something about peter being a somewhat good partner whenever carla was going through the horrors (see being raped, having mental health issues) but being absolutely terrible when she was doing well. like that man was a failure and hated to see her thrive
I've tried hard to find sections of story where Peter Barlow was a good partner to Carla Connor Barlow. I've not succeeded. Even when they are at their happiest, he can't bring himself to be plain nice to her.
Here's an example. Their second wedding ceremony. 4 Minutes. He calls her beautiful and strong! Yay!
And he gets in 3 undermining digs DURING the wedding ceremony:
About dirty limericks - haha, she's pro-sex not smart
About how she's the one who has made all the mistakes in their relationship
Maybe she'd have memorized the standard declaration -- either she's been married so often or she's not smart - pick your poison
Here is a clip from Corrie when Peter Barlow confessed his affair with Tina McIntyre to Carla Connor. If you’re not convinced that Peter Barlow is a loser after watching this video, then nothing else will convince you. Does Peter take responsibility for the affair and hold himself accountable? No. He blames Tina (saying she never took no for an answer and basically saying he had choice in the matter) and he blames Carla. 😡
Idc about Peter, but I want him to come to weatherfield for some plot C reasons maybe family related or whatever, and he's about to leave the next day when he can't himself and goes to see Carla, but Carla is just annoyed and only has heart eyes for Lisa and maybe Connie is still with them so it's a double whammy for Peter, then leaves miserably because Lisa says she doesn't like him bothering her fiancee
ROFL
Honestly, I wouldn't mind Peter coming back and seeing Carla happy and in love FOR REAL ... for him to see what, exactly, he missed while he was married to her and what he COULD HAVE HAD if he hadn't been such a shite partner.
I would actually prefer he not decide to go and see Carla on purpose but simply sees her out and about with Connie or Betsy or Lisa and to see the *genuine* smile she now sports all the time. How relaxed, happy, and carefree she is.
Oooh... or LISA seeing him when Carla doesn't and she just smiles at him knowing that Carla is better off and happier with her than she ever was with him.
For @the-whumpers-soiree
A collaboration with @whumpingisfun
(tw: kidnapping, drugging, snuff film (implied), manhandling, whumpy art at the end)
Black glass, smooth elevators, and polite conversation. Not exactly the normal ambiance for a club.
A toon looks at the entrance, visibly nervous, pale skin paper white with long rainbow hair tied up into a vibrant bun. In contrast to his skin, he is wearing a greyscale ensemble, a dark charcoal crop top exposing white skin with draping billowing black sleeves tied to his arms by ribbon, light grey leggings hugging his hips. He looks down at the invitation in his hands. Sammy Jax is cordially invited to… writes in curling facing lettering. This was the place.
He takes a steadying breath and slips the invite into his hammerspace, sliding it up into his sleeve and simply letting go. His gold eyes scan the entrance, for just a brief moment, as if trying to assure himself that everything will be fine. His shading shifts from light lilac to orange as he takes up all his courage and shoves it to the forefront.
As Sammy enters the main room, he’s greeted by a politely smiling woman behind a table draped in black cloth. “Do you have an invitation?”
“O-Oh! Um, yeah, just one second—“ Sammy squeaks, digging out from his long black sleeve the requested document. Hammerspaces. Neat things. “Here?”
His shading is light lilac, more out of pre-party nerves than any true fear as he hands the woman the invite.
She takes it with a soft smile, setting it to the side. She plucks a glowstick from the box on the table.
“Alright, you’re good to go - make sure to keep this on, it lets the bouncers know you’ve talked to me.” She cracks a glowstick and it lights up blue. With a soft shake, she hands it to him.
Sammy blinks, shading going sky blue in surprise. “Oh! Oh blue is pretty…” he admires, smiling sweetly at her as he takes the blue glow stick. “Thank you!”
She nods a smile and turns to the next person, wordlessly shooing him away.
Sammy scurries away, head swiveling for where he’s supposed to go next.
There’s a hundred or so people mingling around. The music is loud, but not too loud for idle conversation. Blue and gold lights streak across the room. A bartender he walks by smiles at him “Can I get you anything?”
He goes pink. “U-um, do you sell apple juice?” He asks shyly.
He laughs softly, turning around and slipping a bottle from the cooler. He swirls it, making a miniature tornado of liquid as it pours into a small metal pitcher. “I’ll do you one better - you seem like a cider kinda guy. Warm and spiced and snuggly - right?” He slips the pitcher under a steamer, and it whirrs to life.
