#the writers hate you

[aegonshiddenrealm]

...Was our son not enough?..

[bardofavon]

not to be controversial bc I know this is like…not in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if there’s a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formatting…I will also not be offended by having this pointed out…

‘looking forward to the next update’ and ‘I hope you update soon!’ are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.

‘I don’t usually like this ship but this fic made me feel something’ is also incredibly high praise. I’m not going to get mad at this.

even ‘I love this fic but I’m curious about why you made [x] choice’ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.

I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment that’s not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner they’re hoping to receive it in bad faith.

fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes it’s frustrating but it isn’t as though I can’t see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.

idk where I’m going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me I’m never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.

[prouvaireafterdark]

listen I know it's heartbreaking that Claudia dies and it's understandable to wish she didn't, but let's please not accuse the writers of fridging her. to do so is a fundamental misunderstanding of the story and is frankly insulting to the intelligence and skill of the writers of the show.

Claudia's death, and the overwhelming grief and regret her parents experience because of it, is quite literally the point of the entire story. she dies because Anne's daughter Michele died of leukemia when she was five years old and there was nothing she or her husband could do to prevent it.

writing IWTV was how Anne coped with the unimaginable loss of a parent losing her child. she created a story about a little girl that could not die and then killed her anyway. Claudia's death is a senseless, unavoidable tragedy, just like Michele's was. the grief that haunts Louis and Lestat for the rest of their lives is the same grief that haunted Anne and her husband.

so when you're accusing people of killing Claudia off to benefit a story about two men, please remember that in real life sometimes parents lose their children. please remember Michele Rice.

she's the reason Claudia exists.

she's also the reason Claudia cannot be saved.

[oblivioustothevampirediaries]

my contribution for the netflix avatar remake

[lazylittledragon]

mombin pt 9!! it's been too long i'm sorry

(1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(6)(7)(8)

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Fanfiction and fanart are bonus content, brought directly to you without monetary motives. That is so rare nowadays. You can and should if you're able to support these creators with donations, kudos, comments and reblogs. But you're not obliged to. You can consume it for free, because people enjoy sharing their talents with you. Make them feel loved for their gifts for us.

[comradeboyhalo]

things badboyhalo did for the dsmp:

paid for the server

built majority of tftsmp maps and prizes

wrote a scifi-fantasy, character-driven plot with ant and sam after the badlands were sidelined during the war

gave every new smp member the option to be involved in egg lore

continued to play on the server as it was dying

pulled together the egg lore finale god bless

played an extremely tragic and complex character in an arc that utilized slow-burn environmental storytelling and IS still not considered a quote-un-quote main writer by the greater dsmp fandom

deserved a gun

[writerstruggle]

when you want to read a smuty fic and you search for "the character you are obsessed with x reader", but find out there's not enough of them and you have to write it yourself..🥲

[unknown-cold]

"Her mother was just the final nail in the coffin. She tried so hard to do things right, and all she got in return was pain and heartbreak"

Literally!! I can't believe people are saying Caitlyn is overreacting, her mom is dead you idiot!! What do you mean she's overreacting!? You people have never seen a character go through such stages of grief, despair, and devastation. Caitlyn has been through the worst experiences of her life because of Jinx's attempted murder, kidnapping, torture, and now the death of her mother. I mean, Caitlyn's personality change and her intense hatred for Jinx and loss herself are completely understandable.

Look how scared she is, we don't know what hell Caitlyn went through when Jinx kidnapped her, but that expression on her face says it all.

And let's not forget that Caitlyn in episode 1 refused the order to invade Zaun. Even after her mother's death she still didn't want to use violence, and we later saw that she would go there for only three goals.

And indeed she did, she attacked those gangs present in Zaun "Gangs that were hurting people and children in Zaun".

(And of course we shouldn't forget that she didn't suddenly change her mind, but rather because of the attack caused by Ambessa that made her reach this level of anger)

And now Ambessa will definitely play an important role in Caitlyn's character change by inciting her to seek revenge.

