Tumgik
#Jamie Tartt
kcsplace · 3 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Ted Lasso Text Posts 14/???
134 notes · View notes
Text
Isaac, after Colin got headbutted: If it's a concussion, you have to keep him conscious, okay? Ask him questions.
Jamie: What's seven times seven?
Isaac: Stuff he knows!
75 notes · View notes
Text
Social media headcanons for Ted Lasso (taken from a prompt on Twitter).
Jamie, Keeley, and Roy all have official instagrams. Roy does not have the password to his account; just Keeley. Roy doesn’t want the password, and if she’s being honest, Keeley doesn’t trust him with it anyway.
All three also have finstas, but Roy only uses it to follow Jamie and Keeley.
Roy used to have a Twitter account, but he called Elon Musk a racist cunt who didn’t know his arse from his elbow, and then he got banned. Keeley can’t even blame him really.
Jamie has a TikTok and it stresses Keeley out to no end because that’s where he posts his most unhinged shit. Roy knows it exists and that he sometimes features in it, but he refuses to engage.
Jamie also has a burner Reddit account that he only uses to sock puppet in the football RPF threads. It brings him no end of joy. When he’s bored, he drops bits of RoyJamie RPF fic. It’s *extremely* filthy.
82 notes · View notes
Jamie: I have something to tell you. Roy and I are dating.
Sam: I've known for the last couple years. You two are inseparable.
Jamie: Years?? We've only been together for a couple weeks.
Sam:
Sam: Then what the fuck were you doing before that??
71 notes · View notes
goldrushspidey · 3 days
Text
hi i forgot i made these. please enjoy.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
58 notes · View notes
jamiesfootball · 2 days
Note
”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”
He should've never let him play. When Jamie stormed into the locker room, running late and snapping at his teammates for asking why, Roy should've seen the red flags for what they were.
Everton at home wasn't the same as Everton away; he could've spared them all the misery. They could've spared Jamie, except that it was Roy's debut season as manager of AFC Richmond, and if he had a pound for every time that season Jamie had shown up to training in an utterly foul mood, he'd have more pounds than Phoebe.
So instead he'd barked, "Oi! Check the prima donna act at the fucking door. You're ten minutes late, and you've got sixty seconds to kit up or else you're watching the game from the bench. Got it?"
Fire flared in Jamie's eyes. That too should've been a warning sign. But he put his head down to undo his laces with a muttered 'yes Coach' and Roy, stupid as he was and knee deep in therapy he didn't like, counted his breaths and decided that this was a fight that could wait for later.
The match was a disaster from first touch.
The fight didn't wait for later. Whether it was how he walked onto the pitch or how he immediately set about cutting Everton to pieces, the opposing team picked up on Jamie's mood and magnified it back with an intensity that could set the grass on fire.
Jamie matched it back tenfold - once per each player outside the goal area, and only then because Richmond's press couldn't make it that far down the pitch.
The first yellow card failed to appear at the six minute mark. That set the tone for the rest of the match.
By the time a third dirty tackle sent Jamie's legs flying out from under him, even Sam was shouting at the referee to do something. The team's interim captain gestured furiously at Jamie, who shrugged off his teammates help, slapping them away as he limped onto his feet.
Jamie tested his leg. The second he put weight on it, he flinched. He turned towards the coaches, demeanor stoically blank apart from the obvious question in his eyes.
Roy stared back. After a few moments, Jamie nodded. He fell back into position and the ref motioned for the game to resume.
Sam sent a decidedly dirty glance in Roy's direction. His disappointment cut sharp.
So many red flags.
Roy had plenty of chances.
A few minutes later, Jamie snapped something at the Everton player marking him. Something cruel by the sneer across his lips and the way it painted the opposing player's face an even deeper shade of red.
The man reared back like a bull. In one quick motion, he headbutted Jamie square in the face.
The ref finally blew his whistle.
Jamie didn't get back up.
After the match, Sam followed Roy to hospital.
"You should not have done what you did today." Those were the only words the younger man offered on the ride over.
Fair enough.
Concussion, the physios had reported, as if that weren't fucking obvious from the loss of consciousness.
All things considered, if they'd arrived at hospital to find Jamie confused, dizzy, and a little deflated, things probably would've gone smoother.
Instead they walked in to find bristles and a scowl. The nurses fluttered around him, making soft noises as they briskly addressed his bruises- and there were a lot of bruises. Hard not to be banged up after a match like that, but there were an awful, awful lot of them and not all of them looked new. Roy's chest twisted as he tried to recall if at some point in his bullheaded inattention, he'd missed the signs of Jamie pushing himself too hard again.
