#Yoga Courses London

[academymoderntantra]

How Kundalini Yoga Can Help You Heal in Life

Do you have constant problems and tension in your life? Are they affecting both your personal and professional lives? You might have looked a few ways, but they were of no help. This is why you should now look for the best solution, which is Kundalini Yoga. You might have never heard of this kind of yoga, but you should know that it can be your life’s best companion. Kundalini Yoga is an ancient healing practise that makes you conscious of the divine energy in yourself and connects you to it. Gaining consciousness and confidence in life can help you relieve all your tensions and stress, so you should opt for the best Kundalini Yoga courses online now.

Through specific movements, breath, and timing, this ancient yoga practise improves your nervous system on a cellular level and, thereby, increases your energetic awareness.

Why Does a Practitioner Wear a White Outfit for Kundalini Yoga?

This is a common concern for people who have observed practitioners performing Kundalini Yoga. Since ancient times, it has been believed that colours have a strong impact on consciousness. The white colour is perfect for this aspect, as it has been popular for showing the sign of peace throughout the world. This colour doesn’t only protect you from harmful energy surrounding you but also projects positive energy out into the world. To be all within yourself and reflect exactly what is outside, white is ideal.

How is Kundalini Yoga Meant to Help You?

Kundalini Yoga is all about recognising the divine energy in oneself and connecting with it for life. Since you look forward to achieving a life full of joy, lightness, and exceptional love, this form of yoga is perfect for you. It not only helps you become aware of your body’s geometry but also helps you see or observe how it affects your body’s emotions, motions, and energy. The practise helps you enjoy quick and efficient healing benefits once you start performing it. The locks in your body where energy is stuck are most likely to get opened with Kundalini Yoga. Opting for the most ideal Kundalini Yoga courses online can undoubtedly help you live a peaceful and stress-free life.

Pressure from both professional and personal lives is common. But if you have the right way to deal with it, your life can quickly get rid of all kinds of stress at every stage. Now that you are well aware of Kundalini Yoga, opt for the best course online to learn from top practitioners.

[ifancyharry]

what it is: YN is Harry’s personal assistant and she gets sick, but he’s playing Wembley

word count: 4k

The air is crisp and clean as YN steps out of her hotel into the streets of London, hurrying down the sidewalk as she scurries to the first pharmacy she can find. 

It’s 7.54 in the morning and she’s been awake for almost twenty-four hours. Not on purpose, obviously. And not on her boss’s orders either, despite having there been nights the team deemed important and she was required to pull an all nighter, but those were usually times of celebrations, either spent at an afterparty or waiting until midnight for Spotify to release the album everyone had been working hard on.

The air hurts her lungs as she stops to catch her breathing, the pounding behind her temples not dimming the slightest as she trespasses the sliding doors of the pharmacy, only intensifying with the bright artificial lights shining down on her from the ceiling.

She pulls her sunglasses out of the pocket of her sweatshirt and slides them over her eyes, relishing in the temporary relief washing over her sensitive eyes.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out, grimacing at the name on the screen; it’s her boss, Harry, asking her what time she’s ready to leave for the venue. 

Once her turn comes, she quickly explains her symptoms to the pharmacist and just as quickly she pays for the medicine the pharmacist has taken out for her.

She walks out of the pharmacy and types back a short response to Harry, telling him she’s on her way to his room.

She hopes the medicine she has stuffed in her pocket will make her feel better, and she thinks as she’s making her way back to the hotel that she’ll ask Harry to stop along the way to grab a coffee, hoping it will soothe the tension behind her temples. There’s no way she can be sick when her boss is playing at Wembley for the first time.

…

Harry isn’t one to comment on other people’s appearances, his mum taught him that and it has stuck with him since he was a little kid, a sort of an unspoken rule out of kindness, and therefore he’s never asked if someone was sick because they weren’t wearing makeup or if someone had eaten a little more over the holidays.  He never considered other people’s looks something that concerned his range of business, but once he sees YN, he can’t help but wonder if she’s okay.

Her hair is tied in a messy braid, and there’s some strands falling out of it and in front of her eyes. She’s wearing a big love on tour sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, but that isn’t particularly concerning, because he’s used to her comfy articles of clothing. 

What’s concerning is her face… and Harry already feels bad for thinking that, but she doesn’t look like herself. And Harry would know. Of course he would know, because he spends a lot of time looking at her face, especially when she’s not looking, most of the times when she’s reading a book next to him in a moment of rest or when she’s answering emails on Monday mornings. So… he knows her. He knows her skin looks paler than normal, and the circles under her eyes aren’t the same as that one time they partied all night after Harry won album of the year at the Grammys.

He wants to ask if she’s okay, because after a year of working together they have that kind of confidence, but he doesn’t want that to be the first thing he says to her, so he just smiles at her and welcomes her with a side hug and a good morning.

“Hi” she’s quick to greet back, and Harry notices even her voice sounds scruffier than usual.

“Are you ready to go?” She asks a second later.

“Yeah, yeah, the car’s down already?” He asks surprised. Sometimes it takes a while before the drivers find the hotel, and YN and Harry spend that time watching videos on youtube or talking about the day’s schedule.

YN shrugs but doesn’t say anything in response, which is weird to Harry because she’s usually really bright and energetic in the morning, and she’s really meticulous on top of everything: she never lets him wait without finding something to pass the time first.

“Let’s just stay until we don’t know for certain” he suggests.

She agrees with a nod of her head and she heads to his bed, sitting down on the end of it. It’s not uncommon for her, because she’s always in his space, and there have been times where they were forced to basically sleep in the same bed (one time YN fell asleep on his bed, and Harry was so in his song-writing-bubble he didn’t even realize until he was so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open, so he slipped in next to her and literally passed out).

He still needs to tie his shoes, so he sits next to her and ties the laces of his ratted vans.

“How’d yeh sleep, pet?” He asks, because she’s freakishly quiet and it’s making him anxious. She’s never quiet, and with this being a stressful day already for Harry, every little thing that’s different from normal alerts him.

“Fine” she whispers, knuckling at her eyes, his question bringing back the awful memory of the night she spent tossing and turning in the scratchy hotel sheets, praying for a moment of solace every time she tried to breathe through her nose and failing.

“Me too…” he nods.

YN feels bad because she should be more engaging, but she really doesn’t have it in her to make small talk. 

Some time passes before the driver calls YN’s phone to tell her the van is here, shaking her awake. She remembers closing her eyes to rest them, and next thing she knows she’s sound asleep on her boss’s bed. She’d be a bit embarrassed if it wasn’t for how awful she feels already. 

“Crap! I fell asleep!” She exclaims once she hangs up the call. 

“Yeah” Harry says from next to her, still laying on his bed, “just fo’ like… fifteen minutes though” He’s playing on his phone, and YN pushes at his bicep, “we need to go, driver’s here”

She gets up from the bed and slips on her shoes, grabbing her work bag (it’s really a tote bag but she finds calling it work bag makes her waaaay more professional) from the floor next to the door.

“YN” she hears Harry clear his voice, and she turns around to look at him.

He’s still sitting on the bed, and he passes a hand through his hair before saying, “are yeh all right?” 

She closes her eyes in a furrow and tries not to wince when a sharp pain shoots behind her eyes with the movement, “yes, yes” she stresses, although not convinced.

“Are you sure? C’mon yeh can tell me!” 

“I’m fine, Harry” and despite her words, she sniffles, “maybe I have a cold or something…”

“You can take the day off if you need to, yeh know that” 

“No, there’s no way” she shakes her head swiftly, “no”. 

“YN…” he trails off.

“Harry, I told you I’m fine. I can work! Let’s just go, okay?” 

He sighs but does as she says, following her out of his room.

Harry isn’t a worrier. If someone from his team, or band whatsoever, says they can work, he at least presumes they’re mature enough to know the expanse of their limits. 

With YN, it’s different. He worries.

Not because he considers her immature, but she’s just… different. Ever since she started working for him as his assistant, he’s always looked out for her, despite being the one that didn’t want to hire her in the first place.

She’s young, she works a lot to prove herself to him, despite him telling her lots of times she doesn’t need to prove anything and she’s doing a great job as she is. 

She does unthinkable working hours, sometimes pulling all nighters, other times hurrying to his house in the middle of the night because he’s a little bit of a hypochondriac and she needs to check immediately what’s that new mole he has on his back (turns out it was a speck of dark chocolate that stuck onto his skin).

She’s soft and she always puts her job (him, actually) first, so he doesn’t really trust her to know her limits. If she’s sick she should rest. She should lay in bed and maybe eat a little soup and watch comfort movies tucked under the sheets, but he knows she won’t. And he knows he’s the reason behind that, because he’s playing at Wembley tonight, and she doesn’t want to cause trouble. Harry thinks she in no way could ever be described as trouble. 

And maybe, and he feels a little bit scared to admit this, he could postpone the show just by a couple hours, at least until he knows she’s resting at the hotel. but, she hurries into the van and pretends like she’s just got “a cold or something”, so Harry doesn’t question her further. 

He could just order her to take the day off, but he knows that would hurt her feelings, and he can imagine the look on her face, like a puppy being scolded, so he bites his tongue: there’s no way he could ever hurt her feelings.

…

YN has to stop a couple of times when she starts feeling dizzy on her feet. She shouldn’t run this much when she’s probably feverish, but there’s so much to do! She doesn’t trust to delegate, and not because she’s pretentious, but because she’s a control freak that needs to know how things are being handled, so she would only get much more frustrated and it would eventually just end up in her doing all the work anyway, increasing her fever undoubtedly. 

So, she chugs downs a lot of water and a lot of ibuprofen, taking deep breaths every time she starts feeling nauseous. She should probably inform Harry at least that she doesn’t feel good, so if anything were to happen he wouldn’t be too surprised, but she knows how he is; he would demand she stop immediately and go back to the hotel to rest, and she can’t allow that to happen. 

Wembley is the dream of a lifetime, and Harry sound checks every song two times before passing on to the next one. YN sits quietly in one of the seats, preparing Harry’s next instagram post on her phone. She handles all of his socials, because that’s what she was originally hired for. “A young set of eyes”, Jeff had defined her, and from then, her life had changed completely. 

Of course, she wasn’t aware she’d develop a crush on her boss at the time she was hired. She figured she’d be immune to his charm; she’s younger than him, much less experienced (in every aspect of her life), and hasn’t really seen anything yet, so she thought they’d just be too different to get along. Spending each second of the day together didn’t help, though, because it was then she got to know Harry for who he truly was, and with that, came the awareness of how many things he’d lived through and how many things he could teach her. How soft he was with her, how he would always drape a blanket over her when she accidentally fell asleep on his bed, and how he would tell her she looked pretty even after pulling an all nighter and probably looking like a raccoon. That’s just how he was.

And that’s why she values his dreams more than her health. She would never do anything that could harm him, so she shrugs off the dreadful feeling off her back and keeps working. 

…

“Hey” Harry plops down on the couch next to her, draping his arm on the backrest of the couch. If he’d stretched his fingers he could touch her shoulder, but he doesn’t just yet. He knows she still doesn’t feel good, he can see it in the way she’s hugging herself in the Love on tour hoodie she has on (probably one of his because their laundry always gets mixed up).

“Hi” she says softly, her voice much lower than it’d been the last time he saw her.

It’s closer to show time now, but he’s still not in his outfit. YN wonders if that’s the reason why he came in the dressing room in the first place.

“What are yeh doin’ hidin’ in here all alone?” 

“‘m not hiding!” She pouts, “jus’… resting” 

“Mh, yeah?” He hums, turning his head to look at her, “restin’ your ears? Are you tired of my music yet?” He jokes.

“Never!” She beams, swatting at his chest playfully.

He lets his arm fall down on her shoulder, and he tugs at her, squeezing her against his chest.

She breaths him in, and despite her stuffy nose, she can smell the faint scent of his fabric softener. Musk and lavender. It’s the same as hers.

 “I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a pain lately…” he trails off, his mouth buried in her hair, “nothing to do with you… was jus’ nervous is all”

She squeezes his hoodie between her fingers to tug him closer, “I’m really proud of you. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks, pet” he grins, breaking away from the hug.

She sniffles and he looks between her eyes warily, “’s there anything you want to tell me before I go on stage?”

“Jus’ to kick ass” she giggles, aware that wasn’t what he was alluding at.

“Mmmh” he muses, getting up from the couch. He knew she’d be stubborn about this so he doesn’t pressure her.

“Hav’to start gettin’ ready” he clears his throat, heading towards the portable hanger YN set up in his dressing room.

He then proceeds to take off his hoodie and his tank top, leaving him shirtless before her.

She’s seen him in his underwear many times, but maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s the crush on him that’s growing stronger everyday, but she feels her insides get warm at the sight. 

He tugs his sweats down his legs too, kicking them off his feet, and YN pretends to pick up her phone to respond to a message that definitely could have waited. 

He picks up the heart printed overalls he’d be wearing and tugs them over his legs, jumping a little in his place so they could fit over his bum.

Once he’s fully dressed, he looks over at YN and finds her looking at him already, her eyes a little droopy. He feels his heart tug in his chest at the sight. He wishes she’d let him help her. If he could he’d send her back to the hotel straight away, but he has to admit he’s selfishly relishing in the idea of having her here, looking at him perform. It makes him want to do even better than he always does. 

“All ready then” he smiles, dimples denting both his cheeks.

“Mmhh” she hums, getting up on her feet. She walks towards him and adjusts the neck of his shirt, petting it down.

“Good luck Harry” she smiles. He has to refrain himself from lowering his head down to kiss her, and he’s aware these thoughts are way too unprofessional of him, but he can’t help himself. Not when she’s looking at him like that.

“See ya after the show, pet”

…

“Harry!” Jeff pats down on his shoulders as soon as Harry runs backstage, “you just smashed it! Fuckin’ smashed it mate!”

Harry laughs with him out of politeness, but his mind is really on something else.

“Fuckin’ Wembley, Harry! Wembley’s Harry’s house!” Someone else shouts, and he thinks it’s Lloyd but he doesn’t really pay much attention to him. There’s someone missing from the crowd. YN. She’s nowhere to be found, and he’d really like to celebrate with her. She’s the one that should join in on the fun and get a little bit of praise too, because without her, harry doesn’t think he could’ve played Wembley.

Everything was going fine, and he saw her next to his mother standing in the private part of the pit, but then, when he came back after chatting with a couple of fans, she was gone. He wonders if she’s okay.

“Hey, Jeff” he clears his throat, hoping to be discreet with his tone of voice, “where’s YN?” 

“Oh…” he nods, “she wasn’t feeling proper good, so I sent her to your dressing room. I told her to get back to the hotel, but she refused to leave”

Harry nods and after a ‘thanks’ he hurries towards his dressing room, hoping to find her there.

Once he opens the door, the sight of YN sleeping on the couch crouched on herself makes his heart somersault in his chest.

“Hey, pet” he coos softly once he crouches down next to her.

He repeats the endearing greeting, and this time she stirs awake. YN brings one hand to knuckle at her eyes tiredly, and Harry frowns at the sight of her bloodshot eyes. He brings one hand to caress her cheek, but when he realizes how warm she is, he brings it up to her forehead. She’s burning hot. 

He immediately feels guilty. He should’ve sent her back to the hotel as soon as he realized she was sick, hell, he shouldn’t have let her leave his room that morning!

“Harry?” She asks timidly, her voice coming out scruffy. She gulps but flinches as the hurt in her throat doesn’t subside. 

“Yeah, ’s me” he whispers, moving the hair away from her face, “let’s go back to the hotel, okay?” 

“No Harry! The show! You can’t leave… the show! It’s wembley” she stresses, gripping his bicep tightly to refrain him from leaving her.

“Shh, shh” he shushes her, “calm down. ’s okay. The show was great. Everything was great” he coos, pressing his lips down her forehead and flinching from how hot it feels, “you did so great”.

She sniffles and: “great?” 

“Yeah” he nods, reassuring her, “let’s go now, okay?”

He helps her get up on her feet, and she stumbles a bit in her place. She grips the fabric of his overalls tightly between her fingers, and he lets her, hoping to be at least a little bit of comfort.

…

“How are you feelin’? What hurts?” He asks her once they reach his hotel room (he wanted to go back to hers, but couldn’t find her key and didn’t want to startle her too much).

“Everything” she pouts.

“I’m so sorry, darling” he sighs, ushering her inside his room.

She’s stable on her feet now, the little nap at the venue kind of helped a bit in soothing her, but still, everything hurts, and the thought of being in a hotel room and not at her own house bothers her.

She also doesn’t want Harry to look at her like this, all sweaty and red in the cheeks. She must look so embarrassing! 

“I’ll draw you a bath, how about that?” He proposes, not waiting for her response and heading directly towards the bathroom.

Now that he thinks about it, harry’s glad she’s in his room, because (being the Harry Styles) his room has a bathtub, whereas hers doesn’t. He also has lots of salt baths and bubbles to add to the water, courtesy of the hotel, and he adds everything he can to soothe her stuffed nose and make the bath as pleasing as possible.

She knocks on the door delicately, and he turns his head to look at her.

