#debatable but either 21 or 24
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[ aftermath ] t. zegras
paring : Trevor Zegras x fem!reader
summary : (Y/N) helps Trevor deal with Jamie leaving and breaking his ankle all in 24 hours
warning(s) : injury, some angst
author’s note : it’s me. hi. i’m the problem, it’s me
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She definitely believes in the snowball effect after the last 24 hours of her life. It’s one of the reasons why she’s currently on a flight in the middle of the night to Raleigh to meet her boyfriend’s hockey team at their hotel.
Both her life and Trevor’s life have changed so much in 24 hours. Trevor left with the Ducks for their road trip expecting to have a fun trip. His best friend was finally 21 and could enjoy all that Nashville had to offer.
Then Jamie got the call that no player ever really wants to get from their general manager.
Hours later, he was on a flight to Philly and leaving the Ducks and a distraught Trevor behind in Tennessee.
She should’ve gotten on a plane then and there. Instead, she tempted fate.
The next day was Trevor’s 200th career NHL game, and he had to play it without his best friend on the ice with him. (Y/N) happily watched from their apartment in Anaheim.
Until Trevor went down along the boards after 3 shifts and two minutes total on the ice. She was on her feet as she watched her boyfriend get helped down the tunnel. He wasn’t putting any pressure on his left leg as the trainers helped him.
She blew up his phone with texts and calls until one in the morning California time. He never replied. Then she texted Mason and asked where the Ducks were staying in Raleigh. She booked a flight and asked Mason to get Trevor’s room number when they got there.
Luckily there was a nonstop flight to Raleigh that left from LAX at three that she just barely made. She packed a duffel bag and ran out the door to catch the flight.
After nearly five hours in the air and multiple timezone changes, (Y/N) lands in North Carolina. She left at three in the morning and landed at eleven in the morning. Mason’s text with Trevor’s room number and a he’s cranky comes through as she grabs her duffel from baggage claim.
Honestly, she should’ve gotten on a flight as soon as Trevor told her that Jamie got traded. This is what happens when you tempt fate.
She orders an Uber from the airport to the hotel where Trevor is staying with the Ducks.
Why he traveled with them after getting hurt is beyond her. Maybe it isn’t a long term injury and it’s just a sprain.
Either way, she’s about to find out.
After a ten minute debate with herself, she lightly knocks on Trevor’s door.
It’s a second before the door opens. As soon as it swings open though, her heart breaks at the sight behind it.
Trevor stands on crutches with his ankle wrapped. His eyes are red and puffy and it looks like he hasn’t slept a wink in two days. Honestly, he probably hasn’t.
"Trev," she pouts.
He shakes his head and quickly spins to walk back into the room. She follows him and lets the door shut behind her. "I don't want you here, (Y/N)," he tells her. The voice crack tells her all she needs to know. He does actually need her here.
"I don't care," she replies. "I'm here anyway." Trevor leans the crutches against the middle table and sits on the bed. "You haven't exactly had the best few days so I came to make sure you're okay."
"I'm not fucking okay!" Trevor shouts at her before rubbing his face and running his fingers through his hair to compose himself. "My best friend plays across the damn country now after getting traded out of nowhere and I might have just broken my damn ankle in a milestone game. I'm going to be out for like two months again."
(Y/N) crouches down in front of him and puts her hands on his knees. "I'm sorry, baby," she softly says. "I can't even begin to imagine how you feel right now. I know Jamie's in Philly right now and I know you won't talk to anyone else about how you feel so that's why I'm here. I don't want you to bottle up your feelings."
"It just sucks," Trevor says, voice shaky. "Everything's changing and I don't like it. I'm probably going to have to go to Jamie's and pack his apartment so I can send his stuff to him, especially now that I'm out and won't be able to do anything."
She gets up and sits next to her boyfriend. She grabs one of his hands and holds it on her lap. She rubs the back of her hand with her thumb. Trevor leans over and drops his head to her shoulder. She wraps an arm around his shoulders and plays with his hair.
"I'm here," she whispers. "I don't care if you don't want me here. I'll always be here."
"I know," Trevor replies. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm just frustrated and confused and in pain."
(Y/N) kisses his temple and buries her face in his hair. "It's okay," she says. "You're feeling a lot right now so I don't blame you for anything you say right now. Just know that I'll be here the entire time. As for Jamie, you know he's a phone call away whenever you wanna talk to him. He'll answer every single time you call him."
He nods. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Can we lay down until I meet with the doctor?"
"Of course," she replies. "Whatever you wanna do. What time do you meet with the doctor?"
"Three," Trevor tells her as he gets comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he can since he's hurt. "I have to leave at two."
That's enough time for both of them to take a two hour nap.
She sets her alarm for 1:30 then settles in next to him. She wraps a leg around his waist and rests her head on his forehead while he wraps an arm around her shoulders.
"Thank you for coming," Trevor whispers, his voice tired. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," she assures him. "Close your eyes for a bit. I'll wake you up when it's time to leave."
He nods and within seconds, his breathing evens out. She smiles and falls asleep herself knowing that Trevor is finally getting some rest.
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WAIT DON'T CLOSE IT YET!!!!! the 'love story told in untraditional format' prompt and DABI??? mm.
would like to meet, touya todoroki ;
pairing touya 'dabi' todoroki x f!reader
word count 1.9k
synopsis the dregs of society run rampant on hinge, and everyone knows you're not going to meet The One on there. but you know the saying... love does come when you least expect it. alternatively: catching feelings through the hinge dms.
content contains one reference to jumping off a building, some sexual jokes
author's notes OK not necessarily a love story, but there are feelings in involved, i swear. this is supposed to be fun & silly!!!!
You nearly throw your phone across the room. Download Hinge, your friends encouraged you. It’ll be fun!
You frown at Shigaraki’s ever-so-eloquent opening line of I’d blow yo back out. Yeah, you can see why this app was designed to be deleted. The fucking dregs of society are crawling all over this thing. Just one nice, well-adjusted individual. That’s all you’re asking for!
Apparently, any decent guy is either taken or not on Hinge. You debate throwing in the towel and just meeting someone organically, like, out in public, exactly as the good lord intended, but right before you do, your phone vibrates.
New Notification!
Hinge | Dabi liked your image!
Hinge | Dabi sent you a chat!
It’s a Friday night, and you know for a fact that there is not a single sane man on this app, especially at this hour. Considering the fact that you’re sitting in bed right now, about to rewatch Pride & Prejudice for the sixth time this week, what else do you have to lose? Dignity? You open the app.
Apr 22 10: 24 PM
Dabi: You’re hot, what’s wrong with you
You: ??
Dabi: You’re too hot to be single and on here. What’s your deal
You: you’re on here too? 🤨
Dabi: Would you say I’m too hot to the point where it’s suspicious I’m on here
You: i’m not here to give you an ego boost
Dabi: Then what’s the point of being on here
You: so you just get on here for free compliments?
Dabi: Maybe I have premium. Maybe I pay for these compliments
You: yeah, you look like the type to pay for hinge premium ngl
Dabi: Bye I’m going to talk to girls that are easier to manipulate
You: please do 🙏
Apr 23 1:21 PM
Dabi: Did you miss me
Apr 23 3:15 PM
You: so much
Apr 23 4:47 PM
Dabi: How much
Apr 23 6:01 PM
You: i was going to jump off a bridge if u didn’t text me
Apr 23 8:01 PM
Dabi: Damn that’s crazy
Dabi: How I don’t care
Apr 23 10:15 PM
You: don’t you have anyone else to bother
Dabi: I want to bother you though
You: you probably scared off every girl you’ve ever come in contact with
Dabi: True
Dabi: Except for you because you’re stupid
You: you pay for hinge premium, there’s an idiot in this conversation but it’s def not me
Dabi: I was joking
Dabi: I don’t have money like that
You: i can tell
You: you probably take girls out for coffee as a first date, and then make them venmo u their half of the bill
Dabi: Nah
Dabi: I make her pay the full amount
You: i’m not surprised
Dabi: That was a joke too
Dabi: I never take girls out
You: thank God
You: you’d probably be every girl’s worst date story
Dabi: Want to test that theory out
You: no thanks, i don’t feel like being content material for some crime podcast
Dabi: Smart girl
Apr 24 12:13 PM
Dabi: Wyd
You: at the police station, filing a restraining order on you
Dabi: Damn
Dabi: You want to be the one to put me in cuffs
You: the officer here actually has pink cuffs, i know some guys find that emasculating but you seem like you wouldn’t mind
Dabi: I love pink actually
Dabi: I’m so down
You: i think you’re my dream guy
You: more like my sleep paralysis demon, but same difference
Dabi: Aw you think of me when you sleep
Dabi: You’re that obsessed already
You: stfu
Dabi: Don’t feel bad
Dabi: I’m a munch fr
Dabi: I need u
You: what you need is to be put on some medication
Dabi: Yeah you’re my medication
You: you need to be psychologically evaluated
You: r u a social experiment
Dabi: Stop flirting with me
You: you’re so childish
Dabi: Am I bothering you
Dabi: Do I elicit strong emotions
You: you don’t look like someone who knows the word elicit
Dabi: I’m in grad school
You: wow
You: this is the first time you’ve left me genuinely speechless
Apr 24 3:55 PM
Dabi: Yo when’s ur bday
Dabi: Do you have any siblings
You: are u gonna ask for my mother’s maiden name too
Dabi: Yeah actually
Dabi: Give me your ssn while you’re at it
You: ur a creep, ur lucky ur cute
Dabi: Wow, you can’t have deep convos with anyone any more without being accused of trying to get answers to their security questions
You: tell me something abt you first
Dabi: My dad sucks
You: yeah you look like you would have daddy issues
Dabi: Lmao
Dabi: I’m being fr though
You: yeah, a lot of dads do suck. what abt the rest of ur family?
Dabi: I haven’t seen them in years
You: oh
You: do they suck too?
Dabi: Nah
Dabi: I moved out as soon as I could
You: your dad was that bad?
Dabi: The worst
You: are you trying to get pity pussy rn???? don’t tug on my heartstrings if it’s all just a lie
Dabi: Damn wtf
Dabi: But also depends. Do u wanna give me some pity pussy rn
You: bye i thought we were actually having a serious moment
Dabi: I wasn’t lying. Swear
Dabi: Now tell me something too
You: im an attention seeker. that’s why im on here
Apr 25 1:56 PM
Dabi: Did u miss me not giving u attention
Apr 25 3:56 PM
You: sorry, i was having really crazy sex waiting for u to come back
Dabi: Fire
Dabi: You deserve it
Dabi: Me next?
You: only if you promise to tell me u love me before the post nut clarity hits
Dabi: I love manipulating women during sex
Dabi: Anything for u
You: you say that but someone else is in my dms telling me that i can be his housewife and raise our kids and never work a day in my life again so pls top that offer
Dabi: DAMN
Dabi: I bet he’s boring
You: he’s not boring, we’re actually getting married and gonna have a big family
Dabi: Well clearly the fact that ur talking about him to me shows that u aren’t interested in him
You: i’m telling u abt him so u have something to aspire to
Dabi: Damn you should date him then
You: that’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said
Apr 26 7:00 AM
Dabi: I hate you
Dabi: Wyd today
You: pls mind ur own business
Dabi: Smd
Dabi: Tell me or I block you
Apr 26 8:19 AM
Dabi: U suck
You: and swallow
Dabi: No you don’t
Dabi: You probably spit it out
Apr 27 9:34 AM
You: true but in my defense, you look like you would produce something that tastes like toxic waste
Dabi: Were u deadass ignoring me
You: don’t be so needy, dabi. it’s not a good look
Dabi: Sorry that was a moment weakness
Dabi: So what now
Dabi: Is this when u give me ur insta
You: i don’t have any social media
Dabi: Nah you’re a catfish
You: maybe
Apr 27 1:34 PM
Dabi: Wyd
You: you’re a true wyd warrior, do u realize that
You: i’m currently getting my back blown out by a dude who posted his headshot as one of his hinge pics. i am not even faking my moans.
Dabi: Stfu 😂
Dabi: Do u even know what sex is
Dabi: Name one position
You: easy, missionary
Dabi: Well you’re on your phone so obviously the sex you’re having isn’t that good
You: im just a good multitasker
Dabi: tell me if ur shit is grippy
You: hold on, let me ask him
Dabi: Whats his name
Dabi: Whats he saying
You: don’t worry abt his name
You: he told me im gripping him so tight, it’s like i’m trying to take his blood pressure rn
Dabi: LMAO
Dabi: That means ur not attracted to him
You: wow, a guy who knows that tight doesn’t equal aroused, i’m genuinely impressed w you
You: and for the record, i would never actually fuck a guy who posts a professional headshot as one of his pics on hinge
Dabi: Oh now you tell me
Dabi: Guess I have to cancel the appointment I just made to get a headshot done
Apr 28 6:20 AM
Dabi: Im leaving Okinawa to go back to work. I’m sad, cheer me up
You: just commit a crime so they won’t let you leave
You: also i think maybe u need a psych eval or smth bc why are u still talking to me 🤨
Dabi: Nah tbh you’re the most interesting person on here
Dabi: I’m gonna go to tokyo and commit a crime on u
You: yea, u not being in my guts rn should be a crime
Dabi: Chill my dick isn’t big enough for that 😂
You: i want you to seek professional help
Dabi: I want u to seek these nuts in ur mouth
You: when should i ghost you
Dabi: Whenever u want bae you can ghost me anytime
Apr 28 7:26 AM
Dabi: REPLY
You: u literally told me i could ghost u anytime WHAT IS UR DEAL
Dabi: Damn ok well when you do at least say goodbye
You: when i do, i’m reporting ur hinge account in the hopes that u get banned and have to resort to meeting women irl
You: i’m actually reporting ur account rn
Dabi: Good idea
Dabi: I’ll report u too
Dabi: Before you get banned from hinge, can I have your number
You: no
You: i don’t give my number out to random ass strangers online
You: and ‘dabi’ is a weird name to have saved in my contacts
Dabi: Touya
Dabi: That’s my real name
You: oh
You: who the hell uses a fake name on a dating app??? 😭
Dabi: Stranger danger is real
Dabi: If I take you out on a date will you give me your number
You: a REAL date???
Dabi: Yeah I’m actually a gentleman in case you couldn’t tell
You: i don’t know how i could’ve missed that fact.
Dabi: I’m being fr though
Dabi: Dinner reservations and everything
You: are you paying the entire bill 🤨
Dabi: Why wouldn’t I
You: hmmm
You: every sex joke i made was definitely just a joke though, pls don’t get any crazy ideas
Dabi: Obviously you were joking, I’m not an idiot
You: you’re not gonna try to hit on the first date?
Dabi: If it’ll make you more comfortable, I’ll tape a 10 ft pole to my chest so I can’t get anywhere near you
You: cute
Dabi: Dinner tomorrow?
You: yes, dinner tomorrow
Dabi: And if I do well, I get your number?
You: hmmm
You: i guess
Dabi: Fuck yeah
Dabi: I’m tired of texting you through hinge
You: you only get it IF you do well
Dabi: I’m gonna rock your shit
Dabi: Romantically
You: sure you will
Apr 30 12:01 AM
Are you sure you want to delete the Hinge app?
Yes | No
You selected Yes! Reason for deletion?
[ ] No new matches
[ ] App is difficult to work with
[ ] Found another app to use
[ X ] I met someone
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P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 16/?
STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26
It's time we get back to the angel duo.
To those re-reading the fic on ao3, you'll notice some dialogues or descriptions have either been added or changed so it's not an exact replica of the chapters here. It's like little easter eggs of what I didn't get to put back then.
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Gabriel: How dare you, Michael!
In an obscure corner of Heaven, sat the six remaining Archangels, engaged in a heated debate over what had just transpired between Michael and Lucifer and the Fates. The atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. It's as awkward as you think being Emily and Sir Pentious in the room who seemed to fade into the background amidst the chaos.
The moment the others arrived, any semblance of order was thrown out the metaphorical window as questions upon questions were asked all at once. Sir Pentious stood rigidly at attention, though his efforts went unnoticed by the bickering Archangels. He's stiffer than Emily and she...
Emily has never been in a situation as tense like this before; even counting the disastrous court hearing with Charlie.
Since her creation, she had always been told that these are the most fearsome angels in Heaven; that they are both merciful and merciless, especially when it comes to protecting Heaven.
Sera: We strive to be like them, Emily. Our actions must all lead to one goal: safeguarding Heaven.
Emily: But Lucifer was their brother!
Sera: Those in power are always faced with harsh choices. And they stay in power because they can make those choices.
Emily: I still don't understand.
Sera: As Head Seraphim, I am also faced with constant challenges. But I do it all to protect our home. But you, you are still learning. And for now.. this shall be my burden to carry.
Emily: But.... What if I mess up?
Sera: That is why I will teach you, Emily. You still have so-
Emily: No! I mean.. The stories said that Lucifer was their most precious brother but he was still cast down. So what I mess up, Sera?
Sera: What?
Emily: Will you cast me down too?
Sera never did give her answer.
Uriel: How could you keep this from us, Michael? Do we not deserve to know such vital information? Especially when it's about our dear Samael?
Michael: I understand you're all angry. But I only found out mere days ago. I kept coming back just to check if my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. I wanted to be sure-
A resounding bang echoed through the room as the Archangel of Healing forcefully slammed his palms onto the table, causing a collective flinch amongst everyone.
Rapahel: Bullshit! You were going to keep this all to yourself again; just like everything concerning Samael!
Jophiel, who is next to him, is rubbing circles in her brother's back in an attempt to calm Raphael down.
Jophiel: Given your track record concerning our little brother, we have every right to doubt you right now.
Camael: I think what they're trying to say is that you should've told us the second you found out. It doesn't matter if you're not sure, we can be there to help you figure it out. Something as concerning as Samael's death... that is not something you keep for as long as you should have.
Sir Pentious: Lucifer.
A sudden quiet fell over the assembled angels as their attention shifted towards the unexpected source of the interruption.
Emily stares at Sir Pentious is slight horror because her new friend just interrupted the Archangels' conversation.
Camael: I'm sorry?
Emily: Sir Pentious! You can't speak to them like-
But the snake only repeats himself.
Sir Pentious: Hisssssss Majesty's name isssss Lucifer.
For an agonizing minute, no one spoke. Whether it's because of Sir Pentious' correction or their presence, Emily isn't sure.
It was Michael who broke free from the collective stupor. With a weary sigh, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the weight of responsibility present upon his face. Emily braced herself, anticipating a reprimand for their intrusion, but to her surprise, the Sword of Heaven merely nodded in acknowledgment.
Michael: He's right. We can't keep disrespecting Sa- Lucifer's wishes even if he isn't here with us.
That broke whatever freezing spell the others had, confusion now paints their features.
Gabriel: I'm sorry who are these people?
While that question was directed at Michael, the Archangel of Wisdom directed theirs on the two of them.
Uriel: Who are you?
Emily: I'm uhm Emily, Your Heavenly Grace. I'm the Seraphim in training under Sera.. and this is Sir P-Pentious. Our uh newly redeemed soul from Hell.
She said the last part almost in a whisper but it seems like they all heard it nonetheless because they are now looking at them with pure disbelief.
Camael: Redeemed?!
Jophiel: From Hell?!
Raphael: Are you saying that this was once a sinner soul?!
Sir Pentious took a bit of an offense to that.
Sir Pentious: This has a name. I am the great Sir Pentiousssss, inventor and former resssssident of the hellish realm!
Uriel: H-How is that possible? Were you planning on keeping this from us too, Michael?
Michael and Emily both stood up so fast at that accusation.
Michael: No! I only knew of this today!
Emily: He didn't know!
The Messenger of God only raised an eyebrow at this and crossed his arms, a silent gesture to explain further.
Michael falls to his chair looking more tired than ever before.
Michael: Apparently, this soul arrived here months ago but the Head Seraphim chose not to mention anything to me or any of you.
Emily: Sera just wanted to know how it happened before telling anyone but with what happened that last... extermination, I think she was afraid.
Gabriel: She had the right to. What was she thinking?! First approving of this yearly genocide behind our backs and now this redeemed soul?! Tell me, young Seraph, are there any other secrets you're keeping from us?
Emily: I-
As multiple eyes manifested across the Archangel's form, a tangible sense of unease swept through the room. Michael then made a decisive move, positioning himself firmly between his brother and Emily, a silent but unmistakable gesture of protection.
Michael: There's no more, Gabe. Aside from this soul's-
Sir Pentious: ehem
Michael: -sorry, Sir Pentious' current redeemed status, Sera knows as much as us. Isn't that correct, young Emily?
Emily: Uh- Yes! We have no idea how, he just showed up in a beam of light suddenly. Please believe us.
As Uriel also positioned himself in front of Gabriel, his gaze a silent warning, Gabriel relented, reverting to his usual form and taking a seat, the tension visibly vanishing from his posture.
Michael gives him a silent thank you and controls himself.
Michael: Young Seraph, as much as we are delighted to know that redemption is possible, with the threat of a war hanging upon us, it is too dangerous right now to grant new souls in. We cannot do anything about the current human souls that is entering our gates but we can control those coming from Hell. So we can't let it be known for now- in Heaven or in Hell.
Emily understands but she still felt anger bubbling inside her. This is supposed to be good news! They finally told the top angels and they still need to keep it a secret? Charlie would be so hurt not knowing that her dream is becoming a reality.
Raphael: Damn the war, Michael! Our baby brother is going to die! I am not gonna make the same mistake twice by choosing Heaven over my own sibling. Never again.
Gabriel: What he said.
Emily can't count anymore how many times the Head Archangel had sighed throughout their encounter.
Michael: I know. I would like nothing more that to prevent that. But.. this is the Fates.
Uriel: ...He's right. We all know that even Father can't change what has already been woven.
Jophiel: So what? We just sit here and let Lucifer die?
Michael: Lucifer does not want our help. And we cannot stop Fate. This war will happen and Lucifer will perish in it.
Camael: Then what can we do?
.
.
.
Michael: We delay it.
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Forgive me if it's a bit messy.
If you can't tell this is kind of in Emily's POV.
I love Sera okay but if I kept a secret as messed up as a genocide, I would probably refrain from telling my bosses that we there was probably no need for it anyway after finding out that redemption is real.
I'd also like to think that the Archangels are just as emotion-driven as Lucifer but only in front of their family. Anyone outside of them sees them as stoic and cold (that's why that is how Emily sees them).
#hazbin lucifer#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin alastor#hazbin charlie#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin angel dust#hazbin lilith#hazbin husk#hazbin vaggie#hazbin nifty#hazbin cherri bomb#hazbin emily#hazbin sir pentious#hazbin sera#hazbin michael#hazbin angel oc#hazbin adam#hazbin lute#hazbin hotel charlie#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin hotel vaggie#hazbin hotel angel oc#hazbin hotel angel dust#hazbin hotel niffty#hazbin hotel cherri bomb#hazbin hotel emily#hazbin hotel sera#hazbin hotel michael#lucifer centric
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in 2020, shifttok exploded
here is a list of events and controversies that occurred…
1. the girl who dedicated an entire account to saying how much she hated angelina and said she killed her in her reality
2. draco pushing people down the stairs
3. snape and hermione doing the WAP in the middle of potions class
4. draco and harry secretly hooking up
5. fred being a cheater (mainly with angelina)
6. draco smelling and being obsessed with apples
7. when a girl said she taught tom riddle to shift and ppl were scared he was gonna shift here and kill people (funny asf looking back)
8. ppl blowing up hogwarts with tom riddle and some bragging about it ??
9. draco missing people when they were in their reality
10. cedric and harry dating (ew)
11. harry having feelings for cedric but ppl saying it’s problematic as if kids don’t have crushes tf
12. dean and seamus dating and blowing stuff up together
13. wolfstar being canon…there were issues with that apparently
14. dumbledore kicking people out of their realities (this was funny asf)
15. dumbledore calling a girl up from the great hall and asking her where she was from and when she played dumb he kicked her out LMAOOO
16. people scripting that dumbledore heard/saw WAP during his death
17. dumbledore saw/heard WAP when he tried reading their mind
18. ppl making fun of harry for being an orphan (while sometimes also being orphans)
19. draco dyeing/bleaching his hair and hiding it sometimes
20. and the carpet sometimes matching the drapes ☝️
21. draco and pansy being together/hooking up
22. when shifting to modern hogwarts, everyone hating fred bc he was a douchebag and a skater
23. people arguing whether fred would have piercings or not (he did)
24. luna being a lesbian was problematic bc a lot of people shiped her and neville
25. neville and the twins dealing
26. calling cedric deadric to his face and not explaining to him why
27. ppl killing everyone BUT fred (killed the whole weasley family)
28. harry living with wolfstar
29. sirius being a death eater???
30. sirius came up to a girl and randomly showed her his death eater tattoo and she was so bamboozled she immediately shifted back and changed that
31. sirius just randomly being a death eater as soon as another shifter got there?? and apparently without her scripting it too??
32. that girl who scripted in her s/o got sa/raped (it was either draco or harry) so after it happened she could shift and comfort them
33. twins and paris (oui oui 🗼)
34. ppl being more powerful than dumbledore to mess with him
35. bellatrix and voldemort hooking up
37. daphne.
36. the girl who said she was doing “it” with harry then remembered she scripted in they were secret half siblings in the middle of it
39. marvel shifters scripting they were tortured in the red rooms to share trauma with natasha and bucky
40. early shiftokers saying you have to script in extremely specific things because they would wake up with no hair at all or transparent
41. you can’t add any negative words like “no” or “don’t” in your script cause it brings bad energy and could prevent you from shifting
42. it’s catfishing to have a face claim
43. adults shifting for minors 😐 and vice versa 😐 (but staying minors)
45. race shifters changing races
46. permashifting 😐
47. people being immune to veritiserum and it frustrated dumbledore
48. people debating whether it was ok to keep house elves and scripting they liked their positions
49. shifting to be death eaters??? huh???
50. hermione hating ppl shifting for ron
51. kreacher was trying to kill ppl???
52. ppl debating whether it was ok to script in that regulus also moved in with james
53. scripting in relationships is forced and wrong, you have to script in they have a crush on you…no.
54. whenever someone would talk about their dr partner someone in the comments would go “ew that’s my dad in my reality”
55. ppl scripting peter out (why, just say he’s not evil)
56. ppl shifting for voldemort, not tom riddle, VOLDEMORT
57. people not separating tom riddle and voldemort while dating tom
58. debates over whether it’s ok to date tom riddle even before he’s voldemort or a completely different person
59. ppl saying if you got pregnant in your reality you would be pregnant in this reality even if you’re a virgin (mary??)
60. the girl who’s pregnant with fred’s baby in her reality and she needs to shift back as soon as possible because she cannot handle not feeling her baby bump
61. voldemort giving more attention to nagini so a girl had to script nagini out
62. draco being a raging trump supporter in modern realities even tho he’s british
63. filch fucking the cat
64. shifting as objects (girl who got eaten as a pie, draco’s apple ppl, and girl who was a dildo)
65. ppl claiming they smell their s/os in this reality and sold out the bath and body works candle (yknow the one)
66. draco shifter who made a vid of her looking around her room, claiming draco was crying to her about how much he missed her and she felt him hugging her
67. non brits forgetting to script in british accents and getting stares from everyone
68. ppl getting lost around hogwarts cause they didn’t know their way around
69. ppl forgetting to script out ppl’s deaths
70. girl who shifted to the marauders and forgot to script out lily and james’s deaths and went to save them and got murdered too
71. ppl saying you had to script in you can’t die because, plot twist, you’d die in this reality because the original consciousness to your body in this reality would die and your body would too by theory (bs theory btw)
72. several ppl saying (and filming) they shifted back to find their clones had ran away to the woods and/or bombed their grades in school
73. teens scripting they were irresistible and the hottest person at hogwarts and professors started coming onto them
74. that TEEN girl (and others) who scripted in that remus and snape had feelings for her and were both trying to “win her affection”
75. having to drink 1 billion gallons of water and needing to have ur homework done and room clean to shift
76. when doing the raven method you HAVE TO lay COMPLETELY still if you even twitch a finger, you had to start over and palms up babes, no limbs touching and lay on your back
77. when shifting back you have to do it in private cause several ppl shifted back in front of ppl and when they said their safe word and said that their body “disappeared” until they shifted back
78. if you didn’t script in you remembered your safeword then you’d get stuck
79. girls and boys shifting to date ppl of the same gender and ppl getting mad cause “that character isn’t gay!” like…what
82. ppl scripting they don’t get caught cheating (??)
83. jumanji being everyone’s safeword in 2020
84. SHIFTING POLICE LMFAO
86. someone making a shifting memes video about their HOLOCAUST REALITY
87. girl saying somebody shifted AS HER and knew personal things about her life that they shouldn’t
88. people without disabilities scripting them in
89. cis ppl shifting to be trans ig for fun??
91. ppl shifting to be groupies (DO NOT BE A GROUPIE FOR MOTLEY CRUE I REPEAT ‼️ DO NOT BE A GROUPIE FOR MOTLEY CRUE ‼️) ppl were groupies for motley crue
92. girl scripting in that only white ppl exist in her reality 🤨
95. 30 year old shifter got bullied for their script because it was “too detailed” and ppl said they couldn’t shift bc of it
96. “if you don’t have a script you can’t shift”
97. voldemort and nagini being in some type of romantic relationship (don’t ask)
98. people scripting flowers grew as they walked
99. ppl scripting their eyes change color when they’re angry
100. weather changed according to ppls mood 😭
101. their hair is on fire when they’re angry
102. celestial subliminals posting subliminal videos that gave people nightmares and sleep paralysis
103. if you did the mirror method, demons would come and kill you (cmon guys)
104. ppl beefing with celebs in their fame realities honestly funny asf
105. ppl getting canceled in their fame realities for doing almost nothing
106. girl who brought back the necklace from draco LMFAOO
107. CARSON MALFOY
108. carson’s mom liking cedric
109. LIFE SIZED CARDBOARD DRACO CUTOUTS
110. tom felton found out about shifting on a livestream
111. amino servers telling ppl they can permanently shift by killing themselves (they had a term for it i forgot what it was)
112. julia method creator gatekeeping the method on amino?? idk
113. you can’t shift your age up as a minor and date an adult (i don’t even wanna debate this bs)
114. ppl scripting out queer ppl in their realities
115. girl was shifting for fred and someone commented she was shifting for fred too and she got so mad talking about she can’t steal her bf and how fred is hers (i wanna be this delulu)
116. girl shifted to game of thrones and wanted to stay “accurate” and purposefully scripted her love interest WAS HER COUSIN
117. girl said she had trauma from the wizarding war
#yes i kept track of this bs#for years#you’re welcome#shifting#reality shifting#shifting realities#hp#harry potter#marauders#marauders fandom#harry potter fandom#2020#tiktok#sirius black#james potter#peter pettigrew#remus lupin
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Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x22 There's No Place Like Home (Part 3)
Summary: A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time. There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season. Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.
Word Count: 826
Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (28)
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Notes: I knew there was no way I could stick to just one drabble an episode for the CS movie, so I didn't even try. There will be 2 drabbles for 3x21 and 4 for 3x22. They are all written, so the plan is to post one per day until they're all posted.
Now what?
Emma turned in a circle, looking around Rumplestiltskin’s vault–so tall and vast, she couldn’t see the ceiling. So compact there was no door or window. Had they fixed the past only to die of hunger, thirst or suffocation?
Could they ever get a break?
She turned to see Killian picking up an urn and perusing it, and her heart rate spiked. “Wait! Don’t touch anything!” she said insistently. “If Rumple’s afraid of this stuff, there’s gotta be a reason.”
He placed the item back on a shelf, and turned to her, arms wide in a placating gesture. “I’m just trying to figure a way out.”
He was always the optimist. Unfortunately, her optimism had all but run out. They were at the end of the line. “I don’t think there is one, and what’s the point? You heard what he said; he can’t reopen the portal.”
