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sortofanobsession · 11 months

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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."

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ichverdurstehier · 3 months

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It is really very annoying that "brain damaged" "retarded" and the like are used as insults. I am trying to find Tumblr blogs from people who have brain damage or traumatic brain injury, but when I search for it on Tumblr, I get people insulting each other.

Also yes I'm aware that retard is technically a slur, but it's a medical diagnosis as well, and I am writing a character. (R word is not seen as okay in universe)

Etc

Tldr pls stop using "brain damaged" "retarded" and related terms as insults. These are real medical diagnosises and I do not appreciate you clogging the tags

#brain injury #r word #r slur #r slur mention #r slur tw #r slur cw #traumatic brain injury #brain damage #head injury #writing help #writing resources #writing reference #rant #personal rant #mini rant #rant post #vent post #ableism

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raceweek · 2 years

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“I’d love to speak to my team and see if I can release some of the data of the forces we’re experiencing through the car, we’re going 200mph down the straight the car is smashing against the floor.”

“I think some people forget that there’s a human being within this beast, within this machine.”

#im very glad he’s taking it so seriously and i hope the fia and f1 get pressed on this #george russell #barcelona 2022 #tw injury mention #tw head trauma #im not sure what tw’s so please ask to tag

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actress4him · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023 - Day 1 - Querencia

This is the next chapter of Querencia, directly following Park Day!

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @inky-whump , @painful-pooch , @pigeonwhumps , @bookworm2107

Previous | Next | Masterlist

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Contains: dude whump, lady whump, team whump, superheroes and villains, head injuries, unconsciousness, kidnapping, restraints, noncon drugging, referenced homelessness, implied torture, death mention

Liliana is first aware of a sharp headache in her temple. Waking up with a headache is hardly unusual, she’s used to sleeping on asphalt and hard-packed dirt with not enough food or water in her system. But something in her gut is screaming wrong, something that makes her open her eyes instead of rolling over and trying to go back to sleep past the pain like usual.

She’s not in an alleyway. She’s also not in her new room at the warehouse. She doesn’t know where she is, which has her immediately sitting up, though she regrets it when her head pounds and the unfamiliar room sways around her. Squeezing her eyes shut again, she puts a hand to the side of her head and waits for everything to settle.

“Lili! You’re awake! Are you okay?”

Blinking, she looks for the source of the voice. It’s Nari, sitting a few feet away with Jamil, a smear of dried blood across her upper lip. And Alex…he’s lying nearby, and looks like he’s asleep. Or…unconscious? She refuses to think of the third option.

“I’m…I’m okay, just…” She pulls her hand down into her lap quickly. “H-headache. What, what happened? Where are we, i-i-is…is A-alex okay?”

“He’s unconscious,” Jamil responds, looking over at him anxiously. “Like you were. Hopefully he’ll wake up soon.”

“We’re not really sure what happened.” Nari shifts, and Liliana’s eyes are drawn to the handcuffs linking her right wrist to the chain link that makes up one wall of the ‘room’ they’re in. Something about that isn’t right, but her mind is swirling too much to pinpoint what it is yet. “Um…last we remember was being in the car and…hitting something, maybe? And swerving off the road. Then we woke up here.”

Right. The car wreck, she remembers that now. “I-I-I think…I think I h-heard people…talking. I don’t, um, don’t remember w-what they said.”

“Well, we all know that we make enemies in our line of work.” Nari drops her voice low, as if someone might be listening. “And this has to be about that. But…the question is, how did they know it was us?”

“I told you, it has to be Luna.” Jamil doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds small, and scared, like he did right after waking up from being mind controlled. “We knew she was going to pull something like this sooner or later.”

Liliana’s eyes dart around the room, trying to decide what type of building they’re in, even though she’s sure Nari and Jamil have gone over all those possibilities already. It seems like a storage area of some kind, though the part they’re in has been cleared out. The walls are concrete block, other than the one that’s chain link fence with a door in the center. Through the fencing she can see stacks of boxes, and maybe another area like the one they’re in, too. It’s hard to tell for sure in the dim lighting.

“W-wait, where’s…?” She twists, looking behind her, making sure she hasn’t missed him somewhere. Her ribs twinge, even more of them sore now than the one she’d healed. “Where’s Quinn?”

The expressions that come over both Nari and Jamil’s faces put an immediate knot in her stomach. They don’t get a chance to answer, though, because it’s at that moment that Alex groans and begins to stir. He’s handcuffed to the fencing, too, and so is Jamil. She’s the only one not restrained. Maybe they figured she didn’t look like a threat. They’d be right about that.

“Alex, dude! You had me worried, are you okay?”

Nari nudges Jamil with her elbow. “Give him a second to wake up, Jay.”

Groaning again, Alex scrubs at his stubbled face with his free hand. “Man, my head. I must have gotten hit with something big.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Letting his arm flop back to the ground, he picks up his head and squints at Nari. “Three.”

She nods and drops her own hand. “Yep. You’ll be okay. Just take it easy for now.”

“Um…” Alex rolls his head from side to side and tugs at his restraints a little. “Why are we in a dungeon and why am I handcuffed?”

Jamil lifts his shoulders up toward his ears. “We…got kidnapped?”

“What? How did somebody manage that?” He’s still pulling at his trapped wrist. “Wait, better question, why can’t I break the handcuffs?”

“Same reason I can’t.” Nari jingles her own set with a frustrated huff, and it finally clicks with Liliana why her being restrained felt so weird. They’re made of metal. Nari should be able to bend those to her will with little thought or effort.

“They’ve apparently done something to our powers,” Jamil explains. “I can’t replicate or anything, either. I don’t know if it’s something in the room, or if they drugged us, or what.”

“Great.”

Nari turns a thoughtful look on her. “If it’s drugs, I wonder if they gave it to you, too, Lili. I mean��most people don’t even know that you’re a part of the team, much less what you do.”

“Luna knows,” Jamil mumbles.

“I could, um…I c-could try healing someone? Alex’s head, m-maybe?”

“Guys!” Everyone’s attention turns back to Alex. “Where’s Quinn?”

Those same expressions are back. Jamil runs his free hand nervously through his curls, and Nari stares down at her lap. Liliana automatically starts fidgeting with her gloves without even knowing what’s going on.

“We don’t know.” Nari’s voice is never that quiet and unsure. “He, um…he wasn’t here when we woke up. We haven’t seen or heard anything about him.”

Everything falls silent. The severity and terror of the situation is finally sinking in for Liliana, making her stomach churn.

Is he hurt? Is he dead? Are they doing something horrible to him right this very second? Who are these people, and what do they want from them? And how are they going to get out of here if none of the heroes can use their powers?

“I’m…I’m sure he’s okay,” Nari begins tentatively. “He’s…the leader, they probably…just…”

A loud, strangled scream tears down the hallway and echoes through the room.

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petrifiedcrange · 6 months

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Jim is trembling as they watch Izzy, watch him bleed out ( this was not supposed to happen, they were all supposed to get back to the ship together, safe and sound, and yes, the odds of Stede's plan going well and none of them being hurt were long but then again that kind of thing usually happened on this ship, with this crew, they always made it through to fight and laugh another day, together... why isn't it happening now, why is Izzy bleeding out on the deck, growing more and more alarmingly pale with each passing moment? ), watch him apparently say his goodbyes, watch him give up, and they are not sure if they're trembling from shock, adrenaline, grief or anger, most likely the mix of all four, but they sure as hell are not going to just stand there and accept Izzy's death as inevitable, not when he is still breathing.

