#ted in kansas

[talldecafcappuccino]

I said this somewhere else today, but I was rewatching the scene in the stands and there’s something really romantic about Ted not indulging Rebecca’s proposition to leave the club. Especially at the end when she says “That settles it. We’ll both go.” and his brow furrows a bunch.

He knows Rebecca belongs at Richmond. She’d regret leaving. She might even regret selling shares just to keep him with her. But it's not really his place to tell her what to do, it's something she needs to figure out for herself. And eventually she does. She tells him she wants to stay because Richmond is her family.

It's got major "Rick sending Ilsa off on a plane at the end of Casabalanca" vibes for me:

[cuppachar]

Prompt 1: Depressed Jamie head canon

Jamie has continued bouts and episodes of depression post S3E11 Mom City, and at some point Roy even takes time off to look after Jamie, taking Jamie for vacation and recovery time with his pseudo-dad Ted in Kansas

Along the way, Jamie and Roy fall in love

[believemetheodore]

I'm not scared of death (I've got dreams again)

Ted Lasso x Rebecca Welton

But his thoughts have layers, and the emotion of remembering crashes like a wave. So, he tries to breathe and pieces together the words he can find, hoping to convey even a fraction of how he feels. Or Ted and Rebecca take a drive past his childhood home. inspired by The View Between Villages by Noah Kahan

Warnings: Ted's dad, parental loss, discussions/themes of suicide, mentions of blood, grieving (let me know if you want me to add anything else) _________________________________________________________

If Rebecca built up walls, he's built up hedge mazes. Together they've climbed over a few of Rebecca's defences; put sledge hammers through others. But, now they wander aimlessly through topiary corridors, the labyrinth he’s constructed with all his tools of self-deflection.

And here, standing in front of his childhood home Ted feels as though he's in the thick of it. Unsure of how to proceed he decides to be honest; putting a metaphorical chainsaw through the winding hedge walls.

“My father died here,” he says.

His parents bought the house when he was a baby. It was supposed to be their ‘forever home’. Powder blue siding, white trims, and a red front door, with a backyard that felt acres big when he was a kid.  

He grew up here. Took his first steps here. Got attacked by a dog here. He learned how to ride his bike here. Befriended the dog that bit him here. His first words, his first real kiss; sleepovers; Christmas mornings; Halloweens; there's not an inch of that house that doesn't have a memory in it. 

He wishes he could lift it up and shake it out, sort through each moment and take only the good away with him. 

“It's funny,” he says to Rebecca, never more grateful to have her hand in his, “when you're a kid, every scraped knee feels like it might be the end of the world. Every stomach ache feels like it's gotta be the most painful thing you'll ever feel. I was so naive. So innocent…I didn't think--” his words fail him. But Rebecca's support doesn't falter. 

“Do you want to leave?” She asks. 

He shakes his head, swallowing hard, silently trying to catch up to his own thoughts. 

“You were still a child, Ted. And regardless-- I don't think there's a manual for how to deal with the loss of a parent,” her sentence trails off more than it ends. He knows she's tip-toeing around the nature of his father's death. Ted doesn't blame her for it. He does the same thing.

“I know that it's not something I'm ever going to recover from completely. The good doctor keeps reminding me of that. But, I thought it was getting easier-- I've been getting better at talking about it. But being here again…it's different,” he does his best to express himself, remembering that it feels better to get it all off his chest. 

But his thoughts have layers, and the emotion of remembering crashes like a wave. So, he tries to breathe and pieces together the words he can find, hoping to convey even a fraction of how he feels. 

The truth is he can't. There's no way to impart to anyone how shattering a gunshot really is. He has no way to communicate how long the scent of blood lingers, or how he can no longer smell bleach without being haunted by a phantom metallic stench.

He can't recall the sight in specifics, thank god, and Doctor Sharon says that's common enough. Finding his father like that was a trauma, and the human mind is capable of blocking out some of the worst bits. Knowing it happened is painful enough without the visuals. 

