#where the hell is jamie

[aretrothing]

the best thing about tooth and claw is that the doctor introduces himself to queen victoria as "dr james mccrimmon", and queen victoria herself is played by pauline collins - aka the one the real james mccrimmon snogged as samantha in 1966

[ohmerricat]

something about this quote + missy's piano + his guitar. playing clara's theme as a remnant of a lost memory... when nothing is remembered, when nothing is left, still the song continues on. the long song – passed on through generations to every new queen of years, down along the eons. your song is ending but the story never ends

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Fic: Roy & Jamie & and that time when Jamie was NOT in a car crash

With ten minutes left until training officially began and still no sign of Jamie, there were a few raised eyebrows and murmurs and Isaac telling Will to put the player down for a 100 quid fine, but no one thought to be worried. People ran late, sometimes. Not usually Jamie, no, but Colin figured there was a first time for everything. Besides, he was busy listening to Bumbercatch explain the intricacies of post-Brexit labour shortages and the way it served to reproduce notions of capitalist realism, none of which Colin understood, but Bumbercatch was at his fittest when he was passionate and mysterious so Colin hung on to his every word all the same.

When Roy stepped into the dressing room a little while later and noticed the distinct lack of number 9 and rang Jamie to demand where the hell he was only to receive no answer, a slight sense of unease settled over the room, though Colin suspected that had more to to with the sinister look on Coach’s face rather than any real fear that Jamie might be in danger (at least not until he showed up and had to deal with Coach anyway).

And then they heard about the car crash.

---

It was Sam who – always eager to play peacemaker, bless him – checked his phone to see if Jamie had left any messages in the group chat to explain his absence, and Sam who went very quiet and stared at his screen in silence for so long that everyone else fell silent too and turned to stare at him. Never a good sign, that sort of silence in the dressing room.

“Yo, bruv, he write something?” Isaac asked when it became apparent that Sam was not going to volunteer whatever information he had found.

“No, nothing,” Sam said. “But… “

“But fucking what?” Roy demanded, words sharp and jagged like broken glass.

“There’s been a car crash,” Sam’s voice was quiet and slow and reluctant. “A big one, not far from Jamie’s house. At least two people are dead, and several injured. It doesn’t say anything about Jamie,” he quickly added into the collective intake of horrified breath. “I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

“Yeah,” Thierry agreed quickly. “He probably just got delayed because it caused a traffic jam or something.”

Eager nods around room, and Colin found himself nodding along because of course that was the most reasonable explanation, of course Jamie hadn’t— he wasn’t—

“But then why didn’t he pick up his phone?” Bumbercatch asked. “Or call to say he’d be late?”

A relevant question, and as with most of Moe’s questions, without a ready answer.

“We would have heard, wouldn’t we?” Nate suggested uneasily. “I mean, they would have called, if— “

He didn’t finish the sentence. No one else spoke.

Trying to distract himself from the quickly growing pit in his stomach, Colin turned his gaze on Roy, who had gone so still that he didn’t even seem to be breathing. His face was a blank mask, utterly devoid of any emotion, but his fists were clenched so tight that Colin’s own hands twinged in sympathy.

“I’ll go talk to Higgins,” Beard said abruptly, breaking the fraught silence.

“Yeah, no, that’s a great idea,” Nate quickly chimed in. Like Colin, he’d been eyeing Roy nervously. “He’ll know what—“

The door slammed open. Jamie rushed inside. “Sorry, sorry I’m late,” he called as he dumped his bag on the bench by his cubby and started pulling his vest off, “been this massive car accident, was stuck for ages and then the road was closed off so I had to go round and— Eh?“

Cockburn, by virtue of being closest, had pulled Jamie into a tight hug, and the rest of the players immediately closed in to follow suit, Colin among them. In his relief he wasn’t sure whether to kiss Jamie or smack him on the head for worrying them, and in the end he settled for briefly squeezing his neck. Jamie grinned at him, at all of them, looking a little bemused but very much delighted by the attention.

“Fucking hell, lads,” he laughed. “Thought I’d be getting a fine, not a fucking group hug. Realized how dull training would be without me, huh?”

“You are getting a fine,” Isaac told him, even as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder and shook him gently. “But we’re fucking happy you’re here, yeah?”

“We thought you had died in the car crash,” Jan explained.

