#this is from 2007ish i believe

[dyingtobehim]

[g1rld1ary]

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

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"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I’d love to hear your analysis behind MM schmoozing with the Kardashians. I know you’ve touched base on it before, but I’d love to know more. It seemed like, back in 2020 when Meghan first “returned” to California, she felt she was above that scene. Now, she’s doing what she can to attach herself to them…but I feel the timing is way, way off. She deigned to lower her standards enough to latch on to the K-train as it’s going off the rails. The eldest is basically cutting her ties from the fam. Kim lost a ton of credibility throughout her marriage to Kanye and she’s on the losing side of a feud against one of the biggest stars on the planet (and she was booed last night at the roast of Tom Brady!). The entire family doesn’t mind coming across as messy, or dumb, or promiscuous which seems to be the opposite of the look Meghan tries to achieve (they do, however, work very hard, and for the most part are very family oriented). Is this another backfire on Meghan’s behalf or do you think she has sound networking reasons behind this connection?

Old ask from May 6th

I think Meghan likes the Kardashians because who they are today is what she wants for herself; they're accepted by society, they have huge businesses and companies, they're cultural icons. But what Meghan doesn't understand is that the Kardashians have authenticity and American culture places a really high value on authenticity. You could be the worst person in the world, but as long as you're authentic in who you are, what you believe, and the things you do, we'd generally accept it and support you.

(Authenticity, by the way, is Kim's issue. Something happened and people don't see her as authentic anymore, and that's why she's getting booed and may not be as well-liked as her sisters are. Maybe it was the feud with Taylor. Maybe it was Kanye. Maybe it was something else altogether.)

After all, Meghan has been trying to network her way into being momagered by Kris. Love her or hate her, Kris is one of the more effective talent managers right now. Look at everything her family has now - brand deals, marketing deals, multimillion dollar companies, a general respectability, acceptance - and remember, all of this came from a sex tape. Somehow, Kris lassoed the wind from that storm and brought her family into Emerald City.

That's what Meghan wanted; she wanted to leverage the controversy of marrying into the BRF to roar into Hollywood with multimillion-dollar brands, sponsorships, celebrity friends, acceptance, and relevance.

Except her marrying into the BRF wasn't controversial. Yes, there were a couple of racist articles (which were handled immediately) but by and large, the press accepted her, the public accepted her, and the BRF accepted her. So Meghan had to create the controversy she wanted, and that's where everything fell apart. It fell apart for her the same way it's falling apart for Kim - the lack of authenticity and death by a thousand cuts exposing how she manipulated everything to be seen as the victim.

Anyway. I'm not sure it matters anymore. The Kardashians seem to have successfully pushed Meghan away because Meghan is back to hanging out with Oprah and Oprah's '90s crowd.

Also, I think trying to get in with the Kardashians and their crowd was Meghan's way of trying to upgrade her fame strategy. Hear me out:

1980s - 1997: Fame was best represented by Diana and the paparazzi stalking

1995 - 1999: JFK Jr brought the Kennedy name back into global fame

1998 - 2011: Mid-1990s, Oprah changed her talk show from tabloid trash to what it's now best known as; motivational, inspirational, celebrity interviews. From that time through her last show in 2011, Oprah and The Oprah Winfrey Show were considered the top "get" for celebrity PR. If you made it onto the Oprah Show, you were famous. Oprah's successor was Ellen DeGeneres and The Ellen Show (which began in 2003) and like Oprah, if you were on Ellen, you were famous, you were popular, and you were cool.

2003ish - 2007ish: Paris, Britney, Nicole, Lindsay/Perez Hilton/TMZ era. Fame was cute young twenty-something girls partying in LA.

2007 - 2016: Kardashians on the rise. The Kardashians peaked in 2016/2017 in terms of their press coverage, and they've been steadily (albeit gently) declining since.

2010 - 2016: William and Kate get engaged and the BRF enters a new "golden phase", becoming globally popular again.

2016 - 2022: (I have no idea. It was such a weird time. See the * note below.)

2022 - today: peak Taylor Swift

So if we look at Meghan and her fame "trajectory," she's emulated the lives and PR of the most famous pop culture icons of the last 40 years, trying to catch some of their stardust.

She married Diana's son, tried to get the paparazzi to chase after her the same way, and copied Diana's outfits.

She cozied up to the Kennedy family and connected their surname with hers.

She got the Oprah celebrity interview and inserted herself into Oprah's circle. Then she got the Ellen celebrity interview and inserted herself into Ellen's circle.

She cozied up to the Kardashians, copied their outfits, makeup, and hairstyles.

She cozied up to William and Kate, tried to be their besties, and tried to out-duchess Kate at game Kate herself created and owned the copyrights/trademarks to.

So was Meghan buddying up to the Kardashians so Kris could be her momager and get her the riches of the world as she desires? Or was Meghan buddying up to the Kardashians to collect them for her gauntlet of infinity stones so she could one day snap her fingers and be the most famous person in literally all of history and culture combined?

*I feel like politics dominated much of the conversation 2016 - 2020 with Trump, Brexit, and the rise of the far right and so much so that it consumed much of pop culture in a way we hadn't seen before and I'm not sure if there was anyone famous-famous or tabloid-famous that rose above it to dominate the way Diana, JFK Jr, Young Millennial Hollywood, the Kardashians, and Golden Era of Cambridges did. Then obviously 2020-2022 was COVID, with The Queen's death in 2022 being, in my opinion, the door that slammed the door shut on the 2016-2022 era of chaos, which - in a weird way - let pop culture as a whole kind of shift and regroup. I could probably write a much longer essay on this but I'll spare y'all since my stomach's rumbling and it's lunch time.

