#pets of richmond
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Moe stared face to face with the one-eyed rat and contemplated the unfairness of a society wherein your existence relied on caveats.
Sure it’s a rat, but this one’s nice.
Sure it’s a rat, but this one lives indoors all the time and never interferes with anyone else.
Sure it’s a rat, but have you ever considered it has rat friends who really love it?
Keeping it indoors must really help with overpopulation.
No one wanted rats, not really.
Sure, the rights of rats had never been more boldly understood. They were pets like any other, and the people who had them cared for them the same way you would any other pets. But there was a difference between a pet rat, one that lived in a family, and a non-domesticated rat, one that roamed the streets without any intention of settling down.
The metaphor may have gotten away from him.
That was fine.
This rat technically had both its eyes, but the right one was milked over. The presence of functional without any of the appearance. A portion of the world obscured, extra effort needed to make sense of it.
Moe stared face to face with the one-eyed rat and wondered if any of its little rat friends ever conflated something missing with something wrong.
The lads were talking about the Bantr promo ads.
Or they had been, but now the lads were talking about girls.
Used to be that if the topic of girls came up, Moe could rely on Colin to shift the subject, always interrupting the flow of conversation to ask if someone had a comb or some socks or a can of Lynx he could borrow.
After years of being a professional footballer, he should really have basic hygiene dialed in by now, but that was Colin for you.
Also used to be that if it weren’t Colin, Jamie would inevitably derail the conversation. Moe wasn’t sure if it was missing socialisation cues or problems with learning socialisation in general, but Jamie had missed the usual lessons that girls were a topic ‘men’ should enjoy discussing, and were therefore worth discussing for all of the some time until Moe wanted to put his head through a wall.
Used to be that you couldn’t pay Jamie to stay on topic.
One second it was girls, then it was the girls on Lust Conquers All, then it was lads on Lust Conquers All, then it was breakfast-themed alcoholic beverages, then breakfast cereals, then some new snack he’d seen when he was getting petrol and had anyone else tried it yet, then it was what kind of fabrics everyone preferred in their cars, then he was off on whether or not he should get tested for allergies because after he’d switched to a new detergent, his sheets were making him itchy.
That had been the time Moe insisted on helping him test for bed bugs. Jamie had taken him up on his answer because as insensible as he could be, he took hygiene seriously, and also because Isaac had threatened to kick him out of the dressing room forever if it turned out Jamie was infected with tiny creepy crawlies.
As soon as they arrived at Jamie’s house, Big Ben – a fat orange cat with a grumpy face and a Gucci collar – came up to say hello, yowling in their faces until Jamie bent down to give him ear scratches.
Both cat and owner followed Moe room to room. Moe diligently laid down the test strips while Big Ben twined around his legs. Jamie talked his ear off about Jurgen Klopp’s Gegenpress tactics and whether it was a strategy Ted might be open to trying.
(He even pronounced all the words correctly; he must really be serious.)
That was the other thing he’d noticed lately – it used to be that no conversation left around Jamie could go long without returning to football. When they’d signed Zava, Isaac had actually called a team-minus-Jamie meeting to discuss how best to prevent Jamie from cornering the legend himself with aggressively pointed questions about obscure matches no one remembered.
To Moe’s knowledge, that hadn’t happened yet. Without being asked, Jamie respected Zava’s space far more than he respected anyone else’s, and he hadn’t gone on a proper football rant in a while.
Now it spewed out of him like a dam unleashed.
Equally demanding of attention was Big Ben, who threw himself at Moe’s feet with his paws curled up in front of his chest in a false act of supplication that Moe wasn’t going to fall for.
When Moe stepped around him, the cat repeated the gesture, adding a plaintive mewl for good measure. After his third attempt at gaining Moe’s attention, Jamie scooped the cat up – an impressive feat, considering it was the size of a small blimp.
Jamie cooed at the gargantuan ball of hair, “Cut that out. He’s trying to help us out, King.”
The cat purred in contentment, already satisfied.
That was the difference between cats and rats. The cat could have what it wanted, because its needs were understood.
A big acceptable tomcat; a man amongst men.
A man, full stop.
In the end, Jamie didn’t have bedbugs. Just delicate skin and bad taste in overpriced household products.
