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sortofanobsession · 1 year

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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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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

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Whump Prompt #1038

TW: Mentions of weight

After severe trauma, your character puts on some extra weight - perhaps being heavier than before the traumatic event. It’s good - fantastic even - they’re healthy and they’re happy and appear to be getting over whatever happened to them after an initially rocky start to their recovery. The team/their family is overjoyed at this fact.

Some of their ‘bulk’ can even be attributed to the muscle mass they’ve since regained following [insert traumatic event/illness], and their closest friends (and even superiors) can’t help but be proud.

However, some people decide that this positive recovery is detrimental to their team: going so far as to believe that your character has let themselves go and that they are simply ‘unfit’ despite your character now being strong/fit enough to bench-press them for hours on end.

How do they express this to your character? And how does your character react?

#whump #writing #prompts #tw: ed #tw: eating disorder #tw: disordered eating #tw: weight loss #tw: weight #just wanna get all the tags in so people who dont want to see this kinda stuff dont #putting on weight #team as a family #recovery #positive recovery #tw: self esteem issues #trauma #aftermath of trauma

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rockingrobin69 · 1 year

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Wip Wip hooray

Do you remember the snippet of angst I shared a while back? Well, what if I told you I dived so deep in this world I now have 17k of it? Or: here’s a bit of the project I’m Currently Investing My Life In, that I absolutely have to share or else go spare. TW for depression and self-esteem issues. Enjoy!

It started with Ron’s idea for a thesis, and the fact they didn’t actually know a lot of people who used to be part of a white supremist cult and then left, and that Malfoy still lived in the country. In town, actually, in this crap of a flat above a chippy. Apparently the owner let him rent it for half price if he worked weekends. Apparently he did. And when Ron came back, two hours late with this strange frown, all he said was, “Whoa, mate.” And Harry decided that maybe he did sort of want to tag along after all.

Malfoy was different. Not only because he looked older, or because he sat on the floor with his legs crossed, or because of the piercings and the choker, or because he let his hair grow, wild and frizzy at his shoulders. Something… Harry didn’t know. Something hungry and a little loud about the way he kept his head down. The way he rambled one hundred miles a minute outside the interviews, the strange jokes he made and the way his eyes rounded, big and grey and startling. It was weird. He was weird. But he answered every single one of Ron’s questions, even the ones Ron hadn’t planned on asking. Even the ones that hung in the air. Even the one that made him go scary, that made him run to the loo with a hand over his mouth. He came back, half a weird smile on his face, and answered it too.

And Harry found the in-betweens interesting. Found himself asking Malfoy what he did the rest of the week (“butcher Italian art in the café across the street, you should come, it’d be horrible”); who was he still in contact with (“Pans, and Greg, and—no, that’s it, I don’t, ah, really, ah”); where did he get that tan (“a friend of a pal from work went bungee jumping so I begged them to take me? Never regretted anything more, apart from—well”). Found himself wanting to know. And the flat always smelled like chips, and Harry was perpetually hungry, and sooner than later he found himself going on his own, without Ron and the questions drilling into Harry’s scalp, festering in his brain.

Ron said Malfoy had actually volunteered. That he didn’t have to seek him out, Malfoy approached him through the university. It made sense, in a way, with this Malfoy. The Malfoy who couldn’t shut up for the life of him, who was constantly moving and buzzing and clicking. Would be annoying, but—Harry’s brain had been kind of quiet recently, and everyone around him seemed happy enough, or at least settled, and this heaped spoonful of Malfoy was a nice change of pace. With work, boring and safe and strangely continuous, with nights at Ron and Hermione’s or babysitting a quiet Ted twice a week, with always forgetting what kind of oat milk he liked and buying the wrong mustard. With life being, well, it. Nonstop and a bit bland. Malfoy was different, Malfoy was weird, and Harry liked it.

And there was the way he laughed. Loud, deranged, a little charming, and deranged. Like he didn’t know how to laugh. The crease between his eyebrows, like he wasn’t sure he was doing it right, the bubbling, like he didn’t care. It was a nice sort of laugh. Harry kept going.

He went sofa-searching with Malfoy when his old one gave out. Said he’d help him paint a chest of drawers Malfoy found on the street, begged him to chuck it when it proved half-eaten, roared with laughter when he tried, pink-cheeked, tongue between his teeth, to make it stand on three uneven legs. It wasn’t even funny, no idea why he was laughing. Only that there were tears in his eyes, and no breath left in his chest, and that Malfoy was radiant with something warm and weird and a little off.

“What?” he cried, flopping down on the rug. “Stop laughing, Potter! Honestly!”

But Harry couldn’t, waving his arms in big, apologetic flails. “Just throw the damn thing! You’re impossible.”

Malfoy smiled, that crooked line, small and weirdly alight. “No chance. There’s some potential there, I know it. I can almost, almost see it. Don’t you think it would look wonderful right there?” pointing at an empty space on the opposite wall. Most of the flat was empty. Harry didn’t mind it so much anymore.

“I think the weevils claimed it first. Sorry.”

“Oh, no. We don’t have weevils. Potter, say we don’t have weevils.”

“What? Why?” the urgency in his voice made something stick in Harry’s throat, thick and jagged. Then an oomph as Malfoy fell on top of him, covering Harry’s mouth with a hand.

“Quick! Say it! Words are magic, we can’t take the risk! You have to say we don’t have weevils, you have to say it, say it, now,” but he was laughing like a maniac, and covering Harry’s mouth anyway, so Harry couldn’t say anything, do anything but laugh too, trying to push him off. Maybe not trying too hard. “Come on, Potter, say it, why aren’t you saying it, sayyy it—”

He finally managed a shove, and Malfoy rolled to the floor, hysterical. Harry wiped his cheeks, couldn’t get this foolish grin off his face.

“You’re barking,” he whispered, and it came out appreciative. “Malfoy? Still alive?” only emitting these tiny noises, choked-off giggles, eyes closed behind a shaky hand. “Hey, you okay?”

“Wonderful,” he murmured, then swallowed. Sat up, looked around himself. Loud and a bit hollow. “Are you getting hungry? Bet you I could charm Mr. Picket for two sausage suppers.”

Harry sank against the sofa, this strange feeling in his belly. Content and fuzzy. Saturated or full of static or something.

“Yeah, I could do with some food. I can pay, though. Let me pay.”

“No need. Just sit back and watch a true master at work.” With a wink, Malfoy got up, and this sudden panic in Harry’s chest alarmed him silent. He realised he didn’t want to see Malfoy leave.

What a weird fucking thought to have.

It got weirder, but mostly in nice ways. Harry was spending more time in Malfoy’s crap flat than his own, was drawing little flowers on the edge of his papers again, was laughing a lot. Teddy saw it, the two days a week they spent together. Looked up at him with that big-big smile as if in imitation. He didn’t talk much, but Harry got it, and then they got ice cream.

Work was still work, but now he had Malfoy sending him the weirdest texts throughout the day, and it made everything seem a little less bland. Even if the office was so quiet, sometimes it felt like he’s working for his laptop alone. Even if Harry fantasised about doing something else, something nice, something more… free. When it got a little much, or when his friends all seemed too settled, when he felt like a failure for not—not liking it all enough—he went to Malfoy’s.

It was nice there. Malfoy was hectic, and deranged, and anything but settled. His café job he traded for tending bar in this dingy place, and that for construction work for a week and a half, that for stocking shelves in a Tesco express, that for a lobster hatchery down at the docks. For a while he even worked in an office, somehow by accident. Paper supplies. Harry joked that if Malfoy lasted a month, he’d buy him a new damn chest of drawers: Malfoy lasted the full month, and an extra day, just to be an arse. But he didn’t want a new chest of drawers. Made Harry get them curries instead. Then quit and went to work at a mechanic’s, for a delivery service, in a nightclub, at the corner shop.

And that thing inside him, that hungry, loud thing, the restless one. Harry saw it more and more, like Malfoy forgot to be careful around him. Or like he didn’t have the energy to hide. Harry saw it linger in his eyes when he looked away, looked lost; saw it in the tilt of his shoulders when he stood with his arms around himself. And Harry thought, horribly, that it might be nice to have a friend who wasn’t perfect, someone a bit more like him. Hated himself for thinking that. Didn’t stop coming over, and didn’t tell Malfoy a thing.

One time he came by after work to find Malfoy on the floor. In the middle of the room, curled into a ball, and he didn’t even look up when Harry entered. The door was unlocked.

“Malfoy?” worry squeezed his throat nearly shut. “Are you—what’s wrong?”

Something clearly was. Malfoy was moving all the time, was constantly buzzing and talking and sizzling, but now it was like a switch had been turned off, like he was gone.

“Malfoy?” Harry came to crouch near his knees. Malfoy’s head was hiding somewhere between them. “What’s—” then stopped, because his face came up, eyes puffy and red.

“Hi.” Scratchy, like he’d been howling.

“Hey,” Harry whispered. Found his hand sending forward, gently stroking a knee. The rips in the jeans felt rough under his fingers, felt real.

“There should be—” Malfoy stopped to wipe his nose on a sleeve. “There’s some fish, if you’re hungry. I think. Might be yesterday’s.”

Something squirmed in Harry’s belly. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm? Of course. We should go. Find, ah, should get you something to eat. Something better than day-old fish.”

“What is it?”

Malfoy blinked long eyelashes, like he didn’t understand the question. “You must be hungry. You’re always hungry. They don’t even have,” sniffle, “don’t even do lunch in your office, and—”

“Malfoy.” Harry took one shaky hand in his. “Tell me what happened.”

He sucked in a breath. “Nothing happened, Harry. Nothing ever happens. Every single morning I wake up, and I’m still me.”

It throbbed under his skin. “You,” Harry repeated, understanding it far too close for comfort. “Maybe—let’s get off the floor. I’ll put on the kettle. Come on.”

This resolutely miserable line between his eyebrows, but Malfoy obeyed, got up with Harry’s hands’ gentle prompt. Followed him to the sofa, sat down when Harry gestured. Empty, he seemed empty, and still loud although he was quiet. Harry opened his mouth and closed it and opened it again and had nothing to say. Outside, sunset cleared way for night, humming orange from the streetlights.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Malfoy said to the floor, inexplicable and too soft. “Shouldn’t have to be here. Not with—not for me. It’s not right.”

“Shut up,” was all Harry’s heart let him say.

“I’m serious,” as if Harry didn’t already know, from his tone, from that look on his face. “I’m not your problem. I shouldn’t be. I don’t want to be.”

“You’re not,” and he meant it too. “You’re not a problem.”

A sharp inhale. Malfoy closed his eyes, hung his head low. Chest heaving, like he wanted to say something, like he was crying, but nothing came out. He was loudest at that moment, when he was silent, when Harry was close enough to feel the trembling in his hand. Then, suddenly, it stopped. Like he made an effort to sweep it all neatly under the rug.

“God, I’m being ridiculous. We should go get you something to eat. Something healthy, not fried, for a change. We should, we should go.”

Harry wanted to protest, but he couldn’t think fast enough. Malfoy was already on his feet, looking anywhere but at him.

“There’s this wonderful place uptown. Fancier than, ah, but I used to wash dishes there for a bit, think I can convince—I mean, think they’d give us a decent price. If I blink pretty enough.”

There was no doubt Malfoy could convince anyone, if it half-worked on Harry. Still he came close, put his hand on Malfoy’s cheek, just to make him look. Emboldened by the warmth, by the slight gasp, Harry charged on.

“We don’t need to go anywhere. We can sit here and—talk, something, I dunno. You’re… Malfoy, you’re hurting. We can talk.”

He didn’t answer right away. Swallowed like it was an effort, blinked at Harry’s face, very fucking prettily. “I just get a little lonely sometimes,” he said, softer than Harry expected. “Get a little. Ah. Stuck in my head.” Like a gut punch, but worse, because it was Malfoy, and he was so sad. And Harry liked him, he did, liked his laughter, and how deranged he was, how utterly different and still the same and how, how, how he made life less bland, how he made it brighter.

