#self esteem cw

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Why do I feel like a failure? Why do I feel like I'm shit at my new job even if I've never received a complaint in these three months? Why do I feel like everyone is talking behind my back about how boring/ugly/stupid I am? Why do I have to feel like this and not enjoy even a fkng day? I'm sorry if this is too much Steph, but your words really helped me in the past. I don't really know how to handle all of this. I'm about to explode

Hey Nonny *HUGS*

Oof, if this isn't relatable to me, I don't know what is. I first want to preface this with this is STRICTLY my opinion, and that I am in no way a professional. I'm just giving you a few anecdotes from my own life, but please take my advice with a grain of salt; I strongly encourage you to talk to either a therapist, counsellor, or someone you trust.

Also, I myself am going through a rough headspace few months, so I'm going to try my best to answer this as carefully as I can so while I try my best to make you feel better, I have to, for my own mental health, not go on into too much detail that will spiral me myself. I just didn't want to leave this message hanging for a few months when winter is finally over and my headspace would be better, is all, and will try my best. I am worried about you <3

I'm not sure where you live, if you are in an ENDLESS winter like I am, but a lot of this sounds like seasonal depression talking at the least, but more likely poor self-esteem and actual full-on depression if this is a "regular" thing for you. Nonny, please know, as I grew older, most of those thoughts are more-than-likely in your head; a perception of reality becomes exceptionally distorted, especially if you have poor self worth/esteem. Everything feels like the worst-case-scenario, and while I did grow out of it a bit the older I got when I became more "fuck 'em" in my attitude, but I still finally had to see a therapist because it's too much for me to handle on my own. Especially coupled with anxiety and seasonal depression that's at its worst in January and February, and I just... crack some times. Plus my self esteem is really non-existent and whoops, suddenly I'm in the exact same headspace you're in, Nonny. It's terrifying, feeling like you can't escape your own brain's perception of everything.

Sometimes, just taking a step back from everything helps, too, Nonny. I know it's cliché, but doing something you know you enjoy can help improve your mood. I like doing art, replaying a video game I KNOW I love and don't get frustrated in, listening to music, watch a movie, or even just reading. It all turns my brain off after a bit and it does help a lot. And get off social media, because places like TikTok, Instagram and Twitter will only make your self esteem worse.

And I want to stress: IT'S OKAY TO NEED HELP. YOU DON'T HAVE TO SUFFER ALONE. My own therapy is talk-therapy, and we talk about usually my current events but she spends a lot of time letting me know that my own feelings are valid, and we talk through the feelings I have when they overwhelm me. We talk about my job, and my home life, my future and my past, and it's just nice to have someone unbiased to talk to for an hour a few times a year, you know? I think you would benefit a lot from it too, if you are able. I got lucky and connected immediately with the therapist I got, but know mine is an exception: it might take a few different people before you find the right one.

That all said, your message strays darker than I think you realize though, Nonny, and I worry about you. I have a huge list of some help lines and Mental Health Resources that I think you will benefit from as well:

741741 Suicide Helpline / Texting Crisis Service

7Cups Online Emotional Support Therapists

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (USA): 1-800-273-8255

Crisis Services Canada: Call 1.833.456.4566 || Text/SMS: 45645

Canada Suicide Prevention Centre (Talk Suicide Canada): 833-456-4566 || SMS: Text START to 741741

Lifeline Australia: 13 11 14

Suicide SupportLine (UK): 01708 765200

Suicide Crisis Helpline (NZ) 0508 828 865

Kid’s Help Phone (They are Canadian, but I think they’ll be able to direct y'all to the proper place for your country – for youth and young adults 18 and under): 1-800-668-6868 || They also have a Live Chat with a professional counsellor from 7PM to midnight EST

1Call1Click.ca (Eastern Ontario) - A simple way for children, youth up to 21 years and families to access the right mental health and addiction care, at the right time. Call 613-260-2360 or toll free at 1-877-377-7775

Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (USA) - Available to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress. Dial 9-8-8 (as a side note, Canada will also be adopting this number in Fall 2023).

Suicide Hotlines.com (USA)

AND IF YOUR COUNTRY IS NOT HERE: Wikipedia’s List of Suicide Crisis Lines By Country

If you live in Canada, the government is providing SOME FREE mental health resources. It’s an exhaustive list with resources for each province as well as some tips to help cope.

The City of Ottawa ALSO has a list of Local Mental Health Resources. While I’m sure that if you’re not from Ottawa, you can probably call one of them and ask if they know if there’s any for your region.

I'm ALWAYS collecting resources to help spread to y'all, so if you guys have some you've used, please do share. All of my google results are primarily Canadian, so if you have some other regional resource, I want to add them. Mental health is super important to me, and I want to always have an up-to-date list for anyone struggling.

That all said Nonny, my heart is hurting for you, and I want you to know that we are all here for you. Know that you are loved and cared about, and be safe <3 It WILL get better, Nonny.

*SNUGGLE BUGGLE HUGGLE*

[canisalbus]

Wait, holdup. Are you telling me that modern AU Machete used to smoke? Can we have more information on this, please?

Although a cigarette between his fingers might fit his silhouette, I can't imagine Machete smoking. Isn't he a health and hygiene freak?

He started smoking as a sad and disillusioned teen, mostly because some of his mature and edgy friends smoked and he wanted to seem mature and edgy as well.

First and foremost it was a way to manage stress, it gave him an impression that he was at least somewhat in control of his nerves. He does have a lot of health/hygiene anxiety, but he tried to justify it to himself by claiming that since he's so diligent and careful about everything else, surely he can afford to have this one bad habit that he's already familiar with. He wasn't proud of it, he knew perfectly well how smoking was objectively harmful, but he's fairly skilled in keeping himself in denial about things he's unwilling to contemplate. Also he's an extremely routine oriented person and it really rustles his jimmies when his daily rituals and personal coping mechanisms are tampered with.

I think he finally managed to quit for good some time after getting together with Vasco. Mostly because he had to start thinking about himself and his life in a new light and it made him painfully self-conscious about the whole thing. He was worried about smelling off-putting, tired of not being able to keep up with him physically and just generally guilty and embarrassed about being potentially annoying and unpleasant to be around.

[jinjjayo]

YEONJUN FORTY-ONE WINKS @ INKIGAYO 241117

[rabbitcrimes]

When people are like Wei Wuxian was NOT suicidal it’s like. Ok sure. He just believed that his debt to the Jiangs should be paid with everything up to and including his life. And also that the moral and obvious thing to do in any situation is to put himself between anyone and harm's way. This is because he thinks he’s unkillable but he makes himself unkillable for the same reason he’ll die for a good enough reason: because it’s a way to have worth!

And then famously once everything goes to shit he does beg Lan Wangji to let him die as part of the moment where he is either destroyed by his own evil magic or lets his own evil magic tear him apart, a distinction I don't personally think matters very much at that point. Less explicitly textually, his mentally ill ass behavior after he gives up his core says to me that he wishes that he'd died honorably for Jiang Cheng when he had the chance and doesn't know what to do with himself since he hasn't.