[sonictoaster]

1, 3, and 8 for the bookbinding asks!!!

What are you excited about binding right now?

I am currently obsessed with binding some of my own fic. I made a half-hearted start in 2020, but every time I worked on the typeset, I’d get stumped by my limited skills in Affinity. This year I’m going to push through! My deadline for the typeset is the end of September, when I’ll have a little time/space to do the actual binding. 

I’ve been rotating these books in my mind for so long it’s ridiculous. Whenever my brain needs a distraction I go over binding designs in my head. (They’re nothing special, I just like to think about them. I spend a lot of time binding things in my head). 

What was your first binding?

The first book structure I ever bound would have been in a book arts class in 2007ish, and I couldn’t tell you more than that. (I know exactly what my first letterpress broadside was, though). I believe the first book I case bound was an early version of A Field Guide to Irregular Birds (which you can see here), though it wasn’t strictly a traditional case binding.

What’s a binding type you’ve never done but that you’d love to try one day?

I finally admitted to myself that I didn’t know what a bradel binding really was and looked it up. It doesn’t seem that different from case binding, but I think I’d have to try it and see. 

Thanks for asking about my other hobby, @myevilmouse !

[alittledizzy]

I've followed you since the Glee days (originally followed for CC if you can believe it) and idk?? I'm just happy we're both still on tumblr and thriving

I love that. I follow so many people from old fandoms - like, I even have some people on here from lotrips days which for me would have been 2004-2007ish. It's just so fun to see what people are into even if we aren't in the same fandoms anymore.

[fillintheblanksplease]

Okay okay okay - for real this time.

For some reason I've been wanting to write more. I haven't acted on it much, but there has been a growing desire. In an effort to better myself, I'm trying to be less hard on myself. Like a lot less hard on myself. At the same time, I'm trying to hold myself accountable. With that said, I can't help but want to point out the fact that it's hilarious that I start off this post mentioning how I've wanted to write more, but that I haven't acted on it. That's just typical me, isn't it? Wanting something, but not acting on it. If you really had to summarize my life down - that could be it right there. A man that wanted things, but never acted on those desires. So while I try to cut myself some slack (as you can see, I'm pretty mean to myself in previous posts) - I need to hold myself accountable. I don't know if that's step 1 or step 50. But it's a step that needs to be taken.

I've been thinking a lot lately - just about my life, where it's headed, the circumstances that led me to my current life. Things could be so much worse, couldn't they be? On that same token, things could be so much better. The only thing that is preventing things from being even better is myself. I feel as though there are gaps in my life - years where just about zero fun occured. But the truth is, I try and hide the parts of my life where I'm unhappy with my physical appearance. I have a pretty extensive, well documented portable storage device full of photograhps and videos I've taken since about 2007ish. I can make this quick - I take tons of photos when I'm thin (admittingly, there's only a few of those years) and I take significantly less photos when I'm overweight (like currenlty)

I just look back at some photos from 2019 when I was working out and eating right. I look so happy. What's preventing me from living my life with that happiness all the time? The answer is me. If I can't be honest with myself, what is the point of this blog? It's time to get honest. Like really really honest.

I'm not physically attractive, in the classic sense. Whatever that means. Thin or fat. I'm not attractive. Weird hair. Round face. Sunken in eyes. Pale. I don't really have anything working for me in the physical department. I never will. Throughout my life, I've been compared to my older brothers. Honest to god, whatever god you believe in, they are all just objectively better off than me physically. All taller. All thinner. More athletic. This point has just always been drilled into my head, since I was a child. Why can't you be like your brothers? Your brothers are cute, but you? Ehh

Those are things that I can't change. I understand that. But what can I change? My weight. My fitness. I can change those things. I've changed them before. I can do it again.

To give myself a little credit, I'm definitely smarter than all those fuckers - no contest =] - I'm funnier too, but maybe that just comes with being the ugly one. Either way, I'm fine with it. This last go round with losing weight, my emphasis was just being the best version of myself. That's all I can ever try to do. Worrying about other people, comparing myself to them, it doesn't get me anywhere. So why even worry about it? Why waste that time? Why let those things consume me? I can't became a 6'3 star athelete. I can became a damn fit 5'11 (and 3/4in) motherfucker in his 30s.

The choice is mine. I need to constantly remind myself of that. The choice is mine. I just need to make the choice.

I find myself always being disappointed with others. I think that just stems from expecting things from other people. If I really just stop expecting things from others, they can't dissapoint me. But If I expect things from myself and act to make those expecations a reality? Well then I can't be let down, now can I?

I'm making this sound easy. Of course it's not this easy. But it is this easy you see. There are always going to be variables, things out of my control. But at the end of the day, I can only control what I can control. So step 1, let's do exactly fucking that. Let's control the things we can control - to the best of my ability. Sounds so simple. But I bet if I can act on that, my happiness will drastically improve.

I don't want to be that person who hides when a camera comes out, because I simply don't want to see myself in a photo. I don't want to be that person that makes up an excuse to skip out on an event, because I'm too embarrased to be seen. I just want to live my life. It's up to me and only me to put myself in a position where I can be happy with myself. I'm going to do it, for real this time.

Let's fucking go.

[mediaevalmusereads]

The End Games. By T. Michael Martin. Harper Collins, 2013.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: YA horror

Part of a Series? No

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Michael and his five-year-old brother, Patrick, have been battling monsters in The Game for weeks. In the rural mountains of West Virginia, armed with only their rifle and their love for each other, the brothers follow Instructions from the mysterious Game Master. They spend their days searching for survivors, their nights fighting endless hordes of “Bellows”—creatures that roam the dark, roaring for flesh. And at this Game, Michael and Patrick are very good. But The Game is changing. The Bellows are evolving. The Game Master is leading Michael and Patrick to other survivors—survivors who don’t play by the rules. And the brothers will never be the same.