After educating Jamie on how the phosphates found in laundry detergent had devastated oceanic ecosystems around the globe, Jamie and his cat solemnly promised to look up Moe’s recommendations. Both wore matching, befuddled expressions and a sort of distracted interest, as if Moe was a creature that, once gone, would cease to be more than a novelty. A one-time interruption in a life that would spin rather much the same once he was gone as it had before he arrived.
Or he’d let the metaphor get away from him again.
That was fine.
Moe went home.
Remy had a cage for when Moe was away. The first thing he did whenever he returned was open the door to his rat’s home. Together they roamed the flat, clueless in communication but free to do whatever they wanted.
What Remy wanted to do the most was curl up on Moe’s shoulder, making a nest between him and the couch cushions while he dozed into a peaceful rat nap.
Moe might not matter to the world, but Remy mattered to Moe.
With Remy for company, Moe had everything he wanted.
No one’s making the rat participate.
In no way was Bantr a worse option as a sponsor than Cerithium Oil. Not in a million years. The damage Cerithium Oil had done to the planet would stretch on forever – there would never again be people in the world not affected by their disregard.
But at least Cerithium Oil had never given a damn whether Moe Bumbercatch was ‘single.’
He hadn’t wanted to be a part of the new Bantr promo in the first place, but group advertising didn’t work on an opt-in basis. Everyone at the club did their bit knowing that somewhere down the line someone else would do the same for them. The team relied on each other that way. For every Sam Obisanya and Dani Rojas and Jamie Tartt who racked in money for the children at the annual gala, there were a dozen smaller PR stunts that could be handled by one of the any-players.
Moe didn’t mind being one of the any-players. What he minded was the arbitrary nature by which his participation had been decided. He disliked the sensation of being ‘singled’ out.
Moe put up with dozens of small slights every day.
Like the ‘mens’ label on the toilets by the dressing room, even though they were the only team that used this part of the stadium and therefore had no reason for the specificity. The culturally acceptable amount of sexual innuendos surrounding men’s fitness whenever it came time to do interviews. Team movie night, which purported to be about emotional release but usually revolved around rom-coms or media geared towards children (many of which also featured romance.) Most days these weren’t more than a prick against the skin, a bristle of discomfort that lingered more in memory than in lasting hurt.
Richmond was a good club, with a disproportionate amount of good people and a host of benefits to make up for it.
One of said benefits of Richmond: the talk around the dressing rooms tended to be more palatable than what he’d dealt with in past dressing rooms.
How unfortunate that past performance was not an indicator of future results.
Zoreaux held up his hands to fend off the jeering. “All I’m saying is that when this shirt comes off? There’s no need for words. I let my body do the talking.”
He invited booing, really. Only Dani approved, nodding sagely as if this was great advice (which made a certain amount of sense; Moe couldn’t imagine any advice would make Dani less successful at winning people over.)
Once towels had been thrown and collected, the attention turned to the next victim in line.
Isaac elbowed Colin. “How about you? What’s your pitch for getting a woman to stick out a date after she’s taken a spin in your car?”
Colin took the good-natured jab with a corner kick smile. “Keep it simple. Go for drinks, catch a film, and if the movie sucks, I’ll pay for your Uber home.”
This was treated to a round of chuckles and a few outcries of ‘lame!’
Personally, Moe appreciated his teammate’s brand of dry self-deprecation. Colin gave off the sense that he was someone who knew himself well enough to make a joke of it—a quality Moe certainly couldn’t say he’d cultivated.
Hard to cultivate in sand when you were meant to have soil.
“Hey Jamie, what about you?” Colin asked, making a grabby motion towards the Lynx cupboard. “Did you think of something to say for the ads? Or are you just going to take your shirt off?”
A can of Lynx was tossed across the room with little regard to aim. Colin fumbled the catch.
Languid with his knees pulled up on the bench, Jamie’s smirk did nothing to dissuade Moe’s notion that he was a large, acceptable feline in his natural habitat. That said, his answer came surprisingly devoid of the self-congratulatory manner with which they were all accustomed.
“Date’s not about me, is it?” he said simply. “I’m not doing it for me. I’m just there to show her a good time.”
Some thoughtful hums and considering ‘good points’ went up around the room. Personally Moe thought that sounded lonely. His own experiences in dating were limited, but he was pretty sure that fun was the point.