Again I’m aware that he’s operating under a pretty specific set of culturally informed norms as a cultivator and member of a sect but like. TO ME. Everything about how Wei Wuxian conducts himself indicates that he has a box in his mind at all times that says 'in case of emergency break glass' and what’s inside the box is his own death. All the sound of mind actions of a man who has a normal and not suicidal relationship to death.

[frootbyethefoot]

i understand why daisuke and anya don't interact more, but i think there's something about the way they're both made to feel like screw ups that's incredibly. interesting? to me.

the way daisuke has completely internalized the idea that he's a screw up, that he's lazy and he won't accomplish anything in his life because he's aimless and has no idea what he even wants to do. daisuke's a pretty good sport about it, but swansea isn't subtle about the fact that he doesn't want him around. he's heard it his entire life and he hears it in the tulpar. his motivation for even getting on the tulpar was to just make his parents proud. his motivation for climbing through a vent he KNEW was dangerous and would eventually kill him was (in part) trying to make someone proud. he's a bundle of self esteem issues wrapped together with some other stuff!

meanwhile, anyas tried and failed to get into medical school 8 times. she's incredibly determined if she's still trying, but that has to be devastating for her. to keep throwing herself at this brick wall with little to no results. more notably is the fact that her abuser is now in a position of authority, he's essentially her boss after the crash. he criticizes and belittles her every chance he gets, from telling her, very pointedly that "people need to earn their titles," to chewing her out (to put it lightly) when she's unable to give curly his medicine one too many times for his liking, to saying she "can't go breaking down at every little thing" as she's actively planning to commit suicide. being belittled and treated as incompetent is an ever present part of her life, post crash, and even in the small bits of pre-crash we see from her. even if anya doesn't believe it, even if we know anya is incredibly competent and good at her job, that kind of abuse wears you down.

i don't know what my point is, but the tldr is that these two should talk more maybe. it would be good. they should go play some sorry! and eat cake i don't know.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König's Self Esteem

cw self esteem issues and mentions of ptsd

So, König wasn't always very proud of himself. In fact, very much the opposite.

Growing up, König was bullied relentlessly for every single aspect of his very being. Nothing was enough for his classmates. He was considered a freakish nerd. He was called fat and later skinny. Girls would pretend to ask him out and laugh in his face when he eagerly accepted. Boys would make fun of König for how he spent more time reading than playing sports. Nothing was enough.

When König was a teen, things changed. Suddenly, König was tall and strong. His soft jaw sharpened, his pitiful round eyes hardened. The wiry teen became a muscular young adult thanks to his plentiful hikes in the woods, as referenced in this post.

So with such a change in König, surely, his relationship with his self esteem must be mixed, no?

More under the cut.

König has two layers of his self esteem. He has the self esteem that his team knows him for, and then he has the softer side that you know of.

On the battlefield, he is brave and, quite frankly, arrogant. He believes in himself like no other. Whatever he sets his mind to, he can do. Nobody can get in his way. His enemies are like ants beneath his boots.

When he saves hostages, he has mixed feelings. On one hand, the hostages are usually terrified of him. He's a 6'10 Austrian man built like a mac truck. Covered in blood and heaving with heavy breaths, children usually start crying when they see him.

But then he saves them. Then, the hostages that teared up at the sight of him throw themselves at his feet. They thank him profusely and adore him for saving them. He's had children named after him simply because he saved a few pregnant women. He keeps in touch with the families, too, to make sure they're still safe.

Teammates adore him, too. Nobody can do what he can. He barrels through a door and tramples his enemies under boot and bullet alike. He's like a bull with how he bores down his enemies. When enemies hear that König is coming, some of them defect immediately rather than face the wrath of the King.

Horangi in particular adores König. He's by and far one of the best hostage extractors they have. He's strong, brutish, but efficient. He's also incredibly reliable on the field. König has carried injured soldiers for miles before to get them back to safety. Legends of König carrying three men over six miles still fly around the base.

So, with all this success, König gets a bit of a big head. He is confident in his abilities and his success. He is incredibly proud of how hard he's worked for what he's gotten. He earned his place here. He was hand picked by KorTac. He is desired. He's important. He is powerful, honourable, brave and true. He's a killing machine, he's a guardian angel. He's the King.

But when he's off the field, when he's away and home with you, he can't be that König. He can't be king of the battlefield when he's at home. He can't order you around like a new recruit, and he can't expect you to treat him like an angel of death for saving you from certain doom. Instead, you see König as what he hates about himself; König is just a mortal man.

He never had to grow beyond being a teenager when he worked. He never had to face what lay under his mask. Now, with you, he has to see what you see, regardless of if he wants to or not.

He was so used to cruelty and brutality, but you bring forth softness and gentle touches. He is scared by the vulnerability you bring out of him. He's not used to being treated with love and kindness like what you provide.

Sometimes, when he thinks he's home alone, you might find him staring himself down in a mirror, a haunted look reflected back. He seems lost when he looks at himself. Soon, he rips himself away, but he can't wipe away his tears before you see them.

He'll sometimes grab at his stomach and pull, looking down miserably. You might ask what's wrong, but he'll shake it off and pretend it's nothing.

The worst are the nightmares he wakes from. He has so many memories he wishes to forget. He's made so many mistakes, and it's cost so many lives. How dare he live when others better than him have been lost? He doesn't know what to do with himself.

He hurts, dear reader. He can put on a face of being brave, but he will always remember the cruelty of his peers. When he goes into public, he feels like everyone can see the evil things he's done on the battlefield.

Sometimes, he'll break, and he'll admit all these things to you. Then he needs your kindness, your soft words, your warm touch. He might not ever be whole again, but when you kiss him and hold him close, he feels like a piece of pottery being glued together with gold. One day, he promises this to you whenever he can, he'll be better. You might not believe him, but you love him regardless.

No giant can walk through hell unscathed.

[underdark-dreams]

Zevlor needs hugs. Lots of them and also sneak in one hell of a BJ for him

Imagine being in a loving, committed relationship with Zevlor...sharing a bed together and snuggling each other gently awake on a lazy morning...then dipping below the covers to really wake him up properly with a sloppy BJ

He goes from a sleepy hmmm good morning, my love to groaning out your name and grabbing a fistful of your hair

[aannonn]

I FINALLY FINISHED ITT LETS GOOO

(to anyone who wanna read it on ao3 instead! ><)

not-actually-so-funfact; my computer started to burn in the middle of the translation :D (im brazilian so i write my fics in brazilian before translating them to english- xd)

anyways!! hope u enjoy the read just as much as I did while writing it! <3

- , "Ruined. All Ruined."

