#Christmas loan london

[thetarttfuldickhead]

”Who’s this then?” she asks, as if she doesn’t know, and only to hear the excitement in Jamie’s voice as he tells her all about Roy Kent.

She’s a City girl through and through and it is a little jarring to see different colours up on her wall, but that’s what being a parent is all about, isn’t it? Loving someone enough to love what they love, even if it turns out to be the captain of bloody Chelsea. 

--- 

Posters come and go, there are girls and footballers and other girls and other footballers and then others still, but Roy Kent stays where he is, slap bang in the middle and staring right at her with those weirdly intense eyes whenever she gets in the room to hoover.

Needs to relax a bit, that one, she thinks, more than once. For all the pictures and clips Jamie has shown her, she’s never seen Kent smile. Plays like a god, though, one of those vengeful ones, so she guesses she can see the attraction.

---

It’s obvious that Jamie’s not happy, and she’s not either, what with having him move down all the way to London to play for AFC Richmond of all teams. Still, she supposed a loan make sense, get him more minutes and bit of experience.

“Didn’t Roy Kent move there after he quit Chelsea?” she asks, and is pleased with the way Jamie’s eyes light up a little at that. “You’ll get to play together now.”

---

“He’s a nasty bastard. Right fucking bitter about not being as good as he was, yeah?”

She doesn’t hear much more about Roy Kent after that, not for another year or so. Doesn’t hear much from Jamie at all, really, not even after he returns to Manchester. When he does stop by – for Christmas, for her birthday – he talks about just about anything but football. Doesn’t mention fighting Kent on the pitch, doesn’t say a word about calling him a knob on national television.

Doesn’t take the poster down either, though, she notices when he’s gone.

---

“Jamie Tartt is a muppet and I hope he dies of the incurable condition of being a little bitch,” Roy Kent says and she’s already halfway out the sofa when Simon’s hand on her arm holds her back.

“If Jamie wants it down he’ll take it down,” her husband tells her.

---

She sees her son crouching, defeated, on Wembley grass, and her heart breaks for him. Two days later he’s outside her door and in her arms and he’s talking like he hasn’t talked to her since he was loaned to Richmond and her heart breaks for him all over again.

She can’t wish she had never gotten with his wanker of a father, for how can she, when she got Jamie out if? Still, there’s no stopping her from wishing James falls down a sewer and drowns in shit, gagging on it as he goes.

“And I’m just standing there, like I couldn’t move or something, right, but then Roy walks over and I though he was going to fucking punch me, but he just hugged me, like really tight, and I fucking bawled my eyes out. Dead embarrassing, it was, but… made me feel safe, too. Made me think of you.”

She stops flipping the poster off, after that

---

“So Roy offered to train me, special,” Jamie says, and she thinks it sounds a bit like torture personally, the things Kent is apparently having him do in the middle of the bloody night, but Jamie’s nothing but enthusiasm and barely contained pride so she’s happy for him.

---

She knows that other parents might have been surprised to see their son befriend and then bring home people whose pictures he still has on his wall, but their sons are not Jamie, are they?

Roy Kent proves far less domineering than she might have suspected. Doesn’t shout once, is polite about Simon’s baking, and tells her he loves her before he leaves. Definitively has some issues, but seems a nice enough lad for all of that.

--- 

Simon drives them down to London for Jamie’s 26:th birtday and it’s only the third time she’s ever been to his Richmond home. As she exits the car, Roy Kent exits Jamie’s front door and pauses at the sight of her.

“Hey,” he says, and it’s a bit endearing, the way he sounds unsure, like he doesn’t know what to make of her or how to act around her.

No need for any of that, though.

“There he is,” she exclaims, adding, “I’m going to hug you now,” before doing just that.

His body is solid and hard and held so fucking stiff, but after just a moment – surprisingly quickly, really – he relaxes into the embrace, like maybe it’s one he’s been wanting for a very long time. He holds her tight and she lets him and she can see what Jamie means about him being a great hugger.  

Eventually, she gently pulls back a little, so she can smile up at him as she says, “Thank you.”

Off his furrowed brow, she continues, “For what you’ve done for our Jamie. I know it’s meant a lot to him, you training him and being his friend and everything.” 

“Oh. Jamie’s told you about that, has he?”

And she must raise her eyebrows at that, kindly but incredulously. “Of course he has, love. Never shuts up about you, does he?”

As it turns out, Roy Kent does know how to smile after all.

#georgie tartt #roy kent #jamie tartt #roy & jamie #ficlet #my stuff #like jamie's whole thing with roy is such a wild thing but i feel like georgie would just have been so decidedly NOT surprised about it #of course her special boy and golden child is going to become bff:s (and maybe more!) with his favourite football player #that's just jamie right? #also roy probably need a mummy hug SO BAD

[jaemified]

last christmas | part 2

“this year, to save me from tears ; ill give it to someone special.”

❆ pairing ; strangers to ?? park gunwook x fem reader

❆ genre ; fluff, slight drama +(ft taesan/jaehyun of bnd and yunjin of lsrfm ^^)

❆ warnings ; swearing, and kinda toxic relationships

❆ wordcount ; 2.4k

❆ synopsis ; beginning your second year of college and you feel youve hit rock bottom. on your own after your ex kicked you out, and taking on a seasonal job at a christmas shop to pay off student loans? everythings gone to shit. but then, you see him for the first time. and you realize there really was a little light in the darkness — your someone special.

♡ kona speaks ! - vaguely follows the plot of the film last christmas (2 part story)

read below the cut !

you cant say you were all to proud of yourself now.

sure, you were a pretty incredible student by high school graduation, with a 3.9 gpa and all (not to mention making it to seoul national university with your beloved boyfriend).

but, that was a year ago.

who wouldve thought it was possible for your life to go so far downhill, in just a span of roughly over 12 months?

your parents had found a better job opportunity in london, but your mom wanted you and your brother to be nearby.

meaning doing so without running it by you of course, which led to her enrolling you into imperial college as a foreign transfer student.

your boyfriend was pretty upset, but nevertheless, followed you despite your best efforts telling him not to (which meant him forfeiting his scholarship at snu).

once your family first heard he would follow suit to london, they gave you an ultimatum. and stupidly, you chose love over family.

they never approved of him anyway.

it was fine for the meanwhile.

at least until you broke up, and he decided to place the blame on you.

it was your flat you bought with your own money anyway. what did he ever do for you? how dare he kick you out of your own home!

-

you watched while gyuvin pulled your luggage out the closet, pushing it towards you.

“what the hell are you doing!” you exclaimed as he began to pull your clothes off hangers and throw them towards your direction.

“helping you leave.” he muttered.

“what did i even do? you just wake up one day and decide its my fault you followed me to another continent despite me saying you shouldnt? i told you not to leave your dreams behind, and you chose to ignore me!”

“well maybe you didnt try hard enough! i just know that i dont feel the same about you now as i did then.”

“so thats it?” you scoffed. “you realize this is my apartment? i pay the rent. you just practically live here for free. you cant just kick me out of my own home!”

he only ignored you and shoved piles upon piles of clothing into 2 separate suitcases, before gently escorting you to the door.

“gyuvin. gyuv! kim gyuvin! you cant just leave me here!” you begged.

“im sorry y/n. but its over. maybe if you hadnt taken all that mattered to me we couldve worked out.” gyuvin spoke before slowly closing the door, leaving you out in the cold wearing only pajamas.

“what the fuck am i supposed to do now..” you whispered to yourself, thinking of the only possible places to go.

sure your number of options was minimal, but you began with the only person you thought you could count on anyway.

“what the hell are you doing here?” taesan expressed in shock while he stared at you standing at his front door.

“need somewhere to crash.. surprise?” you shrugged jokingly, trying to lighten the mood as you and your brother werent on the brightest terms.

“goodbye y/n.” he sighed as he turned to lock you out.

“han taesan you let me in this instant! you cant just leave me to die in the middle winter!” you exclaimed, stepping through the door frame so it couldnt close.

“wheres gyuvin?” he scoffed. “i mean, youre the one who left me with mom and dad to buy a house for him anyway.”

“we broke up. blamed me and said i was the reason he lost everything in seoul or whatever. and he still kicked me out of MY home.”

taesan let out a heavy breath, looking around before pushing the door out more for you to walk through.

“..you mean it?” you pondered hesitantly.

“i suppose. i know we warned you about him and all, but youre still my baby sister.” he half heartedly grinned, pointing his head in the direction of his hallway as a gesture for you to come in.

you knew he was still mad at you despite not showing it, but knowing your brother, hes still someone who you could rely on in any situation.

“yeah. and uh- just a heads up, i still live with jaehyun and leehan, plus we dont have an extra room so.. we’ll just figure it out later.”

“thank you.”

-

a week later and you were doing better than before. though it wasnt easy to forget the incident, you still managed with the new living situation and all.

you woke up bright and early the following morning for work, ready to sell christmas ornaments for the rest of your life under your boss, huh yunjin, as you were now on break from school.

considering jaehyuns bed wasnt all too comfortable, you still slept pretty well. youre grateful he took the couch for you during that first week. ‘maybe ill get him something as a thank you.’

“what are you doing up so early?” taesan asked, holding off on the toast he was about to eat as he watched you rush downstairs.

“got work. not like dads willing to pay student loans anymore right?”

“the christmas shop, still?” jaehyun asked from his seat on the couch.”

“cant have a full time job as a full time student. it just worked out while im on christmas break.”

your brother nudged you in your stomach, motioning for you to thank his friend for his deed.

“-oh and thanks for taking the couch. i owe you. if you want food or anything ill cover the cost and pick it up in return.” you continued.

“its fine. i get it, the last few days were rough. dont worry about it.” he smiled.

-

after a quick 10ish (or so) minute walk to the street side store you worked at, you realized you were about 5 minutes past the time you were meant to clock in for your shift.

walking into the store, it was no surprise it was already crowded by 8:36am seeing as christmas was 2 weeks away now.

“y/n! y/n get over here! where is your uniform?” yunjin questioned as more of a whisper yell.

before you got the chance to reply, she quickly cut you off and said, “nevermind that. just please hurry to change and come help me with all these people!”

you wave off her dismissive behavior, and speed walk to the bathroom, making sure to pass the lockers to grab your uniform on the way.

“i forgot how itchy this was..” you grumble as you slip on the ugly elf costume yet again before leaving to the front desk.

“welcome in! please let us know if theres anything you need help with!” yunjin smiled as another person walks through the door, putting on her customer service voice.

“guess you dont need me anymore?” you asked jokingly, noticing there was no one within a 10 foot distance of the check out line.

“why must you take so long to change? i only had enough time to help half those people. the other half left after mr smith came in to return all the ornaments he broke again. he really knows how to hold up a line.” she sighed, moving in the direction of a huge box of broken material.

“you cant keep letting them return damaged product. we are losing enough money as is, santa.” you gestured to her new character change yet again as you realize where a good chunk of the budget went. “what was wrong with the reindeer costume?”

“it didnt make it clear that im the owner. the shop is called santas workshop dont you know? cant call it santas workshop if theres no santa.”

you laughed brightly at yunjin while she picked up the box to bring it to the back, just as another person walked in.