Hence why he’d stopped doing it.
As if sensing his dissatisfaction, Jamie narrowed in on him. “Moe, how about you? What wisdom are you bringing to the women of Bantr?”
Sometimes, he had to remind himself that he was used to slights.
Moe shrugged into his jacket. “Haven’t decided.”
Some of the joking demeanour slid off Jamie’s shoulders. His uneven eyebrows puckered together, the slit on the right making the effect of his expression more severe. “What d’you mean you haven’t decided? We film tomorrow.”
“Means I haven’t decided on anything I want to say to help our corporate overlords squeeze more money out of our increasingly impoverished society.”
“Ah, we can help you figure something out!” Dani offered. He seemed excited by the prospect. “What do you like to do on dates?”
A tingling sensation spread into his hands. “I don’t like dates.”
Colin tried to share a smile with him. “Too capitalist for you, boyo?”
“Who the fuck doesn’t like dates?” asked Zoreaux, perplexed and usually kind and now-
Moe sidestepped the scrutiny. “It doesn’t matter, because we’re not looking for real dates. We’re just selling the idea that we could be looking for dates. It’s an illusion.”
“He’s right,” Colin added. Heads swivelled his way. “It’s not real. If one of us was seeing someone, this wouldn’t even be considered cheating. It’s just doing a job.”
Moe raised an eyebrow; Colin was hardly someone he’d describe as cynical, but that response was practically dripping with- with-
With something he couldn’t place. He’d come back to it later.
“Is that the problem then?” Goodman asked, throwing an arm around Moe’s shoulders. He sounded positively chuffed. “Finally found someone and you don’t want to share?”
“No.”
“Ooh, I think we hit a nerve,” O’Brien chortled.
Moe pushed Goodman’s arm away. “Sure did.”
Once again, Jamie’s confusion was a mirror image of his cluelessness kitty cat’s when Moe refused to follow the script. “Hey, man, we were just messing around.”
He reminded himself that the slights didn’t matter, because it wasn’t like he’d told anyone that he was being slighted.
He also reminded himself that the rat can do whatever it wants.
Because Moe didn’t want to make an exception of himself. He didn’t want an exceptional place, a place he carried around with him where people would edit their words in his presence and continue unfiltered the moment he left. He wanted a life free of caveats. A normal life, in a normal place. He wanted the place he was already in to not have been de facto claimed by the majority. He didn’t want to speak up only to defend himself against accusations that he was spoiling their fun; he just wanted somewhere where his inclusion could be felt without the stinging sensation that he was being patronised – that the world had built around him a pocket, instead of letting him choose to crawl inside.
He wanted to be more than a rat in a pocket.
The rat wanted a home too.
He fled the dressing room.
Call that rat behaviour.
The way Moe figured it, he’d developed an aura of mystery enough that his exit would either be seen with a classy amount of intrigue or with a neon sign glaring on his back. There was no in-between.
“Moe, wait up!”
The approaching canter of Jamie indicated that the answer lay towards the option cast in a garish light.
Jamie slowed to an awkward stop. “Hey, man.”
Some hits happened so often he hardly noticed anymore; today wasn’t one of those days.
“Sorry if we were prying too much. Didn’t mean anything by it you know,” Jamie explained, in a tone so sharpened with sincerity and glass that it pierced Moe sharply between his ribs.
He liked Jamie, really. He loved everybody on the team. It was the world he didn’t like, and hardly their fault that the world extended beyond what their eyes could see.
“Yeah, I get that,” he sighed. His hands still felt tingly, and he pinched his nose. “Just not up for it today, alright?” Or any day.
Jamie bobbed his head in agreement – only to stop suddenly, his head tilting as he studied Moe. With growing wariness, Moe watched his hands slip under the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric around his fist. It was a motion Moe had caught himself mirroring a few times, usually when he needed a little extra oomph to push through some discomfort.
Anxiety creeped into his chest.
With entirely too much focus, Jamie spoke carefully, “I’m just saying, it’s none of our business if you’re seeing a girl. Or anyone.”
He added the last bit in a hushed voice.
The missile missed its target by miles. Nevertheless, Moe felt dizzy from how close it’d come to contact.
