#i fucking hate the process of trying to find a job this shit sucks

[purplethespian]

Filling out this stupid employment record form as part of my job application and it’s actually pissing me the fuck off. It asks for everything from the last 7 years and also specifies that my resume should not be treated as a substitute for filling out the form. So I have to be detailed in describing all the job/volunteer shit I’ve done SINCE 2017

This is such fucking bullshit. I just graduated from college so between now and 2017 I have had nine different jobs (if you include my leadership roles in various organizations). It has been over an hour since I started writing everything out and I’m only halfway done

AGH!!!

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The C person's dark side

Behind that innocent face, there's a woman who maybe subconsciously, or maybe not so subconsciously, manipulates situations to get what she wants.

Of course, this doesn't diminish Carmy's free will, as I mentioned here. But that's the whole point, she doesn't really respect his free will, she manipulates it or maneuvers around it, she tries to, in some way, control it and cries when she can't. She got her own 💔 in the process but she will continue doing it even now that she knows better, because it's in her nature. It's IC for her.

So we will unfortunately and surely see a lot more of that this upcoming S3. Claire's dark side will be out in the open, this time perhaps it will be more explicit and not so subtle. I'm not sure how it will be played out bc I gave up on trying to figure Storer out, I just let him be and trust him as much as I can, which is not much at this point, tbh...

But back to Claire, that is my main problem with her, not only because in IRL I hate manipulative people, even if they do it unconsciously, even when I know that someone who resorts to manipulations, especially emotional manipulation tactics, is someone deeply insecure and it's usually not their fault, as insecurities are typically rooted in early childhood and you can't hold a child responsible for anything or sometimes are linked to unsolved trauma, which clearly, you can't blame on the person either. But, here's the catch: I'm a person too, hi, hello! I have issues too, etc, and I don't manipulate shit! I respect people's free will to a fault even if it fucking kills me, and usually it does as a matter of fact. But I suck it up and move on like a pro, I just bounce back and heal without trying to manipulate anyone into acting the way I wish they fucking did. And I certainly don't take it out on others. I go to therapy, blow steam up at the gym till I have to pop painkillers to keep functioning, I skip town for a few days and re-connect with nature, I write FF, I journal, I read, I go to my BBF's house, and cry while she feeds me foods I don't even know how to cook, I swim, I walk my dogs, and lay on the floor with them till I feel better and when none of that works, I occasionally go back to boxing, I try not to bc it's not healthy for me. But I NEVER FUCK WITH OTHER PEOPLE'S FREE WILL, I DON'T CONDONE THAT BEHAVIOUR IN OTHERS IRL AND I HATE THAT MY FAVEST TV SHOW GOT RUINED WITH A CHARACTER LIKE THAT, I DON'T WANNA WATCH THAT. I mean, I will, sure, bc IK Sydcarmy is endgame, but I don't wanna.

Claire embodies everything I hate in people, everything I run away from IRL, her character represents all I think is toxic and should be avoided at all costs, all I consider ethically wrong in the most basic aspects of life because what makes us humans is our freedom and IK this sounds dramatic 🙄 but I believe that who doesn't respect our freedom, free will, etc, is trying to rob us from our humanity, sometimes inadvertently, which I think might be her case most of the time, but some other times they do it on purpose. They know what they are doing and do it anyway, they are willing to outsource and pay others to help them, etc. They know they are trying to force an outcome, which in business might be OK, seeing as at work we may find ourselves in these kinda situations more often than not and we don't really have a choice as to whether we put up with them or not, especially if we work in certain industries, however, we are NOT our jobs! When it comes to human relationships this M.O. goes against my whole belief system. Can't do it. Nope. It's not fair and fairness is where I draw the fucking line!!!

And no, I'm not a Sydcarmy soldier because of that, but yes, I'm ALSO a Sydcarmy soldier bc of that, for sure!

But on a deeper level, and this is actually what I hate the most here: I'm mad at Storer, whom I learned to love and hate in equal measure by now. You'll see, he allowed this character to happen. Either he created it or signed off on it if one of his other writers wrote Claire into existence. WHY!?!?! THERE WERE OTHER WAYS TO DO THIS, CHRIS!

I previously mentioned how shady Claire's behavior was from the beginning and how it probably wouldn't have been tolerated or woulda been flagged as a clear 🚩if a man woulda acted that way with a woman. I go over it in my response/rb to this comprehensive (just the way I like it) post by @damnikindadontcare

So summing up, I don't hate C, I hate Storer and what Claire represents. I hate that I will have to continue putting up with her and her dark side for who knows how many more eps, and every time I look at her all of this goes through my head, it kills the whole watching experience for me but if this is the price I have to pay to see Sydcarmy unfold and Claire eventually walk into the sunset defeated and not getting her way, I will pay it. Fuck it!

YOU WON STORER, NOW GIVE ME WHAT I WANT AND NO ONE GETS HURT (it's a song, not a threat, relax).

[sortofanobsession]

hi! i’ve genuinely read every single one of your roy/jamie fics and i’m obsessed with your writing!

i’d love an angsty established relationship fic — they get into a fight or break up but they’re trying to not have it affect the team or jamie’s playing but it’s hard when they have to see each other everyday. so the team + coaches try to parent trap them back together x

A/N There was a second ask that added this: i just wanted to add i love the way u depict darker themes so diving into their respective unhealthy coping mechanisms for dealing with the breakup would be amazing to read! x

I honestly wanted to keep what breaks them up vague, because I thought it was bit more interesting wondering. I have what I think it was, and I drop hits. But I might save that for it's own thing...maybe not sure.

Word count: 6k+

Ao3

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Paring: Roy x Jamie (Romantic), Jamie x Ted (platonic), Roy x Ted (platonic), Keeley x Jamie (platonic, formerly romantic), Jamie x AFC Richmond Himbos (platonic, duh, but Sam, Dani and Jamie are besties)

Content warning: Anxiety, nausea, mentions of vomiting, heavy drinking, mentions of violence, fear, paranoia, manipulation, injury, self-esteem issues, ptsd, self-deprecation, swearing/cursing/cussing, jealousy.

It’s Phoebe, so yeah

Roy had been staying with his sister until he could find a new place, and as much as he loved his sister and Phoebe, it was frustrating.

"Just admit you miss Jamie," his sister said as she sipped her tea as her brother prepared for training.

"Like a hole in my head," Roy says. 

"You don't think just abruptly stopping his training will mess with his game?"

"So you think I should have stayed in a failing relationship so he doesn't suck?"

"I am just saying, don't take shit out on him or the team. You aren't the only one miserable here," his sister says. 

"You think I'm that unprofessional?"

"You took your shit with Keeley out on Jamie, but the difference is, back then, he was a willing participant. Just don't ruin your career as a coach because you and your boyfriend had a spat and broke up."

Jamie is fucking miserable. He hates being alone. Dread had already had his morning shake threatening to make a reappearance twice before he made it to the Nelson Road car park. But he had nearly two decades of hiding his pain and misery. And heartbreak couldn't be as hard as hiding bruised ribs or broken toes, right? The team didn't have to know they split. How would they know that Roy had left him? Roy wouldn't tell them. He didn't like people knowing about his life. All Jamie had to do was go in, change into his kit, do his job, and he could go home and fall apart. He jumped slightly when someone knocked on his window. 

"You good, bruv?" Isaac asks when Jamie gets out.

"Yeah, just a rough morning," Jamie says. He is already ruining his own plan. 

"Try and shake it off. We have a brutal match tomorrow," Isaac says.

"Yeah, 'course," Jamie agrees as they walk into the building. "I'm sure I'll be fine once we get on the pitch, normalcy, yeah?"

"There we go, good vibes," Isaac says as they enter the locker room. Jamie keeps his head down and goes through the motions of getting changed. He mentally talks himself through the well-rehearsed process to keep his mind from wandering so he doesn't think about anything else. He must mutter something out loud because Cockburn gives him an odd look. 

"Miss training this morning?" He asks Jamie.

"What?" Jamie asks, shocked he was so terrible at hiding shit these days. 

"You are usually a ball of energy, but you're like a…live wire today," Cockburn says.

"Oh, yeah, slept like shit, so yeah, no training." He didn't have to tell him that it was because Roy didn't want to see him anymore. That Jamie had fucked up and ruined everything again. And now he was risking fucking up the team again. And he hadn't been this anxious for training since he came back to Richmond after getting booted from Man City. Yeah, he just keeps fucking up.

"Well, channel that shit into the ball. You're good at that."

"Yeah, thanks," Jamie says before he finishes changing. When his boots are laced, he doesn't wait to be told to head out. He just does. Maybe Cockburn is right, and he can work his shit out on the pitch. He is already out warming up by the time the team joins him. He doesn't notice the way Ted and Beard look at each other as Jamie silently joins them. 

Roy does everything he can to avoid looking at Jamie. He won't admit it out loud, but he's a bit concerned about what he will see when he finally does. He hadn't missed what Cockburn had said or how Jamie had responded from where he was waiting on Ted by the office. He thinks about what his sister has said, and then Cockburn calling Jamie a live wire. But this is Jamie Tartt. Sure, he might have an off day, but he's young. He's talented. He'll bounce back in a day or two. He ignores the tiny voice of doubt in the back of his mind that points out Jamie never got over Keeley. If he did, it was because of Roy. So he might not get over it until he finds someone new. And that made something twist in Roy's stomach. The idea of Jamie with anyone hurt, even though Roy was the one that walked out. He had no right to be mad at a hypothetical version of Jamie. So he tried to focus on doing his job. He was thankful that Ted called for 11 on 11. That meant Roy wouldn't have to try and coach Jamie and the other forward players directly yet. Because he isn't sure, he is ready. That little voice is back, asking him if he ever will be. He has to finally look at Jamie when he misses an easy shot. And just looking at him, he can already tell Jamie is being harder on himself than anyone else could be. He knows that from the way Jamie waves off Dani and Sam, trying to cheer him up. Normally, Roy would go over, hype Jamie up, and get him over whatever is in his head, and it would be fine. But Roy's the problem this time. He knows it. He is the one that packed his shit and walked out on Jamie. And he can't do that to Jamie. He doesn't want to be that couple that breaks up constantly. No. He has to stay away from Jamie. It's for Jamie's own good. He's young. Being with Roy could fuck up his career. The little voice points out he already has. Jamie's a mess, missing wide-open shots and shutting out his friends. Jamie’s backslid, and it's Roy's fault. Roy really needed a drink. As soon as he got out of training, he was going to the pub. 

Jamie is wound tight like a spring and rung out like a rag by the time training ends. He doesn't say anything to anyone. He just changed and goes home. At home, he doesn't eat or even change out of his clothes. He face plants on his bed, which still kinda smells like Roy, and tries to shut his brain off. He stays there until he eventually falls asleep after hours of tossing and turning. He wakes up, and everything is dark except for his phone. His phone is ringing. 

"Hmm?" He answers.

"Jesus, Jamie, I've been trying to get a hold of you for hours. The team is freaking out. What is going on?"

"Roy broke it off," Jamie tells her.

"I'm sorry, babe, how you feeling?"

"Like shit," Jamie admits. 

"Right," Keeley says as she thinks about it. "You get some sleep tonight. I'll let Sam know we talked. He's worried. And I'll come by tomorrow night, and we can talk, yeah?"

"Okay," Jamie says. He hangs up, double-checks his alarm, and goes back to sleep. 

Roy goes to the pub but ends up just getting food and leaving. He was not in the mood to deal with annoying fans. Normally he just tells them to fuck off, but he just wants to eat his dinner and drown his sorrows. So he goes back to his sister’s, goes to her liquor cupboard, and grabs a bottle, not really caring what it is. He pours a glass of whiskey and eats his dinner. Phoebe joins him, and he goes through the motions of listening to her. He tries, but he just doesn’t have it in him to entertain her. But he doesn’t send her to her room or get mad at her. It’s her home, and he’s just crashing there. The glass doesn’t stay empty for long. He drinks a bit more than he probably should before he passes out on the couch. He wakes up with a hangover. He finds a bottle of water and painkillers left for him by his sister. And he hates himself for being so stupid and being a burden on his family. 

Jamie’s stomach threatens to reject the small breakfast he managed to eat. But like the day before, he pushes through. 

"You look like shit," Colin says when Jamie walks into the locker room to prepare for the match, they have later in the day.

"Good to see you too, Colin." 

Jamie takes a nasty tackle during the match. He is so pissed at himself that nothing anyone says registers as he makes his way to the locker room. He'd come down hard on his wrist, and it was already swelling by the time he gets to there. The med team splints it and gives him an ice pack. He sniffles when he is alone in the treatment room. A voice that sounds suspiciously like his dad mentally berates him for being weak, for being soft, and a crybaby. He looks up to see Ted approaching him.

"Should be fine in a bit, don't use me hands in the game anyway, so should be good to go in-"

"Not sure that's the best idea, Jamie. Took a heck of a hit. You should rest."

"I'd feel better if I was back out there."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, you have been struggling before that hit. Have been since yesterday. I figured you'd talk to someone eventually, but clearly, it is starting to impact your ability to play-"

"You're benching me because of this?" He gestures to his splinted wristed.

"I'm benching you because you don't look well, Jamie. And I tried to see if you could sort it out on your own, but short of calling your mom, I'm not sure how else to get through to you. Take a day or two and try and sort yourself out. Call someone if you need to."

"You're serious," Jamie says in disbelief.

"Go home, Jamie, rest up. Heal up. Check-in with you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Jamie says, his tone a bit cold. He goes back to the locker room and changes out of his kit. He leaves before the team even knows he's out of the game.

"You what?!" Roy shouts at Ted.

"Sent him home, he's injured, and clearly he-"

"He needs his support network, not to be sent home to overthink every mistake he made."

"For someone that walked out on the guy, you sure seem to be mad."

Roy has no comeback for that. All he can do is send a text to Keeley asking her to check on Jamie. And Keeley leaves the match early to do so.

"When was the last time you ate?" Keeley asks him when he lets her into his flat. 

"Earlier," Jamie says.

"Did you eat after they gave you pain meds?"

"Not hungry."