“I um, is cider alcoholic?” He asks, shading going light purple again.
The man shrugs, finishing the steaming and pouring it into a glass mug. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. This just has a smidge for flavor - won’t get you drunk or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.” He slides it across the bar top with a soft yet proud smile. Steam rolls off of the top of it. Warm. It smells heavenly.
Sammy swallows. His stomach roils a little at the thought of the minute alcohol inside but… he takes the mug with a smile. “Thank you.”
He takes a tentative sip.
There’s definitely alcohol in there.
His nose reflexively scrunches, shivering. “…can I have some water too?” He weakly asks, shading neon green.
But the waiter is already gone.
A man sitting at the bar glances between Sammy and the bartender who’s slipped away. “..want a sip of mine? Is that weird? I don’t want to be weird-” He slides it closer. “But. Um. I promise I’m not sick or anything?”
Sammy smiles weakly at the other man. “As long as it’s not alcoholic? I don’t… do good with alcohol.”
He smiles softly, pressing it closer. “It’s just water in this glass.”
Sammy relaxes in relief. “Oh thank gods.” He reaches for the glass, taking a tentative sip.
It’s just water.
He pulls out the bar stool next to him, patting it was a soft smile. “My name’s Peter, by the way, what’s yours?”
Sammy sits gratefully, sliding the cider away from himself with a small shudder. “Sammy. It’s nice to meet you Peter.” He says, genuine and sweet.
Peter smiles back. His eyes roam down Sammy’s body the moment he glances away to get himself seated - right back up at the toon’s eyes once he’s looking again.
“Did you not come here with anyone?”
Sammy shakes his head. “No, I’m by myself tonight.” He says simply.
Peter frowns. “Yeah, me too. Friends all bailed - they were supposed to be here, but…” he glances around a little sorrow tinging his eyes.
Sammy makes a soft sad noise. “Aw I’m sorry to hear that. Bad friends suck. I’m just visiting town and got an invite. But we can be friends!” He chirrups, smiling sweetly at Peter. “So now we’re both not alone!”
Peter smiles warmly back. “You put such a good spin on that.” He raises his glass of rum toward Sammy’s (at least Sammy’s now) glass of water. “I’ll drink to that.”
Sammy beams, shading bright sunshine yellow as he clinks his glass with Peter’s.
Peter takes a sip, smile warming over Sammy. His eyes linger on the man’s hair.
Rainbow.
Not something you see every day.
He nods to it. “I love your hair - very eye-catching. Have you ever considered modeling?”
Sammy’s shading goes pink and then goes purple. “I um no? N-not particularly. Thank you for the compliment though.” He shifts in his seat, finger rotating around the top edge of the glass. “…I don’t really want to have my face plastered all over magazines.”
Peter smiles softly. “Shame - I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d love to see it. But I guess, I’ll just count myself lucky that I get to.” Small grin. Adorably proud he said a smooth line.
Sammy goes bright pink again with a squeak, blushing. He giggles, sipping at his water. “M-mhm… you do.” He says shyly.
Peter fiddles with his glowstick absentmindedly as a flush presses to his cheeks, too. Both blush and bracelet vibrant red contrasting icy blue eyes.
He glances around, but snags the bartender as he walks by. “Hey! Hi- can we get just…like…a normal apple juice? Pretty please?” Something in his tone shift slightly as ‘pretty please’, but isn’t negligible.
The bartender’s eyes flick between the two of them - down to glowsticks - back up to Peter. “Yeah, of course - one second-” He disappears to go fetch a bottle.
Sammy slumps up against Peter, hugging him. “Thank you thank you thank you I really didn’t wanna drink alcohol tonight it tastes like ink and grossness—“ he babbles, pressing his face into Peter’s shoulder. Completely unaware of the byplay. The context. The danger.
Sweet and innocent.
Peter freezes a moment, not having expected that, but sputters a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around Sammy, too. “You’re very welcome, Sammy.”
Sammy hums happily, nuzzling in close and resting his head against Peter’s shoulder. “Mmm… you’re warm. S’ cold outside.”
Peter smirks, rubbing a hand up and down Sammy’s shoulder. “It is, yeah-” he cuts off as the bartender returns, setting a glass of apple juice down in front of Sammy.
“Here you go.”