“No,” he answered. Because what?
The confused tomcat expression returned to Jamie’s face. Without giving Moe a second to catch up, he changed topics completely.
“You know those two girls Dani was seeing?”
Moe nodded, feeling very much like a trap was being laid before him.
Jamie bounced on his toes, full of nervous energy as his eyes flitted around. “And you know he’s still seeing them, yeah? Like, the three of them are still together.”
Moe did not know that. Why just that morning, Dani had leaned up against Zoreaux, phone in hand, bemoaning how much more successfully his friend’s Bantr profile attracted matches (an opinion that only belonged to Dani.)
Jamie shrugged. “Just saying, we already got an extra non-single guy signed up. Seems fair then that one of the single guys should get to sit this one out.”
If he was dizzy before, now he found himself fighting back a wave of nausea. For someone swatting through the dark, Jamie had gotten remarkably close at hitting the heart of the matter.
Heart cowering in his throat, he let the tail of the truth slip loose:
“Not single.”
For once, Jamie didn’t press. He went unusually still, and he blinked slowly at Moe like-
The fuck, was he intentionally copying his cat?
Moe sighed. His own hands fisted into the front of his shirt, where they could tremble instead of his voice. “Single implies the existence of a double. Or a triple. Or any further number of consenting adults, I presume.” He shrugged. “Point is I don’t see myself like that.”
It was the closest he’d ever come to wriggling into the light.
“Oh,” Jamie said, an odd hint of wonder slipping under his tone.
Moe looked at him.
Really looked.
Beneath Jamie’s shocked expression, something understanding crawled beneath the floorboards.
The rat stared back at the cat, confused at how the trap had snapped on them both.
The cat stared back, perhaps not even realising they were stuck in a trap.
Perhaps in looking for a mirror, he’d ignored any signs of familiarity.
Moe found himself saying, “You know that time we all went to that pet sanctuary? When Isaac got Bun-Bun?”
“When Sam got tricked into getting two snakes?”
Moe nodded. “I went back later and adopted a rat.”
Jamie perked up, tossing contemplation and personal space aside in favour of crowding up close like he intended to twine himself around Moe’s legs. “Can I see it?”
Moe retreated. “I don’t have it on me?”
“No shit.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “But you got pictures, don’t you?”
He said it with the self-assurance of someone who believed that taking thousands of photos of your pets every day was normal activity.
Moe shrugged and took out his phone. He did take a lot of pictures.
Heart in hand, he showed Jamie his phone. “This is Remy.”
In a remarkable display of restraint, Jamie lasted about five adorable rat photos before whipping out pictures of his cat.
One by one, the team filed out of the dressing room while Jamie sat next to him on a bench in the hallway, the two of them swiping through their favourite pictures. Jamie kept insisting he make Remy his own Insta so that he could show him off to the world.
Cat behaviour.
Isaac gave them an approving nod as he passed. Colin watched curiously but didn’t say anything. Goodman and O’Brien attempted some apologetic sign language, the success of which somehow captured the meaning, ‘Sorry for our impudence and thoughtlessness. Next team dinner, first round’s on us, yeah?’
That’s how you won rats over: you offered them cheese. You placated them with drinks. You won them over by dangling something they wanted in front of them, and then when they crawled out of hiding, you picked them up and held them to the light.
Jamie blew out a breath and flicked off his phone. “Alright. I better get going, or this one’s going to scratch my eyes out for dinner being late. How bout you and this ad then? If you want, I can tell them you couldn’t make it.”
Moe tested the light. “Depends on what kind of excuse you’re going to give.”
“Nothing, I suppose.” Jamie shrugged like it was that simple. “Unless you want me to?”
“Not really,” Moe confessed. “But they’ll probably ask anyway. Like it’s their business.”
“It is a business, mate,” Jamie pointed out – for a second time that day, one of Moe’s teammates demonstrating an uncharacteristic amount of cynicism. “How about….”
He chewed on his lip, feline attention turned to a rodent’s problem.
“…How about I tell ‘em you had a rat emergency?”
“A what?”
“It’ll confuse them, won’t it? ‘Cause no one knows what it means. Sounds exotic and shit. Could mean anything from ‘my rat’s escaped’ to ‘my rat’s got off it’s leash and into the petunias and it won’t come out’ to ‘my rat’s got a sexy photoshoot coming up and I need to knit him a tiny outfit.’”
