#taylor swift exp

[folkloreintime]

The House of Vamplor. - Taylor Swift x Reader Smut [PART 1]

Vampire!Taylor x female reader smut

warnings: smut, fem!reader oral (r!receiving), vampires, biting, mild blood play, amnesia(kinda??)

summary: Vamplor takes you back to her house and her intentions are very clear.

word count: 1.5k

A/N: not me being back the vamplor pull was just too strong lmaoo. part 2 is out btw! hope you enjoy - pris

You could barely recall the recent events of this morning, a bad sleep turned into a bad morning which turned into an even worse day so when the sun set and you lazily walked your way back home, the local bar didn’t look so bad, its dim glow seeming much more enticing than the cold icy walls of your apartment, it seemed like an adequate end to the day.

However, now you were sitting in a room, two deep red glasses of wine sat at the table in front of you, the tall ceilings seemed like they could go on forever but the walls were ensconced in black as if they were trying to trap you. Memories, flashes of red lips and sultry whispers came back to you, a woman flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder laughing coyly, her face hidden from your gaze. You took a deep breath and turned towards the door. Nobody entered and you wondered if you should leave. It almost felt illegal, quietly tiptoeing towards the door and just before you turned the handle it burst open.

“Not leaving are you, Sweetness?” Her red lips pouted as she salaciously leaned on the door frame, essentially blocking you in. “No. I’m just…” The words fell short in your mouth because you didn’t actually know what you were doing here but the intrigue of the woman before you was enough to make you stay. “We were at the bar?” you questioned trying to piece together what little information you had. “Yes,” she chuckled, “We came here after the bar, the night is still young, so why waste it?” Her tall figure stepped into the room.

“Sit. We were having such a good conversation,” she gestured with a flick of her hand and you immediately felt yourself complying with her commands as if she had willed it so, “Oh… did someone make a mess?” She mocked you, shaking her head dismissively as you both looked at the wine now dripping unceremoniously on the floor, you didn’t even hear it fall, the silence in the room was deafening, only the sound of your breath and the creaking footsteps as she moved around you remained, just close enough where you could sense the air as she moved through it but not close enough to touch.

She handed you a rag and knelt to the floor with you, her blonde hair framed her face, the moonlight from the open window shone like stage lights illuminating her like a crowd pleaser. “Go on, Y/N. Clean up your mess.” her eyes darkened, the silhouette of her black lacy corset tightened against her pale skin as she leaned forward with intense eye contact. You began to soak up what liquid you could, the rag absorbing the fluid, now stained with red like an open wound. The small piece of cloth was doing very little to clean it up, sloshing the liquid back and forth making an even bigger mess, you sat up a little, almost admitting defeat when the woman piped up. “Need help?” it would have sounded sincere if not for her quirked up brow and loose smile on her lips . She cupped her hands on top of yours and you gasped. She was ice cold, shivers traveled up and down your spine and you didn’t move an inch.

She began to move her hands, moving yours with them. Left. Right. Left. Right. It was antagnosingly slow, and each time she stopped her grip on your

hands tightened ever so slightly. Her eyes studied you so intensely, you felt shy under her gaze, wholly exposed and unable to utter a word for fear she might just get up and leave. Suddenly, she stopped. “You can’t clean up your mess properly, Sweetness.” she tutted, both of your hands were stained red, the scent of mulled berries infiltrated your senses. “I’m sorry.” You looked away in shame, it seemed like the longer you spent with her the more shy you became.

“Sorry isn’t good enough, Y/N. You disrespected my company.” She stood, towering above you. “I’ll make it up to you.” Your voice was small now, looking at her through your eyelashes, she smoothed out her corset. “I guess I’ll just have to make a mess of you.” She grabbed your jaw, harshly raising your head so your eyes could meet. Her smirk was more sinister now, her blue eyes almost became black like the walls. “Stand.” she demanded.

Her cold hands clenched either side of your face and she leaned in, lips merely inches apart and where her breath should fan your face, there was none. She crashed her lips into yours, they moved around each other like an electric dance. She took your bottom lip into her mouth and sucked whilst you brought your hands to pull her closer. She stopped. “I didn’t say you could touch.” You breathed out, a little shocked. She grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you down onto the chaise lounge underneath the window. The moon casting its light onto her enshrouded face. Sweeping your hair to one side, she let the strap of your dress fall onto your shoulder. She traced lines from your upper jaw to chest with her black painted fingernails. You closed your eyes and listened to the sound of your heartbeat.

She knelt between your knees, her height making her level with you and laid kisses on your jaw, intermittently enveloping your mouth in a searing kiss. She moved down to your neck and started to suckle and kiss just above your pulse point. You closed your eyes in bliss, a small moan escaping. Suddenly, you felt a sharp pinch and your eyes shot open. “Sorry, got ahead of myself.” She laughed, throwing her head back, exposing sharp fangs overtop those full red lips.

A wave of nausea crashed over you as your breathing became rapid and shallow. The fear was palpable in the air but your lust and temptation still lingered. You recalled her electric energy in the bar, hanging on to her every word, bringing yourself closer just to feel what it’s like to be in her presence, letting a potentially dangerous woman have you? Would it be worth it?

Her long fingers grasped onto your waist as she slowly pushed you flat on the lounge chair. Now fully at her mercy, she pulled down the neck of your shirt as if it was greatly inconveniencing her, exposing your breasts to the air. She took one nipple into her mouth and lightly began to suck, your head rolled to the side and a moan fluttered its way from your throat. Her suckling turned into tiny bites, the thrill of knowing her sharp teeth could break the skin at any moment made the seconds go painstakingly slow.

Her actions became rougher and sloppier as she made her way down your body, stopping incrementally to leave a kiss or run her polar fingers through your hair, staring deeply into your eyes. Her blonde hair tickled the space between your thighs and her solid stature was the only reminder that she was even there. She leaned in and you jolted out of fear. “You scared of me, Sweetness?” She pouted, genuinely waiting for an answer. “No, I don’t think so.” You answered honestly as not trusting the womanly creature with her head in between your legs right now wouldn’t be very apt. “Good, because I’m about to be,” Her tongue made contact with your pussy, “Very mean right now.” she whispered.

The noises that erupt from your mouth sound wrecked and earth shattering as she begins a languid dance upon you. Her tongue lays flat against you before her mouth is hastily sucking your clit into her mouth, the whiplash of events making your head spin. She thrusts her tongue in, holds for a second and then pulls back. There’s a sheen to her supple lips, the red lipstick is a little smeared but the glint of hazy lust so intense in her eyes is enough to fuel both of you on. She spits on your pussy, a sultry whine leaves your mouth. Then she dives right back in continuing her machinations and the white hot pleasure begins to peak as you clasp a hand to the back of her head.

She laughs, the sound vibrating against you, bringing you to the crux. A million little stars fill your vision as her tongue furiously pushes against your pussy, the breath from your lungs punches the air and sweat beads on your forehead. Then she drags her teeth across to your thigh and bites. You almost ignite as cries flurry their way to the surface with every pulse of your clit. She moans for the first time and there's something off about the nonessential breath she lets out.

She rears her head up, the small red dribble coming from her mouth alarms you. You press against the small wound, red staining your fingertips, and slowly push them into her mouth. She takes them with no questions asked, leeching every droplet she can take. She releases your fingers and kisses your cheek, her hand cupping your neck.

“I think I might have to keep you forever.” She says, tilting her head.

“And you are?” You ask.

“Taylor, Sweetness.”

[part 2]

[dweebstatus4ages]

💜😊

[fuck-sewingmachines]

A lot of us are aware that a lot of the songs on Midnights sound.like they could be on her previous albums. So I'm creating polls for each song and you vote on which album you think that could fit seamlessly on. If you think a song sounds original and would not work on a previous album, select Midnights

[chaotic-mystery]

WHERE YOU LEFT ME

Pairing: Frankie Morales x reader

Summary: You meet Frankie for a date and reminisce about your relationship.

Content Warnings: MAJOR character death. No movie AU but fuck Tom. This is overall angst heavy and please take care of yourself. Grief & loss, sadness, memories, I think that’s it? It’s just overall a bittersweet and tragically lovesick story. There’s no physical descriptions of reader other than wearing a black dress at one point and having hair that tickles Frankie’s nose. no y/n used

Authors Note: hello my babies I am finally dropping this. It’s been an idea I had for months and I almost scrapped it but then I thought, no! Post it anyway! So here we go. It’s heavily inspired by Tim McGraw by Taylor Swift but it’s not required to listen to it to read the story. (Although if you’re like me and love a good cry, i recommend listening) I’ll meet you at the end of this with tissues and candy, okay? 🩵 thank you @pr0ximamidnight for beta reading this for me and I’m sorry for making you sob. || wc: 1.3k|| beautiful divider by @/saradika-graphics 🩵

“Hi honey, I missed you. Hope you aren’t too mad I’m runnin’ late.”