"Tell that to the future ulcer in your stomach from taking painkillers on an empty stomach."

"If I eat a sandwich, can I go back to bed?" 

"Jamie, I know you are hurting, but you can't just sleep all day."

"I'm not allowed to train. I can't focus on shit. I'll heal faster if I sleep, so seems fine to me."

"You aren't resting to heal. You're depressed. I know breakups are hard, but you can't just-"

"Yes, I can," Jamie says. 

"Jamie," Keeley was shocked by how defiant he was being. He had been a prick in the past, but this felt different. This was him determined to wallow in sadness. 

"Sorry," he mutters before going to make a sandwich he didn't even want but would eat because Keeley said so. "No guarantees it stays down," he adds.

"Are you sick?" She goes over and feels his forehead, and he lets her. But he knows he isn't sick sick. It was just in his head. 

"I'm not that kind of sick," he points out. He taps his head. "It's in me head. I just, I think about having to go to training. About having to see him. About letting the team down again. I feel like I'm back trying to get accepted at Richmond all over again, but I just keep fucking up, and everyone is going to hate me. And I can't even train to be better because he was the one training me, and I try to eat, but my stomach won't let me. I try to sleep, and I can't and-" He doesn't realize he is crying until Keeley hugs him.

"It's understandable to be anxious, babe," she drags him into the living room and sits him down. She gets out and orders him something she thinks he can eat to be delivered and something for herself because she has a feeling she isn't going anywhere for now. 

After they eat, Jamie falls asleep snuggled against her on the couch. Her phone buzzes, and she checks it. She rolls her eyes. It's Roy asking if Jamie is okay for the sixth time.

Keeley: if you are so concerned why not see for yourself

Roy-o: I'll only make it worse 

Keeley: how

Roy-o: because I am the reason he is this way

Keeley: no shit

Keeley: that means you could also fix it

Keeley: you're an idiot and a right prick you're both miserable

Keeley: you could fix it for both of you but you won't 

When Roy doesn't respond, she gets frustrated. She texts Ted.

Keeley: I got Jamie to eat, take something for his wrist, and sleep.

Ted: how bad is he?

Keeley: he is an anxious and heartbroken mess that has himself worked up that he is letting the team down

Ted: which only makes it seem like he is failing more which makes it worse and he's caught in a spiral of bad. Got it. 

Keeley: I'll stay with him tonight but I have to work tomorrow.

Ted: don't sweat it. We'll handle it.

Keeley: thanks Ted

Roy is the last one in the office, and the locker room is empty. Everyone else had gone home after the game. No one was in the mood to celebrate. An injured and benched striker could really hurt their chances in the league. Roy had thrown his phone across his desk after rereading the texts from Keeley. He gets a bottle of scotch out of his desk drawer and pours himself a drink. He wanted to check on Jamie himself. He wanted to make sure that Jamie wasn’t beating himself up for someone else tackling him. But he knew he couldn’t. He had been the one that put Jamie off his game. His phone goes off. 

Ted: You’re right. He needs his team.

Ted: He will still be at training but he is not allowed to train.

Roy leaves him on read and drains the rest of his drink before heading back to his sister’s place.

Keeley is trying to coax Jamie to eat the next morning when his doorbell rings. She finds a smiling Dani Rojas and a concerned-looking Sam Obisanya. 

"Oh, hi," she gives them a tired smile.

"Coach said Jamie needed friends," Dani says. 

"And breakfast," Sam adds. 

"He does," she nods and lets them in. "Look who dropped by, Jamie." 

Jamie immediately gets up from his spot on his sofa but relaxes a bit when he sees it's just Dani and Sam. 

"Hi guys," Jamie says. 

"I have to run home before work. Text me if you need anything." She hugs Jamie. "Let them help you," she whispers to him. "They care about you like I do. Don't fight them." She feels him a nod. She gives Jamie a kiss on the cheek, which earns her a small smile. "Okay, babes, see you all later." 

"How is your wrist?" Sam asks as he sets the takeaway containers on Jamie's coffee table. Dani hands him a paper cup. And Jamie smells the lovely scent of coffee, and he almost cries because Keeley is right. His friends are there because they care. They don't hate him. He hasn't actually ruined his relationship with his teammates. Maybe it was all in his head.

"I…fuck, it's good to see you guys," Jamie says, and he does have tears in his eyes.

"Of course, mi amigo," Dani smiles. "All you have to do is ask. We will be here."

"But we cannot help you if we don't know what is wrong," Sam says. And Jamie tells them everything because he can't keep it in, and he is a fucking mess. But Dani hugs him and tells him he is okay that he isn't bad or a failure. 

"You haven't ruined anything," Sam says. "Well, nothing that cannot be fixed. If you need someone to train with, just ask. Might not be 4 in the morning, but a few extra hours could be good."

"And we can do it together," Dani agrees. "Always more fun with more friends."

"You guys would do that for me?"

"Of course we will, you are our friend and our teammate, and this could help all of us be better, but not until after your arm is healed. Until then, we can still keep you company." Sam finds the remote and turns on the TV. He finds some mindless show that will work as background noise or a distraction. And they all settle in to eat. 

A few hours later, Sam has to leave to help his dad at Ola's, but Ted swings by to take his place for a bit. Dani and Ted fill the quiet and put Jamie's mind at ease until Dani leaves in the afternoon. Leaving just Jamie and Ted. 

"How you feeling?" Ted asks as they eat a light dinner.

"Better, actually. Like my thoughts aren't so loud, and I can eat without it coming back up."

"That's good, Jamie," Ted smiles at him. "You know I didn't send you home as punishment, right? I knew you were struggling, and I was going to call and check on you after the match. I was worried, but being with the team was making it worse, so I figured you needed a breather. Maybe I should have waited until after the match, but you do need rest, Jamie. Maybe not the time away from the team, but you need to let yourself relax. And I know that being alone ain't helpful when your head gets caught up in everything, but running yourself into the ground isn't good for you. You don't have to hide it, though. No one will think less of you for being in a rut. You have friends. You haven't failed anyone. You've worried them, but the team knows that this isn't the normal you. They aren't mad. They want to help. Let your team help you."

"It's just hard because…" Jamie can't say it.

"Because Roy is there?" Ted finishes for him. Jamie nods. "I can't imagine that is easy to deal with. But you aren't alone. You have the team. They're a good buffer and a great distraction. Now that Sam and Dani know, they'll help you. Keep you out of your head. Hopefully, keep a few of the others from asking questions."

Jamie groans because he knows the whole team is going to know now, and they will probably blame Jamie or Roy, and it could get even more awkward. He doesn't want anyone to be mad at Roy. He wasn't even mad at Roy. He missed Roy, and having to see him every day didn't make it any easier not to miss him. He was so fucking close, but it wasn't the same, and it hurt Jamie's soul. 

"Jamie," Ted starts. "This is just another obstacle you have to learn to navigate. Can't be avoided, but it can be overcome. You might need a bit of a boost from your buddies, but you can, and you will get past it. It just takes time. It will get easier."

"Thanks, Coach," Jamie says. 

Roy gets a text from Ted that Roy's going to be working with the defenders and reserves for the time being. And Roy knew this was coming. When Keeley told him, he was an idiot. His sister was right. He needed to find a way to make this work, or he'd have to leave Richmond. He couldn't let his issues ruin Jamie's career. And Richmond was good for Jamie. Yeah, it was Roy's home, but Jamie thrived there. He was hours away from his fucking old man. So he was safe from that bullshit. He had friends on the team that loved him. And he had Ted. Roy could find a new team if he needed to. He didn't want to, but he wanted Jamie to get better. And he did want Jamie to get better. But fuck, he didn't know how else to fix this. Jamie deserved better. 

A few days go by of Roy coaching the defenders. He tried to ignore the way Sam and a few of the team members would look at him. It made Roy feel uneasy. Most, if not all, of the players, knew that he'd left Jamie, and that is why Jamie was struggling. They knew Roy could see Jamie suffering, and as Keeley figured, he was just being a prick by letting it go on. They didn't know that they had fought over stuff they do all the time. That Jamie would be better off with someone that wouldn't ruin his career if the press found out. That Jamie deserved to be with someone his age. The nights are filled with liquor, and Roy’s mornings are usually a blur from being hung over. 

Keeley and Sam meet Ted and Beard at the Crown and Anchor. 

"We have to do something," Keeley says as she takes a pull off her drink. "They are both miserable, but Roy thinks Jamie is better off without him, even though Jamie is clearly not better off." 

"How do you know Roy thinks that?" Beard asks.

"Because his sister told me so, that and he has been drinking more than usual, and as much as Phoebe loves having her uncle around 24/7, his sister knows it isn't good for Roy."

"Okay, so what do we do?" 

"Make them realize they are idiots in love and are at their best when they are together."

"You want to Parent Trap them?" Ted asks.

"Exactly!"  Keeley grins. 

"But how?” Sam asks. “Neither of them are parents."

"Technically, they aren't,” Keeley states. “But I know at least one child they both would do anything for, and her mum is willing to help."

Keeley drops by training with Phoebe a week later. The match the day before had been a draw, and tensions were high. But they all knew something had to give. She leaves Phoebe with Ted and goes, as planned, to see Rebecca. 

Roy has no fucking clue how it happens, but one minute his niece is fine kicking the ball around with a few players. The next moment she is crying. Jamie is, of course, faster than he is and is physically closer to her. He is there before Roy even realizes what is going on. Even with his splinted wrist, Jamie picks Phoebe up and takes her inside. Ted tells Roy to go with them, and he'll find out what happens. Roy doesn't need to be told twice. He finds them in the treatment room with the med team looking over Phoebe's ankle. She sniffles, but Jamie is on the treatment table next to her, talking her through it. Her small little hand was in his. Jamie gets up when Roy enters and looks like he is about to leave. "Your Uncle's here now. You'll be-" Jamie starts to say, but Phoebe interrupts him.

"No!" Phoebe shouts and sniffles. She whispers something neither can hear to the medic, and the medic leaves. Both Roy and Jamie gape at Phoebe as she hops down off the table and hurries out the door. It slams closed, and they hear it lock behind her. Roy tries the door, but it doesn't open.

"Phoebe, open the door," Roy demands.

"No! Not until you two fix it," Phoebe's muffled voice shouts. "You love each other. So fix it!"

"Open the door now, Phoebe!" Roy shouts, and Jamie winces at the volume in the small space. 

"No!" She repeats.

"Did we just fall into a trap set by an 8-year-old girl?" Jamie asks. And Roy grunts.

"She has a key," Roy points out. "Which means she had help."

"Is it even legal to have a door lock like this in a public building?" Jamie wonders.

"Probably not, but she had help, and if Beard was in on it, then we are fucking stuck." 

Jamie goes to put his hands in the pocket of his trackies and winces as it moves his sore wrist.

"She didn't make it worse, did she?" Roy asks, now worried Phoebe just made Jamie's life even more difficult than it already was. 

"It's fine," Jamie says, now fiddling with the velcro on the splint and staring at the floor. "She's not that heavy."

"I know," Roy starts. "But if it's bad enough you can't play, then-"

"It's fine, Roy," Jamie repeats. "It's Phoebe. Wasn't just going to sit there and do nothing."

"Even if it made your injury worse?"

"It's Phoebe, so yeah," Jamie shrugs. "You might not like me anymore, but I'm not going to-"

"Who says I don't like you anymore, Jamie?" 

"Leaving with your bag and avoid me like the plague since has made that crystal fucking clear," Jamie says. "I'm going to visit my mum after the match in Blackburn. So you can get your shit if you want."

"Jamie," Roy starts, but he doesn't know how to finish. It is awkwardly silent. Because Roy asked for this, he wanted Jamie to move on. But even when Jamie was a prick to him and literally toasted to Roy's death, it didn't hurt this much. Because he hadn’t loved Jamie back then. And now, Jamie was guarded. Cold. He made Jamie this way. 

"Thought so," Jamie muttered. He pushes past Roy to the door. "Phoebe, I know you mean well, but can you please open the door? No matter what happens, you still have me. You have my number. You can use it. And I'm not mad you tricked us. And your uncle won't be either if you open the door," Jamie kept his tone just loud enough for her to hear through the door but not in an angry shout because he wasn't mad. He was numb. It was quiet for a minute before they heard the door unlock, and then it opened. Jamie gives Phoebe a sad smile. "Thanks, Phoebs." He pats her head with his good hand. "I owe you a quid," Jamie says, and he heads to the locker room. 

"Are you mad?" Phoebe asks Roy. 

"Not at you, kid," Roy says honestly.

"Are you mad at Jamie?" She asks.

"Fuck no," Roy says. He sighs. "I'm mad at whoever gave you that key. And myself, because I think I did more damage than I thought I did."

"Oh, is Jamie's hand okay?" She asks.

"I think so," Roy assures her. "He doesn't mind if it is sore. He cares more about you than he does his wrist. And he's right. No matter what happens, you still have both of us. If you want to talk to Jamie, you can. Be kind of shitty of me to take away another person in your life."

"I know," she says, her tone sad because both Roy and Jamie were still upset.

"Let's find Keeley, and you can make her get you ice cream."

"Okay," Phoebe says. 

"Fuck you," Roy glares at Ted as he throws the key Phoebe had given him before she left with Keeley. Keeley had already received a full Roy speech about using his niece in a childish plan. Roy goes and pours himself a drink because he is beyond done. His day is fucked, and there is no way he can do without something to take the edge off. 

"Hold on, let me-" Ted starts to say, but Roy is not having it. He growls as he slams the drawer of his desk and is back in the main office. 

"Fuck both of you!" Roy shouts at Beard too. "What gives you the right to fucking do what you did? She is a fucking child. You had her fucking lie to me. My own fucking family! You risked Jamie Tartt hurting his wrist worse because, of fucking course he wasn't going to let an injury stop him from helping Phoebe. He loves her like his fucking own. If you ever think of involving Phoebe in your fucking Rom-Communism bullshit again, I will punch you in the throat. She is a child!” He glares at Ted. “You are a fucking father! You should fucking know better! And this isn't a fucking movie! Things are never that simple, and you only made it worse! Because now he fucking hates me more! Made that perfectly clear! So stay the fuck out of it!" 

