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shady-tavern · 1 year

Text

The Tailors on Baker Street

Warning for implied/referenced domestic abuse and murder. Please take care of yourselves, this is possibly a bit darker than my usual fare.

***

There was a tailoring shop at the end of Baker Street, a small but rather popular store, run by a married couple. They were ever polite and friendly, sharing gossip with mischievous winks and listening to the trouble of their customers.

Their wares were of good quality and it was said they could fix every dress and coat, no matter the rip. Whatever one needed, they had it and they were said to finish orders swiftly and as desired. Their fine stitches and detailed embroidery were the envy of many.

There was another rumor about them, shared in soft whispers and away from prying ears. When you had fled to your friend, terrified, helpless and bruised, admitting you couldn't take it any longer, she had told you there was a solution to your problems.

Go to the tailors at the end of Baker Street and present them with a daisy, your friend had told you, briefly dipping into her yard to pluck one, shoving the small flower into your shaking hands. Give it to them, they'll know what to do.

And here you were, in front of a modest, well taken care of storefront. A carriage bustled past behind you and you fiddled with the daisy, doing your best not to wear it down with your gut-wrenching anxiety.

It took more courage than should be necessary to set foot into the store, your heart pounding hard enough you felt it beat in your throat. There were some customers, looking over ribbons and fabric, before examining shirts, breaches and skirts, along with coats and dresses on hangers. They barely paid you any mind, too focused on their tasks.

You nearly squished the poor flower in your grip as you lingered by the door, fighting the urge to leave before someone spotted you.

"Welcome and good day, how may I help you?" a woman's pleasant voice made you flinch in surprise and you turned to the lady who had approached you. She was beautiful and well dressed, if simply, for work. Her dark hair was neatly pinned up and pretty earrings reflected the light.

She wore a brooch, made of three daisies and her eyes held a strange, golden shimmer. You quickly chalked that up to the light falling in through the window. Some people simply had unique eyes, after all, but these held you captive for just a moment despite your body nearly shivering with stress.

"Um." You gestured with your hands, mouth dry and heart pounding. Her gaze fell to the slightly worn looking daisy.

"Oh, how silly of me," she said, stepping back and gesturing for you to walk ahead of her. "You're here to pick up a custom order, aren't you? Forgive me for forgetting, it has been such a busy day."

You wobbled a small, unsure nod and scurried ahead, head kept down. The woman led you to the back of the store, where real custom orders were waiting on a rack, all finished and well made. The space was clean and neat and had two worktables below the windows, one abandoned with a half finished blouse lying neatly on top.

A tall man looked up from the second table, pausing in sewing a silver button onto a dark blue coat. "Has there been an issue with an order, Milly?" he asked, mild and pleasant, voice the nice kind of slightly-deep. He was handsome, his beard and hair neat and well groomed. He was just as well, if simply, dressed as the woman and he, too, wore a brooch made of three daisies.

His gaze fell to the by now somewhat mangled flower in your hands and he hummed in understanding, setting the coat aside. You felt your shoulders hitch up a bit at his undivided attention.

"Please, take a seat," the woman said, gesturing to an empty stool. "We'll be right with you."

As you nervously perched, rather than sat, you saw her set out a sign and close the door to the backroom.

"How can we help you?" the man asked, calm and steady, his hands folded in his lap.

His face was kind, but there was a glint in his eyes, something as cool and sharp as the scissors lying near his elbow. You noticed a strangely golden shimmer in his eyes as well, but you were too anxious and worried to wonder about that.

"We would love to know who recommended us," the woman added and while she smiled, pretty and charming, she too had eyes of sharp, cold steel. "We love to see our business grow in the right direction, after all."

You glanced between them, wetting your lips. "My friend, Jane Martin, said I should come here."

Should you leave? Sure, you were terrified to go back home, but could they really help? Would they even believe you? Was it right to get strangers involved, maybe even hurt?

Lots of people were in your position, stuck with people who mistreated them. Just last week they had fished a dead woman out of the river, face and neck bruised.

At your words, subtle tension eased out of their faces and their eyes lost the sharp coldness. "Miss Martin is a very valued customer," the woman said with a smile that truly looked pleasant now, not just pretty. Something about it made your shoulders relax a little. "Forgive our caution, I am Milly and this is my husband Julius, what brings you to us?"

