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spoofymcgee · 13 days ago

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waiting for night

Roy is good at waiting.

Nobody expects it. Every coach and manager he's ever had had been surprised at how easily he could settle in and let time pass, on a hallway bench or in a bus seat.

He's patient with time, not people, is the thing. Time is going to go as quickly as it will, and knowing that lets him use it to his advantage. People are just stupid. Roy would know, he certainly is.

One or two of his girlfriends have asked him what he thinks about, when he goes quiet and still and stands to the side of time passing. They didn't believe him when he said it was nothing.

He wasn't lying, though. His brain just kind of shuts off, piece by piece, like a screen dimming and going into sleep mode. He'll wake if you tap him–and probably tap back harder–but until then it's necessary systems only.

Doctor Fieldstone says this doesn't mean he's stupid, but Roy thinks otherwise.

He's not useless, he knows that. He can fit information into his skull well enough, and it stays there for the most part, no matter how many balls he's taken to the head. He's fit enough; used to be better, of course, but he's not bad for forty, and the important part is that his muscles know what they're doing once he trains enough. They settle into expected grooves, connecting with the situation quick and figuring out what to do.

But he can't think. Can't visualize, which is the big difference between him and Jamie.

Jamie's told him he dreams in football, sometimes. Countless scenarios, puzzling out what to do. He watches the game tapes and rarely ever makes the same mistake in the same way twice, because he can turn it over in his head and figure out exactly what he should have done.

Learning how to include other people in his mental game, and giving his body the strength and flexibility it needs to meet his imagination has made him so much better because of that.

The drills don't hurt, but Jamie never gets the ball without knowing exactly what to do with it.

Roy, when he played, had no clue what was going to happen until it already had.

He'd thought it would make him a shit coach, and he hadn't been wrong, exactly, but only in that he couldn't visualize everything. The board, describing it out loud and talking it over, it worked. He knew his way around a field, knew everyone's strengths and weaknesses and it turned out all the rest was up to them.

The difference is what makes Jamie so good at what he does, and what had made him such a prick. It was a special kind of dickhead who was so sure of himself he thought he could see the future, and the fact that it worked made it worse.

But it also made him dedicated as fuck when he set his mind to it, in a way that Roy still marvelled st sometimes. If he could imagine himself doing something he'd go for it, and if he wasn't there yet he'd work until he was.

Roy had to charge in headfirst and hope it worked out, but he could tell Jamie to climb a tree and he's know he'd make it to the top before his hands hit the bark.

Everything from laps to strength training to drills to his fucking meal plan, he listened to Roy and slotted every word into his brain and pulled it off flawlessly.

It was like a work of art, Roy would think, staring at a marble statue and knowing someone had made it with two hands and a chisel but unable to believe it because it looked so perfect.

And then Jamie would trip on his own laces and fall flat on his face and get up with the most offended expression and Roy would flip from awe to something uncomfortably close to affection so fast it made him dizzy.

And that was the fucking problem, wasn't it?

Roy knew pretty much everything there was to know about himself at this point. One of the benefits of being fucking forty was having had more than a few years to figure out how his brain worked and who he was, and he was pretty solid on it.

He was Roy fucking Kent, decent at football and not bad at cooking and kind of shit at most everything else. Not a big talker, not too quick on the uptake with most things, a lot of cursing, an unfortunate weakness for shit reality tv shows.

And he was falling in love with Jamie fucking Tartt.

It hadn't been a problem at first. He'd hated how much Tartt threw off the team balance they were working hard on, no matter how good he was, and then he hated his stupid, stuck-up arse for his personality, and then he was gone for a bit and Roy could get on with his life.

Only he'd come back, and suddenly Roy was getting up at 4am for some fucking reason, hobbling out with half a yogurt and two ibuprofen in his stomach to counteract the ache in his knee, because the truth was, Jamie was good.

Whatever he'd been through since he left had pared away enough of his shitty attitude that he was bearable, and the team could really, really use him. They were good, but Roy could feel the rough edge Jamie could square away, and make them even better.

More than that, he'd asked. Looked Roy dead in the eyes and asked him to train him, said that he wanted to get better, that he wanted to listen.

And he did.

Plenty of grumbling, especially in the beginning, but that cut out if he got him out of breath enough, and the way he fucking—opened up like a flower in the sunlight or some shit, it was a little addictive.

Roy watched him get better and better and pride spread, warm and comfortable low in his chest, knowing he had something to do with it. It was Jamie's work, Jamie's dedication, doing what Roy told him.

And then they were having breakfast together after training, and Roy was fucking cooking for him, watching the way he reacted to every new ingredient the same way he did with new exercises in training, remembering what flavors he liked, ignoring the way something tightened in his chest when he told Jamie to get him a knife and he didn't have to ask where they were.

And it turned out the little shit was kind of funny when he wanted to be, and so fucking smart no matter how many self deprecating jokes he made about his maths skills. Roy felt like he could write a book, sometimes, about the look in Jamie's eyes as he cocked his head to analyze something.

He started hopping up to sit on the counter and chatter while Roy worked and Roy started having to ignore the little voice in his head wishing he'd been the one to pick him up and put him there, too.

He made good coffee and started carrying around tylenol and instant cold packs after Roy complained about his knee once, and said the stupidest things sometimes and then turned bright red from his neck to his ears.

Roy wanted to touch the tips of them, see if they were as hot as they looked.

He might have been stupid, but he wasn't that stupid. He knew what falling in love felt like.

That didn't change the fact that it was a bad idea.

A horrible, terrible, impossible idea, and Roy was used to loving people who would never love him back, but that was exactly the issue.

He knew Jamie by now, had listened as best as he could to things Jamie hadn't told anyone else, ever, had seen him exhausted and deliriously happy and crying and furious, knew his favorite kind of apple and that he got sick in stop and go traffic and the rotation of songs he hummed while doing the washing up, that he was scared of his dad but more scared of him finding his mum and hurting her, that he laughs when he's not sure what to say and sucks up at the smell of sewage.

And he's pretty sure Jamie's at least a little bit in love with him.

Between the way his eyes stray to Roy when he's done something he wants him to see, how he drifts unconsciously to his side when he's nothing better to do, the way he glows when Roy tells him he's done well, and the kind of blokes he glances at in the pub, Roy's almost definitely got a chance.

Which pretty much only serves to make everything worse, because he's well used to ignoring feelings he can't do anything about, but he could, and so he can't get the thought out of his head.

He dreams about pulling Jamie into his lap and kissing him, and wakes up feeling like a clump of hair in the shower drain. He puts his hands on Jamie's trapezius to correct his stretching posture and the desire to sink his teeth into them hits him so hard it almost bowls him over.

He turns the corner into his own living room one night, two beers held between his fingers, and the sight of Jamie socked out on his sofa aches. He wants to keep him there forever, tuck him in with a fucking blanket and make him tea. He wants to tell Jamie to pick his fucking socks up off the floor when he wakes up, to wash them and keep them there so he has to come back to get them.

He wants to keep Jamie, and he's nearly certain Jamie would let him.

It would work, even, he thinks. Roy is needy, he knows, but Jamie soaks up his attention like a cotton swab and alcohol, just about ready to combust with it. They play off each other well, know how to move together in the same space and never run out of things to talk about.

But Roy is his coach, and fifteen fucking years older than him which feels like it should be some sort of crime when he thinks about it for too long–not because they aren't both adults or because he's so much more wise or mature than Jamie, but he knows the kinds of faces people make about relationships like that, and the fact that he could drink before Jamie had all his baby teeth weirds him out.

Beyond that, Jamie deserves someone who can keep up with him. Roy's under no illusions about what kind of state he'll be in when he's older; he knows how it goes for football players. He's on the downward slope, and Jamie's just hitting his prime.

It would be worse, he thinks, to give Jamie everything he wants to give him and then just. Leave him alone, in however many years they'd have.

No one in Jamie's life would be thrilled with him being with Roy, and he doesn't want to be another reason his mother is disappointed in him.

These are all things he tells himself over and over, late at night when his brain won't stop writing Jamie's name across his eyelids, but nothing is more convincing than the simple fact that Roy doesn't want to lose him.