“Sí, amigo, we were so worried for you!”

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m fine. Not fucking Colin, am I? I don’t get into any car crashes.” He caught Colin’s eye and winked, sticking his tongue out like the utter tosser he was and Colin rolled his eyes and was so, so stupidly happy the idiot was there to be annoying.

Eventually, after everyone had gotten to hug Jamie or pat him on the back or ruffle his hair (to his loud but clearly half-hearted protests), the team drifted back to their own cubbies, happily chatting amongst themselves—

— leaving Roy standing on the middle of the floor, staring at Jamie with a look on his face that had Colin take an involuntary step backwards. Their gaffer did not look relieved. In fact, he looked absolutely murderous.

“Why the fuck,” he intoned, emphasizing each word, “did you not fucking call to say you were fucking late? And why the fuck did you not answer your fucking phone?”

The tone of voice would have had anyone with even an ounce of self-preservation running for cover if directed at them, but Jamie just blinked. “Oh, er, left it at home, didn’t I? Already had it in me black bag, right, only I realized the tan one went better with this outfit so I grabbed that instead, but I forgot about the phone ‘cause I was in a bit of a rush, yeah?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “It was stupid. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, you’re sorry about that, are you? Do you have any fucking idea—“ Taking a step closer, getting right up into Jamie’s face, Roy launched into a dressing-down of such volume and viciousness Colin was convinced it had the walls vibrating. Even by Roy Kent’s considerable standards, it was a lot and it lasted for well over a minute until Roy growled, “If you’re not out on the pitch running laps in two minutes you won’t have to worry about getting into any car crashes going home ‘cause you’ll be here all night, running ‘til you fucking drop in your own puke, got it?”

Initially, Jamie had seemed slightly taken aback by Roy’s furious remonstration, but then something that looked strangely like understanding passed over his face and he settled into a determined stoicism, neither talking back nor looking cowed. By the end of it, though, there was definitively barely suppressed anger glinting in his gray eyes, leaving Colin worried he might snap and then they’d have a full-on brawl on their hands, just like back in the bad old days when Roy and Jamie well and truly hated each others’ guts and wouldn’t that be exactly the sort of fun they all wanted on a Tuesday?

He gave a sigh of relief (and could hear Richard do the same just next to him) when Jamie just offered a curt, “yes, Coach,” and set to getting changed at an appropriately hurried speed.

“And fucking apologize to your teammates for delaying training!” Roy barked.

“We’d be out there already if you hadn’t spent the last hour shouting at me,” Jamie muttered to the boot he was tying.

“The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, Coach. Sorry, everyone.” He looked up. “Really am,” he added, sounding quite sincere about it. “Didn’t mean to hold you up or, you know, worry you or nothing.”

---

Training was an awkward and quietly tense affair. Once Jamie had finished his laps and was allowed to join the rest of them, Roy pointedly and resolutely ignored him, refusing to so much as spare him a glance while the team muddled through the day’s exercises and scrimmage.

Jamie, for his part, seemed utterly determined not to give a shit. He went through the drills as diligently as ever, dribbled and passed and shot with his usual flair, shouting encouragements and slapping Colin’s butt after a particularly good free kick. For all intents and purposes, it was just another day at the job for Jamie Tartt – but Colin saw the looks he kept shooting Roy when he thought no one was watching, and he noticed how Jamie didn’t just play well but played brilliantly, stubbornly lining up one little footie miracle after another on the pitch. He wasn’t being a prick about it either, prompting Colin to mutter to Isaac: “Looks like Jamie’s trying to get back on Roy’s good side by going for player of the year.”

Isaac glanced over at Jamie, then shook his head in dismissal. “Nah, bruv,” he said. “He ain’t trying to appease the gaffer. Sticking it to him, innit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Colin frowned. That… didn’t make a lot of sense, really, but Isaac usually knew what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like Colin begrudged Jamie a little bit of pushback, not after the way Roy had chewed him out in front of everyone. It was just that, if this escalated and the two of them got into it properly, the way they used to back when Roy was still the captain rather than the coach… Well. It’d be a shit time for everyone. Colin could do without it. They could all do without it.

Not that that sort of consideration had ever stopped either Roy or Jamie before.

On the other side of the pitch, Jamie threw himself down in a bicycle kick that saw the ball soar right past two defender’s and Thierry’s outstretched hands.

