#tw: mentions of physical violence
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Unsure and Unconventional, to say the least (Ted Lasso Fic)
Author's note: because the Uncle's Day scenes made me think a lot of things. Phoebe would have Jamie wrapped around her finger in like .01 seconds. They would be a mischievous duo. And the team would be like awww that's cute.
Parts of this fic partially Inspired by:
an answered ask (HERE) by @andfrecklesandyoursmile about Roy giving his sister Jamie's contact for "emergencies".
@politelymenacing did a post that (THIS ONE) That may have helped inspire some dialog.
So credit to those brilliant post.
Ted Lasso Masterlist
OT3 Roy/Keeley/Jamie Romantic ship. Platonic team dynamics.
Content warning: Cursing/Swearing (lots of it because Roy Kent is gonna Roy Kent), Mentions of abuse, Mentions of physical violence, Mentions of hospitals, Self-Esteem Issues (because Jamie Tartt...), Polyamory, Anxiety, Anger Issues, Fear.
Word count: 8k+ (this one got away from me and that is why it took days to finish)
Read on AO3 here
Unsure and Unconventional, to say the least
“Coach?” Will says as he nears Roy Kent as the coach oversees training on the pitch. “Someone’s here to see you. They’re in the office.”
Roy’s brows furrow. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Keeley would have just come out and joined them on the sidelines. He grunts in acknowledgment and heads inside.
“Uncle Roy!” he hears as soon as he reaches the doorway.
“Phoebe?” He says, accepting the little girl’s hug when she reaches him. He looks over to see his sister talking to Trent Crimm. Trent Crimm moves to the doorway. Stopping to offer to take Phoebe so she could say hi to the team.
“Can I please, Uncle Roy? I want to say hi to Jamie,” Phoebe looks up at him with those big eyes he just can’t say no to, or at least say no and mean it. He looks to his sister, who shrugs.
“What? They're friends now too,” his sister says, challenge clear in her tone. “That a problem, Roy?”
Trent watches the Kent siblings with silent interest. Phoebe practically buzzed with excitement as she waits for an answer next to him.
“A 25-year-old prick cannot be friends with an 8-year-old girl,” Roy glares.
“That bridge is long crossed, dear brother,” she laughs. “Especially after Uncle's day.”
“Uncle's day?” Trent asks with a grin.
“Fuck off, Crimm,” Roy grunts. His sister just gives him a fond and familiar look. “Fine,” Roy relents. “You can go say hi to Jamie, but stay out of the line of play. And don’t-”
But she is already gone, an amused Trent following close behind. Phoebe tells him all about Uncle's day as she goes.
His sister grins. “She’s just going to bother Jamie. Thought you’d at least find that amusing.”
Roy grunts. “Too bad the prick will enjoy it.” Roy winces it. “That just sounds so fucked up.”
“You make it sound so wrong that she likes your friends,” his sister says. “That you think the people you have surrounded yourselves with are criminals.”
“How would you know if they are or aren’t?” he glares at her.
“Because you’d have kicked them in the teeth and sent them packing if they were. Jamie Tartt might be a prick, but even I know he’d probably die before letting anything happen to Phoe, especially if his childhood was half as shit as you’ve said. And he can’t be a complete twat if he sat through the whole of Uncle's day.” She grins.
“Alright, cut the shit. What’s wrong?” He is quick to change the topic. “I know you’re not here to talk about Jamie fucking Tartt?”
“You sure about that?” She raises a brow. He growls. “Fine, I need you to take her this weekend. One of my colleagues was supposed to speak at a conference, and the prick went and caught something on holiday.”
“So now you have to go?” he asks.
“Fuck no,” she says. “I’m covering for the poor bastard that does, which means I’m working a double.”
“Fuck that,” Roy says, annoyed on her behalf.
“I know you have a match, and this might ruin your plans with Keeley-" she starts, but he doesn't care what else she has to say.
“Fuck off. It’s fine. We’ll take her,” Roy doesn’t even hesitate to say. “Kid always comes first. You know that.”
“I know,” she nods. "Thanks."
"You don't need to fucking thank me," he states.
"I don't, but I'm still going to, you fucking prick," she says fondly. "Every time, no matter how much you curse or growl."
"You could have just texted me," Roy says.
"Yeah, but then I couldn't ruin your whole day by asking you the same question you have avoided answering. Can't avoid it in person."
Roy growls, and his glare intensifies. Most people would probably hesitate to continue. Or even hurry to leave. Not his sister. She was used to Roy's behavior decades ago. Roy would kill for his sister. Die for Phoebe. And he'd do it happily. She knew that.
"Roy, you can't just ignore your feelings forever." She holds a hand up to stop whatever argument he was about to make. "You can, and you probably would. I know you, Roy. I know that you-"
"Don't," he cautions. She sighs.
"You might think that you're hurting just yourself here, but you're not. And that's not fair to anyone." She doesn’t drop specific names because she doesn’t want to risk anyone hearing the specifics. And she knows there isn't any point in pushing more now. "And I know you don't actually want to hurt him. You'll make the right call eventually." She grins. Before heading in the direction of the tunnel out to the pitch.
"You're lucky that you're my sister," he growls when he catches up to her.
"And that you love us, I know," she bumps her shoulder against his. He hums more than he grunts for once as he walks. He gives into that voice in the back of his head that he used to always ignore when in public, even if it's just the dog track on a training day. He puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into a half hug as they walk. God, she might be a pain in the arse, but he loved his sister and her kid. He may have smiled just a little as she returned the gesture.
"You know I'm just trying to look out for you. Like you always do us," she says as they walk out of the tunnel toward the pitch. "You may think you're happy now, just think how much better it could be."
"You spend too much time with Keeley, and she spends too much time with Ted and Rebecca," he laments.
"I'm just glad we finally get to spend time with your friends. Richmond really has brought the best out of that boy from Chelsea that kicked Brock Lorens' arse at the commons."
"Do it again, too," Roy grunts. "Fucking deserved it."
"He was a bellend," she grins.
"He gave you a black eye. That's not a bellend. That's a fucker with a death wish."
"Who has a death wish now?" Ted asks as they reach them. Roy drops his arm as they do. "Hey there, Doc." Ted greets her.
"Coach Lasso, Crimm," she nods. "Coach Beard." He responds with a nod.
She turns her attention back to Ted as he speaks. "Glad to see you outside the ER, or is it ED here? Heh, that always sounds so odd to me. ED means something very different where I'm from," Ted says. "Probably just nice to get out of those scrubs. Those always seemed so starchy," he continues earning an amused look from her and a growl from Roy.
"It is nice to meet in a less sterile but just as chaotic environment," she says. Her brother has warned her to pretty much ignore most of what Ted Lasso says. She looks out to where Phoebe has seemed to draw the attention of most of the Richmond team. "Hopefully, my daughter hasn't caused too much commotion."
"Aw, the boys could always use a bit of a break," Ted assures her. "No harm, no foul."
She chuckles as a player, one she recognizes as Dani Rojas gives Phoebe a bear hug that lifts her feet off the ground. Phoebe's laughter carried across the pitch. Her brother grunts. She knew she was pushing it the longer they hung around. Her brother used to keep his professional and personal lives separate. Didn't like the way his teammates would look at her. This team was different. He seemed to trust them a lot more. And she could seem to see why. But she was still playing a dangerous game, treading on her brother's nerves. He takes his job very seriously, and they were disrupting it.
"Should probably let you lot get back to it."
"Well, go on, coach," Ted says to Roy. "Know you want to."
His sister is smart enough to step away. Moving closer to Ted and Beard. Doesn't even flinch when Roy shouts. "Oi! This is training, not a fucking playdate! Put her down and get back to your fucking drills!” She just shakes her head.
"Been dying to ask," Ted keeps his voice low as he leans towards her. "He always been like that?"
"He's been Roy Fucking Kent since the day he was born," she says with a grin. "But he has his moments. You can say he was a very protective older brother. Don't know why I said was. Still very much is."
"Like dealing with whoever had that death wish?" Ted asks, low tone forgotten.
"Fuckin' Lorens. I'd smash his face in if he showed that ugly mug around here," Roy grumbles.
"Again?" His sister smirks.
"Yes, again. Fucking twat." Roy growls.
Ted looked between the Kent siblings. "That bad, huh?"
"No one lays a hand on either one of them if they want to keep it," Roy states.
"What did you tell his mates the next day when they threatened to go to the teachers?" She grins.
"To fucking do it," Roy says. "That I'd give them a detailed list of every fucking thing they'd ever done to any kid in her class."
"He then listed them, chronologically accurate."
"Then told those fucks that if they even breathed at my sister wrong, their teeth would be in the pavement."
"Wow," was all Ted could say.
"So yes, Coach Lasso, I can assure you, he has always been some version of this Roy Fucking Kent."
"Fucking, right," Roy says.
"And yes, I got more first aid training patching up his sorry arse after fights than I did in medical school."
*-*-*-*
(Earlier during training…)
Jamie’s head snapped up when the pitch goes quiet. He had stopped to stretch out an annoying knot in his hamstring. The striker wondered why drills had stopped despite no whistle. Not even Roy’s shout of it. He looked up at his teammates, Sam and Jan being the closest. Sam was grinning. Then something collides with his back. He immediately tensed up until small arms snaked around his neck. Jamie let out the breath he was holding and huffs a laugh.
“Just gonna run right out an’ tackle me, Phoebs?” Jamie laughs.
“Keeley says you like hugs,” Phoebe says in his ear.
“Especially, Phoebe-shaped ones,” he says with a nod. He reaches around with one arm to anchor her to him as he shifts to stand up. Earning a few curious looks from his teammates. Jamie couldn’t have possibly cared less. When he is on his feet, he reaches up with his other arm to keep hers secure around his neck. He spins her around. She laughs. It’s an infectious noise that causes a few of his teammates to chuckle. When he stops, Phoebe giggles and says she’s dizzy now. He goes to let her down, but her grip only tightens. He can’t help but smile.
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone got sick on the pitch,” Sam says.
“Roy would love that,” Colin says as he and others join them, all of training seemingly unofficially put on hold.
“Speakin’ of,” Jamie starts as he makes exaggerated motions as he turns to look around. Phoebe laughs as he swings her around. “Where is the grumpy prick?” Jamie asks having not seen the man. Phoebe giggles, but before she can chastise him for his language, he adds, “Yeah, I know, it’s a bad word, innit? Pay ya next time.” His teammates laugh. He feels her nod more than sees it.
“Mum said she needed to talk to him and that I could come say hi,” Phoebe tells him.
“Well, hi,” Jamie says.
“Hi,” she laughs.
“Say hi to the lads, Phoebs,” Jamie grins.
“Hi lads,” she parrots, earning amused greetings from the now bigger group of players.
“You here for more than Jamie hugs?” Sam asks.
“Do you want a hug?” Phoebe asks, and the others laugh.
"I did not mean-" Sam starts to say but is cut off by Jamie.
“I’m sure the lads wouldn’t turn one down,” Jamie grins. Phoebe shifts, and Jamie lets her down. Sam does indeed accept a hug. A few of the others do too. Dani Rojas makes her laugh by picking her up off her feet and swinging her around.
“Oi!” They hear from the side of the pitch. “This is training, not a fucking playdate! Put her down and get back to your fucking drills!”
“Sorry, Uncle Roy,” Phoebe says at the same time the others say, “Yes, Coach.” Jamie just huffs, scoops her up and jogs them over, and sets Phoebe down on the sideline by her mom and uncle.
"Lovely as ever, Doc," Jamie winks, greeting Roy's sister.
"Charming as always, Tartt," she returns. Roy growls. "Alright. Steady on," she says, patting Roy's arm. "Say goodbye to Jamie and the coaches, Phoe."
"Bye, Jamie. Bye, Coach and Coach." She hugs Roy. "Bye, Uncle Roy."
"See you this weekend," Roy tells her as he hugs her back.
"Think about what I said," his sister says in a low tone to Roy, glancing at Jamie as she does. Jamie gives her a confused look, but she just grins as she pulls away. "Laters team," she says louder to the group. She takes Phoebe's hand and leaves.
*-*-*-*
“She’s gonna be a heartbreaker that gets legs broken,” Isaac says to the group as they watch the interaction on the sidelines.
“And that’d be the lucky ones Coach likes,” Colin adds.
“Not just Coach,” Sam mutters.
“Nah, Tartt would aim for faces,” Isaac says. “Kent would make sure no one’s walking away, but Tartt knows too well how they think. No helpin’ the ones that break her heart.”
“Make the outside match the inside,” Colin nods. “Break her heart, and they’ll be lucky if those two break their face.” A few of the players grimace, and the others nod in agreement.
“Fucking get to it, or you’re all running laps til I say so!” Roy shouts.
Jamie shakes his head as he joins them. “Might want to hustle, lads,” Jamie smirks. “As soon as she’s gone, he’ll run ya til you’re the ones sick on the pitch.”
“Yeah, alright,” Isaac says. “Back to it.”
They all head back to drills.