“Bath’s ready” he smiles gently, and he dips his index finger to test the temperature of the water, careful not to make it too hot to not aggravate her fever any more. 

Harry excuses himself from the bathroom, and tells her to give him a shout if she needs anything.

It’s a couple of minutes later when he hears her calling for him, her voice still lower than normal.

He knocks on the door and after he gets her consent he opens it, peeking his head inside. She’s laying in the bathtub, the water submerging her almost to her neck, and he’s aware she’s naked under, but the bubbles cover her body entirely.

“Are yeh all right?” He asks worriedly.

“Mhmh,” she hums, “jus… keep me company?” 

He’s happy she’s more responsive now, and he happily sits at her side, plopping down on the toilet seat next to the tub.

They sit in silence for a while, Harry’s aware he’s still in his fancy (and uncomfortable) show clothes, but he doesn’t care. He’s just happy to dote on her now as she’s been doing with him since she’s been hired.

“I can’t believe you played at wembley and I missed half of it” she says after a while, the water sloshing around her as she turns to look at him.

“There’s always next time” he grins at her playfully.

She throws a smile at him, “bet”.

His mouth opens in a sideway smile, his dimple indenting only one of his cheeks, and more seriously than he did before, he says “I wish you’d told me you weren’t feelin’ good”

“Didn’t want to spoil your day” she shrugs.

He wants to tell her she wouldn’t have spoiled it, that if she’d asked he would’ve postponed his show and crawled in bed with her, cuddling her until she felt better, even with the risk of getting himself sick too, he didn’t care. He would have done anything to make her feel good; but how can he tell her? How can he be honest about something like that without revealing another part of himself to her? He’s her boss. He’s older than her. And he doesn’t know if she feels the same way.

So, instead of making a complete fool out of himself, he ushers her out of the tub, passing her a towel without looking at her. He engulfs her in the bathrobe and ties it tight on her stomach, careful to have her bits covered completely by the fabric of the towel.

When he reaches his room, he takes out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for her to sleep in, and he leave her to change in the bathroom.

While he waits for her to come out, he texts his mum if she could make that delicious soup she always prepared when he was sick, promising he wasn’t sick himself and that he’d explain in the morning. His mum answers a couple of minutes later with a thumbs up and a kissy face. 

He locks his phone and plugs it in the charger next to the bed, leaving it on the bedside table.

When YN comes out of the bathroom, she looks better already. Her cheeks aren’t as red and her eyes appear to be more rested, but, she still looks tired, and he smiles at her as he tugs the comforter down for her to slip in.

She curls up under the covers and waits for Harry to tuck her in, “comfortable?” He asks.

She nods with her cheek against the pillow, “just wish I was home” she whispers and the affirmation pains him.

“I’ve been overworking yah, haven’t I?” He sighs deeply, feeling extremely guilty. 

She’s quick to shake her head no, flinching when a sting of pain hits her temples with the movement. 

“Yes I have… you’ve been s’good” he smiles down at her.

“You’re a Wembley player now” she whispers, her eyes closing on her as she speaks, and Harry chuckles endeared at her. 

“Get some rest” he coos, but she’s already fallen in a deep sleep that will probably be tainted with a curly headed guy with green eyes and a pretty smile.

He fishes from inside her bag a tab of ibuprofen and, with a glass of water, he places them on the bedside table closer to her side, so, if she’d ever were to wake up in pain, she could take the medicine immediately. 

He takes the shortest shower he’s ever taken, quickly putting on his pajamas and brushing his teeth. Once he’s ready for bed, he slips in next to her, leaning down to press his lips on her forehead to check her temperature. She’s still warm, but the bath seemed to be of help, and probably the much needed sleep, too.

He thinks he’ll give her the rest of the month off. He owes it to her, so she can get back up on her feet and spend some time at home if she’d like. He takes a minute to wonder why hasn’t he ever given her more than a day of rest, and he doesn’t have to wonder too much, because he knows the answer already, one that is overbearing and too deep to even analyze after the day he’s had: he doesn’t want to be away from her that much time. It’s as simple as that. He’s fucked.

Read part 1 to their story here

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[cumikering]

F1 John Price x reader 7 (end)

3.4k | fluff, suggestive John has been doing a lot of yoga (part 1)

“No, JP’s not charbroiled to oblivion,” you said with a laugh.

John had asked what had become of JP the bear as the lift shot up, streets under growing smaller by the second.

“Oh, good.” He breathed a relieved sigh. “I was going to be really sad.”

There was a ding before metal door slid open to reveal his penthouse. You stood in his open kitchen as he fixed you a drink, admiring the spotless marble countertops and the expanse of his living room. To the side, in front of the floor to ceiling windows, he’d set up his gym. He handed you your drink and gave you a tour of his home.

There’s a room for his racing simulator setup, next to it, a memorabilia room with his office in the corner. Shelves lined the walls displaying trophies, medals and awards along with a line of customised helmets and boots he’d acquired over the years. Lastly, the hall led to the master bedroom.

“The place is massive, John, and the view is gorgeous.” Your hands rested on the railing of the lengthy stretch of balcony, overlooking London at night.

“It’s too big. For one, at least.”

You bit down a smile.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his head against yours. “You should come over as much as you can.”

You didn’t leave his apartment until when he drove to yours Sunday night. But when he helped you unlock your door, he decided he didn’t want to part yet and buried his face in your hair for another night.

As usual, he dropped you off for work before tending to his own routines. But this time, before noon, he had lunch delivered for you and your girls. On Tuesday morning, the familiar smell of coffee and cookies greeted him as he pushed the doors to your shop open.

“The boyfriend is here,” Sophie called out from the counter with a giggle.

Heat crept up his neck. He couldn’t hide now without his mask. What did you tell her?

“A bit flashy just to pick up cookies,” you teased as you strapped yourself in his McLaren.

“And my favourite woman.”

The engine roared to life before he zoomed away, taking you to the factory to finally meet his friends. When he told Kyle on the phone, he sounded so excited to see you again he sounded like he was going to puke as he listed off restaurants you could go for lunch.

“You told your girls about us?”

“Oh my God, please ignore that. Sophie was just teasing.”

“You can call me that, if you want.” He glanced at you, failing to hide his grin. “I’d like that very much in fact.”

You smiled to yourself. “Okay, papaya boy.”

At the next red light, the car behind him honked when he kissed you a little too long. John pulled away, but knowing him, the grin he wore only told you that it wasn’t long enough.

Of course, John would have preferred if he didn’t have to leave you, but having gained your full support, he flew to his next race in Japan with no weight on his chest.

The next day, he sent you a bouquet of your favourite flowers to the shop. You sent him a selfie with it, your smile as brilliant as ever.

Thank you for the lovely flowers <3

Only for my favourite x

Weeks flew by approaching summer. He’d got lunch delivered for you and your girls at least once a week. You displayed the beautiful flower arrangements he sent each time he was away next to register. He didn’t forget the postcards he promised, although he’d always be at your door before they arrived. You collected them in a small tin box.

You’d warned John about being clingy. If any, he felt he was the clingy one as he always looked forward to calling you at the end of the day to look at your pretty face, even if only on his phone. He wasn’t sure it helped curb the longing though, because he kept getting reminded of exactly what he left in London.

Especially the night before each race when he was jittery about the coming day. You’d stay up to be with him, only for your eyes to flutter as your cheek pressed against your pillow. It was a look you’d wear in another circumstance, one where he could be as loud as he wanted, groaning and panting into your ear, feeling all of you.

When the heat rose to his cheeks and his voice deepened a touch, you’d smile sweetly at him the glint in your eye unmistakeable, prompting his mind to drift further. As he palmed his pants, you’d show him where you needed his kisses, telling him how much you needed him. He’d try his best to bite back the noises that threatened to escape as his body shook at the sight that always made his head spin.

He’d drift to sleep with a grin on his face. Helps me relax, he’d said.

“John, you’ve been a lot calmer on the radio lately,” one of the interviewers said after the race.

“Yeah, been doing a lot of yoga,” he answered without missing a beat.

“In bed,” Kyle whispered behind him.

When John turned, he had taken off cackling.

His lips twitched into a smile. His teammate could run all he wanted, but he’d smack him upside the head later, as if they didn’t share the same bloody flight back.

“You know you don’t have to keep getting me flowers,” you said, arranging the bouquet he’d got from the airport in the vase. “Or sending me lunch so often.”

He draped his jacket on the back of the dining chair and looked up. ”You don’t like them?”

“I love them, but it’s just unnecessary. And… well I can’t return the same.”

“Oh, love. I never expected anything back.” He strode over, rubbing the small of your back. “I just enjoy… pampering you, like driving you around.”

“Thanks, John. I appreciate it, but please don’t feel like you have to. You’ve always been so thoughtful, but I’m just happy to see you.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him in for a kiss.

He always admired that about you: your independence and tenacity. As much as it made him proud, he, too, wanted to spoil you a little. You were his sweetheart after all, and he could never get enough of the smile on your face.

“You know, I was thinking. How do you feel about having my car while I’m away? Makes it easier for you to get around, yeah?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. My house keys will be there too, so you can go whenever.”

“You’re too good to me.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, head resting against his chest.

At the end of the week, with your consent, he posted a captionless photo of your joint hands – the very first public confirmation that there was someone. Within a minute, Kyle commented a full line of emojis: intense eyes, 100, confetti, fire, cookie and fist.

At this point John was convinced his teammate had his post notification on.

He’d also offered to stop wearing his mask in public if it bothered you, but since more customers recognised you as John Price’s woman, you too, stared wearing one.

When he’d cut his engine off, he turned to you as you pulled your mask on. “Are you going to keep wearing one?” He mirrored the action, covering his teasing smile.

“Maybe.”

“I love showing you off. Love when people look at how pretty your smile is.”

“But kisses are better when they’re stolen,” you said, your voice teasing.

He didn’t disagree. You didn’t mind the kisses that followed in that deserted parking lot. Dinner could wait.

John meant it that he loved showing you off. Of course he’d invited you to come to his races, but with your commitments in London, understandably, you’d turned down the trips halfway across the world, including the Canadian GP. He had been looking forward to taking you there very much since the first time you mentioned wanting to go.

But it’d been months now since he laid all his cards on the table, and you’d accepted what life could look like if you were to be with him. While he didn’t push, you also said no to weekend trips to his European races. He wasn’t entitled to you attending them, of course, and knowing the paparazzi, it was a huge ask to take you out of your private life. But admittedly he wanted people to know who his heart belonged to, that it was never anything short of serious with you.

Later in bed as he lay facing you, his fingers trailed down your arm.

“At least… Would you consider Silverstone? My parents go each year. It’s quite special to us, you know, home race and all-“ His eyes flicked to yours before he quickly added, “Unless you’re not ready. There are other races-”

You smiled. “John, are you asking me to meet your parents?”

He averted his gaze as heat crept up his neck. You’d joined in on the brief video calls with his parents, but meeting them was something else entirely. Was it too much to ask?

“Yes,” he muttered. “My mum’s been wanting to meet you.”

“I’d love to.”

“You’ll be my lucky charm?” He grinned, pulling you in by the waist. “At my home race? I’ll make you proud, love.”

John Price secured a win in Silverstone, making it his second consecutive home victory. Still with his bright orange helmet on, he sprinted to you on the sidelines. He crushed you in his embrace and lifted you off the ground before giving you a spin. The next second, Kyle and Simon joined in on the hug, the crowd cheering all around them.

He didn’t know he could get any happier, but seeing you next to his parents, beaming up at him on the podium made the butterflies stir. Today was more than just you being at his home race, but also the day you declared publicly you were his someone, and he was enjoying every second being yours.

You still had your pretty smile when he got off the podium, and with his cap and suit still dripping in sprayed champagne, in front of all the cameras, he pulled you into a kiss. The movement knocked the cap off your head, the same papaya one he gave you all those months ago. You laughed as you wiggled in his arms, a futile attempt of getting out of his drenched embrace.

When he finally pulled away, he looked you over, your front soaked now. You smiled up at him and cupped his cheek, making his heart flutter.

Could he have this with you forever? Could he have his career and a normal life with you after all? He would certainly die trying.

At the end of the night, Kate relayed that he was invited to a photoshoot in Liverpool. When John thought out loud that he might as well send his parents back home and spend some time there too, you said you could take a few days off. He grinned. He’d always wanted to show you where he grew up.

John took you on a ride around his hometown. He showed you his old school, the field he used to play football in with his friends and the karting track where it all started all those years ago. For dinner, he took you to the neighbourhood park where his favourite kebab shop was.

The next day, John left for the shoot after breakfast. At the door, he gave you a peck on your forehead before hopping into a taxi.

“I hope everything is to your liking, love,” Mrs. Price said as she plopped teabags into the pot. “The room isn’t too small, is it?”

“No, of course not. Everything is fine.” You smiled.

“Oh, good. I just wanted to make sure you have a good time here.”

“I promise everything is perfectly fine, Mrs. Price. You have a beautiful home.”

“Please call me Eleanor.” She patted your arm. “You’re family.”

Your gazed dropped as you tried to hide your smile. His parents had always been welcoming, but hearing that from his mum made you melt. You knew how important family was to John.

Perhaps you’d been overly guarded, that you didn’t want to go to any of his races and have your relationship exposed, not wanting to be accused of having any ill-intentions with him. But most importantly, you didn’t want his parents to.

Evidently, your worries had all been worries. You spent the rest of the morning chatting with her over tea before she tended to her colourful, blooming garden.

Footsteps and cooing came from outside before the front door swung open.

“I got his favourite blueberry loaf,” the guest said as she and Eleanor rounded the corner.

“Thank you so much. You’re too kind.” She placed the gift on the table. “Love, this is Claudia. John and her grew up together. And this is John’s girlfriend.”

You smiled. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“I’ll get an extra cup.” Eleanor turned to the kitchen.

“New girlfriend, huh?” The brunette looked you over with a sneer. “Can never keep track, he has a different one every time I see him.”

Your brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Was expecting him to call. He usually would for some late night-fun.” She laughed. “Can’t forget his first time, I guess.”

Your fists balled under the table.

“Don’t take it personally when he ditches you, sweetheart. You know he can’t commit.”

Eleanor placed a teacup and a plate of your cookies on the table. “Claudia, these are from her shop. They’re lovely, please do try.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll go now.” She smiled, not even sparing you another glance. “I’ll drop by again some other time.”

“Oh, alright, love.” Eleanor walked her to the door. “Please say hi to your mum. I haven’t seen her in forever.”

Your stomach churned. You shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions. You didn’t know who the woman was nor her past with John, but judging by how friendly she was with his mum, they must have had history. You trusted John - he had been nothing less than transparent since the day you decided to make it work, but her words rubbed you the wrong way nonetheless. They made your skin crawl. The exchange only reminded you that you and John came from two different worlds.

When his mum returned to the table, you tried to not let your voice crack when you excused yourself for a stroll in the neighbourhood.

John arrived home sooner than he expected, but much to his disappointment, you weren’t there. She went to the park a few hours ago, his mum said. He called you to offer to pick you up, but you said you’d walk home.

He opened the door for you and kissed your cheek before leading you to the dining table.

“Oh, Claudia dropped by and gave you a blueberry loaf,” his mum said at dinner.

His fork froze mid-air. “Who?”

“Claudia, Charlotte’s girl.”

“What, again? How did she even know I’m here?”

“Her mum saw, probably.”

He pursed his lips. “Right, okay. Well, thanks, but please tell her she really doesn’t have to.”

You and John helped to clean up after dinner, but you were quiet and wouldn’t look into his eyes. Wouldn’t even smile when he wrapped his arms around you.

Had he done something?

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” he asked carefully when you were in the privacy of his room. “Talk to me. Do you… not like the place? It’s not too late to get a hotel-“

The last woman he brought home over three years ago was the same one who threw a fit about the house being too small for her liking and demanded a room at a luxury hotel.

You turned to him. “What? No, John, it’s not that.” You sighed. “Who’s Claudia? Do you have- did you use to date her?”

“No. She lived down the street. Why?”

“She said you bring someone new every time you’re home.”

His brows furrowed. “That’s not true.”

You hung your head. “She said you call her when you’re back. For fun. That you can’t forget your first time.”

“First time?!” His face twisted. “Fucking hell this woman. I don’t even-“ he sighed. “Before I moved to London, I told her I had a crush on her, but she called me fat and made fun of me in front of everyone at school. We never spoke again until my parents moved back here.

“She said she wanted to catch up, and summer last year I finally gave in. Thought there was no harm because well, kids do silly things and my mum’s friends with hers – well, were. I took her to a chippy and she got so upset. She said my mum raised a cheap bastard and left, so I don’t know why the bloody hell she keeps showing up.”

You blinked. “And your mum knows?”

“I never told her. I didn’t want to ruin her friendship with Charlotte.” He pursed his lips. “You know what, what she said to you is out of line. Fuck that, they’re not friends anymore anyway.”

Before you could say anything, he marched out and into his parents’ room. His mum was at the vanity combing her shoulder length hair, smiling at him from the mirror.

“Mum, I don’t want Claudia dropping by anymore. Tell her to piss off next time she shows up.”

