#this hurts

[riverhalorix]

dont hurt me like this

happy halloween CLINGYDUO JUMPSCARE

[eternalremorse]

They're all gone... 💔

[jackie-gremlin-ghost]

MatPat announcing that he’s retiring from the Theory channels was NOT on my 2024 bingo card

[fall0utmind]

New fic!!!!!!

Let me know what you think!!

✨️WOULD YOU STILL LOVE ME IF I TOLD YOU MY DARKEST SECRETS?✨️

A rosquez medical leak AU fic

Here on AO3 (please check it out)

Below the cut for more

(Tw/ mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, and medication abuse - no active description)

Please read with care 🤍🤍

CHAPTER 1 - DOOMSDAY 🏍

The news drops some time in free practice at Misano. Marc has no idea how it got out or who told the media, but he knows it would be everywhere for the next week—hell, the next year.

The sun is high in the cloudless sky, beating down on Marc, and filling the air with the familiar scent of burning rubber and asphalt. He’s going for a final flying lap, trying to put in a decent time on the GP23. Pushing through the ache of his body, he toes the limit for both him and his bike. He presses on until he passes the chequered flag, finally releasing the tension he holds, unwinding like a coil.

Only once he’s driving into the garage, towards the concerned faces of his press officer and crew, he realises something is wrong. At first, he thinks that he has done something wrong on track, perhaps he pushed someone off the racing line and ruined a flyer. He mentally scrambles, racking his brain for a mistake, for any reason he may have aggrieved the fans or his colleagues. It didn’t have to be much, these days, more than in 2015 or 2016, but they still sought any reason to string him up on a cross. Just like Valentino had done so willingly, all those years ago, sacrificing Marc as a martyr to the sport so he could be a god.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. There is a press conference later, maybe it has something to do with that. Marc hasn’t stepped a foot wrong today, he’s sure of it. No crashes, no mistakes, and no on-track battles that people like to examine and use against him. It’s only a practice session. God, he’s overthinking because he got like 4 hours of sleep last night, and this is Italy. Rossi territory. Anxious overthinking is Marc’s familiar friend these days, with so much on the line and so few people in his corner. Press conferences can be tricky in Italy but he’ll get through it, even with the hatred of a nation against him.

Marc clambers off his bike, passing his helmet to a nearby crew member. The team are tense, afraid to look him in the eyes. That’s odd for Marc, he has always had a natural air about him that draws others in and makes them feel at ease. Even Frankie, his ever-present race engineer, struggles to hold his gaze. It does nothing to put him at ease, anxiety coiling in his gut.

They run through their usual practice debrief, evaluating the bike set-up (good, today), pace (impossibly quick for the GP23, and that make Marc glow with satisfaction), and track. It is awkward and stilted, so at odds with the usual team atmosphere which Marc has come to love. The engineers and mechanics shoot the occasional pitying glance at Marc or towards his press officer, patiently waiting in the corner of the garage. Anticipation is clawing at his stomach, making nausea burn in the back of his throat. He knows something is wrong and he can barely focus on the discussion which is wrapping up around him, too panicked to pick up the threads of conversation.

After what feels like an eternity, the crew is dismissed, offering pats of congratulations, or maybe commiserations, as they disperse. Despite his tension, he feels a wave of pride rise in him, pleased with the performance he has managed so far, and grateful that he has managed to find a home within the Italian team.

Marc pushes himself out of his chair, shrugging his shoulders a couple of times, trying to ignore the persistent ache in his right arm. He shoots a tight smile at Frankie, before making his way over to the corner of the room, where the press officer awaits him, a grimace set on her face.

A quick look over one shoulder tells him Alex’s side of the garage is blissfully unaware of the tension in the other end of the room. His brother is happily chatting away to his team, hands waving around as he speaks, a trait which they both shared. Sometimes, he looks at his younger brother and feels scalding guilt at the burden he must carry due to Marc’s failure. It is nice to see him like this, carefree and at ease.

“Marc”

His thoughts are interrupted by the gentle prompting of the waiting woman, who nods to one of the private rooms. After a beat, Marc follows her, heart in his throat despite his best attempts to swallow the nerves. She sits down with a heavy sigh, prompting Marc to follow suit, gingerly sitting on the edge of his chair.