The nurses left, packing away their tapes and tubes and syringes and all the other bits they used to mend things whole. Then all that was left was Jamie, Jamie's attitude, Sam, Sam's disappointment, Roy, and Roy's fury fighting for space in the tiny hospital room.
Jamie shifted uncomfortably against the pillows. Bruised ribs, the nurses had mentioned, and Roy could strangle the twat for not saying something sooner- for not pulling himself off the pitch sooner. What the fuck was he thinking?
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
Jamie recoiled on the bed. He blinked stupidly at Roy.
"Do you think this is a fucking joke?"
Their injured player opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. "I don't?"
"Oh really." Roy stepped forward until all that separated them was the rail at the edge of the hospital bed. "Because you could've fooled me. Seems to me like you were goading Everton into taking the first hit."
Jamie's jaw clenched in response. It was as good as an admission of guilt, and it made the anger simmering in his chest threaten to boil over.
"Who cares, mate? It's just Everton, yeah?" Jamie said casually, like they were discussing the merits of Aston Villa's new away kits. Like he wasn't laid up in fucking hospital. "Not like they hit that hard anyways."
Roy saw red.
"Sorry, am I the one who hit my head? Am I the one who missed the back half of the match? We lost three-nil you little twat, all because your teammates were too busy worrying about you to focus on the game. You lost us the match, you prick."
"Roy," Sam objected.
His breathing came sharp and fast, and it was almost dizzying the way he couldn't seem to suck in enough air. Tightening his grip around the edge of the bed, he growled, "For fuck's sake, Jamie. If we wanted to watch you get knocked around on the pitch, we'd just do it ourselves-"
"Roy!"
Sam's bare-faced outrage doused him in ice.
He'd crossed a line.
Under Roy's looming presence, Jamie looked very small.
He took a shallow step back, feeling sick to his stomach. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he swore, "Shit. Jamie-"
"Shut up."
When Sam Obisanya told you to shut up, you shut up.
"That was uncalled for," Sam said levelly. He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in deep, dealing damage to Roy the whole way down. Then Sam refocused his attention on the person more deserving of it.
"Jamie, Roy didn't mean that. He is upset - as we all are - but that is no excuse for him to speak to you in this manner."
Jamie's mouth twitched into an uncertain shape. It made him look softer, and younger, than he'd look in months, but it also made the damage stick out vividly, the bruise across his head dark and bleeding under his skin.
A strangled little noise bubbled out of him. He swayed towards Sam like a sunflower to the light, and he sounded oddly hoarse as he tried to quip. "Thanks, twenty-four. Nice to know that someone's got my back against that hairy arsehole."
"But you are also in the wrong."
Jamie faltered, something lost and sad filtering through his defenses. "But you just said-"
"You went into that match with no regard for yourself," Sam snapped. ”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”
Jamie's mouth clicked shut. In the resulting quiet, only Sam's harsh breathing punctured through the beep of the medical equipment.
"It is not fair-," said Sam, his fists clenching at his side, "-for you to treat yourself with such disrespect. Not when there are so many who love you and want to see you well."
Jamie swallowed. A mistiness glimmered in his eyes. "Sam-"
"Jamie-"
Tripping over each other's words, they both stuttered to a stop.
Sam cupped his hand over his mouth. To Roy's horror, his chest shook as he stifled a violent sob.
"I can't do this right now," he said mournfully, their titan of a captain clearly close to crumbling. Blinking rapidly, he murmured, "Excuse me."
As he turned to leave, he stopped to level Roy with look so full of misery it made him want to sink through the floor.
"Fix this," he whispered, full of sorrow and love.
Sam left the room.
In the wake of Sam's departure, arguing about anything else felt... petty.
"That was uncalled for," Roy admitted in a harsh rasp. It was the bare minimum he could say- that he needed to say. "Sam's right, I shouldn't have..."
He gestured lamely to the room at large. At the shadows his anger had left, and Jamie sitting weakly in a hospital bed, and the overall fucked-ness of the situation in general.
"Sorry," he finished lamely.
Jamie blinked at him wearily. Now that some of the anger had fizzled out, the obvious signs of the concussion clamoured for attention. He wasn't quite tracking Roy's position, and the way he held himself stiffly made Roy suspect he was bracing himself against a tidal wave of dizziness.
Honestly, Sam should've kicked dirt over Roy on the way out, what with the hole he'd dug himself.
