#that or do the hard terrible thing i need to do first and see if that helps my brain :/

[softtdaisy]

the right one - Charles Leclerc

summary. charles never forgot himself for letting you go. when arthur lose you, he is the one who has the heal your broken heart this time.

words count. 4,313

what to expect. it's the second part of the other one. I guess you can read it separately but some things might not make sense (specially the glue part). inspired by congratulations from Hamilton. mention of cheating, everyone is so sad in this story I'm sorry (im not) and arthur is terrible boyfriend

a/n. can you believe i told @monzabee about this fic in December 2023??? and it's finally out after all this time. I'm so happy I finally did it and gave these two another part, they deserve love and happiness.

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When he first heard them, Charles didn’t want to believe the rumors.

For the winter break, he decided to go on a road trip in Italy with his best friends. For multiple reasons, he chose to get rid of any type of social media. Charles needed a real break after the season that had been more difficult than he thought it would. 

Also because a part of him still hasn’t gotten over you.

It was too difficult to see Arthur post pictures and stories with you all the time. And if he couldn’t escape it, nor you in the paddock during the season, Charles decided to leave all his bad feelings behind for a few weeks.

No matter how hard he tried these past months, Charles couldn’t get rid of his love for you. If he ignored you during the end of last season, even if he had your glue everywhere with him, he wanted to be nicer this year. 

Not like he had a choice if he wanted to keep a good relationship with Arthur, who still had no idea about what happened between you and Charles. He also wasn’t completely stupid: he knew it could look bad on him if he kept ignoring the photographer around the paddock. 

And it would be a lie to say that he didn’t miss you. Sure, a part of him was still aching when he was making you laugh and smile, thinking he couldn’t have the privilege to see that every day for the rest of his life because you chose Arthur over him. But he tried to be more mature and accept that if this was the best he could have, then he would appreciate it.

This was also one of the reasons why he couldn’t believe the rumors when he heard them. There was no universe in which someone would purposely hurt you.

The first time he heard about the rumors, it was because some friends from Monaco sent him a text. “What’s going on with Arthur? Is it true?” Charles was more than confused. What could be true about his brother? He didn’t want to sound stupid to ask them but still didn’t want to put his social media back on his phone.

So he turned to Joris. Because that man knew everything that there is to know. And because he knew that his friend would never lie to him. This explained the embarrassed expression on his face when Charles asked him if he knew anything about something Arthur might have done.

“You sure you want to know?” he asked him. Charles understood that something serious was going on. Even when the truth was ugly, Joris never asked him if he really wanted him to be honest. Not when Ferrari was not doing great, not when fans criticized him, not when everyone had something to say about his private life. But he didn’t hesitate a single second and agreed to hear the truth.

“Apparently…your brother cheated on his girlfriend.” Charles’ world went silent for a few seconds. That couldn’t be true. He couldn't believe it. People must be wrong and bored and choose to create drama because of the off-season. Right? 

“Actually…” Joris continued. “It’s not really a rumor since Arthur basically admitted it.”

It was a damper. 

Charles left for a few weeks, and his brother decided to ruin everything he gave up his own happiness for?

“Is it true?” He sent Arthur. No explanation.

“Yes.” He only answered.

It took Charles only a few hours to come back to Monaco. On the plane back, he opened his social media again, answered some comments and messages, and shared some Ferrari stuff. And looked at the mess Arthur created.

“Let’s review…” Charles started. As soon as he arrived, he asked Arthur and Lorenzo to come with him in the living room to discuss. They all stayed at the family house to deal with the major crisis. From what he learned, paparazzis were going around Monaco to catch any of you: Lorenzo, Arthur, and especially you. The victim of all this mess. 

Charles still hasn't seen you, though. Lorenzo’s girlfriend took you for a ride away from there, knowing Charles was coming back and that there would be a confrontation between the brothers. You didn’t need to hear about all that again. You knew the story. Well, you knew some parts of it. You refused to hear Arthur’s explanation. 

Charles knew it was for the better, but he still couldn’t wait to see you. Scared of how you would be. Scared of how he will react too.

He finally took a big breath before continuing. “This girl pretended to be pregnant with your child. And instead of just saying that you didn’t have sex with her, you said she wasn’t the one you slept with?” He chose his words wisely, taking the time to say everything correctly. Even if there were no good ways to talk about this situation.

“I panicked! What should I have done?”

“Don't say anything!” he screamed back, slamming his hands on the table. “You should have just shut your mouth and not said a fucking thing.”

“Charles…” Lorenzo warned him, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

He sighed and apologized, trying to calm down. His brother was right; there was no use being aggressive against Arthur. The harm has been done and couldn’t be undone. But when he gave his baby brother a look, he couldn’t handle it. Arthur looked like he didn’t understand why Charles was so angry. Like he couldn’t see the real harm in this. “Or better, you shouldn’t have cheated,” he added. 

Everything stopped around the three brothers. “Charles!” Lorenzo repeated, louder this time and with a more authoritarian tone. Like there was back in childhood when he had to play the big brother between the two younger brothers fighting for the same car. 

Except this time, it was for the same girl.

Charles knew he had to calm down and play it more cleverly. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, trying to think of a way to say things more nicely without making Arthur turn on him. He didn’t even know how he could do that: he was so mad at his brother for doing such a stupid thing.

“Aren’t you supposed to support me?” Arthur asked with a disdainful voice that made Charles look up immediately. He couldn’t even find the right way to answer this. Maybe Arthur could feel the disappointment, which is why he looked that angry. He was never the Leclerc who disappointed the family.

Lorenzo had a lot of pressure as the big brother, the one that had to be a model and perfect at any point. Charles had the celebrity pressure; being the most famous Leclerc, he had to behave perfectly. But Arthur? Everybody saw him as the baby, never accepting any bad decisions from him. Or even when he did, he was forgiven immediately.

He was not used to having people being mad at him. You were, which was already a problem. But Charles was too, and that he couldn’t handle. This explained why Arthur went upstairs silently. Well, as silently as he was, hitting the staircase loudly. 

Charles let out a loud sigh when Arthur disappeared. “You two need to talk.” Lorenzo told him, to which he agreed without the desire to deal with that right now. Instead, he started talking with his more reasonable brother about their holidays. He knew Arthur needed some minutes to calm down.

He needed them too.

He only decided to go upstairs when he saw the car parking in front of the house. You were back. 

And he couldn’t face you right now.

— 

“Thank you for coming.” Charles stopped what he was doing after that sentence. He had finally gone to see Arthur after you came back home. He waited just a minute to hear your voice, even if he couldn’t see you. He had no idea if he should accept some good or bad feeling from hearing you. He was torn between the fire that lit up again in his heart from your simple words and the hurt of knowing he was only there because of his and Arthur's bad decisions.

After he entered his brother’s room, the one he assumed you shared with him, they both stayed silent for a moment. Charles was dealing with his social media when Arthur finally decided to speak. 

And Charles was more confused than he should be. What did this mean? He turned around to look at Arthur. He was still standing next to the window, watching you outside talking with Lorenzo’s girlfriend. There was something on Arthur’s face that Charles didn’t like. Almost like he couldn’t understand why you came back. Why were you still around? Like he was waiting for you to go away after what happened. 

“I don’t know how to deal with that. I needed you here.” 

This time, it was Charles that couldn’t truly understand what was going on. Actually, no, he can. He loved his baby brother with his whole heart and would have done anything for him. To protect him. To save him from whatever situation he put himself into. But now, looking at him with the whole situation going around, Charles realized something. 

