#bruv what a joke that was | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

only-1-a · 4 months ago

Text

Imagining this within the first week of Charles and Edwin knowing each other. Charles has helped Edwin catch up on a BIT of what’s happened in the last 70 years, but Edwin can tell that Charles’ knowledge and strengths are not in history (finding out there was an even worse world war right after The Great War was certainly horrific though). So Edwin decides his best bet is to look in the public archives. Charles is sitting in the room with him absolutely bored out of his skull when he comments “Wow, you weren’t joking about not being great at people, were you?”

To which Edwin’s patience runs out, and he snidely responds, “Evidently not. If my researching the events of the last seventy years is so off-putting to you, then you can leave.”

Edwin was expecting some kind of token protest, but instead Charles just hops up, and says, “Cheers mate. See you.” Then LEAVES. Just like that. Edwin would like to be offended, but he supposes he did tell Charles to go. He just thought there would have been more to it than that? It almost feels…anticlimactic. At least he and Charles barely knew each other. Better to cut their losses now than get attached. Even as he thinks it he can’t help but feel maybe he was already growing attached.

So he spends the whole day digging through the archive and he learns so much about the past half century. It’s amazing and daunting just how much as changed. No wonder Charles hadn’t been able to go over even a fraction of it. It’s like the world is a completely different place.

He’s engrossed in his research when a head pops in through the door, and violently startles him with a cheerful, “Hey mate!” Edwin doesn’t have a heartbeat, but if he did it would be running a mile a minute from that fright. Charles is just grinning as he walks through the door. “I have to say, that’s my favourite part of being dead so far. I can just walk through walls.” Charles continues to chat happily, completely oblivious to Edwin’s shock.

Eventually Edwin gains enough of his senses back to interrupt Charles and say, “You came back.”

Charles just cocks his head, but he’s still smiling. “Yeah bruv. You’ve been here ALL DAY. The sun’s started going down. I know we don’t need to eat or sleep, but I figure you should take a break. Plus all the people playing football at the park left, so I got bored.”

Edwin doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He’s still working on the fact Charles came back. Charles hadn’t planned on leaving in any permanent way. He just went to do his own thing while Edwin did his. Yet instead of anything intelligent coming out of his mouth, he says “Football?”

“Oh c’mon! I know you had football even a thousand years ago. Yeah, I went to play with some other guys at the park across the street.”

Edwin snorts at that, and isn’t that a strange and wonderful feeling, laughing after all this time. He doesn’t even know if he did it often before he went to Hell, but here Charles has been making him laugh on and off for the week they’ve known each other. “Yes, we had football. You’ll have to explain how you managed to play a team sport without being seen by either team. You are right though. If it’s getting dark out, they’ll be turning the lights out in here soon. We might as well leave for the day.”

“Cheers. Mostly it involved messing with the ball so it went the wrong way when they kicked it. Oh! I kicked one over a fence. Do you think we can go grab it? How about your day? Learn anything exciting?”

Edwin leads them out, and now in a much better mood he shares something he thinks Charles will enjoy. “As a matter of fact, there was quite a lot about how music evolved, and styles from the Americas really took off since the 20s.”

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #Mirella's muses #These boys are just giving me so many ideas

487 notes · View notes

luminni · 2 days ago

Text

Crawling back to John after your "one night stand" but he was just as obsessed as you were. Pt.1 Pt.2

You regretted it from the moment you stepped out of his flat. You really didn't know why you did it either, somehow it just felt natural for you to leave in the morning despite your heart screaming at you to stay there wrapped under wool sheets and locked in his embrace. You just slipped away early in the morning and now you had to live with the consequences. That being the fact John Price would not leave your mind. You went on holiday break just days after the night you spent together, and spending a month where you knew you weren't even the same city as the man who had given you the best night of your life and had treated you so delicately at the same time, was driving you insane. Every waking moment was filled with memories of your casual conversation and teasing jokes. When you dreamed, that is when you could fall asleep and not be in a spiral of regret, it was as if he possessed some otherworldly claim on your body because there was no other explanation for you reliving the pleasure night after night. Not to mention the fact that you couldn't get the jazzy tune of the record you had decided to throw on out of your head, constantly humming along to it and murmuring the words the best you could. But you just couldn't find the song no matter how hard you searched, it was eating away at you, and from where you were, there was nothing you could do.

John wasn't much better. Devastated would have been an understatement if you were trying to describe how he felt after waking up to an empty bed. In the beginning he really tried to ignore his feelings, bury them under work and absentmindedness as he so often did. But it came back to bite him in the ass, every time he got stressed he could only imagine having your sweet voice calling him to bed or telling him you made a fresh pot of tea. When he tried to get in his truck to go back to base for a change of pace, your name and phone popping up in his bluetooth menu the moment he turned on the ignition was like a slap back to reality. The reality that he had genuinely believed you might stick around and stay with him, a reality that had been shattered (and no he definitely did not remove your phone, not just because he didn't know how to). You were driving him mad at work too, the team had never seen their cap' with such an abhorrent attitude. Poor Soap and his usually endearing antics were usually the subject of his anger but nobody was safe. Ghost was sighing too loud and Gaz's use of the wrong mug was suddenly criminal.

" 'M tellin' ye mate, never seen the cap'n so...snarly." Soap complained after being told off for what would have usually been a harmless jab.

"Maybe yer' jus' not funny bruv, ever think a tha'?" Gaz was half listening but more focused on scrolling on his phone.

" 'S not tha' ya half-whit, he's been a dick with the lot'f us." The scot bit back, "Almost tore Lt. a new one fer' slammin' a door."

There was a grunt of agreement from the corner of the room and the boys continued to bicker about what could possibly have their captain so worked up but solutions could be agreed upon.

The only person he didn't snap at was Laswell and that was just because she would snap right back, and snap back meaner. When Price was being particularly sharp about a document not being ready on time she let loose, in front of the team.

"Look, John, I don't know what's got you acting so anal to everyone here, but clean up your attitude and fucking fix whatever the hells got you like this before I write you up for workplace harassment." She snapped, muttering the last part under her breath.