“You don’t have to be lonely. Maybe you could get a flatmate, or, something, anything. You don’t have to be lonely.”

Malfoy titled his head, leaning into Harry’s palm. Brought a finger to tap his temple, once, twice, like he was saying something Harry didn’t quite catch. Looked at him, just looked. Sad and so pretty.

“I get lonely too,” Harry confessed, a huge rush of it. “I get so lonely it feels like I’m choking, like it’s terminal.”

Malfoy’s hand twitched in the air. “You shouldn’t. You’re wonderful, Harry. You should never feel lonely.”

A beat of silence. A spark of something. Then, “Come live with me,” before he could think better of it. “You should come live with me. You could quit the weekend shifts. Or, hell, continue if you wanted. Come live with me.”

Malfoy laughed, low, like it was a joke. The edges of his eyelashes glistened. “Let’s go. If we hit tea-time rush hour, even my charm won’t…” shrugged, apologetic, and set off.

But the idea stuck in Harry’s mind. Mad and impulsive and possibly wonderful.

(Hey, if you’re still here. I might, might be looking for an alpha/beta reader for this one. If this is your jam, how about a DM?)

#drarry fic #drarry wip #oh god they will be roommates #and there will be angst!#muggle AU #tw: depression #tw: self esteem issues #it's really quite lighthearted? apart from the - that?#oh and PINING THROUGH THE ROOF I can promise you that

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box-of-chaooos · 1 year

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I feel really low rn so Ventish comfort tincrow story ig

Scarecrow had only wanted to relax, all he wanted was to have a little fun and do one of his many many hobbies one that Dorothy had taught him actually which was crocheting, he wanted to make a little dolly for the girl as a present but the vision he had, though he couldn’t actually see it in his head, had not gone to plan. He didn’t like it not at all, he’d restarted so many times now with so many different colours and buttons but nothing, nothing was how he wanted he just didn’t feel it looked right. It just wasn’t good enough. He began to think to himself “how stupid” he thought “how can I not make something I thought of?” He took a deep breath trying to silence the mean thoughts that taunted him he just needed to calm down, he’d had a busy day and was tired was all he wasn’t stupid not in the slightest but his prized brain just kept saying otherwise. He sighed and threw the half made toy to the floor upset with his failure, he stuffed his face into his hands trying to keep back hot tears of frustration. “How pathetic” he thought again. “Your angry so you cry, how stupid” he chocked a sob back squeezing his purple eyes shut tightly.

The doors opened and his head shot up, quickly he wiped any evidence of tears from his eyes and sat at attention to whoever had walked into the tin man’s throne room. It was none other that the metal man himself axe slung over his shoulder, he sighed with relief as he put it down “few, hello sugar cane” he greeted with one of the common nicknames for scarecrow that always made his brain fizzle with love. The straw man smiled trying to seem as though he was alright but tin man knew otherwise. His partner looked tense and tired very on edge of you would. His brows furrowed and he walked over to his lover sat in the chair beside the throne. “My love what’s wrong? You seem down” he said softly cupping scarecrows burlap face in his cold metal hands. The touch was soft ever so soft and scarecrow felt so safe close to the tin man his strong hands so gentle with him like he was a delicate flower it made him swoon. “Oh tin man” he sniffled nuzzling to tin man’s palm. “I can’t do anything right lately” he said sadly as tears began to make their way to his eyes. Tin man felt his heart sink as his dearest scarecrow cried. He knelt down to be infront of him cupping his face with both hands and tenderly wiping his tears with his thumb. “Tin man you’ll rust” scarecrow quickly tried to stop him holding his hands in his own. “I don’t care about rusting I care about you..” his words where so gentle scarecrow just melted into him. His lip quivered as he tried not to spill out all his feelings but it was useless, tin man’s steel eyes looked into his own with such worry such love such care that it was useless to resist. He let himself cry hot tears trickling down his face soaking into his fabric quickly and running his painted eyes.

“I can’t do anything tin man I keep messing it all up! I thought the wizard gave me a brain but I feel dummer than ever” he sobbed. Tin man pulled him close stroking his golden orange hair tenderly. “What nonsense” he scoffed a little. “How could you ever think your dumb my dear?” “I thought to make a dolly for Dorothy but i can’t get it how I wanted to” he sniffled. “Is that it over there?” Tin man looked at the discarded toy on the floor, scarecrow nodded meekly in response. “Well,” tin man scooped up the small doll “it looks absolutely fantastic to me” he smiled at the craft. “Look at it it’s beautiful! So soft and firm it’ll never break and the colours are so pretty” scarecrow looked at him with big eyes full of wonder “y you really think so?” He muttered. “I do yes! My heart is thumping with joy at the sight of this and I’m sure Dorothy’s would to” tin man turned the toy in his hand “it’s not finish just yet though is it?” “No not yet” scarecrow said and grabbed the loose crochet hook. “I’ve got to finish it really but I gave up…” he held the hook looking at it with sorrow. “Well I’d love to see it finished, what do you say?” Tin man grinned. Scarecrow smiled “okay” he nodded. Tin man got up his joints creaking a little as he did.

He went and sat down in his throne and patted his lap with a clanking inviting the scarecrow to sit down. The straw man smiled shyly with hot cheeks and sat down in tin man’s lap receiving a gentle bump on the nose, they couldn’t kiss neither had lips so instead they nuzzled together. He giggled giddily at the show of affection and got to finishing off the doll he was making. Tin man watched him work gracefully looping the blue yarn through each other slowly but surely building up what seemed to be tails of a ribbon in the dolls curly locks of wool hair. He worked with intense focus his eyes following his hands not noticing tin man gazing at him with the Ut-most love. He giggled happily wiggling his legs as he finished the toy and snipped off the end. “Done!” He grinned holding the toy out infront of himself to admire his craft. He still wasn’t pleased with it, it didn’t look right to him it felt wrong like he hadn’t done it properly or messed it up. Tin man gasped “wow!” He said in amazement “would you look at that! Hah your amazing crow!” He took the toy inspecting it “just look at that you did it so well” he awed. “Your so smart, you never cease to amaze me” he smiled giving him a squeeze. Scarecrow smiled “thank you Nick..” he nuzzled his lover and tin man blushed deeply still not used to this he was very easily flustered. “W well Jeez I..” he chuckled. “You think Dorothy will like it?” “Think? I know she will! She’ll love it my heart says so” “and my brain believes you” scarecrow held the toy “I’m gonna go and find and box and some ribbon!” He hopped up grabbing his wooden cane from beside the chair and hurrying off “love you!” He called. “I love you too!” Tin man smiled and chuckled softly. He sighed and looked as scarecrow headed down the hall and out of sight. “More than you’ll ever know” he muttered.

Man I SUCK at fanfics.. but I just had to do something to make myself feel better! Any who.. if you do read this I hope you.. don’t hate it??