“Whistle,” Roy snapped. “Training’s fucking over.”

---

“Oi! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Colin, with Dani, Jeff and Jamie in tow, had almost made it out of the dressing room, freshly showered and changed and very ready to put the training session behind them, when Roy’s bark brought them to abrupt heel. Dani stopped so suddenly that Jeff almost walked straight into him, and Colin himself accidentally elbowed Jamie when he startled at the sudden roar.

You’d think they’d be more than used to Roy’s yelling by now, Colin thought. Then again, he supposed it’d been a strange day and they were all a little on edge. Jumpy.

“We’re going to my place, Coach,” he quickly offered, hoping to stave off another round of shouting. “To play some FIFA.” He briefly considered inviting Roy to join them, it would only be polite, right, and could be good for morale maybe, but he was held back by the notion that the gaffer might say yes.

“Tartt isn’t,” Roy informed him curtly.

Jamie cocked his head to the side. “I’m not?” Definitively a hint of challenge in his tone, and Jesus, this was all going to go straight to hell, wasn’t it? And after they’d almost made it out of here, too.

Roy was unmoved; unyielding as stone. “No, you’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you since you’re too much of a fucking child to be trusted on your own.”

For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, both faces shadowed by stubborn scowls. Colin realized he was holding his breath, and glanced over at Isaac getting ready for dinner with his parents in front of the mirror to check if he, as captain, was maybe planning to step in and deescalate the situation. How he was going to do that Colin had no idea; he wasn’t the captain.

Isaac said nothing, though, just watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. Figures, Colin thought a little sourly; his friend was utter shit at keeping secrets but could pull inscrutable like nobody’s business when it suited him.

“Fine.” In the end, Jamie relented with an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m taking me own car, which I have, what with me not actually being in a car crash today and all.”

Roy looked furious at that, as if Jamie’s lack of fiery death in a burning inferno was somehow a personal insult to him, but then he pressed his lips together and jerked his head in a sharp t nod. “Fine.”

He spun around and stalked away, leaving Jamie rolling his eyes and muttering Jesus fucking Christ you overdramatic grumpy fuck under his breath. Then he turned to the rest of them and shrugged. “Sorry, lads. Another time, yeah?”

Dani made a small, unhappy sound. Colin exchanged a look with Jeff, who looked about as unsure and uncomfortable as Colin felt. Over on the other side of the room, Isaac was still quiet, potentially a sign to the others to keep out of it as well, but in spite of that Colin found himself compelled to ask: “Boyo, do you want us to… talk to Coach?”

It was a mildly terrifying idea, and it very much went against the unspoken agreement that nobody interfere with the continued absurdity that was Roy and Jamie’s relationship these days. But, today had been weird in a way that seemed to have little enough to do with training, extracurricular or otherwise. A particular kind of weird, even for these two. Besides, his whole idea of an impromptu game night had been, at least in part, a bid to cheer Jamie up after all that, and it seemed a shame that he’d miss it for more of the same.

Jamie, however, waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, mate, it’s fine.”

He looked like he meant it, too. There was a frown on his face, sure, but as far as Colin could tell it spoke more of mild annoyance than actual upset or worry.

“But forgetting your phone was a simple mistake, and it is not your fault you were late. It’s not right that Coach should keep punishing you for it.” Sam, who had declined FIFA in favour of being a responsible restaurant owner (“and bad fucking flirt, it’s been almost a year mate, why haven’t you asked her out yet?”), had walked over from his locker and was eyeing Jamie with customarily earnest concern.

Jamie just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and off their worried stares added, “He’s not going to do anything bad or anything. It’s just, I fucking scared him, right, and he’s being a twat about it ‘cause he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to have feelings properly and he’s only been in therapy for like three months and it’ll probably take a year for anything Dr. Sharon says to go through his big stupid head, yeah? That’s all.”

Which. Okay. Colin could see how the prospect of Jamie actually dying might scare even Roy, but on the other hand… it was Roy. Roy Kent. And besides—

“I don’t know, man, he didn’t seem scared,” Jeff ventured.

“No, amigo, he seemed like he wanted to rip your head off,” Dani helpfully filled in. “And maybe use it as a football.”

“Yeah, because he’s a twat,” Jamie said. “But it’ll be fine, I promise. Probably just wants to make me dinner or something.”