(updated/fixed) Tags ;

Rating : Teen and Up Audiences Warning : Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags#1 : rated t mainly because of the swears // violent thoughts // threats of violence // whump // self hatred // self depreciation // self esteem // self esteem issues // angst // angst and feels // heavy angst // hurt no comfort // emotional hurt // crying // selective mutism // talking in musical notes Tags#2 : hurt/comfort // comfort // emotional hurt/comfort // emotional // inner dialogue // minecraft mechanics // neurodivergent // {not exactly the focus but y'k- its there} // author is projecting

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Ruined.

All ruined.

   Green sat on his bed, the tie tied carefully around his neck crumpling from the tightness of his knees being hugged close to his chest. A crumpled tie was certainly not something he would take lightly, and he would quickly fix his posture so he could tidy it up and leave it the way it was before, perfect as it should be. But- honestly? Green felt no motivation to do so right now.

   He doesn't understand what he did wrong. Did he prepare too much? Did he create a lot of expectations? Did he let his anger and arrogance get the best of him again?

   Everything seemed perfect, everything was perfect, but then that silverfish suddenly emerged and, in the blink of an eye, everything around him seemed to be shattering; All the months of planning and preparation and so, so many songs he wrote and scratched because none of them felt perfect enough felt like they had been stepped on, crushed and thrown into lava, slowly burning right before his eyes.

   Is not fair. None of this was fair. He worked so hard to get to this moment, to improve his musical skills and impress an entire audience with his music, his passion. His friends, friendly acquaintances - everyone he knew was there - even Orange was there! They were all there for the concert, for the performance, for him.

   He felt like he was on cloud nine, happily boasting about the praise and applause floating around him like birthday confetti, roses being thrown at him as a sign of love and admiration - His friends and family were congratulating him and looking at him with so much admiration and love and affection for his amazing and so well-planned, so well-done, so perfect performance.

   He felt so adored, like the celebrities he saw on YouTube, being praised and complimented and talked about by many, many people, with so much admiration and adoration in their voices when talking about them. He felt so envied, as if several people adored him so much that they wanted to have his talents, they wanted to be him. He felt so loved, friends and family being so proud of him that he felt himself laughing happily, smiling so big that his cheeks hurt.

   ...Then a silverfish rised onto the stage, stepped on his noteblock, and the adoring, gazing eyes of the crowd - of his friends - were on the mob, and suddenly it seemed like it wasn't his concert anymore, but rather a random silverfish who just invaded the stage and stole his place, his audience, his moment.

   Green clenched his fists, bringing his knees even closer and crumpling his tie even more; Is not fair. None of this is fucking fair. He worked so hard for this, he worked so long for this, and now it's all ruined. Everything is ruined.

   The audience applauded and the show was a success, but the silverfish was the one in the spotlight; It was what was being boasted about, congratulated, adored, happily applauded for its' incredible performances.

   Meanwhile, Green was collapsing in pain in the middle of the stage and suffering from a horrible concussion.

   He felt humiliated, awfully humiliated. Shame, disappointment, and anger flooded his entire being, and the moment he woke up in his room, in his bed, with an ice pack on his head and a potions kit right on his desk, the only thing he did was have a staring contest with the ceiling with hazy eyes, his mind was a complete fog as he felt himself swinging his leg from side to side, jiggling it repeatedly distractedly.

   They cheered, the audience cheered, his friends cheered, but none of the cheers and joyful whistles were directed at him, as if the show had never even belonged to him in the first place.

   Green clenched his fists so tightly that he felt the faintest hint of blood coming from his palms, tears stinging his eyes distressingly, falling and spilling and wetting the mattress like rainfalls.

   Small bubbles appeared in his throat and made him let out soft sobs while small melodic notes came out of his mouth, making unbearably unpleasant and hostile noises, seeming as if a million instruments were being played at the same time, forming a loud and unpleasant noise for the ears. Fortunately the canorous notes that came out were small and therefore you wouldn't be able to hear them properly if you weren't close enough to his face.

   He felt so pathetic, so ridiculous. It wasn't even that bad; Everyone in the audience loved and genuinely enjoyed the show, his friends even formed a band and Orange finally played the electric guitar he had after years of not even touching it! So why was he so sad? Why did he feel like his entire world had just collapsed? Why did he feel so angry at the silverfish that only wanted to play with him?

   Because he was so selfish. So selfish and arrogant the little musician.

   He wanted to pull his head off, his stupid head with a stupid brain that only knew how to think about itself - He wanted to find that stupid silverfish and sink the tip of the diamond sword at its' stomach, jab it and stab it and all over again until all that was left of the mindless mob were little white clouds signaling its permanent death.

   He wanted to punch himself, spank himself - He wanted to be vengeful, he wanted to scream - He was so angry at himself, so angry at the silverfish, so angry at his brain, so angry at his feelings, so angry at his friends who didn't even try to help him get the silverfish off the stage and bring everyone's attention back to him, so angry at the world that was never merciful to him, hurting him again and again and again and again and again and again like a fucking punching bag.

   He wanted to isolate himself from everything and everyone to show the world how fucking angry and tired he is right now. He wanted his friends to invade his room to shower him with love and affection, hugs and apologies and promises that they would take better care of him, that they would never try to hurt him again, that they would never let the world hurt him again.

   He wants the world to burn, he wants the world to hold him like a baby.

   He's so selfish. Selfish and arrogant little adorable musician.

   His mind was a fog full of thoughts as his emotions took control, his body swayed slightly from side to side like a mantra, all of this making his brain unable to register the sound of footsteps approaching his position on the bed or even extra weight being added to the green mattress.

   Green jumped when he felt a hand holding his arm gently, rocking his body serenely and distracting his mind from thoughts for a few brief moments. He still didn't take his face off his knees, but he didn't take the hand off his arm either.

   Faint sobs and small musical notes echoed through the spacious house, the fog of dark thoughts in his mind gradually fading until all that was left were just faint sobs and dry tears gracing his face, a few tears still running down his chin towards the bed, small drops of water, some already old, wetting the mattress.

   He didn't register and didn't want to register how long it had been since he and the familiar but currently unknown stickfigure had been sitting on the bed. The stickfigure just rocked him calmly and slowly, distracting him from his thoughts that only got darker and darker, while also giving him time to calm down at his own pace, which Green deeply appreciates.

   Eventually, his breathing seemed to have finally eased and he opened his eyes, raising his head slowly and groggily, somewhat destabilized after the horrible mental breakdown he had just had.

   Yellow's composed and slightly worried face greeted him, the gentle movement of his head cooled off the nervous spasms he felt in his body after his brain had correctly registered the pathetic and disappointing scene he had just made, right in front of one of the last people he wanted for to see him in this state.

   Yellow remained quiet, his hand still on Green's arm as he continued to rock him gently, his movements filled with nothing but pure affection and concern for him. For Green.

   Green raised his head groggily, feeling light bubbles rising in his throat again and a new spiral of crying emerging before he pushed it back by force, several carefully chosen words in his head ready to start a conversation and break the suffocating silence, even though none of them had any actual desire to actually produce real sounds.

