poster boy
roy kent/jamie tartt, for @welcomemysentence
“You weren’t kidding about the poster, huh?”
Roy glances up at the poster of himself on Jamie’s bedroom wall. It’s a decade old, the paper faded and creased around the edges, but it has clearly been looked after, the frayed parts carefully blu-tacked in place.
Jamie’s face oscillates between bashful and bravado, before settling on teasing. “Needed some motivation to get better than you, didn’t I, old man?”
Roy snorts. It’s a good photo, a well-caught moment of action as he winds back his right foot just before the ball arrives, his brow set in an expression of determined focus. With a pang of sentiment he remembers what it was like to feel that certain, about himself and his abilities. When there was nothing but him and the grass and the ball, and a sensation of absolute rightness.
“Yeah, right.” He sweeps away the nostalgia with a roll of his eyes. “I was the light of your young life, I can tell. I bet you showed that poster to everyone you knew. Bet you fucking jerked off looking at it."
He smirks with the tease, expecting a snappy comeback. But there's a beat where Jamie stumbles. It's so unlike his typical insouciance that it sticks out a mile, even when he recovers with a flippant, "Yeah, you wish."
Hang on a fucking second.
"You fucking did!"
Two splotches of red burst across Jamie's cheeks. "Fuck off."
Unbidden, Roy pictures a teenage Jamie, face flushed, cock in his hand, gasping up at that damn poster. He shoves the image out of his mind as fast as humanly possible.
"I always said you were a wanker, Tartt."
Jamie twists his lips like he's settling on a tactic: the safe play or the high risk, high reward outside chance. And fuck, since when has Roy been able to read him so well?
Jamie decides, narrowing his eyes in a way that suggests he’s committing to the play, for better or worse. "Had to take my thrills where I could get them as a kid." He tilts his chin up, pretending defiance. "And you were pretty fit back in the day."
Roy catches himself thinking that it's kind of sweet, the way Jamie squares up as he says that. God, Roy is so fucked.
"And now?" It’s out of his mouth before he can think better of it, the ease of their banter lulling him into dangerous territory.
Jamie grins, wild and wicked, and it crinkles the corners of his eyes. “You’re not too bad.” He takes a step closer, and damn it, Roy isn’t going to stumble backwards. “For an old guy.” His eyes rake down and back up Roy’s body, and the back of Roy’s neck heats under the scrutiny.
Jamie tilts his head and says, rather too quietly to be joking, “I wouldn’t say no.”
There was a line, somewhere, that wasn't supposed to be crossed. But they breezed past that a while ago, and Roy finds himself unmoored. The past may have been a time of firm certainty, he realises, but the present is one of open possibility, and damn if that isn't an enticing concept.
He takes a step forward. Too close, way over the line, into the danger zone. He feels himself smile. "So how come you never asked?"
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oh no … oh , that’s not good .
( 'Don’t look away from your own actions by playing pretend...' that’s my line. Warden-san, it’s not just you; it’s all of you. You all said you wouldn’t forgive us. )
( Warden-san, you were the one who said “we. ”)
The water that runs over their hand is felt by ten fingers.
In soap, and water, and submerging as such... Two hands. One person.
One person. And yet, counting each finger... These slips of the tongue are getting more-
It's not... important. It's not what's important. What Amane was talking about, her doctrine... 'We', in the sense of pretending, or brainwashing.
('We', in the sense of pretending.. is that what I'm doing? No, it's a different situation. I say it because... because...)
-No, even so, she's always aware of herself, so the actions she took... In her case, it's that sort of situation, unlike Mikoto, who-
------ " . o//h. . ?no ---- 's -! n0t g.G.. . "
Who-!?
--
...
Such a simple mistake... as forgetting to turn off the water faucet; It was ' you ' who caught that.
It's shut off now, but the water had still spilled around their boots. 'Them', who's heart-rate became fast enough to clog their throat, and whose eyes, wide, stare at--
"... Ah..."
"You don't know about.. fixing drains... Do you?"
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To illustrate this post by @mayahawkse I would like to visualize to you the difference:
A post in 2023:
A post in 2014:
A zoom out of the same post:
This is what a community looks like.
See how in 2023 almost all of the reblogs come from the OP, from their few hours/days in the tag search. Meanwhile in 2014 the % of reblogs from OP is insignificant, because most of the reblogs come from the reblogs within the fandom, within the micro-communities formed there. You didn't need to rely on tags, or search, or being featured. Because the community took care of you, made sure to pass the work between themselves and onto their blog and exposed their followers to it. It kept works alive for years.
It's not JUST the reblog/like ratio that causing this issue, it's the type of interaction people have. They're content with scrolling and liking the search engine, instead of actually having a reblogging relationship with other blogs in their community.
Anyways, if you want to see more content you like, the only true way to make it happen is to reblog it. Likes do not forward content in no way but making OP feel nice. Reblogs on the other hand make content eternal. They make it relevant, they make it exist outside of a fickle tumblr search that hardly works on the best of days.
If you want more of something, reblog it.
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