Killian stepped forward, and gave her an intense look–one filled with hope and belief. “But you can! All he said we need is magic. You’re the savior, Swan. You can do it.”
Her heart plummeted. He always had such complete and indefatigable faith in her, but in this instance, she knew that faith was misplaced. Her hands were tied, and she was of no more use in this situation than was the unconscious woman Killian had gently placed on the table.
“Not anymore. I lost it,” she said simply.
A hint of something else–desperation? Frustration? Irritation?-- crept into his eyes as he stepped forward and spoke again. “When Zelena died, all of her spells were undone. Your powers should have been restored.”
What was he implying?
“Believe me, if I could make it work, I would,” she said shortly. “You think I’m faking it?”
For the barest of moments, he hesitated, and she knew he was debating with himself whether or not to say what was on his mind. A look of determination came over his face, and she knew he’d made his choice.
“I think not having magic makes it a hell of a lot easier for you to run back to New York and pretend to be somebody else,” he said, stepping closer to her, “but listen to me Swan. You’re not. It’s time to stop running.”
It wasn’t fair of her after running so insistently from him and her real life for the past couple weeks; she knew that, but she couldn’t stop the frustration from mounting. “You think I don’t know that?” she bit out. “Yes, I run away; that’s how I’ve always survived, but believe me. I want this to work. I wanna go back; I wanna stop running.”
His eyebrows rose at that. “What’s changed your mind?”
Emma thought back to last night when they’d found her mother again and Blue had been able to restore her. She couldn’t hold herself back. The joy and relief had been so strong she couldn’t possibly do anything but take her mother into her arms, laughing and crying, as she held on, cupping the back of Mary Margaret’s head.
“You’re alive!” she’d nearly sobbed.
When the hug came to an end, she looked at her mother to see nothing but a look of confusion. “Thank you. It would appear so.”
Something inside of Emma had broken. Suddenly, in a moment of total clarity, she’d seen the truth.
She needed her family and she loved them more than anything. Everything else had fallen away, all the fear, all the delusion. She decided right then and there that whatever it took, she wanted to get back to her family–her current family, the ones who knew her and loved her and would be devastated if she left. She wanted to get back and she didn’t ever want to leave again.
She did her best to convey all of this to Killian, pouring out her thoughts and emotion. “Neal was right,” she finished.
“About what?” he asked, voice gentle.
“You don’t have a home until you just miss it,” she answered. “And being with my parents the last few days but not really being with them, I’ve never missed them more. Storybrooke is my home.”
It was the first time she’d spoken the words aloud, but she knew with absolute certainty that they were true. Home, the word, the concept, the fact that she was ready to embrace hers left her feeling such warmth and belonging that it was as if it were spreading through her veins, to her very fingertips.
Killian smiled down at her, and she couldn’t stop her answering smile. “What?” she asked.
“Look down,” he answered simply.
The wand she still held in her hand was glowing a bright, vibrant white, and Emma knew Killian was right. Her magic was back. All she’d needed to do was embrace it, embrace her home and family and destiny.
“I’d say you got your magic back,” he continued. “Now, should we go?”
Nothing in the world sounded better.
NEXT CHAPTER->
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Approaching Sun (34)
Author’s Note: Hi! Me again! Life is consistently a wild ride. I have OCD when it comes to raising my child and want to be as emotionally and physically available as I can as a mom, so my free time is limited. I completely underestimated the SAHM gig; it’s a 24 hour job. It also takes me twice as long to knock out a chapter because I can only find the time to write during nap time. As mentioned before, I am also trying to find time to work on my own novel, so between it and AS, the time is split. For those of you who have been reading AS for a long time, thank you for your patience and dedication to the story. You guys rock. This ship will reach shore eventually. For the landlubbers, this sea is a long one. Beware the journey. P.S. I usually write around 6,000 words per chapter and this one is over 10,000! Hope that helps the wait!
Pairing: SasuSaku
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33
Chapter 34: All Wars, Theirs.
After performing her rounds at the hospital the next morning, Sakura found herself staring into Mako’s cell again as the man who betrayed her looked at her dejectedly through the bars. His head was rested back against the wall and his chin jutted forward as he watched her. Ironically, Sakura came carrying a cup of tea in her palms, debating on whether to drink it herself or offer it to Mako.
When she placed the steaming cup through the bars and onto the ground, sliding it forward carefully to refrain from sloshing it over the porcelain rim, Mako raised an eyebrow and snorted a dubious laugh. “You can’t be serious, right?”
Sakura shrugged her shoulders innocently in response. “I thought we agreed to be close colleagues again.”
He sat up straight as he responded. “I don’t remember agreeing to that. Second, we were never really close to begin with; I only ever gave you the tea to lull you into a sense of trust.”
Sakura dismissed the confession because it was already common knowledge between them anyway, and said, “Yes, yes. I’m aware.”
“Then you have a distressing sense of humor,” Mako breathed, gesturing to the tea between them as he stood from his lonely, reclined spot against the sand-constructed wall at the back of his cell. Stooping, Mako reached for the tea and cradled it in his hands all the way down as he replaced its spot on the floor with his cross-legged figure.
Sakura mirrored Mako’s sitting position on the other side of the bars strategically, a tactic she often used when talking with someone she wanted to make feel at ease.
Seeing straight through the method, Mako sipped the tea before asking sarcastically, “Am I due for another therapy session now, Doc?”
Sakura shrugged off his sardonic comment and decided to move straight to the point. “Where is the heart of your organization? Are they based in Tanigakure?”
Mako shot his eyebrows up, swallowing the tea thickly at the abrupt question. He replied with another patronizing question. “Doesn’t your Kazekage know that? Why don’t you go and ask him?”
Sakura said bluntly, “He more than likely does. But I don’t. I want you to tell me yourself.”
Mako set his tea down, suspicion darkening his gaze. “There’s a reason you don’t want to ask him, then. Tell me and I’ll consider sharing what I know with you.”
Sakura was either extremely transparent today, or Mako had truly spent their time together as physicians studying her so thoroughly that he was able to see straight through to some of her thoughts, and it gave Sakura a slithering sensation of uncertainty in her gut.
Sakura frowned back at Mako for his intuitive guess, because in all honesty, Sakura had spent the morning tending to a countless number of patients, recalling familiar faces and learning new names, and had recoiled once again at Gaara’s plans of an inevitable confrontation within Sunagakure.
Even though none of this was Sakura’s fault, she couldn’t help but feel like her presence in the Sand Village endangered the citizens here. She had wanted to believe that Gaara had everything under control, especially since Kakashi, Shikamaru, and the rest of Team 7 were here and ready to go through with plans of Gaara’s design. Sakura, too, had convinced Sasuke last night to trust in Gaara’s approach, saying: “It’s the best option we have.” To which, Sasuke had interjected with the idea of going to Tanigakure to intercept the enemy himself, saying, “A covert operation with one person wouldn’t involve Konoha and Suna. It would be discreet.”
And at first, Sakura had rejected this idea because it didn’t make sense. Sasuke had his mission. To tangle himself up in this now when he had just had a breakthrough would delay his progress and distract him from a far superior threat to Konoha. And Gaara was more than capable of handling this, but then again, Sakura believed that so was she. And so, Sakura had contemplated Sasuke’s “covert operation with one person” idea throughout the night, wondering if it wasn’t an entirely preposterous plan if only it didn’t involve the Uchiha, but her instead.
As Mako blinked at her, expecting her response, Sakura covered for herself by saying, “I just want to confirm his suspicions.”
“Liar,” he accused, and Sakura frowned again at Mako’s own forthrightness. He had stopped hiding himself, Sakura realized. He was allowing her to see who he truly was, and Sakura felt somewhat sad knowing that the kind and exceedingly thoughtful version who had fooled her truly had just been a ruse. This Mako was abrasive and it kind of reminded Sakura of the sensation of having just a little too much salt, not enough to deter you from the food, but more than enough to make you blanch and investigate the dish more carefully.
“What can I possibly do in here?” he asked as he motioned around him at Gaara’s impenetrable sand, no longer humming in the air, but solid and unyielding in its shape of the tunnels and countless cells. Sand that Sakura was sometimes wary around simply because of its desire to do its master’s bidding. As if specks of it could whisp away to speak into the Kazekage’s ear whenever it wished. Sakura knew she was being too paranoid simply because she was harboring a secret plan of her own, one that Mako was beginning to discern. Could she tell him? Should she tell him?
As if he could sense her hesitation, he added, “I did promise to spend the rest of my life—however short it may be—atoning for my actions, you know. And it’s not like I can run off and tell your secrets now, can I?”
Not entirely ready to believe him or trust in him again, Sakura sighed and told him a half-truth instead. “I want to know that, because I want to talk to the organization myself.”
Mako’s eyebrows raised and he laughed sharply. “You want to talk to them?”
Sakura nodded.
All of his false humor instantly died away at her confirmation. “Listen, if Leaf shinobi just show up there, on their turf, things are not going to go your way. They certainly aren’t going to talk to you about anything.”
“And why is that?” Sakura questioned.
“Because you are not their only target.”
Sakura’s stomach dropped at his sudden revelation. “What do you mean? I thought—”
“You are a target,” Mako interrupted, “A very big target—their most important one—but not their only one. You are at the top of the list. But after you, there will be others.”
“Like whom?” she probed.
“Anyone with power and influence whose ideals align with yours. People responsible with healing the next generation directly. Doctors, missionaries, leaders, teachers. The list goes on.”
“How many members,” Sakura asked, leaning toward the bars. “And is the Shade not the leader?”
“Not many, actually, but growing by the day.” Mako confessed easily and quickly, and Sakura could see that it was the truth. “Kasek, the man of shadow you refer to as a Shade, is one of the leaders. But there are others. He is not the mastermind.”
“Then who is?”
“I was new and never made it that far into the organization to find out. Hisa didn’t even know, and she has been involved much longer. They operate on a need-to-know basis, and she only ever consulted Kasek.”
“I see,” Sakura sighed, hoping for more intel than that.
“They are based in Tani as the Kazekage expects, but they are spread out. Or were. As they looked for you and the others. They might be dispersed and not all at the central location. From what I could gather from my conversations with the others, finding them all will be like searching for one cockroach at a time in a growing infestation.”
Sakura bit the inside of her cheek as she listened to this last bit, not entirely sure what she was expecting in the sense of her enemies’ locations. Sakura hadn’t been so naïve to hope that she could locate a singular location with all the bees inside their hive, but she had hoped for something more positive than the dismal reality that they might not be located at their base at all. This group and their teams and separation reminded Sakura, eerily of the Akatsuki. And if all of this was true (it was wise to only take Mako’s advice with a grain of salt), this brought Sakura full-circle to Gaara’s plan which was to lure them into Sunagakure. She hated to throw a wrench in any plans, but Sasuke was right. She needed to do something else, something less dangerous for everyone.
She had learned what she needed, so Sakura stood, dusting the sand off her pants.
Mako jumped up at her sudden indication of departure and blurted, “What’s your plan? I only told you this so you would think twice about whatever schemes you have. Even with your friends’ help, it’s dangerous. They will kill you.”
Sakura wanted to laugh at the preposterous idea of Naruto, Kakashi, and Sasuke being taken down by any enemy at this point. The three of them would die from old age, she was sure of it. She even had confidence in her own abilities despite how aware she was of the fact that this newly formed organization had no hesitancy to take her life. She vividly recalled how Mako had tried to convince Hisa to spare her life, arguing that she was too useful to kill. But she had bested them, hadn’t she? Even the shade who had corpsified her arms.
“Would I have really learned my lesson if I told you my plan?” Sakura asked him as she placed a hand on her hip and smiled pointedly at him. But Mako grabbed the bars between them, eyes narrowing once again.
“Listen, I know you have no reason to trust me, but take me with you.”
Sakura laughed out loud this time, unable to help herself as she covered her mouth with the soft side of her curved hand. Mako only glared. “Take you? Why on earth would I do that?”
“Because,” he hissed, “I could help you. You could use my affiliation with the group in whatever way you thought was best. They will more than likely kill me, but I could come up with something to get us in.”
Sakura’s smile disappeared. “The only help I need from you is for you to stay in this cell where you can’t stab me in the back again. I may have extended a hand of collaboration to you, but that doesn’t mean I’m dumb enough to trust you completely.”
Mako instantly responded with a frown, “You’re making a mistake.”
Sakura turned her back to him, ordering, “Start planning for your future here while I am away. The clinic needs you.”
As she began walking down the dark corridor of the underground tunnel toward the exit, she heard Mako yell after. “I? You’re going by yourself?!”
But she didn’t respond. The sand door that had fallen away before, floated back into form behind her, solidifying into a solid, soundproof barrier once more.
.
.
.
Despite his words last night, Sasuke was the one who was distracted. Distracted from his mission by so many different things, all of them pertaining to a certain pink-haired kunoichi whose cherry-blossom color bled into every crevice of his mind. Pale fingers tracing his back in the dark privacy of a shared room, Mako’s declaration of incoming enemies with the purpose of killing her, and Gaara’s various plans for their arrival were at the top of his thought list—right up there along with how much he wanted to throttle his blonde best friend for his incessant slurping.
Sasuke was trying to explain to Kakashi the development of his mission regarding the foodpill’s ability to lengthen his span of jump between Kaguya’s dimensions. At the mention of foodpills, however, Naruto had insisted he was going to resort to eating some of Sakura’s disgusting ‘mudballs’ himself very soon if they didn’t make a food stop and continue this discussion over a meal.
And so, this is where Sasuke currently found himself: sitting annoyingly squished in a small corner of a crowded food market stall located in the busiest section of the market square, closing his eyes tightly as Naruto shoved another bite of seasoned rice and meat stew loudly down his oversized gullet.
And now Kakashi had just brought up the very topic Sasuke had been brooding over since Gaara had announced to the group his plans on dealing with Sakura’s newfound enemies. The very topic that had Sasuke so distracted. Sasuke had been fantasizing ways to take out that lazy, spiky-haired strategist for even suggesting that Sakura be used as a lure in the first place. Shikamaru did not sit amongst them at the moment because he had “better things to do” in Suna at the moment, which thankfully kept him out of Sasuke’s sight.
“Let’s convene again with Sakura and the Kazekage this evening,” Kakashi suggested, somehow managing to eat without revealing the face behind the mask. “We need to consider the next steps carefully.”
“Gaara can handle it,” Naruto said, almost unintelligibly through a humongous bite of rice. “Whatever he says, we can trust him with it.”
“Or we could handle it,” Sasuke put out there, seeing an opportunity to change the situation and going for it instantly. “Quietly and effectively. Just us. No Sand Village.”
Naruto choked in his excitement at such a notion, agreeing with Sasuke immediately. “I like that idea better!”
“Hn,” Sasuke voiced in agreement with Naruto, whom technically had just agreed with him, but Sasuke didn’t care, because he wasn’t past emphasizing his own statement at this point.
Kakashi tapped his chopsticks thoughtfully against the table. “The situation is delicate because Tanigakure is a mostly neutral country between two shinobi villages. We can’t just go in there and start fighting a multitude of ninja who don’t represent the country as a whole. Even discreetly, the battle ensued would potentially cause too much damage. Gaara’s presence alone in Tanigakure for a few days caused some strain. Needing this fight to happen elsewhere is imperative.”
Naruto’s face had scrunched up the longer that Kakashi spoke, and the blonde knucklehead let out a thoughtful “hmmm” as he nodded his head like he had actually understood any of that. Sasuke wanted to roll his eyes and sigh.
“The Shade refuses to speak,” Kakashi continued his remarks. “We need intel, or we will be going into this blind. The Kazekage has that intel and is in the works of acquiring more information. Trusting Gaara is our best option.”
Sasuke wanted to say more, to argue, to persuade if only it weren’t so unlike him to do so. The Sasuke everyone was expecting was the uncaring one. The one who couldn’t be too bothered with any of this at all because it didn’t directly involve The Uchiha or his mission to investigate the Otsusuki. And part of Sasuke told himself to get a grip and to reign in the worry and trust the others. Sasuke knew he was being unreasonable, knew that he needed to focus on his own mission and goals. That’s what Sakura wanted, too. But Sasuke didn’t know how to wash his hands clean of this anymore, to eradicate the presence of Sakura in his mind, the feel of her skin, the embraces, smiles, and promises between them. Sasuke didn’t want to and therein lied his problem.
Kakashi was giving him that knowing sidelong look that had Sasuke glaring back at him.
“First things first, then,” The Sixth Hokage stated as he made to stand. “Let’s go find Sakura and then we can meet up with Gaara this evening.” And as Kakashi stood, the sensei suddenly realized that his former students no longer occupied the table but were making a break for the entrance, leaving Kakashi with a table full of Naruto’s dishes and an expectant storeowner smiling at him with the bill.
Sasuke heard their sensei sigh, murmur something about how he was supposed to be saving for retirement, but then handing over a wad of change to the giddy and grateful older woman.
.
.
.
When they located Sakura soon after in one of the medicine preparation rooms, she was bending over a mortar and pestle again, gloved hands moving deftly, and her hair pulled tightly behind her and Sasuke realized for the first time how long it had grown since they had left Konoha. The time had seemed to have passed them so quickly, and yet more than a couple months had transpired since he had returned home that day at dawn back in the Leaf. Her attire had changed overnight, and Sasuke instantly noticed that she no longer wore any of the clothes he had bought for her but had taken the liberty of finding something more fitting her previous style: red, short sleeved, and tantalizing short around the midriff. The very stomach he had ran his fingers across in the darkness of their shared room last night.
Sasuke pointedly looked away from her exposed skin as they advanced upon her position, and he decided to hang back against the entrance as Naruto and Kakashi greeted her enthusiastically. He settled into a comfortably uninterested position in typical Uchiha fashion against the wall and peeked over when Sakura elbowed Naruto’s arm when the blonde idiot shouted, “You’re making more puke pills?”
Sasuke felt a weight settle in his stomach as he made the connection that she was handling the ingredients required to make him more food pills for his mission. And from the trays set out before her, Sakura was making a lot of them. Even Kakashi glanced back Sasuke’s way as his former sensei realized Sakura’s purpose, as well.
Although somewhat touched by her effort, Sasuke feigned disinterest in the lot of them.
“Let’s have a taste!” Naruto exclaimed. “Surely, they aren’t as bad as they used to be!”
But before Naruto could touch one, Sakura pushed him away with her body. “Naruto! You need to stop that greedy habit of yours! They are made with Ashuwa, a plant that many people have severe allergic reactions to!”
Sasuke smirked silently to himself as Sakura chastised their gluttonous friend and Sasuke wanted to say something like, “Should have just let him eat it. That would teach him a lesson,” but Sasuke remained silent as Naruto shrieked at Sakura’s revelation.
The idiot jerked his entire body away from the food pills, eyes turning into round circles as he pointed at them, “Now you’re cooking can KILL people?!”
“Na-ru-tooo,” Sakura seethed in that drawn-out warning of his name she often used while considering to pommel their friend, and they all knew if she weren’t holding her gloved, Ashuwa-tainted hands up and away from everyone, Sakura would have hit him.
“They won’t kill you unless you are allergic,” Kakashi explained, motioning Naruto to take a few steps away. “How did you learn it was a common allergen?” he asked Sakura.
Her anger instantly forgotten, Sakura turned red from embarrassment and her eyes darted to the Uchiha. “After Mako told me about the plant, I tested it myself to assess the taste. I might have had a little reaction—”
Sasuke scoffed at the half-truth and spit out what she didn’t want to say. “It wasn’t little. Mako didn’t stop her from trying it, knowing how toxic it was. He was trying to kill her.” Feeling merciful, Sasuke left out the part about Sakura’s anaphylactic reaction, her face and mouth swelling up like a balloon that had left her bumbling through an explanation to a half-annoyed, half-concerned Sasuke.
Naruto instantly reddened after learning of Mako’s involvement, “THAT GUY!”
Kakashi didn’t give Naruto’s exclamation any attention, skipping over his statement immediately as he leaned curiously over the large array of food pills. “But Sasuke isn’t allergic, so these are the food pills you made for his mission? Are all of these for him, then?”
“Yes,” Sakura stated and she proceeded to relay the properties of the foodpills, their various side-effects and so on. Apparently, she had made modifications to these. They had less of a physical toll on the body and a greater number could be taken in a single dosage. They all raised their brows and glanced at one another in silent admiration; Sasuke didn’t bother to hide the small smirk of pride spreading across his face at his female companion’s astounding ability to make advancement upon advancement on something she had only just created days ago. Where had she even found the time?
“It’s not foolproof yet,” Sakura disclaimed as she hoisted a large container of compacted food pills from the counter and took slow and careful steps to Sasuke.
They both froze when her fingers bumped against his during the transfer; they also both instantly looked away from one another as the small physical contact brought memories of the more intimate touches of last night. The first physical anything other than kissing that had transpired between them had progressed so quickly and now Sasuke was back-peddling, silently berating himself for the first time about his weak willpower. They had only ever exchanged a couple kisses, something that Sasuke thought would be manageable, safe, and just enough to take that edge off, satiate that desire that suddenly choked all his stoic sense out of him. And yet, things had heated so much last night that Sakura had felt compelled to mention it. Sasuke just hadn’t expected the cravings something like running his fingers along her bare back would evoke in him. Her touching him was wonderful, but when he had touched her in return, his hand starting with her shirt and finding her skin underneath… it was erotic. And typical for Sasuke, he had balked, realizing the trajectory of their course. Because the truth was, they needed clear heads. Just as he had told her. And Sasuke’s head had been anything but clear since Sakura had joined him on his mission.
“I still need you to test them,” Sakura stated quietly, and Sasuke’s attention snapped back to his pink-haired teammate, who was still avoiding his eyes shyly. “I can make adjustments from there.”
Sasuke didn’t know what to say or do other than nod silently as he withdrew a summoning scroll and performed the justsu that would seal the foodpills within it. “Naruto could go with you, now. Go train and test one out and come back before nightfall so I can modify the recipe if I need to.”
“Great idea!” Naruto exclaimed and he ran over to Sakura’s workstation and plucked a loose pill off the counter, gulping it greedily before saying, “They still taste like mudballs, Sakura.”
“You IDIOT!” Sakura gasped, storming over to him and checking his face. “You don’t even know if you’re allergic!!!”
“I can’t let Sasuke have an unfair advantage!” Naruto announced with that stupid face-breaking grin. “I’m fine! See? If Sasuke can handle the Ass-ingredient than so can I!”
All three of them rolled their eyes at Naruto’s sense of competitiveness against his lifelong rival—Sasuke would never admit that neither of them still couldn’t stand to be outdone by the other in any way—as he stomped out the door, yelling, “Come on, Sasuke! Time to kick your ass!”
Sakura sighed, turning once again to Sasuke. “If he has a reaction, teleport him back immediately.”
Sasuke nodded, then hesitated, glancing back between Sakura and Kakashi, whom had been leaning against the counter with an amused sort of expression. “What about the Kazekage—”
“Oh,” Sakura smiled innocently as Kakashi briefly explained their intentions of visiting with her and the Kazekage about the situation at hand. “He won’t be finished until later this evening. That’s when we are supposed to all meet up.”
Sasuke nodded, already being aware of this fact. When neither of his remaining members of Team 7 said anything more to detain him, Sasuke followed his blonde rival out the door, not being able to shake the suspicious feeling that he was purposefully being sent away.
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Sakura admired Kakashi for his perceptiveness because as her sensei leaned out the window to watch his two chakra pill-dosed disciples navigate through an intricate web of sand-constructed and adobe houses, he asked, “What are you planning?”
Sakura’s eyes widened when he found hers and she suddenly knew that she had been caught. Sakura sighed. “How did you guess?”
Kakashi moved away from the window to lean against the counter beside her as she finished working, whipping out his favorite scandalous Icha Icha book. “Your behavior is off. At first, I thought it was because of the evolution of your relationship with Sasuke, but…”
Sakura’s eyes grew even wider as his words registered in her mind, and she blushed furiously as she defended, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kakashi raised his hands, saying, “I won’t mention anything again. It’s between the both of you.”
Sakura turned her back to him to hide her face, not believing him for a second. He would stick his nose where it didn’t belong for the rest of their lives.
Kakashi continued, “However, I’ve known the both of you for a long time and I just want to say that I am happy for you. It looks good on you both…being in love.”
Sakura stilled her panicked faux-work movements at Kakashi’s words and turned back to face him. Even with half his face concealed by the black mask, Sakura saw the upturn of his lips and the crease of a smile beneath his exposed right-eye. She had never wanted to hug someone so tightly in her life because his words, his approval, meant so much to her. “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes threatening to water and Kakashi nodded.
But the feeling of happiness eroded when Kakashi finished the rest of what he was trying to say before getting side-tracked. “Seeing all these food pills you’ve made in advance suggests to me that you’re not planning on being here to make more of them. Am I wrong to assume this?”
And Sakura sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she dropped her shoulders in silent defeat. “No,” she admitted. “You’re not wrong. I wanted to talk to you. As a leaf shinobi talks to their Hokage.”
Kakashi raised his eyebrow but waited for her to continue.
And she confessed to him her feelings about Gaara’s plans, Sasuke’s valid suggestion for a single-person mission to infiltrate the organization, her own plans to deal with the situation, along with the details of Mako’s information, and her carefully constructed counterplans. She told Kakashi everything she planned to do and exactly how she would do it.
Kakashi listened with a grim face, simultaneously intrigued, and sighing at each step of Sakura’s points of reasoning. When she finally finished, Kakashi stared down at his feet for a moment before lifting his eyes to her. “As your Sensei, I want to say no. To put the responsibility on Gaara as he suggested. It’s too dangerous to do this alone.”
Sakura nodded. She was aware of this, had prepared herself for this.
“The boys won’t hear of it,” Kakashi pointed out, “they’ll insist on joining you.”
“I don’t plan on telling them,” Sakura confessed. “I’ll leave immediately. When they learn of it, I’ll need you to convince them to stay behind. And persuade Gaara, too. Strategically, it is the safest route for everyone.”
Kakashi sighed. “I don’t foresee this part of your plan going well. Even the Kazekage won’t be pleased that you’ve gone against the plan. He feels responsible.”
“Do what you must. Play the Hokage card if you have to. Isn’t that your favorite?” she smiled teasingly.
Kakashi looked affronted at her statement and Sakura laughed good-naturedly despite the stressful topic.
“Do I have your official permission, then?” she asked.
“As your Hokage, I say go. Bring them to the light or bring them down, whichever of the two options prevents them from threatening your life again. Are you sure that you’re ready?”
“I was ready the very moment they laid their hands on Isao. It’s my turn to protect the ones I love, now.”
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Sasuke scowled deeply at Naruto who had just taken his third chakra pill before funneling Kurama’s chakra into his limbs and body once again. “Let’s go again!” he yelled across the sandfield at Sasuke, shaking sweat from his hair like Kiba’s white-furred mutt.
Sasuke sighed, feeling thoroughly exhausted, not having entirely recovered from overexerting himself on chakra pills just days ago. As he watched Naruto take his third dose, Sasuke found himself wishing his blonde companion had been just slightly allergic to the Ashu—just enough where they had an excuse to go back—but of course, Naruto had no reaction; certainly would have saved him from having to walk into the desert and rile himself up with Naruto’s challenges.
There was a part of Sasuke that loved to challenge Naruto, to spar until his limbs were heavy, mottled with bruising, and he could lay on his back that night and feel released from his thoughts—just feel the soreness of his body and the satisfying memories of getting a few ones in on his bijuu friend. But today, Sasuke felt half-in the fight and often found himself tossing distracted glances back toward to the Sand Village.
“Enough Naruto. I think we’ve tested them enough. Let’s head back.”
Powering down, Naruto shouted, “You tired, Sasuke? You’re off your game today.”
And even though Sasuke told himself not to react to Naruto’s goading statement, he still found himself scoffing. “Unlike you loser, I haven’t just been sitting around doing nothing.”
Naruto pointed an annoyed finger in his direction. “Flirting with Sakura doesn’t count!”
Sasuke whipped his head in his friend’s direction and narrowed his deadly purple and red glare at the knucklehead, who was grinning and laughing at Sasuke’s reaction. “You should see your face!”
Sasuke scowled, half-tempted to shoot another fireball in the obnoxious jinchuriki’s direction, but he would need another chakra pill to do so, and Sasuke didn’t want to risk consuming three in a row, despite Sakura’s claim of reduced side-effects. He was completely spent. Anymore and Sasuke might really overdo it and he couldn’t risk being completely bedridden. Not with Sakura’s attackers out there somewhere still organizing a retaliation.
Sasuke struck with his words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I’m NOT tired. Don’t you see the sun setting? We need to head back to meet with the Kazekage.”
Naruto turned to appraise the sun for the first time, and the vibrant red of the sunset cast a crimson glow on their skin and clothes, projecting lengthy shadows of their stooped, heavily-breathing figures on the ruby sand beneath them.
“Alright fine. Just to save your Uchiha pride.” Naruto exclaimed, rolling his purpling jaw and stiff shoulders. “I’ll definitely be stealing some of those pills for future use.”
Sasuke scoffed again and joined his friend as they trudged back through the red-tinted sand at a slower pace, the both of them trying to disguise limping. Naruto even stumbled once in the deep sand and instead of catching himself, he purposefully sprawled out onto his back and Sasuke came to stand over him.
“Don’t make me drag you back,” he hissed threateningly. But Naruto just raised his hand and said, “Five-minute break.”
Sasuke didn’t even argue, grateful for the rest, but he was also simultaneously anxious to be back. Unlike Naruto, he didn’t allow himself to sit. He was afraid he might not be able to get back up.
“You know,” Naruto wheezed between heavy breaths. “I may be oblivious the majority of the time, but not when it comes to you two. Things are different between you, aren’t they?”
Sasuke released a sigh into his hand, not because he was annoyed—although he was very much tempted to disguise it as annoyance—but because the weight of no one knowing and keeping it a secret from Naruto was no longer a burden; he had already guessed it. And so, Sasuke nodded with a confirmatory “hn.”
And then Naruto was grinning, larger than Sasuke had ever seen the knucklehead grin. There was even a tear that slid down the right side of his friend’s sand-dusted cheek as he gazed up into the darkening sky. Naruto covered his eyes to disguise the tears with the crook of his arm as he grinned and whispered, “Finally.”
Sasuke’s first reaction was to insult him for the crying, but he was honestly genuinely affected by this ninja’s emotion, and Sasuke for once in his life wanted to confide in someone who knew Sasuke’s entire history, his past, his everything.
“I’m afraid.” Sasuke confessed. “How do you love someone without spending every waking second worrying about them?”
Naruto sat up at that, leaning on one elbow as his body rotated in Sasuke’s direction. “You’re still concerned that something will happen to her?”
Sasuke just nodded again, giving voice to one of his inner-most thoughts. “Yes. Because of me. Because of who I am.”
“Haven’t you already realized that Sakura is going to be a target because of who she is? Look at the current situation. She’s a medic ninja out there changing the world and one of the most capable shinobi we know. If you’re going to be with anyone, Sasuke, Sakura is the only one who can handle all that come with it.”
Sasuke found himself nodding because he had realized this recently. Everything Naruto just said, Sasuke had thought himself. He could now fully appreciate the fact that Sakura’s life would be threatened regardless of her association with him. But he needed to hear someone say it, the confirmation he was looking for from the universe that set his heart at ease.
“If anything,” Naruto began, standing and dusting the sand from his clothes. “Her association with all of us keeps her protected.”
Sasuke raised a brow in confusion, but Naruto continued. “She may be hunted for her connection to us: the Kazekage’s student, the jinchuriki’s friend, and the last surviving Uchiha’s…” he trailed off, and Sasuke narrowed his eyes dangerously, daring him to say the word. But Naruto chose to finish that sentence with,”partner” and Sasuke found that he and Sakura had even referred to one other as such, so the word felt appropriate.
“But,” Naruto continued, “her particular connections to us protect her, too. Who’s going to risk the wrath of us in order to get to her?”
