature burgundy and gold uniforms and carrying their brooms in procession. The Slytherins appeared mere moments after and with a brief speech given by Dumbledore, the game commenced.

Each goal brought an uproar of cheers from the people around you, as did each save from the keepers. You couldn’t take your eyes of Fred, as much as you wanted to. His precision with the bat, the way in which he made it looked so effortless and fluid was pretty spectacular.

The sky was clouding over, heavy and dark with all the signs of rain but you prayed in held outside long enough for the game to be over, the seekers doubling down their efforts so that they could see the snitch amongst the thick clouds.

A ruckus on the pitch dragged your attention back to the game when you saw an altercation breaking out against the teams, the whistle blowing repeatedly as the referee tried to break them up as the game pauses. The entire crowd was booing and there was a portion of the stands on the first Gryffindor tower that seemed to be stood up, everyone rushing out of the way.

“That was a foul that!” Seamus says from behind you.

“Goyle! He just Bumphed the crowd! Surely he needs sending off for that!” You heard one of the Patil sisters say, alluding to the Slytherin beater.

Suddenly, something else draws your attention away as you watch Fred dismount his broomstick, rushing over to Goyle who looks to be mouthing off at him. George is quick on Fred’s heels, trying to hold him back as his temper flairs, lunging at Goyle. Snape appears from the sidelines, gestures for Crabbe to take over and drags Goyle away from the pitch as McGonagall steps into the pitch to deal with Fred, though you find moment later that he’s allowed to carry on playing.

The whistle blows for the match to resume as the entirety of Gryffindor begins chanting Fred’s name in victory for his dealing with Goyle, gearing up for his turn to take the penalty shot.

It’s too much, to hard to hear everyone chanting for Fred, his name echoing around you until it makes you feel dizzy. You see Hermione cast a sympathetic glance in your direction and when you turn to her, she gives you a little nod, signalling that it’s alright for you to leave. You look around at the supporters, in their finest school colours, faced painted, signs made and chanting Fred Weasley’s name and you feel completely out of place, wishing you were anywhere else.

Once again you try to slip out undetected, wanting some air and a break from everything, just as the first rain drops begin to fall. They chant Fred’s name over and over and you just wish he’d hurry up and take the penalty already, to just get it over with.

You get the side steps of the stand, battling your way to squeeze past the cheering crowds until you’re nearly free. Until you feel the cold whoosh of something nearby, making you pause.

Fred.

He dismounts his broomstick, handing it to someone in the crowd that he’s not even paying attention to, climbing up the stairs quickly to get to you dressed in his complete quidditch outfit, leather pads and all. He tosses off his goggles and drops his bat, discarding them on the way to get to you but he doesn’t seem to care.

He appears in front of you and you’re frozen, not knowing what to do. You can feel the eyes of the entire pitch full of people on you but you don’t care in the moment, too confused by his actions.

“Fred? What are you doing?” You say, eyes briefly pulling away from his smiling face to look at the pitch, seeing the entire quidditch team suspended in the ear carefully watching.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he says, looking all over your face with a smile before his gaze focuses on your lips.

His lips feel incredible against yours as he pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss, pulling you into his body to hold you close as the crowd roars around you. You feel the thick droplets of rain beginning to descend around you but you don’t pay it any notice, your entire attention focused in on Fred.

The rain begins to pour, the sky opening up and drenching you in what seems to be seconds.

Fred pulls away first and smiles at you, before leaning in once again, capturing your lips and wordlessly giving you everything everything you ever wanted, making you realise that your mother had been right all along.

School doesn't have to be the worst years of your life.

*Alexa play Hear Me Now by Jimmy Eat World*

[9mysterybook6]

Rhylie She lives in her corrupt Fantasy

She is now pitiful with all this

She treats everything like a game and doesn't take anything seriously.

I was right about calling her a clown

Now she is making herself the laughingstock of everyone.

This is all just nonsense

You are really a real fool clown

As someone wisely said, comment on you

does Rhylie thinks she can just h4r4ss and bully you and other people and just slide and get away from the consequences? like ain't no way are we letting that slide,

She lives in a corrupt fantasy

I mean look at this

And this is the her stupid video

You know what's funny?

Just for information Rhylie

You are using a Black Hat from Villainous In your imagination

(Black Hat is the overarching protagonist of Villainous. A retired villain, he currently entertains himself by managing a company, Black Hat Organization, which sells products and services to other villains in exchange for money and/or souls.)

You act like you're the heroine while working with the most evil character in the fandom

Even in her imagination she is stupid and illogical.

And she is still clowning around

I do not regret anything, but I am proud of myself for standing up to an unjust person

And look at this, her latest stupidity

you taking my post about expose you. and edited the post to say you was Innocent While the truth all of this is guilt tripping And lies that you can't post without copying my post in a bad way.

I laugh, you expose me for what? , for me exposing your crimes

You are wrong about everything

What do you hope will happen when you mention my channel?

To attack me too on YouTube

You are literally digging your own grave.

And here we have @shadowwolfmemes Questions Rhylie about the truth

And let me just say all this is just crocodile tears

Rhylie evaded the question, changed the subject on her harassed on people.

Everything she said was a lie on top of a lie.

And you know what's funny?

She tells you that she is guilty and regretful while she did nothing.

And her parents Part are Either just a lie or an excuse

She lied more than once It is difficult to know the truth among her lies

This is her mistake in this matter in her persistence in lying which made any of her words for to be doubtful and suspicious

And now, after everything, you admit your crimes after your insistence on denying them.

(((And my root of my actions are Manipulating Gacha Community to be more popular as I'm changing opinions, my actions are totally wrong for everybody including myself, Lying To 9mysterybook6 And Galacticsomewhat For Harassing And Bullying Them, Lying To Everyone On Tumblr About Galacticsomewhat And 9mysterybook6, all my actions are wrong for everybody.

I think, I have learned my lesson. It's wrong to lie, manipulate, harass, bully, controll and threats everybody and even tell anybody that they can or can't do.)))

Now you are doing the same thing before

You are sorry and you say you regret it and then you repeat everything

Let me ask you a question for Rhylie What about this drawing of solosergiohd

You drew a character holding the eyes of a real person.

This is what I call harassment, bullying and attacking people.

That's why I told you to see a psychiatrist.

And not only this

Rhylie continued to write fanfic about solosergiohd

In Rhylie fanfic she makes him the villain and makes him suffer And humiliate him

And you also attacked zb189 He was also exposing you for who you really are.

Everyone here on tumblr is judging your actions and behavior.

All this was revealed in the light

Great everyone here has lost their braincells from This is so stupid and foolish🤦‍♀️💀