And John would have loved to have been able to fix his mood but he didn't know how to. You were lodged in his mind and wouldn't let him go. That slow, bass heavy song you played in the car replayed over and over in his head every time he thought of you. Your voice and the way you felt wrapped around him, but he couldn't for the life of him find the name of the damn song.

And so the slow and agonizing month away from uni dragged until you were back at school. You thought getting back into the rhythm of your classes and work would help you rid yourself of his memory. But no, you could barely focus in class when all your thoughts were of the way he whispered in your ear and opened doors for you. Against your (and your friends) better judgement you began to try and track him down. Retracing your steps from the bar and scouring google maps, even going so far as to search up his name, to no avail. All your friends told you to give up, that some man twice your age wasn't worth it, but you didn't give up, you couldn't. Finally you found a promising looking building on your maps app that you were able to retrace to his flat, looking exactly like you remembered. You didn't waste a second, grabbing your bag in a frenzy the moment you recognized the building.

Fighting with yourself the whole way there, debating every step you took. He might not even be there? He was in the military. Would he even want to see you? What if had wanted you to leave in the first place? It didn't really matter when you were navigating the stairs up to his place and standing in front of the door at 10:00 in the morning. It felt like lifting a 50 pound weight just to raise your hand and knock on his door, and you regretted everything the second you did.

Seconds later, the door knob turned and revealed a sleepy looking and shirtless John who was nonchalantly leaning against the door frame, a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other. Don't let him fool you though, it was all an act, on the inside this man was freaking out and absolutely ecstatic to have his pretty bird fly right back into hands.

"Uh...hi." you gulped, trying to look anywhere but his built chest that you remembered the feeling of like it was yesterday.

"How was the break?" He asked, looking down his nose at you with a slightly amused expression that pissed you off, just slightly.

"Look," you started exasperatedly, "I just- I came, well I wanted to-" You could barely get the sentence out as he took a bite of his cereal, leaving the spoon in the bowl.

"C'mere," He said through bites, ushering in you in even as you shifted away, " 'M not going'ta letcha' stand out in the hallway."

And so he ushered you back into his flat, the exact same one you remembered, the record you had played was still on the player.

"Can I getcha' anything?" He asked, leaning against the kitchen table, still working on that bowl of cereal.

"No I'm fine." you responded curtly, leaning against the back of the couch across from him.

He looked like he was about to say something but you cut him off, "Look, I don't even know what I'm doing here but I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, about that night. It's been weeks and- and I keep replaying that moment in my mind, the moment before I left- and I just wish I had stayed or something. And I don't know why I'm here- I thought about turning back my whole way here and I think somethings wrong with me because I've never felt like this but I should have just left it alone- but I didn't and I don't-"

You heard the sound of the bowl clattering onto the table before suddenly his lips were on yours, silencing your ramblings and relaxing as he felt you melt into him. All your worries suddenly forgotten now that his hands were on you.

When he parted for air, he rested his forehead against yours murmuring "You 'ave no idea how much 've been missing you my sweet girl, drivin' me fuckin' crazy without'ya." against your skin with a kind of quiet earnestness you had only dreamed of.

You couldn't hold back and began to let out shaking sobs against his chest, hiccuping out "I-I'm sorry for l-leaving, I- I just."

"Shhh s'all right." He cooed, rubbing his hands up and down your back, just happy to have you in his arms again.

When you calmed down enough to pull back and look at him with your tear stained face he smiled, stroking your cheek, "You might want to get ready." He whispered

"Ready f-for what?" You sniffled

" 'M takin' you out on a proper date."

A/n: Old man Price consumes me more and more everyday

279 notes · View notes

vhstown · 1 year ago

Text

super short london slang guide !!

i haven't got a scooby doo about cockney so this is mainly gonna be mle and like the way 14 year old secondary school boys talk oookay let's go (just so yk i am a londonder!!!!!)

direct things to call people (or avoid calling people)

bruv, blud, man, mate, fam (can use in replacement of a pronoun like he, she, you and i or for emphasis — "man's got a meeting, bruv!")

more on "man" it can be used in plural too — "us man" or "them man" or "you man"

my g, my guy (for referring someone you are friendly/friends with)

bossman (something you'd call a shop or business owner — "aye bossman get me the 3 wings and chips yeah")

big man (usually used in a sarcastic friendly but kind of demeaning way, the older cousin of "big guy" — "oi big man what you sayin' cuz?"

i wasnt going to put these here cause of personal preference but 😭 people are gonna use them anyway so i might as well tell you what they mean:

peng (adjective cute/pretty — "her? she's peng!")

leng (adjective hot/sexy — "rah, he's leng you know?)

nouns

ting (usually to refer to a girlfriend but can also just mean "thing"... or a knife? — "don't chat to my ting fam!")

grim (very outdated word for a promiscuous woman — "she's a grim bruv!")

skeng (gun)

shank, spinner (knife)

paper, Ps, pronounced "peas" (money)

ends (neighbourhood, area — "if i catch you in my ends yeah")

mandem (group of friends — "having a laugh at the pub with the mandem" aha)

gyaldem (group of women / female friends)

ganja (weed)

blem (cigarette)

pagan/paigon (snitch or untrustworthy person, not a super common you might wanna use "snake" or "snitch" instead)

wasteman (someone who's useless, a lowlife)

pussio/pussyo (pussy, coward)

other common words and phrases

wagwan, or "wag1" in text (what's up, what's going on)

bare (a lot — "i got bare problems with him!")

gassed (prideful, full of yourself — "im actually so gassed, man got promoted"

"and that" (instead of "and stuff" — "i got links and that")

"allow it" (let something slide — "i forgot my wallet allow it bossman")

safe (like "alright cool", or as a bye — "aight safe")

"pattern up" (fix up, get it together)

hard, tight (cool, good, though "hard" is also used in an offensive way — "bro thinks he's hard, pussio")

blam (to get shot, not actually very common to hear in my experience)

sheffed (up), shanked (to get stabbed)

ahlie (used as an interjection when in agreement with something, similar to phrase "am i lying?")

non-mle specific words i hear sometimes

thick (dumb, stupid)

clapped/tapped (ugly, weird, unattractive)

merk/murk (kill, beat up)

slag, sket (slut)

chav (used to refer to someone of the low social status, associated with violent or rude behaviour)

taking the mick, taking the piss (being annoying)

mad (means crazy obviously but people use it a lot, can have positive and negative connotations — "that's mad!")