“This damn anti-peace organization,” Sasuke answered, immediately finding a hole in Naruto’s explanation. He wanted to mention Kido, that madman who had tried to use Sakura to get his sharingan, but Sasuke decided against that one.
Naruto waved away that answer, stating, “Tanigakure was neutral in the war. If this organization truly originates there, they didn’t witness our abilities. There will always be instances that Sakura is targeted, but we will remind them every time who she is and who she belongs to.”
“If she doesn’t remind them herself, first.” Sasuke added.
“Exactly,” Naruto agreed, clapping Sasuke on the shoulder.
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Kakashi and Shikamaru were the only two waiting in the Kazekage’s office when Gaara and his two accompanying siblings entered. Kakashi and Shikamaru glanced between one another tensely, aware of the news they would soon share with the Kazekage.
Immediately after Sakura’s conversation and departure, Kakashi had found the lazy ninja strolling the streets carefree with Temari. Wrestling him away with the “official business” excuse, Shikamaru had sighed, “This early? I thought I had until this evening. What a drag.” Once Kakashi had confidentially reported Sakura’s plans for an independent mission, Shikamaru had initially argued with him about her decision, stating it was unnecessary for her to take the risk. That was, until Kakashi had told him everything. The plan. The details. Everything Sakura had confessed to Kakashi as a ninja would to their Kazekage.
“I don’t like it,” Shikamaru sighed with his head in his hand, “but it might just work. We need to meet with her and discuss strategy—”
“She’s already left,” Kakashi interrupted and Shikamaru dropped his hands from his face in shock.
“Already?!”
“Leaving immediately was imperative,” Kakashi explained and by the look on Shikamaru’s face, he had already made the connection that it had to do with the other two members of Team 7. Kakashi continued with: “We can send her your advice by hawk.”
Shikamaru groaned, “Telling Naruto and Sasuke is going to be such a drag.”
That was definitely going to be a mountain that Kakashi was not looking forward to. But before facing that mountain, he had a bridge to cross, and that bridge was none other than telling the Kazekage he had made a decision as the Hokage despite the Kazekage’s careful planning.
As the Kazekage sat cordially behind his desk, ready to scheme and discuss tactics, Kakashi sat across from him, grateful that Gaara was usually a level-headed and understanding leader and was typically easy to work with. But just before Kakashi could blurt out Sakura’s plan, a blue-haired sand shinobi entered the room, pushing a rather drab-looking ninja medic whom Kakashi instantly recognized as the man responsible for betraying Sakura to a group of vigilantes. Kakashi raised a curious eyebrow at Mako’s sudden presence, and Kakashi assumed it had something to do with information garnished from his interrogation.
“The prisoner who keeps asking for you, Lord Kazekage,” the ninja stated respectfully as he pushed Mako to his knees on the floor before Gaara who seemed slightly annoyed with his unexpected appearance.
“Yes, thank you.” The Kazekage gestured for the shinobi to leave.
Mako strained his arms against a pair of sand shackles and Kakashi noticed for the first time that the former Sunagakure medic was trying to speak past a gag of sand as it rained from his mouth. Not only was he struggling to speak, but Mako was glancing around the room into each of their faces and Kakashi witnessed the medic’s eyes widen in alarm, a panicked look Kakashi had become very familiar with from his time as a shinobi: fear.
“Excuse the interruption,” Gaara pardoned and Shikamaru and Kakashi were both a little too eager in shaking their hands in dismissal, both of them more than happy for a delay in delivering their news.
“Make it quick,” Gaara said emotionlessly, snapping his fingers to disintegrate the manacles and gag from his mouth. “What is it you want?”
Mako choked on some of the remnants of grit on his tongue and he wiped furiously from his mouth. Finally, Mako began to breath evenly, blurting, “She—” he choked again. “You have to stop her.”
“Stop who?” The Kazekage interrogated, a furrowed brow of confusion passing across Gaara’s usual emotionless expressions.
Kakashi’s stomach dropped when Mako cried out, “Sakura! She left the prison this morning, asking for information. I got the impression that she was going to go looking for the enemy on her own! You can’t let her—”
Gaara silenced the noisy vomit of words spilling out of Mako’s mouth with a raised hand. He turned to Kakashi and raised an eyebrow. “Where is Sakura?” the sand-wielder questioned. “Why exactly is she not here right now?”
Kakashi rubbed his neck half-humoredly. “Well, about that,” he began and he heard Shikamaru sigh at his right. And so Kakashi found himself explaining the current situation, at which Gaara’s eye grew wide in surprise. Just as Sakura had explained to him, and Kakashi had relayed to Shikamaru, the Hokage now recounted a censored version of Sakura’s goals (he wasn’t naïve enough to reveal anything essential in Mako’s presence).
Even Temari and Kankuro exchanged worried glances between one another as Kakashi reported, and Gaara placed his fisted hand on his mouth to think.
“I had thought we were on the same page, her and I.” Gaara voiced. “If she goes into Tanigakure, discretion is a must. Are you sure she can handle this without our help?”
Kakashi nodded. “If anyone can do this, she can.” Kakashi was relieved to see him nod curtly before whispering an instruction silently to Kankuro, who dashed quickly from the room, sending a small hateful glare in Mako’s direction as he exited.
Mako took turns exasperatedly gaping between all of them. “You are all too confident.” Mako seethed. “I should have just kept my mouth shut. She hasn’t been on the battlefield since the war. She’s too inexperienced for the numbers, especially going alone.”
“Why are you working so hard to prevent her from going? Are you disappointed that her plan might not work?” Shikamaru drawled, the annoyed tone very much like his character. “She handled your team well enough.”
Mako laughed derisively. “Of course, her plan won’t work! She said she just wants to talk to them! You’re sending their target, a martyr in the name of mental health, into a nest designed for her death!”
“Then tell us what you know.” Gaara’s rasping voice sounded and Kakashi witnessed Mako tense at the legendary jinchuriki’s question. “You’ve chosen a second life here, correct? In exchange for your information, I’ll offer you protection as long as you reside here.”
Mako’s eyes widened at the offer and then he sighed; Kakashi saw the internal struggle still within his eyes as if the young man truly was trying to recall everything he could remember. “I’ll tell you what I told her,” the prisoner exhaled as he rubbed his sore blistered wrists. “I don’t know much. I didn’t get that far in, but I will tell you everything I do know.”
“Better make that quick,” Kakashi announced, walking to one of the windows across the room. The descending sunlight illuminated the sand ground in orange, striped by the shadows of all the buildings within the village, and two smaller shadows shuffled their way slowly towards the Kazekage’s tower.
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“You’re late,” Shikamaru drawled when Sasuke practically hauled Naruto’s limp body through the door of the Kazekage’s office. Stupid idiot had walked the entire way back, but the stairs, the stairs, had been too much for him. Sasuke practically dropped him on his back to the floor.
“Coming from you, Shikamaru?” Naruto laughed, pointing an accusing finger and upside-down jeer at the lazy Hokage’s assistant. “You and Kakashi Sensei are always late to everything.”
“It’s Lord Hokage, Naruto…” Kakashi corrected, covering his eyes with his hand, and Sasuke thought he looked like a parent who was embarrassed of his two humiliating children.
“You can blame Naruto,” Sasuke stated bluntly as he side-stepped Naruto, already feigning disinterest in the present company. That was until his narrowed eyes met an unlikely visitor that Sasuke would have rather never seen again. Mako sat with his hands bound and mouth gagged with what appeared to be whirring sand. His silent figure observed Sasuke, blatantly staring at him in forced silence, and Sasuke could have kicked in his teeth. Sasuke didn’t question Mako’s presence too much; Gaara probably had him brought from the cells to testify for insider information.
Moving along with a threatening glare in Mako’s direction, the Uchiha positioned himself casually against the wall the farthest away from everyone and instantly became aware that Sakura had not made it to the Kazekage’s office, yet. Sasuke mentally scolded his pink-haired teammate for her overachieving work ethic, and that kernel of uneasiness from earlier that came from Sakura’s absence was back again. Maybe he should go and retrieve her.
“Were the chakra pills effective?” Kakashi suddenly inquired, and Naruto enthusiastically answered as he sat upright once more, crossing his legs and arms simultaneously; the very same squat he often took as a genin.
“Yes! I took four in a row!” he praised. “Wish she could improve that terrible taste though,” he mumbled lowly to himself, taking a dramatic swipe at his tongue with the pad of his right thumb and then inspecting it for a residue. Sasuke wanted to roll his eyes.
As Naruto rambled on about the effects that he personally experienced from the new food pills, explaining that the results and consequences were as expected, but less serious, and how it took much longer to get there, Shikamaru laughed to himself and shook his head in disbelief. This laugh pricked Sasuke’s ears and his attention switched to Kakashi, and Sasuke witnessed the Hokage and Kazekage exchange a quiet look, the type of glance that was charged with a silent conversation. Sasuke then turned to find Mako’s heavy gaze on him, staring directly into his eyes as if he no longer feared them. The Uchiha narrowed his eyes at the man, trying his best to not let the behavior provoke him in this uncomfortable atmosphere. God, Sasuke was tired of this meeting already.
“Where is Sakura, by the way?” Naruto glanced around, the first to address her absence since they had arrived. It may have been the only time today Sasuke wasn’t annoyed at the blonde idiot.
Naruto’s question was interrupted and ignored when the puppet-wielding ninja appeared through the entrance, signaled Gaara with a nod, and the Kazekage announced, “All right then, let’s get started.”
Sasuke had rarely felt so skeptical in his life as he did now when the sand-wielder engulfed the room with sand, creating a soundproof barrier that Sasuke had witnessed him do several times. It hardened within seconds, encasing them all in one un-impenetrable room. Sasuke glanced at Naruto as his question was skipped over, and Sasuke noticed that the knucklehead, too, had a confused frown on his face. And Sasuke suddenly had a gut-wrenching feeling, because it was obvious that if Gaara was sealing the room already, it was because everyone who was expected to be there, already was. Which meant that Sakura wasn’t coming.
And Sasuke’s gaze suddenly locked on the sand-muffled Mako, whose eyes still bore into the Uchiha’s as if he had been trying to communicate with him all along—eyes that had been so cautious to meet the Sharingan and Rinnegan before, but now volunteered themselves for Sasuke’s inspection. And as it finally clicked in Sasuke’s brain, he called on his reduced supply of chakra and his eyes instantly morphed into the deadly purple and red.
Mako slumped forward as Sasuke plowed into the ninja’s memories, frantically searching for Sakura’s face, reversing time so quickly that he struck through Mako’s memories like electricity, faster than the streaks of lightning of his chidori. Finally, his charged consciousness of his lightning style chakra illuminated the memories containing her. Finally, Sasuke witnessed her sitting before Mako’s cell, eye-to-eye on the other side of the bars crafted from sand. Sasuke paused and played out her questions to Mako:
Where is the heart of your organization?
Are they based in Tanigakure?
How many members?
When Sasuke stumbled through the rest of their conversation, hearing Mako ask Sakura to take him with her to help her with her plan, and then experiencing Mako’s panic at realizing that Sakura planned to go alone, Sasuke felt the same fear again. That same fear he had felt many times in the past, and now found himself feeling again. Everything suddenly made dreadful sense: Gaara surrounding the room with sand—an action that Sasuke had misunderstood to be sound-proofing, the exchanged glances, and even Sakura asking he and Naruto to test the food pills so they would both be too physically drained to pursue her. Damn it. Sasuke felt like a fool; he felt betrayed, afraid, and so cross with everyone for their part in Salura’s self-sacrificing mission.
Too late, a veil of sand came before Mako’s eyes, the sand creating an impassable window to stop Sasuke’s genjutsu. But Sasuke had already learned what he needed to know and he withdrew from Mako’s head like a snake that had bitten him. Mako gasped from the shock of it and the entire room turned to watch the medic slump forward onto the ground, not having witnessed the silent exchange, but realizing something had just happened.
Gaara’s efforts to stop the genjutstu said a lot to Sasuke about how the Kazekage wanted to handle this confrontation: slowly, easily, and as emotionless as possible. But as Sasuke met the Kazekage’s eyes and Sasuke didn’t retract his emotional prowess, everyone in the room suddenly realized that Sasuke had discovered their closely guarded secret, and the Uchiha didn’t plan on calmly playing along with their plans.
“Naruto,” Sasuke drawled, his voice as low and heavy as the rumble that resounded when the ground shook on a war-torn battlefield. His next words had sharpened to accusatory ice. “Sakura’s not coming. She left Sunagakure on her own.”
Naruto shot up from the ground as if he hadn’t just crawled his way up the steps moments ago. “What?” he questioned the others, his gaze coming to rest on Kakashi who was putting a hand up already in an attempt to calm the Uzumaki.
“Why don’t you both sit down, so I can explain the situation to you—” their Sensei began, but his words only registered in Naruto’s head as a confirmation of Sasuke’s sudden declaration.
“WHAT?!” Naruto screeched, pointing a finger at all of them. “You let her go by herself? To do what? Fight? ALONE!?”
Sasuke’s immediate desire was to jump through space and time, directly through the portal of his choosing, bypassing everything altogether: the explanations, the defensive behavior, the justification of Sakura’s choices. But he was drained, just as Sakura had planned, damn her, and that only left Sasuke able to move to the door, instead. When he found the sand thickening around it, he turned and flashed his red and purple glare at Gaara.
“Even your sand will burn in the fires of Amaterasu,” Sasuke threatened dangerously. “You can’t hold me here.”
In the next moment, Kakashi had his hand on Sasuke’s shoulder and the Uchiha turned his glare back on him. “This is her plan, Sasuke. A covert operation with one person is discreet. She can handle this. Hear us out.”
Sasuke sucked in a sharp breath at the words that just came out of Kakashi’s mouth, the very words Sasuke had used to try and persuade Sakura to let him handle the situation himself. Sakura had listened, told Sasuke it was irrational, but had really gone and decided to take his idea and do it herself. His hand found his painful eyes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. And they had agreed. Kakashi had agreed. Sasuke was so furious at himself for giving her the idea, but not as enraged at the Hokage for sending her.
“You think she can kill them?” he suddenly hissed in Kakashi’s face. “I watched her spare the life of that bastard who betrayed her,” Sasuke spat in Mako’s unconscious direction. “I’ve watched her spare the life of the monster who almost took the use of her arm away. There are countless others.”
“She killed one of them,” Shikamaru defended, “because it became necessary.” And Sasuke hated the strategist ninja once again, for his entitlement to a say. He didn’t know her. None of them knew Sakura the way that her own teammates did, including Sasuke, himself.
“She only killed the one who hurt that kid,” Sasuke retorted, cursing his own damn depleted state of chakra that was forcing him to sit and reason with these idiots. “None of the ones who touched her suffered any sort of consequence.”
“How many times?” Kakashi asked lowly, but loud enough for them all to hear. “How many times must she prove herself to you, Sasuke?”
Sasuke gritted his teeth in frustration, his blood pulsing in his head from the chakra-depletion induced headache forming there. The truth was, that this wasn’t an issue to him anymore. He believed in her abilities. He had witnessed them, himself. And as he had explained to Sakura as he had wrapped his arms around her in the moonlight of last night, his faith in her didn’t change the fact that Sasuke would worry. That Sasuke would go after her. Every. Single. Time. Why? Because he loved Sakura, and a man in love with someone didn’t need an excuse to make sure she never faced anything alone, not as Sasuke had for years. Sakura’s enemies were his enemies. Her battles, his battles. All wars, theirs.
“Tell us where she’s gone, Kakashi!” Naruto interrupted, derailing both Sasuke’s thoughts and their sensei’s attempt to convince him completely. “Sakura is our teammate. I don’t care what her plan is! We fight as a team!”
Sasuke saw it in their faces, the wavering. Naruto always had that effect on people when he spoke, altering their thinking and changing their minds, easily.
Kakashi remained on course, however. “You can’t follow her, Naruto. Everyone in the shinobi world knows who you are. They would recognize you instantly. Remember what I said earlier? Leaf shinobi can’t enter into Tanigakure without consequence. It’s neutral. You’ll be starting something—”
“And the world doesn’t know Sakura?!” Naruto shouted in disbelief. “She’s just as recognizable as any of us! Is just as important to the Leaf!”
“Sakura has many different strengths she can draw from,” Kakashi continued. “She doesn’t have to rely on a ninjutsu that could give her away. Not like your Rasengan, beast modes, sage art, and more. She has another plan.”
Naruto began to protest again, but Sasuke interjected. “Fine, Naruto can stay here.”
“WHAT?!” his friend screeched, rounding on him instantly, but Sasuke ignored him.
“The idea was mine originally,” Sasuke explained to Kakashi. “Sakura just stole it. I will go and I will be as discreet as I have for the last couple of years on Konoha’s behalf.”
Kakashi sighed. “Sasuke, you’re involvement is not a good idea. You have your own mission.”
And as Kakashi began to deny him once more, Sasuke felt a sense of dread and panic as more time was slipping away from him. Each minute that passed, took Sakura further away from them and toward those who wanted to kill her.
Desperation wasn’t like Sasuke and he had never resorted to begging before, always being able to rely on his strength and jutsu to carry him through life, taking what he wanted, doing as he pleased, and needing permission from few. But he was growing more and more irate and more and more frantic, and so he risked being vulnerable in front of all these ninja who had often judged him.
“If I have to watch someone who I love die, sacrificing themselves for the sake of the Leaf Village, again, the person who I am now won’t survive it. What’s left of the shinobi world will either fall to the Otsusuki race in my absence, or it will fall to the person I will become.”
He watched the fear flash across each of their faces as Sasuke’s words registered throughout the room. Sasuke had been too young to help his brother bear the weight of such terrible orders from his village, but Sasuke wouldn’t sit by and do nothing when Sakura was given such a mission.
“Is that a threat, Uchiha?” Gaara grumbled and Sasuke felt the very ground, the entire sand-constructed village, shift in response to the Kazekage’s wrath. Sasuke felt no fear. He didn’t fear such things anymore.
“Sasuke,” Naruto whispered as his friend placed a supportive palm on his shoulder, but Sasuke shrugged it off and stepped up to Kakashi, so close that Sasuke could see the red and purple of his own gaze in Kakashi’s irises.
“That will be its fate if you keep me here and she dies, Kakashi. Don’t make the wrong choice.”
He saw it in Kakashi’s face. The realization that Sasuke was more dangerous to Konoha than any repercussions from Tanigakure, or any unnamed organization. Sasuke was also essential because he was the only one who could use the Rinnegan to get an edge on the Otsusuki race. He watched the risks shift in the Hokage’s mind as he weighed this new danger to the Leaf. And so Kakashi didn’t stop him. The sand rained down around him. They let him go.
.
.
.
Sasuke fisted the pink hair that had been cut and placed upon a note on the foot of his bed. He had almost missed it in the darkness, but the moon as always, caught Sakura’s hair in a way that nothing else could. The sight of her slashed hair, a pre-battle ritual of Sakura’s, instantly caught his eye and it panicked the Uchiha even more; he wished he would have returned to their shared room earlier in the day, because Sasuke would have realized what exactly Sakura had intended to do, and he could just have avoided the Kage meeting all together and gone straight after her.
He had returned now to make sure Sakura wasn’t there waiting for him. Sasuke knew better, but he had still hoped. All their conversations about partnership, communication and goodbyes, and all their small promises to one another these past couple of months had given him that hope. But it was all nothing, now. Empty words because none of it prevented her from leaving him. Sasuke Uchiha had been left behind. And for the first time, he realized just how lonely and horrendously painful it was to be left behind.
In the darkness, the hair fell from his hands onto the bed like Sasuke’s slashed headband had once descended from his forehead. He snatched the note from the bed and separated the two pages with the pad of his thumb. Sasuke activated his Sharingan in the dark and forced himself to read it slowly and carefully, instead of skipping over lines in his urgency.
Sasuke, it read.
Sasuke,
I am sorry. If you have found this letter, know that I write it because we promised one another a goodbye. This is my goodbye, for now. I thought a lot about your suggestion on how to handle this situation, and I decided to do this on my own, since I was going to be involved regardless. I have thought it through, put extensive research into how I will achieve my goal, and decided a solo mission was the best option after all. Forgive me for being a distraction to you and I hope that the time apart will give us ‘clear heads’ as you suggested last night. Focus on your mission and I will focus on mine. Keep Naruto from following. He can be impulsive, and I need to do this alone. If you don’t find this until later, and I do not return, know that I love you. You have always been worthy of that love, even the darkest version of you. Save the shinobi world and remember who you are.
She did not sign it. As soon as his eyes scanned the last line of pen scrawl, Sasuke was half-tempted to crumble it in his hand. But his eyes found the most important words on the page: I love you…you have always been worthy of that love…remember who you are. And Sasuke realized he needed this letter as much as he needed chakra or oxygen. Because if she died, Sasuke would have to stare at it every day for the rest of his lonely existence and let it be the tether that kept him from falling apart.
#sasuke and sakura#sasusaku#approaching sun#approachingsun#sasukeshinden#Sasuke Uchiha#sasuke retsuden#Sakura Haruno#sakura uchiha#sakura hiden#ssfanfiction#sasusakufanfiction#Naruto Shippuden#naruto fanfiction#naruto
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Jamie's Christmas Carol: Masterpost
Having returned to Richmond, Jamie is slowly but surely mending bridges and finding his place on the team again. However, as Christmas draws near he struggles with how to reconnect with his mother after distancing himself from her for the past year.
When seemingly sent a sign how to make things right, Jamie is determined to grab the opportunity with both (slightly clumsy) hands—even if it does involve fomer rival turned retiree Roy Kent.
A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25
Read on AO3.
Or read the whole thing below.
Prologue
This is a Christmas story. It begins—
—in December, in London, and with the whole of AFC Richmond spilling out from a theatre in an animated gaggle of waving hands and raised voices.
“Nah, you’re wrong, bruv,” Isaac told Jamie emphatically. "This shit's way better than Mickey's Christmas Carol."
Jamie rolled his eyes at that insane opinion and set out to explain how Isaac was as wrong as wrong could be (but respectfully, like), while behind them Moe was explaining something about capitals to Thierry and Bhargava handed Dani a tissue.
After Ted had shown them Scrooged for their last team movie night, a heated debate on the best adaptation of A Christmas Carol had led to a seven night movie marathon ending with Isaac taking them all to The Old Vic for the stage version.
Jamie, something of a theatre expert thanks to Keeley, had helpfully informed everyone that talking to the characters or shouting suggestions during the performance was not allowed, because even though that was still a fucking stupid rule – just imagine someone trying to introduce that to football games, the fans would riot and they’d be right to – that was the sort of thing Jamie did now: he was helpful. Was a team player. Gave useful tips to people before they made fools of themselves, rather than gleefully afterwards. It wasn’t always as much fun, no, but sometimes good in a different sort of way. And it wasn’t like he had much of a choice, anyway; the team had made that plenty clear when he returned to Richmond.
“All right, lads, I’m off,” he called to them now, giving up on trying to convince Isaac of the errors of his taste. Too cold for it. “Got me car over by Park Plaza.”
“See you tomorrow, boyo,” Colin said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Good night, Jamie.” Sam’s smile was still just this side of tentative, but it seemed sincere enough and Jamie couldn’t help but smile back. He was all right, Sam.
With less than three weeks until Christmas, the London night was chilly as Jamie made his way through it. No snow, naturally – though not unheard of, a white Christmas in the English capital was uncommon indeed. Not that chances were much better up in Manchester.
Manchester. The thought of it brought a small frown to Jamie’s face. He knew he ought to go up there after the game on Boxing Day, to visit Mummy and Simon. Before he was loaned to Richmond he’d always spent Christmas at home; last year, he’d blamed the distance and the fixtures for not being able to make it.
It hadn’t been a lie, but hadn’t been the whole truth either. Secretly, Jamie had been relieved for the excuse to stay away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his mum – he always wanted to see his mum – but he hadn’t known to deal with the crushing weight of all the things he couldn’t tell her; of all the things he didn’t want her to know. It had sat heavy and silent between them, a barrier that only seemed to grow higher and higher as he was sent back to City, as he fled City for Lust Conquers All, as he begged his way back to Richmond.
Now things were better, with him and with the team (and from his dad there’d been nothing, not for months now, and maybe this time—but no. Jamie didn’t want to think about Dad now), and it was time, really, to man up and make it up to Manchester. To come clean to Mummy and have things go back to normal.
Jamie had no fucking idea how to do that. The idea of disappointing her left a sour taste in his mouth and his stomach churning.
Still frowning, Jamie unlocked his car and slipped into the driver’s seat. The Tube would have been quicker, but he hadn’t been in the mood to be recognized tonight. It was all right if people wanted to talk football, but at least one out of three still wanted to yell at him about Amy. Which was really unfair, because nothing on that show had been real, had it, and Amy knew that.
Amy had known that, right?
Didn’t matter now. Stupid shit, over and done with. Jamie Tartt had other things to worry about.
He pulled out of the car park, turned right, and began his journey home.
---
This is a Christmas story, and maybe it begins here too—
—in a house in Chelsea, on that same December eve, and with Roy Kent keeping an eye on the oven and the time, while over by the table Keeley and his niece were adding increasingly intricate details to the gingerbread dragon-unicorn-princess-whatevers they were making.
Outside, an Aston Martin passed by on its way from Waterloo to Richmond. Roy would have recognized the car, had he seen it, and Keeley too (rather intimately), but the kitchen window was facing the other way and neither of them did.
“Look, Uncle Roy, this one looks just like you,” Phoebe exclaimed, proudly exhibiting a cookie man with curious antlers and a dour expression that did indeed make him look rather like the retired player.
Keeley laughed. “Ha! Yeah, it does!”
Roy growled. It was his fond growl. It was all right this, Keeley and Phoebe and the gingerbread covering every surface in the kitchen; all right in a way not a lot of things had been since he ended his career by sending Jamie Tartt flying to the ground half a year ago.
As for Jamie Tartt… He drove past the house without looking at it twice. He’d never been inside Roy Kent’s home; never known exactly where he lived.
That would change, before morning broke on Christmas Day. Because this is a Christmas story, and those always come with miracles.
2.
Wrapped in his heavy duvet and with a soft pillow bunched under his head, Jamie dreamt:
He was trying to run over the pitch and catch a pass from Sam but he was all wrapped up in heavy chains and kept tripping over them and no matter how many times he got up and tried again he never came any closer to the ball, and the ball wasn’t even a ball anymore anyway, it was a giant roast turkey and it kept running around his feet and telling him to be a lion or a goldfish in what sounded a lot like Ted’s voice.
“Don’t know what you’re on about, mate,” Jamie wanted to say, but it came out “humbug”, again and again and then two children, creepily like they were right out of a horror movie or some shit, appeared and started towards him, and fuck that, so he turned and ran and the chains were gone now so it was all right and he ran and he ran and then he ran past Colin who was sat on the pavement looking lost and sick and somehow smaller than he ought to be and Jamie knew he would die if Jamie didn’t stop to help him but the children were still coming so he mouthed an apology he didn’t think Colin heard and ran on.
He found himself standing outside a brightly lit window and staring straight into his childhood home. Mummy was there, and Simon, and they were having a party seemed like, for the room was filled with people he knew, laughing and dancing, and there was Keeley, smiling and golden in a bright pink gown, and she turned to Roy, who took her in his arms, and as they kissed Jamie stumbled backwards and fell into a hole and as he kept falling he realized he was falling down into his own grave and all the while he heard his dad laughing and laughing and laughing.
Jamie woke:
He sat up with a start, blinking against the darkness of his bedroom as his heart slowly, slowly resumed its normal pace.
Fucking hell. That had been a nasty one.
But, he thought as he climbed out of bed after a look at the alarm clock suggested there was no point in trying to go back to sleep, it was also kind of an obvious one, right?
Granted, it was pretty rude of his subconscious to cast him in the role of Scrooge, because while Jamie had maybe, possibly, not always been the greatest teammate or that, he’d never been a sad old miserly fuck either, had he? Never been one to say no to a party or been boring, yeah? So. Rude.
That said, it wasn’t like he was blind to the cymbalism or whatever. Scrooge had been a selfish cunt and made some not so great choices and ended up alone and a strange to his family, and hadn’t Jamie been thinking about his mum just yesterday and wondering how to sort things out with her?
As far as signs from the universe went, there was no mistaking this one.
Jamie met his own eyes in the mirror, giving himself a wink and a decisive nod. Like Scrooge (except younger and talented and shockingly fit, even with his hair a ruffled mess and a hint of darkness under the eyes), Jamie need to make things right with the people he’d wronged. Then he’d be able to go home and talk things through with Mummy and sort everything out.
3.
Jamie arrived to Nelson Road deep in thought. As he shaved, it had occurred to him that there was a tiny, tiny issue with his otherwise foolproof plan: he had no idea just who he was supposed to set thing right with.
Because the thing was, him and the team? They were good now. He’d apologised and even though that hadn’t gone over so well at first it had all worked out in the end, after a bit more effort and some suggestions from Dr. Sharon and he hadn’t even needed to buy anyone any PS5:s. All right, so sometimes there were just a bit of tension, like when he made a joke with a slight edge to it and people paused like they were judging whether or not he was being a prick or funny, but all in all, things were good.
He was even sort of friends with Sam now (though he guessed it wouldn’t hurt for him to keep an eye out for whenever the younger player did something good on the pitch and throw a compliment his way. And if Sam decided to stage a protest against another sponsor for some reason or other, Jamie would absolutely be right there by his side. Tape his shirt up and down and all over).
Just to be sure he had it right, he asked Isaac, catching the captain as he passed Jamie on the way to the gym. “Listen, mate, we’re cool, right? I mean, all of us, me and the team and everyone, yeah? We’re good?”
Isaac gave him a penetrating stare, as if wondering what Jamie was up to. “Why?” he asked slowly.
Jamie shrugged, fighting the urge to squirm. Who’d have though that Isaac of all people would grow into the role of captain like this, all authorative and responsible like? This time last year, he’d have been falling over himself to do whatever Jamie told him to. “I dunno. Just checking, I guess.”
Apparently, he must have looked and sounded convincing enough, because Isaac nodded again and clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re good, bruv. Just don’t be a dick again, yeah?”
“I won’t,” Jamie promised, even as he felt a small pang of regret. None of the lads seemed to really get how much fun being a dick could be and how much of a sacrifice Jamie was making just to be part of Richmond again.
Still, they had accepted him back, and that’s what really mattered.
But if the team was sorted, whom did that leave? Ted? Jamie glanced towards the coaches’ office, where the gaffer was apparently having an animated discussion with Coach Beard. Ted must have felt his gaze, because he lifted his head, and when he saw Jamie looking he grinned and waved, looking like there was no one on Earth he’d rather catch staring at him.
So probably not Ted, then.
“You feeling all right, Jamie? You look like you’ve got a stomach ache.”
Tom had arrived and thrown his bag down on the bench next to Jamie. Jamie gave him a brief nod of greeting. “Yeah, I’m good, man. Just thinking.”
Tom grinned. “Thinking, huh? Don’t strain yourself.”
Next to them, Babatunde chuckled, and it was the oddest thing: part of Jamie wanted to snarl at the slight dig, wanted to bite back with a cutting retort, put them in their place and show them who was top dog, because who the fuck were they to make fun of him—
Part of him felt warmed, a small thrill of stupid gratitude coursing through him. Because this was what you did with your teammates, yeah? Ribbed and teased, and it didn’t mean anything bad, just that they were your teammates, and you were theirs.
Back during his first stint with Richmond, no one (but Roy) had dared say stuff like that to him, not even as a lighthearted joke.
Now Jamie cocked an eyebrow and smirked, matching Tom’s easy tone, the lack of bite. “Don’t worry, mate. Could strain everything in me body and still run circles around you out there, couldn’t I?”
When Tom laughed and slapped him on the arm and Babatunde oooh:ed appreciatively it sent another surge of pleasure through him. Grinning to himself, Jamie shrugged out of his jacket and reached for the training kit.
