I find it funny that some people question the gender/sexuality of others so much so they decide that anyone labeled “different” should have no rights and get so mad about what other people do in their private lives when it doesn’t affect them in any way. Idk, you choose to be mad about something that has nothing to do with you and think that people should suffer for this when you could, you know, walk away and live your own life without meddling on people’s bodies. We need to have legislation so others don’t commit hate crimes to others because of what they do in their privates life with consent because some people think they have a right to know about private things like that and the right to interfere.
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the share dream idea I had a very long ago but it's pretty angsty and probably not realistic so yeah
basically, Sunny has his only little dream and the dw basil IS basil, he is just green (and sometimes Stanger, it depends
so, basil has his own little dream of everyone being fine and then getting dumped into black space, separate himself from the other=basically he is having nightmares, and he dreams about Sunny trying to save him but eventually, he would get killed or killed by Sunny. Either way, he sees this as a punishment for himself
For years he had nightmares most of the time yippy
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A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.
Masterpost / AO3
5.
Everything was not all right. Bleary-eyed and with the beginnings of a headache brewing, Jamie slumped down on the bench by his cubby, ignoring the excited chatter of the dressing room and politely (he hoped) brushing off Dani’s attempt at getting his in-depth opinions on Dani’s new socks. (They were decent. Little bland, but the colours went nicely with Dani’s skin tone.)
Evidently, making nice with Coach Nate had not been enough to appease the universe, because Jamie had spent the better part of last night staring at his phone, trying to work up the courage to call his mum without any success, and now he’d spent the better part of training trying to figure out what the matter was, also without any success.
It was fucking weird. It shouldn’t have been hard, calling her. It wasn’t like they never talked or anything, he’d spoken to her just last month. But it was different now, somehow, when he knew he wouldn’t just be talking to her, but actually talking to her.
Fuck. He’d been so sure that saying sorry to Nate would do the trick.
More out of desperation than anything else, Jamie stuck his head into the head coaches’ office. Ted wasn’t around, but Coach Beard was sat by his desk, feet up on it and with a book in his hands.
”Do I need to apologise to you?” Jamie asked without preamble.
Beard looked up from his book, fixing Jamie with that unnerving stare of his. “What for?”
“I dunno.” He couldn’t actually remember ever speaking much to the man before, but maybe he’d managed to somehow wrong him anyway.
“Then I guess not.” Sounding supremely unimpressed, Beard returned to his book.
Well. Jamie made a face. It had been a long shot anyway.
He undressed; he showered; he changed. He agreed to a beer with Jeff and Arlo later that night. He wasn’t really in the mood, but he figured he still wasn’t in a position to turn down invitations. Wanted to show willing and all that. Besides, Jeff had always been easy company. Only one of the team that hadn’t thrown a fit about him coming back.
As he made his way to out of the building he passed by Keeley’s office, and paused. Keeley was by far the smartest person he knew, and dead good to talk to. She’d probably have some ideas about what he should do next.
Though the last time he’d gone to her for advice, she’d sent him off to Dr. Sharon and Dr. Sharon was home with the flu so that was no good.
He went into Keeley’s office anyway. She wasn’t there, but the room smelled like her, sweet and floral, and the familiar fragrance was both soothing and a little painful for the pang of longing it brought. He fucking missed her, in a way he hadn’t expected to when she dumped him. Back then he’d mostly been disappointed about not having the Keeley Jones for a girlfriend anymore and missing out on more of the frankly mindblowing sex, but the more time passed, the more he started to miss other things. How clever she was. Funny. Kind.
It was good, though, the way they could still be friends. He was pretty sure Keeley wasn’t the one he was needed to make things up to; he knew she wasn’t upset with him anymore, in spite of him not treating her as good as she had deserved. He hadn’t ever meant to hurt her, he just hadn’t thought.
In a fit of inspiration, he dug out his phone and after several seconds of careful consideration put together a quick text to Amy.
Sorry I was a prick on the show. Didn’t mean to hurt you. Hope you’re all right
Then, lest she get the wrong idea, he quickly added:
Not trying to get back together or anything.
Somewhat to his surprise, he received an answer in less than a minute:
i wouldn’t get back with you if you begged me to
i’m engaged to david now
you’re a poophead but i’m paying for the wedding with the money i made selling my story to the papers so we’re square
Jamie’s gut twisted at that. As much as he loved attention and as much as he hadn’t any qualms about getting naked and fucking around on the show, the idea of Amy crying about how he’d cheated on her and dishing out all the sorted details that hadn’t made it into the final cut made him queasy. At least it meant they were cool, though, so he sent a thumbs up and tried to put it out of his mind.
He didn’t put the phone away. He scrolled through his contacts until he landed on “Mummy”. Let his finger hover over it for a long time, but it was no good. Apparently texting Amy hadn’t helped either.
Fuck, he wished Keeley was here. Even if she couldn’t or wouldn’t help him with his problem just talking to her would have made him feel better. Always did.
His eyes fell on the a life-size cutout of Roy Keeley, in spite of her otherwise impeccable taste, kept by the wall, and his lips curled into a sneer. Odds were Keeley was over talking to him right now, maybe even curling up next to him and petting his hair, though what she saw in that decrepit wanker was a fucking mystery. Sure, Roy was fit, but anyone who’d spent more than two minutes in a room with the man knew he was a miserable old twat, and if there was one person Jamie wasn’t sorry about being a prick to it was—
Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Hang on. Wait a minute.
Oh. Fuck.
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