Sounded like a good life, the version Jamie made up in his head.
Then again, Moe had never had the opportunity to break out his size 14 knitting needles.
Jamie waited for his answer with all the eager impatience of a cat with its paws curled up against its chest. Attention-seeking behaviour. False supplication.
Something that had needs easier to understand, yet every bit as trapped in a cage.
Moe supposed you drew cats out the same way you would any creature. You offered them care, respect, affection when they needed it – space when they wanted it. You offered them freedom.
Maybe you offered to sit in the trap next to them, because it was unfair to make them do it alone.
The metaphor may have gotten away from him.
It really was fine.
“Might show up anyways. It’s for the team, isn’t it?” Moe decided. He nudged Jamie in the side. “Besides, this way if I change my mind halfway through, I can lie and say I need your help with the rat emergency.”
Never one to stay on topic, Jamie turned to Moe with bright eyes and asked, “Have you ever thought of dressing him up?”
“What? Remy?”
“Yeah! Saw this picture online the other day of a little rat dressed up for the tropics. It had sunglasses and a tiki cup, and it was chowing down on a peanut that barely fit in its hands. I’m telling you, you’ve never seen a rat so happy.”
Moe should not have expected better from someone who dressed his cat in Gucci.
But he didn’t hate the thought.
The rat was not alone.
#if this feels a little all over the place and rushed that's because it is!#i started this yesterday morning#I had to get it out of my brain so here we are#aromantic moe bumbercatch#aromantic jamie tartt#aromantic asexual agender moe bumbercatch#to be specific#the greater richmond pet acquisition#moe bumbercatch#jamie tartt#excessive metaphors about cats and rats#writing snippet#except it's the whole thing#ted lasso fic
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Recent Acquisition - Photograph Collection
Miller Family Photograph Album.
Richmond, Virginia
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Misty got to try coursing for the first time! Just a little run at the Pet Expo, but she ran her little heart out
She was unsure the first time but after that she was desperate to go back and do it again. She whined and barked the whole second run
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My tattoo of Bruce, done by Rosemary at Richmond tattoo club
#tattoos#tattoo#thigh tattoo#pet tattoo#dog tattoo#pet portrait#chihuahau#richmond#virginia#body art#tattooed#inked
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#doggy daycamp in Canada#Trusted pet sitters Richmond BC#Professional dog behaviour consultation in Richmond
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Ready for the Eclipse?
Are you ready for the April 8, 2024, eclipse? Do you have your solar glasses, your chair, your sunscreen and bug spray? Do of all the spot picked out to watch the solar eclipse? How are you preparing for this rare event? During the eclipse, the shadow of the moon will plunge a narrow strip of land into darkness in the middle of the day. Be sure to plan ahead because, the next total solar eclipse…
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#2017 Solar Eclipse#2024#2024 solar eclipse#April 8#Beenders-Walker Group#celebrations#Chinese#Columbia Missour#Culture#eclipse story#elipse#eye protection#Inca#moon#NASA#patience#pets#Richmond Indiana#shadow of the moon#solar eclipse#solar eclipse history#solar glasses#solar phenomenon#solar viewing#sun#sun protection#Sun&039;s corona#sunscreen#Visit Richmond#Wayne County
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For some, pets really are in every part of their lives. Celebrate or remember your furry loved one with a custom Tshirt.
#tshirtprintingcompany.com👕⠀
#ScreenPrintingVancouver#ScreenPrinting#yvr#cat#dog#pet#petshirt#rainbowbridge#funshirt#tshirtprinter#screenprintlife#screenprintinglife#screenprintingshop#silkscreen#customscreenprinting#tshirtprinting#Vancouver#Burnaby#BC#Richmond#youthinkitweprintit#customshirt
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N and S!
N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).