“All right everyone, out on the pitch in five.” At the sound of Nate’s voice cutting through the din of the dressing room, Jamie stilled, boots in one hand. Turning his head, his eyes found the coach, their former kitman.
The man he’d led Isaac and Colin in terrorizing.
Ooh.
4.
”Coach? You got a moment?”
Nate startled at the sound of his name, upsetting the papers strewn all across his desk. When he caught sight of Jamie peeking in through the office door his eyes widened almost comically. “Oh! Um. Jamie. Hello. Do I have– Ah! Yes. Of course. I believe I could make– Hrm. Come, uh, in.”
Like Ted, Nate had a way of taking ages of getting to the point, but at least it had ended in some version of “yes” as far as Jamie could tell. He stepped into the office
Nate was eyeing him warily, which was unfair, really, because Jamie had been super respectful ever since he got back to Richmond, even though it was kind of weird to have Nate as a coach. Like, the man was good at it, surprisingly so, but it was still weird. Then again, Jamie supposed him seeking Nate out had never spelled anything but trouble for the latter before, so okay, fair enough, couldn’t blame the man for being a little skittish.
Belatedly, Jamie remembered the peace offering he’d popped out and picked up just down the road, from the bakery that Keeley swore by. “Here,” he said, putting it down on the desk in front of Nate. “Got you this.”
Nate stared mutely at the slice of cake in a dainty box covered with gold and ribbons. Jamie had paid extra for the fancy box. Nate liked boxes, right?
“It’s carrot cake,” Jamie supplied helpfully, in case Coach wasn’t familiar with baked goods. Not everyone had Simon for their Mummy’s husband.
“I… see.”
Nate didn’t look like he did see, but Jamie suspected it would be rude to point that out. Besides, he was starting to feel a little nervous, so he figured he better spit it out and get it over with before that got any worse.
He took a deep breath. “So, I wanted to apologise.” He glanced up at Nate to see how that was received; Nate still looked slightly dazed. Fuck. Jamie had hoped that maybe it’d be obvious what he wanted to apologise for, so that he didn’t have go into all the gory details. No such luck, apparently. He barrelled on. “I did some shitty things and I told others to do some shitty things when I was here before, and that was shitty of me, so. Sorry.”
Nate was still eyeing him warily. “Did… did Ted tell you to do this?” he asked eventually.
“No.” Jamie made a face. He didn’t just do nice things because Ted told him to.
Sometimes he did them because Keeley told him to. Or because Dr. Sharon, in that smart way of hers, got him to tell himself to. That last bit had gotten easier and easier. Sometimes he didn’t even need Dr. Sharon for it anymore.
“I just thought I should,” he added somewhat sulkily, feeling a little bit defensive. He was trying here. “’Cause I was a prick to you and all. So, I’m sorry about that, yeah? And like, if there’s something you need me to do that’d make you feel better, you can just tell me and I’ll do it. Yeah.”
He made sure to look Nate in the eyes for the last bit. Maybe he wouldn’t have realised that this was a good thing to do if it hadn’t been for the dream and him wanting to see Mummy and that, but he still meant it, didn’t he? He knew he’d been a prick. He knew Nate hadn’t done anything to deserve it, apart from being an easy target with no means of defending himself.
Put like that, it really did sound pretty shitty. Jamie fidgeted with his sleeves.
Nate stared at him for a long moment. Jamie couldn’t quite decipher the emotions flickering over his face. Coach opened his mouth several times but then shut it again, until finally he said, “Yes. Okay. Excellent. Thank you, Jamie.”
Jamie brightened. “So, we’re good?” he asked eagerly, straightening. That had been dead easy, that. Nate hadn’t even yelled at him or anything
“Yes, of course.” A nod and a small smile that looked a little weird on Nate’s round face. Maybe the man wasn’t used to smiling. Or maybe he just wasn’t used to doing it when Jamie was around, for aforementioned Jamie being shitty to him reasons.
Jamie grinned, friendly as he could. “Cheers, mate,” he said, reaching over the desk to companionably pat Nate on the shoulder before heading for the door. The other flinched slightly under the touch, which was weird ‘cause Jamie hadn’t patted him all that hard, but then again, Jamie was a world class athlete and Nate wasn’t. Jamie probably didn’t know his own strength. He should take note of that, make sure he didn’t hurt anyone by accident. Be anti-ethical to this whole doing right by people thing, probably.
Feeling rather pleased with the lunch break’s efforts, Jamie headed for the dressing room. He’d call Mummy tonight and arrange for a visit after Boxing Day. Everything was going to be all right.
5.
Everything was not all right. Bleary-eyed and with the beginnings of a headache brewing, Jamie slumped down on the bench by his cubby, ignoring the excited chatter of the dressing room and politely (he hoped) brushing off Dani’s attempt at getting his in-depth opinions on Dani’s new socks. (They were decent. Little bland, but the colours went nicely with Dani’s skin tone.)
Evidently, making nice with Coach Nate had not been enough to appease the universe, because Jamie had spent the better part of last night staring at his phone, trying to work up the courage to call his mum without any success, and now he’d spent the better part of training trying to figure out what the matter was, also without any success.
It was fucking weird. It shouldn’t have been hard, calling her. It wasn’t like they never talked or anything, he’d spoken to her just last month. But it was different now, somehow, when he knew he wouldn’t just be talking to her, but actually talking to her.
Fuck. He’d been so sure that saying sorry to Nate would do the trick.
More out of desperation than anything else, Jamie stuck his head into the head coaches’ office. Ted wasn’t around, but Coach Beard was sat by his desk, feet up on it and with a book in his hands.
”Do I need to apologise to you?” Jamie asked without preamble.
Beard looked up from his book, fixing Jamie with that unnerving stare of his. “What for?”
“I dunno.” He couldn’t actually remember ever speaking much to the man before, but maybe he’d managed to somehow wrong him anyway.
“Then I guess not.” Sounding supremely unimpressed, Beard returned to his book.
Well. Jamie made a face. It had been a long shot anyway.
He undressed; he showered; he changed. He agreed to a beer with Jeff and Arlo later that night. He wasn’t really in the mood, but he figured he still wasn’t in a position to turn down invitations. Wanted to show willing and all that. Besides, Jeff had always been easy company. Only one of the team that hadn’t thrown a fit about him coming back.
As he made his way to out of the building he passed by Keeley’s office, and paused. Keeley was by far the smartest person he knew, and dead good to talk to. She’d probably have some ideas about what he should do next.
Though the last time he’d gone to her for advice, she’d sent him off to Dr. Sharon and Dr. Sharon was home with the flu so that was no good.
He went into Keeley’s office anyway. She wasn’t there, but the room smelled like her, sweet and floral, and the familiar fragrance was both soothing and a little painful for the pang of longing it brought. He fucking missed her, in a way he hadn’t expected to when she dumped him. Back then he’d mostly been disappointed about not having the Keeley Jones for a girlfriend anymore and missing out on more of the frankly mindblowing sex, but the more time passed, the more he started to miss other things. How clever she was. Funny. Kind.
It was good, though, the way they could still be friends. He was pretty sure Keeley wasn’t the one he was needed to make things up to; he knew she wasn’t upset with him anymore, in spite of him not treating her as good as she had deserved. He hadn’t ever meant to hurt her, he just hadn’t thought.
In a fit of inspiration, he dug out his phone and after several seconds of careful consideration put together a quick text to Amy.
Sorry I was a prick on the show. Didn’t mean to hurt you. Hope you’re all right
Then, lest she get the wrong idea, he quickly added:
Not trying to get back together or anything.
Somewhat to his surprise, he received an answer in less than a minute:
i wouldn’t get back with you if you begged me to
i’m engaged to david now
you’re a poophead but i’m paying for the wedding with the money i made selling my story to the papers so we’re square
Jamie’s gut twisted at that. As much as he loved attention and as much as he hadn’t any qualms about getting naked and fucking around on the show, the idea of Amy crying about how he’d cheated on her and dishing out all the sorted details that hadn’t made it into the final cut made him queasy. At least it meant they were cool, though, so he sent a thumbs up and tried to put it out of his mind.
He didn’t put the phone away. He scrolled through his contacts until he landed on “Mummy”. Let his finger hover over it for a long time, but it was no good. Apparently texting Amy hadn’t helped either.
Fuck, he wished Keeley was here. Even if she couldn’t or wouldn’t help him with his problem just talking to her would have made him feel better. Always did.
His eyes fell on the a life-size cutout of Roy Keeley, in spite of her otherwise impeccable taste, kept by the wall, and his lips curled into a sneer. Odds were Keeley was over talking to him right now, maybe even curling up next to him and petting his hair, though what she saw in that decrepit wanker was a fucking mystery. Sure, Roy was fit, but anyone who’d spent more than two minutes in a room with the man knew he was a miserable old twat, and if there was one person Jamie wasn’t sorry about being a prick to it was—
Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Hang on. Wait a minute.
Oh. Fuck.
6.
“Do you think messages from the universe can get, I dunno, scrambled?” Jamie asked Jeff when Jeff returned to their table with another tray of shots. “Like, the universe gets them wrong or sends them wrong or… ?”
Jeff blinked at him owlishly, looking slightly cocerned under the neon lights. “Don’t really know, mate,” he said at long last, then held out the tray hopefully, “Another shot?”
Jamie had already had four, as well as two beers, and that was more than he’d normally allow himself mid-season but tomorrow was an off day and he’d been thrown a fucking curveball by the fucking universe so fuck it. He took another shot, downing it with a loud “gwah!” as the Fireball burned in his throat.
Jeff looked relieved. He was a good lad, but probably hadn’t expected to be fielding exessential discussions when he asked Jamie to tag along for drinks. Which was fair enough, Jamie hadn’t expected to be having them when he agreed to come.
It was just the two of them at the table now. Arlo was off on the dancefloor with a gorgerous woman a good three inches taller than him. Jeff and Jamie had already written him off as lost for the rest of the evening; it was usually how things went whenever they went out together. Sometimes Jamie suspected half the reason Arlo even wanted to play football was because it made easier to pull. Which was good, really, because he was way better at that than he was at kicking a ball.
Jamie told Jeff as much, but then frowned. Had that been a prick thing to say? Like, it was a joke, yeah, but was it mean? Was it too mean? And how the fuck did you know?
But Jeff just laughed uproariously, and Jamie relaxed again. Jeff had never minded him being a bit of a prick anyway. It was kind of like old times, this, him and Jeff getting pissed and talking shit. He let himself enjoy the buzz, the beat of the music, and nodding along as Jeff moaned about his girlfriend’s uptight parents. For a while, it was easy to forget about his mum and Roy and all that.
But in the back of the cab taking him home a couple of hours later, his thoughts drifted back to the absurdity the universe seemed to demand of him.
See, the thing was, Jamie didn’t really feel like apologising to Roy. He wasn’t, when all was said and done, particularly sorry about being a prick to Roy, because Roy had been a right prick to him, too. Had been a prick first even, right from the moment when Jamie arrived and hadn’t done anything more prickish than walk up to him to say hello. (All right, sure, maybe Jamie hadn’t bothered to hide the fact that the Richmond dressing room was a fucking joke compared to City’s, just like the gaffer was a joke, and the entire club was a joke. But the point was, he hadn’t been rude to Roy, not until Roy ignored his outstretched hand and and walked off without giving him as much as one look, and fuck that nasty twat, seriously.) And it wasn’t even two months ago that Roy – on national fucking television no less – said that he hoped Jamie would die, and Jamie hadn’t even done anything to Roy in ages.
So no, Jamie didn’t feel like apologising. And say he did bite the bullet and spat out an insincere sorry, would that even count if he didn’t mean it? Jamie didn’t think so. He wasn’t sure on the universe’s stance, but his mum had never been big on saying things you didn’t mean.
The fuck did that leave him, though?
Perhaps he didn’t actually need to apologise to sort this? Even if Jamie hadn’t done anything wrong (or at least nothing worse than what Roy had done to him), maybe he could be the one to take the first step to build some bridges between them? Be mature and friendly like, to show that there were not hard feelings?
Jamie made a face. He wasn’t sure he liked this idea either. But he liked the idea of not sorthing things out with his mum even less.
Roy was a cunt, yeah. But he was also a sad old pensioneer who’d never get to play football again, and Jamie was young and fit and had his whole career ahead of him. He could be the bigger man.
Filled with determination, Jamie paid the driver and stumbled strode towards his house. Roy wouldn’t know what hit him.
7.
With a deep sigh of contentment, Roy bit into his kebab. One of the very, very few perks of no longer playing professional football was being able to indulge in whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. At the rate he was going, Hus would be able to retire in a couple of months.
”Big man Roy Kent!”
Roy stilled. That voice—
It couldn’t be—
But it was. Roy lifted his eyes and there he fucking was, Jamie fucking Tartt, in Roy’s fucking kebab place.
Roy wasn’t quite sure what the most bizarre part was: Jamie being there at all, or Jamie smiling at him in what didn’t immediately appear to be a sneering way.
For a moment, he was too stunned to do anything but stare. Jamie’s bright smile didn’t waver.
Then Roy said the only thing he could thing of, which was, “No,” and immediately went back to his meal, hoping that Jamie would – for once in his miserable muppet life – get the message and simply get lost.
Jamie did not get the message. After a brief silence (during which Roy pointedly didn’t look at the other, but could well imagine the stupid faces he was pulling while trying to make sense of the simply one-syllable word), the idiot plowed right on. “How you’ve been, you’ve been good, yeah? Saw you sitting here, figured I’d say hi. You’re doing Soccer Sunday now, right? Bet you’re dead good at that.”
For fuck’s sake. Roy seriously considered just getting up and walking off but the way this was going he wasn’t convinced that Jamie wouldn’t just follow him. He put the kebab done, and fixed the other man with the most baleful stare he could muster. “What the hell is this?” he growled. “What the fuck are you doing?
For a moment, he had the terrible notion that Jamie had signed up for another show, and that this was somehow part of it. Some kind of fucking Punk’d hidden camera bullshit or something. But no, that was ridiculous.
Then again, so was ditching City to do go on reality TV. Roy surreptitiously glanced around. As far as he could tell, there were no cameras.
That was the thing about hidden cameras, though, wasn’t it? That you couldn’t fucking tell that they were there.
“Um, I told you, mate,” Jamie said, speaking slowly as if he seriously believed that Roy just hadn’t heard him, “Saw you sitting here, thought I’d say hi.”
If this was a prank, it was a bloody ridiculous one. And anyway, Roy rather doubted Jamie had the acting chops to fake looking this stupidly earnest. It was oddly unsettling to see him like that, especially because otherwise he looked exactly as he had on Lust Conquers All; he wore his hair the same way, and wore the same sort of obnoxiously coloured and patterned clothes (albeit rather more of them). It was just the look on his face that was different.
Almost just the look on his face. Roy hated how he could tell that Jamie seemed to have filled out ever so slightly in the months since coming home, the overly and artificially defined sharpness at least somewhat rounded by a healthy athlete’s robustness.
Fuck. Part of him wanted to grab the younger man by his stupid shirt and shake him and ask what the hell had he been thinking, throwing away his career to get naked with a bunch of losers on a fucking TV show. Jamie was an awful human being, true, but he was a fantastic players, with the makings of a truly great one, and yet he’d been perfectly happy to squander his totally undeserved talent and walk away from football, while Roy would have done any-fucking-thing for the chance to play just one more game—
Roy realized that he’d been clenching his fists hard enough to make his knuckles whiten. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Jamie’s idiotic, inexplicable, upsetting decisions weren’t his problem. Hadn’t been his problem even when he followed the prick’s every move on the telly with a mixture of terrible glee and fury.
So lost, Keeley had called him.
Called both of them.
At least Jamie was back to playing football again. And at Richmond no less – Roy had wondered, just a little, how the team had greeted the return of their former star and bully. With appropriate scorn and a good many rough tackles, he fervently hoped, although from the looks of the games he’d watched, they all seemed on friendly enough terms now. Jamie was even passing to the others on a regular basis; it would seem he had caved to the Lasso way of doing things at last.
And in doing so, he’d lost some of what made him such a unique talent. It had been becoming more and more obvious with every game since he came back: he was second-guessing his instincts, hesitating when he should go for the kill, and favouring being a team player over scoring goals, to the point where he was passing up on shots Roy knew the little bastard could have nailed.
Jamie was a prick, and that had made him fucking insufferable to be around and the worst fucking teammate Roy had ever had the misfortune to work with, but it had also made him one hell of a player. As of now, he was good at best.
Roy’d fucking die before he let anyone hear him say that, though. For his pundit gig, he had taken to simply refusing to comment on Jamie’s performance, or even mention him at all. The other hosts had eventually learned to accept that, mostly because any needling invariably led to Roy digging into them instead.
Apparently put off by Roy’s silence, Jamie pouted. “Come one, man, why won’t you talk to me?”
“Because you don’t deserve it,” Roy said, automatically but meaning every word. And then, begrudgingly and because he suspected there was no getting out of this without exchanging at least a few words (and because he was just a little bit curious), he added, “The fuck are you even doing here?” This wasn’t a part of town he’d expect Jamie to frequent. Nowhere near where he lived, if he was still up in Richmond, and with too few clubs and designer shops.
For a moment, Jamie looked caught out, but then his eyes flickered to the sign above the counter. “I’m here to buy a, um, kebab.” He rolled his eyes like Roy was the one being dense. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Roy echoed, voice dripping with sarcasm. Enough of this farce. “Let me ask you something, Jamie, did fucking around on that TV show finally bruise your last two remaining brain cells enough for you to completely lose your fucking mind?” He snorted. “No wonder City dropped you.”
At that, Jamie’s eyes flashed dark. ”Fuck you, you twat!” he spat. “I’m trying to be nice here!” Genuine anger in his voice now, and wasn’t that a rare treat? One of the most infuriating thing about the little prick was that he never seemed to lose his fucking temper; he pushed and he pushed and he pushed, and when challenged he got in your face and pushed some more, but he never let that cocksure composure slip.
It had pissed Roy off to no end back when they played together, and it was with a sense of dark triumph he twisted the knife now. “Yeah, and you’re as shit at it as you are at doing anything that isn’t kicking a ball or being a huge fucking pain in everyone’s arse.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and raising one eyebrow deliberately. “Lasso’s a moron for ever letting you back on that team.”
Privately, Roy had to admit that that last bit wasn’t true – for all Jaime’s (very, very many) faults, Ted would have been an idiot not to have him. But it seemed to hit the mark all the same, because Jamie paled with anger and he opened his mouth—
—only to snap it shut and spin around on his heel. He marched out of the restaurant, leaving Roy to shake his head after him in narrow-eyed bafflement.
Well, that had been fucking strange. Wait until he told Keeley—
Actually, no. That was a terrible idea, wouldn’t it? Chances were that Keeley’d either berate Roy for not being nicer (which was absurd because he hadn’t even punched the little twat and how much nicer than that could he reasonably be?), or that she’d go off spouting that outrageous fucking nonsense about him and Jamie being alike again, and honest to God, if that happened Roy might have to actually slit his own throat, and he’d be damned if he gave Jamie fucking Tartt the satisfaction of, however indirectly, being the one to take out Roy Kent.
So no telling Keeley, then. He’d go home and cook her a fantastic dinner instead, and he’d forget all about this weird fucking day and whatever weird fucking shit Jamie was up to. It was none of Roy’s concern and he wouldn’t waste another minute pondering it.
Pleased with this decision, Roy got up and utterly failed to follow through on it.
8.
Half an hour and a cuppa in a quiet little café off Sydney Street later, Jamie had more or less calmed down after his failed attempt to have a friendly conversation with Roy Kent.
It fucking figured that Roy was too much of a miserable old twat to react normally to somone trying to be nice to him, but it was still a disappointement, especially after Jamie had gone to the trouble of getting hold of his adress (thank you, Richmond secretary Rose with a soft spot for sexy footballers), and spending a good part of his morning lurking around outside Roy’s house, until Roy finally went out to get lunch in some sad little kebab shop.
He’d been right cunning about coming up to Roy, too, making like he was just there to get a bite, but then Roy had to go and open his big fat mouth and it had all gone tits up. It wasn’t like Jamie to lose his temper like that, but Roy’s words had prodded at something only half-healed and painful.
He won’t be coming back. Nobody wants you. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.
(And even so Jamie might not have cared about that bullshit had it come from anyone else, but. Like. This was Roy. Roy Kent. There’d been a time when Jamie would spend hours just thinking about Roy Kent talking to him about football, about how Jamie was playing, and never once in those happy dreams had Roy suggested that City would be right to drop him. Never once had he suggested that another team would be stupid to take him on.)
But joke was on Roy, yeah, ‘cause Jamie was back at Richmond and playing and perhaps he was still not quite up to his usual brilliant standard, hadn’t scored as much as he used to, but at least he was playing, which was more than could be said for Roy.
For some reason, that didn’t feel as much as a triumph as Jamie would have thought (or would have claimed, had anyone asked him just just a year ago).
With a frustrated sigh, he drained the last dregs of his tea. He’d better get moving. Couldn’t be sat here all day like some sad sack with nowhere better to be.
He didn’t feel like going home, though. The idea of spending the rest of the afternoon alone and fretting made him like there were tiny little spiders running around all over him, their tiny little spider legs itching and pulling at his skin.
On impulse, he texted Isaac.
Hey mate
U doing anything?
Had this been last year, he would have fully expected Isaac to get back to him right away, ready to drop anything short of deadly disease or a family crisis to roll with whatever Jamie wanted. Now, though, it was a pleasant surprise when Isaac texted back almost immediately.
Hitting dover street market with colin for some christmas drip
Wanna join us?
It was stupid, really, the way the simple question sent a rush of relief and happiness through him. Fucking soft, something whispered in his mind. Needy bitch. Jamie pressed his lips together and did his level best to ignore it while he typed out a quick reply.
I’m in.
Be there in 30
I’ll buy you lunch.
He waited until he got a Yeah all right bruv, see you there, and then he pocketed his phone and headed out.
Isaac and Colin could buy their own lunches, of course – could buy lunch for the whole city of London, probably – but it was a way of saying thank you, innit. ‘Course, anyone should be happy to have Jamie with them on their shopping tour, for advice and the like, but with everything that had happened, he wanted to make sure the lads knew he appreciated them asking him to come. That he didn’t take them for granted anymore.
Maybe buying affection wasn’t always the way to go, but it didn’t hurt being a little generous when you were trying to make friends, did it? Who didn’t love gifts?
Huh. Now there was a thought.
Sure, Ted had shot down his PS5 plan (and Dr. Sharon hadn’t seemed keen on it either), but Jamie had tried doing things differently with Roy, right, and that had gotten him fuck all. It was time to do things his way, namely with a lot of style and a fuckton of money.
Roy probably wouldn’t like a PS5, though. Way too much fun for him. And treating him to lunch was right out, on account of Roy being an arsehole who couldn’t be bothered not to be an arsehole even when Jamie was clearly trying to be sweet to him,
What would he like, though? Apart from football, which no one could give him again, and Keeley, whom he already had (and even if she’d been Jamie’s, he wouldn’t have given her to Roy, partly because she was her own person and no one’s to give, and partly because Jamie would never, ever be stupid enough to lose her a second time).
He’d have to think on it for a bit, Jamie decided. But that could wait until after he spent the afternoon getting properly kitted out for the holiday season with Colin and Isaac.
Feeling quite a good deal happier than he had before, Jamie skipped down the stairs down to the Tube station and got on Picadilly line heading north.
9.
How the fuck could it be half five already? Keeley glared her screen in silent reproach, but it stubbornly refused to change to a more reasonable hour. She’d be late for drinks with Rebecca now, although Rebecca could hardly be mad at Keeley for being so hard at work that she lost track of time.
Yawning a little, she closed her laptop and shook the tension out of her shoulders. She was proud of Sam for taking a stance, she really was, but it had created something of a professional tangle for her, and she’d spent the past five weeks trying to deal with the fallout of that and find them a new shirt sponsorship deal. She was so close to finalizing something with Bantr, and wouldn’t that be something? Show everyone that Rebecca’s trust in Keeley was completely justified.
“Hi Keeley.”
She looked up, and there was Jamie, standing in the doorway with a new Gucci jacket and a small smile.
Keeley returned the latter easily. “Hey Jamie! What are you still doing here? I thought training ended early because you have a game tomorrow.”
“It did, yeah, but I’m here to pick up Dani. He had a late session with the physios and his car is at the garage.”
She raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh, yeah? That’s nice of you.”
He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, but looking pleased too. “It’s nothing. Gotta be a good team mate, right?”
“Yeah.” And she smiled again, a little wider and a little softer this time.
It made her glad, that he seemed to be doing so well. They hadn’t talked much since she dropped him off in Dr. Fieldstone’s office – she’d been to busy with work to talk very much with anyone – but from what she’d seen, he’d been making a lot of progress with the team, and maybe with himself too. The swagger was still there, of course, and some of the careless arrogance, but it seemed tempered – at least sometimes – with glimmers of the other, softer Jamie, the one that she used to be the only one allowed to see.
She’d loved him for those glimmers (as well as for the sex and the pure fun that Jamie could be, when he wasn’t busy being an arsehole). She was glad others were getting the chance to witness them as well.
“You working late, then?” he asked, stepping inside and absentmindedly picking up at the pink peonies on her low cupboard. “Or are you planning Christmas presents? Bet you’re getting Roy something really cool, eh?”
Keeley frowned at the abrupt question and the unexpected – and unexpectedly friendly – mention of Roy. Jamie sounded perfectly casual, but since when had he ever been casual about Roy? Back when him and her were dating, he’d said the older player’s name with just as much venom as Roy tended to say Jamie’s now, when he deigned to mention Jamie at all. (These days, Roy made a point of pretending to be completely unaware of his existence. Sometimes Keeley got the sense that he was dying to ask her about Jamie, how he was doing, but held himself back for vague and no doubt very reasonable and not at all stupidly macho reasons.)
“I hadn’t really thought about that yet, to be honest,” she said carefully. “I’ve been really busy with work. But maybe an experience rather than a thing, you know? Not like he needs more stuff.” Maybe he needed a little bit of colour in his wardrobe, but she’d yet to convince him of that. Not that she’d tried very hard; what Roy wore was Roy’s business, and he looked fucking fit in black anyway.
Jamie nodded along as she spoke. “All right, yeah, yeah, sounds good. Maybe some concert tickets, eh? Do you know if he’s still into Sade?”
What? “I didn’t know he was into Sade.”
Jamie’s eyes widened in what she could only describe as alarm. “Oh, no, no, not me either. Well, I mean, maybe I read it somewhere. But, uh, I don’t know, it was probably someone else, anyway. Steven Gerrard, maybe. Yeah, that’s it, it was Gerrard.”
“Okay.” For a long moment, Keeley just looked at him. “Why are you asking me about Roy’s Christmas presents?” she eventually asked. Was Jamie jealous that she’d been buying Roy and not him gifts this year?
“Uh, no reason. Just making conversation, innit? And I just thought, he must be hard to shop for, ’cause he’s a grumpy old twat who hates everything.”
“Roy doesn’t hate everything! He likes loads of stuff!”
Improbably, Jamie brightened at that. ”Yeah? Like what?”
He was watching her intently, like he really, truly wanted to hear the answer.
This was fucking odd. Keeley cocked her head to the side. “What’s going on, Jamie?” she demanded, pulling out her serious voice to let him know she wasn’t fucking around.
His hands flew up, as if in apology or submission. “Nothing! Nothing’s going on, I was just— I mean— Hey, is that Dani over there? I, uh, need to go talk to him about… about football. Yeah. And I’m taking home too, so I have to go. Give my best to Roy, yeah?” He paused, scrunching his face up as he considered what he’d just said. “No, I mean, don’t give my best to Roy. I mean, don’t give him anything. Better not mention me at all, really.“ And he flashed her a quick smile, the fluster not completely hiding the shy affection there. “Bye, Keeley.”
“Bye Jamie,” she replied uncertainly, staring after him as he scampered off. What the fuck had that been all about?
Then her eyes fell to her phone and the time on the display, and she cursed loudly. Now she was really going to be late.
10.
”Thank you, amigo! It is very kind of you to come and pick me up.”
Dani’s smile really was something else, wasn’t it? It used to piss Jamie off, the way Dani always walked around beaming like he was in the best fucking place and doing the best fucking thing, no matter where he actually was or what he was actually doing. But it had always been just a little bit disarming, too, even when Jamie was at his most prick-ish, and these days he found it impossible not to smile back when Dani looked at him and grinned like being around Jamie was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
”Don’t mention it, man,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road as he turned left on The Vineyard to reach Dani’s riverside home. “It’s no big deal.”
And it really wasn’t. Sure, Jamie had had to go back to Nelson Road instead of chilling at home and getting ready for the game tomorrow, and now he was driving around half of Richmond just to save Dani having to take a cab and potentially run into Earl loving locals with a grudge, but he found he didn’t mind. Hadn’t even really thought twice about offering, when Dani worried about it earlier in the day.
“I really think tomorrow will be a win for us,” Dani announced, and then he nattered right on, about football, about a movie he’d seen, butterflies, and the way his cubby smelled in the morning.
Jamie merely hummed and nodded. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to Dani, it was quite nice, really, but he was too distracted by his chat with Keeley and his whole Roy project to pay much attention.
Dani was fully capable of carrying a conversation all on his own, but eventually he must have noticed that Jamie didn’t contribute his fair share, because he turned to him with a small frown and asked, “Are you feeling well? You are being very quiet.”
Jamie opened his mouth to tell the other that it was nothing, he was fine, just a bit tired, yeah, but then he hesitated. He was struggling a bit with how to deal with Roy, and talking to Keeley hadn’t helped as much as he’d thought it would. Maybe Dani would have some ideas? Of all the players on the team, he was the one Jamie trusted the most not to take the piss, and not to ask any awkward or probing questions.
He still wasn’t really used to asking for help, though. It made him feel weird and vulnerable, made him want to squirm and say something sharp just to make the feeling go away.
He glanced at Dani; Dani was watching him patiently, nothing but friendly and earnest concern on his face.
All right then.
”If you want to make someone happy,” Jamie began, “but you don’t want them to know it’s you doing it and you’re not sure what they’d like, how would you do it?”
Dani lit up and gave Jamie a wink that was probably supposed to be sly. “Ooh, are you wooing a woman?”
“What? No!” Jamie made a face. He wasn’t wooing Roy, for fuck’s sake, he was just doing what the stupid universe wanted him to do so he could spend Christmas with Mummy. “There’s no woman, all right? Just this person I wanna cheer up, but without them knowing it’s me, yeah?”
”Ah, like Secret Santa?”
”Uh, I don’t know?” He considered it for a moment. “A bit like Secret Santa, yeah,” he condeded.
Jamie didn’t really get the point of Secret Santa – why spend time and money giving someone something nice if they weren’t even going to know it was from you? That was just weird, wasn’t it? But in the case of Roy he didn’t have much choice; if Roy knew the nice stuff were from him, he’d probably dump it right into the Thames. Wanker.
“You can send them gifts to their house,” Dani suggested. “Or, if you know where they are going to be, you can let one of those little airplane with big signs fly over the place with a nice message for them.”
Now they were talking! “You’d have to put their name, though,” Jamie noted. “Or they won’t know it’s for them. Don’t want any old grandma thinking it’s their message, do I.”
“People should send nice messages to old grandmas more often, though,” Dani pointed out, and yeah, all right, fair enough.
He’d been right to ask Dani for help, Jamie decided, as he pulled up by the other’s small mansion of a house. It was just a pity it hadn’t been a longer ride.
“Do you want to come inside?” Dani offered, as if on cue. “Mi madre left me some pavo navideño when she visited a few weeks ago. We usually eat it on Christmas Eve but we can heat some of it for dinner now and come up with more ideas?”
That didn’t sound half bad, actually. “Yeah, sound,” Jamie said. “Thank you,” he added after a moment’s consideration.
Dani’s smile was as brilliant as ever. “You are welcome, Jamie Tartt.”