*-*-*-*
Roy is not surprised, but still annoyed, to find Jamie waiting for him after training. The locker room is empty but for Jamie. Roy resists the urge to go back into the office, but he knows Jamie would just keep waiting. Jamie was already in his street clothes, scrolling through his phone, and sitting like the fucking prick never learned how to properly use a chair.
"What the fuck are you still doing here?" Roy asks.
"Took ya long enough," Jamie says, getting to his feet. "So your sister-"
"Don't even think about it, Tartt," Roy growls.
Jamie holds his hands up at the sheer rage in Roy's tone, but he doesn't flinch or back away. "I wasn't gonna say anything like that, fuckin hell."
"Then what?"
"Just wonderin' why they dropped by. Not usually her thing," Jamie says. "Gotta be important to drop by in person, no text or shit."
Roy knew he had a point. He'd been concerned himself when Phoebe had run up to him. The only reason he hadn't been scared shitless that something was wrong was that no one was in tears, or as much as in tears that any of the Kents get. That image was seared in his brain from when that no good waste of space ex of hers left them.
"They're fine," Roy says as they head out to the car park.
"So we don't need to hide a body or slash any tires?" Jamie asks. If Roy didn't know any better, he would have thought Jamie sounded disappointed. When Roy doesn't say anything, Jamie looks up at him. "What?" Jamie asks. "Phoebe seemed fine, so I thought maybe-"
"Since when do you have thoughts about my sister? Since when do you have thoughts?!"
Jamie rolls his eyes. "Excuse me for giving a shit about your life and family."
Roy sighs. "Phoebe is fine. My sister, she is fine. She has to work a double this weekend and needs someone to watch Phoebe."
"I can-"
"No, you cannot," Roy stops walking as he reaches his car. "You have a match."
"So do you, Coach," Jamie counters.
"Well aware," Roy says. "She'll be in the box with Keeley."
"She'll love that," Jamie grins.
"Like I said, they're fine, so go home, Tartt."
*-*-*-*
"There she is!" Jamie says, picking Phoebe up in a hug and setting her feet on the bench so she was out of the usual chaos of the locker room. He glanced around. Everyone was still riding the high of winning the match. "Have fun with Keeley in the owner's box?"
"Yes!" Phoebe was quick to answer. Jamie did his best to keep her focus on him. He usually wouldn't give a shit about his team's manners. Even when it was Keeley or Ms. Welton in the room, Phoebe is 8. She's an innocent kid.
"Tell me about it," he says as he puts on a new shirt. Thankful that Keeley must have timed it so most of them would be wrapping up in the locker room by the time Phoebe got there. She starts telling him all about watching the game.
"You scored a goal!" Phoebe beams at him. Jamie can't help but smile.
Cockburn chuckles as he closes his cubby.
"Colin did, too," Jamie says.
"Keeley said you helped then, too," Phoebe says.
"That's what teammates do, Phoebs, you know that. You play on your own team."
"Less fun now that Uncle Roy coaches you," she says. A chorus of awws has Jamie looking over his shoulder. A few of the players were hovering.
"I'm sure your uncle misses coaching you, too," Sam says as he approaches.
"Richmond pays better," Jan states. "Would be silly to pick a children's league over-"
"Fuck off, Jan Maas," Jamie grumbles. "She's 8, and he still coaches her team when he can."
"Jamie…" Phoebe says, and she holds out her hand. Jamie feigns annoyance as he moves around the edge of the bench. He does reach up and put a hand on her arm to make sure she doesn't get knocked off balance by his movements. He gets his wallet out of his bag and hands her the money. She gestures again. He rolls his eyes and more money that he owes her from training.
"Good," Phoebe smiles. The teammates around him laugh. Phoebe clearly had Jamie wrapped around her finger.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Jamie tells them. "She'll get you, too, if you don't watch your language." He grins at Phoebe. "Still think you should cash Uncle Roy's debt in for a pony," he says with a wink.
"Better!" Dani says excitedly. "A puppy."
"How is a puppy better than a pony? I thought most little girls wanted a pony." Sam asks.
"You watch too many movies," Colin says. "Kitten, get a kitten. Less maintenance for your poor ma."
"Just what she needs, a grumpy black cat to match her grumpy and gloomy uncle," Jamie grins.
"Maybe smaller l, like a guinea pig or a-"
"No one is getting her a pet," Roy grunts.
"Uncle Roy!" She reaches out for him from where she stands on the bench. Half the team looks like they are about to try and catch her if she falls. Sam actually reaches out.
"Mate, she's 8 and plays football. She's fine," Jamie rolls his eyes but grins. She's safer in this locker room than probably anywhere else.
Roy steps up into the spot Jamie had been in before he moved over to the other side of the bench.
"Uh huh," Sam says. "And yet you braced her when you rounded the bench."
"He did put her up there," Dani points out.
"Fewer elbows and…other things in her eye line up there," Jamie says. "I'm not driving her to therapy."
"You would," both Sam and Dani laugh.
Roy shakes his head and looks at Phoebe. "Ready to go?" He asks.
"Keeley said we could get ice cream," She says. Roy is not surprised.
"If Keeley said so," Roy states. Earning a few murmurs from the room. Roy growls. Phoebe seems unphased.
"Can Jamie come too?" She asks.
"Yeah, coach, can Jamie come too?" Jamie smirks as he leans against the divider between his and Canterbury's compartments. Roy ignores him.
"You can ask him yourself, Phoebe. He's your friend, apparently."
"I still think he's your best friend," Phoebe says. Yeah, Roy left the door open for that one. That was on him.
"Yet he says it’s Isaac," Roy attempts to deflect the attention her statement got him.
"You wish," Isaac laughs.
"Get your own best friend, Tartt," Colin agrees.
"That's just ridiculous. It's clearly, Sam. Did you not see the international matches?" Reynolds says.
"He can have more than one best friend, can't he?" Dani asks. "I do."
"Of course you do," Jamie chuckles as he makes sure he has everything he needs to leave. He looks up and when Phoebe calls his name.
"Want to get ice cream with us, Jamie?" He glances at Roy. Roy rolls his eyes and shrugs.
"O' course, Phoebs," Jamie says. His smile softens. "Love to."
"Then get your arse moving, don't have all damn night." Roy helps Phoebe off the bench, and they head out the door.
"She's right," Sam says. "They're clearly best friends."
Everyone in the locker room murmurs in agreement.
"Is Tartt with her mum or something?" Someone asks.
"God no," Sam says. "He'd be dead if was."
"Fair point," Isaac says.
"But Jamie Tartt isn't the old Jamie Tartt," Dani counters.
"Yeah," Colin says. "But Roy Kent is still Roy Kent. He'd have destroyed Tartt for that."
"He has threatened to kill Tartt for a lot less," Sam admits.
"Yeah," the others agree.
*-*-*-*
"Glare any harder, and you might melt the cone with the heat of it," Keeley nudges Roy as she says it. Roy blinks before looking over at her. She is obviously amused by how he is acting.
"How is this not weird to you?" Roy says in a harsh whisper. Glancing over at where Phoebe is knocking around a balled-up wrapper as a ball on the tabletop nearby. She and Jamie had been seeing how long they could keep it going without it hitting the floor. It gets oddly competitive when it shifts to who can get it between two napkin dispensers more while not letting their ice cream melt. It only got worse once their ice cream was gone. Though Roy found it as funny as Phoebe did when Jamie got a brain freeze from it.
"It's like minding two children," Roy complains.
"Would you rather have to entertain her yourself?" Keeley asks. Roy just grunts. Phoebe cheers when she lands her last shot.
"Well played," Jamie grins and looks over at Roy. "Almost done, old man?" Roy has to resist making an inappropriate comeback. There are children, not just Phoebe, around. And normally, Roy doesn't give a fuck what people think about him. But he wasn’t actually that upset about anything. Jamie had actually gone out of his way to look after Phoebe in the locker room. He'd watched them through the window in the office while talking to Beard about the match. He could tell Jamie was trying to keep her focus on him and not the room full of half-dressed footballers. And in the past, he might have thought he was just being an attention needing twat, but Jamie had been keeping track of who was where in the room. Keeping himself between her and the rest of the room. So he'd give him a bit more leeway. And Keeley was right. Phoebe was having fun. They still have another day to keep her busy. Having Jamie keep her busy for a bit hasn't done any harm. Instead of saying anything, he just finishes his ice cream cone and gets up. He holds a hand out to Keeley, and she takes it as she gets up. "Let's go."
"Thanks for the invite," Jamie says to Phoebe as they walk back to Nelson Road. Jamie giving her a piggyback ride. She smiles, shifting so she can pat his head. He laughs. So does Keeley. "You too, granddad." He says to Roy when the laughter dies down. Roy does roll his eyes at that. Roy wonders how this became his life. And that thought made him wonder if this was a good thing or a bad thing. His gut reaction is, of course, it's bad. Jamie is the king prick of pricks. But he knows that's not true anymore. Jamie had picked to go with them to ice cream instead of the club to celebrate with the team. Jamie'd rather spend his time entertaining Roy's 8-year-old niece at an ice cream parlor while Roy and Keeley enjoyed their own treats than party with the boys. Or even find a casual hook-up like the old Jamie would probably do. No. Instead, he was carrying a sugar-fueled child on his back despite it being less than an hour out from playing a full football match. Roy's knee would have been protesting if it was him. They stop when they reach Keeley's car.
"What are you doing now?" Phoebe asks Jamie when he lets her down.
"He should go home. Rest and recover," Roy says.
"Not going to join the team at the club?" Keeley asks.
He shrugs. "Just going to head home. Catch up on something streaming."
"Nothing fun?" Phoebe asks.
"You heard Coach Uncle Roy," he grinned. "Gotta recover."
Phoebe gives him a hug, and he heads to his car.
*-*-*-*
After Phoebe is down for the night, Keeley hands Roy a beer. "You going to tell me what is going on, or am I going to have to just wait it out until you crack up?"
Roy considers ignoring her question, but he knows she will just bring it up again later.
"Just something my sister has been bothering me about," he says.
"Do I get specifics, or am I just to go off that vague nothing of a sentence?"
Roy huffs. "She's been on my case about Jamie."
"What about Jamie?" That piqued her interest. "Does your sister want to shag Jamie Tartt?"
"Fuck off." He cringes at the idea. "I hope not."
"Okay, then what is she on about?"
Roy has not been able to figure out how to say that part out loud. Especially to Keeley. They are barely back together, and Jamie is her ex. She still cares for Jamie, and Jamie has never denied he still loves Keeley in one way or another. Jamie maintains he's glad the two got back together. He had told Roy he was a dumb fuck of an old man and even dumber than Jamie himself was for dumping Keeley. Roy had agreed with at least part of Jamie's assessment on that. He had fucked up by pushing Keeley away. But Jamie had been there to keep Roy out of his head. Even if he was just pushing his buttons to give him a vent for his frustration. Filing the silence in training with annoying factoids that seemed infuriating at the time, but looking back, were just keeping his mind focused on something else. Roy hadn't realized how much he had leaned on Jamie. He had gotten to the point he'd started noticing stupid little things that Jamie would appreciate when Jamie wasn’t even around. Whether it was some stupid video on the internet or someone else's fuck up that he knew they could both find amusing. Fuck this was frustrating to think about. His mind had been drifting more and more to Jamie Tartt during the quiet moments of his life.
"Roy?" Keeley shakes his shoulders. He grunts. "Now I know something is up. Spill it."
Roy growls, not at her but at his own stupidity. Keeley just waits him out.
So he tells her about his sister's visit to Nelson Road. About how she had been questioning him about his feelings for Jamie since Uncle's day. Keeley is damn near giddy by the time he finishes talking.
"You love Jamie," she grins.
"I love you," he counters.
"And Jamie!"
"Would you fucking shut it," he hisses. He glances over at the stairs and silently waits to see if he hears Phoebe. Keeley glares at him. And he knows he fucked up. That had been too harsh. "Sorry, that was-"
"A bit harsh, yeah?" She takes a pull of her drink. "You're lucky I love you."
"I am," he admits. "But I'd rather not Phoebe hear this."
"But you haven't denied you love Jamie."
Roy groans, rubbing his eyes.
"You can't, can you?" Keeley grins. "You can love more than one person. The heart is a bitch like that."
"Keeley," he grumbles.
"You aren't the only one," she admits.
"What?" Roy asks.
"It's like…” she starts to explain. “He's kept all the sweet things I genuinely enjoyed when I was him and grew out of most, if not all, the bad bits."
"He's changed so much," Roy agrees. "And I don't know if that's endearing or infuriating."
"Well, you love him, so clearly, you have your answer."
"You just admitted you still love him too."
"Yeah, but I loved him before. It's new for you."
"Well, what the fuck are we going to do about it?" He asks.
"Honestly?"
"Yes," he growls.
"Drag him to the bed and settle it the fun ways," she says, taking a drink.
"Fuck off," Roy growls.