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schrijverr · 10 months

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Shapest Tool in the Shed

A look into Eliot and how he views himself, his past and his intelligence.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: suicide ideation, self esteem issues, guilt, mentions of violence

~~~~~~~~~

Eliot never graduated high school. He has always looked old for his age and army recruiters with quotas to meet are more than glad to pretend they believe the kid in front of them claiming they’re eighteen.

So, Eliot disappears into the thrum of the army when he is sixteen – sixteen and a half, as Eliot will point out often to his mother back when he still calls home. Though, those calls end quickly, he has nothing to go back to anyway.

Quickly – quicker than someone his age has any right to do – he starts climbing ranks as the missions he gets send on get more and more dangerous. Eliot, however, doesn’t care. He’s proud of himself, of his skills. He might not have been the smartest in school, but he has found something he is good at and he relishes in it.

Joining the army at such a young age means that it is made difficult to develop a conscious. The violence is encouraged, ruthlessness rewarded and death is seen as natural. So, Eliot never really does.

He just moves into ops so special that he’s not even sure the president knows about them, doing things no human should be capable of doing without feeling remorse. There are truly two types of ways to go from there: wetwork or suicide.

Eliot rolls from specialized missions into wetwork with the ease of a seasoned professional at age 23. Seven years he served his country and now he serves his own bank account.

In his time in the army, he was often the youngest on the team and people always treated him like the baby, until they were out there in the field. Eliot had the experience to back himself up and while he might not have known what the hell Einstein or Newton are on about, he picked up enough skills to survive and those are way more valuable.

Those survival skills also include how to remain under the radar. How to function without being seen by the government when they have to be able to deny your existence. It’s knowing how to remain invisible, how to hide money, how to find water and food in the wilderness, what danger to avoid and how to blend in.

Eliot does not view himself as intelligent, but he is smart and he knows what he needs to get the job done. He picks up the skills he needs to survive. It’s either that or get killed, nothing special about it.

It takes him two years to build up a solid reputation in his line of work. Two years of staying out of sight of those that want him in prison and in sight of those that want to pay for his services. Two years before he ends up on Moreau’s radar.

Damien Moreau.

Somehow, it feels unavoidable that he ends up in front of the man. Anyone, who is someone in their business, has heard of Damien Moreau. Every hitter worth something has a job for this man on their resume. It’s been a build up. Something that had been coming for a long time.

So, Eliot finds himself in front of Damien Moreau. He’s still young, no longer naive, but with more confidence in himself than is probably good for him. It’s only much later that he’ll realize that taking his first job for Moreau is the stupidest thing he has ever done in his life.

However, Eliot does not realize that just yet, so he accepts the job from Moreau with a grin on his face, the amount of zero’s behind the number flashing in front of his eyes.

Eliot works together with Moreau for three years. In those three years he gets closer and closer to the man as the jobs he does get more and more brutal. He adapts to the work, growing to feel secure as he succeeds. Soon Eliot Spencer is the best in the business. No one to fear.

Being on top of the game, however, comes with an unforeseen setback. Eliot has never really been the best at something. He was good at a lot of things, physical things. But suddenly, he’ll look at the younger recruits and cringe at their mistakes, mentally mapping out how their behavior is going to get them killed one day.

For Moreau, these are the grunts that will do the less intricate work. He does not care if they live or die. Those who will serve him well, will live, those that will not, won’t.

Eliot then also realizes that he is their leader. He is the one in charge to organize their stings and these kids are the ones, who are supposed to have his back.

If there is one thing the army taught him, it’s that the people you’re attacking with can make or break a mission. Eliot might be skilled, very skilled, but there are certain things he can’t do alone and if these are the ones to have his back, then he’ll be screwed.

He’s going to have to take these kids under his wing and teach them at least basic skills, if they all want to make it to tomorrow.

Taking those kids under his wing backfires in the oddest way.

He starts to feel responsible for them, starts to care about their well being. Starts to care if they die. He has built these kids from the ground up, taught them what they needed to survive and when they don’t, it falls on him to carry that blame.

So, his road to redemption starts selfishly. It’s heartbreakingly in character for him and he’ll hate himself for the rest of time for it. But it is the step he needs.

The first time, one of his men dies on a mission and he feels guilt about not being able to return his body to his family, Eliot knows he is screwed. He hasn’t made the effort to bring a comrade’s body back home since he was 21 years old. He hasn’t cared about anyone dying since he was 22. Now at 28, he’s suddenly thrown back into caring; the emotion foreign to him.

Suddenly, Eliot starts to feel the need to get out. To get away from Damien Moreau and his entire operation. It’s not even that the man asks him to do worse, he has already done his worst and at the time he didn’t care a bit, didn’t flinch at the innocent blood on his hands. It is only in hindsight that he starts to feel sick at his actions.

Sparing the General had been self serving. Eliot might have regained guilt, but he still is a selfish man at heart and the General is his ticket away from Moreau.

So, he gets out.

He flees.

And then he hides. He hides and tries to deal with the fallout of getting slammed out of that disassociative uncaring state he has lived in for many years now and into a life of shame and guilt and fear. A life of revulsion at the person he has become.

Eliot has to find peace in what he has done, knowing he can never undo all the hurt he caused and never repent for all the lives he took. That he can’t go back to that kid from Oklahoma, who thought the army would save him from the horrors of high school.

He also has to come to terms that he never thought he would feel like this. That he had convinced himself he was above what he had seen break so many others in his line of work. Much like leaving the army, those in wetwork had two endings: remain uncaring till death or loose your mind and take your own life.

Right now, he is leaning hard against that second option, the first forcefully taken from him, all by that stupid kid. That kid, who had been so proud the first time he won a fight, who always managed to make a joke despite the danger they went into. Who looked with unseeing eyes and a bullet hole in his head.

But he also knows, that taking his own life, would be a coward’s way out. And Eliot prides himself on not being a coward. He is going to live through this, that he vows. He’s going to make it through and not let Moreau win, not let him take the rest of his life.

However, this is the moment where he realizes that taking that first job for Moreau, has been the stupidest thing that he has ever done.

Not just because of the destructive path the man lead him on, a path Eliot had already been walking before him. But also because Eliot has intertwined all of his being into Moreau’s business and now, he has not a cent to his name and will have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life. Maybe if he had gotten that diploma, he wouldn’t be here now.

He has no skills next to death and if he wants to see his redemption through, he will need money, a job. Saying yes to the contract to kill again, weighs heavy on him, but he doesn’t see another way to be able to move on.

The compromise he makes himself, is no guns. If he is doing this, he is giving his opponents a fair chance and himself room to get defeated, to take the punishment.

Eliot will never be sure what Toby sees in him that night, when he is looming in his kitchen, knife in hand. Lurking and waiting for the lone cook to return for prep tomorrow. Doesn’t know why Toby would quirk a brow at him and merely say: “Your knife form is all off.”

But Toby does and Eliot is shocked to the core. His skill in weaponry is one he is proud of, the only one he has developed over the years and to hear it be critiqued piques his interests. That curiosity leads him to ask why Toby would say that and Toby merely informs him that he’ll be cutting no food if he holds the knife like that, before showing him how cooks use their knives.

It is the second time that Eliot does not complete his mission, that he does not leave his target behind dead and bleeding. Toby lives and this time, it is not out of a selfish reason. It is hardly anything, but it feels like a big step for Eliot anyway.

He stays and talks with Toby for the rest of the night, learns the other has been to prison and the hit on his head is from a former gang buddy of his. Learns that Toby now teaches other ex-cons how to cook, so they can make something off themselves. Learns that Toby has an empty spot for him if he wants to take it.

Eliot knows that he is no ex-con. What he is, is way worse and integrating back into society will always be out of reach for him. But he is closer to them than most other people. Ex-cons often don’t finish high school, get caught up in things bigger than them until they don’t know how else to live, they know violence and the fear of getting caught.

So, Eliot stays and Eliot learns.

Cooking, as it turns out, is something Eliot is good at. It’s something he enjoys and something he can use to push out all the emotions that threaten to overtake him. He can put the guilt of what he has done into pasta, wrap up the shame in the dumpling dough, mix the fear into the sauce he’s stirring and display the revulsion at himself on the steaming plates.

His 29th year on this planet is the first in twelve years wherein Eliot Spencer does not take a single life.

He has learned a non-violent skill and feels human again. Hell, he just feels again. He knows that he has more skills than the killing he gave himself credit for. He can fix cars, has picked up multiple languages and can plan like the best of them. However, Eliot will never feel smart again, fears giving himself that label, because it makes him blind.

Eliot is just a guy with plenty of skills. These skills are limited to the physical for the most part, not things that he can put on a resume, but they’re enough to market himself. Like he had already suspected, Eliot is not cut out for the civilian life. He has tried it, but he will always feel like he is putting those around him in danger.

He only stays with Toby those first two months, skipping town after the man who put a price on his head died in a shoot out with the cops. Then he travels around the world, picking up more ways to cook food and hiding from those that still have it out for him. His name carries enough weight that many don’t try, but he is intimately aware of the ax hanging above his head and the lack of funds that can carry him to safety.

So, he decides to go in a different direction. Retrieval is close enough to his old job that his skill set and reputation come in handy and pays well enough for him to rebuilt the safety net he used to have.

When changing career paths Eliot also decides that he will no longer kill and no longer use a gun. The two rules have kind of already existed in his own mind, but he makes them explicit to himself and people looking to hire him. He is turning over a new leaf.

Of course, Eliot knows that he cannot undo what he has done. He cannot make up for it and he cannot pay the universe back what he has taken from it. Eliot Spencer is a terrible man and he is aware of it. He is not looking to make up for what he has done, he just doesn’t want to make the bloodstain on his person bigger. He allows himself to be stupid enough to believe that that will be enough for him.

Retrieval can be kind of fun. It feels less intense than wetwork, while giving the same adrenaline kick and good enough pay. People will never pay the same for a statue than a man’s life, however, the amounts would be enough to send a normal person spinning.

In his new line of work, he also encounters one Nate Ford. By the time he gets into working with artifacts at 29, Nate already is an established name to watch out for and by the time Eliot turns 31, the man has chased after him on a few occasions.

And Eliot must admit Nate is good at what he does. However, Nate should also be lucky that Eliot isn’t doing his old job anymore, because he is terrible at securing a place and often times it would have been easier to eliminate him as a threat than try to work around him, but Eliot manages.

Well, he manages most of the time. Nate never catches him, but he does outsmart Eliot and gets the stuff Eliot stole back. It’s infuriating, but Eliot knows he is not the most intelligent out of the two of them. He’s not the most intelligent out of most people in the world. He didn’t even finish high school.

Then Nate Ford disappears from the scene, falls off the face of the earth for a few months. Then falls into a hole of alcohol. With a man like him, people talk and Eliot heart aches for the loss Nate endured. Eliot knows what inhumane looks like – he still calls back on that part of his life to dole out threats he won’t live up to – and what IYS did to Nate is inhumane.

However, Eliot can’t ruminate long in what happened to Nate, nor does he care very deeply. He isn’t the man’s friend, hardly knew him.

Plus, while retrieval isn’t the same as wetwork, it is still very dangerous and with Eliot’s past, he continuously has to be on high alert or it will all come crashing down on him again. And selfishly, Eliot wants to live. He is starting to like who he is becoming and starting to be at peace with who he used to be.

So, he doesn’t really think much of what happened to Nate Ford until two years later, when the man is in charge of a job.

Eliot can be honest with himself and admit it is a surprise to see Nate playing for their team. He has always been as honest as they come and Eliot knows that what they’re doing now is far from honest work, but with the turn his life had taken, Eliot can’t blame him for taking the payday and he hears how the man justifies it to himself.

Eliot can also be honest with himself and admit that Nate is good at what he does. He is obviously very clever and a good strategist. When it all goes south, the way he plays Dubenich right back can only be described as masterful.