"Whatever. Was being a prick, so I probably had it coming, yeah?" Jamie shrugged. "Didn't even have the signal, did I?"
"You haven't had it in a while," Roy pointed out. "Not that that seems to be stopping you lately."
He half-meant it as a joke, but Jamie didn't respond.
"Come on," Roy tried, letting his voice drop into something quieter. "Talk to me- what's been going on with you, eh? Showing up late to training; skipping out of dinner at Sam's. Now you're snapping at Colin when he asks to borrow deodorant and ignoring play strategy to pick fights during matches? The fuck's going on here? This isn't like you."
"Maybe it is," Jamie grumbled. He picked mulishly the sheets, and Roy could strangle him for how fiercely the worry scratched at his chest. "Maybe I'm the same prick I've always been, and I'm just not fighting it anymore."
"Bullshit," growled Roy. "You're better than that, Jamie."
Jamie flinched back as if Roy had struck him.
He didn't argue.
He just sat there, picking at the sheets, twisting everything into knots, and pretending like Roy wasn't even in the fucking room.
Roy scoffed. Despair filled his chest, mixing with worry and anger and a deeply frightening sort of love that made him want to go up to the roof and scream until the clouds came crashing down. Maybe Sam had the right idea, removing himself from the situation. Roy needed to take a moment to collect himself, lest he dig the hole deeper saying words he'd only regret.
Roy turned to leave.
You couldn't help someone who didn't want-
"Coach?"
Roy paused at the doorway. Jamie, carefully looking down at his restless hands, still wouldn't look him in the eye. His shoulders curled up like he was bracing for a fight.
"I know you're busy and stuff. Being the gaffer and all. But-"
He paused. Anxiously, he rubbed his hands against his thighs. Roy frowned; he was missing something here, but he couldn't make the dark forest for the trees.
When Jamie continued, it was in a low mumble that was hard to hear over cacophony of the machines. "Do you think that maybe we could start doing morning trainings again? Doesn't have to be a full one - could just do half. That way we could start at six, and you'd still have the time at night to recharge your Terminator batteries."
A sharp snort escaped Roy. Down the hallway, some sort of alarm started going off, and he shut the door to block it out.
Crossing his arms, he looked Jamie up and down. "Why?"
Jamie shrugged. "Miss it, is all. Plus it's nice, innit? Having a reason to get out of the house."
In the forest Roy couldn't make out, something lurked in the dark. Some sort of low level radiation, maybe. It was like they'd taken a wrong turn and stumbled into Chernobyl without knowing.
Perhaps the way out was back the way they'd came.
(And honestly, he'd missed it too.)
"Fine. After you're cleared for play again. 6am."
An alarming amount of gratitude flooded Jamie's eyes. A sunflower reaching blindly for the heat of the sun.
"Thanks, Coach."
Roy grunted. This bit, at least, he didn't feel like he'd messed up too bad.
He thumbed at the door, where the hallway and the journos and the rest of the world waited. "I'm going to check on Sam. Then I'll update the team. Anyone else I should call? Your mum?"
"No!" Jamie blurted out. He tried to shake his head, only to remember too late that he was still concussed. He buried his head in his hands, hissing in pain. He tried again, "No, no need. Don't want to freak her out, or she'll drive down here and- I'll call her later. For now just tell the lads I'll make it up to them, yeah?"
Roy squeezed his eyes shut. "Fucking hell. Look, that was a shit thing for me to say, alright? No one actually blames you for losing the match. Not them and not me. It'd be a dick move to blame someone for getting carted off after a blow like that."
On the bed Jamie turned an ashen grey. He looked like he was about to throw up.
"Oi, you good?" Roy scanned the room. "What's going on- do you need a bucket? Or a nurse?'
"Huh?" Jamie jumped. He looked startled to find Roy still standing in his room. "Oh, uh. I'm good, Coach. Just thinking you're probably right.
"You'd have to be a real dick to blame someone for losing the match like that."
43 notes · View notes
ambnight · 3 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Ted Lasso text post dodads part 3 <3
45 notes · View notes
mitskijamie · 1 day
Note
no cause i always have to skip that part cause… that’s jamie’s dad. like imagine what jamie went through. he calls beard “son” and is going to beat him with a tire iron. like jamie lived with that for years!!!!
James calling Beard "son" post-Wembley before trying to kill him was chilling honestly
You definitely get a sense for how terrifying James actually is
40 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
•——————•°•✿•°•——————•
「 ✦ Jamie Tartt ✦ 」
ׂ╰┈➤ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all jamie tartt stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!)
╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮
☁︎change in perspective by @justauthoring
⟿ you never thought jamie tartt could be anything but a prick.
☁︎saved you a seat by @benedictscanvas
☁︎gentlemen by @danistartt
⟿secret dating because reader works for Richmond (as like pr or physio or something) but when they win a match one day Jamie is so overcome with joy he just has to kiss her
☁︎@axelsagewrites
⟿bus ride
⟿decide royjamie x reader
☼they both like you and when they came to settle it once and for all neither of them expected this out come
☁︎ @pandorasprongs
⟿i’d be better armed if you agreed to take it
☼higgins' new assistant happens to be an old friend of the reader's, and their reunion hits jamie with major feelings of jealousy. when the team thinks that the pair of them are going on a date soon, jamie decides enough is enough.
⟿comfort crowd, you can always count
☼reader gets cheated on and jamie, whose trying to be a better friend and person, decides to help her out by hiding her phone for the day.
☁︎ @rqgnarok
⟿i can see you
☼you and jamie have been watching each other for ages, trying not to feel the pull between you. a moment in the hallway changes everything.
⟿delicate
☼jamie hadn’t planned on dating. his reputation’s never been worse. but then he met you.
⟿music to my eyes
☼jamie has a crush on the band’s bassist.
☁︎@its-time-to-write
⟿three times ‘cause i’ve waited my whole life
⟿coffee at midnight
☁︎@buckychristwrites
⟿about you
☼Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you’re publicly feuding with.
⟿could this be
☼One minute, you're single and working for AFC Richmond as the team's medic. The next minute, you're in a fake relationship with the team's handsome striker who you know next to nothing about…
☁︎i can see you by @hopefulromances
⟿Roy's sister comes back to town
☁︎fuck by @wlntrsldler
☁︎spring rolls and stocks by @veryberryjelly
☁︎distractions by @illiterateaffairs
☁︎you’re obsessed by @mllersjoel
⟿ he has a huge crush on an actress and sees her at a richmond event and she flirts w him he’s really shy bc he likes her
•masterlist
hopefully all links work if not let me know! <3
last updated march 18, 2024
53 notes · View notes
instantcaramel · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
52 notes · View notes
coachbeards · 20 hours
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
beard watching jamie + james...
46 notes · View notes
jamietxrtt · 23 hours
Note
“keep your eyes shut.”
😈 gratuitous whumpy drabble time
Driving Jamie Tartt to hospital was not, he had to admit, Roy's idea of a good morning.
A good morning was a warm cup of tea on a cool morning, a nice leisurely two hours of defrosting time when nobody tried to talk to him at all.
It was not rushing out of the house with a granola in one hand and a coffee in the other, and nearly spilling said coffee everywhere when he tripped across an unconscious body. And then waking said body and manhandling it into a car to go to hospital while it protested within an inch of its life.
Roy thought that maybe, once in the car, Jamie would give up the fight and go get his stitches and concussion check quietly.
But Jamie never could make things easy, could he?
“I’m really alright,” Jamie said for the nineteenth time. “It’s been bleeding on and off all night, y’know, and I’ve managed not to keel over and fucking die so far.”
A low growl crept from the back of Roy’s throat. “All night you spent sleeping on my porch steps like a fucking dog.”
Jamie took the washcloth down from his forehead to scowl at Roy, and fresh dark bulbs of blood sprouted up along the gash through this temple.
“Oi!” Roy barked. “Pressure.”
Jamie rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, pressing the cloth back to his head.
“You could’ve rung the fucking doorbell, you know.”
Jamie waved him off. “Knew you’d freak out. Which you did. I didn’t want a fuss.”
“So you thought it would be less alarming to let me find you passed out and fucking bloody when I opened the door in the morning?”
Jamie winced. “Okay, yeah, maybe not the best plan. But I’m alright, really.”
Roy grunted. “We’ll let the doctors decide that.”
“Roy—”
“It’s not an argument, Jamie. We’re already nearly there.”
“We’re— what?” Jamie looked out the window shield, as if noticing for the first time that they were moving. “What the fuck, why're you going so fast!”
“Speed limits are for people without medical emergencies in their passenger seats.”
“Crash the fucking car, why don’t you,” Jamie muttered. “You old enough for them to take away your license yet?”
Roy growled again.
.
As they pulled into the hospital car part, Roy realized why Jamie was so reluctant about the hospital thing.