"You seem a bit haggard," Julius added, a soothing tone to his voice that unexpectedly helped you take a calming breath. "I'll go and make us all a cup of tea."

Milly took a seat by the free table, most likely hers, arranging her skirts in an elegant motion. Their manners were as prim and proper as those of the upper class, though their fingers were callused and you noticed a small scar on Julius' wrist as he prepared tea.

"Take your time," Milly said, voice gentle and patient and you felt your throat tighten all of a sudden, tears blurring your vision. "Speak with us whenever you're ready."

"What about your store?" you asked, an unwanted rough quality to your voice that gave away your emotional state.

"No need to worry." Julius offered you a reassuring smile.

You had no idea how they did it, but their presences felt...pleasant. You usually didn't trust strangers, but looking at them, you found the tight grip around your heart and stomach easing. They did not look at you with pity, and instead their calming steadiness felt reassuring.

Even the guilt and shame felt muted as a gentle floral scent filled the air, sunshine casting everything in soft warmth. Under other circumstances you might have left again, not wanting to bother these kind, unexpectedly pleasant people.

But the fear that had driven you out of your house still sat in your gut like a block of poisoned ice. Once again you wished you had found the courage to back out of the marriage after you had accepted the proposal in front of your family.

Your parents however had been all-too happy that you had married into a rich family and they did not want to hear anything bad about your spouse. They especially had cut you off mid-sentence when you had suggested going public. They would not want to risk the wrath of a richer family upon themselves.

Your father had suggested that it was your fault that your spouse was...unpleasant. That you weren't sweet enough, kind enough, accommodating enough. That you didn't listen enough, that you talked back too much. You hadn't spoken with your parents since.

You had gone to the police exactly once and you knew better than to do that again. Your spouse was a valued member of higher society after all and had made sure you understood how far their influence reached.

"Here you go," Julius said, handing you the cup of tea, his fingers carefully not brushing yours, and sitting down. "Speak freely, we will believe you."

You met their gazes and they were so steady and earnest you felt breath flow into your lungs properly for the first time in days. You believed that they would believe you. It settled something within you, your withered courage taking root and growing enough to help you speak.

Haltingly you told them the story, clinging to the delicate porcelain cup Julius had handed you. You couldn't bring yourself to take a sip, but the floral fragrance and the heat warming your cold fingers helped.

"Are you safe at the moment?" Julius asked after you finished your story.

"I'm staying with my friend." For now. For as long as she could hide you at her place without your spouse causing trouble.

"If you ever find yourself unsure where to go, come to us," Milly said, gaze serious. "No matter the time. One of us will let you in and you will be safe here."

You inclined your head, hoping you were never forced to take them up on their offer. It was strange, however, that you believed that, too. A part of you, more instinct than rational thought, already felt safer. It shouldn't be possible, not when you knew how powerful your spouse was. That simple tailors couldn’t stand a chance against someone who could crush them in so many ways.

And yet...it felt like fear had no place here. Banished from this room by sunshine and the presence of these two, who had eyes tinged in gold. Who looked at you with so much truth nothing could have shaken it apart. You realized that your fingers had stopped shaking, that your skin no longer felt cold.

There was a thread of calm that had settled within you while you had spoken, easing your heart and soul.

"There is but one thing we need of you," Julius said, drawing your attention. "Would you mind leaving the key to your home with us? You can retrieve it again at the end of the week, at which point you can return home."

"Oh, of course." You pulled the key out of your pocket, handing it over. "What are you going to do?"

Milly's smile could have been reassuring and compassionate at first glance, but all it reminded you of was a razor sharp blade held against an unprotected throat. Not your throat, you still felt that sense of safety, but more like a weapon waiting to drink the blood of its enemy. "We'll take care of things, don't you worry."

You should keep asking. You should ask what they were going to do. If you were a good person, like the priest preached you were supposed to be, you would ask for the key back and request they forget your visit. You should return home, obedient and quiet and accept the place you had been given. The hand fate had dealt you.

But your mouth felt glued shut and the courage rooted within you stubbornly grew a tiny bloom of hope. Fuck fate. Fuck God if this was what He considered just and right. You deserved better, you deserved to live without fear and pain. You handed over the cup when Julius held out his hand for it.