Ambessa manipulates everything and puts someone in power she can easily control

Another thing I found weird is how some people think in this ridiculous way to say that Caitlyn wants to kill the child or that Caitlyn wants to kill Vi. Are you really serious? Literally, you have never seen in any show or movie a character who is angry and loses control after that, don't you know when a person is angry they don't see it in front of them especially since she didn't want to make Jinx run away again, this was her chance to take revenge on the person who ruined her life completely (Caitlyn's actions are logical and her anger and sadness did not come from nothing or came from her mother's death only, but came from other things that were piling up on Cait which led to her explosion)

And as I was saying Caitlyn just wanted to kill Jinx, anger and sadness at that moment took over her. Jinx had NO mercy with Caitlyn, there is nothing that softens her actions.

And I hope you guys remember the true core of Caitlyn, she was trying to do what is good and she gets bombed, kidnapped, and her mom dead now.

[watermelonsloth]

I think the reason why Naruto fans get so passionate and upset about the series is because of how real it can be. Naruto isn’t about paragon heroes outdoing dastardly villains. It’s about human beings fighting tooth and nail to survive in a world surrounded by death. It’s about broken systems made and perpetuated by broken people.

The Hyuga clan isn’t just antagonistic or pretentious, they practice slavery.

The Uchiha clan weren’t just killed by some raging psychopath, they were systematically massacred.

Itachi isn’t just cruel to Sasuke because he’s a bad brother, he’s cruel because he’d been told time and time again that you can only survive by being cruel and he wants nothing more than for Sasuke to survive.

Nagato isn’t trying to take over the world just for the sake of power, he’s trying to take over the world because it beat him down to the point of believing that the only chance at peace there is is the world being forced into compliance through fear.

Iruka isn’t hard on Naruto just because he’s a strict teacher, he’s hard on Naruto because he knows from experience how unforgiving the world is towards orphans.

Kakashi isn’t just some silly and slightly lazy teacher, he’s a contract killer still grieving his loved ones and struggling to do better without knowing how he’s supposed to.

Sakura isn’t just a fangirl, she’s a normal girl in a very dangerous and abnormal world constantly being made to choose between what she’s supposed to do and what she feels.

Sasuke isn’t just some edgelord, he’s a survivor who lost everything then gets repeatedly told that he has to choose between keeping what he’s gained and doing better than his brother.

Naruto isn’t just trying to be the best Hokage there ever was, he’s trying to prove his worth to a society that abandoned him just for existing and, in a way, confirm his worth to himself.

The Naruto story is about humans trying to force themselves into the role of weapons because that’s what they were told they had to be. It’s a story where everyone is a perpetrator but no one is trying to do wrong. It’s a story where everyone is a victim but no one is a perfect victim.

The world and the characters aren’t simple and trying to simplify them only takes away from them. So of course we get passionate about showing off all the reasons why they shouldn’t be simplified and all of the ways they’re complicated. Of course we get upset when we see others simplifying them or selling certain aspects of their characters short. Of course we get upset when the series itself simplifies them. Of course we get upset when the series chooses to abandon them. Because it not only feels like the characters are giving up, it feels like the series is betraying anyone who chose to get invested in its complexities.

[radley-writes]

My enjoyment of writing, my productivity, and the quality of my work improved tenfold when I started embracing slumps and taking them as an opportunity to read everything I could get my hands on, watch lots of films and shows, go to the theatre, play games, hang out with friends, visit new places, and generally absorb life and marinate my brain in the art of storytelling.

Take from that what you will.

[batcavescolony]

Ok let's go back to this line from Agatha All Along

"it's underwater! There's a boy. It's a prank. They tricked him. He's gonna drown. it's a bad place. And the people, the family, there's no one to love him! He's got no one!"

Guys we're getting some Tommy lore and it's heart breaking💔 (we knew it would be).

[cowboylikesel]

boyfriend dumped him, baking addiction, best friend is moving to texas, sister gets kidnapped by a serial killer, might be dating said serial killer, still can’t say that he’s bisexual, not allowed to have any other aspirations besides his love life….oh it’s bad for him

[velvetwilde]

WHY HE COULDN'T BE THIS HAPPY THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE DAMN SHOW.