   He coughed, a hoarse, noisy wet cough, taking a deep breath - with some difficulty - before merely forcing a sound out of his throat, words in his mind all jumbled together - he just wanted to break the silence, a silence so quiet and still and suffocating.

   - W.. what." His voice was hoarse from crying and small musical notes were muddled with the words, making the words that came out of his mouth a confusing cacophony of sounds and verbs without a correct direction.

   Yellow patted his free hand on his knee nervously, whispering softly; - I just wanted to check up on you."

   Green no longer felt any motivation to actually form words and say them out loud, so he just shook his head sharply and pushed Yellow's hand away from his arm, a small musical note faintly leaving his mouth; a twisted, angry, broken sound.

   Go away.

   Yellow quickly understood the message the older one wanted to convey and tapped his hand on his knee nervously again, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his shoulders lowering in defeat before he stood up and walked to the door, his steps light, but steady, echoing in the now empty space; where a single green stickfigure sat on his own bed of the same color, hugging and consoling himself from the world that only knew how to hurt. The only sounds that could be heard were his own whimpers and small melodic notes that the form curled up like a ball of the arrogant little musician emanated.

   It's so quiet. The world seemed so much lonelier and more dangerous when it was quiet.

   It's just him, and the world that hates him.

.

.

.

.

   At some point in his breakdown; round two(2), Green fell asleep; spilled tears still dripping onto the mattress while light, dry remnants clung to his cheeks. Honestly, Green isn't sure if he actually fell asleep, all he remembers is that his perception of his surroundings was momentarily desensitized and he found himself lying in his bed, a pair of hands on his shoulder shaking him with enthusiasm to side to side, presumably being the reason why his brain seemed to have regained awareness of his surroundings when he felt a sudden and unexpected physical contact stirring him impatiently.

   Red's excited and unbearably happy face was what greeted him this time, determination and enthusiasm adorning his movements as he continued to shake him the way he normally would when he had done something cool and desperately wanted to show to someone.

   Noticing the slight movement of Green's head moving towards him, Red let go of the shorter stick's right shoulder and jumped back, his arms bobbing up and down happily before grabbing Green's hands and pulling him in a way so that he was now sitting on the bed, relinquishing him and quickly rushing to the door, giving him one last look (still jumping up and down and waving his arms happily) before jumping out of the house, his steps happy and hurried resonating even outside the household.

   Green just stared at the door now open to him, not moving a single inch to follow Red to wherever the latter wanted to show him, an internal debate in his head with the decisions he could make.

   Getting out of bed, let alone walking to the door, seemed like a challenge. His body had little to no motivation to exercise and his head was still a fog that momentarily distracted him from his surroundings. He really didn't want to get up.

   But there would be no more silence if he did. The world would no longer seem so dangerous and immense for him if he went outside.

. . .

   Green sighed, staring at the floor for several long moments before merely forcing his body to stand, stumbling a bit in disorientation after sitting for so long, before practically dragging himself to the door, his slow, sloppy steps echoing through the silent residence.

   The entire time he walked towards the open door, Green stared at the ground, absentmindedly counting the pixel particles of the blocks he passed in his mind.

   He really had no desire to do anything... But the silence he was in was too suffocating and oppressive for him to bear.

   As he walked, Green quickly noticed that the light gradually dimmed with each new block, getting darker and darker until he couldn't even see the color of the staircase.

   Green took his eyes off the floor and raised his head, noticing how the computer's lighting seemed to have suddenly faded, enveloping both him and the programs and the PC's characteristic background in immense darkness - Much like when he himself removed the brightness of the computer to blast his latest music at that time.

   Green straightened up, feeling goosebumps all over his body as he took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight, quickly taking out his diamond sword from his inventory and holding it tightly, keeping his guard up for any possible mobs or whatever it was that could suddenly jump on him.

   He slowly descended the steps, his steps light and careful as he illuminated the darkness around him and kept his ears open for any sign of movement or noise.

   He wonders where his friends are...

   Suddenly, red and orange and yellow and green and blue lights illuminated the computer and momentarily blinded him, causing him to stagger back in fright and throw his sword and cell phone into the air before quickly grabbing the sword in alarm, pointing the sharp tip towards the light source as he vaguely registered the sound of his cell phone falling to the ground with the flashlight still on.

   A stage - his stage - his concert stage - greeted him back, colorful lights enthusiastically illuminating the center of the stage, where stood his dearest friends that he had known for as long as he could remember.

   Friends who also just watched as his concert was ruined by a fucking silverfish.

   Green shook his head sharply to dispel that thought, slowly lowering his sword as he quickly settled down, no longer feeling the impending danger scratching the back of his neck, though that also didn't mean his irritation had disappeared.

   He simply stared at the four(4) stickfigures on the stage, irritation was obvious in his movements as he gave them the silent treatment.

   Blue clasped his hands together nervously, Red dragged his feet on the floor without looking at him while Orange shifted uncomfortably; The only one who seemed more balanced and stressless of all was Yellow, although Green could detect a slight touch of nervousness in the movement of his shoulders.

   None of them said or made any movement as an indication that they were going to break the silence, Green just stared at them demanding an explanation while the others just moved and looked at each other nervously.

   Blue turned to Red, grabbing his shoulder before pushing him forward. Red stumbled before immediately shaking his head roughly and pushing Blue forward, to which Blue grabbing Orange's hand and pulling the shortest one in front of him, pushing him nervously to be in Green's gaze. Orange looked back and forth between Blue, Red and then Green, staring at the ground while rubbing his arms nervously, before finally taking a single step forward before Yellow suddenly stopped him by grabbing his shoulder and pointing at himself, to which the youngest nodded in thanks and quickly went to Red's side.

   Yellow took a deep breath, only taking three steps forward before finally breaking the silence, his voice a soft whisper with varying degrees of guilt and apologetic tone emanating from it.

   - We're sorry."

   Green bounced in surprise, confusion adorning his movements.

   At the sound of Yellow's voice, the other three(3) seemed to find courage and quickly echoed their own apologies with equal degrees of guilt and apologetic tones, a cacophony of voices over one another as they made several sudden and clumsy movements.

   - We had fun but you didn't have fun and that wasn't- It wasn't what- It was not cool. Nothing cool."

   - We're really, really sorry- The show was horrible- It was horrible to you- It was scary, wasn't it? It was terrifying... We laughed but- And- We didn't even think how hurt would you be..."

   - We didn't try to help you when you needed it most, and we completely understand if you- How angry you might- How angry you are and we won't force you to forgive us or anything-"

   Sincere. Genuine. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Don't forgive us. You don't need to forgive us. We are really sorry. We will take better care of you.

   Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry-

   - So we thought about- Ah. To repair. Give you the concert you truly deserve."

The firm tone emanating from Yellow's voice quickly interrupted the fog that was beginning to form in Green's head, turning his head towards him to realize that the taller one had raised his hand and stopped everyone from continuing with the cacophony of voices. Of I'm sorrys. Of apologies-

   Oh wait.

   Oh. Oh.