"Let me show you out," Milly said and you found yourself secretly glad to not immediately lose her company. "There is a carriage that will take you back to your friend." When you tried to protest, she silenced you with a sweet, genuine smile. "Let us look after you as long as you're here."

While Julius cleaned up the cups, Milly accompanied you to the front step of the shop and waved over a waiting carriage. "Make sure she gets home safe, Leopold," she said, offering her hand to help you into the carriage.

"Stay safe," she murmured at last and for just a moment, you swore the gold gleam in her eyes was brighter than ever. You nodded and she closed the door, her gaze holding yours until the carriage lurching into motion. Even then you looked back at her and saw her watching you leave until you rounded the corner.

You gripped the thoroughly mangled daisy tightly and closed your eyes. You didn't dare pray, worried that god might notice and put a stop to things. But deep down, you hoped you would be free soon, no matter how it happened.

*.*.*

You returned to the shop at the end of the week, feeling exhausted and frayed, like an old, worn piece of fabric. Your friend had done her best to distract you and keep you busy, but it hadn't helped against the tension that wouldn't leave you.

It was early when you showed up and Milly had only just opened the store, since both had just finished setting up the last of their wares.

"Ah, good day, my dear," Milly said with unexpected warmth, stepping toward you as though you were truly welcome company.

You were surprised to see how happy and languid she appeared to be. Her husband moved with the same deep relaxation when he bowed his head respectfully to you, offering a charming smile.

Strangely enough, they reminded you of well fed cats enjoying a spot of golden sunlight. An air of effortless confidence surrounded them, a quiet strand of power that wove into the sense of safety that lingered all around them.

"I'm not too early?" you asked, your nervously wringing hands claming. Whatever they had done, it had made them very and deeply happy.

Milly's smile morphed into a grin and the gold in her eyes was brighter than ever before. She seemed so radiant you couldn't look away. She was easily the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. "No, of course not. Are you ready to head back home?"

You didn't mention that the house of your spouse had never felt like home. The last time you would have called a place that, you had been a child of eight and had stayed with your aunt and grandmother during the summer months. After the falling-out your father had with his side of the family, you hadn't seen them again.

"I am," you answered anyway. You couldn't continue to live at your friend's place. Even if she didn't mind, she was currently seeing a particularly sweet gentleman and once they became serious about each other, you'd swiftly overstay your welcome.

Julius stepped forward, all fluid grace and pulled your key from his pocket. His eyes too seemed brighter than ever, making your eyes linger on his face. He really was so very handsome.

"All is well," he said, quiet and certain, when handing over the key, his fingertips ever so carefully brushing yours.

"Alright." Your voice was soft and you glanced between them. "Thank you. Do I owe you anything?"

"No, not at all, this was our pleasure," Milly answered, voice as sweet as honey and her smile felt like it was meant just for you. "Anything else we can do for you?"

"No, um, but really, thank you." You gave them a clumsy, heartfelt bow and they elegantly curtseyed back, an amused mischievousness to their smiles. "I'll get out of your hair now."

"Our hair hardly minds," Julius answered. "Please, feel free to come back whenever you like."

"We'll be glad to help in whatever way we can, or just to chat," Milly added, leaning against her husband, both of them looking right at home with each other and within their store. "Be sure to speak to Leopold if you like, he'll take you home."

You couldn't help but smile back a bit and after a last dip of your head, you stepped back outside. An elderly woman bustled past you with her grandson, grandly telling him to pick whatever he liked best for his wedding.

You took a deep breath, so deep it almost ached in your lungs and you clutched the key tight. Was...was it over? Just like that? All your worries and fears could cease to be? Rubbing a hand over your face, you approached Leopold, who was softly talking with the horses, massaging their foreheads.

The young man, just barely out of boyhood, was happy to bring you home, helping you into the carriage and whistling as he started driving. You clung tightly to the key, nerves making your stomach squirm and your heart was beating harder, the closer you came to home.

And yet, fear didn't claw its way up your throat. You believed the tailors that it was done and dealt with. You...trusted them, as inexplicable as that might be. It was as if a small bit of safety had stayed with you after your visit to their store and it accompanied you even now.

At last, Leopold stopped and you took a deep breath before leaving the carriage. "Thank you," you said, tipping him some money and his face lit up.