“welcome in!-” you call out, before cutting yourself off as you caught a glimpse of his face.

he was pretty gorgeous, you couldnt lie. from what you noticed, he had shortish black hair and big eyes to compliment his soft lips (not to mention his build was pretty insane too. he definitely works out).

the very same guy who caught your attention came to you shortly after, seeking some assistance on picking a gift, so you were happy to comply.

“im not sure what she’d like. its hard shopping for a 14 year old.” he said.

“what’s your relation to her? just like so i know how close you are so its easier to help.”

“my younger cousin. we arent that close, but its our first family gathering in a while and my mom wants me to get something for everyone. but shes always been.. far from an open book. so im lost”

you thought long and hard about what your cousins around that age like, before coming to a final decision.

you attempt to reach for the legos, but you almost fall over as it was just barely out of reach, sitting on one of the higher shelves.

carefully, he steadies you by holding your arm and reaches to grab the item you were aiming at.

“this?” the guy questions as he hands you the orchid lego set.

“yeah! im not sure if it suites her or anything but you cant go wrong with legos. the price isnt too bad and its suitable for anyone at any age for the most part.” you shrugged.

“that actually.. makes perfect sense. youre really good at your job, no? thank you.”

“no worries. if theres anything else i could help you with, weve got a new selection of stuffed animals your girlfriend might like.” you spoke like it was nothing, acting as if you werent just trying to get information.

“i actually.. dont..i don’t have a girlfriend.” he chuckled awkwardly as he brought up a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“oh really? im surprised someone like you doesnt have a pretty girl on your arm.” you said nonchalantly while you attempted to hide your smile (as if you were going to make a move).

“oh stop!” he waved off when you pointed out how red his ears were getting, assuming you only were trying to boast his ego (hes so unaware)((please get the hint)).

you walk back with him to the register so he could pay after realizing there wasnt much more he needed. “that’ll be 45 charged to your card.” you smiled.

“thank you, ms..?” trailing off as he notices he never actually got your name.

“han. y/n han. glad to be of assistance.”

“oh and- one more thing?”

“sure, what else?”

“what time does the store close?”

“10 at night. extended business hours every saturday.”

“surely youre joking? theres no one else here but you and the owner! thats in like 13 hours. youre working a 14 hour shift?”

“yeah but i get paid way extra so its fine, i really do need it. and yeah we are beyond understaffed but its alright.” you laugh, masking your exhaustion and dread with a bit of your lighthearted energy.

“really? i could never, must be so tiring.”

“it is, beyond imagination. but we do what we can.”

“get home safely then alright? its scary leaving that late especially considering the predators go after pretty ladies.”

“youre a tricky one arent you! how dare you mask that as an attempt to flirt.” you gasp playfully, “ill be fine, its not that far of a walk.”

“walk? youre not really walking home are you?” “well yeah, its not like i can drive when i dont have a car myself.”

“by any chance, might you need-”

“y/n! leave the poor man alone! i need you to stock the shelves in the ornaments section!” yunjin calls out from the storage room and interrupting the conversation.

“ill get to it.” you call back.

“well, i should get going then. it really was lovely meeting you.” he smiles.

“thank you, take care!” you reply, waving as he leaves.

it only hit you many hours later (quite literally an hour before you clock out) that you never got his name, and you regret it oh so much!

even yunjin felt pity for you, multitasking and listening to you ramble about the mysterious man despite all the work she had going on whilst you both sat in her office seeing as there were no customers beyond 9:30pm.

“why cant we close early if theres no one coming past a certain time? its not like anyone needs to be christmas shopping at.. 9:49 at night.”

“its just in case theres anyone who needs something, we cant miss a chance to make more money when we’re low on rent money.” she reminded.

“its only 11 minutes though.”

“and where do you have to be in 11 minutes? you live with your brother and his two roommates with no boyfriend and instead worry about a man you just met.”

“ouch, you need to go out more.”

“y/n you know i love you but i have no time for that nonsense. i need to have fun, yes, but money is essential. clubbing and drinking does not get you there, we both know that.”

-

finally, the dreaded 11 minutes were up and it was time to lock up after a crazy long shift. though, you cant say you were looking forward to walking home after standing in heels all day.

it was all most as if your prayers were answered (or just by a really strange coincidence(?)) that someone on a motorcycle stopped in front of you as you crossing the street.

“heard you needed a ride?” the guy from earlier said as he took off his helmet.

“what are you doing here? its late out.” you replied, acting calm as if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest.

“cant leave you to walk alone in the dark, can i, pretty lady?”

“youre smart, ill give you that.” you smile when you feel your cheeks go hot.

“ill take you home. come on.”

-

maybe it wasnt the best idea to give a stranger your address, but he seemed nice enough, and pretty trustworthy to say the least.

you sat behind him as he drove through the streets, with your arms wrapped around his waist, your chest flush against his back as you wore the helmet he let you borrow.

he was so naturally warm you felt his body heat through the sweater he wore, thankfully keeping you from being to cold.

soon enough you were home, and he was walking you up to the front door.

“thank you for today even if it wasnt all that much, i had a lot of fun. you made my work day more.. bearable.” you smiled.

“of course, you can always call if you need a ride or anything. dont want you getting sick when its storm season.” he reminded before slipping you a postcard with his number on it.

“id love to get to know you more, but i just broke up with my boyfriend last week.. give me some time?”

sure you technically were the one who found him attractive first but, you never actually thought about initiating something more.

he smiled without a second thought, nodding his head slightly. “of course, i understand. just know ill be here, waiting.”

“wait! i never got your name?”

“ill see you later y/n!” he called out as he left, driving off in the opposite direction.

you sighed and unlocked the door with the spare key leehan gave you, and notice him sitting next to jaehyun when you walked in.

“you have a boyfriend and you didnt tell me? how could you! i thought we were friends.” leehan expressed dramatically from the couch as you took off your shoes at the door.

“not a boyfriend, just a friend. why were you even- whatever. wheres taesan?”

“in the bathroom.”

“thanks. uh- jaehyun is it okay if i change in your room since i left my clothes there?”

“go ahead.” he reassured. “oh! also, by the time you come back the pizza we ordered should be here too.”

you close the door behind you and pull out the index card from earlier to save the number as a contact. however, you couldnt help but smile as you read what it said below.

“your personal uber when you need it! +44 28xxx0xx29 -xoxo gunwook park :)”

#kpop imagines #fanfic #zb1 smau #zb1 x reader #zb1 #gunwook x reader #park gunwook #zb1 gunwook #gunwook fluff #kpop scenarios #zerobaseone x reader #zerobaseone gunwook #zerobase1 #zb1 imagines #zb1 scenarios #zerobaseone #gunwook imagines #le sserafim #boynextdoor #gunwook smau #gunwook icons #jaemified

[starryevermore]

tis the damn season ✧ jamie tartt

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

summary: he won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask him to stay. so he’ll go back to london and the so-called friends who’ll write books about him, if he ever makes it, and wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles he’s faking. and the heart he knows he’s breaking is his own, to leave the warmest bed he’s ever known. 

word count: 4,850

warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, (badly written) smut, unprotected sex, pinv sex, angst, breaking up, pining, not proofread

Jamie Tartt was not the type of man to fall in love. He didn’t think he was capable of it. Something about his heart, maybe. Something about how his dad made him feel like love was a weakness. That if he ever opened himself up to a person like that, his dad would be disappointed, and where there came disappointment… If he was a poet, he could probably say it more eloquently. But Jamie Tartt was a far cry from a poet. The best he could say was that he couldn’t love—no matter what, no matter who. 

And maybe that’s why it stung, just a little bit, when his mum mentioned you. 

He had come back up to Manchester for the holidays—something he seldom did, in an effort to avoid his dad. But he missed home, he missed his mum. And, besides, it was the holidays. There were no games to be played. No training he had to attend. It was kind of sad to be at the bars and clubs on Christmas. What else was he to do besides go home? Was there anything left for him in London? So, he came and prayed that James Tartt would be nowhere to be found. 

He was lucky in that regard, but all luck runs out eventually. 

“I saw that girl you used to go to school with when I went to the shop yesterday,” Georgie said when Jamie came down for dinner. Jamie grabbed one of the rolls Simon made, scarfing it down before grabbing a second. He watched his mum as he chewed, wondering where she was going with this. “Oh, what’s her name? The one who always had her nose in a book? You remember, the girl you always followed around like a puppy.”

Oh, Jamie remembered you. He remembered you quite well. You were his first actual girlfriend, back before he became a famous footballer. You didn’t care much for football, or the fact that Jamie’s right foot had been kissed by God and that he was well on his way of making a career out of the only thing he cared for. Well, okay, you did care about him achieving his dreams (had they been his dreams? or had all of it been something his father pushed on him? fuck—this is why he doesn’t come home for the holidays. it makes him think too much). But you cared more about him. You cared about how rocky road was his favorite ice cream flavor. You cared about how Disney movies were his favorite—and not the newer shit, the classic stuff. You cared about how he liked to be held and have his hair played with. You cared about how Jamie would try to read the books you loved just to try to understand you more. You cared, and he couldn’t, and that’s why it ended. 

He muttered your name before shoveling another forkful of food into his mouth. 

“That’s right! Sweet girl, she is, you know? Anyway, apparently she’s opened up this cute little book shop.”

“Why’re you telling me about this?” Jamie asked, mid-way through chewing his food. Simon gave him a disapproving look. Simon only looked disapproving when Jamie forgot his manners. But why should he give a fuck about manners? He was signed by Man City! He was such a good footballer that he got loaned out to Richmond to help their pathetic asses! Jamie Tartt could be a complete and utter prick, and nothing would ever go wrong. He could have anything, anyone he wanted. (Except, maybe, you.) 

“I stopped in the other day, during the big grand opening,” Georgie continued. “It was such a wonderful event. She even made cookies! You remember them? Those little peanut butter things that you would always beg for? Oh, Simon might have cracked the code on the recipe!” She nudged Simon with her elbow. “‘Course, he could always just ask for the recipe. I’m sure she would be happy to give it. But he has to do everything himself!”

Jamie stared at his mum. She would get to her point eventually. No need in him saying anything until she reached it. 

“Anyways, she was asking about you. Said she hoped you were doing well. I told her you were, that you were doing well at Richmond. But I think you should stop by her shop. It would be nice to see her, wouldn’t it?”

He shrugged. “I guess. Don’t really talk to her anymore, y’know? Haven’t for years. Be kinda weird to show up now.”

“Just think about it, okay? I think she’d be happy to see you.”

He shrugged, again. If Jamie was honest with himself, he would agree it would be nice to see you. But…Well, the last time he saw you, he hadn’t exactly left on good terms. 

Six Years Ago…

Jamie couldn’t meet your gaze. If he looked you in the eyes, he would falter. If he faltered, he would never make it out of here. And, fuck, he really needed to make it out of here. But when you spoke to him, your voice quivering ever so slightly, he nearly broke his resolve. 

“What are you saying, JamJam?”

Okay. Okay, that he could focus on. Direct his frustrations to that. If he made a big deal out of that, he could stamp down all of the other awful feelings he had towards that. 

“Don’t call me that. I hate it when you call me that,” Jamie lied. 