“There’s no easy way to say this Marc”

She awaits his slow nod before continuing

“There’s been a situation. Some of your hospital reports have been leaked, all we know for sure is something from around 2015. We don’t know much about what people know. Currently the media seem unaware about most of it and we would like to keep it that way.”

Marc frowns in confusion. 2015? What? I mean obviously it’s not ideal, a hospital shouldn’t ever let this kind of information reach the general public, especially not for someone as well known as him. But why is everyone walking on eggshells around him about a hospital admission, it makes no sense, at this point he’s at a hospital more often than he isn’t.

He is just about to ask what on earth she’s on about when it hits him. His heart drops like a stone. Hospital, A&E, 2015, the aftermath of Sepang and all the shit that followed. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The press officer might still be talking to him, he doesn’t know. He feels like he is underwater, blood rushing in his ears. Heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his mouth. He sees her mouth moving, but hears nothing over his own thoughts, threatening to drown him. He needs to breathe, realising a few seconds too late to take a gasp of air, grounded by a gentle hand on his arm and kind eyes staring at him with pity.

“Obviously this is unanticipated, we don’t know who leaked this information or how they came across it in the first place. Be assured that we have legal looking into it right now, and we will keep you updated. We don’t know how much people know, its possible the reporters on site today haven’t caught wind of it yet. But they shouldn’t know much, even if they have. At the moment, we have it under control. It has only just come out in the last 30 minutes, but the press conference...”

Marc doesn’t need the look that follows to grasp her meaning Be cautious and be prepared. Right, Italy. Mierda.

“It should be fine, like I said, we are working on it to make sure it was just a minor leak about your attendance to hospital. No details.”

Marc takes another deep breath. Surely no one at the hospital would be stupid enough to share such confidential information. No, no, it is just some background noise, people will think he had an accident. Needed treatment. He trusts his team to keep an eye on it, it will blow over soon enough. He will be surprised if he even gets asked about it, with little to no evidence or substance.

Either way he has to face the press at some point. Not going will just make him look more suspicious, not to mention the hefty fine he will probably receive alongside. He drags himself to his feet, shooting her a smile that is probably a bit more of a grimace and thanking her for the heads up.

She reassures him once more that they have this under control, but his mind is already on another track. He needs a quick shower and to mentally prepare himself for the possibility of nosy reporters.

*

Marc is restless. Ten minutes into the press conference, he feels he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He can tell the others have noticed. Pecco keeps shooting him little glances, and at one point he swears that the younger aborts a small movement towards Marc’s knee, which has been bouncing continuously since they sat down.

Usually, Marc doesn’t mind press conferences too much. Realistically, nothing could be as bad as the tumultuous media circus in the years that followed 2015. And if it ever gets that bad again, he has gotten very good at shutting down and putting his PR training into practice. Despite this, Marc can’t help but feel like he’s in shark-infested water.

He’s so stuck inside his head that he barely registers the question directed his way, his head jerking up at the sound of his name.

“Scusi?”

The reporter gives a slight laugh, eyes sharp and searching.

“What do you have to say about the rumours of your hospitalisation at the end of 2015? There are some suggestions that this was more than a biking injury?”

Marc’s heart gives a little stutter. Shit. He wasn’t expecting that so quickly. For the first time, Marc begins to panic, questioning how much the world knows.

“Ah, I say do not listen to everything you hear in the media”, he shoots the reporters a cheeky grin as a light chuckle goes around the room. He feels Pecco’s eyes burning into the side of his head but does not look back, simply nodding at the facilitator to continue.

The next question is directed to Jorge, asking him about his championship chances this year, with Jorge giving the usual spiel about the team and his bike, talking about the decent lap times he put in today. It had been a good practice session for all of them, with Pecco leading into tomorrow’s sessions, followed closely by Marc, dragging every inch out of the GP23, with Jorge and Enea rounding out the top four. Sunday promised to be an interesting race, with the four of them positing similar times throughout the weekend.