"Have a nice day," he said with a cheerful bow of his head, then drove on.

The house looked just like you remembered it, flowers blooming and nothing was out of place. Swallowing and taking another deep breath, you walked up the path to the front door. You unlocked the door, cautiously peeking inside.

Nothing. The house smelled like fresh air and the maid must've been by yesterday, for new flowers filled the vase on a side-table. Stepping past the threshold, you carefully walked onward, your steps sounding too loud in the silent house.

You found your spouse sitting in the study, breathing calmly and not reacting to your presence. The sharp stab of bitter disappointment quickly faded to startled realization. Empty eyes stared ahead unseen, no emotion visible on your spouse's face.

"Um..." You managed to say after a long moment, but it brought you no reaction.

Your mind rebelled, hurrying towards the excuse of drugs and poison and other mixtures, but deep down you knew your spouse was gone. The thing that sat there was an empty shell, no soul remaining, and you had no idea what to do.

In the end, after puttering around nervously for a few minutes, you ended up sending for the family doctor. The older man who showed up usually came for you, making sure you'd heal fine.

"Oh my, this does not look good," he muttered the moment he spotted your spouse, hurrying onward. "When did you notice something was wrong?"

"I was visiting a friend for a few days," you said and his gaze was knowing when he glanced at you. "I, um, came back this morning and noticed how quiet it was. I was glad at first, but when I went in here to check..." You gestured at the limp, unresponsive body.

The doctor hummed in understanding, already reaching out to find the issue. It didn't take long before they sent for a carriage to bring your partner to the hospital. You were allowed to come along and nurses hurriedly wheeled your spouse away the moment you arrived.

You sat and waited, time passing both too fast and too slow. At last, a doctor approached you, quiet and apologetic. It seemed your partner had suffered an aneurysm and there was nothing they could do. Your spouse would be dead soon.

The tears that rose sharply were seen as tears of grief, instead of the soul-deep relief that swept through you. The staff was very kind, comforting you and letting you sit with your spouse, who didn't even make it through the night. Finally, you were free.

Afterwards you went home, standing in the large, rich house and you realized that it all belonged to you now. The money of your spouse belonged to you. But most of all, you were finally, finally free.

You broke down crying, helpless laughter mixing into the tears and the gasping. Afterwards you took a carriage to your friend's place, forgetting the late hour. You didn't want to stay in that house any longer than you had to. Your friend was startled when she opened bleary eyed, then grimly happy when you told her the news.

"They solve problems like that," she said after holding you in her arms. "The tailors. No one asks how they do it or what exactly they do and we don't rat them out either. I'm so glad they helped."

You fell asleep in her arms and when you woke, the sun shining through the window made you smile. Your heart felt like a newly uncaged bird, almost too afraid to fly and taste that freedom fully.

Hope bloomed like a meadow of wild flowers and you breathed through a new wave of tears. Your future had turned from a grim, dark end into something bright and open. It was all yours, yours to finally do with as you pleased.

The house was soon sold, the art within donated, along with a portion of the money. You fended off your parents, who swept in to try and weasel out money and power for themselves. They deserved nothing after marrying you off to someone they suspected would mistreat you and then left you in the jaws of a metaphorical wolf.

The air was growing cold by the time everything was taken care of and you had moved into a new place, your friend supporting you all the way.

You only rarely suffered from nightmares these days and you slowly unearthed all the pieces of you that you had buried. The pieces your spouse had not liked, had despised. There was damage done, undoubtedly, and some days it felt like too much, but you had so many reasons to keep going. To keep moving forward.

There were people, however, who did deserve a piece of your newfound fortune. Leaves were crunching beneath your shoes as you approached the store at the end of Baker Street, this time not afraid. No, you were anything but afraid.

Julius was taking care of some customers as you stepped inside, a pleasant scent greeting you. A smile was on your face and you breathed in that steadfast safety that lingered with both tailors present. It eased your heart as it had the last two times and this time you couldn't help but sink into it fully, shoulders relaxing.

Milly approached you after ringing up a lady at the counter, smiling in warm welcome. "How lovely to see you again," she said and there was a brief, hard glint in her eyes. "I hope all went well?"

"Yes." You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small box. "I know you said no gratitude was necessarry, but I still wish to give you this. I, um, picked it myself."