A frown settled on your face. You took a step towards him, reaching out. He took a step back. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. Why are you doing this?”

Jamie looked away again. Fuck, he really couldn’t do this. How do other people break up so easily? His dad had no problem leaving his mum. Why was he having so much trouble leaving you? He tried to think back to something his dad had said—anything his dad had said—when he was having horrible, blow out fights with his mum that Jamie couldn’t ignore no matter how many times he tried stuffing his ears. But his mind was drawing a blank. 

He couldn’t think straight when he was with you. 

“Well? Are you going to say something or are you going to keep acting like a dick?”

He sucked in a breath and settled on, “I can’t be with someone like you anymore. Would look bad for my career.”

“Your career…?” you repeated. You shook your head, like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Is this really because you’ve signed to Man City?”

Jamie shrugged. He didn’t know what he could say to you. Anything that came out of his mouth would only make things worse. Not that this was really going well. But he couldn’t…He didn’t want to break your heart, not really. He’d wanted this to be a clean break. Something that you’d understand, and you’d let him go. But everything he said just made it harder and harder to go. 

“Because if it is, you really are the biggest fucking prick I’ve ever met,” you continued. “Like, seriously? You finally start making it big and you want to throw everything from your old, poor life behind? What’s next? You’re gonna tell Georgie you won’t take her calls anymore? Pretend that you never knew any of us?”

“Don’t talk about my mum.” Ugh, fuck. This was going worse than he ever could have imagined. He looked back at you, trying to give you the most disinterested look he could manage. “Just get outta here. I don’t have time for this anymore.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You are a fucking prick. What, you’ll defend your mum but rag on me? That’s spineless, Jamie. If you want to break up with me because you’re going to be too famous for me, just fucking say so.”

Shit. This wasn’t how he wanted this to go. He didn’t want to make you angry. He just…He wanted you to understand. (But understand what? That he was a spineless coward, letting his dad’s words about not needing to be tied down when he entered the big leagues get to his head?) “Always been a prick. You’re just finally catching up with everyone else.”

You rolled your eyes again. With a shake of your head, you said, “You know what? I hope this is all worth it. Making me hate you before you leave. Because now all I can think when I see you is that I can’t believe I wasted my time with a guy who can’t even be honest with me.”

Jamie bit his tongue, holding back everything he wanted to say to you. To tell you the truth, to apologize and get on his knees and grovel until you forgave him. But instead, he only looked away. “Whatever.”

For a long moment, you stared at him, not saying a word. Probably waiting for him to make the first move, to see if he was going to actually let you in. But when he didn’t, you only shook your head, turned, and left. 

Jamie stood there, listening to you go down the stairs, shout a goodbye at Georgie, then the door shut. A minute later, his mum came up the stairs, poking her head in. She tutted when she saw all of his things strewn about the room, not even close to being finished packing. 

“I thought she was going to help you pack? You two get distracted again?” Georgie asked. 

“Something like that,” Jamie grumbled. He grabbed his duffel bag, starting to shove his shirts in it. “Don’t gotta worry about that no more. She won’t distract me anymore.”

Georgie frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Jamie looked out the window, catching a glimpse of you as you walked down the street to your own home. “Just don’t gotta worry anymore. We won’t be seeing her around anymore.”

And, oh, how he hated himself for that. But he would never admit it. He’d rather lie to himself, convince himself that this was a good thing, than admit that he just made what was, perhaps, the biggest mistake of his life. 

“I’m going out a run,” Jamie said when dinner was finished and Simon began to collect the plates to be washed. 

Georgie rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Can take my boy away from the game, but can’t take the game out of my boy,” she teased, reaching over and pinching one of his cheeks. Jamie let out a chuckle at the gesture. More seriously, she said, “Be careful. And make sure you have your phone on ya, yeah? Just ‘cause you’re a big footballer now, doesn’t mean that you can’t get into trouble.”

Jamie nodded, not really listening. He just needed to get out of there, if only for an hour or two. He loved his mum, yeah, but something about how the conversation turned to you really unnerved him. He’d done just fine not thinking about you for the last however many years. But now that you were forced back into his brain, he couldn’t figure out how to shake you out. So, he slipped on his trainers, pulled on a jacket, and shouted his goodbye to his mum and Simon before disappearing into the night. 

He wasn’t quite sure where he was heading. It was like his feet had a mind of his own, taking him wherever they pleased. And who was he to judge? After all, his feet made his fucking career. Without his feet, he would have nothing. So, if they wanted to take him on a tour of Manchester, fine by him. It’s just…Well, he’d prefer it if the tour didn’t end right outside of your bookshop. 

Jamie stared at the “open” sign for a long time. It was odd for a shop to be open so late, but you always were a night owl. You thrived when the sun went down. (His heart hurt when he realized just how easy it was to recall such simple details like that. How, even after all these years, he still knew you like the back of his hand.) 

There was a strong urge to keep running. To jog right past your shop and pretend that he never saw it. That he was never tempted to see you again, no matter how much his heart earned to just hear you one last time. It would be easier that way. Jamie had no idea what you felt towards him. If the anger still simmered from that fight. If your heart still earned for him, too. If you didn’t feel anything towards him at all—not love, not hatred, not anything. But there was a stronger urge to push open that shop, if only to get a glimpse of your face. He didn’t have to say anything. He could pretend he was at the wrong place, turn and run before you could even realize who was there. (He couldn’t do that, though. If he was going to commit, he had to commit. There was no backing out. If he was going to see you, he was going to see you.) 

Holding his breath, Jamie pushed open the door, a little bell jingling as it swung. 

There was no turning back now. 

“We’re about to close!” you shouted from somewhere in the back of the shop. “So unless you know exactly what you’re looking for and where to find it, go ahead and head on out!”

Jamie followed the sound of your voice, finding you in the back corner of the shop. It was a cute little knitting corner, with loads of yarn and needles and books of patterns. There was a long table, with a bunch of seats around it. Did people come here to knit? That was kind of cute. Jamie wondered, briefly, if you knew how to knit, and if maybe you could teach him. He’d like to have something to do with his hands when he had moments to relax. 

And you…God, you looked even more beautiful than the last time he saw you. How was that even possible? 

You weren’t even trying to look beautiful. Your hair was tied up, out of your face. Some strands had fallen loose. On anyone else, it might have made them look disheveled. But on you? It made you look like a goddess. You wore a large white sweater (had you made it in this little knitting corner?) and a long patterned skirt. From the bottom of your skirt, he could see a pair of socks peeking out. They looked like those sort of socks that had famous paintings printed on them. Jamie didn’t really know the names of any famous paintings, so he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. To top it all off, you wore the same chunky white trainers you’d worn the last time he ever saw you. Adorable, and practical—a perfect description of everything he knew you to be. 

“Thought you were gonna be a doctor somethin’,” Jamie said, tearing his eyes away from you and at the rows and rows of shelves. The shelves had little chalkboard signs above them with the genre written on them. They had a little bit of artwork corresponding to the genre, too. A bloody knife and the scream mask for horror, some hearts and flowers for romance, what looked to be an impressive portrait of Gandalf for fantasy. Did you draw them? He didn’t remember you being very artistic, and he thought he knew everything there was to know about you. Maybe he didn’t know much of you at all anymore. 

When you turned, there was shock clearly written all over your face. Your brows were raised, your mouth dropped open. You looked at him almost like you’d seen a ghost. Like, of all the people that could’ve shown up in your shop, he was the very last person you’d ever think to see. Maybe that was his fault. 

But then you smiled at him. He liked your smile. It wasn’t like the strange, uncanny smiles of the models he surrounded himself with—all perfectly straight, so white it could blind him. No, your teeth were natural, and perfect. “It didn’t make me happy like I thought it would.”

“Ah.” He didn’t really understand that. Was the point of a career to be happy? Wasn’t it just to make loads of money? To get your parents off your back? 

“And are you? Happy, I mean? Playing football.”

Jamie paused. That was an odd question. “I’m a top scorer at Richmond. At the last game, I—”

You held up your hand, signaling for him to stop talking. His mouth shut, and you said, “Jamie, I didn’t ask for your stats. If I wanted to know those, I could look them up myself. I asked if you were happy.”

Jamie paused again. He wasn’t quite sure the answer to that question. The only other person who ever really cared about that was his mum, and she’d been too excited to see him to ask that question yet. Was he happy? What did being happy really mean? “I don’t know.”

You frowned. Oh, he hated that. You frowning, he means, but also that look you were giving him. How your brows were pinched together, how you stared at him like you could see straight into his soul. You probably could. You’d always been smart like that. If there was anyone who could figure out a way to see into the thoughts, feelings, character of people…Well, it would have to be you. Or maybe his mum. But definitely you. 

“Oh, Jamie.”

And there it was. Perhaps the reason he found himself standing in your little shop just as it was closing. Perhaps the reason he couldn’t get you out of his head. Perhaps the reason that, even after all these years, all he could think about was how badly he fucked this. 

You stepped toward him, wrapping your arms around him. You pulled his face down into the crook of your neck. If you were anyone else, he might have wrenched away, told you to fuck off. But it was you, and he liked the way you smelled of roses, vanilla, and freshly brewed coffee. So he let himself wrap his arms around your waist, to take the moment to inhale your scent as he stood in your embrace. 

Being that close to you…He couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to your neck, pressing another when he heard you gasp. You were always so sensitive, so easy to rile up. A bit of pride swelled in his chest, knowing that he had all the right buttons to press memorized. He kissed up your neck, down your jaw, pausing just as his lips were about to meet yours.

“Stop me,” he whispered. He didn’t want you to, not really. But he wanted you to know you had a way out. That you were in control. 

Instead, you kissed him. A small moan escaped your lips. Fuck, he always loved the little noises you would make for him. He used to make a game of it, to see how quickly he could make you cry and whimper and whine for him. 

His hands fell to your waist, gripping it tight as he lifted you up onto the table. Your legs wrapped around his hips and tugged him closer. He grew hard, just from being this close to you. Fuck, he had really missed you. Missed this. What had he been thinking all those years ago to let you go? 

“Fuck me, Jamie, please,” you whined, reaching down, fiddling with his zipper. 

“Don’t got a condom—” he started to say when he remembered that he’d left his wallet at home. (How could he not have a condom?) As much as he wanted this, he didn’t want to take any risks. At least, not without you being okay with it.

“Don’t care. ‘m on the pill.”

“You sure?”

“Quit talking and fuck me, please,” you grumbled, nipping at his lips.

Jamie let out a chuckle, helping you free his cock from his pants. He pushed your skirt up, pulled your panties to the side to see if you were ready for him. A smirk settled on his face as he felt how wet you were. “Desperate for me, huh?” he teased, pressing kisses down your jaw. 

“Can you blame me?”

“Not one bit.”

He pushed his cock past your slick folds, groaning at the feeling. God, he’d forgotten how tight your pussy was. How you clenched around him with every thrust, how you sucked him back in, determined to take every last inch. 

“You're fucking perfect, love,” he said, panting with each thrust. “Dunno why I left you. Shoulda stayed. Shoulda been content with you.”