Distantly, Marc registers someone asking Enea about working with Pecco, as the current world champion, comparing his times to the other Italian rider, as if they haven’t been working together for over a year already. Marc almost scoffs. Clearly, some journalists needed new material.

Marc’s attention is drawn to a small commotion in the corner of the room, nearest the exit. He watches as his brother enters the room, wide eyes brimming with concern. Fuck. That isn’t good, Alex must know now. Had something else happened? He has faith in his team to keep this on the down low and prevent it all from blowing up in Marc’s face, but it doesn’t stop the flash of concern shooting through him.

“And Marc another question for you”

Well, so much for that. His head whips around at the reporter's tone, searching the crowd to find the speaker. That tone is never a good thing. The same they use when they are going to ask a hurtful question about Valentino or his most recent crash on the track. He tenses in anticipation.

“Regarding the rumours of your 2015 hospital visits, there are now some reports that these visits were due to a so-called mental health crisis. Do you have anything to say about this?”

His heart stops beating. The room goes dead silent. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, his fellow riders watching in confusion. For Marc, it is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. He looks up and catches Alex’s wide-eyed stare. He's sweating, beads rolling down the side of his neck. Shit. Fucking shit. He’s starting to think he’s not going to make it out of this press conference in one piece, torn apart by the gnashing teeth of the media.

He mentally shakes himself, unwilling to let the others see his dismay. Instead, he schools his features, wills his mouth into a flat line, and answers with his best media-trained nonchalance.

“Ah, it is nothing. No comment. This is not talking about racing; let's move on.”

This seems to wake Pecco up from his trance, tearing his gaze away from Marc and turning his attention back to the reporters. God knows what he was staring at, maybe trying to figure out if this could help him beat Marc next year, if he’s taken anything from Rossi, it would be that.

“Ah, are you going to ask us about the weekend, I would also like to talk about racing”

Some low mutters travel around the room. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He doesn’t know how they have found out, but he does know all too well that the press are like fucking vultures, circling at any sign of a kill. Alex looks like he is about to cry now, doe eyes wide and glossy, his face slack with shock and horror. Marc thinks his face might be a perfect mirror. He still doesn’t really know what’s going on, but it’s clearly worse than he had originally been told.

“Marc, following on from the previous question, it has come to light that you were admitted to A&E several times in 2015 due to suicide attempts. Do you have anything to say about this? Was this anything to do with your infamous fight with Valentino Rossi?”

Oh god, Marc is going to be sick. They went for the kill and came round for a second blow. He glances to his left. Pecco is looking at him in abject horror, his brain scrambling, trying to keep up with the carnage around him. Enea looks like his worst nightmare has come true, wide-eyed and scared, staring at Marc as if he has never seen him before. Jorge just looks confused, bafflement etched on every feature, mouth downturned.

So much for his team's plan to handle it, it has all gone to shit in a matter of minutes. He feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to his facade, destroying everything he has made himself be. Marc knows he is taking too long to respond, his jaw slack with shock. The world is staring at him with bated breath, his biggest secret lay on the table in front of them all, ready to be dissected. He can’t breathe. He feels wild with it, oxygen-starved and desperate. He needs to get out. He needs to get out now.

He scrambles out of his chair, sending it clattering to the floor behind him, shaking the rest of the room out of their stupor. The room explodes into a cacophony of noise and camera flashes. He is going to be sick. He makes a beeline towards Alex, tugging the younger along with him whilst he flees.

“Mierda, mare puta!

They know, they know that...”

Verbalising it out loud makes a wave of nausea hit him, sending him stumbling to the nearest bathroom. He flings the door open, leans over the toilet and proceeds to throw up everything he has eaten in the last 24 hours. Alex enters behind him, muttering in rapid Catalan under his breath.

2015 took a lot from him. More than anyone could know, more than anyone was ever meant to know. Jesus, 2015 nearly took everything from him, everything from his family. It has taken him a long time to accept that part of his life. Marc retches again into the toilet bowl, resting his forehead against the cool porcelain as he blinks back tears. Alex is pacing behind him, his angry mumbles and Marc’s harsh breathing filling the silence of the room.

“How do they know, how the fuck do they know? How did anyone find out?

