#carTricks

[myautosparkle]

Fairly used car interiors are usually not in their best state when they are bought. Your car's interior says a lot about you and shouldn't be left in that state. An auto detailing session will do the trick, and in case you want to do that yourself, here are 5 tricks to help you restore your car's interior.

[hesherehesthere]

i've been thinking a lot about roy being on richmond while rupert was owner and cartrick was manager. i'm sure it was hell for everyone, but roy seemed genuinely glad to see rebecca pretty early on (greeting her in the hallways when most people ignored her), and he verbally expressed his distaste for cartrick as a manager on live tv. he's also immediately Alert when ted is hired and is clearly trying to figure out how he's going to handle certain situations. he has a clear shift towards respecting ted more after he benches jamie. it seems like in some ways he was expecting a repeat of cartrick (playing jamie even tho he was a dick, just because he was good). idk what this means, if anything, i've just been thinking about it

[babygirljamietartts]

Listen i love jamie. Obviously. But a cruel, evil little part of me still thinks they should've broken him a little in the finale

[liliesnprongs]

Ted Lasso Fuck Counter | 1.01 “Pilot”

Episode Total: 12

Average Fucks Per Minute: 0.4

By character, in order of largest amount, then by first utterance of ‘fuck’:

George Cartrick: 2

Jeremy (the Pub Lad): 2

Baz (the Pub Lad): 2

Roy Kent: 2

Ussie Kid: 1

Trent Crimm: 1

Rebecca Welton: 1

Jamie Tartt: 1

Master Post

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Thank you my friend! Here is a snippet from the fic you were gracious enough to provide the inspiration for and help me with :)

Monday morning, the first people Roy sees when he turns on his television are, of course, Jamie Carragher and George Cartrick. Roy would’ve thrown the TV out the window if it hadn’t been secured to the wall.

“Roy Kent does not have the mental fortitude to be a Premier League manager. It’s only been a few months, and he’s already gotten red-carded” Cartrick says.

“Roy’s always been an emotional man. It’s what made him such a great player,” Jamie Carragher counters.

“Fuck off, Carragher,” Roy says, idly wondering if everyone named Jamie was put on this Earth to vex him in one way or another.

Fuck.

Jamie.

[lunar-years]

I'd actually go as far as to say that it's not that he's never had it, it's more that WE haven't seen him in an environment where he's been encouraged to thrive. We met him at his lowest point - with bosses like Rupert and Cartrick. He's been in a really bad situation for the past six months and it's taken his toll. But his intelligence and confidence is so genuine and so easily accessible to him that I think he had it in his youth, at school and in his junior teams and stuff. Man City's a great club and they send their youth players to great schools too. His dad wasn't his only influence, he would have had a great mother, great coaches and great teachers. Jamie wasn't a power player on the main Man City team yet, but for all we know he was the captain of the junior teams, you know what I mean? When I look at Jamie's growth over the course of Ted Lasso, I see someone who was very stifled and set back by coming to Richmond when Richmond was a shitty, backwards place to be, in the time Jamie was there before Ted, and that took its toll for a whole bunch of reasons. I actually think Jamie before Richmond was closer to the Jamie we have now than the Jamie we first met, you get me?

!!! ooooh. Thinking about teenage Jamie as captain of his junior team has me so :) I could think about what Jamie might have been like in school for days and days.

No but like I need to know everything about Jamie Tartt and his backstory and his childhood right this moment. I need an episode where they just drop Jamie lore on us for 57 minutes. I need a prequel spinoff that's only about Jamie. I want to know everything down to what he was eating for breakfast on December 11, 2008 etc. ....I need to put him under my microscope and dissect him like a bug.

[v0idwraith]

rare george cartrick W

[headcanonthings]

Roy to George Cartrick: this may be a personal question Roy: so feel free not to answer Roy: but were you by chance homeschooled by a pigeon?

[tartt9]

the him in question

[its-time-to-write]

Can you write a Jamie Tartt request where he and the reader are in the "between lovers and friends stage" and they finally get together when he has her sleepover at his place after finding out her ex was loitering by her apartment?

I’m alive (mostly!) and I’m starting to go through the asks in my inbox again! Sorry to all y’all who have been waiting. I love you!😇😍

p.s. I’ve been obsessed with the song “Margaret” by LDR, which is where the title comes from

(oh also I barely responded to this prompt so that I could write this dumb fic that’s been on my brain forever. so. apologies for that too)

maybe tomorrow you’ll know

It goes like this: boy meets girl, they go to the same primary school, girl kicks around football with boy and sneaks into his room to hug him when his dad’s a prick, boy moves away to become a Premier League footballer and girl cries her heart out because they’re best friends.

Fucking typical.

And yet, he still picks up every phone call. Still answers every text you send. He’ll never say the word “love,” especially not when he’s with Keeley Jones and their faces are all over tabloids and instagram. But you’ll feel it in the way he’s a prick to everyone but you. It’s in the way his voice goes soft when you call him at 2am crying about being dumped by your first boyfriend.

He doesn’t visit, doesn’t phone his mum, but he’ll send you a quick voice message when he can. Usually not saying much, just a snip about training. First it’s all about Pep and the lads at Man City, then it’s about some gaffer named Cartrick and the fact that he’s teammates with Roy fucking Kent.

Jamie never tells you that Roy absolutely fucking hates him, but you know anyway.

Jamie also doesn’t call you when Keeley breaks up with him. In fact, you don’t even find out about it until pictures of Roy and Keeley surface online. You call him as soon as you can, and in typical Jamie fashion, he picks up on the second ring. 

You don’t ask him about Keeley, just let him talk about football and the new manager from America, and the fact that maybe Richmond isn’t so bad and maybe he can let his armor down just a little bit.

He’s sent back to Manchester the next day.

The bonds of childhood friendship run strong, because he’s on your doorstep in no time at all, and though it’s been years since you’ve seen him in person, there’s a part of you that feels like he never left. 

It never goes beyond friendship with you two. You don’t allow yourself to consider him in any other light because this friendship is special and important and neither of you will let anything ruin it.

It’s so strange sometimes to see him on tv or in an interview, eyes sharp and mouth full of barbs. Always on the offensive, always cutting others down before they have a chance to do the same to him. You have a hard time believing it’s the same boy who’s on your couch staring at the ceiling as he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

He’s never spoken that way to you, and you have a hard time believing he ever will.