You smile and sit next to Frankie on the ground right on top of the red picnic blanket, food spread out from corner to corner. The assortment of favorite sweets and dishes makes you smile harder, getting comfortable right next to him.

“Finally went out shopping today for the first time in a while. I hadn’t seen my friends in so long, I’m surprised they answered when I offered to go out. We took the backroads home and it reminded me of when your truck used to get stuck back in high school, those long ass nights we should’ve been home studying but you wanted to go for a drive. You’d take us out to the lake and dance with me. Remember that? It was fun before my dad caught us and chased us back to the truck.”

You giggle and rest against him, blinking a few times as a breeze of cold and crisp October air rushes by you. Licking your lips, you continue.

“I found a note from years ago when I was looking for those one pair of shoes you know I hate wearing, the ones I have to wear when-”

You cut yourself off, not wanting to bring up that day. Not yet.

Pulling the folded piece of lined paper out of your coat pocket, you sniffle from the chilly weather and begin to read aloud the note. “This was from the day you were shipping out for basic and god was I pissed at you. We woke up and realized summer was gone, we were adults.”

“Frankie, when you read this you’ll probably be on the way to Texas, and I’ll be in Georgia, right where you left me. I told your mama I’d write to you every chance I got, and I mean that. That also means when I’m mad at you for leaving. I hope when you’re lying awake in your cot at night, you look up and our song starts to play, that one Tim McGraw song. You remember what I was wearing, the perfume embedded in my skin, the way my hair tickled your nose when you’d hug me.

By no means is this a goodbye letter. I’m in it forever with you, Frankie. I want you to come back home safely so we can start the family we’ve always wanted. Why did you have to leave me? Why was this the best solution for us? We were making it, we were fine. We were good. I was happy with our little apartment and my shitty 9-5 job while you worked on cars. Promise me you’ll come home safe. I need you here with me.

I love you endlessly, you have no idea. You make it hard to be mad when I remember how you’d tell me my eyes put the stars to shame every time I looked at you. That’s still a lie to this day. I’m already counting down the days until you’re back with me and I thought it would somehow make it easier but it doesn’t. I’ll be waiting right here for you, wearing that little black dress you love so much.

We’ll start our family and get that house on the outskirts of town like you told me we would. I already have dog names picked out for the dog we’re gonna adopt too.

P.s. the ring doesn’t have to be too expensive.

Love you always.”

Taking a deep breath in, you wipe your tears on your corduroy brown pants, looking around at all the people walking by in the distance. Grabbing a green grape from the plate next to your leg, you chew it up and rest back against your hands, the soft blanket shielding you from the cold ground.

“I got a new job a few months ago, I forgot to tell you. I'm in HR now which is fun. I get to listen to people complain about who ate whose lunch, hire more clowns who hope to climb the social ladder, that kind of thing. It has its good and bad days. Honestly though, it makes me forget about all the shit I have going on in my head. I get to focus on everyone else but myself for a day. I know, I know, an office job?”

You sit up straight and cross your legs before continuing.

“I needed something to pay the bills and I couldn’t stay a waitress forever. The tips were good but I couldn’t afford our apartment on that alone. Robert still calls me from time to time asking if I want a Friday night shift. I didn’t think he’d remember how I used to love those. You’d come in after being with Santi and Ben all day and want beers while you stayed until we closed, always wanting to be near me with what little time we did have. Just seeing you sitting on that barstool watching college football, eating those disgusting cheese sticks was enough to make me keep going for the night.”

And it was.

Frankie being there when he was off duty meant a lot to you.

You kneel down in front of him and you can feel the tears pricking your eyes once more as your scarf blows to the right a little.

“I left a note on your mama’s porch the other day. I know she doesn’t live there anymore but I just, it was the first time I’d gone back to your street since, ya know. By now I’m sure you know what I wrote in it, but just in case you don't. I hope you still think about me when you think Tim McGraw. It’ll bring you back to that place of us out there by the lake with my head on your chest, dancing all night like two lovesick teenagers. I hope it makes you happy, Frankie. I hope you know it means everything to me, still. After all these years.”

You finally crack and break down, leaning your forehead on the picnic blanket, the tears soaking into the fabric immediately. Muffled and choked out sobs leap from your lips and you clutch your throat, trying to calm yourself down enough to breathe.

“I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you, Frankie. You left me here with n-nothing.” You fiddle with your fingers and rub the spot on your ring finger where a ring should be sitting. Yet only a faint line from the ring Frankie won you out of a quarter machine was left. It didn’t feel right wearing it without him so you gave it back on that terrible day in September when the entire month seemed flooded out by tears. You tucked it right in his jacket pocket before you left.

That was the worst day of your life.

You sigh deeply and touch the cold granite headstone, the smallest picture of Frankie looking back at you.

“I love you so much. I’ll be back tomorrow to change your flowers. It’s my first winter without you here and I can’t stop thinking about how cold you must be, baby. I wish you were back in our apartment in my arms how you used to let me hold you.”

Laying down until your face was pressed against the ground, you sniffle again and whimper out as you think about him being cold.

“Frankie, I'm so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t get you out of that wooden box. I hope wherever you are in the universe, you’re safe and warm and can feel all the love I still have for you. There’s just too much left over and I’m not sure what to do with it, honey. What do I do with it? What do I do with all this love that was supposed to last us forever?”

You never did get the ring but you got an endless supply of memories from knowing him and loving him. Truly loving him.

You curl up into a little ball and hold yourself while you continue to cry, twiddling a leaf between your fingers. Eventually the whimpers turned into soft and broken hums of that one Tim McGraw song.

Hugs and kisses and tissues are complimentary 💚

[loverhymeswith]

I am thinking of a fic with Tommy to “the lakes” by Taylor Swift. Maybe the reader is trying to escape the criminal lifestyle, and essentially is begging Tommy to come away with her to live in the country away from all the danger… But he just can’t seem to let go. There’s a sort of comfort in the chaos for him. Lots of angst I think.

Calamitous Love

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: Enough is enough. You present Tommy with an ultimatum.

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Pure angst, swearing

A/N: Thank you for the request, Anon. This was heavily inspired by season six. Thank you @a-reader-and-a-writer for the beta ❤️

In the early hours of the morning, you watch him leave.

Dense fog shrouds the grounds of the Arrow House estate, but amidst the dull, muted grey, the pitch black stallion is a dark silhouette, harsh hooves crunching over the gravel as it gallops along the length of the driveway and beyond, towards the rolling Warwickshire hills.

With a heavy heart, you relinquish your vigil at the window, the linen curtains falling back into place as you sweep across the bedroom, concern quickening your pace.

Like the consumption currently ravaging the nation, sleep’s reluctance to claim your husband is contagious, his torment and madness spreading through the cursed house and infecting all those in its path.

You’d fought again, this evening. The same old story. How much more was he prepared to lose before enough was enough? Couldn’t he just rest?

But these days, getting a sensible response out of Thomas Shelby is akin to drawing blood from stone. 

You dress in darkness. Riding boots and a woollen coat to protect you from the autumn chill. Silent footsteps along the hallway and whispered words through Frances’ door; a harried plea for her to watch over the children. It pains you to leave them, but - one way or another - this will be the last time.

It’s quiet outside as dawn prepares to break over the crest of the hills; a stillness in the air, charged and expectant, even beyond the blanket of fog. The stable boys won’t report for duty for another hour, but you can saddle your own horse or better still, ride bareback. Years of banquets and ballrooms haven’t yet turned you soft. 

You take the white mare; the gentle creature is your favourite. Beneath her calm exterior, there’s a wildness threatening to escape. Her pace might be no match for Thomas’ horse, but she’s a kindred spirit, requiring no instruction as she breaks into a gallop and follows in the black stallion’s wake. 

The wind whips your face as you ride across the foothills and dales, mist and drizzle plastering strands of damp hair to your brow. Tears stream down your burning cheeks as you clutch the reins tightly. When was the last time you felt so alive? So free?

It was long before politics. Before the Italians and the Irish. Before bookmaking and Billy Kimber. Before the war.

Before death had set up camp outside your front door.

The sun has risen by the time you reach him, rays of watery light escaping through the silver haze. Perched atop the rocky outcropping, your husband is a lone figure, surveying his kingdom from the mountain peak. You know why he came here: isolation; solitude; remorse.

As soon as you dismount, your mare trots off in search of the stallion. She has no desire to bear witness to this conversation. Sensible girl. 

White smoke curls around Tommy’s head as you approach, his grey cap is discarded on the rock face along with a handful of spent cigarettes. The subtle shift of his shoulders is the only indication he is aware of your presence.

The words, well-rehearsed despite your fervent reluctance to speak them over the last ten years, catch in your throat, but you can put this off no longer. It’s now or never.

“I’m leaving, Thomas.” Your voice breaks, just as you knew it would, each bitter syllable burning your tongue.

Any sense of relief you hoped to feel is unforthcoming; the ever-present tightness in your chest remains. You’re not sure what you expected… something rather than nothing. Tangible evidence of the weight of your words. But perhaps, like the consequences of a vengeful curse, patience is in order.