nonce (literally means pedophile / sex offender, do what you will with it 😭)

dickhead, bellend (similar to douchebag)

wanker (used towards someone you dislike, or in a joking way)

geezer (usually to refer to an old man)

also!!!

depending on which communities are predominant in the area, words from other languages can come in / have come in

some words are common with US slang too because they share origins 😁 ain't that cool

there's a lot of influence from jamaican patois due to the history of british jamaicans in london for ex in words like "ting" or "mandem" or "wagwan" (hence why mle is sometimes referred to as "jafrican") and its not strange to hear "bomboclaat" or "bloodclaat" here either

in communities where there's muslims and arabs (especially in east london) you might hear arabic terms like "wallahi", "khalas" or "astagfirullah" (though people debate whether that's cultural appropriation or not)

south asians have also had an influence with words like "gora" or "ganja" though again this is largely area based and the impact of hinglish is also found a lot outside of london

some people have a mix of different dialects! i mainly alternate between mle and estuary (sometimes yorkshire don't ask it is very easy to pick up...)

you're not gonna hear every single word here all the time the usage varies throughout london. the way north and west londoners speak can be v different for example

uhhhh if you wanna learn properly just listen to some grime or sutn . listen to londoners speak!

for some more resources in-depth PLEASE check out these guides made by other british people ! (one and two)

ok that's it bye bye british ppl & londoners feel free to add on! it is midnight rn so ive probably missed stuff lol... dms are open in case you've got any questions or want any help :p

#vee rants #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #spider uk #hobart brown #hobie brown #hobie brown x gn!reader #british accent #london accent #potential to be edited

626 notes · View notes

queer-n-here · 11 months ago

Text

Y'all thank you for your responses! So here is: Large and in charge reader, who's only nice to their on true love: OSAMU DAZAI!

(And yes, as you can see, I voted on my own poll. And yes, I voted for Tanizaki. I'm a simp for him broooooo)

Also, bruv, I dunno why but I got so carried away and this got really angsty. Like... I never do angst. NEVER. Yet here we are. I wonder if I'm okay. Well whatever.

Contents: Dazai getting drunk with reader.

Warnings: No smut, kinda angst, I totally digressed from the original plot line I had planned, and now I want nothing more than to give Osamu Dazai a big fat hug.

Dazai had found himself a new hobby: watching people's reactions as you talked to him.

I mean, most would think, really, how interesting can THAT be? But being the sort of person you were, all mean and menacing at one look but really soft and gentle on the inside, it was rare for you to really hold a conversation without coming off as intimidating. So when people saw you smiling softly at Dazai's jokes, and watching him fondly as he chatted away, they were generally more than surprised.

Dazai remembered distinctly the day you'd met. Fukuzawa had found you fighting solo against three of the Port Mafia's best ability-users, and known with one glance that you were stronger than even you knew. It hadn't taken him long to convince you to join the Armed Detective Agency; with painfully dead parents and a burned down house, you didn't really have anywhere else to go.

You passed their little entrance test, even though after they revealed that it was just an entrance test you couldn't help but be slightly annoyed. All that hard work to try and save that girl only for the whole scenario to be fake. Should've just ignored it.

It had been two years since then. And even though you wouldn't really say it out loud, you were happy that Fukuzawa had taken you under his wing.

How else would you have met Dazai? Or any of the others, who you did secretly like, even though you were unsure about expressing it.

One day, Fukuzawa sent you and Dazai to investigate a letter that the detective agency had received. The sender threatened to blow up the Gundam Factory in Yokohama, which was a popular entertainment place for tourists. Fukuzawa did contact the owner, but since the area covered by the Factory was quite large, and the number of people who were already there was also ginormous, the owner asked for them to investigate the culprit before the bombs could go off.

It was an easy job, and you two had it finished before 3 in the afternoon. All that was left now was some measly paperwork, which you would have to take care of alone because Dazai despised that part of work with a burning passion.

And so Dazai decided to fool around a little.

He took you to a bar, somewhere in a deserted alley in the middle of nowhere, walking with his hands on the back of his head and making nasty comments about everything he could lay his eyes on. You followed silently.

"Say," He yanked open the door of Lupin. "What about you, though? Where do you generally spend after-mission free time?"

Dazai led you into the bar, plopping down on a barstool in front of the counter.

"I sleep," You said, sitting down next to him.

"Huh?" He made a weird face. "That's it?"

A bartender appeared behind the counter.

"Mn," You nodded, looking at the bartender.

Dazai ordered 'his usual', and you decided to have the same as him. It wasn't bad, frankly, sitting there next to him on adjacent barstools and hearing him ramble on about everything and somehow nothing at the same time. He drank and drank and drank and drank, till he was telling you about Ango, about Odasaku and the days they spent together. He drank till his pale cheeks were flushed red, till his neck didn't have the strength to hold his head anymore, till his head was pressed into your chest and his shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.

You stroked the back of Dazai's head. Sober, he was a goof, running around pretending that everything was jokes and comedy. Drunk, he was much more grim, face set firm even as more tears splashed down it, eyes miserable in a way that made your heart ache.

"What's making you sad?" You asked him, desperate to take away at least some part of his sorrow.

But he didn't answer, shaking his head and clenching the fabric of your shirt so desperately it felt like he was hanging on for dear life.

You let him, wrapping your arms around him slowly, pulling him closer. You couldn't do anything but that, and the mere thought of it made you feel like the most useless being on the planet.

You paid for the drinks and heaved Dazai up on your shoulder, letting him stain a different part of your coat with tears as you walked away from the bar.

You took him to the agency dormitory, but once you were in front of his door you couldn't go any further.

"Dazai," You said, your voice gentle as you slowly put him down, and he wobbled on his feet. "Do you have your keys?"

The man couldn't even stand, and had to lean against the door for balance to look up at you. "Hmm..."

He began fumbling through his coat, hands slowly and thick with the weight of the alcohol in his veins. Finally, he produced a key, holding it up and pressing it into your chest. His tears had finally stopped.