---
When Jamie left two hours later, he had with him a container filled with Mama Roja’s properly lush stuffed turkey and a long list of really clever ideas on how to turn Roy Kent’s December into the jolliest time ever. Game on, old man. Prepare to be fucking happy.
11.
“Babe, that smells amazing!”
Keeley’s arms wrapped around him from behind, and Roy smiled, unseen. “Careful,” he told her gruffly as he took the pan of shashuka off the stove. “It’s hot.”
“Mmm, isn’t only thing that is.” She waited until he’d put the food down on the table before she slipped into his arms, claiming a kiss. “What are we having today?”
In spite of Keeley being the one with an actual time to keep in the morning, Roy was usually the first one up. Old habits, and he liked having breakfast ready for her when she came down. It made him feel useful, being able to do that for her, and the way she smiled at him over her avocado toast with scrambled eggs or peanut butter blueberry smoothie warmed him in a way not much else did lately. Or ever had, really. Roy Kent had never been what most people would call an exceedingly happy person.
Even by his low standards, though, the past six months had been fucking bleak. Losing football, even if he had always known it was coming, even if it had always been just a matter of time, was like having not only his heart but his lungs and brain and every-fucking-thing ripped out, leaving him an empty, useless shell, stumbling around the void where playing once had been. If it hadn’t been for Keeley, and maybe Phoebe, he wasn’t sure he’d still—
“It’s shakshuka,” he told Keeley. “Eggs in tomato sauce with feta cheese and spices and herbs and shit.”
“Sounds good.”
It was good. Between them they polished off the entire pan, and then Keeley kissed him goodbye and was off and Roy was left with the cleaning up and nothing much to do for the rest of the morning. In the afternoon there were a couple of games he’d watch in preparation for this week’s Soccer Saturday, but until then, he was free as a bird.
Free as a bird with a broken wing limping around on the ground and doing fuck all for either himself or anyone else.
Roy filled up the dishwasher, and took out the trash. Scrolled through his phone looking for new breakfast recipes to try. Read two chapters of The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye. Read a recap of yesterday’s La Liga games.
At least Keeley had been right about the pundit gig. It was fucking stupid, but being around football again, even in this diminished capacity, was hell of a lot better than trying to distance himself from it entirely (coaching Phoebe’s team aside). Might even have been borderline fun, if it weren’t for Cartrick’s ignorant, pointless drivel, and the fact that it regularly saw Roy subjected to both the sight and discussion of Jamie Tartt.
Ever since their bizarre run-in at Hus’, Roy had, annoyingly and in spite of his best intentions, been unable to excise Jamie from his thoughts. He didn’t give a shit about the little prick, and yet he couldn’t stop wondering what the fuck had been going on with him at the kebab shop. (Why the fuck had he left City? How the fuck had he convinced anyone at Richmond he wasn’t a total wanker anymore? When was Lasso going to realize that you couldn’t play Jamie like he was playing Jamie?)
Good fucking thing Richmond were in the Championship, which at least meant that the pundits spent way less time on their games (and certain prick players) than they would have if they still played in the League.
The doorbell rang.
“Delivery for Mr. Kent,” a chirpy young woman with a non-descript parcel in her arms called when Roy opened the door with a scowl on his face.
Roy’s eyes narrowed. Had Keeley taken to buying things online for him now? Roy sure as hell hadn’t ordered anything lately, and who else would think to have shit delivered here instead of Roy’s actual house?
“Who is it from?” he asked, but the woman just shrugged. It didn’t say.
Roy signed for the parcel, and carried it inside. He placed it on the kitchen table and stared at it for a moment. Was this some weird fan or stalker bullshit? There’s been some of that, people sending him all sorts of stuff throughout the years, but usually to the club rather than his house, and usually back when he was still with Chelsea and on top of the fucking world.
He called Keeley. “Did you buy me something online and have it sent to your place?”
“No? Why, did you get a delivery?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. Talk to you later. Love you.”
He hung up. Stared at the parcel some more, and then he shrugged. Fuck it. Wouldn’t be much of a loss anyway, if it turned out to be a bomb and he was blown to bits.
Inside the parcel was a flat square box, carefully wrapped in royal blue with a white bowtie. Chelsea colours, Roy’s brain immediately supplied. Maybe it really was an old fan, who somehow hadn’t gotten the memo that Roy was fucking finished. A has-been. Just some guy named Roy.
For a moment, he was tempted to just throw the whole thing out and forget about it. But curiosity got the better of him, and he tore away the wrapping paper, to reveal…
… a jigsaw puzzle? That’s what the box proclaimed anyway, only it made no sound at all when he shook it, and the picture on it, while familiar, sure as hell wasn’t any Roy had ever seen on a jigsaw before.
And he would have seen it, had it ever been produced. It was him, long-haired and dressed in Chelsea blue, caught in the motion of scoring the prettiest goal of his career, against United back in 2014.
Roy stared at it for a long time, letting his finger trace the curve of the ball as it flew towards the goal. Then he opened the box, and found it filled with bubble wrap. Presumably someone had taken the time to use it to fill up the box, to make sure the smattering of puzzle pieces he discovered in a neat bag underneath didn’t give the surprise away. Stuck to the bag was a small, printed note, which simply read:
3000 pieces is a challenge. You as good at jigsaw puzzles as you were at playing football?
Roy snorted. Football was an art, sweat and tears and bloody hard work. How difficult could a jigsaw puzzle be?
Still, it was one hell of a gift. It must have been Keeley, right? In spite of her denying it, who else would have a, bothered to get Roy anything at all, and b, come up with something so thoughtful?
She really hadn’t sounded like she knew what he was talking about on the phone, though.
He’d save that mystery for later. Right now, he had 3000 puzzle pieces to show who was boss.
12.
It took Roy the better part of four days to finish the puzzle. To his surprise, he enjoyed it, and initially rather wished he knew whom he had to thank for the thoughtful gesture. Then things took a turn for the crazy, and he rather wished he knew whom to grab by their shirt and demand what they hell they were up to.
On Wednesday, he took Keeley out for dinner to celebrate her successful closing of the Bantr deal, and before they even had time to order, a bottle of Tattinger arrived at the table, courtesy of someone who wished “the best midfielder of all time a very nice evening (and congratulations Keeley, you’re a superstar too)!”. Roy’s increasingly loud inquiries about whom had sent it over nearly got them thrown out of the restaurant.
On Thursday unexpected sleet fell over London, covering everything in a heavy wetness that froze as temperatures fell. Roy had spent the afternoon Christmas shopping, and as he slipped and slided over the slick pavement back to his car, he was already cursing how bloody fucking difficult scraping the ice off the windshield was going to be. But when he arrived at the parking lot, it had already been taken care of, by an unseen someone who had then seen fit to scamper off and leave Roy equally disgruntled and grateful.
When Roy came back from the TV studio on Sunday someone had decked his entire front porch with Christmas lights and decorations in black and silver, with red accents. It actually looked pretty nice – which didn’t change the fact that it was an utterly bonkers thing to do.
There were other gifts as well. On Tuesday he received a bottle of Macallan from 1982, the year of his birth, and on Friday it was a gift card for a massage in a luxury spa in Mayfair. Roy considered regifting the latter to his sister, but ended up spending a fucking glorious afternoon there himself. Though he did regular physio for his knee, he hadn’t had a massage since he quit football and lost access to the Richmond therapists; it had just never occurred to him to book a private appointment. It would now.
He asked Keeley repeatedly if she wasn’t the one doing it all, but she consistenly denied it, to the point where she forbade him from asking again, urging him to talk to the police if he was concerned about a stalker.
Roy wasn’t concerned, exactly. He was confused more than anything, both about what was actually going on, and about his own feelings on the matter. There was no denying that whoever was behind this spent stupid amounts of time and money on it, and that they seemed to know a great deal about Roy; both what he might enjoy, and where he was at any given time. That was objectively creepy and weird, and Roy had found himself looking over his shoulder more than once in the past week.
At the same time, there was a part of Roy that relished the attention, and had secretly started to look forward to each day’s new surprise. It brougth a sense of excitement to his otherwise painfully dull days when Keeley was away at work.
But yeah, Roy admitted to himself as he sipped coffee and watched Phoebe skate around the ice rink in Canada Square Park on Monday, it was fucking strange too. He probably should be more concerned. Maybe he ought to—
“Uncler Roy, look!”
Phoebe had come up next to him, and was pointing up into the the grey London sky. Roy followed her outstretched finger and gave a sharp curse. Above them a small airplane flew across the park, trailing a banner reading ROY KENT YOU ARE A LEGEND behind it.
Yeah, Roy thought while handing Phoebe a quid for swearing, he absolutely ought to find out who was behind this.
13.
”All right, listen up,” Roy said, glaring down at his sister, Keeley and Phoebe on the couch in his sister’s sitting room. “I’m not kidding around, all right? If either of you are the one pulling fu— fudging Twelve Days of Christmas on me, I need you to tell me right effing now, because if it’s not you, then I need to figure out what the he— heck is going on, because this sh— stuff is getting out of hand.”
His sister raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. ”Roy, I work irregular and insane hours. I love you, but do you really think I have the time for anything like this?”
“Yeah, me too, babe,” Keeley chimed in. “And I mean, hiring a banner plane? That’s gotta be like at least a thousand quid, and you know I think you are an absolute legend, I really do, but I’m not going to spend that much money writing it across the sky. I’d much rather tell you in person.”
She would, too. Did, on a regular basis. Roy accepted her denial with a curt nod, and turned his stare on Phoebe.
“Roy,” Sophia said exasperatedly, “Phoebe is six.”
“Yes, Uncle Roy, I don’t think I could do all that.”
“Yeah, but you could have had an accomplice.”
“Roy.”
“Yeah, all right,” he muttered. But he’d had to ask, hadn’t he? Of all the people in the world, he was pretty sure Phoebe was the person most likely to want to do this kind of stuff for him, even if she didn’t quite have the means yet.
“Did you talk to Ted?” Keeley asked. “Sounds like it might be right up his alley, yeah? Always thought he’d make a great Father Christmas.”
Roy grunted. “Called him this morning. He said it wasn’t him and spouted a bunch of American nonsense at me. I think he was telling the truth.”
But who did that leave, then? Was it really just some random and insane fan? Feeling oddly deflated, Roy sat down on the couch next to Keeley, who immediately took his hand. “I’m sorry, babe,” she said. “It’s really messing with your head, huh? Not that it shouldn’t, it is fucking – sorry Phoebs – weird. And a bit creepy. Maybe you should talk to the police? Or I could talk to Rebecca, see if she has any ideas?”
”I don’t fu— I don’t know. Because I don't think they're about to take an axe to my head or anything. It’s all just so… random and thoughtful at the same time. This morning, a bunch of carollers knocked on my door but instead of Christmas songs they burst into a Sade medley!”
Unexpectedly, Keeley’s grip on his hand tightened. “Did you say a Sade medley?” she asked slowly.
Roy turned to look at her. “Yeah. Why?”
“Um,” Keeley said, looking both confused and a little worried. “This is going to sound mad, babe, but I think that maybe it’s… Jamie.”
Roy barked a laugh. Then he noticed that Keeley wasn't smiling, that there was no teasing twinkle in her eyes.
Roy stared at her. Then he stared at her. And then he stared at her some more. Then he got up at started pacing.
“What,” he said.
And: “That’s not mad, that’s so far beyond absolutely batshit crazy that if it went supernova the light from that explosion wouldn’t reach batshit crazy in a billion fucking years.”
(“That’s a quid, Uncle Roy.”)
“Why the fuck would Jamie Tartt send me fucking gifts and decorate my porch and send fucking carollers after me?”
(“That’s another three.”)
“I knew something was up with him, it’s another fucking TV show, isn’t it, the little idiot’s signed up for another one, it’s a fucking prank, and we need to check the entire house for cameras. Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going to fucking strangle the muppet, I will actually fucking kill him.”
(“I think I lost count. Can we say ten?”)
“Babe,” Keeley said, rising from the couch to put a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “You need to calm down, yeah? For one, you’ll go bankrupt if you keep swearing like this around Phoebe, and for another, I— Listen, I have no clue what Jamie is up to – if it is Jamie, we don’t know that, but if it is, I don’t… I don’t think he means any harm.”
“It’s Jamie,” Roy said darkly. “Of course he means harm.” But even as he said it, he remembered the expression on Jamie’s face in the restaurant. Maybe… “What the heck is he playing at?” he asked the room at large.
“I don’t know, babe. But we’ll find out, all right?”
14.
Another fucking draw. At least they’d actually scored in this one (Obisanya 26, Tartt 74), but what good was that when they let the other team net the ball just as many times? Jamie stared morosely at his Lynx collection, trying to muster the energy to change out of his kit. He was sweaty, his hair was a mess, and his side ached dully from a nasty tackle near the final whistle; taking a shower would be heaven. But he was too tired to move.
It wasn’t so much the game that left him exhausted, even though it sure took its physical toll. The past ten days had been a mad flurry of setting up surprise after surprise for Roy, and that had involved more gift hunting, eavesdropping and secret sneaking around than Jamie had ever thought he’d get up to. Between that and football and team Christmas bonding there’d barely been time for sleeping and eating.
And after all that, he still hadn’t called Mummy. He’d tried to, every single night, but he just. couldn’t. do. it. Apparently his efforts still weren’t up to scratch, which was baffling, to be honest: how fucking sad was Roy that not even the truly fanastic stuff Jamie had pulled for him had made him happy? Christmas was only days away, and Jamie was running out of both ideas and time. Could he get Sade to actually write Roy a song… ? Might be too much, though, even if he managed to figure out how to sort it. It’d give the bugger a heart attack or something, and that would make Keeley sad and probably not count as him doing a nice thing, even if it’d be dead unfair of the universe to blame him for Roy being a frail old man.
Perhaps he could invite Dani out for another brainstorming session; it had worked a treat last time. Jamie was pretty sure that Roy had appreciated his gifts and gestures, from what peeks he’d managed to sneak of the man. Just not appreciated them enough, apparently.
It also seemed like maybe Roy was getting a tiny bit suspicious. Yesterday, he’d kept turning his head every this way and that, and sometimes stopping dead in the street and whirling around, looking a little wild-eyed. At one point Jamie had had to dive behind a couple of large rubbish bins to avoid detection. That was a pair of perfectly ripped trousers he’d never wear again.
Fuck, but he wished that—
“Jamie, are you feeling well?”
Jamie turned to look at Sam, who had stopped by his cubby, already changed and with a concerned pinch to his kind face. He looked just slightly, slightly hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if his question would yield an answer or something sharp and snide. Jamie made an effort to smile. “Yeah, bruv, I’m sound. Just, you know, tired of not winning.
“It is disappointing. But, thanks to you it was a draw instead of a loss. And it was a very nice goal too.”
At the praise, Jamie felt his smile grow easier, more sincere. It had been a very nice goal, hadn’t it? Good of Sam to notice.
“Yeah, yeah, thanks mate. And yours were great too, you know?” he added, remembering what Dr. Sharon had said about how acknowledging other people’s accomplishments did not diminsh Jamie’s own.
The way Sam’s lips curled into a wide grin, mirroring Jamie’s own, and the way the sight of it made Jamie feel warm had him thinking she was onto something there.
“Thanks, Jamie,” Sam said simply, and gave him a friendly nod before walking back to his own cubby.
Still smiling, Jamie finally began to undress.
---
Once he was showered and changed and Ted had somehow talked them all into feeling determined and hopeful rather than dejected, Jamie hefted his bag and headed for the door. On his way out he passed by Keeley and Rebecca Welton, offering a smile to the former and a polite nod to the latter.
Keeley lit up when she saw him (and fuck, but that still did things to him, didn’t it?). “Hi, Jamie,” she said. “Listen, I was wondering if you could stop by my place tomorrow? I wanted to talk to you about some new tweaks to your brand, now that you’re playing again?”
Jamie perked right up at that. Talking to Keeley and discussing his brand? Fucking brilliant. Much better than spending another day trying to figure out what would possible make Roy Kent happy enough to appease the universe into letting Jamie call his mum.
He’d been working hard. He deserved a little break. Besides, hanging out with Keeley at her place might well yield some new Roy related ideas.
“Yeah, mint, yeah,” he said. Then a thought occurred to him and he frowned. “Or, actually, no, I can’t. The team’s doing a day trip Winchester Christmas Market after our recovery sessions. Sorry.”
He was, too. As much as he was growing to appreciate the lads and was looking forward to the trip, he’d rather spend some time with Keeley (and his brand was in sore need of some brushing up, ‘cause people were still being cunts and hung up about him walking out on City and Amy and stupid shit like that).
“Oh.” Keeley looked disappointed, which cheered him a little. “Tuesday?” she suggested.
“Sure, yeah. I mean, I’ve got training, but I could drop by after? Unless you wanna… “ He nodded towards her closed office door.
“No! I mean… No. There’s been… there’s an issue with the ventilation, yeah, it smells awful in there. Like dying animals and farts and baby vomit. Blegh. You don’t wanna go in there.”
Uh, yeah, no thank you, he sure as hell did not. Jamie made a face. “Yeah, all right,” he said. “I’ll just come by yours then?”
She nodded, looking relieved. “Great! Thank you, Jamie!”
“You’re all right.” He gave her another smile, Rebecca another nod (and noted that she for some reason seemed like she was struggling not to either roll her eyers or laugh, which was kind of rude, considering how hard Keeley worked for her and all, and she really should get Keeley’s office sorted), before heading out to his car.
So. Fun trip with the boys tomorrow – maybe he’d find something nice for Mummy and for Roy at the Christmas market – and then hanging out with Keeley the day after. So-so playing and his mummy issues aside, life wasn't so bad.
15.
Jamie stood outside Keeley’s door and pressed the bell exactly one hour and seven minutes after training ended on Tuesday. He’d have come sooner, but he’d stopped to pick up coffee for them both on the way. Seemed rude to show up empty-handed when Keeley was taking the time to help him with his brand, even if it’d been her idea.
“Hi, Jamie,” she said as she opened the door, and Jamie frowned. Keeley looked as lovely as ever in her pink Versace and with the blonde hair done up, but there was a strange edge to her smile.
“Hi, Keeley. You good, yeah?” he asked, but she just nodded and gestured for him to move into the sitting room.
The sitting room where Roy was standing by the large windows, turning around as Jamie walked in.
Jamie paused on the threshold. He hadn’t expected Roy to be here. Which, perhaps, he should have, considering how things had gone the last time Keeley invited him over to her place.
Seeing him brought a curious flutter to Jamie’s stomach. Following their encounter at the kebab shop, he’d have sworn he’d rather never say another word to Roy Kent, but spending the past week and a half doing his damnedest to secretly cheer the man up had seemingly shifted the resentment into something else and softer. After all that sneaking around and staying hidden while keeping an eye on Roy, being in the same room as him and having Roy see him made Jamie feel weird. Exposed. Charged. Little jittery.
“Hi,” Jamie decided to try, opting for cool but not unfriendly.
Roy didn’t say anything at all. He just stared at Jamie with an intensity that was kind of extreme, even for Roy.
“Okay then,” Jamie muttered, moving to sit down at the table.
He paused again, raising an eyebrow. On the table before him was the jigsaw puzzle, the bottle of whisky, and the gift card envelope. There was quite a bit missing from the bottle, Jamie noticed with a small thrill. Roy had better enjoy it; tracking it down hadn’t been easy, and it had cost more than any liquor rightly should. Jamie could probably have gotten a thousand bottles of vanilla vodka for the same price.
“Nice,” he said, nodding towards the things. So what if he was angling for some small confirmation that the gifts had been appreciated; he fucking deserved it, after all he’d been through for this grumpy twat.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Roy said, his gruff voice disbelieving to the point of near-reverence. “It was you.”
“Eh?” Jamie looked up and found Roy still staring at him, but his expression had morphed into one of incredulity warring with simmering anger.
Oh. Uh. Jamie had a bad feeling about this. He hurriedly turned to Keeley, who’d followed him into the sitting room and was standing behind him, that small frown still on her face. “You wanna get started?” he asked, hoping to shift the situation away from whatever it was that Roy was so ominously on about.
“It was him the whole time.” Roy sounded like he was slowly convincing himself of the fact, and getting increasingly pissed about it. “I can’t fucking believe— “
“Keeley?” Jamie said, a little desperately. “We should get started, yeah? So, about me brand, I was thinking—“
But Keeley was shaking her head slowly, and Jamie fell silent. Fuck. This had never been about his brand, had it?
He bit his lip. He didn’t look at Roy.
Gesturing to the gifts on the table, Keeley asked softly, “Jamie, did you get these for Roy? And had his porch decorated and all the other stuff?”
He scoffed. “What? No.” He made a face, too, for good measure, because that was just a fucking ridiculous idea, wasn’t it?
Even if it was true.
Keeley fixed him with a stare he was only too familiar with. “Jamie,” she said, edging close enough to stern that it took him some effort not to shuffle his feet.
He wasn’t any good at lying to her when she looked at him like that. Besides, he knew that she wouldn’t believe him even if he tried. Neither of them would. Storming off in a huff wouldn’t help either, because they’d still know.
Nothing for it but to do what could be done to save whatever his dignity he had left.
“Fine,” he snapped. “It was me. I got Roy for Secret Santa, all right? Gone and ruined the surprise now, didn’t you.” Quick thinking, that. Jamie still felt right proud of himself. He’d always been great at coping under pressure. One of the things which made him such a brilliant penalty taker.
Roy and Keeley exchanged a look. Frustratingly and unreasonably, neither of them looked convinced.
“Jamie,” Keeley said slowly, sounding like she was trying very hard to be patient. “I helped Isaac put together the Secret Santa, yeah? Roy wasn’t even in it, ‘cause he’s not with the club anymore.”
“Yeah, you idiot,” Roy said. “So would you kindly tell me what the fuck is going on?”
He didn’t yell, but sounded like he was about two seconds away from it. Overdramatic wanker. Jamie crossed his arms over his chest, and looked away. “So I got you a gift,” he muttered. “What’s the big deal?”
“Gifts! You got me gifts! And the fucking carollers and my car, and then when Keeley and I went to the restaurant… You’ve been following me around like some kind of psycho stalker, haven’t you, you little prick, but yeah, of course you don’t see what the big deal is, because you’re too— ”
Keeley had walked over to Roy, and now put a hand on his arm, quietly urging him to calm down. He pressed his lips shut, thunderous scowl still in place.
“Yeah, Jamie,” Keeley said. “I get that you probably meant well, but it’s been a bit intense, yeah? And it’s not like you and Roy are friends, you know? So guess we just wondered what… well, what brought this on?”
Unexpectedly, Jamie felt his chest tighten. Something about the two of them, standing together on the other side of the room, and looking at him like that, Keeley with hesitant concern and Roy with derision and barely restrained anger… it hurt.
It was all just fucking shit, wasn’t it, because Jamie had tried, yeah? And sure, it’d been mostly to see his mum again, but he really had made an effort to come up with stuff Roy would actually like, and he’d spent every fucking spare minute and so much money pulling it all off and it’d all been so fucking stressful, but maybe it had been a little bit fun too, like maybe Jamie had started to get excited about doing this stuff for Roy, only now Roy was staring at him like that and Jamie’s stupid eyes were beginning to burn and fuck.
“Cat got your fucking tongue?” Roy demanded. “The hell is going on with you, Tartt? First you fuck over City to be a twat on telly, then you worm your way back into Richmond and suddenly try to make it like you haven’t just proved to the whole fucking world that you’re the prickiest prick who ever lived.”
“Roy,” Keeley said. But she didn’t say anything else.
Jamie swallowed. Looked away, and took a deep breath. Another, and felt his face fall into something familiar and safe.
When he looked back to them, it was with lifted chin and a disdainful sneer firmly in place.
“If we’re not here to talk about me brand, I’m out,” he said coolly. “Need to prepare for the game tomorrow, ‘cause even if I am a prick and even if I did fuck over City to go on a reality show, I’m still fucking playing.” He let his voice curl into cruelty; let his eyes slowly wander over Roy to make his meaning clear. I’m playing. You are not.
Roy got the message, loud and clear, and Jamie didn’t doubt for a second the man would have lunged for him, hadn’t Keeley strategically stepped in to block his path. “Boys—“ she began, but Roy cut her off, his voice an icy snarl as he began call Jamie every vile name under the sun and detail the many, many imaginative ways he’d like to hurt him.
Jamie didn’t stay to listen. The door slamming shut behind him echoed like the sound of a bullet ripping through his chest.
16.
“And with that, it’s all over at Vicarage Road! Watford prevails 3-0 over fellow Premier League relegates Richmond, after a nowadays characteristically lacklustre performance from the Greyhounds. Jamie Tartt had Richmond’s best chance early on in the second half, but failed to capitalize on an elegant pass from Richard Montlaur, and Watford took full advantage of of the visitors’ inability to create anything truly dangerous.”
Jamie went through the motions, shaking the hands of the Watford players and hugging and patting his teammates on the back as he made his way off the pitch, but in his mind he was already back at his house, collapsing into bed and not getting up for at least ten hours. Let sleep pull him away from this fucking shitshow of a game, and the fucking shitshow that had been his visit at Keeley’s place yesterday, and the fucking shitshow that would be the upcoming holiday, because after how things had gone with Roy there was no chance in hell he’d be able to make things right with his mum.
Walking past a mirror in the visitors’ dressing room, he automatically took stock of his appearance, and would have recoiled at the sad sight if he hadn’t been too dejected to care even about that.
Jamie Tartt. The ghost of shitshows past, present and future.
“Don’t beat yourself up, boyo,” Colin said as he walked past him, likely assuming that Jamie’s look of defeat was all down to the actual defeat and the missed goal. “Happens to the best of us.”
“Yeah, evidently,” Jamie muttered, but with such a lack of conviction that it earned him a sympathetic smile and another pat on his shoulder rather than a scowl or eyeroll.
“It was very clumsy of you, but we still would have lost even if you had scored, so it doesn’t matter,” Jan Maas added, and Jamie wondered if it would really count as being a prick if he murdered Jan just a little.
“All right, boys, not gonna lie, that was a tough one, but you know—“ Ted with a rousing speech, and normally Jamie would have done his best to pay attention because that’s what the new and improved Jamie did, and because Ted’s speeches, long and confusing as they sometimes were, actually did tend to leave him feeling better.
But today he just couldn’t seem to keep focus on the gaffer’s friendly drawl, no matter how hard he tried, and he soon gave up. Sat down on the floor and let the words turn into background noise, shapless static, until the silence told him it was time to get up, get changed, get out.
The journey home was a silent affair, a far cry from their ride to Winchester the other day. It had started rowdy and only gotten worse as Declan brought out the hot toddy that his wife had made, and Jan brought out the bisschopswijn that he had bought, and Richard declared that both drinks were sinful waste of good wine and brought out four bottles of a very long French name that Jamie couldn’t remember.
Isaac had only let them have one sip of each offering, because “gonna be lots of little kiddies at the market, so we’re going to fucking behave, yeah”, but that had been plenty to warm them, and they’d descened upon the pitoresque market in an abundance of high spirits and good cheer.
Jamie had found his Mummy a nice blanket, and Roy a boxset of novels in an old bookshop that Sam convinced them to go into. (Well, he hadn’t found the set, Tom had, picking it up and asking, “hey, wasn’t this the guy Roy was obsessed with last year? I sat next to him on the ride to the Sheffield game and he was reading this book he just woulnd’t shut up about. Don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk that much before”, but it had been Jamie who quietly snuck back to the store after the others have moved on to the hot chocolate stall and bought the set.)
Fat lot of good that would do him now.
Jamie picked up his phone and started scrolling down his Twitter feed, hoping for something to distract him from the dull ache in his chest. Not a great idea, as it turned out; him fumbling that goal hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed. To make matters worse, City had won their game against Crystal Palace 3-0, and some industrious little twat had put together a stupid fucking video of Jamie scoring for City last season, him missing his shot today, a reaction shot of him as Watford scored, and City’s celebration of their win at Selhurst Park. imagine going from that to this just coz u wanna eat pussy on tv lmao, the caption read.
Jamie traced his thumb over the skyblue figures jumping and hugging each other as Pep walked among them, handing out cuddles and bum pats. De Bruyne had Paddy in a playful headlock, shouting something jubilant in his ear. Champions, well on the way to securing their fourth League title in a row.
That had been Jamie, just half a year ago. Could have been him still, if only—
But if he’d still been at City, he wouldn’t have had Dani leaning against his shoulder and soring gently as they turned onto Nelson Road. There’d have been no trip to Winchester. And – and that was the only thing that fucking mattered in the end, wasn’t it? – if he’d still been at City, his phone would be blowing up with calls and messages from Dad right about now, and the mere thought of it was enough to turn his stomach.
As if on cue, his phone started buzzing, startling him badly enough that he almost disloged Dani from his shoulder. “Sorry, amigo,” Jamie murmured, receiving a sleepy mumble in response, as he glanced at the screen.
Keeley, again. She’d tried calling him last night, and sent a couple of messages, but he’d let the call go to voicemail, ignored the voicemail, and the messages too.
It’d been fucking stupid of him to think she really wanted to help him with his brand, he supposed. He should talk to her, probably. Just to… Well. He didn’t know. Something.
Jamie declined the call. The coach came to a halt. He went home.
---
Two hours later, after he had dutifully eaten an nutritionst approved frozen meal and almost dozed off in front of Q&A, Jamie was jolted awake by a loud, insistent banging on his front door.
He sat, blinking and scowling towards the hall. Had Roy decided to come calling and yell at him some more? Jamie was not in the mood for that. If he just ignored it—
“Jamie! I know you’re in there, I saw your poncy car out front! Not gonna leave me out here in the cold, are you? Jamie!”
Jamie’s stomached dropped.
It wasn’t Roy. It was Dad.
17.
Roy wasn’t stupid: as he parked his car next to Jamie’s ugly Aston Martin on the drive outside what Higgins had reluctantly revealed to be Tartt’s home, he knew fully well that this might not be a great idea. He’d even promised Keeley that he’d let her be the one to reach out to Jamie, “because obviously it was a mistake thinking the two of you could talk this through like adults”, but the little prick had dodged her calls all day and now Keeley was doing some mingle thing with other PR people downtown and Roy had tried to let it go, he had, but he was slowly going out of his mind, so. Here he was.
What the fuck was going on with Jamie Tartt? It was a question Roy had not thought he’d need to bother with after he quit playing, but he’d been proved wrong again and again in the past two weeks, hadn’t he, and ever since Jamie was revealed as his secret benefactor/pranker, it had not left him a moment’s peace. What the fuck was going on with Jamie Tartt, and why would he bother messing with Roy now that Roy was yesterday’s news? Jamie might be a world class prick but surely he had better things to do, and easier marks if he wanted to make someone miserable?
And even if he did want to mess with Roy, getting Roy a bunch of expensive and thoughtful gifts seemed a fucking odd way to do it. Yes, realising it had been Tartt behind if after Roy – stupidly, pathetically – started getting a little fucking invested in and excited about the whole thing had been a proper and unexpected punch to the gut. Had felt like a trick, because what else could it be? It was Jamie Tartt! And with the way he acted so weirdly cagey about it when confronted and then especially when he slipped right back into being the biggest cunt in existence, bragging about the game he was about to play while Roy—
Even thinking about it now had Roy’s jaw hurting for the way he was clenching it. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. Because the point was… once Roy had had some time to calm down and think about it properly, he was forced to admit (reluctantly, and at Keeley’s insistence) that it didn’t fucking make sense.
Sure, Jamie had always been clever about zeroing in on people’s weaknesses and insecurities, as accurate with his digs as he was with a ball on the pitch, but there was no way he could have figured out that the once mighty Roy Kent was now enough of a moping little bitch that the mere idea of someone still finding him worthy of this kind of attention would have him – or at least part of him – giddy like a fucking child. Jamie couldn’t have planned the icy, numbing hurt that spread through Roy when he thought he’d been played for a fool, that all of it had been nothing but Jamie Tartt having having a laugh while climbing his way back up to the top of the footballing world. It had taken Roy by surprise, for fuck’s sake.