Tommy stubs out his cigarette but makes no move to turn around. Maybe you should have been brave enough to face him while you spoke, but it’s easier this way. Those blue eyes get you every damn time.

“You came all the way out here just to tell me that, eh?” 

His tone is entirely devoid of emotion, just as it has been for the last seven months. Even when you fight, he doesn’t get angry anymore. Once upon a time he would trade you, blow for blow. Now, he simply walks away.

“You can’t shut the door on me out here.”

Slowly, as if it’s causing him great pain to do so, Tommy looks over his shoulder. His cold stare is as lifeless as his words. “What do you want me to say? Sounds like your mind's made up.”

You didn’t come here for an argument. The fight finally left you last night when he didn’t follow you to bed. Instead of arming yourself with more words, as ineffectual as the weapons that have tried to kill him over the years, you slip out of your boots and pad barefoot across the wet grass. 

Kneeling on the ground before him, you take his face between your hands, his skin as chilled as your own. You force yourself to look at him. To really see him. Glacial eyes, rung by dark shadows, have lost their sparkle; his cheeks are sharper, his chapped lips drawn tight and his strong brow furrowed. A shade of the man you once knew. 

“What happened to you, my love?”

Tommy looks away, freeing himself from your touch, and you force yourself to ride out the heart-stopping wave of hurt alone. You both know the answer. Some things don’t need to be spoken out loud.

“I’m leaving,” you repeat, more softly this time, reaching for his hands, “but I don’t want to go without you.”

The truth hangs heavy in the air between you. And it is the truth. Despite the constant pain… despite the insurmountable grief that his actions have wrought, you still want him. You can’t bear to imagine life without him; Thomas Shelby, your calamitous love.

Tommy allows you to lace his fingers together with your own. He has the courtesy, at least, to meet your gaze when he responds.

“There is business.”

You squeeze his hand. “Fuck business. I don't belong here Tommy, and neither do you.”

“You think I don’t know that, eh?” A cocktail of sorrow and anger spills through the cracks in his words. “You think I don’t hear that every minute of every day? The workers say I’ve betrayed them. The rich will never accept me as one of their own.”

“Since when did Tommy Shelby ever feel the need to fit in?”

With your free hand, you stroke his cheek. His eyes shutter as he leans into your touch, his warm breath visible as he exhales into the frigid air. “I’m trying to make a difference.”

“Is changing the world really worth risking your family?” 

You don’t wait for him to answer. Your knees are straining against the cold ground and you climb into his lap instead, surprised when he doesn’t resist. It’s been too long since he held you this close and you welcome the warmth of his arms as they wrap around your waist.

“I’m not cut out for this. For any of it,” you tell him calmly as he tucks you beneath his chin. “I’ve stood by your side through all of it. I thought I could handle whatever they had to throw at us. The vendettas, the Russians. We’ve survived so much. But I don’t want to just survive anymore, Tommy. I want to live.”

You feel the weight of his lips as he kisses your head. “I need time. Just a bit longer, eh. And then it will all be over. I promise.”

You’ve heard it all before and God, how you wish you could believe him. You’ve no doubt he means it, and maybe it is the truth. Maybe this time, it will stick. 

“But at what cost?” You wonder aloud. Because Tommy knows as well as you do that there’s always a price. A payment demanded in blood. 

Shelby blood.

“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

You untangle yourself from his embrace, all the better to face him. You need to be brave enough now. You need him to understand.

“I know you think you have no limitations. Maybe you don’t. Maybe they’re right about you, after all. Maybe you are a god, or the devil himself, Tommy Shelby. But I can’t stand by and wait around to find out.”

After you’ve allowed your words to sink in, you press your lips - now unburdened - to Tommy’s.  Recognition, realisation, flashes across his face - this is one battle he will never win. Hands fisting in your hair, he pulls you closer, sealing your goodbye with a feverish kiss. 

When you eventually ride back through the valleys and mountains, you are alone.

Tommy Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @simpforbuckyb @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @iammrsrogers @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy @fia-thefirst @dreamy-caramel @trixie23

[mlqueen89]

never find another like me | 02. football (the lasso way)

pairing: jamie tartt x OFC (ted lasso) 

rating: T 

word count: 6,875

summary: in which Nat realizes there's no going back and that if one says soccer when talking about football, they might be thrown out of England entirely. 

A/N: The bitch is back. Sorry guys! Thanks for sticking with me. More random life updates available if you’re interested, if not that’s cool too! 

On another note, I'm trying to follow the Ted Lasso storyline in the background. There are some minor inaccuracies re: timeline, so if you're like "hmm" - just ignore it because it’s throwing my vibe. The Ted Lasso timeline is an enigma in and of itself.

This one is supposed to take place around 03x02 (I don’t want to go to Chelsea). Big "thank you" for this one goes to TTPD (aka female rage, the musical), and the myth, the woman, the legend, Taylor Swift. 

Feedback is always appreciated and let me know if anyone wants to be tagged.    

never find another like me masterlist | previous chapter

The ride back to Richmond from the city was filled with a varying range of feelings which Nat navigated quietly, deflecting the questions of the cab driver with friendly, half-attentive chit-chat as she watched the blur of unfamiliar scenery pass outside the window.

Two weeks. Nat had exactly two weeks to learn an entire sport, complete with its own set of rules, teams, history, rivalries and fan bases.

Two weeks to pull together something that sounded half-decent on paper and passed the scrutiny of Tomas Sharon and his panel. Even then, if her article was published, it would go out to the public, and she’d have to pass the test of their narrowed eyes as they read her words.

Honestly, she’d been so busy thinking about how to get away from New York that she never stopped for a moment to consider if it would actually, truly work.

The fact of the matter was returning to New York now wasn't a possibility—Nat had already decided as much by the time the cab pulled up (accidentally) a block away from Zoreaux’s place and she’d walked the rest of the way, trudging. 

As she walked through the quiet neighborhood, women running by in groups, young families pushing strollers in the midday sun, the familiar sense of dread settled over her. The thought of going back to New York felt like stepping into a trap she had set herself. Going back to New York, tail tucked firmly between her legs, meant returning to the sphere where Adam and Inez existed, together, haunting the same places Nat had loved, living the life Nat had once thought was hers. Though New York was a big city, there were reminders of Adam everywhere, echoes of him and what was once a them, lurking around every corner where she and Inez once shared secrets and hopes and trust.

She imagined what that return would be like: Adam would find some twisted way to spin her leaving as a footnote in his personal narrative. She could practically hear the false humility in his voice when he’d say something along the lines of, “It just wasn't meant to be, you know? Funny how things work out. First you and I and now this whole jaunt across the ocean. I mean, how long did you think it would last, Nattie?” And Inez would smile along, her betrayal concealed behind a veil of politeness.

Realistically, Perry would welcome her back, give her the small desk at the end of the long 41st floor of the New York Times Building in midtown, right by the water cooler that bubbled every two minutes. Eventually, she’d learn to tune out the gurgling and the weird laugh of the guy from print who always talked about his Corgi “Princess,” as he leaned against it doing anything but work, but Nat wasn’t sure she would get out from under the memory that she’d left and returned, like a lost soul, drifting between escapes, foolish and love-sick.

The worst part was it would undeniably plant a seed of doubt in Perry. A black mark on her record that she couldn’t do this, that she couldn’t live up to his expectations of her, of someone he invested time and hope and effort in. Ultimately, this would be just another thing that Adam took from her on a list of things already including an entire city, a few spectacular bands and a best friend. She could see it now, going to work every day, sitting in copy edit meetings with Adam as he chatted to their colleagues about his weekend plans with Inez. He would look at Nat and smile and use words like “serendipitous” and “fated” and thank her for leading him down the road that led him straight into the arms of someone else. It would be her very own, personal slice of hell.

The thought alone churned her stomach. Self-imposed exile, even if temporary, was the only choice. 

After battling a stiff lock and falling through the front door of Zoreaux’s place, Nat blew out a noisy breath. Shoes kicked aside, she marched upstairs, determination growing marginally. Two weeks, she had two weeks to avoid the failure of returning to the Empire State, and the clock had already started ticking. 

Slipping into more comfortable clothes, she folded herself, cross-legged onto the small bed, tripping over a box of what looked like signed programs with Zoreaux’s face on them in the process. She made a quick mental note to question him about those later (read: tease him incessantly) before she leaned over to grab her laptop and cracked it open, navigating her way to an empty document.

Straightening her back, Nat shook out her hands and stared at the blank screen, willing the words to come. Under a “note” header, Nat quickly typed: Soccer is called Football here. Don’t call it ‘soccer’. 

Great. Groundbreaking progress.

Fidgeting, Nat could feel the nervous energy simmering below the surface, chewing the inside of her cheek as she stared at the blinking cursor on the otherwise blank screen.