S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)
three things i wish i saw more of in the ted lasso fandom: i wish i saw more tl art, honestly! that might be an issue of cursting my dashboard, but it still applies, being what i *see*. i am also a big fan of putting the idiots into Situations, specifically ones where they are in those Situations together (because the only thing worse than being sad is being alone and sad). also i've recently become very invested in your greater richmond pet acquisition au and am in a life debt to anyone who has created content for that. bun bun is the greatest thing in the world.
oh jeez, my personal headcanons are largely influenced by the people i follow and the content i consume, and at some point i don't know what is my own headcanon, what is genuinely canon, and what i've stolen from someone. but, like, gun to my head, not a single person at richmond is neurotypical. i also don't like jane. not a headcanon just a fact
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jamie gets the biggest oldest grumpiest rescue cat that has possibly ever graced the face of planet earth. three weeks later, roy ends up with a tiny, scrappy little shit of a kitten who keeps showing up at his front door and begging for scraps.
Oh no. My hand slipped.
The way Roy saw it he had two choices. He could have a long, difficult, tear-filled conversation with Phoebe about how some people were pieces of shit who never deserved to own a pet in the first place, or he could get the damn kitten into the house before the snowstorm rolled in.
"She had a collar," Roy defended himself for what must be the tenth time since he called Jamie for help. "I assumed she had a home."
"But she's so tiny," Jamie repeated for the millionth time since he'd arrived. "I don't think they're supposed to be out when they're this tiny."
Phoebe braced her mittened hands against Roy's shoulders. "Jamie, can you reach her yet? I'll crawl under there if you can't reach her."
"Absolutely not," said Roy. "I can pull him out if he gets stuck. If you get stuck, I'll have you and a cat to pry out."
Jamie, to his credit, had wasted no time in rushing over to Roy's. Phoebe barely had a chance to explain the situation before the only cat owner Roy knew dropped to the icy ground. Without making a fuss about the snow or the cobwebs or the cramped space, he'd squeezed himself under Roy's patio and started in with the cooing noises.
That was thirty minutes ago and the cooing noises had long run dry. If Roy's hands were cold, Jamie's must be freezing.
Jamie's trainers dug into the snow, kicking up a thin layer as he pushed himself further into the dark. "It's alright, Phoebe. I think I can reach her if she just comes a little closer. Psspsspss."
"Try shaking the tuna can," said Roy.
"What the fuck you think I've been doing down here?"
For once Phoebe didn't tab them for the swearing. Roy wrapped his arm around her, letting her shaking body leech whatever warmth he had left.
"Ooh! Here she comes!" Jamie whisper-yelled. Then, "Phoebe love, would you mind grabbing us a towel?"
Phoebe ran inside the house faster than Roy'd ever clocked her during training. Roy waited for her braids to disappear around the corner before asking, "There something wrong?"
A beat of quiet. "Bit of the ear's torn up. Hard to tell with the fur, but it's crumpled and she's not moving right."
Guilt slipped hot into his stomach. Stupid posh neighbors. He should've called someone when he'd spotted the little beast prowling around his bushes three weeks ago. Phoebe had begged him to try to catch it, and he'd been too distracted by visions of his sister killing him if his niece came home with a kitten to wonder what something that small was doing out in the winter in the first place.
Phoebe wore him down until he agreed that they could leave some food out. Then he had to take her to the store to buy canned tuna. By the time they returned, the kitten was gone and Phoebe, pouting, insisted they leave a can outside just in case.
Since then he'd been woken up no less than three times by sharp little cries outside his window.
If each time he forced his stiff body to get out of bed, limp outside, and put out a fresh can of tuna, then that was between him and the cat.
The way Roy saw it he had two choices. Him and his dodgy knee could call for help to rescue the cat from under the porch, or Roy could hate himself forever.
He'd never actually seen the little nuisance up close until Jamie wriggled her free.
"Oh," Jamie croaked. It was a small, soft noise, completely unintentional in its hurt.
Roy's heart made the same noise.
She really was just a tiny thing, hardly bigger than Roy's hand and trying her best to curl into a ball of nothing in the crook of Jamie's arm. Even against the soiled front of his hoodie, she looked dirty.
Roy had assumed she had a home to go back to. She had a collar. Someone had cared enough to buy her a collar.
"She's freezing," Jamie said in a voice as thin as a wire. "She barely weighs anything."
"Give her here."
Phoebe returned from her quest with an armful of towels just as Roy shrugged off his puffy winter jacket. He bundled the poor thing up--calico markings, a crooked ear, and giant amber eyes that ducked into the shadows--and he had just enough time to flip the hood of his jacket against her head before Phoebe could see her ear.