Your brows pinched together—whether from the pleasure or from his confession, he wasn’t too sure. Your mouth opened, ready to say something, but his cock hit that spongy spot deep in your cunt and a moan escaped instead. Your arms wrapped around him, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. “Y-You don’t mean that,” you gasped, your eyes squeezed shut. 

“I do. I do—” Jamie pulled you closer, his thrusts growing shallower. He reached between your legs, thumb settling on your clit, rubbing his fast circles, helping you reach your high with him. “You mean everything to me. Always fucking have.”

“JamJam—” you said, your voice growing louder as he hit that sensitive spot again, and again, and again. His heart stuttered at the nickname. He thought he would never hear it again, never hear you call him that again. Whatever you were going to say next was lost in a moan so loud you nearly screamed, cumming around him, squeezing the life out of his cock.

Jamie came not long after, his head falling to the crook of your neck, a groan escaping his lips. He pressed a kiss to your neck, staying like that for just a moment, trying to commit it to memory. “I mean it. Shoulda stayed.”

You pressed against his shoulder. He pulled away with a frown. You offered a small smile. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better. This was enough.”

He took a moment to tuck his softening cock away to try and collect his thoughts. How could you not understand that he was being genuine? Did you really think he was the sort of guy who’d say things he didn’t mean just to have sex with you? (Though, to be fair, he was that sort of guy. But not with you, never with you. You were the only person who could ever get the genuine side of him.) 

“I want to stay with you forever. To throw it all away.”

You stayed silent, sensing that this mind was working too fast for him to figure out how to say all the things he wanted to say. So, you let him stand there and process. You were always so good about that. Would always give him the room to figure things out instead of making him feel like an idiot for not knowing to talk about the hard things. 

Jamie’s hands came to rest on your hips as you stayed there in the silence. He rubbed small circles on the bit of exposed skin that appeared when your sweater became untucked from your skirt in all the madness. He liked this. He liked soft moments with you. When he was younger, he used to swear he would bottle them all up and keep them forever. He liked it then, and he liked it now. But, as he stood there with you, it all began to weight down on him. This scared him. This kind of commitment he was willing to give you…It could never work out. 

“But I can’t stay,” he whispered.

You reached up, caressing his face, running your fingers through his hair. He let himself shut his eyes, to enjoy the moment. He knew it wouldn’t last. “I know.”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. You stilled, your fingers no longer scratching at his scalp. “It’s too hard to leave now.”

“Oh, Jamie—”

“But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t get you outta my fucking head. Didn’t even mean to show up here, but it’s like my feet were working all on their own. Like they had their own brain or somethin’, I don’t know.”

You scratched at his scalp again, dragging your nails and soothing him. “It’s alright, Jamie. I never thought you were going to stick around. You were always meant for more.”

Jamie sniffled. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck so you couldn’t see his face. He pretended like he didn’t know you could feel the tears trickling out of his eyes. “You’re enough, though. You’re more than enough for me.”

“But you can’t stay,” you finished his thought.

“I’m nothing without football. There isn’t anything else I can do. I’m not brilliant like you,” he mumbled. “I can’t just leave what I’d been working for my entire life and open a book shop because it makes me happy.”

“Football doesn’t make you happy anymore?”

“It does, but you make me happier.” He looked up, letting you see the tears rolling down his cheeks.

You caressed his face, your thumb rubbing the swell of his cheek. A tear smeared across his face as you did so. “JamJam, you’ve always been meant for more. But if that’s not what you want anymore…It’s okay to leave those things behind. It’ll hurt, it’ll suck, but if it means you’ll be happier…It’ll always be worth it.”

Jamie shook his head. No. You didn’t understand. How could you? You didn’t have to deal with his dad. You didn’t have the same expectations, the same level of scrutiny. If the media found out he left football for this life, a simple life, then they’d never let him have a day of peace. They would still follow him around, talk shit about everything he did. And, God, if they found out about you…You didn’t deserve that kind of hatred they’d spew. He couldn’t ruin your peace for his own selfish reasons. 

“You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me, JamJam. Help me understand.”

He pushed himself away, turned his back to you. He couldn’t do this. “I have to leave.”

You followed after him. But when you reached out for him, he jerked away. “JamJam…Jamie, I love you. I have always loved you, but if you runaway right now…I don’t know that I can let you in again.”

Jamie swallowed thickly. He hated this. He hated it so much, but it was what he needed to do. He had to do this, no matter how much his heart and his brain screamed at him otherwise. “That’s probably for the best.”

When you didn’t say anymore, he started to walk away. With every step he took, it felt like he was leaving a part of himself behind. He fought every instinct to look back at you, to come running into your arms, to tell you he was an idiot and he could never leave you again. 

“Jamie?” you called out. He paused in his step, but didn’t turn. “Is this because you think being with someone like me will hurt your career?”

The tears started to well up in his eyes again. He was grateful you couldn’t see his face, that you couldn’t tell how much this was hurting him. He didn’t want to taint this moment anymore than he already was. “That was never true. You…you were always more amazing than I ever deserved. You should be with someone better than me.”

You were silent for a beat, then two. For a second, he wondered if you even heard him. Should he repeat himself? Or would that just make things worse? Finally, you said, “Goodbye, Jamie.”

“Goodbye, love.”

He left the shop without turning back. But, as he crossed the street, he turned. Watched as the lights in the shop slowly turned off. As you came out, locking the door behind you. He almost ducked behind a lamppost, not wanting you to realize he was still hanging around. But he didn’t, letting you see him as you turned around. You offered him a sad smile and a wave before turning and walking away. Away from him, from his life, forever. 

Jamie opened his mouth, ready to call out to you. But he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. You deserved better than a man who always so hot and cold with you. So, he turned, too, and began to jog back home. Maybe if he was lucky, Simon would still have some of those peanut butter cookies leftover. That could be good for him. 

Yeah, that could be good. 

#jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x fem!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fan fiction #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt fan fic #jamie tartt fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

The Royal Family’s Apology for their treatment of Meghan Markle:

I’m sorry we spent £32 million on your heavily promoted wedding 

I’m sorry The King stepped in to walk you down the aisle 

I’m sorry we spent £1 million on your first-year wardrobe 

I’m sorry you only undertook 72 days of royal work

I’m sorry we gifted you and your husband the titles of The Duke and Duchess of Sussex, Earl and Countess of Dumbarton and Baron and Baroness Kilkeel

I’m sorry we spent £4 million-a-year on your security

I’m sorry we hid your alarmingly shady past from the public 

I’m sorry we covered up your rampant bullying of young professional women and then covered up the results of the bullying investigation in order to protect you

I’m sorry we gifted you an 11-room house on the Windsor estate, for free

I’m sorry we footed the £3.2 million bill to renovate your house to your liking

I’m sorry we granted you the honour of marrying in the historic Royal Chapel at Windsor Castle

I’m sorry we gave you your own independent team of staff

I’m sorry we appointed you your own adviser and assistant to make the transition to royal easier

I’m sorry you were the first girlfriend to be invited to spend Christmas at Sandringham with Queen Elizabeth II and family

I’m sorry The Queen invited you to a theatre charity less than four weeks after marrying H - the earliest ever joint engagement with The Queen

I’m sorry we invited you to the funeral of the longest-serving monarch in British history after you continued to slander everything she ever worked for in multiple interviews and podcasts

I’m sorry we granted you, an American, your own coat of arms from the 500-year-old College of Arms

I’m sorry we didn’t silence you by making you sign any NDAs, allowing you to sign multi-million-dollar deals for books, interviews and podcasts

I’m sorry we’re the reason George Clooney, Oprah Winfrey and Elton John pretended to like you

I’m sorry we gave you the opportunity to co-write a cookbook, guest edit British Vogue, and ‘curate’ your own fashion capsule. 

I’m sorry we advised you twice not to wear those blood diamonds gifted by Jamal Khashoggi’s murderer

I’m sorry our support made you feel emboldened to behave appallingly towards staff and ticket-holders at Wimbledon

I’m sorry your behaviour on the Oceania tour angered your hosts and we covered it up by encouraging positive coverage from the press

I’m sorry we invited you to The Queen’s Platinum Jubilee after you’d called us all racist abusers on international television

I’m sorry we thought you’d like to be patron of the UK’s National Theatre, we didn’t realise you’re not interested in the theatre

I’m sorry nobody stopped you from wearing a maternity coat and announcing your 8-week pregnancy at the wedding of your husband’s cousin

I’m sorry you publicly announced your first pregnancy on Infant Loss Awareness Day

I’m sorry we lied to the press about the existence of the nude pictures you took of yourself, easily available on the internet

I’m sorry we let you live free-of-charge in a two-bedroom London property while the free five-bedroom country house we gave you was renovated

I’m sorry we introduced you to world leaders, high-ranking officials and A-list celebrities

I’m sorry we helped perpetuate your lie that your degree was in ‘international relations and theatre’ and not ‘communications’

I’m sorry for all the jewellery we gifted you, including a pair of expensive pearl earrings from Queen Elizabeth II

I’m sorry we helped perpetuate your lie that you worked at the US Embassy in Argentina for several months instead of attending classes at the Embassy school organised by the uncle you didn’t invite to the wedding

I’m sorry we loaned you the use of a historic diamond-encrusted tiara

I’m sorry we took an interest in what colour your future yet-to-be-conceived baby’s hair would be

I’m sorry we permitted you to only allow American press to the unveiling of your first child in Windsor Castle, as requested, instead of British press 

I’m sorry we helped cover up that you worked with the authors of Finding Freedom

I’m sorry for allowing you to keep all those freebies you’re definitely not allowed to keep

I’m sorry your husband, a prince, didn’t explain how to courtesy to The Queen 

I’m sorry we acquiesced to you inviting celebrities you’d never met before to your wedding

I’m sorry we didn’t clamp down on you monetising your official royal engagements

I’m sorry we respected your boundaries by not hugging on first meeting

I’m sorry we allowed you to mistakenly believe you were more popular than Catherine and William

I’m sorry for providing a team of highly-trained, expensive doctors at your disposal

I’m sorry we funded a household staff of cooks, cleaners and nannies for you

I’m sorry nobody asked if you’re okay.

So sorry about all that.

😂😂😂😂

[gogobootz1]

(Not So) Silent Night

Spider-Man x Reader

Summary: You're called into work on Christmas Eve, but a certain web-slinger makes your job more entertaining.

A/N: just a quick xmas one shot - not edited. I didn't have a certain Spider-Man in mind so it could be read for any of them <3

Word Count: 1.5k

Finally one of your favorite nights of the year had rolled around. Christmas Eve- perfect to sit back, relax, and put on a movie. You were debating between White Christmas and Christmas Vacation when your phone rang.

Recognizing the number, you quickly picked up the call.

“Yes?” you said.

“The boss requires your services tonight,” came a voice from the other end.

“Mike, do you really think anyone is listening to this call?” you asked, mildly annoyed.

“They might!” he said defensively.

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes, “what’s the job?”

“He forgot a Christmas present for his wife so now he needs you to steal some stone from the Natural History Museum,” he said offhandedly.

“Mike,” you said, exasperatedly, “there are probably a shit ton of stones there. Which one?!” At this point you had sat up, there was no way you’d be able to go back to relaxing.