***Full review under the cut.*** Mild spoilers in the Plot section.

Content Warnings: blood, gore, violence, references to child abuse/domestic violence

Overview: I put this book on my TBR list ages ago after hearing a BookTuber gush about it. I was in the mood for a zombie story, so I figured now would be a good time to pick it up. Overall, my response to this novel was mixed; there were some genuinely creative and interesting things that Martin wove into your run-of-the-mill zombie survival story, but there were also things (like the “teenspeak”) that made it really difficult to read, at times. Thus, this book only gets 3 stars from me.

Writing: I understand that I’m not the target audience for this book, so the prose is not necessarily going to work for me. Martin writes in a goofy, exaggerated “teenspeak” style that reminds me a lot of the way T. Kingfisher writes in Paladin’s Grace. The humor is quirky and Martin frequently uses all caps to convey shouting. While “teenspeak” isn’t necessarily a problem in itself, in my opinion, it can date the book very fast. I think that’s what’s happening in The End Games; Martin tries to make his characters sound “cool” by inserting references to the PlayStation 3, Mountain Dew Code Red, and other cultural touchstones that, in 2022, feel outdated. Granted, if it was important that this book took place in 2006-2007ish (around the time the PS3 was released), that would be one thing - but setting wasn’t that important, so this book felt pretty out of touch.

But another drawback to this prose style is that it makes the tone hard to gauge. Because the “teenspeak” is often humorous or exaggerated, any serious emotion gets deflated. The characters could be in a life-or-death situation, and because of the goofiness, it could feel like they didn’t necessarily react in a believable way. Granted, I think this problem got better as the book continued; towards the end, the “teenspeak” lessened and events felt emotionally weighty, but before that, I really struggled at times to get through the story.

Plot: The plot of this book follows 17-year-old Michael Faris as he tries to get himself and his 5-year-old brother, Patrick, to safety in the midst of the zombie apocalypse. We follow Michael and Patrick as they scavenge for food and supplies before they run into a religious cult, which chases them until they encounter another band of survivors holed up in the capitol building.

As far as plots go, there wasn’t a lot about the apocalypse itself that felt new or surprising. What made this book interesting, however, was the relationship between Michael and his brother. The most interesting parts were the instances in which the perception of the apocalypse that Michael establishes for his brother clash with reality; you see, the synopsis on the cover is a bit misleading - it may have you believe that the zombie apocalypse is all a huge “game,” perhaps a simulation or cruel experiment set up in a dystopian universe. We learn fairly quickly, however, that Michael is only pretending that everything is a game in order to keep Patrick from breaking down. Patrick has some kind of mental illness or emotional instability due to the brothers’ experience in an abusive household; to shield him from the violence and terror of the zombies, Michael pretends that everything is a game and that they can’t really be hurt if they follow the rules. Once we figure that out, I was way more invested in the narrative than I had been before; I enjoyed reading about how Michael cared for his brother and the challenges he faced both as his protector and as his emotional support. But as much as I liked it, I think Martin could have done a lot more with the relationship; Martin uses a lot of “game language” to show how Michael keeps his brother involved, and I wanted to see even more “gamifying” of the apocalypse as well as more turmoil in Michael about how he’s presenting the world to Patrick. 

Another thing I appreciated about this book was the zombie lore that made the monsters feel more threatening. In this book, zombies are known as “Bellows” because they compulsively repeat back anything they hear. You can always tell if a zombie is near (even if they’re out of sight) by calling out a phrase - they’ll always echo something back. I really liked this because it meant that characters could be strategic; they could figure out if monsters were lurking in shadowy places or in tight hiding spots, and it was fun to see Michael use the Bellows to his advantage. I also liked that the zombies were sensitive to light and the book had a rationale for it; when the host dies, their pupils are permanently dilated, which means that they avoid sunlight, flashlights, and other things that could hurt them.

All of this is to say: Martin establishes some interesting lore that he then can play with later on in the book. I enjoyed the way the lore changed as the virus mutated, and I was most interested in the moments when everything I thought I knew was turned upside down.

But when it comes to the actual plot of the story, I felt there was a lot to be desired. I didn’t feel much invested in the threat of the religious cult, nor did the new band of survivors capture my interest (except in the moments when the relationship between Michael and Patrick were threatened or complicated). Overall, there were some genuinely interesting details, but as a whole, the narrative wasn’t “there” for me.

Characters: Michael, our primary protagonist, is hard to get a handle on. I really enjoyed his relationship with his brother and the way he tried so hard to make things seem ok. However, being inside his head could be a little frustrating. This book is narrated in 3rd person, but we still get glimpses of Michael’s thoughts, and they’re saturated with “teenspeak.” As I discussed above, the “teenspeak” makes tone difficult to gauge, and deflates the more emotionally weighty moments. After a while, it felt like Michael simply wasn’t taking the apocalypse seriously and was acting/thinking in ways that just didn’t feel realistic. But other than that, he was a courageous character who wrestled with a lot of guilt, and I can appreciate that.

Patrick, Michael’s brother, had a surprising amount of depth for a 5-year-old. I feel like any time I read about a young child, they’re either overly wise or about as intelligent as a baby. With Patrick, I appreciated that he was written as having his own mental struggles as well as a complicated relationship with his brother. Patrick would try to put on a brave face for his brother, which was surprising given that Michael would constantly be doing the same thing. It made it feel like Patrick was trying to imitate his brother, and it was sweet.