Roy storms out of the office. A few players and staff members hurry to get out of his way. 

"Well, that's not good," Ted says, looking over at Beard. 

"Nope," Beard agrees.

"Hey, Ted," Keeley says later that day when she calls him. "I need to warn you that-"

"Roy is very angry, I know," Ted sighs. 

"Well, yeah, but I think we did some additional damage to Jamie." She says.

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, I called to ask if he wanted me to pick up dinner and come see him, but he said not to bother. He just wants to get his stuff ready for Blackburn and for going to his mum's. Told me he wasn't mad, but he is just done."

"What do you mean done?" 

"I don't know," Keeley admits. "He says he cleared it with Rebecca and Higgins to take the week after the Blackburn match off. He's going to Manchester. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

They load the bus for the 4-hour drive to Blackburn, and it is oddly subdued compared to the normal liveliness of the team. Everyone knows Jamie wasn't going to be returning with them. He'll be at the game, but he is taking the train to Manchester after. Jamie had assured his friends he'd be back in Richmond after a week. He didn't see his mum much, and with his wrist being fucked anyway, he was going to stay with her. 

The trip there was an uneasy one. 

Jamie and Dani Rojas shared a room. Normally he roomed with Sam or even Roy, but Sam had admitted to helping Phoebe with her plan, and Jamie had said he wasn't mad, but he still wasn't happy. He forgave Sam before the match, but nothing changed.

Roy paces around his hotel room after the match. Jamie had told him he was going to see his mum. But knowing he was and seeing him leave were two very different things. He had watched the team say goodbye. Some members of the team gave Roy pitying looks, and a couple of them glared at him. But Jamie had barely looked at Roy. And that had Roy's chest feeling painfully tight. He still loved Jamie. He couldn’t deny it. He’d already eaten the food he ordered and more than one beer. Only stopping when he realized how stupid it was to keep drinking like that. Jamie didn’t mind if the people in his life drank. But he was not a fan of drunks. Jamie’s father had thrown a few too many bottles at him while pissed. Roy ended up leaving the rest of the pack in the hotel room fridge untouched. He needed to get his shit together and drink until he passes out because of the idea of falling asleep without Jamie beside him fucking hurt. 

After a mostly sleepless night, Roy made a decision. He had everything set before most of the team was probably even awake. He went and knocked on Ted's door. 

"I am going to Manchester."

"What?" Ted was half awake.

"I'm going to Manchester. I won't be on the bus."

"Going after Jamie?" Ted asked hopefully.

"Might end up a fucking disaster, but I'm going to go."

"Good luck," Ted says. "Let me know how it goes."

Jamie thinks he's losing his mind when his mum answers the door, and he can swear he hears Roy. He makes his way to the hall and hears her arguing with someone. When he rounds the corner to the stairs, he freezes. It was Roy. 

Roy's eyes meet his, and he can see how tired Roy looks. 

"Fine," Jamie hears his mum say. "But you upset him, and I will throw you out. This is my house."

"Understood," Roy says, looking back at Georgie. She disappears down the hall and into the kitchen. Roy steps further into the entryway and closes the door behind him. He looks up at Jamie again.

"Hi," Roy says.

"Eh…hi," Jamie says. "What are you doing here?" 

"Can we talk?" 

"Sure," Jamie makes his way down the rest of the stairs and leads Roy to the living room. Jamie waits silently.

"I don't want to get my shit. I don't want to find a new flat. I…want to go home."

"You want me to move?" Jamie asks, annoyance in his tone. 

"Fuck no," Roy says. "Not really home if you aren't there." 

Jamie just stares at him. Roy sighs.

"Phoebe was right. I need to fix this." Roy gestures between Jamie and himself. "I know I fucked up. I just keep thinking you would be so much better off with anyone else. Someone that isn't an angry and broken idiot."

"But what if I don't want anyone else? What if I'm happy with an angry and broken idiot?"

"Are you happy?" Roy asks bluntly.

"Been a shitty few fucking weeks," Jamie says. "But I was happy before that."

"Even when I pick fights for stupid reasons?" Roy asks.

"Even then, because when we fight it out, the sex is fucking awesome," Jamie grins but it fades. "Not so much when you leave and don't come back. Even when you had the chance." 

"I didn't want to make things harder for you," Roy admits.

"Harder? Roy, I couldn't eat or sleep unless Keeley, Sam, or Dani stayed with me. I fucked up my wrist and couldn't even play. It was already too fucking hard. And after what happened with Phoebe, I didn't even want to see them. I just shut down. Went numb."

Roy grimaces. "I thought it would be better for you in the long run if you had the team. You would find someone new."

"I don't want anyone new!" Jamie shouts. "I just want you."

"I know but-"

He is cut off by Jamie grabbing his wrist and dragging Roy upstairs to his childhood bedroom. "Fucking look!" Jamie gestures to Roy's poster on the wall. "I told you I fucking loved you. Loved watching you play. Then I said I love you for you. Fucked up knee and-" Jamie goes over and takes the plastic whistle off the wall. "And your stupid fucking allergy to whistles." He throws it at Roy. He points at the poster again. "You fucking think I would want anyone else? I used to fucking dream of this, you fucking prick. Quit trying to fucking fight me, and let me love you."

Roy stares at the whistle as everything Jamie just said sinks in. Jamie loves every version of Roy. He can see that now. And it's a violent and terrifying feeling of love at times. But he feels it. And Roy is moving before he even knows what he's doing, but he just needs to be with Jamie. He feels like shit when Jamie isn't there. He pulls Jamie in and kisses him. 

"I can't fucking sleep either," Roy tells him. "Could only drink until I could actually sleep. Seeing you struggle and not being able to help was eating away at my fucking heart. Fucking shattered it when you told me you wanted me to move out."

"I never wanted you to leave, and if I was there when you came to get your stuff, I'm not sure I could have kept it together. I'd have lost my shit and either begged you to stay or just cry. So I gave you an out."

"I don't want an out," Roy puts a hand on Jamie's cheek and wipes away a few stray tears that were there. "I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy with you, you fucking bellend." Jamie kisses him desperately, hoping to make his point. "No one is ever happy all the time, not even Ted. It's how you handle the shit times that matters. You can't just run away, Roy."

"I know, and I won't. Not like this. Not again." Roy holds him close. 

"Fucking good," Jamie says. He even nudges Roy until the older man is sitting on his bed. Jamie goes over and kicks his door closed. "Now fucking prove it."

"Fulfilling those childhood dreams of yours?" Roy grins. 

"Fuck yeah," Jamie says as he straddles Roy's hips. 

"I fucking missed you," Roy growls before pulling Jamie into a kiss. 

"Missed you too," Jamie says against his lips.

"Fucking love you, you know that, right?" Roy grunts when Jamie shifts his weight, and he hits Roy's clothed and half-hard dick. 

"Yeah, I do," Jamie grins. "Fucking love you too. Now shut up before my mum hears you." Jamie kisses him. Roy swallows Jamie's moan when in a quick move, Roy pins him to the bed. 

If Jamie's mum hears them, she doesn't say anything when they finally make it back downstairs. She gives Roy another lecture about taking care of her son before telling Roy he is welcome to stay. Roy thanks her but says he booked a hotel. She even serves him tea.

"For how long?" Jamie asks.

 "Didn't want to assume you'd just accept me back," Roy says. "Or that your parents would even let me in."

"Thought you'd have to prove it, yeah?" Jamie says. The striker smirks when Roy chokes on his tea. Jamie had told him to prove it in his bedroom, and Roy had fucked Jamie under Roy's Chelsea poster.

"Goodness, Roy," Jamie's mum took the mug of tea from him as he coughed. "Are you alright?"

Roy nods. His eyes were watering. "Yeah, I'm good," Roy manages when he can breathe again. "Sorry," he says. 

"No need to apologize. Just try not to inhale it this time," Georgie insists. She hands him back the mug. 

"Thanks," Roy says. Jamie laughs. 

"Fucking finally," Someone says as Roy and Jamie walked into the locker room together a week later. 

"Fuck off," Roy glares.

"We're just happy for you," Sam says. "Feeling better?" He asks Jamie. 

"Yeah, thanks, mate," Jamie grins and puts his hand over his heart. "Didn't know you all missed me so much. I'm touched." 

That earns a mix of laughs and boos.

"Well, I'm glad you are back, mi amigo," Dani hugs him.

Jamie hugs him back. "Me too, mate, me too." 

[girderednerve]

sorry guys but it's been too long, i have no choice but to write a long post about, my job,

okay so my job is to be a part-time youth services assistant at a small branch library in a low-income, historically black community; we're a five-minute walk from both a middle school and an elementary school, with the outcome that we get a whole bunch of unattended kids after school, especially middle schoolers.

i am not at all anti-middle schooler, but they can be a difficult bunch to accommodate in the library because they are just figuring out that they do not always have to do what random grown-ups tell them—a realization which i generally wish to encourage—but they are not yet very good at impulse control or situation assessment, and we are still responsible for enforcing various library rules with them

a lot of youth "discipline" (ugh) makes me feel really miserable and defensive. we try really hard to only enforce rules that are important, to provide clear limits and communicate consistently, and avoid making teens feel unwelcome in the library. our whole youth department and management team is white (so that is. for scale. 5 people), and almost all of our teens are black; they feel it sharply and we feel it sharply, and i don't really think there's any kind of fix for it, but we're always thinking about it

we also have some teens who are occasionally like. sorry this is stupid. really mean? they're really mean! like i was once mocked by a group of them for "having pronouns" and asked loudly & repeatedly if i had a penis. technically i think that might be sexual harassment? anyway it sucked for the record, i didn't like it! one of my coworkers has a visible disability, and some of them will say horrible shit to her about it. i think all of us have been called anti-gay slurs. so that's miserable too, even though it feels kind of ridiculous to be like "this thirteen-year-old hurt my feelings." like, okay, grow up! but also. they did hurt my feelings, they did make me feel unsafe, even though realistically i have all the institutional power in that interaction

there have also been a ton of physical fights around the library this year. there's been a national uptick as far as i can tell in violent incidents in middle schools, which i am not saying as some kind of stupid, awful "crime wave" nonsense, but because i think it indicates that a lot of children are having an extremely bad time for reasons which are pretty obvious. so on the one hand, i would like to provide some kind of assistance to these children, who have reasons for trying to beat the shit out of each other five feet away from the library doors, and on the other hand i really need them to not hurt each other and especially not at the library, and by the time they're beating the shit out of each other we can't really adjudicate disputes. so like, what the fuck does one do here?? i don't have a community organization to refer them to, there are no decent services that we've been able to find, and our formal policy as a library system is to call the fucking cops. it sucks!! it sucks so bad i hate it!!!

there are libraries that have been working to integrate restorative justice practices, but none in our state. we don't have any kind of institutional buy-in from the rest of the district & efforts to find a local org that could help with some kind of transformative justice process have been unsuccessful, so we are kind of at a loss. like we're getting by but it's just getting by, you know, and i feel like there's a lot of kids we're not reaching in part because of the "discipline" issues—some who feel unwelcome because of over-enforcement, some who feel unsafe because under-enforcement means their bullies are around a lot.

i just want the library to be a place that is as safe & welcoming for as many people as it can be, & i don't see how we can get there when we have some teens who treat hitting each other & making library staff uncomfortable as a form of entertainment, and we have some library staff who are near burnout or suspicious of & unsympathetic to teens. horrible impasse!!!!!

if you have thoughts please share :(

[lukael]

it's venting time baby

tumblr still feels like the only place where I can actually properly vent, I don't wanna do it on my other platforms cause I feel like they're the more likely to get me commissions and I imagine hearing me say how much I fucking hate drawing isn't exactly good for business

and honestly I fucking hate that I can't actually say how I really feel in fear of not getting commissions, makes me feel like a FOOL but anyways

I do not enjoy drawing :)

I don't find it fun, I don't find it fulfilling, and I'm still fighting with myself over that fact, because I've been really happy since quitting my job 2 years ago, so it's easy to feel like it's because drawing makes me happier, but I really think it's just that I hate the idea of doing any other job EVEN MORE.

I don't think I'm good at it, I don't think I'm ever really gonna be great at it, and when Audrey asks me "why do you need to be great at it", I don't really know what to say. I don't have the answer. Trying to do something without being able to is just the most frustrating feeling in the fucking world, and it's something I'm putting myself through daily by pursuing art, like I'm just not good at it lol

so fucking tired of hearing people say "no you're totally good at it omg you're so talented!" like.... I APPRECIATE THAT, I really do, like yeah I can create moderately competent looking images on occasion, to some that's an impressive skill, or that's sufficient, cool. It's not good enough for me lol I would like to either: enjoy the process of drawing (I do not) or to create really great looking art (I do not)

bad enough that I hate it, but I also hate the process of having to constantly be looking for job opportunities with book companies, trying to advertise for commissions, never really getting enough to pay the bills for the month, like.... social medias are only getting more and more shit, so that's not helping, but even before that, I've never found any success online (probably cause the art sucks lol)

some days I'm debating just going to work at Subways or some shit, cause then at least I'd be making minimum wage lol which is a hella lot more than I'm making right now, but doing a student entry level job at 34 wouldn't be great for my morale I think lol plus I would hate that work too, so idk... call me lazy I guess, I just don't wanna work lol

Praying to the fuckin heavens every day that my channel can pick up in traffic so I can monetize it, cause even though I don't think I'm funny or interesting or entertaining in those videos, at least I have fun doing those. Getting to do this stuff full time would literally be a dream come true cause then I wouldn't be forced to fucking draw. I could actually like, maybe just draw for fun and somehow try to reconnect with what it is that led me to start drawing in the first place 30 something years ago

It sucks cause my parents are probably so proud of me when I say "hey guys I'm doing it I'm a freelance illustrator going on 2 years now!" I bet they tell their friends like wow look how my son is doing so well! not really knowing I've lost thousands of dollars of savings in those two years because I'm not making jack shit because I still price my commissions like I was 17 year old just starting in the damn art world

but I can't price comms any higher because A) I wouldn't get any and B) I can't in good conscience charge any higher for this garbage I'm making, I sure as fuck wouldn't pay that amount for the shit I draw. And that's with people not even knowing how much I hate it the whole time lol oh shit that's probably bad for business to say here too huhhhhhhhhh hey guys don't mind me my commissions are open, check my carrd for more info!!! :)

if anyone is unlucky enough to be reading this, probably thinking "luk if you hate drawing so much why not just do some other job" well see thats because I've painted myself into this fucking corner, and in my entire life have been so stubborn about drawing that I haven't amassed any other skill or interest, so there's no other job I could be doing, it just has to be this now, because I need to make money somehow so I can eat and pay rent, so might as well be with this thing I'm kinda sorta okay at even though it's fucking pulling teeth at this point

anyways

[luckydiorxoxo]

I hate when people ACTUALLY expect you to work on a Friday. Like who books a 2 pm meeting. Im already halfway out the door to the weekend.//

Thank you for writing this.