   The stage was for him?

   - I know nothing will fix the damage that silverfish caused- The damage we didn't even try to cease- But." Yellow paused, clasping his hands and fidgeting nervously in his seat before taking a deep breath and continuing; - That's- The concert really mattered to you, so. We wanted to- Give you a chance to- A second chance to. Show to the world-

   - The world being us."

   Yellow elbowed Red. - Your performance. And just your performance only. No silverfish to take your place."

   The stage was practically the same as the show, although it was significantly reduced to fit the computer and not cover the entire space to the point of being almost claustrophobic.

   The instruments from before - from the villagers who agreed to help him with the concert - were not there, just the blocks and noteblocks that had been used previously in the concert. On his concert.

   It was his show. It is his show.

   The stage is his. The performance is his. The audience is his.

   Green just stared at the stage, then at the instruments, then at his friends.

   Millions of emotions flowed like musical notes, the fog in his head forming like fluffy, adorable clouds, and suddenly he felt an immense urge to jump and bounce and play and scream and stim and-

   A single musical note, so small and confused and twisted and broken - yet joyful and hopeful and excited and free - floated from his mouth, the harp-like sound echoing so low that Green is sure none of them would have heard it if the room was not in a complete silent.

   For me?

   Yellow tilted his head gently, Blue touched his hands like he always does when he's excited, while Orange nodded and Red happily waved his arms up and down, encouragingly signaling the older one to come on stage.

   For you.

   Green timidly walked to the stage, Blue and Red quickly helped him by grabbing his hands and pulling him up, Orange walked towards him and gently pushed him to the center where the noteblocks were carefully placed in a way that formed a piano, patting his back in encouragement before going to join Red and Blue on the chairs in front of the stage, sitting right next to Red who was resting his parrots on his shoulders.

   Yellow had the staff in hand, placing his hands on his hips in a sign of lighthearted annoyance, confusing Green momentarily before realizing that the taller stick was looking at the crumpled tie with small traces of dried tears.

Oh.

   Green looked down at his shabby tie, dismay filling him at how careless he had been with his beautiful tie, before perking up when yellow hands suddenly grabbed his tie by the ends and stretched it, trying to straighten it back to the way it was before. Finishing, Yellow walked away and placed his hands on his hips as a sign of pride, while Green just stared at his tie, now even more messy and shabby than before.

   Such a mistake like that would freak him out, reprimand the causer and quickly fix the damage done.

   Now, somehow, he found no reason to care.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   Green took the staff extended to him with such delicacy and care, as if the staff would break with a single sloppy touch, holding it close to his chest like a plush.

   Yellow patted his head, touching his forehead to Green's in a tender and gentle manner, before retreating and getting off the stage, sitting right next to Blue and putting all his attention on Green, on the show. On Green. On the performance. On Green.

   All eyes and heads were on him, all attention was on him and him alone.

  Playing his slightly altered melody as he now played solo, he felt on cloud nine. Gloatingly boasting of the enthusiastic applause and whistles of his beloved audience, who adored every performance he performed no matter how imperfect they seemed to him. Of his friends, who would always be there welcoming him with open arms and would help him in any way they could. Of his family, who adore him and love him so, so much.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   He is adored. He is accepted. He is loved.

   He always was. And he always will be.

.

.

.

.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

[lily-janus]

Being Needed

Order up for @kieraelieson for the Sleepy Bean Fanfic Cafe' event on @tsspromptmonth who wanted, Canonverse Logan/Virgil. A soft hurt/comfort sick fic. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Logan helps Virgil and Thomas... and maybe himself too

Characters: Logan, Virgil and Thomas

Relationships: platonic Analogical

Word count: 902

Trigger warnings: anxiety attack, low self esteem, sickness, food mention, let me know if I missed anything!

"Thomas? Are you listening?” Logan tried his best to keep his voice its usual neutral tone, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Due to Thomas’ ADHD, Logan got used to him spacing out at times during their scheduling conversations. Today it seems to happen more frequently, though, so much so that Logan doubts he even listened from the beginning.

…Thomas still didn’t respond to his question, and when Logan looked at him closely he noticed that his eyes seemed unfocused. He raised his hand in front of Thomas’ face and snapped his fingers in hopes of shaking him back to reality.

It seemed to work as Thomas flinched and finally looked at Logan with a new focus. Frowning, Logan asked, “are you well, Thomas? Should I check on the others?”

“I ah…” Thomas struggled to speak, his breathing heavy for some reason, his forehead sweating a little, it almost looked like…

“Thomas, are you having an anxiety attack? I remember you researching signs of silent anxiety attacks, you seem to be showing most of those symptoms.” Logan said urgently, becoming more and more worried.

Thomas gripped his chest, right above his heart, and simply nodded “check… Virgil…” Thomas managed to say between labored breaths, closing his eyes and feeling the wall next to him with his hand, trying to ground himself.

As much as Logan didn’t want to leave Thomas like this, he knew he was right, Virgil was probably the core of this problem so the best way to help Thomas at the moment is to help Virgil.

Nodding, Logan sank down and sank up in the mindscape, heading straight to Virgil’s room and knocking on his door, loud enough to be heard but, hopefully, not too loud that it’ll startle him.

“Come in…” he heard a weak, hoarse voice calling from the inside, making his worries increase.

He closed the door behind him as he went in towards Virgil’s bed, seeing him crawled out in a ball on it, whimpering quietly.

“Virgil? What’s wrong?” He asked softly as he bent near the bed.

“I don’t know!” Virgil wailed, gripping his spider plushy tighter, “I just woke up today and… everything hurts Logan… I think I might be sick” he let out a cough as if to emphasize his statement.

“May I check your temperature?" He asked calmly, knowing how Virgil feels about physical touch at times.

Virgil nodded weakly and Logan gently placed his hand on his sweaty forehead. “As I suspected, your temperature is definitely higher than is recommended. You are indeed sick, which would explain Thomas’ state.”

Virgil turned to his side to look at Logan at that statement, “am I… hurting him again?” His voice is so weak and he sounds close to tears.

Logan shook his head, “no Virgil, anxiety would always be a struggle, that is something that no one, especially not you, can control. It would make sense that the worse you feel the stronger Thomas’ anxiety becomes, but that is something you can’t help. Best you can do is give yourself time to heal.”

Virgil still looked guilty but he nodded, “I’ll just rest today then… I don’t wanna bother you or the others, this’ll-” he sneezed, “pass” he finished.

Logan shook his head, reaching for a tissue box next to Virgil’s bed and handing him one. “It’ll pass quicker with help.” He pointed out, “and I would hope that, by now, you know that your needs, or anyone else’s, are not a bother.”

Virgil didn’t respond, simply blew his nose and threw the tissue in the bin beside his bed. But he didn’t object to Logan helping either.

Logan got up, “I’m going to make you breakfast and tea as I’m assuming you haven’t eaten today yet.”

Virgil shook his head, “just tea… not hungry.”