"I'm serious, babe," Keeley says. "He went to get ice cream instead of clubbing with the fellas. He asked if he needed to help you murder someone. He'd risk his career for you. He is ready and waiting for you at insane hours of the day already. He had a poster of you in his room as a kid. Admitted he loved watching you play. He still looks at you like you're his hero. Like he can't believe you would let him have even a fraction of your time and attention. Roy, he cares what you think. He lights up like the sun when you tell him he did a good job. Can you really not see how much he wants your approval? Your attention? Good or bad, he lives for it."
Roy has to look away as she speaks. That was a hell of a list. How has he missed it all?
"So you think he'd-" he slowly starts to say.
"If we texted him right now,” she interrupts him. “I guarantee he'd be here in minutes. If you asked him to do anything, he would."
"I doubt that," Roy vocalizes the little voice in his brain. The one that doubts most everything.
"Fine, I'll prove it." She grabs her phone and starts typing a message.
"What are you-"
"There. Done," she sends a message.
"What did you just do?" Roy asks, dread pooling in his stomach.
"Invited him tomorrow night," She says.
He is slightly relieved she hadn't invited him to come round now.
*-*-*-*
Jamie has the worst timing when not on the pitch. During training, during a match, he is a master at timing shots. He knows when and where to strike. As for his life outside the pitch, that has been a mess since, probably forever. Like now, he’s just kicked back on his sofa, tv on for mostly just background noise as he scrolls through social media and other sites on his phone. The match had been good. He was sending some of the best reactions and headlines to the team chat as he does. He had just taken a drink because Roy would probably kill him if he didn’t hydrate when he got a text from Keeley. He opened it and choked on his drink. He ended up coughing so hard his eyes watered. She told him to come round tomorrow night. That they had something important to talk to him about. Jamie’s chest hurts, and it isn’t entirely from the coughing fit he just had. Did he do something wrong? He thought they had a good time earlier, and it wasn’t even an inappropriate or raunchy good time. It was kid friendly. He kept Phoebe happy and safe. Isn’t that like Roy’s number one priority? Always. And Jamie is happy to help with that. Did he do too much? Or is it the whole locker room thing? She had found him there. He’d kept her from seeing anything she’d need therapy to forget. Was it something he didn’t do? The lads wouldn’t mess with her. They fear Roy far too much. But Roy didn’t scare him as much as he might have in the past. But fear wasn't his motivating factor for once. Jamie wanted to look after Phoebe because she was just a kid. She deserved to feel safe and happy. Roy might hate that Phoebe’s dad is not in the picture, but Jamie knows there are worse things than an absent father. An abusive one that resents your very existence. One that you can’t get away from. A dad like that is something he hopes Phoebe never has to even think about. He hopes her friends, classmates, teammates, all of them never have to go through what Jamie did. What Jamie still has to deal with. But Phoebe has Roy, at least. She doesn’t need a father. She has her mother. She has her Uncle Roy. She even has Keeley and now Jamie. The more people in her corner is a good thing, right? So it can’t be about all that, right? Then what else could it be? It’s Keeley, so it’s probably not about the match or training. He looks at the message again. He probably is taking too long to respond. So he sends her a message saying he’d be there and sets his phone on the table. So much for rest and recovery. He knows his dumb brain is not going to let this go.
*-*-*-*
"Phoebe go home?" Jamie asks when Keeley lets him in.
"Yeah, disappointed?" Keeley asks.
Jamie shrugs, aiming for nonchalant but coming off as anxious and a bit exhausted.
"Roy's in there," she gestures past the stairs to the living room. Jamie still seems to hesitate. "I'm right behind you, babe."
Roy notices it immediately. Something was not right with Jamie. That was clear as day as Jamie made his way into Keeley’s living room. The striker looked more exhausted now than he had when they watched him leave the Nelson Road car park.
“Are you okay?” Keeley finally asks as she follows the younger man.
Jamie waves it off. "I'm fine," he insists.
“Don't exactly look it. You end up out with the team after you left?” Roy asks.
“Nah, went home, just shit sleep,” Jamie attempts to shrug it off as nothing. He was not going to tell them his brain was thinking of a million ways this conversation could end badly for him. "Been worse, yeah?"
“Nightmares?” Keeley asks. Jamie shakes his head.
“It wasn’t your dad was it?” Roy asks. One of these days he was going to make James Tartt, Sr. pay for what he's done. All the shit he put his son through. That line of thinking is cut off for now as Jamie speaks.
“Wasn’t him. Wasn’t anyone, really. It’s nothin’,” he insists. “You’re the ones with something important to discuss.” Keeley looks at Roy before looking back to Jamie. Her brows furrow.
“How about tea,” Roy says before turning toward the kitchen. "Already started, shouldn't take long."
Keeley drags Jamie to the sofa and makes him sit as Roy leaves the room. She sits beside him. She frowns again when he puts more space between them by moving to the end of the sofa. Or at least as far as he can with her insane amount of throw pillows. That doesn't sit well with her. He looks so uneasy. Jamie used to act like he owned the place when he came over. Sure he was less of a prick the last few times, but this was not even how the new Jamie usually was with her. “Jamie…were you worried about this?” She gestures between Jamie and herself. "About this talk?" Jamie doesn’t answer beyond a shrug. "You aren’t in trouble or anything, babe.”
“I didn’t say that I thought I was,” Jamie tries to argue. His guard was up. He didn't want to feel stupid or look weak having worried over something this…well he wouldn't say insignificant. She had said it was important.
“Didn’t say you didn’t either,” Keeley counters. And he knew she had him there. The old part of Jamie that still pops up in his brain sometimes tells him to play it off as if he didn’t actually care. Or to just be a prick. But he doesn’t really want to do that. He’s not going to turn it on her and make her feel bad because his brain jumps to worst-case scenarios. He sighs and leans back until his head is resting on the back of the sofa, and he’s staring at the ceiling.
“Sorry,” He says but avoids looking at her. “You said it was important, and my brain ran with it.”
“Jamie,” she shifts, half kneeling on the sofa, and bracing her hand on his shoulder to try and get him to look at her. “Yes, what we want to talk about is important. But it's not bad.” “So I didn’t do something wrong, didn’t fuck anything up yesterday?” She goes to run her fingers through his hair to soothe him but she stops when she feels him tense up as he speaks.
“What?” Roy asks as he sets down a tray with steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table. “Match was a win. You played well, and went for ice cream. What would you have fucked up?”
“That’s what I couldn’t figure out,” Jamie admits, finally looking at them.
“So you’re saying you got a text from us, saying we wanted to talk to you about something,” Roy starts as he hands Jamie his tea.
“Important. Something important.” Jamie adds as he takes the mug.
“Okay, something important. And you assumed we were mad at you for something?” Roy is still trying to figure out where this is coming from.
“I mean, you’re usually mad about something,” Jamie states. “Wouldn't be you if you weren’t.”
Keeley tries not to grin but fails. Roy grunts. “Fair enough.”
“But I’m not,” Keeley says.
“Usually are with me, and that’s fair. I’ve fucked up a lot since you’ve known me,” Jamie counters.
“That was before,” Keeley says without hesitation. “That was a very different you, babe. Nowadays, you’re more likely to apologize for something you had zero control over than for something you actually did. And that’s assuming you’d have anything to actually apologize for in the first place.”
“Which you don’t,” Roy reiterates. “You train your arse off and barely complain about it anymore. You look after your mates. Keep ‘em in line if needed. You spent yesterday holding court for a stadium full of people and who knows how many more on live tv, then entertaining an 8-year-old at an ice cream parlor. How could I be mad at you?”
“You’re Roy fuckin Kent. Ya can usually find something,” Jamie states.
“Well, I’m not. Got it?” Roy says. “I’m not mad. But I will be if you keep being a prick.”
“Roy,” Keeley glares at him.
“What? I don’t want to be mad about anything, not right now, at least. Not with what we were going to talk about. Anxious, of fucking course. Angry, no.”
“Why are you anxious if it isn’t a bad thing?” Jamie asks. Now clearly confused.
“Because what we are going to ask you is not something people would consider normal,” Keeley answers.
“Not bad, but not normal?” Jamie tries to sort it out.
“Exactly. It’s unconventional, but could be fun,” Keeley grins, moving back to start carding her fingers through his longer hair. Ever since he had grown it out her fingers had itched to touch it. Style it. Just feel Jamie melt under her touch again as her nails scrape his scalp. This time, he lets her. He holds himself back from going completely to mush under her touch, but he doesn't fight how comforting it is. Keeley and Roy see it as a win. She can help but smile at them.
“So? What is it?” Jamie has to ask, his tone and his body language now showing he is less guarded and much more comfortable.
Keeley and Roy exchange a look.
“You want to say it or…” Keeley initiates.
“Don’t look at me,” Roy huffs. “This was your idea.”
“And you agreed to it,” Keeley insists.
“Because you-”
“Seems a bit bad if you can’t even say it,” Jamie points out. “Gonna keep going roundabout all night? If so, might need to order takeaway at this rate.”
Roy glares at him, but the prick has a point. He takes a drink if his tea to stall for time.
“We want you to join us,” Keeley says.
“Join you where? I’m already here,” Jamie says, his mind is too distracted by the feel of her fingers along his scalp to look deeper at Keeley's statement.
Roy rolls his eyes. Sometimes he forgets how direct you have to be with Jamie. Subtlety and nuance are often lost on Jamie Tartt. He is a genius on the pitch. And he knows a lot of shit about topic Roy couldn’t even imagine knowing anything about. But sometimes, he misses the obvious points. And as frustrating as it might be at times, Roy still finds himself wanting to protect this one particular idiot more than any other and help him. Teach him. Fuck, Roy was absolutely lost on Jamie fucking Tartt. Unfortunately, he, too, had been anxious about this conversation all damn day and was on his last nerve.
“For fuck’s sake, Tartt,” Roy sighs.
“What did I do?” Jamie starts to get defensive, pulling away from Keeley to look better at Roy.
“Steady on,” Keeley levels Roy with a serious look. She puts a hand on Jamie’s chest. “We mean with us, like in our relationship, not just at our place physically.”
Jamie is pretty sure his brain has short circuited. He cannot have heard what he thinks he just did. He looks back and forth between the two of them. “You…you’re serious?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Keeley says, smiling at him. Roy nods, hesitant to say anything that might ruin anything. He’s screwed up his relationships too many times. He’ll leave this to Keeley.
“Me?” Jamie asks. “You want me…”
“Yes,” Keeley affirms.
“You both do?”
“Yes,” Keeley repeats. “We both do, right, Roy?” She looks at Roy, eyes pleading for him to at least act like he isn’t a total prick.
Roy grunts but adds. “Wouldn’t have brought it up if we didn’t.”
“Like a one-time thing or…" Jamie says. He still can’t believe it.
“Fuck off,” Roy grimaces.
Keeley shifts so she has both hands on Jamie’s chest. “No, Jamie. Not a one-time thing. Because I miss you, Jamie. I miss being with you. And Roy, he…” She looks at Roy.
“Fuck it,” Roy grumbles before sitting in the seat Keeley was practically out of. Pulls her on his lap before gripping the back of Jamie’s neck and pulling him into his side before slotting their lips together. Jamie is almost too stunned to react.
“Jesus, Roy, warn a girl first,” Keeley says. “And let the man agree to it before you inhale his face. He may not slap you with an assault charge, but-” She’s cut off when Jamie pulls her into a hug.
“I missed you,” Jamie admits.
“So, is that a yes?” Keeley asks, her tone filled with hope and only a little muffled by his shoulder.
“Of fucking course, that’s a yes,” Jamie laughs. “I might be a bit daft, but I’m not a complete numpty.”
“You’re not daft,” Keeley says. She leans back enough to put a hand on his face. “You’re brilliant.”
“You might not be a fucking rocket scientist, but she’s not wrong. Selling yourself short, Tartt. On the pitch, you’re a fucking genius. Off the pitch, you know the most insane shit I couldn’t even pretend to know.”
Jamie ducks his head to hide the blush dusting his cheeks.
"So adorable," Keeley coos.
"That is the nicest thing you have ever said to me," Jamie murmurs, glancing at Roy.
"Don't get used to it," Roy grumbles.
"Or do," Keeley kisses Jamie's still pink cheek. "He's lying. He knows you thrive on praise."
Roy grunts. "No one would believe you if you tell anyone."
Jamie actually laughs at that. And Roy would die before he admits it out loud, but he loves that sound.
"This is really happening, innit?” Jamie asks. “I didn’t smash my face during the match and am in so fucked up coma dream, or like some head trauma hallucination, right?”
“Well, then we’d be figments of your imagination, so how would we know?” Roy points out.
Keeley elbows Roy in the ribs, earning her a grunt. “You aren’t hallucinating or dreaming.”
Roy pinches Jamie’s side. Jamie yelps and pulls away. “Real enough?” Roy smirks.
“Not nice,” Keeley glares at Roy. She takes the opportunity to slip her hand under Jamie’s pullover and shirt to gently run her hand along the spot Roy had pinched. Jamie’s breath hitches, and he melts into her touch. She grins, “There’s my good boy.” Jamie groans.