“Okay, okay, uh…” you shook your head when you heard papers rustling. “It’s called the Ostro stone- it’s on loan from London’s Natural History Museum.”

Quickly you pulled out your laptop and searched the name. An image of a brilliant blue gem graced your screen. It looked to be a little larger than cell phone size.

You sighed, “when does this need to be done by?”

“I need it by four, so I can get it to him by six.”

“And shall I gift wrap it?” you asked, sarcasm dripping from your words.

“Actually, if you could, that’d be gr-“ his words were cut off when you ended the call.

Sometimes you really hated being on retainer for the most notorious of New York City criminal under lords. It didn’t matter what you were in the middle of- when he called, you delivered.

But the job had its perks. One of which was the nice Central Park apartment that you currently occupied. Being on salary instead of working freelance provided a nice level of financial security. And being on the payroll for someone so infamous provided you physical security as well. No one messed with Fisk’s employees for fear of retribution.

Once you’d sufficiently researched the gem and the museum you sprang off your couch and to your closet. Pajamas weren’t suitable for working a job, and you were hoping tonight would spell out a large holiday bonus.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When you arrived at the natural history museum, you decided to bide your time until you determined the best method of entry. If you didn’t have to climb on the roof and enter via a skylight, you wouldn't.

Luckily for you, the guards were switching, and the one who was about to go on shift smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. You knew he’d have to step out later for a cigarette break, which would provide you the perfect chance to make an exit.

“Just so you know,” the one leaving turned toward the one you were about to follow in, “Kenny’s asleep in the cams room.”

Merry Christmas to me.

“Of course he is,” the man said, chagrined. “Have a good one, Craig.” The other guard gave him a wave before walking off.

Quickly, you turned invisible and stepped into the building before the door could close behind the guard. It was this ability that had brought you success even before Fisk found you. But now that you were on his payroll, your boss asked you to use it in more creative ways. By having you spy and thieve for him, Fisk discovered precious insider information. Not to mention secrets that made for excellent blackmail fodder. He compensated you heartily for your efforts.

In comparison to the other work you did for him, this job was relatively simple. The only difficulty that came with thieving jobs was when insufferable do-gooders took it upon themselves to stop you. And for what? So that a painting could sit in a museum instead of someone’s penthouse? So that everyone could look at a precious gemstone instead of one wealthy asshole? To you, there was no difference. It’s not like anyone appreciated that sort of stuff anyway, so why not make a buck off it?

When you finally made it to the display, you took a moment to analyze. You checked for any silent alarms and, not finding any, took the opportunity to examine the display case more closely. Unfortunately, it was clear that any movement of the protective glass would trip an alarm. So would any motion within the display case, and likely any movement of the stone itself.

Grabbing your backpack from your shoulder, you reached in and dug around for the device you were looking for. Once you’d found the small box, you leaned it against the black podium that supported the gem and pressed the button on its side. It released an electric pulse that would zap the power until you turned it off.

You quickly removed the glass lid that guarded the topaz against the public and lifted the gem from its stand. Just as soon as you’d locked it into to cushioned box you brought, you heard a voice come from behind you.

“You know, committing a robbery on Christmas Eve is pretty Grinch-y of you.”

“Is that why your voice sounds like Cindy Lou Who’s?”

You turned in time to see Spider-man drop from his place on the ceiling. He landed on the floor with a quiet thud and started walking in your direction. Swiftly, you replaced the box within your bag and backed away from him.

“You really couldn’t have taken a night off?”

“I’m a working woman,” you shrugged, “I just get bad hours.”

“You just have a bad job,” the masked man said, placing his hands on his hips.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” you argued, “it has good pay, great benefits- my dental care is free, baby, free.”

Spider-Man shook his head at you, “as much as I’d like to chat, I’m gonna have to ask you to hand it over.”

“And if I refuse?” you raised a brow.

“I’ll have to take it from you.”

His words made you smirk, “I’d like to see you try.”

You managed to dodge the first few webs he shot, but he landed one on your forearm. With a snap of his wrist, he pulled you close.

“If you wanted to hold me in your arms, Spider-Man, all you had to do was ask,” you said, chest to chest with the masked hero.

Slightly embarrassed, he took a quick step back, and you took the chance to yank off the glove he’d webbed. When he realized your ploy, he took a swipe at your legs, which you swiftly jumped over.

“Woah, woah, woah, okay, time out,” you said, making a playground-style T shape with your hands as he stood. Reluctantly, he paused his oncoming attack.

“Look- I don’t want to be laid up in bed for the holidays. I have plans! I can’t be limping or have any bruises.”

“Okay, I have never given you bruises,” he protested.

“Still, I’ll make you a deal. I will give you the topaz, and we’ll both walk away and have a lovely Christmas vacation.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” Spider-Man was skeptical.

“You saw me put the box in my bag, and now you’re seeing me take it out,” you said while slowly removing a box from your bag.

Slowly, you set it down and slid it over to him. He picked it up instantly and examined it.

“What’s with the padlock?”

“Safety precaution,” you assured him, “I’m gonna tell you the code and then I’m gonna go.”

“Fine- what is it?” he huffed.

“Everyone’s favorite number,” you smiled and swiftly disappeared.

Once out of sight, you grabbed the electric purse device and practically sprinted back to where you came in. To your great luck, the same security guard from earlier was stepping out for a smoke. You crept out behind him and started walking back towards your place. You sent Mike a quick text, telling him to stop by in an hour to pick it up.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Back in the museum, Spider-Man had finally tried entering 420 into the combination lock. When it released, he opened the box to find a post-it note sitting in the middle of it.

He let out a sigh when he saw the message on it.

Merry Christmas, Sucker ♡

It was scrawled under a face with its tongue sticking out. He shook his head at his own stupidity. Of course, you had two identical boxes.

“Stop thief!” he heard from behind him and whipped around to see a security guard pointing a taser at him.

“Me?”

“Yes, you! Set the jewel down and put your hands in the air!”

“Really, the nerve of some people,” he shook his head, and shot a web up to the skylight he came in through.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When you read the Christmas Day edition of the Daily Bugle the next morning, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the headline.

Spider-Man a Scrooge!

The Masked Menace steals beloved British jewel

#spider man x reader #peter parker x reader #mcu!spiderman x reader #tam!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #mcu!peter x reader #spider man

[oh-saints]

MISS YOU

everyone's been saying long distance relationship sucks. but no one tells freja how much harder it is when your boyfriend is a high-profile footballer playing for real madrid.

martin odegaard x press!OC

word count: 2k

tw: not beta-read and spanish by gtranslate. other than that, none except martin being the best boyfriend

note: a little bonus bcs arsenal finally won against liverpool with martin being the centre of the attacks so he deserves this as much as we do, no?

“hola, mi amor,” it didn’t even take freja a second to relax into her favourite sound in the world; it was why she called him in the beginning. she felt like her head could explode anytime soon without hearing it. “esta bien?”

“para nada,” she sighed deeply, tears swelling up at the back of her eyelid but she held it in, not wanting to add more worry to his life. “i miss you so much, martin.”

“ya tambien, querida. ya tambien…” although they weren’t on a video call, freja knew martin had somehow sensed her breakdown over the line. “you know i can always come and visit you anytime. you just have to say the word.”

that was, in fact, true.

being in a long-distance relationship between madrid and london was never going to be an easy feat, they had known that from the get-go. they were doing everything in their power to make it bearable for both of them because let’s be honest, having a footballer with unusual schedule of working as your boyfriend took the difficulty level to a whole new level.

despite the reality of playing regular football not going martin’s way so far, freja insisted to be the one flying in and out of the capital of spain every chance she got—mostly twice a month—knowing martin could be called to play for the first team anytime. besides, martin missing a training session could significantly jeopardize everything he’s worked hard for, she didn’t want to put more pressure to his shoulder.

freja chuckled to lighten the mood. “if i have you here, all to myself, i don’t think i can send you back to madrid.”

“what if i don’t want you to send me back?”

when you work around the creative world, you’d know for a fact that you won’t have a specific, fixed timeline of work. all you know is the deadline of an event, and being in the fantastic media team for london fashion week means you’d give up almost all of your day off when christmas day and new year’s coming closer, in order to make sure the biggest weekend of london fashion scene went well covered—all three; pre, during, and post event.

if freja wasn’t buried between her editing tools, she’d be stuck in a meeting room, brainstorming all the idea to increase the attention and engagement around london fashion week. she could only thank god she wasn’t in the press team, or else she’d break her neck and bones running about literally everywhere to cover the whole event—red carpets, inside scoops of attending guests, after parties, and so on…

only when the government publicly announced they’d take the extreme measures for the covid outbreak, did freja have the chance to breathe in the fresh air of freedom from endless media works, albeit harbouring a tang of sadness for the sole fact that all of her hard work so far wouldn’t be showcased for the entire world to see.

but had it not for the emergency break pulled, freja wouldn’t have had the chance to look at the latest news, including but not limited to football’s biggest day of the month; winter transfer window deadline.

Real Madrid’s Martin Ødegaard in talk to join Arsenal on loan!

no way.

freja had only been speaking to martin last night over the phone, her talking about the nation-wide lockdown frenzy in the UK and him talking about his usual daily routine while coping with the same unfortunate pandemic in spain. he didn’t mention anything about being offered another loan deal, nor was any change in circumstances under zidane. ever since coming back home from his spell from real sociedad, the president of real madrid was reluctant to let him go to another club again, knowing the potent he could bring to the enemy team if he left but zidane considered him a player not suitable for his style of management. nothing unusual, really.

maybe because it’s still in discussion… freja calmed herself down.

she was feeling all sorts of things, good and bad, and it was giving her headache already. she was excited they’d be in the same city again if the deal passed through, of course, but she was also frustrated at the thought martin had to go on another loan instead of bagging some game time—they promised him that much, should he return to the club after a stellar season in real sociedad. for god’s sake, he could’ve been highlighting the young player award somewhere instead of being hindered in development by his own club.

she wanted to see him succeed in real madrid, she really did. he believed—and she knew—he had what it took to break through the scene, not everyone was called to their national team before they turned 16. and with the way real madrid always put up an adamant fight every time another club asked for martin’s signature on a permanent contract, she was quite positive about it.

was being the operative word here, now. almost seven years in, and no signs of martin playing regular team. not even as a benchwarmer.

as much as freja wanted him all for herself—knowing they were both the happiest last year when martin was playing week in and out for real sociedad and freja was working for the local tourism campaign—she didn’t want to get her hopes high this time, for the expectation always kills.

martin will tell when things get seriously serious, right?

are you seriously joining arsenal?

or at least, considering it?

freja sent the text without hoping immediate reply. considering the current time in madrid, she predicted martin would only see her text after he was done with training and everything entitled to it. she’d get the reply sometimes around dinner time here, that was being the earliest, so she decided to soak in the rare benefit of having a week off by picking up the books she’d bought but never had the chance to read them yet.

“¿dónde estás? are you outside?”

“yeah, i need to stock up some necessities,” freja answered over her airpods as she shoved all of her necessities to the shopping bag. “you know, with the lockdown around the corner and all. are you done for the day?”

