#post wembley james tartt sr warning I guess?

[jamiesfootball]

between you and altschmerzes these project progress word count posts are genuinely frightening- I legitimately feel like I’m getting jump scared when I see one! the fandom is so so lucky to have such talented/skilled creators in it!! congrats on the work so far, happy future writing and please take some roses for when/if you want them!! 🌹💐🥀

Thank! You!!!!!!! This was such a treat to get in my inbox and I have been rereading it all day as i persist through the horrors

AND putting me anywhere near the same category as @altschmerzes is like the highest praise??!? Not just in (very excellent) quality, but have you SEEN that word count? Comparatively speaking my update was the wailing cry of 'but I write stuff too!'

This fandom is truly so talented with so many thriving authors writing so many different things, and I am lucky to have found you all when I did.

Now for a snipped to repay those lovely roses!

"We're at your house. I just need the gate code to get in."

"We're at my h- ...oh. Uh. Right." Tartt stared blankly ahead. He looked a wreck, exhausted and sore and all the other bad words that were to be expected after the fucking day it'd been, but there was something else, something wary, that made Roy's hackles start to rise.

"Everything alright?"

Jamie opened his mouth to answer, then clicked it shut. He hung his head. The truth sat somewhere behind his teeth while he debated whether or not to share with the class. With his grimy socks, he toed at his discarded shoes.

"Could you drop me at a hotel?" he asked, trying and failing for gruff and landing somewhere pleading.

The picture Roy hadn't asked for was filling in anyways.

"Does your dad have your gate code?"

Jamie chewed on his lip and nodded.

Roy sucked the air between his teeth. "Okay. Does he have your door code?"

Another nod.

Roy dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Fuck."

In the seat next to him, Jamie sat with his hands fisted so tightly into the bottom of his jacket that he was at risk of popping stitches. "Sorry."

"No, don't- fuck. It's not your fault."

Jamie let out a disbelieving snort. "It is a bit though, innit? I hit him, didn't I?"

"That was self-defense."

"Doesn't matter." Jamie shook his head. He swiped at his face, and when he pulled his hand away the back of it was wet and shiny. "Doesn't matter. I shouldn't have provoked him like that."