As sure as he is of himself, as much as he's nearly certain about Jamie, there's always a chance he'd say no. There's a bigger one Roy would screw everything up the way he always has before.

Jamie is already embedded so deep into his life that if he ripped himself away Roy thinks he would bleed out, all the joy and stability he's gotten used to vanishing like so much mist in sunlight.

So Roy waits.

He doesn't get in his own way as much these days, but he's happy, and he likes the way he lives no matter the ache in his throat and the words he locks behind his teeth.

If something's going to happen, Jamie will have to be the one to do it.

He can be patient, even if it means waiting for the end of the world.

Jamie, for the first time in his entire fucking life, or at least as long as Roy's known him, keeps him mouth shut and his hands to himself.

And it's good. It's better, even, and Roy's only a little miserable about it because he has Jamie, and he really couldn't ask for more because for the first time in his life he has someone who won't laugh too much when he says someone dumb, who's always there when he needs to talk and when he needs to sit and be silent for a bit, who knows more or less everything about him, and he's so fucking happy most of the time.

It comes to a head, finally, one evening in Roy's kitchen.

Jamie has soap suds up to his elbows and on his nose, hair pulled back with a sparkly black headbands Phoebe had given him a month back, the last dregs of sunlight streaming through the window and catching on the planes of his face.

Roy grips the doorframe like a lifeline, a thread and a smile away from being on his knees.

Jamie turns, meeting his eyes, and fuck.

Fuck.

The thing about being in love is that it fills you up, all the way, like a universe crammed under your skin, splitting you open at the seams until every thought shows plain on your face.

Like now.

"Hey," Jamie says softly, eyes crinkling at the edges. The light outlines him, golden-orange and getting lost in his hair, and Roy can't do this anymore.

"Jamie," he says, too low, too rough, and he doesn't have the words; he never does, they all get lost on the way from his head to his tongue, so he just looks at him, and hopes, his heart thudding in his throat.

"Ah," Jamie says. "Done waiting, are you?"

"...Yeah," he admits, and it feels like falling, stepping off a cliff and nothing there to catch him.

And then Jamie's across the kitchen, pushing him up against the counter by the doorway and fucking lifting Roy until he's sitting on it, which makes him feel like the bottom's dropped out of his world.

He grins at whatever face Roy must be making, and pulls the little step stool over from the corner with his foot so he can clamber up and then he's in Roy's lap, knees spread to rest on the counter on either side of him, weight settling just above Roy's knees.

He pressed their foreheads together, and it hurts Roy's eyes, seeing him up this close, but he might never close them again anyway. "What took you so long, old man?"

"That," Roy says roughly, after taking a second to process that he can feel the movement of Jamie's chest as he speaks. "A hundred other things."

"Don't care," Jamie says, easy as breathing. "Got you now. I'm not letting go. Never have, have I?"

"Like a fucking dog with a bone," Roy agrees. It comes out softer than he means. "Are you—"

"Yes," Jamie says, impatient. "I've been sure, can I fucking kiss you now you dickwad, I've only been waiting for years."

"Yes," Roy says, faster than he means to, and doesn't even have time to say 'wait, years?' because Jamie's lips are on his and he's shifting, pressing himself into Roy as close as he can get, and he's so fucking warm because he runs hot, and his hands are in Roy's hair and on the back of his neck and it's—

It's nothing like he thought it would be, messier and less coordinated but he thinks even Jamie's imagination couldn't live up to this, how it feels right down to his bones, like Jamie lives in the marrow of them now, or like he's cracked them open just to see what was inside and Roy wouldn't mind if he did.

He pulls back, already smirking, and Roy leans his shoulders back against the cabinets to free up his hands and pull Jamie back down by the hair before he can say anything.

He kisses him deeper this time, and Jamie fucking whimpers into it, which makes Roy feel like he's melting inside, nothing more than candle wax on the surface of the sun. He catches Jamie's lip between his teeth when he starts getting lightheaded with the lack of air and bites down lightly before letting go.

Jamie rocks back, looking thunderstruck, which is better.

"Holy fuck," he swears, shaking his head.

"Not yet," Roy says, before he can think better of it, and then feels himself turning red. "Uh—"

"As soon as fucking possible," Jamie informs him, eyes lighting up. "Man, that's gonna be brill—we ain't got plans for the evening, you know—"

"Too fast," Roy interrupts, but can't seem to keep his hand from straying down to Jamie's jaw and leaning in for another kiss, light and quick. "I want to. Don't want to go too fast."

Jamie pouts, bottom lip sticking out. It's red, teeth marks fading into the skin on the underside, and Roy runs his tongue over his bottom teeth. He did that to Jamie. "Fine. But I ain't doing the rest of the washing up until you make up for all the kisses you owe me for the past fuckin' year of waiting, you prick."

"Year?" Roy asks, and Jamie flushes, ducking his head.

"Or something. Fuck you, like you didn't want to shag me from the beginning, you wanker."

Instead of answering he tips his chin up and closes his teeth over Jamie's earlobe, earning himself a high pitched keen.

"Fuck, Roy," Jamie says, breathless in a way Roy never wants to stop hearing. "Ah! You're just bein' mean now."

"You expect something else from me?" he asks, words sliding against the underside Jamie's jaw.

"Hhhhhhhhh, no," Jamie says, going boneless against him. "Fuck, you're gonna give me beard burn on me face."

"Good," Roy says, and tries his best to do exactly that as the light fades.

They'll talk about it, when the kitchen is blue with twilight, ever fear Roy's had and how they've been waiting for each other, find whatever words they can manage and understand each other anyway.

Roy is good at taking things as they come. He has Jamie to do the dreaming for him.

#ted lasso #royjamie #roy kent #jamie tartt #my writing #ted lasso fic #this was supposed to be a warmup if you believe that

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cocoa-rococo · 7 months ago

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Koopaling Headcanons: Morton

The gentle giant who's solid as stone, and the main enforcer of Bowser's army! A wonderful lad, he is.

Right-handed.

Fond of scrapbooking! He has a few about his siblings and growing up together, but also keeps some about his interests. Wendy likes to gift him cute papers and pattern clippers, and Lemmy finds him cool stickers.

Likes watching wrestling with Roy, which often becomes wrestling with Roy.

He likes watching cooking shows for recipes ideas with Larry, and listening to him ramble about how people are doing things incorrectly.

Has a fairly good memory, and is the most likely to not get distracted on a mission, a trait Ludwig is incredibly grateful for.

Favorite season is winter, due to the novelty (but he can't stay in the snow for too long). Summer is a close second.

A pretty decent writer. His prose is fantastic; it's speaking aloud that he had trouble with.

Surprisingly good at healing magic, possibly more so than Ludwig or even Kamek.

He got gifted a camera from Iggy when he was ten, and he's been taking good care of it ever since. He uses it for scrapbooking, mostly, but he likes taking pictures of what surrounds him.

Very fond of yarrow flowers, due to the colors and how so few of them grow in the Darklands. He first discovered them when he was stationed on a mountain fortress waiting for Mario, and picked a whole bunch to keep inside.

Favorite candies are butterscotch and caramel chews, as well as crunchy rock-candy.

While his favorite pastries are donuts, Wendy once gave him a slice of her patisserie’s strawberry shortcake to try, and he’s been hooked on the flavor even since.

Prefers keeping his notes on pen and paper rather than a phone. He likes the feeling of writing.

Favorite fruit is raspberries and oranges.

Allergic to peanuts, but he prefers Nutella anyway.

His skin is actually much thicker than his siblings to help resist temperature extremities, and since he likes to burrow in sand a lot, it sometimes can get cracked and dry. He and Wendy like to get treatments and make a day of it together.

One of his favorite things is just sitting with his siblings and seeing what they're doing. He's happy to help with whatever they're involved in.

The physically strongest koopaling out of the seven. He's sometimes not quite aware of his strength, but he's trying to get better at it.

Has a soft spot for cute, fluffy animals. Probably aware of Larry's love for a ‘girly’ pony show, but doesn't mind.

Likes listening to Ludwig go on about his mystery novels, and helps as a sound-board for when he needs to bounce theories off someone.