“Hungry or not, your body needs energy in order to heal properly, I’ll return shortly.”

Virgil grumbled but didn't protest farther, so Logan left to do as he said.

As the food was cooking, Logan sank up to check on Thomas, finding him on the couch, doom scrolling on his phone.

“Thomas?” He asked gently, though the question still startled Thomas as he jumped, almost dropping his phone.

“Oh… Logan… How's Virgil?” He asked when he calmed down a little.

“He appeared to be sick, I’m helping him recover, distraction is not a bad coping mechanism but please do try some grounding and breathing exercises as well.” He was about to sink back to the mindscape when Thomas grabbed his arm.

“Thank you…” he smiled weakly at him.

“Oh um… of course, Thomas, it’s my job to make sure you are functioning properly.” Logan quickly recovered from his intial surprise.

“I know, I appreciate that.” Thomas squeezed Logan’s arm with another smile, looking relieved, then let go and closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly.

As Logan rose back up in the mindscape and finished preparing Virgil’s food and tea, he felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest.

That same warmth increased when Virgil thanked him for the food and… for being there for him, shaking his head fondly after Logan pointed out it was part of his job.

It felt… good to be needed again, he didn’t realize just how much he missed that feeling. As he watched Virgil eat, he allowed himself a tiny, genuine, smile. He can still be useful after all…

[tearrstained]

Staying silent knowing I have plans to kill myself.<<<<

[statesys]

; eating isn't difficult except for when you're suddenly 11 and sitting at the table trying not to cry because the food in your mouth has the most horrible texture, the lights are horribly loud and everyone's chewing is horribly painful and you feel so bad because you never eat full meals and you feel so guilty, someone cooked this for you and you think it's disgusting ?? and your throat constricts weirdly and swallowing is hard but you don't want to say that because you're already weird and cause so much stress for others, adding to that list won't help anyone so you won't tell anyone about this until you're 14 and keep choking on your food because it's gotten worse recently and a doctor asks about it and your mother accuses you and yells asking why you never mentioned this but this is the exact reason why. but you won't tell anyone because you don't want to be any weirder and more difficult, you're already a burden as is. from the day you were born from now on everyone has made it very clear you're strange. but it's okay because eating isn't difficult

[trekscribbles]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Eleven

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

Spencer’s—Eliot’s—head ached. Actually, “ached” was an understatement—it felt like his skull was trying to crack itself in half, and Lancaster’s stupid fake cowboy elevator music wasn’t helping. Beside him, Ford cleared his throat.

“This isn’t the right time to ask,” he said. “But I need to know what you remember.”

He hesitated. His instincts were still to hide his weakness, but Ford was... well, he wasn’t sure what Ford was, except that he was someone Spencer trusted. He could feel that clearly enough, a certainty that settled into the pit of his stomach, whispering assurances that he was safe.

He didn’t really know what to do with that.

“Start with the LanCast explosion,” Ford suggested.

Spencer frowned at him, wondering how much of his mind Ford could read, and counted the floors as they descended. “As far as I can figure, I went inside the building looking for Parker, and met a handful of Lancaster’s men. The explosion blew through a window, and I woke up in the parking garage with Lancaster’s men trying to find me. And I ran.”

He tried to say the last part causally, but Ford shot him a curious look. “Of course you ran. What else were you supposed to do?”

Spencer shook his head. He couldn’t say the rest out loud—not to Ford. He couldn’t risk disappointing him before his memory came back. If Ford knew what he’d done… if he told him to leave…

“Eliot,” Ford said. “You did the right thing. You got away. You found us again.”

Spencer cleared his throat. “When we find Sophie,” he said, turning to face the elevator doors. “Leave Janish to me. He’s dangerous, but I’ve fought him before. I can handle him.”

“You know him?” Ford asked.

“He knows me,” Spencer admitted. “I don’t remember.”

Ford nodded. “At least we know how Lancaster found out about us. Hardison builds a good alias, but there’s nothing he can do if someone recognizes one of us.”

“Hardison is the hacker?” Spencer asked.

The doors slid open, finally, and Ford led the way into the hall. “Yes,” he said. “Hardison is the hacker. He took your loss hard… we all did.”

“Sorry.”

“Eliot.” Ford stopped, holding out a hand to catch Spencer when he tried to edge past. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Lancaster did this to you—to us—and we’re going to make sure he pays for it. You are not to blame. Not for believing Lancaster, or for working with him, or for setting the bait to bring us here. If you hadn’t, we never would have known you were still alive.”

Spencer looked away, and Ford’s grip on his arm tightened. “Is there something else?”

He might have answered—the words were there on the tip of his tongue, ready to condemn himself at Ford’s order—but the crackle of a walkie-talkie sounded down the hall, and Spencer reached out to pull Ford back against the wall.

“Fourth floor clear,” said a security guard, standing out of sight around a corner. “Moving on to the fifth.”

Spencer tugged Ford’s sleeve, and he moved with him without question, easing into a conference room on silent feet as the guard headed for the elevator. Spencer watched through a window in the door until the hallway was clear again, aware of Ford at his back, of the opportunity he was presenting if Ford turned out to be an enemy.

“He’s gone,” Spencer said.

Ford nodded. “Lead the way.”

There was no more conversation then. Spencer moved down the hall on the balls of his feet, keeping his boots quiet on the carpeted floor. Janish would be in the office at the end of the hall, where he’d told the grifter to meet him to go over Lancaster’s afternoon schedule. 

A flutter of nerves twisted Spencer’s stomach at the thought of meeting someone else who knew him, someone who had apparently mourned him. He hadn’t recognized this Sophie on the security tapes, and a large part of him felt discouraged by that.

She won’t mind, said the voice in his head. She’ll just be happy to see you.

Happy to see him. Would she be? What about the other woman—Parker, not dead, not abandoned to burn in the building Spencer had escaped from—would she be happy to see him? He couldn’t imagine she would be. Regardless of what had happened at LanCast, he’d forgotten her. She would be hurt, disappointed, and he couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t blame any of them.

A murmur of voices drifted out from under the office door, and Spencer glanced over his shoulder to make sure Ford was ready.

“I’ll go in first,” Ford offered. “Maybe we can bluff our way out. Stay here—there’s no need for you to get any more bruises if you don’t need to.”

Spencer drew back, deferring to Ford’s command without argument or hesitation. It felt good to be following an order, he realized—an order he trusted. He watched as Ford opened the door, pressing against the wall to stay out of Janish’s sight.

“Ah,” Ford said, overly loud in the small space. “Here you are, Mr. Janish! My name is Kevin Reilly, and I’ve just come from a meeting with Mr. Lancaster. He asked for Miss Cullane here to set up the details of our new arrangement. Miss Cullane, if you please...”

“Why, of course,” said the grifter—and her voice cut through the fog in Spencer’s brain, filling the gaps with the sound of her laughter, her advice, her friendship. Her accent was southern, but subtly so, and he could hear the lilt of a British accent in its echoes.