Colin blinked. That… was a leap. Even by Jamie’s particular kind of logic, that was definitively a leap.

“He’s right.” Oh, so now Isaac decided to speak up. “Roy’s not mad at Jamie, he’s mad because he was frightened.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows meaningfully and pointed at their captain. “Yeah, that. So don’t worry.” Adjusting his cap he shot Colin a cheeky wink. “Whoever plays me better score a fuckton of goals tonight, yeah? See you tomorrow, lads.”

And he was out the door, fucking humming as he went. Doing that Jamie Tartt thing of untouchable and unshakeable confidence and you think you can get to me? Nothing ever gets to me and even now that Colin knew Jamie wasn’t quite as invulnerable as all that, some of the old awe and jealousy stirred, mixed with concerned incredulity.

“Is it just me,” he asked after a protracted moment, “or are those two getting even weirder?”

“It’s not just you,” Jeff muttered.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Dani promised brightly, “I will play Richmond tonight and score a fuckton of goals and I will crush you for the sake of our amigo Jamie.”

Colin sighed. “Fantastic.”

At least he’d have the comfort of knowing that getting trashed by Dani Rojas was still far, far better than whatever cruel and unusual punishment Roy had planned for Jamie.

---

Jamie leaned back against Roy’s surprisingly comfortable couch and let out a small sigh of contentment. He wondered whether he ought to be still annoyed with Roy for being a massive wanker or pleased with himself for how utterly he’d called this. He settled for alternating between the two; he was complex like that. People didn’t know it, but he had depths.

Roy hadn’t tried to make him run a marathon or do a million burpees or whatever Colin and the rest had imagined. He hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t said much at all, really, since Jamie stepped through the front door without knocking; mostly he’d glared and grunted and used those funny little head jerks to communicate that Jamie should sit down and be quiet and drink the water Roy put in front of him.

Jamie had sat down and drunk the water. He had not been quiet. He’d watched the Spurs game on the telly last night and he had opinions relevant to their upcoming match against them, which by rights should interest the gaffer and if it didn’t, too fucking bad.

Roy hadn’t told him to shut up.

Instead, he’d made them dinner (fucking called it), a nutritionist approved salmon pasta with saffron and fennel that Jamie was particularly fond of, and then sent Jamie off to the couch while he did the washing up. He hadn’t said a word about Jamie’s choice of entertainment either, when he appeared a little while later with two steaming cups of tea and found the telly turned on to an old episode of Doctor Who. The show had been a staple of Jamie’s early teens and remained a nostalgic comfort; just a bit of silly fun, really, and so naturally something Roy fucking loathed, sad old fuck that he was.

Normally even the suggestion of watching it (or anything else even halfway interesting) would have been met with foul-mouthed refusal and something about Roy’s house, Roy’s rules, but tonight Roy just put the tea down wordlessly and sat down next to Jamie, as on the screen Martha, Jack and the Tenth Doctor (fittest of them all, although Jamie had a soft spot for Eleven) narrowly escaped an exploding flat.

Jamie smiled to himself. For all Roy was utter shit at saying stuff, he could be fucking transparent at times.

It had been dead obvious when Roy’s anger finally and fully faded, and guilt started trickling in to fill the void. It was right there in the way Roy went all the way quiet and started shooting him little looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought Jamie wouldn’t notice throughout dinner; there in the way he sat down far closer to Jamie than he normally would on the couch now, their legs all but touching.

It was as blatant an invitation as you could ever expect from Roy Kent, and tempting, but Jamie stubbornly held himself to himself, upright and with his arms crossed over his chest. Roy had been a right proper arsehole today and he hadn’t even said sorry so if he wanted a cuddle he could fucking ask for one, or he could wait until Jamie felt inclined to indulge him.

Eventually, though, after what Jamie deemed an appropriate amount of time (which may or may not have amounted to two whole minutes), he relented and allowed himself to lean against Roy, casual like, and tipping his head to rest Roy’s shoulder.

He smirked at how Roy not only failed to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing but also was very quick to put a tentative arm around his shoulders, the grip growing firmer when Jamie didn’t shrug him off or ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

For a while there was only that; the warmth of Roy’s body pressed into his; the sounds of the television. I love it when you say my name, the Master declared.