She looked charmed and chuckled softly. "How could I ever refuse such a sweet gesture?"

Her fingertips were warm as they brushed yours ever so gently, while she accepted the box. Your hands tingled and you only realized you had leaned slightly towards her, when you caught yourself.

She held your gaze a moment longer, before glancing down and curiously opening it. A happy smile broke out across her face and her gaze grew warm and soft and this time you could admit to yourself that there was nothing normal about the golden shimmer brightening in her eyes.

"You are truly beautiful, inside and out," she murmured, closing the box again and your breath caught a little at her words. "Thank you, for this sweet gift."

You couldn't help but smile back shyly. Julius joined you in this moment, a satisfied customer leaving with a happy spring in their step. "Oh? Did my lovely wife get something wonderful?"

"Indeed." She grinned up cheekily. "And I am not going to share."

"There, um, there is no need." You pulled another box from your other pocket and Julius' eye brightened, that golden shimmer growing. "If you'd like?"

"I would love anything you'll gift me," Julius said, voice dipping a bit to something private, just for you.

He accepted the box, his fingertips brushing yours softly as well, warm and slightly calloused. You curled your hands in, as though you could somehow hold both their touch close this way. Your face started to ache a bit with how much you were smiling now.

Julius opened his box, eyes widening slightly, before he looked up, his smile sweet and charmed. "This is wonderful, thank you."

"I hope you like it, both of you. And that I chose well." You resisted the urge to rock a little on your feet, something your spouse had always hated. You paused. Well, now you had to do it, even if it was just to spite the dark memories in your mind. "You gave me back more than I can put into words."

"Seeing a smile on your face is reward enough," Julius said and for a moment you swore he was about to reach out, before catching himself. "Happiness is a lovely look on you."

"I am happy." And you were. For the first time in far too long, you were happy again.

Ever since you had gotten rid of that house, ever since you had gotten your life back, no matter the struggle and darkness that liked to creep through your mind like seeping tar, happiness and light found you.

It wriggled in through the cracks, surprised you on calm, sunshine mornings and came in the shape of your new, soft little cat. Every time you ate something sweet that had been forbidden before, every time you picked up a book your spouse would have taken away, it felt like you were stitching yourself back together. Crooked maybe, and never like you were before, but...this was already so much more than you had dared to hope for half a year ago.

"We could take a break," Milly offered, gesturing at the currently empty store. "Would you like to join us for tea, darling?"

The question held a tinge of promise and you found you wanted to reach for it. You found you were ready for what might be offered. "I would love to, thank you."

Milly smiled and went to close the store for the afternoon, while Julius guided you to the backroom, his hand a warm, light and most of all, welcome weight at your back.

You didn't care what they were, if they were human or not. You didn't care what they did to people like your spouse. Not when being in their presence made you feel as though you were wrapped in a blanket spun out of gentle, warm sunshine.

*.*.*

Part Two!

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#my writing #original writing #short story #implied abuse #implied murder #i am SO NERVOUS about this piece #this is something that would not leave me alone #I hope I managed to find any and all spelling mistakes #if i mis-tagged or forgot to tag something let me know #i want people to have a safe as possible reading experience #nothing here is graphic but it can still be triggering #healing and moving on towards the end #hi yeah i am on occasion a poly writer #hope this didn't turn out badly written or anything

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thirteenemeraldcats · 3 months

Note

in one of your tags you mentioned-

'one of the things that gets chatted about A LOT in teaching is meeting students at their point of need- which ted does NOT do with jamie'

I would love to hear more of your thoughts on this! Both in terms of what that concept entails, and also what you think Jamie's point of need was at the time versus what Ted saw the situation needing

(You have excellent tags btw, don't know if anyone's mentioned that)

I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS ON THIS THAT I LOVE THAT YOU'D LOVE TO HEAR!