He’d figured the kid was just being contrarian (read: an arsehole) and difficult for fun (read: a little prick). Or trying to maintain some tough-guy veneer, as if anybody fucking cared about how tough you were when your head was bloody cracked open. But as soon as the hospital was in sight, Jamie started shifting uncomfortably in the passenger’s seat beside Roy. By the time the car was parked, Jamie’s eyes were wide.
“I— uh…” It was always strange, how Jamie managed to do this. Managed to go from Jamie Fucking Tartt, prick extraordinaire, who’s favorite pastime was getting under Roy’s skin, to Jamie, just Jamie, wide-eyed and spongy and bone-achingly young, in a matter of a few seconds. Threw Roy for a loop every single time he did it.
“I really don’t want to do this, Roy.”
Now that the car was parked, Roy could turn to assess him fully. The injuries didn't look any better than they had when he'd first shaken Jamie awake-- the gritty scrape along his chin, the darkening black eye clinging to the bottom of his socket, and, of course, that garish slash, hidden in the center of a purple bruise, ripping from Jamie's temple to the top of his forehead.
(Probably more injuries that Roy couldn't see, but he was trying not to think about that at the moment lest he start shouting.)
But now he could see that Jamie's hand, fallen into his lap with the cloth bunched up in a fist, was shaking.
"You don't like hospitals," Roy said, more a statement than a question.
Just as quickly as frightened, vulnerable Jamie had appeared, he vanished again, Jamie's glare snapping up across his face like a window shutter. "How'd you guess that one, Einstein?"
Roy ignored him. "It'll probably be quick. They'll give you a concussion test, pop a few stitches in your head, give you some Paracetamol and send you home."
Jamie visibly shuddered.
“I… Will you.” Jamie kept his face turned away, unable to look him in the eye, as he mumbled something.
“Hm?”
“I said, will you go in with me?” Despite the situation, Roy managed to notice that Jamie’s ears were going pink. “…Please?”
“Well, of course I’m going in with you.” Roy shook his head. “What, you think I’m gonna drive you here and kick out out on the curb and drive away? I’ll help you check in and all.”
“I didn’t mean—” Jamie gave a frustrated scoff, glancing back at Roy. “Not just the waiting room. I mean, like… will you go in with me, to do the fucking— tests, and stitches, and shit.”
“Oh.” Roy didn’t know what to say. Jamie’s ears turned an even darker shade of Red.
“Nevermind,” he said quickly, starting to get out of the car. “It’s stupid, I’ll just—”
“No, no.” Roy caught his arm. “Of course I’ll go in with you. If the nurses and all them let me.”
Despite his crimson ears, Jamie’s face flooded with relief. He nodded.
.
“And there you go,” the kind doctor said, putting away the cleaning swabs. “All cleaned out. Now we just have to pop a few stitches in and you’ll be on your way.” She smiled.
It wasn’t Sarah, as much as Roy had lobbied to try to get his sister to treat Jamie, she was busy with other patients (and no special treatment, Roy, she echoed in his brain). But this doctor was kind, another woman, older, with smile lines around her eyes.
Privately, Roy was glad Jamie’d gotten a lady doctor. Earlier, one of the nurses taking his tests had been a man, an older man, shining light in Jamie’s eyes and asking him questions. Roy noticed the way Jamie started to stumble over his words, and he had a suspicion it wasn’t entirely due to the concussion.
Jamie seemed more at ease now with the lady doctor, but he eyed the tiny needle she brought out and leaned away warily.
He made a noise in the back of his throat, like a baby seal. “You’re gonna use that on my head?”
“Don’t worry, love, it’s all numbed up, you won’t feel anything.”
Jamie looked to Roy, panicked. Get me out of here.
“You did just fine with the cleaning,” Roy told him, quietly. “Why is this different? You won’t feel it.”
“Because she’s putting a fucking needle in my head, maybe?” He leaned as far away from the doctor as she could without falling off the examination table.
Roy knew people were often scared of needles— had held Phoebe through more than one tantrum about a flu shot— but this wasn’t like that. It wasn’t a syringe. It was tiny, really, a small little curve of metal the doctor had to grip between tweezers to even hold. Nothing to be afraid of, in Roy’s view.
But Jamie seemed to disagree. As the doctor picked up the needle with a smile, producing some special-looking thread, Jamie lost it, cringing as he turned away.
“Ah, yeah, no. No, I’m not doing this.” He started to get up from the examination table. “I’m not. I’m not. I can’t.”
“It’s alright, love.” The doctor frowned as the wound on Jamie’s head started bleeding again. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing the entire time I’m doing it. I won’t do anything more than necessary to close the wound up, hm? Only take a few minutes.”