Supporting characters were a mixed bag, and honestly, I wasn’t very attached to any of them. Holly, a survivor around Michael’s age, could have been given more depth, but she mostly just felt like she existed to be an awkward love interest and to drop information when convenient. Her brother Hank was a wanna-be soldier who looked up to another survivor, Jopek, who was your rambo, military-style doomsday prepper. What I appreciated about Jopek was that he acted in much the same way as Michael’s abusive stepfather, so it made sense that Michael could manipulate or trick him using the same survival strategies he had used growing up. But even so, Jopek was a pain, and I got tired of him after a little while. The religious cult also felt one-dimensional, and I don’t have much to say about them.

TL;DR: The End Games has a flawed narrative and is difficult to read due to the “teenspeak,” but it has some genuinely interesting lore and a touching relationship between the protagonist and his little brother. While I wouldn’t recommend this book to zombie-enthusiasts, I do think it’s a worthwhile read for people who are more interested in relationships than the thrill of doomsday.

[oneorphanedanything]

Category is: Emo pics or ur not allowed to go to When We Were Young

Top is my bedroom at the Bennett house circa ~2006/2007ish. I just noticed those *NSYNC stickers I taped to my wall (on the far right). I had gotten those from one of those sticker machines at a bowling alley in Oregon when my dad and I went to visit his side of the family for Thanksgiving when I was 9 I believe. I haven’t thought about those stickers in yearrrrrrrrrs, but I’ve been thinking about that bowling alley trip a lot recently (I went with my cousins, and it was raining, I remember that vividly), and I remember getting stickers, but I couldn’t remember specifically what the stickers were of, so now that memory’s come full circle 😊 I also recall now that I had those stickers up in my room at my dad’s apartment, too. On the back of my door I believe. This was also one of those times where sticker-placement-anxiety came in handy because I had those stickers for yearrrrrrrrrs 🤘🏻This was a pleasant and unexpected memory to stumble upon ☺️

Bottom left: ~2007 at Annette’s

Bottom right: 2009. Some time in the few days after I had gotten drunk for the very first time in my life and I had passed out and hit my head on the fridge and sliced my eyebrow open 🙃 (peep the My Little Pony bandaid 😋)

[robinrunsfiction]

Hey I’m sorry if this is too many prompts but could you do a 2007ish Patrick Stump friends to lovers smut with 23, 37, 51, 144, 145, where Patrick’s really insecure and kind of submissive but the reader is gently confident and sure of herself but also really sweet to him? Thank you so much you’re writing is amazing!! 💙💙

Do You Wanna Feel Beautiful?

Pairing: Patrick Stump x Female ReaderRating: Mature (Smut)Requested By: AnonWord Count: ~2,000Author’s Note: I realize I didn’t quite hit the “friends to lover” angle, but I hope you like it anyway!

The house was full of people drinking and shouting over the music, and you were getting more and more frustrated as you tried to look around the room, but you couldn’t find your friends. After pushing through the crowd for a while you decided to give up and that’s why you turned around and ran right into someone.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” You exclaimed. The first thing you noticed was how cute the guy you ran into was in his trucker hat and sideburns.

“It’s fine,” he smiled back and bit his lip as he looked you up and down. “Umm, I’m Patrick,” he said reaching back and rubbing his neck.

“I’m (YN),” you replied. His blue eyes sparkled and you felt your stomach flip. “I was just gonna go find someplace quieter.”

“Oh yea, sorry” he said, nodding, stepping aside so you could get by him.

“You can come too, if you want,” you offered.

He looked surprised and then nodded and followed you through the crowd to the front door. When you got outside you sat down on the front step and took a deep breath and Patrick sat down next to you, adjusting his trucker hat. You and Patrick started talking now that you could hear each other. The conversation flowed naturally, and you immediately loved his sense of humor. Suddenly your conversation was interrupted by the door bursting open and your friends stumbling out.

“(YN)! There you are! We’re gonna go home now,” your friend announced, patting you on the head as she walked carefully down the steps.

“I should help my roommates get home,” you said apologetically to Patrick. 

“Oh, yea. Hey (YN) hang on,” Patrick said as you got up. You stopped and looked back at him. “I seem to have lost my phone number, can I have yours?”

A smile spread across your face. “Patrick, please don’t use cheesy pick up lines on me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, it’s just that you don’t have to,” you laughed. “Give me your phone,” you said holding out your hand. He looked startled for a moment before he dug in his pocket for his phone to give to you. 

After you entered your information, you leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek before turning to catch up with your friends, throwing one last look over your shoulder at him as he stood stunned on the steps of the house.

~

Patrick had been nervous before your first date, feeling self-conscious, picking himself apart in the mirror, but when he picked you up, the fears melted away, at least for a while, when he saw your smile. After going to dinner and then a movie, he again bit his lip nervously as he walked you to your door.

“I had a lot of fun,” you smiled at him.

“I’m glad, I was nervous,” he trailed off, kicking himself mentally for not keeping his insecurities in check.

“Nervous about what?” You asked, concerned.

“I umm, I know I’m the opposite of tall, dark and handsome,” he said glancing down at his shoes.

“Hey,” you replied, tilting his face up so he was looking at you. “I like exactly how tall you are and I think you’re quite handsome,” you said before leaning in and kissing him softly.

When you pulled back, he was blushing and your heart felt like it was going to burst. You reached up and caressed his cheek. “I really like you Patrick, I’d really like to go out with you again if you want.”

“Yea, I’d like that a lot,” he nodded and smiled. You gave him another quick kiss and headed inside.

~

You loved being around Patrick, whether you were going out on a date, or just spending time at home. Everytime you hung out, you felt like you were falling a little more for him.  One thing that was so endearing to you was Patrick’s demeanor. Despite being the lead singer of one of the biggest bands around, he was still insecure and you wanted nothing more than to make him realize how amazing he really was.