She lowered her comb with a frown.

“You remember when you told me to take her for lunch last year? We went to a chippy and she said you raised a cheapskate who didn’t know how to treat a woman right.”

His mum gasped, turning to him. “How dare she! I always thought she was a nice girl. Is that why Charlotte stopped talking to me?”

“Probably, judging by the lies she told her this afternoon. Said I always bring someone new when I come home, that I call her at night-”

She slammed her comb down and strode to her phone on the nightstand. “I’m going to tell Charlotte and her scheming cow of a daughter to go to hell.”

When he returned to his room, you had your hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh. He closed the door behind him.

“Oh my God, John. Scheming cow?”

“Nobody messes with my sweetheart.” He grinned, sitting next to you on the bed before reaching for your hand. “But most importantly, no one fucks with my mum.”

“Go Eleanor.”

In the Canadian sun, the cerulean water glittered. Under the infinite blue sky, the clear lake stretched far and wide along the rocky mountains in the distance.

“The view is amazing, John. It’s so perfect it looks fake.” You huffed, but the grin remained as you caught your breath at the top of the hiking trail where the wind toyed with your hair.

He tucked back the loose strands behind your ear. “I’m more than happy to be sharing this with you.”

You turned and pressed your lips against his before a dog barked far off. You turned to the man with the large yellow Labrador.

He cupped your face, turning you back to him with an amused smile. “I mean it, if you want a dog, feel free.”

That morning, you’d cooed at each and every one of the Newfoundland puppy you met at the breeder. He was convinced you were going to take home the litter in your backpack.

You shook your head. “You know my place doesn’t allow pets.”

“Mine does.” He kissed your cheek. “I’d love a dog, with you.”

“Who’s going to take care of it when you’re away?”

“Can it be your reason to finally move in?” he asked hopefully. “You know I always love having you over.”

You smiled. “That’s a very tempting offer.”

“You can say no, of course. I wanted to let you know it’s something I want with you, so whenever you’re ready. I’ll wait. I’ll always wait for you.”

You took a seat overlooking the lake and rested your head against his, his fingers laced with yours. He let out a content exhale as he soaked up the view, savouring your presence. He kissed the top of your head.

Later, you took out the thermos from your backpack and poured yourself a cup of coffee.

“Sweetheart, remember when you made my double shot americano? I couldn’t sleep for two bloody days.”

You laughed.

“Well, I’m really glad I went.”

“Me too, Jean-Pierre. Me too.”

Masterlist

Hi hello, thanks for reading everyone! I hope you enjoyed the story bc I loved imagining Price in orange while writing :D I was wondering a lot of you are into F1 too? If yes, who’s your fave driver?

@tiredmetalenthusiast @le16erc @kyletogaz @its-me-mila @msluccapotato

@s-rinaldi-18 @izzybmep @the-darling-fishy @rowanyaboats @dirtymana

@gamergirlbones @hungrycrazy @wannabhere @princessdaniiiii @freshlemontea

@eve-lie @two-autumns @nocturnalreader106 @sklt987659 @fruitymoonbeams-blog

@praying-for-the-sun @shinymriver @redzscare @dwaekkiiiiiiiiiiai

[strangelittlestories]

Here in the end times, it feels like everyone got a little weird.

That'll happen, you know? In a city of bondage rooftop pirates, predatory psychic business suits, and tacticool kindness cults; in a world where the sun's gone all high contrast, low brightness; in a time where isolation is a synonym for safety ... let's just say the 'Overton Window of Normality' has shifted.

Yep, when the light broke, we all got a bit strange.

All except for Simon, that is.

Simon is perfectly normal. Simon is swell. Simon still stops by Nero's for a coffee in the mornings and the Coffee Mafia *serve him* (I think just out of confusion).

Simon goes into his co-working space three days a week. Sometimes he works on his screenplay. Other times he goes through long-dead databases and de-duplicates records. If you ask him why, he'll just say that he gets tired of working from home all the time and needs a change of scenery.

Simon keeps a spreadsheet to track the good places for salvage in London-in-Darkness. He has different tabs for foodstuffs, fuel, clothes, makeshift weaponry, and a dozen other useful categories. He sorts them according to quality, abundance, known predators, level of contrast corruption, and convenience for his commute. Ask him to show you his v-lookups sometime.

If you haunt the high buildings like I do, then you'll see him sometimes, scuttling about in his scruffy converse, jeans and hoodie. If he sees you see him, he'll wave.

It's not that the various predators, gangs and high-contrast memetic hazards avoid him, exactly. They continue their usual routes; their patterns of search, destroy and throw-a-wobbly. But somehow they just ... miss him. He'll be overlooked or have a miraculous lucky escape. Occasionally, he'll get captured for a few days and spend the time working on his yoga routine, before the next localised burst of spectrum distortion gives him a chance to scarper.

You might be tempted, if you run across him, to join Simon.

You might hear him say things like: "Why don't we pool our resources" or "Let's catch up sometime" or "I've set up a mini golf course in the Tate Modern, if you fancy it" or "Do you want to listen to some Bruno Mars? I think I have one of the last unscratched CDs."

I urge you: do not listen to him.

He means you no ill will. Simon is *normal* and *nice*.

But nice is not kind. Normal is not benevolent. And sometimes, people overlook that the world will hurt those less lucky than them without really thinking about it. And it is *normal* to protect yourself in that way. It is *nice* to gloss over difficult things.

Simon lives a live that is orthogonal to the rest of us. His plane of existence is ever so slightly out of sync.

Yours isn't.

He is a last unchanging remnant of a world that was.

You aren't.

If you meet him, you will want to follow him. His is a world of order and predictability, of self-care days and flexi-time, of secret film screenings and hidden menus in bougie coffee shops. You will be enchanted by the way he talks about getting plenty of natural light, the way he complains about his commute, and how he still tips twelve percent.

But I beg you: do not heed his Simon song. For it is the song of Bruno Mars and you will be dashed on the funk rocks.

Don't go with him, the world that keeps him safe does not exist anymore.

And when I see Simon scuttling through the streets with a new friend, I am sometimes glad that it is gone.

[nomilkinmyteaplease]

The Terror's first dates

George Hodgson - invites you to a naked yoga session, followed by a meal in a vegan restaurant. Vaguely mumbles something about traumatic experiences that turned him ‘pan religious’. He wants you to be "yin to his yang" on his next meditation retreat. 

Francis Crozier- a true gentleman, suggests you plan the date; based on his profile you arrange spirits tasting only to find out he is now a teetotaller.

Graham Gore- invites you to a first date at his bootcamp. As you land face first in mud during an obstacle course and struggle to get up as your arms give in, you hear his cheerful motivational shouts from afar. "You will soon get a hang of it, I know you will!".

Edward Little- takes you for an afternoon tea at the Ritz, but spends most of it on his phone replying to work emails. You tell him about wild haggis being an animal living in Scottish Highlands and he believes you.

Solomon Tozer- you expect a pub date, but he surprises you (and seemingly himself) by inviting you to a science museum to talk to you about some experiments he heard of at work; most of his sentences end with “...or something to that tune”.

James Fitzjames - Unprompted, treats you to a talk on "Everything you ever wanted to know about bird guano, but were afraid to ask". You’re not sure if his frequently mentioning size of (his?) cherry should be taken at a face value or whether it is some weird sexual innuendo.

Stephen Stanley - boasted about his BBQ skills, but most of his meats ended up charred beyond recognition.

William Gibson - Cooks for you, but barely notices you're there; spends the whole evening moaning about how much he hates backstabbers at work, his panna cotta leaves a bitter aftertaste.

John Irving - invites you for a walk around Hampstead, arrives late because “the mass overrun”. 

William Pilkington - was supposed to be Netflix and chill, but his mum walks in on you and you end up having tea and watching a Murder, she Wrote marathon in the living room with his whole family.

Cornelius Hickey - may have turned out a foot and a half shorter than his profile stated and looks totally different to his photo, but you totally forget all about it when he takes you to a 3* Michelin restaurant with a nice view of the London canals. He sweeps you off your feet with compliments that make you blush and impresses with knowledge of fine wines he orders, you start thinking he may be THE ONE. He leaves to go to the gents, and 30 minutes later you finally realise he will never come back and end up having to pay the full bill yourself.

Harry Goodsir- An evening of “fun, quizzes and puzzles” turns out to be you helping him put together his Ikea furniture.

Thomas Jopson - takes you on a hike in the mountains, you overpack but seeing you struggle, he offers to carry your heavy rucksack for you. You have a picnic, admiring the sunset from the top of the mountain. Awwww.

Henry le Vesconte - takes you on a hike in the mountains, you overpack, seeing you struggle he shoots off ahead just as it starts dawning on you that the whole time you were also carrying HIS rucksack.

Follow up of the Dating Profiles, for the 'free space' of the Fronk Birthday Bingo.

[annislittleshopofhorrors]

I love your graph girl 🤣

But the fact that 🐟 had to post a welcome card for a movie that finished filming a year ago (and is now doing reshoots) tells me she really is scraping the bottom of the barrel.

This isn’t to be mean/judgemental - but it’s funny how this time last year she was so busy vacationing after however long she was filming - and it seemed like her focus was on her travels with her besties.

A year later. This is what she posts. To let people know she’s still in this film. IDEK if any of the other women who worked on the film posted about reshoots 🤣

She didn’t post about working when the film was actually in production (but maybe that’s because it was during the strike and this film was exempt and allowed to keep filming but the actors couldn’t promote?) so that’s fair.

But no matter how you look at it, this girl’s priorities are always out of whack.

Your biggest claim to fame (WN) has a season two premiere and you decline to be interviewed while your costar is left alone to promote the show.

Instead, you do a walk in Central Park with your “bf” who is the only reason anyone even pays attention to you, and you take some yoga classes and photoshop your way to becoming an instructor. I’m unsure why anyone including your show’s show runner would really be willing to defend you? But again, I’m only seeing it from the outside.

WN fans went on twitter asking a reporter who interviewed your costar if you were doing one too and the reporter says you weren’t available. 🤣 Your costar does a buzzfeed interview alone. Your costars get together to do a save the show campaign and even got together to due a cast table read during the holidays but you were MIA for all of this.

Twitter fans asked if you would attend a comic con for the show in London and you also declined. Which, is your prerogative, but I do wonder what you DO think is worthy of your attention?

…

The ghosted movie premiere because your BF is famous and so is his female costar and there were other actual celebrities in attendance. Wow, Hugh jackman even showed up to the premiere - not for you, of course, and you didn’t even get to walk the red carpet but at least you got your one photo that you could photoshop and post your dress!

Paris fashion week with miumiu.

GQ man of the year.

Scarlett and Colin’s Christmas party.

Dinner with Edward Cullen and his gf/wife Suki.

GG after party for UTA.

CAA preOscars party.

VF after party.

—

Your priorities are always for things that have nothing to do with you (literally) but gets you free press, comped outfits, and media attention.

You didn’t show up to your small PT’s film showing at the Lisbon film festival when your husband was in town touring restaurants, but you do show up to a GQ event two weeks later that has nothing to do with you and you refused to talk to reporters.

I’d be hard pressed to believe an industry as unforgiving as Hollywood would be willing to overlook these things.

I guess your IMDB resume agrees with me though.

Just my two cents, I think her career ended the day she did the speedwalk in NYC. And I can only judge her work ethic and her social media behavior. We don't know how many auditions she did. I think she went to some auditions but I doubt she was so busy and had to travel between NYC and LA the whole time. In my opinion, she thought the title girlfriend/wife is the door opener and she doesn't need to do anything, she would get job offers. She was so wrong. In one of her last Portuguese interviews she said she's selective when it comes to new roles. That's just a nicer excuse why she's unemployed at the moment. There are no job offers.

Oh and let's assume she couldn't post anything about MM due to the strike. Why didn't she interact with the choreographer or other cast members or the crew? Interactions on social media were allowed. But interesting that she's now kissing asses and showing that people like her.

[watermelonsugacry]

i’m getting the feeling that matilda is about 1d!reader, and i already know that it’s gonna break me

Building Harry's House: Matilda

A/N: Sorry this took forever to post but uni work is choking me without a sea view rn so tysm for being patient lovies 💚

SUMMARY: With the world knowing of their once secret relationship, Harry and YN navigate life together as an official couple and everything that comes with it. (9.6k)

GENRE: 1dbandmember!reader, famous!yn

WARNING: mention of abuse (yn gets slapped), excessive drinking, mention of drugs

Previous Song Here!🍷// Building Harry's House masterlist // SINCE 2010 masterlist

SIDE-NOTE: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary) bold are things Harry actually said irl

Consistency is something that has always been a part of the spine in YN’s storybook. No matter how many years go by, Penny remains a burst of sunshine with a kaleidoscope of colors—Harry can see how YN came to have her own golden light.

Harry turns the wheel of the car with the palm of his hand and parks into the gravel driveway of Penny’s house. When YN finally saved up enough money to take her mum out of the rickety house she grew up in, she made sure to tell Penny that she could have any place she wanted—it didn’t even have to be in London anymore if that’s what she truly desired. Of course, her stepmum opted for a cottage in the countryside along with a forest for a backyard and greenery as far as the eyes can see. Colorful, homemade pottery, wind chimes, and furniture scatter the front porch, adding Penelope’s psychedelic touch to every little thing that YN’s seen since she was little. 

Harry’s been aware of how quiet his love’s been during their travels. After the unexpected phone call from her father in Italy, he didn’t hesitate to pack their things when she said she wanted to see her stepmum. He immediately called his private pilot and made plans to head to Doncaster as soon as possible. 

He watches as she exits the car without so much of a peep out of her mouth. He follows behind her as they make their way up the stone walkway that leads to the front of the house covered in greenery, much like YN’s home back in LA. He sees how YN pushes her fingers against the glass windchimes on the front porch before twisting the handle on the front door and walking in. 

He sees her stepmum round the hallway corner in a tank top that showcases the few tattoos she has scattered along her arms and tracksuit pants, her face bare and glowing. Her bare feet pad across the tiled floor as she readjusts her long black hair in a ponytail. When she kisses her stepdaughter’s cheek in greeting, Harry notices the yoga mat farther into the small living room. 

The place screams Penny: bohemian rugs, funky lamp shades and handmade paintings hung on every space the wall can fit.

After receiving the warmest welcome and being served tea out of her mismatched colorful mugs, the seal in YN’s silent mask finally cracks and it has her pacing across the kitchen floor. As he watches his love spill out everything on her mind that she’s kept in for the past two days and he can do nothing but lean against the doorframe of the kitchen and listen.

“Like, what could he possibly want from me? Money? Fame? A relationship with his daughter after eleven fookin’ years?” YN huffs out a laugh at the thought of her last suggestion with her hands on her hips. “Dunno how this bloke even got me personal number. That’s some hacker shite right there. And now I gotta change my number again and make sure that—”

“I gave him your number.” Penny blurts out from her seat at the table, making YN stop her pacing in the middle of the room. Her breathing stops altogether and the room goes silent with a faint sound of the glass windchimes from outside. Even Harry’s eyebrows furrow from his spot leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

“Whot? Wha—why the hell would you do that, Penny?” YN shakes her head as she tries to wrap her head around the fact that her step mum gave the one person she never wants to see again a leeway into her life.

“Look, I don’t support what he did or how he raised you—”

“He didn’t fookin’ raise me.”

“But he’s changed.”

“That’s like, the most bullshit reasoning anyone has ever given. And how would you even know that? Have you been talking to him?”

Penny fidgets with a strand of her long black hair and twists the ends as she mumbles out, “He’s reached out once or twice.”

“What the ‘ell? Whose side are you even on?”

With a hand on his hip, his other rubs against the stubble on his cheek as he watches the two women dispute back and forth. He doesn’t know if he should leave to give them some privacy or stay in case anything gets out of hand. 

He hates to see his love this way, pacing with frustrated fingers twisting the rings on her fingers so much that they’re sure to leave red marks on her skin. The crease between her eyebrows begging to be soothed out by his lips and the harsh nails raking through her hair demands to be switched with his gentle ones—the kind that has her falling asleep almost instantly.

“I was in the hippie scene, YN! I was young and naive and I fell in love with this bloke. I didn’t know what I wanted or what was right or what was wrong. But the one thing I knew for fooking sure was wanting you to be in me life.” Penny sighs out as she composes herself. “Look, you know I would never do anything to hurt yeh. He first reached out months ago; s’not like he called yesterday and I gave him yeh number willy nilly.”

“So what are yeh saying? That I actually go pay this man a little visit?” Before Penny could even begin her suggestion, YN scoffs and immediately shakes her head. “No.”

“YN—”

“No, not happening. No way.”

When Harry sees her stepmum let out a deep sigh and rubs a smoothing hand over her forehead, he thinks now might be a time for him to step in.

“YN, maybe you should listen to yeh mum—”

“Stay out of this, Harry!” YN snaps at him without so much as a second thought. “This is none of yeh damn business.”