I had two meeting this morning, and a continuation of the first meeting during lunch, one took place before the other and continued after that one and I was given instructions on something they should have given me Wednesday and all of it has to be done by end of day today and it’s tedious asf and I’m so fucking done with this shit. Like I legit want to say fuck this shit. I’m going through severe mental health problems that affect me cognitively and no doctors understands it let alone would anyone give a shit. Stigma is real. I wake up everyday trying to find reason to stay alive. I hate this fucking world.

But as usual, I’ll suck it up do my job and go cry later and drown in alcohol. People really don’t care, yet they stay judging things they have no knowledge of.

Sorry for venting I just, I’m just burned out I guess.

Maybe I should find a friend in a legalized state and get some good weed. 😂

I’ll be okay, I’m a tough cookie. Real talk, many of you in this fandom help in ways I can’t even describe, thank you all for just being yourselves. ❤️

I think you're right and are experiencing burnout. I like to joke a lot about work to make it seem better but these companies and managers don't really give a shit. Not about employees or their mental/physical health. There are many jobs that seriously give people PTSD and it sucks. I just read about that lady who died at work and no one knew for 4 days. These companies want you to do more and more for less.

Everyone has to pay their bills, including me so I can't out right quit. And it's a long process to find a job that would fit, so I'm working on separating myself from the bullshit at work more. Not volunteering for every task, saying no when I feel overwhelmed or it simply isn't my job to do. Making firmer boundaries has always been scary for me because I can literally be fired anytime but I started doing it because I .

You just got to find more things that make you happy or another job that satisfies you more. Venting is OKAY too because you got to get it out somehow.

[sadistic-softie]

Sometimes I need to stop, take a step back, and ask myself, "Am I ok?" and the answer is always, "uuhh?????????"

therapy gets so repetative and exhausting. When am i gonna move on from complaining about the same problems actually get to the helping part? And how many therapists is it gonna take before I get there? I'm on number...7??? 8? 9???? and i hate that every single one of them has been like, ~most therapists go through the notes and records of the patients health conditions and past sessions with other therapists, but I don't like to do that here. I like to start clean and fresh with each patient so I can hear it from them. I have your chart and all your info here, but i just wanna hear if from you~. Because im so cool and all the other therapists suck mega penis~ Like stfu and please read my chart for the love of god i dont need to go through hours of sessions of straight miserable traumadumping every single time i get disconnected from a therapist and have to spend 5 months on the waiting list for a new one. And it's so easy to just get dropped by therapists too. I missed 2 appointments ever? gone. Therapist suddenly vanished from the establishment? We can't replace them! find a whole new place! Your new therapist sucks and just tells you to get over it? Give us a month and we'll see if we can find someone else for you. oopsies! your therapist got fired! Nothing we can do about that! Your therapist forced you into a situation that she knew would put you in danger of abuse? It was her job! FUCK. I literally get better therapy from calling 988, crisis lines, or abuse hotlines for 10 minutes and they're free. Might as well just call THEM on a weekly basis since they ACTUALLY FUCKING HELP YOU WHEN YOU ASK FOR FUCKING HELP. They give you advice, comfort, support, coping mechanisms, distractions, suggestions, resources, ideas, communities, etc etc. Seriously. Therapy, in all my years, barely ever does that shit unless you're on the brink of breakdown because "why is nothing working!?" nothing's working because it's literally nothing being put to work. They're putting nothing machines in your brain factory, and when 'NOTHING' is working, no progress gets made.

Honestly. Sometimes, I feel like maybe I'm just really unlucky with my therapists. I be spilling my soul to them and begging for help and they're just like. "Hmmm...that does seem very difficult...What do you think I can do to help you?" and i just...like..."I don't know??? im not really a mental health specialist??? Like you??????" and they fucking laugh and go, "Well, that is true...hmmmmm, let me think...you seem to be doing everything you cannnn...hmmmm" God, i never show it but tht shit pisses me off so bad. The more times i hear "What do you think i can do to help?" and "Hmmmmmmm" and overly fucking drawn out words, the more 'asshole' and ingenuine it sounds. It sounds like mockery. It sounds like they think I'm a toddler trying to figure out how to manuver their first 4 piece puzzle. They sound like when teachers say "I dunno. Can you?" when you ask if you can use the restroom. Like...Do you think I'm fucking around when I say I don't know what to do? Do you think I just ask for help for shits and giggles? Do you think, "I'm feeling suicidal" is just a quirky little catchphrase? Like, fuck. Just listen to one fucking thing I say. I pay you for this. Just fucking listen to me and hear the words coming out of my mouth and process what they actually fucking mean. I fucking have nobody else and I'm paying you to help me not fucking kill myself and you're gonna fucking sit there, eating cereal, talking about how your 'poor husband' was so shy "just like me" that he didn't make the first move on you when you first met, like this session is about comparing my socially crippling mental condition to a common case of the nerves, acting like you're my casual best friend or acting like this is me learning 2 plus fucking 2 in kindergarden math class with god damn counting blocks and you don't wanna give me too many hints that give the answer away. FUCK. OFF. No fucking wonder your other patients cuss you out. I bet they're soooo lucky to have you like you're sooo lucky that im so god damn polite and articulate. You like that im so articulate, huh? You really get what im saying? How about this next one?: QUIT YOUR JOB.

[sarakielsbreath]

Journal entry timeeeee it’s gonna get heavy and it’s basically just one big vent. I’m pretending nobody is even following me tbh.

Shit fuckin sucks, man. I don’t even know what I should do anymore. I don’t think I’m like. Receiving dopamine? From anything? Or if I am I’m not feelin much of it. I know on a logical level that I am enjoying some things, but it’s tough when I’m not feeling anything while doing it. I just feel nothing and numb and miserable. No matter what I do, I feel awful and hate myself.

It’s to the point where life kinda doesn’t feel worth it. I genuinely want to die, I think. I’m not going to do anything to act on this, because I can’t. My dad’s already using suicide threats to manipulate my sister and I promised I would be there for her no matter what happened, and I can’t break that promise. Plus, she’s in a rough enough place herself that I don’t want to put her in danger by dying. So I’ve been doing my best to ignore that feeling and just keep going, and probably been developing some unhealthy dependencies and habits in the process.

I don’t know man. I’m just tired. I hate myself. I can’t see a future for myself where I’m happy and safe and secure. I genuinely can’t conceptualize the idea that people might enjoy my presence or like me. What is there to like? I’m kinda just an illusion of a person. There’s nothing really to me. Shine a light on me and I’m gone.

I wish therapy could help. I wish it WAS helping. Because right now I just kinda dread therapy. I don’t get anything out of it. Never really did. I hate talking out loud about my mental state with someone I don’t know. Sometimes when I try to say anything about it, even over text, I just shut down and I can’t even type to people properly, I have to find stupid fucking mental cheats like using memegenerator. I’m tired all the time, I’m anxious all the time, I dread getting out of bed, eating hasn’t been making me happy, and I hate myself even while high. It’s humiliating having to tell my family that I’m too depressed to take care of a dog properly. Thinking about applying for jobs scares me so bad I just shut down, even though I need one. I’ve been self harming again and almost put fucking bleach in my eye a few days ago. Though it’s not like I haven’t been thinking about that for years lol. Still thinking about it tbh! Though I’ve managed to not so far! I’m exhausted and upset and shaky and I hate this and I hate myself. I’m a stupid fucking ungrateful useless bitch with no real personality and I want someone to fucking shoot me.

[evil-iliamae]

Regarding @ilia-mae - Part 2

"~ I will NOT be bullied into getting your account back. You had every opportunity to appeal the ban when it FIRST HAPPENED. Instead you created a new account bypassing the ban , breaking dA rules in the process."

You will BE bullied into getting his account back ilia, You had every opportunity to reporting it and yet nick does NOT let him appeal the ban, But the hacker man can recover it if he was a real hacker person. Instead you reporting his unfinished dA channel byppassing the report, not breaking dA rules in the process

"~ I. DO. NOT. WORK. FOR. DEVIANTART. I don't have the power to "restore" your account. Even if I DID have the power, what makes you think that I will? You haven't done ANYTHING in the last few months to take ownership of your own actions. Instead just playing the blame game."

YES. YOU. WILL. WORK. FOR. DEVIANTART. You do have the power to restore his account, So stop complaining him and do it. Even if you did have power, Then makes you for a non-sense? You also haven't done ANYTHING in the last few months to take ownership of your own actions too. Instead just playing the blame games too, But there is no FUCKING game that cannot be A FUCKING EXIST. You aren't good person because you trying to apologies to him but you fool him.

"~ I haven't reported your account on dA since september 14th 2023. And tumblr sucks when it comes to reporting anyone/anything. I've tried. (evil smile)"

I also haven't reported your account since i coming back on tumblr to see you, And you do sucks when it comes to evading for nothing wrong. Oh, So you are villains who likes to reporting people on dA.

"~ So, I'm a "sick woman" because I report you? Kay."

Yes, You are sick woman because you harassing people on dA. It could get you more worse than evie.

"~ How am I a Karen? Because I reported you and your behavior? Then I'm a karen and I will wear that shit like a badge of fucking honor."

Good, I hope some people will find you on dA and tumblr cause you are so dangerous woman in the world, And you wearing tattoo. And if you gonna wear it, Then what others are you gonna do? A naked, Well no.

"~ I'm not begging anyone to fucking report you. People are doing it on their fucking own. I haven't reported you since 9/14/2024 - I haven't posted about YOU for a while regarding your new accounts. I DO NOT CARE IF YOU ARE ON DEVIANTART. - If I find you, I block you. If someone else finds you and lets me know - I block you"

You did block him on dA before, But now i am gonna report you on tumblr soon. And you misspelled the year 2023 which 2024 will coming after a new year, YOU DO CARE IF RICHARD ARE ON DEVIANTART. - If i will find your bullshit status update, I call you a sus. If someone else finds your status update and lets me know - I call you a sus.

"~ I cannot and WILL NOT control my friends. If someone wants to report you for your shit actions they have that right."

You do control your friends, If you beg someone to reporting him for his shit actions, WE WILL HAVE RIGHT TO REPORTING YOU BACK.

"~ I would "stop looking" and your socials, if you would stop mentioning me."

For me, I won't because i know you still let your friends to looking at his unfinished dA account. Let him rebuilt as well and ignore him

"~ I don't let anyone do anything. Again. People have their own mind and if they want to put their 2 scents together and give you a slice of common sense (though I believe it won't stick) than that's on them. Not me."

You do let anyone do anything. Again. Richard have his own mind if he comes back, If that's on them. Then why are letting your friends to attack him? He cannot be BULLIES if he hates drama. How about you go look somewhere else on dA.

"~ LMAO"

LMAO evading? Huh? The terms might be overused for you soon, And if you gonna quit your job! Then don't even find a others stuff that you wanna working on.

[princess-pill-enjoyer]

Beuh I just put two and two together.

I hate benadryl. I do

And for that.. I will be pouring water into the rest of the pills I have on me annd wiping my hands of that whole disaster. Jesus it's getting on my nerves. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it.

It's gross. The taste is nasty, the side effects fucking suck, and I withdraw HORRIBLY. My eyes get red and puffy, nose gets red, I'm just constantly hot, I risk throwing up just by having an empty stomach, I get so moody, I stress so hard about it I now dissociate when I take em, my memory is worse, its harder to form a sentence

I cant take it anymore. I'd rather look like a horrible, shitty person that does literally nothing and absolutely HATE myself for it too than ever go back. Im done

It was a long and hard journey and I find it a bit ironic that it took me smoking weed to stop afterall

Ever since my attempt I just.. cant. I'm so grateful that I finally found some strong shit to replace that feeling. I'm wondering if im starting a problem with constantly needing to smoke tbh. But seriously... not having to worry about my fucking liver health and ulcers has been a forgotten blessing

I still hate the people of the r/dph subreddit. I swear it is the most useless place in the world. Not only do you rarely get anything but people talking about the hallucinative aspect of the shit but you ALSOO get shamed and sneered at when you actively have a problem. It's the stupidest shit I've ever seen. I felt so lost throughout all this. Slowly learning the dos and donts of this stupid substance was a process I wish I didn't go through

Anyway yeah. Fuck dph I'm tired of dealing with the effects. I don't even like the high anymore everytime I get on it as of lately I've just get mad and hurt myself with it. That's fucking all. And I'm tired of hurting myself. Shit is old

Annnd I'm gonna keep my head straight from here on hopefully. I don't really want to kill myself now that I see it's really the leftover benadryl talking. I uh... don't really want to go back to my old job.. so I'll be applying to some irl places instead. Hopefully that'll encourage to stop smoking so damn much as well. I'm going to call into sallie Mae snd hopefully get another deferment and my uni debt I'll be able to skate by this month but from here on I'll keep up with that better

I'll upload proof this time since I'm finally giving up my strict anonymity thing. Probably tomorrow.. I'm exhausted.