Opening a new browser window on her phone, Nat typed in “Ted Lasso Richmond”. Quickly, the page refreshed with the returned results: 

Lasso Leads Lads to Ladder-up in League 

Coach Kent: Transformation from Retirement to Lasso Right Hand Man 

Lasso: Richmond’s Saviour? 

Jamie Tartt Talks Promotion: “Ain’t No “I” in Team”. 

Nat tapped on the first story, the page populating with a large image of Ted Lasso, moustache prominent and perfectly managed, push broom straight, at the top middle of the page. 

Coach Lasso has been through it–from the wanker of last season to the Wanker of this past turn in the Championship, fans now praise the Yank for lifting Richmond out of exile, both, ironically, with the helping boot of football superstar, Jamie Tartt. 

“Well, as my good friend Coach Beard here says, the only thing worse than being a wanker is being the wanker who’s out of ideas!” Lasso’s signature optimism shines through as he reflects on the team’s journey. “But the thing is, you keep showing up, you keep pushing forward, and sometimes the world surprises you. These fellas are special all on their own, ain’t got nothin’ ta do with me.” 

Nat locked her phone, pressing the cool glass of the screen to her forehead in a moment of silent reflection.

This wasn’t going to be a fluff travel piece to fill space on a back page or a review of a new Italian hipster place in Astoria she’d polished a bit too much because the waiter was kind and brought her extra “parma-cheesy” breadsticks.

This had to be different–this had to mean something. Frustrated, Nat blew out noisily before setting her laptop down and throwing her legs over the side of the bed, abandoning her nest. 

After wandering around Zoreaux’s place aimlessly, poking her head into rooms she hadn’t remembered seeing on the very brief first tour, Nat caved. There was no use staying in because she would be alone for the rest of the day and night anyway. Zoreaux had mentioned the away game in passing (again) when they met in the foyer and went their separate ways in the morning. Maybe showing herself around Richmond was a better idea. 

After finding her way out of the maze that was Zoreaux’s neighbourhood, it didn’t take her long to find a small pub, the Crown & Anchor, half-full of what Nat recognized as the red and blue of AFC Richmond jerseys. It felt like a sign, a big pointing arrow in her thus far, directionless walk.

“What can I get you, love?” The woman behind the bar nodded at Nat, sliding a coaster across the bar top in anticipation as Nat stepped into the pub and settled onto a stool.

“Beer. Please. Surprise me.”

“Smart choice,” she nodded once before she turned away to pull a pint.

Nat glanced around the dimly lit pub while she waited, taking in the lively energy that buzzed in the air. The Crown & Anchor was cozy, with walls adorned with what looked to be AFC Richmond memorabilia, corner booths and seats at the bar already filling with chattering groups, most sporting Richmond colours. It felt like the kind of place where the locals gathered for match days, sharing both triumphs and frustrations over a pint.

As she settled on her stool, she caught snippets of conversation from a group nearby, their animated discussion clearly focused on the upcoming game, the season opener against Chelsea. Despite not being versed in the details of Richmond’s season, she recognized the passion—something that, in a way, reminded her of the bars back in New York, where everyone had an opinion (usually loud) about something.

The bartender returned, placing a pint of golden beer in front of Nat with a knowing smile. “One of my personal favorites,” she said with a wink. “Reckon you’ll like it.”

Nat raised the glass in thanks, taking a tentative sip. The cool bitterness of the beer was a welcome comfort, grounding her after a day that had felt strangely disjointed. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of Richmond, the newness of everything, or the fact that for once, she was on her own, untethered from someone else’s schedule. 

“Not bad,” she nodded approvingly before taking a longer sip.

The hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the low murmur of the pre-game talking heads’ chatter about the upcoming match playing on the screen behind the bar all blended into a background that felt easy. It felt like something vaguely familiar, a small spark of familiarity she could hold onto, even though she was miles away from where she’d started just two days earlier.

“First time here?” the bartender asked casually, wiping down the bar and glancing over at Nat.

“Yeah,” Nat replied with a smile. “Just escaping for a bit. Thought I’d see if Richmond had anything worth escaping to.”

“Good choice startin’ here,” the bartender gave her a knowing look. “Stick around long enough, and you’ll be one of the regulars.” 

Nat laughed softly, unsure of how long she’d actually be sticking around, but the thought of becoming part of the rhythm of this place was oddly comforting. Felt like it was something she could look forward to. For now, this felt like a fresh start. Definitely far and away from anything she was used to.

Truthfully, she’d never purposely sought out sports bars; never imagined that she’d be the type of girl who painted her face and wore a jersey, screaming at a television or whooping and hollering when her team won. She didn’t even have a team to call hers. Of course she’d supported Zoreaux when he’d played for the Montreal Impact and followed his transfer to Richmond enough to be able to congratulate him and keep up with small talk when the need for it came up, but that was the extent of it. Nat never understood why Adam had been so invested in his fantasy (American) football league, or why he’d had to see every Yankees game at the bar in Brooklyn if he couldn’t see the games in person. Then again, Adam never understood why she binge watched Grey’s Anatomy and New Girl or lit up when fall and Halloween rolled around. When Nat tried to sit and watch a game with him, Adam always waved at her dismissively when she asked a question about rules or teams or players, about what this term meant and why each team had so many jerseys. Eventually, Nat stopped asking. It was almost comical how red the flags were in hindsight.

Nat’s eyes must have glazed over, because the next question shook her out of her thoughts, her eyes sliding up to meet the barkeep’s gaze. “Everything all right, dear?” 

“Am I that obvious?” She was. The thought of lying and saying she was fine never crossed her mind. If she couldn’t be truthful with a stranger, who could she be truthful with? 

“Not to worry, love. I’m just an excellent barkeep.” The woman busied herself behind the bar, filling drink orders as the bar filled with more jersey clad patrons, but her attention always came back to Nat. “From the looks of ya, I’d say… bad breakup.”

Nat blinked, taken aback by the bartender’s uncanny read of her situation. She laughed, short and albeit a bit uneasily, taking a sip of her beer. This bartender was good at her job for sure – she had Nat’s number on that one. 

Bad breakup was a brief, yet appropriate summation of the situation. Bad breakups usually involved drastic haircuts and clubbing, drinking and leaning on friends for support while blasting Taylor Swift until the wee hours of the morning, alternating between anger and fits of sobbing. Bad breakup (Nat’s Version) didn’t come with screaming matches or dramatic exits. It wasn’t even about escaping Adam, really, though that aspect of it helped. It was more about escaping the crushing weight of staying. Staying in the apartment they’d shared, the city where they’d built routines together, and ghosting the people who knew them as a unit, hand in hand, hip to hip. 

Throwing herself into something she knew nothing about—football and sports journalism in this case—was “classic Nat”. At least that’s what Hannah, her yoga studio friend, had said when she’d gotten wind of the breakup and texted asking Nat if she was coming to “drink her face off” and scream into the wind near the Brooklyn Bridge on the walk home. 

When faced with hard, Nat leapt and then looked. Keep the body moving, keep the mind occupied, and maybe the rest wouldn’t catch up, at least not until she was ready to face it head on. The alternative, she knew, was far more dangerous. She’d seen what happened when she let herself stop. That’s when the numbness hit, followed by nights watching Ever After on loop, Sleepless in Seattle right after, with Notting Hill cued up next. Ice cream tubs piled high in her apartment, tissues scattered like snowflakes, leaving her too tired to cry, too spent to think, stuck in a place where the only thing that felt real was the ache of her own loneliness.

“Yeah, something like that,” she admitted, swirling the glass slowly in her hands. It wasn’t like she was drowning in heartbreak, but the reminder of Adam still stung in the quiet moments. The waves of their relationship’s failures often hit when she wasn’t expecting it���like here, in this quaint little pub, surrounded by strangers and the echo of excited chants from fans who were so deeply invested, eager for a new season, a new start.

“Thought so,” the bartender said with a knowing smile, leaning on the bar for a moment. “This place has seen its fair share of heartbreaks. Football seems to mend some of them, though. Well, at least it keeps you distracted for a while.”

Nat smiled, grateful for the small kindness. “Maybe that’s what I need—something to get my mind off things.” She glanced around at the growing crowd, their banter and excitement infectious. “Doesn't hurt to try something new.”

The bartender nodded sagely. “That’s the spirit. Football’s a wild ride, though—full of ups and downs. Kind of like relationships, actually. One minute, you’re on top of the world, and the next, you’re cursing the ref for ruining everything.”

Nat leaned back on the barstool, “do you have any more classic bartender advice you’d be willing to share?”

She paused for a moment as if to think on it, before flipping the towel she had been drying pint glasses with over her shoulder. “My mum used to say, ‘Mae, what’s meant to be yours, no one can take away,’” Mae slid a bowl of bar nuts toward Nat with purpose. “No one has the power to make you feel something you don’t want to feel. You own it.”

Nat nodded slowly, rolling the idea around, “ownership of your own destiny. Very poetic. I like it.”