“That really does the trick, doesn’t it?” Roy laughs. Jamie glares at him, but Roy just laughs harder. He’d seen Jamie’s glare make people flinch. But this one had no heat to it. It was a bluff. Clearly, he was enjoying himself too much to really be pissed. When the glare fails, Jamie pouts a bit. And Roy bites back a sigh.
“Fuck off with that pout,” Roy growls. He reaches over and pulls Jamie back to where he was before he pulled away. “This is a good thing, remember?” He reminds him as he tugs on the back of Jamie’s pullover until Keeley helps take it off of him. His shirt is quick to follow. Jamie nods. Keeley kisses him as her hands roam his chest and abs. She swallows his moan.
“Didn’t hear you, Tartt?” Roy teases as his own hands reach out and touch. Skin he’d been dying to touch for longer than he would ever admit to every time he saw Jamie in the locker room.
“Very,” Jamie breathlessly admits.
“Good,” Roy nods. “Because this is just the start of what we have planned for you.”
“Fuck yeah,” Jamie says. “Let’s go.” Keeley laughs as Roy pulls him in for a kiss.
“Fucking hot,” Keeley says as she watches them. “We gonna move this upstairs or what?”
Roy pulls back and gets a good look at both Jamie and Keeley. “Inna minute,” he says, and he grips the back of his own shirt. Keeley shifts over into Jamie’s lap so Roy can get his shirt off. Jamie happily accepts her and frees her from her own shirt.
“Fuck, I missed you,” Jamie says before moving his lips to the skin below her ear and along her jaw. He wasn’t exactly a selfish lover in the past, and he wasn’t a religious man, but he’d thank any deity listening for the chance to have her back in his life like this. Roy being there was just icing on the cake.
“Fucking gorgeous,” Roy admits.
"She really is," Jamie murmurs against her neck.
"I meant both of you, you fucking prick," Roy reaches up and cards his fingers through Jamie's hair. "Those pretty fucking lips of yours."
"Thought I was an ugly, ugly boy, with bad hair?" Jamie smirks.
"Fuck you," Roy growls as he pretty much attacks Jamie's lips with his own.
"That's why I said we should go upstairs," Keeley says from where she is sandwiched between the two very shirtless fucking fit men. "Although I'm not complainin'." She runs her nails along Roy's abs making him moan into Jamie's mouth. Jamie took advantage of it and deepened the kiss. But Keeley wasn't done being cheeky. She grins as she grinds down on Jamie's already tented clothed lap. A shock of pleasure runs down the striker's spine and he moans loudly. His arm snakes around her torso to hold her tighter. The other goes up to the back of Roy's neck. Fingers gripping tight like if he lets go it will all just vanish. Roy growls.
"Oh, that was a fun one," Keeley giggles.
"Upstairs." Roy growls. "Now."
#tw: swearing#tw: cursing#tw: physical violence#tw: mentions of physical violence#tw: abuse#tw: mentions of abuse#tw: anger issues#tw: anger#tw: fear#tw: anxiety#tw: self esteem issues#tw: polyamory#tw: Mentions of hospitals#tw: Mentions of head injuries#tw: Mentions of coma#ted lasso fic#jamie tartt#roy kent#keeley jones#phoebe kent#Phoebe O'Sullivan#dr. o'sullivan#Roy's sister#roy x jamie x keeley#roy x keeley x jamie
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Don't Look - for @euryalex
A little bit of hurt/comfort angst and fluff for the lovely @euryalex, who is an absolute treasure to work with. Thank you, my lovely!
Don't Look
The moon rose high and full, casting silvered light across the quiet city. In a forgotten corner, tucked away from the thieves and the nobles and all those who were always seeking more, a mirror flickered in the glow of the moon, the reflection seeming to beckon the viewer closer.
Tara stood before it, her face turned away from that reflection. She could not bring herself to look, knowing what she would see, unwilling to face the reminder of her weakness, her failure. Mutilation inflicted upon her person, at her own hand, by a being somehow less capable of compassion and care than the illithid that threatened them all. Bile coated her throat as she forced the memory of that terrible scene from her mind, refusing to face it, to recall what she had allowed to be done to herself. To acknowledge that she had more strength to defend those she loved than to defend her own self. It was too bitter to revisit, too raw to dare touch upon. Not yet.
“Dear one.”
The warmth of Wyll’s voice sent a shudder through her, even as he stepped from the shadows to curl an arm about her waist, drawing her into his unquestioning embrace. She stood stiff in the circle of his arms, unable to bring herself to reach for him, to accept the comfort he offered. How could she, when she had shown herself to be so unworthy of it?
“Tara, look at me.”
She shook her head, shivering in the grip of her own denial, her own pain, as the heat of his breath warmed her brow, as his lips traced undeserved kisses against her skin. His hands tightened on her, refusing to let her pull away even if she had the strength to try.
“I am not leaving you to fall into this darkness,” he murmured. “I may not know the depth of the pain, but I know that facing it is where you can begin to put it away.”
“I can’t,” she began, faltering when he pressed a kiss to the curve of her cheekbone, so close to the evidence of her weakness.
“That is not truth, dearest one,” he said, his voice deliberately low, gentle, but somehow determined. “It is not that you can’t, but that you won’t. And I do know that reluctance, at least in part. I swear to you, you can do this. It will not be easy, it may feel as though it is tearing you apart, but I will be here every moment. I will not let you fall from me.”
Hesitation filled her mind. Could she? Could she truly raise her gaze to his? Did she have any right to meet the eyes of a man who knew himself through and through, a man who seemed to have never told himself any lies and been caught in them? His finger gently curled beneath her chin, urging her head up, his own head ducking to catch her before she could flicker her eyes away from his.
“There you are.”
His smile was just as warm, just as affectionate as ever. It was as though he saw nothing wrong with her; as though he did not even notice the ugly scar that crossed from her brow to her cheek, or the rheumy white of her damaged eye. How could he look at her and not flinch away? How could he stand to see her so ugly?
His grip on her chin remained, gentle but firm, refusing to allow her to hide from the warmth in his loving gaze.
“Tara.” Her name on his lips was tender, unflinching, denying her any hope of escaping from this loving intervention he had chosen to stage before she could sink too far from his grasp. “Talk to me. Give me the words you cannot say to yourself.”
She stared at him, her mouth working in impotent silence for one long, terrible moment. How did he know? How could he possibly have known that she could not say this to herself and truly mean it?
“I-I ...” She shook her head, her eyes flickering away from the unwavering honesty of his. “How can you bear to look at me? I’m hideous, and I ... I did this to myself.”
“No.”
His grip on her tightened imperceptibly, urging her to look back at him, to see the stern certainty in his face as he stared down her unkindness to herself.
“You are more beautiful in this moment than I have ever seen you before,” he said, already speaking over her objections before she could even begin to voice them. “No, listen to me. You may feel disfigured, and you have every right to feel that. But it does not take away from the beauty of the woman you are. Do these horns make me any less in your eyes?”
“Of course they don’t,” she rushed to assure him. “Wyll, you are beautiful to me, no matter whether you wear horns or not.”
“And yet you will not believe me when I tell you that you are beautiful to me, no matter the scars on your face?”
Tara faltered, unable to respond for an agonising moment, knowing he spoke truth to her even in these terrible throes of shame and pride and broken edges. She twisted in the circle of his arms, fingers grasping the worn leather of his vest.
“But ... I did this to myself!” She bit down on a wail, fighting back the tears that so desperately wanted to fall in the wake of what had happened in Aevan’s lair not so many hours before. “I was weak. I let him hurt me again, and again, and I did nothing!”
“Tara ...”
He gripped her shoulders, shaking her just a little, just enough to draw her attention back to him before he lost her into the maelstrom of her anguish.
“How can you say that about yourself?” he demanded, not harsh but not gentle. “Do you know what I saw in those moments? I saw strength. I saw selfless love. Love for us, for the friends and companions who are yours to command. You would rather endure pain, lasting damage, than raise a hand to those who choose to give you their loyalty and love. Do you have any idea how precious that is to us? To me?”
“Precious?”
He held her gaze, somehow managing to ease even closer into her embrace, to draw her closer into his, all the while refusing to allow her to look away, to hide the disfigurement of her face from his loving eyes.
“No one,” he whispered to her, each word a tender kiss on the air, “no one has ever protected me as you did today. I do not see a scar, my dearest one. I see all your courage, all your strength, all the beauty of your noble soul, laid bare for the world to see.”
His lips, so warm and sure, laid a soft kiss directly over the lid of her colourless eye, and Tara felt the dam inside her begin to break. Slowly, with at first one sob tightly suppressed ... then another, and another, until at last the storm broke within and without, shaking her form, ravaging her calm, forcing all her pain and pride and broken self to the surface to be cleansed by the devastation of allowing herself consent to simply let it all go. She shuddered and shook, clutching to him, clinging to her only anchor in a storm not entirely of her own making, as her ravaged face twisted and contorted, sucking in huge, gulping breaths between ugly bouts of barking grief for what she had done and what she had lost. And Wyll was there through it all, holding her close, rocking her tenderly, giving her time and space and safety to feel it all and find her way back to him, no longer a slave to the petty cruelty of a man who now could never hurt her again.
Even after, as the storm passed, leaving her hiccuping and small in its wake, ashamed of her outburst and afraid to look up once again, Wyll remained, big hands stroking through her hair, down her back, gathering her close as he swayed to a tune only he heard. Offering kisses to her bitten lips, taking the unkindness of her words from her and returning them with the sweetness of his love.
“You will forever be beautiful to me, my dearest one,” he whispered to her, each breath more of a promise than the last of the life they might now finally be free to pursue together, once the looming peril was done. “You have my heart in your hands, now and forever more.”
She hiccuped again, dashing the wetness from her cheeks as she looked up at him with a half-smile daring to make itself known on her face.
“I think that would be rather messy,” she managed. “Better to keep it in your chest, where it belongs.”
Wyll chuckled, hugging her tight as she finally leaned into him, tucking her face into the crook of his shoulder as he kissed her hair fondly.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded. “It would be a little distracting to have a beating heart thumping away in your fist while you’re busy staring down a merchant with a bad attitude.”
She giggled - just a little, just enough that the sound from her was no longer laden with grief or pain, nestling into the wrap of his arms with the sense that she was finally back where she belonged. Aevan had no place here. She would never let him come between them again.
No, she hadn’t looked into the mirror, and she wouldn’t, not for some time yet. But it didn’t seem to matter quite so much that her imperfect perfection had been marred. Time would change her anyway; this had simply accelerated a process that was going to steal beauty from her physical form eventually. So long as Wyll still wanted her, broken and bruised as she was, then who was she to argue? And if others had a problem with her appearance, then she could always tell them to do as she did ... don’t look.
#niamh's writing#euryalex#commission#baldur's gate 3#bg3#wyll ravengard#oc - tara lunarsong#wyll x tara#wyll x oc#hurt/comfort#angst#fluff#tw: scars#tw: mentions of abuse#tw: mentions of physical violence#but with a happy ending#promise
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Padme was not a Witness
I will never join the “Padmé was stupid to go to Mustafar” parade—she had valid reason to believe in the possibility of Anakin’s redemption—but there’s something awful in the fact that she didn’t have to witness either of his massacres.
Obi-Wan and Yoda walk past the bodies of their people—of their people’s children. Bail Organa goes to the temple and sees a kid get shot down trying to escape (more clones than Anakin, but still).
Padme hears about the second massacre after sitting in her apartment while the Temple was on fire. She’s told about them in vague terms. “I killed them like animals,” “he killed younglings,” She has a touch of denial when she goes to Mustafar partly because of her belief in Anakin, but partly because—I think—the Tuskan Massacre was never fully real to her. She understands it intellectually of course, but violence on that scale is difficult to conceptualise without seeing it, especially if it’s easier to just let it go. If she’d seen the bodies? Or seen Anakin kill them? She watched that one refugee kid die slowly, not at all violently, when she was working with the refugee organisation, and it affected her for the rest of her life. It is not a lack of caring on Padmé’s part that’s the problem.
Imagine being Obi-Wan listening to Padme saying “there’s still good in him,” after walking through the Temple, seeing the lightsaber marks on knights and children alike—not even to mention seeing her get strangled. It sounds not only wild, but honestly deeply offensive on more levels than one (besides the obvious issues it’s another, “train the boy,” prioritise Anakin over everything moment, except this time Obi-wan’s entire world has been torn apart, rather than just losing his Master)
If Padmé had actually been a witness to Anakin’s violence? If it was made present and visceral to her?
I think her opinions and her actions would’ve been different.
Thematically, it is crucial that when Luke goes to the second Death Star, he is under no illusions about who Anakin is or what he’s done, and in his most desperate moment he chooses to ask Anakin for help anyway. Padmé goes to him still a bit in denial, still a bit convinced things can return to how they once were. When she starts to push at the illusion, Anakin accuses her of betraying him and strangles her to shut her up, attempting to preserve the illusion (the difference between Anakin’s state at the time of his confrontations with Padmé and Luke is a whole other, very important topic). In part, her illusion allows Anakin to believe he can preserve the past (to be clear—he is the only one responsible for the choice to strangle her; Padme being imperfect is not an excuse for domestic abuse).