“YN!” Penny scolds her stepdaughter but it’s no use as YN storms off to the backyard. It’s a rare thing for either one of them to snap at each other but when one does, it can be quite scary. Their last big argument was well over a year ago during the making of Harry’s last album and they’ve made it a habit not to revert back to their shitty way of communication. He almost lost her then and he’s sure as hell not going to let her go now. 

Penelope turns to Harry with a sorrowful expression, “Yeh did nothing wrong, Harry. She’s just stu—”

“Stubborn. Yeah, I know.” With a shrug of his shoulder and a sad smile, he says, “S’unfortunately, one of the things I love about her.” 

...

After walking off some of the steam around the massive yard, YN stumbles upon the garage she helped her stepmum convert into an art studio. Canvases the size of her line up against the wall (a painting in the works up on an easel), buckets of paints and brushes scattered every which way, and a pottery wheel in the center of the room. 

With her arms wrapped around herself, she walks along the shelving filled with miscellaneous items: Penny’s homemade ceramic creations, funky decor pieces, plants, books and the picture they used for the Story of My Life music video framed and displayed front and center.

She runs her finger across the array of books on the shelves, stopping and pulling out a particular book.

“Find anything yeh like?” YN looks up and gives her stepmum a small smile.

“Yeh still have this?” YN waves her old copy of Matilda. The pages were so well loved that one wrong blow of the wind could have the cover fall off of its spine.

“Of course, yeh wouldn’t let that thing go.” Penny takes a cautious step towards her stepdaughter and puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, “But there are some things that you just have let go, right?”

Penny’s ready for the young woman to blow up again, sigh out in frustration, and even walk out of the room. But it’s safe to say that she wasn’t expecting for her to look at her with glossy eyes and a trembling bottom lip.

“I'm scared, mum.” YN whispers out and Penny wastes no time pulling her into her arms.

“It’s okay to be scared, baby.” She reassures her stepdaughter. “But yeh don’t have to be. You have to choose whether or not you want him to have that power over yeh. You are so strong, so courageous. M’sorry that I didn’t warn you beforehand.”

“S’okay,” YN pulls back as she wipes at her cheeks. “If yeh would have warned me I would just keep avoiding him. I think it's a sign, right?"

“Follow yeh heart, baby. You know what to do." Penny brushes the strands of hair away from her daughter's face in a comforting way. "Have yeh told him about what happened?” She doesn't need to say his name for YN to know who she's referring to.

“Does he need to know?” Even YN cringes her face up at her words, already knowing the answer to her question. She blindly points to the general direction of the backyard. "M'gonna go talk to him."

Harry can’t help but think of how much Penny’s house reminds him of his mum’s place he bought for her all those years ago. Like YN’s stepmum, she didn’t want anything too grand in the busy life of London but a cozy cottage with a massive yard. He remembers hearing a lot about how the two mums bonded over gardening and wonders if the sunflowers growing off in the corner of the yard was his mum’s doing.

He gets pulled away from his thoughts on one of the patio couches when he hears the sliding back door open and he’s met with his love.

“Hi,” she breathes out.

“Hey.”

“M’sorry I snapped at you. Yeh did nothing wrong.” YN sighs as she keeps her gaze to her fidgety hands, her thumb twisting the ring on her index finger. “Yeh been nothing but supportive and you didn’t deserve that. M’sorry. Can you forgive me?”

He wordlessly pats the seat next to him and she’s quick to climb up close to him. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently holds the side of her head and presses a kiss to her temple. He’d forgive her for anything in a heartbeat; that’s how deep his love is for her. 

“S’alright,” Harry mumbles against her skin and feels her shoulders relax against him. “I forgive you.”

“Good. That would have been awkward if yeh didn’t,” YN huffs out a laugh through her nose in an attempt to ease the mood and he can’t hold back the small smile of his face. 

They stay like this for a bit, wrapped up in one another as they look out into the giant, forest-like backyard before them. As much as he’d like to pretend that everything’s alright and move on, he knows that it’s not healthy to. That’s all they’ve ever done during these past couple of years since the band started: suppressing thoughts and feelings in hopes they would disappear and everything would resolve itself on its own. In a perfect world, maybe, but they’ve wasted so much time doing that that they both see what they’ve been missing out on.

As much as he doesn’t want to pop the bubble they’ve created, he knows this needs to be done—or at least try to.

“YN?” When she hums in response, he puts a reassuring hand over hers and is rewarded with the eyes that make him weak in the knees. “Do you feel comfortable telling me about your dad?”

“He’s not me dad,” YN shakes her head instantly. “He didn’t—doesn’t deserve that name. He isn’t me dad. He’s my father and the only reason he even gets that much is because we share the same DNA.” 

YN lets out a deep sigh and avoids her boyfriend’s gaze to look out to the trees scattered around the backyard. She’s never talked to Harry or any of the boys about her father, nor has she ever wanted to. When topics of her family came up during interviews, music video projects, or even group dinners, Penny was only mentioned and brought along. Out of respect, nobody tried to pry her open for any other information about if she had a dad, any other siblings or relatives she was close with. It was only Penny and the Tomlinsons—no one else.

“I don’t want to talk about my father,” As Harry’s head runs around with unfulfilled questions a thousand miles a minute, ready to close the conversation and reassure her that she can when she’s ready, she manages to mumble out, “But I do feel comfortable with you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes and I’ve never felt anything like this before. I’m never going to want to talk about me father but since I plan to spend the rest of me life with you, I need to tell you about this part of my life.”

When Harry turns his body towards her to give her his full attention, her nerves begin to spike up again. But with his hand in hers, it grounds her and makes her feel an overwhelming sense of safety. So with that, she takes in a deep breath before lowering down the wall of her past that she’s kept hidden from the world for years. 

YN, Louis, and some of her other friends ride their bikes down the streets of Doncaster after getting out of school. It was a particularly cold day this time of year and they were all wrapped up in thick coats and scarves. Now, YN isn’t big on birthdays. She never celebrated them in her own household but the Tomlinson’s never failed to give her a cake, collectively sing her the infamous song, and give her a present or two. But this year is different. This year, YN turns 16 and Penny nearly jumped up and down in excitement when her stepdaughter asked if she could bring some friends over for a little party. 

Nobody has ever really been to her house, even Louis—her best friend since she was five years old—doesn’t spend too much time over there either. He was already so used to her suggesting to go over to his house instead that he began to question if she was feeling alright when she told him her plans.

The only reason why she’s even inviting everyone over is because her father said he’d be out late at work and won’t be back until the late hours of the night. Not that she wasn’t used to him not being home, it’s just when he was, he was accompanied by a beer bottle and bitter comments.

The group drops their bikes on the small yard in front of her house before trekking up the short, creaky steps of the porch as they chat and laugh lively amongst themselves. There’s a sense of relief not seeing anyone in the small living room once she pushed and twisted her key in the lock. Her eyebrows furrow for a second when her step mum isn’t there. She did her car in the driveway but brushes it off before turning to the group.

“Alright lads, yeh guys can just leave yeh stuff in here and I can go get us something to eat from the kitchen.” YN smiles at her small group of friends as they all happily agree. Too embarrassed to admit it to herself but she’s actually excited about her little get-together. She’s never hosted a party before and Jay and Penelope pre-made some snacks for her to pass around.

“Let me help yeh with tha—” Louis says as he begins to shrug off his puffer coat when Penny hurriedly comes into the living room. 

“YN,” The young girl furrows her eyebrows for the millionth time at the way her stepmum’s voice shakes and at the fake smile plastered on her face. “‘ello everyone, welcome. Hun, um can I talk with yeh for a second? Ah—Lou, stay there babe. The kitchen is actually a mess from earlier.”  

Louis stops in his tracks as he feels the confusion continues to rise up. Instead of questioning it, he takes it upon himself to entertain the group for the time being as his best friend and her stepmum step off to the side.

“Penny, what’s wrong? Yeh scaring meh.”

“Baby, um,” Penny anxiously pushes her long black hair behind her ears before looking over to her small group of friends in the living room. “There was a little hiccup at your father’s work today...”

No. Please, no.

“Well, wha’s goin’ on in here?” A voice sounds from somewhere behind her and the inevitable chill runs down her spine. 

 When YN turns around, her father stands before her. She’s quick to assess the situation: dirty white shirt, beer bottle in hand, eyes pink and puffy, and the stench of his breath.

“Having a little party without meh or whot?” Samuel taunts with a sickening smile before taking a swing from the dark bottle. Her stomach drops at the sight of her friends’ eyes widening at the man before them.

“Sammy, baby.” YN sees her step mum quickly come to his side and place a hand on her husband’s chest with a gentle voice. “Come on, we were just heading out, right?” 

Please, this can’t be happening. Not now.

“Come on, let YN have her party and we can go out for dinner like we planned.”

“No,” He says sternly, shrugging his arm away from her gentle hand. “S’me house. I paid for it. Why do I ‘ave to leave?” He slurs.

“S’alright, we were just leaving.” YN tries her hardest to not make this a bigger scene than it’s already becoming. “I actually forgot I left the snacks over at yeh house, Lou. Why don’t yeh lads head over there and I’ll be over in a sec.” 

“I don’t think—”

“Louis, I’ll meet up with you guys over there.” YN smiles reassuringly but her eyes tell a different story. He can tell that she’s just begging him to take the group away next door and let her deal with her father in the privacy of the worn down walls of the house. 

She feels ashamed and embarrassed by the way her friends awkwardly gather their things and shuffle out of the house. 

“Hanging around with that Louis bloke again?” Samuel provokes as soon as she closes the door behind the group. YN wouldn’t usually give in to one of his verbal pokes and digs, but whenever he brings up her best friend, it makes the fire in her chest burn hotter. 

“Got fired again?” She retaliates in a bored tone.

“Yeh being smart with meh? Yeh just think you’re so smart, huh?”

“Well I did skip a grade so what do you think?” YN tries to brush past her tispy father over to the kitchen to grab the pre-made snacks but it’s easier said than done. He immediately blocks her from walking any further.

“Do you think you’re better than me?” Her father yells in her face and the smell of alcohol washes over her stronger than before. It makes her scrunch her up nose up at the scent and she keeps her gaze on his dirty shirt than his eyes. “Yeh think yeh can do whatever yeh want and invite people over? Just like that? Yeh can’t just do anythin’ yeh want, Marilyn!” 

This wasn’t the first time Samuel has called YN by her mother’s name, drunk or not. Marilyn left her father when YN was merely four years old, too fed up by her husband to deal with him for another day and too selfish to bring her daughter to her new life. YN remembers the yelling from downstairs and loud shut of the front door. 

She remembers the bright blue and red lights from the police car flashing from her backyard later on in the night, and the two officers saying something about a car accident. She also remembers how it was the first time she ever saw her father cry. 

She doesn’t remember a lot about her mother. When she was older, she found a few pictures of her that her father kept away and needless to say, she was shocked. She almost thought they were pictures of her until she saw a younger version of her father next to her.

“Yeah, and you know what? I wish I was her.” YN bites back through her clenched teeth, finally having the strength to look up and meet his eyes. “I wish I was her so that I can fookin’ leave you like she did!”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she feels a hot sting on her cheek. The strong impact startles her, her body reacting on its own from the unexpected action that her hands have to catch herself before her face can hit the ground.

“Samuel!”

She hears her step-mum yell, but it sounds muffled. Everything around her fades into a high ringing noise. It wasn’t uncommon for YN and her father to have some heated, verbal arguments. The both of them get red in the face and nasty words are exchanged that should never be said between a daughter and a father. As much they both had the urge to do so, never, never has he ever laid a hand on her until now. 

YN puts a hand on her burning cheek and whips her head around to look up at her father. His chest is heaving in anger, eyebrows deeply furrowed and she can practically see the steam radiating off of him.

As she picks herself off the floor and Penny is quick to her side but YN pushes the woman away from her while keeping her stern gaze on her father. 

Without another word, she marches towards the door. She thinks she hears Penny calling out after her, maybe even her father, but she doesn’t care. She swings the door open and makes headway towards her discarded bike.

She pushes her feet quickly against the pedals, her legs burn at how fast she’s going but continues on. She doesn’t even spare a glance at Louis’ house when she rides past it—her surroundings just all become a big moving blur. The tears on her cheeks feel ice cold as the wind whips at her face, but it simultaneously soothes the fresh marks on her skin. 

“I used to think that if I pedaled hard enough, I would fly away. Like some blue bird in fookin’ Snow White or something.” YN wraps her arms around her legs as she brings them to her chest, resting her chin on her knees as she continues to keep her gaze on Harry’s hand in hers. She hasn’t been able to look him in the eyes since she started to share her truth.

“Where did you go?” Harry asks softly.

“Well I wanted to run away, but I literally had nothing on me. So after circling around Donny for a bit, I sneaked into Louis’s room that night. Penny found me easily,” YN lets out a watery chuckle and wipes under her nose with her sleeve. “Was the first place she looked but I um, I didn’t come back home for about a month. Pen brought me clothes from home and stuff; she knew I didn’t want to go back there.”

“And your father?”

YN looks out to the orange sun set that peaks through the trees of the spacious yard and shrugs. “That was the last time I ever saw or spoke to him. Pen still stayed with him, I stayed at Jay’s and when the summer came around I went back when he wasn’t there. Two months later I had me XFactor audition and I never came back home.”

“M’so sorry, YN.” Harry’s index finger nudges under his nose to help keep his tears at bay.

YN shakes her head and kisses her teeth. “Don’t be. Y’know I hate it when people give me pity and all that. Makes me feel like I can’t hold me own. If anything, I just felt bad for me mum. Like I just left her there to go on tour with the band for two years before I could come up with the money to buy her a decent place of her own.”

“Baby, you don’t have to feel guilty for any of that, you know that right? You should never apologize for simply growing up and trying to move on, YN. Hey, look at me,” Harry gently nudges his hand under her chin to turn her gaze to him. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you can handle yourself. I mean, look how much you had to deal with and are still here; your golden light shining through the darkest of times. But you don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

When he pulls her further into his arms, he hears her sniffle back her tears and snuggles further into his chest. His heart breaks at the sound and he feels so helpless, like he could have done something to ease her pain. She was hurting right under his nose and he didn’t do anything. But he’s reminded that this isn’t about him, it’s about her. He can’t imagine going through what she did for so many years. He doesn’t even want to humor the idea of something like that happening to his own mum.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised by her response muffled into his chest.

“Can you um...do you mind coming with me to see him next week?”

...

The day to go meet up with her father for afternoon tea came around sooner than YN expected. She barely slept the night before, tossing and turning every which way to release the pain in her temples. If it bothered Harry so much, he did a good job at hiding it because with every wiggle and frustrated sigh, he adjusted their position along with her. He peppered loving kisses to anywhere her skin was near his mouth at the time and whispered sweet nothings in her ear, encouraging her to relax. 

It wasn’t until Harry tugged her on top of him, tucked her head into the crook of his neck and massaged his blunt fingers into her scalp and back that she was finally able to succumb to sleep when the sun began to peek through the sheer curtains. 

After a few phone calls from Jeff and work related matters, Harry walks back into the master bedroom of his home in London with his eyes on the phone in his hand. 

“Darling, wanna start heading o—?” He stops when he sees YN still in her pajamas and her hair messily clipped to the back of her head. She sits criss-cross on the floor with plastic packaging and cardboard all around her. “Baby? What are you doing? Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

“Look, I finally framed my ABBA poster. It’s been rolled up and stuck in that closet since forever and I found these fancy frames I ordered a while ago but never put them to use. I think I’m actually going to order more and just redo all my posters and stuff.” YN rambles on with her hands on her hips as she looks around at the items surrounding her.

“Baby—”

“Oh! And I have to show you this viral TikTok I saw earlier.” YN scrambles to her feet, moving around Harry and swipes her phone from the dresser behind him. “It’s a life hack on how we can maximize space under the bathroom cabinets because as much as I hate to admit it, we both have loads of skin care stuff and this way we can stay organized! And then—”

“YN,” Harry grabs a hold of her shoulders. When he sees her wide eyes look up at him, he gently takes her jaw in his hands. “S’okay to feel nervous. We don't have to go to your home if you don’t want to, lovie. You did nothing wrong and if you don’t want to go, there’s no harm in that.”

He sees the way her wide, tired eyes soften as he can practically see her working the gears in her head. 

“No. No, you’re right.” YN lets out a deep sigh before kissing her teeth. “I hate it when you’re right. Bruises me ego.” 

Harry huffs out a chuckle and presses a loving kiss to her forehead before heading towards the connected bathroom.

“Come on, I’ll even get the shower going for y—” Once Harry opens the glass door of the shower stall, he eyebrows knit together at the balled up pieces of clothing on the floor banded together by rubber bands. YN gives him a sheepish smile. 

“I learned how to tie-dye.”

...

It’s hard not to notice the way YN’s knee keeps bouncing and her hands fidget with the rings on her fingers. He doesn’t point out the way she keeps moving the dials for the AC or how she tweaks the volume of the music every other minute. 

He licks his lips before giving her thigh under his hand a loving squeeze and saying, “Baby, do you mind grabbing me that chapstick I put in yeh bag?”