One night you were having a quiet night at his house hanging out. Patrick was lounging back with his legs propped out in front of him on the coffee table as you laid with your head on his lap. He was singing softly as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“I like the sound of your voice,” you murmured.

“Thanks,” he laughed lightly.

You rolled over and looked up at him. “Don’t you believe me?” You asked sincerely.

He shrugged. “I do,” he trailed off.

“What is it?”

“I still worry that you’ll realize that I’m not good enough for you.”

You sat up and looked up at him totally shocked. “Patrick! You are amazing! You’re kind, and handsome and,” you paused, for a moment before nodding and deciding that this was the moment you wanted to confess your feelings. “I love you Patrick.” 

“You do?” He asked, pushing his glasses back, a blush rising in his cheeks.

“I do!”

“I do too, I, I mean I love you too (YN)! I never thought you’d love me back,” he laughed shaking his head. “I love you so much and I didn’t want to scare you off.”

You caressed his cheek while smiling softly at him. “That’s the thing though: you have so much love in you and you’re afraid of letting it out. I want to show you how much I love you, how special you are.”

You stood up and offered him your hand. He took it and followed as you led him to his bedroom.  Before that night, you had yet to go all the way with Patrick, but you took control of the situation as you made love, kissing and complementing every spot that Patrick was insecure about.

~

After that night, a dynamic shifted between you and Patrick. Patrick was so completely devoted to you and your natural confidence led to you taking the more dominant role in the relationship. Before you knew it, a year had passed and you were celebrating your anniversary with Patrick. He had spent much of the year touring promoting Infinity on High, but he had made sure that he would be back to spend that day with you.

Patrick almost felt nervous when he arrived at your door, as it had been weeks since he had seen you. As he waited for you to answer, he remembered back to your first date, and how you made him feel so special, in a way no one else could when you kissed him right there. He was pulled from his thoughts when you opened the door.

“Patrick!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too!” He said, holding you close. “I got you these,” he said, offering you the bouquet of pink roses.

“They’re beautiful, thank you baby,” you grinned. “Come in, I have dinner almost ready.”

After you finished your meal, Patrick insisted on clearing the table, but you followed him out to the kitchen and wrapped your arms around him from behind.

“Are you to continue the evening?” You murmured as you placed a kiss behind his ear.

“Yes please,” he replied as he turned to face you after putting the plates in the sink. “I wanna make you feel good.”

A grin spread across your face before you leaned in and kissed him passionately. After making out in the middle of the kitchen for a while, you decided to take things up to the bedroom. As usual, you led the way, unzipping your dress and left it on the floor just outside the doorway as Patrick also started shedding his own clothes.

“So how are you gonna make me feel good?” You asked as you sat back on the bed, and noticed Patrick’s cheeks were going pink.

“I, umm, I could brush your hair?”

“Brush my hair?”

“Yea, I mean, I know how much you like your hair played with.”

“Aww, Patrick,” you cooed.

“Or I can give you a massage.”

“That sounds perfect,” you smiled. He sat down next to you on the bed as you rolled over and tossed your bra aside. He grabbed the lotion off your bedside table and started to rub your back.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yea, baby, I missed how your hands felt on me,” you purred. After he was finished, you sat up and kissed him, pushing him gently down onto the mattress and climbed over him. “Now it’s time for me to make you feel good.”

You leaned down and kissed his neck and left a mark as he let out a gasp. You ground your hips against his, then trailed kisses down his body, complimenting every inch of skin as you went, until you reached the waistband of his boxers. Pulling them down and took him in your hand as you licked a stripe up his cock. He let out a moan as you took him in your mouth. You looked up at him devilishly as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper. 

“Shit (YN), I’m close,” he muttered and you pulled off.

“Ok, lay down,” you said.

“Hang on, I said I wanna make you feel good,” he spoke up. “Lay back.”

You giggled and laid back against the pillows as he ran his hands up and down your thighs, before gently pushing them apart. He ran a finger along the lacy cloth of the panties you were still wearing before pulling them down your legs. He started peppering kisses along your thighs until he reached the apex and started to gently kiss along your folds. You moaned in pleasure as his tounge found your clit and two of his guitar string calloused fingers dipped inside you.

You loved when Patrick did this. Not only was he an incredible singer, but that was not the last of the talents his mouth provided.

“I’m gonna,” you gasped.

“Cum for me,” he said, curling his finger just right and you let out a shaking moan as you came undone.

“That was so good baby,” you murmured. “But we aren’t done yet.”

You sat up and motioned for Patrick to take the spot you were just in, then you climbed over him, running your hands over his chest as you smiled down at him. “Ready?”

“Yes please,” he practically begged.

You rose up over him, before sliding down his shaft deliciously slowly. Patrick bit his lip as you rolled your hips. While he was gone on tour you talked almost every day, and when he could get some privacy even had phone sex, but you missed this more than anything. You missed the way he filled you so completely, the connection between you, the way his hands felt on you. He ran his hands up and down your thighs and you leaned down and kissed him. The shift in angle felt incredible, so you moaned against his lips.

“You like that, baby?” You gasped.

“I love it, I’m, I’m not gonna last,” he moaned back.

“Cum for me,” you said as you ground your hips against him. He bit his lip before gasping out your name. That sent you over the edge as well.

After cleaning up, you and Patrick curled up together in bed. “I missed you and this and everything so much. I love you Patrick,” you murmured sleepily against his chest where you laid your head.

“I love you too (YN). This year has been amazing because of you,” he replied.

You looked up and he leaned down and kissed you before you both drifted off to sleep.