“Not sure about destiny, love. All I’m trying to say is don’t forget to have a little fun along the way. You’re young—not all change has to be bad.”

Before Nat could reply, the door tinkled and a man in a full suit, complete with top hat breezed past, heading to the far end of the bar. Mae winked and leaned a little closer as if she were about to share a secret. “You wanna know the best piece of advice I got after I divorced my second husband? The sure-fire way to get over one shithead is to get under someone else.”

Nat let out a soft laugh, absorbing the comment. She couldn’t deny it was blunt, but it wasn’t the worst advice she’d ever heard. 

By the time the game ended in a 1-1 tie— “draw,” Mae had firmly corrected when Nat quietly joined in the contagious cheering—the idea of writing an article on the team had started to take root. 

After chatting with a few enthusiastic fans about Richmond’s recent signing of someone named Zava and catching glimpses of a viral clip called “The Veggie Dog Vigilante,” Nat decided it was time to head back.  

The rest of the day, she’d sat in front of her laptop and furiously typed: ideas, notes on what she’d need to research further, the image of the Crown & Anchor filled with fans, excitement and anticipation. The words spilled like a torrent into a word document. When the sound of Zoreaux coming home brought her back to the real world—a world in which she remembered she hadn’t eaten anything since the game ended—she was both starving and bouncing off the walls. 

“You killed it today,” Nat announced, swinging into the kitchen where she could hear a significant amount of Zoreaux-like rustling and the occasional bar of a muffled Eminem song. There was a spring in her step as she hopped off the last stair. 

“You watched the match?” Zoreaux’s surprise was evident, the look on his face incredulous as his head popped out from behind the open fridge door, the Beats hanging around his neck still thumping with music. 

“Maybe,” Nat shrugged playfully, approaching the fridge and reaching past Zoreaux to grab one of the many stacked brown takeaway boxes inside, her stomach grumbling. 

“And? Any first impressions?” 

“Exciting - I think?” Nat shrugged, peeling back the lid of the takeout box before she sharply closed it again, her nose turned up at whatever had once been in the container, holding it at arm’s length. Through a squinted gaze and past a grease stain, Nat could vaguely read the Taste of Athens logo. “Definitely more exciting than whatever this was.” 

“Ah—sorry, don’t have many house guests,” Zoreaux footed the pedal on the garbage can, and Nat dropped the offending takeout box in on cue. “You hungry?” he asked. 

“Starving,” Nat replied without hesitation, hopping onto a barstool at the kitchen island, her fist wedged under her chin. “Midnight poutine?” 

Zoreaux’s eyes lit up, his phone already halfway out of his hoodie pocket before his excitement waned and his shoulders sagged. “I don’t think they have that around here.” 

“Midnight—uh,” Nat shrugged, rifling through a drawer and pulling out the first takeaway flyer she found. “Kebabs, then?” 

Zoreaux smirked, nodding as he began scrolling through his phone.  

Somewhere between ordering kebabs and laughing about Nat watching the game in a pub, Zoreaux convinced her that the best pairing for midnight kebabs was a horror movie. 

“This brings back memories, eh?” Zoreaux said, hopping over the back of the couch with his long legs, causing popcorn to spill slightly from the bowl he held. He grabbed the remote and started searching for the latest horror flick, a tradition he and Nat had shared for years. 

“Oh, you mean those memories? Like good ones or nightmare-inducing Insidious ones?” Nat teased as she followed him into the living room, her arms full of mismatched drinks gathered from the fridge and the kebab bag dangling from her fingers. 

Zoreaux laughed. “C’mon, you were definitely just a super scared 16-year-old.” 

“Excuse me,” Nat scoffed loudly, setting the drinks on the coffee table. “I was 13 and slept with the lights on for a month.” 

Zoreaux grinned, the memory clearly still sharp. “The tooth fairy one was way worse,” he said, mimicking teeth pulling with pliers. Nat cringed, waving her hand to make him stop before sinking into the couch. 

“Thanks for that,” she muttered sarcastically, pulling out the takeaway boxes and setting one in front of him. “I’d actually forgotten about that one.” 

If there was one thing Nat remembered vividly, it was the Insidious incident.

It had been her first week staying with the Zoreauxs. Thierry had rented the movie in secret while his mom was at synagogue, despite Hettie Zoreaux’s firm rule of no scary movies and no friends over late on school nights. Against her better judgment and newly minted teenage instincts, Nat sat behind Thierry and his friends, unable to look away even as she peeked through her fingers. 

Now, settling into the too-large couch, Nat let her head rest on Zoreaux’s shoulder, her eyes drifting toward the TV as the opening credits rolled. “Sorry I’ve been distant lately, well, I guess more like over the last three years or so, it’s just—" 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Zoreaux interrupted gently, nudging the popcorn bowl into her lap before resting his head against hers. “We don’t have to talk all the time to still be family. I’m really glad you’re here. And Maman always talks about how you never forget to send her flowers. Between you and Marcus, I’m not sure who makes me look worse.” 

Nat chuckled at the mention of Zoreaux’s older brother as she felt herself relax, wondering why she’d been so hesitant to visit Thierry in the first place. Probably because she’d been so wrapped up in Adam, so malleable when he always managed to talk her out it, convinced her that her time was better spent with him or that he hated the idea of her going alone. Now that she was on the outside of that pull, of his influence and orbit, it was painfully obvious that she had been to blame for listening, for not pushing back, for being blind to it all. 

“Are you kidding? I could never forget Maman’s birthday,” Nat scoffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “I have a flower guy in Saint Laurent. Pierre never lets me down—tiger lilies for her birthday, begonias for Mother’s Day.” 

“Hey Siri, set a reminder for tomorrow: find a better flower guy in Saint Laurent than Pierre,” Zoreaux half-yelled at his hoodie’s pocket, and Siri, muffled, dutifully repeated his command. 

“Good luck with that.” 

After a moment, Zoreaux dropped the kebab bag on the table and turned to her. “Did you know we have a trick play named after midnight poutine?” 

“Really?” Nat asked, intrigued as she tucked her legs under herself, setting the kebab box on her lap. “You’ll have to tell me about it while I pretend to watch this movie.” She glanced at the screen without much interest, already digging into her food. Whatever movie Zoreaux had settled on would be sure to have her squirming and watching through the sleeves of her sweater. 

Zoreaux started recounting a story about Jamie and Man City and trick plays (of which she made a mental note to ask more about after) when Nat’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Without thinking, she pulled it out and glanced at the message. 

The text made her stomach sink:

Just talked to Adam. Call me ASAP. xx Mom. 

“Hey, no phones,” Zoreaux scolded playfully, swatting at her hand until she stuffed the phone deep into the couch cushions, her heart heavy and stomach flip-flopping with the weight of her mother’s message. 

Nat sat hunched over her laptop in the corner of a small Richmond coffee shop, her eyes flitting back and forth between the blinking cursor on her screen and the pile of empty coffee cups scattered across the table. 

Between the unexpected text and the vivid images of the ghostly bride from Zoreaux’s movie pick flashing in her mind’s eye, Nat hadn’t slept more than a handful of minutes here and there. By the time her alarm went off, just as the light was just creeping in through the split in the blinds she couldn’t keep closed, she quickly silenced it, dressed and headed out the door into the crisp morning air, intent on hunting down a coffee shop where she could hole up and hammer out at least the bare bones of the article.  

The deadline loomed like an ever-darkening cloud, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the article to come together. The more she looked at the collection of words on the screen (her post-game brain dump) and her notes, scribbled in the beat-up notebook she carted around everywhere, the less clear they became. At this point, Nat wasn’t sure the words made sense or were even in the right language. Football (she repeated the word in her head like a mantra to avoid calling it “soccer” out loud) was proving to be her undoing. 

Sighing deeply, she pinched the bridge of her nose as the barista shot her another disapproving glare from behind the counter across the shop.

Glancing at the clock at the bottom of her screen, Nat grabbed the closest takeaway cup, draining the small dribble of now ice-cold coffee at the bottom with a grimace. She’d been there at least since just before the sun had come up, ordering another coffee every time she felt the 20-something hipster barista throw a look her way in between serving customers and scrolling through her phone. Now, hours later, she was still ordering the coffee she didn’t need, just to avoid getting kicked out by Coffee Himmler watching her like a hawk.

Any moment now, Nat predicted her stomach would start to protest the introduction of yet more coffee, the single croissant she’d devoured floating in the sea of caffeine, of little help. 

“Alright, alright,” Nat muttered under her breath, more to herself than to anyone, her fingers hovering over her laptop keys, wiggling momentarily as though she could cast a spell, will the article to write itself. “I’ll get another coffee in a minute, just... give me a second.” 

Nat heard someone approach her table. The barista, ready to give her another pointed reminder about paying customers and time and loitering, she assumed as she mustered the sheepish apology. But her words didn’t come. Instead, a cup of coffee materialized, carefully set down on the small table in front of her. Nat paused, confused. 

