#the TikTok recipe / career retrospective fic

[jamiesfootball]

🌹🌹🌹 🌹🌹🌹

"Smart lad." Roy nods in approval. He waves his mug at the chair beside him. "Sit down then."

The lad awkwardly folds his lanky limbs into the chair, perching nervously on the edge of his seat like a newborn foal.

Roy smirks behind his mug. "I don't bite."

Tyler winces. "No. Right, I know. You're just- intimidating? I guess? I dunno. I can never quite believe it when I'm over here. I mean, you're Roy Kent, and you served me tea this morning, and I'm here to help ruin your kitchen. Don't know why you haven't just kicked me out yet."

This, Roy thinks, is the real problem with Jamie bringing all these young players around. The ones who've only ever played under the Tartt era of therapy and big locker room apologies and endless second chances. They all come to Roy with their hearts on their sleeves, spouting the most ridiculous drivel with their entire chests and meaning it.

It's all Jamie's fault. Every starry-eyed kid with their future still hovering in the wings who comes to Roy with hope dripping from their hands cupped in offering. Each fresh-faced little muppet with kicks like battering rams and and words that sock him in the chest. Standing behind all of them is the unrepentant Mancunian who taught them it was okay to be like that in the first place.

Wouldn't matter now if Roy tried to kick Jamie out of his house; he'd still be followed by him everywhere he went.

#rose for a snippet #writing snippet #fic: you're gonna go far kid #thank you anon! #this is much delayed as a chomp through the remainders of my last batch of roses #but it is very much appreciated <3 #roy kent #jamie tartt #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

🪻🌺🌼🌸🌼🥀🌺🌷🌻 <- pile of flowers!

Friend! You are too good to me! Since you are busy making yourself (and soon to be us) cry over the Jamie tiktok recipe/career retrospective fic, I offer you some cooking-related fluff from your gift fic :)

Sam sets about emptying the bags, some to the refrigerator and some on the counter. He’s rummaging through Jamie’s cabinets for all he needs when the Englishman pulls himself from the couch and over into the kitchen area.  “Need help finding anything, mate?”  “I think I found it all,” Sam says; he’s cooked in Jamie’s kitchen before, so he has a general idea of where everything is. “Why don’t you sit back on the couch and relax?” “Nah, I want to help,” Jamie says, depositing himself in one of the stools at his island. “Put me to work.” “Okay,” Sam says, smiling, placing a cutting board, knife and four plantains in front of the footballer and demonstrating. "Cut a slit in the skin along the length of each plantain like this, and then peel it apart. Then cut each in half lengthwise, then into 1-inch pieces. Okay?" “Yes, chef!” Jamie replies enthusiastically. 

#jamie tartt #sam obisanya #wip #rose wip #maybe untitled fic #gift fic #readwing #thank you my friend #i love you so very much on three #seriously thought i appreciate you #hope you enjoy #ted lasso fanfic #cooking for friends

[jamiesfootball]

I wish you would write a fic where..

Jamie becomes the captain - I'd love to see him in that kind of leadership role where he has to be responsible for other people (that's why I'd also like to see him become a coach someday) or

Jamie wins some kind of award so I can see Roy and the rest of his family be proud of him :))

In the hours since you have sent this to me, I have devised a fic that somehow combines both of these things -- but in a way that no one but me has ever asked for.

How do we feel about Jamie winning a Webby?

At age thirty-three, Jamie Tartt takes a bad tackle on his right ankle, slamming the door on a career that’s been nothing less than show stopping. He takes the news that he’ll never play again like a champ--which is to say he takes it better than Roy did—and only spends a week sobbing into Roy’s couch cushion that his life is over. On the eighth day, he clomps and crutches his way into the kitchen. He fires up the live feed on whatever app he’s obsessed with now. With three days worth of stubble and bags under his eyes from crying, he announces to the world at large that he’s about to try, ‘Every damn TikTok recipe that I've missed out on because it's been outside of my meal plan for the past twenty-fucking-years.’ And so his new career as ‘obnoxious wastrel who tries to burn down Roy kitchen’ is born.