You wiped the remnants off his cheek with your thumb. "Let me open the door, hmm?"

Dazai moved to lean against you instead of the door, and you placed an arm around his waist to support him as your free hand opened the door. You led him into the room, sitting him down on the floor near the doorway so you could take off his shoes. When you looked up, however, he had laid back on the floor, glossy eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"Say, [Name]," His voice was thick, his words were slurred. "Some people believe that right and wrong are relative... That there's no black and white... D'you think that's true?"

You looked at him. He was regretful, you could tell. But the fact that you couldn't help him, that you couldn't snatch all that pain away from him and swallow it was enough to make you bodily ache.

"I don't think I have a definite answer for that," You said, wishing you had, wishing you knew how to comfort him. "Why do you ask?"

Dazai's hands rose, clutching at the lapel of your jacket and pulling you closer to his face, making you hover over him on the floor. "D'you think... In a world like ours... We can ever do 'the right thing'?"

You shifted your weight to one hand, raising the other to caress his cheeks softly. "If you try hard enough, yeah. Even if no one's a hundred percent good, ever, if you try hard enough... I think that's all that matters."

"And..." Dazai's brow furrowed, and he looked adorably confused. "How hard is hard enough?"

You couldn't help but think of how, in any other situation, Dazai would've made a sexual pun out of those words.

"Hmm..." You thought of it, wanting to give him an answer that would satiate him. "Your best."

It was a simple answer, and yet Dazai's eyes widened, as if you'd solved the biggest mystery of the universe. "Just that?"

You nodded. "Just that. That's more than enough, Dazai."

And he nodded back, wrapping his heavy arms around your shoulders and pulling you closer, burying his head in your chest again. He fell asleep like that, holding you like a child.

You took him into the room later, taking off his coat and sweater and untucking his shirt before placing him on the futon and covering him with the quilt.

The next day when you saw him at the agency, he was back to his clownery, but something about the way he looked at you had changed.

#dom male reader #top male reader #dom reader #sub bsd x you #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs #sub bsd #sub bungou stray dog x you #sub bungou stray dogs #sub dazai #sub dazai x you #sub osamu dazai #sub osamu dazai x you

157 notes · View notes

autumnnnsun · 1 year ago

Text

Now that I’ve finished reading Hortus de Escapismo and Executor’s record, I really gotta ramble about Executor for a second and kinda talk abt how Arknights handles his lack of empathy trait that I really enjoy. This isn’t a proper analysis or anything just my thoughts I wanna vomit for a sec.

So it’s implied in Executor’s record that he just, wasn’t born having empathy despite being a sankta. Or at least he just naturally doesn’t have the same levels of understanding of emotion as other sankta. The part that I really like about it is how Executor’s Record and story in general doesn’t portray that as a necessarily bad thing.

His lack of empathy allows him to think in a way that is a lot more unique than other sankta. When his partner in his record story told him to sacrifice him, he still brought his body back to Laterano. One of the reason being because of a specific sentence in the will they were enacting (“I hope all Laterans return back to their home.” Smth that most people would assume is just smth the will writer wrote for some extra literary flare) but also because he disregarded his partner’s feelings. His lack of empathy is the reason why he did something good and that is very interesting to me especially when most people tend to demonise having low/no empathy.

I also just really like how in his record story, it’s emphasised that he knows what emotions ARE. He has developed a system with his parents to recognise and visualise emotions by drawing lines that represent them. He knows what it is, he can recognise it to a level where he can think of the next best course of action when confronted with it, he just doesn’t put much importance on it nor does he bother with understanding it for the most part. Especially if it’s something that will get in the way of his job. And I REALLY like that cus it reminds me of how people irl that have low empathy will develop systems to work around it and still be kind.

I know a lot of us joke about Executor being autistic and that’s funny and I like the jokes as much as everyone else, but low or no empathy is a trait of other mental disorders and disabilities and even as someone that hasn’t been diagnosed with anything yet it still feels kinda nice to see low empathy being portrayed in a way that isn’t villanious.

In fact, Executor having low empathy kinda makes him the best person in the room sometimes especially in Hortus de Escapismo. The part where he does a warning shot at Oren and Lemuen and essentially goes “Can ya’ll STOP I’m trying to do my JOB.” And essentially manages to stop a massacre because of it is so funny but also so fucking hype bruv. I like how in the end of the event when Executor was starting to ask more questions and have more doubts and was starting to let emotions affect his actions a bit more, it isn’t framed as like “Oh mah gerd, he’s learning empathy and being more hooman!”

Instead he’s asking questions and seeking to find solutions to them in his own unique way. Asking around and adding more variables to his thought process like a computer would (which has some implications that gets my lore brain churning but hrghrghrgh)

Top it all of with the fact that he is specifically a character that is born and raised in a society that values empathy. Being able to feel other people’s emotions is what makes you a sankta. And Executor, is one of the better sanktas because he doesn’t follow that rule.

God I love Executor, go son, thrive.

#autumnstext #arknights #executor #executor the ex foedere

271 notes · View notes

thetarttfuldickhead · 1 year ago

Text

It’s a little unclear, in the end, how the conversation gets there, because all in all the Richmond dressing room isn’t the site of that many sex jokes, not since Colin came out and no longer feels the need to make them. But they’re still lads, yeah, and young, mostly, so the jokes still happen, even if it’s just gentle ribbing, and silliness.

So: somehow, one morning halfway into Roy’s first year as head coach, the topic turns to sex, of the rougher variety. Roy’s only listening with half an ear, he’s busy sketching out the new trick plays Nate’s dreamed up on the whiteboard, and he doesn’t really catch the build-up, but when Jamie’s name is mentioned his ears perk up without him even really noticing. It’s become instinct at that point, keeping track of Jamie (even as Roy does his best to give all his players at least some semblance of equal attention).

“We know that Jamie likes it rough, though,” Zorro says, and the rest of the group oh:s and ah:s either knowingly or in surprised glee.

“Eh?” Jamie sounds startled by the assertion, but not particularly put off. (He never really is, as long as he gets attention, Roy thinks with an internal scoff that’s far fonder than he’d ever admit to.) “What makes you say that?”