[mysunshinetemptress]

I Hate Her

Leah Williamson x Reader

*I Hate Her Universe

Warnings: idk what this is but I’ve re written it five times so…

You and Leah are like oil and water, never mixing, always repelling. she couldn't stand you, and you can't stand her.

Your a second choice, an after thought, Leah thinks to herself unlike her, who's captained the young lionesses countless times.

She's a cocky bitch, a complete and utter asshole, you think to yourself. if you don't fit in her circle you're not good enough and you definetly don't fit.

You've fought against eachother forever for the same position, for the same chance and only once have you unwillingly shared it but with Sarina Wiegman now in charge of th lionesses you have both found yourselfs sharing an awful lot more.

The stale air of the locker room hung heavy, thick with the unspoken rivalry that crackled between you and Leah.

Leah sat at the far end, flicking through her phone searching for songs. Her laughter echoed across the room as she chatted with the other girls, a tight-knit group You'd never quite managed to penetrate. You were relegated to a corner, lacing up your boots quietly.

“Second choice,” the thought echoed in your head, a bitter mantra you’d been repeating since that stupid game at the olympics.

Leah, the golden girl, the darling of the Lionesses. And you? Just… you, always a step behind you thought to yourself as you watched her.

The metallic click of Leah’s boots on the floor punctuated the silence that had fallen after her laughter subsided. She turned, a casual flick of her hair sending a few strands cascading down her shoulder. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, landed on you in your corner. A flicker of something – not quite disdain, but certainly not warmth – crossed her face before she looked away.

You tightened the laces of your boots, knuckles white. The bitterness in your mouth tasted like bile. The Olympics. A tournament you’d both poured your heart and soul into, only for Leah to be the one to get the praise, the one to be plastered across every social media. You’d played your part, you started every game, played the majority of minuted, but it was always, Leah, never you.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You had to focus. Sarina’s training sessions were brutal, demanding every ounce of your concentration. Dwelling on Leah wouldn’t help. But it was hard not to when her very presence seemed to fill the room, a constant reminder of everything you weren’t, of everything you stupidly wanted to be.

You stood, stretching your legs, trying to loosen the tension that had settled in your muscles. Your gaze drifted back to Leah. She was now surrounded by a small group of players, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. You caught a glimpse of a shared joke, the eruption of giggles that followed. It was a world you weren’t privy to, a club with a strict membership policy, and you were firmly on the outside.

A sharp whistle pierced the air. Sarina had arrived. The chatter died down, and the team began to gather in the center of the room. As you walked towards the group, you felt Leah’s eyes on you again. This time, there was a hint of something else in her gaze, something you couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn't the usual dismissive glance, but something more… calculating?

The training session was intense, a relentless series of drills and scrimmages designed to push you to your limits. You found yourself paired against Leah more than once, the familiar rivalry igniting a fire within you. You matched her tackle for tackle, pass for pass, determined to prove yourself.

During a brief water break, you stood apart from the main group, catching your breath. You felt a presence beside you and turned to find Leah standing there, a water bottle in her hand.

"You know you're supposed be a professional the least you could do is play like one."

The words hung in the air, sharp and laced with the familiar sting of Leah’s thinly veiled insults. You stared at her, chest heaving from the exertion of the training session, the cool water suddenly feeling like ice in your stomach.

“Excuse me?” you managed, your voice tight.

Leah took a swig from her bottle, her eyes never leaving yours. “Don’t play dumb. You’re always so… hesitant. Like you’re afraid to actually commit.”

A surge of anger, hot and immediate, flared within you. “Hesitant? I’m not hesitant. I’m playing smart.”

“Smart?” Leah scoffed, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Or are you just scared of making a mistake? Of looking bad?”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Then why do you always hold back?” Leah challenged, taking a step closer. “You have the talent. Everyone can see it. But you never fully utilize it. You’re always playing second fiddle.”