“I’m sorry about today,” Roy said suddenly. The words came haltingly, reluctantly. Still, he pressed on. “I … fucking overreacted.”

Jamie snorted. “Little bit, yeah.” Then he added, not bothering to conceal his smugness, “All the lads think you were dead mean to me.”

He glanced up at Roy who was determinedly staring at the telly while his eyebrows were doing something complicated and seemingly painful. “I think that… maybe… I got a bit… fucking worried, when we thought you’d been in that car crash.”

He offered like it was some great admission, a grand fucking reveal, and Jamie rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah, mate, I know.”

Roy’s eyes snapped to his face at that, all disbelieving like, so Jamie rolled his eyes again, even harder. “Come on, man. Pretty obvious, that.”

For a long moment, Roy didn’t respond. He looked away from Jamie again. Then finally, “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

And the thing was, Roy sounded so fucking unhappy about it that Jamie clamped his mouth shut around a reflexive no, but you’re an idiot.

“Maybe something for Dr. Sharon, yeah,” he suggested instead, noting with some satisfaction that he was being really mature about all of this.

He’d have liked pointing that out to Roy, too, but had a feeling that maybe that would take away from the maturity a little. He’d mention it to Keeley later instead.

“Yeah,” Roy said after a moment of looking like he’d rather let Isaac kick a football straight at his head. “I’ll talk to her.”

“And maybe fucking apologize to my teammates for delaying training,” Jamie added innocently, feeling a smirk tug at his lips and then blossom into a full-fledged grin when Roy pulled back a little to stare at him, seemingly trying to gauge whether he was serious or not.

“You’re a prick,” Roy said eventually, relaxing again and sounding right fond about it.

“Mmmhm,” Jamie agreed happily, pulling his feet up on the couch and curling up closer to Roy. It was nice, this. Worth all that, maybe. “And here you are, fucking glad I’m not dead and all.”

Roy sighed. His arm around Jamie’s shoulder was warm and solid.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly enough that they might both pretend it wasn’t meant for Jamie’s ears at all. “I am.” 

[charcubed]

so Keeley ropes Roy and Jamie into dressing up as Barbie and Kens for Halloween one year right

[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 11

Prompt: breaking the conditioning

cw: past emotional/psychological abuse and manipulation, overworking, control issues, diet control

Summary:

Life after Zava. During a workout with Roy, Jamie struggles to keep count.

Follows after this one

Here on AO3

After thirty-five reps, Roy tells him, “You don’t have to count out loud.”

Jamie stiffens, his arms fully outstretched as he holds up the weight bar. Roy’s palms are out, ready to catch if Jamie drops it, but he doesn’t dare take the bar away from him – not after the last time he doubted Jamie.

“What?” His arms begin to shake, and he adjusts his grip. It’s a heavy load.

“You count your sets out loud,” explains Roy in that low, growly voice that Ted advised him to think of as patient. Coach sure doesn’t look patient. “I don’t need you to count them out for me. I trust you to do the amount I tell you to do.”

Icy uncertainty runs through his veins. It’s not like he hasn’t noticed that he’s the only one who counts out his sets in the weight room during training. The rest of the team, they mostly chat or listen to music, but Jamie had assumed that was ‘cause he was better than they were, more serious where they preferred to slack off under the weak demands of an inexacting coach.

Never occurred to him it might be a rule.

“Sorry,” Jamie says automatically. His face burns. Hopefully the flush of exertion hides it; after all, the weight is really heavy. “I’ll- yeah. In my head from now on, Coach. Please?”

The ‘please’ adds itself on out of habit. Even Jamie doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but Roy must figure it out. After a moment of staring at Jamie with dark, intense eyes, he nods at the bar, a clear gesture to get on with it then.

Jamie gets on with it, this time sure to keep the counting in his head. He reaches forty, nods to Roy, and Roy tacks on the next set of weights. Too easy.

Jamie resumes pressing, all the numbers shut up behind his teeth where they can’t get on anyone’s nerves. He focuses on his form. Good form is paramount, otherwise he risks rendering the exercise useless.

….five….six….seven….eight….eight….eight….

Fuck. No, wait.

Jamie tries to replay the count. The numbers smear together in his head.

He realises belatedly that he’s stopped mid-press. Perched above him, Roy cocks his head like a vulture, waiting to descend at the first sign of weakness.