“You told us!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Roy can see Jamie shake his head. “I don’t know what you’re on about, mate.” Still not bothered, but clearly not understanding what Zorro is getting at either.

Isaac throws him a disbelieving glance. “You don’t remember, bruv? It was when you first came here, before you started going out with Keeley.”

“Yeah,” Colin interjects, “You’d only been here for about two weeks, I think, but you came into training with these marks and bruises, and it turned out you’d hooked up with a girl the night before, but you hadn’t known she was a professional dominatrix before you got to her place.”

Hoots and titters at that, delighted and amused but not unkind.

“Exactly,” Zorro says. “And you told us you’d just gone with it because you have to try everything at least once, and it hadn’t been bad.”

Ah. Roy remembers now. He’d already been absolutely fed-up with Jamie’s attitude, the arrogance and selfishness and incessant need to put others down, and the striker’s total lack of shame and casual smugness about the marks had rubbed Roy entirely the wrong way. Not because people should be ashamed for liking that sort of stuff, of course (Roy wasn’t), but there was such a thing as common decency and unspoken rules about not parading around the dressing room like you were in a fucking porno or some shit and—

If Roy was honest about it, he’d mostly been pissed because it was Jamie, and everything Jaime did pissed him off back then (though, to be fair, most of what Jamie did back then was fucking shitty, so it’s not like Roy was wrong to be pissed. Most of the time).

“Oh.” Jamie’s voice is soft, suddenly. Small, in a way that has alarm bells going off like air raid sirens in Roy’s head. “Yeah. Um.”

The realisation hits Roy a second before it does the rest of the team, and his ears are already filling with a terrible ringing as the room falls silent behind him. He can feel himself grow rigid with rage, and with cold, curdling shame.

“Shit, man,” Isaac says eventually.

“Jamie, I’m so sorry.” It’s odd, the way Colin’s earnest, unhappy voice seems to be coming from so very far away.

“What?” Zorro, still not getting it, and then he does, and Roy, at a great distance, can hear his face crumpling. “Oh shit, Jamie, I didn’t mean—“

“No, don’t worry about it, man. It was a long time ago, yeah? It’s fine.” It’s a heroic attempt at sounding casual. Might have succeeded, too, back before they all knew Jamie as well as the do now.

Roy doesn’t stick around to hear the team offer their comfort and Jamie try to wave their concern away. He walks into the coaches’ office, and the only reason he doesn’t slam the door as hard as he can is because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself.

“You all right there, Coach?” Beard looks up at him from behind his book, brow creased in quiet assessment.

“Oh my God, what happened?” Nate jumps down from the desk he’s been perched on. “Did someone die?”

And Roy wants to tell them to fuck off. Wants to punch the wall so hard it stops his mind from spinning. But he’s been talking with Dr. Fieldstone about that, hasn’t he, how his maladaptive coping strategies are tripping him up, and fucking over the people he cares about in the process.

So he takes a deep breath. And he doesn’t look at them when he starts talking. “Back before Ted came here Jamie came in with these bruises all over his chest and back one day, and he told us he’d had sex with a fucking dominatrix. And I believed him, okay? I just… I fucking believed him, even though it was weird fucking bruises for— That’s not the fucking point. But because I thought he was an arrogant fucking prick and I fucking hated his guts, I told him— “ He trails off, looking up at the ceiling. Uselessly, his cheeks are burning. Maybe his eyes are, too, if he’d let himself feel it. “I told him I’d be happy to pay to see someone give him a trashing. Give ‘em extra if they knocked a couple of his teeth out so he’d shut up for once.”

Beard doesn’t say anything, but he leans back in his chair with a look on his face that lets Roy know that, yeah, he’d fucked that one up good and proper.

“Oh,” Nate says. “So it was his dad who— That’s— But— I mean, that’s not good, obviously, that’s awful, but it’s… It wasn’t you who hurt him, Roy. And I mean, you and Jamie have said all sorts of thing to each other. Done all sorts of things.”

And that’s true, isn’t it. And mostly Roy is happy enough to write it off as tit-for-tat, old foolishness and bygones, Jamie a prick and Roy sometimes an idiot, and they’re both better now. And he doesn’t know how to explain to Nate and Beard how knowing that Jamie looked up to him ever since he was a kid, knowing that he never took that poster down, even after that, after everything, makes his casual cruelty and failure to protect Jamie all the harder to bear, even if he hadn’t known at the time that there was anything to protect Jamie from.

“Coach—“ Beard begins, but is interrupted by a knock on the door, and before Roy can tell whoever it is to fuck off, Jamie sticks his head into the office. Must have made his escape from the rest of the team, then. “Sorry, Coach, are we getting started or what? The lads— “ He catches sight of Roy’s face and his eyes widen. “Jesus, Roy, what happened? Are you all right, man?”

Under other circumstances, Roy might have found it remarkable how quickly and effortlessly Jamie makes the switch from Roy’s respectful star player to Roy’s friend, his entire demeanour changing as he moves into the room. As it is, Roy doesn’t say anything, but he must have made some sort of noise or moved some sort of way, because Jamie’s face twists in alarm, and then he’s across the floor and gently but firmly pulling Roy into a hug. “There, it’s all right, man, I’ve got you, lad, it’s all right.”

Roy blames all the fucking therapy he’d been doing for the past eight months for not pushing Jamie away but instead allowing the other to hold him, and allowing himself to hesitantly wrap his arms around him in turn. Fuck Nate. Fuck Beard. Fuck the team. Fuck anyone who thinks they get to have opinions on that.

He’s got an inch on Jamie, but Jamie’s broader, solid and strong. Steady, as he puts a hand on the back of Roy’s neck, murmuring nonsense that Roy knows is supposed to be soothing, and which maybe is. Mostly, it’s reassuring to have Jamie there, whole and hale and safe.

“What’s going on? Is Phoebe all right? Did something happen to your sister? Keeley?” Jamie is starting to sound a little freaked out, and Roy realises that he can’t just stand there mutely forever and let the fears grow in Jamie’s mind, he needs to fucking say something, explain.

He’d rather never say another word.

Tough fucking luck, Kent. “Do you remember what I told you when you said you’d had sex with a dominatrix?”