Arthur knew. He knew that Charles would have always come to his rescue. Sacrifice things for him. Do anything for his brother’s happiness before his. And that’s what he was expecting from today too.

“No.” Charles first said, mostly for himself. But it made Arthur turn around too, curious. For the rest, it came out more confidently. Like a part of him had been waiting for ages to finally say these words. “I’m not here for you.” 

He heard Arthur’s nervous laugh, and he took a step back. He wasn’t even scared of his brother; it would have been stupid for many reasons. No, he was more scared of his own mind right now. He still couldn’t believe he said it. Out loud. What he was thinking from the start.

You became his priority. 

You had been for so long. 

But Arthur didn’t let him go away with him and took this step forward and some others. “What do you mean?”

“You fucked up, Arthur.” Charles started, pointing at the window. Pointing at you. “You cheated on your girlfriend. She was willing to give up everything for you; she already did in the past. And you thank her like that? By sleeping with some other girl you don’t even know? Do you seriously think that’s what she deserves?” 

Arthur looked at him blankly. With just a smirk. Not a fun or laughing one. No, a mean one. One that Charles had never seen on his brother. It was almost like he was discovering a new face for his baby brother. And the worst was yet to come.

“You still love her.” Arthur said with an emotionless voice. And it was a real hit in the heart for Charles. He never thought that Arthur knew about his feelings. Sure, he had never been more discreet when it came to his heart. And the way he went from praising you to ignoring you during the weekend said a lot. Maybe the worst part wasn’t much that Arthur knew about his feelings. It was that he knew and let Charles sacrifice himself for him. “I should have expected it. She’s hard to forget, I guess.”

“You’re going to learn now.” Arthur laughed at this answer because it was the truth. He played, and he lost. Just like Charles did last year, technically. If Charles gave up, Arthur lost at his own game. The game over wasn’t the same, except for the fact the lost prize was the same: you. You and your heart. You and your beautiful smile were maybe gone for longer than it should have been.

Charles couldn’t handle it anymore. The more he stayed in this room, the more he was getting hate for his brother, and it was definitely not the family dynamic he wanted. So he walked to the door, ready to leave. Or to finally do what he wanted from the beginning. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Charles turned around one last time to look at his brother. But Arthur wasn’t looking at him. He took his place back, near the window. Watching you. From there, it looked like he was trapped in some kind of prison. One he was to blame for being in. But maybe the real story behind this was that he was the watchman and you were the prisoner. At least for now.

“Why did you let me date her?” 

“Sometimes you love someone so much you accept to put their happiness before yours.” Arthur gave him one single look. One that said everything that needed to be known. He wasn’t the one Charles gave up his happiness for. He did it thinking it was the right decision for you.

— 

When Charles went outside, you were still there. Alone this time. You sat on the swing seat, your eyes locked on your own shoes, not giving any interest to the environment around you. Charles’ heart broke a little at this sight. The sun wasn’t supposed to stop shining on the people around it. You weren’t supposed to stop being this joyful person. 

Even if he tried to walk slowly and not scare you, you jumped when Charles sat next to you. “Sorry,” he immediately mumbled. You offered him a small smile while he was trying to find a good seat. Ironically, he was making it move even more and making it harder to sit.

You were the one holding on to the structure to slow the movements. “I’m not great at this.” He laughed nervously. Charles didn’t know how to act around you. It wasn’t easy most of the time. But now it was even harder. They never teach you how to act around the woman you loved and let go, but even less when this same woman got her heart broken by your brother. 

“Thank God you’re better behind the wheel,” you replied, now looking straight in front of you. You couldn’t meet his eyes. You felt guilty. Sure, this whole situation wasn’t your fault; nothing could ever make you think that. But you hated that Charles had to comfort you now. After what happened between you last year, it didn’t feel right. Or fair. 

Charles shrugged, purposely hitting on your shoulder while doing it. “Well, you’re not seeing him when I sit in the car.” You turned your face to him and couldn’t contain a laugh when you saw his proud expression. In the dark, his smile was the small light you needed to not break down. It made you feel like there was still hope out there.

So when Charles stopped smiling, naturally a tear fell from your eye. “I’m so stupid,” you sighed, playing with your fingers. Immediately, he grabbed one of your hands and started playing with them too. You remember how it was something you did to him back then, when there was still something building around you. When he walked out of the car, he wasn’t very proud of what he did.

You both had the same habit of playing with your hands to avoid eye contact and focusing on something else. 

You also both had the same habit of grabbing each other’s hand to help ease the anxiety. 

“I never thought Ar…he would break my heart like that,” you confessed in a quiet and broken voice. A voice that was like a knife right in Charles’ heart. “You said it yourself, he has a pure heart. So why did he change? What did I do wrong?” 

You started crying again. And Charles was fighting to not break down too. He hated seeing you like this. He hated that he was the one pushing you into Arthur’s arms. If Charles didn’t cause the pain, he was the triggering factor. If only he had been more selfish and kept you for himself, this wouldn’t have happened.

He got up, making the structure move again, but this time you didn’t have the strength to hold it. But the swinging didn’t last long. Charles immediately kneeled in front of you, grabbing your legs to stop you from swaying. And once you were stable, one of his hands moved to your face softly. You didn’t hesitate a single second before cuddling against it, even if it meant your tears would now fall on his fingers. If you didn’t want to share your pain with him, that was all Charles was asking. To take it with him so you would feel less hurt.

“You have nothing to do with Arthur’s mistakes, ok? I hate to say that, but I was wrong. I really thought he would treat you better than…” He stopped for a second, closing his eyes to consider what he wanted to say. But he was tired of holding back his words. “Better than I would. I never imagined he would do that; otherwise, I would have never pushed you in his arms. You deserve better, ok?” 

You were absorbing every single word he was saying. Trying to remember every millisecond of his monologue so you could recite it before going to sleep that night and all the following ones when you would remember giving your heart to the wrong brother. 

“You deserve the world.” Charles pursued. You watched as he put a hand in his jacket pocket to get something. “And I hope one day you’ll find the strength to open that glue too and accept the help from someone to heal your broken heart.” 

He handed you the glue. The very same glue you gave him for his birthday. You weren’t quite sure Charles had healed his heart; he wasn’t sure himself. 

The fact he kept it this whole time—more than that, that he had it with him tonight—was the forward thrust you needed.

You thanked him silently, with a smile that he understood immediately. Charles stayed like that for another minute, brushing away the tears that were still falling and caressing your knee in the softest way you’ve ever felt.

Then he sat back on the swing seat, with more precaution this time. For the next ten minutes, he tried to change your mind by speaking of the last season and what was coming. You didn’t speak much, except for some reactions here and there. The conversation wasn’t the real distraction in the end.

It was seeing Charles so full of life, something you’ve waited to see since you’ve met him. Deep down, you took it as proof that a better future was coming.

“Let’s go inside.” Charles offered after noticing the shivers in your body grow bigger. “I can escort you to your room.” He knew that you were staying in the guest room. It wasn’t hard to guess anyway, as all the brothers took their own room, and there was no way you would be sleeping with Arthur that night. 

A part of him wished he could comfort you to sleep anyway. 

Especially after you grabbed his hand to follow him inside. So lightly that he could let it go easily if he didn’t pay attention. But enough for him to feel the contact of your skin together and feel the heat growing in him. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered to him, closing the door. Charles hated how he only noticed now how your makeup had actually been ruined through the day.