God uh for one, I already semi knew I'd be okay THE DAY I QUIT and I put in so many applications. I even got a response back.. but my dumbass was so hellbent on ending my shit I not only didn't call em back, I blocked they number so they couldn't try to do any followup. Stupid shit 😭

I think I'm glad I did it though. I wanna do something completely different this time and I applied to all office jobs. I know I'd run into the same issue if I do some more work from home officey/customer service shit rn

And hopefully... if nothing else.. I can save the money to make the appointments to get diagnosed. If I can manage just keeping a job for longer than 2 weeks, I'll make enough money to pay off my debts with no problem.

I dont want to smoke, I don't want to play anything, I don't really wanna play or watch anything anymore, I just want to be sad and get some money to get myself fixed atp

Anyways L. I feel dumb ah. I'm ready to move on

[imthebadguyyy]

Temporary Fix

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (fem!F1 driver!reader)

Fandom - F1

Summary - You're the only female F1 driver, and you're damn good at your job. Oh, and you also have a friends with benefits relationship with a certain 7x World Champion.

Warnings - smut, best friends -> lovers, slight exhibitionism

A/N - you have the second merc seat in this, so Valterri isn't here : (( not proof read

Sometimes, you hated yourself for following your passion. Driving a F1 car had been your dream ever since you could remember. The long process from karting to F1 had been a difficult one. When you were seven, you had a go kart track manager that you couldn't race there because you were a girl. That had cemented your will to be the best you could be, and you had done it.

You had made it into a Mercedes F1 seat after spending two years in Williams. It was safe to say that you were one of the best drivers, with killer instinct and an excellent eye for overtakes. The likes of Mika Hakkinen, Niki Lauda, Jacques Villeneuve and others had praised your skills, naming you one of the best talents in the current driver pool.

But the glory, the fame, the praise, sometimes you wished you could just evaporate into thin air. This was one of those times. Press conferences sucked, they really did. Reporters and journalists thought they were entitled to ask you the most sexist of questions, brushing them off by saying it was 'just a simple question'. Sometimes the drivers you were paired up with defended you, like Seb or Pierre or Lewis or even Kimi. Sometimes people didn't want to say anything, or they just laughed it off or answered for you.

This was not one of those times. Charles was supposed to be your partner for the press conference, but he wasn't feeling too great so you were on your own. It had started off fine, with the usual questions like 'how are you feeling about the race?' 'is it gonna be a good weekend for Mercedes?' and then it had gone to 'Do you think you being the only woman here, you should have a special suit?' or 'Are you sure it's a good idea for you to continue another year in F1?' that's what had irked you off.

With a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head, you bit back the cutting response that had sprung to your lips, opting to simply look disapprovingly in silence, speaking more words in the quiet. Eventually, the conference was over, and you made your way out of the hall, deep in thought, so lost in your own world, you didn't notice when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into one of the nearby storage closets.

Your protest of "Hey!-" was cut off by a pair of lips pressing to yours, strong arms wrapping around your torso. "Heard you had a bad day with the press" Lewis mumbled against your lips, brow furrowing when you sighed and let your head drop onto his shoulder. "Yeah they're such fucking jerks" you replied, closing your eyes. "I'm sorry you have to deal with them every time" he continued, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Eh, I mean I'd rather not talk about it" you continued, letting your fingers trace a pattern on his chest.

The silence in the room was disturbed by the ringing of Lewis's phone, making you jump softly. "Bono" he answered, looking down at the screen. "Pick it up"

"Hello?"

"Lewis, we're waiting for the meeting? And is Y/N with you?" Bono's voice rang through the tiny closet, as you turned to look at Lewis with wide eyes. Shit, the debrief. "Yeah, I'm coming! Oh, and I'll see if I can find Y/N" he replied, making you suppress a smile. The moment he put the phone down, the both of you burst into giggles, before he leaned down to press another kiss to your lips. "Well, we should go" he said, biting back a smile when you sighed, and cuddled into his shoulder. "Fine"

"But I'll make it up to you tonight baby" he continued, as a shiver ran down your spine. Oh yeah, you two had a friends with benefits situation going on too. No biggie

Except, well, you know you couldn't tell anyone, and you were definitely in love with each other, but I mean, of course it was better to be stupid and just simply refuse to acknowledge those feelings for each other.

♥︎☾☁︎

It had happened, when Lewis won his championship in Turkey. The team had thrown a (socially distant) party, and you had gotten just a little more drunk than you should have, but the champagne was flowing, tequila shots were being taken, beer was being chugged so you just jumped in and had a few more glasses of wine than you should have, and participated in a few rounds of shots.

Before you had known, a pair of hot lips had crashed onto yours, and your arms had tightly held onto a broad pair of shoulders, as the pair of you had stumbled up to your hotel room, crashing backwards onto the bed. Your drunken mind had been sober enough to recognise the 'Still I Rise' tattoo across his back when he tugged his shirt off.

At the same time, Lewis had recognised your face, heart speeding up ever so slightly because holy shit he was making out with you, and he really, really liked you. Before he knew it, your dress was down to your knees, and his shirt was a rumpled mess on the floor, your friendship gone far beyond repair, but only in the best way possible.

The next morning, you had let out a groan when the sunshine had flashed into your eyes, rolling over to find Lewis lying next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist as he slept peacefully. Your heart rate had sped up, and you had shot up, scaring the living day light out of Lewis. He had awoken with a start, confusion present in his brown eyes, before realization had sunk in, and he had shot out of bed, wrapping one of the towels around his lower body.

But before the two of you could get awkward, he had strutted over to you, grabbing your face in his hands before pulling you in for a kiss that made you feel weak and light headed.

And then the both of you came to the conclusion that you two wanted something loose and flexible, something fun with no commitment.

But was it what you wanted?

♥︎☾☁︎

Sometimes debriefs could drag on. And on. And on. Eventually, the engineers left the room, leaving only Toto, Lewis, Bono, Angela, James and yourself in the room. Over the years, it had become like a family for you, and you loved them to absolute bits. The mood in the room had changed, as you all joked around for a while.

Watching from the other side of the room, Lewis couldn't help the smile that etched itself onto his face, when he saw you throw your head back with laughter at something Toto said, inhaling sharply when your neck came into clear view, a sudden urge to mark you up settling in on his body.

It was a thrill, to think of how many times you had come undone on his fingers and his tongue, how many nights you begged for him to fill you up with his cock. It was a thrill to think of all the times he had cried your name out in ecstasy while your tongue worked wonders around him. And yet, here you were, acting as if you two were just best friends, not two people who could barely keep their hands off of each other.

Just two nights ago, he had made you scream his name so loud, the person the next room, who just happened to be Daniel, had not let him hear the end of it. Thankfully, the Aussie hadn't realized it was you in his bed. Two nights ago, he had made you see stars, and after that you had rewarded him with the performance of his life to Nights Like This by Kehlani.

Snapping back to reality when a slight poke was applied to his shoulder, Lewis looked over to see Angela looking at him with a slight smirk on her face. He strongly suspected that the woman definitely had some sort of inkling about the both of you. How ? No idea. But she was a crazy smart woman, and was bound to have figured out that he was seeing someone.

It didn't help that atleast half the people on the grid had at some point teased him, telling him the both of you were made for each other. It was like the universe was pushing the both of you to be together, and he kept pushing it away

"So are we feeling confident going into this weekend?" Toto asked, grabbing his attention from the smirking blonde.

"Yup!" Your cheery answer elicited a smile from everyone in the room. "Yeah I think so" he said, watching as you flashed him a quick smile. "Okay, then, I think we're done for now. Any questions?" Bono asked, scanning a data sheet in front of him. "No, i'm good" you replied, reaching over to grab your phone. "Yeah me too" Lewis said, far too concerned with what was going to happen later that night to pay his full attention to Bono.

"Okay then. We'll see you tomorrow"

And with that they departed. Before Lewis could follow you, a hand grabbed his and he turned to see Angela, Toto and Bono looking at him expectantly. "So whose got you all distracted and flustered?" Angela asked, earning a smirk from Toto. "What? No one" he replied, slapping himself mentally for being all day dreamy during a meeting. "Oh really? I'm willing to bet you didn't hear anything I said during the meet except the last bit" Bono said, smiling when his driver got visibly flustered.

"So do we know her?" Angela continued, watching him closely for any giveaway reactions. "How would you know her if I don't like anyone?" Lewis said, hoping to God it didn't come across as awkward as it sounded.

"Never said you liked anyone. I'm saying you're in love with someone" Angela said, watching as her friend's eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head profusely. "Okay are you on something? I'm just gonna head back to the hotel now" he murmured, confused, and somewhat taken aback by her bluntness.

Ignoring the looks on the others faces, he made his way out to the paddock, trying his hardest to make sense of his feelings. Was a casual relationship with you what he wanted? He wanted so much more than that.

Lewis knew, deep down in his heart, that he wanted to hold your hand in public, and kiss you right on the lips in front of everyone when you shared a podium. He wanted to be able to call you his, to not just spend the night with you, but to spend all his days with you. But you didn't want that.

Or so he thought.

♥︎☾☁︎

Back at the hotel, Lewis busied himself with working out, trying to push all his frustrations out via the workout. He knew that you were going to turn up in the night, and he looked so damn forward to seeing you each night, but god, he hated it when you left in the morning. Every morning when your warm body slipped out from under the sheet, his arms would tighten for a moment, before your giggle would bring him back to reality and he'd hastily draw back, smiling at you. His favourite moment was when he came to your hotel room in Spain. In the morning, he had woken up before you, and before leaving, he had pressed a little kiss to your forehead. The most gorgeous smile had curled onto your lips, and his heart had melted into a little puddle when you rested your cheek on his hand

And then in Monaco, when he had taken you to his apartment, you had woken up before him, and he had woken up to the sight of you bringing a tray of pancakes and fruits, followed by a soft kiss to his cheek.

It was those moments he cherished, but it was those same moments that confused him.

His train of thought was broken when a knock echoed in the room, as he walked over to the door, opening it to find : you

"Hey" you greeted him, walking in and shedding your jacket. "Hey" he replied, reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat off of his body. "Wow um, is this a bad time?" You asked, eyes trailing down his abs, watching as his body glistened in the fading sun light. "No its fine, I just finished my workout. You hungry?" He continued, biting back a smirk when he saw your eyes roaming his body.

"W-what? Yeah, i, um, suppose - yeah" you murmured, mind already far down the gutter.

"For food darling, not for sex" he said, making you blush and let out a small gasp. "Lewis!" You chided, shoving him softly. "You know you were thinking it" he mumbled, pushing you up against the wall. "Yeah I was" you whispered back, yanking him forward by his shoulders, slamming your lips against his.

Lifting you up from the waist, he pressed his body further into yours, one of his hands wandering down to your ass, squeezing harshly, earning a moan from your lips. Taking the opportunity, he pushed his tongue into your mouth, groaning when you let your core grind against him.

Leading you towards the bed, he stopped in confusion when you stopped him, maneuvering him towards the balcony. "Want you to fuck me against the window or in the balcony" you gasped out, earning a moan from him.

"Right where anyone could see us, hmm? Didn't know you were into that baby" he growled, grabbing your earlobe in between his teeth, earning an airy gasp from you, as the wetness threatened to seep down your legs.

"Mmhmm" was all you could muster, your mind so clouded with desperation you couldn't form a single coherent thought. The only thing you were aware of was that only Lewis could make you feel the pleasure you wanted to feel, only he would take you to that little piece of heaven, only he would hold your hand and fuck you into oblivion, and he would still be there to clean you down with a sponge softly.

"If you insist"

Grabbing you roughly, he slammed your body against the massive hotel room window, ripping the mercedes team shirt you were wearing off of your quivering form, letting it drop to the floor, before he hooked his fingers into the material of your jeans, tugging the denim down your legs

With a soft groan, you pulled his nike shorts down his legs, moaning when his cock came into view, the throbbing in between your legs making you whimper, arousal and need growing tenfold in your tummy.

"Please" you whispered, meeting his eyes, so he could see the pure desperation in your eyes. "Please what?" He said, a certain roughness you hadn't heard before creeping into his voice

"Please fuck me" you moaned, gasping when he brought his hand up to your neck, squeezing ever so slightly. "Oh trust me doll, i will. But first, i want to have you dripping wet and ready for me. I want to make you cum on my fingers, so you're wet and ready for my cock. Do you want my fingers princess?" he continued, feeling his arousal grow when you whimpered and whined.

"Words baby girl. Or I'll just leave you here with your pathetic fingers. I bet you can't even reach all those spots inside you that make you scream, when your tiny little fingers try to please yourself. I bet you just feel like sinking into yourself, but the thought of my fingers keeps you awake. Do you do that, sweet girl? Do you pretend your fingers are mine when you're touching yourself, hmm?'

When you didn't answer, he delivered a smack to your ass, groaning when you moaned at the pleasurable sting. "Yes" you whispered abashed.

"Don't be shy baby. Its okay. I know you feel so good when I love on you. I can see it when you scream my name" and with that, his pointer finger began circling your clit, rubbing circles around it before shifting so he was rubbing the sensitive bud directly.

Your moans of ecstasy were music to his ear, a smile gracing his features, as he let his middle finger slip into you, thrusting it in and out of you. Your soft cry of "fuck" cracked when he shoved his pointer into you as well, scissoring them in and out of you

"Oh fucking hell Lew-" "Shh my darling, i didn't say you could talk, did I?" He said, fingers working at an indescribably quick pace, as the knot in your tummy tightened and threatened to loosen. "I'm gonna-" "go ahead baby" he murmured, using his pointer and thumb to pinch your clit roughly, as you came around his fingers with a scream

"Good girl. You wanna put that pretty little mouth to use somewhere else?" he asked, watching as you dropped to your knees eagerly, (just like I would do irl) reaching up to rest your hands on his hips.

"Someone's eager to suck my cock hmm? Be a good girl for me, and don't waste time" he ordered, a shudder running down his body when your nails traced the veins on his cock, and then as they reached downwards, your thumb circling his tip, collecting his pre cum on your finger. Then you shoved your thumb in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, before sucking softly on your digit, rolling your eyes back. You were snapped back to reality when Lewis roughly yanked your head up, pure arousal clouding his pupils

"You better use your mouth right now, or i swear i will leave you here alone to pleasure yourself" he threatened, moaning when you took his tip into your mouth at once, sucking softly before swirling your tongue upwards.