(I have more thoughts than I anticipated, this got errr, long. Whoops)

(potentially necessary/relevant background here is I am a high school teacher 👋)

Okie dokie, so, one of the principles of best practice in teaching is the idea I tag-rambled above; meet both the individual students and collective class at their point of need. Essentially this means practising differentiation in teaching and adjusting how content/ideas are communicated to students based on who they are as learners and people. Particularly if a student is performing outside the 'average' (either exceeding or still developing), this means adjusting to their needs by (among other things) curating differentiated resources and adapting delivery style. Differentiation is especially important in an all-abilities classroom, unfortunately public education is perpetually underfunded and overcrowded so everyone's just out here doing their best (the decent people of the world at least). BUT! WHILE I'M ON IT! SPEAKING OF THE THINGS I'VE TAG RAMBLED, the education system's (global) inability to adequately differentiate for students of different-abilities, particularly students with ADHD, ASD and Dyslexia, is perhaps the greatest failing of the whole dang thing and if anyone who ever stumbles across this is neuro-divergent and feels like they were a bad student or couldn't 'keep up' in mainstream education- THAT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. You don't have to break yourself to 'fit', school is MEANT to bend for you. (Particularly when you're young, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG)

ANYWAY, the fictional football of it all!

We don't see a lot of Ted actually coaching in this show (stick with me). The scenes in which he 'coaches' are typically him and various other coaching staff standing on the sidelines while the team skirmishes or occasionally runs drills, so me saying Ted doesn't differentiate is more based around his patented Ted-talks. NOW, Ted PROBABLY knows the team fairly well as individuals, particularly in season 2 and 3, purely by having spent quite a lot of time with them, despite this the only times we really see him 'adjust' his style with the team are ironically season 1 (examples include conferencing Jamie and Roy in 1x04 For The Children, and allowing/facilitating Nate's speech in 1x07 Make Rebecca Great Again). The moment that always sticks out to me as most significant is when he goes and seeks out Keeley's advice on how to get through to Jamie in 1x02 Biscuits.

Side note: I will be forever obsessed with Keeley jumping straight from 'blowjobs' to one of the four operant conditioning techniques (positive reinforcement) when asked about this. That woman is a very fascinating puzzle of a person.

Ted recognises that his typical perpetual-optimism-style isn't cracking the Jamie-Tartt-nut and seeks out a different opinion. This kind of collaboration and whole-system approach is key in teaching too, either by tapping the knowledge-well of a student's broader school context or the difficult-to-crack student's parents.

SO, having gotten the Jamie-Tartt-cheat-code from Keeley he DOES meet Jamie at his point of need, speaks clearly to him and communicates what he needs from him. AND IT WORKS! Temporarily! During the conversation between the two in Ted's office we see Jamie engage, he even practises self-reflection! Granted it's about his left foot cross, but still! The nut is cracked.

Jamie even maintains the perspective Ted has taught him for about two seconds while talking to Trent, until Jamie's other (definitely not positively-reinforced) behaviours rear up and he reverts to what James others have taught him.

On the other hand.

Multiple times throughout the show we see Jamie be visibly or verbally confused by Ted's communication style. Ted often talks in meandering metaphors that Jamie doesn't seem to be able to follow. We verbally hear him state 'Why doesn't he just say that then, do you know what I mean?' in 2x07 Headspace after Beard has to translate Ted's 'peas and carrots/beefchunks' analogy to 'starters and reserves'. Then there's the infamous 'What the fuck are Denver Broncos?' from 3x09 La Locker Room Aux Folles. The only notable time we really see Jamie 'get' one of these metaphors is the sewer-system-tunnels from 3x01 Smells Like Mean Spirit.

(His understanding of that specific metaphor, along with his use of the magnets to demonstrate total football in 3x07 The Strings That Bind, and a Watsonian-perspective of his near perfect mimicry of movements he saw two years ago when executing the decoy play in 3x12 So Long, Farewell, are actually all examples I use to head-canon Jamie as a primarily visual/physical based learner. For whatever that's worth!)

NOW! Ted's willingness to seek and apply alternate techniques in season 1 when he should know the team as both individuals and a collective the least, coupled with his inability or unwillingness to practise differentiation in later seasons when he DOES KNOW THEM is why I don't think Ted is meeting the team, specifically Jamie at their/his point of need. Any person's ability to differentiate behaviour to meet the needs/requirements/comforts of the individual or group they're talking to is increased the more they know them. (We all do this in life, consciously or subconsciously we typically try and 'match the vibe' of whoever we're communicating with [doubly so for people who're engaging in masking.])

Ted should and does learn more about Jamie as a person and his background as the show progresses. He listens to Jamie vocalise both his internal justifications for his actions and his reflections of those justifications/actions in 1x06 Two Aces, he sees him being explicitly physically abused in 1x10 The Hope That Kills You, he listens to him describe a spiralling mindset in 2x02 Lavender, he sees him being explicitly verbally abused in 2x08 Man City.