He keeps a miniature zen-garden in his room, and likes to spend time raking little patterns in the sand and moving the rocks around.

The first of his siblings to figure out how to transform his wand into another weapon.

Magic is a weird case with him; trying to cast was difficult, even if the effect was fine. When he learned how to wield his hammer, however, it felt much more intuitive.

Really good with kids, even if he doesn't see a lot of them. He was the most excited out of all his siblings for when Junior was born.

Easily the best secret keeper out of the seven. That koopaling is a VAULT.

Has a fondness for birds, especially ducks. He once got to go to a farm with little ducklings and hold them, and he was crying happy tears almost the entire time.

Coincidentally, he's got an amazing rubber ducky collection. It's very cute, and touching it without his permission will very likely kill you.

Is a big fan of sculpture work, and sometimes will make little trinkets and carvings from chunks of rock he finds. His love of making things is also what convinced him to create Morton's Construction, when his siblings were making businesses.

Wendy is on a persistent quest to make him an Instagram for his scrapbooks and carving work. Morton is on a persistent quest to remember to use it, but always gets distracted.

One of the best taiko drummers —and kumi-daiko performers — this side of the Darklands. He practices with the Hammer Bros.

Can and will stop everything and anything he's doing to make sure an animal crosses the street safely.

Has an almost mom-level accuracy for knowing where lost things are. Any time his siblings can't find something, they go to him, and ninety percent of the time, his guesses are right.

Loves giving hugs! Does not love how he sometimes hugs a little too hard and people get squished.

He likes experimenting in the kitchen with Larry, offering spice suggestions and combos, even if he turns the heat on way too high.

#smb #super mario bros #mario bros #koopalings #morton koopa jr #morton #cocoaposts #SURPRISE EARLY POST #wanted to get this out before july ended #AAAND WE'RE FINISHED!#morton was surprisingly one of the easier 'lings to headcanon for?#maybe because i already had a good grasp on his personality?#not sure #either way WE'RE DONE #the entire set complete!

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gorogues · 7 months ago

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How good are all the rogues cooking on a scale from 1-10 (head cannon question)

Len: 7. He absolutely knows how to cook because he had to care for himself and Lisa when they were kids, but it's not something he does much nowadays. These days he's self-sufficient, but never makes anything fancy.

Lisa: 4. It doesn't really interest her, and she always resented her family's idea that girls and women should be cooking. Plus, she typically channels her energies into skating and/or revenge, depending on the phase of her life.

Mick: 8 - it's canon that he's a good or at least a decent cook! And he likes to share his creations with people.

James: 9. I like to think he's an excellent cook. He learned on Italian cuisine, but is damned good at any type of food he turns his mind to.

Digger: 2. His mum tried to teach him when he was young, but he wasn't interested. He still isn't.

Roscoe: 5. He's probably competent though not great at it when he's stable, but that isn't always the case.

Sam: 7. It's not something he brags about, but he's actually quite good at it.

Mark: 4. He thinks he's too cool for it, and also doesn't like doing anything he's not good at.

Hartley: 6. He never had to cook growing up, of course, but once he made a commitment to socialism he was determined to cook for himself. He's not great at it, though.

Evan: 2. He had few opportunities to learn it in childhood, and was a complete mess once he ran away from the orphanage…it was all takeout and canned ravioli for him.

Axel: 1. Nobody bothered to teach him (neglectful parents), and at this stage in life he's far too badass to do boring normie stuff like that. One day, when he's grown and matured, he'll actually be pretty good at cooking and enjoy it.

Owen: 7. He's surprisingly good at it, and totally leans into the skill for dating purposes.

Roy: 5. Competent but not particularly skilled at it, because he's got other priorities in life.

Albert: 8. Cooking is just chemistry, after all!

#realgay16 #Captain Cold #Captain Boomerang #Pied Piper #the Trickster #Mirror Master #Weather Wizard #Golden Glider #Rainbow Raider #the Top #Dr Alchemy #Heat Wave #Axel #Owen #Evan #words

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laminy · 8 months ago

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a short Roy/Jamie fic for @mccorky, who wanted Roy showing off his dance moves for Jamie in the kitchen.

Jamie’s taken up more of the cooking, thank god. Roy always ends up staying later now, and he was getting tired of coming home to Jamie sitting on his arse, looking at TikToks, wondering where dinner was. Or worse, eating takeaway that was not meal-plan approved.

When he comes home after training tonight, Roy’s ears are immediately assaulted by— he doesn’t even know what, just loud. “Christ!” he exclaims as he walks into the kitchen. “This might sound half decent if you fucking turned it down.” And now his eyes hurt too. Jamie’s been cutting onions, he can tell.

“What’d you say?” Jamie waits a moment for a response, and then he sticks his tongue out.

“The cheek on you.”

“Right here,” Jamie says, and he turns his arse towards Roy, who rolls his eyes and gives it a light playful swat anyway. “Now give us a kiss.”

“Fucking hell,” Roy says, but he’s not-so-secretly happy to do it. He wraps his arms around Jamie’s waist, and snuggles against his back, kissing his neck. “What are you making?”

“White bean chicken chilli,” Jamie says, snuggling back agains Roy. “Saw it on YouTube. It’s got—” He puts his spoon down and starts counting on his fingers. “Chicken.”

“And white beans?”

“Shut up.” It rolls casually off Jamie’s tongue, no heat behind it, and he continues. “Onion, jalapeño, corn, and avocado.” He turns around in Roy’s arms, so they can actually get a good look at each other, and he bats his eyes. “Sound alright?”

“Sounds fucking delicious.” Roy gives him an actual kiss, and Jamie practically melts against him. “I missed you,” he murmurs.

“I saw you two hours ago,” Jamie says, kissing him again.

Roy pulls back. “And?”

Jamie smiles. “I missed you too.” Then he steps out of Roy’s arms and turns his music back up. “Now fuck off, old man, I’m busy.”

“Nice welcome home,” Roy says. It’s really not so bad, since he can take a step back and watch Jamie’s hips sway to the rhythm of the song. Even if it is still way too loud, it’s a pretty sight.

Roy grabs a beer from the refrigerator, and drops down at the kitchen table. He takes a drink, and settles back in his chair. “You looked good out there today.”

Jamie glances over his shoulder and winks. “Yeah, I know. You too, Coach.”

“Hmm.” Roy takes another drink, and chuckles as he watches Jamie start tapping his feet to the music, like he’s trying out some fancy footwork. “You going on Strictly?”

“I’d fucking win it too,” Jamie says, and he does a dramatic spin before settling back in at the stove, his feet still moving. “If you distract me, dinner’s gonna be late.”

“You’re the one distracting me,” Roy says. “What are these moves?”

“Uh, I’m an amazing dancer,” Jamie says. “You’ve seen me. Remember NSYNC?”

“How could I forget,” Roy says. He keeps watching Jamie’s feet, and he laughs.

“Fuck off,” Jamie says. “It’s not like you’re any better.”

“Fuck off, I am,” Roy says.

“I’ve never seen you dance,” Jamie says. Roy doesn’t say anything, so Jamie turns around. “Have I?” Roy shrugs, amused, and Jamie’s eyes widen. “Royth. Why haven’t I seen you dance?”

“Because I don’t like to show off.”

“You fucking love it, egotistical prick,” Jamie says.

Roy gestures towards himself with his beer bottle. “You’re talking to me?”

“Course I am,” Jamie says. “You’re saying you’ve got secret moves?”

“I am.”

“Let’s see ‘em.”

“Not so secret then.”

“I’ll give you a handjob later in the bath.”

“You were gonna do that anyway.”

Jamie sighs. “Please, Roy?” he asks, voice all quiet and soft and goddammit he’s playing Roy like a fiddle but it’s working. “It’d mean an awful lot.”

“Oh fuck off,” Roy says, and he pushes his chair back with a loud scrape. “At least turn the music down a fucking little, please. I can’t think.”

“Okay,” Jamie says eagerly, and he turns it down. He also checks on the chilli, then takes off his apron. “Let’s see then.” He takes Roy’s hand, and looks down in shock when Roy puts his other hand on Jamie’s waist. “Uh—”

“I’m leading, you twat,” Roy says.