Jamie keeps going.

He still doesn’t understand why it has to be Roy who trains him – even Zava had trusted Jamie to do whatever the personal trainers told him to do after the first six months. But ever since Jamie’s knee gave up that one time, the man’s insisted on following Jamie to every appointment he has with a trainer or physio. Mental behaviour, the kind Jamie should definitely put a stop to. And he would, if it didn’t take his mind off the yawning abyss growing in his head every time he goes home to his empty flat and remembers that this is it for him now. His own fucking life, with no steel-fisted grip to guide him.

His heart clenches. What fucking number is he on?

He remembers getting to nine. He’ll add five. Add five to nine, and do five extra at the end, and if Roy asks, he’ll lie and tell him that he felt like it. That the training regime at Richmond is shit, and that Jamie expects a real challenge, the kind where you can’t even lift your arms when you’re done. That’s what Jamie deserves. Jamie is better than this.

He picks up at fourteen and keeps going.

At twenty-three, he feels like he’s already done twenty-three so that can’t be right. At twenty-eight, he gets distracted by how similar threes and eights look when he draws them in his head, and at forty-three, he can’t figure out if he skipped thirty-three or just thought about it too hard, so he goes back and does it again.

A memory rises unbidden: those first few months of rehab under Zava’s care, one of the few times he drove the man past any reasonable level of frustration. Too distracted. Unfocused. No more music at the gym, until Jamie learned to be present in the here and now. Until he learned to appreciate the opportunity he’d been chosen for.

Equally unbidden, Roy’s face the week before last when Jamie had used the word ‘unbidden’ in a sentence. How his mouth had curdled at the corner and how his brows drew together. The way he’d sneered, exasperated, “Do you actually talk like that?”

Then Beard, almost equally mocking, when Jamie had flubbed the word ‘philistine’: “You’re gonna want to look that one up.”

Then Ted, frowning and unhappy in a way that Jamie couldn’t grasp, when Jamie refused his book recommendation because he’d already read Fitzgerald before, it’d been on the improving books list Christina made for him a few years prior. Was fine with him if Ted had any other books he wanted to recommend, but his list at home was pretty long, so he’d probably need to let Jamie know if he had a deadline.

He didn’t tell Ted that the list was years old by now. That Zava had grown disillusioned with him once he realised how slow Jamie took to anything off the pitch.

Ted had given him a disappointed smile like he’d heard it all the same. “Maybe what we need is a different approach.”

He still hadn’t given Jamie a different book.

With a start, Jamie realises that he’s forgotten to count at all. Daggers have etched their way into the stone of Roy’s face. All sense briefly flees Jamie’s mind, and he finds himself sacrificing his picture-perfect form for the sake of doing the last twenty reps as fast as he can just so he can be free of that hard look.

By the time he gasps, “Stop,” his eyes sting with frustration. Roy grunts as he lifts the barbell free from Jamie’s sore hands. With an apocalyptic expression on his face, he drops the bar onto the rack with a heavy clang.

Neither of them say anything. Roy, because fuck if Jamie knows why; and Jamie, because he knows without having to be told how shit that was. 

It isn’t his turn to talk.

He inhales sharply through his nose, trying to downplay his nervousness, which feels as transparent as the windowpane to the coaches’ office that separates them from Ted. His tender hands ball into fists, and Jamie resists the impulse to speak out of turn, to bite first and draw blood before Roy takes a swing at him, to shout for help instead of accepting whatever discipline is given to him.

He knows in his nature to argue – Zava always said so – and since day one, emotional regulation has been his biggest weakness. Too willing to snap back, too sensitive when it came to petty slights, too willing to egg on his opponents instead of focusing on the ball, too abrasive, too loud, too needy, too much too much too much. Despite Zava’s best efforts, he could never quite break Jamie of his defects. Maybe that’s why he finally threw in the towel. He could see the front Jamie put up for the sham it was. Could see the ugly acid boiling inside. Could see the Tartt lurking under the surface, the shadow of his father tattooed under his skin.

In the seven years since he’s seen his father, Jamie’s failed to cleanse himself of the flaws he inherited when the only brand he should carry was Zava’s. 

He doesn’t even have that anymore.

Jamie needs to do better. Without Zava, Richmond’s all he’s got left.