And then there was that moment, just one tiny short instant, right before Jamie opened his big fat mouth and Roy saw red, when there’d been something else on the younger player’s face. He’d looked… Well, if Roy didn’t know better he would have said on the brink of tears, but that was just fucking nuts, wasn’t it?
Then again, this whole thing was. Nuts, and bewildering to the point of driving Roy mental, which was why Roy was here, getting out of his car and walking up to Jamie’s bricked two-storey house, instead of hoovering Keeley’s kitchen and then having yesterday’s leftovers in front of the telly.
It was a surprisingly modest building, surrounded by a wall and winter-bare trees and bushes, and with some of kind of evergreen – too thick and bushy to be ivy – climbing part of façade. Expensive as fuck, of course, given its location in the actual village of Richmond, but cosier than what Roy would have thought expected Tartt to go for. The lights were on inside, and thank fuck for that. It would have been a pain in the arse if Jamie wasn’t home and Roy had to track him down.
Roy raised his fist to bang on the door, but paused at the sound of muffled shouting carrying through the heavy wood. Someone in there was clearly in a very bad mood, and though he couldn’t quite make out the words, Roy was pretty sure it wasn’t Jamie. The voice was deeper, more ragged.
Before Roy could decided whether to knock anyway, there was a dull thumd and a loud crash, followed by the sound of glass shattering.
Roy forgot about knocking; he pushed the door open.
18.
The door swung open to reveal a knocked over side table, a smashed lamp on the floor, and Jamie Tartt sprawled next to it, bleeding from one hand. Over him stood a man Roy didn’t recognise. He was short, with unkempt grey curls and a wild beard.
He was also drunk, Roy noted, as the man turned toward him. Steady enough on his feet, but his gaze was slightly unfocused, and the smell of stale beer unmistakable.
“You expecting visitors— “ the man began to drawl, but then his eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, Roy Kent, is it, didn’t expect to see you making house calls to old teammates, but I guess you have a lot of free time on your hands now, eh?” He looked down on Jamie, adding, “Get up, Jamie, no need to lay around like a little bitch just ‘cause you took a tumble, I taught you better than that.“ He turned back to Roy, shaking his head in mock-commiseration. “Footballer, and can’t even stay on his feet. Might be why you lost so badly today, eh, son? Your balance’s gone to shit now that you’re faffing around with a bunch of amateurs instead of a real team.”
Roy stared at the man with mounting disbelief and disgust, then turned his gaze on Jamie, who was unsteadily climbing to his feet. The look on his face shocked Roy far more than the signs of a scuffle had; he’d never imagined that Jamie could look so fucking small; curled in on himself, pale, and with downcast eyes, like a child awaiting punishment.
Like a child. Son.
Roy jerked his head toward the drunk. “This your father?” he asked, surprised at how level he sounded.
Jamie’s eyes flitted to the man, then quickly down again. He gave a small nod.
“Uh-huh. You want him here?”
“Hey now, Kent, you’ve no business— “
“Not talking to you.” Roy cut him off with a curt gesture, eyes still trained on Jamie. “Tartt, do you want him here?”
Jamie didn’t say anything; didn’t nod his head yes or shake it no. But he looked up at Roy and in his face there was such resigned hopelessness that it hit Roy like a punch to the gut.
Roy nodded once. “Right.” And before Jamie’s father had time to react, he grabbed hold of him and dragged him towards the door, ignoring the flailing arms and the kicks and the yelling, and tossing him down the step with enough force that the man fell flat on the gravel, hopefully cutting his ugly mug on the pebbles as he went. Roy shut and locked door on his cursing and threats, and turned back to Jamie, who hadn’t moved.
“The fuck happened here?” Roy asked. “You all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, good, yeah,” Jamie said, sounding slightly dazed as he cradled his injured hand with his good one. “Fell. Knocked the table over, cut my hand on the lamp, but I’m good. Yeah.”
Like hell you are, Roy thought, and might have said if they weren’t interrupted by a loud banging on the door. “Jamie, you open this fucking door, you hear me! Kent, I don’t care who you think you are, you posh southern twat, I’ll still—“
Roy stopped listening. “He got a key?” he asked Jamie, who had started violently at the sound of his father’s assault on the door.
“No.”
“Good. Let him tire himself out, then. Or you want me want to call the police?”
Jamie’s eyes widened at that. “No! No, just… don’t do that. Don’t call the police.”
“All right.” He’d have offered to knock the bastard out, but an unconscious man on the porch might cause all sorts of annoying questions; Roy knew that from personal experience. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. “Come on then, let’s have a look at that,” he said, gesturing toward Jamie’s hand. “This the kitchen through here?”
Had anyone told Roy that there’d come a day when he’d find Jamie Tartt not talking back concerning, he’d have laughed them right in their idiot face, but as Jamie silently followed him into what indeed turned out to be a kitchen and obediently took out a first aid kit and then sat down when Roy asked him to, he was just that: concerned, and not a little thrown off-kilter by the turn his impromptu visit had taken.
There were two cuts on Jamie’s hand, neither of them deep, and Jamie didn’t protest when Roy quickly cleaned them out and put plasters on them. Just sat there, hand held out, letting Roy do whatever he wanted.
Fucking disconcerting didn’t even begin to describe it.
“There,” Roy said when he was satisfied with his efforts. “He got you anywhere else?”
Jamie stirred at that, shifting uncomfortably. “He didn’t— He just shoved me, like. Hit the wall, tripped on me feet and knocked over the table. Fucking clumsy,” he added, more to himself than to anyone else.
“Oi,” Roy said sharply, then pressed his lips together tightly when Jamie flinched. “Fuck. Sorry. You’re a lot of things, Jamie, but you’re not clumsy. This wasn’t your fucking fault.”
Which might have been a hasty conclusion, perhaps, given Jamie’s general propensity for starting fights and the number of time Roy himself would have been more than happy to shove – and do more than shove – Jamie, but given what he’d seen of Jamie’s father, and given what he saw of Jamie now, Roy did not doubt for a second that he had this right. Whatever had gone down, it hadn’t been on Jamie. And hadn’t been the first time either.
“Yeah,” Jamie said, softly. Too softly to sound convinced.
In the quiet that followed, Roy noted that the banging on the door had stopped. Which was a fucking relief, of course, but it also made the silence between them a tangible, thorny thing, stretching out painfully and awkwardly as Roy wondered what the hell to do now. He could clean out wounds and put plasters on them, sure, and he was fucking brilliant at getting rid of deadbeat fathers, but as for what came after… He wasn’t great with words at the best of times, wasn’t any good at offering comfort – and it wasn’t like him and Jamie were friends. Up until yesterday, and if Roy had been a dramatic arsehole, he would have gone so far as to call them enemies. Yet here he was, in Jamie Tartt’s kitchen, trying to think of one single useful thing to say or do; anything that might draw the loud, obnoxious, swaggering Jamie he knew (and loathed) out of this slumped, muted version of the man.
”He show up here a lot?” he asked eventually, mostly for something to say.
“No.” Jamie’s voice was still much too quiet, but at least he was responding. “He lives up in Manchester.”
Roy remembered a confession made around a sacrificial fire. Bragging about me scoring goals. Calling me soft if I don’t dominate.
“He pissed about the missed goal?” he hazarded. He hadn’t watched the game, but heard enough about it from Keeley to know it hadn’t been Richmond’s, or Jamie’s, finest hour.
But Jamie shook his head. He was fiddling with the plasters on his hand, eyes averted. “Not really. Doesn’t give a shit if I’m not playing for City, does he. Was in town for their game against Palace, decided to drop by.” A small, unhappy shrug, and quick, almost furtive look in Roy’s direction. “Wanted to know what I was getting him for Christmas. Since I’m rich and all.”
“Broken bones and a fucking restraining order if he shows his fucking face here again,” Roy said grimly. When Jamie didn’t react other than to hunch his shoulders, Roy’s eyes narrowed in realisation. “He’s coming back, isn’t he? Bring some mates, wait ‘til I’m gone?” Yeah, Roy knew the fucking type.
A shrug from Jamie, one that said yes.
Roy made a disgusted noise – but at least this meant that there was something he could actually do.
“All right,” he said, straightening from the counter he’d been leaning on. “Let’s go, then.”
Jamie didn’t stir from his chair, just looked up at Roy with a mix of confusion and suspicion. “Why? Where are we going?”
“My place. You’re coming with me.”
“Why?” Sharper this time. More like the normal Jamie.
Roy raised an eyebrow. “Because if your arsehole father is planning a grand return, you not being here when that happens sounds like great fucking idea to me.”
Colour rose in Jamie’s cheeks. “None of your business, though, is it,” he snapped. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Roy. I don’t need anything from you.”
He definitively sounded a lot more like himself, to the point where Roy had to actively fight the urge to snap back. It was far easier than it once would have been though; easier to forgive the rudeness when the shame it was meant to hide was still plain on Jamie’s face.
“You think Keeley’d let me hear the end of it if I left you here alone, knowing that that piece of shit might be coming back?” Roy asked, carefully making sure he kept his voice light and dry. Then he sighed, holding a hand up in surrender. “Listen, I’m not going to make you stay with me if you don’t want to, but you’re not staying here either. I can drop you off at Ted’s or… or fucking Isaac’s, if you’d rather. Take you to Keeley’s and bugger off myself, even. Just… fucking come with me, Jamie. Please.”
In the back of his mind, some small part of Roy was wondering how the fuck he, in the span of 24 short hours, had gone from genuinely wanting to smash Jamie’s teeth in to feeling really fucking desperate that the other should accept his help.
He’d need to think on that, probably. Later.
Jamie mumbled something. Roy frowned. “What?”
“I said, your place is fine.” He glanced up at Roy, and tried for a weak, wobbly smirk. “Hear the porch looks dead good.”
Roy barked a short, surprised snort of a laugh. “Was done up by a fucking lunatic, but yeah, I guess it isn’t half-bad.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
This time, when Jamie went without further protests, it felt like a victory.
---
The drive back to Chelsea was slow, and quiet. When they stopped for a red light, Roy glanced over at Jamie, who hadn’t said a word since he got in the car, and bit back a low, startled curse.
Jamie was crying soundlessly, silent tears running down his cheeks while he stared straight ahead into nothing.
Roy felt a rush of panic course through him. What the fuck was he supposed to do? His first instinct, which was to offer a gruff get yourself together, Tartt would not – of that he was very sure – serve. But what else was there?
Keeley would know what to do. She was great at this emotional shit. Wasn’t scared of a few tears.
Keeley wasn’t here.
It has to be me. It can’t be anyone else.
Keeping his eyes on the road and one hand on the steering wheel, Roy reached out – slowly, carefully – to put his other hand on Jamie’s neck. Jamie was tense under his palm, but didn’t shy away from the touch.
Roy squeezed, once, briefly. “You’ll be all right,” he murmured.
19.
Keeley grabbed a third glass of cava from the tray of a passing waiter, and took a slow sip while she surveyed the room. It was brilliant, this; she was glad she’d come. When Celia, her contact at Bantr, suggested she attend the event to “meet a few people, do some networking” Keeley had felt as nervous as she did excited, with some small, insecure part of her fearing that the other guests would dismiss her as a fraud; an upstart; an ex-model wannabe PR guru.
But everyone she’d met had been perfectly nice and respectful and interested, and had treated her just like a real PR consultant.
Which was only fair. She was a real PR consultant. She’d proved that, too, by setting up several meetings with people who might be interested in sponsoring Richmond, or using the players in their campaigns. All in all, a damned good night’s work, if she did say so herself. (Rebecca had also said it, rather more eloquently and with a staggering number of exclamations points, whenever Keeley rushed off to the loo to text her the good news.)
It might have been a perfect night, Keeley thought, if it hadn’t been for her nagging concern over Jamie (and over Roy, who’d been doing better since he started the pundit gig, but who still struggled to adjust to life outside of the pitch and had taken the whole Secret not-Santa Jamie affair surprisingly hard).
She’d convinced Roy to let her be the one to reach out to Jaime after yesterday’s ill-fated confrontation, but so far Jamie hadn’t returned either her calls or her texts. Well, he hadn’t half an hour ago, at any rate—
Keeley picked up her phone to check, but there was nothing from Jamie. From Roy, however, she had several messages. She opened the conversation, and felt her eyes widen as she read:
Something’s come up and I’m heading back to my place.
Can you come?
I’m bringing Jamie.
Keeley blinked at the screen, and then blinked at it again. The message still said the same thing, compelling her to type out a not entirely unserious reply in a vain attempt to ease her sudden sense of foreboding.
in a body bag?
Roy’s response was immediate.
We’re not fighting.
But he’s a mess and I need your help with him.
Sorry, I know you’ve got that mingle thing.
But can you come?
“Fucking hell,” Keeley muttered, but she was already draining her glass and walking toward the exit. What the fuck was Roy doing with Jamie after they’d agreed it was better if Keeley were the one to talk to him? And why was Jamie a mess if him and Roy weren’t fighting?
And, most importantly of all, how long would the “not fighting” bit last?
She had better get there fast.
---
As it turned out, she must have been closer to Roy’s house than Roy was, or else her Lyft driver was better at navigating London traffic, because Keeley arrived at Tregunter Road before Roy did. She’d no more than let herself in, though, before the door opened again behind her and Jamie, immediately followed by Roy, stepped inside.
Keeley gave a little gasp at the sight of Jamie. There was a small bruise and cut on his forehead, and his eyes were suspiciously red and puffy. Keeley looked to Roy, who hastily shook his head. “Wasn’t me, babe. His arsehole dad stopped by.”
“I fell,” Jamie muttered. He sounded sullen, but the way he was fidgeting with his sleeves suggested nerves or embarrassment rather than resentment.
“He fell because his arsehole dad shoved him,” Roy elaborated.
“Oh.” Jamie hadn’t told her all that much about his dad when they were together, but from what little she’d gained, arsehole sounded about right. She hadn’t known it came with shoving, though. Or worse. “Hey, babe,” she said, walking up to Jamie and reaching out to gently brush a few strands of loose hair out of his eyes, coaxing him to look at her. “You doing all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just… I mean, things with me dad, they’re a bit shit, but I’m fine, you know. It’s just scratches, this, it’s nothing.” He gestured toward his forehead. There were plasters on his hand, she noticed, and was surprised by how angry the sight of them made her feel. Angry, and heartbroken for the deprecating, resigned way by which he brandished them.
Jamie must have seen some of it on her face, because his weak attempt at a smile faded entirely, and he drew back a little, averting his eyes. Keeley’s heart twinged in sympathy.
“Oh, Jamie,” she said, and then, without really thinking about it, she drew him into a tight hug. After a moment of hesitation, he went willingly, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. He was warm against her, solid in the same way Roy was solid, but unlike Roy he gave himself completely over to the hug, melting into her touch as she ran her hand over his back.
“We’ve got you, babe,” Keeley murmured into his hair. It smelled just the way she remembered it, clean and sweet with spicy notes of fennel leaf and eucalyptus from his Aesop shampoo.
It stirred something within her, that smell, and the feeling of his familiar body pressed against her. She smiled, a little ruefully. Pavlovian.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Roy said behind them. “You two get comfortable on the couch.”
So Roy wanted a moment to himself but wanted her to stay with Jamie, then. Fair enough. Keeley wouldn’t have minded the chance to talk to Roy in private, get some more details on what the hell was going on, but she could see why he’d think keeping an eye on the younger man might be a good idea; though subdued, there was a skittishness to Jamie that rather gave the impression he might bolt if left to his own devices.
“Yeah, that sounds good, doesn’t it, Jamie?” she said, releasing him from the hug but putting a hand on his arm to steer him toward the sitting room. “Come on, it’s right through here. And I swear, even though it looks like it’s made for people who hate to feel good, Roy’s couch is actually really comfortable.”
Granted, she hadn’t spent too much time on it, as they tended to stay over at hers rather than Roy’s, but there’d been enough evenings curled up in front of a show while Roy made her dinner in what he termed “a properly stocked kitchen” for her to have brought a few pillows (in shades of grey and dark purple, in deference to the black leather) and a huge, soft, pink blanket (in deference to Keeley’s own happiness). (Roy had narrowed his eyes at the blanket, but hadn’t made any protests.)
Keeley sat down, patting the cushion right next to her. Jamie obediently took his assigned seat, and she didn’t hesitate to tug him closer, until he was leaning on her with his head resting on her shoulder. As she began to run her fingers through his hair, noticing how much longer the strands were than the last time she did this, he gave a shuddering little sigh.
Jamie had always loved to be held.
They sat like that for a while, talking quietly about a bit of this and that, Armani’s new line and Keeley’s job, while the tension slowly but surely left Jamie and he grew more and more relaxed against her—until the sound of steps in the hallway announced Roy’s imminent arrival.
Jamie made to sit up, seemingly concerned about the other man walking in on him half-draped over his girlfriend, but Keeley tightened her grip to hold him in place. Roy had asked her here to help with Jamie; he could hardly object to her doing just that.
As it were, Roy didn’t bat a lid. “Didn’t know if you took milk,” was all he said as he put the tea tray down on the coffee table.
“Uh, yeah, usually, yeah, but it’s fine without.”
Roy didn’t respond, but added a splash of milk from a small jug to one of the cups and handed it to Jamie, and then gave Keeley another before joining them on the couch.
Jamie lifted his mug to his lips, only to immediately lower it again after the first tentative sip. “There’s sugar in this,” he said accusingly, looking at Roy like he suspected the man of trying to poison him.
Roy looked… slightly embarrassed, Keeley noted with some interest and some amusement. “It’s supposed to be soothing, you prick,” he growled, but without any real heat. “My grandad used to make it like that when I was upset. Your next game isn’t until Saturday anyway, one cup of sweet tea won’t do much damage.”
“Oh. All right.” Jamie tried the tea again. “It’s good,” he allowed. “Thanks. And,” he added hesitantly after a moment, “thanks for, you know, doing this. Letting me be here. I never… I mean, you didn’t have to do that, and I know you were upset about the gifts and all that.”
Keeley looked up, meeting Roy’s eyes over Jamie’s head. He looked uncertain, which was a rare but not altogether unpleasant look on his handsome face. He didn’t say anything but gave her a little nod, go on.
“We weren’t upset, Jamie,” Keeley began, but paused as Jamie snorted and Roy rolled his eyes. “Okay, so Roy was a little upset,” she amended. “But mostly because we were confused, yeah? You never got along with Roy and suddenly you’re doing all these really nice things for him and not telling anyone about it and that’s sweet, you know, but it’s also really fucking weird.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it was a bit mad I guess, yeah.”
He sounded more sheepish about it than upset, and Keeley smiled. “Little bit, yeah,” she agreed. Then she sobered. ”And I’m sorry things got weird the other day. I just thought it’d be good for us to talk things through, you know? But, I shouldn’t have tricked you into coming over to my place like that, making you think we’d be working on your brand. We could still do that later, if you want.”
At that, he twisted his head to look at her, a small, hopeful smile on his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, sure. It’ll be fun.” It would too. Her skills had developed considerably since the last time she’d helped him with his PR, and there was no denying that she felt a tiny, professional thrill at the thought of finding out just what she might accomplish with Jamie Tartt now that she was a bit more experienced. And God knew his brand could do with some polishing, after the Lust Conquers All debacle.
For the first time that night, Jamie’s grin was undiminshed and genuine. “Mint.”
“Great! We’ll set something up for after New Year’s, then. A proper meeting this time, I promise. Before that, though… think you can explain it to us, babe? About the gifts?”
He looked away from her. For a long time he didn’t answer, just played with his rings while considering, and sneaking the occasional glance at Roy.
Thankfully, Roy kept quiet.
“Yeah,” Jamie said eventually. “Yeah, all right.”
20.
Roy didn’t have a very high opinion of people in general. He didn’t expect much of humanity as a whole. He was aware that some people might call him a misanthrope (though that was fucking unfair, because it wasn’t that he didn’t like other people, it was that most other people persisted in being fucking idiots and why the fuck should he waste his time on fucking idiots of he didn’t have to?). Given that, it was something of a mystery to him how he still could be continually surprised by the utter absurdity of the things people got up to. Especially if the person in question was Jamie Tartt, because if something was stupid and/or pointless, Roy fully expected Jamie to be all for it. (Though perhaps, he allowed, there were depths to Tartt he hadn’t considered before. Sides he hadn’t seen, and mightn’t necessarily hate.)
Yet here he was, fucking perplexed by what he’d just been told, seemingly in all earnestness, by the little tosser still wrapped in Keeley’s arms.
“You wanted to make me happy,” he said flatly. “Because the universe sent you a dream that that’s what you had to do if you wanted to see your mum.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Keeley interjected, shooting Roy a warning look. He rolled his eyes at her, because excuse him for being a tiny bit baffled by this batshit logic.
But he also subsided, because none of them needed this to turn into another shouting match.
“I think it’s sweet,” Keeley repeated firmly, turning her attention back to Jamie. “And I believe the universe does send us signs sometimes. But babe, do you think that maybe you got a little caught up in the doing good stuff bit, and forgot about what it really was you were trying to achieve?”
”Yeah,“ Roy agreed quickly, feeling that on this at least he had some relevant thoughts. “Jesus Christ, Tartt, if you want to make things right with your mum, you need to talk to your mum. Mucking around with other people – sending secret gifts and shit – is just putting it off and getting you nowhere.” He crossed his arms and gave Jamie a pointed look. “You need to stop making excuses about what the universe fucking wants you to do and go see your mum.”
“Yeah,” Jamie murmured, pulling at the hem of his hoodie. “I… I know that, all right? I know. But, I just thought… I mean, it’s… it’s fucking hard, okay? So I thought that maybe, if I, you know, if I could tell her that it was all okay now, that I’d made nice with everyone, then she’d… I thought it’d be easier, like.”
Something small and soft in his voice, causing Roy’s bemused irritation to melt away (and alarmingly quickly too, which was irritating all on its own). “And you thought getting me a bottle of whisky would make everything right between us, did you?” he asked drily, mostly to cover the entirely unreasonable surge of… not affection, but something a whole lot gentler than the active dislike he’d reserved for the other until today.
“Mate, that whisky cost more than your watch,” Jamie informed him haughtily, sounded for a moment rather like his usual self. “It was right hard to get hold of, too. Had to get the year of your birth, right, you even notice that? And besides,” he added before Roy had time to answer, in a far more plaintive voice, “You wouldn’t talk to me. I fucking tried, remember? Was dead polite about it and all, but you were a mean cunt just like always—“
“Oi! Don’t call me a mean cunt when you’re sat on my fucking couch and cuddling my girlfriend, you twat.”
“Uh, then don’t call me a twat—“
“Boys,” Keeley said sternly. “We were having a decent time here, yeah? Don’t go ruining it with your testosterone.”
“Sorry, Keeley,” Jamie immediately offered, the little suck-up. Roy gave him a sardonic look – since when did Jamie apologise for anything? – but kept quiet. Keeley did have a point, didn’t she?
His restraint was rewarded by a warm but knowing smile from Keeley and a mouthed thank you, even as she resumed running her hand through Jamie’s hair. Jamie hummed happily and snuggled even closer, his earlier concern about Roy’s reaction to Keeley holding him apparently forgotten.
And it was odd, because Roy should have thought he’d be jealous, given how worked up he’d been over Keeley’s past with Jamie back when he first started fancying her. And maybe he was, just a bit (because Keeley looked stunning and he hadn’t kissed her since this morning and it would be pretty fucking lovely to just hold her for a moment), but mostly the sight of them, with Jamie curled up against Keeley like a cat and looking unguardedly relaxed, made him feel… He didn’t quite know. Warm, maybe. Protective. Something in him ached, but not in a bad way.
”It never was about me, was it?” he mused aloud. “The gifts, the fucking plane and carollers, it was just something you had to do to make things right with your mum?” That ached too, unexpectedly; in a bad way.
Jamie scrunched up his face. “No. I mean, yeah, yeah, of course it was, in the beginning, but like… it was about you too, especially in the end? I liked knowing I did something nice for you, yeah? Like, I could make Roy Kent feel good and that made me feel good, you know?”
Oh. Yeah. Roy did know all about how sometimes making others feel good was the only way you could feel even remotely good about yourself. He just hadn’t thought that be something he’d ever have in common with Jamie Tartt of all people, or that Roy’s well-being would ever be of any concern to Jamie’s.
“And you did… “ Jamie sounded fucking shy, although he tried to mask it by pretending to inspect his nails very carefully. “I mean, you did, right? Like it? Some of it?”
Roy’s first instinct was to say not, because… Well. Because. But looking at Jamie and seeing the way he was trying so hard to appear casual while sneaking little peeks at Roy while waiting for an answer, he found that he didn’t have the heart for it.
“The plane was a little over the top,” he finally allowed with a sigh. “But other than that, yeah, Jamie, I fucking liked it.”
21.
Maybe he was dreaming again, Jamie thought. Kind of had to be, because how likely was it that he would actually be chilling in the home of Roy – Roy Kent! – while Keeley – best and kindest and sexiest Keeley! – let him lean on her and kept running her fingers through his hair in that way she knew that he loved?
It felt real, though. Felt nice and warm and a little float-y, a far fucking cry from the sickening shame and fear of the early evening when Roy had rushed in like some knight in shining armour to chuck Dad out. And it’d been fucking humiliating to have Roy – Roy Kent! – see Jamie like that, fucking shivering and dumb and then crying just from a few nasty words and a shove, but there’d been relief in it as well.
Someone knew, and the world hadn’t ended. Someone had seen, and hadn’t walked away, or called Jamie a pussy for letting his dad talk to him like that, push him around like that.
Roy had cleaned out his wounds instead, and brought him home.
It was weird, the way a day that had started so badly and only gotten worse could somehow turn into what might be one of the best evenings of Jamie’s life. A proper Christmas miracle, like.
“Which one was the best?” Keeley asked suddenly, breaking Jamie out of his revere.
“Eh?”
“Best adaptation of A Christmas Carol. Deciding that is what led to all this, right,”—she indicated the three of them—“so I just wondered which one was the best.”
“The Muppet Christmas Carol,” Roy said before Jamie even had time to open his mouth. “It’s not even a contest.”
Jamie shrugged. ”We didn’t watch that one.”
Roy’s head snapped toward Jamie. “What?” he asked, sounding as baffled as he did furious. “The fuck do you mean you didn’t watch that one?”
“Um, that we didn’t? We, like, all voted on which ones to see, and that one didn’t make the cut, so.”
“Fucking Ted,” Roy muttered, looking genuinely upset. “How the fuck is he going to get you back to the Premier League if he can’t even make calls as easy as that. Jesus Christ.”
“Maybe you should come on as coach,” Jamie suggested innocently. “Make sure we don’t miss any other important movies.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Roy said. “And we’re watching The Muppet Christmas Carol right now. Can’t fucking believe I was haunted by the ghost of Christmas pricks and he hasn’t even seen the only relevant version.” He stood up from the couch. “I’m getting a beer, you want anything?”
At Keeley’s wine for me, please and Jamie’s a beer’d be mint, cheers mate Roy gave a short nod and disappeared to the kitchen.
“I wasn’t being a dick,” Jamie told Keeley confidentially. “I mean, I was, but I think he’d be dead good as a coach. Ted and Beard and Nate, they’re all great, but we could use someone who actually knows what it’s like to play the game, do you know what I mean?”
“I know! He’d be so good at it! And I know he really, really misses football, even though he doesn’t want to admit it. I could hardly get him to try the pundit gig, though, so I’m not sure what’d convince him to start coaching, even if Ted, or someone, asked. He’s so fucking stubborn.”
“Thick-headed twat,” Jamie agreed, though the snark was tinged with a fondness he hadn’t expected to ever feel for Roy, not since the first time he actually met the man and he proved to be a massive cunt. But maybe Jamie had been just a little bit hasty in his judgment last year. He wasn’t always right, after all, as surprising as that would be to people.
Roy returned with the drinks, pausing with narrowed eyes as they both swivelled to look at him.
“Were you talking about me?” he demanded.
“No,” Keeley said, guiltily.
“Yeah,” Jamie said, not guiltily at all. Roy was a thick-headed twat; the fact that he was also weirdly sweet and kind of like a super hero or some shit didn’t change that.
“Uh-huh. I was thinking we should order some food too. Indian fine with you?”
Indian was fine with everyone. Roy promised to get Keeley her “usual”, told Jamie which items would work best with his meal plan, and called in the order. Then he returned to his corner of the couch, and he didn’t say anything about it, but Jamie noticed the furtive and decidedly longing look he shot Keeley.
Keeley must have noticed it to, because she gave Jamie’s shoulder a little pat. “Come on, sweetie, let’s switch it up a little, eh? I think Roy is starting to feel left out.”
“I’m not—“ Roy began, but Jamie was already moving, scrambling to his feet while he felt his cheeks heat up and his heart freeze. The fuck had he been thinking? That he could just stay like this, getting all cosy with Keeley while Roy sat alone in the corner? And after making them spend the entire evening looking after him when they were probably just dying to get some time alone, too. Fucking stupid. Selfish.
“I can go if you want,” he hastily offered. “I mean, I should probably go, right? Yeah. But, like, it’s been great, so thanks, uh, thanks for having me.”
“Jamie, no,” Keeley said, looking distressed. “That’s not—“
“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve seen the movie,” Roy added firmly. “Fact is, you should probably stay the night, just in case your piece of shit dad decides to drop in on you again.”
“He probably went home already,” Jamie admitted reluctantly. He really wasn’t keen on going back to his empty house and the broken glass still on the floor, especially if the alternative was a sleepover at Roy Kent’s, but it felt like a bad thing, lying about his dad just so they’d let him stay. “Or is about to, anyway. Too cheap for a hotel if I’m not paying for it, ain’t he. Him and his mates usually takes the last regular train back to Manchester.”
“All right.” Roy kept staring at him, gaze dark and penetrating. “You should stay anyway,” he said abruptly. “Just in case. It’d… “ He paused, looking up in the ceiling and looking like he’d rather stab himself in the eye than continue. “It’d make me feel better,” he eventually gritted out. “Knowing that you’re here. So. Stay. Please.”
“Yeah, Jamie,” Keely quickly interjected. “It’d make us both feel better, yeah?”
Jamie, still wide-eyed and open-mouthed from the please, could only nod. “Yeah, okay, if you want, yeah,” he croaked.
“Great!” Keeley beamed at him. “And I didn’t mean we can’t keep cuddling, babe, I just thought we’d shift around a bit, make sure everyone’s included, yeah? Like this.” And she moved over to the other end of the couch, sidling up next to Roy and leaning back against his chest. He immediately put an arm around her, and pressed his lips against hers in a kiss when she turned her face towards him in invitation.
Jamie had found the sight of them kissing disgusting once. Now, it sparked something else; heat, and a sense of quiet longing.
And then Keeley looked up at him, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Come on, then.”
Jamie looked to Roy, to make sure he really was okay with this.
But Roy just gave him a nod. “Go on.”
So Jamie went, laying down on the couch with his head in Keeley’s lap, and gave a happy sigh as her hand immediately went back to his head, scratching idly at his scalp and running her thumb over his neck.
“Don’t fucking fall asleep,” Roy ordered as he started the movie. “You’re paying this the attention it deserves, Tartt, you hear me?”
“Yes, Coach,” Jamie said, and grinned when Roy growled and Keeley giggled. Huh, he thought. Really is a fucking Christmas miracle, innit.
---
Roy had been right. It was the best version.
22.
And then it was Christmas Day. Jamie arrived at Nelson Road bright and early, to make sure he’d catch Ted and clear the Manchester trip before training started.
Roy had been very insistent on it, making a point of fixing Jamie with a glare before headed out the door yesterday morning. ”You need to ask Ted permission to go,” he’d said. “You can’t just fuck off to Manchester the day before a game and not tell him.”
“Uh, yeah, I know? Not me first year playing in the big league, gr— Roy.”