The way Jamie stiffens tells him that, yeah, Jamie does. “Roy—“

Roy tightens his grip, not wanting Jamie to pull away. “Don’t fucking tell me it was fine, because you were a nightmare for the rest of that day, you were absolutely fucking horrible to everyone.” Worse than usual, lashing out—not that Roy had known it at the time, or had thought it anything more than Jamie being a fucking prick for no other reason than to be a prick.

For a few moments, Jamie doesn’t say anything. Then he lets out a long sigh, relaxing into the embrace and pressing his face against Roy’s neck. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, “it was all shit, mate. I mean, all of it was, it wasn’t just you— But, Roy, listen… “ And now Jamie does pull back, just enough so that he can look at Roy. His eyes are tired, but the set of his jaw determined. “You fucking hated me, right? Back then, I mean. You hated me, ‘cause I was a prick, and I hated you, ‘cause you were a bitter old cunt.”

There’s no fucking denying it, is there. Roy gives a sharp nod. “Yeah, but—“

“No, let me just— I’m not saying that makes it all right, yeah, I just— You hated me, okay. But, would you have said what you said if you’d known what really happened?”

Roy’s lips twist into snarl. “What? No! Of course I wouldn’t fucking have— “ He might have ached to put Jamie’s head through a wall several times a day, but he wouldn’t have stood by for Jamie’s piece of shit father—

“See?” The little twat has the audacity to look triumphant at that, as if he’d scored a particularly neat goal. “That’s what I’m saying, yeah? Even when you hated my guts, you wouldn’t have said that, if you’d known what was going on. But you didn’t know, ‘cause I didn’t want you to, or anyone to, and I’m an amazing actor, yeah? So, like, it’s not fine, but it’s… Don’t beat yourself up over it, man. You didn’t know.”

It’s absolution, the kind Roy doesn’t think he deserves and the Jamie is far too quick to offer. But Jamie is also right: Roy hadn’t known. Wallowing in guilt won’t do anything to change the past, or help Jamie now.

“All right,” Roy says. “But that was still a shit thing to say and I wish hadn’t done it. You never deserved any of what that arsehole did to you, and if… fuck it, when I made you feel like I thought otherwise, that was my fucking bad, and I’m sorry.”

Jamie nods. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, man.” And there’s a tremulousness to his faint smile that makes Roy think that for all his claims to the contrary, it had still been something Jamie needed to hear.

It does Roy’s fucking head in that Jamie’s been up to see his dad several times since he got word that James Tartt is in rehab. But they’ve argued about that already, bitterly, and Roy has very reluctantly admitted that it’s not his call. All he can do is offer Jamie whatever support he needs, whenever he wants it.

Clearing his throat, Roy gives Jaime an awkward pat on the shoulder before carefully extricating himself fully from the hug. “We’re still on for dinner with Keeley tonight?” He’ll make Jamie’s favourite dish, he decides. Throw in some dessert.

“Yeah, of course, yeah.”

“Good.” He jerks his head to the door. “Go on then, tell the lads to get on the pitch, and we’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yes, Coach.”

As the door shuts behind him, Roy turns on Beard and Nate who – wisely – don’t say anything.

“I don’t want to fucking talk about this,” he tells them sharply. “I don’t want you mentioning a fucking word of it ever again.” Because maybe he’s gotten to a point where having a fucking breakdown and hugging it out with Jamie in front of them isn’t the end of the world (even if it’s a near fucking thing), but if someone tries to make him discuss it, he’ll need to start head-butting people, and he’s been trying to stay off that since he became manager, because it just isn’t a good look, is it, and he’s trying to be better about that sort of thing.

Nate and Beard glance at each other. Roy doesn’t really care for the knowing look in their eyes, but they merely offer a nod and a yeah, yeah, of course, sure in reply, and that will have to do.

In this messed up world, a lot of things would have to fucking do.

“Right,” Roy says, already moving to follow Jamie. “I’ll see you on the fucking pitch.”

---

A/N: This was supposed to be the fourth of the stand alone ficlets I call The Locker Room Conversations, but it got quite a bit darker (and less team focused) than I usually do for those, so I’m not sure. I’ll sit on it for a bit, maybe fiddle a little, and see where I put it when it goes up on AO3 eventually.

If you like the idea of the team uncovering sad truths about Jamie’s past and are into heavier angst (and more of the team taking care of Jamie), I highly recommend checking out i should be the poster kid for this shit by anotherlongstoryshort / babytarttdoodoo

#well-intentioned ribbing lead to unhappy revelations #and references to earlier abuse #and roy having all the emotions about it #there’s also a very long hug because a girl’s gotta get her kicks somehow #james tartt sr is mentioned and his own warning #hurt/comfort #angst #roy kent #jamie tartt #roy & jamie #afc richmond #a team of himbos #who mean well even when they get it wrong #fic #my stuff

253 notes · View notes

ynbabe · 1 year ago

Text

Fake texts au- pt.15 bffs with the rookies+ "come pick me up I'm scared"

Okay, I was in my feels when I wrote this one, sooo- it's sad as shit 😭, this is a CW, I think?

| Masterlist |

"Well, I didn't ask," You responded to Logan, who kept you company as you walked from your dorm to your university in the UK, he had been struggling with jet lag as he was back home for the two-week break for the Vegas GP.

"Well, why didn't ya?" He called out, you told him to do jumping jacks to help go to sleep, you didn't know how it would help but the thought of him jumping around made you laugh.

"Mate, I've gotta call you back," you looked at the huge crowd of men and women with expensive cameras and microphones in front of her university's gates, "Bruv, there's gotta be a celebrity or someone dead."

"Okay," he said, panting, "I think it worked, imma go sleep," he cut the call.

"Scuse me, imma just pass through, to actually study here," you pushed through the crowd till someone grabbed your book bag and yelled, "IT'S HER- IT'S Y/N L/N."

And then, the chaos started.

The cameras began flashing till you couldn't see, mics shoved in your face making scarps and bruises as people pushed and pulled you, yelling questions in your face.

"How do you know the F1 drivers?" one yelled,

"Are you dating any of them?" came another,

"Is it true you're related to Fernando Alonso?" A woman asked, grabbing your hoodie.