“Whatever.”

“What are we even listening to?”

“Aaron Burr.”

“The vice-president?”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking hell.” Roy squeezes Jamie’s hand, and smoothly begins, stepping to the left, then back. He really gets into with it a rock step, and then he’s off, with Jamie stumbling to keep up.

“What the fuck is this, Roy,” Jamie says.

“The cha-cha.”

“When the fuck did you learn the cha-cha?” Jamie keeps looking down at their feet, in confusion or awe or maybe both.

“Twenty years ago,” Roy says. “Needed help with my footwork.” He does a spot turn, leaving Jamie staring at him. “Thought you could dance.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Not like this. Shit, Roy.” He starts trying to mimic Roy’s footwork, matching some steps but missing others. He laughs in delight and surprise, and Roy smiles back. Nice to know he’s still got it. “You have to show me.”

“You need to finish the chilli.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “We can get takeaway.”

“No, we fucking can’t.”

“Fine.” Jamie glances back at the stove. “I’ll finish it. But do another turn for me?”

Roy does just that, and Jamie’s on him in a second, arms around his neck.

“That was fucking hot, Roy.”

Roy gives him a quick kiss. “Chilli.”

“No fun.”

“Naked cha-cha later?”

Jamie light ups. “Very fun. Deal.”

“Deal.”

#the song is crazy by leslie odom jr #as per request #i'm still really just working on my original story #i'm about to embark on the third draft #but i could still come up for air and do this #i hope you like it #roy kent x jamie tartt #ted lasso fic #ted lasso #jamie tartt #roy kent

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elliethefroggy · 26 days ago

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Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

Chapter 7: Roy Kent is Demoted to Emotional Support Animal

Roy sticks to his word (he doesn't), and is just as good at FIFA as he remembers (he's terrible).

Ch6, (on ao3), Ch8

There’s something on Jamie’s mind. Roy knows this because on the rare occasions something decides to venture into Jamie’s mind, Jamie becomes a jittery mess who can’t stay still for more than three seconds and who absolutely needs to fidget with everything within reach.

Roy is appropriately appalled that he now knows this about Jamie.

They’re sitting in Jamie’s kitchen, eating their post-workout breakfast. It’s nice and quiet until Jamie drops his fork on the floor for the third time in some clumsy attempt at twirling it like a mini-baton as though he were accompanying a marching band instead of attempting to eat his fucking eggs.

Normally, in these situations, Jamie will explode after a while, whatever’s bothering him—usually, trivial bullshit Roy couldn’t care less about—will be ejected from his body in a spiel of words Roy will have a hard time keeping up with. Roy has learned to wait for the explosion.

But then Jamie drops his fork for the fourth time, and, well, Roy’s never been known for his patience.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Roy asks, after Jamie picks up his fork.

Jamie pushes around bits of omelette and peas on his plate, and instead of doing the decent thing and answering Roy’s question, he asks, “Are you going to the FIFA night?”

“Fuck no,” Roy says.

Roy had in fact completely forgotten that the lads had organised a FIFA night that week. He’d vaguely heard them talking about it, but hadn’t paid any attention because he’d had absolutely no intention of going.

Jamie’s peas get pushed around more despondently.

“What’s the problem?” Roy asks, shovelling egg into his mouth.

“Well, the FIFA night’s at Sam’s house,” Jamie says, like that clarifies anything.

“And?” Roy prompts, waving his fork at Jamie.

“Well, Sam doesn’t like me, right? So why the fuck is he inviting me to his house? Makes no sense.” The peas get ruthlessly squashed under the fork.

“Sam likes you just fine.” Roy takes another bite of his omelette. He should really add roasted peppers to his omelettes more often; they’re fucking delicious.

Jamie huffs, stops abusing the poor peas, and throws his fork down, the metal clattering on the plate.

“No he doesn’t. I was fucking awful to him.”

Roy stops chewing for a second.

“You apologised to him, right?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“And he accepted your apology?”

“Yeah?” Jamie asks more than says.

“Yes,” Roy says with enough confidence for the both of them, “He’s forgiven you. Because it’s Sam. And Sam is a fucking angel.”

“But what if this is some kind of hazing shit? To get back at me for being awful.”

“Sam wouldn’t do that,” Roy says, in between bites. Maybe he should try adding smoked paprika next time.

“But what if he would?” Jamie insists.

Roy doesn't even bother answering this time, sending Jamie a look as he tries to savour his last few bites of omelette—cooked to perfection, if he does say so himself.

“Like, how am I meant to act at his house?” Jamie asks.

“The fuck you on about? You go out with the lads all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s, like, to clubs and shit, not to their actual homes,” Jamie says, “I mean, at least there’ll still be alcohol. People find me much more tolerable when they’re drunk.”

“Who the fuck told you that?”

“Me dad,” Jamie says without much thought, back to mistreating his peas.

‘What the fuck’ is the only thing that Roy can think of.

Before Roy’s brain can come up with anything to say to that, Jamie asks, “But how do I not be a prick?”

“Born a prick, always a prick,” Roy says instinctively, his mind stuck on Jamie’s comment about his dad. He eats another piece of omelette; it doesn’t taste nearly as good as it did a minute ago.

Jamie perks up. Roy can see the dim light bulb of an idea flash in his mind.

“You could come,” Jamie says, in a voice that implies he’s amazed by his own genius.

Roy snorts at that, not even bothering to take him seriously.

“No, this is great,” Jamie continues, his food forgotten, the peas having finally been granted mercy, “Just listen. As my minder—”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Roy mutters.

“As my minder,” Jamie repeats, “It is your duty to come. Otherwise, how will I know how to behave? How will I know right from wrong without you by my side? What if I start to slide off the straight and narrow path? You could be my conscience.”

“What? Your very own personal Jiminy Cricket?”

“Yeah, I give a little whistle, and you come running to tell me what to do, make sure I behave like a good little boy.” Jamie smiles, wiggles his eyebrows like the ridiculous human being he is.

Roy doesn't smile. Refuses to smile.

“I’m not going,” Roy states, his voice final.

Roy walks up to Sam’s front door on the appointed FIFA night, a box of scones in hand.

He doesn’t ring the doorbell straight away, too busy sighing and wondered when his integrity had abandoned him. Probably around the time that moustachioed freak and his bearded shadow stepped foot into the locker room. Fucking dickheads.

“Fucking finally,” someone mutters from the shadowy shrubbery besides Sam’s driveway.

Roy doesn’t jump when Jamie emerges out of the darkness and into the porch light. No one can fucking prove that Roy jumped like a scared little baby. Which he didn’t.

“What the fuck are you doing hiding behind bushes?” Roy whispers.

“Waiting for you,” Jamie whispers back like it’s obvious.

It is not obvious.

“Why?” Roy continues to whisper. Roy doesn’t know why they’re whispering, except that they’re standing in the one spot of light, surrounded by the night, the only sound in the otherwise quiet neighbourhood is the exited shouting coming from inside the house. Roy hopes Sam had forgiving neighbours.

“Well, I don’t want to go in alone, do I,” Jamie responds, stepping up next to Roy at the doorstep.

For fucks sake. Was this what Roy’s life was coming to? Becoming one of those emotional support animals to fucking Tartt?

“What the fuck’s that?” Roy asks, looking at the shopping bag in Jamie’s hand.

“Vanilla vodka,” Jamie says, lifting up the bag.

“You don’t drink. Why the fuck are you bringing vanilla vodka?”

“That's what you do, innit. When you're invited to someone's house, you bring a gift. That it's a thing, right?” Jamie doesn't sound sure, looking down at the shopping bag, like he’s wondering if he’s just made a big mistake.

“Yeah, it's a thing.” Roy reassures him.

Emotional. Support. Animal.

“What did you bring?” Jamie asks, eyeing the box in Roy's hands.

“Scones.”

“Oh,” Jamie says. The most disappointed ‘oh’ Roy’s ever heard.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘oh’?”

“I don't really like scones.”

“Thank fuck I made them for Sam and not for you, then.” Roy says.

“Yeah, true.” Jamie looks at the box sadly.