___

Charles was taking his shirt off when he heard slight bangs on his door. He was clearly not expecting anybody, especially not now and not in his family house. 

His mom was already asleep; Lorenzo was never the type to come when the doors were closed; Arthur still hadn’t come back from what he knew. So it didn’t leave many possibilities.

As he could expect, you were the one behind the door when he opened it. Charles found it sad that you were still wearing the same pajamas you probably brought for your holiday: an old shirt that he recognized from Arthur’s wardrobe and a short that was showing too much leg for his own good. 

But what made him even sadder was the expression on your face. If he thought you looked sad earlier, it was nothing compared to now.

“Do you mind if…” You didn’t even finish your sentence before your voice broke down. Charles moved aside to let you come in, giving a look in the corridor to make sure you were alone. Even if he didn’t have to explain himself if anybody saw you. 

He would never let you be alone in the situation. Nor ever, now that he thought about it.

What he didn’t expect was that the moment he closed the door, you would fall in his arms. You didn’t show much attention to him except for accepting the one he gave you earlier. But you were the one who initiated it. Compared to now.

“I'm so tired of this, Charles,” you mumbled against his naked chest. The first thing that came to your mind was how you never felt more safe and comfortable than right now, in his arms. Not even Arthur could make for his big brother natural reassurance. 

It was something that has always been true about Charles. People, friends, members of the team, family, and anyone who needed to feel comfort knew they could go to Charles for this. If he felt like he wasn’t always finding the right words, it seemed to work enough for people to feel better when they left.

Maybe that was always true about him too. People never seemed to stay.

“He’s not planning on coming back, and he left alone here, in your family house? What am I even supposed to do here by myself?” You started again, sounding angrier now. “I can’t fucking sleep in his bed because it makes me sick. Sleeping in the guest bed makes me feel bad because I don’t belong here. I feel bad because he’s not here. But he’s the one who fucked up. Why do I feel bad? Why do I feel guilty? Charles, I…”

Every word you said was like a knife in the heart for him. Hurting more than the punches you were hitting on his chest.

With each hour passing from this morning, Charles felt worse about the decision he took months ago. He should have never let you go. He would have never treated you this way. 

When you broke down, Charles held you harder against his chest. He was humming, trying to calm you down. His head was above yours, and at some point, he naturally started kissing your hair. He was trying to create a peaceful bubble where you would feel at ease. Less sad.

“You can sleep here,” Charles offered in a whisper. “I don’t mind.” 

It wasn’t until you were lying in his bed that you asked the question. Charles’ idea was to let you sleep in his bed and for him to sleep in the guest room. At least you didn’t risk Arthur coming at night, and he could deal with his brother. It never occurred to you that you would ask for the situation to be different.

But you grabbed his hand after he moved the sheet up your chest. “Would you…can you stay with me? Please?” 

Charles looked at you with confusion but also hope. A hope that lowered over the months but that never died. He replied with a simple nod and sweet smile. A reassuring one. In a home where you probably felt unwelcome, even if it wasn’t entirely true, Charles wanted you to know you were at the right place right now.

So he didn’t waste another minute and went to lie next to you. The boundaries were pretty obvious with each of you sleeping at the end of the bed and with a gap between your bodies. While you were facing the wall, he was on his back, trying to organize the mess that had been that day. 

Right when he closed his eyes to try to sleep, he felt the mattress moving. He couldn’t resist giving you a look. You were now facing him with your eyes open. “Charles?” you whispered. 

He was obviously awake, yet you were scared of disturbing him. But he gave you that smile. The one he only had the secret. The one that opened the door to his life, his head, his heart. 

“Will it be ok?” 

You knew he would understand what you meant.

When you met Charles, he was so heartbroken that he chose to put all the good things in his life aside because he felt like he didn’t deserve to be happy anymore. And even if his anxiety was still a battle he had to fight every day, it got better. A few months ago, he probably would have ignored you because he would have thought it wasn’t his place to comfort you. To be the good person in your life.

But there he was, sharing a bed with you. Thinking that maybe tomorrow could be better. And that two days later could be even better.

He knew.

That was why he took your hand, the one resting on your pillow next to your face. He held it until you chose to intertwine your fingers together. A contact you both needed. To heal the past and the future.

Charles moved to lie on his side, facing you. And with his thumb brushing your skin, he gave you the only thing you needed to hear that night.

The only thing he also needed to say. 

“It will. I promise."

[asneakyfox]

i've seen this from a couple different people but i really think it's a misread to think the character arc of gentlebeard in the djenks holiday special is actually that ed is just being lazy and doesn't want to do hard stuff and he needs to be managed. i mean, he could probably help stede out more, but that doesn't look to me like the core of the actual problem at all?

it seems to me like what's going on is that stede is determined to Not Run Away. "i'm not changing my life again." stede abandoned his first marriage, and then he abandoned ed, and then he abandoned his first marriage AGAIN, and then he abandoned piracy, and now! now he's supposed to have things figured out! now he's not going to be a guy who runs anymore! now is when he shows that he can commit to things! he's committed to his life with ed and part of his life with ed is being innkeepers so THE INN HAS TO SUCCEED AT ALL COSTS.

he cannot admit even inside his own mind that he just fucking hates innkeeping, because that would mean admitting failure. innkeeping was ed's dream! how could he be selfish enough to give up on ed's dream? he's gotten his brain into a state where the success of the inn equals the success of his relationship with ed, and he's gotten so obsessed with that he's not paying attention to their actual relationship. and at the same time he's miserable so it comes out as frustration with ed because it can't be that he doesn't like innkeeping and he's working so hard he can't do any more so surely it must be that ed's the one who needs to be more committed?

(plus what would he do instead? he doesn't want to go back to piracy because he doesn't want to die anymore, or see ed die, and what other options are there? if he admits he hates the inn then he'd have to admit he doesn't actually KNOW what he wants to do and that would be terrible because maybe the problem is him, maybe he'll always feel like this wherever he goes, maybe he just doesn't know how to be happy)

what he needs to say is "i want to be with you but i don't want to be innkeepers, can we figure out something else?" but he cannot say that, he can't even think that, and it comes out as "why aren't you helping with cakes more?" it's not about the cakes.

[scoutofmymind]

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-“ you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

hii if u write angst could u do a metallica one of whatever member u want where they cheat on u and just lots of angst im in the mood for heart ache

A/n: Hope this is angsty enough for you

This was based off of the song 'Blood and Tears' by Danzig, I listened to it on loop while writing this, I NEED THIS SONG INJECTED INTO MY VEINS SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

Warnigns: Angst, mentions of alcoholism, cheating (James on reader), slight gore (reader hits their head on the road), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You've lived with James for two years now, having been dating for almost five years. It was late, nearing midnight. The rain was coming down hard and soaking into your clothes as you lay in the middle of the road.

It was really just your driveway, the highway split off and led straight to your house, but you never counted it as your driveway because it was so long and winding. It was one of the aspect of the house you never appreciated much, but James was usually the one driving while you slept in the passenger seat beside him.

Although, his late night drives stopped. For you, anyway. He always asked you to come with him, begging you to knowing he'd be carrying you in afterwards since you'd always fall asleep.

He barely looked at you past 9:00 pm. You made dinner while he watched sports or played guitar in another room. He used to watch you cook, he'd never been a chef himself by any means, but he enjoyed just watching you. You ate in silence now, if you did speak he'd give short and quick answers, doing his best to keep you quiet.