#too late I already started writing it #it's about 50% food related calamity and 50% roy absolutely bursting at the seams with pride #as he looks back on everything jamie's achieved so far in life #this will be a gift to me and you - but only if you choose to accept #i will not make you accept. any of this #but it's about 600 words so far and I'm having a blast #writing progress #ask box game #ask box game gone awry #roy kent #jamie tartt #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic

[jamiesfootball]

“For those of you unlucky enough to not know who he is, this is Sam Obisanya. He’s a midfielder for Real Madrid, he’s the captain of the Nigerian national team, he’s a delight at karaoke, and he’s one of the best people I know. He’s also the best cook I know. Sorry, Roy- Oi! Don’t shake the camera at me. We’re live-streaming, you prick.”

Sam, cheeky and melty with suppressed pleasure, gives an endearing wave at the camera.

Roy zooms in on him instead.

#ficwip #the TikTok recipe / career retrospective fic #fic: you’re gonna go far kid #jamie tartt #roy kent #sam obisanya

[jamiesfootball]

Six Ten Sentence Sunday

In 2026, England ekes out a last minute victory in the quarterfinals of the World Cup.

Roy shouts until his throat goes hoarse. Elation claws out of his chest as he screams and screams, and it's impossible to even hear himself, the crowd is so loud, and he's crying. Crying because Jamie Tartt has single-handedly done it once again.

They made it to the semifinals.

Holy fuck.

They don't make it to the final match that year, but still. Roy never made it to the semifinals.

Fuck.

The talent of him.

#six sentence sunday #except i didn't want to cut it down #sue me #roy kent #jamie tartt #writing snippet #fic: you're gonna go far kid #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic

[jamiesfootball]

Six Sentence Sunday

Isaac wears retirement with the same class that he wears all his suits. After a few months of university, he's added a soft layer of extra padding around the middle, but it does nothing to hide the bulk of muscle he's still hauling around -- he damn near cracks Roy's spine when he greets him at the door.

He uses those same strong arms to hug Jamie, lifting the other man off his feet like he weighs nothing (like he weighs less than he used to). They stay like that for a long stretch, and for a moment Roy thinks that maybe this is it, this is the moment where Jamie breaks.

It isn't. Jamie pulls away with a frenetic energy, spinning to pull whatever he's done to the Rolos out of the oven.

#six sentence sunday #writing snippet #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic #this one's gonna hurt #roy kent #jamie tartt #isaac mcadoo

[jamiesfootball]

Yes you can make OCs for your fic, but watch out!

#you will get attached to them is the thing #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic #for understandable reasons now has a number of these #(mostly to do with filling out the team as members leave / retire) #and I am. attached #damnit #fic: you’re gonna go far kid

[jamiesfootball]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

pretty sure the hints sustain us as well

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

I'm pretty sure you are sustaining me, friend.

More from the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic

"It's nice to see he's handling it well," she says with a fond smile. With the glitter on cheeks and the mermaid lip gloss and the Skittle spritzer in hand, she sparkles like a diamond -- belongs on the cover of every magazine in the world, if you asked Roy.

He knows he's biased, but he stands by it. There really was something about kindness that made people beautiful the further they slipped into old age. The soft wrinkles bracketing her mouth, the way her eyes crinkled with unabandoned joy when she laughed -- it all served to make Keeley look perfect, like every year she marched forward brought her one step further along the process in building a masterpiece.

He wants to let her keep her hope, but he can't hide anything from her. Wouldn't know how even if he wanted to.

"He hasn't processed it," he says, his voice knelt close to a whisper.

Keeley cocks her head at him. The sound of footsteps stomping around the second bedroom echo about the house.