And another thing Eliot can be honest to himself about, is that taking down Dubenich felt good. Really good.

It felt good in a different way than a good, clean kill used to feel, different than what winning an evenly matched fight feels like, different than what a good retrieval feels like. It felt like he is actually making a difference in the world. Taking down a scumbag like Dubenich prevents people getting hurt in his path, instead of Eliot hurting people. He’s protecting them.

The payout they get from the job also doesn’t hurt. The amount makes Eliot’s head spin and his head is hard to spin after all the payments he has been offered for his services throughout his lifetime.

That check, which Hardison hands to him, is his ticket to safety. There is still the chance people will come after him of course, that will never go away. However, he’ll have the funds to disappear if they do. And what this money really does, it ensure that he can say no to whatever job he wants. It is retirement money. Eliot will never have to fear again that he’ll have to resort to wetwork to keep himself alive.

With that safety, he craves to feel more of that good feeling. He has always resigned himself that he’ll never be able to make up for what he has done and, while he still believes he won’t, the work makes him feel like he can at least turn the ocean of blood into a pool.

And it seems Eliot isn’t the only one who felt good while on the job, because all of them return to Nate, ask him to lead and want them to be a team.

Eliot Spencer is pretty sure that coming back for the second job, is the only smart thing he has ever done in his life.

Working with the team is the best thing that happened to him. All of them are highly skilled in their areas and Eliot learns more than he is willing to admit from just watching them. From being allowed on their team.

If he allows himself to be honest, he can admit that he isn’t sure why they’d want him there. He has never been a good person and they’re aware of it, at least on some abstract level, so why they would even want to be near him is beyond him.

However, he can recognize special, so if he can take the hits so they don’t have to, then he’s more than happy to protect them. He has always been better at taking this hits then thinking.

He is more than happy to protect the team, to feel like he’s keeping this bit of goodness alive. To feel like he’s doing good by keeping them safe, instead of keeping safe the riches of someone who got them through carnage. Just the fact that he is protecting instead of hurting is more than enough, he can take the punishment, repay the hurt he doled by getting hurt for them.

And he is grateful that the team lets him, that they recognize him to make the calls he has to make and that they trust his judgment in the situations he knows best.

It’s not that he’s smarter than them, he tells himself. He knows he isn’t. Grunts like him just repeat the same steps over and over again, see what works for others and what doesn’t. It’s one big dance they all do.

But that doesn’t mean everyone knows the responses, Eliot does. Eliot knows risks, one of the only things he has had to get good at. One of the only skills he honed.

So, he knows it’ll be safer for him to take the beating from Tank, rather than risk the team in one of Nate’s convoluted last minute plans after they’ve already been made. And he knows how to respond to the kidnappers when Nate and Maggie are taken.

What throws him for a loop about it all, however, is that the other seem to respect him, seem to think he is knowledgeable.

Sure, Hardison continuously makes fun of his punchy hands and how he doesn’t understand tech and Parker gets an odd amount of joy of poking at the bruises he got by trying not to kill anyone as he fights, while Sophie calls the fighting barbaric and Nate uses him as human shield more often than not.

However, when Nate puts him in as a grifter, no one questions his choices and they all assume he can do it. When a new language pops up they turn to him to see if he speaks it and when it all turns south, Nate refers to him to get them out and everyone follows what he says.

A part of Eliot can’t help but think of those kids he was in charge of under Moreau. The ones that didn’t make it on the dark days. How much it hurt to loose them. How much worse it will be if anything ever happens to the people under his care now. How easily they trust him with their lives when he isn’t the brightest out there and one mistake can end up with them dead.

Eliot feels like he doesn’t deserve their trust, but revels in it anyway. Feeling human is something he hasn’t done until he was 28 and feeling positive about being alive is a novel experience that has only come once he met the team.

Slowly, he starts to feel like maybe he doesn’t have to get their trust, their faith in him. He just has to accept it and play his part in keeping them alive.

Naturally that means it come crashing down. He already doesn’t deserve the trust they put in him and now he’s lying them and putting them all in danger by allowing them to go after Moreau without speaking up. Without warning them of the dangers of that man. Without telling them all he knows about how Moreau runs his operation.

The guilt is eating at him and he makes another stupid decision. His whole life is already made up of stupid decisions, what’s one more? He’s only ever done one smart thing and that is stick with the team, he’s not putting them in danger when it is his past haunting them.

He decides to go after Moreau himself.

Of course he still has the team’s back while they go after his former boss, he is just also going behind it, so they won’t ever get to their final destination.

Eliot reasons that if he can kill Moreau, before they get close, then no one but him will ever have to know about his past. About how stupid he has been. How many people he’s hurt. No one but him and Moreau, who’ll have a bullet in his head.

Moreau loved having him as a secret weapon, few people know he worked for him and his leaving Moreau’s side has been kept under wraps to avoid Moreau seeming weak. As far as the dirty underbelly is concerned, Eliot is still out there, doing Moreau’s bidding.

It’s not a reputation Eliot is a fan of, but it helps. He knows how the silent shadow of Moreau has kept some people off his back these past five years. Let him be peaceful. Allowed him not to have to kill again.

He will have to kill again.

Yeah, he knows that is a pessimistic way to look at it, but there is no other way to defeat Moreau and he knows it. He has spend years in the man’s operation, he knows how hard it will be to come close to toppling it over. How smart Moreau is. Should he live, he will find a way to break out and rise to power again. It’ll only be a matter of time.

So, Eliot has resigned to breaking his no-kill streak to take down Moreau. Anything to protect those who have taken him in, who somehow see good in him.

Finding Moreau isn’t hard – Eliot has kept tabs on him ever since he left – it is finding an opening to take him out that is difficult. If he had Hardison at his back to track Moreau’s digital moves or Parker to look for unseen entrances or Sophie with her way of getting close unnoticed or Nate’s planning, he might be more successful, but he can’t involve the team in this. He’ll have to do it in his own stupid way.

Not that he isn’t cautious, of course. Eliot’s one skill next to violence is risk assessment, as stated before. He knows how to not rush in unprepared. How to not get killed. It’s the whole thing that got him in this mess in the first place.

Just like he knows it’s easier if you have good people at your back, but how those people will be at risk of dying if either of you don’t know how to assess the risks. If either of you do something you shouldn’t have. He can’t risk the people at his back again, when he has the most experience in what he is doing. When him dying matters less than them dying.

Eliot works alone, he knew that back then too and if he involves other people in that sort of job, they get dead.

Naturally, this plan of his also doesn’t work out for him. The pressure on the team gets bigger and before he can take a shot on his own, Nate is already hounding Moreau and will not be swayed differently. Eliot understands Nate not listening to him about it, he doesn’t have the mastermind’s brain and he never tipped his hand as to why he might know how dangerous this is.

A part of him knows that if he speaks up, they’ll think twice about it, but then they also might just kick him to the curb. He would get that. But then they would go after Moreau without him there to keep them safe and why he might be dumb, he isn’t stupid enough to let that happen.

So, Eliot stays quiet and Eliot plays along.

However, he makes sure to get assigned to get the auction details from Moreau and volunteers Hardison to with him. He is the smartest person Eliot knows and he needs some smarts at his back before he does something stupid again. Plus, Hardison trusts him the most. He hates himself for it, but Hardison is the one that won’t question him if he has to do something and who’ll play along if needed. Eliot wants him there.

At the elevators Eliot realizes that if he doesn’t take charge now, they’re never getting in and if they do, they’ll be blown in seconds when he is recognized. So he does something stupid and gives the guards his real name and hopes Hardison’s smarts will balance it out.

Standing next to that pool, Eliot realizes that thinking he would be able to face Moreau again is one of the dumbest things he has ever done.

Fear grips him as he is face to face with the man, who made sure Eliot would never find peace ever again. It takes all his energy not to let it show. To not let slip how terrifying is of Moreau in front of him and for Hardison in the pool behind him.

Eliot will say yes to anything if it means Hardison will be able to come up for air again. If the other dies due to Eliot’s own stupid decisions, he’ll never be able to live with himself.

So when all Moreau wants is to have some General dead, then Eliot will do that without any hesitation. He already knew going after Moreau meant ending his no-killing streak.

In the end, he doesn’t kill the General. It’s almost ironic that the two times he thwarted Moreau it involved not killing a General.

More surprising is the fact that the team doesn’t immediately send him away. Not even Nate, who has witnessed the carnage that can be Eliot Spencer. The person he used to be without a soul, without remorse or a conscious. That heartless killer.

They’re a little mad at him of course, but they seem to understand why he didn’t want to tell him, how much Moreau scares him.

And when they keep him away from Moreau during their second con they run on the man, it doesn’t feel like distrust. Instead it feels like they’re keeping him away from his personal devil, so he won’t have to go through that again. It feels like he’s being protected and no matter how much his mind screams at him that it should be the other away around, his heart can’t help but feel safe.

After they take down Moreau, Eliot throws himself into keeping these people safe even more than he did before. Putting his body on the line is the only way he knows how to make up to them for the man he used to be.

He scales a mountain, getting Parker back safely. He takes a carnival ride to the face, because Nate told him to do his worst. He takes on a cartel to get Hardison back. Subjects himself to torture because Nate asks, goes back to his roots and tortures the interrogator right back when Hardison is taken again. He even contemplates killing again, so Nate won’t ever have to come close to being who Eliot used to be.

He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t, but it’s close.

When he holds the gun to Dubenich’s face his hand is shaking. Killing in that warehouse took more out of him than he thought. Not killing has soothed his soul like nothing else has ever since the kids under his command died.

Eliot knows that he will give up that peace of mind if Nate asked it of him. If the man wanted someone dead, Eliot would pull the trigger.

But Nate hasn’t asked for this death.

Sure, he wants the man dead. Hell, he wants to kill him himself. A thing Eliot can’t let him do, because he knows what it will do to Nate and he doesn’t deserve that. And if Eliot does it now, he will save Nate that fate.

He should do it.

He should go back to that far away state where he didn’t really exist in this world and neither did his actions. He should pull the trigger and kill Dubenich. Protect Nate from becoming anything that is close to what Eliot is.

However, his hand is shaking and selfishly he disarms the gun instead of shooting it as he prays that Nate will be smart enough not to do what Eliot did.

As Eliot prayed, Nate does not kill someone. The two end up dead, but Nate is intelligent and he doesn’t need to get his hands dirty for the world to do as he wants. Doesn’t have to use brute force to bend it to his will. Doesn’t have to be stained like Eliot is. A part of him hates Nate a little for how easy it comes to him.

The team moves to Portland and Eliot follows without question. He would follow them anywhere, no questions asked.

The others probably know that, so Eliot is a little surprised at the Brewpub and state of the art kitchen Hardison has waiting for him. As if Eliot needs an insentive to stay, even as Nate and Sophie start to drift off and it becomes clearer and clearer that five are going to be three soon enough.

Eliot isn’t stupid enough not to see how Nate tests their abilities more and more. How they fill the gaps Nate and Sophie will leave. Can’t help but wonder why Nate think Eliot will ever be enough without them. Parker and Hardison are smart, but Eliot’s stupid might weigh them down. Wonders if Nate is assessing if he can handle it or if he’ll be a liability.

Fuck, Eliot doesn’t want to become a liability.

Nate and Sophie deserve a good retirement, so Eliot tries his hardest to prove that he’s good enough to be an asset. He takes all the hits that come his way, works on characters with Sophie and tries to think what Nate will do when a mark just won’t bend.

The most obvious move Nate makes is sending the three of them to DC for a small con, even Eliot can’t miss that one.

The con they’re there to run goes off without a hitch, but before they can skip town and avoid consequences for their crimes Eliot gets a Call. The capital is completely deserved there, because it’s the type of call he used to get before. Before the team, before his conscious, before the lives of others became valuable to him.

Eliot can’t ignore what is about to happen. Can’t ignore that someone is going to die today unless he does something about it. He is a good guy now. He protects others. It might be stupid, but he tells the others as much and they, maybe equally stupidly, trust him enough to come with to stop it.