The whirlwind went on for a few more minutes, you tried your best to get out of the storm without saying something that might negatively impact their reputations, but then came those questions.

"How's the cushy life since you've got baby Schumacher's pockets?" you heard someone yell.

You finally found an exit, that's it, just five more feet and you'd be free, you know you could outrun them, "Hey, y/n! Who fucks better?" Some guy called out from behind you.

"Your Mother," you yelled back, throwing a punch at the disgustingly proud-looking, fifty-something-year-old man. Shock rippled through the crowd where laughter had run at the question just a few seconds before.

You used the distraction to run back to your dorm room, only your phone in hand, your bag having been yanked off your back in the mess.

"What the fuck?" You panted as you saw your dormmates outside your room, cash in hand, you pushed them aside and ran in, only to find your laptop and iPad missing, along with the camera Lando had gifted to you, the signed 'inchident' from Max and Charles, the polaroid of you, oscar and Logan camping in when you were teenagers and the 'Build a bear' Arthur had gotten you with him saying an inside joke.

You felt your face warm as anger and tears pricked at you.

You turned around to find the unreadable faces of your dormmates, "Where the fuck is my stuff?" You asked, hoping it was all a joke like you hadn't just lost everything that gave you hope, that gave you happiness.

"WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SHIT-" You yelled, slamming your hand on the room door, making your friends move back, one tried to speak, trying to make excuses, "DON'T CHAT TO ME, FUCK YOU-" you could hear your voice breaking, "fuck you," you did your best not to cry but it was becoming tough to not.

You ran out of the building, and despite their protests, you made your way through back alleys and corridors that only locals would know of, pulling up your hood in case anyone recognised you.

You thought of who you could call, Logan was in America, god you wished Logan was here with you, he wouldn't have let this happen in the first place, you laughed to yourself. Oscar and Arthur weren't around either. Max, Charles and Lando were all in Monaco, and you definitely not going to let Mick, someone you'd known barely for a month see you like this, and he wasn't in the UK.

You wiped your hands down your face, and dialled on your phone, "Alex..." your voice trembled against his cheerful greeting, making him worry, "Can you come pick me up please," you tried not to break down. How did it get to this?

"Yes, give me a few, are you okay? Y/n? Hey-" You cut the call, sending him your location. How were you asking for Alex's help? The same man who'd pat you awkwardly on your head every time he saw you. Someone who'd begun treating you like a little sister, along with Logan, bringing you food from the cafeteria, sneaking in Redbulls. Someone who you'd tease calling your older brother, making him cringe about 'I'm not that much older', so maybe he was the right one to go to.

You saw a car pull up and you knew it was Alex, seeing him through the driver's side window. You got into the car, only phone in hand and the clothes on your back. "Hey, what are-?" Came a protest from George, who was in the passenger seat, but stopped as soon as he saw you sitting in the seat, you really didn't want this to be your first impression.

The car didn't move, like he was waiting for some form of explanation, "You'll see," you whispered, making him sigh and drive.

As he passed the gates of your university, they saw what you had been running from, and both their eyes widened. Alex looked into the back-view mirror at your face and decided not to say anything. George on the other hand, began cursing the crowd, calling some people on his phone.

You couldn't make out what he was saying, too tired and too scared.

"Hey, y/n wake up," Alex moved your arm, startling you awake, you saw you were in a car park and got out the car, following mindlessly, behind George, who was typing his code in. If Alex noticed it, he kept it to himself, but you could tell he was concerned about something.

You followed as they led to the apartment, you sat on the couch, if it were a normal, visit you'd be off the walls about the beautiful place, with floor-to-ceiling windows and plants everywhere, terracotta furniture to match the gloomy blue-grey sky.

"Um, George's place was closer, hope that's okay," Alex spoke, softly like it would spook you. He was right.

"I'll make tea, then," George nodded and walked off.

"M-My phone's dead, I think," you sniffled out.

"Y/n, that's not really-" He began,

"Can I charge it please?" I asked, if I tried to pretend this disaster didn't happen, maybe it would be like it wouldn't have.

He took the phone out of your half-stretched hand, attaching it to a charging cord, a small 'ding' telling you that it was indeed charging.

"Y/n, what happened?" He asked sitting next to you on the sofa.

"They took everything," you began, making him frown, George too, was out of his depth, placing the tray with three mugs of tea, "M-My frie- roommates, sold my laptop and iPad, and all the things I'd gotten from you all." You began, but this time you couldn't hold in the tears that pricked at your eyes.

You cried into the sleeve of your hoodie, curling into yourself on the sofa.

All those memories were lost. You had photos all the way from your childhood on that laptop and now they were gone.

"Oh, um," He went in to hug you and patted your head, making you laugh.

''See! There we go!" He smiled wide, making you laugh more, "Here," he passed you a mug of tea, it had cooled off a little, so you could drink it.

"You punched someone?" Came George's voice, it was the only thing he'd said to you.

You looked sheepishly at your right fist, the knuckles of which had turned a nasty red.

"No worries, I'll go get a first-aid," He said, walking to get it, when he was back he sat you on your other side, "You know," he poured some anti-septic onto a cotton pad, "I think, you handled it quite well, they were some stupid questions," He said as he moved onto your face.

You hissed, "Wait, what?" You asked, "It's already on the net?" You felt another wave of anger and tears.

"Yup," Alex said, moving his phone to you, showing a reel on Instagram, where the man was asking you that question, edited with the 'your mom' sound and a 'thwack' when the punch landed, ending with an edit of you in cat ears and a high-pitched fast-paced song.

"What... the fuck?" You didn't know where to laugh or cry.

"Mate, why the edits?" George asked scoffing.

"Wait, check Twitter," You suggested suddenly seeing the hilarity of the situation, "ARE FUCKING KIDDING ME?" You yelled, gulping the last of your tea, "YOUR MOTHER IS TRENDING??" it wasn't on top of the trending list but it was there.

"Y/n... I think you're going to love this," George showed something on his phone, they'd turned your voice into an audio, and there were already hundreds of videos being made on it on TikTok.

"Fuck my life."

.xX A few hours later Xx.

George had given one of his flannels, noticing how dirty your hoodie had gotten.