They already kept him alive when it didn't seem possible, when Ed Blackbeard shot his leg off, and they are gonna do everything in their power and more to keep him alive now, because losing him is not an option. Period.

They move forward before they even make the conscious decision to do so, blinking back tears to focus on what needs to be done.

❝ Save your speech for another day, idiota, you are not going anywhere, ❞ they say, a bit matter-of-factly, a bit angry, because why on God's green Earth is the most stubborn, most determined man they've ever known is suddenly giving up the fight is beyond them, as they kneel beside him and Ed, pulling their own borrowed naval coat off to press against his wound hard enough to slow the bleeding, hard enough to hurt, and look up at the others, all gathered around and frozen with tears in their eyes and Jim wants to shake them all out of their stupor, shake them so hard those sad expressions fall from their faces and they remember that they can actually do something useful instead of standing there and passively accepting what is happening as inevitable like Izzy is doing and really what is wrong with everyone right now?!

But they can't shake them because they have to keep pressure on the wound so they settle for calling out, their voice ringing out sharply across the deck,

❝ What are you all standing there for?! Roach, Frenchie, Archie, Fang, Stede, get over here! ❞

hoping that calling each individual name will somehow help but when nobody moves still, they feel angry tears brim in their eyes all over again, and one of their hands shifts from the coat (they double down with the other hand to make up for it), finding the hard wood of the leg they all came together to make for Izzy what feels like a lifetime ago through the fabric of the naval trousers he's wearing, and it somehow bolsters their resolve.

❝ Come on, guys, it’s Izzy ! ❞

It's our unicorn, goes unsaid, we cannot afford to lose him.

[ OPEN for well, just about anyone who was in that scene (including Izzy and Ed), because Izzy deserves better than everyone just giving up on him while he is still there, no matter how bad it looks, and me and Jim are going to do something about it and you are all more than welcome to join us ]

#🔪 ↝ Jim | So Much More Than Just A Killer Machine #🔪 ↝ Jim ↝ ic #🔪 ↝ Jim ↝ ic ↝ open starter #ofmd rp #our flag means death rp #after that other starter Jim wouldn't shut up about fixing this scene so we did it 😅#but really the crew needed someone to tell them to pull their heads out of whatever miserable stupor they are all in and do something #and who better to do that than Jim?#injury tw #blood tw #death mention tw

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amalia-uwu · 10 months

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The Care that You Need

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Undertale by Toby Fox

Horrortale by Sour Apple Studios @horrortalecomic

Prompts by @a-whispering-echo

Fic by me

I don't own undertale or horrortale or the prompts. The rights go to the respective owners! This story is for entertainment purposes only!

Warnings ⚠️: blood, angst, (inaccurate) panic attack, hurt /comfort. Injuries, mention of almost death,

¡Enjoy!

He was walking home. Snow crunched under his feet. In his face you could discern a wave of sorrow, sadness, anger, bitterness, betrayal..

His head ached, his wound hadn't healed. It was just a few moments ago where he had to fight Undyne..

There were moments.. Moments like these where he cursed the day and the moment that human crossed their path..

He was tired. His feet couldn't walk any longer, he stopped by a tree and leaned his back there..

He looked around making sure he was alone.

His eyes landed on his hands. There was blood on them. His blood, their blood.

They could have found another way..

But no, Alphys wanted to sacrifice him against his will.

No!

No, Sans wasn't selfish. He actually wanted to help..

That's what he always wanted... He always wanted to help those in need.

He could have fixed the core. If she had just listened to him. They could live happily..

But.. Heh... But no, things where never easy. Things always had to go downhill.. Heh... Heh..

A few steps away from him there was a frozen lake. He slowly crawled towards it.

Once he reached it, he looked at his reflection.

“......”

He touched his skull and eye reluctantly and...

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!”

His screaming echoed throughout the forest, scarring some birds who flew away at the sudden scream.

He punched the ice cracking it and hurting his k'nuckles as well.

He punched the ice again and again breaking it completely. The ice broke into tiny pieces.

He could still see his reflection in the water. He punched the it as a result his image faded in the troubled water. He sat down and put his head on his knees.

«Why?» he thought...

Heh... 'that's a question that will never be answered.

He got up with shaky woobly legs Papyrus must be worried sick.

He teleported home.

Once inside his home... He stood in the living room....

“SANS? WHERE WERE YOU? WE HAVE POWER!! I'VE BEEN CALLING YOU AND YOU DIDN'T PICK UP!! I WAS WORRIED!!” Papyrus voice came from the kitchen.

Sans said nothing, he snorted bitterly.

His lower 'lip' quivered.

Papyrus let go of the pot he was holding, closed the kitchen and walked towards the living room.

“SANS? YOU FALL ASLEEP ON THE COUCH? YOU LAZY BONES?”

As soon as he stepped on the living room. His soul sunk..

There on the floor on his knees was his brother.

The brother whom he loved so much!

Papyrus looked at his brother's face and examined him.

His once beautiful cyan and yellow eye was now bloody red. His skull had a nasty crack.. Blood was still running down his head. His blood stained his clothes.

“S-SANS? WH-WHAT HAPPENED? WHO? WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

«What... happened?.! ...» Papyrus questioned fear, worry in his face and voice.

......

Sans's face was 'emotionless'.... Neutral...

However as soon as he heard the question

«What happened?»

....

Everything that had happened came to crash him down.

He remembered...

...everything...

How she attempted to kill him. He remembered the feeling of his eye being removed violently and his skull cracking..

He was back there. He was reliving what had happened hours ago.

In a matter of seconds the room felt like it ran out of air. He couldn't breathe.

The place suffocated him. He grabbed his chest and started gasping for air. He made choking noises.

Papyrus calmly held him by the shoulders, firmly yet gently.

He spoke softly “Sans? Brother? I need to you to listen to me. Follow my voice and tell me what you see?”

Sans was gasping. His eyes unfocused...

Papyrus kept talking to him. “Follow my voice! I am here for you and I want to help you! Tell me what you see?”

Sans blinked “I... I see a scarf”

Papyrus nodded softly “Good, what color is the scarf?”

Sans gulped, his breathing calming down slowly. Sweat running down his brow mixing with blood.

“R-red...” he slowly started regained control of his breathing.

“Allright, Sans, good what else do you see?” Papyrus asked again relieved that sans was slowly snapping out of it.

“I see you paps” he said a little calmer than before.

“Allright, where are we?” Papyrus asked still holding Sans shoulders.

Sans looked around. He was home. He wasn't back there...

Sans's eyes focused. His breathing had returned to normal (almost)

“We are home” he said panting.

Papyrus sighed in relief.

"Sans? What happened to you... I know you don't like talking much but please.. Let me help you! Let me give you the care that you need! I can give it to you. All you have to do is ask."

Sans jumped in his brother's hug and started sobbing.

He explained to him what they did to him.. Papyrus was listening to him closely.

If papyrus had blood you could say it was boiling.

He felt appalled by what Undyne and Alphys did. He moreover felt shocked yet he understood his brothers actions.