He never turned down sex but you felt disgusting around him and rarely asked. He stopped buying you flowers, which was a weekly occurrence. He never complimented you, instead he made backhanded comments on your outfits and body, offering to take you to the gym.

They engraved themselves in your mind, all his terrible words. "That shirt doesn't fit you stomach anymore." "Were your legs always like that?" Or he'd just stare at you and sigh.

You knew something had been wrong, you came to the conclusion that he'd been seeing someone. After speaking with Kirk, Lars and Rob they did some digging and found out pretty quickly that there was another woman. Tensions rose in the band which made James irritable.

Of course it came out towards you, yelling that you just sat back and accepted after a while.

But he never hit you, so you never said anything. He never hit you, it wasn't that bad.

You'd been sitting in his study, a room filled with band memorabilia that he'd always show off, walking around the room with you and explaining each item. He got mad when you even knocked on the door now, but he got mad when you didn't as well and that was worse.

You sat at the windowsill, watching the rain come down. James loved when it rained, he said it reminded him that Cliff was still with him. He was out with his mistress, Friday night. Date night.

It looked so peaceful out. Thunder boomed, lightning struck the earth far in the distance, but right in front of you it was peaceful. The rain came down hard in big droplets.

You held your hand to the window, wanting to run out there and dance. James wasn't home, no one was home, no one was around at all. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. You took your chance, not wasting a second to run out into the rain.

The sky was dark and you watched the stars dance from miles and miles away, head resting on the asphalt. Crickets chirped in the background, frogs croaked, the distant sound of coyotes rang out and you waited as they neared.

They'd always come into your front yard and you'd watch them with James as they yipped and played, nipping at each others ankles. If you had leftovers you'd leave them out for them, they weren't causing any harm and you weren't going to eat them. They were sweet little raggedy things, the coyotes, but they shredded their food.

In a pack they could tear you to shreds just the same, still you didn't shiver or shake, you didn't glance around to make sure you were safe. You laid there, silent tears mixing with the rain spattering your face, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Finally you heard a car getting closer, you didn't have to look to see it was James, you just waited. The lights shown over you and the car stopped only a few feet away.

The door opened and you listened for James's voice. "What the fuck are you doing?" He called, more annoyed than anything. When you didn't move he stepped out of the car and called out your name in a harsh tone. "I thought you were fucking roadkill, I was gonna drive over you." He waited a moment before calling out your name again, this time finally sounding worried.

He rushed over to you, looking over you for any signs of harm. He calmed down when he didn't see any blood, but your clothes were soaked and you were going to get sick. He was tired and didn't want to be dealing with this, but he didn't like the look in your eyes.

Apathy wasn't the right word. There was an emptiness to them, he couldn't remember the last time he saw you smile, or saw a shine in your eyes. He couldn't remember your laugh. A fog swirled in your eyes now and you didn't look right at him, but past him to the night sky.

"What happened?" He asked, brushing the strands that clung to your forehead away.

"She did." You said simply. "You don't have to love me, James." You looked to his eyes, brows furrowed and full of shock, surprise? He didn't know you knew but there was nothing to say anymore. "You know that, don't you?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "I do... I do love you, I promise-" you scoffed, cutting him off and looking back to the sky. "I love you. Don't you ever say I don't." He said sternly.

There was nothing to say, so you said nothing.

He followed your gaze up to the sky. "It's raining." He said. "We should go inside." He looked back to you, your body looking lifeless. "Get up." He was getting impatient. "Hate me if you want, but get up and get inside, I'll run you a bath." He got up, knees cracking as he did.

He waited a moment before repeating himself. He waited another minute before demanding it again.

You didn't move, liking your place you found on the earth, animals all around, man made gravel beneath you. You'd made this grave for yourself. This was your spot now, you belong here. That house was nothing but the shell of what was supposed to be.

"Get up." He repeated through gritted teeth, nudging you with his boot. Not a little sign that you even knew he was there. "God damn it, get up, get up!" He finally yelled, pulling his leg back. He made the move to kick you but stopped just short of your ribs.

His expression fell and he stared down at you, the realization falling on him that he was about to kick you. All those nights he'd stayed up, holding you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear and making you feel safe and protected. Gone. Useless. Less than a thing of the past.

He slowly knelt back down, lifting you up slightly so your upper body was laying over his lap. He kept an arm around you while holding your face in his other hand. "Sweetheart..." He muttered, brows knit together in shame, lips pulled into a pout. "I'm so sorry..."

You couldn't stop a small smile from finding its way to your face. "You're sorry?" He knew it wasn't enough but he hoped it meant something, he knew it meant nothing. "Is she pretty?"

James stared at you blankly for a moment. "You don't want to be asking questions, sweetheart, they'll just make you feel worse."

"Is that something nice you're doing for me?" He didn't respond, he wrecked this with his own selfishness. There was no fixing it, therapy wouldn't help, no ring could save this.

A warm droplet landed on your cheek and you saw it was from James. He did love you, just not nearly enough, nothing he could provide would amount to what you deserved, and he knew that from the start but he tried. Then he lost hope, and ruined you.

He could've ended things right, let you leave and move on from him, but he had to break you, he had to make you hate yourself as much as he hated himself.

"The skies prettier at night." You said, catching him off guard but you spoke again before he could say anything. "You believe in heaven, don't you?" He gave a small nod, opening his mouth to say something but nothing came out. "I think it's pretty."

He held you in his lap, it felt like he was watching the life slip away from you. You knew more than him, you knew it was already all gone. He had stripped you of everything, the rain hitting your face was the only solace, the only thing keeping you breathing.

You sat up, adjusting yourself so you were sitting on your knees with your hands in your lap. "Did drinking help?" You asked, glancing back at him over your wet shoulder.

James hesitated, unsure of where this was going. "Drinking doesn't fix things."

"That's not what I asked."

He stared at you before giving a small nod. "It numbs the pain, makes it easier to push things aside. It keeps you moving." He explained, voice soft and a little shaky.

You nodded in understanding, staring down into the darkness of the woods across the road. "I don't need booze to numb anything." You stated. Everything about this was confusing to James, the way you spoke, how you were acting.

It all became so, so terribly obvious when you moved your hands in front of you, planting them firmly on the asphalt and bashed your forehead into it, your world going black with James screaming in the background.

[in1-nutshell]

Poll Winners: Maxima and Ophelia

SFW, Platonic, Romance, Familial, Cybertronian reader

RID/TFP

“So… have you told Bumblebee yet?”

Maxima crossed her arms refusing to look at Ophelia. Not that it was hard, she could always look forward and ignore the minibot below. Sadly, the monster truck didn’t have it in her to ignore her, not with the raging storm in her helm right now.

“Not yet.”

Ophelia sighed a bit. “And when are you planning on doing it?”

Maxima shifted the weight on her pedes a bit. “Lia I haven’t even talked to Grimlock about it. I’ll do it but not now.”

Ophelia raised her optics while side glancing at Maxima. “You still haven’t talked to him about it? After everything that has happened, I would have expected that you two would have been talking about it for months. It would have explained the long periods of time without seeing either of you.”

“We were just on patrol.”

“Uh huh.”

Hot warmth flared in her system. “Ophelia!”

Ophelia crossed her arms and looked up at her. “Then what have you two been doing? It can’t be that terrible.”