A part of Eliot blames himself for not walking away when he had the chance, because what they uncover in the end is way bigger than any of them can handle. Eliot knows that, the second he sees who is on the hit list. And it becomes even more clear when Vance fills them in on what needs to be done.

Vance is a military man, who Eliot worked with between 21 and 23. Vance might have been older than him, but at the time Eliot had more experience than the other. Eliot went into wetwork, while Vance was smart enough to accept a suit position before his hands were so stained, he no longer felt the need to serve.

Eliot knows what Vance has done. Knows how smart the man is and how he uses it to get people together and dance to his tune. Knows that people die under Vance’s command, just like they’d done under Eliot’s.

Hardison and Parker cannot, under any circumstance, die. Eliot won’t let it happen.

However, Eliot also isn’t as bright as either of them and maybe he has grown soft with having people to fall back on. People who are so intelligent and who have the skill to get Eliot out of situations he can’t get himself out of. So, Eliot lets them stay.

With every new thing they uncover about what is happening in DC, Eliot regrets bringing the two with him, but sending them away is impossible. This needs to be stopped or they’ll be at risk anyway and Eliot knows this is beyond his own capabilities to stop. He punches problems, not solve those that are unpunchable.

But when Hardison panics, a small part of Eliot wants to validate that fear and get him to run and not look back. Get him to leave Eliot here while he can get out of harm’s way.

But at that point they know there is no getting out of harm’s way. They either stop it or are all in danger, no gray area to operate in.

So, Eliot is more open about his feelings than he has ever been before and tells Hardison how smart he is, how amazing his brain is and that he just needs Hardison to point him in the right direction so he can solve this problem in the way he knows well: with a good punch.

It is enough to calm Hardison. They both know this is how their team works. Hardison the brain, Eliot the punch and Parker with solutions to the problems they didn’t foresee.

He fears for her life, but god is he glad she is there with them. That she is smart enough to board the train, to bring that diamond to cut the glass, that she knows to keep Hardison safe, that she remembers how fire kills it.

Eliot doesn’t mind getting shot twice to keep them safe. He can take the punishment and he can protect the people who do the good, who are righting the world. He can aid in their struggle for justice, even if it will never cleanse him of his own sins.

The three of them work well together and he has no issue saying no to Vance when he asks. Nate will be leaving and these two will need someone to point in the right direction so he can punch the problems that are punchable.

It’s only when they get to their hotel that Eliot’s worldview comes crashing down yet again, much like it had back when he was 28. Now at 38, ten years later, it happens again and in a very different way.

After throwing away his crutch – which isn’t the smartest thing he has ever done, but not the dumbest either – Hardison and Parker have supported him all the way back to their room until he can collapse on one of the beds.

He is exhausted and glad to sit down. The other two are clearly still too wired from their day to even think of taking it easy, both still buzzing with excess energy, which they try to pour in fussing over Eliot.

On an abstract level Eliot appreciates their concern, but it’s quite unnecessary. He tells him as much and they ignore him after giving him a look.

Luckily, they ease up a little bit anyway and when they deem him cared for enough, they go back to poking and ribbing him. Parker is poking his shoulder, while Hardison sends him a smug look and says: “So, I’m the smartest man you know, E? I’m flattered.”

Eliot bats Parker’s hand away and plasters on his best grumpy expression. He can’t let Hardison know how high he has him in his mind, the other will become insufferable. No need to show any genuine emotions, he thinks as he grouches: “It’s all comparatively, Hardison. I never even graduated high school, not that hard to be smarter than me.”

Instead of gloating further, like Eliot expected, Hardison frowns, smug face gone, and asks: “What do you mean by that?”

Later Eliot will blame the blood loss, but in the moment, the question just catches him off guard and without meaning to, he replies: “We both know I ain’t smart, just ribbing you back a little.”

Hardison’s frown deepens and he says: “Eliot, you’re very smart, what are you on about, man?”

Next to him, Parker nods and repeats: “Very smart.”

Eliot meanwhile can only look at the two with, what must be, shock on his face. There was a time Eliot considered himself to be smart, but with hindsight he realizes he has made too many stupid decisions to ever be it. He has made peace with it. To hear from two of the smartest people he knows that they think he is smart is tilting his world.

Much to his horror, he can feel a flush overtaking his cheeks and he looks away as he tells them: “No need to lie to me. I’m a little hurt, not in distress. I can handle the truth, you know. I punch things, you guys just point me to who. I don’t mind. We all have our things.”

“Are you playing with me? Is this a joke?” Hardison asks, practically demands. “Eliot, you speak multiple language and are skilled in so many martial arts, not to mention all your culinary knowledge and frankly terrifying Rolodex of distinct features, sound etcetera. And your grifting manipulation skills.”

“Those all require smarts,” Parker adds. “And you are very tactical, good at coming up with exit strategies and plans of attack. That’s not easy either.”

Eliot blushes deeper under the praise, but waves it away in the end as he shrugs: “Those are just skills, both of you have basic criminal skills. I’m not a mastermind like you’re shaping up to be Parker or a literal genius. I’m just a guy who joined the army before getting out of high school.”

“You keep bringing up high school like that is a measurement of any form of intelligence instead of just if you can remember stuff,” Hardison says. “Not to mention that Parker never even went to high school and-”

“She’s street smart,” Eliot protests, because no one will insult Parker’s intelligence when he’s around, not even Hardison.

“I know,” Hardison rolls his eyes as Parker points out: “So are you.”

Before he can protest more, Hardison says something that shuts him up. “And – as I was saying – I also never graduated high school.”

“What?” Eliot can’t help but exclaim, never seeing that coming.

“Yeah, man,” Hardison shrugs like it’s nothing. “Me and school didn’t really jam and Nana could use extra money more than anything school could teach me. I dropped out to help, then never really looked back. Not like I needed a degree with my job.”

Eliot’s whole view is shattered like that. It isn’t like he didn’t know that high school wasn’t indicative of much, but a part of him assumed that those around him had more education than him, that his failure started there. But that internal bias has just been shaken up.

“What you do isn’t easy, E,” Hardison tells him intently as if to drive the point home, just in case Eliot missed it. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“I’ve always thought you were very smart too,” Parker agrees. “You know things, makes me feel safe that you’re there to help me find a way out. You think like me. We’re us. I like us being us together.”

And Eliot really hopes the blood loss is substantial enough that he can blame the moist eyes and choked up voice on it as he says: “Thanks, I- uhm, I’ll try to see it like that.”

“We’ll be here to remind you,” Parker informs him happily as she crawls into bed next to him and snuggles into his good shoulder.

“Yeah, man, we won’t let you forget you’re our own smart ass,” Hardison smiles as he sits on Eliot’s other side, letting their legs press together while being cautious of his injuries.

“You’re the smart ass,” Eliot ribs, aware that Hardison probably let him have that easy comeback so they could leave the emotional talk behind them if he wanted too.

“And still you put up with me,” Hardison says, letting his smile turn back into that smug little grin from before.

“Sadly,” Eliot grouches, but he doesn’t mean it and they all know it.

So, yeah, Eliot never graduated high school. He has made some stupid decisions in his life and lived the consequences, but he has learned from them too and picked up all sorts of skills that make him a smart hitter, who made it to 38 already.

Eliot hasn’t disappeared into a shallow grave before he could reach proper adulthood like so many around him have. Instead he found a family who want him there and make sure he has them to come home to, alive and well.

Quickly – quicker than they had any right to – they made themselves comfortable in his heart and he can’t be mad, because the work they do feels good and they all work well together, both as five and as three. They have found something they’re good in and they relish in it.

Nate and Sophie leaving when they do means that the others have to refind a balance. But they have been taught and mentored, given room to learn how to swim, before getting thrown in the deep end of the pool. So, they’re prepared to say goodbye when the moment comes.

And when they go, Eliot feels comfortable in promising that he will keep them safe till their dying day. That he has the skills and intelligence to keep Hardison and Parker alive until they all retire together. It took him a while to get here, but he is finally comfortable with who he is and what he can do. What he does.

Eliot is smart enough to run with the best thieves in the world that more than counts as being intelligent in his book. And it’s not like Hardison or Parker let him forget it, they’re stubborn like that.

#rr writing #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: self esteem issues #tw: voilence mention #eliot spencer #damien moreau #alec hardison #leverage parker #nathan ford #nate ford #sophie devereaux #leverage fic #leverage #leverage tv

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birdonic-wave · 1 year

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Self - Esteem (2023)

I made a mini-comic about self-esteem to 1) process some shit for my therapist and 2) attempt to learn my way around some digital art stuff

#art #comic #personal #black and white #tw: self esteem issues

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ak-177 · 1 year

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Trash magic? 👀 all the Wips sound interesting!

Aaaaaah, Trash Magic, as everything I write, it's Thramsay haha, I definitely have talk about this waaaaaay too much times lmao but I love this concept I made, it goes like this:

First, TW: prostitution (not Theon's or Ramsay's, someone else's)

Theon is a mess of human being like on all my fics lol, and he gets a new job on a hotel, he's basically the person that tells everyone where is their room and things like that, right? And then, we have that Theon and Robb are besties, like, suuuuper friends, and all cool.

Buuuuut, Robb has some self-destructive behavior, but in a veeeeery different way from Theon, since he's always under pression and stress, he needs some relieve, something to feel free even if it's for a little time, so, he whores himself to anyone

So, Theon and Robb have a deal: Theon will always have a room ready in the hotel at weekends nights for Robb to use with his clients.

They don't know that Ramsay is the owner of the hotel 💀💀 so, Ramsay hears that there's a new "whore" working there, and goes to see Robb Stark (Robb doesn't know Ramsay tho). Ramsay pays for a night and goes to Theon asking for the special room, Theon has to idea what he means and gets into a fight with Ramsay because he thinks he's making fun of him or something like that.

I'm not gonna say more hahaha but you all can imagine how it's going to go lololol and yeah, it's completely Thramsay (maybe I'm gonna put a glimpse of Ramsay/Robb and Robb/Roose, yk, to spice a bit haha, it's still on discussion)

#theon greyjoy #thramsay #ramsay bolton #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #modern au #ramsay snow #theon x ramsay #ao3fic #ao3 writer #my writing #tw: self esteem issues #tw: prostitution

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citrineleaf · 1 year

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@playerappreciationweek Summary:

When one is in a team, they must make certain... sacrifices. And, sometimes, your team leader doesn't approve of those, but damn it if you won't try. -- Alternatively; Player would very much like to stay behind for everyone's safety. Player is a moron, according to Carmen.

(Made for Player Week, Day 5 "For Carmen's Safety, Right?")

#csplayerweek2023 #tw: manipulation #tw: panic attacks #tw: minor violence #tw: imprisonment #tw: kidnapping #tw: self hatred #tw: self esteem issues

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midgardian-witch · 1 year

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Quick warning at the start here because this is going to get a little personal and there will be some vague trauma/mental health talk (potential tw are tagged)

I wanna talk about Marc.

I really didn't like him when I first watched Moon Knight. When he was first 'introduced' so to say.

I think maybe people aren't supposed to like him at the start. Of course once you get into his backstory, the trauma and everything it gets easy to sympathize with him but when we first meet Marc?

God I thought he was such a jerk.

It grated on my nerves that this adult man couldn't fucking communicate with the people in his life that he loved. That he refused to tell Steven what was going on until he was forced to do so. That he just left Layla with divorce papers he didn't even have the balls to sign himself.

All for their 'protection'.

I had such a visceral reaction to his behavior that I haven't had to the actions of a fictional character in a long time.

Why wouldn't he just tell them? Why wouldn't he open up? Why was he so defensive? Why doesn't he let people help? Why doesn't he-

Now wait a minute.

I knew there was trauma. I know living with trauma and mental illness and fucking life sucks. Why did Marc make me feel so bad when every other character, every other person, didn't?

And then it hit me.

Because I do the same.

I am neurodivergent and I certainly didn't like myself a lot of the time growing up.

I had to deal with a lot of shit when I was younger. Childhood could have been a fuckton worse but it wasn't a joyride either. So how did I deal with that at a very young age?

I didn't.

Duh.

The way I coped with my issues was taking care of other people's issues. Because if I worry about other people I don't have to worry about myself.

Makes sense right?

So I didn't tell people my problems because on the very few times I did I got shut down.

'Everyone feels that way.'

'It'll be better. Just think positively.'

'Other people have it worse.'