The words struck a nerve, hitting too close to the truth. The “second choice” mantra echoed in your head, louder than ever. You wanted to scream, to tell her that she had no idea what you were going through, that her constant jabs were chipping away at your confidence. But you held back, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Instead, you met her gaze, your own eyes hardening. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile played on Leah’s lips. “And when will that be? When Sarina finally benches you for good?”

The whistle blew, signaling the end of the break. Leah turned to rejoin the group, tossing her water bottle to a teammate. As she walked away.

"Second Choice" it was all you would be and as you started the first match of the international break on the bench it felt evermore real.

The bench felt cold, the plastic unforgiving against your thighs. The roar of the crowd was a distant hum, a soundtrack to someone else’s story. You watched the match unfold from the sidelines, your gaze fixed on the field, but your mind was a whirlwind of Leah’s words. Second choice. Hesitant. Scared. They echoed in your head, a relentless chorus.

Every time Leah touched the ball – a precise pass, a commanding tackle, a driving run – the sting of her words intensified. She was everywhere, orchestrating the play, leading the team, basking in the adoration of the crowd. You clenched your jaw, trying to suppress the wave of resentment that threatened to engulf you.

The first half ended with the score still level. As the players trudged off the pitch, Sarina’s gaze swept across the bench, finally landing on you. “Warm up,” she instructed, her voice crisp and businesslike.

The second half began, and you were finally on the pitch. The game was fast-paced and physical, with both teams battling fiercely for control. You threw yourself into every tackle, chased every loose ball, determined to make an impact.

You found yourself in a one-on-one situation with an opposing forward, her eyes locked on the goal. You anticipated her move, intercepting the pass with a clean tackle. The ball bounced to your feet, and you didn't hesitate. You drove forward, weaving through the midfield, your eyes scanning the field for an opening.

You spotted a Hempo making a run down the wing and threaded a perfectly weighted pass through the defense. The crowd erupted as your teammate slotted the ball into the back of the net. The roar was deafening, a wave of pure elation washing over you.

You're exstatic letting out a yell getting ready to embrace the forward only to be stopped by. body crashing into you and pulling you toawrds them in celebration but as fas as it comes its gone.

You stumbled back a step, blinking in surprise, before realizing it was Leah who had collided with you, her arms wrapped tightly around you before shes gone again nearly all the way back beside Mary her head dropped in embarssment.

The fleeting embrace, the briefest moment of physical contact, had sent a jolt of unexpected warmth through you. It was gone as quickly as it came, leaving you slightly disoriented and more than a little confused. Leah’s hasty retreat, her downcast eyes, suggested embarrassment, not camaraderie. The naive hope that this was a turning point, a thawing of the icy relationship, began to crumble.

The post-match atmosphere was a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. The locker room was abuzz with chatter, players replaying key moments of the game, congratulating each other on the win. You sat quietly in your corner, replaying the assist in your mind, the surge of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. It had been a good play, a crucial contribution to the victory. But the lingering image of Leah’s brief hug, followed by her immediate withdrawal, overshadowed the moment.

Leah was surrounded by her usual group, their laughter echoing across the room. You caught snippets of their conversation – inside jokes, shared memories, a world you weren’t part of. The familiar sting of exclusion pricked at you.

The feeling of Leah's brief hug didn't leave you. It was a phantom sensation, a warmth lingering on your shoulders long after she’d pulled away. You kept replaying the moment in your mind: the sudden impact, the brief pressure of her arms, the almost hesitant way she’d pulled back, her eyes darting downwards.

It's not the only time she finds a reason to touch you briefly, to place her hands on you protectivly especially during training. Leah always finds away to have a hand on you, it send a shiver down your spine every time and everytime you think its a crack in hatred she has towards you she proves you wrong.

Leah’s touches became more frequent, more deliberate, but always followed by a sharp, cutting remark that negated any hint of warmth.

During a drill focused on defensive positioning, Leah’s hand landed squarely on your lower back, guiding you into position. The contact was firm, almost forceful, and sent a shiver down your spine. But as soon as she removed her hand, her lips curled into a sneer. “Honestly, you move like you’ve got lead in your boots. Try keeping up.”