Maxima coughed a bit in her servo before relenting in a defeated tone. “…Russel showed Grimlock an old TV show and has been begging to watch it after patrol. The show grows on you after the first few episodes, it’s becoming a bit of a tradition at this point—Oh don’t give me that look!”

Ophelia was struggling to keep the chuckles in her, but it was almost laughable. Maxima of Iacon, the daughter of the last Prime, watching old shows with her partner.

Almost laughable, but it was also sweet.

“Softy.”

“I—you-- …Yeah…”

The two chuckled before falling once again into silence. Ophelia looked up at Maxima with knowing optics. A lot had changed between the past few years. From being in a war, losing father figures by the end of it, adjusting to peacetime, and finding partners. If you’d tell them both that these events would happen, Maxima would have probably been on the floor laughing while Ophelia might have commed in Ratchet to get you checked up.

The minibot was happy with her Conjunx, Steve. Maxima had been over the moon hearing that she was going to go through with the rites. Ophelia only wished her the same happiness.

“You know, if you are having serious thoughts about going through with it, you need to talk to him about this before anything else. And if you need pointers, Steve and I would be happy to help, right?” Ophelia remarked.

Maxima flashes a grateful smile and sits down next to the minibot. She did the same.

“Don’t go dragging your poor Conjunx into a mess he doesn’t know about.”

“Steve will help you if you need it, Maxi. Seriously, you say the word, he’ll help with whatever he can.”

Maxima hummed at the comment. A heavy silence blankets them both. The taller bot sported a nervous and concentrated look while staring at the ground as if it were the most fascinating thing in the universe. Ophelia just waited patiently; she would tell her eventually.

“… It’s a big leap…” Maxima whispered as if saying it too loud would set something off.

Ophelia just nodded in agreement. “I know.”

“A big commitment…”

“I know.”

“And what if he doesn’t want it? What if it’s too soon? What if it scares him off? What if—”

Ophelia stood up and waved her servos at Maxima to calm down.

“Woah, woah, woah! Calm down Maxi.” She placed her servos on her side and looked at her in the optics. Maxima slowly quieted down while fidgeting with her digits. The minibot took her servos and held them. It was almost comedic seeing how stark was the size difference.

“Calm?” Maxima could only shrug. Good enough.

“Now, it’s fair for you to have these feelings. It’s totally normal. While the ‘what if’s’ can be useful, they aren’t right now. Also, are you telling me Grimlock would say no?”

“He could!”

Ophelia gave her a deadpan stare. “The green dinobot, who’s had optics on you since you came here? The same bot who is practically attached to your hip and ready to do anything you want to do? That Grimlock, really?”

Maxima huffed and crossed her arms with a bit of annoyance. Ophelia continued.

“Just at least try asking him. That’s what I did, and I turned out just fine.”

Maxima gave her an unamused look as it got quiet again. If any other bot besides Ophelia and Bumblebee saw Maxima go quiet for this long, they might have been concerned. Not that she wasn’t, but there was a difference in silences coming from such a lively bot. Thankfully this wasn’t one of her ‘vengeance’ silences, but more reflective ones.

After a bit, Maxima stood up with a confident look on her face. Ophelia could only smile back; the monster truck always did have an infectious smile.

“You know what? I’m going to do it! Right now! Go ahead and make those calls Lia, we are going to have them come over no matter what! Thanks Lia!”

Ophelia only chuckled as Maxima walked off with a new wave of determination and slight bounce in her step. She chuckled a bit before heading to the main console. If everything went according to plan, she would need to make those calls… and would also win the bet she had with Steve.

BING!

Perfect timing!

“Hello? Yes, yes, it’s great to hear from you all too. Listen-- yes, it’s been a while but I’m calling about Maxima…”

…

She could do this.

She could do this.

She could do this.

Maxima kept on repeating it to herself. All she needed to do was find Grimlock and tell him. That was it. She fought Decepticon armies, Megatron and literal Predacons. This was going to be simple. Just let the words spill and wait for the results.

Simple!

Just tell him about how she wanted him to be her partner, for life.

Tell him about the plans she had already thought about their Conjunx Rites. Obviously while also asking for his part and opinions on it, it was going to be his ceremony too.

She could do this. Just talk to him.

Maxima found Grimlock in his dino mode carefully balancing Russel on his head while they were singing off key to one of Denny’s playlists.

Spinning on his pedes, he caught sight of her, a giant smile quickly forming on his face. He waved at her happily.

“Maxi!”

… Oh, Primus she couldn’t do it! Abort mission! Abort! ABORT! ABORT!

With a nervous smile she waved back.

“H-hey Grimlock. H-how are you?”

She internally screamed at herself for stuttering and just awkwardly waving. What was she a youngling?! Hopefully she could just bounce back from this—

“I’m doing fine! Russel and I found this rock.” He held the small rock in his digits and carefully placed in in her servos.

“I thought you’d like it!”

Maxima just swore that her father and the other Prime’s were just playing a cruel joke at this point. How in the world was she supposed to talk to him about the rites with her helm and spark all mushy!

Smiling weakly, she stuffed the rock into her subspace. Grimlock raised an optic at the smile.

“Umm… You, okay?”

Maxima let out an involuntary squeak noticing how close Grimlock was. Face plates literally inches apart. There was confusion and slight worry in his big optics. He placed a servo on her helm, copying that thing that humans did when they got sick.

“You feeling, okay Maxima?”

Oh, sweet Alpha Trion, she was in over her helm…

“I-I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle as the humans say!”

PRIMUS WAS THAT A VOICE CRACK!!! ABORT MISSION! ABORT MISSION! ABORT!

Grimlock looked unconvinced. He lowered his helm, letting Russel slide off. The human looked at her worried.

“You want me to call Fix-It?” Russel asked.

Primus the boy was sweet to offer help, but she was 110% that Fix-It wouldn’t be able to help her with this.

She smiled at his concern. “I’m fine Rusty. I… I just need to talk to Grimlock about something in private.”

The boy nodded and walked off, probably to go find Sideswipe.

Maxima turned back to Grimlock and all her nerves came back full force.

Oh boy…

“What ya wanted to talk about?”

She began fidgeting with her digits again and looked down. The action alone set off silent alarm bells in Grimlock’s helm. There weren’t too many times that Maxima looked small. Being one of the biggest bots on the team, it was hard thing to do. But now, she might as well have crawled into a fetal position. And because of him! Did something happen? Did he do something to her? He couldn’t remember doing anything wrong… or maybe that’s why she was like this!

Maxima let a shaky vent out before looking at him.

“Grim… I… We…”

Oh, to the Pits with this! She took a deep vent and continued.

“Grimlock… We’ve been together for a while. Had our ups and downs. Though, I haven’t had many bad moments with you. Frustrated and sad, yes, but never bad. I love you with all my spark and more than I can possibly put into words. You’ve changed my life for the better and I want to thank you for that, truly. Heh, I would have never thought I’d be in this position a couple years ago, but that just proves how much love can do to a bot… I guess what I’m trying to say is… Grimlock would you do me the absolute honor in being my Conjunx Endura?”

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. He only blinked and stared at her with a dumbfound look on his face. Maxima was slowly starting to regret ever opening her mouth.

“Grimmy… this is the part where you say something… anything… please…”

“…Me?” He pointed at himself. Maxima blinked in confusion.

“Yes you?” Grimlock blinked several times before pointing to himself.

“Me Grimlock? Me? You want me to be your Conjunx?”

Maxima nodded still waiting for an answer.

“Yes, I do… listen Grimlock if you don’t—EEP!”