YN rummages her purse in search of the tiny tube. Harry glances at his love and finds that while one hand is shoved sifting through her bag, the other one holds an abundance of items: her keys, her wallet, a snack-size bag of Haribos she bought at the airport and their two passports.

“I can’t bloody find this stupid, little—”

“Hey, hey. S’alright, forget about it yeah?” Harry takes the items in her hands and tosses them in the spacious footwell of the car. He intertwines his fingers with hers and brings their hands to his mouth. “Thought it would take your mind off of things but I guess it only made you more upset.” Harry chuckles, trying to lighten her anxiety by pressing kisses to each of her knuckles. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Fook.” YN brings the heel of her other hand to her forehead and closes her eyes. Harry can feel the frustration radiating off of her. It’s heavy and bleak, and not like his YN at all. He’s suddenly thinking of making a “wrong” turn to the airport to go back to Sunny California where her golden smile shined the most. Or even pulling over at the side of the road to say how there’s a suspicious noise coming from the engine and how they need to wait it out before they continue. “I know m’being a bother. I just can’t stay still. I feel so silly—”

“You are not silly for feeling the way you feel. This is a huge step for you and I just want to thank you for allowing me to be with you during this time. I never want yeh to go through this alone, I know you wouldn’t let me go through this thing alone if it was the other way around. And if this turns out bad, I got a few—” Harry pinches his index finger and thumb together and brings it to his lips. “—back home we can do after.” 

“Yeh could have told me that before we left?”

He laughs at her disappointed tone before making a turn onto the designated property. “I didn’t think we’d make a good impression on your father if we showed up stoned.”

“Holy shit,” YN ducks over to Harry’s driver’s side window at the mansion driveway they pull into. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

“You’re the one who put it into the GPS.”

Like second nature, Harry opens her car door and intertwines his hands with hers before making their way up the driveway.

“Now I feel fookin’ underdressed.” YN adjusts the cardigan that keeps falling off of her shoulder. 

“You look fucking gorgeous.” Harry leans down to plant a kiss to her cheek. 

“Oh, no.” YN cracks a smile and pinches at his lips with her knuckles. “I’ve been a bad influence on you, haven’t I?” 

“Wha’ do yeh fookin’ mean?” She giggles as Harry micks her Yorkshire accent. Him and the boys would like to make fun of her accent throughout the years but Harry’s always done it to defuse her anger, to bring a smile on her face and ease her bundle of nerves. “This is how I bloody talk and shit, innt?”

“Is it now?” 

“Aces, man.” Harry smiles brightly at the way she covers her laugh with the back of her hand as he reaches over to push the doorbell. “Just buzzin’ in excitement, aren’t yeh? Oh bloody ‘ell, bloody ‘ell.”

YN and Harry’s laughter gets cut off by the front door opening. There stands an older woman, probably in her late fifties. Her blonde hair looks like it was freshly done at the salon and looks like a fluffy yellow cloud on her head. The woman’s sparkly cocktail dress and matching red lip are way too fancy for an afternoon tea, and if it wasn’t already for the massive size of their house, YN might have been surprised at her attire. 

“Hello there. We were just expecting you both.” The woman’s American accent rings through YN’s ears. As the woman extends her manicured hand to greet the couple, YN’s eyes immediately go to the sparkly rock on her finger. “My name is Della and you beautiful young lady must be—”

“YN.” A voice continues from behind the pristine woman, the same voice that runs a chill down her spine as it did when she was a kid. 

A man appears at the doorway, his eyes widening like he almost expected her to not come at the last minute. 

She doesn’t know who this man in front of her is, but it certainly isn’t the man she remembers. There’s no beer bottle in his hand but a gold wedding band on his ring finger. Instead of his stained shirt, a freshly pressed white button-up and a sweater vest covers his chest. Her nose doesn’t burn from the stench of alcohol but of minty freshness. 

But even though his eyes aren’t surrounded by pinky, puffiness, she can tell that those are her father’s eyes.

“Hello, Samuel,” YN utters out the words with as much professionalism as she can, almost as if she were interviewing him for a prestigious job. 

“I’m—I’m so glad you were able to make it.” The older man huffs out a laugh of disbelief as he runs a nervous hand over his thinning hair; his clean, combed and styled hair. 

When Harry sees his love swallow thickly from uncomfortableness, he extends an outreached hand, “Hello, m’Harry. It’s nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Barlowe.”

YN just stands with her hand still clasped in his as the older couple shakes her boyfriend’s hand. 

“Please, please come inside.” Della steps aside and opens the door wider. 

YN can feel her skin tingle by the feel of her father’s eyes on her and she hates the way she’s having trouble meeting his eyes.

It’s an uncomfortable experience walking through the spacious house, everything clean and neat that it almost looks like no one has ever lived in it before. The couches and decorative carpets are white and aesthetically minimal, grand chandeliers hanging in every room they pass and a kitchen that looks like it’s never been used. She almost feels the need to take off her shoes in fear of leaving a mark on the perfectly clean titles. 

As YN looks around the museum-like house, she quickly looks down at the feeling of Harry giving their intertwined hands a reassuring squeeze. Even if he can’t do anything about her situation, she appreciates the fact that he’s letting her know that he’s here with her for any support she needs. 

Once the group sits down on the patio outside, YN almost jumps in her seat when two women with white aprons come out with trays ready for their tea. 

Della and Samuel move in sync with one another as they drink their tea. They might as well be robots, lifting their white tea cups with such delicateness and gently dabbing their cloth napkin around their lips precisely three times. It’s borderline scary, like a jumpscare out of a horror movie was bound to pop out any minute. 

But she has to admit, Della isn’t a stuck up monster as she initially thought upon meeting her at the front door. She’s actually a very sweet woman who smiles at her husband with so much love in her eyes.

YN’s learned that her father was working as a janitor at a law firm company shortly after she and Penny left his life. There, he was inspired to go to law school and with some help from some people in the company, he was able to attend. He soon worked his way up to become a partner at the firm and the small company became bigger than anyone ever expected. He met Della in 2015 when she was working as the firm’s secretary and married a couple months into dating. 

“He would always stop by my desk and take from the lollipop bowl I had there. He would always ask me to go out with him and I kept telling him no—I honestly think it was because he liked my accent and I was playing hard to get.” Della whispers not so quietly and it makes a chuckle bubble out from YN’s throat. It puts a smile on Harry’s face to see his love more relaxed, not totally letting her guard down but enough for her shoulders to come down from their pinched position. 

“What made you change your mind?” YN questions with a sincere smile and takes a sip of her honey-induced tea.

“This guy—” Della playfully slaps her husband's chest. “Got in front of the whole office, guitar in hand and sang to me. Oh the name of the song is slipping from my mind...how did it go again?” Della snaps her fingers as she racks her brain. “Um... don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control...”

“I want a perfect body,” Samuel says along.

“I want a perfect soul,” YN finishes and looks down at her lap. “That's um, that’s Creep by Radiohead.”

“If m’not mistaken, that was one of the first songs I taught you how to play on the guitar.” Her father smiles and sits up straighter in his seat. 

“Yeah, you let me use your old Lancaster.” Harry sees the way her smile falters at the mention of the memory. YN was in middle school when her father showed an uncommon amount of kindness one day. It was the day she rummaged through the garage and found the pictures of her mum along with his old eclectic guitar. Instead of scolding her to not look through his old things, he sat down with her and showed her the simple cords to the song (thanks to the years of practice from Penny, she was able to pick up the melody pretty quickly). They smiled, laughed, and bonded. But like many things in her life, consistency crept its way back in.

Samuel saw sight of a picture of his deceased wife peeking out from YN’s hoodie pocket and a switch flicked inside him. He suddenly snatched the beautiful guitar and smashed it against the ground. After three swings, the base completely disconnected from the neck. He walked out without so much as another word and left YN panting, frozen in a state of fear and shock.

“I loved that guitar,” YN says softly and she’s back at avoiding his gaze. 

“I did, too. S’a shame I don’t have it anymore. Sold it to an old buddy of mine back in the day.” Samuel sighs out in disappointment and YN’s eyebrows quickly knit together. When she looks up at him in confusion, he sees him shake his head in reminiscence.

“Hey, maybe you should treat yourself and buy a new one, huh?” Della puts a hand on her husband’s arm with an encouraging smile. “There’s got to be a store somewhere that sells some.”

“Reckon’ you’re right, D.” Samuel smiles. While he leans over to give her a kiss on the cheek, Harry too leans over to his love. “That’s a great idea.”

“Baby, y’alright? Wha’s wrong?” Harry whispers.

“S’just that—”

“Okay, so I would hate to have you both feel uncomfortable about this and Sam warned me not to bring it up,” Della chuckles. “But before you two leave, would you guys mind signing a CD for my kids? They just love both of your music and they would absolutely die if they knew you guys were here without a little something.”

“You have children?” YN raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Two girls,” Della smiles brightly. “Sydney just got back from college—oh sorry, uni—last month and our little Abigail just turned the big 16 last week. We had a little surprise party for her and we invited all of her friends over. Oh, it was so much fun. And the cake was just so delicious—”

“Della, honey.” Samuel puts a gentle hand on his wife’s. “I think we’ve heard enough about the party—”

“I would actually love to hear more about it.” YN speaks up, straightening up her back and turning her full attention towards the older woman. 

“YN,” Harry whispers gently into his girlfriend and puts a comforting hand on the back of her chair.

Della nervously chuckles. "Oh, I don't know-"

“Please. Please, go on." YN insists. "Did you bake the cake yourselves? Did you spend all night the day before preparing little snacks for all of her friends, too? Did you guys buy her a sentimental gift? Samuel?”

YN gives her father an expected look, patiently waiting for his answer as he squirms in his seat. He nervously coughs into his hands before saying, “Um, we uh...well she just got her license not too long ago so we um...we put some money together to buy her a car.”

Della shifts her gaze back and forth between her husband and his daughter as the tension begins to build up. She sees the way YN purses her lips together and nods. 

“She had been asking for one for so long and since it was a special occasion, Samuel wanted to do something nice.” Della reasons with a wavering smile. “I’m sure that Sam here did something just as special for you when you turned her age. What did he give you?”

Harry—all of them really—can see the way Della tries her best to lighten the mood but right now he knows that she should just stop talking altogether. 

“A slap across the face.” YN nods nonchalantly, not at all bothered by the horrific look on the older woman's face. “Yeh know, the kind where yeh least expect it and the force of it is just so strong that it actually knocks yeh off your feet. Makes you hear a little ringing sound, too. Isn't that right, Samuel?”

Della looks over to her husband as he furrows his eyebrows and as much as Harry hates to admit it, the resemblance she has with her father’s current expression is undeniable. 

“I’m sorry,” Samuel shakes his head as he clears his throat. “I actually have no idea what you are referring to.”

The wind immediately gets knocked out from YN’s chest and if it wasn’t for Harry’s hand on her back, she’d think she was dreaming.

“M’sorry whot?” She scoffs. “So you’re telling me that you don’t remember the reason I left home?”

“Yeh went on to become a world famous singer. I always knew you would someday.” 

Harry can feel the anger radiating off her body as her father lies right through his teeth. Till this day, she can still hear his drunken words slurred to her:

You’re a waste of space.

Yeh think you’re gonna make it as a singer? You’re pathetic. 

You’re not worth it.

Just as Harry mentally (and almost physically) prepares himself from standing in between his girlfriend and her father when she goes off on him, he’s taken back when she lets out a laugh. She’s laughing. Her eyes squeezed shut with one hand over her stomach and the other over her mouth.

“Why is that funny?” Della looks around at the people surrounding the table.

“Sorry, m’sorry,” YN says in between giggles. “But that’s the biggest load of shit v’ever heard. So you’re saying that yeh don’t remember all of those years of yelling at me? Yelling at Penny? Drinking excessively? Breaking things violently in front of me? Hitting me?”

“Enough!” The loud bang to the table and the movement of the fine china startles everyone as Samuel’s voice booms throughout the patio space. “I invite you into me house to try to rekindle our past, to heal wounds and move on yet you bring up with shite?”

“Rekindle our past? Dunno how you expected to do that when you can’t even be honest about what yeh did to me! And heal wounds? Hate to break it to yeh Samuel, but those wounds aren't wounds anymore. They’re scars now. Already patched up and healed with no help from you.” YN lets out a small chuckle to herself before shaking her head. “I don’t know why I even came here. Della, you seem like a smart woman so I would advise yeh to have a little chat with your husband because he clearly isn’t the man that you know. Thank you for the tea.” And with that, YN’s chair screeches against the pavement before standing up.

“So that’s it?” Samuel spits. “And you? Harry, you’ve barely spoken a word since yeh got here.”

“How believe me, I have plenty to say,” Harry bites back as he stands up and puts a protective hand on YN’s back. “But out of respect for the love of my life, all m’gonna say is that you’re a piece of shit, man.” 

“Get the hell out of me house!” Samuel yells as he abruptly stands from his seat, the metal chair falling loudly to the ground behind him and he points towards the door.

“Glady.” YN scoffs and once Harry intertwines his hand with hers, they make their way out of the house. 

It’s a known fact that throughout the years of the two being in the public eye, they’ve been media trained to be the sweetest people they can be towards anyone they meet. Harry has been portrayed for years as a ‘bad boy’ who's never done anything bad and YN the ‘good girl’ with permanent innocence. It’s been rumored around the fandom since the band started that as sweet and soft spoken as they come off for their jobs, when they get mad—they get furious. So while many fans think it’s one of the many delusion based fandom-facts, no one has truly seen how scary the two can become when they get angry. 

“Wait!” The couple turns around to find Della quickly making her way over to their car but the two ignore her calling as Harry proceeds to open her door. “YN, please!”

With an annoyed look to her love and a sigh, YN relecutaly turns around, “Whot?”

“I’m so, so sorry about what happened back there. I had no idea he had done those awful things to you. If-if I would have known...”

It doesn’t take long for it to all click in YN’s head. Her expression softens as she recognizes the look in the woman’s eyes from a mile away. 

“You don’t know about me past.” She tilts her head to find Della’s eyes. “But you have experienced it, haven’t you?”

Harry’s surprised by the bold assumption, but when he flicks his gaze over to the prestigious woman, his heart strings pull greater than they have ever before.

“I don’t know what happened.” The older woman brings a shaky hand to her mouth as her eyes begin to water. “It first started shortly after we got married all those years ago. He was nothing like that when we met.”

“What I said back there is true. You are a smart woman. You know what to do. Think about your girls. They deserve the world, not this. Don’t let them go through what we did.” She surprises herself by wrapping her arms around the older woman, Della is quick to reciprocate. The hug doesn’t last longer than a couple of seconds,

but it was somehow something they both needed. So as she watches the couple drive away, Della is left with a truth she pushed back facing years in the making.

...

No matter how many years they’ve been working together, writing songs together and making music side by side, Harry still manages to get nervous showing her his work. But this isn’t any kind of love song he’s written about her in the past. This was on a deeper level of intimacy between them. This isn’t just about himself or his feelings of longing and loving towards her, but of her past.

He taps his leather journal in his open palm, gathers his tin container and with a deep breath in, he makes his way over to her where she’s seated in his backyard. In the middle of his closed-off yard, she’s sitting on a blanket he put out earlier, a guitar in her hands as she mindlessly plucks pretty melodies from the wired strings.

He leans down to press a kiss on her exposed shoulder before lifting the spaghetti strap of her dress back up and plopping down next to her. She easily flicks open the lid from the container and she smiles at the sight of a lighter and the familiar rolled up substances. 

“Romantic dinner for two, Mr. Styles?” She pauses her movements when he puts a hand on top of hers and she looks up at him expectantly.

“I uh, before we get into it, I actually wanted to share something with you first.” YN notices the familiar journal in his lap and gives him a cheeky smile.

“Another love song about meh? M’starting to think you fancy me.” When she notices his knowing look, she gives him a closed lipped smile. “Sorry, go ahead.”

When she sets down her guitar, he reaches out and takes into his lap instead. She’s pleasantly surprised by his actions. He usually writes on piano as his choice of instrument and feels the butterflies start to flap their wings in anticipation of what’s to come.

He leans over himself to make sure his fingers are placed correctly over the strings and right as he’s about to begin, he stops, “Don’t make fun of me, alright? M’still practicing.”

She laughs and grabs a hold of his chin as she plants a sweet kiss to his lips, “Promise I’ll keep my opinions to myself.” Her giggle is muffled when he pulls her back in for another kiss but sits back and patiently waits until he’s ready. 

With a final deep breath in, his fingers begin to pluck beautifully. He still needs a little finer tuning on his part but he’s doing a wonderful job so far. 

You were riding your bike to the sound of "It's No Big Deal"

And you're trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels.

YN tilts her head at the lyrics but lets him continue on.

Nothing 'bout the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming 'til now.

So you tie up your hair and you smile like it's no big deal.

It’s been a few days after the visit to go see her father and after crying and venting to her mum about what happened, the couple hasn’t brought the topic up since. 

You don't have to be sorry for leavin' and growin' up, mmhm

There’s still so much she’s holding onto, so much still sitting on her chest that she's still unable to let go of. But Harry knows her more than anyone and understands her love language right down to the T: music.

Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright

YN lets out a watery chuckle at the book reference, the one she loved so dearly as a child.

But I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead insidе.

You showed me a power that is strong еnough to bring sun to the darkest days.

It's none of my business, but it's just been on my mind.

“This song was inspired by an experience YN and I had with a mutual friend—a person who we disguised as Matilda by Roald Dahl.” Harry explains from his interview chair for the Harry’s House documentary. The couple agreed without a doubt that they wouldn’t fully explain that the song was about YN. They usually never do but the song speaks for itself. “I played it to a couple of friends and all of them cried. So I was like, ‘Okay, I think this is something to pay attention to.’”

You don't have to be sorry for doin' it on your own.

It shocks YN to realize that while she went through this part of her life by herself, she wasn’t alone. Ten years ago, YN gained brothers, a family consisting of the boys, her managers, tour and production crew, and the fans. She had a family by her side this entire time and she didn’t even register in her mind. 

You can throw a party full of everyone you know

You can start a family who will always show you love

You don't have to be sorry, no

As soon as he plays the last note, YN quickly shuffles on her knees over to him and wraps him up in her arms. She digs her face into the crook of his neck as he grips onto her shoulder blades, pulling her incredibly closer to him as he can. 

“People have so much guilt with things that they don't necessarily need to have guilt with sometimes. I think it's your right to protect the space around you and be protective of yourself and look after yourself.” 

“I’m sorry you went home to that.”

YN shakes her head reassuringly and takes his face in her hands. She’s been crying so much lately that she’s surprised that she hasn’t run out by now. She has so much love for the man in front of her. She was serious about before: she’s never felt this way about anyone ever before. YN presses her lips lovingly to his. “You are my home, Harry.”

Her favorite dimpled smile appears on his face and she presses her forehead to his. 

“You are my home, YN.” He says before pulling her back into him for more kisses.

“I think this song is going to touch a lot of people. It speaks to so many who’ve gone through toxic family members in their lives, people who weren’t loved in the way that they should have been loved,” YN gives the interview camera a sad smile. “S’a powerful one, this one.”

Back in the studio, YN can be seen in the recording room sitting in front of a Casio piano. With her chunky studio headphones on she plays along to Harry’s voice singing in her ears. 

Oh, there's a long way to go,

I don't believe that time will change your mind.

She can’t help but tuck in her lips in an attempt to hold back the tears that threaten to escape. 

In other words

I know they won't hurt you anymore as long as you can let them go.

YN takes in a shaky breath and closes her eyes as her fingers continues to press on the keys.

You can let it go.

In a cathartic way, she finally releases the bands that she kept from her past. She lets go of her abusive father and the power he held over her for all of those years. She lets go of her biological mother’s name and accepts that she was never her, she’s her own person. She lets go of the guilt of leaving home, of leaving Penny—of leaving her mum there with her father for two more years and lets gratefulness seep in for the fact that her mum isn’t in that position anymore. 

But most importantly, she lets go of the nasty feeling her father soaked her in. 

She’s not pathetic, she’s brave. She’s not worthless, but worthy. She’s not a waste of space, she lights up the room with her golden light.

Taglist:

“It’s a weird one, because with something like this, it’s like, ‘I want to give you something, I want to support you in some way, but it’s not necessarily my place to make it about me because it’s not my experience.’” Sometimes it’s just about listening.” Harry sneaks a discreet peek at his teary-eyed girlfriend from her seat somewhere behind the camera. “I hope that’s what I did here. If nothing else, it just says, ‘I was listening to you.’”

Next song here! 🇬🇧

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish @perrypughstyles @luvonstyles @mxltifxnd0m @teamspideyman @c00chiemonster @juiceboxrry @s8tellite @folklorehrry @illicithallways @claramllera @eunoiaax @hoya122 @nichmedder @sleutherclaw @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @harianaswhore @teawithcyb0rgs @vrittivsanghavi @vc55bughead @futuristiccroissantlampsludge @onecrazydirectioner @valluvsu @itsgabbysblog @awkwardbisexuall 

[acesofspadess]

Tag You're It

a/n: couldn't help myself with these pictures

summary: you give harry a nice place to be... Harry

It was a fairly nice day in London, you took a walk or run everyday and you were glad today was a nice day. You changed into your running outfit and sneakers and headed out of your house and down the main street. The streets were busier than normal and you knew why. Harry Styles was playing Wembley. Of Course tourists were out on the streets in hopes to run into him before their show. You lived in a private neighbourhood and always thanked the gods above that you found this place. You were definitely the youngest person in your neighbourhood as a 27 year old. Most of your neighbours were empty nesters or young grandparents.

You had reached your first break of your run around a fairly empty park compared to the busy street the way you came. You checked your watch to see your vitals which were still good. You were getting ready to take off again when you saw two people running towards your direction. You had never seen any other runners around this time so your attention was drawn to them.

And who else would it be other than the most important human on planet earth. You had a good assumption that his personal trainer was with him and while he was English he clearly did not know where he was going if he was headed the way you came. Your anxiety bubbles in your chest when getting ready to go talk to someone who probably did not want to talk to you. You jogged over to them slipping off your headphones and seeing the way both of their faces put up some sort of guard. It made your anxiety all more present. 

“Um i know you probably don't want to be bothered right now, but the way your headed has swarms of people and guessing by the way you put a front up as soon as you saw me you probably dont want this encounter again but with 100x the people.” you managed to get that out in one breathe and saw their faces change as you called them out. “But I never address a problem without a solution, so I live in that direction in a very quiet neighbourhood that would be perfect for your little outings, no one there would know anything about either of you. There is a back road if you take the little outing over there,” you pointed to a dirt trail that led to the park behind your neighbourhood. “It will take you to this small park and you can just run around that and the houses. It's about 10k from the park around the houses and back. And your shoes are untied.” you pointed to Harry’s shoes.