So I just stopped talking to people about my issues and focused on their issues.

Which worked for a while. And then it didn't. It started to knaw on me. I got defensive. I got down right mean sometimes.

I was not always a fun person to be around. (I still doubt I am now tbh)

I realized in my late teens/early twenties that that is not the way to cope. So I worked on that. I found people that actually cared and that I could talk to. I learned to even fucking like myself (most of the time).

Enter Marc Spector.

And once it clicked I saw the parallels only adding up more and more. He was this stark reminder of all my past issues, those I figured out how to handle and those I didn't (yet).

And it fucking hurt.

I have seen a lot of people talk about how Steven helped them love themselves. People with autism for example that saw themselves represented. People that saw themselves in him and seeing other people love Steven made them realized that they too can be and are loved.

And I do too! Steven was my immediate favorite. I loved that he was passionate about his special interests, I loved how much he cared and just how sweet he was in general.

But Marc hit me like a fucking train.

Marc doesn't know how to really ask for help. In his mind he needs to take all the issues and burden on himself. He cares so much for Layla and for Steven and wants to help and protect them more than he does for himself.

And fuck did I feel seen. Uncomfortably so.

I love Marc and I love Steven. First of all because they are just great characters but also because of what they represent.

They show that when you are struggling and feeling helpless that even if you don't feel like it: you deserve to be loved. Even when shit gets ugly.

I really don't know how to end this tbh. This is more rambling and trauma dumping than anything else but.

I suppose I just needed to get this off of my chest like a year after the show aired.

And idk maybe people can relate to that too.

#Marc Spector #Moon Knight #moon knight show #tw: mental health #tw: mental illness #tw: self loathing #tw: self negativity #tw: self deprecation #tw: self esteem issues

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starkskypines · 2 years

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pretty sure i’m supposed to be updating my other wips but this luke angst demanded to be written today so here we go. a dinluke fic.

****

waking up warm

****

Luke is used to waking up cold. It’s something leftover from the Sith lightning that coursed through his body in painful spasms that are never far from his memory no matter how hard he tries to forget. He’s used to the pain clawing at the back of his mind. He’s used to the cold taking root and blooming into snowflowers like the ones on Alderaan Leia showed him pictures of–something beautiful but born of pain. Something that can’t survive in warmth.

There’s something in the way he wakes up warm and immediately runs that he doesn’t want to name about himself.

Logically, he knows he’s safe in Din’s Razor Crest. Rationally, he knows that ever since he told Din he’d come with him to train Grogu, he’s trusted Din and Grogu both. But for some reason, after all these weeks, it’s waking up warm next to Din’s body that sends him into panic.

The snowflowers of Alderaan would close their petals and bend toward the cold seeping up from the dirt below. Luke runs for the most desolate spot he can find on this planet. Nevarro, Din said it’s called. They’re here for a few days for Din to find some hunts and meet some contacts. And apparently, for Luke to run into the darkened sands of the desert long before sunrise.

read on ao3

#luke skywalker #luke skywalker angst #tw: panic attack #tw: self esteem issues #luke is not having fun in this fic #my poor sunshine boy #dinluke fic #dinluke

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ninjastormhawkkat · 2 years

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Can we get more of the evil wordgirl/hero Steven au?

Okay I have about four of these aus out there. Two involve alien Steven and human Becky and one of these two involve Becky being fused with Squeaky.

My villain Becky au aka Mousekit au, Steven is more of hero support to Amazo Guy who is the main hero in this au. Steven would help Amazo Guy like with Wordgirl in the canon series if the accident didn't happen.

My version of the braingirl au has the hero Steven and mousebraingirl where Wordgirl gets fused with Squeaky instead of Steven. I do have a new side blog for that called @worldofbraingirlau which is an ask blog and also includes snippets for the au if you want to check it out.

I am just going to focus on headcanons for the mousekit and mousebraingirl au since headcanons for the other two aus usually revolve around episodes. I can put those down if you want to hear more about them.

Mousekit au

-Steven does punish Becky if she gets caught doing her crimes. The punishments vary based on the severity of the crime.

-Mousekit likes doing team ups with most of the villains, sometimes she distracts Amazo Guy while the villain gets away. She also works with villains hand-in-hand stealing stuff and battling Amazo Guy. Becky likes hanging out with Granny May the best because she enjoys scamming and deceiving people with her. She also likes hanging out with The Butcher because they can talk about their families with each other.

Besides Steven and Amazo Guy - only the villains know Becky is Mousekit.

Steven found out about Becky being an alien from Amazo Guy since Bob is not around in this au.

The only battle Steven was the hero that defeated the villain was when Tobey built an army of destructive robots designed to impress Mousekit and win her affections. Steven took much joy in creating a virus that caused all of Tobey's robots to humiliate themselves and self destruct. Amazo didn't have to lift a finger that time.

The villains know that Becky's dad helps Amazo Guy but they don't purposefully try to hurt him.

The Miss Power Arc in this au is pretty tame compared to canon. Amazo Guy does not fall for Miss Powers tricks. She does succeed in hurting Becky's feelings and making fun of how she is a disgrace to Lexiconian kind. Steven and Amazo Guy cheer her up. She does try to kill Steven like in canon. He helps Mrs. Botsford with the villains, was captured also because Becky was his daughter and Miss Power believed he created villains not heroes. Amazo guy stops her buy punching the living daylights out of her.

The Kid Math arc is more emotional. Rex has a hard time accepting Becky's friendship and help since she is a villain, may explain later in a different ask.

As for the Mousebrain Takeover episode - Mr. Big creates a mind control device that convinces people they are villains so they can commit crime and give Mr. Big a distraction for him to commit his own crimes and not get caught. Steven is unfortunately hit by this device and becomes a "charming" villain😈.

I do have a rough idea on involving Squeaky and including Dr. Two Brains, but it won't be Steven but someone else.

The henchmen in this au are henchmen for hire.

Mousebraingirl Headcanons: Welcome to angst😈

Steven does not know his daughter is Wordgirl before the accident. He finds out after she displays her powers trying to steal cheese. It worsens his already guilt that not only he turned his daughter into a villain, but he just doomed Fair City because he took away their hero.

Steven does not like being referred to as a hero as Wordman. He just took the mantle because the city will fall apart to villains if he didn't.

Mouse has a different outfit from her old Wordgirl one - mouse themed - that she created by herself.

Her villain name is Mousebrain Girl. Almost no one else in Fair City except Steven, Bob, and the Henchmen know Becky is Mousebrain Girl. They don't even realize that she used to be Wordgirl, even when she still defines words from time to time.

Bob is upset about what happened to Becky but does not blame Steven for it. He feels guilty for not trying his hardest to help her.

The henchmen join Mouse when they see her carrying a whole giant wheel of cheese and think she needs help carrying it. Steven did invent a storage for her cheese like in canon, but for the purpose of keeping Squeaky appeased why he searches for a cure. The Henchmen live in the warehouse. The cheese storage system is there and they keep an eye on it. Steven is kind of a jerk to the henchmen at first because they are villains and except for Mousebrain girl, he despises the villains because of his issues with Squeaky and how he is a hero now. He begins to tolerate them over time and along the way becomes somewhat nice and civil with them.

Except for his daughter and a few other people, Steven is just cold, angry, and callous to everyone else. Guy is really consumed with guilt and anger at himself for being so careless with his experiment. He refuses to let anyone help him thinking he doesn't deserve it but Mouse does. After the incident, he moved out of his lab because of painful memories and moved his research equipment to his basement. He is still a teacher and does help the Fair City police in the criminal science dept. when he is not being Wordman. (headcanon by @djsadbean)

Mouse's personality is a mix between Becky's and canon Two Brains. She has been put in jail only when the police arrive quickly to take her away before Wordman can intervene. Steven always pays the bail and just carries her in his arms silently while taking her home. (If she hasn't busted out by then.) Most people don't realize Steven is behind Mousebrain girl's creation and just associate him helping Wordman take her home.

The Miss Power arc is emotional but the "Mouse Brain Takeover" episode is just...Yikes. Squeaky manipulates Becky in this au to let him take over and afterwards, Steven gets her to promise to not let Squeaky take over again. Let's just say Steven has a lot of nightmares about that event afterwards and has woken up with tears in his eyes.

The Kid Math arc makes Steven confront himself and his worries and regrets about being a mentor again. He is less patient with Kid Math than Wordgirl is at the beginning.

Steven has lied to the public that Wordgirl is back on lexicon for special training and he takes over for a while. He hates when the ask when she is coming back. He also hates lying to Becky about him being Wordman but he can't let Squeaky find out.

Steven was a huge emotional wreck after the first battle with Mousebrain Girl, he wasn't willing to fight her but he really had no choice.

Professor Tubing suspects that Steven is Wordman and knows about Mousebrain Girl's identity and what happened with Wordgirl, but he doesn't know how to come about this conversation with his old friend.

Mouse does not remember much about her past as Becky except for her dad, bob, and that she is an alien from Lexicon but that's about it.

Well @notavegan3 I hoped you like these headcanons. Let me know if you want to talk more about them or how episodes will work in this au.

tags: @liloskull343 @drtwobrainsstuff @hibiscus-candy @melodythebunny

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sortofanobsession · 11 months

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Roy/Jamie prompt: Everyone goes crazy when Zava invites them to his house for a “Wellness Gathering". Everyone goes but Jaime. Fed up with his "attitude" Roy goes to Jamie's and confronts him. Instead of getting angry Jamie just deflates and looks incredibly sad. " Happy fookin' birthday to me then." He says actually tearing up before he shuts the door in Roy's face. Roy can only go back to Zava's in a daze and reveal this massive screw up. Everyone is guilty, even Zava. Can they fix this?

A/N: I wanted to get this out today so bad I neglected doing my actual job, but that's not as bad as it sounds. I have all day tomorrow to do it. But I loved this prompt.

I changed one thing. Roy starts out dazed but then gets very angry very fast. But hopefully I hit every other note right. And I snuck in some Roy/Jamie at the end because my shipper heart doesn't know how to NOT write that.

Ao3

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Word count: 6k+

Paring(like last time): Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt, Roy & Keeley (platonic), Jamie & Keeley (Platonic), the afc Richmond himbos being themselves.

Content warning: neglect, self-esteem issues based in years of abuse and neglect, anger, swearing, angst/comfort, depression, anxiety, exhaustion

The team forgets, but twitter doesn't

Zava had invited the whole team over for a wellness gathering. Roy would rather punch himself in the face than go, but Ted had said it would be good for the team, like some team bonding shit. When Jamie didn't show up, Roy was pissed. If he had to sit through this, so did that little prick. Jamie had wanted back on this team. He should be acting like it. Not acting like a baby that just had his favorite toy taken from him. Fucking childish, even by Tartt's standards. He needed an attitude adjustment, and it seemed Roy was going to have to do it because clearly, Ted wasn't going to. So he left the team and went to Jamie's flat. He pounded on Jamie's door until he answered.

"Thought you were all about being a team player. The fuck is wrong with you?" Roy asks as soon as Jamie opens the door. He doesn't even really look at Jamie until after he does. "Too busy for team bonding now or just too good for it?"

Roy didn't know what he had been expecting, a snarky comeback, a half-meant apology maybe, but not the reaction he got. Jamie seemed to curl in on himself.

"Happy fuckin' birthday to me," Jamie mutters with a sniffle. Roy is horrified to see tears not only in Jamie's eyes but trailing down his face. Jamie just closes the door in Roy's face. Roy is too stunned to even react. Normally he would be livid if someone did that. But that felt more like a sucker punch than an insult.

Fuck. He took his phone out and looked at his calendar and then at the team calendar. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There it was in black and white on the calendar Ted insisted they make after that first birthday celebration for Sam. Back when Roy was still a player. When he was captain. How had they fucked this up? Was Zava really that much of a fucking distraction? He looked up from his phone back to Jamie's closed door. Yeah, Roy was going to raise hell on this. Fuck! He rushed back to his car and drove back to Zava's. He ignored all the questions and odd looks he got until he found Ted.

"Give me your fucking phone," Roy demanded.

"Well, you don't look like you are-"

"FUCKING PHONE NOW!"

"Okay, here," Ted says, unlocking his phone and handing it to a very angry Roy Kent. Ted wasn't sure the last time he had seen Roy this mad. Roy opened up Ted's calendar and found the same thing he had on his own. Jamie Tartt's Birthday as an all-day event. He does his best to ignore Zava's complaints that Roy was not being very mindful or zen right now. And Roy wanted to punch him in the face, but he kept his focus on Ted.

"What is the fucking point of a team calendar if you all FUCKING IGNORE IT!" Roy seethes as he throws Ted's phone back at him.