Side note, but if anyone is not sufficiently freaked out by Anakin strangling Padmé, it's important to know that strangulation is one of the flashing red warnings that physical abuse is doing to turn deadly, very, very quickly.
Luke’s complete and honest knowledge of Anakin’s worst self means there is nothing for Anakin to lose except his son, exactly as he is. No illusions, no wonderful past, not even any good memories together. Just his son.
To me, that’s one of several reasons (both thematic and logistical) why Padmé’s plea fails where Luke’s succeeds. None of those reasons has anything to do with her being stupid to go in the first place.
(There are some wonderful fanfics out there that show Padmé actually making her disapproval about the Tuskan massacre—both despite and because of her love—actively known during their marriage, and I think that interpretation of her is a stronger character than ROTS gives us, and more in line with what we’re shown in the first movie)
#star wars#padme amidala#obi wan kenobi#yoda#anakin skywalker#bail organa#luke skywalker#tw child death#tw violence#tw abuse#tw abuse mention#tw physical abuse
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The first mistake I see people make is assuming there are completely "nonviolent" ways to be transphobic. It seems like some people conceptualize transphobia as being either violent (which is always physical in some way) or nonviolent (which is "simple" emotional, verbal, or psychological abuse)
It seems, also, that people presume that when somebody has "noble" intentions for their transphobia - "I'm trying to save you!" for instance - it is suddenly nonviolent. Consider, though, how a transphobe would "save" a trans person. Would they allow that person to exist unadulterated (including being able to transition), or would they prefer to put them through conversion therapy, or revoke their access to bodily autonomy, or force them to have children, or anything that will prevent them from transition or even identifying as trans or otherwise tying them down with the obligations that prevent transition or identifying as trans?
There is no true "nonviolent" way to be transphobic because being transphobic relies on denying one the ability to autonomy and personhood. Fundamentally, even the transphobes who "want to save us" only do so in their own self-interest to save them from the horror of knowing that more people than they are alive and thriving.
#trans#transgender#lgbt#lgbtq#ftm#mtf#nonbinary#transphobia#transphobia tw#it's just very frustrating when i see people act as though some transphobia is more acceptable than other forms...#...simply because it isn't overt with how much it wants trans people eradicated...#...transphobes will do whatever it takes both for their comfort and also to wipe the world clean of trans people#in some cases it looks like infantilism ('youre so young! poor thing you're being MANIPULATED😭') or...#...it could look like outright cut-and-dry violence (conversion therapy or physical abuse). it all depends on the situation...#...what stays the same is the sheer level of hatred and scorn for trans people and the trans condition...#...and it is in that hatred and scorn that you find that ALL forms of transphobia are united...#...so it is just as important to combat ALL forms of transphobia#abuse#abuse tw#abuse mention tw
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Adam Sandler
Adam Sandler told me that I needed to stop copying his look, and to drink more water. He then replaced all the food in my house with slightly healthier food, sorted it all out into reasonable portions, punched me in the face, then left.
#dream#text#July 13th 2022#adam sandler#water#drinking#food#food mention#violence tw#physical violence tw#queueueueueueueueueueueueueue
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99% of the time Levi wakes up, he’s going to jolt and shoot a look around his surroundings, startled.
How could he have ever found a “safe” place to sleep in the underground? and when he did sleep, how often was he startled awake by commotion in the street, his own hunger or injuries, or a gun to his head … or a combination of those?
Kenny would never have let him “sleep in”. As a part of his training Levi was definitely taught to be alert 24 hours a day. Maybe he stuffed a pillow over his face each time Levi never sensed him coming in time, or threw him off of his thin, bare mattress on the floor.
He can’t sleep. But when he does sleep, he suffers no shortage of nightmares. How many of those chase him out of sleep anyway? When he wakes up, he’s always startled.
But there’s no shortage of suffering when he’s awake, either.
#sad feelings -> sad levi#levi will never find true peace. in this essay i will#levi hcs#levi ackerman hcs#levi ackerman angst#levi ackerman headcanons#levi drabble#levi.thoughts#tw physical violence#tw physical abuse#tw nightmares#tw gun mention
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LCSYS ask again(undercover asker here hiiiiiaufhghghgn)thank you for responding!!!! ilovfe seeing your ideas theyre such good fuel in between trials❤️❤️
i was wondering how th prisoners would react to es’ usage of violence, like some of the younger prisoners complaining about it while the older are concerned because Hello Where did that stem from???? you cant tell me es’ “phew, i feel so much better” after hitting shidou didn’t send his mind racing a million miles per minute
ALSO curious about YONAH………… similar to how red’s violence towards es was scripted, was kotoko’s monologue about es being imperfect Also scripted, or was it on her own? yonah is probably my favourite voice drama of all time and I’m curious about how it would be interpreted in this au 🫶
Ah hello again! Thank you so much for reaching out -- every time I think I've covered everything you guys hit me with a new insane detail that makes my brain go brrrrr >:3
Because OMG I spent so much time thinking of the faked violence, I don't know why I never put as much attention on the flipside! I love the idea of Jackalope assuring them, "there will be no physical punishments. We'll talk about restraints but that's all fake. We'll make up injuries between trials but that's all fake. You don't have to worry about any real pain." And then this 15yo strolls up, interrogation one, ready to smack someone😅😅😅
Seriously though, I think it would come as a pretty big surprise to the group. They knew it was a possibility, but didn't think Es was that likely to attack, since they've made a few comments about being against violent punishments. Haruka comes back to mention the slap, and Yuno follows their instructions and says she also suffered violence, and the group is Shocked. I think it would just kill Fuuta that he wasn't allowed to hit back and avenge the others. He probably has the most complaints about the situation (and is insanely relieved that he get by in his own interrogation.) In a feeble attempt to get back at Es and make them feel bad, he encourages Muu to cry and make a big show about being afraid of them. Muu is frightened enough that it doesn't take much persuasion... I think Kotoko and unfortunately Amane wouldn't mind the threat, they both have lives in which authority showing power isn't out of place (and maybe Haruka?). Mahiru, too, thinks it's just the way a prison guard can run their prison if they want, though she's determined her charm will keep things running pleasantly.
Kazui reaches out asap* to question the legality of the experiment, since they're allowing children to get hit, even if by other children. There's a tangle of signatures and consent from everyone involved so it's okay, but the whole thing still rubs him the wrong way. He knew the experiment was a bit shady, but he(Though, this does make his first vd kind of funny -- instead of actually talking through his theories on the prison, now it feels like he's just egging Es on to see if they'll actually hit him...)
And I really like that idea that Shidou's dad instincts kick in (or maybe it's doctor instincts)! He'd understand if it was a child trying to play the role of an intimidating adult, but the way Es is doing things, the things they're saying, it all points to something deeper going on in Es' head. I can see him sitting down with the others and Jackalope to discuss. Of course Milgram gives him very little to work with, but this still kickstarts everyone's efforts to make sure Es is also taken care of post-Milgram.
*I just realized I'm still a bit fuzzy on communication during the trials. Jackalope can definitely get information to the prisoners (most commonly the 'voices' they're supposed to be hearing based on Es' notes, but also in case of emergency changes or things). I was picturing the prisoners unable to communicate outward until the trial ends, as it builds up the feeling of isolation and imprisonment. The issue is, I feel like Jackalope would want to keep that line open in case the prisoners had questions/issues with the experiment that affected their acting. So idk if the prisoners voice these concerns about Es mid-trial or they're forced to wait. I'll get back to you on that, hm
And Yonah!!
I wasn't avoiding spoilers, I actively looked for snippets here and there, but it was this ask that finally motivated me to sit down and watch it through -- and I'm SO GLAD I DID 👀 It's really well-written and wonderfully acted!! I'm floored with the whole thing omg
I really like the idea that the Milgram team instructed Kotoko to mention Es' imperfection to rattle them a bit, but left the specifics to her. Jackalope thought she'd just make some quick comment, and does a double take when he listens in on the interrogation and realizes she has a lot to say on Es and the way Milgram is run.
Jacklope told her to be harsh with Es, and she thought that was no problem at all. She felt those opinions strongly and wasn't going to go easy on the criticism just because they were a kid. She goes into the interrogation ready to stay completely put-together... and then surprises everyone and herself when Es' distress moves her to pull them into a tight hug and tell them everything's going to be alright ;---;
#milgram#es#ill have to peek back through the material but i definitely remember es saying they dont have to worry about violence#and also openly condemning kotoko and other violent reactions#so the sudden switch would get their gears turning 👀#operation 'save es from whatever crap is going on' begins as early as t1#more in line with canon than the au but capri had a thorough post about es' attacks and stuff with physical touch -- maybe i go peek at tha#i think theres more angst if the prisoners cant communicate with Anyone during the trials -- theyre completely sealed off#but i feel like it may cause more problems than its worth... but if its just a story i can just write those logistic problems away lol...#thank you for the ask!! i also need fuel between such long breaks of content so it makes me so happy to chat about this :D#and i appreciate the little nudge to watch yonah -- i can def see why its your favorite omg#that last moment i mentioned is SO important to me -- it reveals a huge part of kotoko that i think even she doesnt fully realize ;-;#tw child abuse#yonah spoilers#lights camera sing your sins
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Shattered Glass
I have been putting zero effort into these titles lmao help me
TW for yandere, captivity, sadism, physical abuse, condescending behavior. Yandere punishments are something I'd like to write more of, so this is what that is.
You hate it when he takes off his glasses.
You don’t even know what you did wrong this time. Why is he upset? He always does the same few motions, same few things before he “disciplines” you, and you always hate it.
First, he takes off his glasses and places them calmly by his side. He always does so, never faltering once in his tradition. Is it because he doesn’t trust you not to break them when you inevitably fight back, or is it because he doesn’t want to risk them falling off of his face or getting fogged up or something similar? You don’t know, and you’d argue that you don’t want to know.
Trey slips them off of his face and tucks them in his pocket, giving you a wan smile, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly as he takes a few steps closer to where you sit on your makeshift bed in this dumb gardening shed.
His voice is neutral when he speaks, “Honey…”
That’s the other thing he does. Step two. Trey uses some pet name to refer to you, his voice betraying no emotion as he steps closer towards you. It makes you feel tense, triggers that primal fight or flight reflex into freeze. When he crouches before you and cups your chin, that thin smile falling into a disappointed frown, you do the same thing you’ve always done.
You shove him away and try to run. You would imagine after however many months you’ve been here, you would have learned your lesson on trying to fight back or get away, because it plays like it was rehearsed. You kick backwards after shoving his hands away from you, sprawling out onto the thin mat you’ve called a bed for the past three or so months before you regain your balance and swivel your body so you can run.
Trey is sweet. Trey is sweet and kind, he has this warm, brotherly personality and a generous heart. But Trey is also a sadistic asshole, which is why he always waits until you’ve taken one step, only one step away from being out of arm’s reach, to grab your ankle and yank backwards as strongly as he can.
Trey isn’t a small guy either. When he does it, every single time it plays like a twisted slapstick cartoon, with you crashing to the ground with a resounding thud, rattling the old rakes and shit in here. And every time it happens, he always makes this smug little face, especially when you start kicking at him.
“Aw, c’mon, honey, don’t do that. You’re only gonna hurt yourself.” He says it like he’s talking to a child.
When he says you’ll hurt yourself, he typically means that he is going to hurt you, but it’ll be your fault. You learned that the first time you had an “argument,” but you suppose you are lucky because he isn’t brutal. He doesn’t derive sick pleasure from the simple sight of you in pain, he derives pleasure from the broken look in your eyes when you give up for the moment.
With his hands clamped around both your ankles at this point, he smiles briefly and step three begins. He yanks you closer in one swift movement and slaps you hard across the apple of your cheek. It’s always so loud, and you imagine to an outsider you just look more like a married couple in the 50s when it happens. His hands are solid, likely as a result of kneading dough for basically his whole life. You usually have to fight back the tears after it happens, often failing miserably.
As you recover from the blow, that single, stinging blow, he pulls you up by the shoulders and leans close to your face, close enough so you can feel the breath puffing out of his nose on your face. He smiles again before step four in the punishment process occurs.
He calmly explains what you did that caused him to get upset.
“Why did you think that freshman would help you?”
It was a one in a million chance. The gardening shed you’ve been holed away in has been abandoned for a while since Heartslaybul got a much larger, much nicer one, but sometimes the freshmen get the two mixed up, especially since they’re both fairly easy to find and look near identical, the only true difference in peeling paint and other weathering.
Trey’s eyes are sharp when he asks the question. It isn’t why you asked for help, since his denial of the situation he has put you in is nonexistent, and it isn’t how could you ask for help, because he doesn’t expect you to be so irrational that you think you belong here yet. No, he wants to know what you expected would happen, why you thought that your plan would pan out.