He kept listening as Sans wailed in his arms.

Sans bawled his soul out. After what seemed like forever he looked at Papyrus and asked “D-do *sniff* do you *sniff* hate me?” his face bathed in tears.

Papyrus was taken aback “Why? Brother? Hate you for what? I can never know what I would have done if I were you...

Sure, I believe everyone can change if the want to and if they try... But... some creatures are just... unredeemable. No matter what happens, they can't change, they refuse to change” he stated hugging Sans tighter.

“I love you brother, no matter what! Never forget that! Thank you for telling me!” Papyrus spoke softly.

Sans smiled through tears. Papyrus smiled and wiped away some trails of tears. “I love you too papyrus! Thank you for listening to me!” he looked at him.

“Everything is going to be okay! Whatever it is we will face it together!” Papyrus smiled

Sans smiled weakly. “Yeah... Thanks pap!”

Papyrus smiled “Of course! Now, we need to clean you up and take care of your injuries” he got up and offered his hand on his brother

“Come on brother! Allow the Great Papyrus to help you!”

Sans looked at his brother and at his stretched hand. He smiled weakly /tiredly and took his hand.

He got up but tripped and fell forwards. Papyrus caught him “oops sorry bro” sans spoke weakly

Papyrus smiled softly “Fear not brother the great papyrus will give you the care that you need. Come you've been through a lot”

Papyrus carried him in the bathroom where he removed his bloody dirty clothes. He began cleaning him gently.

Sans was silent for most part when a question popped in his mind.

“Papyrus?” he began.

“Yes brother?”

“Can you fix something that is broken?

Do you think something that is already broken can be fixed?

Do you think something broken beyond repair can return to the way it was before?”

Papyrus was silent. He knew were sans was going. “No, but I can try! I will stay here by your side my brother. I will make the impossible, possible. I have hope that things will turn out to be okay! It won't be easy but, you are not alone.. You have me! Besides, we can only move forward... It's gonna be okay Sans! ”

Sans smiled softly “Thanks bro...”

Papyrus patted his scapula gently.

He washed him, dressed him and took care of his wounds.

He fed him a little. Sans hugged his brother and sighed.

Maybe, Papyrus was right. The past belong to the past. The future is unknown but it didn't matter. Everything will be okay! It will take time... But everything will be okay!

After all, there is always a rainbow after a strom.

“I love you bro! You are the best!” Sans said softly, eyes closed listening to his brother's soulbeat.

Papyrus smiled softly and hugged him back caressing his back.

“I love you too sans!”

The end! 😘

Thank you for reading! 💙

Please let me know what you think!! Have a great time! 😁 XoXo💋💋💕

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forestofforever · 3 months

Text

Dying Breath (open starter)

The pain was all consuming. It seemed to override all other senses, leaving Sylvester in a dizzying state of agony. He was lying in a puddle of what he was quite certain was his own blood. It had been warm before, but much like his own body, it was beginning to grow cold.

The doorbell rang. He wanted to open the door, desperately so. If there was someone there and they saw the state he was in, they might call an ambulance, he might still be able to survive all this... but he couldn't move, any attempt to do so simply resulted in his vision, which was already quite blurry, to go fully black and for his ears to ring.

He would've screamed for help if he could, but that too was no longer possible. His mouth tasted like metal and the only sound he could force through his throat was a wet, raspy groan. He wanted so badly to close his eyes and to let the exhaustion take him, but he feared that if he allowed himself to give in, he wouldn't be waking up again.

The doorbell again. He thought so, at least. His thoughts were slow and hazy and honestly? The doorbell didn't matter because he would never make it to the door. Benjamin's men had probably left the door unlocked. Probably hadn't even bothered to close the door to begin with... he could only hope that whoever was on the other side of the door would be bold enough to just walk right in. It was his only hope.

#tw mention of serious injuries #tw blood and a lot of it #open starter #the crow #preferably for already established relationship but we can always make it work #this scenario has been floating in my head all day so now you all get to suffer with me

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 4 months

Text

The Eclipses Show

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,485 Words

Summary: The Backup wakes up a day after his death and Solar makes a deal with him.

Warnings: Injury, Eye Trauma, Limb Loss, Head Trauma, Cursing, Blood Loss (Oil), Surgery (kinda), Dead Bodies (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 2: The Bitch Came Back

Eclipse gave a pained groan as he woke up, turning onto his side and his claws dug into the padded floor under them, eyes cracking open. Well, one of them opened. His right eye was there, the other was nowhere to be found and the wires were fizzling with sparks of violently disconnected machinery.

His left arm. He couldn’t feel it, but he could see it there. He tried to flex its fingers but, ultimately, it didn’t move. He looked at his body and found he was missing from his right thigh down and his back felt like a train had run him over.

“Oh Jesus fuck.” He heard a voice and looked up at a copy of himself. Wait…the other Eclipse? The nice one? He groaned and pressed his face into the padded floor to wince at the way his rays were bent at uneven angles and some broken off.

He tried to retract his rays to show he was in pain, that he wasn’t going to do anything. God, it was a migraine. Some were broken off and the warped metal slid into his faceplate with a high scratching sound like nails on a chalkboard. Others simply didn’t pull in at all, too warped to do so without breaking his faceplate off entirely.

“Okay. Alright. How the fuck did you survive even?” The other Eclipse asked.

“Dunno.” He answered honestly. “Put me down. Please.” Eclipse told him. He had made it easy, all the other had to do was yank out his wires from the back of his head, which was exposed to him. Maybe step on and crush his circuit board and take out and break his personality chip.

It would be so easy to just kill him and get it over with, but-

“No. Sit up.” The other demanded. Eclipse gave a look back at him and slowly sat up with his right arm as support, shaking with effort that just sitting up was for him right now.

His head pounded and his back throbbed with exposed internal workings, his right leg was stinging with pain and oil loss. He was woozy from the effects his body gave. Loosing oil was like losing blood and warnings were flashing in his eyes that he was within critical damage and his oil was at past critical low levels. He would die if he tried to move one more time probably.

“Look me in my eyes and tell me why I should let you live.” The other demanded of him.

“You shouldn’t.” He immediately told him. This seemed to take the other by surprise a bit.

“Alright. Then you sit still until I give you an oil transfusion.” The other knelt with him, moving his right stump, clamping the oil lines there with a piece of twine, probably what he had on him that would do the job. But it did stop the oil loss.

Eclipse did as the other asked, stayed where he was. Though he was questioning why he was being helped instead of killed and his dead body thrown into the portal to his old dimension for Moon to torment and destroy.

Solar came back with a machine full of a gallon of oil, which he put into an oil line in his right arm with tape over it so the needle wouldn’t simply fall out and leave an extra wound where he was leaking oil.

“Why are you helping me?” Eclipse asked.

“Look. I don’t give a fuck if you’re evil or whatever. I can’t kill you. I physically can’t. I’ll have a nervous breakdown over it and I know it. It would be like killing myself. I am not putting my mental state into that place. So you are gonna fuckin sit here, take your oil replacement, let me fix you, and you are going to be a good person after. Got that? I will fix you and you will behave. Or I will ship you to Moon otherwise. Then you get to beg for mercy he doesn’t have for you.” The other told him.