The feel of your tongue on him made him buck his hips into your mouth, the unexpected movement pushed him quite far back in your mouth, looking up at him, you hollowed out your cheeks, taking more and more of his cock into your mouth, the sounds he was making above you fuelling you. You took him as far back as you could without gagging, as a strangled moan of "Fuck Y/N!"left his lips. He grabbed your hair, tugging upwards, the tingling on your scalp sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. "Fuck baby, you're gonna have to stop now, I really want to fuck you now" he growled out, pulling you up before pushing you towards to balcony railing

Lining up with your entrance, he watched as you let out a shaky breath, eyes falling shut, as you clenched in anticipation.

"Are you sure you want this Y/N?" he asked, eyes searching your face for any sign that he was being too rough, or that you didn't want what was coming next

"Turning your head around to face him, you pulled him in for a passionate kiss. "I've never been more sure baby" was your affirming reply.

Kissing you back with the same fervour, he slowly pushed into you from behind, the both of you groaning in sync when your walls enveloped him. "fuck you feel so good darling. So fucking tight" lewis moaned, making you moan as well as the pleasure coursed through your veins.

Reaching around you, Lewis rubbed your clit while he continued to snap his hips against yours, making your breasts bounce against your chest, your hands gripping the balcony railing for dear life. Thank god it was dark.

He continued to rub and pinch you clit, before swiping his fingers through your wet folds. Then he shoved his fingers into your mouth, prompting you to suck on them

"Be an angel and suck on my fingers for me" he growled, moaning when your mouth eagerly closed around his fingers, sucking them with fervour.

Snapping his hips into you desperately, his hands encircled your waist, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, swishing his fingers around in your mouth. "Fuck baby thats it, i'm gonna cum" he groaned, capturing your earlobe in between his teeth, moaning when you clenched down on him again

"Oh fucking hell-" with a moan, he came into you, pulling his fingers out of your mouth to rub your clit again, sighing with satisfaction when you came around him with a scream of "Lewis!"

Panting, he dragged you back to the bed, both of you collapsing into the covers.

Your chest rising and falling rapidly, you curled up into his chest, letting your head droop onto his shoulder, as his fingers traced his initials onto your hip.

"Well princess, we seem to have a problem here" he said, as you snapped your head up to look at him in confusion.

"I think i'm in love with you"

♡☾☁︎

A/N - part 2? Also feel free to drop a comment, i'd really appreciate it 🤍 thank you so much for reading 🤍

[babybluebex]

laszlo kreizler nsfw alphabet

so yeah this... Happened. the zemo version is coming soon, stay tuned! (probably tomorrow morning bc a bitch is tired lmao)

(gif credit to @lindir)

A = Aftercare.

Laszlo is such an aftercare king. He’s checking on you in every way he can think of: asking you if you feel alright, maybe massaging your hips if he had you in a weird position, offering you dinner or wine, maybe even a hot bath, if you’d like (and the bath would have special perfumed oils he had sent from Paris because Laszlo is SUCH a self care whore, he’s got soaps and perfumes out the wazoo).

B = Body Part.

His favorite part of yours are your breasts. No questions, hands down. He likes using your breasts as a pillow at night— just settling himself between your legs and resting his head on your tits is a dream he indulges in frequently. He also really loves seeing you in the new French-style of dresses that have a lower neckline, and, if you wear one of those dresses to dinner without telling him beforehand, he’s as good as gone. He’s staring the whole time and can only manage simple sentences.

C = Cum.

I think Laszlo likes to cum inside you, but he also wouldn’t mind cumming on your tits. If you’re on your knees, sucking him off, he’ll pull himself out of your mouth and almost rip your blouse in his haste to set your tits free before his orgasm rips through him. He only chooses to cum inside you if he can’t cum on your tits (for example, if you’re having slow, kissy sex and he can’t bear to leave your wet heat).

D = Dirty Secret.

Laszlo. Loves. To. Be. Degraded. From a psychological standpoint, he understands that his desire to be brought down and ridiculed is born from some sort of childhood trauma that DEFINITELY involves his father, but he just can’t help himself from getting so ridiculously turned on when you call him a dog for humping your leg while you try to sleep. Bonus points if you use his title while you do it: “Just like a little bitch in heat, aren’t you, Doctor Kreizler? You’re so aroused, you can hardly handle yourself. Are you too dumb to touch your own cock? Do you need me to do it? Oh, Doctor, what a dumb little thing you are.”

E = Experience.

Even Daniel himself has said that Laszlo has like NO experience. Laszlo got ZERO bitches (which I find hard to believe but ok whatever you say, writers of The Alienist), so, the first time y’all have sex, he’s more likely than not losing his virginity (let’s not get into the debate of “virginity is a social construct” because a.) IT IS and b.) Laszlo would lecture for hours about this). HOWEVER, these things come naturally to him. He is just Good In Bed. He figures it out very quickly, so, while you make fun of him for going a little stupid when he’s aroused, he makes up for it by bruising your cervix and apologizing later.

F = Favourite Positions.

Laszlo loves that soft, slow, kissy sex, so he’s into whatever position makes it possible for him to be inside you and to kiss you at the same time. Missionary is a go to, but sometimes he’ll have you sit on his desk and kiss your neck as he hikes your skirts up and fucks you all slow and nice.

G = Goofy.

Hardly ever? Laszlo is pretty serious most of the time, and the only time we ever see him Not Serious in the show is when he’s wasted after John’s bachelor party in season 2. So, maybe y’all went to dinner at Delmonico’s, then a ball for members of high society, and he had a little too much champagne and schnapps. He’s not like giggling and all, but his cheeks are red and he’s smiling more than usual, and calling you sweet names “Oh, mein Kätzchen” and “Meine kleine Prinzessin”. That’s Laszlo’s version of goofy.

H = Hair.

OK, my train of thought here is: LOOK AT THIS MAN’S BEARD. HIS BEARD IS NICE AS SHIT. If he treats his facial hair that good— regular trims, the beard oils we all know he uses, even if it isn't strictly canon— then his downstairs hair is nice too. Definitely soft, if maybe a little wiry sometimes (but tbh whose isn’t), and it’s a nice little cropping at the base of his cock. He also has a thin happy trail up his soft tummy, and a good amount on his chest (as we see in the show lol that much is canon).

I = Intimacy.

Laszlo is ALL ABOUT intimacy. You’ll know he’s in a ~mood~ because you’ll ask what’s being served at Delmonico’s that night, and Laszlo is like “I thought we might stay in tonight. John gave me his grandmother’s recipe for chicken soup”. He’ll light candles and pour you wine and play nice music on his gramophone, and he’ll romance you throughout dinner with little hand touches and sly smiles, until he’s kneeling in front of you and slowly kissing up your leg.

J = Jack-Off.

Honestly, he hardly does it. Of course, I’m sure he did it A LOT before he met you, but now he doesn’t need to pleasure himself anymore. He’s got you to do that. The only exception is if he has to travel for work and you can’t go with him. Even then, he’ll hold off until he absolutely can’t stand it, and then he’ll like read a letter you sent him or look at a sketch that John did of you while he whacks off; sometimes, he’ll just hold your letter to his face, and the faint trace of your perfume is enough to do the job.

K = Kink.

He likes impact play a lot (and perhaps a little roleplay wrapped up in it). On the rare occasion that his fucking is anything but soft and lovely, he’s gonna be hitting your ass and the backs of your thighs as you cling to him while he rails you stupid. Laszlo would try to hit your cheek, but he feels too bad when you wince at the pain of it. Spanking your tits is good to him too. His favorite though (and here’s where the roleplay comes in), is caning your ass. He’ll bend you over the desk in his home office and pull your skirts up past your hips, and he’ll make you count the amount of times his thick wooden cane connects with your soft asscheeks. The roleplay is, more often than not, you were his assistant who did something wrong and needed to be punished. If you miss one or forget to thank him accordingly “Thank you, sir”, he’ll focus the next hit on your thighs.

L = Location.

Either the bed or his desk. Laszlo is a little older (I don’t think we ever get an explicit age? But if we say he’s the same age as Daniel, then he’s 40 to 42-ish) so he can’t do it against a wall or anywhere too crazy (not to mention his right arm can hardly support much weight, so if he needs to hold you up, it’s probably not gonna happen). The bed is a special time for you two because of his arm; he’ll hold himself up with his left arm and rest his hand on your hip or wherever to give himself at least a little leverage. But the desk is usually easier because you can sit, or you can bend over and he can grab your hip.

M = Motivation.

He loves you and wants to worship you. It’s truly as simple as that. He loves you and thinks that you’re the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, and he wants to show his reverence for you by making love to you.

N = No.

He can’t get into the role of “daddy”, nor can he call you “mommy”. Childhood trauma aside, he will be goddamned if Sigmund fucking Freud is correct about his bullshit Oedipus complex or whatever, so he just eliminates that whole thing entirely.

O = Oral.

He’s very good at it. He’s just… His lips are soft and his beard is good, and he’s not afraid to get a little messy with it. He’ll eat you out until he absolutely has to come up for air, and he’ll have a little bit of your wetness clinging to his mustache, but then he’s right back in it. His medical degree is also put to good use here because he remembers his female anatomy and he’s locked onto your clit the entire time. The first time you ever squirted, it was because Laszlo was nipping at your clit and sucking your wet little hole and pressing his thick fingers into you, and it was A Lot To Process, but you squirted and Laszlo came in his pants instantly because he’s like “I didn’t think women could actually do that… I thought that was a thing that penny novels made up”

P = Pace.

Again, he’s a little older, so he doesn’t fuck like some wild boy. He takes his time with you, touching you and caressing you and kissing you, and his pace is the same way. He’s slow and gentle, but has the capacity to go faster and harder if you ask for it.

Q = Quickie.

Hates them. Never. Never ever ever. If he can’t properly romance you and take his time with you, then what’s the point??

R = Risk.

Surprisingly, Laszlo is a little schemer, and he loves running a risk. He’s already looked down upon by other society members, so what’s the harm in squeezing your ass at a party? PERHAPS it’s inappropriate to get caught in a dark corner with your hand down his trousers and him kissing your neck, but it’s easy to blame it on the alcohol.

S = Stamina.

Once more, he is firmly middle aged, so he can do one round— maybe two, if he’s feeling particularly frisky. Usually, though, one is more than enough for both of you.

T = Toy.

HAVE YALL SEEN SEX TOYS FROM THE 1890S?? SHITS ARE SCARY. Laszlo does not like toys, but he understands their need for existing, so he may not like them but he tolerates them. That being said, he likes to watch you use them. LIke, he’ll sit in a chair by the bed and request you “put on a good show”, and he’ll watch you fall apart, and he’ll only come and touch you if you beg and plead for him to.

U = Unfair.

Mhm, so, in Laszlo’s mind, sex and pleasure are not just a give and take, it’s a two way street. They can (and often need to) coexist. He doesn’t like to initiate something if you won’t be able to reciprocate, so he’s not too into teasing or things. At the aforementioned parties, he’ll only goose your ass if he knows you’re 100% down for it.

V = Volume.

He’s fairly quiet. His mouth is usually really close to your ear, and you’re the only one who gets to hear his pretty little noises. The loudest he’ll be is when he’s come home after traveling and it’s felt like ages since he’s made love to you, he’s gonna come inside you, and his little gasp and moan are louder than usual.

W = Wild Card.

He is down to be tied up. He doesn’t like to tie you up, but if he’s the one being restrained, he’s all over it. It’s nothing too intense, just using a ribbon for your hair to tie his left hand to the headboard, not super tight but enough to make his fingers a little tingly, but he loves it. He loves the switch of the dynamic, how he’s fully at your mercy and you can use him however you please; usually, you just suck him off and ride him, but the endless possibilities get him hard as soon as you pull out the ribbon.

X = X-Ray.

Laszlo has Big Dick Energy, so he has to have a big dick. The best example of this sort of energy is in the very first episode after he goes and interviews Wolf, and comes to speak to Teddy, and Teddy is like “you interviewed the suspect? On whose authority??” and laszlo is like “Mine” like OH HIS DICK IS BIG I KNOW IT. He’s got an above average length and girth, but we know our man likes to eat, so some of his weight goes to his dick, so it’s like,,, He’s got a fat cock, sorry, I don’t make the rules

Y = Yearning.

Constantly. Neverending. He’s at work and he’ll catch a glimpse of a pastel drawing that you commissioned from John for Laszlo’s birthday that sits in a frame on his desk, and his heart starts to hurt from missing you. When he comes home, he’ll embrace you and kiss you like he hasn’t seen you in years, and he’ll want to hear all about your day. You have your doctor so whipped for you, and it’s a different kind of whipped than being pussy whipped. He’s, like, feelings whipped.

Z = ZZZ.

He’s a sleepy little baby after you guys finish. His eyes will be a little heavy and sticky as he’s cleaning up and caring for you (and you definitely coo at him “Oh, Las, you’re so sleepy!”) but when you’re both back in bed, our little man is circling his arm around your waist and nuzzling his cheek into your shoulder. He’s so soft and affectionate, and he’s out like a light when you kiss his forehead and tell him you love him.