Joder Marc, are you ok?”

Marc lifts his head from where he’s slumped against the toilet, looking impossibly young. Alex is the one person he would do anything for, he would walk through hell and back to protect him. He is the only one who truly knows what happened in 2015, who knows the extent of the demons in Marc’s brain. Now they will have to face them again.

“No, not really.”

It’s then that Marc registers Pecco standing behind Alex, concern painted across his face. There is no chance that he hasn’t witnessed Marc losing it, with Jorge and Enea standing not far behind. There is a horrifying understanding dawning in their eyes, the realisation that the journalists had struck gold. Marc had attempted his life in 2015 and has kept it inside for almost ten years, only for the world to find out entirely against his will. Marc knows that his face paints a portrait of pain and regret. It unsettles the others, gazing into a familiar face but seeing a whole dimension that was perhaps always there, if anyone had paid attention. All this pain is tucked up inside him in a neat little package, ripped open for greedy eyes to see. Pecco looks away, eyes guilty.

Marc feels like he’s been punched in the stomach, gasping for air that just won’t come. The other pilots probably think he is pathetic. He doesn’t think he can deal with another reason for the others to hate him. As much as he tries to rise above it, he loathes that his colleagues cannot bring themselves to like him. He cannot quite put a name to the emotions on Pecco’s face, Jorge’s sadness and Enea’s hurt are much easier to read. Perhaps it is disgust. And isn’t that ironic, the prodigy looking at him, disgusted by the consequences of Vale's war on Marc?

Marc mentally berates himself for giving so much away. He forces his eyes to go blank, pulling on the mask which he so often wears once more. He accepts the hand Alex offers him; his brother pulling him to his feet and bearing his weight as they push past Pecco. Marc keeps his eyes on the floor, unable to meet the pitying faces of Martin and Bastianini. Instead, he lets Alex guide them back to their motorhome in silence.

[emrysflame]

Lucemond delulu thoughts

(Based on the show)

Imagine if the reason why Rhaenyra did find Luke’s body and only found a piece of his cloak and a dragon wing is because of Aemond.

After what he’s done, he goes looking for Luke. Maybe having a slim hope that Luke is alive. But he’s not, he find his very dead body.

He find a special place and burns Luke’s body, without telling anyone about it. But he also marks the area in a special way of remembrance. And in his guilt mind he visits the area often. No one knows but him.

[kayjayo1227]

RIP Andre Braugher 💙💙💙 Your portrayal as Captain Holt inspired and affected my life greatly, and led to me making many Batman comparisons and Batfam as B99 jokes. My art page wouldn’t be what it is today without you, and this page has literally saved my life.

You will be missed.

[raspberryjellybrains]

I'm sorry lesbians

[ghost-bxrd]

Thinking of Bruce and what he must have felt pulling up to the warehouse, seeing only a burning ruin—

And still digging through the rubble like a madman despite knowing all he’d find would most likely be a body…

I wonder if he hoped, for a moment, he’d find nothing. Because like this—- Robin couldn’t really be dead, right?

And then the relief/devastation when he did find him…

[newbienewness]

Good night everyone!

I'm not fine...

[midnightdemonz]

I have two sides and it's honestly concerning

[wisefoxluminary]

There's people pointing out that Megatron was crying in this scene and that just makes his descent into villainy more heartbreaking because he lost his humanity because he blamed himself for hurting and killing his best friend 😭 like in those split seconds he thought he'd genuinely killed Orion and when he came back as Optimus Prime and was bestowed with the power for good, pitting him against him that was the moment where he fully turned on his best friend as even if he lost him in those fleeting moments, he would always come back to betray and hate him. Their friendship was over and dead on the ground the moment D-16 got consumed in rage and vengeance because he killed a part of himself and Orion because he couldn't let Sentinel go.

"I'm done saving you" has a lot of tragedy and meaning to it because he let him go because he couldn't bear to stand the sight of his friend in near death because of him. He finally let his darkness win because he blamed himself for hurting his friend, he thinks he himself is beyond saving so why bother saving Orion if he is going to damage his heart even more?