[13eyond13]

I'm sorry if you've already answered this somewhere but... Is the human washing machine real? I know after Beyond Birthday nothing should surprise me but... I just can't believe it what is the context what is the point where is the justice thank you for reading you don't have to answer this

Yes lol, the human washing machine is from a real one-shot made by Ohba and Obata that was released alongside L: Change the WorLd in 2007ish:

https://deathnote.fandom.com/wiki/L:_The_Wammy%27s_House/One_Day

Much fun is made of L’s odd lifestyle in this one-shot, and he’s portrayed in a very cartoonish manner in comparison to his canon manga self. He sleeps sideways in a chair on the floor, he has a huge array of identical shirts on a conveyer belt and requires Watari to change his clothes for him, eats a soft serve ice cream cone while maintaining his usual crouching position backwards on the toilet, is put into a giant washing machine because he can’t be assed to actually put the effort into taking a shower, etc:

I basically just snort and roll my eyes at it and I don’t imagine it was meant to be taken too literally, haha. I would rather just absorb the gist of it when forming my idea of L and his personality than see it as how he actually lives his life. I think it shows that he’s meant to be seen as both fussy about his hygiene and lazy about his appearance and looking after himself; he mostly outsources that tedious stuff to Watari in favour of focusing on his work and finds his necessary bodily functions to be more of an annoying chore than anything else, wants everything boring to be dealt with as efficiently as possible so he can move on to the more entertaining stuff, etc.

I know it's just meant to be silly, but it bugs me a bit in certain ways as well because it seems to imply that O&O see manga!L as someone worthy of mockery, like it would be completely absurd for someone to ACTUALLY have traits like his. He’s not an unrealistic personality at all in my books, and I think that most of his mannerisms and tastes and habits are fairly relatable to a lot of people too, which is a big part of why he’s so beloved as a character by so many.

HOWEVER, I do think it’s funny when fans make jokes about and nods to this stuff in their creations, and have even seen a fic or two in which the Wammy’s crew make good use of that human washing machine, lol. So it’s whatevss. Not something I ever picture as actually being a literal thing about L in canon, but still a funny little “can’t believe that was a real one-shot” sort of deal that fans can have fun with now and then.

[slytherverse]

its a wednesday night and we (me + girlfriend) r watching the oblivion episode of monster factory where those mccelery boys create a terrible creature called chiquita dave.

and i say

"hey,

wanna hear a fun fact"

"yea"

*pauses the video*

SO in like 2007ish the panic! at the disco lads were tired of touring and being hot shit so they all together holed up in a cabin somewhere and got high asfuck and wrote a new album, just guys being dudes tripping out on psychedelics (so far, true story, and explains everything about pretty. odd)

which means. either they packed enough drugs for this extended trip (hehe) or someone somewhere was brining them over. like the milkman, but for shrooms. imagine, then, a singular man called Trader John as the delivery boy for this remote cabin of drugged up youths. Trader John, who of course looks exactly like griffin maccelruoy's chiquita dave, and gets paid for his services in exclusively cranberry muffins (obviously) and at this point i gotta comtinue this gravy train of word vomit bc

imagine.

just fucking imagine. a young ryan ross tripping balls feeding Trader John a muffin in the middle of nevada just fucking picture it. theyd call him the muffin man, they stumble home and lock themselves in the studio (still high) and record a burlesque take of Do You Know The Muffin Man and all four of them think they made it up completely original. thats the only cut track from pretty. odd. is the ode to Trader Joe the feral psychedelic muffin man himself

i dont really remember if there was anything else to that fun fact but i do know the video had been paused at least 10 minutes and my gf started crying actual tears after i finished the story bc for a wonderful 9.5 minutes she believed every word and was so distraught to find out Muffin Man wasnt real

[ketzwrites]

A great author can create a character that lasts through time, but it's not like everyone can be that great. I think it's not fair to blame CC for creating characters that fitted the trend at the time she wrote them. And judging her for what she wrote years ago while completely ignoring the improvement she has made (not you, but many others do)

While I agree that calling out an author for writing bad stereotypes in the past while ignoring the recent (and presumably improved upon) work of the author is unfair, I think it’s important to make a caveat.

There has been no big retroactive actions from CC’s part to rectify a lot of the things she has been called out for. Over ten years have passed since the first TMI book was released and CC has not acknowledged the poor choices she’s done in the past (however common they were at the time).

In contrast, when fellow YA author Rick Riordan was called out for disrespecting native American believes in one of his books, he apologized and removed such passage from further printings. It should be noted that CC has had passages of City of Bones changed to be less sexist, so why not address other passages as she matured and learned? 

I’m (quietly) a part of the A Song of Ice and Fire fandom. I see a lot of criticism about George R.R. Martin’s overuse of child-brides and gendered-deaths. Those criticisms have existed for decades and they continue to exist as he still has too many children getting pregnant and too many women dying from childbirth. That does not take away from the great work he’s done; it’s just another side of it. He is one of those authors whose characters age well despite these horrible tendencies.

In any case, I don’t think it’s fair to blame the CC from 2007ish for following the YA trends that she did (white privilege notwithstanding). But I think it’s fair to blame the CC from 2018 who has yet to acknowledge that but still accepts praise for being a “progressive” writer.

I don’t know how Jace is in the newest books because I haven’t read them. But I expect that, if CC has improved upon the character, she would be encouraging her fans to appreciate these changes more than the character from TMI. Maybe she’s doing just that and I don’t know. If so, great. Case closed. If not, then I believe some criticism is valid.

[lalka-laski]

HEALTH

How is your health? It's stable. It could be better with a few adjustments but I don't have any major, catastrophe ailments... that I know of...