Roy ignores the slight guilt he feels over having made an unsuitable baked good. Which is fucking stupid; they’re for Sam.

“Why the fuck don't you like scones?”

“Well, they're kind of dry and sad, aren't they.”

How fucking dare he.

“No, they're not,” Roy says, his voice rising with indignation.

“Doesn’t really matter anyway. Not like they're in my meal plan or anything.”

“They're not in anyone's meal plan. They're too fucking delicious to be in anyone's meal plan. They transcend meal plans. What kind of English person doesn't like scones? What's wrong with you?”

Before Jamie can answer, the door opens. They both jump in surprise and turn in sync to see Sam's beaming face greeting them.

“I heard the Captain's voice,” Sam says, happy to seem them as always.

“Here,” Roy says, pressing the box of scones into Sam’s chest as he shoves past Sam and into the house, abandoning Jamie on the front step.

Inside the house, Roy discovers just how amazing Sam’s soundproofing is as the unfiltered cacophony assail his ears. He thinks about turning around and leaving, but Sam and Jamie are blocking his path and the front door’s already been shut.

Roy and Jamie are the last to arrive, which was Roy’s plan all along because no way is he staying here more than he has to.

The team’s in the lounge, sprawled out over all the surfaces. The couch is overflowing with footballers, the excess relegated to beanbags in all manner of colours scattered around the room. Everyone’s got a drink, and the FIFA induced violence has already commenced if Kukoč and O’Brien wrestling on the floor is anything to go by. They all and cheer and wave hello as soon as they spot the late arrivals, except for Colin who’s whining because he’s just lost a goal to Richard on the PlayStation.

“I need a drink,” Roy mutters to himself, knowing full well he’s not going to survive this sober. “Kitchen?” He asks Sam who points him in the right direction, telling him make himself at home.

He follows Sam’s directions, not even bothering to stop and say hello to everyone, Jamie hot on his heels, though Jamie does slow down enough to pop his head in the lounge to wave hello at everyone.

Roy grabs a beer from the fridge and opens it very slowly, delaying the inevitable socialising. He stops short though when he sees Jamie pour himself a glass of the vanilla vodka crap he brought.

“What are you doing?” Roy asks.

“Getting myself a drink,” Jamie says, wiggling the bottle of vodka in Roy’s face, “Want some?”

“Of that swill? No thank-you,” Roy says, “Why are you getting yourself a drink when you don't drink?”

“Everyone else is drinking,” Jamie says. The ‘duh’ is silent.

“Just because everyone else is drinking doesn't mean you have to as well. Haven’t you fucking heard about not giving into peer pressure?” This is not a conversation he’d ever in his wildest dreams thought he’d have with Jamie Tartt. Phoebe, maybe. But not Jamie Fucking Tartt.

“Yeah, but it would be weird if I spent the whole night just drinking water.”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Roy mutters to himself.

He goes to the fridge, opens it rather violently, looks at the contents, grabs a carton of orange juice, and slams it on the counter in front of Jamie.

“There,” Roy says.

“I can't just go around taking stuff without asking,” Jamie says, looking far more concerned than the situation warrants. Like Sam is going to kick him out for even thinking about touching his orange juice.

As if Sam would ever do such a thing.

While making direct eye contact with Jamie, Roy shouts, “Hey Sam! Alright if we nick some of your orange juice?”

He tries not to feel bad about Jamie flinching when he shouts. Fails.

Sam pops his head in the kitchen, “Yes, it is no problem. Please, take what you want.” Then pops right back out.

Roy grabs another glass, pours the orange juice in, and places it in front of Jamie, right next to Jamie’s disgusting excuse for alcohol.

Jamie looks down at the orange juice glass, looks at vodka glass, then back to the orange juice.

“But I’ve already poured the vodka.” Jamie frowns. “I don't want to waste it.”

Roy sighs up to the heavens despite knowing full well there isn’t any god up there willing to put him out of his misery.

“I'll drink your fucking childish vanilla vodka,” Roy says. His plan’s to get drunk; vodka can only help with that.

“You think children should drink vodka?” Jamie asks, fake-appalled, then adds more seriously, “To be honest, I was just planning on milking the same glass for the rest of the night, and then discreetly pour it down the sink while no one was looking.”

“And that’s not a waste?” Roy asks.

Jamie shrugs.

Roy grabs the glass of vodka anyway and takes a long swallow.

“Fuck, that's disgusting.” Roy grimaces.

“It's fine; I can drink it.” Jamie reaches for the glass.

“Fuck off.” Roy takes another swig. It tastes just as bad the second time but he swallows anyway. He drowns the rest of the glass in one, his body protesting every drop, while Jamie looks on with wide eyes.

He puts the now empty glass back on the counter next to the full glass of orange, takes his beer, and head towards the lounge, leaving a gaping Jamie in his wake.

There were many reasons as to why Roy hadn’t wanted to come, many valid reasons. For one he was too old for this crap. His idea of a good time nowadays was a quiet night in with a good book, and then bed at a reasonable hour. The main reason, though, was that he was dogshit at FIFA.

Admittedly, the large quantity of alcohol in his system wasn’t helping (which was the excuse he intended to use if ever any of these fuckers brought up his terrible, terrible losses).

Squashed in between a very drunk Colin and an equally drunk Isaac on the couch, both giving him contradicting advice, Roy has long since given up counting how many times he’s lost.

Currently, he’s being ground into the dirt by Jamie who’s playing Man City, the twat. Roy’s obviously playing Chelsea (badly).

Jamie was lounging on one of the many beanbags littering the floor (he’d chosen a blue one), happily chatting with Sam sitting next to him, all previous worries about the night gone.

Roy would appreciate it if Jamie would be just a little less relaxed and at least pretend that absolutely annihilating Roy was taking some effort, but no. Fucking prick.

After another soul-crushing loss (“Take that, Grandad!”), Roy throws the controller at Colin and orders him to deal with Jamie, too drunk to remember that Colin’s been playing almost as badly as Roy.

Once the controller is passed on, Jamie has the audacity to sit up from his reclined position and actually start paying attention to the game now that a more competent challenger has appeared.

Roy decides to lick his wounds with the help of another beer, wedging himself out from in between Colin and Issac.

The room rudely starts spinning the moment he’s on his feet. He ignores it, tries to remember what walking in a straight line feels like.

Maybe the vanilla vodka was a mistake (though, really, the creation of vanilla vodka in the first place was a bigger mistake.)

He sees Jamie’s empty glass, and, too tipsy to stop himself, grabs it to go get the twat a refill.

He manages to get to the kitchen without bumping into anything. He pours another glass of orange juice, barely spilling a drop in the process. Heads back out the kitchen, orange juice in hand.

In the lounge, Sam has absconded with Roy’s place on the couch. Fucking traitor. Not the type of behaviour he’d expect from Sam, but then again, you can never be sure who to trust.

Just for that, he was going to steal Sam’s spot next to Jamie. Ha! Take that, traitor.

He places the orange juice on the coffee table besides Jamie. Jamie briefly looks up at him and smiles in thanks, but quickly concentrates back on the screen, scoring an impressive goal against Colin.

He plops down next to Jamie, sinks into the hideously purple beanbag, and sinks, and sinks some more. It’s not until he’s been swallowed up by the beanbag that he remembers his beer which is still in the fridge in the kitchen.

“Shit,” he mutters, trying and failing to extract himself.

Victory against Colin assured, Jamie takes his eyes off the screen to watch Roy flail about, a bemused smile on his face.

“What are you trying to do?” Jamie asks.

“Forgot my drink.”

“I’ll go get it,” Jamie says, handing off his controller to Isaac, not before scoring one final winning goal against Colin who squawks in indignation.

Jamie stands up, escaping from his beanbag with far more success than Roy.

Really, no self-respecting adult should own this many beanbags; Sam has gone down in Roy’s estimation a lot tonight.

A moment later, Jamie comes back, not with Roy’s forgotten beer, but with a glass of water that he hands to Roy.

“This isn’t beer,” Roy informs Jamie.

“Water’s better,” Jamie says, which Roy guesses is true, “I got you this as well.” Jamie hands him a plate with a scone on it. That was much better than beer.