He can recall the fear though. The shock, the confusion, and the agony of loss. 

He remembers the aftermath, and the first day he and his mom stepped back into that house after it had been cleaned. The room where it happened sat empty, neither of them even dared to open the door, even knowing that any trace of the tragedy had been scrubbed away. 

Morbidly, he'd lie awake at night wondering what the neighbours thought, what strangers thought that room had looked like that day. Over exaggerating, or romanticising the worst day of his life. 

Now he wonders what the new owners think. Do they use that room? What rumours have they heard? 

The house no longer feels like a home, it's more of a monster lurking. And Ted thinks that might be why London has been so healing. It was damaging always knowing his personal demon was just a couple of streets away, with an unexpected road closure or detour always threatening to take him past the house of horrors. 

He drove past it a few times with Henry, wondering if he'd ever be strong enough to tell the little boy about what happened to his grandpa, and why his father's heart still aches. 

Henry asked, “if that was the school you went to, did you live near here?” 

Ted’s hands gripped the steering wheel tight, resisting the urge to clench his teeth. He lied, “ya know, I don't really remember”. 

Because how can he begin to explain that bile starts to rise in his throat a block away and that his stomach doesn't settle until he can no longer see the faded blue exterior in the rearview mirrors? 

“Because you're old now?”

“Yeah, buddy. Something like that”.

But no matter how much he wants to forget, there’s always so much to remember. Forgotten moments wedged between the floorboards, and whispering from inside the walls. The home in his mind's eye is nothing compared to standing outside on the sidewalk, face-to-face with the structure. The details of days and nights that had seemed so insignificant when they happened, scream out at him now. As loud and unforgiving, as they are comforting and nostalgic. 

A couple of days after his seventeenth birthday, and a little over a year after his father's passing, the town felt as though it had fallen silent. 

The seasonal sounds of backyard barbecues, and children who had made every inch of the neighbourhood their playground teetered out slowly, then all at once. Warm days had given way to truly cool evenings and without the white noise of the cicadas buzzing Ted found it tough to fall asleep. 

His Ma hadn't asked any questions when he took the car keys for a late-night drive. It had become routine. 

While his new habit was beginning to cost a fortune in gas, it felt like a small price to pay. To drive until the music on the radio drowned out his thoughts, and the wind blowing through the rolled-down windows reminded him he could still feel. 

Usually, he'd start out in the suburbs, winding his way through cookie-cutter streets, and he'd keep going only turning back when the asphalt became dirt roads stretching all the way out of town. 

But something had shifted inside of him, age seventeen and a few days. He just kept going. And the longer he drove, the faster he drove. Flooring it, the tires kicking up dust behind him. He wanted to scream. To cry. To throw up. Faster. His heart was racing, and the steady pounding of his own pulse rushing in his ears was failing to block out the echo of the gunshot playing on repeat inside his head. 

He hated his father for what he did. To him. To his mom. For leaving them both alone. But Ted also hated the way he'd let the rage within him grow and fester. Burning himself from the inside out. Faster. 80. 95. 100 mph. 

A rogue cow wandering from its pasture startled him to his senses, slamming on the breaks he swerved, the car spinning before he was able to steer into a skid, narrowly missing the animal in the middle of the road. 

Nothing could've stopped the manic, watery laughter that escaped his lungs. His chest heaving for breath as he sobbed and cackled at the same time. It was like all of the air was being knocked out of his lungs, sucker punched by every emotion he'd been pushing down, and shoving aside.

 The rush of adrenaline left his hands shaking for the entire drive home. But still, he said nothing about it to his mother. He set the car keys down in the bowl by the door and then met her in the kitchen. She was sitting and doing a puzzle at the dining table.

“You alright Teddy?”

“Of course, Ma. Just needed to clear my head” he grinned, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“I worry about you when you waltz back in here so late,” she confessed, crossing the room to put her empty water glass in the sink. 