“i hope you stock my favourite cereals,” and freja froze on her place. could it be…? “so you won’t forget about my little habits while we’re apart.”

freja released the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“i hate that i can’t see you for god knows how long this time,” freja smiled bittersweetly at that, the feeling was mutual on her side of the house. she wished she could’ve watched his expression when he said that, though. martin must’ve pulled out a pout that reminded her of olaf from the frozen series. “ya te extraño mucho, amor mio.”

“yo también siento lo mismo, martin,” oh, fuck london and its weather… freja cursed deep down. it was fine less than an hour ago and the weather forecast didn’t say anything about snow today. almost half a year in this unpredictable weather and freja still didn’t learn her lesson, now she had to brave the cold with only her casual loungewear of sweater and legging. “it’s such a shame that i didn’t have time to book a flight back to madrid before the government halts all flight.”

“i can always fly you out, remember?”

“and have the private jet all to myself?” freja screeched, both at the lonely thought and at the feeling snow falling against her legs. “no, thanks! but babe, i’ll call you later, yeah? it’s suddenly snowing here.”

“you really should’ve worn something warmer, kjære. you’ll catch a cold if you pull on thin layers like that,” if the first sentence wasn’t enough to stop freja’s steps, the second surely did. “i thought i could trust you looking after yourself.”

“how do you know what i’m wearing?”

“because i’ve been standing here and waiting for you to come out,” freja jumped at the extra clothes being draped over herself from behind. turning around and there he was, in flesh and blood, his golden locks looking unbelievably good in contrast to the white snow. “i’m starting to feel cold, too, you know?”

gone was the intense frost stinging her skin—heck, her brain went into malfunction as soon as martin showed up in front of her. she wanted to hug him immediately but was thinking this was some sort of delirium—was she suffering hypothermia already? her tongue was ticklish with so many questions of how directed to her boyfriend but her tear glands were so close to shedding tears of happiness.

“cat got your tongue somewhere, darling?” martin laughed at the endearing sight of his girlfriend going into an overwhelmed mode—a rare one, at that as well, knowing well that his girlfriend was one of those people who always had something to say in return. “am i not getting a hug? or are you not pleased i’m here?”

“how—” martin could see she was still digesting the reality that was closer to her dream, in one way or another, by the way those lovely eyes kept blinking rapidly. “i don’t get it. what are you doing here?”

martin’s smile widened at her speechless state. “why, can’t i see my girlfriend? i thought you missed me?”

“i do, i really do! don’t get me wrong,” freja shook her head in disbelief. “but what about your trainings? you’re not going on a strike, are you? because i don’t want perez to have my head—”

“i accepted arsenal’s proposal to be closer to you but you want me stay in madrid instead?”

“well, you said it yourself—wait, what?”

martin couldn’t help but laugh uncontrollably at his girlfriend’s shocked expression. freja was one of those people who is rarely fazed by anything that comes her way, probably the biggest reason why martin loves being around her at the first place. none of the whole ‘real madrid’s most valuable gem’ status the media plastered on him got into her head. to have her in this state was amusing to him that he went straight to embrace her first, instead of freja’s usual initiation for skin ship.

“it’s a done deal, i’m doing the whole medical and media duty tomorrow,” martin breathed against her hair, this time in relief because he could finally let the cat out of the bag. it’d been pretty hard to lay it low, especially to surprise your girlfriend, with whom you share very much everything on daily basis. “i want you to know this from me first, instead of the media.”

freja pulled away from martin’s grasp, to scan through his face for any sign of deception. “you’re staying here?”

“how else am i supposed to play every weekend if i’m not staying here?” martin chuckled at his girlfriend’s antics, so cute he just wanted to mash those cheeks of her—which was exactly what he did. it was a wonder how he survived almost six months deprived of his daily stress-reliever ball when all he wanted to have her snuggled close in his arms every day she was away. “i hope you have a spare room in your flat.”

freja couldn’t help herself any longer at the feeling of martin’s hands on her cheeks, she stood up on her toes to kiss the one thing she could call her home. his coat be damned, she was becoming warm all over the body from the excitement and happiness bubbling up inside of her, threatening to explode if martin hadn’t sealed her lips from squealing by reciprocating her kiss.

“oh, shut it, olaf,” martin laughed at his girlfriend’s unique moniker for him and freja could only come back to claim his lips once more because good lord, that was the laugh she fell in love with. one she hadn’t had the privilege to hear live for the past six months due to the distance and due to the pressure their respective occupations gave them. “as if we haven’t shared a bed together.”

#martin ødegaard #martin odegaard #martin odegaard fic #martin odegaard one shot #martin odegaard fluff #martin odegaard fanfic #martin odegaard short fic #martin odegaard imagines #oh-saints writes #martin odegaard fics #martin odegaard angst #martin odegaaed smut #martin odegaard imagine #martin odegaard x reader #martin odegaard x y/n

[alolaamii]

Scrooge and Isabel "What If" Fanfiction

Recently watched the 2022 version of "A Christmas Carol", and quite enjoyed it. It was animated, it had some rather cute and catchy songs, and the voice acting was sublime.

In fact, it inspired me to write this little fanfiction about a "what if" scenario if you will. (This is the one thing I wished would have happened in the movie - having Isabel come back to Scrooge. I know that's not how it goes in the novel or in any movie adaptation, but considering how much this movie changed from the novel or other movies, I think this would have been a welcomed change).

Give it a read if you enjoyed said iteration of "A Christmas Carol". It's not much, (and probably something I won't elaborate on), but I enjoyed writing it. ______________________________________________________________

Isabel Fezziwig walked about the streets of London, toward a familiar establishment.

She had walked this path many times before…and she knew that she would continue to do so again and again.

She was set in her ways, and nothing would detour her from this tradition.

As the middle aged woman neared the shop front, she kept walking (slowly) - she knew it would never change. Forever, it would be known as "Scrooge and Marley". As with every passing, her heart skipped a beat or two. Inside, the love of her life sat, hating the world and everyone in it…including her, she knew.

Isabel couldn't blame Ebenezer for his feelings toward her - she had been the one to end their relationship after all. However, every time she passed by his place of work, she hoped that she'd once again see the man that she had fallen in love with…but, alas, that was never the case.

She frowned. How she wished that she could have moved on from him - she had intended to, and had had plenty of men who attempted to be her suitors, but she had never allowed them the luxury of her heart…because, she was in love with someone else.

She had come to know quite well the man that Ebenezer had become - a miser would be the kindest way to describe him. It had been Christmas time when her own actions had caused him grief, but she also knew that the season was hard for him for many other reasons - he lost his business partner, Jacob Marley, a little over seven years ago, and he had lost his sister, Jen, many years prior to that tragedy even.

Truly, while Christmas was a season of joy to so many, it was a time of strife for Ebenezer.

Isabel couldn't fault him for feeling ill of the holiday, as it had come and gone with many woes for him…but, how she hoped that a miracle would happen that would allow him to open his shut up heart, and embrace all the good it had to offer as well.

As the woman neared the shop, it looked…different somehow. It almost seemed…warmer? Ebenezer had never been affected by the cold, so his business was usually just as bristle, but now- As she glanced into the window, the place was brighter due to a giant fire being lit in the background. It appeared tidier as well - no longer were the desks stacked with bills or signed agreements for loans.

It hit Isabel, that perhaps this was no longer "Scrooge and Marley". Could it be that the love of her life had passed, and in doing so, the great establishment that he helped to build was no longer here?

She quickly glanced up at the sign atop the front doorway: "Scrooge and…Cratchit"? Old Marley's name had been taken down and replaced! Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that someone could have replaced Ebenezer's partner! He had valued Jacob Marley more so than anyone in the world…including her!

Isabel once again glanced inside…but, Ebenezer was no where to be found at the moment. Instead, a younger man - probably about the age Ebenezer had been when training under Marley - sat at a desk, quill in hand, and jotting down something or other. Could this person be the "Cratchit" that she had seen upon the sign? She wasn't certain, but she did know Ebenezer wasn't one to employ more than he needed at his business, as it would be a "…waste of money". As such, this was the only conclusion that she could come to.

She approached the front door, made to grasp the handle…but, stopped. She was nervous - too nervous to enter. There were too many "what if's" in her mind. What if Ebenezer had truly passed, and this new person merely kept his name upon the door in "fond" remembrance, (much like her love had done with Marley's name). Even if things seemed different, what if Ebenezer hadn't changed at all? What if-

"Pardon me, please."

That voice was very familiar to Isabel.

The woman rotated slowly around, and was met with the eyes of her true love. And the same could perhaps be said for the man before her, as his eyes went wide at the sight of her. "Isabel?"

Her voice got caught in her throat. There stood the love of her life, and he was seemingly…different, (just like his business). She couldn't place what exactly at the moment, but she could just feel that he was not the man that he had been for many, many years.

"Hello, Ebenezer…"

#ebenezer scrooge #isabel fezziwig #scrooge 2022 #netflix scrooge #scrooge a christmas carol

[pers-books]

Doctor Who: RTD Makes Interesting Kate Lethbridge-Stewart Comment

Should we be reading into Doctor Who Showrunner Russell T. Davies's Instagram comment regarding Jemma Redgrave's Kate Lethbridge-Stewart?

Published Sat, 30 Sep 2023 15:38:08 -0500 by Ray Flook

When the BBC, Disney+ & Showrunner Russell T. Davies's David Tennant & Catherine Tate-starring Doctor Who's 60th-anniversary event hits in November, the global community will have a chance to celebrate the long-running sci-fi series. From there, we have a Christmas Special before the new year brings a new series with our Fifteenth Doctor Ncuti Gatwa and Millie Gibson (companion Ruby Sunday) taking charge of the TARDIS. One major player who will be assisting both Doctors in their efforts to keep the world safe is Jemma Redgrave's Kate (Lethbridge-) Stewart. Following in her family's footsteps as the head of UNIT, Stewart was first introduced during Matt Smith's run (S07E04 "The Power of Three") – and is now taking on an epic, "summer action movie"-type role based on the recently-released 60th anniversary trailer. In fact, rumblings have been pretty steady that Davies is considering a "WHO-niverse" spinoff focused on Stewart & UNIT – which may explain why folks like us are reading into Davies's comment on a recent Doctor Who Instagram post spotlighting Redgrave's character.

After noting that "A new era of Kate Lethbridge-Stewart approaches…" as the caption to the post, Davies responded with, "What? Who told you that? How did you..? Oh damn it " (with three angry emojis). Now, could Davies be making a joke about it being a spoiler considering the news and visuals have been out there for a while? Sure. But he could also be teasing that there's more to the "new era" part, possibly something in the near future? Sure. Let's us know in the comments section below what you think:

Doctor Who: Jemma Redgrave on Series 14, UNIT Spinoff Rumblings

Thanks to the folks over at Good Morning Britain, Redgrave was able to offer some insight into her involvement in the new series as well as those rumblings of a UNIT spinoff earlier this month. "I have been back in one episode in Series 14, and it was such a wonderful thing to be part of that family. I've never taken it for granted that I will be brought back, but it was absolutely tremendous, and to be part of Russell T. Davies' new vision is so exciting," Redgrave shared regarding her work on the new series. Unfortunately (at least, for now), Stewart and Gatwa's Fifteenth Doctor won't be sharing any screen time – but Stewart and Gibson's Ruby Sunday will. "I haven't yet got to work with Ncuti [Gatwa], I worked with Millie [Gibson]," she added. " As for that spinoff talk, Redgrave knows as much as the fans do – but she did get a personal perspective on the speculation. "I don't know anything about a spinoff," Redgrave responded – before also sharing, "Somebody in my book club did message me and say, 'I saw something about you having a series,' and I said, 'I've heard nothing about it and I shall call my agent.'"