Do you know anyone who has beaten cancer? Not to sound like a hypersensitive little flower but I hate that phrasing. Anyway, I know plenty of people who've survived- and died from- cancer.

When was the last time you had a doctor’s appointment? I canceled one a few months ago, if that counts?

How often do you exercise? Nowhere near as often as I should. I really need to get more movement in my life. For my mental health more than anything!

Do you take physical education in school? It was mandatory. Did I participate much? Well that's a different story.

Are you on any medications? Yep, some OTC and one prescription. Do you have any mental disorders? Take your pick! I have a great selection! Have you ever ‘walked’ for a foundation (e.g., Breast Cancer, Heart Stroke, etc.)? Mhm

BOOKS

Are there many shelves in your house dedicated to books? Shelves among various other surfaces. We actually are in the process of buying a new bookshelf because all of our coffee tables and end tables have been buried in books! What page are you on in the book you’re reading? I left it at home but I'm somewhere in the 150 range. Do you have an opinion on the Harry Potter/Twilight debate, or is it all stupid and pointless? Are we pitting the books against one another or debating the literary merit of the YA fantasy genre as a whole? Either way, it's not something I concern myself with. I believe in consuming whatever art speaks to you and brings you joy. Something doesn't have to be high-brow or serve a ~higher purpose~ for you to enjoy it. Read what you want to read and to hell with the critics! Is there a section of the library you always gravitate towards? Well I haven't been to the library in ages but I like the contemporary fiction of the bookstore best. And I love the poetry section, specifically in used bookstores. Do you read more books or magazines? These days its books, but there was a time in my life where I was an insatiable magazine addict! Its really sad to watch the decline of the magazine industry. It used to be the center of my dreams. What was the last book you read aloud? A Peppa Pig story collection to the girls I nanny. Well, only one girl was actively listening. The other was whipping herself around in circles chanting "PEPPA PIG! PEPPA PIG!" Two types of people in this world :P Is being published one of your biggest aspirations? Always was and still is Do you keep your books in good shape, or are they pretty thrashed? I take good care of all my books. Any one that's in less than pristine condition is one that came that way from a thrift/used book store.

GUYS

Are you a guy? I am not

Are males your preferred gender? In terms of romantic and sexual partners, yes. In terms of friends and just general human beings, uh no.

What is your father’s name? Richard

Do you have a best guy friend? Two actually

Are guys more confusing than girls? I hate any sweeping generalizations like this. Humans are confusing, emotions are confusing, relationships are confusing! If you’re not a guy, what would you do if you could be a guy for a day? Provided I become a guy with a penis I'd definitely find out what it's like to pee standing up, jerk myself off, stuff like that. Otherwise, not much else interests me.

How many uncles do you have? Only three actual uncles. Although one of them is estranged so I have no relationship with him whatsoever, and the other is so close to my age that calling him "uncle" feels uncomfortable.

Are the majority of the people in your household male? We're 50/50

FACEBOOK

How many times a day do you log on? I check my app way more often than necessary. And that number is tripled on work days because I just get so bored and have nothing else to do.

Do you like to ‘poke’ people a lot, or is that just annoying? That's not a thing anymore. And the only people who ever did it were creepy guys who were too inept to start an actual conversation with me.

Who do you talk to the most on there? Glenn

Do you join many groups? I did when I was in high school, which leads me to find so many questionable things on my newsfeed to this day.

How many friends do you have? 1,000 and something

COOKING

Would you say you’re a good cook? I do. And I'd say I'm a very passionate, eager cook which accounts for a lot as well.

Was macaroni and cheese the first thing you remember making on the stove? I think grilled cheese was

Have you ever cooked an entire meal for someone/a group of people? It's one of my favorite expressions of love!

Who cooks more, your mom or your dad? My mom, absolutely. But my dad is a grill master and a breakfast connoisseur so those are his domains.

Do you have any recipes that have been in your family for a while? A few. But a lot of my favorite dishes growing up originated with my mom, so I'm only the second generation to cook them.

When was the last time you cooked at someone else’s house? I made toast for the girls I nanny yesterday

Have you ever cooked something on the barbecue? Nope, I'm too chicken!

Are you a better cook or baker? A cook, by far. Baking is too exact and scientific for me. Creativity is my favorite element of cooking. Not to say there's no room for it in baking, there certainly is!, it just comes with a greater risk.

THE 1990S

Were you born in the 90s? Which year? 92 baby

Do you remember getting your/your parents getting their first cell phone in the early 90s? I remember my parents (and aunts and uncles) all getting theirs around the same time in the late 90s/early 2000s. I didn't get mine till years later in around 2007ish.

Can you name the main characters from Saved By The Bell? Of course! Zach Morris was my first celeb crush.

Were you obsessed with any boy band? Backstreet's Back, ALRIGHT! (Although I gotta admit I had a shirtless poster of JC Chasez in my bedroom too. I'm a traitor!)

What is one fashion trend from this decade that you hope never comes back? Low-rise jeans and visible thongs

Did you get into the Japanese pop culture like most did? (e.g., Sailor Moon, Pokemon, etc.) Nope

If you could sum the 90s up in one word, what would it be? That's impossible to do. But MY experience of the 90s was, I'll say, playful.

How old were you when we entered a new millennium? 8

CELEBRITIES

Do you read gossip magazines? If so, who do you pay attention to the most? Well gossip mags aren't much of a thing anymore but social media is still a gossip playground. I'll admit I indulge in it once in awhile. What do you think about people still going on about the whole Brad Pitt/Jennifer Aniston/Angelina Jolie “triangle”? Well considering it's 2021 that I'm taking this survey, I'd say anyone still on about those relationships needs to get a life What celebrity does not deserve to be famous? Majority of them

Do you think celebrities have a right to complain about the paparazzi? I certainly do. An invasion of privacy is an invasion of privacy. Would you ever want to be a celebrity? I couldn't handle it. No way.