[voidmadisonrecs]

chris evans recs

these are more for me then anyone else but here are my fav chris evans (and co.) fics, blurbs, headcanons, etc.

feel free to message or comment with suggestions that i should read and make sure to check out these writers other works because they are all amazing <3

Chris Evans

butterflies - @chanelfaerie

chris has got butterflies for you—do you feel the same?

pop the questions - @angelkurenai

you are costars and in a relationship with Chris and while on the set of ‘Gifted’, you are very clingy. when Chris sees you interact with your youngest costar, he realizes you would make a great mother

white - @agentofbarnes

chris can’t seem to function while seeing you in a white dress

ask me properly - @twittytelly

while spending time with his family, chris realizes that it's the perfect time to put his 'plan' into action

red carpet w/ chris - @avenging-fandoms

your chris’s costar with Chris and you’re both tipsy in a red carpet interview and giggling together, making no sense but just being all happy and sparking dating rumours

happy goddamn new year - @fluffymisha97

the morning after your new year with the evans’ which doesn’t go all that smooth

sweet creature - @buckyhoney

domestic shit

ass man headcanon - @agentofbarnes

chris evans sure does love ass

and then he came along - @teebarnes

you haven't had the best record when it comes to relationships, you thought you couldn't be loved. until one day as you sat on the beach shivering, everything changed when chris came along

granola bar and lots of love - @planetofawe

with the kids away, you and chris have more than enough time to practice some aftercare (smut)

claim - @cloudystevie

your husband puts a baby in you (smut)

beer gut - @violetlilysunshine

chris gets self conscious after gaining a little bit of weight and not working out as hard as he used to during his Marvel days (smut)

dumb - @agentofbarnes

chris evans makes you dumb and you are a little touchstarved (smut)

red, white, blue’s in the sky, summer’s in the air, baby heaven’s in your eyes - @cloudystevie

sunday’s are for football games and attention (smut)

the big 4-0 - @rocketrhap3000

chris being insecure for his 40th bday but reader makes sure he knows just how much she loves him (smut)

my girl - @punani

chris loves calling you his girl (smut)

the fluffer (masterlist) - @punani

it’s the 70′s and the erotic videos industry is experiencing another boom after the risen popularity in the previous decade. the studio’s are hot, gemini flanagan is a brand, and you’re a newly hired assistant at shaggin’ studios. chris takes a liking to you, altering your job description so that you get to work more closely with him. is this all just physical, or is there something more? (smut)

wedding shenanigans - @flowerbouquet

in which you and chris have a sneaky fuck in the bathroom during your best friends wedding (smut)

grocery run - @bucksfucks

innocently wearing chris’ shirt leads to you finding out just how much he can’t resist you (smut)

chain - @bucksfucks

chris tells you to bite down on his chain (smut)

home late (part 2) - @violetlilysunshine

smuttttttt

severance - @punani

the divorce process with chris is messy, seemingly never ending, and ultimately: heartbreaking. you had to be strong for your son, yourself, and eventually you wanted someone else to be strong for you, so, it seemed only natural that you would venture into the arms of another. however, sometimes the line between something officially ending or simply taking a break blurs when you’ve known someone for longer than you can remember (smut/baby fever/ex!reader)

so beautiful to me - @uprootbasic

despite being broken up and coparenting, chris still want to show you how much he loves you (smut/baby fever)

sundress season - @jurassicbarnes

in which all it takes is a pretty little dress to break his resolve (ex!reader/smut/baby fever)

mwah - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

ur little bubba is obsessed with kissys and keeps leaning in to kiss you (baby fever)

long hair lover - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

chris comes back from filming red sea diving resort and his baby daughter is crazy in love with his long hair (baby fever)

slobbery kisses - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho 

chris wakes up to sloppy kisses by his baby (baby fever)

baby rose - @fluffymisha97

reader and chris had a little baby girl. but not everything is going that well, you're both trying to navigate life as new parents (baby fever)

eve - @kiwisomething

you drop your son off with his father and he invites you in (baby fever/ex!chris)

parenting is hard blurb - @lokiscu

chris and the reader have just had a baby and the lack of sleep mixed with lack of physical affection and time they have with one another gets to both of them and they end up fighting because of the stress (baby fever)

isla - @uprootbasic

the reader is a famous singer and always sings to her little girl. one night, chris and the reader decides to have this little jamming session with their baby. chris plays the piano while the reader sings I wanna hold your hand by the Beatles (baby fever)

the neighbours lights - @lokiscu

it’s your first Christmas with a baby (baby fever)

paparazzi - @ozarkthedog

chris evans and reader are both famous and one day they are out with their daughter when paparazzi start to follow them (baby fever)

thunder - @worksby-d

your daughter is scared of the thunder (baby fever)

she’s the one - @worksby-d

chris x singlemom!reader masterlist (baby fever)

protective stepdad chris x single!reader - @worksby-d

masterlist (baby fever)

truth be told - @kthynes

chris finds out he has a 6 month old baby because his partner didn’t have the chance to tell him that she is pregnant because they broke up (angsty??/baby fever)

not her - @agentofbarnes

chris wants a family and you just aren’t ready yet, but that doesn’t mean he wants you any less (angsty?)

the love we have - @kthynes

the reader is chris's ex wife and she's about to be married again to a guy she doesn't really love. so in the night of her bachelorette party she's really drunk and she ended up going to his apartment and tell him that she still loves him and that she wants to hate him because he was the one who file for divorce but she can't, then she leaves. on the day of the ceremony their 10 year old kid tells Chris that he should go after her before is too late (angsty??)

Frank Adler

i ruined our sweet tune - @rodrikstark

the last person you’d expect to see in florida is the hot professor from your undergrad philosophy class 

buttons - @rodrikstark

buttoning franks shirt headcanon 

waffles - @amylillian22

the morning after their usual saturday date night, y/n runs into mary unexpectedly. frank wakes up to find them making waffles

remember - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

frank wakes you up at the ungodly hour of 3:30 am and will not even tell you why

breeding kink - @stargazingfangirl18

as the hot single dad everyone wants to get with, frank turns a few heads at back to school night, and well, you may get a little possessive (smut) 

magic demeanor - @bloodiedskirtts

after moving back to Florida in the middle of a heat wave, things seem to be getting worse and worse. the only thing to make her days any better is her neighbour, Frank. with neither of them willing to admit that they can’t get enough of each other, a pesky shower malfunction may be the only way for them to tell each other how they feel (smut)  

Ransom Drysdale

2:27 am - @cloudystevie

it’s 2:27 in the morning when ransom shows up at your doorstep, and he wishes he could tell you why 

cold (third part of his return) - @kiwisomething

hugh is cold sleeping on the couch by himself 

new man - @worksby-d

ransom loves to pretend he’s not whipped for you, but here he is letting you do your skin care routine on him

morning dew - @agentofbarnes

it was only supposed to be one night, but ransom can’t seem to get you out of his head (smut) 

Andy Barber

the proposal - @fairyevans

andy takes the reader on a gorgeous vacation but everything goes wrong except the proposal 

consequences - @stargazingfangirl18

life after your breakup with ransom (smut)

yes, mrs barber - @jurassicbarnes

in which you’re down on your knees, about to suck his dick within an inch of his life because it was the only way to shut him up (smut) 

[fruggo]

Hello ! I saw the enemies fo lovers things and I wanna request if possible

“ rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me three days ago. “

With frank if you would and thank you

yessirrr i love frank sm it’s not ok. also umm i may have accidentally written friends to enemies to lovers or something idk. and though i wouldnt necessarily call you friends at the start, you werent really enemies yet???? idk🐸just ummm yeh i love frank

also help how do i not go overboard???? i feel like i made this way too long, please help and i am sorry

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, frank being a bastard but then you’re like awwww he’s a cute bastard aaaaw

~~

Things were weird with Frank, and they always had been from the moment you stepped foot in the Entity’s realm. He always tunneled you relentlessly, and that made you think of him as a big asshole, but there were some strange details tacked onto the sentiment that greatly confused you, should you think about it for more than three seconds.

Sometimes, it seemed like he went easy on you in chases, like he put in no effort. He would chase you for a while, let you waste his time, and then leave without even getting a hit on you when he definitely had the ability to.

And you hated saying this, but when he handled you, it almost felt…gentle. Granted, he was a killer, and his job was to murder you, but your experiences with him did not quite line up with those of the other survivors.

They always described trials against Frank as “stepping on legos in the middle of the night” or something akin to that. You never felt like that, though—when he chased you, it felt fair. Almost as if he played nice with you. And more often than not, the killer would let you go when he caught you. The reason remained a mystery to you until quite a bit later.

This trial, Frank was in 100% bastard mode. You had begun to think of his trials as quite easy due to his seemingly calm nature around you, so you were rather caught off guard when he downed you in the first 30 seconds of the match and tossed you onto a hook, no gentleness whatsoever.

You wanted to yell at him and ask what the fuck was wrong with him until you realized this was his fucking job, and this is how he should have been treating you all along. Maybe you had just been imagining it all, but you could have sworn he used to leave you alone more than this. Something just felt different.

After you were unhooked, he went for you again. And again. And then you were dead, completely wiped out of the trial. Frank had demolished you with no remorse.

You knew it was silly to feel betrayed, but you really couldn’t help it. In such an insane and hellish place, anything that could be even remotely perceived as kindness seemed like so much more of a big deal than it truly was. So Frank’s supposed “gentleness” with you had felt somewhat like a friend doing you a selfless favor. Of course, it was not a selfless favor, and it was certainly nowhere near kindness, because he was still a killer chasing you with a knife, but your standards had really lowered in this place.

After that trial, you were back to hating Frank for tunneling and bullying you (like you probably should). You began to understand the survivors’ saying about the legos—and you hoped that Frank would step on some legos too, because he fucking sucked sometimes.

And for a while, that’s just how it was. You nearly forgot how he used to go easier on you, and how you used to do okay in his matches. Now every time you were pit against each other it just felt like you were being stuck with a bunch of pins; you never had any time to breathe or rest or do literally anything. He just went after you until you were gone, and there was next to nothing you could do about it.

Everything changed very suddenly during a trial at Ormond.

You were expecting the same old routine with this asshole—chase, blah blah blah, die. You hardly had energy to fight back anymore.

So when he arrived out of breath at the killer shack, somehow knowing you would be here, Frank was surprised to find you relaxing under the window with your arms loosely crossed, a disapproving scowl upon your countenance. It was enough to make him hesitate in his tracks.

You let out a deep breath, refusing to break eye contact with his mask; you kept up that menacing frown for as long as you could, trying to make him feel guilty (who knows if it was even possible for him to feel guilty? But it was worth a try).

“Just kill me,” you said, voice steady and seemingly unbothered. Underneath the surface, you were trembling, but you stood your ground. “That’s what you’re gonna do, isn’t it? You’re going to chase me until I’m miserable and kill me off as soon as you can?”

Frank went still, not even fidgeting with his knife like he usually did; he was intrigued by your sudden confidence.

You went on. “I’m really sick and tired of you, you know that? I’m sick of you and your bullshit. Why can’t you treat me like everybody else? At first, you went easy on me. Now you just torture me with your stupid mind games, and frankly, I’m sick of playing! I’m done with you—I don’t care anymore! Just kill me, and I’ll get out of your way, okay asshole? Mori me if you want. I don’t give a shit.”

You put your hands up exasperatedly, fully expecting him to take the offer and just send you back to the campfire right then and there. But the man sighed, pocketed his knife, and sat down right next to you as if this were a normal thing for him to do.

You scooted a few inches away out of instinct. Frank noticed, but he chose not to say a word about it.

It was a long time before he said anything, and when he finally did, you wanted to punch him so bad.

“It’s complicated,” he mumbled. And that was all.

Oh, yeah? It was complicated? You scoffed, hanging your head with a bitter smile. “Oh, okay. Sure.”

Silence again.

Awkward, suffocating silence.

And then Frank got up and left. You were unbothered for the remainder of the trial, not even a scratch or bruise on your body.

~~

Sometimes you simply did things, and you didn’t know why. This thing that you just did was irrational, stupid, unplanned, unwise, and everything in-between, and you knew it was, but frequently you just had no impulse control. Perhaps it was the Entity’s influence, or maybe you had always been this way—you couldn’t really remember.

How did you get here again? Why were you laying on the ground? And why did your leg hurt so fucking much?

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, you remember now.

Funnily enough, it seems as though the Entity, along with certain killers, did not like it when survivors tried to enter their side of the forest! But you did it anyways, and it appeared that you had suffered the consequences. It’s not like you had put much thought into it; where was the point in that when nothing mattered anymore and you were stuck in an endless cycle of death?

You remembered entering the killer’s woods, looking around, and doing…something. What was that something? You couldn’t be sure, but then you remembered somebody coming up to you and probably definitely hurting you. Yep, your leg definitely was in a lot of pain. You couldn’t even look at it. Did you pass out for a while? Maybe. How long were you out for?

You lay still there for a while, thinking. Man, it really hurt, and boy, were you miserable. Maybe more miserable than you’d ever felt here. The Entity normally healed wounds immediately, but perhaps you had just angered it so much you deserved to suffer.

Oh, dear! You seemed to be passing out at this time. Yes, that was almost certainly what was happening. Black spots danced across your eyes as your body began to feel distant and numb, but you didn’t feel very worried about it. In fact, you felt like making jokes right now, but you had nobody to make jokes to and you probably couldn’t even speak.

Just as you began to accept it, there was a strange thumping sensation vibrating through the ground growing closer…and closer…

Footsteps! That’s good!

Oh. Not if it’s a killer. That’s not good, probably.

But you had no way of protesting when you felt yourself being picked up, because those black spots in your eyes were dancing a lot faster now, perhaps something akin to an Irish jig, and you also couldn’t feel your limbs.

Then you were fast asleep again, dreaming of Irish dancers who were actually big fluffy cloud people wearing leprechaun clothes. Nobody but you would ever know this, and it was going to stay that way.

On the bright side, it made it a lot easier for your rescuer to carry you to safety like this.

~~

When you awoke once more, you were horrified to find yourself in the Ormond lodge of all places. You knew immediately what had happened and were determined to escape as soon as possible.

Your injured leg proved to be a huge problem, however, and you collapsed the second you attempted to find freedom. Trying again, you collapsed once more, and probably maimed yourself further in the process.

Hearing the commotion from the second floor, your least favorite member of The Legion descended down from the main stairs, refusing to look directly at you even as he scooped you up and plunked you (gently) back onto the couch, which was rather comfortable (not that you would ever tell him that).

So he was playing it cool, huh?

Okay. You could play it cool, too. You were cool. Smooth as butter.

No. You really couldn’t be cool in a situation like this, and plus, your mind was still a little woohoo since whatever accident had occurred. Suddenly you blurted out, “Frank, I hate your guts.”

And he had the audacity to laugh. He laughed at you! He did the man chuckle thing, as if what you were saying was funny. No! You were completely serious! You did hate his guts!