Along with Jemma Redgrave (Kate Lethbridge-Stewart), Aneurin Barnard (Roger ap Gwilliam), and Jack Forsyth-Noble (Will), Doctor Who Magazine #589 also confirmed that Bhav Joshi (Wedding Season), Eilidh Loan (Traces), Pete MacHale (Gangs of London), Miles Yekinni (Slow Horses), and Hemi Yeroham (Mamma Mia!) have joined the cast for the new series. In addition, Jinkx Monsoon (RuPaul's Drag Race) was also confirmed to have joined the cast – followed by Jonathan Groff (Glee, Mindhunter) and Indira Varma (Obsession, Game of Thrones) – as The Duchess – in May 2023. Bonnie Langford was confirmed to be returning as Melanie Bush in June 2023, along with Lenny Rush (Am I Being Unreasonable) as Morris. In early August 2023, we also learned that Gemma Arrowsmith (Gemma Arrowsmith Sketched Out) and Mary Malone (Vera, The Prince) had joined the Christmas Special – while Majid Mehdizadeh-Valoujerdy (Hollyoaks) and Billy Brayshaw (Still So Awkward) had joined the Series 14 cast.

#Doctor Who #Kate Stewart #Jemma Redgrave #News and Speculation #Youtube

[fuckosexual]

mmm so hi! been a while since i’ve been active on here, but honestly i dont want to leave this place a dead end when i practically grew up here and i’ve had some of you as mutuals since i was 13 and i’m turning 22 in a month like i’m a full grown baby adult now and some of you knew me during my sad posting years which can i say i’ve gotten a lot better since lol. anyway this is just a little post incase anyone wondered where i went or how i’m doing to say my life has gotten sooo good in the past year honestly, i’m working in the creative/music industry as a live sound engineer and educational support on a industry skills course (which is jokes bc i never even finished school) AND i’m finally leaving god forsaken london and going to uni with an unconditional offer in september to study songwriting (extra extra jokes with the never finished school part). i’ve started learning guitar and production and written a lot of songs. i even started editing videos so like prepare for my influencer song of the summer era (slay). on a sad note lol i was orphanised which was not slay. estranged students get max maintanence loans at least tho which is slay so yay! sooo yeah if anyone is interested i’ve started posting on instagram (cringe) my @ is earthkid69 and Yeah. i guess this is the christmas card bit where i say i hope you all are doing good as well cause like i genuinely care abt the people i’ve connected with on here a lot n it’s really crazy to me how long i’ve known of some of you’s existences at this point lol. love u all xoxo luna/alex cryjerk/fuckosexual

#shoutout to my tea n biscuit mutuals yall really saw me go thru some shit lol #also JAKE PUNCROMANCER shout out to u specifically bc u once sent me tattoo needles and i still have those tattoos on my body to this day #as you would probably expect lol #big sloppy kisses to every single mutual i have u the realest motherfuckers on this planet #and a very good day and good night to anyone who read this

[outrowingss]

What’s the real history with Thomas Seymour proposing marriage to Elizabeth after Catherine’s death?

I’m confused seeing people say real life Elizabeth didn’t (or wouldn’t have) accepted Seymour’s proposal like in Becoming Elizabeth because she was deliberately ambiguous with her answers about him wanting to marry her. Is that from her saying she would never marry without permission from the Privy Council? I assumed that was from the Tyrwhitt interviews and she meant ‘obviously I wasn’t planning a marriage with him cause if he’d suggested it I’d have said we had to ask the council’. Because why would she need to give some kind of ambiguous or cautious answer so as to not incriminate herself by admitting knowledge that he wanted to marry, unless she had at the least entertained the idea in some way.

Hello anon - first of all i'm sorry for taking to long to reply, i've been at work and i wanted to try and give a proper answer rather than just giving you a short one.

Theres belief that Thomas Seymour originally had asked Elizabeth to marry him in February 1547 which she rejected him claiming she was still in mourning for her father - however this comes from a 17th Century historian and not a contemporary so therefore we can't verify that this actually happened.

After Catherine Parr's death in 1548, Seymour doesn't immediately dissolve her household and decides that they should now attend Lady Jane Grey, but suspision began to grow he may be looking for a new wife. Kat Ashley, Elizabeth's governess, also encourages Elizabeth to write to Seymour to give her condolences on the death of Catherine, however Elizabeth declined to do so, believing that he didn't need them, she probably also wanted to avoid anymore rumours spreading.

Now unlike in the show, Elizabeth and Thomas Seymour do not see each other again after she leaves Chelsea for Cheshunt. When she comes to London for Christmas 1548, she finds her residence of Durham Palace had been turned into a mint by the Duke of Somerset, Seymour loaned her Seymour Palace and met Elizabeth's cofferer, Thomas Parry (quick note - where is he in BE?). In this meeting, Seymour begins asking Parry about Elizabeth's finances. When Henry VIII died, he left his Mary and Elizabeth a £10,000 dowry if they married. Parry answered his questions as much as he could and then reported to Elizabeth what Seymour was asking. During this conversation, Parry outright asks Elizabeth if she would marry Seymour if the council did not object, and before answering she is said to have looked visibly displeased. Here we get her first ambiguous answer when she says; 'When the time comes to pass i will do as God shall put in my mind.'

On New Years 1548/9 Thomas Parry and Kat Ashley begin to gossip on the subject of Elizabeth and Seymour, here Kat tells Parry why Elizabeth was sent away from Chelsea to the Denny's at Cheshunt. Kat Ashley also began encouraging Elizabeth to consider marrying Seymour and she was pretty persistent on the matter, but Elizabeth again did not give a straight answer, saying that; 'Though he himself would preadventure have me, yet i think the council will not consent to it.'

Soon rumour began to spread of Seymour's plans and he ended up having a confrontation with a member of the Privy Council, John Russell, Earl of Bedford (not Henry Grey as shown in BE), who told Seymour that if he went through with them it could be his 'utter undoing'.

Now we know what happens next, Seymour breaks into Edward VI's chambers, shoots his dog and is arrested and sent to the Tower. Kat Ashley and Thomas Parry are also arrested and sent to the Tower. Elizabeth is questioned by Sir Robert Tyrwhitt about her involvement with Seymour and any possible plans for marriage. In defense of Kat Ashley, although admitting that she had acted irresponsibly, she says that Kat would; 'never have me marry, neither in or out of England, without the consent of the King's Majesty and the Council's'.

During her interrogation, she writes to the Duke of Somerset concerning rumours of her also being imprisoned in the Tower and that she is pregnant with Seymour's child. She refers to these rumours as 'shameful slanders', and asks to come to court so that she may, 'show myself there as i am'. She also asked Somerset to take actions against rumours, which he agreed to do, if she could name those who spread them.

Now the ambiguous answers, her rebuff of Kat's persistance, looking displeased when Parry mentions marrying Seymour and her calling the rumours 'slanders' to me does not seem like she actually wanted to marry Thomas Seymour. Not to mention, there is also evidence that she was made uncomfortable by Seymour's advances, including getting up early to avoid him and writing 'thou touch me not' on a letter.

People do like to say that Elizabeth may have had a crush on Seymour, and blushed at his name being mentioned, she could very well have, but this would not have made her any less of a victim. On the other hand, blushing does not always mean having a crush on someone, it could have been because of discomfort or shame as well.

The ambiguous answers were also something Elizabeth always gave towards the question of marriage, especially after she becomes queen and the council begin pressuring her to marry to secure the succession. It may have been because she did not want to marry at all, which is something she first says to Robert Dudley when she was just eight years old. I don't personally think her ambiguous answers were to avoid her incriminating herself. She was cautious, something the show truly failed to show and did a big injustice to her.

I'm so sorry for the long answer but i wanted to answer as best as i could! If i have made any mistakes/incorrect statements please feel free to correct me!

Sources: Elizabeth The Great, Elizabeth Jenkins (1958) Elizabeth I, Anne Somerset (1991) Elizabeth: Apprenticeship, David Starkey (2000) Elizabeth and Leicester, Sarah Gristwood (2008)

#answers #im also sorry for citing david starkey #but unfortunately his account of the seymour incident is one of the better ones #elizabeth i #tw: csa #becoming elizabeth #thomas seymour #elizabeth tudor

[thetarttfuldickhead]

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

[benoitblanc]

for the sleepover asks !!

give me an unpopular opinion you have about knives out, what you would like to see in knives out 3 and lastly can i please have some film recs (it can be whatever genre you want just films you think i should watchhh) 🩷🩷🩷

unpopular opinion about knives out: i literally do not think i have any. i guess i completely understand why the scenes with donna and jacob explaining the walt/loan shark subplot were cut, if that even counts as unpopular? it definitely fills out that branch of the family more but i think if they HAD to cut anything it really had to be that; it didn't really contribute to the actual mystery, and i would rather spend spare minutes getting to know the cabreras than the least interesting thrombey sect

what i would like in knives out 3: this is not going to happen but i would give my right arm for elliot and wagner to come back in some capacity. i LOVE them. from a more serious standpoint, i'd like at least a little more philip, and it would make me very happy if we did a big city mystery now and went to london. maybe blanc and philip are visiting philip's family or something when shit goes down i don't know. what i DON'T want is anything that pulls blanc's personal life into the mystery. if philip or his family gets involved, fine! but i DO NOT want a benoit blanc backstory. he's compelling enough as is he doesn't need one <3

film recs (you have asked the right person; i love reccing things):

little miss sunshine (2006) is a black comedy about a dysfunctional family attempting to drive their volkswagen van from new mexico to california to enroll their 6yo in a beauty pageant. if knives out didn't exist this would be my favorite film of all time. it's SO good

tick tick boom (2021) is a musical drama about a young composer trying to make his way in the nyc theatre world in the 1990s. bring tissues for this one

galaxy quest (1999) is a loving parody of the star trek franchise that revolves around the ex-cast of a popular sci-fi show being abducted by aliens who think the show is real. possibly the funniest film of all time methinks

clue (1985)... i do not know how to describe this film. it's a murder comedy and tim curry is the lead. please watch this movie

it's a wonderful life (1947) is a theoretically-christmas film that you've likely heard of. if not, the first two-thirds of this film are a heartwarming dramedy about a young man's relationship with his small town and the last third is an existential horror film. it's a classic for a reason!

much ado about nothing (2011) is technically a proshot of a play but i don't fucking care. david tennant in That Scene is the greatest performance an actor has ever given

sleepover asks!!!

#thanks so much for asking!!! #answered #*mutuals #*milo

[lovethelifeyoulive123]

Only way shes going to London is on loan. I just don't think Gotham is gonna do it. If she was gonna be moving her stuff out it would be during the time off the WSL has off for Christmas because she realistically will have to be there for a bit because of Erin and Steph Wedding... that's this year right?