He looked at you confused as he had never seen you look down to even notice that his shoe would untie. You smiled politely and slipped your headphones back on and started a light jog. While waiting for your music to play, the men say. ‘She seems nice.’

`````

Two days later you had decided to run around the park as you had just come back from yoga with your best friend. You put on a random playlist and started your jog. When you turned the corner you were not expecting to see the person you ran into two days prior. He was sitting on a bench facing your direction and you were glad you didnt take out the extra water bottles in your bag. You continued your jog while manoeuvring your bag around to grab the water.

You adjusted the headphone so one of your ears were void of music before tossing the tiny bottles at his laps with a ‘think fast’ before you laughed at his surprised faces adjusting your headphones back on before taking off again. What you weren't aware of was the boys following you until a song changed and you heard footsteps. You stopped abruptly and felt a body collide into yours sending you down into the grass. It didn't hurt so you just laid there laughing. 

“If you wanted me to fall for you, you could've just shown off the dimples.” you propped yourself up on your hand deciding the grass was more comfortable than standing. Harry looked down in shyness and embarrassment. “Can I join you?” You realised this was the first time you'd heard him talk in your past two meetings. You patted  the grass as a welcome and he sat down next to you.

“Y/N. '' you offered out looking at him quizzically. “I'm sure you know who I am, but I'm harry.”

You shook your head with a small smile before adjusting your bag to lay on. You took off your headphones to adjust your head to look at the boy.

you watched him look down at you after some time and you both held contact. “I'm sorry.” you whispered. “For what?”

“I just realised how hard it must be for you sometimes. And I'm sorry that your so-called ‘fans’ can't respect that you are just like us. With a little more musical talent and 3 grammys. No major difference.” you could never stay  too serious. He let out a small laugh accompanied with a shrug. “I've gotten better with learning how to say no. it's all a part of the job though.” he seemed to close off a bit and the phycology major in you wanted to break it all into tiny pieces. But you remember him saying he tried to keep his personal life separate from his musician side.

“Why did you decide to trust me?”

It was a loaded question.

“I didnt. I wasn't here yesterday. Had my manager send some people out to make sure it wasn't set up. When he said you were right, I trusted him. Just now, when you came past, I saw you turn the corner and spot me. I wasn't planning on following you and putting you on the floor, but I saw you listening to one of my songs. It was me telling me to get up and do something. I would've said thank you no matter what- please don't let that pass.” he turned off realising he had gone on.

“Do you trust me now?”

‘

“I have no reason not to anymore don't i? 

“A philosophy like that will get you hurt. I want you to trust me because you believe I wont cause you harm. Not because you have no reason to not trust me.”

He looked at you for a moment before his phone started ringing. He answered and you tuned it out knowing you would have to sign some NDA if you listened in. “I'm sorry but I have to go.”

You looked back at his solemn eyes. “Pop star things and what not right?” you wished this could continue. He stood up first before offering a hand out to you. You walked in silence in the direction of your place before there was a car honk and Harry looked up. “That's me then.” you smiled before realising you had never let go of his hand. He seemed to notice as he brought it to his lips. “Thank you.”

“This is gonna be like a tag isn't it?” he looked at you confused. “I'll see you then you'll see me so on, but never will the game end. Because one of us will always be chasing.”

He looked down at your entwined hands. “I-”

“It's okay. Here's my address if you ever need some water on a run.” you slipped him a piece of paper you wrote when he was on the phone. You unlink your hands and begin to walk away. “Oh Harry,” you turned back around. “I'll see you tonight.” you turned back around as you saw a smile begin to form on his face. 

—---------------

The next day as you were heading out to go on your run you saw flowers and a card on your doorstep. You opened the card and read the handwritten letter.

‘I hope you enjoyed the show last night. I'm sure you're probably going on a run right now so do make sure to stay hydrated. I want to see you tonight. Here is the pass. Be there at 3 and give anyone your name they'll know what to do. Let's end this chase before it begins.

-H. Xx

P.S. Tag, you're it.

[darbyoakana]

An Overlord's Tail - Chapter 5

An Overlords Tail Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Summary: Plans for a big party are made. You and Alastor get closer.

Warnings: This story is 18+, minors can fuck right off.

Other Notes: The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog (1927) - it can be found on YouTube.

Darby Link Tree

Chapter 5: Celebrations

“Uggggh. They are from Vox,” he said dryly. 

“Yeah. Today would be our anniversary of sorts. Feel free to light them on fire,” you said dismissively. 

“Very well,” Alastor said, grabbing the bouquet with a grin. 

Alastor exited the building from the front door. To no surprise, there was a drone fluttering around the hotel. Alastor waved and smiled. The roses combusted in green flame. He left the burning roses on the stone walkway and returned to the lobby. He dusted off his hands and made a content sigh. 

Today you had your monthly meeting with Alastor, Charlie, and Lucifer to talk about new amenities, catch them up on things around the hotel, and the usual business. Lucifer held a chair out for you, sitting you next to him. Alastor entered, not through the door, of course, appearing from the shadows. He was hard to read, but you felt you had gotten familiar with his little tells. And from what you could see, he didn’t like you sitting next to Lucifer. He said nothing and sat down on the other side of the table next to Charlie. 

“So I was thinking it might be nice to introduce some physical activities. Something to keep residents busy, out of trouble, and maybe a way to let off some steam when things are frustrating,” you explained. “I think a lot of them are doing well, but taking a close look at yourself can be difficult.” 

“Oh that's a great idea!” said Charlie. “What did you have in mind?” 

“A gym might be a good place to start. Maybe an indoor pool?” you looked at your list. “And for people who need a more tranquil place to process, we could add a courtyard garden. Is yoga still popular? We could have a rotating exercise class schedule,” you flipped your notebook page. “I think when you take some of everyday stress out of their lives the sinners will have an easier time focusing on redemption. It’s hard to work on yourself when you have other factors bogging you down,” you flipped to the next page. “And, farther down the line we could talk about a spa of some sort. Make the hotel more of a resort.” 

“I am SO on board with all of this!” Charlie exclaimed. “Dad?”

“Excellent recommendations,” Lucifer said, putting his hand on your shoulder. “You’ve been a great addition to the hotel, thank you for your hard work.” 

You didn’t need to look over at Alastor, you could feel the sharp icy daggers of his glare. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” you said kindly. “And as for any resident disputes… I think I have them all resolved,” you pulled out a few business cards. “But I did do some research and found a couple of highly recommended counselors that we could commission to mediate any cases that are outside of our abilities.” 

“Oh man, I am so happy Vaggie hired you!” Charlie squealed. “And that Alastor didn’t drive you out.” She chuckled, elbowing him. 

“A simple decision. She proved to be more useful than the others.” Alastor acted uninterested. You rolled your eyes. 

“And the last thing, Charlie’s birthday is coming up. Did we want to do anything? A large party might be a great opportunity to promote the hotel and give the residents a chance to have some fun?” you asked. “I’m sure one, if not more, of the Sins would be willing to help.”

“Oh, what an amazing time that would be! I’m sure a lot of us could use a fun night out!” Charlie beamed. “Beelzebub’s parties are a little too much for me. But I bet Uncle Ozzie would be interested! We could make it real fancy!” 

“That sounds like a marvelous plan,” Lucifer smiled at you. “I do love to dance, it’s been a while.” 

You scribbled some notes down on your pad, your pen was not disbursing ink. You scribbled harder. Lucifer noticed a yellow pen appeared in his hand. It was a thick pen with several click-down buttons that allowed you to change the ink color. The top of the pen was embellished with a small rubber duck. He handed it to you. 

“Oh, thank you! How cute!” you said. Alastor’s eye twitched.

“No problem, happy to help,” he gave you a warm smile then hopped out of his chair. “Well if we are done, I’ll go see Asmodeus about this party.” 

Lucifer stepped through a portal and was gone. You liked Lucifer, he was charming and nice. For someone who rules Hell, he really didn’t fit the job description. You imagined he’d be more like the overlords. He was always friendly with you but you kept him at a distance for the obvious reasons; the seething deer across the table.

“Oooooh, we're all gonna have to go shopping for something to wear!!!” Charlie hugged you and spun you around, excitedly. “I’m going to go tell Vaggie!” She skipped away. 

“I think that went well,” you said to Alastor as he got up out of his chair. 

“Hmm, indeed,” he said flatly. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” 

“That man is an idiot. Every moment I spend near him I feel myself getting dumber.” 

In truth, you knew that wasn’t really why Alastor disliked Lucifer. Alastor had to work hard to gain the power he has and to maintain an image. Any weakness and his enemies will take advantage of it. Lucifer on the other hand is the most powerful being in Hell and doesn’t seem to want the job.  He doesn’t have to hide his feelings or who he is to maintain power.  You could see that being something Alastor envied. He was wasted potential in Alastor’s opinion. You shuttered at the image of what Hell would be like if Alastor was in power. Yikes, you thought. 

You returned to your desk to start on the party planning. As you passed the bar you stopped. There, hanging from the ceiling, was a large chandelier made of deer antlers. Alastor followed through on your previous suggestion. Candles were placed sporadically, melting wax into the grooves. 

“Quite charming, really. Don’t you think?” Alastor asked, suddenly next to you. 

“Very much so. What elegant taste you have.”

“I have to agree,” he smirked at you. You smirked back.   

“Hey, toots! These just came for you!” Angel was holding a bouquet of roses. “Someone has a secret admirer!”

“Ugh. Throw them out,” you said.

“What? Why? They’re so pretty!” 

“Check the card.” 

“Alright…” Angel looked at the card and became immediately disappointed. “Uggggh. They are from Vox,” he said dryly. 

“Yeah. Today would be our anniversary of sorts. Feel free to light them on fire,” you said dismissively. 

“Very well,” Alastor said, grabbing the bouquet with a grin. 

Alastor exited the building from the front door. To no surprise, there was a drone fluttering around the hotel. Alastor waved and smiled. The roses combusted in green flame. He left the burning roses on the stone walkway and returned to the lobby. He dusted off his hands and made a content sigh. 

__________________________________

You were surprised to see that movie night with Alastor had become a weekly event. Wednesday nights, after everyone retired for the evening, you two would secretly chip away at the stack of horror films in your collection. You enjoyed explaining the changes and advancements in movies since Alastor had died. But watching movies at random didn’t give him a clear timeline. You wondered if you could find some films from his era. 

“And what will we be watching tonight?” he asked. 

“Actually, I hunted down a movie that I’d like to share with you.” 

You took some time to explain who Alfred Hitchcock was, that his career covered six decades, and how to this day he is considered one of the most influential people in cinema history. And that his work helped pave the way for the horror/slasher genre.

“I couldn’t find a physical copy unfortunately, so I downloaded one. We’ll have to watch it on my laptop.” You sat together, leaning on your headboard, with your laptop between the two of you. “So this movie is called The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog, it’s Hitchcock's third film. It came out in 1927. I thought you might want to watch something from your time period since you’ve been watching so many from mine.”

“That's… very thoughtful of you.” 

“Did you ever go to the movies when you were alive?”

“Yes, once my mother took me to see a Chaplin film.” 

“That's so cool! My parents loved the movies, we went almost every week,” you both sat in silence for a moment. Both thinking of your parents before you changed the subject. “Oh and this right here,” you pointed to the small, almost unnoticeable USB dongle on the side of your computer. “This blocks Vox’s signal, so he can’t spy on us. I have one on the computer at my desk too.” 

“Oh, now that is handy. Where did you get something like that?” 

“Velvette had them made. She was working on a project and didn’t want Vox snooping. They work like a Faraday cage I guess, but it's specifically for his signal or code, whatever it is he’s made of. But it doesn’t block anything else so we can still use the internet.” 

“And I’m guessing Velvette didn’t just give them to you out of the kindness of her heart?”

“Haha no, I don’t think she has any of that. Or a heart for that matter. So I guess you can add thievery to my list of sins.” You shrugged dramatically. 

You found the movie to be artistically interesting. You’d never seen a silent film before and had expected it to be boring and slow-paced. It wasn’t what you were expecting at all. The lack of dialogue left things up to interpretation and body language. You definitely did not expect there to be as much romance as there was. Alastor seemed to enjoy it as well. 

“That was surprisingly good. I didn’t like the ending though,” you said.

“What would you have done differently?” he asked. 

“Instead of him being innocent, I would have made him the killer like they suspected. At the end, they think he’s innocent but then give you some sort of clue that it was him all along and he fooled everyone.” 

“Hmm. I like that ending better as well.” 

Of course, the idea of a serial killer getting away with his murders, fooling everyone, and getting everything he wanted in the end appealed to Alastor.

“Did this remind you of being alive?” 

“Oh yes, things have changed so much since then. I sometimes forget the taste of it.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Being alive? Heavens no. Maybe a thing or two, but I’m doing quite well for myself here,” he smiled. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I do,” you said somberly. “I miss my friends and family. My life felt full,” you sighed. You could feel tears building in your eyes. “Here I feel like... I’m just floating around. No real purpose. Empty and lonely.” 

“Well,” he placed a hand on your thigh, above your knee. “Nice thing about Hell is, you have an eternity to change that.” 

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

Alastor couldn’t help but to feel that the hotel was making him soft. He had started to care about others, to some degree, and it tasted like bile in his mouth. But when you placed your head on his shoulder, what he felt was different. Protective and possessive were already strong traits of Alastor. But there was something more, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The need to care for you, for your wellbeing. You weren’t just another soul he owned and controlled like a pawn. He wanted you to feel fulfilled like you had when you were alive. He wanted to be your purpose. He’d dated around here and there when he was alive, mostly to please his mother. But it was difficult to be close to someone and keep such murderous secrets. Everyone was always kept at some degree of distance. And his need, craving, to kill took precedence over all else. But here in Hell he didn’t have to hide. You knew exactly what he was and were still here, sharing your warmth with him. He didn’t know what to make of it. He only knew he wanted more. 

He laid his head on top of yours. 

[study-with-aura]

Monday, July 1, 2024

I am so grateful to my dad for keeping up my Duolingo streak for me. He did a hanzi practice every day, as if he needs to considering he's fluent, but it did keep my streak going. I also found out that if I make my profile private, it takes me out of leagues and allows me to stay in the same league I was in when I turn it back on. I've been in the Diamond League for 24 weeks. I'm not about to lose that.

This weekend was nice. We went out to the lake on Saturday, and then we had a baptism service out at the park yesterday. They had the sprinklers running, so after eating, a lot of us ran through them. I hadn't done that since I was a lot younger, but it was a lot of fun considering how hot it has been the past few days!

I wasn't sure if I was going to post tonight or not, but I figured since I missed yesterday, I owed one today. I am a bit behind on my music studies since I had to take two weeks off. I want to catch up this week without pushing myself too hard, but there is only so much my brain can soak up of theory before it starts to wander. After tomorrow, I should be starting the Getting Ready for Algebra 2 course on KA as well. I was tired the other night, and missed two simple questions when I was trying to finish the Geometry mastery challenge, and it set me back two days because of it. That's okay. I don't mind the review.

Tasks Completed:

History 9 - Learned about Handel's early life and time in London + studied "Water Music"

Theory - Reviewed diatonic substitutions

KA Geometry - Completed daily mastery challenge

Duolingo - Studied for approximately 15 minutes (Spanish + French + Chinese) + completed daily quests

Piano - Practiced for two hours in one hour split sessions

Reading - Read pages 45-84 of Lumara by Melissa Landers

Chores - Vacuumed my bedroom and the study + cleaned my bathroom + cleaned windows in my bedroom and in the study

Activities of the Day:

Personal Bible Study (Hebrews 11)

Morning Yoga

Swimming

Volunteered for one hour at the library

1 hour gaming with Julien

Journal/Mindfulness

[jamiesfootball]

Please tell me more about gender flipped Jamie because that seems like So Many Thoughts that I would love to hear

I have so many thoughts and yet they are so ephemeral and unspecific and this has been languishing in my askbox and this isn't technically what you asked for but here's what I wrote instead:

Chelsea sent Roy into retirement the way you sent an aging dog to be euthanized. Slowly and gradually, an inescapable march towards a day you knew was coming. Roy's agent gently broke the news to him that they wouldn't be renewing his contract, but there was no gently breaking Roy.

The retirement itself was an underwhelming affair; he stayed numb throughout the presser, answered questions, and left the spotlight. No bang--not even a whimper.

That was months ago. Now Roy Kent, former Chelsea star, was daydrinking at a bar in Richmond at half-three in the afternoon, wondering if he could convince the matron of the house to change the fucking channel.

"Rough season our girls have had," the proprietor, Mae, explained in a tone befitting a bartender cleaning a pint. In reality, she'd joined Roy at the bar with her own glass of chardonnay. "Lot of shake ups. New owner, new gaffer. Still, it could be worse. This new coach of theirs might be from the States, but we're sitting higher up on the table than we have in years. Does your lot keep up with the Super League, then?"

It was one in a series of loaded questions. Roy couldn't imagine you could be a bartender in London without knowing who Roy Kent was. Sheer wasted optimism, he'd had, moving out of Chelsea and assuming anything short of leaving the country would get him away from the haunting specter of his own fucking jersey.

"Yeah," Roy answered reluctantly. "Yeah, some of us keep up. All the teams in the Premier have sister teams, don't we?" Except for Richmond. The one outlier--the only team in the league without a big brother to speak of.

"Mm. Then you heard about the scandal?"

Roy grunted. Of course he heard. Everyone knew about Rupert Mannion ages ago; it was about bloody time someone did something. Awful for his ex-wife that it'd fallen to her to do it.

Mae topped off his chardonnay before pouring the remainder of the bottle into her own glass. "This new gaffer though, he's one of the good ones. He hangs around here sometimes, and you can tell just by listening to him--he respects those girls."

Since retiring, Roy had gotten used to living in a fog. He spent time with his niece, met with the yoga mums, let old ladies in bars talk his ears off to their heart's content, but anything he did between those events was a drudgery--a slow painful effort to drag one foot in front of the other, metaphorically and physically.

So he couldn't have said what it was about Mae's offhand praise for the Richmond Whippet's new gaffer that rankled him into talking back.

"Is he any good though?"

"What was that?"

"Their new coach," Roy gestured with his wine glass at the television in the corner. "The American. Is he any good?"

Mae shrugged one shoulder. "He's gotten better."

"So not really then."

The look Mae gave him could've scoured paint from a wall. "Well, talent isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Kent?"

She left under the guise of check on the three men in the corner. Regulars, by the looks of it; and the three of them the only ones aside from Mae wearing supporting colors for the local team.

He hadn't watched a match in ages. Oh, he'd caught highlights--it was impossible not too--but the few times he'd tried, unfairness ballooned in his chest like an atom bomb, and he gave up.

He hadn't bothered to watch anything from the women's league either. What difference would it make to try watching a different league. Sure, he didn't know any of them the way he knew the men in the Premier League, but football was football and envy was envy.

From what little he'd seen so far, he didn't envy Richmond at all. Everton had them on the ropes.

Roy winced as Number 14 knocked one off the crossbar. It'd been a good attempt. A solid cross from Number 9 had put it in the path, but with no one else nearby she'd gone for a risky shot.

From what little he'd paid attention to, only 9 and 14 were making any actual progress on the pitch, with 9 working double time to cut up the field. Every time the ball dropped back down the center, Richmond lost possession. Every. Time.

It was Number 6 that was the problem. McNally, that was it. Red-head, center-mid, captain. Roy knew her by reputation. A tough, seasoned player, who'd gotten her fair collection of caps for England. She had the experience; it didn't make any fucking sense why she'd be the weak link.

Roy looked away. He took a gulp of his chardonnay and relished in the unpleasant way it stung his nose. It'd be masochism to keep watching.

He kept watching.

Within five minutes, he'd cracked it.

Number 6 refused to pass to Number 9.

The gameplay split off like a branching tree. Either 6 got possession, crossed to another player, and they lost it to Everton's deep defensive line; or 9 got it herself and took it up the field, at which point the entire Richmond side narrowed down to the actions of 9 and 14.

What the fuck was going on?

In the aerial cameras showed two Everton players marking Number 9. Number 6 crossed to Number 24, and 24 took it to the net only for a defender to block her out easily.

A close up lingered on Number 24. She couldn't have looked more upset with herself. Young thing. Good talent, bad nerves. Fixable with the right support.

Number 6 got into Number 9's face and shouted. So where's her fucking support?

The camera panned in on 6 and 9 as what looked like a shouting match took place between the teammates. There was McNally, red-haired and red-faced and openly swearing even if the mics couldn't pick it up, and then there was Number 9. A cut of a girl, strong featured and iron-jawed, with her forehead set down like she intended to ram McNally like a bull if the captain came any closer.

What a fucking mess.

The camera panned to the gaffer, who stood with his hands in his pockets and a frown under his mustache. He called neither player off.

The match went back into play and almost immediately Number 9 took a foul. A blatant hit, tackled before she could grab possession again. Everton had singled her out just as clearly as Roy had.

Number 6 stood off to the side while 14 and 24 argued with the ref. The captain watched in open annoyance as Number 9 levered herself off the ground with a wince, her left side stained with grass and a limp.

Some fucking captain.

Number 9 took position for a free kick, and her name finally flashed across the screen in a font large enough for Roy to read. Jamie Tartt. Tartt lined up for the kick, for all the good it would do when she was a good forty meters back--

Tartt walloped the ball cleanly into the net.

A frisson of electricity ran down Roy's spine.

The lads at the end of the bar broke into cheers.

Half of the Richmond Whippets descended on Tartt. The other half shuffled around in discontent.

Number 24--Obisanya--nodded at Tartt, who nodded back. They didn't hug.

Extricating herself from (half) of her teammates, Tartt threw an arm around the only person she'd passed to all night--14, Rojas. Heads pressed together, headband to matching headband, they looked furtive and serious in their two-person huddle.

The camera panned back to the gaffer. He clapped but he didn't celebrate.

The whole thing was bizarre.

No, Mae was right; talent wasn't everything. Because Richmond had talent--what a spectacular fucking goal--and they were a fucking mess, like nothing Roy had ever witnessed before in his career.

If Mae was willing to put up with him, he might have to come back for the next match. Who knew, maybe he'd try swinging by on an off-match day to catch their gaffer and give him a piece of his mind.

Finally, something to look forward to. His sister would be so proud.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Eleanor, the Channel 4 people tell me the day before we meet, is very keen I watch the third part of her new series, The Couple Next Door. The problem is that the audio on my preview copy of this episode is so wildly out of sync I can’t follow what’s going on. Anxious hours pass, but by nightfall the problem is sorted and I soon understand why Eleanor Tomlinson ― she who was Mrs Poldark ― wants me to see it. There is plenty to discuss. And the sex is wild.