With his shirt sweat through, he feels glued to the bench. So he stays there. He doesn’t sit up. He doesn’t push himself into Roy’s face. He doesn’t argue. He keeps his expression blank and he tries to draw up a ‘non-confrontational aura’ and he readies himself for Roy to bring the hammer down.

“Right,” says Roy gruffly. He won’t look Jamie in the eye. “We’re done for today. Go hit the showers.”

Jamie stares at him. The fight disappears out of his chest in a puff of smoke, like someone’s gone and blown out the match.

It takes Roy tapping him on the shoulder for Jamie to sit up. Then Roy tugs at his arm until Jamie’s on his feet. Then he starts towelling off the bench and setting the weights back into place.

That’s Jamie’s job, and the sight of someone, of his coach, of Roy Kent doing his job makes his breathing go ragged. Makes him feel lightheaded and unsteady on his feet. He’s not sure if mentioning it is something that could be construed as arguing – just the thought has him rocking back on his heels, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the tattoo on his arm.

When he feels like he might actually die if he doesn’t say something, he snaps with more force than he means to, “That’s it?”

Roy doesn’t mention his tone. He raises an eyebrow and asks cooly, “What, that isn’t enough?”

Aren’t you gonna tell me where I fucked up? Criticise me for letting my mind wander and losing count? Tell me what I’m supposed to do next, because training might be over but if I want to be better, I need to stay late. Where’s the extra sets? How bad did I do? How late do I need to stay before I can eat dinner?

Quit playing mind games and tell me what to do next.

But that’s not the right response, not with Roy. Until he figures out what his coach is looking for, Jamie bites his tongue and doesn’t say anything.

When Jamie stands for too long with his teeth grit together tight, Roy gives him an assessing look and just. Nods.

“Hit the showers,” he repeats, gentle in a way that makes Jamie want to scream.

After Roy leaves the weight room, Jamie waits another minute to see if it’s a test. After standing there for five minutes, he figures he’s running the risk of disobedience by not listening to that last command, and he hustles to the showers.

Cold showers are best for athletes, and if he’s supposed to do something different, then someone will tell him.

Roy’s never told him otherwise, so the shower stays cold.

The shower is always cold. 

He’s used to it.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

ARCTIC MONKEYS 25/06/23

okay now that i've had some time to (slightly) emotionally and physically recover from yesterday, i need to flail about the highlights:

1) meeting one of my absolute favourite humans who i would never have got to know if it hadn't been for this little corner of tumblr - and then getting to share the excitement/nerves/elation/exhaustion rollercoaster of seeing am with them was just - there aren't even words for it. so special 💖

2) learning how to navigate rain ponchos

3) impulse buying too much merch (but also not regretting it. the glasgow tour poster is going to be the first thing going on my wall in my new flat)

4) the mirrorball starting to twirl just before they all came onstage and sending the colours of the afternoon sun everywhere

5) the sheer rush of the moment they all walked onstage together (also that was pretty much the only time i got to glimpse nick and matt at all 💔 from where i was standing i could mostly only see alex and jamie)

6) seeing alex a few metres away in real life after months of looking at his beautiful, dorky little expressions in photos/videos was surreal in the best possible way- there's just something so different about the way you get a sense of someone's energy when you're in the same space with them?? and as someone who's endlessly interested in people, i'm fascinated by how alex simultaneously gives off really reserved, self-contained vibes at the same time as being such a dynamic and captivating performer - like he’s so good at tapping into emotions without letting them be a door into how he’s actually feeling (if that makes any sense, my post-gig brain is not very articulate) i guess that all very much makes sense with all the stuff he's said about personas/performing, but it was still so interesting to get to really feel that sense of his presence in live time. he's definitely very much in control but in a very understated kind of way

7) a bunch of birds circling overhead on one side of the crowd, alex seeing them and dramatically declaring 'release the rest of the birds' 

8) me and the lovely human i went with turning to each other with expressions of sheer joy when the opening bars of crying lightning were played (and don't sit down. and four stars. and arabella. and - you get the picture. getting to share the sheer delight of your favourite songs being played is just the loveliest feeling 💗)

9) alex doing a quirky little 'ha ha' laugh in the middle of body paint 

10) mirrorball coinciding with the most beautiful pink dusk and half moon just above the stage, and getting to witness alex’s piano playing at the start of it

11) body paint. just. body paint. i think my soul left my body.