CLANK!

Maxima was literally swept off her pedes bridal style as Grimlock threw his helm back and laughed. He swayed them both back and forth in a happy rhythm. She never heard this laugh before… it was nice.

“YES! YES! YES! YES!!!”

She was glad that her faceplate was semi-smooched against his chassis as the tears of relief and happiness began to spill out. Laughter began spilling out of her lips as she tried wrapping her arms around him. She readjusted herself so she could try and wrap her legs around his midsection. They only managed so far in his dinobot mode. With all the swinging around, the dinobot accidentally tripped over his own pede and sent them both to the ground.

Grimlock laid down on his back with Maxima securely wrapped in his arms. He looked up at her with a blinding yet loving smile. She reached and booped his snout, a dopey smile adoring her face.

“I love you Sweetspark.”

“I love you more!” He pulled her closer at the end of that sentence. She snuggled closer than she thought was possible.

Looked like everything was going to be alright.

…

Bumblebee knew he should have suspected something was going to happen when Ophelia refused to answer his questions. Mainly the one’s surrounding Maxima’s whereabouts. Sure, it wasn’t exactly his business, but he was team leader. What kind of leader doesn’t know where his team was?

But no! He had better luck asking a brick wall for directions than asking his pseudo sister again.

Ophelia managed to avoid answering the question all day. Normally, he would go ask Grimlock about Maxima, but he was also missing. Last he heard the dinobot had been with Russel, but the boy was with Sideswipe and Strongarm now. Drift was trying to meditate with his minibots and Fix-It not too far away. Denny had just woken up from his afternoon nap.

“You, okay Bee?”

Bumblebee jumped a bit when Steve placed a servo on his shoulder. Despite having a vizor for optics, it was clear that there was some concern behind them. A couple years ago the thought of the Vechicon being one of his closest friends would have sent him to the med bay for laughing too hard.

There was a bit of a rough start between the two mechs, with the whole ex-con thing. The rift opening wider he found out Ophelia had chosen him to be her Conjunx. Everyone said they saw it coming from miles away, but truthfully, he never saw it. Bumblebee made sure to give Steve a version of ‘The Shovel Talk’ away from prying optics or audials. Maxima found out about this and after a swift hit to the back of the helm, gave him a through talking about giving the Vechicon a chance.

…

Bumblebee remembered seeing Maxima leaning against a nearby wall looking at Ophelia and Steve. The couple happily chatting about the ceremony and what they were going to get for their new home. The pair completely missing the somber look not too far away.

He remembered jumping when Maxima suddenly spoke out loud.

“The last time I saw her this happy was a week before the hearing at the Senate.”

Bee calmed his racing spark and stood by her side with his arms crossed. It was always  that the pair had known each other about as long as Optimus had known Megatron.

“Megatronus let her win during a play fight while I had managed to clip him in the face. Orion offered to get us some fresh rust sticks for ‘defeating the mighty Megatronus in combat’. She was gripping Megatronus’s helm with sticky digits while I was trying to convince Orion that I was strong enough to carry him all the way back home.”

She laughed a bit at the memory before going quiet again. He spoke up. “You’re worried about her too?”

“Of course, I am. But I trust that Lia knows what she’s doing.”

Bumblebee looked at her in disbelief. Maxima rolled her optics at him. “Its her life Bee Bee. If she believes that Steve is Conjunx material, then I believe her.”

“DO you think he is?”

She chuckled a bit at the statement making him huff in annoyance. “I’m serious Maxima.”

“Bumblebee, Ophelia’s wants and needs are not the same as mine. I do know that Steve is a good bot though. He’ll treat her like a queen.”

“And all thanks to my talk with him.” Bumblebee said proudly. Maxima squinted her optics at him before lightly slapping his arm.

“Scaring the poor bot is not something to be proud of Bee.”

The smaller bot crossed his arms fraying annoyance but took in the words of the monster truck.

“So, we just have to trust her then? That’s it?”

Maxima nodded her helm. “Yeah, and it also doesn’t hurt to actually get to know Steve you know.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.”

Maxima shrugged. “Only so much I can do on my end. See you in a couple hours Bee, I got some work to do in restoration.”

She only got in a couple of feet before he blurted out. “Wait!”

Maxima looked back. “Yeah?”

The younger bot suddenly felt embarrassed by the question in his helm… but he really did want to know.

“What are you looking for a Conjunx anyways?”

Maxima laughed loudly at this. “Oh Bee, I’m not looking for anyone right now. Not that I think someone would come along anyways… BUT since you asked and I’m in a good mood… I think I’d be pretty happy with a bot who respects me and can make me laugh. I think I can handle a goof ball. I mean I’ve had to deal with you for years.”

“Hey!”

…

And she was right. It took some time, but the distrust fell and up rose the trust in the ex con.

“Bee?”

Oh yeah, he still hadn’t answered.

“I’m fine. Just worried where Maxima and Grimlock went off to.”

Steve waved his servo off handedly. “I’m sure they’re alright.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Steve looked at him, confused. “…You do remember that they are the team’s heaviest hitters, right? I think we’d know if something happened to them. Like a big explosion or something.”

Bumblebee was about to respond when a loud crashing sound along with yelling was heard. The noise catches everyone’s attention.

Strongarm pulled out her crossbow. “That sounded like Grimlock and Maxima!”

Bee quickly got out his Decepticon hunter and activated it.

Most of the team had already started towards the noise when Grimlock came in running with Maxima in his arms. Fearing for the worst, Bee tried to look over for any signs of injury or struggle.

“Grimlock what happened!?”

“I SAID YES!”

…What?

Everyone was confused by the sudden statement… except Ophelia. The minibot had dropped her data pad and held a bright smile.

“She did it!? She asked you!?”

The dinobot happily nodded nuzzling Maxima’s helm. The poor bot hid her face in her servos and refused to look at anyone.

“Don’t worry, she’s just a bit shy.”

…huh?

Maxima ‘The Last Prime’s daughter’/ ‘Oldest of the youngest’/ ‘I laugh in the face of danger’… SHY?!

Bumblebee’s thoughts were interrupted by Ophelia squealing in glee. She turned to Steve.

“I won the bet! I told you she could do it!”

Steve hung his helm a bit but was still overall happy. “Yeah, yeah you won--”

“CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON!?”

The young leader was so tired and just wanted to know what in the name of Ratchet’s rusty knee joints WAS GOING ON!

Sideswipe piped up. “Yeah, I think we are just as lost as Bee. What are you talking about Grim?”

“And what do you mean by yes?” Added Strongarm.

Grimlock carefully placed Maxima back on her pedes while swinging an arm around her shoulders. Her servos were away from her face, but the flustered look was in full display. Something very few bots and humans could say they have seen. One of Maxima’s servos reaching to intertwine with the dinobots. The action only seemed to widen his grin.

“I asked Grimlock to be my Conjunx.”

“And I said Yes!”

…

“WHAT!?”

“HUH?!”

“REALLY?”

“I KNEW IT!”

Maxima and Grimlock laughed at the surprised and shocked look on the team’s faces. In the wave of shock Ophelia and Steve made their way over to congratulate the couple.

Ophelia winked at Maxima. “See, what did I say?”

Maxima huffed playfully before kneeling to hug the minibot tightly. Ophelia smiled and hugged back… just as Grimlock grabbed them both and Steve on a giant hug.

“Grimlock!” Steve yelped surprised.

Sideswipe grinned at them “Guess you got another thing in common with Grim, Steve.”