A part of him died the moment Orion died. The moment he became Megatron, Optimus was born. Putting them on the opposite sides of fate and destiny. Driving the wedge of guilt and betrayal further between them.

I am not okay...👍

[cerealbishh]

"Live..."

[meep-meep-richie]

Friends 9x05

[toniyx]

More Vox headcanons, because I'm absolutely suffering.

Vox x Reader Migraines Headcanons (Fluff)

So, I'm pretty sure I've already seen someone do this. But now I'm going to put my own take out there, being that I have a migraine right now.

This goes under the assumption that you and him are in a (relatively) stable relationship. Nothing crazy, but you aren't absurdly toxic and fighting all the time.

- It starts when, one day, you two are alone in his big office thing. Vox isn't aware of your migraines at this point; either you haven't told him to spare his feelings, or they just haven't come up yet. Regardless...

- You enter his room, bringing him his morning coffee. Now, his big evil lair is normally pleasantly dim to you, but now, it feels like every single LED is blinking at you for attention, or, more accurately, screaming in your face.

- You approach Vox with the intent to speak with him, but every step is really heavy, and you feel dizzy. Vox hears you enter, but turns back to look at you only when you've come closer.

- The moment he looks at you, you wince. His screen is so painfully bright, and it doesn't help when he starts talking.

- The two of you talk, and you're happy, despite the pain. Vox notices that something's up, but he doesn't comment until you hand him his mug and start clutching your head, trying to cover your eyes or look away subtly. He shuts up for a moment, squinting.

- "What's the matter, dear?" he asks - he sounds more confused than he does concerned, or perhaps a little upset. Has he done something wrong? Why aren't you looking at him? You've never done this before, and for some reason, it looks to him like you're in actual, physical pain from looking at him. That's gonna hurt his ego.

- But little does he know, that's the truth. You turn back a little and begin explaining it to him, looking rather guilty for not having explained it already.

- Vox is just a little offended that you thought he'd be upset if you told him, but figures that goes against his point, and doesn't tell you.

- Now, Vox is very work-oriented, not to mention very busy—he's going to have to get back to work soon enough, there's no doubt about that. But that doesn't mean he doesn't care.

- He turns you away, thanking you dismissively for bringing him his coffee.

- Later on though, in secret, he spares a little while to shower the internet for information on these—he'd never dealt with them personally, even while alive, and he didn't care enough about anyone else to have bothered looking them up before. But now, at last, he had a reason to look into them.

- He calls up a few doctors, pulls a few strings, and threatens a couple of employees to get to work, producing whatever they possibly can to help with your problem

- He surprises you with it all later in the day, once he gets off work. He brings you just about every possible remedy he's been able to find—medicine, earmuffs, caffeine, ice packs, even a blindfold!

- You're surprised by all of this effort—Vox doesn't seem like the type, does he? If you bring it up to him, he just plays it off coyly, telling you how he couldn't possibly just let his darling suffer like that. On the outside, he sounds like a smug bastard. On the inside, though, there's some truth to what he's saying.

- Eventually, the two of you end up hanging out. Vox would even go through the trouble of dimming his screen for you; in fact, he'd even shut it off entirely, just for you. He can still see you just fine due to the cameras inbuilt into his monitor; it's much preferable to having your pretty face look away from him in pain.

- You sleep peacefully that night next to Vox. He even massages your temples without asking. Vox isn't normally so smooth, but he finds success in it just thus once.

[eywaseclipse]

I think what hurts the most for us og directioners, is that we’re the same age as the boys and we were all supposed to grow old together. Mourning the loss of Liam is now mourning the loss of my teen self who watched the video diaries, the Kevin references, the kid who put all the posters on her wall, dressing as them for Halloween with friends. I have friendships that can be traced back to when I first met them and bonded over being a “Harry girl, Niall girl” etc. like this is, hard. It hurts. And it’s just a new wave of emotions i probably haven’t felt since I was about 15. I’m going to be in denial for a bit… they’re still just goofy kids who got formed into a boy band on the X factor to me..💔

[littlemagicalstardust]

AEW has officially removed 'Best Friends' from underneath the name of Chuck Taylor on the roster page. I'm not okay.