“Sorry, I was just—” she started, her words taking a different trajectory before she looked up. Her words died on her lips when she saw who it was, recognition coming quickly after. 

Jamie Tartt, in all his casual confidence, stood above her, his bubblegum pink tracksuit sweater and matching shorts standing out starkly against the browns and muted colours of the shop. Hair pushed away from his face by a thin hairband, a slight sheen of sweat across his forehead, he grinned at her in a way that made her head spin for a split second. His presence at her tiny, coffee cup cluttered table seemed to suck all the air out of the room. In the silence, he raised an eyebrow, his eyes only briefly scanning the scene before him, clearly amused. 

“Got you another coffee,” he said, his voice casual in that accent that made Nat’s stomach flip as he pulled out the chair and sat down across from her without waiting for an invitation. “Looked like you might need it.” 

Nat blinked, thrown off kilter for a moment by his sudden presence. “Uh... thanks. I wasn’t—uh—expecting — anyone, really.”  

Looking in from the outside, Nat could imagine what she looked like: a bleary-eyed mess, sitting in a hoarder’s trove of empty coffee cups. To be honest, she’d lost count at coffee number six. The sudden need to speed clean the space bubbled up within her, but she pushed it down firmly. Speed cleaning only worked when the person who wasn’t supposed to see the mess wasn’t sitting directly in front of her to witness it. 

Jamie glanced at the sea of empty cups strewn across the table and Nat could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “You writin’ a book or somethin’? Or just addicted to caffeine?” 

She huffed out a laugh, pushing her laptop back a bit. “More like trying to write a soccer article for The Independent. Spoiler alert: it’s not going well.” 

The man at the next table over lowered his newspaper, clearly having heard her soccer slip-up. She shot him an apologetic look before correcting herself. “I mean, football. Obviously.” Football. Nat repeated in her head, her mantra faltering. It felt like saying Beetlejuice, except in this country, if you said soccer three times, border patrol found you and removed you forcibly, tearing up your passport in the process. 

Jamie’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying her awkwardness. Nat was sure he wasn’t trying to hide his amusement (at her expense) at all. “Football, hey? You got stuck with that assignment?” 

“Yeah, right? I’m very seriously considering faking my own death to get out of it at this point,” Nat sighed, propping her elbows up on the table and leaning forward to mash the heels of her palms into her eyes for a moment before she looked up again. “I don’t really know much about it, if I’m being honest. And this whole deadline is hanging over me like a guillotine.” Nat mimicked a swift chopping motion. Let them watch soccer, she’d say before Sharon pulled the rug out from under the shaky foundation of her attempt to escape New York and heartbreak. She was so wrapped up in pushing the thoughts down and into a carefully compartmentalized part of her mind, she almost didn’t hear what Jamie said next. 

“Need some help?” Jamie asked, his eyes glinting with something Nat couldn’t quite place. 

This time, Nat almost snorted when she laughed, “and who would get stuck with that assignment?” 

“Me.” Jamie’s response came quickly and without hesitation and Nat could hear the unmistakable air of confidence behind it. The confidence of a man who had likely never been unsure of where he fit in this life. Me, he had said, like it was as easy as breathing. 

Nat blinked, surprised. “Help? From you?” In her head, it hadn’t sounded as harsh as it did when it came out, but if Jamie heard it in her tone, he didn’t give it a second thought. 

“Yeah, why not?” Jamie shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I play, don’t I? For Richmond and a bit for City. Might be easier if you get some tips from someone who, you know, actually knows about it on pitch level.” 

She stared at him for a moment, eyes slightly narrowed in consideration, part of her almost expected him to tell her he was just joking. She wasn’t even going to tell him she wasn’t sure what he meant by City.   

When Jamie didn’t retract the offer in her silence, Nat shrugged, as casually as she could manage; it wasn’t like she had anything to lose at this point. She had less than two weeks now and was stuck. Jamie Tartt—star footballer, not someone she ever expected to casually chat with in a random coffee shop, or even approach her with all her crazy coffee lady energy for that matter—was offering to help. For what reason? She wasn’t quite sure. 

“Alright,” she said slowly, a little hesitant but more curious. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.” After all, if Jamie Tartt couldn’t help her, she wasn’t sure anyone could. If Jamie Tartt couldn’t teach her about football, she might as well get on a plane and start thinking about changing her identity and living out her life in some remote village in the foothills of the French Alps. The old Nat can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, because she’s become a goatherd. 

Jamie leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his leg bouncing. “Alright then, what’s it about, the article?” 

Nat took a deep breath, feeling both relieved and nervous. She didn’t know what to expect, but maybe, just maybe, Jamie could help her untangle the mess of words swirling in her head.

Pulling herself together, she slid the laptop over to him, letting go a bit of control. 

“It’s supposed to be about Richmond’s season,” she explained, shifting forward and pointing at the angled screen. “And... Well, how it’s changed with all the new stuff going on. Ted, the promotion. But I can’t figure out how to make it, you know, sound good. It’s kind of just a bunch of words right now.” Nat didn’t add that she wasn’t sure they even made any sense and that sharing this with Jamie, someone who lived and breathed the sport, felt like she was baring a raw nerve to him and hoping he didn’t stomp all over it. Or laugh, maybe laughing would feel worse than stomping. 

Quietly, Jamie skimmed the few paragraphs she’d written, nodding as his eyes flicked back and forth.

Nat sat nervously for a moment, trying to determine where he might be in the bare bones article, almost opening her mouth to ask, when Jamie looked up, the same easy smirk still on his lips.

“Okay. I can work with this.” When he looked at her, he made full eye contact that made Nat squirm a bit, then he looked back at the screen, pointing out a line in the second paragraph. “First, stop trying to sound clever. Just write what you see.” 

Nat bit her lip, unable to hold back a small smile, angling the laptop fully toward him now, an open invitation. “Alright, football genius, go on. Show me how it’s done.” This time, she let herself smirk a bit, her nerves eased. 

Nat’s eyes stayed fixed on Jamie as he continued to scroll through her half-written article, her curiosity sharpening with each second. At first, she tried to gauge his reaction, searching for any flicker of approval or disapproval as he read on. But soon, her attention drifted away from reading his expressions and toward studying his face, each small feature there, the writer in her cataloging every detail to memory. She found herself mentally composing descriptors, painting an image she knew would linger long after Jamie left. 

The creases around his eyes caught her first. They deepened when he smiled, she’d noticed already in the first few moments they’d chatted just now—a sign that smirking was likely his resting state. Resting Smirk Face. The thought amused her. There was something about the way his face hinted at mischief even in moments of calm that had her biting back a smirk of her own. 

Then there was the interruption in his right eyebrow, that distinct sliver of space that broke the line—something she could almost hear Hannah comment on. Nat’s friend had a thing for the details, always reading too much into them. It paired well with her obsessive need to know zodiac signs, sun and moon to study any potential match in her life, love or social. 

Anyone who does that wants the attention, Hannah’s voice echoed in her mind, pulling Nat back to one of their post-yoga lunches. In her memory, Hannah motioned to her own eyebrow before biting into a meatball sub. It’s like the new bad boy hallmark. Forget a motorcycle, girl. Eyebrow thing? I’m telling you, that guy’s gonna show you a good time. I’m definitely into it. My last four matches on Hinge had it. Ask me if I had a good time with eyebrow thing Steve – go on, I’ll wait. 

Nat smirked at the thought. Hannah would be all over Jamie, she mused, half-entertained and half-distracted by the paradox that was Jamie Tartt—a football star she’d watched on TV in a crowded pub just yesterday, the same Jamie Tartt she’d awkwardly met in the hallway at Nelson Road for all of a few seconds, no more than a handful of words exchanged between them—now sitting across from her like this. The image of him was etched in her mind, both larger-than-life and entirely real, as casual and approachable as if they’d been in this routine for years. 

Jamie’s eyes, a shade of grey mixed with something between concentration and curiosity, were still moving over the screen, seemingly oblivious to Nat’s study of him. She never imagined she’d be getting football advice from Jamie Tartt. To be fair though, she wasn’t aware that even Jamie Tartt existed last week. 

“Right, so,” Jamie said, picking up and setting the laptop back in front of her, cutting Nat’s study of him short. “You’ve got the basics down, but you’re overcomplicatin’ it. Like I said, just write what’s happening—like, what you see, not what you think it should sound like. Make sense?" 

Nat nodded, feeling a bit foolish but also oddly reassured by his words. “Yeah, that does make sense.” 

“And don’t worry about it soundin’ fancy. People who read about football—they just wanna know what’s goin’ on, not get lost in big words,” Jamie added with a shrug, leaning back in his chair like he’d just solved all her problems and world hunger simultaneously. 

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind, thanks.” 

Jamie nodded and stood up, checking the time on his phone, and for a moment, Nat felt a pang of disappointment. He was going to leave, and she hadn’t even really figured out how to tackle the rest of the article. Maybe she’d have to slog through it alone after all. 