12) how much energy and enthusiasm alex seemed to have throughout the set - especially after the last week or so it was just the loveliest thing to see him messing about and having fun. and his voice sounded SO good. how anyone manages to sing like that (let alone sound like that less than a week after cancelling shows due to laryngitis) is an absolute mystery to me

13) alex's theatrical hand gestures for crying lightning (the one for gobstopper was a particular favourite)

14) hearing 505 when dusk has just fallen and you can see the smudged moon behind the deep indigo clouds is the only way anyone should ever hear 505 

15) alex and matt having a giggle about something mid set

16) obviously i was aware of how stupidly talented they all are - but there's something about seeing it unfold in front of you in real time that makes it really hit you. the sound wasn't great where i was for some of the time so i don't feel like i got the best audio sense of everything, but i was just so struck in particular by matt on the drums and also alex with his guitar playing. i feel like when i'm just listening to their records i'm so busy listening to alex's voice that i forget how incredible a guitar player he is and - wow. just. yeah. it honestly took my breath away.

17) getting the distinct impression that it provides alex with a sense of amusement to deliberately do that thing where he sings the lyrics at slightly different speeds to trip the crowd up

18) even though i ended up being in significant pain for the second half of the set and had to go find somewhere a little further back where i could lean against the railings (chronic pain conditions and standing for 6+ hours apparently isn't the best mix), nothing could dull how magical it was hearing all the tracks from the car that they played closer to the end. standing there in the dusk and feeling so much about everything is something i'll never forget. it truly brought home to me so poignantly everything about why am's music means so much to me and how much love i have for them 💜

19) being in the exact line of direction alex blew kisses to at the end

20) the hazy post-gig walking in the dark under lit up green trees with the lovely human i went with and our conversations about am and creativity and the courage of sharing music 💖

[benbraeden]

tag drop ft. people.

[i--am-ironman]

.

[nancywheeeler]

ted lasso, assigned bisexual by james lance's acting choices

[gambitandrogues]

Jamie's parents prioritize her challenge (impossible)

[ohmerricat]

they took one look at the capaldi era and said how much religious imagery can we possibly fit inside it. and then they did

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Was actually thrilled to have them include Roy and Jamie’s season 1 pitch brawl in the A Look Back video because the only reason Beard would ever have done that is to demonstrate the stark contrast between the rivalry that came before and the friendship they have today. That’s the joke, after all: the frankly absurd discrepancy between what they once were and what they are now.

And it’s notable that we get this after the Beer Date Incident, when Roy and Jamie both fall back into bad old habits and it becomes clear that brawling might not stricly be a thing of the past. The thing is, though, that the aftermath is so very different these days. They no longer need to be seperated by their teammates – they figure out a different and less violent (though frankly also very stupid) “solution” to their quarrel, pursue it together, and when that falls through they contemplate and admit their idiocy and go off to share a meal and make nice. The vidoe doesn’t reignite any tension; they are clearly fine at this point, both of them smiling and with Jamie looking over at Roy like that.

Our boys sure did stumble in this episode – as they will again, no doubt – but a stumble doesn’t change the fact of the road already covered. They have come so very far. 

(I also love this because the little meaningful and somewhat pointed look Beard is giving Roy allows for the conspiracy theory that our friend Willis somehow learned what happened the other night and wants to remind Roy that yeah, this is what you were and is that really something you want to go back to? Uh-nuh, get it together, man.)

[solemntitty]

weird realizing that the religion/cult(?) you were in was Not Normal and that most ppl dont actually think Like That

[jamiesfootball]

Six Sentence Sunday

Roy clears his throat. “Speaking of parlour tricks, how the fuck do you know so much about Amsterdam?” Jamie goes quiet. When Roy glances over, that horrible, statue-faced expression has returned. Roy imagines you could fit the entire distance between here and London between his eyes. “I’ve been here three times: once with my dad, once with my mum, and once with Zava after I told him about what happened the first time.”

[msclaritea]

[cloudbattrolls]

I love fantrolls because if you have three or more quadrants, just making sure they don’t bite each other’s faces off can be a job.

Jikiro sometimes prefers to hang out with Velour, Sarang, or Ullane just because there’s no drama, tbh. He loves his boyfriends but all three are deranged in their own special ways.