Sophie. God, how had he forgotten Sophie?

“Come along, Miss Cullane,” Ford said, but a heavier step sounded near the door, and Spencer shifted toward it reflexively.

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Janish said. “My orders are to keep you here.”

Ford chuckled. “Orders? Lancaster asked for Miss Cullane personally. I think that trumps any of your orders.”

“He would have checked in with me,” Janish said.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s—”

“Back up,” Janish growled. “And sit down. You’re not going anywhere.”

The door started to close, and Spencer kicked it open before Janish could shut him out. Sophie let out a cry of surprise, but Spencer didn’t look at her—he kept his attention on Janish, who had caught himself on a table and was pushing himself upright.

“Spencer,” he snarled. He had a new black eye and bruised cheek, and Miguel’s words flitted back through his mind: You went into a trance or something, man. You wouldn’t stop hitting Janish, and when I got close, you hit me, too. He couldn’t let that happen again. He needed to stay in control.

Spencer spared a second to glance at Ford, who had his arms wrapped around Sophie. She stared at him with her hands over her mouth, her eyes full of tears.

Then Janish leaped at him, and he forced himself to focus on the fight. 

He came at Spencer hard, aiming for his face—Spencer blocked and ducked, stepping back, and Janish drove forward to separate him from Ford and Sophie. It put Janish’s back to them, and Ford was already casting about for something to use as a weapon. But that wasn’t his job, it was Spencer’s, and Spencer couldn’t risk Janish retaliating.

He pretended to stumble, fell back, caught Janish’s hook high on his arm, and swung—

Janish went down, and stayed there.

For a moment, Spencer stood where he was, afraid to look at the others, afraid to see their reaction to his violence. But then a shift of movement pulled his head up, and he had just enough time to lower his fists before Sophie was throwing herself into his arms.

“You’re okay?” she sobbed, burying her face in the side of his neck. One hand came up to cup the back of his head, gently, her fingers resting on his hair while her other hand grasped a fistful of his shirt. She leaned back long enough to examine his face, her eyes running over every scrape and bruise, before she hugged him again. Soft words tumbled out of her in a rhythmic blend of questions and reassurances— “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

He’d lifted one hand to catch her, and he rested it on the small of her back, holding her to him as the sound of her voice settled his heartbeat.

You’re okay. You’re okay.

“Sophie,” Nate said, reaching out and adding his hand to her back. She withdrew slightly, her palms still resting on Eliot’s neck and shoulder, and turned teary eyes to him. Nate glanced at Eliot, searching for something in his expression, and said, “He doesn’t remember.”

Sophie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Spencer cleared his throat and dropped his hands to his side. “Um... amnesia. Sorry.”

Her eyes filled again, and she blinked at Nate before pulling Spencer in for one more hug. “I don’t care what you remember,” she whispered. “I’ll fill you in on anything you’ve forgotten, and whatever I don’t know, we’ll make up. I’m just glad you’re back.”

She let him go then, and he stepped back to give her space as she wiped her eyes. “Do Parker and Hardison know?” she asked.

Nate shook his head. “We came to find you first. Parker’s still looking for the safe, and Hardison’s...”

He looked at Spencer, who forced himself not to look away. “He’s trapped in the server room.”

“Good,” Nate said. “Then we don’t have to waste time chasing him down. Eliot, lead the way.”

Spencer shot an uncertain glance at Sophie, looking for and failing to find any hints of unease in her expression. Apparently she and Nate both trusted him to take the lead on this, which meant it was time to make a tactical decision.

He cleared his throat. “I should go on my own. Lancaster has a guard scheduled to walk past his office in a little while, and as soon as they realize I’m working with you, they’ll lock the building down. You two should leave while you can.”

“We can’t,” Sophie said. “Parker’s still here somewhere, right? It’d be faster to split up to find her.”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s too risky. If any of Lancaster’s men find you in the halls, they’ll know something’s up. They don’t suspect me yet. The smarter move is to get the two of you out now, and I’ll go after the others.”

“How long until the guards find Lancaster?” Nate asked.

“Maybe ten minutes. Maybe less.”

Nate frowned, searching Spencer’s face, and he tried his best to keep his expression open and honest. He couldn’t afford to be distrusted now. If Nate didn’t believe him…

But whatever Nate was looking for, he’d apparently found it. He exhaled and gripped Spencer’s arm.

“You have twenty minutes, and then I’m coming back in.”

Spencer nodded.

Sophie gave him another hug, holding on a few moments longer than necessary. “Be careful,” she whispered.

He caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You too. Stick to the stairs—there’s a side exit on the first floor. I’ll meet you outside.”

She rewarded him with a teary smile, and then she and Nate were hurrying through the door.

Spencer swallowed, stepped over Janish’s body, and made his way down the hallway to find the hacker.

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 30 - Self Harm - Ted Lasso

cw - self harm, self esteem issues, self harm through overworking

Chapter 5 of Lingering Rules

“It’s his prerogative if he wants to get a little extra work out in,” Ted shrugged, and kicked his feet up onto the desk. Ted was right, but Beard was too. Roy couldn’t look away from Jamie, straining and pushing his body to the limit on a random Tuesday. “I think he’s hurting himself,” Beard added and the temperature in the room plummeted.

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

“We need to talk about Tartt,” Beard stated, closing the door to the office behind him.

“What’s the little prick done now?” Roy sighed, leaning on the door frame between the two offices. He scanned out into the changing room where the team were getting changed ready to head home. Jamie’s spot on the bench was empty. His bag was still there.

“He’s still in the gym, on the bike,” Beard crossed his arms over his chest and nodded to the window looking into the gym behind them. Jamie was still going, on his own and in silence. Sweat was beading on his neck and he was flushed with exhaustion in a way that Jamie never usually was. They had finished in the gym about twenty minutes ago and this was not a cool down cycle in any way shape or form.

“It’s his prerogative if he wants to get a little extra work out in,” Ted shrugged, and kicked his feet up onto the desk. Ted was right, but Beard was too. Roy couldn’t look away from Jamie, straining and pushing his body to the limit on a random Tuesday.

“I think he’s hurting himself,” Beard added and the temperature in the room plummeted.

“Coach that’s a large thought to throw out into our little pow pow here. To me Tartt looks like he’s doing just swell. I don’t think an injured man could even try the feat of endurance he seems to be going for,” Ted hummed.

“I don’t think he’s hurt but I think he is trying to hurt himself. He’s been putting in about twice as many hours as everyone else since the Blackburn game and that’s just the hours here.”

The Blackburn game was a shit show. The bus broke down on the way to the game. No one played their best. Colin ran into Jan and very much lost that encounter. The sole of Dani’s boot just came off despite being a new pair. It was a complete clusterfuck and somehow they were drawing nil nil at the death. They got a free kick in injury time. It was Jamie’s striking distance. All Jamie needed to do was to lift it onto Jan’s head and then they had this in the bag. But it didn’t. When Jamie kicked through it, it was way too flat and bounced off the wall. Then everything happened in slow motion. There was nothing Jamie or Isaac, as the held back man, could do to stop the Blackburn winger from ending up one on one with Zoreaux. Then the net rippled.