Roy’s eye had twitched a little at that, like he was biting back a sharp retort, and Jamie had scowled at him. You run out on a team one time (and for very good reason!), and suddenly everyone thinks you’re Mr. Unreliable.
“But it’s Ted,” Keeley interjected. “There’s no way he won’t say yes, long as you make it back in time.”
“I don’t think he’ll say no, that’s not what I’m fucking saying, I’m just saying he needs to ask,” Roy grumbled, so sullenly that Jamie felt his irritation melt away and a grin grow on his face.
“I’ll ask,” he promised. “First thing when I see him. Be super polite and humble and that.”
“I’ll believe that when I fucking see it,” Roy said, but his eyebrows softened a fraction into what Jamie had started to suspect was a secret sort of weird Roy smile.
And then Keeley gave him a long hug and Roy gave him a short nod that felt kind of like a hug, and Jamie went out to his Uber feeling like he could walk of fucking clouds.
As Keeley had predicted, Ted was perfectly happy granting Jamie permission to take the train up to Manchester, provided he promised to return the same night. It’d only give him a few hours with Mummy, but that was far better than nothing, and Jamie thanked the gaffer, if not profusely then at least with real sincerity.
He also handed him a parcel, feeling slightly stupid about it. It had seemed a good idea at the shop yesterday; now it just seemed weird. “It’s nothing,” Jamie muttered, “and I didn’t want to give it to you before I asked, ‘cause I thought maybe it’d seem like a bribe or something. Just… I guess I wanted to say thank you. For letting me back on the team and all.” Admittedly, Ted would have been mad not to, but Jamie still remembered the sinking feeling when it had seemed like he would anyway, so yeah, he was grateful. “It’s not me trying to buy your affection or anything either, okay?” he hastened to add. “Just, thank you.”
“Good call, because my affection’s one thing you cannot buy.” Off Jamie’s falling face, Ted quickly added, “Which is to say, you don’t need to, because you already have it, gratis and free of charge. But I appreciate it all the same, that’s very thoughtful of you, Jamie. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Coach.”
It had been an impulse, buying the bourbon for Ted. Jamie had been picking up a Secret Santa bottle of ògógóró for Sam, right proud that he’d thought to ask for a Nigerian spirit. Sam had been feeling homesick last year, hadn’t he? And then he’d spotted the bourbon and that’s what the Americans had instead of whiskey, wasn’t it, and maybe Ted felt homesick at times, too, and apparently getting people gifts were becoming a habit now, because Jamie had bought the bottle without thinking too much about it.
It had been a close call, though, with the Secret Santa gift. Keeley had asked him about it when they were having breakfast, wondering if he’d gotten it yet, and Jamie had admitted that he had not and had maybe hinted at not doing so at all.
“You’re not getting anything for Secret Santa?” Keeley asked, looking upset or maybe disappointed, which made Jamie squirm. He didn’t want her to be upset or disappointed with him.
“I didn’t know I had to,” he tried to explain. “Besides, I haven’t had time ‘cause I was doing all that shit for Roy. But I’ll, I’ll pick up a bottle of booze on me way, yeah?”
And good thing he did, too, because as it turned out the secret bit of Secret Santa was only secret until it was time to actually hand out the gifts. If the lads had realised that Jamie had failed to bring Sam of all people anything, they wouldn’t have liked it. Come to think of it, Jamie wouldn’t have liked it much either, now that he understood how the whole thing worked.
“Thank you, Jamie, this is lovely,” Sam said, pulling him into a one armed hug and leaving Jamie feeling pleased and warm – a feeling which only grew stronger when he looked up and caught Keeley’s eyes through the window to the coaches’ office. She smiled at him, and winked.
He winked back.
Loved her.
Then there were other gifts; more hugs and good wishes; and finally Isaac stood to deliver a very long and very dramatic declaration of an old Christmas poem Jamie vaguely recalled having heard in school. He didn’t remember it being this exciting, but maybe Mr. Jones just hadn’t been as good at reading poetry as Isaac was.
It was all good fun, but as nice as hanging out with the team now that they weren’t upset with him anymore was, Jamie found himself itching to leave, and by the time Isaac solemnly declared this year’s Secret Santa session over and the holiday begun, Jamie nearly flew out of the dressing room and into his car. Thankfully traffic was unusually decent, or he wouldn’t have made it to the station on time.
The train ride was uneventful; a couple of people asked for his picture but no one wanted to whine about Amy or Lust Conquers All or Richmond’s poor performance so it was all good. A little kid told him he wanted to be just like Jamie when he grew up and play football just like him and wear cool clothes like him, too. “Good lad,” Jamie said. Always sweet to meet a fellow fashion forward individual.
He took a cab from the station but asked the driver to drop him off by the Minimart, and walked the last half mile. It was nice to move around a bit after sitting still for so long – and he rather liked strolling through his old neighbourhood. He’d outgrown it, sure, but it was still in his bones; coming here still felt like coming home. Felt like something dropping away and something else slipping into place as he walked through the underpass where he’d had his first smoke; as he went past the house where Auntie Delilah had lived until she died of breast cancer a couple of years ago; as he finally came to halt outside his mum’s tiny yard.
Jamie paused for a moment. He had texted Mummy this morning to let her know he was coming, even though he’d been nervous to. What if she wouldn’t seem happy about it? But of course she had; had seemed ecstatic, what with the string of emojis and exclamation marks.
Even so, standing outside the familiar door, with the familiar plastic wreath hung on it, Jamie hesitated. He could smell Simon’s baking all the way through the door. Could hear Mummy sing along to Merry Christmas Baby. Home, just on the other side of that door.
Taking a deep breath, Jamie raised his hand and rang the bell.
23.
The door swung open before the soft chime of the bell had faded. ”Jamie!”
Mummy, beaming at him, and before he even knew it he was in her arms, wrapping himself tight around her and stooping to bury his face in her neck and just hold her as she clung to him in turn.
“Hi, Mummy,” he murmured, inhaling the familiar scent that was comfort and safety and home.
He could hear the bright smile in her voice. “Hi, baby. Oh, it’s so good to see you!”
And it seemed to silly, suddenly, such pointless and foolish waste, that he should have stayed away for so long, kept himself from this for so long. Just from the way she’d lit up at the sight of him it was so fucking obvious that there’d never been anything to fear, and nothing to gain but loneliness and heartache for them both.
And he had known that, deep down, hadn’t he. And yet.
Fucking stupid.
Jamie made a low, frustrated noise.
Mummy noticed, of course she noticed, and she didn’t let him go or try to pull back, but she asked, “Jamie? Is everything all right, son?”
“Yeah. No. I mean, it’s… Listen, Mummy, I need to tell you, but it’s… and I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, yeah? Haven’t called enough, I should have called more. But things— And I’m sorry, yeah? I just— ”
“Jamie, baby,” Mummy interrupted, kindly but firmly, as she kept running her hand over his hair, just like Keeley had a couple of nights ago “Whatever it is, it’s going to be all right, I promise. There’s nothing you can do or say that would make me love you any less, you know that.”
He nodded against her shoulder. “Yeah, I know.” He did know. Had never doubted it.
Somehow that had only made it harder.
“I just want you to be happy.”
And yes, he knew that too, but that was the crutch of it, wasn’t it? The truth he’d wanted to keep from her. “I haven’t been, much,” he mumbled, a whispered confession, the thing that lain between them brought out into the soft light of the hall. His unhappiness, and underneath it what had caused it and what it had led him to do.
She did pull back at that, lifting her hand to his face, running it over his cheek. “Yes, son,” she said quietly. “I know. And it broke my heart that you wouldn’t talk to me about it, but you’re your own man, Jamie. If you don’t want to tell me things you don’t have to. I’m here for you, whenever you need me to be. But yeah, it did hurt when you stopped coming around, even though I knew you were busy. You don’t need to tell me everything, my gorgeous boy, but please don’t shut me out just because you think you can’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t… I wanted to talk to you, I did, swear down, but I just didn’t know— “ He fell silent with a small shrug.
Georgie nodded. “All right. Do you want to talk about it now?”
“Yeah, okay.”
She smiled at that, encouragingly like, and Jamie smiled back. Felt some of the tension bleed away, some of the regret ease. It had been shit, staying away and shutting her out, but they were here now; it would be all right.
“Let’s go sit down then, and we’ll have Simon bring some sweet treats. He’s been in the kitchen all day since you said you were coming.”
Oh. Jamie made a face. “Sorry, I should have called earlier, given you guys more time—“
“No, hush now, none of that. You’re here now, Jamie, and that’s all that matters, yeah?”
Sighing, he pulled her back into a tight hug. There were a lot of them to catch up on. “Yeah, okay. I love you, Mummy.”
“I know, baby. I love you, too.”
24.
Due to lucky timing or – more likely – a long-honed sense for when Jamie and Georgie were ready to be interrupted, Simon stepped into the sitting room to announced that dinner was ready about half a minute after the hour-long, and occasionally weepy, talk was winding down to general cuddles.
Jamie got up to greet him with genuine enthusiasm. He’d already moved out by the time Simon moved in, but he liked the man well enough. He’d been dead good for Mummy, and Simon had always been decent about giving her and Jamie space, never seeming to mind that Georgie tended to focus all of her attention on Jamie whenever he was around. Which was only natural, given that Jamie was her only son and a fucking great one at that, but some men might have been pissy about it, so Jamie was still glad Simon wasn’t one of those.
“Tried to make a few extra sides that won’t mess with your meal plan, I know you’ve got a game tomorrow,” Simon said as he ushered them towards the carefully set table.
They’d gotten a new cloth since the last time Jamie was here for Christmas, a rustic looking light grey number, but the pink plates with a pattern of golden Christmas trees around the edge were the same ones Jamie had given her when he was 17. Simon had matched them with green napkins, intricately folded around small golden sprigs of plastic mistletoe, and pink and gold ornaments scattered across the table.
“That’s nice, that,” Jamie said, because it was, and Simon beamed at him.
The dinner was nice, too, the traditional turkey and trimmings complemented, for Jamie’s benefit, with a French omelette with smoked haddock, a large salad, and a small bowl of liberally spiced brown rice. It took Mummy most of the meal to fill Jamie in on all the latest neighbourhood gossip, but there was a fair bit of chatter about football as well, and a couple of minutes devoted to Simon’s new knife set. It was fun, and easy, and by the time Simon got up to put the kettle on and Jamie went out into the hall to collect the bag of gifts he’d brought, Jamie was feeling more relaxed (and fuller) than he could remember doing in… well. A fucking long time.
As they settled on the couch with their tea cups, small glasses of mulled cherry wine and a frankly shocking array of sweets (of which Jamie allowed himself exactly one small slice of candied orange dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with sea salt), Mummy fretted slightly over not having any proper gifts for him there. “We had them sent over your place, since we didn’t think you were coming. I’m sorry, love.”
“No, yeah, I know, got them last night. Haven’t opened them yet, though, ‘cause, uh, I wanted to see you first.”
She smiled, and pulled him close to smack her lips against the top of his hair. “Do it first thing when you get home, and every last one of them will be a kiss from me.”
“I will, Mummy.” He’d be getting home after midnight, and by rights should head straight for bed to make sure he was in good shape for tomorrow’s game, but knew he would take the time to unpack the carefully wrapped parcels. Knew his mum would likely be up and ready to respond to any excited reaction texts he might send.
Jamie apologised for the randomness of the gifts, sheepishly admitting that he’d spent too much time getting Roy stuff to think much about anyone else; they waved away his regrets and oooh:ed and aaah:ed enthusiastically at the blanket (Georgie), the cookbook (Simon), the weekend getaway in Cornwall (both of them), and the other things Jamie had picked up rather hurriedly yesterday.
Merry Christmas (I don’t want to fight tonight) came on. Grinning cheekily, Mummy got to her feet, pulling Jamie up with her as she went, and then they were dancing all across the sitting room, laughing and loudly singing along, the way they’d always done when Jamie was a kid.
“Oh, baby, you’ve gotten dead good at this,” Mummy said a little breathlessly after Jamie had spun her round in a complicated twirl, and he nodded, pleased that she’d noticed his mad moves. “I’m a footballer, ain’t I. Gotta be quick on me feet.”
The song ended and the far slower Have yourself a merry little Christmas began to play. Jamie released his mum to Simon, and as the two of them swayed slowly to Judy Garland’s soft crooning, Jamie took the opportunity to sneak away for a bit, going up the stairs to his old room. It looked pretty much exactly the way he’d left it when he moved into the Academy residence. Mummy (or Simon, probably) kept it clean, but hadn’t moved any of his stuff or done anything about the general messiness of the room. Only the Keeley poster had been a later addition, and only because having semi-nudes up at his academy room had been frowned upon and he’d still been minding the rules back then.
Mad, to think that he’d ended up dating her. Mad, that he’d played with Roy Kent, the one player whose poster he’d never taken down (although he’d come close, the first time he was back home after joining Richmond and Roy had proved to be a massive cunt, but it had felt like letting Roy win somehow, so it had stayed up).
Madder still, that only two nights ago he’d been curled up with both of them on a couch in Roy Kent’s house.
Grinning, he pulled out his phone and called Keeley. Yes, it was late and it was Christmas and it might be a prick thing to do, interrupting whatever celebration they had going, but as much as he was trying to be better, Jamie hadn’t gotten to where he was by not going after what he wanted. Besides, they’d want to know how things had gone, wouldn’t they? Keeley would, at any rate.
His assumption turned out to be correct because Keeley not only picked up, but smiled like she couldn’t be happier to hear from him. “Jamie, hi! You doing all right? Are you up in Manchester?”
“Hi, Keeley. Yeah, I am, yeah.” He paused, taking a moment to just look at her, taking in the loveliness of her face, before adding, “Talked to me mum. It went great. I mean, I was a bit nervous, but it went great, yeah, so it’s all good now.”
“Yeah?” Her smile softened. “That’s amazing, Jamie. Really glad to hear that.”
“Yeah. So, uh, I just wanted to call to tell you and, and, say thanks, I guess. For, you know, telling me I needed to go here. And, uh, merry Christmas.”
“You’re welcome, Jamie. Merry Christmas.”
“Oi!” Roy’s voice, off-camera and sounding unusually high over the speakers. “Keeley, do— Oh, sorry, didn’t realise you were on the phone.” A pause. “That Jamie?”
“Yeah. He’s up in Manchester, come say hi.” Keeley shifted a bit, angling her phone to include Roy in the picture.
Jamie raised an eyebrow. Roy must really be into Christmas, because he was actually wearing a patterned tie with his black shirt and black suit jacket. A dark patterned tie, admittedly, but it had got little golden dots on it, which was far more festive than Jamie would have thought Roy could ever manage.
Then again, he’d had to rethink a lot of his thoughts on Roy in the past two days.
“Hi,” Roy said, sounding… not unsure, exactly, but… not not unsure either. A little reserved, but in a way Jamie, canny reader of people that he was, suspected had more to do with uncertainty over their new relationship status, rather than any real desire to be an arse.
Jamie didn’t blame him. He was feeling a little uncertain himself (which was still a new and not particularly fun experience). Things had changed between them since Roy rushed in to find him crumpled on the floor—but how exactly, and into what?
He guessed they’d find out, and fuck, wasn’t that an interesting thought?
“Hi,” he said. “Merry Christmas. You enjoying the holiday, yeah?” He nodded towards the tie, smirking just a little. (It was a decent tie. Roy looked well fit in it. But if the man didn’t want people taking the piss when he donned a bit of colour he shouldn’t make such a point of always wearing black then, should he?)
Roy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m loving it. Spent the afternoon knocking on random doors looking for a dentist for my niece, that was a fucking riot. And,” he continued before Jamie had the chance to ask what the hell he was on about, “some nitwit had this John Case box set delivered to my door this morning, because apparently some people have no idea when to fucking quit.”
“Yeah?” Jamie asked, unable to hold back a grin, because while Roy’s word had been gruff, there was a small smile in his eyes that said that they weren’t really. “Think that sounds like great gift, mate. Real thoughtful, like.”
Roy just snorted, but Keeley was clearly holding back a laugh, her eyes shining as they wandered between Jamie on her screen and Roy.
“It’s the last of them,” Jamie promised, just in case Roy actually thought he’d be keeping this up forever from now on. “But I’d already gotten it, so… “ He shrugged.
“It’s fine,” Roy said, then added off Keeley’s not at all discreet elbow to his side, “I mean, thank you.”
Jamie was about to tell him not to overdo it or he’d burst vessel or something, but was interrupted by his mum calling his name from downstairs. “Sorry,” he said. “Gotta go. Be heading back in thirty minutes, so I wanna make the most of it, right?”
“Yeah, of course,” Keeley immediately said (almost covering Roy’s muttered we’re really not stopping you). “Go. And good luck with the game tomorrow, yeah? I’ll be in the box with Rebecca, cheering you on.”
“Decent, yeah. Um, thanks again. Merry Christmas.”
As he moved to end the call, Roy suddenly said, “Jamie, wait.”
Jamie waited. And waited, because whatever it was that Roy had on his mind, he apparently had a hard fucking time getting it out of his mouth.
Eventually, Jamie’s patience wore thin. “Mate, I’m not being funny, yeah. I really gotta go. You maybe wanna send me a fax instead?”
“Oh, that’s very funny,” Roy growled. “The fuck happened to you not being a prick, huh?” Then he made a face, looking pained. “Actually, and I can’t fucking believe I’m about to say this, but maybe sometimes you need to be a prick. Not to people,” he added with narrowed eyes, having apparently caught the way Jamie lit up at that, “but on the fucking pitch. I mean, sometimes. Not all the time. But sometimes, being selfish and going for the shot and getting in the other players heads by being an utter cunt like only you fucking can is better than passing the ball.”
Jamie gaped at him, but before he had time to say anything or ask how the hell he was supposed to know when it was the right time to be a prick, Roy muttered a curt, “That’s it. Bye,” and ended the call.
“Um, rude,” Jamie told the black screen. He was half tempted to call Keeley again, just to tell her bye properly (and maybe tell Roy… something, Jamie wasn’t totally clear on what, because Roy had been rude, but he’d also told Jamie to be a prick sometimes, and had almost smiled at him several times, and that was all just a bit confusing), but he hadn’t lied when he said he wanted to make the most of his time with Mummy before he needed to leave for London again.
“We’re not done, mate,” he told poster-Roy sternly, before adding a far softer, “Good night, Keeley,” to poster-Keeley
And then he headed downstairs, back to Mummy and the rest of his Christmas, and then – when he’d hugged her ten times or a hundred – he headed to London, back to his team and the rest of his life, and it came to him as he sat on the train with the midwinter night speeding past him, that he was travelling both from home and to home and that it was well fucking mint.
25. Epilogue
Roy called her in the evening, as Keeley was carefully removing her make-up in front of the bathroom mirror. It had been a long day, a stifled Christmas lunch with her mother followed by Richmond’s home game against Norwich in the afternoon. At least Richmond had won, managing a by the skin of their teeth 1-0 after a late and defiant goal by Jamie.
She thought she’d seen him looking up at the VIP box as the team celebrated around him, and she’d blown him a little kiss, even if she knew the distance was too far for him to catch it.
Next to her, Rebecca had raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow in a perfect expression of slightly sceptical interest. “And here I thought you were here to support me.”
“I am here to support you,” Keeley had said firmly. “Because I’m an amazing friend and I’d show up to support you with chants and balloons of cute animals and stuff at your murder trial, especially if Rupar’s the victim. But I told you, he’s been having a rough time of it.”
Not telling Rebecca about what had gone down with Jamie and Roy the other day had never been an option. Rebecca had listened with a frown, and asked if she needed to do anything about James Tartt. Keeley had said no, for the moment: Jamie needed to be the one to make the call on that.
“Hey you,” Roy said now, looking properly fit in the black suit he usually put on for his pundit appearances (and which, to the untrained eye, looked identical to all his other black suits, but Keeley knew him and fashion better than most, and thought the Hugo Boss was a particularly nice look on him).
“Hi, babe.” Keeley propped the phone against a moisturiser bottle, so she could continue her routine while they talked. “You back from work then?”
“Yeah. Took fucking ages, because Cartrick wouldn’t fucking shut up. You’d think he’d run out of things to be wrong about after six hours, but no, if the filming crew hadn’t started making noises about needing to go home to their families, we’d still be there.”
Keeley hummed in agreement, even though she suspected Roy was maybe exaggerating things a little. Sometimes it was best to just let him vent belligerently for a bit, get it out of his system. Besides, it was lovely to have him care about things enough to be pissed about them again. Roy was a passionate man, and Keeley loved him for it; having seen him go through the motions with nary a flicker of true feeling throughout the autumn had been awful.
Speaking of caring… “You catch any of the Richmond game?” she asked.
He grunted. “We didn’t really cover any of the Championship games, but yeah, saw some of the highlights.”
“Jamie played well, didn’t he? Seemed a little more aggressive than he’s been lately.”
Roy grunted again, but kept his mouth stubbornly shut. Not ready to talk about the advice he’d given Jamie last night, then. Fair enough; it’d keep.
Roy kept on saying nothing, though, when normally he would have tried to move on by changing the subject or asking her about her day. When Keeley glanced over at the screen she saw that he was looking unhappy, dark eyebrows furrowed.
Keeley cocked her head to the side. “You all right, babe? Something on your mind?”
“No, it’s… “ He paused, and she waited, until finally he let out a frustrated huff. “It’s just Jamie’s fucking dad, right?” His lips curled. “I can’t stop thinking— Jamie was in a right fucking mess when I walked in on them. Not physically, it was just scrapes, but he was so fucking quiet. It wasn’t natural, not having the little muppet run his mouth like he was getting paid for it.”
“He seemed all right after,” Keeley said hesitantly, because Jamie had, when he left them on the morning of Christmas Eve and when they talked to him yesterday. Happier than normally, even. But Roy was right, it seemed a little strange in retrospect, that he had shaken it off so completely, given the state of him when she first arrived at Roy’s three nights ago. “You think he’s used to it,” she realised aloud. “That’s why he bounced back so quickly.”
“I know arseholes like that, okay? My sister fucking married one. So yeah, I don’t think it’s the first time it happened, and it probably won’t be the last either, and I keep on fucking wondering if his dad’s the reason he walked out on City, and City’s playing Chelsea in a couple of week s and I—“ He paused again. “I know it’s fucking stupid, it’s none of my business. I don’t even like the prick.”
Keeley had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn’t quite as true as it once had been, but she didn’t mention that. Let Roy reach that conclusion when he was ready to. “I think it’s sweet,” she said instead. “The way you stepped in when he needed you to, and took care of him. I mean it,” she added off his predictable eye-roll. “I’m really proud of you, babe. And,” she pressed on, because it was true and because she knew he tended to get a little uncomfortable when things got too earnest, “it was kind of sexy, too.”
Roy’s eyebrows rose at that. “You thought me taking care of Jamie was sexy? What happened to your thing being me crying pathetically?”
“Girls have deep and complex tastes, Royo. So yeah, you being vulnerable and passionate is really hot, but as it turns out, you being all caring and protective and fetching tea really gets me going as well.” She smiled at him and he scoffed, but smiled back. “Seriously, though,” she continued, “I was thinking we should ask Jamie over some day. Just hang out a little, make sure he’s all right.”
Roy’s eyes narrowed. “You better not be suggesting we invite him to Sexy Christmas.”
“No,” Keeley said with a small a laugh, even as the thought of it sent a pleasant shiver through her. Sex with Roy was fantastic. Sex with Jamie had always been amazing. Both of them, and with the way she suspected their tastes would run exceedingly compatible, with her and with each other… Well. A girl could dream (and maybe have a wank once she got of the phone with Roy). “But dinner sometime soon, yeah?
“Fine,” Roy said, sounding like he was only reluctantly agreeing to do her a favour, but she knew him well enough to see the relief in his dark eyes.
Fuck, but she loved him. The way he cared so deeply, even when he didn’t want to, and even when he would sneer at the assertion.
“You’re so fucking hot,” she told him. “I can’t wait for the 28:th.”
He smiled for real then, that wide grin he reserved for just her and sometimes Phoebe and his sister. “Me neither,” he agreed. “I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah, see you then. Love you.”
“Love you.”
They hung up, and Keeley yawned. It was getting late, and she had to be up early tomorrow, for an entire day of what was supposedly just a bit of informal mingling for publicists, a little holiday get together on Jace Asthon’s country house, but which was in actuality the networking opportunity of the year for people in her line of business. She needed to be well-rested and looking ready to slay for this one, and had a bunch of people and business to read up on, potential sponsors and partners for Richmond.
She still took the time to send a couple of texts before turning out the lights.
hey jamie
got any plans for new year’s eve?
She hardly had time to set the phone down before it pinged with his reply.
Doesn’t really give a shit if I’m not playing for City.
Something slid into place then. “Is that why you did Lust Conquers All?” Roy asked. “To get away from you dad?”
Jamie didn’t answer, but that just said it all, didn’t it?
#jamie's christmas carol#advent calender#season 2 canon divergence#pre-ot3#jamie tartt is a slowly reforming prick himbo#ie jamie tartt is a mess and a work in progress#which is a bit of a trial for him and for everyone around him#including one roy kent who absolutely did not sign up for this
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finding that same-sex desires post a little troubling theologically pugzy, not really clear on whether God decides or predetermines our obstacles or not. youd have to imagine He has at least some say in who has same-sex desires
I know which you are referring to. This is why I've said over and over it all goes back to God vs Satan. We are programmed not to consider either God OR Satan. It's why so many have a hard time understanding the events happening, because they won't look at it through a biblical lense. God gives us free will, always has, always will. God will not predetermin anything for you except one thing. If you choose Jesus, choose his way, what happens after is predetermined, as in your salvation and eternal life. We choose whether or not we follow God, or the world.
God determined from the beginning man for woman, woman for man. He wants a family, and his family to multiple. Everything else is an abomination because it not only serves the lusts of flesh it will not bring forth more life. But society tells us opposite. Says we MUST accept the lgbtqlmnopqrxtuvwxyandz ways, otherwise you are hateful. To pile insult on insult to the Father, society has made it to where gay couples can adopt and raise a child, I think I even heard California is now allowing gay men to "rent a womb" in order to obtain a kid. Oh and the same society that wants to disprove or deny God, wants to say God would be ok with this because "God is Love". So when you study his words, you see how massive the depections are, and far they spread, and you also know his patience is wearing thin.
Obstacles, he will put in place to give you a chance to think twice. He doesn't wish for anyone to perish (2 Peter 3:9) so he will try to get you to pause and think. And I guarantee EVERYONE has had it happen to where they were about to do something they knew they shouldn't, something happens that puts a pause on the situation, and then most do it anyways. But the thing about that, the more you ignore those pauses (regardless of the situation), the less he will try, and eventually he will give you over to your own will.
Romans 1:20-32 (He gave them up, He gave them up, then He gave them over)
20 For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse:
21 Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened.
22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools,
23 And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things.
24 Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves:
25 Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen.
26 For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature:
27 And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet.
28 And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient;
29 Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers,
30 Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents,
31 Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful:
32 Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.
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Uhhh future Clone High AU stuff I guess. :V
Catholicism is a hell of a drug Mr(s). Columbus.
Info about the kids under the cut ↓
Toph and Otto, both around 42 years old now. They live in Italy, Toph has a government job, makin' laws and stuff. Otto is a fashion designer and often has his daughter, Bianca, model his stuff. They're both well-known and well-off.
Salvatore (24) is their firstborn. He's very, very flat. No emotion, no empathy, nothing. He used to also work in more local government, but after a suicide attempt he's been taking time off. No hobbies or friends and doesn't really want any or care. Fully aroace.
Bianca (21) is very... intimidating. She's a lot. Bold personality, demanding, intense. She works as a model and is debating about breaking further into the industry, but it's still very harsh in the year 2065... Straight.
Lorenzo (21) is much less intimidating than his twin sister. He's relatively good with his hands, likes working on things and fixing stuff if he can find it. Soft-spoken and gentle but... somewhat unsettling. Works as an assistant nurse, also straight.
Alfonso (19) is also brash and tough. He's incredibly resistant to authority, hates doing what he's told, loves playing LOUD metal music and working on his own with his bandmates. Very disrespectful, drinks and smokes, too. Bisexual.
Marcello (17) is a ball of anxiety on legs. He tries to catch a lot of the heat off his siblings if there's tension, and is often blamed for things he didn't do. Is very popular in school and well-liked for his easygoing personality and friendly demeanor. Straight.
Ciena (16) is a freak. Completely into anime and cartoons, desperately wants to be a news reporter in her future. Never seen without her cameras. Big, loud and bright personality perfect for TV. Likes hyping people up. Biromantic Asexual.
Dominic (15), also resistant to authority, but much less aggressive about it than his older brother. Resents Topher. Very popular in school as well, with his own 'in-crowd'. Helps run several clubs as well. Complete daddy's boy and wants to make Otto proud. Likes girls, but struggles to call himself straight (he's transmasc).
Dante (12), even more of a freak than Ciena. Special interest in religion and very very annoying about it. Has an unfortunate tendency to police people to follow his own moral guidelines and pray for them if they don't. Mommy's boy and choir kid. Probably straight...?
Bella (12) is trying to hold it together. Desperately wants to be the 'good kid' her parents don't worry about but she's an anxious mess. Gifted, sure, but hot damn would she rather be writing fanfiction than doing her extra homework. Closer to her twin brother than anyone else, even if she's not religious herself. Aroace.
Ella (11) is much like her oldest brother, but doesn't speak. Ever. She isn't fond of communication boards, either. Also very expressionless and empty-seeming, but shows an affinity towards animals. Doesn't define her sexuality and doesn't care to.
Viviana (7) is the youngest and the baby of the family. Often watches instead of does, and keeps notes on people. Often found around Ciena due to their shared love of observing people. Timid, and not often verbal herself either. Unknown sexuality.
#theyre all neurodivergent#of course#clone high#topher bus#clone high season 2#clone high season two#clone high topher#christopher columbus#clone high topher bus#clone high christopher columbus#i drew this#topher#clone high au#clone high oc#clone high otto#ottoph#definitely.
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Things I’m learning at my new job - part 1830404
1. The Victorian Government do not allow enough money or resources to small schools that severely need upgrading
2. It’s not a legal requirement to have a canteen/tuckshop available in a school?
3. The same student never comes to school with lunch and it’s become an obsessive ritual to come to the staff room to get lunch
4. The nearest cafe/food shop charge $17.50 for ONE spring roll so if I forget my lunch too I’m starving for the day
5. The admin office is a mess and it’s annoying
6. I will never have full rights to a photocopier or coloured printer and it’s irritating
7. The ongoing laptop debate is annoying, I will always be forced to use absent students’ laptops and not a staff one
8. It’s not a legal requirement to have or to travel to a gym, at a school in Victoria?
9. Interschool sport can be done at schools like half an hour or more away
10. No matter how much they expect from you, you will never fix that broken child
11. Don’t tell child x that your hair is dyed or she’ll refuse to work with you
12. Comfort clothes >>> professional clothes
13. Kids bolt in the courtyard and throw balls and you will die
14. I’m too short to reach the child safety gate lock
15. The portables I spend most time in don’t have ramps, just stairs
16. That psychotic teacher who uses fear mongering as a way to control students does it to teachers and us too, and she will scream at you so loud the windows shake, she will call you a whore and she will demand you take your shoes off, even with an obvious injury
17. Never enter her class, ever. Not even when rostered
18. She’s a liar
19. Her stairs are dangerous enough anyway with all the 28 pairs of shoes crowding the landing
20. The vice principal is not very vice principal at all
21. Never talk to that psychotic looking blonde teacher with the huge fake smile that never leaves, she will abuse and use you and then go bitch about you with the psychotic teacher
22. You will never get a proper lunch break no matter how much you need it
23. If blondie teacher asks you to look after a child for a moment and then scurries off, that’s your whole lunch break gone and yeah, you’re responsible if that student pulls the roof of the dollhouse off and bashes you with it
24. The wifi system is in shambles and they will never sort out your access code
25. If it feels like a trap, you’re already in one
26. You really just want to get into the staff room and sit, finally eat for the day and message Laura about all the constant psychological games you’re going through
27. By the time you finish and get home you’ll be too exhausted to message Laura about it all
28. Your back will forever hurt
29. You will climb at LEAST 10 flights of stairs a day
30. Students will look at you like you’re the enemy even though you’re not and you’re tired and just trying
31. You’ll make one really good friend amongst the teaching staff and have a really good leader but the rest you’ll be warily cautious of. Also you’ll think you can trust that Croatian teacher’s aide but she sometimes does psycho’s room so you’ll forever stay silent
32. That good teacher desperately needs a teacher’s aide, her whole class are basically ADHD and trauma that have either moved up from 3/4 or escaped from psycho’s class but she will never get one no matter how many times she threatens to leave her job
33. You will never get a whiteboard on wheels available
34. The wellbeing room is a joke
35. You won’t get to do the actual job you signed up to do
36. Your boss will snap at you and manipulate you to think you’re in the wrong
37. You’ll wonder how this school hasn’t been shut down yet
38. You desperately want a slice of that pizza but since you’re not official teaching staff you won’t get one
39. Sandwiches at lunch are just not enough
40. Your Carlton lanyard is making you a laughing stock amongst the teachers
41. They will bully students at lunch when they’re not around them, and your heart will hurt
42. 8 minutes tops to eat lunch, have a bathroom break and scurry off to Woolies and back!