“You mean besides going after the daughters of the leaders of the Great war?” asked Strongarm.

“Nope.”

“Choosing a significant other from the same faction?” Drift added.

“Nope, its catching Bee off guard. Look at him, he’s going to catch a bird with his mouth open like that.” Sideswipe pointed at the gob smacked leader in yellow.

Bumblebee snapped out of his trance and coughed. “I saw this coming.”

Maxima snorted from her spot. “Sure, you did Bee Bee.”

“Hey!”

“Umm, what’s Conjunx?”

The bots momentarily turned to the two humans watching the reactions carefully.

“Maxima asked Grimlock to be her Conjunx. Which if I am not mistaken is asking someone to be their spouse.” Drift answered looking at Bumblebee for confirmation. He nodded.

Denny and Russel’s eyes went wide.

“Wait your getting married?!” Russel exclaimed.

“How does that work? Is it like human weddings or is there something else.” asked Denny

“You’ll have to ask Maxima, she already had most of the ceremony planned already.” Said Ophelia as Grimlock finally let them go from the hug. His servo noticeably lingering close to Maxima’s servo

Maxima looked at the minibot with a mix of betrayal and embarrassment. “Ophelia!”

Grimlock hugged her from behind, making her squeak again from the sudden attack. “Aww you shouldn’t have! You must really like me a lot!”

Sideswipe and the minbots giggled at the squeak. Maxima wished that the ground would swallow her whole. But what was worrying her the most was the teasing glint on Ophelia’s optics.

“I made the call Maxi… and they’re coming!”

Maxima’s optics went wide in surprise and excitement.

“They are?! When?!”

“In a few days they’ll be in the city.”

Maxima grabbed Grimlock’s servo and pulled him along. “C’mon we got to start getting everything ready!”

Grimlock, despite not knowing where he was going, was just happy that Maxima was holding his servo.

Once the pair had left, Bumblebee turned to the minibot. “Who’s coming exactly?”

“Well since we don’t exactly have any communications with Cybertron, I can’t exactly call in Team Prime for the ceremony. However, we do have other members here on Earth. So, I took the liberties of calling them to see if they were interested in coming to observe the ceremony with us.”

Bumblebee suddenly went pale at the end of the sentence. Mainly because of the cross look on Ophelia’s face.

“Did it never occur to you about contacting them since you got here? Really Bumblebee?”

“I- I just—It never came up— How come you didn’t?”

“Because I thought you already had, and they didn’t want to come around because they have other things in life!”

Denny raised his hand. “Who exactly is coming?”

Ophelia smiled fondly. “The human members of Team Prime, of course.”

Happy Valentines day!

[itsmedemibones]

I Choo-choose You week

Day 4- Date

Okay oops. I'm not as happy with this one for some reason, so please have the relevant excerpt from my WIP Ingo/Reader fic.

Flustered Ingo tooth-rotting-sugary fluff under the cut.

The Tracks We Take

The park is peaceful this time of day, the golden glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees, casting dappled light across the grass. Your Pokémon play nearby— Darumaka happily chasing after Duosion, who bobs along, unbothered by his antics, like a bubble on the breeze. Ingo’s team roams, enjoying the open air, though his Excadrill sits in the shade, half-buried in the dirt, content to rest.

You're leaning back on your hands, legs stretched out across the large blanket Ingo had brought. It's peaceful. It's almost hard to imagine that you had both been so nervous for this. It's your first date, but it feels… right. Easy. The wind ruffles your hair and you breathe in a deep, content breath. 

And yet.

For the last few minutes, you’ve watched Ingo, seated beside you, slowly become more tense. His previously loose posture has become rigid and he's fidgeting with a blade of grass, brows furrowed as he stares intently at the ground.

He wants to say something.

You know him well enough to see the signs. It's in the way his shoulders keep tensing, how he inhales as if to speak, only to stop and exhale again, silent.

You wait, giving him time. There's no rush. 

But after his third failed attempt, you take pity on him. You shift a bit closer, brushing your hand lightly over his. The contact startles him, and he flinches slightly, grass falling to the blanket.

"Ingo," you say gently. "Whatever it is, I promise there's nothing you could say that would make me love you any less."

His breath catches.

Slowly, he turns to look at you, his expression unreadable– stunned, maybe, like he hadn’t expected you to call him out on his hesitance. 

Then he swallows, and you see the tiniest twitch of the muscle in his jaw as he gathers his courage.

"Y/N," he says, his normally booming voice almost hushed. "I... I wish to ask you something that has been weighing on my mind."

You nod, moving your hand to slowly, deliberately squeeze his. "Go ahead."

He inhales deeply.

You're not sure what you expect. You're already past declarations of love. He's asked you on a date. What could he still be so–

"I wish to know… what you have imagined about me."

Your brain stutters to a halt, shocked at the sheer boldness of the request coming from Ingo of all people.

He looks— Oh. He looks like he might faint just from the mere thought that you've imagined him at all.

You remember the day you confessed that you love him. How Emmet had casually teased Ingo, asking how the real thing compared to the (many, many) nights he apparently lay awake imagining you doing so. How Ingo had felt so terribly embarrassed, thinking it indecent to imagine such things without your consent. 

Your lips part, then close. You bite your lip realizing you aren't sure how to answer. 

You take a moment, studying him. The tightness around his eyes. The way he stares at your hand on his, as though it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. The way his ears are a furious shade of red.

And you understand. 

He wants to know, but he’s also terrified to know.

So, you take your time, twining your fingers with his. You can feel how warm he is, how his fingers twitch against yours, how he’s bracing for an impact that will never come.

"Ingo," you murmur, smiling softly. With the level of tension, you do have to wonder… "Would you like me to tell you the safe things I’ve imagined, or… or the scandalous ones?"

He– whimpers.

That's the only word for the strangled sound that espapes his tight throat. Quickly, he looks away, free hand coming up to press against his mouth as if that will somehow contain his mortification.

But he doesn’t let go of your hand.

And that?

That tells you all you need to know.

—Ingo—

Ingo swallows, staring at the blanketed ground between you both as he struggles to find his words. He shouldn’t have asked. Arceus, what had possessed him to ask?

You are patient. You always are. You squeeze his hand gently, steadying him like an anchor in the midst of his spiraling thoughts.

"Alright," you say at last when he still does not answer. Your voice is warm, reassuring. "I'll start with the innocent things."

He exhales slowly, tension in his shoulders easing slightly. It is not everything you have imagined, but it is… some of it, and perhaps he can handle that.

"I've imagined us doing things like this," you say softly, gesturing to the picnic spread. "Spending time together, talking, sharing meals. Just... being. I’ve imagined holding your hand while we walk through Gear Station, or bringing you a coffee while you work. Maybe lunch, during a busy day."

His breath hitches. That is– that is something he had not realized was a possibility. You, in the place that matters to him most. You continue on, seemingly unaware of the impact your words are having– he feels unsteady on the tracks. At risk of derailment. 

"I’ve imagined you letting me borrow your coat when it's cold, because I know you’d do it in a heartbeat."

He clears his throat, trying not to sound as flustered as he feels. "That is… correct."

He glances over. Sees your pleased grin, and the sight of it makes his heart stutter.

"And sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I imagine what it would be like if I could just rest my head against you. If you’d let me. If you’d want me to."

Ingo has no idea how to respond to that.

He tightens his grip on your hand instead, holding on to your warmth like a lifeline.