“I thought we weren’t talking about the game that happened last week,” Ted whispered.

“Since the game that happened last week Jamie has been … wrong.”

Roy hated that it had taken Beard to point this out but he wasn’t wrong. Jamie just looked tired, black bags under his eyes and the loss of the energy he usually vibrated with.

“Plus he’s stopped talking.”

Now everyone’s head shot round to stare at Beard like a tableau of the different stages of grief.

Ted was the manifestation of denial. “He has been talking. He was chatting with Sam earlier about an overlap play and he spotted for Colin,” Ted squeaked.

“He’s only talked when prompted and only about football,” Beard retorted, sighing at the rapidly draining colour from Ted’s cheeks.

Roy was anger. Jamie was supposed to be one of his. All of the coaches unofficially had their players that they worked better with and Jamie was his. He should have been the one to notice that Jamie wasn’t being his usual idea. “I’m going to go talk to him,” Roy growled and stormed out of the office to the sound of Nate’s bargaining that quiet overly focused Jamie wasn’t actually that bad.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Roy ripped Jamie’s headphones off his head and tossed them onto the floor.

“What the fuck?” Jamie yelled, staring daggers into Roy.

“I said what the fuck is wrong with you?” Roy hit the emergency stop on the bike.

“I’m fucking working out until your rude ass stormed in here like someone shoved a flag pole up it,” Jamie kept moving his legs until the bike came to a stop and sat there glaring and rolling his ankles.

“Time to go home,” Roy growled.

“No. I’m going to stay. You guys can go. I don’t need the peanut gallery,” Jamie waved dismissively to the window where Ted, Nate and Beard were watching intently.

“You’ve been overdoing it. That’s how you get hurt. We’re leaving.”

“You’re leaving. I’ve got work to do,” Jamie crossed his arms, mimicking Roy’s tense posture.

“Tartt,” Roy scolded, but stopped before the insult he was forming fell out of his lips. Jamie was still on the fucking bike. “You lot! Out!” Roy yelled, pointing at the gawping coaches.

“Right, yes. Thinks to be thinking and things to be doing,” Ted nodded, falling backwards along with Nate in his haste to get away from this explosion waiting to happen.

“Roy just fuck off,” Jamie sighed, now in private.

“You’re being fucking weird. Get off the bike,” Roy growled.

“No,” Jamie huffed.

“Off the bike,” Roy snarled.

“I fucking can’t alright,” Jamie barked. His posture dropped to lean forward on the handle bars of the bike and his hips clicked. “I’ve been waiting and cooling down and stretching when everyone is gone so I wouldn’t have to have this damn conversation so can you just fuck off and leave me to it,” Jamie muttered.

“No, this is not healthy. This is not how to treat your body. What the fuck is happening in that empty skull of yours?” Roy ranted.

“Gotta get better,” Jamie snapped back.

“What does that mean?” Roy hissed.

“We lost on Friday because of me. I fucked up that kick. I didn’t have the stamina to keep up the intensity for the full ninety and so couldn’t chase down the counter. I fucked it. I tried to apologise to the lads but Ted just said some stuff that didn’t sound like he accepted my apology. So I need to get better. I need to get fitter, I need to improve tactics, I need to be better,” Jamie rambled. As he spiralled, Jamie’s body slumped forwards with his elbows rest on the handlebars and his head in his hands.

Roy sagged as well. Beard was right. Jamie was hurting himself, not in the traditional way but still as painful, but it was out of guilt. And out of guilt over something that was not his fault. It was a small mistake in a clusterfuck of mistakes but Roy knew the feeling of the constricting vine around Jamie’s chest well. Every footballer felt it. They didn’t usually try to work themselves to death over it though. “That loss. Not your fault. We all fucked up. It was a clusterfuck. Any shit that could hit the fan did hit the fan. Those are the sort of losses you wipe from memory and move on with your life,” Roy slowly and tentatively rested a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, settling it there when Jamie didn’t flinch away.

Yet he still shook his head, "I’m the best player out there. You know that. Everyone knows that, if they don't they're fucking dense. So if we lose then that's on me. I fucking lost and that makes me a fucking loser.”

“Tartt,” Roy groaned but the denial caught in his throat. There was something not right. Ok there were a lot of things not right but there was something that Roy was missing. Something that he should be remembering because that did not sound like Jamie. That wasn’t the usual grandstanding, everyone look at me attitude he had when stating that he was the best player out there. There was a darkness to it. And there was only one person in Jamie’s life that would talk about Jamie with that level of praise and degradation. “Is this your fucking dad again?”

Jamie’s shoulder tensed under his hand, and then there was a slight nod. “I think so. He was always on me about letting other people make me look bad. If other people were going to make me look bad then I needed to get so good that they couldn’t tarnish it,” Jamie whispered.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Roy muttered, he just couldn’t hold it in, but thankfully Jamie didn’t react. “Tomorrow you’re talking to the doc,” Roy sighed. Jamie nodded again. Ok that was a start. Now he needed to bring it home, literally. “Tonight you are coming home with me. Lets get you out of here, ice bath then back to mine for food and rest,” Roy’s tone brokered no arguments but Jamie tried anyway.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he grumbled, finally lifting his head up off his hands.

“I don’t trust your mindset right now. It’s either come home with me or I’ll call Ted back here,” Roy released Jamie’s shoulder to help hold his waist instead as Jamie prepared to move.

“That is emotional blackmail,” Jamie huffed, groaning as he lifted his leg over the front of the bike.

“It’s a choice,” Roy smirked, catching Jamie as he dropped down and as predicted his legs buckled underneath him.

“Fine. I’ll come back with you. But that means you have to make me that salmon pasta. That was mint.”

Roy rolled his eyes but both of them knew what they were going to be eating for tea. It wasn’t perfect. Jamie wasn’t fixed but at least for tonight and tomorrow Roy knew Jamie was safe.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

honestly it's been really healing being back to actively contributing things and writing out thoughts on tumblr the last week or so, because while twitter tends to be easier for me to write out Thoughts on without getting overwhelmed, the environment in the twitter fandom circles i'm interested in is not only infested with antis but cliqueish in a way that is caustic to the fucking soul if you try to express a thought that's more than three sentences long--a hundred times over if you're autistic in slightly the wrong way--and it's incredibly reassuring to come back to an environment where the very kindest and most inclusive people toward you are not clearly thinking the r-slur the entire time they interact with you lmao

[cringecorp]

when your brain is mean to you and tells you that you can’t do something, you just gotta hit it with the “Air Bud” defense. ain’t no rule says a stupid ugly bitch can’t schedule a doctor’s appointment

[pendulumstarway]

A very disheveled and unamused Jack carrying a damaged Bruno.

I wanted to test out halftones and I really like how it came out! I'll deffo be doing more in the future.