The three of you ordered takeout and watched The Walking Dead all afternoon, he genuinely reminded you of a posh London Mother.

In the middle of season 2, George got a call, "Hello-" He began but was cut off almost immediately and you could hear the man on the phone's voice till out.

"WHERE IS SHE?" Another voice yelled, "IS SHE OKAY??" All the sudden noise made George flinch and pull the phone away from him.

He quickly passed the phone off to you, and you were bombarded by three heavily accented Monganesque accents, "Hi, guys it's me," You responded making the call go silent for a second and then they all began screaming again, loudest was Arthur, then came Charlie's voice. Lastly, It was Lorenzo who got both the others to keep quiet.

You used the peaceful moment to excuse yourself to another room.

"Are you okay, y/n?" He asked and you replied with a small yes, he hummed and passed the phone.

"Y/n, oh my god, I saw the posts," Charles began, "Those people were stupid to attack you like that," He comforted you.

"Thank you, Charlie," You said, a small smile on your face.

You waited as words were exchanged in French and you heard footsteps on the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry Y/n, that should have never happened, it is all because of us," his voice rang sad.

"It's okay, Arthur, we'll talk about this when we're together okay?" You responded, and he kept apologising as he cut the call.

Next came Logan's call, just as you were about to call him, "What the fuck is wrong with people?" He questioned, his tone angry, "You could have gotten hurt. Like seriously hurt. This is bullshit." He yelled, but then his voice softened, "You aren't hurt are you?"

"No, not much, I've got a few bruises and cuts but all mint other than that." He hummed as you spoke, and began asking you other questions and you told him about what your roommates had done, you could hear that he was livid but kept trying to be calm for you.

And when Oscar called, that's when it finally hit you again, that feeling of losing everything that you held dear, "Y/n, please don't cry," came his voice from the other end, "Please don't cry while I'm away cause then I can't do anything about it," his voice broke.

"They took all our stuff, Osc, all the way from the first time we met to the last time we got McDonald's together, everything," you sniffled and you could hear the frown in his voice.

"I'm sure we can get it back, don't worry y/n, we'll figure it out, ya know, we've all got your back, speaking of which, you'd better call Max right away, he's with Lando, his bombarding my phone as we speak," He complained, returning some normalcy to your situation.

You cut the call and called Max, and it was Lando who spoke first, cursing at the media and complementing your punch and quick response and then Max took over.

"Firstly, are you okay?" He asked, making you say yes, "Secondly, I've got a lawyer ready, tell me and we'll fight this. We can find a way to get your stuff back." you didn't know what to say.

"Yes, yes, please," you spoke for a little longer before you had to excuse yourself. You had to call someone, someone you know who was going to be livid.

"Hiiiiii," You spoke into the phone, awaiting a response.

"Y/n, how are you, kiddo?" Your uncle's voice rang out. He had been taking care of you ever since you were a teenager, not that you needed much, a place to stay and school.

"I'm fine, it was bound to happen one day," you exhaled at the unfairness of it all.

"I know, I heard what your bastardas friends did," and you could hear the anger in his voice, "Names, and I will get it sorted," He asked making you giggle, he'd always been like this ever since you had showed up on his doorstep.

You told him not to do anything rash but that Max had gotten you a lawyer, he seemed proud of Max for that.

You told him you had to leave since it wasn't your phone you'd been using.

You walked inside, apologising for hogging the phone but George just waved his hand, too invested in whatever episode that was playing. He'd gotten out a bottle of wine (Of course he had,) and he and Alex were busy deep-diving into the show's lore.

He'd kept you a glass, which you gladly accepted.

As the day progressed, you took your leave, but not before George offering you the guest room, saying Alex would take the sofa, which made the other man kick the taller blonde, as you took your leave, having booked an Uber and hotel room for the week, you could still hear them play fighting.

As you were in the car, Mick called you, and you were surprised he had.

"Hey, Y/n! How are you?" He asked,

"Good, you?" You were good at pretending everything was okay, you got an A+ in coping mechanisms class in school!

"Can't be worse than, you know, punching someone," he laughed, you had realised, that the both of you had a sense of humour that really just clicked.

"Oh mate, that was the good part!" You made sure that your payment had gone through with the Uber driver and walked into the hotel. They already had your room ready (courtesy of George, you were sure,) and you only needed to show an ID to be led in, without any other questions.

"Yeah... I saw all the clips on Instagram," He sighed.

"It was kind of crazy, I can't even imagine how it must be for you guys!" You put the phone on speaker and looked through the room service options.

You were going to have lunch in your dorm's cafeteria but that loan had kind of fallen apart, and anyways tea and wine wasn't nearly enough to make you forget the shit show that happened today.

"Mate you won't believe what else happened," You told him about the laptop.

"What the fuck,"

"RIGHT- anyways, I hope they don't get into my drive 'cause I have some in there that is not for public eyes, like imagine they saw the video of your horrible Ghostface impression?" You laughed at him, making him remember the party.

"Oh, Please, it was amazing, I scared you!" He yelled,

"And then you shrieked when Logan did the same to you,"

"Well yes, but he was dressed as Anakin, y/n! I'm not competing with that!" He gasped, shivering at how the hair on his neck raised when Logan did the voice.

"Oh mate please, but that's not even the worst of it, I've got a video of Max and Charles, slow dancing, and literally everything Lando and Carlos do is incriminating."

"That is true, I didn't see them for half of the party," he insinuated.

"Well, you and Arthur were pretty busy seeing who could down more shots," You snickered.

"Well, it wouldn't have become that big if Oscar didn't egg us on!" He complained as he had for days after the party but all he got from Oscar was a smug smirk, with an evil look in his eyes whenever he did something like that.

You spoke till room service came in and then excused yourself to drown in pasta and Netflix.

Taglist: @dark-night-sky-99 @cashtons-wife @i-wish-this-was-me @thehufflepuffavenger1 @eugene-emt-roe @fangirl-dot-com @landosgirlxoxo @aquangxl @sachaa-ff @tyna-19 @assholeinatrenchcoat @allenajade-ite @megatrilss1885 @squirreljoe @jsjcue @s4turnsl0ver @yl90 @elijahslover

382 notes · View notes