“Thank-you,” Roy says, touched; Jamie had put butter and jam on it and everything.

He drinks his water and eats his scone. When he finishes his water, Jamie hands him another glass.

He finishes his scone, but Jamie doesn’t hand him a second one of those. Probably for the best. Fucking meal plans.

They quietly sit next to each other, Roy with his water, Jamie with his orange juice, both taking in the room around them.

Kukoč and O’Brien have since moved onto thumb wars, arm wrestling having come and gone. Kukoč is doing surprisingly well considering how tiddly his hands are. Moe’s next to them, refereeing the quite frankly brutal match.

Thierry and Richard are off in a corner, speaking in very rapid French. Roy can’t understand shit, and with how slurred their words are, he isn’t sure they can understand each other either, but they seem to be having a pleasant conversation nonetheless.

Dani is quietly singing to himself in Spanish, lying on his own green beanbag, waving his arms in the air to imaginary music.

They all seem to be doing alright.

After finishing his second glass of water, Roy sinks further into the beanbag, getting as comfortable as he can on the useless excuse of a seat.

He finds himself getting sleepier and sleepier, his eyes growing heavier. Despite all the noise and Colin’s moans of defeat, Roy finds himself almost nodding off in the ugly purple beanbag.

“It’s past my bedtime,” he says, mostly to himself, but Jamie, next to him, listens anyway.

“You done for the night?” Jamie asks.

“Think so. I’ll get an uber.” Which is easier said than done, as he tries to extract his phone from the beanbag.

“I’ll take you home,” Jamie says, “I drove here.”

Roy, in his drunken state, thinks that’s a very generous offer, and accepts.

He tries to stand up, but the beanbag has a death-grip on him and his knee’s finally realised that beanbags are not a good idea for him.

Jamie stands up, again with such ease. Without even needing to be asked, he holds out a hand to Roy. Roy gladly grabs onto it. Jamie grips Roy’s hand in his, and pulls Roy up, freeing Roy from that infernal purple monstrosity.

“Alright lads,” Jamie shouts over the noise, “We’re heading out. Gramps needs his bedtime.”

Everyone pauses long enough to shout farewell. Though the goodbyes and goodnights from the team are quickly drowned out by Colin’s shrieks of victory after finally winning a match against Isaac.

Roy and Jamie leave as Colin starts jumping up and down on the couch, proclaiming his superior gaming skills while Sam tries to get him to sit down.

(Though it does take them a while to properly be on their way because Jamie, being the absolutely normal human being that he is, parked the car around not one, but two corners “so Sam wouldn’t notice it” when he arrived.)

(Roy very generously doesn’t point out how absolutely not normal that is, mostly because he’s too tipsy to bother being mean.)

(And anyway, according to Phoebe, normal’s overrated; Phoebe would know—the little weirdo.)

They get to Roy’s house. Jamie, like some weirdly dressed gentleman, accompanies him to the front door. Roy thinks it’s completely unnecessary, even after he trips over the sidewalk and Jamie has to catch him. He’s sure that sidewalk’s grown taller.

He says as much to Jamie who just hums in agreement quietly walking Roy to his door, hands at the ready in case he needs to grab Roy again.

“Your piece-of-shit dad is wrong, you know,” Roy says in some drunken honesty when they finally get to the door.

Jamie makes a questioning noise. He has that confused look on his face again, the one that makes him look like a puppy.

“I find you just as tolerable when I’m drunk or sober,” Roy says.

“Really?” Jamie asks, hopeful.

Roy nods.

Jamie smiles at that. A really big one, showing all the teeth. Jamie’s been smiling at him far too much lately. Roy’s going to have all of Jamie’s teeth memorised if Jamie keeps this up.

So many teeth.

“You know,” Roy starts, then stops, forgetting for a moment, before starting up again, “Chimpanzees,” and stops again, figuring that’s enough information for Jamie to understand what he’s getting at.

“Yes, chimpanzees exist,” Jamie says slowly.

“No,” Roy says because Jamie isn’t getting it at all.

“Er… yeah, I’m pretty sure they exist, mate. Just ask that Jane Goodall lady.”

“No, no,” Roy says, lifting his hand and pushing it against Jamie’s face, hiding the teeth if only for a moment. Too white. Too distracting. “Chimpanzees. When they show their teeth. It’s a sign of aggression or something like that. Saw a documentary. Goodall would know. Means they want to fuck you up.”

The skin under his fingers is too soft. Also distracting.

Roy forces himself not to rub it. That would be impolite.

“Okaaayyy?” Jamie says from behind Roy’ hand, elongating the word far more than is strictly necessary.

Jamie’s face is all scrunched up again. He’s got a very expressive face. A very expressive, very soft face.

When Roy removes his hand, the smile is gone which is a shame.

“You smile a lot.”

“Ohhh,” Jamie says, the light bulb finally flickering on despite Roy being perfectly clear. And with the lit light bulb, the smile and the teeth return.

Roy pokes the corner of Jamie’s mouth. He figures it would also be impolite to poke the teeth directly. “See.”

Jamie’s smile grows, and Roy has to pull his finger away before it accidentally ends up in Jamie’s mouth.

“Well, I can assure you, when I smile at you, it’s not to be aggressive,” Jamie pauses, then adds, “At least not anymore.”

Roy nods, “Good.”

“Good,” Jamie repeats. Roy doesn’t take his eyes off Jamie’s teeth. It’s hard not to; the teeth are very close to Roy’s face.

Roy’s pretty sure there’s a quota of staring he’s surpassed, so he turns around and almost face-plants into his front door when it refuses to open.

“You need to unlock it first,” Jamie says, helpfully.

“Right,” Roy says, and digs into his pocket for his keys. He hands them to Jamie.

Jamie grabs the keys and opens the door for Roy, before handing the keys back to Roy. Still smiling.

Roy steps inside, tries to turn the hallway light on, patting the wall for the light-switch that seems to have moved in his absence. Jamie leans into the entrance, finds the light-switch, flicks it on, leans back out. Roy nods in gratitude.

Roy pushes his shoes off, and tucks them off to the side, not bothering to put them in their rightful place on the shoe-shelf. That can be Sober Roy’s job tomorrow.

“Nice socks,” Jamie says.

“Thank-you.” There were excellent socks. Had little dragons flying all over them. “Phoebe got them for me for Uncle’s day.”

“Uncle’s day?” Jamie asks.

Roy nods again. Is there also a quota for nodding?

Jamie also nods, but much slower.

“Well, Phoebe has excellent taste in socks,” Jamie says.

Roy nods one final time, because she really does have excellent taste.

“You good to get to bed on your own?” Jamie asks.

“I’m an adult. I know how to put my own pyjamas on.” And then, because even Drunk Roy still remembers his manners, “Thanks for driving me home.”

“No problem,” Jamie says, shuffles on Roy’s doorstep, stuffs his hands deep into his coat pockets, doesn’t leave.

Roy waits.

“Thanks for tonight,” Jamie finally says, “For coming with me, I mean. Thanks for that.”

“My Pleasure,” Roy says and actually means it.

“’Night,” Jamie says. One final smile before he turns around and leaves.

“Goodnight,” Roy mutters to the empty entrance.

He closes the door and heads to bed.

Far too many teeth, Roy thinks, right before falling asleep.

#Ted Lasso #Roy Kent #Jamie Tartt #roy kent x jamie tartt #royjamie #Roy Kent : Minder Extraordinaire #this story goes up to chapter 8 on ao3 #I'm slowly adding it here on tumblr #I have absolutely nothing against beanbags; they’re wonderful #I know absolutely nothing about FIFA #and I have no intention to learn

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dearlexies · 11 months ago

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I've been thinking a lot about Jaybart lately, even wrote half of two one-shots that I might post soon, since I'm bored, and have nothing to do, here are some hcs of them that I have and intend to work on some future fanfics:

Sometimes, while the other is sleeping, they lie awake counting the other's breathing just to make sure they are alive. Neither of them knows about it. Bart does this more often, but Jason spends more time awake counting his breaths.

Jason cooks and Bart cleans. Bart can't cook to save his life, but he makes decent coffee.