"What?" Ted scrambles a bit to catch his phone. He looks at the calendar and realizes Roy is right. They'd missed something very important.

"Oh no," is all Ted manages at first.

"FUCKING RIGHT OH NO!"

"What did we miss?" Sam asks.

"See for your fucking selves!" Roy shouted before putting his own phone to his ear. "Fucking fix it if you want half a chance at having a fucking team next match." Roy winces. "Sorry, Keeley," he says into his phone. "I need your help-" is all the team hears as Roy heads back outside.

"Oh shit," Colin says when he looks at his phone. "How does half of Twitter remember it's Jamie Tratt's birthday, and we didn't."

"Because we are terrible teammates," Isaac says what they are all thinking.

"Poor Jamie," Sam says. He felt like a terrible friend. Jamie had worked so hard to be a team player, especially after the protest, and they failed him. Jamie had stood with him then, even when he did not understand what Sam was feeling. But Jamie had stepped up. And they all had forgotten him. He would never forgive himself. "We have to make this right."

"You what?!" Keeley wishes she could reach through the phone and smack Roy. "Not only did YOU forget his birthday, but the whole team also did, AND Ted. AND you all went to Zava's. On Jamie's birthday. Then you fucking yelled at him! ROY!"

"I know!" Roy growls. "I fucked up. We fucked up."

"I didn't. I texted him happy birthday and offered to take him out on his next off day because I couldn't get away from the office today. You spend every day with him, Roy. I'll call him, but you guys better fix this."

"We will. I will."

"Good."

"Why isn't he answering his phone?" Dani asks as he tries to call Jamie again.

"Because he was fucking devastated, you fucking twat," Roy grits out as he rejoins them. "Fucking tears in his eyes when he slammed the door in my face. And I fucking deserved it. Because I followed you fucking idiots here. Acting like you have a new fucking god-king. Well fucking brilliant job. We fucking broke the new and improved Jamie fucking Tartt. Fucking cheers!"

"He was crying?" Guilt seems to hit Dani Rojas like a brick. "Our Jamie? That's bad. We are bad."

"Zava did not know it was Tartt's birthday. Do you usually do something for birthdays?" Zava asks.

"We do," Isaac says. "And Coach is right. We are idiots."

"Then Zava says fix it."

"We're trying, but he won't answer anyone."

"Then try harder."

"How is he?" Roy asks when Keeley calls him.

"A fucking mess, Roy. What did you expect?"

"How bad?"

"Like I had to call him twice before he picked up. He barely said anything and probably crawled into his bed and hasn't gotten out since you left. So go back over there and make it up to him. And he might still keep a spare key in his cubby. I told him it was probably not safe, but he has locked himself out of his own flat too many times."

"Thanks, Keeley," Roy says earnestly.

"Don't thank me, just fix this. Jamie has been doing so well. This could really set him back."

"I know," Roy admits.

Roy finds the key exactly where Keeley had told him it would be. And she was right. Anyone could have taken it at any time. Roy might actually keep it himself or at least lock it up in his office. But that was something to think about later. He headed back out to his car. He had picked up a few things and was headed over to Jamie's.

He knocked a few times but wasn't surprised when Jamie didn't answer. When it was clear, Jamie wasn't going to answer. Roy used the key. He felt bad doing it, but the little voice in his head was terrified that Jamie was in worse shape than he had let on when talking to Keeley. He knew the little prick would try and be the least burden to her since she was busy.

"What the fuck?!" Jamie says when he sees Roy fucking Kent in his kitchen. "Did you break into my house?"

"Keeley said you kept a key in your cubby," Roy says.

"For emergencies!" Jamie shouts at him. "You're lucky I didn't call the police. Or bash your head in with a bat or something!"

"And you'd have every right to do it," Roy tells him. "Because I fucked up, Jamie. We all did. I see that now and-"

"You broke into my flat because of my birthday?"

"Because I should have known. I'm your fucking coach."

Jamie doesn't know what to say. Part of him doesn't like the fact that Roy actually looks more sad than mad. And that was something Jamie just didn't know how to handle. He has to fight the urge to comfort Roy. And that is an impulse he has not had. Ever. And that frustrates him because he is already miserable. And now he is standing like an idiot in his own kitchen in a t-shirt and boxers having confusing feelings for his coach. Could the universe hate him more?

As if Roy could read his mind. Or maybe just the way Jamie's fists were now twisted up in his shirt, and he was glaring a hole into his counter. Roy stopped, setting the takeaway he was unpacking down, and went over and just hauled Jamie into a hug as he had after that disaster of a Man City game the last season. Just like in Manchester, Jamie tensed violently at first.

"I'm sorry, Jamie. I really am. You deserve a good birthday. You have done so well. And we fucked up. You didn't deserve this. Don't deserve to be alone on your fucking birthday." Roy said with a gentle tone Jamie had never heard directed at him, and something inside shattered completely.

Jamie went absolutely weak and just cried. He cried because he missed having someone that cares. He missed having someone touch him. Hug him. The team was so busy swooning over Zava that he didn't even get celebratory hugs. Because what had Jamie done to deserve a hug? Zava did all the work, according to Zava. And it twists Jamie's stomach in knots to think about. He just cries harder. And Roy is mostly at a loss, but he does grip tighter to keep Jamie from falling now that Roy had taken the younger man's weight. And Roy did not mind one bit. He would ignore the slight ache in his bad knee. It was a punishment he would endure for the turmoil he and the others had put Jamie through.

"It's okay," Roy says into Jamie's hair. "I got you." After a few minutes like that, Jamie seems to have cried himself out and pulls away with an embarrassed laugh. He can't look Roy in the eye as he scrubs at his face.

"Sorry," Jamie mumbles. His hands went back to his shirt.

"Nothing to apologize for," Roy says as he goes back to unpacking the food.

"My birthday, and I'll cry if I want to, innit?" Jamie tries to laugh it off, but his attempt at a grin doesn't actually reach his eyes. But Roy does grin. That was at least closer to the Jamie he knew.

"Yeah," Roy says as he sets a cupcake Keeley had insisted he brings even though Roy isn't sure he ever saw Jamie eat sweets. He knew Jamie kept a stricter diet than most of them, and Roy had theories on that. He was pretty sure it had something to do with his dad insisting he be the best. That he not be a soft baby child. And that had something twisting in Roy's chest. Between that thought and the fact Jamie was standing there awkwardly half-dressed with his hand doing that ridiculously adorable thing in his shirt that he always does in his kit because he doesn't have pockets. And hold the fuck up. Did he just imply Jamie was being adorable? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Nope, he cannot be thinking that about one of his players, especially Jamie fucking Tartt. Fuck no. But dammit Jamie looked so fucking vulnerable standing in his own kitchen with tussled hair, red-rimmed eyes, and tear tracks on his face, and whatever walls Roy had built up came crashing down. Fuck. Focus. Don't be a fucking prick. Jamie was vulnerable because Roy fucked up. Jamie was in tears because Roy didn't pay enough attention. This was Roy's fault.

Jamie looks between Roy and the cupcake.

"Happy Birthday, Jamie," Roy starts. "I know it isn't much, but-"

He is cut off by a very different type of hug. This one wasn't about Jamie needing someone to comfort him. This one seemed more like Jamie wanted to show how much he appreciated the gesture but didn't have the words for it. And it had caught Roy off guard, earning a huffed half laugh, half grunt from the older man.

Roy had to pull away this time because the hug had gotten ridiculously long, and Jamie was still just in a shirt and boxers, and there was a line they were both dangerously close to crossing.

"Go get some clothes on, and we can eat and watch whatever rubbish you usually watch on that TV of yours."

Jamie laughs and actually smiles as he nods.

"Put on whatever," Jamie starts, but a mischievous grin appears as he continues. "As long as it's not some ol' war documentary that you granddads love so much."

"Fuck off," Roy says, but he is betrayed by his own grin. He balls up a paper bag from the takeaway and throws it at Jamie. "Put on some fucking trousers, Tartt, before this goes cold."

"Okay, coach," Jamie heads off to his room, and Roy lets himself relax. Roy finds what he needs to make tea and then sets to plating the food. But he was only half focused on the physical tasks. His mind was a mess of his own making. Fuck he was glad to see some normalcy return to Jamie's behavior. Roy would put up with every old man joke. He'd endure every barb and dig Jamie would send his way today. Because he just wanted his Jamie back. His Jamie. Fuck. Roy was in a bind here. Because he was right. Jamie hadn't been himself since Zava joined the team, and Roy had chalked it up to jealousy that Jamie wasn't the star anymore, but now Roy knew otherwise. Jamie wasn't jealous of Zava being the one people cheered for. No, this was team player Jamie losing his team. His friends. If the fact even Sam and Dani dropped the ball on this means this is a much bigger problem than just forgetting his birthday.

Roy had to bite his cheek to keep from doing anything stupid when Jamie came back in comfiest looking pullover and trackies. Roy mentally smacked himself at the thought of just wanting to snuggle right in there with him. And fuck, that was a ridiculous thought. So instead, he slid Jamie the food he had plated for him while he was getting dressed.

"For the record, this may not be the kind of emergency you kept a key in your cubby for, but it was important enough for Keeley to tell me."

Jamie winces between bites. "I bet she had some very choice words for you when you called."

"She fucking did," Roy set a cup of tea in front of Jamie before going to get his own food and sitting down. "And it was deserved."

Jamie just nods, and it is quiet for a bit as they eat. When Jamie was done, Roy slid the cupcake toward him again. Jamie looked between it and Roy.

"Hope you don't expect some sort of birthday song because that is not fucking happening," Roy grunts.

Jamie laughs. "I don't usually eat sweets, but well, it's my birthday…split it?"

And how could Roy say no to that? He grunts and nods. Jamie grins as he hops up and gets a knife, and it's a messy split, but he manages. He gives Roy half. Roy grunts again because his brain might actually have short-circuited as the younger man licks frosting from his own fingers. And Roy had not expected that to do things to him, but it does. So he focuses on his half of the cupcake.

"Happy Birthday, Jamie," he manages to say.

"Thanks," Jamie says with a smile that was almost too soft for what he was used to seeing from Jamie. And Roy had to look away and focus on his own half of the cupcake again. They end up watching Neverending Story because Jamie had never seen it, and Roy was worried it might be a bit much and hit too close to home but despite a few more years from Jamie. Jamie had loved it. And Roy was glad.

"I meant it earlier when I said we fucked up. Ted takes this shit seriously, and he knows he fucked it this time."

"You…you told Ted?" Jamie is not sure if that's a good thing or not.

"Told them all," Roy tells him.

"What?" Jamie asks. And Jamie looks like he might be sick, and that sets off alarms in Roy's brain.

"Jamie-"

"Just one more thing for them to hate me for," Jamie laments and begins to close himself off again. And fuck no, that's not happening on Roy's watch.

"None of that," Roy grunts. He reaches over and pulls Jamie across the cushion that separates them on the sofa. He doesn't stop until Jamie is tucked tight against his shoulder, under his arm. "Don't fucking cut yourself off like that, you fucking prick. I'm trying to help you."

"Didn't ask you to," Jamie states.

"Didn't fucking have to. That's what friends do."

"So we're friends?"

"Fuck off," Roy grumbles but pulls Jamie in tighter. "But yeah, get fucking used to it." Jamie just laughs and nods and focuses on whatever was on the TV now. Not even caring about it at all because Jamie was warm and comfortable, and he didn't want it to end.

Roy wasn't surprised that Jamie seemed absolutely drained by 10, and somehow Jamie didn't fight him on getting him to go to bed. What shocked him was when Jamie told him to stay, and every alarm was going off in Roy's head again, telling him it was a very bad idea, but he still stayed. Roy told himself it was because they had hurt him so badly and that Jamie was vulnerable and didn't want to be alone. It wasn't anything bad. It was just making sure Jamie got actual rest because, from the look of him recently, he hadn't been sleeping well.

Jamie slept great for the first time in what felt like ages. And he woke up warm and actually comfortable, and without even thinking, he snuggled closer to the warm body that was wrapped around him. And then he remembers what had happened and who the other body was. Roy fucking Kent. His childhood hero had crawled into his bed when Jamie had begged him not to leave. And Jamie was now very worried about what was going to happen when Roy woke up.

"Whatever you are thinking, you can fuck right off with it," Roy grumbles. Jamie goes to pull away, and Roy doesn't let him.

Jamie still feels tense against him.

Roy figures they already crossed a line. "It's a fucking cuddle, Tartt. Consider it your actual fucking birthday gift, and go back to sleep. Training isn't for hours."

And Jamie does because when is he ever going to get this chance again? A morning lie-in with Roy fucking Kent!

Jamie radiated nervous energy from where he sat in the passenger seat of Roy's car when they got to Nelson Road. He'd taken convincing to let him drive that he was already there and didn't mind one bit. Would be stupid to both drive. It was easy enough to drop Jamie back home at the end of the day. No problem. But now Roy was wondering if this was how Jamie was every morning since Zava joined.

"Hey," Roy reaches over and puts his palm on the back of Jamie's neck. He feels some of the tension release as he rubs at the right muscles of the younger man's neck.

"Hmm," is all he gets from Jamie.

"I know it has been shit recently, but it's okay. I'll take care of it."

"There's nothing to take care of," Jamie tells him.

"Jamie…"

"The team needs Zava. I get that. It's fine. We're winning. That's what matters."

Roy wants to fight him. Tell him that he's fucking wrong. That him being happy fucking matters. It matters to Roy. But he isn't even sure Jamie will believe him. Not yet, at least.