Another time, during a scrimmage, you went in for a tackle, misjudging the timing. Leah, arriving a split second later, collided with you, her shoulder bumping against yours. She steadied you with a hand on your arm, her grip surprisingly tight. For a fleeting moment, her eyes met yours, and you saw a flicker of something that looked almost like concern. But it vanished in an instant, replaced by her usual icy glare. “Clumsy as ever,” she muttered, pulling her arm away as if your touch was contagious. “You’re lucky I was there to stop you from making a complete fool of yourself.”

The pattern was consistent. A touch, a brief moment of physical contact, followed by a verbal jab designed to sting. It was as if Leah was deliberately toying with you, offering a momentary connection only to snatch it away, reminding you of your perceived inferiority.

The physical contact became a source of anxiety. You found yourself tensing up whenever Leah was near, anticipating the inevitable touch and the subsequent insult. You started to avoid being near her as much as possible, a difficult task given your shared position and Sarina’s tendency to pair you together in drills.

One particularly grueling training session pushed you to your breaking point. During a high-intensity scrimmage, you and Leah found yourselves battling for possession near the sideline. You lunged for the ball, stretching your leg as far as it could go. Leah, arriving at the same time, her foot colliding with yours. A sharp pain shot through your ankle, and you cried out, falling to the ground.

Leah immediately crouched beside you, her face etched with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice surprisingly gentle. She reached out to touch your ankle, her fingers brushing against your skin.

For a moment, the usual tension between you seemed to dissolve. You looked into her eyes and saw genuine worry there. But then, as other players gathered around, her expression hardened. She pulled her hand away, her voice regaining its usual edge. “Honestly,” she scoffed, “it’s always something with you. Can’t you even take a simple tackle?”

The pain in your ankle paled in comparison to the sting of her words. You pushed yourself up, ignoring the throbbing pain, and limped off the field. The concerned look on Leah’s face had vanished, replaced by a mixture of annoyance and disdain. It was clear that any momentary concern she had felt was fleeting, easily overridden by her ingrained dislike for you, and you couldn't help the way your blood boiled because of it.

You sit in the phsyio room, rolling your ankle back and fourth as they assess if you can play in the upcoming fixture agaisnt Sweden. You have to be able to play against Sweden.

The physio gave a tight-lipped nod. "It's a sprain, nothing broken. You'll be sore, but with ice and rest, you should be able to play against Sweden. Just don't overdo it in training."

Relief washed over you. Sweden. It was a crucial match, a chance to prove yourself, to finally silence the nagging voice of self-doubt. You couldn’t let a little sprain keep you off the pitch.

As you stepped out of the physio room, you almost collided with Leah, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. You froze, a mixture of surprise and apprehension tightening your chest. You hadn't expected her to be there.

"It's not broken." She says looking down at your foot, this weird feeling grows in your stomach as you stare at her.

"Shame, we would have done better without you."

The air crackled between you, thick with unspoken tension. Leah’s words, the feeling you once had is gone before you can even tell what it is.

“Leave me alone” you retorted, trying to mask the confusion swirling within you. But she doesn't she follows you down the hall towards your room.

"To busy trying to prove yourself, trying to prove you're not a second choice."

Leah’s words hung in the air, a cruel echo of your deepest insecurities. You stopped walking, turning to face her, the anger simmering beneath your skin threatening to boil over. “At least I have something to prove,” you retorted, your voice low and dangerous. “You’ve already been handed everything on a silver platter.”

Leah’s eyes flashed, a spark of genuine anger igniting within them. “Handed? I’ve worked just as hard as you, if not harder,” she hissed, taking a step closer. “Don’t you dare minimize my accomplishments.”

“Oh, I’m not minimizing anything,” you countered, meeting her gaze head-on. “You’re talented, I’ll give you that. But you also have the media eating out of the palm of your hand. Every mistake you make is brushed under the rug, while I have to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of recognition.”

Leah scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Oh, poor you,” she mocked. “Always the victim. Maybe if you spent less time whining and more time focusing on your game, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

The words were like a slap in the face, a brutal reminder of your perceived shortcomings. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms. You wanted to scream, to unleash all the frustration and resentment that had been building up inside you for so long. But you held back, taking a deep breath to compose yourself.