Bart has freckles all over his body and Jason often compares them to stars, when they are alone he tries to kiss each of his freckles.

Bart's love language is physical touch and words of affirmation, so Jason has always one arm around his shoulders or waist, sometimes he lays his head on Bart's shoulder and when no one is looking he leaves a kiss on his neck or whispers in his ear 'I love you'

Jason's love language is quality time and acts of service. Bart always tries to find a way to go to Jason's apartment and spend some time with him, they talk, watch movies and sometimes just enjoy each other's company. 'I love you' for Jason is not in words, but it is in the little things. In the coffees that Bart makes for him, in the early hours of waking up together, in the silence while Jason cooks and Bart helps him chopping the vegetables.

Bart made (read: forced) Jason to watch all the Star Wars films

Whenever the two watch a film/series, Bart develops a crush on one of the actors and talks about it for weeks and Jason just agrees that most of them are actually hot

Most people don't know that they date. Bart always says he has a boyfriend, but never says his name instead he describes his boyfriend as 'a literature student who loves cooking and Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf books' and he always has fun seeing people's reactions when Jason appears and kisses him.

Roy can't stand being in the same room as them, he always says that they look at each other with puppy eyes or like they're ready to fuck right there

Sometimes Bart wears skirts and dresses, Jason thinks he looks really beautiful wearing it.

Tim was the first to know they were together, he accidentally walked into the kitchen and saw them kissing (his reaction was similar to Ross's in friends but with less screams)

On their first Valentine's Day together, the two forgot it was Valentine's Day and spent the day watching horror movies and eating pizza.

Bart always listens to Tim and Jason's complaints about each other and finds it funny how the two always end up saying "How is he your best friend/boyfriend?”

Bart always pulls Jason's blanket over while sleeps.

Tim constantly walks over while they are almost having sex, most of the time he screams 'my eyes!' and Jason finds something to throw at him.

They are not a clingy couple, no pet names, no matching accessories, not so many pda, except for a few kisses, and a hand on the other's shoulder or waist, and they barely talk about the relationship with others, the reasons many people don't know they are dating is precisely this. They are very private, and none of them are afraid to provoke, disagree or upset the other.

#jaybart #fanfics #jason todd #bart allen #jason todd × bart allen #roy harper #tim drake #stay for another day #just cute and sweet hcs #the sad ones stay for another day

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thetarttfuldickhead · 6 months ago

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It’s two days before Jamie leaves for the World Cup and Roy’s making him lunch after a fairly relaxed morning workout session. As he cooks, he listens with half an ear to Jamie’s happy chatter about his upcoming trip, about the camp, the other lads, and did Roy see the home kit, it’s good, yeah? For all that Roy doesn’t offer more than grunts in response, he can’t help but feel Jamie’s excitement wrap around him, contagious, and leaving him feeling fond, proud, and envious in equal measure.

“And they’re letting us have a day off to have family come visit us, you know,” Jamie says. “Guess it’s to keep everyone from getting homesick. It’s nice, innit?”

Roy hums non-comittedly. Maybe it is nice. The sort of thing Lasso would have loved, that’s for sure.

“Mum’s coming, and Simon. Maybe Keeley too, if she can get away. Might not, though, they’re getting dead busy, her and Barbara.”

Oh. “Keeley’s family?” Roy asks, and he tries very hard to sound neutral about it. Nonchalant; a little teasing, even. After Brazil, Jamie had been careful to let slip – every bit as casual as Roy is striving to be right now – that nothing had happened between him and Keeley there, but even so…

He dares a glance in Jamie’s direction, and sees him pulling at his sleeves, distinctly not looking back at Roy. “Well, I mean, no. Guess not. But they said we could invite friends, too, if we wanted. Not like, all of them, ‘course, but one or two close ones maybe.”

Huh. Roy’s instinct is to scoff because why would you need friends from home come and distract you when you’ve got a cup to win, but he holds back. Trying not to be so stuck in his old ways, and all that.

“So—“ Jamie takes a deep breath and then looks up at him, smirk suddenly in place and with his eyebrows raised. “You coming to see me, Coach?”

And Roy blinks. “You want me to come visit you at camp?” he demands after a moment of stunned silence. “In Australia? On fucking family day?” If he sounds incredulous, it’s less because he’s surprised at Jamie having the audacity to ask, and more because Jamie would even want to.

Then again, Jamie had asked him to come to Brazil, too. Roy had told him no, too proud to accept what he worried was a pity ask, and had spent every day of the week Jamie and Keeley were away regretting it.

Jamie shrugs, seemingly unruffled. “I mean, yeah.”

That’s all he says. As if it’s reasonable. As if it’s simple. But Roy knows him well by now, and he can tell from the slight jitter of Jamie’s left foot that the other man isn’t nearly as blasé about this as he would like to pretend.

Turning back to his frying pan in a bid to win some time and get a grip on his swiftly rising and conflicting emotions, Roy mutters, “Doubt Southgate would appreciate you bringing in a private coach.” Gareth was, judging both by rumours and by Roy’s own recollection of their short time playing together, reasonably relaxed, but there were limits.

Jamie snorts. “Not asking you to come as me coach, am I?”

Roy is aware. That’s what makes this complicated. He knows how to be Jamie’s coach; he’s still not entirely sure how to be Jamie’s friend, even as he has surrendered to the fact that this is what he is now.

He knows that he’d like to be better at it, though. Admits, privately and somewhat ruefully, that he is pleased to have been asked.

“I’ll fucking think about it,” he says, and pretends he can’t hear the smug triumph in Jamie’s answering yeah, ‘course, decent.

Busies himself with plating the omelette so that he can pretend that he hasn’t already made up his mind.

#been thinking about this since the euros and the england team having their friends and family come and visit #i remain obsessed with the first post-canon summer #and roy and jamie negotiating being friends #AND MAYBE MORE #roy kent #jamie tartt #roy & jamie #royjamie #royjamiekeeley #bc that is my truth #ficlet #my stuff

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littlewitchbee · 5 months ago

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For the big bang: Favorite Royai headcanon? Silliest one? Most controversial one? Most specific one?

Thank you friend! Hard to think of so many headcanons 🤔

Favorite: I like both of them finding subtle ways to take care of each other throughout the day at work. One brings the other's favorite coffee because they notice they're looking tired, taking care of each other's workload, stuff like that. Nothing's sexier than someone telling me they'll take care of a stressful job for me lol

Silliest: I think Riza takes better care of Roy's car than he does. He bought it to show off and Riza actually cares about the engine and maintaining it and all that. She's not as into it as Winry, of course, but I think there's a part of her that's into mechanics

Most controversial: I agree with @rizaposting that I don't really care for Roy becoming fuhrer. I don't really believe that you can change a system from within it, and making himself the "Good Dictator" doesn't really do it for me. I think he would do most of what he promised to do, but that kind of power is hard to give up (and would Riza stop him? Would he listen? Maybe she'd agree at that point, being so close to the top 🤔) Nobody hold your breath but I'd love to someday write a fic where they don't make it to the top and instead have to find a different way to enact meaningful change

Specific: I like to think Riza isn't a great cook. It's mentioned in one of the games that she learned to cook pretty decently because when they were kids she fucked up a meal for Roy (implied) and made him really sick (get his ass). I like the idea of her cooking being edible to decent, but I think she's very much in the camp of "my body needs nutrients so I will throw these things together and eat them" instead of actually caring about method or taste

These have been really fun ☺️✨ I didn't write for this event, but I'm starting to wish I did lol @limetameta wrote a fic though, and I can't wait for everyone to read it on Oct 3!

#royai big bang 2024 #asks #thank you!! can't wait to read your fic!

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miraculousmitzi · 5 months ago

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OK, so it's been a while since I did any Hetalia ideas/headcanons. Watching Celebrity SAS has given me the idea to imagine what I think the UK bros and Ireland would be like if they had to compete!

P.S. This is also on my X- @miraculousmitzi.

A thread 👇

England:

- Fairly decent contestant. May display some slight hesitation, particularly at the start, in some tasks, but it is strategic and methodical.

- Has a 'get on with it' attitude in general.

-Is made the 'leader'.