"Okay," Roy relents. He gently squeezes the back of Jamie's neck again before he pulls away. He just hopes everyone else kept up their end of the deal and did what they were fucking supposed to. "We should head in."

Jamie silently nods before mentally bracing himself for another shit Zava-filled day.

Jamie froze when he walked into the locker room, and everyone yelled surprise! Even Zava did. Rebecca and Higgins were there. Even Trent Crimm. The room had been decorated with streamers and balloons. The kind of decorations He would have killed for as a kid. There was cake and gifts. He didn't even know what to think. He jumped a little when Roy's hand found his shoulder in the doorway. He looked back at Roy.

"It's okay, go on," Roy nodded and assured him, "Right behind you."

Jamie nods and goes into the room. He sets his bag on the bench and looks around at the others. They all seem almost as nervous as he does.

"Uh…thanks," Jamie manages to say with a tense smile when Roy squeezes his shoulder again. That earns him a pat on the back as Roy pulls away. And Jamie misses the reassuring warmth instantly. He looks back at Roy. Roy just nods for him to keep going. Beard tosses a party hat at Roy, and both Ted and Beard stare at him until he begrudgingly puts it on like the others. Jamie just goes with it when Will gives him a crown. "Coach Lasso insisted," Will whispers. Jamie doesn't put up a fight. Still somewhat confused about why this was happening now.

"Did you do this?" Jamie asks, looking at Roy. Roy shrugs but says, "Do you really think I'd be wearing this if I did." He points at the ridiculous hat.

"Fair enough," Jamie mutters and looks over as Ted approaches him.

"I cannot even begin to express how deeply sorry I am that we missed your birthday," Ted starts. "But I'm going to try."

"Of fucking course you are," Roy grunts. Earning a chuckle from Jamie and a few of the others. Ted spent the next few minutes telling Jamie how sorry they all were and that it would never happen again. That Jamie was too important to the team to be treated like that. And Jamie had repeatedly told him it was fine and that he knew they were trying. He didn't tell them he was honestly used to his birthday being a letdown. Sure, his mum and Keeley called. And his dad had left him alone for once instead of taking the opportunity to insult him. But Roy had made sure it wasn't a totally depressing day. He looks up when Rebecca takes a picture. He looks at her, confused.

"For Keeley," Rebecca says. Jamie nods. He was sure Keeley insisted they prove they did something to make it up to him. Rebecca continued, "I am sorry if you have not felt like you are part of the team. I never did apologize for what I did to you the first time you were on the team, and I know that nothing will ever be enough to repair the damage done when I sent you back to Man City. I am sorry, Jamie. It was unfair to you. To Coach Lasso. To the team. Especially after learning about your father-"

"Didn't want anyone to know. Embarrassing, innit?" Jamie says. "And I was a prick then."

"That makes two of us," Rebecca admits. "Happy belated birthday, Jamie Tartt." She hands Jamie an ornately wrapped gift. "We're glad you trusted us enough to come back."

"Thanks," is all he manages to say before Rebecca goes back over to Higgins and Ted.

"Going to open it?" Trent asks.

Jamie just looks around at all his teammates just watching him. He looks at Ted. "What about training?" He asks.

"Roy will put them through the paces this afternoon. You just enjoy your party."

Jamie opens up a bunch of gifts.

Rebecca had given him a framed paper from their first win after Jamie rejoined the team. It was shockingly sentimental, and he wondered if Keeley or Ted had helped with that one. He genuinely thanked her.

Trent gave him a watch that didn't seem too pricey, but it was something that Jamie might actually wear. Trent had better taste than Jamie had realized. He thanked him. Because, let's be real, Trent didn't do anything to him. He was a bystander for the most part. A silent observer that offered a kind word now and again. Jamie could appreciate that. And he really did. It was nice to have someone like Trent on their side.

Zava gave him a book on mindfulness or something Jamie had zero interest in, but he had thanked him anyway because he had not expected Zava to get him anything. And then Zava gave him a set of gloves because Jamie always had his hands in his shirt or pockets, and Zava figured he must be cold. That had thoroughly shocked Jamie. And he let Zava know he appreciated that Zava would care enough to notice. Ted and Beard give a new book he says he'll actually try and read this time. Beard had slipped a code for a copy of the audiobook, and Jamie thinks he might tear up because, damn, did that make him feel seen. He wasn't the best at reading, and his coaches clearly knew him enough to still want him to try, but they'd made it easy on him.

The rest of the team had gotten him more Jamie-style gifts. A new set of boots that just screamed Jamie Tartt Van Damme insisted. Hats they knew he wanted. Colin and Isaac got him a pullover he'd been meaning to get himself but hadn't gotten around to. Dani got him a vinyl copy of an 80s band he had found that he figured Jamie would like because Jamie had an odd taste in music compared to most of the team. Sam had given him a card and a larger envelope that shocked Jamie. It had tickets from every game that Jamie had helped them with every goal listed down to the minute.

"You might not think we remember, but we do," Sam tells him, and Jamie hugs him. He doesn't know how he had all those tickets, but it was probably the most thoughtful and elaborate gift ever.

"One more," Roy says. He hands Jamie a bag that was multicolored and had bows. Jamie looks at Roy with amusement. He also wanted to say he thought the dinner and cuddles were his gifts. Roy rolls his eyes. "Phoebe sent it."

"Oh," Jamie laughs. "Yeah, that makes much more sense." He opens the gift to find a very bright and silly jumper that clearly a raining cats and dogs joke on it, and Jamie genuinely grinned. Leave it to an 8-year-old he barely knows to pick the most outrageous gift.

"You don't have to-" Roy starts to say.

"Oh, I'm gonna," Jamie insists. He had taken his crown off, followed by the pullover he had on, and proudly dawned the one with cartoon animals on it. "How do I look? Wait, don't tell, fucking fit, right? I can make anything look good."

The room devolves into laughter. Partially from the ridiculousness that was Jamie Tartt wearing a pastel-colored hoodie with cartoons on it and saying he looked good in it. Partially with relief because clearly, Jamie was not mad at them. He was more like his usual self than he had been in weeks. They took a bunch of silly pictures, and Jamie posted most of them on his Instagram, including a very proud one of the jumper Phoebe gave him. And Roy had a hard time not looking like he was happy in the few pictures he was in. He was happy. He was happy Jamie was seemingly back to his confident self. Jamie actually ate a piece of cake, or at least part of one. He pawned the other half on to Dani, and Roy was sure Dani might have gotten emotional over it, not because he had found out that Jamie had actually missed spending time with Sam and Dani since Zava joined, but because Jamie hadn't batted an eye at talking to him. Acting like it was just a normal old day for them. Roy may have sent a very expletive-filled text to Dani the night before. He told him to cut that shit out and be there for the people who actually like him for more than their egos. Because Jamie was lonely, and it was the team fucking fault. But Dani knew better and was better. So he should be fucking better. And Roy had been right. So when Dani had hugged Jamie before he gave him his gift, he had looked over at Roy, and Roy had nodded when he saw Jamie practically melt into the hug. Roy had trusted Sam would see how much he messed up without Roy having to verbally berate or rather lecture via text. And Sam had come through. Roy had actually smiled when he saw how Jamie reacted to Sam's gift. Roy stepped out into the hall when his phone rang.

"Keeley," he greeted when he answered.

"So it went well?" She asks without pretenses.

"Seems that way," Roy says.

"He seemed happy in the pictures he and the lads posted," she says. Roy thinks he can almost hear her smile in her voice.

"He did. Loves that fucking jumper you helped Phoebe pick out. Won't take the bloody thing off."

"And Zava gave him a genuine gift?" She asks.

"Shocked the hell out of all of us. He's more observant than I figured," Roy states, his tone darker than she expected.

"I know that tone…" Keeley says. "You don't trust it."

Roy grunts. "Of course I fucking don't trust it. It means he sees the shit that's been going on and doesn't actually give a fuck. He might just be realizing that Jamie isn't as easily overshadowed because of Jamie's history. Zava may not know Jamie's history, but I think he has an interest now. And-"

"And it scares you that Jamie's going to get hurt and worse than this time, aren't you?"

"Fucking exactly," Roy grumbles. "And it was hard enough getting him back this time."

"But you did, babe."

"He was a fucking mess. Didn't want to be left alone. He was so broken."

"And you held him and put him back together," Keeley said in a tone that was so soft and understanding. "Because you care so much about his happiness and his well-being. More than you want to, and it frustrates you."

She chuckles when he just grunts. He almost hated how well she knew him, how she could see through his bullshit and gruff guise.

"You know he wouldn't accept it from anyone else, yeah?" she adds. "He might accept the praise and encouragement from Ted, but he doesn't let anyone in as much as he does you. Not even me anymore. Try not to get stuck in your head and muck it up. You two are so cute together, and we both know you aren't holding back because of what people will think."

"Fuck off," Roy grimaces. Why had he ever told Keeley about the fact he cared about Jamie fucking Tartt? Oh, right, because he needed to talk to someone, or he would do something stupid. Roy frowns. "I slept in his bed last night," he admits.

"Just sleeping? Or like…"

"I did not fuck Jamie Tartt," he says in a harsh whisper, looking around to make sure no one heard any of it.

"But you did more than sleep?"

"He spent half the night crying and fucking vulnerable. Like some sort of fucking baby deer or something. Those fucking eyes of his."

"I know. They are like traps," Keeley agrees. "So what now?"

"I don't fucking know," Roy admits.

"Well, maybe put your big boy trousers on and tell him you want to make more than just his birthday happy," She smirks. "You're too old for schoolyard crushes. You're Roy fucking Kent. Tell the man you want to choke on his dick and fucking do it."

"What the fuck?" Roy says, his tone less confident than usual because that fucking visual was now in his head and sent most of his blood south.

"Goodbye, Roy," Keeley laughs before hanging up.

Roy has to will his body back into submission before he goes back into the locker room.

"All good, yeah?" Jamie asks almost instantly when their eyes lock. And Roy had to remind himself that they were at work, and this was not the time for his body to want to drag the striker into the boot room and fucking destroy him in the best way possible. Nope, cannot happen. Fucking Keeley and her notions. But Jamie is looking at him with that curious fucking look he gets. And Roy knows he'll have to actually talk to Jamie about his fucking feelings eventually, but not now. So he nods.

"Just Keeley checking in. She's glad you're feeling better." It's not exactly what she said, but Jamie didn't need to know that. And Jamie smiles and goes sort of soft and happy for a second. Roy wants to see that over and over, but again, not the time or place.

"That's nice of her," Jamie says.

Roy just grunts because, of course, Jamie goes all fucking soft over Keeley Jones. He loves Keeley.

The party winds down, and Will gets stuck cleaning up as everyone else is told to get ready to actually train. Jamie looks happy to anyone that might be looking, but Roy could see the tension starting to return to Jamie's shoulders. Roy pulls him into his office after he finishes lacing up his boots.

"Don't let him get to you, okay?" Roy says. Jamie looks at him bewildered. Roy fights the urge to sigh. "You're getting in your head again, yeah?" And Jamie was surprised anyone noticed. But of course, Roy did. It was his job to notice.

"Can't exactly help it," Jamie admits. His hands bunched up in his kit.

"I know, but," Roy starts. "You not fucking alone in this, got it? You have one advantage here. He doesn't fucking know what you can do anymore. He knows the shit you used to be known for. He has seen you at a loss the past few weeks. But fuck that. You are fucking Jamie Tartt. Show him more of that prick that we saw back when you could play for any team and fucking kill it. You don't have to be the old you, but you are still very much you. And you know you are good. Don't let that twat forget it. Got me?"

And Jamie felt fucking fantastic. Roy thinks it's like looking at the fucking sun with how Jamie was looking at him right now. Like Roy could tell him to fucking fight the world, and Jamie would. And Roy slips up because he is a weak and needy bastard. He grips Jamie's face and pulls him in until their lips meet. And Jamie doesn't miss a beat. He kisses Roy back with an enthusiasm that is almost manic. And if that isn't just the most Jamie fucking Tartt thing ever, Roy didn't know what was. Roy pulls away, and Jamie whines. Fuck this was not the place for this. So Roy refocuses.

"You fucking got this," Roy says, still gripping Jamie's face. And Roy thinks he was wrong before. Now Jamie looks like he'd burn the world to ashes if Roy asked him to. There was a power in that feeling that Roy didn't realize he needed.

"Yes, coach," Jamie grins, and Roy lets him go.

"Then fucking get to it," Roy says, and something in him shifts when Jamie gives him a quick peck on the lips before he heads to the pitch.

"Fuck," Roy curses himself and texts Keeley what just happened. Her reply is a bunch of emojis, and Roy rolls his eyes. He shakes it all off as best he can and heads out to the pitch. He can't help it. From the moment he reaches the sidelines, his eyes seek out Jamie's. And when he finds him, his stomach swoops because Jamie has an easy smile on his face. He nods at Roy, and without hesitation, Roy returns the gesture. If the corners of his usual frown tick up into the slightest of grins, well, no one says anything. And if they did, he'd fucking deny it.

#tw: neglect #tw: self esteem issues #tw: mentions of abuse #tw: anger #tw: swearing #tw: cursing #tw: cussing #tw: angst #tw: depression #tw: anxiety #tw: exhaustion #royjamie #roy kent #jamie tartt #afc richmond #ted lasso fic #ted lasso #zava ted lasso #keeley jones

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