"I'm not in the mood to fight you right now Leah...I-I don't care that i'll never live up to you....I-I don't ever want to be an asshole like you."

A flicker of something – hurt? – crossed Leah’s face, but it was gone so quickly you almost doubted you’d seen it. She turned away, pacing a few steps down the hallway before turning back to face you, only she doesn't say anything she just stares at you as you walk away.

You don't see Leah after that, both of you making the conscious decision to not look let alone run into eachother but you can't avoid eachother forever especially not during a match.

You're starting along side the blonde, it's not the first time its happened (And it won't be the last) but still it sends a weird felling through you.

The pre-match tension was palpable. The roar of the crowd, a sea of yellow and blue, vibrated through the stadium. You stood in the tunnel, the cool air a stark contrast to the nervous sweat prickling your skin. Beside you, Leah stood ramrod straight, her gaze fixed ahead, a picture of focused intensity. You avoided looking at her, your stomach twisting into knots.

As the teams walked onto the pitch, the roar intensified. You took your position, the familiar feel of the grass beneath your boots grounding you slightly. You glanced over at Leah, who was exchanging a few words with a teammate, a small smile playing on her lips. The sight of her relaxed demeanor only amplified your own anxiety.

The opening minutes were a blur of frantic passes and desperate tackles. The Swedish team pressed high, their energy relentless. You found yourself in a tight battle in midfield, trying to win back possession. A stray pass bounced towards you, and you instinctively reached out, controlling the ball with a deft touch. You looked up, searching for a teammate, and saw Medo making a run down the wing. Without thinking, you threaded a perfectly weighted through ball, splitting the Swedish defense. Medo latched onto the pass, her pace taking her clear of the last defender. The stadium held its breath as she took a touch and then, with a powerful strike, slotted the ball past the keeper.

The roar that erupted was deafening. You felt a surge of adrenaline, a wave of pure elation. It was a perfect assist, a testament to your vision and passing ability. You turned to celebrate, a wide grin spreading across your face. Leah, her face flushed with excitement, was running towards you, her arms outstretched.

You turn back ready to reset only to be met with a quick nod of approval from Leah, you nod back your stomach turning as a bubble of anxiety spreads through it.

Sweden push high and fast, everytime you seem to clear the ball they are back knocking on the door, and everytime you come up agaisnt Fridolina Rolfo, she's amazing and you're sure you'll be buzzing about playing against her as soon as the match is over but right now she won't leave you alone.

"Surpried they started you today, you're more of an 88th minute sub." she says shoving you slightly as you push back trying to defend a corner.

It's late in the second half, with the score still 1-0, Sweden launched a desperate attack. A dangerous cross was whipped into the box, and a Swedish forward rose above the defense, heading the ball towards goal. You instinctively threw yourself in front of the shot, blocking it with your chest. The impact winded you, but you managed to clear the ball away.

You crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. The wind had been knocked out of you, and a sharp pain radiated through your chest. You closed your eyes, waiting for the pain to subside.

Frido scoffs "Probably the best save of your career, shame you're still how do you say...second choice."

Frido gets pushed asied quickly after as you curse at yourself for letting it get to you.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You opened your eyes and saw Leah kneeling beside you, her face etched with concern. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with worry.

You managed a weak nod, sucking in a breath "Fine." you push yourself up and walk back to your position ready to go again, the faster this restarts the faster its over.

The match is nearly over when it happens , theres nothing you can do but watch your running across coming to close Frido down just outside of the box when Leah appears sliding perfctly to catch the ball as Frido falls just over her.

Leah scrambled to her feet, her eyes flashing with a mix of triumph and adrenaline. She quickly distributed the ball before the ref calls time as Frido shouts for a free and shouts out in swedish with distain.

Your stomach twists again as you catch Leah staring at you as you clap the fans and walk around the pitch before dropping your head and heading down the tunnel.

[yourdeliciouspoison]

Maybe it's okay, but did I really deserve that ? Did I deserve to be treated like I wasn't enough , no matter how hard I tried ?