“Waltzing you say?” And his laughter gave him away as he took her hand giving her a slow twirl before hugging her. 

“I'm okay, Ma. I promise”. 

There’s a guilt that comes with trying to forget, and now more than ever Ted is realizing that it’s not possible to erase a moment in its entirety; and try as he might, it’s not possible to suppress the bad without losing some of the good as well. And, just the same, there will always be great days, that get touched by the worst ones.

Watching Henry pick up a set of darts on his first trip to London, felt like a thousand pinpricks across his skin. It felt like watching his own childhood from outside his body, the hand of his father’s ghost on his shoulder. When Ted decided to do his white knighting for Rebecca, and picked up the same darts that Henry had held, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get his heart to stop racing. Looking back, it felt good, to peel back the layers just enough to let his heart fill with a fondness for his father; to be able to hold the memory of his dad in his hands and decide what to do with it rather than allow himself to be consumed by it. 

Doctor Sharon had done the same thing for him, asking him to tell her about something he liked about his old man. 

He tries to do the same thing now with Rebecca, concentrating on the way her thumb rubs circles across the back of his hand. He’s sure she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. It’s a relief he wasn’t expecting. Michelle knew about his father, but she could never stomach Ted reminiscing. She was, and still is he supposes, an advocate for leaving the past in the past. He respects that perspective, and always understood her reasoning. Everyone copes differently. In hindsight, it was just another way they didn’t match up, and he doesn’t hold it against her. 

But Ted knows he needs something different, and he deserves someone who can help him navigate that, so he can help them with their baggage too. 

Rebecca has been that person, and Ted lets himself cry; to feel all the things he resisted for so long. He doesn’t pick and choose, holding everything all at once, valuing it all in equal measure.  

“I fell out of that tree,” he sniffles, pointing to the green leave branches that now tower above the house, “broke my arm that summer”. “Were you a clumsy child?” Rebecca asks. He shakes his head, “Nah, just enthusiastic, and long-limbed”. 

She laughs, and he’s glad for it. He tells her about his memories as they come to him, shimmering little gems he hadn’t been able to see from all the dust he’d allowed to collect. It doesn’t fix anything, there’s nothing to fix, but it eases the weight on his chest and lessens the metallic taste in his mouth. 

They drive back to his Ma’s house, across town. The windows are down and the radio playing low. He glances at Rebecca at every stop sign. She’s stunning under the yellow glow of the streetlights. And it all feels so simple all of a sudden. 

His smile grows as they pull into the driveway, Henry dropping his basketball in favour of tackling them into hugs. Rebecca, it turns out, is pretty good at free throws. And when Henry says, “Yeah, but Rebecca is good at everything!” 

Her green eyes meet his, and Ted feels the now familiar feeling of another hedge maze wall collapsing inside his heart.

[skulandcrossbones]

You know Ted, pinball's a lot more fun if you use an actual ball. Yeah well I, you know, I was letting Coach and my mom catch up a little, is all.

[waddsluvv]

LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOO

[ghostyary]

thinking about the giant Van Gogh sunflower painting in Goodland Kansas

i really hope someone finds this as funny as i do

[always-rolling-my-eyes]

[atlanticsea]

seeing people say that ted shouldn't have left england because he has his "found family" there whereas he only has henry in kansas and that he's gonna be miserable is so wild to me. did we watch the same show. man was having breakdowns and panic attacks about being away from his kid he was NOT happy in england he was always going to go back to kansas 😭😭😭 "well henry could have moved to england" if you feel more empathy for a grown ass man who very much DID live in kansas for the first 40+ years of his life than for a kid who would have to leave his friends and family and start living in a different country with a completely different school system and who would either not see his mom regularly OR have the most insane split custody arrangement then i think you lack perspective about what is important for a child's stability 😭😭 like be for real

[knowthatiloveyou]