-Absolutely detests being shouted at and bossed about.

NI:

-Crying, throwing up, ready to quit.

-Gets shouted at a lot, and can't help but take it personally, especially for fidgeting.

-A lot of hesitation and second guessing in tasks.

-Complains about the food, the weather, etc.

- Helps with the cleaning and dishes.

ROI:

-Like NI, he'd definitely cry and panic over tasks. Particularly at the start. But once he's locked in, he's a strong competitor.

-Is a public favourite.

-His energy is infectious, and the other teammates love him.

-Helps with cooking and the chickens.

-Will scream.

Scotland:

-A total mad lad. No hesitation, dives right into tasks, and passes each and every one.

-Would win the show.

- Pragmatic, thorough, and an eye for detail. A strong contestant alongside England.

-Secretly the favourite.

- In charge of cooking.

-Like a dad to others.

Wales:

-Absolutely petrified. Would definitely shed some tears over some tasks, and when screamed at.

- Very supportive of his team, almost like a mother figure.

-Would definitely throw up with nerves.

- In charge of the chickens and helps with cleaning.

#axis powers hetalia #hetalia world series #aph #arthur kirkland #hws hetalia #uk bros #hetalia wales #hetalia ireland #hetalia scotland #hetalia england #hetalianorthernireland #headcanon #hetalia headcanons

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magic-is-beauty · 6 months ago

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Sweet tooth head cannons part 2

I'm just going to put part 1 of my headcannons here as well since there might some continuations/more details from part 1

The first five animal army members were in order Bear,Tiger,Rhino,Pony,and Flamingo ; At first they had a blood oath ceremony to induct you into the army but that soon stopped after Flamingo since her finger wouldn't stop bleeding and the rest of animal army did NOT want to go through that disaster again (they all have cool matching scars tho from that).

Flamingo's parents were a chef and baker so she grew up around cooking and baking so when I say she can make good food I mean it ; Her ability to make decently good food from what the army was able to get is astonishing.

Rosie,Ginger,Tex,the wolf boys and ginger's son all stay in Texas for a while to monitor and oversee the farm but they eventually leave to find a place closer to where all the hybrids are and so they can have a place to stay that isn't crawling with bad memories.

The farm is still in Rosie and Ginger's hands but they now look over it from the sidelines trusting the people who are there to keep it in order and up to the new standards they've created.

The animal army get stick and poke tattoos of the animal they were while in the army to commemorate their time in the army ; They're still a army but they retire their old outfits for stuff that's more comfortable and recenter their focus on helping hybrids using other means that are not killing ; Bear gets a bear,Tiger gets a tiger,Rhino gets a rhino,Pony gets a pony,Flamingo gets a flamingo,etc.

Tiger before the crumble had a younger sister that was killed by the sick along with their grandparents who she was close with ; Tiger's father eventually joined the last men but both of her parent's soon were killed because of sick which is when they ran away.

Tiger before the crumble learned sewing and embroidery from their mother and was just starting to learn photography from their grandparents ; Tiger kept the camera from their childhood and started getting back into photography during the animal army days and continued it when living with the hybrids (Bear was one of their favorite things to capture) ; Rhino,Pony,Flamingo and Wendy do like to steal it in order to get photographic evidence of Bear and Tiger acting like a couple (but Bear and Tiger don't entirely know that yet).

Bear didn't sleep much when Tiger was injured like she tried but she eventually gave up and just continued to be by Tiger's side as much as she could.

The hybrids and Wendy could sense that Bear wanted to be by Tiger's side so they mostly found ways to entertain themselves with both Wendy and Jepp offering to take up watching and entertaining the hybrids ; Jepp trusted Becky to look over Gus as well since she was in there but still periodically checked in on them.

Bear,Tiger and the rest of the animal army kept the fallen members memory alive by telling stories to the hybrids about them and created a book that honored not only their memories but also Pubba,Birdie,Aimee,Louisa,Dr Singh,Bruno,Roy and many others lost.

The hybrids for some reason really love hammocks so now they have a shit ton around the place in order to decrease arguments of who gets a hammock ; No one touches the hammock towards the outskirts of the woods tho since that's the one that Bear and Tiger share and is the place they go to when they need a break or just want to be alone.

Rosie after everything chills out finally is able to do her art again and now she gets to share this with her boys who are very eager to enjoy something that makes their mother so happy ; Rosie is a really good painter and loves crafting things with Ginger also loving painting (both did it during their pregnancies to help relax them) ; their home is now covered in both Rosie and Ginger's art but also the boy's art pieces that everyone in the house cherishes.

Ginger's son absolutely loves being the water and gets super smiley and happy when bath time comes around ; Rosie jokes that the only time she ever saw that same exact smile is when her boys are running around.

After finally being away from her mother Rosie and her boys can finally grieve the death of Bruno and remember his memory while also grieving the childhood she wished her boys should of had with her making sure that her boys live a safe and happy childhood that she wished Bruno was also allowed to have.

Parenting at first comes not so easily to Rosie,Ginger and Tex but they eventually get the hang of it with the help and advice of Jepp and Becky ; The wolf boys love howling especially when they're happy or excited and it seems like Ginger's child is also quite vocal when it comes to things that make him excited and happy as well with Rosie,Ginger and Tex not minding it at all but instead encouraging it.

Parenting the wolf boys isn't entirely easy since they were taught so much terrible shit that needs to be unlearned but Rosie wouldn't trade it for the world because now she knows that she teaching and parenting them herself instead of somebody else ; It takes time to get them to unlearn the bad habits taught to them but since the boys are still fairly young they respond well and are able to learn and be around their mother who adores them ,their cousin who they love to be around and a whole bunch of others who are not only like them but who are not scared of them and want to be around them.

Rhino,Pony,and Flamingo are now overseeing the new animal army with the help of both Bear and Tiger and visit the cabin fairly often to see their favorite people : the hybrids ; The hybrids do visit the animal army HQ once in while and they always end eating too much sugar,playing games,being spoiled and staying up way too late much to the dismay of Jepp,Bear,and Tiger.

However when Flamingo finds all the homegrown food at the cabin has it's over for everyone with Flamingo at first freaking out since she hasn't had this much to work with in years and then ends up making one of the best dishes anyone has ever had making the hybrids flock to poor Flamingo with food requests ; Flamingo in the span of a few months lovingly makes all the hybrids their food requests because she can't say no to those faces.

Rosie,Ginger,Tex and the boys manage to find a quaint farmhouse about 30 minutes away from the hybrids to settle down in and with the help of Jepp,Tiger and Flamingo manage to start growing their own food but they still spend a decent amount of time hanging out in the woods with everyone not just to socialize the boys but because the boys seem so happy being in an environment surrounded with kids like them and who was Rosie to take away what made her kids so happy.

The hybrids,Jepp,Wendy,Gus,and Bear are all pretty light sleepers with everything that has happened so they usually wake up with any slight noise but then go back to bed if not anything to be worried about. Tiger and the animal army on the other hand sleep like the dead unless they hear a actually concerning sound which is when they really wake up.

The hybrids share tree houses not only because they like sharing a space but it's because in case someone has a nightmare or a bad memory there's always going to be someone in the tree house to help them and be there for them ; Jepp,Becky and Tiger always tell them to come to them when that happens and they do when it's bad or when they want too(Gus goes to Jepp,Wendy goes to Becky,the other hybrids will go switch between Jepp,Becky,and Tiger) but a decent amount of time it can be helped with just being around one another and being reminded that they're alive surrounded by friends and in a safe environment.

A lot of the time the hybrids sleep under the stars being able to see the sky and hear the sounds of the woods around them but they do also sleep in the tree houses (that are equipped with nightlights) since it's their space and they love it.

Bear and Tiger enjoy climbing onto the roof of their tree house and stargazing or just talking or they climb onto their designated tree and sit there enjoying the view or again just talking about anything and everything.

Rosie,Ginger and the boys eventually meet the animal army who immediately love the boys ; Rosie comes with the hybrids when they visit the animal army HQ since the boys still get a little anxious when they're away from their mother and Rosie doesn't think she's ever heard them howl so loudly or seem the light shine so bright in their eyes.

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