So you feed him and make him smile and go to as many matches as you can (he leaves tickets on your kitchen table so you won’t protest) and give him a house key so he can come and go as he pleases.

But then he’s gone again, it’s the off-season and he’s on some tv show and you’re watching him flirt and seduce and pull at people’s heartstrings like they’re marionettes, and you realize (perhaps for the first time) how deep the damage has gone.

He gets absolutely shredded online, called all sorts of names by fans of the show and football alike, and you wonder if you’re the only one who can see what’s happening. That it’s all a show and that person, that Jamie Tartt on the screen is not the Jamie Tartt who used to throw pebbles at your window to come see if you wanted to ride bikes together.

It’s different than when he went to the Premier League. He doesn’t answer your texts.

It’s fine though, because your life doesn’t revolve around him. You have other, real friends and a boyfriend and a nice little flat and a good job. So he can go do what he wants and when he needs someone to pick up the pieces, you’ll go because you understand that sometimes this friendship is a one-way street. 

You miss him, though.

You don’t watch his season of Lust Conquers All until your boyfriend calls you and says, “Hey, it’s been fun, but I’m just not feeling it anymore, thanks for understanding,” and then you binge every episode right up to the current one. 

So now you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re glad it hadn’t gone too far, but his words still stung. But you drown your feelings in ice cream and shitty tv and it’s alright because another episode airs in an hour, so you can see more of Jamie and hope he’s doing okay.

He’s not. He gets voted off and you think that’s stupid but also maybe a little bit good.

—

Jamie just thinks it’s stupid. He’s kicked off his only lifeline, and then Man City flat-out refuses to take him back and he has to find out on live television for fuck’s sake. And then he has the brilliant idea to ask Ted Lasso to come back, because of course Ted will take him, what with his yeehaw can-do bullshit. Except Ted tells him no, and now he has nothing.

He’s cut out every friend, every family member and is resigned to life as a has-been before he’s even twenty-five years old.

Now, he’s at home with the blinds pulled. He’s not even sure what time it is anymore because it’s all meaningless, innit? So when there’s a knock at the door, he has to blink a couple times from his place on the couch before turning off FIFA and going to see who it could possibly be.

He hopes it’s you, even though he knows there’s no way. Not after he ghosted you for months. He ignores the uncomfortable flip-flop in his stomach at the thought of seeing you, and the way his heart beats a little faster when he thinks of holding you. 

He won’t cross that line. Your friendship (if it still exists) is too important. 

So he opens the door, ready to see who the fuck is bothering him. 

It’s Ted.

Ted asks, “Can I come in?” but he’s obviously not going to accept no as an answer, so Jamie steps back to let him inside.

Ted’s just standing awkwardly in Jamie’s kitchen, not even pretending that he isn’t shocked by Jamie’s decor. 

Jamie isn’t going to defend his choices to Ted of all people. Nor is he going to do anything to lessen his awkwardness. Finally, Ted clears his throat and says, “Well Jamie, it seems we need to revisit our last conversation.”

Jamie stares at him, refusing to speak until he’s sure what Ted is saying, so Ted continues. 

“I think I was a little bit too hasty when I said you couldn’t come back to Richmond. I’ve been giving it some thought, and we’d love to have you back.”

Jamie looks at Ted, all rumpled in his sweatshirt and shorts, hair as undone as it’s ever been, and is supremely unsure of what he’s supposed to say. 

Yeah, I’ll come back to Richmond. 

Fuck off, you’re too late.

He’s saved from saying something stupid by the sound of the front door rattling as someone punches in the code. 

“You expectin’ someone?” Ted asks. 

Jamie shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No one has the code, except-”

The door is shoved open and you burst through in a flurry of motion. You call, “Jamie?” but you can already see him in the kitchen so you make a beeline to his location and launch yourself into his arms. 

He’s solid as always, smelling like day-old Lynx. His arms are tight wrapped around you, body warm as you press your cheek against his. 

He sets you down after a moment, and brushes away a stray strand of hair from your face. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asks softly, still not quite letting you go. Ted notes that this is a new tone for Jamie. Or at least, the Jamie he’s interacted with. It’s not a performance, not something designed to make people love or hate him, it’s what Ted suspects is the most authentic version of Jamie. Whoever you are, you must be important. 

“Wanted to make sure you were ok. I saw your interview.”

Jamie makes a face. “Fuck’s sake, has everyone seen that shit?”

You shrug. “Hard to miss it. Your mum sent it to me. She’s kind of why I’m here, actually.”

“You know Jamie’s mom?” Ted asks, surprised. It’s only then that you notice he’s in the room. Your face heats up because you wouldn’t have been that grabby with Jamie had you known he weren’t alone.

“Hi, I’m Ted,” he says reaching out to shake your hand, “Seems to me like you know this one from a while back.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply. “Which is why I figured something was wrong when he ghosted me for fucking ever.”

Jamie winces and Ted takes his cue. 

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he says. He points a finger at Jamie. “You let me know what you decide, son.”

“It’s a yes, Coach,” Jamie calls as Ted heads out the door. You crane your neck in time to see Ted pump his fist in the air before the door shuts behind him. 

“So,” you say, arms crossed, “you have a big fucking excuse for not answering my calls. But you better never fucking do it again, or I’m showing back up here with Georgie and she’ll kick your ass.” 

Jamie grimaces. Sure, Georgie was never violent with him, but there’s something particularly terrifying about the way she says Jamie Tartt you have got some explaining to do, while her eyes do that thing where they flash and stare straight into his soul. 

“Right, yeah, I’m really sorry,” he says and he’s lucky that his tone backs up his words because if he had one ounce of prick in his voice, you’d make him really sorry. I mean come on, who ignores their family?

The thought passes through your mind just long enough for it to freak you out before Jamie’s tentatively reaching out to hug you again. 

You let him rest his head on your shoulder as you scratch his the back of his head. 

—

You’ve been on Jamie’s couch for the better part of two hours, talking and letting him pretend like he’s not on the verge of tears because at least he’s being open and honest for once, when he shoots up and says, “Jesus Christ, fucking Kyle.”