“Th-Thank you.” Eclipse sat letting the oil fix the detrimental levels in his systems. He simply let the other, maybe he could call him Solar?, look at his injuries and begin to get the parts together to go to Parts & Service.

By the time the oil was in his system, Eclipse felt less deathly sick, less trembly and dizzy with oil loss. Solar? had looked over his exposed internal machinery in his back and had thankfully not found anything damaged. Solar had also replaced his back casing already and calibrated it while the oil was transfusion was running into his system.

“Alright, up you go, hobbles.” Solar demanded him, unhooking the oil transfusion machine and took Eclipse’s right hand, hooking his other hand under Eclipse’s left ribs. Oh…his left arm was a goner of Solar wouldn’t even touch it to support him. So he was losing two limbs today.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna drop ya.” Solar told him, putting Eclipse’s arm over his shoulders and letting himself be used as a can on Eclipse’s right side for his lost right leg. Eclipse winced with walking but Solar must be proving he could still use his left leg on the wait down to Parts & Service.

Eclipse gave a groan as Solar set him into the tube’s chair and put the new white and blue full right leg and a whole black and purple arm into the part machine. He also could see a new green and black faceplate and a pink left eye.

“This might be a little painful, it has to take off the remains of your right leg and left arm to attach the new ones and it’s going to take your rays out.” Solar told him.

“Solar?” Eclipse asked.

“Is that what you’re gonna call me?” Solar asked with a chuckle. “Yeah, what?” Solar asked.

“Can…Can you hold my hand?” Eclipse asked.

“Yeah, fine.” Solar stepped into the tube with him and shut the door, slipping his left hand to hold Eclipse’s right hand in his own. It made Eclipse relax to have someone with him when this process was absolutely terrifying.

He saw the machine begin to do its work, disconnecting his right leg at the hip joint and his left arm at his shoulder joint. He shut his eye tight and tried to focus on the feeling of Solar holding his hand, anything but the searing pain of disconnected limbs.

The tube connected the new limbs and started instantaneous calibration. Eclipse opened his right eye to see the machine descending an arm and taking off his remaining faceplate and rays and he squeezed Solar’s hand as it put his new left eye in and replaced faceplate.

“It’s over. Breathe.” Solar assured him and Eclipse nodded softly, taking a big breath to assure Solar.

“Alright. Let’s get back to the daycare and get you new clothes. You can’t go around with half your clothes basically.” Solar told him.

“Thank you.” Eclipse was a bit shaky on his new leg but he held to Solar’s hand still, letting Solar lead him to the daycare.

Once there, Solar threw a pair of black pants and a night cap with white constellations on them and a black shirt and new black and white ruffles. An entirely new outfit. It looked like it was a moon model’s kind of outfit.

“Yeah, we almost had a Star and Sky model here. Turns out Fazbear didn’t like their AIs and wanted to just scrap them. I kept their base models and outfits because I figured maybe I might need em. I’ll probably replace your casing for Star’s later so you match or whatever. Just so they don’t question why you’re here. I can say you just activated for some reason.” Eclipse looked at him with a cringe.

“You really kept two basically dead bodies?” Eclipse scrunched his nose at that.

“It’s not like we don’t already.” Solar gestured upstairs meaning his brothers.

“Oh…” Eclipse realized Solar must not have had an easy separation from that. He decided not to pick at it and simply went to get changed into the outfit.

When Eclipse came back, he saw Solar and his Moon. A temporary panic came over him as he saw Solar’s Moon.

“Eclipse, this is Crescent.” Solar introduced him.

“Hi, extra parasite.” Crescent greeted him.

“Be nice. Please.” Solar sighed.

“What? He is.” Crescent growled. Solar gave a bigger sigh and pinched his nose in annoyance.

There was suddenly a rustling in the ball pit and Solar and Eclipse looked up to see a third Eclipse in the ball pit looking panicked and confused as he looked at Solar and Eclipse.

“And now you have fucking two friends here! Worthless parasite, come get your little child!” Crescent announced angrily.

“Oh fuck.” Solar breathed out.

#sun and moon show #sams #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #the eclipses show au #fnaf eclipse #fnaf solar #fnaf good eclipse #fnaf evil moon #fnaf crescent #snoweywrites #tw injury mention #tw eye trauma mention #tw limb loss mention #tw head trauma mention #tw surgery mention #tw blood loss mention #tw dead body mention

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illusivejam · 1 month

Text

My Courier, The Lucky Devil of the Mojave, Lazarus.

They initially had no interest in their past, the ongoing war between the 3 factions, or even what they would do after killing Benny. They just want to settle the score.

Laz is very impulsive and doesn’t (can’t) really think about consequences too well. They get a bit better at forethought later in the game, but they mostly learn to rely on their companions to reign them in (mostly Arcade, Boone, and Veronica. Cass and Raul get a kick out of seeing Laz almost blow themselves up. Lily, bless her heart, genuinely doesn’t see the harm). They have an uncanny sense of luck, and can usually walk out of very dangerous situations physically unscathed (usually. Sometimes your luck just runs out.)

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sortofanobsession · 10 months

Note

Please pardon me if I already sent you this fic idea!

Roy/Jaime: Jaime takes a boot to the chest but assures everyone he’s ok and they go on to win the match. It’s only later that Jaime reveals he’s not that fine, the metal on the bottom of the boot tore him up good, his chest a bruised and bloody mess. Roy is pissed as he takes Jaime home with him and cares for him. As Roy's tending to Jaime's wounded chest, the air grows charged between them and things happen.

A/N: A bit shorter than most of my stories recently. If you find a typo that changes the meaning of something, please let me know. I didn't do a re-read because it is late. But I promised I would post it tonight.

Ao3

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Word Count: 3k+

Paring: Roy x Jamie (Romantic), Roy x Will (Platonic), Jamie x Will (Platonic), Jamie x Isaac (platonic), Coach Beard x Jamie (Platonic) Jamie x AFC Richmond Himbos (platonic)

Content Warning: Blood, Injury, PTSD, Mentions of abuse, mentions of violence, pain, bruising, mentions of head injury, anger, cussing/swearing/cursing.

You clearly can't be trusted to look after yourself

Roy felt dread pool in his gut as he watched Jamie Tartt take what seemed initially to be a well-executed but poorly landed shot. The ball found its target in the back of the net, but Jamie’s boot slipped, and he ended flat on the pitch. The defender that had been attempting to stop him didn’t have time to adjust his path, and his boot connected with Jamie’s chest. Jamie had the wind knocked out of him when he first hit the pitch. The boot connecting sent searing pain through his already screaming lungs. But the look in the defender’s eyes as moved to try and help Jamie sent a pang of guilt through him as he managed to catch his breath. The guy hadn’t done it on purpose. And Jamie’s dazed brain didn’t want him to feel bad. That feeling, in addition to the tiny voice in the back of his head that always sounded suspiciously like his dad, telling him not to be a weak pussy, had him getting up. Accepting the player’s hand and waving off his apologies as he did. The crowd cheered as he got back to his feet. He went to the sideline and insisted he just needed to catch his breath and get a drink. The game went on without him for a few minutes. He accepted the bottle Will gave him and checked the clock on the scoreboard. 7 minutes til half.

“Sit the fuck down,” Roy had told him. And he did. He bunched up his hands in his kit. It stung as the chilled air hit a sticky mix of blood on his chest that was clinging to his undershirt. He’d have to change it during the half.