“No,” Jamie shook his head vigorously, then winced. “I never should’ve come here, I— Fuck—”
The lady doctor turned to Roy, a placating smile on her face. Could you…?
Roy cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Jamie.” He took the younger man’s hand.
The sudden act of touch seemed to shock Jamie out of his panic. Roy wasn’t usually a hand-holding type.
“You’re okay,” Roy said. “I promise.”
Jamie’s eyes flitted between the doctor and Roy.
“How about this?” Roy said. “You close your eyes, and I’ll stay right here holding your hand, and she’ll do what she needs to do and you won’t even feel it. And you can just talk to me. And when you open your eyes again it’ll be done.”
He remembered a few months ago, when Phoebe had to have blood drawn and threw an absolute fit about it. Roy had sat by her side and talked to her, told her don’t look at it, look at me, distracted her until it was done.
Jamie looked back at Roy, his eyes wide and full of fear.
Fuck, how did he manage to look so fucking young sometimes?
“I’ve got you,” Roy promised. “Close your eyes. Trust me.”
After a long, uncertain moment, Jamie slowly squeezed his eyes shut.
“Okay. Okay. Good lad.” Roy watched as the doctor began to work. “Okay. She’s wiping the new blood up with another one of those pads. Okay. All clean.”
Jamie’s hand was shaking. Roy squeezed it harder.
“She’s got the needle and thread, now, she’s going to start—”
Jamie jerked away when the tweezers got close to his face, his eyes starting to flutter open—
“No, Jamie, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes shut, alright? Breathe.” Jamie obeyed, closing his eyes tightly again. Roy took in an over-exaggerated breath, and Jamie followed suit.
“Good. Good lad,” Roy said as he watched the needle poke through Jamie’s skin. “You’re doing good.”
Jamie took another deep breath.
“She’s already halfway done, see? You’re okay. You’re doing good.”
Jamie started to shake underneath the needle, and the doctor paused. Didn’t want to poke him anywhere unintentionally, Roy thought.
“It’s okay. You’re alright.”
The shaking ceased, and the doctor finished the job, clipping the thread with a single snip.
“All done,” she said quietly. She smiled at Jamie. “No more needles.”
Roy went to drop Jamie’s hand, but the younger man clung on. His eyes were still shut.
“You can open your eyes, Jamie.”
He did. Looked around him, observed the absence of a needle (the doctor had put it away), and relaxed. He let go of Roy’s hand. “Sorry. Thanks.”
Roy shook his head. “No. You did well.”
Jamie’s hand drifted up to touch his forehead, but the doctor stopped him. “Oh, careful, love, careful. You don’t want to mess up those stitches, hm? Then we’d have to do this all again.”
That was an effective deterrent. Jamie kept his hands to himself.
“Let me call Nurse Osgood.” The nice doctor smiled again. “He’ll just do one more once over, and then you can be on your way, hm?”
Jamie’s eyes were still a bit faraway, so Roy nodded for him. “Thanks,” he told the doctor, and she left.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Jamie said quietly, his voice hoarse. “Thank you.”
Roy shrugged. “It’s nothing.” He patted Jamie’s shoulder gently. “You ready to go home?”
“Please.”
30 notes · View notes
Note
ooooh if you’re still taking those prompt drabble requests, i would absolutely ADORE to see you tackle “they can’t hurt you any more” 🩷
(drabble, uh, not so much) from this prompt game.
Almost a year of early morning training had conditioned Roy that when his phone vibrated at 4 am, it was likely his alarm. But this morning, it wasn’t his alarm, no, someone was calling him. Dread filled his stomach. There was no good reason for anyone to call him this early. His brief hope that that was some terrible accident and Ruth was being called to work was when he saw the name on the caller ID. 
Jamie Tartt.
“Jamie?” Roy answered on the third try, his fingers missing the little green button the first two tries. 
There was no answer on the other line. Dread crawled up Roy’s spine when he heard rustling, then finally, Jamie’s voice reached his ears, distant and muffled. 
“Get the fuck out!”
Roy wasted no time pulling on trousers, and his boots, and the phone was on speaker phone in case there was more to hear. 
Roy wished there wasn’t more to hear or Jamie come on the line.
The unmistakable sounds of a fight reached through the phone louder than a siren. 
Fists connected with flesh. 
Pained grunts filled the speaker. 
Furniture splintered and broke. 
All the while, Roy prayed to hear Jamie’s voice again.
The phone connected with the Mercedes Bluetooth as Roy threw the car into drive, thankful for the empty streets as he sped through West London towards Jamie’s house.