He turns to you, eyes wide as he asks, “Isn’t he gonna wonder where you are? Shit, and you’re with me. He’s not gonna like that shit at all.”

You shrug infinitesimally while you examine a spot on the wall. 

“We’re not together anymore,” you answer as casually as possible. 

Jamie sighs and settles back onto the couch. “Shit. Glad you finally dumped that prick.”

You glare at him. “I didn’t. He dumped me. And then I found him lurking in my fucking bushes yesterday like a total creeper.”

Jamie’s up again off the couch, this time heading for his car keys as he yells, “For fuck’s sake, love, you should’ve called me.”

“I did!” you shout back. “I did, and you didn’t pick up, did you? Anyway, it’s probably not going to be an issue anymore.”

Jamie returns to the living room, face ashen. “Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. I’m so sorry.”

You shrug and say, “It’s not a big deal. He decided that he liked certain body parts he owned more than he liked intimidating me. 

Jamie grips his keys so hard that his knuckles turn white as he says, “Right, you’re sleeping over tonight because no one fucking treats my girl that way.”

Then he freezes. 

You’re not frozen, because a single shiver has worked its way up your spine. 

My girl.

It came out so naturally. 

And it implied ownership? But of the mutual sort? And in a way that two best friends simply did notbelong together. 

The entire house is so silent, you swear you can hear Jamie blink. Well, that is, if either of you actually moved a muscle as opposed to staring at each other across the room. 

“What-” you start, but your throat is all weird and tight, so you clear it and try again. “What did you say?”

It still comes out much lower than you anticipated and Jamie has a split second to assess your body language and make a choice. 

You’re fully angled toward him, eyes wide. You’re not giving him a look that says, shut the fuck up right now, Jamie Tartt, so he takes it as permission. 

Permission to take one step closer, then another, then another until he’s standing right next to you. He slowly sinks down on the couch next to you as his says in a low, gravely voice, “I said, ‘no one fucking treats my girl that way.’”

Ah. So this is where over a decade of friendship has gotten you. On Jamie Tartt’s couch as your lips crash against his, both wondering why you hadn’t made a move sooner. 

But it doesn’t matter, you’re here now and you’re sure you won’t waste a single second. 

[daydreamgoddess14]

Complaints Procedure

MASTERLIST

Roy Kent x F!Reader

Literally just 1.5k of pure filth. Sorry, not sorry?! 😅Taken from this prompt.