When the team headed to the locker room, he grabbed his bag and headed to the loo. He waved off the concerns of a few of his teammates. Saying he was going to try and clean up his kit. He was glad he habitually kept a first aid kit hidden deep in his bag. A holdover from the days his old man had taken his frustrations out physically on Jamie, and he didn’t want to have to go to the treatment room and get asked a million questions. It had always been easier this way. The team didn’t need to know then, and they didn’t need to know now. Jamie could handle it. He always did. When he was in the solitude of the toilet, he removed his kit and made quick work of peeling off the long sleeve undershirt he had on under his kit. It was a fucking lost cause. He’d toss it. He was on the clock. If he took too long, someone would come looking, and then he’d have to explain everything. He didn’t want that. He wanted to get back out there and finish the match. So he rushed through bandaging and covering the bloody boot print that caught the edge of his left peck and obliques. He huffed a laugh at himself, thinking at least his abs were fine. He put on his new undershirt and tried to get as much off his kit as he could. On his way out, he tossed his undershirt in the bin. Hoping no one would see it.

“You good?” Isaac asks when he rejoins the team.

“Did fuck all to clean it, don’t envy Will’s job,” Jamie joked as if anyone would give a fuck about his actual kit if they knew he was actually hurt. Isaac studied him. And for a second Jamie thought he might not be playing it off as well as he thought he was.

But Isaac just shrugged. “He’ll manage. Paid to deal with it,” Isaac says. “Not like it was intentional, bruv.”

“Arse on the pitch was not what I intended, but still a beautiful fucking goal, yeah?” Jamie says.

Isaac laughs and claps him on the back. And Jamie has to bite his cheek to keep from shouting. But Isaac must not notice his change because he is off with the team as they all head back out.

“You good to stay in the game?” Beard asks.

“Course,” Jamie says. Beard looks unsure. “I’m good, coach. Let’s win this, yeah?” And Beard must trust his judgment, probably shouldn’t, but he does. So Jamie gets back out on the pitch for the second half.

Roy knows something is very wrong when Jamie winces slightly as Jeff hugs him after the game. Jamie is good at hiding pain. He has years of practice at it. Roy does too. That's why he can see it. He doesn't hug Jamie as aggressively as he normally does. But if Jamie notices, he doesn't act like it. But Roy watches his every move now. The way Jamie is holding himself and avoiding certain movements. The way Jamie is drawing to the back of the team as they head inside. Slow, calculated movements. He sees Jamie actually sidestepping some of the celebration, and that has the final alarm going off in Roy's head. And Roy takes action because he knows Jamie is dragging his feet and avoiding the showers.

But he can’t sit back and do nothing after Will pulls him aside.

“Coach, you need to see this,” Will had told him and waved Roy into the boot room.

“What?” Roy demands. He was annoyed at the distraction.

“Pretty sure this is Jamie’s,” Will holds up the blood-stained undershirt. “Was half in the bin.”

Roy lets out a litany of curses. This just confirms Jamie’s injured and hiding it.

“What should I do?” Will asks.

“Bin it,” he says, since Tartt clearly intended to. “I’ll deal with Jamie fucking Tartt.”

Will just nods and Roy leaves. He goes straight to Jamie.

"Let me see," Roy says as gets Jamie’s attention.

"See what?" Jamie says.

"Don't play fucking dumb," Roy says.

"Roy, behave, don't make me report you to-" Jamie tries to joke, but Roy is not fucking having it because he knows Jamie well enough to know humor is often a defense mechanism. He knows Jamie. So even if Jamie might get angry at Roy, Roy doesn't care. Roy reaches over and raises the hem of Jamie's kit and lets out a string of curses before dragging Jamie to the treatment room. Jamie knows he is caught now. No getting away now that Roy knows.

"You weren't going to say a fucking word, were you," Roy posits, and Jamie doesn't answer. "You were going to go home and patch yourself up and ignore the fact you could already be halfway to an infection by not getting this treated, and then I find your ass half dead or worse when I show up for training tomorrow morning. What the fuck, Tartt?"

"Let me explain. I-"

"Don't fucking lie to me," Roy cautions as moves around the treatment room, gathering everything he thinks he might need. He washes his hand and finds gloves. "Fucking off with it," he gestures to the top half of Jamie's kit and undershirt. "Will showed me your fucking shirt.” Roy glares. And Jamie feels like a kid that has been caught stealing sweets. “You won't let the actual med team help, but you aren't fucking getting out of this room until I am sure you're not going to fuck your whole career with staph or sepsis or fucking tetanus from a dirty fucking boot."

"Kit didn't even rip. And the league wouldn't let me play if I didn't-"

"Off." Roy glares. "Now." Jamie winces as he takes it off. "Jamie...fucking hell." Roy actually sounds pained, and that catches Jamie off guard. "How did you finish the match like this?" Roy didn't even know where to start with helping Jamie. So he starts by trying to clean him up the mess of slapdash bandaging, partially dried blood, and swelling bruises. "This is going to fucking sting."

An hour later, Jamie is as patched up as he could be with just Roy's help. Jamie goes to change out of the rest of his kit. Apologizing to Will as he does that he took so long.

"It's fine, Jamie," Will tells him. "Glad you're okay, was a nasty hit." Roy grunts and disappears into the office.

"Be fine in a few days," Jamie shrugs off as he finishes changing and tosses his kit in the cart. "And we won. That's what matters."

Will just nods because he just knows Roy Kent is listening. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing.

"Ready?" Roy says, and Jamie looks confused as he looks away from the kitman to his coach.

"For what?" Jamie asks.

"To fucking leave," Roy says. Annoyance is clear in his tone.

"Sure," Jamie says, but it sounds almost like a question. He is still very confused about why Roy is asking.

"Going to celebrate with the team?" Will asks.

"Fuck no," Roy says. "You either." He looks at Jamie.

"Wasn't exactly going to," Jamie says as he grabs his stuff. "Too fucking sore."

"Don't Fucking doubt it," Roy says. Jamie is shocked when Roy takes Jamie's stuff and ushers him out the door.

"I can carry my shit," Jamie says.

"So can I," Roy says.

"Roy," Jamie goes to take it when he goes to pass Roy's G Wagon to his own car. And Roy just tosses it in the boot, and Jamie has no idea what is happening. "What are you doing?"

"You're fucking coming with me because you can't be trusted to ask for help when you fucking need it, and I have a fully stocked first aid kit assembled by an actual medical professional. Someone has to keep your arse alive."

Jamie is too stunned to say anything. Roy hadn't just insisted on patching Jamie up, but now he was insisting Jamie go to his home so Roy could look after him.

"You fucking hit your head and not fucking say anything?" Roy says as he moves closer to Jamie, concern clear on his face.

"I'm wondering the same thing because this is very weird for me," Jamie admits.

"Fuck off," Roy says. "Get in the fucking car before I make you."

And Jamie does because he has zero doubt Roy will do it. He has a very low opinion of Jamie's ability to take care of himself at times. And Jamie knows that.

At his flat, Roy makes Jamie shower and insists on redoing the bandages. Jamie already feels like he's intruding, so he does not put up as big of a fight as he might normally.

"Here," Roy hands him a cup of tea once Jamie sits on Roy's sofa.