Actually Stephs wedding is on New Years Eve 2024. So next December. So think they will be in Australia for Christmas again this year.

[formulatrash]

I hope you don't mind this. I think you said before that you aren't close with your family and that's something that's conscious. I've recently had to distance myself from my family and I don't know how to handle it. I know I'm right but I feel guilty that I can't change their minds and I don't feel like I can talk to anyone about it. They make me ashamed and I wish they weren't like this.

hello anon - it's alright to ask that. you're right, I am estranged from my family to a fairly major degree. I'm not sure what you're referring to although I think I can kind of read between the lines there and I'm not a big hugger but I would be giving you a hug if I could. I'm sorry.

for context: I just about still speak to my (UK) parents, they know where I live, we post each other presents for birthdays and christmas. I last saw them for a few hours in December 2021, I hadn't seen them for three years before that. we talk on the phone a few times a year. so it's not a total cut-off but it is a large amount of distance. there are more complications and I'm not going to get into those because this isn't a therapy session and the internet will just find some way to use it against me but, yeah.

it's difficult. I feel guilty a lot of the time - I know my mum would like me to go and live at theirs partly to help with things but also to be "sorted out" in a slightly threatening re-education level. they don't approve of who I am or my career, so it would be very hard to exist there, even if they genuinely needed me which I don't think they do. I try to remind myself that if they didn't do the things they do, this distance wouldn't exist - I am acutely aware they think the same thing of me, although for me it does not feel like a choice. maybe it does not to them, either but I know a lot more people who have been brought round from homophobia than have stopped being gay.

it helps, now, that I'm old. people my age depend on their parents less because it's the time that you start not being able to assume people's parents are still around. and living in London no one sees their parents really anyway. but I also find it harder the older I get. I don't need anything from them and the few times I've needed help they haven't been the people giving it to me. I suspect that might well be the case for you, too - or that it would only come with terrible conditions.

you don't go to a loan shark for love. if you can't repay the terms of them giving you anything, that's not your fault, that's their conditions.

it will always be a little weird but you probably never had the relationship to them that people thought was normal anyway. it will get better.

move to a city or somewhere everyone's a little distanced, if or when you can. it shows less. find new family, people to provide for. I can't promise it stops haunting you or that the gnawing guilt ever goes away but it gets lighter - and for some people it does totally disappear, I've probably made it harder for myself by not cutting them off.

edited to add: something it's useful for me to remember is that there isn't a me I could be or a career I could have where they would be proud of me. that I could bend myself into any shape imaginable (and tried, before the elastic tension got so great it exploded) and it wouldn't be right. I cannot physically re-form myself and energy meeting resistance only creates stress. it would be better if it was not this way but some circuits are broken and you are not a defective part, just placed in the wrong configuration.

#misc asks #cn: family

[deafmangoes]

An Album of Christmas Carols - 4

This time I'm going to cover the, I assume, lesser-known musical adaptation of the classic story, the 2004 A Christmas Carol based on the 1994 stage musical by Alan Menken.

"A Christmas Carol" (2004, Kelsey Grammer)

To be honest, the whole vibe of the film really betrays that it began as a stage show - sometimes it's endearing but in other places the stage directions don't translate to the film format that well.

We open not in Scrooge's counting house but the Royal Exchange, where a conspicuously underdressed Cratchit (feat. influenza) runs around after his employer and a definitely-not-Cratchit expy asks for a loan extension for himself and Tiny Tina.

I mean look at her. Girl has a withering scowl that could peel paint. She is apparently "Grace Smythe" in the credits but the only time she's named is kinda muffled by the singing.

In this opening monument to raw, Victorian capitalism, I admit I do enjoy the lines:

"Thank the Lord our profits have been huge / Thank the Lord we're not in debt to Scrooge".

Anyway! On to the...

Ghosts? Ghosts!

In an unusual twist we're introduced to the Ghosts before Marley - Past is a lamplighter, Present is a ticket hawker for a charity pageant, and Yet to Come is a blind beggar woman (Incidentally portrayed here by Charlie Chaplin's daughter, Geraldine!).

Marley himself appears in theatrical manner not through the door but popping out of the wall. This Marley has a jovial tone, genuinely happy to see Scrooge, and seems more resigned to his fate than lamenting it. He (and some of his and Scrooge's former business partners) perform "Link by Link" with a mix of moral haunting and... just being very extra.

Christmas Past... awkwardly appears as an attractive younger woman poledsncing on the end of Scrooge's bed. I suspect in the original stage show they had a professional dancer for this and the actress tries but doesn't quite nail the graceful movements. Rather than whisk Scrooge from his bed, she shoves his astral projection into a photo album.

This version gives us the "Scrooge's dad went to debtor prison" excuse, which I'm neutral about. Comes up in a few adaptations, and it works but I'm just not fond of Freudian excuses.

The Fezziwigs (here a banking firm) dance, romance occurs, blossoms, we see Scrooge and Marley set up their business and become increasingly more ruthless.

Now I just want to comment on one specific bit that really falls flat, in my opinion. Fezziwig comes to the pair for a loan to save his failing business. Scrooge refuses on the basis that it won't prevent the bankruptcy, merely postpone it.

Then both Fezziwigs turn on the emotional manipulation - "I helped you both get started", "he treated you like a son", etc. I hate this. It cheapens both Fezziwigs as characters and actually Scrooge is right to refuse the loan. But we're meant to see this as him becoming hard and uncaring. Ruins a core moment of character development.

Anyway - engagement breaks off, Marley dies of a heart attack, yadda yadda, Past leaves in a puff of smoke.

Christmas Present puts on an agonisingly long stage show and... comes off a bit like a pimp, with the staging and the chorus girls. And the cane. And the fur-lined robe. It's not great. We see more of Tiny Tina because Tiny Tim had supernatural scheduling conflicts or something.

The Cratchits have their deep emotional song about shoes and counting your blessings. I'm normally not a fan of these bits but... Actually I'm okay with this one. There's a big medley of people celebrating across London, and I think it does a way better job than "Abundance and Charity". Nephew Fred's party segues in at the pre-finale lull - and incidentally this is the only version I know of where Fred has a kid. He gets one line, in which he's a snotty-nosed brat. We return to the Cratchits, then close out on a brief Ignorance and Want looking... I'm not gonna lie, they look like they're completely out of it.

It's time for some real trippy haunting.

Christmas Yet To Come transforms from the blind beggar woman into a white/grey banshee figure who takes Scrooge into another musical number a confused amalgam of visions. I really like this! I know it's being done for practicality, but it helps get across this idea of the future as being shadows, shifting and changing, still malleable.

Also the song's a bop.

Another small detail I like is the undertakers attacking and robbing Mrs Dilber Mrs Mops for pennies after they've hawked Scrooge's belongings to Old Joe. It's quite visceral in the middle of the song, and each time I see it, it reminds me how women like Mrs Dilber may be easy to judge, but in Victorian society they really had a very fragile existence. Nobody cared for the widows and elderly. After all, are there no prisons? No workhouses?

Scrooge's redemption is indicated by a much softer and happier round-up song in which he sees a vision of his departed mother and sister. Aww.

We close out on Scrooge temporarily kidnapping a child, finally making Tiny Tina crack a smile, passing the three ghosts in Incognito Mode, trolling Bob and going to Fred's for dinner. Then it snows on cue.

Highlights & Humbugs

The film's not one of my top favourites but it's still in my rewatch cycle. The songs are catchy, as you'd expect from Disney veteran Menken, with some clever reprises. Marley's "Link by Link" is good fun, but the Ghost of Christmas Present's "Abundance and Charity" really overstays its welcome, especially since the song immediately after it does a better job at getting the point across.

I think I've already commented on what I think works and doesn't work in this version, but I have yet to mention the most haunting image of all.

Kelsey Grammer's hairy chest. Be glad I couldn't find a higher quality snap.

Overall, a jolly musical with some flat notes, but a pretty good jab at the story. 6 out of 10 Humbugs.

#deafmangoes #a christmas carol (2004) #a christmas carol #scrooge #ebenezer scrooge #dickens december #kelsey grammer #jacob marley

[chrissmou]

Romance Books I love the most

I love romance novels and particular series with individual books in them because I can finish one and then read the next one in a month or even in the next few days. I love a good romance novel, with much banter, characters who don’t know what they will do next, and many more, but have a happy ending in the end. Here is a list of my favorite ones (if the book is part of a series, I will write the name of that too). Also in the next two weeks, I am going to rank two of them, the Bridgerton Series and Brother’s Best Friend, both of which I love.

The eight I recommend for now are the following (not in any particular order). I will link their Goodreads pages too.:

1.      The viscount who loved me by Julia Quin (Bridgerton series, book 2): I love Anthony and Kate’s story. It has everything in it. Two stubborn but strong characters, an amazing plot with the flashback, and the second epilogue is absolutely funny and worth reading.

2.      Twins for Brother’s Best Friend by Sofia T. Summers (Brother’s best friend, book 3): I love the careers of Greta and Isaac, she is a CEO of a Tech company and he has a consulting company that he inherited from his uncle. They have good chemistry and it is very sexy and steamy too.

3.      Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen: I love all Austen books but especially this one because I love Eleanor and she reminds me of one of my friends who is very sensible. Also, it has two love stories. Fun Fact: I love the movie adaptation with Hugh Grant.

4.      Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell: I know many of you love her comic series Carry on, Simon, which I recommend and love. But there is a reason that this one is in this. It was the first novel of this kind I read in just two nights two, I couldn’t stop reading it and the novel I bought from London a few years back. I often say that Cath is the protagonist, is my spirit animal, an awkward, avid fanfiction reader with a love story I aspire to have.

5.      A Taste of Love by Jeniffer Yen: The first of her Jane Austen retelling and one of the best too. Liza and James are a good couple with all the best qualities of the original with differences that make it a very interesting book. Also, every time I read it I salivate at Liza’s baking abilities.

6.      A Pho Love Story by Loan Le: This book changed my perception of many things from Asian history and mythology to the Vietnam war and the damage it caused to many families and people in general.

7.      10 Blind dates by Ashley Elston (Messina Family, book 1): As Christmas is approaching I am going to say that this is the book for you to be in the holiday spirit with this fun and entertaining book. The dates vary from bad ones to good ones; and of course, the Italian American family is hilarious. I highly recommend the second one also.

8.      A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness (All Souls Trilogy, book 1): I have read the book “The world of all souls” which is complementary to the series by the author, Deborah Harkness. In this one, she said that she wanted each book to have a different vibe, the first romance, the next a history book, and the last a thriller. I have read all her books and, in another ramble, I am going to talk about both and the series because I love them. I have read this one, three times already because Matthew and Diana have a very romantic and understanding relationship where they meet and they learn about the meaning of being a witch and a vampire, or a historian and a scientist. I love it.

#romance books #bridgerton #The Viscount Who Loved Me #julia quinn #sofia t summers #brothers best friend #sense and sensibility #jane austen #fangirl #rainbow rowell #carry on series #a taste of love #jeniffer yen #a pho love story #loan le #Messina Family #ashley elston #a discovery of witches #all souls trilogy #deborah harkness #books recommendations #inspiration #my ramblings #my thoughts #ramblings