Inspired by this image:

~~~~~

You knew to avoid the locker room immediately before and after matches. The less than stellar performance of the team during the season had seemingly made everyone angry - even Sam was down. Jamie Tartt continued to annoy and degrade everyone who so much as glanced at him, and the so-called Captain looked about ready to throw in the towel. Getting rid of George Cartrick may have been a wise decision, but his replacement was certainly unorthodox. You had your work cut out for you in HR, it was like babysitting 2 year olds - they all still bit, kicked, and scratched. Seeing you always gave them the initiative to put complaints in, complaints that you had to be seen to legitimately deal with, even if dealing with it meant sitting the idiots involved down and giving them a telling off. You had never told off Roy Kent, though. The man terrified and turned you on in equal measure.

Just the low timbre of his voice made your heart pound and flooded your body with want. Training was long over, so you figured you were safe to take some paperwork down to Ted Lasso's office. Your heels clicked on the concrete as you made your way through the maze of rooms. Wage slips for the folks in the ticket office, holiday forms for the staff in the medical and treatment areas, and the weekly update on player relations that Ted had asked you to draft. Who was fighting with who, who had you had to threaten with suspension, and who you'd just had to give an arse kicking to. As you turn to leave Ted’s office, Roy is coming back in from the showers. With just a towel gripped in his hand. You look literally anywhere else. The ceiling tiles become particularly interesting. 

"Oi, what you doing in here?"

"Just dropping some paperwork off, no need to be rude."

"Sorry, just… thought I was alone, that's all." You drag your eyes from the ceiling to his, drawing an invisible line across his nose so you do not look any lower. "See something you like?" He teases, as if he knows it's taking all your will to not look at his chest or the towel. 

"Definitely not. I'm done now, I'll leave you to it." 

 

You're sure you must hold your breath on the walk from the locker room to your office because as soon as you shut the door, it all comes out in a whoooosh. As good-looking as he is, you can't stand his arrogance, dominance, and anger issues. You knew it was nothing new in football or in work at all, really. You'd seen every layer of the food chain, and it was always the top of the tree who thought they were gods gift. You knew he could be kind and thoughtful. You'd seen it for yourself with the younger, less experienced players and with fans too. It was definitely a certain calibre of person who set him off - the Jamie Tartts and George Cartricks of the world. You're still leaning against your office door when you feel and hear it knock. When it begins to open against your back, you have to jump out of the way so it can swing open. Fully clothed, Roy is on the other side. 

"Do I scare you?" He asked, frowning. 

"Course you don't scare me, I'm not a sodding child." You roll your eyes. "Did you need something?" 

"I might need to put in a complaint." You arch an eyebrow at him, 

"Really? Go on?" He took a step closer to you, so you take a step back. 

"I saw the way you looked at me downstairs -" you scoffed, 

"I did not look at you at all. I actively didn't look at you," you start, angry until you see the smirk. "Oh fuck off, did you come up here just for a laugh? I've got enough to deal with picking up 

after Jamie Tartt since he can't stop making everyone miserable." He holds up his hands in surrender. 

"Alright, alright, just a joke," he laughs a little. "You wanted to look though." 

"You are just like the other idiots. So full of your own self importance, you all think everyone wants you." He narrows his eyes and takes another step towards you.

"At the risk of sounding like any of those pricks, tell me you don't?"

"What makes you think-"

"Humour me." He looks at you like he might devour you at any moment, his eyes dark with just a hint of mirth. He knows what you think about when you see him. You feel your breath quicken, and the urge to press your thighs together is desperate, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction of being right. Before he can catch you in a lie, he forces you to take one final step back against your desk and leans down to capture your mouth in a messy, obscene kiss. 

 

The shock of it makes you gasp, giving him access to deepen the kiss. Your hands grip at his shoulders to keep him close, trying to get him even closer if it's possible. He leans you back against your desk, the edge of it digging into the back of your thighs while his hands are trying to touch as much of you as possible. By leaning back on the desk, he can kiss along your jawline. It would be impossible now to make out that you don't want him, your greedy hands roam up his arms and into his hair and the sighs and moans he's pulling from you with just a kiss are insane. The length of his body presses against the length of yours and you feel him hard against your hip. Feeling how much he wants you only makes you need him more. Your hand brushes across the front of his jeans, making him jerk to meet it. He breaks the kiss and watches you breathlessly as you move to undo the button in the waistband. You can tell he's about to ask if you're sure, so you place a soft kiss to his lips,

"I want you to fuck me," you tell him quietly. There is still just a hint of hesitation in your voice, but it's more a fear that he'll reject you than anything else. 

"Fucking hell." He sighs into you. He grips your hips and turns you to face the desk, you rest on your forearms. He has your skirt rucked up around your waist in no time at all and nudges your feet a little further apart. You don't have the time or inclination to feel embarrassed or to consider something more meaningful. The singular thought in your mind is having him inside you. You hear the tear of a condom wrapper and feel him at your core. His hand cups you first, wanting to check that you're ready. "You're so fucking wet," he mutters almost proudly. He gives your hip a little squeeze of warning and pushes inside you. 

"God, Roy yesss," you hiss as he fills you completely. Fully seated, he pauses just a minute to reach down and sweep your hair to one side so he can kiss your neck, "please, Roy-" you push back against him, desperate for more. He takes the hint and pounds into you over and over. He’s hitting exactly where you need him with each thrust, and it's enough to have you believing in some sort of deity. You can feel the pressure building and you're so close to the edge it's overwhelming. "I'm so close, please daddy-" the words tumble from you, unfiltered and unexpectedly - that is a brand new one for you, and when you feel his pace slow just slightly, you're terrified that you've repelled him. He moans low in his chest and redoubles his efforts, unyielding, until you come hard, crying out his name. 

"Say it again," he whispers against your ear, his body draped over your back. His hand reaches around to rub circles over your clit and you're so sensitive that the payback is almost immediate and you can feel another orgasm building. 

"Fuck, make me come again daddy," you beg. He does exactly that within seconds of you asking, his own release coming at the same time. He holds your hips while your legs shake, his forehead resting on the center of your back. He slips out of you and disposes of the condom before turning you gently to rest you back against the desk. You keep your head down, chin to chest, mortified at what's just happened until his nose nudges against yours and he kisses you softly. 

"Holy fucking shit, I should threaten to complain again, that was insane," he breathes, still holding your hips and trying to get you to look up at him. 

"I shouldn’t ha-"

"No, don't do that. You're definitely going to say it again," he chuckles against you, "I fucking promise you'll say it again." 

 

FIN

[callmearcturus]

need formatting advice

okay i am actually gonna share the extensively tidied up introduction i wrote for the AU in which Ted is a director who works with producer Rebecca and is bound and determined to be the guy who gets to adapt the first book his favorite author has ever sold the rights to.

