Look, I love Roy and Jamie in Amsterdam, I really do. But I contain multitudes, and Jamie honestly looks so happy on the bus when he’s thinking it’s going to be a night out with the lads-
So I am rotating a version of the night where Jamie is involved in the vote and he gets progressively more manic about everything in front of the team, but the pillow fight still happens the same and everyone has a lovely time.
That night, with everyone camped out in the lobby amongst the pillows (who gives a fuck at that point honestly), everything’s dark and quiet. Most of the team’s asleep, and it’s like a slumber party, innit?
With Dani and Sam giggling on either side of him, teasing him about how strange he was being earlier-
Dani tugged at his sleeve. “I cannot believe you would rather go to a museum with Trent Crimn than see tulips with me? Really?”
Jamie hummed. “When it’s the middle of the night, yeah. Besides, you ever see a Van Gogh in person? It’s like looking at a tulip through 3-D glasses. If you like tulips, you’re gonna love this museum.”
“It is pronounced ‘Van-Goff,’” Jan corrected sleepily. “Please do not trust Ted to correct any language outside of his own.”
Sam chuckled, the warmth of his breath against Jamie’s ear as gentle as a feather. “I am surprised, though. I didn’t know that you had been to Amsterdam before.”
He doesn’t have to say it. Really, there’s barely anything to say. It’s water under the skinny bridge, locked behind a skinny frame whose echo lies somewhere deep under his skin. Impossible to reach; impossible to ignore it lying still.
It’s the phantom smell of beer on his dad’s breath as he makes him swear not to tell Mummy what they got up to. Just between us men, alright, boy?
It’s the soft whisper as Sam breathes his name — “Jamie?” — curious and easy and so very gentle it wouldn’t disturb a feather.
It’s the feather that tips the scale.
He tells them.
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having gone through (and still in the process of going through) the thousand different processes for changing my legal name and gender marker in every conceivable place those things could come up, one thing I’ve noticed is that being trans wreaks administrative havoc. the particular process of changing your name because you’re transgender isn’t strictly unique, because people change their legal name(s) for lots of different reasons, but there is a systemic unpreparedness for dealing with the scenario of a user or client or patient whose name and gender has changed simultaneously. the most common response I get when I ask somebody at a front desk if I can change my name and/or gender in their system is “huh, this has never happened before!” and then they go talk to their manager. and so to get anything done you have to continually assert that it’s possible, you have to explain that you’ve changed it elsewhere, you have to carry around legal documentation to prove that it’s happened, and you effectively become a perpetual edge case for any given administrative system you exist in. I know, intimately, how my university’s IT systems work in terms of field input because it’s so decentralised that changing information one place doesn’t change it in a lot of other places, and the act of having to be registered at a university with two conflicting legal names means I have to have an ongoing relationship with their IT help desk. People talk a lot about how we have to become medical experts in order to assert our own identity, but you also have to become a fucking IT expert too
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I'm going to say Richard's "train to Paris" idea for a night out in Amsterdam was goofy as hell but he kind of won me over in episode one when he said he could introduce me to his collection of FINE but not necessarily expensive wines, so I would still go on a date with the man
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I was looking up the Dutch history of cycling for fanfiction (Helward) purposes and I learned that bicycles for day to day use only really gained popularity from the 1890s/1900s and before that they were more popular in England?! This is so sad. Van Helsing may not even have known how to ride a bike. There goes my ‘Seward is amazed at Dutch people cycling through snow’ scene. Fortunately or unfortunately this wikipedia article only exists in Dutch so everyone else can remain blissfully ignorant.
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Ugh that quali was a bust, the weather was against good things happening 😭
To cheer us up though - a clip of Lando saying he’d want Carlos (and Oscar) on a podium with him when he finally wins. Tries to save face with a little jab of “so I can look down on him, for the first time” but fails miserably, that face reveals EVERYTHING haha
https://twitter.com/stomperloveer/status/1720498178552631495?s=46&t=c5TzFoZclHJBjyR-5qpelw
Ah Emi posted it! Well, we all know that him looking down at Carlos wouldn’t be the first time 😏 Also “Carlos would be good”, of course he would 😏 Ok sorry 😂🙈 Him saying that is so cute! I really want Carlos with him on the podium when he wins. Pleeease 🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️
I didn’t watch qualy, but I know the results and that it started to rain a lot on Q3. Why did it start late?
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🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 <3
Thank you, friend <3
From the one that makes you sick. No trigger warnings apply to this snippet, but the entire fic itself deals with what happened to Jamie in Amsterdam
His dad showed him pictures. He had a ton of them, a whole shoebox full of polaroids Jamie's never even seen.
Of him, Bug, and Denbo at some sort of bug-eating competition.
Of his mum when she was pregnant.
Of Jamie as a little thing, swaddled up in her arms.
There’s one of him as a little baby, his dad holding him in outstretched arms as if he’s inspecting the merchandise. The sight of it made him feel violently ill. He flipped it upside down, quick to keep the visit going and move on to the next relic.
After the baby pictures, there’s a noticeable gap where neither Jamie or Georgie show up for years.
But mostly there’s just pictures of his dad. At matches. At reunions with people Jamie’s never met. At school, when his dad was still a lad in a sloppy uniform, faffing around with his mates and a football.
His dad grinned when he saw him studying it. "Guess it was always meant to be, 'ey Jamie?"
Some of them, he couldn't pretend to be interested in; others-
No.
He placed that one face down too, even if it made the weight of his father's attention compound into something heavier, the air in the visiting room beginning to stifle.
By the time he found it, he was so caught up in the too-familiar cut of his dad’s jaw that he hardly recognised his own face.
Sitting amidst the crowd of the Johan Cruyff Arena, a ghost of his younger self grinned ear to ear.
One for your mum, eh?
She’d never gotten a photo- any photo. Let alone this one: all wind-battered baby cheeks and bony arms sticking out of an Ajax kit they'd haggled off a street vendor. His hair was a mess, swept to whichever side he pushed it because he'd not yet learned how to use any product and he fidgeted all the time.
Jamie remembered the phantom sensation of missing a tooth at the back of his mouth.
“Hah! That brings back memories. Remember, the two of us took the ferry over to Amsterdam? Painted the town red, we did.”
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can’t you guys just be normal and talk about how a lot of trans men suffered from misogyny prior to transition and continue to feel its effects if they don’t pass without trying to invent new words for this or take over existing words with concrete meanings (like transmisogyny). this is not difficult
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