"Roy," she begins gently. "I know it's only been a few weeks, but- well, you saw him." She points in the direction of the living room. "Absolutely inconsolable, he was. Cried the whole way home from the hospital."

Roy's seen that footage. Fucking paparazzi. If he catches them snooping around his house, he'll break their goddamn cameras.

"That's not processing," he says gruffly. "That's shock, and panic, and maybe a bit of fear, but it's not--"

West London Legend, Roy Kent Ends Career

"--grief."

Keeley reaches over the table to take his hand.

"I'm not saying he's fine now, but he is letting himself feel. Just keep doing what you're doing and give him space. You know our Jamie -- if there's anyone who'll rise to the occasion, it's him."

#the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic #know what goes well with humor? crying #keeley jones #roy kent #jamie tartt #writing snippets

[jamiesfootball]

for your leisure chomping

"Right, this looks good. Now we're supposed to turn the bowl upside down enough to see if the meringue is set—"

Jamie tilts the bowl up above his head and gets a face-full of whipped eggs and sugar for his troubles.

Roy keeps the camera rolling.

“Was that sexy? Did I look sexy?” He checks with Roy for confirmation. At Roy’s withering stare, he refocuses his attention on the camera and his rabid fucking followers.

"Lovely viewers at home -- if you think that looked sexy, let me know in the comments."

#I swear there's also tiktok recipes in the tiktok recipe fic #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic #fic: you're gonna go far kid #jamie tartt #roy kent #writing shenanigans #writing snippet #rose for a wippet

[jamiesfootball]

under the cut for discussions about discussions about Amsterdam, just in case.

That awful morning was the morning Roy finally got to know Simon. Longest six hours of his life.

"Oh dear," Simon said by way of an apology. He grabbed another tissue. "You'll have to pardon me. I did my best to stay strong for Georgie until you boys got here, but--"

"It's fine," Roy reassured him. "I get it."

"Can I get you another cup of tea?"

Roy nodded. Simon toddled along. The noise from the television pattered softly, not nearly loud enough to drown out the sorrow from upstairs, but they didn't turn it up any higher. Mother and son deserved their privacy.

"Here you are, m'boy," Simon said when he returned with a fresh mug. With half his hair gone to the light, Roy was about as far from a boy you could be before people preemptively began offering you senior discounts. Hell, Simon and him could've gone to school together.

But the word was warm like the mug was warm. Sometimes people just needed the warmth.

"Thanks," he said. He drank his tea.

“She didn’t know,” Simon blurted out. “Didn’t know at all. Not the kind of call ones prepared for in the wee hours of the morning, that.” Then, like it was a scab he couldn't stop picking at, “Did Jamie think—?”

It was Jamie, was the thing. Jamie, who could be sensitive to the slight degree shift in mood, but who could take a direct statement and twist it into something awful and crooked like a scorpion’s tail. Jamie, who held his bruises close to his chest and never seemed to know when he should call for help. “Dunno,” Roy answered with a shrug. Couldn’t go back and fix it now, could they?

Couldn't fix anything lately.

#i am trying to get back into the writing swing of things but first I have to transcribe all my notes from the past week (it's a mess folks) #so to motivate myself I will chip-chomp through some roses #talking about amsterdam #writing snippet #rose for a wippet #writing progress #fic: you're gonna go far kid #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic #jamie tartt #roy kent #jamie's mum's simon

[jamiesfootball]

Six Sentence Sunday

Jamie takes a week off. Off training, off the pitch, even off the fucking bench. It costs them a draw in the Champions league, but they eke out a 1-nil in the FA cup, and Jamie’s back on the pitch for the next Premier match.

When anyone presses Roy for details, he tells them to fuck off. The internal memo—which is what PR puts out anyways—cites family emergency.

It is a family emergency; he’s Roy’s family.