I'm sharing specifically because I want to include a Reference Guide at the end of each chapter but I am struggling with how to do this bit. I need opinions.

so, lengthy preview under the cut:

.

If asked what was the first work of Trent Crimm's he'd read, Theodore Lasso would have incorrectly answered An Aquarian Guide to Atlantis, IL.

When it happened, Ted had been living in London for four months with no end date in sight. If everything went well. there wouldn't be an end date.

He knew that Rebecca Welton was his golden ticket. She was the owner of the new Greyhound Productions, a development house funded largely by her own money after she'd survived a nasty divorce from media magnate Rupert Mannion.

Ted had met her by happenstance. Before her divorce was finalized, Rebecca was acting as executive producer for a limited run series with HBO, back when everyone was burning money for the chance of making something that'd be the Must See TV that drew in a million subscribers.

Money was plentiful, but time and patience were not, so when director George Cartrick got a DUI that slowed filming and was bad press besides, he was kicked from the whole show.

Four episodes needed a new director. Ted managed to get in for two of them. Mostly, he was hoping to calm the turbulent production and make a few connections that might lead to another, more stable gig.

Instead, Rebecca had asked Ted to stay and cover the other two episodes that Cartrick had left in the wind.

Before Ted caught up with what was happening, he was the man behind the monitor for seven of the ten episodes. A few months later, he was standing on stage next to Rebecca for her first BAFTA win.

Later, after the Golden Globe for Best Limited Series was standing in the middle of their table, Rebecca cheated her chair towards Ted and asked him if he was interested in moving to London. "Just for a bit," she lied to him airily, sipping her champagne. "It'd just be easier to discuss projects without the seven hour time difference."

Which was how Ted found himself here, four months into his stay in London. Rebecca had evolved from emailing him pitch decks and scheduling meetings to go over scripts. Now, she simply showed up at his flat, two stops away from Pinewood Studios, to stand in his kitchen. She flicked through printed teleplays, reading aloud dialogue and stage directions she found particularly inspiring.

All of it seemed, pardon the bit of flip, kind of crazy.

But Ted understood why.

When he and Rebecca stood shoulder-to-shoulder, reviewing dailies, he felt it. It was the spiritual equivalent of a storyboard exercise; hand Ted and Rebecca the same two pages, ask them to sketch a few thumbnails, and the two of them would hand in the exact same result.

This was how Ted knew the human soul existed. Not because he was aware of his own, but because he felt Rebecca's when they were both looking at the same monitor.

He was quite certain he'd never find this with another person, and yet here he was, screwing it up. Rebecca was lining up potential projects and Ted was blowing it with morose day-drinking.

Before Rebecca could realize she'd put her faith in the wrong fella, Willis stopped by one late afternoon to hand Ted a book. "Just finished it. Reminds me a bit of home. You should try it," was all the man said before tipping the brim of his hat and leaving.

The book did not fix Ted. It didn't cure his homesickness. But it got him to admit to Rebecca he was struggling with the move and to finally see the most discrete therapist she could locate for him. It kept him from ruining his life for the second time.

An Aquarian Guide to Atlantis, IL lived in Ted's backpack from that day forth. He read it over and over, dog-earing the pages he needed the most, each one a perfect inoculation against the darkness he felt he was always trying to outrun.

When his and Rebecca's first film reached picture lock and they had to start promoting it, Crimm's second book was joined by his debut novel in Ted's bag.

As he read The Sarpedon EP, 1968 on a plane to Los Angeles, flying over what Ted considered the best parts of America, he realized he'd never given Beard back his copy of Atlantis, IL. Handing back a loaned item that you'd thoroughly beaten to hell was unacceptable best friend behavior, so between meetings and press junket events, Ted carved out time to make a pilgrimage to The Last Bookstore.

There was a new limited edition of Atlantis, IL. It was a gorgeous hardcover with even more ergodic weirdness shoved in, with flourishes lifted right out of an old Rand McNally, detailing all of the vital details of Crimm's fictional Illinois Route Θ.

Ted grabbed two of them, just in case there was never a reprint. It wasn't as pocketable as Ted's (Beard's) paperback, but it'd look great on the coffee table.

At the check-out, Ted skimmed over the list of upcoming author events The Last Bookstore was hosting. "Say, you know if y'all've ever hosted Trent Crimm?" he asked the check-out lady.

She snorted softly. "Not for lack of trying. He's got another one coming out soonish, but every request has been declined. He's one of the reclusive types, I think."

That was a damn shame, but: "He's got another book on the way?"

On Ted's birthday, Rebecca handed Ted an advanced copy of The Tides of Static with a cheap ribbon bow taped to the cover. It was plain, just the title of the book and disclaimers like "COVER TO COME" and "ADVANCED UNCORRECTED PROOF SUBJECT TO CHANGE."

The unfinished state never bothered Ted. Every time he figured out a reference in the book, he jotted out the name of the band or album or song in the matte white space on the cover.

By the time Tides was actually published, Ted knew it so well, he could tell which sections had been touched up and rewritten. The last chapter was unchanged, and that's all Ted cared about. Everyone deserved to experience the same big reveal he had.

Ted liked Sarpedon and he loved Tides, but it was Atlantis, IL that lived with him. He'd misplaced his house keys and his phone more than he'd misplaced Atlantis, IL, the same compact paperback Beard had given him years ago. By now, Ted had cracked the spine so many times, he'd employed a generous application clear packing tape to reinforce the binding.

It was his favorite book, until Paris of the Plains by Trent Crimm debuted at number one on the NYT bestseller list despite the mixed reviews.

Honestly, Ted had never more felt the urge to try to change people's opinions about a book. Clearly they hadn't gotten it, but as someone who grew up in the Kansas City area, Ted understood the book more than they did.

Smothering corrective instinct, Ted instead decided it was fine that Paris didn't hit for everyone. When Rebecca innocently brought it up, she asked, "Is it really his worst book? I imagine you're the closest thing to an expert."

"Just a big fan, not an expert," Ted self-consciously deflected. "But way I see it, it ain't everyone's cup of tea 'cause it's my mug of coffee. I think it's a real brave move of the author to write a book specifically for me. Kind of him to publish it for other folks to read too."

"Oh, okay," Rebecca said, rolling her eyes. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it. How far are you into it?"

"About halfway through my second read."

Her lips parted in perfect surprise for a beat before she asked, "Did you pull strings to get another ARC?"

"No, ma'am," he said, smiling. "Got my copy the old fashioned way: midnight release at Waterstones. Finished it 'round five AM."

"Christ, I should have just preemptively given you the day off," she muttered.

REFERENCE GUIDE:

"Aquarian Guide" is a reference to The Aquarian Guide to Occult, Mystical, Religious, Magical London and Around (1970) which somehow wound up in my local library. It's essentially a listing of new age/occult businesses and societies and quilting groups with details on where each one meets and how to inquire. Like a yellow pages for weirdos. I would highly rec flipping through it if you ever get the chance just for how fascinating it is. However: It's incredibly dated and cringe-worthy in it's Orientalism and white people hijacking the spiritual touchstones of brown folks.

Pinewood Studios is the London answer to Hollywood and is where a lot of films and TV shows get made.

"Picture lock" is the state of a movie when editing is completely done. It's an extremely important milestone because it allows all the post-production people (music, effects, sound, ADR, etc) to do their work knowing the film will not be changed again.