“I’ve gotta get back to trainin’,” Jamie said, confirming her suspicion. “But listen—if you want, you can come by. Watch us train, get a feel for how we play, might help with the article. I’ll keep helpin’ ya with it if you want.” 

Nat blinked. “Come to practice?” 

Jamie nodded, his thumb rubbing under his bottom lip casually. “Ted don’t mind people watchin’. Could give you more stuff to write about, yeah?” Nat appreciated that he didn’t correct her use of the word practice in place of training. 

She wasn’t sure what to say. The idea of going to Richmond’s practice was both intriguing and nerve-wracking. Would it help with the article? Absolutely. But also, watching footballers train in person felt... intimidating. 

Jamie must’ve seen her hesitation because he added, “It’ll be easy. Just sit there, watch, take notes. You’ll see how everythin’ fits together.” 

Nat smiled, despite herself. “Okay. Yeah, maybe I will.” 

He grinned back at her, looking genuinely pleased. “Good,” he said, standing up, a playful grin spreading across his face as he almost turned to leave, but then paused, as if an idea came over him. “Here, give me your phone.” 

Pushing aside an empty coffee cup or two, Nat unlocked it and handed it over, her brow furrowed as she watched him fiddle with it for a moment. “If ya have any more questions,” he said, handing it back with a smirk. She glanced at the screen, and there, in the contacts list, was Football God Extraordinaire. 

“In the meantime, check out some of the lads online. Dani, Sam, and... maybe me,” he added with a smirk, knowing full well he’d be in any highlight reel she’d find. “Look ‘em up, might help you see what’s good about our playin’. Gives you somethin’ to compare when you come.” 

Nat scribbled down the names in her notebook, her mind buzzing with possibilities. “Thanks, Jamie. This... actually helps.” 

He gave her a small nod, his cocky smile replaced by something a little softer. “Yeah, no problem. See you at the pitch.” 

With that, he turned to leave, tossing her a quick wave before heading out the door. As soon as he was gone, the coffee shop felt a little quieter, a little less vibrant. 

Nat sat back in her chair, staring at the empty cups littering her table. For a second, she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Jamie Tartt, offering to help her write a football article. And he’d bought her coffee. It all felt like a mark in the win column, a small turn of the tide in her favour. 

She took a deep breath, glancing back down at her laptop. Somehow, it didn’t feel as intimidating anymore. 

Maybe watching Jamie and the others at practice would give her what she needed to finish this piece. With a small smile playing on her lips, she opened a new tab and started searching YouTube for clips of Richmond’s players, taking a sip of her hot coffee. 

A/N: Guys, I’ve been in my feels a lot about Jamie lately and how he’s actually got the capacity to be the kindest, most thoughtful guy, because all the best parts of him come from Georgie. All the love she poured and still pours into Jamie. All the love he never lost but hid in some dark corner of himself to protect it, and the parts of him that were his mother, from James. Ugh. He protected that small little Jamie, the one that loved and was “soft” so hard that when it was okay for him to let it out, he forgot how. *deep sigh*. 

Anyhow, shoutout definitely goes to my real-life football guide, who occasionally brings me coffee while I’m in hyperfocus, without whom this story would be me making up a lot of things about football all of which would likely be incorrect and falling into deep dark internet searches about vague turns of phrase - because Nat and I have that in common.  

As always, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the chapter updates!  

Taglist: @rexorangecouny 

[magxit]

Fox News might be right for once. About her and Joe: "[The relationship] almost made her feel shameful about her fame". And the risks: "there are a lot of cons to having a public relationship as well." About Trav: "He's dating with the intention of marriage." About Tay: "dated a man for six years with no ring and no future. I really don't think that Taylor is wasting her time anymore." foxnews(.)com/entertainment/taylor-swift-travis-kelces-pda-signals-nfl-player-engame-pop-star-expert

[carelessflower]

sunday recap 🤭⭐️

going thrift and eating with my friend today, literally just plan this with her yesterday and didn't even know what we gonna eat till we arrive at the mall (longer thread here)

look at my fit (my friend said it giving local mafia) but I feel like that tough foul mouthed best friend in asian drama

korean bbq. not buffet but two person combo (beef, pork belly and chest), which still good, also got some early birthday gift hehe

first try on this demure ass sweater. crazily expensive and doesn't even fit me or my style

two different leather jackets at h&m, my friend said the black one fit me better but I love the red one more lmaoo been obsessed with this color. didn't get it tho I'm a broke hoe and also it literally so hot in my country

so funny story the thrift store we intend to go was in some sorta like old looking apartment complex (kinda their aesthetic vintage outside modern and chic inside) but my friend actually mistook it for the nearest building, which more like basement for stores anyway. i found some cool sunglasses, not really a thrift but it so affordable

this taylor swift tease (store selling super trendy with like a ludicrous amount of money cause tell me why that satan is my sugar baby shirt that I'm pretty sure is copied down from the internet to the color cost like 2 meat buffets)

we finally realized and went to the right! building this time. which is like so many stairs and they charge the elevator because of course they would. after entering and trying several local stores in there I must say....shopping there can really be giving you body image issues like there some really cute pieces but gosh they all have limited size in tinie I'm talking xxs, s and m and literally nothing fit us. and it all the one with the more feminine and trendy designs too

anyway...after all that shenanigans we like walk to third floor for the thrift store my friends found on instagram, ill call this bougey store cause the clothes look very bougey, not really cheap tho and again with the tinie sizes. i did find some real leather jacket and vest (the long jacket smell REALLY weird) for like 10-12 dollars, 12-20$ vintage watches (they have the type that stretches, clip in like it a bracelet also some old fashioned metal clip in the back which is nice) and sunglasses but didn't take any of them cause well the prizes way out my budget also my friend said the sunglasses didn't suit at all

we were kinda disappointed and my friend said let go upstairs cause she saw some poster about this vintage-y place and wanna check it out for a long time. it really did like vintage like the vibe were absolutely vibing, mid pricing, some were kinda basic but like still cute. literally there like three ranges of vest and I know my type's come. narrow down and finally pick the more interesting one, also a win with the loose fit!!!

try on other. that checkered would look really pretty on sb thinner idk tho I really regret not buying that strap one it so perfect pairing with some t-shirt. also check their totes like it so adorable

the last store we went through kinda like it girl store. like it very telling influencers will absolutely race the shit through these. also exp asf. and explain to me why some pieces of them are my taste and I'm broke lol

also went to like a stall when we can make our own perfume and I tried on combination of peony and oolong and white tea and it smell so nice. like really need to look into this in the future

also we had milk tea:D

[an-academic-weapon]

February 15th, 2024, Thursday

got our papers back today! i was happy with both esp the one i got perfect (hopefully the next ones ill ace too)

had our premidterm exam on chem lec, i think ill get a few wrongs but im sure i did well. i cant wait for the results!

also had a long exam for chem lab and a short separate quiz for exp 3. i have a good feeling abt it so im sure ill have good results, also cant wait!

🎧: evermore - taylor swift

[marinavarshavskaia]

i’ve been thinking about “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve” for months now.

I’m 100% convinced that it’s the best song written by Taylor Swift. No one can convince me over-wise. I’m a huge swiftie, and i love all of her songs, but this one is so heavy that i can’t get this song out of my head. Maybe it all comes to my personal traumas and shit, maybe it has something to do with her IMMACULATE writing, or maybe it’s both. But i’ve seen a lot of videos on youtube about this song, and i have some thoughts to share. I want to tell you why, in my opinion, “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve” is one of the greatest songs ever written

First of all, it grabs your attention almost immediately. The synths are dark and very subtle, the atmosphere of the track is clear from the start. To be completely honest, i would never in a million years guess that the song’s topic is going to be so morbid and almost too dark for the listener to comprehend.

You might be confused right now, but let me explain why is it so dark. What separates us from animals is the fact that we were gifted with thought and memory. It can be considered a blessing, but it’s also out biggest curse. We wouldn’t be scattered and broken inside if we didn’t have our memories. A very deep rooted, heart-wrenching trauma is like a leech that drinks your blood slowly but surely the more you live and grow, because what your brain does is very cruel: it makes u forget on the surface. You feel like everything is fine, you feel like u moved on, but your unconscious didn’t. It’s like a brain tumour with no symptoms until the visibility of symptoms doesn’t matter because you’re dying.

Your trauma influences everything: your decisions, your personality, your emotions, your thoughts, your tears when you least expect it, your hysterical laugh when it’s unnecessary. This small leech inside of you can also influence the lives of other people, and you never know how badly it can influence someone.

I went off track a little bit, but i guess it’s important for me to mention all of it. So the song “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve” is a brilliant song that explains trauma in the most eloquent, straightforward and heartbreaking way. I guess that after all of the re-recordings Taylor, to her own surprised, realised that there’s a very horrible and significant trauma deep inside of her that she has ignored for years due to its heaviness. You might ask me: “why is this one unique and significant?”. It’s significant and unique because of the way she wrote this song, and this song is not like the others.