Tomlinson is Evie in this compulsive six-parter. The daughter of strict religious parents, she has been together for ever with her first boyfriend, Pete, and they are now expecting a baby, which is why they are moving to a larger house in a quiet Leeds suburb. Their neighbours, the couple next door, are something else, a mesomorph cop and a vampy yoga instructor both temperamentally unsuited to the quiet Truman Show-like community in which they live. The old terms for them would be wife-swappers or swingers, but we would probably call them polyamorists these days. Anyhow, you know what I mean. By episode three of what you could call a complex relationship drama, but which is really a sex thriller, it looks likely that Evie and Pete will RSVP in the affirmative to their new friends’ approaches, which are about as subtle as a Bogof sign in a supermarket.

Plot-wise, The Couple Next Door is a slight departure for Tomlinson, not just because the role does not require a period corset but because while she has played many rule-breakers, they usually settle down. The most famous example, of course, is her Demelza in the BBC’s Poldark, a character who started off feral but ended up doing the dishes and giving birth to Captain Ross’s many progeny. After a bit of a scrap, she even accepted the pectorially blessed mine owner back into her bed after his seduction/rape of a childhood sweetheart (which is more than Tomlinson would have done, she told one interviewer). In this series we watch the butter melt in Evie’s ingenuous mouth, first slowly, then very quickly indeed.

We meet on the poop deck of a canalside café in Hoxton, east London, where we are having coffee.

It’s a dangerous game, I say, this extramarital sex thing. Copulation has consequences. Does she agree?

“Do I agree with adultery?”

Does she agree with me?

“Well, look, in terms of ― I don’t know what you call it ― couple-swapping, I guess, it’s not for me, but that doesn’t mean I would judge anyone who wants to do it. I think we’re now in a time where people are liberated and feel at home expressing themselves and who they are. They won’t be confined to certain boxes any more. So if it works for you, then terrific. It’s not a route I would explore.”

We discuss the series’s pristine under-populated precinct, actually a new-build housing estate in the Netherlands chosen by the show’s Belgian director, Dries Vos. “He’s kind of leant into the idea that suburbia is a bit creepy and a bit entrapping. I think everyone has the fear that their life is suddenly going to become scheduled. You leave for work at this time. You go about your day. You get home at this time. Eat your dinner, have your chat and go to bed. It’s that fear.”

Well, that’s the fear of marriage, I say, and she agrees. But she also means that now she is 31 she sees that her twenties flashed by, half of them consumed, professionally, by Poldark. “You just want to say, ‘Stop! Let me just go back to being 18 for five minutes.’”

Talking of marriage ― as I was at least ―Tomlinson last year wed Will Owen, a 28-year-old rugby player with Clifton Rugby Club in Bristol. I suggest The Couple Next Door might feel a strange project for someone who 15 months ago exchanged marriage vows.

“Actually not at all, no, because it’s just a character,” she says. “It’s just a character who is very different from me and I can get stuck into and enjoy playing. My personal life doesn’t really come into any of my work decisions.”

And this is where things with the sharp yet warm, canny yet open Tomlinson get interesting: her work decisions. I am not divulging with whom Evie ends up having the sex of her life in episode three, but it is epic lovemaking. On closer inspection, however, it does not count as TV nudity. My next sentence will sound prurient, but I promise it is relevant to showbusiness in the era that dawned when HBO turned up the lights at The Sopranos’ Bada Bing! club and upon which ― thanks, Netflix and you fellow streamers ― the sun has yet to set. In this sex scene there are no (female) nipples visible and certainly no genitalia. I ask whether this squared with what Tomlinson has previously said about her reluctance to do nude scenes.

“I have done nudity before but, for me, it’s based on each project and how necessary I feel it is. And I didn’t feel like it was for this. I mean, there was a conversation where they were pushing for it and the harder they pushed for it, the more I felt like saying, ‘No, you’re just not being creative here. There are

so many more interesting ways that you can show this.’ So much of it comes down to the chemistry between the actors and working with the intimacy coordinators. You find a balance. You don’t need to show everything, because ultimately that immediately pauses everyone’s concentration. They’ve just seen something and they’re actually not invested in the scene any more.

“I think because [the show] is so obviously about sexual exploration, it would have been such an obvious choice to have nudity in it. I actually think not having it makes it more interesting.”

So she had a conversation?

“I quite enjoy the conversations where someone tries to tell me why it’s necessary. And if, after they’ve been through my rigorous checklist of questions, I believe that it is necessary ― and I already know at the beginning whether it is or not ― then I would enter into another conversation about it.”

But they’ve never convinced her yet?

“Well, there was one project in which I was convinced and that was a film called Colette a couple of years ago, with Keira Knightley and Dominic West. And because of my character and who she was and what she meant to those two very real characters ― it’s all based on a true story ― and because it was so much from the female gaze, so much about the female exploration of sexuality, I felt like it was necessary for that particular role. But I’ve yet to find a role since.”

Or before?

“Yes. Also, there’s an element of self-preservation that comes into it because you’re opening yourself up to be screenshot and paused, and those pictures end up online and will for ever be there. So it’s a very serious thing that you have to decide. I think if you have the confidence to do it as an actor or actress, great. And it’s not that I don’t have the confidence; it’s just that for me it has to be character-driven.”

It must also take confidence to say no. Younger actors may not have it.

“And that’s the thing. Whenever I’m on a project that younger actors are involved in and they have to do sex scenes, I always make a point of speaking very openly to both parties or all parties about it and just make sure that everyone is comfortable and they don’t feel forced into anything or that they’re frightened of anything. At the end of doing it as well, if they want to talk to someone about what they’ve been through that day [I’m there]. Because it’s a pretty weird thing.”

It is pretty unusual to find on television investigations of female sexual appetites at all. Pete, Evie’s partner, and Danny, the police-biker neighbour, almost too obviously embody two contrasting varieties of adult male human. As Pete, Alfred Enoch (formerly of Harry Potter) is slight, cerebral, an investigative reporter on what is left of his local paper. As Danny, Sam Heughan (the Outlander star but here leather-trousered not kilted) is seriously built and seriously dim. His home features a very big television and little in the way of reading matter.

Does Tomlinson have a type?

“I’ve never had a type. For me it’s all about personality and a sense of connection and, you know, someone who can really make me laugh, someone I can be totally myself with. I always hate that saying ― what is that saying? ― that he or she is punching… I hate that.”

Punching? What does that mean?

“If a guy is dating a girl who is very good-looking, someone might say to him, sort of lad talk, ‘Oh, he’s punching above his weight.’ I hate that. I’ve always tried to steer clear of that and just get to know people for who they are. Particularly these days, with apps and phones, everything is so based around what you look like.”

Certainly her husband looks nothing like Harry Richardson, the actor whom she dated for a year after he was cast as Demelza’s brother, Drake, on Poldark in 2017. Richardson is neat and svelte; Owen, his Instagram account reveals, has biceps that could crack coconuts. Playing centre, Tomlinson explains, Owen is not involved in scrums, but there have been a couple of “bad scrapes” and “quite a few trips to A&E”. “It’s just one of those things where you go, ‘OK. And breathe.’ ”

They met through a friend who was married to Owen’s team captain at the time. “They dragged me along to a rugby game. I hadn’t ever really seen any rugby before but there he was and suddenly I was very keen to watch more rugby, let’s put it that way.”

For ten years in London she lived alone but, when lockdown was declared in March 2020, the couple decided to hunker down with his parents, his two sisters and their partners. The younger sister was a little awestruck at first, as one of her go-to films growing up was Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging, in which Tomlinson had starred aged 15. She quickly got over it.

“Covid just sped everything up, didn’t it? Suddenly, I was in their space and with them all the time. And it was quite an amazing thing, really. I just feel very lucky that they are who they are and that they accepted me in the ways that they did. We forged a bond, or I did, with all his family that would have taken us years otherwise.”

Tomlinson and Owen married in July 2022 at a country hotel in the Cotswolds. According to the Daily Mail, which is reliable on such things, she wore an off-the-shoulder Pronovias gown and Christian Louboutin heels (he was in a three-piece lounge suit, incidentally). Among the credits for the big day was her publicist, Victoria Raeburn-Wales. But there was no need to PR their happiness. “He’s a gentleman and I feel very lucky to have found my one,” she says when I offer my congratulations.

Had she planned to marry in her late twenties or early thirties? Her reply rather explains who she is.

“I think at some point I thought, ‘Yes, I’d love to get married,’ but I’ve always prioritised my career. I’ve never really thought, ‘This is what I want. This is when I want it.’ It’s always just been working as hard as I can, following the jobs, and trying to find someone who understands that is quite tricky.”

Yet marrying an actor would have been hard too?

“I love what I do, but I couldn’t think of anything worse ― well, obviously I could ― than to come home and have the same conversation as basically what happened in my day with someone else,” she says. “It would drive me crazy. Also, there’s an inherent competitiveness in my soul. It doesn’t matter if you’re male or female, if you’re working and I’m not, it’s not going to go well.”

Born to an actor, Malcolm Tomlinson, and a singer, Judith Hibbert, young Eleanor decided to become an actress aged ten on the set of The Bill, where her father was working. By 14 she was playing Jessica Biel’s younger self on the very profitable Hollywood romantic mystery The Illusionist. Back home she was in the Doctor Who spin-off The Sarah Jane Adventures and Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland.

A lot of her education was perforce conducted on sets with tutors, which made keeping up with her friends at Beverley High School back home in East Yorkshire hard. “There were a “couple of instances where I felt a little bit ostracised”, she admits, but in any case she was quite “insular”, lacked confidence socially and was not particularly academic (but always worked hard).

In 2013 Bryan Singer cast her for a main role in Jack the Giant Slayer but the $185-million movie flopped. She now knows never to predict how something will be received. The stars were aligned for Poldark, however. In 2014 I went to report on the making of the first series and arrived at the West Country shoot feeling sceptical. Having rewatched some of the original Seventies series, Poldark seemed faintly ridiculous and hardly worth reviving. Yet talking to the new version’s star, Aidan Turner, and its writer, Debbie Horsfield (Tomlinson was not around that day), I felt intimations of greatness. Its first season duly averaged more than eight million viewers and made Turner the hottest hunk on television, although not so distractingly that people failed to notice how seductively good Tomlinson was as his young wife.

I wonder whether she feared nothing in her future career would make the same impact but she says no, because she so enjoyed making Poldark. “I learnt so much. I mean, I was 21 when I got the part and 26 when it ended. I just did so much growing up. I learnt so much about myself as an actress.”

Since it finished in 2019 her career has known ratings triumph and ratings disaster. Stephen Merchant’s BBC1 comedy The Outlaws, about a gang of community service ne’er-do-wells in which she plays the troubled influencer Lady Gabby, is going to a third series and next year she will feature alongside Leo Woodall (The White Lotus) in Netflix’s adaptation of David Nicholls’s One Day. Her big break into American TV, The Nevers, however, was cancelled swiftly by HBO, despite having been created by Joss Whedon of Buffy the Vampire Hunter fame, and Sky black-holed Intergalactic, a kind of female Blake’s Seven, after one season.

“I’ve had to grow a thick skin,” she says.“I wasn’t always thick-skinned. Every job that didn’t go my way used to break my heart, and every time a job finished I would just cry for weeks because I missed all my friends and I missed the role. I missed that thing of being away and being part of a company.”

Although she had been in the business for a decade even then, it was Demelza who migrated her from ingenue to leading lady. She made the role her own partly by insisting that the fiery peasant girl who lands Ross should be a redhead, although in Winston Graham’s Poldark books Demelza was dark-haired and Tomlinson is naturally dark blonde. (She wasn’t, by a long chalk, even born when Angharad Rees played Demelza redheaded in the Seventies series.)

“They fought back on it a bit. They wanted her to be blonde at some point, but I remember feeling this kind of drive. I was like a dog with a bone, and that role came up and I just wouldn’t let it go. It just consumed me for ages. I was put through the wringer with auditions and chemistry tests ― whatever they are ― with Aidan and then eventually the role was mine. But even going forward, it was like I inherently knew who I wanted her to be and her having this kind of fiery red hair. It just felt so right to me, and in the end they agreed.”

And red she has stayed?

“To be any other colour would feel really odd. You build a brand. I became known as Demelza and I suddenly thought, ‘Well, why would I change it now?’ Because something finally worked, you know?”

The other day, she says, she turned down a tempting part because it did not “feel” right. I say she is fortunate to be able to make such choices.

“I’m very fortunate,” she says. “I feel very, very lucky to do what I love doing. But, you know, it doesn’t always work out. It’s not always rosy.”

But when it does, it is clearly all-consuming.

“I can’t describe it. It just makes my heart beat faster. Finding a script, reading a script and getting into the character ― whether it’s an audition, whether it’s the offer of a role ― it just makes my heart beat faster. It drives me.”

There will, I promise, be many hearts beating faster when The Couple Next Door starts. It’s good. Just keep your cardiologist on speed dial come episode three.

The Couple Next Door begins on Monday, November 27, at 9pm on Channel 4. All episodes are then available to stream

Andrew Billen has been a journalist for 40 years, including two stints on The Times from 1984-89 and from 2002 to the present. He specialises in interviews with celebrities, politicians and writers as well as writing long-form features for the magazine. For ten years he was also The Times's television critic.

THETIMES.CO.UK #TheTimesMagazine #AndrewBillen #interview #EleanorTomlinson

[westviewyoga]

West View Yoga

Website: https://www.westviewyoga.co.uk

Address: West View House, Mill Lane, Inglesbatch, Bath, Somerset, BA2 9DZ

Nestled in the serene locale of Inglesbatch, Bath, West View Yoga provides a haven for Iyengar Yoga enthusiasts of all ages, including adults, teens, and kids. The studio, not only physically rooted in a picturesque rural setting but also virtually accessible, offers a variety of classes and pricing plans to cater to diverse needs and preferences. From beginners to advanced practitioners, and through special monthly workshops, West View Yoga ensures a comprehensive and enriching yoga journey for all its participants, facilitating both in-studio and at-home practices with a range of resources and supportive offerings.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/westviewyoga

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[the1975attheirverybest]

So I read the Buzzfeed article that’s been going around and ngl it’s pretty brutal… as a newer fan, I never listened to podcast so this is the first I’m hearing about the whole… “ghetto gaggers” thing.

Is it real? Was Matty serious? Is there more context/info people aren’t getting? Did he ever elaborate on that? Bc right now I’m kinda… Icked out a bit. Please tell me it’s not as bad as it looks.

- 🔆

So, we had our debate about this a couple of months ago. I’ll summarize and give context and do my best to be impartial.

Synopsis and context:

What happened was, Adam and Nick (the two hosts of the podcast) were talking about visiting London and stuff. Then, Adam said that he was there recently. Visiting with his gf. He even texted Matty to come party with them. Matty said that he has to do a show the next day and doesn’t want to go out, but that they can come round to his house and hang out if they want. So, they did. Adam’s gf brought a bunch of her friends with her, too.

Matty says they ended up talking about music and he put YouTube on his tv and they watched a bunch of stuff. The ladies started dancing and having fun. Eventually, they left. While outside, waiting for their Uber, one of the girls discovered she had forgotten her water bottle. So she ran back inside to get it, and she walked in on Matty touching himself.

That’s the end of the story. Matty laughed and said that “the order of operations as a single man in his 30s is that you have a wank and you go to bed.” And that he just feels bad because it was the girl, olive (that’s her name), she seemed sweet and innocent and it’s kind of embarrassing for him cuz it wasn’t even 30 seconds after they’d left. Like they were all still outside.

That’s when ADAM NOT MATTY said “yeah you were probably watch Ghetto Gaggers jerking off” [for context: ghetto Gaggers is a professional porn site that specializes in “white men on black women”] and Matty just laughed. Nick then said something about how wild it is that you can now watch porn on tv and they moved the conversation towards whether or not it’s better to put it on the big screen. Matty said something about preferring to watch it on his phone. Someone made a joke about how it can even be played on Apple Watch and imagined a guy at yoga trying to do a workout and his watch starts to play porn and stuff. Type dude humor. Whatever.

Fan “analysis”

Everyone took the Ghetto Gaggers thing and ran with it. Some opinions are more valid than other. I present them to your judgement as follows.

When the pod first aired, of course people crucified him for it.

When we discussed it on here someone pointed out that the line “cuming to her lookalikes” is starting to make a lot more sense now.

We discussed whether porn categories like white men x black women is just kink, racial fetishizing, etc. should we be condemning Matty’s taste and behavior, all that stuff.

MY PERSONAL TAKE

it was a disgusting joke. But it was a joke. Cuz Adam is the one who made it, not Matty. Matty stated the facts of what happened. That he started touching himself as soon as his guests left and that he feels like Olive thinks he’s a creep etc. idk if you’re familiar with Adam and Nick’s work but they had a show before this one called “Cum Town” part of it included making up distasteful “jingles” about cumming lmao. Like songs where they replace lyrics with awful sexual jokes. So, this is super on par with Adam’s sense of humor. He probably just said it to be provocative. Like, in his head, he was probably like “what’s the worst thing that Matty could have been jerking off to? Ghetto Gaggers.” NOW, it gets even more fucked up if Adam said that BECAUSE he knew of Matty’s recent split from Twigs and was therefore implying that Matty fetishes black women. But because I was not inside Adam’s head, I don’t know if that’s the case. I don’t know if it was intended to be an insult towards twigs or to simply be something for shock value. Either way, it was a disgusting joke. But it was a joke and I don’t think we should treat it as fact or freak out about Matty’s personal values because of it.

That said….the entire podcast was laced with shit like this so it just kind of came up as one of a million other things that people were upset about. Buzzfeed needs to fuck off.

Hope this helps. Sorry if it doesn’t :(

[nancydrewwouldnever]

She really didn’t go to the premiere in London to attend yoga classes in Atlanta 🫠🫠

Well, that course would have started around the same time she deleted her IG at start of October, so basically anything she missed since then - YUP.

How pissed must everyone else who worked on WN season two be about that?

[murphnturf]

intro. ╲ KIERAN MURPHY. CON ARTIST. THE SYNDICATE.

BASICS

NAME: Kieran Murphy

NICKNAMES: Murph, Kiers, Special K

AGE/D.O.B: Age 34 | 12.10.1988

GENDER/PRONOUNS/SEXUALITY: Cis Male | He/Him | Pansexual

HOMETOWN: Dublin, Ireland

AFFILIATION: The Syndicate

POSITION: Con Artist

EDUCATION: Secondary School

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Divorced

CHILDREN: N/A

POSITIVE TRAITS: Gregarious, Debonair

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Scatterbrained, Impulsive

QUICK FACTS

(tw: drugs, alcoholism) 

Growing up in Ireland, Kieran got into a bit too much trouble with the law and with his peers, swindling all the lads around him for anything of value

He realized from a young age he was pretty good at it and decided to capitalize on his talents full-time

Though he wouldn’t label himself as a grifter (instead likening himself to a really bad car salesman), that’s precisely what he is. He picks out his mark, worms his way into their life, and bleeds them dry

Unfortunately for Kieran, he is terrible at picking them

He has snorted, drank, smoked, and tried just about every drug he could get his hands on

The man lives with a carefree attitude, very rarely worrying about finances or keeping a roof over his head; it’s so easy for him to try and charm his way into people’s lives

Speaking of charm, he was a cult leader at one point

He’s left-handed, doesn’t know how to ride a bike, and has a particular fondness for birds and small dogs. Also, the occasional cat

He dresses as lavishly and as provocatively as possible. Of course, this gets him a lot of stares, but he loves the attention

BIOGRAPHY

Born in Dublin, Kieran grew up in a relatively average household with his failure of a musician father, and his mum, a schoolteacher

His poor parents struggling to make ends meet gave little attention to their wayward son. His father was a deadbeat alcoholic, and his mother just didn’t have the time to spare

Being as unruly and attention-seeking as he was, his parents eventually sent him to live with his old aunt Fiona at the age of 15 in London, who was far from lucid, bless her soul

Fortunately for him, his aunt thought he was his dad and seemed to think they were living in their old childhood home instead of her rundown flat in Hackney. He used the opportunity to try and make a name for himself instead of attending class like all the other good schoolchildren

Up until 18 he worked the odd job until he’d befriended an ex-pat American woman, 7 years his senior, and married her. He convinced her the life they would build together when she returned stateside would be everything she ever dreamed of, and so, several years later, they returned together to California

Whenever anyone asks how he managed to get a green card, he states he sought political asylum in America on account of ‘the potato famine’ in Ireland

By 25, all his hard work had finally paid off. And by 26, one year after living in America, he was divorced. Nobody had told him how difficult it would be trying to build a life for himself here

Determined to live out his sole dream of living a rock n’roll lifestyle, it was then he used up all his savings to buy a minibus, cruising across the West coast and picking up stragglers along the way

He began looking into establishing a non-profit religious organization that would allow him to become tax-exempt, giving him the perfect opportunity to rake in tons of money while never paying a cent to uncle sam

His ‘organization’ did not hold. His followers eventually exposed him as a fraud, causing him to make a quick getaway to Mexico before the authorities could get involved

Only when things quieted down did he return. He completely changed his game, deciding to capitalize on the health & wellness industry instead. With all the barefoot, bohemian, goat yoga fanatics that LA had to offer, he finally felt he’d found his calling moonlighting as a Yoga instructor and scamming many Angelenos out of their hard-earned money 

But eventually, like most of his business ventures, things fell apart, causing him to drive cross-country in his minibus in pursuit of other opportunities. Namely, New York.

His involvement with the Syndicate wasn’t always so peachy keen, as he’d obviously made an attempt to scam the wrong guy. He was sure he was done for until he’d managed to convince some of its members that he could prove useful with his cons, given the ease with which he works to build trust and cultivate relationships. Thankfully, he was given a chance.

Kieran is under no illusion of the precariousness of his situation, knowing the rug could get pulled out from under his feet at any moment. As a result, he is working hard to successfully pull off a con that will prove him an invaluable asset to the gang

WANTED CONNECTIONS

MARKS (AKA VICTIMS): Anyone who paid Kieran for his services that he ended up overpromising and underdelivering on. Anyone he’s swindled. Anyone who he happened to use for information or gain their trust to successfully pull off a con

FIXERS: Friendly police officers or political connections that help ensure his scams run smoothly

THIEVES/HACKERS: No con is successful without all its players working in tandem. No further explanation is needed on this one

EXES/FLINGS: He’s pissed off, manipulated, and screwed over so many exes they’re all beginning to blur together into one angry mob

FOLLOWERS: Being he was a cult leader at one point, he probably still has some poor lost soul still wrapped about his finger somewhere

MORE SOON.