[cytaoplasm]

I started liking KPOP since 2004? 2005? Officially though, because I was resisting haha since 2007ish with DBSK/Super Junior first then I went in and out of like 2AM/2PM (I still love 2AM but I’m so sad they’re not ‘together’). TBH if I wasn’t an EXO-L, I would be in the B1A4 fandom haah but as it is I am an EXO-L, poor B1A4 gets left behind. But I do have to agree with you about newer/younger fans and not respecting senior groups :( (8 - oh no, i'm reaching the limit and not even near done)

I don’t hear any much from B1A4 anymore rip same thing with Lunafly and UKISS. I loved 2AM too but boi everything changes so rapidly. I still can’t believe SPICA, 4MINUTE, and 2NE1 disband. I can still remember so well they were doing well but then they disappeared off the earth and then disband. I used to be a huge B.A.P and BEAST (or HIGHLIGHT) fan but then B.A.P scandal happens with the company which leads them to go to a 2 years hiatus. During those time, I decided to focus on EXO which lead me to become a huge EXO-L. Same thing with Beast. Midnight and Fiction was my jam hahaha 

Do you still remember those time when we called ourselves Exotics? Those were the good time. I can still remember when Seventeen was nothing but a rumor new boyband. I saw their predebut dance video and was very impressed. I also vaguely remember BTS’s debut as well. It was very generic in general since almost all boy band back then either debut with a hiphop or cutesy concept. 

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

revival rewatchin’: some luke/lorelai thoughts

i know that there have been some gripes about this idea that luke and lorelai’s relationship hasn’t progressed at all since we saw them last in 2007ish, ergo the communication issues in the revival. which is definitely a very depressing thought.

but i don’t think that’s necessarily compliant with what we see onscreen!

i think that actually, the l/l tension in the revival is specifically spurred by lorelai and emily’s fight, where emily basically accuses lorelai of never stopping to consider what luke might want in life because she’s so selfish, which, OUCH

i think that sends lorelai into this spiral of previously nonexistent doubt and oh god, have i deprived luke of what he wants in life for the past nine years by being perpetually self centered??

like, i don’t think either of them are devastated that they didn’t have kids together. i think that if it had really been something that they really wanted, it would have come up beyond luke saying “that’s the kid” once at a baseball game. (which they both seemed fairly amused by, not devastated over ~what might have been!~ or anything.) luke has his kids already: april and jess and rory. (also, we didn’t see it at all because WAAAAH!, but i am going to believe that he is pretty involved in steve and kwan’s lives as their godfather, so there, kids to throw a ball with-not-at!.) lorelai’s uncertainty that led to the whole surrogacy-investigating adventure was, “i am going to be more attuned to what luke wants and oh god what if he did want a kid and he just won’t tell me and now i have to overcompensate for the past decade by going to extreme measures so we can have the kid i think he wants so that he knows i listen to what he wants in life and i’m not the selfish mother my mom said i am” 

basically: we know luke is happy and comfortable and settled in their life together, and lorelai had been in the same place, until emily planted that seed of doubt in her head

so i think we see luke starting to feel like lorelai is pulling away (and i think that was always a fundamental insecurity in their relationship from his side -- that somehow, lorelai would always want more than him), when really the tension that’s coming from lorelai is of the “have i been good enough to you or have i just been totally selfish and obtuse in thinking we were content and happy together all these years?” variety

so yes, they definitely have communication issues again in the revival

but i think it’s not necessarily indicative of a couple not being a good match just because they relapse into some bad patterns and insecurities during a pretty hard, emotionally taxing time like the wake of richard’s death. i don’t think we have to read into it that they’ve been quietly miserable and unfulfilled for the past nine years. every time misery came knocking on the l/l door, they broke up somewhat swiftly as a result of it. but when we return to them in the revival, they’ve been together for almost ten years because they’ve been happy to be that way, and i think we can infer that overall, their relationship is in a good place. it’s just when these particular circumstances emerge that things get shaky for them.

[sifwithagun]

re: Vic being an asshole, cause I wanted to elaborate but my break ended lol

I believe it was louisianime 2009? That sounds about right. He was a guest and at this point my friend and I were more or less over the dude because we sent him a really nice fan email in 2007ish, waited impatiently for a response for months, and he basically replied with "lol k"

HOWEVER the con, which I believe was in its first year, was fairly uneventful, and Vic's panel had a lot of seating left so we decided to go anyway. he was talking about like god knows what, and then I swear, dude stopped the panel dead to publically humiliate a couple of girls in the back whispering and giggling to themselves. He went full asshole teacher, like "what's so funny? Would you like to share?" all condescendingly, like he was certain they were there to make fun of him.

it wasn't even that they were interrupting him, 'cause the panel room was ballroom-sized and nobody could hear them. We straight walked out after his tantrum and never went near the dude again. he is a certifiable asshole, take it from me

I’ve been away from social media for a few days so I’m just now finding out that people are like finally calling out vic migningonan for his history of shitty behavior

It’s so wild to me that some folks are just now finding out about this shit tho bc I’ve been told to stay away from the dude at cons since I was in fuckin middle school over a decade ago

I’m just glad people are finally talking about this publically cause like. dudes a creep 100% and even if somehow every single accusation of sexual harrassment and abuse was false (as if), he would STILL be an asshole (I’ve seen it firsthand) and he would STILL be a homophobe (see: things he’s said with his own damn mouth). so bye bitch hope to see you never