His glasses are still tucked securely in his pocket, he’s cupping your chin, and you think you’re out of luck. Because despite all, despite him being a sweet, kind man by nature, Trey is a sadist, and he won’t stop until you break.
#twisted wonderland#disney twst#tw: dark content#tw: dark themes#tw: yandere#tw captivity#yandere#twst#yandere trey clover#yandere trey clover x reader#tw physical violence#tw abuse#tw: assault#tw kidnapping#tw unhealthy relationship#tw kidnap mention#yandere x reader#tw yandere punishment#tw punishment#tw physical abuse
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Claimed
Chapter 41 - The Calming Aftermath of Violence |La Squadra x Reader Angst|
Warning: strong language, physical abuse [implied], blood, mature themes. MA.
Prosciuttos POV
Walking into the base looked like somewhat of a crime scene, drops of blood being splahed all across the door, leading down the hallway. A hole was punched next to the wall that blocked off the kitchen, blood smeared on the side of the wall. Prosciuttos' mind immediately went to you, his heart going tight as he rushed down the hall, a sense of dread hanging over him as he pushed your cracked door open.
Illuso sat with his back against the wall, his entire right eye black as he stared across your room. Visibly, his lip was busted open and swollen, dried blood staining the side of his chin, the white t-shirt that he was wearing practically stained with splashes of red. With swiftness, his eyes locked onto Prosciuttos. "She won't come out of her closet. I fucked up and I can't get her to come out without attacking me or herself."
"Why the fuck won't she come out?" Snapped Prosciutto, heading towards the closet without any hesitation. "She did that to you?"
"Prosciutto, she's really scared," Illusos voice dropped to a whisper as Prosciutto stood in front of the closet, seconds away from opening it and dragging you out. "She didn't do anything to deserve what happened last night. It was all me."
He froze, turning his attention back towards Illuso. "Just get up and go home, take the day off, and come back tomorrow." The annoyance in his voice was thick. "I'll see what I can do."
Illuso got up slowly, his arm wrapping around his waist. "Listen, Prosciutto, mistakes happen. I love her, and you know we all kind of love her. Love makes people do crazy things." He gave Prosciutto a smile, his front tooth completely gone. "Y/N, are you listening in there? I'm not mad at you, I'm proud. You really kicked my ass, didn't you? Wanna come out here and make up, at least? Come on baby, I ain't gonna hurt you."
A scoff escaped his lips as he quickly turned away from Illuso. The love that he had for you was private and personal. It wasn't something that he was ever going to openly admit. How could Illuso just be comfortable with admitting it? How could he even still love you, given that it looks like you beat him.
As Illuso walked towards the door, he heard a loud bang, the closet door rattling as if you had punched it. "I'll stab you!" You yelled, your voice sounding hoarse, void of any strength. "Get away from me! All of you, go away!"
This was completely ridiculous, given that you were just an inexperienced child compared to them. He found this behavior extremely childish and even a little odd. Never once have you hid yourself from them. Never have you attacked and screamed threats at any of them. You do hit back, but you never go past punching. The emotions that he felt were complex. This was childish, but were you actually hurt? Why would you attack for no reason?
"She's gotta knife," he added in, "by the way. It was right up to her throat last time I tried to drag her out." He shrugged at Prosciuttos glare, limping out of your bedroom.
A hysterical woman was something tuat he hated to deal with, this was not how he wanted to spend his fucking morning. "Y/N," Prosciutto spoke, staring at the closed closet door. "You need to come out now. I will drag your ass out. You do not threaten anyone's life on this fucking team."
"I'll come out," you said weakly, light shuffling coming from the closet. "Just please don't hurt me. I'm sorry I said that, I just wanted him to leave me alone."
"Stop this nonsense," he snapped, causing the shuffling to stop. Fuck. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. "I've never hurt you before, now come out here and let me help you."
The closet door slowly pushed open, you stepping out, your arms wrapped around your waist. Your hair was a mess, hiding your face from his view. Your clothes were worse off than Illusos, a dried bloodstream staining the side of your clothes. You stayed halfway standing in the closet, your body as stiff as a board.
"Let me see you," he muttered, not being able to hide the shock in his voice at your condition. It looked as if you just got home from a very difficult mission. "Don't be scared of me, I wouldn't do this to you."
"I want to be alone," you whispered as he walked up to you. "Please just leave me alone."
A sigh escaped his lips, "Just look up at me and let me see your face." What did that bastard fucking do to you?
You raised your head, your eyes finally meeting his. As he stepped back a little he noticed that your entire throat was marked with heavy bruises, your left cheek. The right side of your head had dried blood, a clump of it dried in your hair. As he reached out to touch you, you quickly backed away, seeming to be on guard.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" He asked you, you quickly shaking your head in reply. "Goddamnit Y/N, at least tell me something."
"You'll just agree with them," you replied quickly. As he looked into your eyes, he noticed tears forming, your tears causing him to immediately feel uncomfortable. Never once had he seen you cry. "I just want to be alone, Prosciutto."
Yelling at you wouldn't solve anything. It would only scare you. This was a situation in which he had to handle delicacy. Maybe he could manipulate you into calming down, giving you a false sense that you were in control while he pulled the strings. It wasn't he place to question the other men on how they disciplined you. He kept telling himself that. Was this a punishment or something much worse? You looked as if you were strangled, and he didn't like it.
"Formaggio and Pesci will be here soon," he told you, a look a fear appearing on your face that he immediately found odd. Ignoring your discomfort, he stepped towards you, extending his arms out. "Come here, it's okay. I'm going to help you. I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, I'm going to take you to my house."
"I don't wa-"
"You'll have complete privacy until I get home at night unless you happen to run into Risotto." He wrapped his arms around your waist, quickly pulling away when you flinched. "What's wrong, hm? Show me what's hurting you so badly."
"I don't wa-"
"I'll have to strip you and examine your body if you don't show me," he told you, immediately interrupting you. "Baby, I need to see if you are hurt. Please let me help. I can make you feel better if you let me fucking help you." The aggressiveness in his tone only worsened, the anger that he felt rising. Though, this time he wasn't mad at you, he was mad at whoever beat the shit out of you. Was it actually Illuso? He wasn't stupid. You weren't telling him something.
That threat caused the tears that you were forcing away to instantly spill more rapidly. You raised your shirt, his hands instantly balling into fists as he saw a massive bruise directly in the center of your stomach.
"Illuso did that to you?" He muttered, his hands softly brushing the hair away from your neck, examining the dark bruises carefully. "Did he try to kill you?" As he examined the bruises closer, he realized how truly terrible they were, how your hair was masking the even darker bruises.
The anger that he felt boiling deep inside of him was hard to contain, his eyes not being able to leave his neck or stomach. This wasn't a punishment. This wasn't a beating. This was a murder attempt. He was no goddamn fool. It immediately crossed his mind that Illuso didn't do this. He was too calm about the entire thing, and he was in terrible condition right along with you.
"No," you replied, your eyes shifting away from his glare as you pulled your shirt down. "We hurt each other. I.. punched him first."
Right to his face, you were choosing to lie, but this was no time to correct you. The main goal was to pack your bags and get you back at his house. He'll clean you up and let you rest. No matter how disobedient you were, he never wanted to hurt you badly. He truly did care for you and if you ended up dying, he would fucking snap. A man is supposed to provide their woman with a balanced level of discipline as well as love. Punishments should always end with comfort or encouragement, not in fear.
He needed to find out the truth, and given how you don't like to tell on the other men for some reason, this will be extremely difficult. Perhaps he would call Melone or let Risotto see your condition. If he couldn't get the truth out of you, Melone or Risotto could. For now, he just needed to get you cleaned up and calmed down.
He raised your shirt slightly, shaking his head. "Did he punch you in the stomach?" This.. really made him fucking angry. What's the need to beat you like this?
"I've been stalking all of you," you muttered, "and I got caught. You would have done the same thing, so just leave me the hell alone." You shoved past him, your shoulder pushing into his.
"Watch yourself," he hissed, spinning around. "You've been stalking me?" He watched as you sat on the edge of your bed, turning your back to him as if he didn't exist. Quickly, he shook his head. "No, fuck that. I don't care right now. You're coming home with me. I will bathe you and you will rest in bed. You need to rest." Getting onto you for being a stalker was the least of his worries. It may be unprofessional and dangerous of you to follow the men, but it meant that you cared enough to watch them. A spanking and lecture would have been a fine punishment, but not a beating. He did not agree with beating you, he wanted to beat Illuso, if he was the one who did this.
"I have work to do," you immediately replied as he opened your closet. "I'm helping Melone later today. I need to call him and help him with baby face because he's hav-"
"What did I say?" He questioned, eyebrows immediately raising as he stared down at a suitcase in the middle of your closet. "I hoped you packed a lot. You're going to be staying with me for a while."
You looked over at him, tilting your head to the side a little. Even in your roughed up state, he found you attractive, the love that he had for you melting away any physical imperfections that you had. In his eyes, you were always physically perfect. "Will you help me hide this from the others?"
"I'm not hiding this from Risotto." Prosciutto leaned down, grabbing your suitcase and snatching it off the closet floor. "Whatever you tell the others is on you, but it is not good to lie. You and Illuso are both lying. If I can tell, then so can everyone else."
As he heard your footsteps approaching him, he turned around, eyes watching you carefully. The condition that you were in made him wary, and he was close to taking you to a hospital. He would examine you at his home and make a decision.
"I'm sorry, Prosciutto," you replied softly, his eyebrows raising in surprise at your apology. "And I've been stalking you a lot, and I noticed that you aren't cheating or doing anything wrong."
"Don't stalk me anymore," he snapped, his arm wrapping around your waist as he led you out of your room and down the hall. "Because of your condition, I'll let it slide, but cut it out. And you better not be stalking Risotto. He is your capo, and you do not watch him." How did he not notice you watching him? He will have to corner you about it when you are healed.
"Okay," you replied, "I'm sorry." You apologizing was was, but hearing you do it a second time was shocking. He had to beat an apology out of you before, and even then, you wouldn't apologize. "Where are we going?"
"My house," he replied, confused. Didn't he already tell you that? "Did you sleep at all last night, or did you stay in that closet all night?" He got silence as a reply, a sigh escaping his lips as he led you to his car.
#tw abuse mention#tw abuse#tw threats#tw blood#tw beating#tw wounds#tw physical harm#tw physical violence#tw everything#ravenzeppeli#jojos bizarre adventure#jjba#la squadra#tw strong language#tw adult themes#tw language#tw mature#la squadra claimed#claimed la squadra#ravenzeppeli claimed#jojos bizzare adventure vento aureo#jjba vento auero#part 5 vento aureo#tw emotional abuse#tw unhealthy relationship#tw fighting#tw stalking
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do you ever experience a wild moment of sudden empathy for everyone in the world. like yeah i knew a guy who bullied people a lot, and who i really used to hate, but then i found out he got beaten by his stepdad and watched his sister die a horrible and graphic death first-hand, and suddenly the hate didn't come so easy. yeah i knew a girl who abused me for the better half of my life, but looking back, she also definitely had no one in the world who loved her, including her own family. my issues with her are a lot more personal, but i just don't have it in me to really loathe her the way i once did. i've never had a good relationship with my father, but he never had a parent worth looking up to. and i'm not saying any of that trauma excuses being a horrible human being, and i'm not saying you have to forgive everyone who ever wronged you, or even really that you should.
but i guess i'm saying maybe i forgive the people who wronged me.
#dear diary#diary#diary entry#digital diary#girlblogging#coquette girl#female insanity#femcore#gaslight gatekeep girlblog#gaslight gatekeep girlboss#tw abuse mention#tw abuse#tw child abuse#tw child death#tw childhood trauma#tw family issues#tw child neglect#tw child loss#tw child harm#tw child abandonment#tw physical abuse#tw physical violence#tw physical harm#tw emotional abuse#tw psychological abuse#tw bullying#cw bullying
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Seriously though I think a good fight before fucking might fix me. Been slapped before, definitely liked that. Love wrestling anyway because it’s fun (not that I’m good at it lmao). Would like to see what being kicked in the ribs is like, that’s a longtime fantasy. These cvts on my leg hurt real nice sometimes…I dunno. And I know I like to hvrt partners who enjoy the pa!n. I just think it would be fun to have some mutual (consensual, obviously!) sadomasochism is all.
#reliquaryofflesh#the reverend speaks#ftm nsft#ftm k1nk#blo0d kink#blood k!nk#tw sadism#tw violence#tw violent imagery#tw violent language#tw physical violence#tw physical harm#t4t k1nk#t4t bd/sm#t4t ns/fw#tw sh mention#bd/sm k1nk#ftm bd/sm#bd/sm kink#bd/sm sadist#bd/sm masochist#look all I’m saying is the guys in fight club look like they had a really nice time#they should have fucked tbh (no doubt plenty of fics fixed that lmao)#I’m so normal you guys hehehe#probably unnecessary censorship but eh#the reverend’s consort
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tw - blood, biting, scratching, angst, mention of death, the reader is hurt and angry, but also still very much in love. woo !!
imagine seeing geto again for the first time after he left jujutsu tech.
the anger and resentment. the raw ache.
you curl your lip at him, snarling like a rabid dog as tears fill your eyes, mouth opening to gasp out “why?”
the why being an all-encompassing term.