"You really don't have to do all this," Jamie says.

"And?" Roy says as he sits at the other end of the sofa. And Jamie doesn't know how to answer that. "Just fucking accept that some people actually care about you and fucking drink your tea." Roy turns on the TV to see what the press is saying about the match. The kick that resulted in Jamie on his sofa was brought up before they even finished their tea. Now that Roy sees the close-ups, he looks over at Jamie.

"The fuck were you thinking, not telling anyone you were fucking bleeding?" Roy asks.

Jamie sighs. "That it wasn’t an underhanded play. Shit happens. The lad felt shitty enough already. And we really needed this win, and any more stoppage in play might fuck up the momentum of the team."

"And your suffering didn't matter? And what? You did fucking bandages in the fucking toilet?"

"I managed," Jamie says.

"You shouldn't have had to," Roy growls. "You could have worsened your injury playing like that. Tore something. So close to your fucking heart, Jamie.” A pained look crosses Roy’s face before he schools his features. “I am your coach, you can’t fucking-” Roy stops and takes a breath. “Listen to me, Jamie. You cannot do this again. Fucking ever."

Jamie does not respond.

"Jamie," Roy shifts closer. "How would you feel if it was one of the other? Like Sam or Dani."

"They wouldn't-"

"Fucking right! Because that is insane, and you could have really gotten injured."

"Says the guy that-"

"And I fucking paid the price!" Roy was now on his feet, looking down at Jamie. "I won't let you make the same fucking mistakes. What kind of fucking coach would I be if I didn't aim to make you a better fucking player than I was. Fucking teach you what not to fucking do. And this." Roy tugs Jamie's shirt up to show the bandages. "This is not fucking okay. A win is not worth your fucking future or your fucking life. Now fucking swear to me this will not happen again. If you don't, I'm going to insist the medical team checks you over after every fucking slip, every foul. I will not let you kill yourself for a fucking game. We’d be better off losing a fucking match than you. No, we’d be better off losing every fucking match this season than losing you fucking permanently. The lads would probably prefer relegation again."

“Doubt that,” Jamie says.

“I fucking don’t!” Roy shouts.

"Fuck," Jamie says. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Like a fucking car wreck," Roy says.

"Okay," Jamie says. "I'll fucking tell someone if I'm injured again. Will you sit down and fucking relax now?"

"Fucking good," Roy says, and the tension leaves his shoulders. "Contrary to popular belief, I fucking care if you live or die, you fucking prick."

"That's the nicest thing you have ever said," Jamie says.

Jamie must move wrong in his sleep because he is gasping in pain as he wakes up. The room is dark, and he looks at his phone. 2:26 a.m. Fuck, he hurts. He gets up to try and find a way to make it hurt less. To get some painkillers. He looks around and remembers he is at Roy's. He didn't know where Roy kept anything. He headed to Roy's kitchen to at least get a glass of water. He had just sat down at Roy's table for a breather when Roy entered the kitchen. And Jamie thinks he might swallow his tongue because he has seen Roy without a shirt. He had seen it often when they were teammates. But this was a half-asleep Roy, in just pants, hair a mess from sleep. And fuck, Jamie had not expected to feel the urge to kiss Roy fucking Kent at 2:30 in the morning.

"Here," Roy hands him a pack of paracetamol. He then goes to his freezer and gets one of the ice packs he usually uses on his knee.

"Thanks," Jamie says as he takes the pills and accepts the ice pack. "Sorry if I woke you."

"It's fine," Roy says as he sits down at the table.

"I know but-"

"Jamie, I brought you here so I could help you with this shit. So it's fine."

"I know but-"

"No fucking buts, Tartt," Roy says firmly. "Just like with training, I want to help you."

"Okay, but-"

"Fucking hell," Roy says before he stands up. He pushes Jamie's chair and holds out his hand to help Jamie up. Jamie takes it. To his surprise, Roy doesn't step back but stays in Jamie's face. Roy continues. "I don't actually enjoy the idea of you suffering alone. Fucking lose sleep over it."

"You lose sleep over me?" Jamie says with shock.

"I lose a lot of fucking sleep over you, Tartt," Roy admits. He glances down at Jamie's lips.

"Why?" Jamie asks. Roy is so close Jamie wonders if Roy can hear how Jamie's heart beats insanely fast. Roy's face is so close Jamie could just lean forward and kiss him.

"For fuck sake," Roy mutters before closing the distance a bit. "Because you drive me fucking insane." Jamie can now feel Roy's words against his lips, and Jamie's brain must reboot because, without thinking, he pushes forward and closes the small gap, and presses his lips against Roy's. And Roy responds in kind. Jamie doesn't want this moment to end because Roy Kent is kissing him back, and his life could not be better. He never thought Roy could have feelings for him. Jamie had thought his feelings were one-sided, but clearly, he was wrong because Roy was pulling Jamie closer. Jamie goes willingly. At least until he shifts wrong, and it pulls at the healing cuts on his chest, and pain hits him. He must make a noise because Roy recoils like he was burned and puts enough room between them so he can see if Jamie's bleeding again. Jamie tries to brush it off and goes back to making out in Roy's kitchen at almost 3 a.m. Roy curses Jamie's lack of self-preservation and ends up dragging Jamie into his own bed.

"You clearly can't be trusted to look after yourself," Roy grumbles as he gets into bed beside Jamie.

"You up for the task then?" Jamie asks.

With a growl, Roy gently pulls Jamie against him. Jamie takes advantage of the situation and snuggles right into Roy's side.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jamie chuckles.

"Get some fucking sleep," Roy says. Jamie hums and falls asleep fast.

Jamie hurts like hell the next morning. Angry bruises now take up most of his chest now that the wounds have closed for the most part. Roy does not let him leave the bed most of the day. Insisting he will reopen them if he does. And Jamie thinks he'll be bored out of his mind, but Roy stays with him for most of it. He leaves for a few hours to go over match tapes with the other coaches, but he comes back with takeaway, and Jamie thinks he might be the luckiest man alive because he is in Roy fucking Kent's bed, being taken care of by Roy. After they eat, they end up making out like fucking teenagers. Jamie is annoyed that Roy won't take it any further because Jamie is now filled with bad ideas, and Roy refuses. Not because he doesn't want to but because he doesn't want to hurt Jamie or delay his healing process. No matter how much Jamie begs or pouts, Roy doesn't cave.

"Not fucking risking your health, Tartt. Get fucking used to it."

Jamie gets looked over by the med team and is not allowed to train with the rest of the team for almost two weeks, and Jamie hates it. Roy doesn't care because Jamie's health is too important to him. And that is the only reason Jamie hasn't lost his mind. Roy cares about him. A lot. Roy fucking Kent has spent most of his time keeping Jamie busy. Cuddling and kissing. It's been beautifully frustrating. Frustrating because he wants more. Really wants to show Roy he cares just as much but has no way to do it because Roy is holding Jamie back. It might be for Jamie's own good, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

The first match Jamie gets to play after the injury, the Richmond fans lose their shit. They scream for him, and he takes that feeling and uses it. And Roy is so fucking proud of him that it hurts. They win, and it's so different from his last match. Jamie is right there with the team celebrating. And it's not until Roy pulls him aside and kisses him that Jamie draws away from the team. And Jamie cannot remember ever feeling this happy. Roy promises that when they get out home, they can celebrate their own way, and Jamie trips over his own feet in a rush to get changed so he and Roy can leave. And Roy, of course, thinks that's the most amusing fucking thing he has ever seen. It becomes the second most amusing thing later that day because watching Jamie goes to fucking pieces at Roy's fingertips is fucking amazing, and Roy thinks there's no going back now. He is lost on Jamie Tartt. And Jamie realizes Roy's attention is something he is absolutely addicted to and never wants to live without. It won't be an easy journey having a real relationship between them, but neither of them has ever shied away from a challenge, and they agree it's worth trying.