Peter thanks him and presses it a little closer.
Sammy eyes it suspiciously. “…it’s not alcohol again right?”
Buuuuut the bartender’s already gone again.
Peter picks it up, smelling it. He gives it a small taste. “Nope - just apple juice.”
He hands it to Sammy.
Sammy relaxes. “Thank you.” He sweetly says, and sips it with a happy noise.
Peter resumes sipping at his, eyeing Sammy’s drink a little. “So what are you doing in town?”
“Art study! M’ going to different cities around the country and painting pretty locations.” Sammy explains happily, before taking a long pull of his apple juice.
Peter tilts his head. “By yourself??”
Sammy nods. “Mhm. Easier to just go if I’m by myself. I don’t have to wait on anyone else to be ready, I can just leave.”
He gives an appreciative hum. “That’s convenient.”
Sammy nods. “It’s nice being able to travel like this.” He says, completely missing any implications Peter might be thinking of.
Peter smiles just as soft as always. His hand drifts up to Sammy’s cheek, thumb brushing down it. “If you’re on the go that much, then I’m counting myself doubly lucky to be able to see you tonight.”
Sammy’s breathing shudders in his chest, eyes widening as a blush further spreads across his cheeks. “Y-yeah… m-me too.” He squeaks out.
He hums, eyeing the blush. “You’re so soft…” he traces the edge of it with a finger.
Sammy goes pinker. “T-thank you?” He squeaks out, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
He laughs softly. “Sorry - that…was weird. I’m just…I don’t know many toons. I didn’t expect you to be so…perfect..” He clears his throat, hand dropping - looking away. Flush spreading. “Wow I’m just- making this more awkward aren’t I? Ha-”
Sammy is blushing furiously now. “N-no, no I, um. I thought it was sweet. Thank you.” He clears his throat, lips spreading into a sweet smile. “Thank you Peter, you’re really sweet.”
Peter’s eyes flicker back up to Sammy. “...I’m glad.” He glances down over Sammy. “..are you doing okay? You look a little tired?” He glances around. “...lights too bright maybe? I know they’re kinda flashy..-”
Sammy blinks, confused but when he opens his mouth he sways, suddenly dizzy. “O-oh… I don’t… mmmsomethin’ wrong—“
Peter is on his feet in an instant, concern bleeding over his face. “Are you okay..??” He steadies Sammy with a hand on his waist and one on his elbow. “...should we go to one of the quieter rooms where you can actually sit down?”
“Mmmm’yeah…” Sammy mumbles, pressing his face into Peter’s neck with a soft whine. “Don’ feel good…”
“Okay,” he murmurs softly into Sammy’s hair, shifting around the bar and toward a hallway. He keeps a hand around Sammy’s waist, grabbing his apple juice with the other.
Sammy’s legs don’t listen to what he wants them to do, becoming tangled nuisances and making Sammy sag against Peter drastically as he trips over his own feet and air itself. “Merg.” He complains eloquently.
“Oh shi-” Peter chirps in surprise, but wraps another arm around Sammy. “I’m- I’m gonna carry you, okay?” He scoops the man up into a princess carry and continues on his way, nestling Sammy’s head against his shoulder. “You didn’t hit your head earlier or something, did you?”
Sammy blearily shakes his head negative. “Nnno? Don’ know why…” he whines plaintively, pressing into the hollow of Peter’s throat.
Peter presses a long kiss to the top of Sammy’s head, eyes still up as he moves through the smaller rooms and to a back door.
He presses an elevator button and steps inside.
And then it’s quiet.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Out of the crowd now.”
Sammy hums, pressing his face up against the pulse point of Peter’s neck, eyelashes fluttering against skin. “…thank you…” he mumbles blearily.
“No problem.”
It takes a few long moments for the elevator to slide all the way down the building, but the lights are beautiful from this angle. Glass elevator looking out of the nighttime tinkling of the city.
Sammy is so dizzy he can barely appreciate it, but gods… he’s an artist. He stretches out a hand toward the expanse of the city below, humming. “Pretttyyy…”
Peter hums in agreement. “It is…” He looks out over the lights. “It’s like…a black sky filled with stars…” He glances down at the toon in his arms. “..you said you didn’t want to model. What about acting? Don’t you want to be a star, too?”
Sammy shakes his head dizzily. “Nnnno? No, stars. Too far away. Wanna stay right here on ground. Safe. Mhm.”