"You got her!" Phoebe screeched. She barreled into Jamie's leg, keen to give the hero of her evening a hug. Jamie barely seemed to notice, all of his awareness laser-focused on the bundle in Roy's arms.
The immeasurable responsibility that curled up tight in his jacket offered up a forlorn mew.
"Let's head in," Roy said. The snow was beginning to fall.
#:D#this....this is what you wanted yes?#we. we all wanted sad cat times?#i did name the cat#it was going to be the punchline at the end#but then i sad#whoops#roy kent#phoebe kent#jamie tartt#part of my extended I Gave Jamie a Cat in the Notes universe#the greater Richmond pet acquisition#give jamie tartt a cat
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Recent Acquisition - Ephemera Collection
Our business is feeding the dogs! Make them happy and healthy by feeding DOGGIE DINNER (Contains No Horse Meat).
Simpson Products Co. ... Represented by H.C. Kersten Company, 10th & Byrd Street, Richmond, VA.
Advertising blotter
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Sir Winston Churchill pets a deer, in Richmond Park, London, in 1963, a year before his death.
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Shoving more of my Jamie is a cat person agenda down people’s throats
Jamie LOVES animals. He literally always wanted a pet growing up but understood they couldn’t afford one. When he got older and learned he was going to actually be staying at Richmond he decided to look into a pet.
At first he wanted a dog but got worried he wouldn’t be around enough for it. He started looking at cats and loved them but he couldn’t stand the idea of fur on his clothing every single day.
Roy pointed out hairless cats one morning and Jamie got hooked. He gets one on the off season and names it Marigold. You better believe Jamie is fucking obsessed with her. He loves this cat more then anything.
He buys literally everything cute he possibly could find and then once all the team members find out she needs to wear clothing or else she’ll get cold they go NUTS. That cat is decked out in Gucci and Chanel and some goddamn expensive custom things.
Roy hates her at first. He keeps referring to her as ‘that fucking raw chicken that escaped Gordon Ramsay.’
She grows on Roy once he realizes he never has to worry about cat fur on his black clothing so they can keep their relationship quiet for a bit longer.  
#ted lasso#jamie tartt#fluff#roy kent#headcanon#royjamie#roy x jaime#roy kent x jamie tartt#jamie tartt x roy kent#I love cats so much oh my god I want a hairless cat so badly#mac writes ted lasso
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Old-Fashioned
A sequel to Just Do It because we're all pretty thirsty for Jamie's grandad ❤️
Roy Kent x Reader
0.6k words
Warnings: Language, mentions of age gap (ages not mentioned, but reader is in their 20s, Roy is early 40s), Roy being a little insecure
Roy gulped as he watched you walk down the hall at the Dog Track. From your first day at Richmond, it was obvious that he wasn’t the only person who couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. But, after that night at Ola’s and drinks at his favorite pub, he definitely found himself noticing more often. Especially when the people gawking at you were young, handsome footballers who were half his age and still in the prime of their careers.
Sure, you smiled at them and joked with them, you accepted their invitations to party after matches, sometimes you even accepted their sweaty hugs, but they weren’t who you were sneaking into the boot room and empty offices to kiss. And they weren’t who you were winking at now as you passed each other in the hall.
It dawned on Roy that he hadn’t taken you on a proper date yet. Yeah, the two of you had texted pretty much nonstop since that night when you both admitted to your feelings, and you’d grabbed drinks after work a few times now, outings that usually ended up with heavy kissing and petting in his car, and one time you’d even stopped by his place with some paperwork and ended up staying for hours, sitting in his kitchen and laughing over a shared bottle of wine.
But none of that satisfied him. Roy was more old-fashioned than that. Hookups and one-night stands were old hat to him, but this situationship- a vocabulary word Keeley had taught him when she was reading Cosmo during lunch one day- was not something he was used to. He liked knowing where he stood with a woman, whether that was as a boyfriend or just as someone to buy their drinks before paying him back in the bedroom. With you, he had no fucking idea what was going on other than the fact that you sent him TikToks that actually made him laugh and that you seemed to enjoy pulling him into the boot room when no one was watching.
Deciding that he’d had enough of whatever this was, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, prompting raised eyebrows from you.