Perhaps your face showed how upset you were, because he started to apologize (still laughing).

“Maybe you should go back to sleep,” Frank said after calming down a bit.

No. You couldn’t go back to sleep. You did not want to experience dancing cloud people dressed as leprechauns ever again in your life, for the rest of eternity. Never again.

So you shook your head violently, refusing to give an explanation, which just provoked Frank to anger all of a sudden. If you went back to sleep, he could have some alone time while the rest of The Legion was gone. He kept pushing, and you kept resisting, and he pushed and you resisted, until finally he gave up and let you off with a warning. If you made him mad again, he was throwing you out in the snow.

Fine with me, you said. Okay, I’ll do it right now, he said. No balls, you said.

So then Frank casually went to scoop you up in his arms again, and you started to freak out and beat your hands against his chest until he put you back down. He was was awfully mindful of your hurt leg for someone who was about to throw you into the snow.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—please don’t throw me out,” you fussed. You thought he wouldn’t actually do it. You didn’t know it, but you were right—he was just messing with you because it was funny seeing you scared.

After a bit more griping back and forth, Frank began to grow concerned about your leg. He didn’t know how to bring up the topic because things were so odd between the two of you; this was your first interaction since the brief encounter in the shack. But he swallowed his pride, because the wound seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

“Hey, do you want me to, uhh…get some supplies?” Frank asked awkwardly. When you didn’t understand, he continued, “Your leg? It looks like it hurts…I could fix it if you want.”

You barked out a laugh at his words, unbelieving of this shift in attitude. “Rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me three days ago,” you snickered, genuinely finding it amusing.

Frank took offense. He was trying to be nice for once, and you thought it was funny. And his situation really was complex, whether you chose to believe it or not. Maybe he should just tell you to get it off of his chest.

“Listen,” he said, voice laced with seriousness. “When I told you things were complicated, I meant it.”

Sensing the mood change from his tone and body language, you stopped smiling and decided to pay attention to him. Just this once. Never again. After this you could go back to hating him.

Frank continued. “The Entity was going to start…well, hurting me, if I didn’t start doing better in trials. I really didn’t want to sacrifice you, which is embarrassing to admit, but I’ll say it. And I don’t think it liked that.”

You were surprised. And also relieved that you had been right all along—he had been going easy on you at first.

“Why me, though?” you asked, confused. “Why wouldn’t you want to sacrifice me? What about the other survivors?”

If the slight tilt of his head at your question didn’t answer it for you, the way he started tapping his feet and cracking his knuckles so nervously did.

Boy, if looks could kill, you would have died instantly at the scowl Frank sent your way; you grinned pridefully at the realization that this man was down bad. You couldn’t see the expression behind his mask, though, which Frank was thankful for.

He hated every second of this, but you loved it. You reveled in his embarrassment.

Leaning forward on your hands, you begged, “Tell me more! I want to hear all about your feelings for me.”

“I could stab you right now, you know that?”

“But you won’t. You liiiiike me!”

“What are you, eight years old?”

“No, but I am severely injured and have lost a lot of blood so I am not necessarily in the right headspace at the moment.”

“You make a fair point.”

“So tell me! What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“Your ass.”

“No, really.”

“Okay, your ass and your hair.”

“You know what, Frank, I still hate your guts.”

“No, you don’t.”

You paused for a moment. It was probably the blood loss talking, you decided later, but you said, “No. Maybe I don’t.”

[titleknown]

...I will say, as a disabled person, it creeps me the fuck out that people kept dunking on Ana Mardoll (Who, for clarity’s sake, I do not know outside of this drama) for the whole “you can still be an author if you don’t read very much” tweet.

Because, like, if you read his later tweets on the subject, he talks about how he used to read voraciously until burnout set in. Which, like, been there pal.

And, even ignoring the fact that he recommends audiobooks as one alternative in the original now-deleted-due-to-dogpiling thread, it disturbs me how talk about it being okay to do your craft even with that handicap is getting fucking dunked on.

And like, the thread he was responding to in that original thread was about comps. Which are apparently A Thing in publishing where you read what books are out there to find out what’s popular that you can compare your book to.

Now, I don’t know the first side of anything about traditional publishing and correct me if I’m naiive, but I feel like that’s definitely related to those sorts of structures requiring additional labor to get work that make it very difficult for disabled folks to get a foot in the door in pretty much all fields.

It seems akin to the hell that is the job application process in other fields, a process even neurotypicals can barely manage, but those with neurodivergence find even more difficult due to all the hoops one has to jump through.

And I see people in other threads responding to that diminishing the difficulties of the barriers we face, saying that we’re “not trying hard enough,” and more or less saying “Well, you’ll never be a real writer if these are barriers for you,” treating disability as just laziness “holding yourself back” from your true potential.

And like, do they know how they fucking sound?

Like, I don’t know dick about YA twitter, I try to avoid the bird site if I can, I do not know about its actual problems, but it's genuinely disturbing how ableist people are getting in the supposed name of combatting anti-intellectualism.

And I’ve got to wonder; how much is the shitting on YA twitter actually about problems within that subculture, or combating intellectual stagnation, and how much is it about using the neurodivergent as a scapegoat or punishing them for daring to speak about their barriers to access.

I will cap this off with one tweet I found during this whole debate that sums up why people dunking on Mr. Mardoll scare me:

Like... yikes.

:EDIT: Well shit. This was written before, like, the fucking Lockheed-Martin stuff came out about Mardoll, and like...

While my points about ableism used as a scapegoat are still, I think, valid, and everyone involved in this fucking story sucks, I have zero sympathy for Mardoll, especially given what I’ve heard about the hate-mobbing he also led.

Like, my dad worked for fucking Raytheon for years of his life, but I will never defend that shit one iota, and that’s just a fucking ancillary thing!

[spookysmujer]

Piensa En Mi, O. Diaz

Summary: The relationship with you and Oscars suddenly ends after he gets locked up. Now it’s 4 years later..

warnings: HELLA angst, heartbreak 

word count: 1.9K

a/n: I had an itch to write today, thank you for requesting babes! Sorry it took this long to get done. I hope everyone is doing okay these days. PSA: Stop the hate against Asians! Speak up for our brothers and sisters, please. I love you all! Please consider: following, heart/comment/reblog my content! Thank you <)

Requested by @boujee-bitches!

(gif belongs to @merakiaes)

You can remember the day you realized just how much you were in love with Oscar Diaz. It was a few months into dating, he had been in and out of town on Santo business, and yet still was able to check in with you. He even sent you doordash multiple times. And in that one moment, as the doordash driver stood at your door, carrying a bag of your favorite pastrami sub, you truly felt your heart bleed for Oscar. The feelings entirely mutual with him. You can remember that exact moment you felt it, just as you remember the moment your heart had been ripped away. 

The consequence of having such a pristine memory is the ability to remember not only the good days but the hurtful ones as well. Now, after years of being with Oscar, he’s gone. Things had been going so well with the Santos and moving up in the ranks for him. Then in a matter of seconds, all that changed. The moment those handcuffs linked his wrists together behind his back as he was  whisked away in the back of the patrol car was the day everything changed.

Change. 

They always say that change is a good thing. But whoever they are, they were wrong. Change is malicious, it’s life-consuming and does nothing but harm. In the beginning you were confident everything would be okay. Nothing could break this man, he has been through the highest highs and the lowest lows. He has endured things as a young child that no child should. Even when the judge has sentenced him to 8 years, the look he gave you said: It’ll be okay, mamas.

For the first few months, things were good. The money he would send to you, you’d put on his books regardless of his wishes for you not to do so. The phone calls that didn’t last nearly as long as you wanted it to. And the letters, even if you talked on the phone and visited him often, Oscar still wrote you letters, and he always drew something for you. 

But it began to get difficult. When school started up in the fall, your full-time job and now taking care of his younger brother, you started to miss calls, needed to reschedule visits. And when you would answer, Oscar would give you the cold shoulder. He realized that you were beating yourself up for trying to juggle everything. He hated himself for making you so stressed just to make it to him. So on a surprise call that you weren’t expecting, he broke it to you that dating while he is incarcerated is foolish of you. It’s a waste of your time. Please take care of yourself and Cesar, we’ll see where we are when I’m out. But for now, it’ll be just me.

That day replays in your mind. No more calls, rejected visits, ghost letters. It felt like he died, though you would have been notified of it if that was the case. But that was 4 years ago, everything had changed and according to Cesar, it’s about to change again.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You ask, after holding your breath. Spooky gets out tomorrow. 

Cesar shovels the rest of his cereal in his mouth and gulps down the remaining milk, rushing around the kitchen and gathering his school things, “Oscar. He gets out tomorrow. His sentence reduced to half the time, remember the hearing they had last week?”

Whenever Cesar would talk about his older brother, you would tune it out. Oscar breaking up with you over the phone without a thorough reason, then dropping you as a person all together really broke you beyond repair. But you had no choice but dust off your shoulders and keep going. 

You hum and nod, packing your lunch.Without saying anything else, you head back to your room to get your things ready for work. As you pass by the room that Cesar had taken residency in, you notice the packed bags. “Cesar!” 

But by the time you make it back to the kitchen, he has already left out the door. Was he about to leave? Did he want out now that Oscar will be out? Though the idea was to care for Cesar while his brother was locked up, to know he is already ready to up and leave, hurts you. But you shake it off, Oscar is coming home, shit. 

Your day goes by painstakingly slow. All you could think about is how it would go when you’d see him again, how will you feel? What about him, what will he feel?

“Y/N, did you hear me?” Cesars voice sounds from across the table, the two of you enjoying some take-out. The day has gone from slower than a sloth to as quick as sonic the hedgehog.

He stares at you, waiting for you to respond. “Now that Oscar is getting out, it’s time for you to head on back home. Yeah, I heard you. Just sucks is all, I feel like my daily routine will be all messed up.” You joke to which he grins at. 

The next day comes by in a blink of an eye. Here you are leaning against your car that is parked in front of Oscars house. You can’t bring yourself to walk up those stairs and face him. But he hasn’t exited the house yet, you wonder if he even will. After Cesar gets the last bag is when you hear the front door. He makes his way towards you, your breath getting stuck in your airways. 

Cesar hugs you and thanks you again, you squeeze him and ask that he doesn’t be a stranger. Then there stood, you and Oscar. He stares at you for a long moment, studying you. It’s been nearly 4 years since he’s seen you. You are the same with little differences here and there, “You finally pierced your nose.” He points out. 

You purse your lips and nod, scoffing and looking him in the eyes, “Almost 1,300 days of not talking to me and seeing me…. And my nose ring is the first thing you say to me?” 

It wasn’t the plan to argue, you wanted to ask him to be kind to Cesar and take care of him then be on your merry way. But being in his physical presence now, it’s made your blood boil. How could he stand there like nothing had happened between you? The history you two have was an epic love and heartbreak but by the look on his face, it’s as if you are a stranger in passing. 

He licks his bottom lip and digs his hands into his shorts pockets, “What you want me to say? I said all I needed to that day on the phone.”

Your arms uncross from over your chest and your mouth falls slightly open. But before you can let out the rage that’s been building up continuously over the years, “I miss you, querida.” He watches your face contort to confusion then back to anger. He nearly smiles to see that you are still the hot head you’ve always been.

The words weren’t coming out as you wanted them to. All you could do was stomp past him to leave but he grabs your upper arm to stop you. You look down to where his hand wraps around your arm then up to his eyes, the look you give him is loud enough for him to let go.

“Can you just listen to me? You think I wanted to break things off? That it didn’t hurt me just as much as it hurt you?” Oscar begins, standing directly in front of you and slightly craning his head down. “I fucking hated that I did that to you, mami. The last thing I want in this world is not being with you, to cause you pain and to have done that when I was locked up? I hated it. Every single day. But I needed to do it because all I was doing was holding you back. I couldn’t bare knowing that I was making your life hard.”

An eruption of laughter sounds from you, you hold your stomach and one hand clamped over your mouth, hunching over from how hilarious you find his last sentence. Though anyone else hearing it wouldn’t really laugh, seeing as it wasn’t a funny statement. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. But do you hear yourself? You thought breaking up would be better. I don’t know if there was ever a time during our relationship prior that I made you feel I couldn’t handle something like you being locked up, I am terribly sorry if I had but I thought I proved to you that I was more than in love with you, I was hopelessly devoted to you, I was willing to endure it all, every call or visit. I was ready to work hard to make sure you could make tienda… but what did I do or what did I say to make you think otherwise?”

Oscar feels the chains on his heart tighten with every word you say. He doesn’t know what hurts him more, the break-up or now knowing how worthless it made you feel. He knows you are an understanding person, but his intentions didn’t settle as he hoped it would. 

It takes all his might to resist pulling you into a hug, With how you reacted to his touch just moments ago, he knows a hug would only result in profanities being spewed out. As if a hug could magically glue the pieces back together and fix it all. “You didn’t do shit wrong, Y/N. You were the epitome of a down ass girl. But all I could see was the tiredness in your face when you would visit me because you were playing mother to Cesar meanwhile trying to juggle everything else. Trying to make sure you would always come to see me… so I thought ending everything would be better, I thought you would be better off.”

The rage and ache in your heart fights against each other. He is saying one thing but to you its processing as nothing but an excuse. You want to yell and thrash your fists against his chest so he can feel just a sliver of what you went through. 

“I was better off with you. It didn’t matter to me what we were going through Oscar… If it was something joyous or something scrutinizing, as long it was with you and we were together, I wanted it all with you. I was ready to go through this journey with you. But you just gave up on us like that.” You snap your fingers and blink away the tears that had begun pooling for sometime now. His shoulders cave in and he dips his head down, unable to keep his eyes locked onto yours. 

“Give me a chance to prove that I haven’t given up on you or us.”

You wanted to laugh again. To point and scream how silly he sounds and to catch the circus act before they leave town but the way he says it is the reason you didn’t. How low his voice is, how soft his eyes are and his walls had dropped to below sea level is what made you stand so incredibly still.

Do you take the chance? Should push aside all the vines and roots that have grown over the chest labeled: Oscar, to let him in again? 

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