Why did you leave?
Why did you do what you did?
Why are you standing here now?
He’d hold you as you thrash. Scream after scream. Wail after wail. He’d hold you. It didn’t matter if you pulled at his hair or scratched deep red marks into his arms and neck that burned blood into his skin.
He’d take all the anger you’d throw at him with grace, with love. He’ll soothe as if you were a frightened animal, blind sided by pure survival instinct. To claw, to bite, to dig into flesh until blood pools.
An animal can only do so much howling, until it’s vocal cords are fried and their only left shaking in the predators maw. You clutch his robes for stability, dried blood cracking under your fingernails.
The smell of familiarity hangs heavy in your nose and mouth. You huff in mouthfuls, hungry for comfort instead of bloodshed. You press your face into his chest, nuzzling into the fabric there as you try and listen for a heartbeat, besides the one ringing in your ears.
He leans down, nosing your hairline. You feel him breathe in deeply, his exhale tickling your eyelashes and the fuzz on your cheeks. He presses a hand to your nape, squeezing the skin there gently. Your eyes close.
You find yourself hoping he kills you.
#the reader is ANGRY !! RAHH !!#this was fun to explore#I liked exploring the narrative that love can really hurt someone.#physically and emotionally#geto loves to coddle and soothe#even when you’re being difficult and just need to expel some energy#he’ll be there to help you cry all the pain out <3#even though he was the one who caused it whoops#he is NOT a healthy individual !!!!#but I love him for it so it’s okay#geto x reader#getou x reader#jjk x reader#tw blood#tw violence#tw angst#tw mention of death
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Toby is upset.
Toby will talk about this. (Toby receive help making post by other alter.) User u/SpecialNeedsDevil
TW: abandonment, ableist language, sibling abuse, and lot hate words.
Please read link before post so understand what Toby talking about.
The word, the situation talk about in post make Toby very upset, very uncomfortable.
Toby does not blame mother for putting son in residential, but DOES despise her for using hurt and mean word to call son. She call him "potato" call him "THING" CALL HIM "MALIGNANT LUMP"!!! He is person too, maybe he not respond, communicate, or do much but he is person.
Would not call person on street "potato" or "thing", why call SON those words?!
She says she watched while older son HIT younger, and yell how much hates him. SHE WATCH HIM HIT!!
She say many many times how not love him, how not family, how never will be person. That CRUEL! CRUEL!!
There is big big difference between putting disabled in residential to help, to make quality life better, and doing out of HATE HATE and not seeing disabled person as human!
Comments also very very horrible. Comments talk how kids like son SHOULDN'T BE ALIVE!
Toby scared, Toby wish disabled get more respect.. wish not hate.
#trigger warning#tw abandonment#tw abuse#tw physical violence#tw ableist language#tw ableism#disabled#profoundly disabled#ableism#actually disabled#long post#reddit#down syndrome#eugenics cw#eugenics mention#disability rights#residential
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Day 6: Decapitation
(Disclaimer: none of the characters in this story belong to me. Janus, Remus, and any other mentioned Sides are the property of Thomas Sanders)
(Trigger Warnings: blades, slight physical violence, body horror, blood, acidic chemicals, skin-melting, snakes, slight mentions of food/drink, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)
Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13
As fluid as the Mind Palace typically was, two things always remained constant.
1. Tampering with Logan’s jars of Crofters in any way, shape, or form would result in truly devastating consequences.
2. Out of all the Sides, Janus was the best at corralling Remus. (Well, Logan was somewhat a close second, considering the information above. The Jam And/or Jelly Incident of 2019 had been the very first case of Remus actually learning his lesson.)
This was one of many things that Janus got to be smug about. . .as well as one of few things that he could be genuine about. Sure, Remus grated his nerves like no other at least sixty-nine percent of the time, but he’d had more than enough time to make the friendship between them strong and worthwhile and real. Hell, by now Janus would potentially wager that he knew Remus better than Remus knew himself.
Potentially.
It was now Autumn both inside and outside of Thomas’ brain, which meant Spooky SeasonTM was officially upon the Sides.
Now, while all the Sides appreciated Spooky SeasonTM, none of them could appreciate it quite like Remus. Mainly because this particular month gave him an actual excuse to take his horrific shenanigans and, on a scale from one to ten, crank them all the way up to OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT THING WHY DOES IT HAVE EYES WHERE THE MOUTH SHOULD BE AND MOUTHS WHERE THE EYES SHOULD BE—?!
Janus had been working in his garden (the secondary space off of his bedroom), making sure the pumpkins he’d been growing were good and ripe. There were twelve large gourds in this year’s harvest: enough for each Side to carve two of their own jack-o-lanterns. He’d also raised a few smaller-scale pumpkins that would meet their fates as a pie, a loaf of bread, and a batch of cookies.
He still had his ulterior motives, mind you. He figured this gesture would keep everyone busy for a while so he could focus on some dreadfully cunning schemes. . .plus enjoy some wine and binge his Addams Family collection without disturbance.
(As clever and devious as Janus was, this idea that a holiday tradition somehow wouldn’t end in chaos proved that while he did hold many of the brain cells in this operation, his grip on aforementioned brain cells occasionally wasn’t the firmest.)
Janus had just cut the last of his vegetable-masquerading fruit from its vine with a pair of pruning shears. He’d been in the middle of hefting it up, about to turn and place in his yard cart with the others when he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps stampeding closer and closer and—
Even before he’d discovered a flash of green and black in his peripheral vision, he’d braced himself. He tried to pull off a graceful sidestep that would’ve made Bugs Bunny proud.
But it was still too late.
He felt foreign weight slam into his side.
He saw a metallic blur glinting, swinging right for his throat.
He heard a whooshing Snicker-Snack! which was accompanied by a sickening cRrrck-pop!
And then he was airborn with what seemed to be a lot more vertigo than usual for simply losing balance. An instinctual squawk barged its way through his lips as his face met the ground, trademark bowler hat flying off due to the impact.
“Heads up, Janny!” A familiar voice squealed, maniacal laughter somehow not drowning out Janus’ sigh.
“Right, because it just doesn’t make any sense to call out a warning before you take action.”
“Exactly!” Remus agreed, his mustachioed figure entering Janus’ field of vision, hefting a bloody axe over one shoulder.
The blood in question was a deep shade of gold, glowing and letting off a bit of steam. It wasn’t real blood, of course, as Janus wasn’t a corporeal person. That was why he didn’t feel any true pain from whatever Remus had just done to him. He and the other Sides could still feel pain, but it was just. . .a very different type from the human pains that Thomas could feel.
“What’s your game today?” Janus asked, using the supremely uninterested tone of voice he always used when trying to play off a slight. “Have you already gotten bored with trying to catch Logan off guard?” He knew it was pointless to ask why Remus had singled him out. Since the first day of October, The Duke had been selecting the other Sides at random to be the victims of his Halloween escapades. He’d already pulled a staggering amount of pranks on the Lights, so perhaps he’d decided to take a break and target his fellow Darks for a bit.
“Oh, no-no-no,” Remus replied with a shake of his head. “Logan’s on my schedule three days from now.”
Janus raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care for schedules?”
Remus raised an eyebrow right back. “Uh, since I learned about the Goretober tradition online? Duh!”
“. . .Ah, that’s right. That was the first thing you saw once you found a way to Tumblr.” Janus nearly cringed at the memories, but he wouldn’t let his mask of casual nefariousness slip. Especially since it was threatening to slip away as he tried to right himself and. . .failed.
It took everything he had to not let his mouth drop open in shock at the realization that he couldn’t completely feel his arms.
Or his legs.
Or his everything else.
In fact, it seemed the only things he could truly feel were all above the neck.
Janus glanced back at Remus, annoyed to discover that the latter had most certainly seen the brief shock that had just manifested in his eyes.
“Remusssss,” Janus hissed, narrowing his eyes to a dangerous extent. “What the hell have you done?”
Remus tilted his head with a smirk. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“If it was obvious, then I wouldn’t have asked.”
“. . .Meh, fair point.” Remus shrugged, then tossed his axe onto the ground before cupping his chin in thought. “Well, I suppose I could just tell you. . .but we all know I’m all about visual stuff, so. . !”
“What are you—HEY!” Janus bared his teeth, snarling as Remus reached for his face. He immediately tried to twist away, but he just couldn’t feel any movement. “No! NO! REMUS, GET YOUR GRIMEY HANDS OFF ME BEFORE I—!”
Janus cut himself off as Remus hefted him up, all but cradling his lower jaw. He was still greatly concerned about A. all the things Remus could’ve potentially touched before this, and B. what he’d have to wash his face with to make sure both his skin and scales were properly cleaned.
But that concern took a brief backseat to shock as Janus realized. . .his torso wasn’t brushing against Remus’. It should’ve been, considering how he was being held, but it just wasn’t. He glanced downward, but all he could see were Remus’ arms.
“Before you what, exactly?” Remus inquired, grinning and batting his eyelashes with snide glee.
Janus felt his brow furrow. He made to experimentally raise one arm.
He felt the movement from his shoulder and near his side.
But the limb in question never came into view.
He then let his arm drop, and felt it lightly collapse against the ground.
Remus must’ve seen his cohort putting all the pieces together, because he chuckled and maneuvered his hands in order for Janus to see. . .well, Janus. It wasn’t unlike all the times Janus had hovered before the vanity mirror in his room to fix himself up for his outings. The only difference was the veil of golden smoke billowing into the air from his freshly-opened neck. More of the glowing, metaphysical blood tried to ooze out, but now that Janus had finally seen the damage for himself, he was able to will said blood back where it belonged before it could stain his cloak.
“Well,” Janus pronounced rather casually for a man who was looking at his own decapitated body. “I’ve seen you do much worse.”
Remus hummed proudly. “The Dragon Witch was too busy hunting to come do a performance-battle with me. I was really disappointed at first, but then I remembered you talking about the pumpkins, so. . .yeah!”
Janus hummed in thought, watching as his body picked itself up and dusted the dirt away from his outfit. It then stooped down to collect Janus’ hat, which it silently twirled about its index finger as it came to stand before Remus. Janus’ free hand then outstretched in an expectant manner. “Do you mind. . ?”
“Oh, sure.” Remus handed Janus’ head back to his body with a flourish.
“Thank you.” Janus nodded(?) once his hat was returned to its proper place. His arm ever-so-slightly raised him up, letting him make eye-contact with the other Side. “Say, Remus. Did you know a snake's head can still bite long after it’s been severed and the main body has died?”
“Indeed I did! Same thing goes for wild boars, too! Why do you aaAUGH!” Remus failed to duck-and-cover fast enough as Janus opened his mouth wide, allowing two streams of venom to spray from his extended fangs. Aforementioned venom spattered against Remus’ face, hissing and bubbling as it immediately began eating into his skin.
Janus closed his mouth, a devilish smirk quickly etching its way across his features as he watched Remus fall to the ground, writhing and screaming. “How the hell were you not expecting that? You were the one who suggested I make my venom acidic.”
“Oh, I expected it alright,” Remus protested, voice keening even more than usual as he choked on air. “Figured it’d make us even, y’know?”
Janus snorted. “How polite of you.” He carefully moved his head backward, then lowered it onto his neck. This stopped the majority of the yellow smoke from pouring, though a few columns still managed to slip out between the new wound. Janus held his noggin in place, patiently waiting for his skin and bones to knit themselves back together like they always did whenever he was injured.
It took a good ten seconds or so for him to realize that the typical healing process was taking much longer than usual.
Janus felt his face fall—then he felt it twist into a scowl yet again as he heard Remus’ cries of pain transition into his usual giggles.
“W-What’s going on?” Janus blurted. “Why isn’t—?!”
“Relax, my dear Danger Noodle. It’s not permanent,” Remus interjected. He shakily got to his feet to face Janus once more. By now, Janus’ venom had stopped bubbling, but the flesh of his face was still very much a melting, oozing, hideous mess. His left eye was now completely out of proportion; its socket was sagging down to nearly touch the corner of his mouth. Meanwhile, his right jawbone had been partially revealed, bloody and glistening in the light. “You’ll get to heal that little cut by the stroke of one forty-five a.m.”
Janus’ mouth sporadically opened and closed with no words coming out; a concoction of shock, rage, and confusion clambered about his face as he stared at Remus.
Remus simply waved the glower off, folding his arms across his chest. “Ah, c’mon. Having to manually carry your head around until the wee hours can’t be that hard. In fact, you should really be thanking me.”
“THANKING YOU?!” Janus seethed as he began pacing in a small, angry circle. He would’ve thrown his hands up in anger, but he didn’t particularly want to taste his garden’s soil again.