Illinois Route Θ is an unsubtle nod to the video game Kentucky Route 0.

The Last Bookstore is a real place in LA, multifloor, huge, sprawling. It's one of those bookstores that doesn't feel like it should exist in reality.

Rand McNally was the publisher of road atlases in the US. In the time before the ubiquity of GPS and before MapQuest (let alone Google Maps) you needed a Rand McNally atlas in the glove box to navigate unfamiliar roads. Imagine trying to get from South Florida to Tallahassee up in the bootheel and going, "Well, Jacksonville is also in North Florida, I'll follow the roads there," only to discover you've tacked 4 hours onto your drive-time because you should have cut across Alligator Alley first to I-75 instead of taking I-95. That's why you needed a Rand McNally.

"Paris of the Plains" is a nickname for Kansas City, MO.

For reference, Trent Crimm's novels are (in order): The Sarpedon EP, 1986 An Aquarian Guide to Atlantis, IL The Tides of Static Paris of the Plains I will never tell you publication dates because the timeline of this story is fairly important and knowing me, I'll probably fuck it up.

okay so that's the reference guide to JUST THE SET-UP INTRO to the story.

I got a few ideas of how to handle this:

Just put them in the Author's Note and don't worry about it.

I believe the AO3 has a way to make a 'cut'/'read more'. I've seen people use it to hide content warnings for the people who don't want to see them while also allowing the folks who do to click thru.

I want to just have a 'final chapter' of the fic as a constantly updating Reference Guide, so all of the explanations are in one place. Downside of this is people would have to have two tabs open-- yeah this would not work on mobile, full stop. Dammit.

There USED to be a custom work page trick that allowed tooltips to be embedded into text. An old friend used this to include cheeky little translations of non-English dialogue if you hovered over the line. SAME PROBLEM: not viable in mobile.

I have considered the footnote jump point that Discworld/Good Omens AO3 fans have refined, which lets you tap the little superscript number to jump to the place where the reference is explained. That, to me, demands the entire story be built around the footnotes, and that's not what the story is about. My intent here is to show density, not to ever put a comedic or emotional punchline into the footnote.

Is there anything I've forgotten? Does this matter to anyone but me?

[jamiesfootball]

Thoughts on the relationship (non romantic) between Roy and Rebecca Welton?

The short answer is that he respects her

Now the slightly longer answer

I try not to conflate too much of irl football into Ted Lasso the show, because they themselves tend to play a loose with real world details, but even if we extrapolate from what we see on the show I feel it’s pretty safe to say that the majority of owners Roy has played under have fallen under the category of Entitled Rich Twats

So there’s Rupert, Entitled Rich Twat who makes a display of himself with his lascivious behavior, who was apparently not subtle about his indiscretions, who literally had a photo of himself up on the wall of former owners where he was literally surrounded by other women

And then there’s Rebecca, who for all her internal insecurities comes across as dignified and self-sufficient. Who absolutely took Rupert to the cleaners in the divorce and stuck him where it hurts (the club)

Then there’s her (outward) manner of dealing with the team. She speaks of Richmond as being mediocre, but she does watch them play. She talks of wanting to make improvements. She doesn’t talk about them in terms of profit. She is, to all outward impressions, an involved and invested manager

All while being ridiculed by the press in a public and embarrassing divorce. And she still handles herself with grace and self-respect

And she immediately sacked George Cartrick

Fuck, yes, Roy respects her. Roy respects the hell out of her, and that’s before Keeley enters the picture

From Rebecca’s side, I don’t think she put a lot of stock in the players, including Roy, before Keeley. I think before Keeley she was maybe flattered by Roy’s saluting her in the hall, and maybe inwardly a little soothed by his correctly calling her ‘Ms Welton’ where others kept slipping and referring to her as Mrs Mannion, but she was also much more focused on (self-)destruction than she was in forming relationships

Once she began to bond with Keeley and Ted, she began to see Roy more for what he is: a good man with a lot of love to give. Someone who doesn’t waste time half-assing things

I think his telling her she deserves to be struck by lightning was truly a turning point for her in reorienting her life around what she wants, even if it took a while longer to let go of her feelings about Rupert. Similarly, when Roy explains to her that she doesn’t have to go out of her way to impress Nora, I think that solidified in her mind as someone who will give her emotional honesty as long as she doesn’t offer him bullshit in return

Which is why she’s so incensed with him in season three when she sees him avoiding his own problems

[thrillingdetectivetales]

PUNDIT JAMIE. Please!

Bahahaha, of course! Anything for you, boo~ There's not a whole lot of it yet, because I just started writing it last night in a fit of madness after I finished rewatching season 2 of Ted Lasso, but here we are. (As a note: the referenced footballer is entirely fictional because I couldn't be arsed to do research into a real one. Any resemblance to an existing footballer is pure lucky coincidence.)

Cartrick glares, scowling like a bulldog, while Tartt says breezily, "Even as washed up as Kent is nowadays, I'd choose him for a line-up over Hollander every time." "Rubbish!" Cartrick huffs. "Shane Hollander is a ringer with his peak still rising ahead of him! Roy Kent had his bell rung for the last time eight years ago when he won the Champions League with Chelsea!" "Just because you weren't smart enough to figure out how to use him to his full capacity when you had him on your roster - " Tartt starts to say, but Cartrick cuts him off. He stabs a finger in Tartt's direction, face ruddy with rage as he sneers, "Oh, if you're so bloody eager for him, go and have a wank over his game tape, you ponce." Stelling and Kamara gasp and bluster, but Tartt just leans back in his seat with a cheeky, unbothered smirk. "I got that out of the way a long time ago, mate. Had a poster of him up on my wall since I was eight years old. Carried me through some lonely nights, that." And then he turns and winks at the camera, the cocky little prick. All around the room, the team starts oohing and aahing and fluttering their eyelashes at Roy. The attention makes that hot coil in the pit of Roy's gut squirm and writhe, creeping up the back of his throat like bile. Cartrick leans back and takes a breath, gearing up like he's about to really start laying into Tartt, and Roy barks, "Turn that shit off before I do it for you!"

[liliesnprongs]

Honestly, in International Break, it really looked like they were dipping into a Rupert Redemption storyline, and I am so glad that didn't happen. However, I do like how, in International Break, Rupert was humanized, and they showed how he once was a man who it made sense that Rebecca could've fallen in love with him, and that at some point, they probably were a pretty good couple. In that same episode, though, it was so fucking satisfying seeing the look on Rupert's face when Rebecca rejected him. He didn't get what he wanted, for once. Instead, he realized what he lost, and what he could have had. And he realized he could never get her back. I felt so much unadulterated glee watching him utterly destroy himself in the finale -- I was definitely more of a celebratory Sassy as opposed to a solemn Rebecca and Keeley. I was cheering.

Speaking of, I'm glad that it was none other than Rupert who brought himself down. Rebecca didn't have to do it. Even the scandals brought up about him and his assistant probably could've been brushed away with the right amount of money (though his chances of keeping West Ham would be very, very slim), but instead of cutting his losses Rupert stalked down onto that field like an overgrown bat (although I suppose that comparison is offensive to bats), yelled at and shoved Cartrick while the world (or at least the country) was watching, and just tanked his reputation so low it could never come back up again. Watching that was like, literally cathartic. 10/10 would watch again.