#tw: Blood #tw: Injury #tw: PTSD #tw: Mentions of abuse #tw: mentions of violence #tw: pain #tw: bruising #tw: mentions of head injury #tw: anger #tw: cussing #tw: cursing #tw: swearing #roy kent #jamie tartt #jamie x roy #royjamie #roy x jamie #ted lasso fic

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ethanhibiki · 1 month

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oh shit

[Image ID: It's A and Giovanni again, but the image is a lot more stable. Giovanni appears to be dead, finally. He's covered in slashes, brushed, burns, stab wounds - anything. Even his bones are broken. It's over. A's stained with blood, some of it their own, some of it Giovanni's, some of it even Hibiki's. It appears to be holding Giovanni's corpse, cradling it like a mourning lover would cradle their lost soulmate. Ce's crying, face contorted in an uncharacteristic display of miserably obvious vulnerability and pain. A Houndoom with a chipped horn and injuries of its own is laying next to him, alongside the rest of A's team aside from Bubblegum - who is likely still in the Pokeball.]

#♧we're headed for the top! [ goldchat ]#♧that's my kind of adventure! [ goldframes ]#injury ment tw #injury cw #murder tw #death mention #cw: gore #[ask to tag)#[credit to yailea again]

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razzle-zazzle · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 06: do or die, you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart

Forced to Watch

2445 Words; Ouroboros AU

TW for violence, exploitation, injury, trauma

AO3 ver

The locker room seemed impossibly large when Mirtala first saw it; a bench in the center more than half her height and ten lockers each as tall as her in two rows on the wall.

Mirtala had only ever heard about the locker room in passing; never from Dion, who hated talking about the arena to her, but from the Wolves and sometimes from Aster and the other kids. Of those groups, only the Wolves had ever seen the locker room, but Aster and the rest just loved to boast about how well they’d do when they were finally old enough for the arena, loved to boast about how they knew so much about it already.

But it wasn’t Aster and the rest who were standing in the locker room, a Wolf’s hand on their shoulder. It was Mirtala, her braids twisted into two tight little buns.

“Your outfit’s in the middle locker on the bottom,” the Wolf said, gently nudging Mirtala forwards. “You won’t be going in right away, but better to try it on now.”

The locker in question was unlocked. Mirtala wasn’t entirely convinced that whatever was inside would fit her—it had only been a few days since Creed drafted a contract for her, only a few days since she’d leapt into the arena with an ill-fitting wolf mask. Surely, with everything that happened in Ouroboros, there hadn’t been time to create a new outfit—every competitor in the arena was an adult or close enough, after all, and none of them were very close to Mirtala in size or stature.

To her surprise, the outfit she pulled out fit her well enough. The pants and boots and black shirt was much like Dion’s, but sized down to fit her. The shirt had the number 054 embroidered on the back in shimmery white thread—did Dion’s outfit have the same, under his vest? Mirtala figured it must have.

Where Dion’s vest was red with gold accents, Mirtala’s was white with red accents. It reminded her of candy canes, almost, or playing cards—there was a red heart on the back. Red-dyed faux feathers lined the collar, soft around Mirtala’s neck. She turned back to the locker for the final piece.

A red and white chickadee mask greeted her, the carefully shaped beak seeming to gleam under the locker room lighting. The paint was bright, unfaded by time, free of chips. It looked brand new. It looked like it’d fit her perfectly.

Mirtala pushed the mask on, reaching back to tie it.

It felt like a damnation.

+=+=+=+=+

The brawl was well underway by the time Mirtala was guided to the arena. She took a moment to peer through the gate, watching. The Opossum was already lying face down in the dirt—was he down for good, or would he get back up later? The Rhino was charging after the Rabbit, ducking around and under the obstacles in her attempts to reach hare. The audience was loud, the resounding din of the cheers and jeers louder than the groan of the gate as it rose.

“Good luck.” The Wolf shoved her forwards, out of the shadow of the gate into the searing light of the arena.

The announcer’s voice blared over the loudspeakers. “What’s this? A new challenger appears!” The audience roared. “Introducing the Chickadee! You may know her from a few nights ago, but this is her official debut! Let’s give her a warrrrrrm welcome!”

Mirtala steeled herself. She tried to imagine the arena before her as one giant jungle gym. A giant game of tag—that’s what she was about to participate in. Just a game of tag.

The announcer continued, “The first challenger to catch the Chickadee wins! Can she evade her powerful opponents? Let’s find out!” The audience was too loud, the lights too bright.

The Rhino snorted. Mirtala wasted no time in somersaulting to the nearest set of painted metal bars and flinging herself up atop them, darting about a monkey bar-like structure that curved up and over and around. The Rhino couldn’t reach her up here, so Mirtala took a moment to breathe.

Thunk. Thunk.

…Nevermind. The bar shook again as the Rhino kicked at one of the supports, and Mirtala cartwheeled over to a maze-like arrangement of metal panels. The Rhino circled around the entire thing—Mirtala had hoped to lure her into the maze entirely. Phooey.

The Rabbit chose that moment to try attacking the Rhino, landing a kick right into her leg. But the Rhino was built like a tank and it showed—she simply whirled around to face the Rabbit, who was quick to dart off.

Keep things interesting.

It was Mirtala’s whole job, in this arena—if she failed to do that, then she might as well have lost. She walked along the top of the maze walls, leaping over to another set of metal bars.

The cage bars cast shadows across the arena. Mirtala’s mask pressed against her face. She put her hands on her hips and looked at the Rhino with all of the judgment she could muster. “Are you even trying? My Nona could move faster than you!”

That did the trick. “You—” The Rhino slammed her shoulder into the pole, making the whole thing wobble. Mirtala didn’t fall, though, holding on tight. She focused not on the woman attempting to tear the structure out of the ground, but on the Opossum on the structure behind her, slowly creeping forwards.

“My baby brother’s stronger than you! He’d have knocked this whole thing over by now!” Throwing all these insults didn’t sting as much as Mirtala expected—maybe it helped that they were (kind of) true?

(Or maybe the poison of Ouroboros was getting to her. Mirtala dreaded the possibility, but she couldn’t deny it.)

The Rhino bellowed a wordless cry of rage, stepping back to throw even more force into her next shove—

The Opossum leaped down onto her from behind, arms wrapped around her neck. Mirtala watched as the Rhino stumbled this way and that trying to dislodge him. She grasped at his arms, and even slammed him against the metal panel behind her, but he held fast. Within moments, she went down, the Opossum leaping to the side to avoid being pinned.

The Opossum had hardly a moment to bask in his victory before the Rabbit’s boot was driven into his side, slamming him into the metal panel he’d just leapt off of. The Opossum was quick to get back up, darting between two metal poles to avoid the next kick. Mirtala could see his hands shaking. The Rabbit charged him again, and he yelped.