43. The staff bathrooms will terrify you, with the washing machines and dryers (I’m picturing Laura’s apartment) and no lights, ambulance equipment and a horrid concrete floor I nearly dropped my phone onto
44. The amount of sickness spreading around that school. It’s disturbing
45. The amount of kids who don’t understand what they’re being taught
46. The amount of students with trauma in this day and age makes me want to sue the government
47. The school song will always be stuck in your head for the entire weekend
48. Your assessments will never have the true and correct answers and you’ll always be bullshitting to everyone about how amazing they are
49. You still don’t understand why the printer is named Mr Potato Head and it’s your third week on the job
50. Three weeks feels like a life sentence and you still have several more to go and they’re considering giving you a permanent position
51. You’re not getting paid at all and probably do more than any staff member
52. You’ll always enjoy the escape on a student free day
53. Weekends are even more precious now; waste them wisely
54. That weekly/fortnightly trip to dinner with Laura now feels like it’s dead on arrival
55. Kids will start to annoy you so much that you’ll barely have time for yours and you’ll feel so guilty
56. Doing this all with a baby and two daughters is really difficult
57. You begin to understand what your eldest daughter means when she says primary school is impossible
58. You’ll forever be based in the middle area/space between four classrooms yet you’ll forever be working out of those dreaded staired portables
59. Fruit break seems to be a stupid idea with recess due in the next hour
60. You’ll never understand how kids can be so cruel to their peers
61. When there’s a workplace/student crisis, don’t expect to be out the door until an hour after you officially finish
62. If a student doesn’t want to go home at the end of the day and they’re being extra clingy to the teacher or to you, that means there’s something serious going on at home
63. The amount of dyslexic students who don’t get the help they urgently needs sickens me.
64. You’ll never remember that student’s name for as long as you live
65. You’re also a twin, but those twins you work with everyday will confuse you and you will never understand them
66. That popular girl with the cool hairstyle, she’s actually a bitch to the neurodivergent students and you’ll hate her
67. A student can love you one day and then hate you the next
68. If the staff room is ever empty when you’re in there, you’ll cry for 8 minutes and then get up and rush off like nothing ever happened
69. If you can’t drive, public transport is so much harder
70. The parents of that student will always hate you and send you threats by email and abuse you face to face because they have weird beliefs, they think hair die damages your brain, if you like Taylor Swift you’re encouraging violence in the classroom, doctors are evil, etc
71. That girl will always wear a different uniform and will stand out and be bullied so badly as a result from their harsh and restrictive parenting
72. Parents are a massive cause in all the issues students may have
73. It’s a small town and everybody knows everyone, so when someone’s parent attempts suicide, it’s massive information and all the students become nightmares and you will want to die yourself dealing with it
74. You’ll become selfish in ways you never expected - like if a kid needs help and you’re exhausted, you’ll do a half assed job. When a kid has a major crisis, you’ll be like ‘I don’t want to deal with this’ and YOU’LL feel so guilty and mean
75. You’ll forever be exhausted
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welcome welcome, it’s been a while.
but we’re back now with tumblr’s favorite show: AFTG Hot Takes, where i spew paragraphs and paragraphs of bullshit instead of working on my WIP.
without any further ado, i am proud to present: every AFTG ship, ranked.
this is your friendly reminder that these are just my opinions. if you like a ship i don’t: great! if you don’t like a ship that i love: also great! i’m always happy to hear people’s thoughts, and i love a good friendly debate, but please remember that i’m 17. i’m not here to argue with you about why your ship is the best. i’m just here to have fun.
these probably aren’t all the ships that are out there, but this is everything i’ve seen so far. if i missed one, let me know!
24. Jean/Riko
this one… ew. ew ew ew. every ship with riko is so ew, i cannot begin to explain, but this one is the worst.
i’ve read too many Nest fics to not gag at this tag, cause it’s never consensual.
23. Kevin/Riko
just no.
moving on.
22. Kevin/Thea
y’all know i hate this ship by now, but for newcomers: it’s predatory and neglectful. very very ick.
21. Andrew/Roland
this one… where to start?
i’ll probably make a full post ab it soon, so for now, let’s just say that it’s very similar to Kevin/Thea. The age gap at the time that things started between them… the morals and legality are murky at best.
20. Andrew/Kevin
i’ve said it once, and i’ll say it again: they. aren’t. good. for. each. other.
Kevin doesn’t respect boundaries. he pushes things. and boundaries are the absolute most important thing for Andrew. they just don’t work.
19. Andrew/Neil/Kevin
i very vehemently despise this ship, for the same reason i hate Andrew/Kevin. i think it’s so important for y’all to remember who these characters are and not just ship them because they all have dicks and are nice to each other sometimes. that turns into mlm fetishization real fuckin quick.
18. Neil/Kevin
this is one that i can almost sort of see. if i hadn’t accidentally spoiled andreil for myself, i would have assumed this was canon during my first read.
but it’s just… i love the fact that they’re friends. i think their friendship can be so amazing, and i love reading fics where they’re that close. i don’t think every friendship in media has to turn romantic.
17. Kevin/Jean/Jeremy
remember what i said about kevandreil? apply it to this one too.
ik it sounds like i just hate poly couples. i don’t. i just hate ships like this, that really wouldn’t be healthy but people put together anyway because oh gay people yay! it feels gross and fetish-y and i am not here for it.
16. Kevin/Jean
this is a ship that i can see happening pre-canon, but i’m not the biggest fan of it simply because there’s no way it could be healthy. they went through a lot together, sure, but traumabonds are notoriously unhealthy.
15. Kevin/Matt
this, again, feels like just putting two characters together because they’re nice to each other occasionally, but really? they aren’t. correct me if i’m wrong, but Matt and Kev only have one canon interaction that i can remember, and it’s literally Matt punching Kev in the face.
Not to mention, Dan and Matt. Dan and Matt! i love them too much to accept this.
14. Kevin/Matt/Aaron
listen. again, i don’t hate poly couples. i really, really don’t. i just…
Matt literally… just doesn’t mesh well with Kev or Aaron. at all? i don’t understand the thought process behind this.
13. Renee/Jean
i don’t… i don’t hate this one. i just don’t like it. i feel like both Renee and Jean have wayyy better ships (not to spoil anything, but they both make top 5 in different ships)
i don’t think they’re awful, per se, i just don’t really see the chemistry.
12. Allison/Seth
this is an unpopular opinion, i know. but i’ve read a few “Seth lives” fics that redeem him, so i can’t hate him. i can’t, you can’t make me.
believe me, i don’t like it either, but i don’t run this city, the rats do.
anyway, it’s not awesome and i like Ally’s other options better, but it could be good! it could be great! i read too much redemption fanfic!
11. Kevin/Jeremy
i’ll be honest, it’s not my favorite to read when Jean is also in a fic, but if we’re talking in general?
i adore. fics where Kev is falling all over himself trying to talk to Jer are my bread. and. fucking. butter. quicksand has destroyed me. absolutely ruined me.
10. Aaron/Katelyn
starting off the top ten with one of my favorite minor characters ever, this ship is up here because i love Kate so much.
i read too much fanfiction, i know, but i just think she’s so cool?
honestly, i really don’t think Aaron deserves her. she’s that cool. i love her so much. that’s my lady. my babygirl. simply adore.
9. Abby/Wymack/Betsy
i like this one, i really do. all the Fox parents together? it’s perfect. i love it. enough said.
8. Kevin/Allison
listen. i’ve said i didn’t get it before, but honestly? i change my mind. i like this one. i like it a lot.
their personalities would mesh so well. they’re both dramatic, they’d be the funniest fucking couple in the world. i like it a lot.
7. Abby/Wymack
it’s a classic. i ship it, you ship it, the Foxes ship it too. we all ship it. they’re made for each other, and that’s all i have to say.
6. Matt/Dan
if you don’t like this one, you’re lying. they are. the definition. of love.
they’re so cute? so cute? i have no words?
your honor, i love them.
top five time!!
5. Nicky/Erik
god, these two.
if you know me at all, you know i have a soft spot for Nicky. i relate to his story so much, and i hate how dirty Nora did him.
but god, these two. they are love. they are perfect.
i have no words. i just love them so much
4. Kevin/Aaron
i love this one. you know i love this one. everyone knows i love this one.
they’re both assholes, and they’re both hurt in different ways, and i love when they heal together. when they help each other and lean on each other and just- ugh.
i like watching them heal, and i like watching them do it together. (plus best friend’s brother anyone?? a classic trope)
3. Renee/Allison
i love them so much. i love them so much.
they balance each other out so well? they’re so perfect for each other?
also, we need more wlw couples in media in general, and especially in this series.
i love them so much.
2. Jean/Jeremy
you know. you know i love this one (thank you Hoax, and thank you gus_47. you have ruined my sleep schedule and i have never been happier)
grumpyxsunshine, guys. healing together. i love when people heal together. i love it
also, round of applause to us in the fandom for creating an incredibly popular ship between two people who literally never interact in canon. we did that. i love that for us.
and now, for #1.
1. Andrew/Neil
they are love. they. are. love.
it’s a classic but it’s perfect, and i love them so much. no i will not elaborate (this time)
well! thank you for reading, start a (friendly) fight with me if you want, and drink some water
hugs and kisses <3
#aftg#all for the game#tfc#the foxhole court#aftg textpost#andrew minyard#neil josten#renee walker#allison reynolds#kevin day#aaron minyard#nicky hemmick#erik klose#matt boyd#dan wilds#abby winfield#david wymack#betsy dobson#jeremy knox#jean moreau#thea muldani#riko moriyama#splishsplash originals
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Would you be able to explain Romans 9 to me? I’ve been stuck on it for the past few days because it seems to contradict what I’ve been taught. If God shows mercy on whoever He chooses and hardens the hearts of others, how is hell justified? And do humans truly have free will to believe if He is the one who causes us to believe or not? Do atheists not believe because they were not predestined to believe? I’m sorry if it seems like a really obvious answer, I just genuinely don’t understand.
Heya! Thank you for the question, I'm happy to explain Romans 9. The confusion you're experiencing over this passage is very common, so please don't feel as if this is something super obvious that you just don't get. The Church has been debating this passage and related passages for centuries.
In Romans 9, the Apostle Paul begins by lamenting the state of the ethnic Jews of his day who rejected Messiah. He goes on to teach that true Jews aren't merely the physical descendants of Abraham, but those who have faith like Abraham did. Later, Paul makes it clear that Gentiles have been given the opportunity to be included as "children of Abraham" on the basis of faith.
Paul writes,
"In the words of the Scripture, “I chose to bless Jacob but not Esau.” And God said this before the children were even born, before they had done anything either good or bad. This proves that God was doing what He had decided from the beginning; it was not because of what the children did but because of what God wanted and chose.14 Was God being unfair? Of course not. 15 For God had said to Moses, “If I want to be kind to someone, I will. And I will take pity on anyone I want to.” 16 And so God’s blessings are not given just because someone decides to have them or works hard to get them. They are given because God takes pity on those He wants to. 17 Pharaoh, king of Egypt, was an example of this fact. For God told him He had given him the kingdom of Egypt for the very purpose of displaying the awesome power of God against him, so that all the world would hear about God’s glorious name. 18 So you see, God is kind to some just because He wants to be, and He makes some refuse to listen. 19 Well then, why does God blame them for not listening? Haven’t they done what he made them do? 20 No, don’t say that. Who are you to criticize God? Should the thing made say to the one who made it, “Why have you made me like this?” 21 When a man makes a jar out of clay, doesn’t he have a right to use the same lump of clay to make one jar beautiful, to be used for holding flowers, and another to throw garbage into? 22 Does not God have a perfect right to show His fury and power against those who are fit only for destruction, those He has been patient with for all this time? 23-24 And He has a right to take others such as ourselves, who have been made for pouring the riches of His glory into, whether we are Jews or Gentiles, and to be kind to us so that everyone can see how very great His glory is."
Depending on who you're asking, you're going to get different answers. There are two broad schools of thought, those who seek to uphold free will, and those who seek to uphold God's sovereignty. Within each are a multiplicity of views.
The first group will generally take a corporate approach to the text. The passage doesn't teach that God individually selects some for salvation while bypassing others; instead, the passage means to teach that God has selected to save an entire group of people, which are those who freely chose to respond to Him in faith. This group is typically broadly labeled "Arminian," after the 16th century theologian Jacob Arminius.
The second group will generally state the opposite: this passage does, in fact, teach that it is God who chooses who will be saved and who won't be, completely apart from anything the individual does or doesn't do. Free will doesn't play a part. This group is broadly labeled "Reformed," or "Calvinist" after John Calvin, who was a contemporary of Arminius.
So which is it? Are people exercising free will to choose God, or is God unilaterally deciding Himself?
I am a Molinist, after the theologian Louis De Molina, who was also a contemporary of Arminius. My perspective on Romans 9 is a little bit different.
For the most part, I interpret Romans 9 the same way the Calvinists do. I think the passage is meant to teach that God gets to decide individually who is saved and who isn't. But unlike the Calvinists, I also believe in genuine free will and I hold that it plays a part in all this.
So, as a Molinist, I believe the answer to the above question is both.
Let me explain.
Following Molina, I believe there are three broad categories of Biblical texts that teach these truths: 1) God is Sovereign; 2) Humankind has genuine free will; and 3) God genuinely desires all people to be saved. The Bible teaches these three truths, but doesn't explain how all three interlock. Arminians generally uphold the second two truths by explaining away all the passages of Scripture that teach the first truth, and Calvinists generally uphold the first truth while explaining away all the passages that teach the second two.
Molina held that all three categories of Biblical texts must be upheld together without any explaining away. So, Molina came up with what is called the "doctrine of middle knowledge." At the time, all theologians explained God's knowledge by means of "logical moments"; the first moment of God's knowledge being God's knowledge of all necessary truths (like logic and mathematics), and the second moment being God's knowledge of all that He freely chose to create (all things that are true because God declares them to be true, like the actions of people). The first moment was called "natural knowledge," and the second moment was called "free knowledge." In between these two moments of God's knowledge is God's creative decree.
Molina posited a third moment to God's knowledge, and called it "middle" knowledge because it fits in between the other two moments. Molina suggested that this moment includes God's knowledge of all actions/choices of all His free creatures in all sets of possible circumstances; God knows exactly what each free creature would do in any set of circumstances. Molina suggested that this moment should be placed prior to God's creative decree, and that it informs His decisions when creating.
This means that, if Molina is correct, God is able to exercise exhaustive, meticulous Sovereignty over all of creation, while at the same time allowing all people to be genuinely free in a libertarian sense.
Dr. Kirk Macgregor, about Molina's doctrine, writes,
"Molina perceived that middle knowledge was the key to reconciling the three categories of biblical texts. Confronted with his middle knowledge of what every possible individual would freely do in every conceivable set of circumstances, God commits himself, out of his love, to consider for creation only those worlds in which he offers sufficient grace for salvation (i.e., prevenient grace) to each individual. By virtue of the universality of prevenient grace, God provides libertarian freedom to all individuals (thereby satisfying the second biblical category) and expresses his desire for all persons he creates to be saved (thereby satisfying the third biblical category). Among the range of these all-gracious worlds—a range that is infinite—God perceives from his middle knowledge that there is at least one world where each possible individual exists and would freely receive salvation. And God likewise middle-knows that there is at least one world where each possible individual exists and would freely spurn salvation, so being lost. And God likewise middle-knows that there is at least one world where each possible individual does not exist at all. It is here that the genius of Molina’s doctrine of predestination is exposed.
"Basing his thought on Romans 9, Molina proposed that God’s unconditional predestination is accomplished when, in making his providential choice of which world to create, God does not take into consideration any particular individual’s salvation, damnation, or nonexistence. Rather, God simply chooses the world he desires as a sheer act of his sovereignty. Any individual who would freely embrace God’s grace in the world God selects is thus predestined to salvation and so elected by God, even though God could have just as easily selected a world in which that same individual would freely choose to reject God’s grace or a different world in which that same individual would not exist. Any individual who would freely reject God’s grace in the world God selects is reprobated by God, even though God could have just as easily chosen a world in which that same individual would freely choose to embrace God’s grace or a different world in which that same individual would not exist. This choice of world, leading to various individuals’ election, reprobation, or nonexistence, is unconditioned by anything about the individuals but depends solely on the sovereign will of God (thereby satisfying the first biblical category). Hence Molina claimed we may finally understand why Paul insisted that, in predestination, there is no injustice with God (Romans 9:14, 19-20). God cannot be gainsaid for electing some people and reprobating others, since all worlds from which he is selecting are equally good by virtue of each person therein receiving prevenient grace."
I hope this makes sense to you. The answer is that humans really are free, and so really are responsible for their own choices; people choose to be atheists, people choose to believe in Jesus, and no person goes to Hell who couldn't have made different choices. And at the same time, God is completely Sovereign over all things, including the flow of history from eternity past to eternity future.
I realize this is dense material, so if you have any follow up questions, please feel free to ask. I'm always happy to answer!
Be blessed!
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Random-Mailbox's Favorite Sailor Moon Fics - Week 34 - Body Swap
Body-Swap, as a trope, is not super popular in this fandom to be honest and I had a tough time finding true “Body-Swap” stories to make a post with. HOWEVER, since this is MY list, stories where Usagi and Mamoru are stuck having a constant mental connection should be fair game. There is one other story that I kept debating if I wanted to add to the list, but ultimately decided to leave off because some of the choices the author had made were very unique (if you would like the link, DM me)
As always, my apologies in advance for spoiling some of these for you (Fic Titles are linked to either FFN or AO3 entries).
I Am He As You Are He - @linlamont
In this amazing true Body-Swap trope story, Queen Serenity’s consciousness and Pluto team up to make sure the timeline stays on track. Their solution? Swap Mamoru and Usagi so they are forced to better understand what the other person is going through and how much they truly mean to each other (Also be ready for some adorable art!)
A Craving For Chocolate Milkshakes - @kasienda
Usagi and Mamoru woke up one morning to things being just not quite right (between Mamoru trying to pet an invisible cat and hitting on Motoki and Usagi thinking about MATH of all things!). This story explores the ramifications of not being able to hide anything from someone when they are stuck in your head, able to read every thought. I also absolutely love the ending, enough to have re-read this a couple of times at least.
Mental Connections - Final Saturn
Walking away from another youma battle, Serena and Darien realise that they are having a telepathic conversation, including seeing images of less-than-flattering-things Serena would like to do to Darien given a chance. This connection though is not only mental, it eventually forces them to be close to each other, as much as possible - Zoisite is really an evil genius!
---
That's it for this week. Next time, to coincide with Nurses week, we will cover what I am calling "Medical Assistance" stories (which are not the same as Dr Chiba ones, those will be it's own post in the future 😏).
Here are the links to the previous Tumblr posts in these series to explore more amazing works based on different themes - make sure to check them out if you haven't had a chance! (Click on title name to go to the post) - I will keep updating the list every week as new posts come up:
Week 1 - Groundhog Day
Week 2 - Established Relationships
Week 3 - Sex Positivity
Week 4 - Unfinished Stories
Week 5 - Darker Stories
Week 6 - Potions 🧪
Week 7 - Reveals
Week 8 - 👻Halloween🎃
Week 9 - Wrong Perceptions
Week 10 - Non-Senshi AU
Week 11 - In-Progress Fics
Week 12 - Mutual Pining
Week 13 - Enemies to Lovers
Week 14 - Slow Burn
Week 15 - Christmas Part 1 - Ugly Christmas Sweaters and Santa!
Week 16 - Christmas Part 2
Week 17 - New Years
Week 18 - High School AU
Week 19 - Slice of Life
Week 20 - Coffee shop AU
Week 21 - Huddle for Warmth
Week 22 - Friends to Lovers
Week 23 - ❤️Valentines Day❤️
Week 24 - Do a Grouch a Favour Day (or Cheer Up Fics)
Week 25 - Soulmate AU
Week 26 - Amnesia Fics (and resources)
Week 27 - 🍀St Patrick's Day🍀
Week 28 - Fix it Fics
Week 29 - Prompt: Mug
Week 30 - Flowers
Week 31 - Traditions
Week 32 - Dreams
Week 33 - Friends
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Dumbest Thing I've Ever Heard: 7/21/2023
Note: Starting Monday, 7/24/2023, the amount of entries on this list will be upped from three to, at most, five. Due to this, I have also decided to open submissions to the blog.
Third place: Dagen McDowell of Fox News
Today on Outnumbered, she said the following about a story revolving around--prepare yourselves, this might be the scandal that brings Biden down--the President wearing sneakers:
Well I made a joke last night on Hannity, those shoes, my father will be 87 in a week, and to a man of that generation wearing those shoes, particularly as commander in chief in public, when you're going on, this is formal business -- that's the equivalent of wearing your bedroom slippers outside. That's like wearing a speedo and flip-flops to a funeral. So these elitist snobs in the White House are blithely lying to the American people over and over again because they think we're stupid, and we're not. We've cared for elderly parents and relatives and we can look at this man and see what's going on. We know dementia, we know age, we know Alzheimer's when we see it. And we look at Joe Biden and think, we would not let him drive our car in an empty church parking lot. We know what's happening with him. It's sad, but distressing.
First off, you have to admire the audacity of somebody to call others snobs while she is saying it's possible a person has a serious mental condition because of their choice in foot wear. Also, Thomas Jefferson was inaugurated to the Presidency in his street clothes. Although, what do I expect from a network that spent weeks during the Obama Administration talking about the color of his suit?
Second place: Laura Ingraham
While engaging in the continuing quest by the media to make RFK Jr.'s Presidential Campaign a thing, we got the normal talking points. Among them that the DNC must be really scared of him because Joe Biden hasn't agreed to debate him yet--never mind that in 2020 Donald Trump not only never debated either Bill Weld, Mark Sanford, or Joe Walsh, but state Republican primaries even cancelled primaries specifically to prevent either of those candidates from getting a foothold within the party.
However, while talking about how popular RFK Jr. is, Laura showed this poll:
Now fourteen percent is not nothing, especially when you're a primary challenger to an incumbent President. However, after two straight years of Biden bashing by the mainstream media along with the perpetual push to make RFK Jr. into something other than a waste of everyone's time, the odds of RFK Jr. doing any better are rather unlikely. For reference, fourteen percent is about the percent of votes gotten by Newt Gingrich in 2012, John Anderson in 1980, George Wallace in 1976, and Al Gore in 1988. Hardly the battle similar to that Ford and Reagan had for the Republican Nomination back in 1976, fuck it's not even the fight Jimmy Carter and Ted Kennedy had back in 1980 or the fight George Bush and Pat Buchanan had back in 1992.
Winner: Ron DeSantis
I think the headline "Florida Schools Will Teach How Slavery Brought ‘Personal Benefit’ to Black People" from The Daily Beast sums this story up perfectly. The article also notes that High Schools are going to be taught that a deadly massacre against black citizens in 1920 included “acts of violence perpetrated against and by African Americans.”
I wish to remind you all that Ron DeSantis wants to become President, presumably so he can implement this education system across the country.
Ron DeSantis, you've said the dumbest thing I've ever heard.
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1,000 FOLLOWER CELLY
to celebrate hitting a thousand followers I wanted to do a little something for you all 🎈 as always please read the rules, failure to follow these will result in your request being deleted!
these are the people I write for & if you have anyone you wish to ask I write for that’s not on the list please do, I probably won’t say no!
as always, please when requesting add the entire prompt not just the number as this is easier for me - ex. 1 “what are you doing up so early?” With X player! Failure to comply will have me delete your request!
happy requesting! 🫶🏼🤍
1. "what are you doing up so early?'
2.. "vou should be in bed." "and vou should be there with me."
5. "just five more minutes? please?"
6. "you never look prettier than you do first thing in the day. must be something in the sunlight."
7. "if i had my way, we'd never leave this bed."
9. " love it when your voice is the first thing i hear in the morning."
10. "c'mon, we don't really need to get up yet."
11. "what possessed you to wake me up at this ungodly hour?!"
12. "what are you doing here?"
13. "come to bed. please?"
14. "thank you for picking me up- i know it's late."
15. "don't worry, i'll always come get you."
16. "i didn't have anywhere else to go."
17. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to wake you."
18. "go back to sleep, it's okay."
19. "i've got you now, nothing's going to happen to you while i'm here"
20. "nightmares again?"
"here, you can sleep in my shirt."
21. "you're freezing, come here."
"here, take my jacket."
"you need to eat. you'll feel better after it."
22. "I just can't be with you like this anymore."
23. "you know that i love you."
24. "i'm not yours to call babe!"
25. "and she won't even look at you?"
26. "at this point, i've got nothing to lose."
27. "don't bother me anymore."
"i don't wanna just kiss."
28. "don't you dare touch me."
29. "you're not broken and vou never have been."
30. "you know i love you, don't you?" "like i could ever forget."
31. "stop that. right now." "stop what?" "being so nice to me. it's confusing!"
32. "what are you smiling at?" "nothing. nothing, it's just... two hours ago you were hating my guts, and now you've got your head on my lap and my hands in your hair. you've gotta admit, it's a little funny."
"tell me what i can do to fix this. please."
33. "you have to stop seeing them.", "Why?" "they treat you like shit. i can't stand seeing them walk all over you like this."
34. "god, do you even hear yourself?! you never treated me any better!"
35. "don't leave me alone. please."
36. pacing around while debating whether or not you should text them after they've left the house for a bit
37. forgetting about the argument after a while and going in for a hug, kiss, or any other form of affection that is a force of habit
38. needing to go to an event after a party and having to pretend as if they aren't angry with one another the entire time
39. "i don't want to go to bed angry...can we please talk about this?"
40. catching the other one crying shortly after and immediately feeling an overwhelming wave of guilt crash onto you.
41. "hey...uh, the dinner's here.."
42. painful silence hanging over the room when both of you want to start talking things out but are just waiting for the other to speak first
43. when one tries to pretend like the argument didn't even happen after a few hours, which could either anger the other more or cause them to brush it off all the same
44. "…. you still mad?"
45. feeling guilty so you perform an act of kindness (ex: making them their fave food) as an indirect apology
46. ranting to friends or a relative about the other, only for them to agree and call you out on your wrongdoings
47. "i didn't kick you out. all i said was that i needed some space.."
48. texting them because you feel a little too embarrassed/nervous to see them face-to-face again
49. trying to apologize but only sparking up another argument
50. "vou missed me?" "of course i did..."
51. "why are you staring at me?" “you're pretty.."
52. "this song reminds me of you."
53. "seeing you is always my favorite part of my day."
54. "come on, dance with me!"
55. "aw, sweetheart you know you don't have to ask...come here."
56. "i said i love you, you heard me." "oh i know, i just want to hear you say it again."
"you're my favorite person."
57. "I love everything about you."
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The Mystery of IRIS
Fellow Watchers,
This follow-up to last week’s report took significantly longer than I had anticipated to write. While there is little concrete information about the entity calling itself IRIS, so many theories and clues abound that writing a comprehensive report is an impossible task. However, what little we do know may be of vital importance in the upcoming third phase of The War of The Watch.
Since May 1617, a group of unknown allegiance known as IRIS seems to have joined the War of The Watch. Their precense is primarily made known through pamphlets that have been found scattered all across Duilintinn, with no signs of their source.
For the sake of record-keeping, these pamphlets were specifically found on May 13, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 29, and 30, and June 1, 3, 6, 8, 10, 13, 19, 22, 23, and 26, the lattermost being the day of last week’s attack and featured only an image of two eyes.
Little is known about IRIS. Their acronym stands for “Inspiring Research of Impossible Sciences,” reminiscent of the cultural values of both House Schneeplestien and House Marvin, however the connection to Lord Marvin seems more likely.
Both their insignia and name were found in the tome from Lord Marvin’s most recent appearance (now over a year ago). Several of the messages in their pamphlets imply that their priorities lie in pushing boundaries of science and magic, rather than simply seeking knowledge therof, which also falls more in line with the culture of House Marvin.
Moreover, they seem to have an interest in Lord Brody, with several pamphlets subtly implying that he is under their observation. The exact nature of their relationship to Lord Brody, however, is completely unknown. Are they simply searching for him, or do they know his exact location? If the latter, is Lord Brody aware of this? And above all, what are their intentions?
Theories and debates have swept through The Watch about the allegances and origins of this group.
Some believe that they are a group of Watchers, who have either gone rogue or received secret instructions from King Sean himself. The latter would certainly correlate with the recent appointment of a Watch Representative to King Sean’s Court, but if secrecy is so crucial that even The Watch was not informed, why distribute pamphlets across Duilintinn?
However, others in The Watch are skeptical of IRIS’s allegances. To quote Morgana Spewraith, a correspondent within The Watch:
“No, we do not know whose side IRIS is on. We have theories, but after doing a massive deep dive through all but the most recent two pamphlets, we've no idea whether they're on our side or working with The Enemy. We have evidence either way, but IRIS has a lot of connections with some recent signs of corrupted magic most commonly associated with The Enemy.
Whilst the current predominant theory in The Watch is leaning to Lords Marvin, Jackie, and Schneep are/used to be working for/with them and some aspect of The Enemy’s power was either created or contained by then at some point, my current opinion in them is nowhere near as optimistic. Especially since Lord Marvin (whose allegiance we currently still aren't sure of any more) had it jotted down in Argentum Inanis that IRIS = Antimatter. Which y'know starts with Anti.
Not to mention, Anti's whole schtick is "always watching" and corrupted magic and whatnot. With one of the illustrated IRIS pamphlets actually saying “Who Watches the WTCHR,” this may be a reference to The Watch and how The Enemy watches us in turn.
But yeah again currently most of the community believe IRIS to be on our/the Lords’ side. In my opinion, the meagre evidence we have lines up more against us, however they could also easily be neutral or a third party in this as well. There's just not enough information yet.”
With so little information on this strange new entity, The Watch can only do what we’ve always done; Keep The Watch, and prepare for the worst. Last week’s attack has removed all but the last slivers of doubt that the Third War of The Watch is at our doorstep, and we must be ready for whatever may come, IRIS’s role notwithstanding.
With Anticipation,
Bard Emily Keyes
Written to Fellow Members of The Watch in the Seventh Month of the Year One Thousand Six Hundred and Seventeen
#tales from the watch#Bard's Journal#Signs of The Enemy#IRIS#jacksepticeye au#july 1617#6/1/2022#the one thing i couldnt figure out how to make fit is the whole 100 years old thing and its connection to jamie#oh well#SORRY THIS IS SO LATE#I AM STILL FIGURING OUT HOW TO ADULT#I SHOULD KNOW HOW BY NOW AND YET
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