And speaking of George Cartrick, while I'm at it: I still don't like him all that much, for... obvious reasons, but hey, good on him for standing up to Rupert, and good on him for refusing to play dirty and take Jamie out of the game with a purposeful injury or something. If nothing else, at least he has respect for the game. He may be a misogynistic asshole, but he's at least better than Rupert -- miles better.

[hopefulromances]

Long Time Coming I Chapter Nine I Electric Love

Summary: Being hired as the first female assistant coach in the league was a challenge of it itself. Being a football protigy and University Football Legend was easy enough. Coaching Jamie Tartt was a challenge all on its own.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warning: Some angst

A/N: Enjoy

Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Jamie gave me some space, for which I was grateful. We had our final match coming up and our dreams of promotion were just in sight. I wanted to be able to focus on what that, the match, which was the most important thing I’d be a part of. But of course, there was only one thing on my mind, and it was Jamie. Without having Jamie around to talk to, I found myself missing him more and more.

I moped my way through the day. Coming to work, going to my desk, going to the pitch, eating a plain salad, and going home. I didn’t want to let it affect my work so when I was on the pitch I tried to stay as unbiased as possible. But honestly, I felt more inadequate than ever. It didn’t help that the media seemed to be shining a light on every mistake you’d ever made in the league.

 “Look, all I’m saying is that she’s too much of an amateur to be on the team,” George Cartrick stated firmly on the Soccer Saturday show. “A woman cannot teach a man.”

“Now, George!” Jeff Stelling defended. “(Y/N) (L/N) has performed admirably under Lasso’s leadership.”

“She’s barely out the womb! What makes her think she’s qualified to be in the Premiere League?” George shot back. “She needs to pack her bags and get out of Richmond before she loses them a chance at promotion.”

I turned my phone off, running a hand through my hair in frustration. Maybe he was right. Maybe I wasn’t ready for this job.

            “George Cartrick is a twat with shriveled balls.” Roy’s voice entered from his side room. “And I should know, he constantly wears pants that show them off.”

I glanced up at him, stuffing my phone in my pocket. “Yeah, thanks, Roy.”

            “Hey, Roy’s right,” Ted agreed. “With the sentiment, I’ve never seen George’s testicles myself.”

I rolled my eyes and rested my head on the desk. I appreciated their sentiment I really did but I was just so BLAH at the moment that nothing they seemed to say or do really help. I was in a funk. A funk I had put myself into. Ted, Roy and Beard exchanged glances with each other.

            “You know, (Y/N),” Ted said, turning to face you. “You can talk to us about anything. Honorary Diamond Dog meeting.”

I peeked out of my arms to look around the room. Nate wasn’t in the room, so I didn’t have to worry about his sorry ass judging my for my pitiful nature. I lifted my head and took a deep inhale.

            “I’m putting space between me and someone I really care about, and I thought it would make me feel better but instead its hurting me more than anything has ever hurt me before.” It all came out in a fast stream of consciousness, not breathing until I got the statement out.

            “Wait, if this is someone you cared about, why are you putting space between you and them.” Beard questioned, finally joining the conversation. You pursed your lips, trying to figure out how to tread this line. There was no way in hell you were telling this group of people about Jamie.

            “Well, um, I was afraid my feelings were getting in the way… and he didn’t care about me the same way I cared about him.” I decided to say. “I thought that I needed to give myself time to get over him.” Beard opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t let him say anything. “But instead of getting over him, it’s making me want him even more. And I’m trying to focus on the game but everyone and their mom is expecting me to fail! And all I want is to talk to this person because I know they would support me but now I’m afraid to even talk to him!”

Ted raised his eyebrows and let out an impressed whistle. “You got all that cooped up in that head of yours?” I nodded. “Well, no reason you’re in a funk. Look, (Y/N), I think you need to take a note out of a certain snow queen’s book and ‘Let It Go’.”

            “Frozen, classic,” Roy approved, nodding his head.

            “Wait, wait, wait. Let what go?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.

            “Well, it seems to me that you are holding on to every feeling, thought, and possibility,” Ted elaborated. “You hold onto all of that you’re gonna pop!”

You frowned at him. “Weren’t you the one who said that sometimes we should keep things inside?”

            “That was before I met the feeling of letting it go! It really works.”

            “It’s true, letting go is great, that’s how I do it,” Roy agreed.

            “Roy! You’re one of the most private people I know!”

            “I’m private, but I also have a very healthy relationship with my emotions and know who and when to trust people with my sharing,” he pointed out, shrugging.

Dammit I hated when he was right. I blew a raspberry and face planted on the table. I wanted to listen to them, and just let things go, but tomorrow was the big day. Maybe it was something I’d worry about later. For now, I’d just focus on the game.

That was my plan at least. But as I was leaving that night, someone pulled me into the boot room. I whipped around to see Jamie looking at me.

            “Jamie what-“

            “Hush, now, last time you got to talk and I didn’t so now you’re gonna listen to me.” He spoke so quickly that you could barely process exactly what he was saying to you.

            “Jamie I-“

“Hush!”

            “But I-“

            “Just listen!” He grabbed me, holding a hand over my mouth. I frown at him but stayed quiet. “I just want to tell you that I was wrong, yeah? I was wrong about everything. I don’t love Keely. I love you.”

My eyes became saucers as I realized what was happening. I knocked his hand away from me, suddenly feeling hurt. He was lying to me. He was giving me his pity. Well, I didn’t want it.

            “Jamie, please stop.” I felt my lip begin to tremble. “You’re being mean.”

            “No, no, no! I mean it!” He insisted, taking me by my shoulders and forcing me to sit down on the bench. He started picking at his fingers as he paced back and forth. “I really do, I was just- I was confused. I had this feeling, like… fluttery stuff in my stomach. And the last time I had that feeling you hated me, and I was with Keely. So… I guess I thought that I was getting that feeling again because of her. But when I told her it didn’t feel right. Then you told me how you felt, and I was so confused.” He finally paused and looked at me. “I know I’m slow, (Y/N), but I get there eventually.”

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but I really couldn’t think of anything to say. I was still scared that this was all a joke. That somehow, he didn’t actually love you and he was just trying to get you back in his life no matter what. He held up a hand to silence you.

            “You don’t need to say anything, I know you probably don’t believe me, but I mean it.” Gave me a sideways smile, a hint of his normal cocky self coming out. He stalked forward and bent down, so he was eye-level with me, his face just inches away from mine. “And when we win tomorrow and get promoted, I’ll be doin’ it for you, love.”

The pet name fell so easily off his tongue and I felt my cheeks start to heat up under his gaze. His smirk grew as he saw the blush on my cheeks, any semblance of the anxious boy from before was gone. He gave me one last nod, a wink following it before he turned and left. I was left sitting dumbfounded in the boot room.