Peter laughs softly. “I mean the star of a movie, silly. Did you know I make movies?”
Sammy blinks up at Peter, the words slowly penetrating the dizzy haze he’s fallen into. “…not safe.” He mumbles. “Movies safe for not-Sammy’s, no Sammy movie nope. Sinclair find.”
He raises a brow. “..Sinclair?”
Sammy shudders, shading dark purple, a whine in his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad— “
His eyebrows pinch slightly. “....Simon Sinclair?”
Sammy goes rigid. Fear floods his dizzy mind. Peter… knows the man who hurt him for years. “Let me go, l-let me go—“ he starts to weakly struggle, limbs uncoordinated and flailing wildly.
“Shhhh..-” He tucks Sammy a little closer, reeling his arms back in. “You’re okay - you’re just fine. It’s just Peter and if I set you down you’re gonna fall.”
The elevator stops on the ground floor.
No.
Lower than that.
Parking garage under the building. It’s dark.
Sammy struggles against Peter’s grip, breathing quick and dizzying. “Let me GO!” He wails, bursting into terrified tears. Peter rolls his eyes, carrying Sammy out of the elevator.
Peter absentmindedly hands a slip of paper - his valet number - to a young man who greets them. A young man who doesn’t seem to notice or care about Sammy’s distress.
He’s gone just as quickly.
Peter sighs. “Just calm down, will you?”
Sammy shakes his head rapidly hands beating weakly against Peter’s chest. “Let me go, let me go, bad! Bad!!!”
Peter groans, dropping Sammy’s legs and shoving him against the cement wall next to the elevator. He grips Sammy’s jaw, keeping him pressed back hard against the wall and keeping him upright by it. “Shut. Up.”
Sammy squirms, hands scrabbling at Peter’s hand with a fearful cry, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Better.” He glances over his shoulder to see how far the valet’s gotten.
“Ssstop…” Sammy begs tearfully, breathing hitching in his chest. “S-sto-p, Pe-ter please—“
He sighs, glancing back to Sammy. He doesn’t look so soft anymore. He just looks exhausted. A little pissy.
“Can you chill out? I haven’t even hurt you yet.”
Sammy flinches, a whimper in his throat. Not one of Sinclair’s, his fuzzy mind registers. They would have already drawn ink.
But Peter knows Simon Sinclair and that makes him dangerous. He grows quiet, tears trickling down his cheeks.
“What… What do you want from me?” He whispers, tongue heavy. Limbs heavy. Fear rich on his skin in purple hues.
He looks back again as his car starts to come back. “I just wanna make a movie with you, that’s all.” He pulls Sammy away from the wall again, ripping tight so he doesn’t fall.
Sammy squirms, whimpering. “I-I don’t want to be in a movie! Let me go, please! I-I’m scared!”
“Good - then you’ll do great.” He tugs Sammy up to the slowing car and gives the driver a nod and a tip.
The trunk pops.
Sammy tries to jam his feet into the ground, but he just skids forward. “N-no! No, no, no, no—“
Peter doesn’t relent - just forces Sammy forward until he’s bent over the open trunk. “Chill.” He shoves Sammy in, knocking his legs out from under him and guiding his fall into the dark space. “It’s not like you have anywhere to be.”
Sammy goes down with a shrill scream, shaking his head, terror dark purple so close it’s almost black on his skin. “I-I’ll be good, I’ll be good, don’t take me to him please—!”
Peter signs, reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a syringe and preps it, flicking air bubbles to the top and pushing them out. “Don’t plan to.”
Sammy stares up at Peter, hiccuping. He closes his eyes. “…okay.”
“Good.” He jabs the needle down into Sammy’s thigh, shoving the serum in with no real care to keep it straight or avoid bruising. “Nuhnight.” He slams the trunk closed.
Sammy’s world goes black.
.
When Sammy wakes, he’s in a basement. Cold.
He’s bound down to a wooden chair - one that’s bolted to the ground. The back digs into his shoulder blades, hard and unyielding.
Around him are grate-covered shelves and cabinets full of tools and weapons.
In front of him, a table with a laptop. And a camera.
The light is on. Red glaring.
Sammy’s shading is immediately purple, and he panics, squirming in his restraints. A high pitched whine leaving him breathless and heady.
“Welcome to the show,” Peter’s voice murmurs from behind him, hands curling onto his shoulders. “Are you ready?”