“Yes! As I am to you!” Remus sliding up to Janus, reaching out to shake hands with his free arm. “Because now we’ve both got some kick-ass costumes for today! Don’t get me wrong, it’s really damn impressive what some artists can do with special effects makeup, but look at us! We’ve got the real deal, motherfuUUUUAAAH DAMN IT!”
Remus collapsed onto his knees as the second spritz of Janus’ venom disintegrated even more of his flesh.
Janus’ forked tongue flicked between his gritted fangs like a macabre party favor. His free hand reached under the brim of his hat to massage his temple as he mentally began counting to ten.
“A-ah. . .hey, look at that! Y-you made my costume even more authentic,” Remus wheezed, offering a thumbs up as his right eye started to dribble. “Go team!”
___
About an hour passed, and Janus found himself in the Mind Palace’s dining room. He sat at the end of the table, carefully outlining a design on the pumpkin of his choice with a black marker.
(Or, his body was doing all that, to be more precise. His head was merely watching, resting on a small silk pillow he’d brought from his bedroom.)
The other fruits of his harvest were all gathered opposite of his seat, patiently waiting for Janus’ peers to hollow them out and give them faces.
Speaking of which. . .
“We’re baaaaack!” Roman’s voice called out, musical as ever and accentuated by several footsteps entering the kitchen from the back door.
“I hope we’re not late,” Patton’s bubbly tone followed, sounding a bit more strained than usual. The sound of way too many shopping bags being plunked onto countertops throughout the kitchen explained that pretty well.
“Drat,” Janus greeted in a somewhat raised voice, not taking his eyes off of his jack-o-lantern-in-progress. “I really thought you’d gone to get some more milk this time.”
“I did!” Patton reassured. He was still in the kitchen, so there was no way to be certain if he truly understood that little jab. “We’ll be whipping up a fresh batch of cookies soon, after all! I may be a laid-back dad. . .” Patton’s giggles suddenly halted, and his voice became low, “. . .but I will NOT tolerate any treat-blasphemy in this household.”
“I’m trembling in my boots,” Janus yawned, trying to ignore the tiny chill that crept along his spine. “The sugar-pumpkins you requested are ready.”
“Hmm? Oh yeah, I see them!” Patton cheered. “They’re just adorable!”
“Puh-leeze, Padre. The only adorable fruit in here is you!” Roman, also having yet to be seen, chuckled. “Because I’m the handsome fruit, obviously.”
More footsteps began trekking along the floor, quickly getting closer and closer to the dining room. Janus had to bite his tongue to avoid chuckling once he saw the sleeve of Patton’s cat-hoodie poke around the kitchen doorway
“Thank you so much for growing these guys, Janus! You’ve helped me to really give everyone pumpkin to talk aboouu. . .” Patton trailed off, the way his eyes were growing to the size of dinner plates suddenly evident in his voice.
For dramatic effect, Janus waited until he heard the telltale sound of a body staggering against the adjacent wall and hitting the floor with a light thud before finally acknowledging the other Side. He smiled, offering a polite nod(?).
Patton, in response, somehow managed to nod back even as he sat trembling and gaping. “J-J-Janus. . ?”
“P-P-Patton?” Janus echoed, tilting his head to the side and putting on a mask of innocent confusion.
"Are—are you. . ." Patton fumbled over his words. ". . .okay?"
"Maybe, maybe not. That just depends on perspective." Janus quirked a cryptic eyebrow. He knew Patton understood how beings like themselves couldn't truly be harmed or killed by physical means like this (despite all that fluff between his ears), but the latter Side still definitely wasn't used to seeing his peers going about their typical business post-decapitation. "Come now, don't look so shocked. I have mentioned wanting to stay ahead of you all several times in the past."
An uncertain giggle wormed its way out of Patton's mouth as the wordplay graced his ears. He still looked a bit green around the gills, but it seemed his nerves were calming back down.
After all, a beheaded person who could still talk and move and make puns (probably) made for much better company than a beheaded person who would just conform to Rigor Mortis and bleed out all over the carpet.
“Hey, Patton? Where did you want the—” Roman called, his shadow crossing the floor as he, too, began to approach. “Whatever are you doing on the floor? It looks you’ve seen a ghAUGH!"
“Hello to you, too, Roman.” Janus’ hand briefly put the marker down in order to tip his hat to the aforementioned prince.
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF TRIXIE MATTEL HAPPENED TO YOU?!”
Janus raised a hand, letting it hover before his mouth in a mock-gasp. “Really, now? Using her majesty’s title in vain? I would’ve expected better from you!” He then rolled his eyes as his body went back to work on his pumpkin. “It’s just a scratch, really.”
“A scratch?!” Roman cried, venturing a few steps closer. “Your head is off!”
Janus smirked, eyes glinting mischievously. “No it isn’t.”
Roman sputtered, pointing at Janus’ neck. “Well, what’s that, then?!”
Janus tossed a glance at his body. The golden smoke was still rising from the hole where his head should’ve been. He could’ve made it stop entirely, but he’d decided against that, since it was a truly interesting sight once you got past the fact that blood should’ve been gushing out.
“. . .I’ve had worse.”
“Is the unnecessary confrontation already beginning?” The voice that echoed from somewhere by the living room sounded calm and steady at first, if not clipped. If you listened closely, however, you’d be able to tell that the speaker was simply holding back on some extremely warranted aggravation with the power of Crofters jam and well-intentioned vibes. “I was certain the inevitable catastrophe would come after the pumpkins' insides were cleaned.”
Logan came strolling down the staircase, and though he did do a near-neck-snapping double-take upon seeing Janus in a much more beheaded state than usual, he took his shock with much more stride than the others. “Salutations, Janus. Are you. . .well?”
“Now that you mention it, my neck is feeling a little numb,” Janus replied, making sure that he still looked and sounded supremely unbothered by his headlessness.
Logan ever-so-slightly raised his eyebrows, some undeniable curiosity glinting in his eyes. “I’m assuming Remus had something to do with this?”
Janus pursed his lips. “What gave you that impression? The way he was sing-shouting something along the lines of how I should’ve let him carry my head as he ‘properly galumphed’ back into the commons?”
“Correct."
“Ah, so you haven’t gone deaf yet. I suppose that’s good to know.”
Logan quietly moved closer to the table, standing on the opposite side of Roman, who was still murmur-rambling in shock for all he was worth. “May I ask what prompted him to—”
“Really, what’s the point if you haven’t guessed by now?” Janus tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsked, raising one hand to wag a finger in Logan’s direction. “In any case, it’s not important.”
“I’m inclined to disagree!” Roman protested.
“Why haven’t you reversed the damage by now?” Logan wondered aloud. “Having to carry your own head can’t be a very pleasant experience.”
“Oh, you’d be so surprised,” Janus drawled, his body offering a shrug. “I’m sure I’ve proven how much I adore the odd challenge or two. Would you believe me if I said that I sought out Remus and requested this?”
Logan’s face was quick to fall back into its usual no-nonsense mask. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Right, right. Just as I wouldn’t be more focused on keeping an eye out for the plans Remus might have for later this week.”
Logan squinted at this particular statement, just barely tipping his head in a nod as his eyes darted all around the room in thought. He then set his focus on the available pumpkins nearby, scanning the pile to see which one would be worthy of his carving.
“W-well. . .I mean, it sounds like there’s gourd vibes all around.” Patton cleared his throat, finally back on his feet. He flashed a nervous-yet-genuine smile over to Janus, who responded with a smug chortle at the pun. “But the pumpkin-flavored everything isn’t gonna make itself, so, I guess I’d better get to it!” He turned on his heel, retreating back into the kitchen. “You kiddos have fun with the jack-o-lanterns! Just call me if you need anything!”
Roman finally picked his jaw up off the floor and sat down on the chair he’d had in a white-knuckled grip since the beginning of the situation. He heaved his seventh dramatic sigh of the day, side-eyeing Janus.
“Couldn’t you at least. . .do something? With the stump?” The prince attempted to huff a laugh. “You’re supposed to be all about mystery, aren’t you?”
“Is that what I am?” Janus mused, angling his head in a way that allowed his eyes to be shaded while his scales caught the light. “Well, this may come as a shock, but I’ve been trying to work on my pumpkin for that exact purpose.” Something sinister crept into his casual facade. “But, if you’d rather I try something else. . .”
Janus’ body raised at arm, first to drum his fingers against his throat before snapping those same fingers twice.
The golden smoke seemed to pause. It then grew darker and thicker, splitting itself down the middle to create two columns. And as those columns began to twist and ripple in place, their particles took on a much more organic shine.
Twin bone-rattling hisses crept into the air as row after row of scales spiraled throughout the vapor.
Two pairs of haunting, slit-pupiled eyes blinked to life, automatically scrutinizing the area.
A matching set of sinuous skeletons flickered within the glow in a way that could reasonably be compared to an x-ray.
And just like that, within less of a minute, Janus suddenly had a new head.
Well, he technically had three heads now, but who was counting?
Certainly not Roman, who fell out of his chair with a shriek as the duo of huge, ethereal snakes now protruding from Janus’ neck tried to slither closer to him.
“How’s this look?” Janus asked, not batting an eyelid. “Do you think their scales compliment mine?”
“I think yOU SHOULD LEARN TO TAKE A DAMN JOKE!” Roman cried, shielding his face. “JUST GO BACK TO THE SLEEPY HOLLOW REFERENCE! IT SUITS YOU!”
“Splendid idea, Roman,” Janus simpered. With a couple more snaps of his fingers, the ghostly serpents evaporated, spiraling out of existence layer by layer. “It’s almost like I was trying to do that in the first place.”
“. . .That was an exceptional reference to Coatlicue,” Logan pronounced, with the intrigue in his eyes being a little more than mild.
“Of course it was,” Janus purred, somehow being smug and grateful at the same time.
“Co-How-Do-You-Say?” Patton, piped up. He was poking his head through the kitchen doorway yet again, probably having been lured back by the new commotion and (judging by the cocktail of confusion and fright on his face) was now most certainly questioning several of his choices.
As Logan began rattling off the basics of Aztec mythology, Roman climbed back onto his selected chair with a few petulant grumbles that might’ve been more colorful if not for Patton’s re-entry. He was quiet for the next moment or two, reaching across the table to drag a particular pumpkin closer.
“So. After we’re all done with putting the hollow in Halloween. . .” he eventually coughed. “. . .I don’t suppose you’d be up for a little chase-and-duel on horseback later tonight? I just organized a new little forest in the imagination. With a brook and a bridge, of course.”
Janus mulled this information over as he took a tiny saw into his hand and pushed it toward his chosen pumpkin. “I might be able to make some room in my planner.”
@sammys-magical-au @lickoutyourbrains @impatentpending @fangirltothefullest
#the thirteen days of goretober#goretober 2023#my writing#my stories#sanders sides#janus sanders#remus sanders#roman sanders#logan sanders#patton sanders#tw body horror#tw blades#tw physical violence#tw acidic chemicals#tw skin melting#tw blood#tw snakes#tw mentions of food
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My partners and I all beat up Greg Abbott (gov. of Texas) in a donut shop parking lot and the entire time I was really anxious about the line getting too long.
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Idea : whumpee who is always joyous and kind to others despite never receiving kindness themselves
Hello @lockedwith-care that is a great idea! Please enjoy! And please ask for anything you would like to see written or more of!
Warnings: degradation, emotional abuse, mention of suicidal ideation, physical abuse, bruises, burns, domestic violence
Whumpee pulled the sleeves of their sweater lower, making sure the cigarette burns on their forearms weren't visible. They checked their make up in the bathroom mirror. Whumpee had spent a good portion of their morning trying to cover up the bruises on their face and their black eye. It looked like the make up was holding up. They sighed, their bone-weary exhaustion filling them along with the unspeakable sadness.
Whumpee was trapped with Whumper. Every time Whumpee plucked up the courage to try and leave, Whumper would threaten to kill themself and Whumpee felt guilty and would stay. Would stay despite how much Whumper hit them. Would stay despite how Whumper would extinguish their cigarettes on Whumpee's arm. And would stay despite wanting desperately to be free.
"You are mine forever, Whumpee. You're not going anywhere. Who would want a stupid, ugly slut like you?" Whumper had sneered that morning before slamming the door closed.
Whumpee had taken a moment to cry because Whumper was right. No one would want them. They were trapped. Forever. After allowing themself a five minute pity party, Whumpee knew they had to get up and get ready for work.
As Whumpee washed their hands, shaking the image of their perfectly made up face from their mirror, they plastered on their best customer service smile. "No one will ever know," they muttered as they left the bathroom.
"Whumpee! What took you so long, we're swamped!" Coworker shouted as Whumpee returned.
"Sorry, Coworker, won't happen again." Whumpee's smile dropped a little as they ducked their head.
"It better not, get your butt up here now!"
#serickswrites#whump#whumpblr#whump writing#whump community#tw degradation#tw emotional abuse#tw mention of suicidal ideation#tw physical abuse#tw bruises#tw burns#requests#queue#tw domestic violence
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