            “What… the… fuck?” I finally spouted, bringing my hands up to my cheeks.

            “That was something!” Fucking Will. I turned and looked at him, watching curiously as he shined some shoes. “The two of you are cute!”

I stared at him, still reeling from the interaction. At least there was someone else to there to prove that the interaction actually happened. I didn’t know how to feel. Part of me still believed that Jamie was lying as a way to get me to act normal again, and I honestly wouldn’t blame him. But the other part of me felt like I was soaring. Jamie liked me? No, LOVED me! Could this really be happening?

From then on it felt like I was on auto pilot. Leaving the club, getting home, doing my nighttime yoga. It was all like machinery as I figured out exactly how I should feel about everything. Tomorrow, everything would be different. Whether or not we’d be promoted was one thing but what happened with Jamie and me was entirely different.

It seemed like the whole world was on edge the day of the game. Ted was dealing with his personal life being on display, Roy was having the pain of having his feelings hurt, Beard was on the rocks of Jane (again, and Nate was… well he was acting weirder than normal. All we needed to get promoted was a tie, at the least, but Brentford was a formidable challenger.

I stood in the locker room, drawing up the formation on the board. We were running Nate’s new false nine strategy. It was certainly a choice to try a new tactic so late in the season, especially with promotion on the line but the tactic was good. Colin stood with me, chatting with me about his night and the parking ticket he’d gotten for parking half on the curb outside his house.

            “I swear I didn’t even feel the curb when I parked!” He whined, stretching his arms.

            “Colin, you’re a professional footballer,” I pointed out. “Just pay the ticket. And please, for the love of God, if you feel a bump, stop driving forward.”

He rolled his eyes at me glancing over to say hello to Sam as he walked into the room. Even Sam was had something going on. Edwin Akufo was on his ass about making a decision regarding joining his super team or whatever. I gave him a heartfelt smile which he returned. We all had chips on our shoulders, and this game would prove exactly what we could do with them.

The game did not start well. Brentford scored just twenty minutes into the game. Then again taking us into the half 2-nil. There had to be a solution to this. These guys could play this tactic easily but there was something disconnecting them from the execution of it. Going into the locker room, I could feel the anxiety and disappointment seeping from the lads.

            “I’ma shoot y’all straight. This is bleak, yeah?” Ted started the conversation. “I mean, look at it out there. Looks like a Renaissance painting portraying masculine melancholy.” We looked out into the locker room. It was true, they looked almost angelic in their portrayal of their grief. “Okay, so now what? What are we gonna do?”

            “We should abandon the false nine,” Nate suggested, shaking his head. “It’d work if we had players who knew what the fuck they were doing.”

            “That’s not true, Nate,” I snapped, standing from my seat. Nate glared at me, but I pressed on. “They are perfectly capable of preforming a false nine, they just…” I closed my eyes picture the pitch. “They need to change their perspective.”

            “I agree with (Y/N),” Ted chimed in. “You know, they just had 45 minutes to figure out what not to do. What do you think, Roy?”

            “You should ask them,” Roy offered. “They’re the ones out there actually doing this shit.”

Ted glanced at me then Beard. It was a good idea.

            “Yeah, all right.” We made our way out into the room, gaining the attention of the boys.  “All right, fellas. Coaches and I are are having a little debate and wanna get ya’ll’s take on it. Should we stick with the false nine or switch it up?”

The room was silent as the team thought it over, glancing around das they waited for someone else to speak. It was Jan Maas who stepped up first.

            “The tactic is sound,” he said. “and we’re all perfectly capable of executing it.”

            “Yes, you are,” I encouraged. “The false nine is about deception, playing offense through the guise of defense.” I walked over to the white board where I had drawn up the tactic before the game. “You’re playing too forward, and Brentford sees the moves you make before you make them.” I pointed to the different players. “Fall back, make them come to you, look for the gaps. That’s how you score.”

I turned back around and saw all the eyes on me. I felt a rush of gratitude going through me as I appreciated their sincerity. I deserved to be here, and they knew it. Then my eyes fell on Jamie, who was listening with a soft smile on his face. I felt myself start to smile too.

            “It will work,” Jan Maas agreed.

            “Hey!” Ted interjected. “If Jan Maas says it, you know it’s the truth, right?”

Jamie nodded. But he wasn’t nodding about Jan Maas. He was nodding about the way you had explained the technique to them. As if you were on the field with them, knowing what was going through their minds as they played.

We ended our team meeting with the whole team laying hands on our believe sign. This was it. The moment the team became a family. Going out into the second half, it was like an entirely different team. Before we knew it Sam had scored a miraculous goal and all we needed was one more.

I found myself holding my breath as Jan Maas sent a pass to Jamie. I held my breath as he took control of the ball and started towards the goal. Then a Brentford play was sliding into Jamie’s legs sending him stumbling to the ground. I let out a shout of distain as the crowd cried  to the referee. Then we got it! The referee called a penalty. Jamie hopped up and took the ball.

I knew he could make this goal easily; He hadn’t missed a penalty all season. He turned for a moment to look over at us on the sideline, and his eyes met mine. I could tell he was considering something and was looking at me for something, reassurance?  Whatever he was thinking, I knew he needed to follow his gut, so I gave him a nod. He nodded back to me. Then he did something unexpected. He gave the ball to Dani.

Jamie gave up his chance to be called the savior of Richmond. Because that’s not what he needed to do. In this moment, he needed to get Dani his confidence back.  Gone were the days that Jamie was afraid that Dani would replace him. Instead, he was working with him to allow the team to shine.

In that moment, I decided I didn’t care if the whole world stopped, all I wanted was to be with Jamie.

Which was good because it felt like the whole world did stop as Dani prepared to score. Time stood still as he ran towards the ball, and with one fell swoop Dani scored, tying the game. The stadium erupted into cheers and excitement. We did it, we really did it.

…

The excitement and celebrations of promotion lasted at least an hour as we paraded around the club. The boys found a bar to go to nearby to celebrate the win together. But I had unfinished business here, and I hoped Jamie would find me.

I stood on our pitch, hands in my pockets as I planned out what I was going to say. I was going to tell him that I loved him, too. That I wanted to be with him. That nothing else mattered. But then I saw him, big smile on his face, as he walked towards me in his red vest and ICON hat and everything, everything I planned left my head.

            “Well, what did I say?” He bragged as he walked towards me. “Promoted, eh? How’s it feel to be in the presence of greatness?” I stared at him as he came to stand in front of me. On our pitch. The same pitch I’d chewed him out on just a year ago. He cocked his head at me, raising his eyebrows. “What is it? Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

I grabbed him by his vest and pulled him down to kiss me. He recovered from his surprise in time to grab me by my waist and tugged me closer to him. Electricity shot through me as his lips fit mine just right. How was I supposed to kiss anyone else now that I knew what kissing Jamie was like? It was heated, it was sweet, it was passionate.

It was like fucking lightening.

A/N: To be continued...

Tag List:

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