Mirtala’s whole job was to “keep the fight interesting,” as Creed had put it. So she grabbed the bar she was standing on and swung down, her legs catching the Rabbit right in hare’s shoulder. She wished she could aim for hare’s face.

The Rabbit stumbled backwards. Mirtala swung back up, flipping once in the air before grabbing the bar and landing in a handstand. “Nyeh!” She taunted. There was no time to doubt, no time to stop and think—she had to keep moving no matter what. Mirtala couldn’t stop, couldn’t let herself be caught—

She slid down a pole and dashed across the ground. The Rabbit lunged, and Mirtala ducked under hare’s tackle. She rolled to the side to avoid the next tackle, leaping into the air and slamming directly into the small of hare’s back. Hare wheezed.

Mirtala moved to climb back up, out of reach—

Her whole world tilted as she was lifted into the air by her ankle in one smooth motion. The Opossum held her up in front of himself. The audience cheered.

Mirtala crossed her arms. The fight was over.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion was going to be sick.

Anxiety was taking a hand mixer to his organs, dread trickling down his spine. He’d never been in Creed’s private box before. He never wanted to be in here again.

Creed’s King Cobra mask glittered in the light, covering the upper half of his face. His dark brown eyes still looked like deep pits ready to swallow Dion whole even with the fake scales. “She’s doing quite well for herself.” He commented, voice light.

Dion receded further into the plush seating. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be here, sitting five feet away from this monster of a man, watching his baby sister hop about the arena like it was some kind of playground instead of the awful fighting pit it truly was—

But he wasn’t allowed to leave, either. Creed had insisted, and when Creed insisted on anything it was an incontrovertible order. When Creed insisted, someone else ended up suffering.

“You should be proud,” Creed purred, as Mirtala taunted a woman more than five times her size. “Your sister has more will to survive than half of the roster.” He took another delicate sip of wine, setting the glass down before turning to regard Dion directly. “You are proud, aren’t you?”

Pride was the last thing Dion was feeling. Complete and utter terror, sure, but—

How was he supposed to be proud of Mirtala dancing around the one place he never wanted her to go? How was he supposed to feel anything but a sense of abject failure at his ability to take care of her, to protect her from as much of Ouroboros’ ills as he could? She shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t have ended up in Ouroboros with him—and yet his own idiocy had brought her down with him, and despite his every effort he could do nothing to protect her from his own fucking mistakes—

Dion’s hands clenched into fists. He wanted to tear his eyes away from the arena below them, wanted to tear his eyes away from his sister being chased around like something to be caught, like a goal to be grabbed—

But he couldn’t.

Hatred rose up Dion’s throat like bile. He turned his ire towards the monster beside him. Venom gathered on his tongue.

(He’d nearly yelled his throat out when he’d first found out about Mirtala’s shiny new contract. Partly at Mirtala, partly at the Wolf watching him on his next dayshift.

He hadn’t had the courage to do anything more than glare at Creed when he saw him. Had almost yelled, only for his words to lodge themselves in his throat and make it sting and tighten with unshed tears.)

“I hate you.” Dion snarled. “You’re awful. Mirtala doesn’t deserve this, nobody deserves this, and I hate you, you figlio di put—”

“Are you done?” Creed’s voice cut through Dion like a knife. All of his fight left him, his whole being coming to a halt under Creed’s gaze.

Creed grinned, the fangs of his mask gleaming. “So you can be smart sometimes.” He commented.

Dion hated him. Dion hated him so much. But he held his tongue, wary of the Wolf guarding the door, wary of the serpent sipping wine barely five feet away from him.

The audience roared. The sound grated against Dion’s ears. His throat tightened and his eyes stung, his view of Mirtala ducking under the Rabbit blurring—

He hated this. He hated Creed, he hated this place, he hated his inability to do anything to get himself or Mirtala out of this hellhole—

But he hated himself most of all.

+=+=+=+=+

Mirtala cleaned herself up in the locker room, trading her arena outfit for nightclothes. Her hands shook, her heart racing in her chest.

She wasn’t sure what scared her worse—the fight, or the thrill that she had felt during it. Mirtala had felt unstoppable up until the point that she was finally grabbed, on top of the world as she leapt and tumbled around. She didn’t need to win fights, just to evade everyone long enough to make things interesting. But she had wanted to win so badly, wanted to push herself further like it really was just one giant game—

And that scared her more than anything. Would she let that competitiveness control her? Would she let that need to win take her over until the Mirtala in the chickadee mask was unrecognizable to her? She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

The exhaustion in her bones, the lingering adrenaline from throwing herself around the arena like it was one giant obstacle course—

It was satisfying. It was just like home, just like tiring herself out practicing her performance and pushing herself to go higher, farther, faster—

Uncertainty and fear swirled in her stomach. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and kick and shout until the emotions swelling in her heart didn’t seem so impossibly big. She wanted to cry.

But no tears ever came.

+=+=+=+=+

Their room was bigger when Mirtala got back. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, water dripping off onto her back.

Dion was waiting on his bedroll when she returned. His face scrunched through five different expressions in the span of a second at the sight of her, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

(He looked like he’d just cried. Mirtala still wanted to cry, herself.)

Wordlessly, Dion turned away, his expression stone.

Whatever. Mirtala grabbed Francis III and sat down on her own bedroll. Dion could stay mad for all she cared; she wasn’t going to stop. She had finally found something to do that could help, and she wasn’t going to let Dion talk her out of it.

(She wasn’t allowed to, besides.)

She clutched the plushie tighter. When Dion came back from the arena, he curled around her until their breathing matched. So why, when Mirtala came back from the arena, did Dion refuse to look at her? Was he really that mad at her?

(Probably. He’d yelled at her when he found out about the contract, his face twisted into a monstrous snarl of hurt and anger.)

Her eyes stung. Mirtala sniffed, begging herself not to cry. She was strong! She was brave! She had to be, to survive here in Ouroboros. And she was.

She heard Dion move behind her. Felt his hand ghost over her shoulder before withdrawing. “Tala—” He started, only to fall silent.

She didn’t turn around.

(Later that night, when Dion’s breathing had long evened out, she tucked herself against his side, pulling his arm around her and imagining that he’d put it there, that he’d pushed through his stupid doubt and held her himself instead of holding back like a coward—

Mirtala clutched Francis III closer. She hated this place. She hated it so much.

But she was still powerless to do anything about that.)

#whumptober2023 #no.6 #forced to watch #psychonauts #zaz writes #exploitation tw #violence tw #injury tw #trauma tw #alcohol tw #alcohol mention tw #bloodsport tw #(there's no actual blood in this one but it's still a fighting pit)#ouroboros au #mirtala aquato #dion aquato #creed of ouroboros #*pats head of mirtala* this small child can hold so much mirtrauma #once again dion's emotional stupidity rears its inept head #and once again mirtala is. having a Not Good time #this one was pretty fun!! even though i had to write action i think i did pretty well #i went back and fourth on whether to give mirtala a lioness mask or a chickadee mask #(i associate her with chickadees and ferrets mostly)#i almost went with squirrel before deciding to change it to chickadee at the last moment #bc; like a chickadee; mirtala is small and unassuming #but incredibly resilient and tough

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