“Need something, Coach?” The smile that played on your unfairly kissable lips made Roy’s heart twitch.
He cleared his throat, letting his hand fall back to his side, immediately missing the feeling of your skin. “I, er, was wondering what you’re doing Friday night.” He shifted his weight onto his good leg. “I’d like to take you out.” He stopped, glancing sideways, his eyes hitting a poster of one of those young, handsome Greyhounds who’d probably do a much better job of this. “On a date,” he clarified.
How did your smile manage to light up even brighter?
“Was wondering when you’d ask,” you teased, giving him a playful shove.
Relief flooded his chest, enough for him to tease you back. “You could’ve fucking asked, you know,” he countered with a smirk. “It’s the twenty-first century. Feminism and whatnot.”
Down the hall, a voice called your name, summoning you into some meeting. “Be right there!” you called over your shoulder. You turned back to Roy, mischief sparkling in your eyes. “I know. But I wanted you to ask. I’m kind of an old-fashioned girl that way.” Not caring that a group of players was walking by, you stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek before turning around. “See you later, Coach.”
Roy felt like a statue as he watched you saunter away, wondering if the jaunty spring in your step was for his benefit. He was pretty sure he had his answer when you paused at the doorway and glanced back at him, offering him another one of those winks. He relished the look of astonishment on the young players’ faces as he turned on his heel and walked back towards his own office.
Roy Kent definitely still had it.
#he's here he's there he's every fucking where#roy kent#roy kent x reader#roy kent fanfic#roy kent fic#roy kent fanfiction#roy kent imagine#roy kent fluff#ted lasso#ted lasso fanfic#ted lasso fanfiction
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I saw you were doing some smutty headcanons for Jamie (that I may or may not have reads and re-read many times…😝) seriously love your writing babes!!) aaaand how do you think Jamie would be for his and the reader’s first time together, after admitting feelings with a friends-to-lovers trope??
thank you sm for the compliment and the ask!! ugh i eat up friends to lovers um this is so good. more under the cut bc i ended up writing a bit too much LOL
jamie tartt x gn!reader | friends to lovers | first time | nsfw
i'm a bi-jamie truther so i think he's generally attracted to a lot of people and with his friends, there's a level of physical attraction like 'yeah my friends are fit' but also having that emotional connection could lead to romantic feelings, you know?
there's probably an inciting incident that leads to him having a full on crush on you, like maybe someone's harrassing you at a bar and he swoops in to play the boyfriend and oh no he kinda likes touching you and affectionately calling you 'babe' too much?? so now he's got this lil crush and anytime you guys go out in public, he gets a little more touchy, draping an arm around your shoulder at a restaurant and letting his hand brush against yours as you walk through town.
it finally comes to a head when you guys are at a party and one of the richmond players is joking about how jamie really just acts like your boyfriend at this point and neither of you know how to respond. bc he has a raging crush and whoops! you've always liked him more than you were willing to admit.
so you go on a proper date after talking about it and admiting you like each other. once you both realize just how much you like each other, its hard to get through the rest of dinner and the plan to see a movie after is completely scrapped. he keeps his hand on your knee the entire way back to his place.
you end up pressed against his door, with his hands all over you and his mouth kissing across your face, along your neck and collarbone and you barely make it inside before you start losing clothing.
it's that classic movie cliche where you keep losing bits of clothing as you both make your way upstairs kissing the daylights out of each other. there's just a lot of kissing in general and your hands are all over each other because wow we never thought we'd end up here.
he'd be pretty gentle and kinda vanilla the first time, wanting to make sure you both enjoy it and really soak up the fact that you are here together. there would be a lot of foreplay, maybe some oral. you both want to make it last as long as you can. he's calling you every pet name under the sun and asking "is this good?" "you alright, yeah?" and you're just melting from it all.
at the end of it, you both clean each other up and fall asleep. waking up the morning after, you've both got a smile on your faces and while you kinda want to have another quick session before he has to run off to training, you don't worry too much about it, because you don't feel a pressure to be perfect or rush into things. he'll come back after you both get home from work and you'll have all the time in the world to explore everything together.
#this got so long UM#jamie tartt smut#jamie tartt x reader#friends to lovers#ted lasso fic#request#my works
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