Watching Hannah Waddingham exercise some demons in person was something I'll never forget 🔥

[lasshoe]

Incorrect Ted Lasso + The Parent Trap (or an AU where Rebecca follows Ted to Kansas)

[matttheratkingart]

You are warmly invited to celebrate in the joyful union of Theodore Lasso jr. and Trent Crimm. RSVP at your earliest convenience. Black tie dress (dress shoes optional)

Detail:

[reiverreturns]

*bursts into the ted lasso tag covered in blood*

THE WHOLE GOAL OF BEING A MANAGER OF PEOPLE IS TO COACH THEM TO THE POINT WHERE THEY NO LONGER NEED YOU! GOOD MANAGERS KNOW THEY ARE SUPPORTING CAST AND NOT THE MAIN CHARACTER! IT’S A LOT LIKE PARENTHOOD BUT IT’S NOT A SUBSTITUTE! TED MISSED HIS KID! HE WANTED TO BE THE STABLE AND LOVING PARENT HE NEVER HAD! HE CHOSE TO DO BEST BY HIS SON BUT ALSO BY HIMSELF! JUST BECAUSE YOU LOVE A THING DOESN’T MEAN IT’S MEANT TO BE PERMANENT! GOODBYES CAN BE SAD AND HARD BUT STILL THE RIGHT THING TO DO! BEING A GOOD COACH - AND PARENT - IS ABOUT KNOWING WHEN TO LEAN IN AND KNOWING WHEN TO LET GO!

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

The common thread I've seen in a lot of posts about Ted's decision to return to Kansas is the question of whether he's happier there or in Richmond. Here's the thing, though: in my view, Ted's character arc is not about (or not only about) finding a place where he is happy, but rather learning to coexist with discomfort so that he can be present for the people and in the place that matters most to him.

When Ted is sixteen years old, his father commits suicide. His mother doesn't know how to process her grief or help Ted process his, so she pushes all her messy, painful emotions down under a blanket of cheerful optimism and Ted follows suit. He grows into adulthood unable to acknowledge his sadness or anger, which leads to the dissolution of his marriage. (Ted's reaction to Dottie during her visit illustrates how wearing this attitude would be from the other side.) Michelle asks for space, very likely intending for him to move into another house in the same city where he could do an equal share of co-parenting, and instead he moves halfway across the world to coach a sport he knows nothing about.

Ted builds a community in Richmond, because of course he does: he is very, very good at connecting with people. Part of that is because he's determined not to let anyone get by him who might be hurting, as he says, but he's also clearly a naturally sociable person — there is virtually no way he didn't have these kinds of connections in Kansas. While his life in Richmond seems more "real" to us, the audience, because that's the part of his life we see, for Ted, his "real life" has always been in Kansas. He misses Henry, obviously, but he's also intensely homesick: for most of the show, he fails to integrate to a degree that seems almost wilful; he only tells stories about his life in Kansas and the people he knew there; he goes to a terrible American restaurant in Amsterdam and the first thing he thinks of when he sees Van Gogh's Sunflowers is home.

All of which is to say that while Ted creates some deep and hopefully lasting connections in Richmond, it's not where he fundamentally wants to be. He wants to be present for his son; he wants to live in the state where he grew up and which he clearly loves — and that means facing his grief and anger at his father's suicide, and the fact that Henry will one day grow up and leave him, and the reality of his divorce and his ex-wife's new relationship (although I really, really wish they'd chosen literally any other man to be the new boyfriend if they didn't want to address the implications of Michelle dating their former marriage counsellor).

[tomlinfonda]

Ok, let's be for real. This man's home is in England.

[alexromero]

[queer-benoit-blanc]

Ted Lasso gave us a character who felt like he existed to help other people. Who went where he felt he was needed. Then it reinforced his own belief by having him leave, largely unchanged by the experience, while all the other characters had flourished with him around.

The show is called Ted Lasso, and yet its titular character existed almost entirely to serve other characters.