"Y/N…" he says, but nothing else follows.

He feels you lean in slightly, toeing the line of too close as your expression turns playful. Turns– knowing.

And then, in a voice so soft it barely exists, you whisper…

"But Ingo, I have also imagined kissing you."

His body jerks.

His mind goes utterly blank.

The words should not be scandalous. He should not be this affected. But he is.

It is too much.

Yet it is perfect.

He grips your hand tighter. Not exactly in panic. He just– cannot let go.

You watch him, waiting. Giving him space, giving him time.

"I just thought you should know," you say, so, so gently. Then you lean out of his space, as if you have not just derailed his engine entirely. "Now, do you want another berry skewer? Or should we go check on the Pokémon?"

Ingo does not know how to answer.

He cannot answer.

All he knows is that he is still holding your hand, and despite everything, despite how overwhelmed he is… he does not want to let go.

[stopmyhearts]

okay. Romana self harm thoughts. Under a cut because of subject matter but yeah. I warn you now this shit is explicit, if you read it that's not my responsibility

So, Romana is so traumatized that it isn't really a question on if she hurts yourself, but rather how and when she starts. The easy answer would be during or after Etra Prime but I'm a big supporter of the 'Romana has always been somewhat fucked up' idea so I think it started earlier. My girl is a psych major (to me at least) and accordingly a bit wrong in the head. I don't think she does it in a truly concerning amount pre-Etra Prime, but like. She's tried it a couple of times in the academy. It's not as if anyone on Gallifrey would see, anyways. I think she just wants to see what it's like, and she's got a bit of a morbid curiosity. She's just fascinated by the blood (I'd say she tries some cuts probably), she doesn't actually want to hurt herself, it's not a coping mechanism. So when she joins the Doctor she hasn't hurt herself in several years, if not decades, and the adventures scratch any itch that might be scratched by cutting as well. I think maybe, placing 'the Doctor's first XI' just before Destiny of the Daleks, she does it occasionally there. Again, not often, and it's more boredom than anything, but staying a century or longer in one place, surrounded by all these terribly traumatized people, that's going to do a number on your mental health, Time Lord or not. And I think that makes it easier too, for her to choose to regenerate, to shorten her lifespan like that, because that is definitely, if not a suicide, either a sacrifice or significant act of self-harm.

And I think that does scare Romana II. Like, she plays it all off as a joke, but I think deep down she knows that's serious and it scares her off. So she throws away any tools she may have previously used, and stops. I still think maybe if she gets overwhelmed she presses her fingernails into her palms a little too hard or she chews her lips until she accidentally draws blood sometimes but nothing more than that.

And then we come to Etra Prime. Obviously she gets hurt constantly there, so I don't think she adds to that without cause. But she does keep trying to escape, I think, like she doesn't want to live anymore but more than anything she wants to stop being hurt. And I think she's willing to risk more pain for a chance to escape. And to spare other people too, if she can. I don't think she ever loses that compassion, but it is very hard because she has to weigh the suffering in front of her eyes against the potential suffering out in the universe, so she never gives up her secrets.

Post-Etra Prime, I believe she has a lot of chronic pain to deal with, and is desperate for control. Control over herself, over the people around her, over all of Gallifrey. And her physical pain and disability are things she can't control, so I think she gets some control from inflicting pain on herself. Maybe she did so on Etra Prime too, I don't know. Pressing on scars until they hurt, twisting her knee just so, scratching at bumpy scars to make them less noticeable, overdoing it, not letting herself rest, all that sort of stuff. I think there's a point to it too that she needs some pain to function. She's exhausted, but a sudden pain can give that little spike of adrenaline she needs to keep herself going through long days as a president. And I think that's approximately the level it stays at, at least for as far as Enemy Lines (which is where I am currently). Like it gets less or more depending on the situation, in general I think post-Warfare it gets less because she had her big suicide plan there and I think it gets Narvin and Leela onto her more too. And there's not really much room to escape each other on the axis. Also, she heals, slowly and not completely, but some of the pain and exhaustion do get less, especially while she isn't president. So it's both harder to hurt herself and less necessary for her daily function.

Truly what is wrong with her, I love her and I love to give her issues

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Congratulations to TEAM CHEESE for winning the popular vote on the Charcuterie poll!

[boxwinebaddie]

this selena cover is the cd song ever of all time jysk :*

[a-lonely-dunedain]

I hate the Staghorns so much. every time I do their questline to get that painting I think "oh surely it's not going to make me mad this time around" and YET

[aria0fgold]

So that's... the power of Luocha e1... I get it now. I am now a lil less salty from losing my 75/25.

[mad-hunts]

✧

send me a ✧ and i’ll bold all that apply to your muse! (with italics as a 'sometimes' option because i'm a rule-breaker and things may depend on the situation).

i would kill you. ✧ i would physically hurt you. ✧ i would attack you unprovoked. ✧ i would manipulate you. ✧ i dislike you. ✧ you annoy me. ✧ you scare me. ✧ you intimidate me. ✧ i hope i intimidate you. ✧ i pity you. ✧ you disgust me. ✧ i hate you. ✧ i’m indifferent toward you. ✧ i’d like to get to know you better. ✧   i’d like to spend more time with you. ✧ i’d like to be friends with you. ✧  i’m unsure what to think of you. ✧ i’m unsure how I feel about you. ✧ you are my friend. ✧ you are my best friend. ✧ you are my mentor. ✧ i look up to you. ✧ i respect you. ✧ you are my hero. ✧ you inspire me. ✧ you are my enemy. ✧ you make me happy. ✧ i want to protect you. ✧ i would fight by your side. ✧ i consider you an equal. ✧ i think you are beneath me. ✧ i think you are above me. ✧ i would lie for you. ✧ i would lie to you. ✧ i would sleep with you. ✧ i would sleep by your side. ✧ i would hug you. ✧ i would kiss you. ✧ you are family to me. ✧ i would die for you. ✧ i would kill for you. ✧ i would trust you with my life. ✧ i would trust you with my most precious belonging. ✧ i would trust you with a secret. ✧ i would trust you with my biggest / darkest secret. ✧ i love you (platonically). ✧ i love you (romantically).

[llycaons]

one of the prev posts I was like oh cql? on the url and they WERE cql...but their top tag was...bad....but I don't even have the energy to refute their nonsensical arguments for it because like that's not what shipping really is about but also THEY REALLY THINK JC IS *THE ONE* TO MAKE WWX HAPPY AND LWJ IS BORING???? incest aside like jc makes wwx MISERABLE jfc canonically yeah lwj does make wwx happy and jc is left miserable and alone due to the consequenves of his actions including actively tormenting and mocking and humiliating and trying to kill wwx. go die mad about it 😭

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Starting to deep clean my apartment :)

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

i kinda wanna make a critical post about Some Notable People not speaking up and outright endorsing anyone this election but i also know that it probably wouldn't've changed very much and therefore 'doesn't matter' but actually, yes, it does matter because it sets a good precedent. and besides. why would they be out there hyping obama or even biden the fuck up but then talking about voting harris in hushed voices. like it's probably a mix of misogyny and just plain old liberal democrat cowardice. because i KNOW these People probably don't care that much about any differences in their policies, at least not significantly enough for it to seem unreasonable to hype up harris as the better choice.

[sayaratyriea]

sometimes i really wish that the people in court were fictional characters, so i could laugh at their unhinged goofy nonsense instead of just feeling depressed for the innocent people putting up with them