“Jamie? Please, Jamie, say something,” Roy begged. 
Instead, Roy heard laughing, but it wasn’t Jamie’s laugh. It wasn’t the laugh that Roy’s had come to recognise in a group of rowdy footballers, the laugh that relaxed him when he’s worried, the laugh that made him smile even when he was in a shit mood. No, it was a laugh that sent shivers down Roy’s spine. A laugh that Roy wondered how many times meant danger for Jamie. 
Roy hung up and called 999 and prayed he wouldn’t be too late.
-
The first thing Roy heard when he entered Jamie’s house was deadly silence.
Roy expected screaming. He expected more sounds of a fight. He expected chaos. But what met him was an alarming quiet.
“Jamie?” he yelled, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Jamie?”
The first thing Roy saw when he entered Jamie’s living area was destruction.
Roy expected chairs overturned. He expected broken tables. He expected chaos. But what met him was even worse than that.
“Jamie?” he yelled, again, frantically scanning the destroyed room. “Jamie?”
The first person Roy saw when he finally laid eyes on someone was James Tartt.
Roy expected Jamie to be waiting for him. He expected the men to still be fighting. He expected Jamie would need his help. But what met him was a seemingly unconscious James Tartt and a missing Jamie.
“Jamie?” he yelled again, stepping over debris to move throughout the room. “Jamie?”
“Roy?”
The voice was little more than a croak but at that moment Roy couldn’t think of a better sound. Roy skidded to his knees in front of Jamie, who was on his hands and knees on the other side of the couch. Roy guided him to sit with his back against the glass walls that led to the garden, knowing Jamie would feel safer if he could see the room, see everyone who came in, see his father still unconscious by the kitchen table. 
“It's okay, Jamie. He can't hurt you.”
“I didn’t, I didn't, I didn’t mean to,” Jamie stuttered as he shook his head back and forth, not making eye contact with Roy, only staring at his father’s body. 
“Hey. I know, it’s okay,” Roy said, moving his body in between Jamie’s eyesight and James. 
Roy’s eyes ran over Jamie’s body, looking for wounds or injuries. The footballer was curled into himself, seemingly smaller than his frame. There was swelling and redness that Roy knew would bloom into bruises and cuts bright red against too-pale skin. Roy wondered at the damage hidden beneath Jamie’s clothes and feared the emotional damage hidden beneath the pliant personality. 
“Hello? Did someone call 999?” came a shout from the entryway. 
Roy had left the front door open, hoping help would arrive soon after he did. 
“Back here,” Roy stood and yelled. 
A man and a woman came into the room then, each carrying a large bag. They eyed Roy and Jamie but stopped at the unconscious man first. The male paramedic said something into his radio but Roy couldn't catch it. Roy held his breath as they knelt next to a prone James Tartt and checked for a pulse. Maybe Roy should have done that, but hadn’t been able to muster a care at the time when Jamie was potentially injured. Still, Roy exhaled with relief when they found one. James Tartt might not deserve to live in this world, but Roy didn’t want Jamie to have to deal with the pain of being the one to remove him from it. 
“Roy, Roy,” Jamie said quietly, hands desperately grabbing at Roy until he bent down and held Jamie’s hands in his own. 
“He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s okay, just close your eyes. I’m right here, I’m not leaving you.”
Jamie did as he was told, but Roy doubted he could do more than follow Roy’s orders right now. Still, Roy moved his body to block the view of the paramedics. 
“It's okay, you’re okay, it's gonna be okay,” Roy repeated, rubbing a thumb across Jamie’s fingers, careful of the raw and bleeding knuckles. 
“I didn’t, I didn't mean to,” Jamie 
A noise behind Roy startled him, as the paramedics moved the loaded gurney from the sitting room towards the door, towards the awaiting ambulance, towards a hospital.
“Fuck off,” James said behind him.
Jamie’s body trembled under Roy’s hands at his father’s voice. 
“This ain’t over, Jamie. Don’t forget where you fucking came from, don’t you fucking forget–”
“Get him the fuck out of here,” Roy turned and stood faster than he thought his knee could move him, almost knocking a chair over as he rose, not that it would have mattered in the mess. 
Roy didn’t turn back around until he watched the gurney roll through Jamie’s front door into the cold morning, James yelling the entire time. Before Roy can turn back to Jamie, the female paramedic stands in front of him.
“We should take a look at him,” she nods at Jamie. 