“If clarity’s in death then why won’t this die?” is one of the questions she asks on this song. And internally she asks A LOT of questions on this song. People tend to ask questions when they are confused or bothered, obviously. And she’s not only bothered and confused on this track, she’s also shaking her inner child with an insane force. She’s in so much pain and confusion that she starts looking at her younger self with a little bit of judgement. She’s not only regretting someone, she’s regretting the fact that she’s been hiding from this very trauma for a decade. Maybe back then she thought that it wasn’t important to deal with it, and now she’s realizing that she’s wrong. And she blames herself, which is unfair, of course. She shouldn’t, she was small and vulnerable. She was a baby at 19, and we are all babies at 19. That’s when we get all of our bruises and wounds that don’t heal. When you have a scar, you can sort of forget about it, cause it doesn’t bother you all that much. The wound bothers you even if it’s small.

She craves purity because her soul is tainted by this experience. That’s why the God imagery is so strong in this song. We can hear the similar sentiment on the song “Clean”, where Taylor is not tainted by the relationship anymore, her mind is clean. She’s free.

Sometimes small things are actually big, sometimes insignificant things don’t matter until they matter so much that you explode. This song is Taylor’s explosion. That’s why it’s so intense and undeniably emotional. She sounds so sincere and vulnerable on this track that it feels like you’re hearing way too much, you feel like you’re almost invading her privacy way too much.

I admire this track with all my heart, because i can relate to it severely. Maybe that’s why i’m so passionate about it. I understand her. And i hope that she’ll find peace. Or maybe she’s already found it, we’ll never know.

[midnightraine131]

Hi! for the ask game!

What inspired Hiding in Plain Sight?

Fav Food?

First OTP and fandom??

Thanks for the ask, Anon. ❤️

What inspired Hiding in Plain Sight?

Honestly, I started writing HIPS when I was too hyped and too drunk on Taylor Swift's song 'Hits Different,' fueled by my obsession with crime documentaries (e.g., the Black Dahlia, Gladbeck, and Tanjong Pagar car incident). As the story progresses, I am slowly adding some scenarios that really happened in real life to me or people around me just to make the story relatable to readers too. You will see this in the coming chapters. In short, I am just dying to imagine Aruani as millennials pressured to succeed by this cruel world, just like the rest of us.

Fav Food?

My cravings for Mala Xiang Guo are still unbeatable. But, of course, when I'm overseas or at buffets in hotels, I indulge in seafoods like crabs, lobsters, oysters, salmon, abalone, and scallops (these things are hella exp in SG soo..) I also love steaks, Filipino food, and Thai cuisine.

First OTP and Fandom??

My first OTP was Hyuuga Neji and Tenten. I used to love these two with a burning passion when I was twelve, lol. My first fandom was Naruto, back in 2008, and it was quickly followed by Katekyoshi Hitman Reborn. I never really got involved in any fandom until Tokyo Ghoul and Bungo Stray Dogs in 2017-18, which was my best year in fandom.

[bisluthq]

Nat girlie, I have no dating exp, and I met this gorgeous guy, spent 2 days working with him (slightly younger than me, tho) and like when I’m talking gorgeous, I’m talking absolute pretty boy. Gorgeous smile, gorgeous eyes, pretty face all together. We got partnered up on set, and I started yapping to him and this other guy, but I seemed to (I can’t tell?) hit it off with him, I asked him for his Snapchat and he added me. He told me to check out his gym, and he’d give me a tour. Showing me pics of his trip to New York, etc. By night time I asked if he could give me a ride home (since he mentioned he lived close) and he said yes. Soon as we got in the car, he handed me his phone excitedly and asked me what I’m into, I said Taylor Swift and he was too! Cause he plays hockey, and him and the boys listen to her and “all the white girl music” which he was playing (Shakira, katy Perry etc) and we were vibing in the car. He was telling stories, him and his team, both of us loving driving with the music blasting and windows down. Etc. I told him if he sees me on set again to say hello and he said he would when he dropped me off.

Day 2 same thing, vibing in the car again (he drove me home when I asked), but more stories etc asking if I like country music he does too and then I told him I’d send him a few songs he msg’d me after saying “good taste” to me

Now here’s the hiccup? I can’t tell if he likes me?? Cuz in person we vibe and yap a lot and similar coincidences (my dad died when I was 21/I have a German shepherd while his mom lost her dad at 21 too and got a German shepherd) etc. when I recorded a snap of us he told me to send it to him.

But when I snap him it’s so dry ? Like the next day he left me on delivered for 21 hrs but I think he gets busy, but told me he went to the beach it was nice : etc and I’m like jealous then told me about a girl I know he saw on set and actress. Brief convo / and then I showed him my fully signed hockey stick and he said he’d tried to read them/but he said he couldn’t and he snapped me his signed prof jersey.

Yesterday I snapped him again, and he replayed it and then just snapped a pic (later in the night) of his legs and skates, so I’m like ??? Is he not interested or thinks I’m maybe gross?

There’s also a lock around his snap? So he included me in his private story list I guess? And then he told (day 1) how he made a tiktok for his school and it got 5 million views and all the girls were adoring him and he smiled and said it was a good self esteem boost.

??? I’m so thrown tho like ?? I assume dry = not interested? But this is like the first cute guy I’ve crushed on in years before I got love bombed by a girl so idk how things are suppose to move??

I also stalked his tiktok reposts out of mild curiosity and I didn’t even know he was a Christian / he had a few reposts about dodging signs girls give when liked / cuz scared / running away when a girl likes them / failing at talking to girls.

??? Am I overthinking it and he doesn’t find me gross/icky or he’s simply not interested or he’s a just shy type.

He’s so gorgeous while I find myself eh. And don’t have exp and I have adhd so I automatically think rejection esp since I got love bombed. I can’t tell..

A girl I met also on set I asked her about it and she said he seemed kinda into me but again I can’t tell but I always assume dry = no??? And I’m not good enough

I wouldn’t assume dry = not interested necessarily. As you say, he gets busy and has shit going on and based on your TT stalking he’s also shy so idk. It’s not like he’s not replying at all and you guys seemed to get along grand in person. Personally, I’d try to meet up again and see how that goes? Also - you’re definitely good enough. Someone not being into you isn’t a sign you’re not good enough. It’s just a thing that happens sometimes. And this guy seems like he might be interested, he’s just maybe not great at texting?

[famegala]

Grammy Glam: Stars Shine in Dazzling Fashion

[ybloodrent]

Meet our Girls.

Cherry.

hellooo kiddo!

u-ummnn.. i'm Cherry! sounds cute isn't it? hihihihi. imma girl with gummy smile, who always excited with your story everyday. ah! if you thought that i'm a cute girl type... net-not ! ! i can be any kind of girl "materials" you've dream of. obviously, we can discuss it first! cause i can be your loli gurl or might be your oneee chan hihihi.

i usually use bahasa and a little bit english for daily convo. i also almost like all kinds of music. i love to hear Vansire, Mree, Nadin Amizah, Sundial, Keshi, My Chemical Romance, Secondhand Serenade, and much more. you can suggest me all of your comfort song, so i can listen more of your heartbeat.

i also play some game! i play Mobile Legend, Plato, Gartic, Ludo or SoD. we can spend our time with playing game together!

And about the movie... i also like all kind of movie, especially Psychology Thriller. but, i'm sorry i can't watch any horror movie (exp zombie hehe). i can watch Thriller movie but "not really gore" (kind of disgusting thriller like midsommar or human centipede) ykwim, right? T______T

from the short overview above, you might have already get a hint of how, who and what I am. hope you can enjoy spending time with me! i'll see yoooouuu, love.

Do: giving each other petnames, watching together at loklok, playing games together, request face claim!

Don't: Don't ask things that concern my real life, like asking for voice notes or pap!

Arabella

Halo there! It has been Arabella, for short you can call me Ella. And i do really like to listen a music and watching movies. So, we can watch movies together if you want to. All genres are okay as long as it is not horror movies because it scare me out 🥺. And how about music? My music taste is indie folk, but sometime i can listen a random playlist out of my music taste. 

I am the type of girlfriend who likes to listen about everything your random story, and sometime, i can be clingy around. So, if you like to be spoiled, then you have come to the right person. I do talk a lot about random things, but do not worry because i can be your pillar of support during difficult times, offering you comfort place and understanding whenever you need it. I will start our day by asking light questions like "How was your day? Was it fun?" and if it was not, I would try to cheer you up as best as I can! 

Do: face claim requests, watching movie together (loklok), giving each other petnames!

Don't: Ask about my real life or ask for a voice note and don't leave me for too long, okay?

[avonreponline]

🛍️ AVON Catalog/Brochure Campaign 23 2023 - Comfy Cozy!

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🛍️ Comfy Cozy❗️Avon Campaign 23 2023- Brochure Exp Date: 11/08/23 - 11/21/23

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[gotzyredlips]

Taylor Swift

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#TSTheErasTour 2023 💋

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