Of course, one of the fascinating things about Jamie is how much he learns and grows over the course of the show, and there are instances in which I don't think Ted is recognising that (primarily his dismissal of Jamie in 3x03 4-5-1 and not utilising Jamie's knowledge of total football as a resource from the beginning in 3x07 The Strings That Bind).

Ted understands and has previously applied Jamie responding well to positive reinforcement, yet at multiple times in the series doesn't respond in a way that reflects his perspective being informed by that knowledge. Essentially not practising the appropriate level of care/caution when interacting with/around Jamie.

There's not intervening on Jamie's behalf in 2x03 Do the Right-est Thing or 2x06 The Signal when the team and Roy are targeting or ignoring him respectively. The assumed absence of any follow up to the events of 2x08 Man City, the Zava of it all in season 3, and of course the eternal 'forgiveness' kicker from 3x11 Mom City.

POINT BEING. And to actually answer your inquiry lol, I think Jamie is someone who needs clear communication, ideally bracketed in positive reinforcement based operant conditioning as a learning technique (reward behaviour you want reinforced by offering something desirable [praise in Jamie's case]) and visual/physical aid/references for concepts; as a LEARNER.

AS A PERSON, there's more. Ted can readily infer from all he's heard and seen that Jamie's a victim of child abuse. The long term damage to the adult psyche that abuse during formative years has is astronomical, it literally changes the foundational structures of a person's brain. And yet, again, we never see Ted even acknowledge this. Jamie in 3x11 Mom City, incidentally compares his father to Freddy Krueger, Ted elaborates on the comparison, then Jamie reiterates that Freddy Krueger's 'fucking terrifying'. Ted doesn't reassure Jamie (the requirement of his point of need), he gives him a Ted-talk (and in doing so doesn't differentiate his perspective/communication technique).

As far as what Ted thought the situation needed... search me I've got no idea. I do think Ted projects onto Jamie a hell of a lot. That he gets Jamie's personhood and life experiences all tangled up in the emotions he has about his father's death and his consequent perceived abandonment, his insecurities about his own ability to parent Henry and even in his own inability to clearly communicate with his mother. I do think Ted relies on his own forced optimism to 'get by'. Like how a great white shark dies if it stops swimming, if Ted stops being 'Ted', if he stops swimming, his past and his fears and his feelings will catch up to him and swallow him whole. (For what it's worth, I do think Ted is more unwell than even the show explicitly tells us, much like Jamie experiencing ongoing trauma due to childhood abuse, the effects both short-term and long-term as well as potential causalities of having a parent die by suicide are... grim.)

(Essentially the entire fandom has talked about basically all of this at one point or another, I'm just using slightly different language.)

NOW! These characters are fictional (obviously) and I am judging them based on real-people conventions and the best-principles of my own profession, as well as my background in theoretical psychology (which I think I forgot to mention and is also probably [??] relevant). My Doylist-perspective of Ted and his coaching/communication style is ...kinder, but if I get too sucked into the narrative it results in either brief tag-rambles or... whatever this thing I've just typed is. I think it's been too long since I've written academically, my thoughts have gone circular 🫠

ANYWAY! I hope this made something-approaching sense! Thank you again for asking to hear my thoughts! Always happy to word vomit!

ALSO, thank you for saying my tags are excellent (you are the first and currently only to say so!) - The tags are where I send my thoughts to die (in a 'I must banish them to move on' kind of way rather than a 'I'm strangling them' kind of way) so you saying they're excellent is even MORE flattering than you realise! Makes my brain want to purr 💚🤣

#what do i even begin to tag this slab of text as YEESH #ted lasso #jamie tartt #theodore lasso #ask box is always open #come hit me up for teaching rambles or psych rambles or fandom rambles or general rambles ANYTIME #readwing #jamiesfootball #oh shit trigger warnings #suicide #child abuse #if this indeed makes no sense i would like to blame it on the fact i've written it while drinking wine through a straw #(it's my friday night okay)#i'll post this in the morning when i've had the chance to read it while NOT drinking wine through a straw #hola- it is now morning and i'm only slightly hungover! win!

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