Roy turned to examine Jamie again himself. The cuts looked superficial, but Roy worried Jamie wasn’t simply in shock but had suffered a concussion. The erratic breathing could be from nerves, or it could be due to broken ribs. Could Jamie stand? Could he walk? All questions Roy needed answered before he would begin to think about Jamie being physically okay. 
“They’re just going to check you out, Jamie, make sure you don’t need to go to hospital.”
“No, no, hospital,” Jamie said, eyes wide and scared. He stood quickly and Roy thrust an arm to steady him. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Mr. Tartt, we should really make sure you’re alright.”
“Roy,” Jamie pleaded, his fingers digging into Roy’s arm. 
“The police will want to speak with him when we’re done,” the paramedic warned.
She heard the threats from Jamie’s father, smelled the alcohol on his breath, cleaned the matching gashes on his bloody knuckles. 
“Thanks,” Roy said, wishing he could imbue just how much he meant it. “I’ll make sure he’s checked out.”
Whether by Ruth or someone at Richmond, Roy planned to make sure Jamie was checked out head to toe. The woman took one last look at Jamie before she pulled a couple ice packs and some butterfly bandages from her kit, leaving them on the table with a thanks from a grateful Roy. Roy guided Jamie to sit at one of the chairs at the kitchen table, grateful he wasn’t limping but nervous as to how unsteady he was on his feet. 
The antiseptic smell the woman left behind still lingered in the air when a police officer appeared in front of Roy.
“We just have a few questions for Mr. Tartt.”
“Is he under arrest?”
“No, we just need to ask him a few questions.”
“I don’t think he’s in the proper head space right now to answer any fucking questions. You heard his father, Jamie was just defending himself.”
“Maybe. But we just need–”
“The only need I give a shit about right now is what Jamie needs, and that’s not to talk to you. If you have any questions, you can contact Richmond’s legal counsel, Dana Heinen, if you need her number, fucking Google it. Now get the fuck out.”
Roy followed the reluctantly leaving officer to the front door, looking back at Jamie as he did. He needn’t worry about Jamie going anywhere. Roy was unsure the younger man even breathed the short time he was gone. 
“They’re gone,” Roy told Jamie, pulling his phone from his pocket to call Ruth. “It’s just us.”
“I’m sorry,” Jamie said, the dam finally broke open as tears fell freely from Jamie’s red rimmed eyes.
Roy quickly canceled the call, pulling another chair as close to Jamie as possible and placed his hands on Jamie’s knees. “Jamie you have nothing to be sorry for.” 
“I let him in, I, I forgave him. For what? I’m so fucking stupid, Roy, why the fuck would I ever think he could change?”
Roy pulled Jamie into a hug, careful of any injuries hidden by the naked eye and rubbed his back as he whispered to him, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
Jamie latched onto him like a life raft as he sobbed on Roy’s shoulder. 
“It’s okay, he can’t hurt you anymore.”
34 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
Contemplating the possibility that Phoebe isn’t just inviting Jamie to Uncle’s Day on the innocent assumption that obviously Roy must want his best friend there, but is rather trying her young hand at a tiny bit of naive nudging. After all, she’s seen her uncle “being stupid” with Keeley before, initiating a break-up even when it’s painfully clear that he still loves her, which leads Phoebe to the (not exactly wrong) conclusion that Roy can’t be fully trusted to manage and maintain his relationships properly. (She wouldn’t put it like that, of course, she’s still a little kid. Then again, she’s precocious as all hell, so maybe she would.)
Like, Roy spends every day with Jamie and talks about him a lot and it is obvious that they’re best friends, but Phoebe isn’t completely sure that it’s obvious to Roy, so yeah, she’ll help him out, same way he’s always helped her, ‘cause everyone needs a bit of a hand once in a while, right, and he’s her uncle Roy and he deserve all the good things and a best friend, even though he’s too stubborn and stupid to see that sometimes.
Don’t worry, Uncle Roy. Phoebe’s got your silly head covered.
52 notes · View notes
snailpicnic · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
part 108482 me making everything royjamie
37 notes · View notes
Note
now we need a fic where roy gets tagged a lot to meet the person behind the roy kent stan account bc of it raised a bunch of money for cancer or something, and keeley is like "this'll be great pr you're doing it roy." and then there's shenanigans with jamie trying to get out of it without revealing his secret. everyone assumes the account is run by a 13 year old girl bc the emojis and misspellings and also the handle is like "msroykent4ever"
Lol except Keeley already knows exactly who the stan account is and they’re just trying to wind Roy up 🤣
26 notes · View notes