#roy kent #jamie tartt #six sentence sunday #fic: you’re gonna go far kid #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic

[jamiesfootball]

Food roses get a snippet from the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic:

But that was the year that Jamie entered what Roy would find himself referring to as his 'angry phase.' According to Dr. Fieldstone, it was normal. In fact, it was an excellent sign of the progress he'd made, that he was finally ready to process everything he hadn't felt safe enough to let himself feel as a child. And as a teenager. And as an adult.

He processed with a fury.

#rose for a snippet #wippets #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic #writing snippet #jamie tartt #roy kent #chomp chomp chomp

[jamiesfootball]

Swinging by to say how fab you and your work is.

i love this song. this is my favorite song. thanks kind stranger!

Here, have a snippet from the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic:

"What's this?"

"I bought us matching canes."

"I don't need a cane," Roy said reflexively. "And you don't need a cane either. Keep doing your fucking exercises, and the doctor's said it'll heal up fine."

"Fine for now. Injuries get worse with age. When I catch up to you in thirty years, I'll need one then, won't I?"

No amount of test batches of biscuit dough is worth putting up with him somedays.

Roy keeps the cane anyways.

#thank you anon! #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic #fic: you're gonna go far kid #writing snippet #roy kent #jamie tartt

[jamiesfootball]

Despite it not being my main focus at all right now, the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic is already at a baffling 2800 words and has a structured outline in place

#writing progress #someone save me though because I definitely think i'm a bit emotionally hungover from this fic already #in a related tag #fuck jamie's dad #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic

[jamiesfootball]

Fun news!

The tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic now has now been titled 'you're gonna go far, kid'

#it's also at 5k and has even more of a structure #I am aiming for like. 15k on this one #and i am recording that optimistic guess here for posterity #the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic #gonna keep using that tag for now

[jamiesfootball]

👀

From the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic:

Roy hasn’t been paying attention to this video long enough to know what goes wrong. One second, he’s turned to fetch the heavy cream from the fridge (“Everybody ask Roy nicely—please, Roy!“) when the lid on Roy’s saucepan explodes. When Roy turns, there’s glass and marinara everywhere—across the counters, the cabinets, the floor, the ceiling. A gaping crater lies in the top where the handle of the pan used to be. And Jamie- “Turn that fucking off.” Jamie, still holding his camera rig level, turns off the recording but otherwise doesn't move. The air in the kitchen is pregnant with tension, and Roy teeth grind together so hard stars blossom behind his eyes, and Jamie, there’s Jamie— “Sorry,” Jamie rushes to apologize, and he sounds exactly like he had the first time he’d accidentally shattered one of Roy’s mugs: voice reedy and a little desperate and a lot of fake casualness, as he rushed to clean it up like he thought speed was the determining factor in Roy noticing. His hands flutter to remove the rig—presumably to start cleaning—and Roy can see even from across the room how hard they're shaking. But Roy can’t think about that now, can’t think past the way the world spirals around the image of Jamie, splattered in glass and marinara across his face, chest, and arms, and Roy can’t make out which of it is blood. “Don’t move,” Roy grits out. His pulse drums loud in his ears; he can hardly hear himself speak. “Don't. Fuck. Just stay still.” When he returns with the broom, dustpan, and a pair of slides, Jamie has in fact stayed still. He’s stayed so still, in fact, that he seems to have gone backwards in time, losing ten years in the ten seconds Roy was gone. “Here,” Roy throws the slides down. “Careful where you step. Did any glass get on your feet?” Jamie looks down, seeming to realize as he did that he was barefoot. He stares at his own feet as if he's surprised to learn he still has them. “Jamie?” “What? Sorry.” He stepped forward; Roy braced him by the elbow, tugging him to take a further step away from the glass. “I’ll replace your pan. Here, let me get this.”

He made to grab for the broom. Roy held it out of his reach. “The mess can wait. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

#fic: you're gonna go far kid #I'm parsing these asks out to motivate me through writing #one ask per one scene on this gift fic #huzzah! #writing progress #writing snippet #roy kent #jamie tartt