#actually the soho one is an exception

[writingsfromhome]

Impossibly Real II

Y’all loved Part 1 and honestly were so sweet about it. I had to wrap up their story in return 💗

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Harry knocks on my door and I open it before he's even done. I was excited for this date, I really think this was going to be a good one.

That didn’t stop me, however, from having mad jitters while getting ready. In the end I settled on wearing a silky pink skirt and with a fuzzy pastel pink sweater that was my favourite go-to. I paired it with white boots (still heeled) and some gold accessories. I was feeling myself.

As soon as Harry sees me in the doorway he takes a step back. “Wow. You look…stunning.”

I feel my cheeks heat, unused to this kind of attention from Harry. And I could tell he meant it—it wasn’t just a cheap compliment to get in my pants. I try not to show my internal squirming. “Thank you. You look very handsome!”

“Ah,” he waves the compliment away. “You see me wear this sort of thing to work all the time.”

“I know but you shaved,” I reach out to touch his face and then think better of it. We hadn’t even gone further than my door yet.

“I did,” he rubs his face like I wanted to.

“I like the smell of your aftershave,” I say as we get onto the lift and the smell bounces off the four walls.

He leans all the way down so that his neck is beside my face. I giggle—god, I actually giggle. I feel an overwhelming desire to rub my nose against the heat of his skin but I keep my freak hidden and fake an exaggerated whiff instead.

“C’mon,” Harry holds his hand out and we head out to the tube, my hand securely wrapped in his; I feel giddy just holding his hand.

This was going to be the best date ever.

I mean, it was still weird going on a date with my neighbour. For one, he had to only close the door to his home, turn around, and knock on my door to pick me up. For another, I'd seen Harry a million times since I moved in last year and not once did I ever think we would be doing this.

Harry and I talk all the way to the place about a new Netflix show we were both watching. It's light conversation, we don't acknowledge the fact that we're actually doing a proper date. That we were both mega into each other. It's almost like we were simply traveling into work and casually chatting 'til we reached our destination.

The restaurant—Harry’s pick, is tucked onto a street corner near Soho, the window shades are blackened except for a fancy script. Island X.

“I’ve never heard of the place.”

“It just opened a couple months ago,” Harry holds the door open for me; who said chivalry was dead.

“Wow,” I marvel at the interiors. It’s like someone took the Great Gatsby and worked it with wood tones and orange lighting. And monstera plants.

“That’s a lot of monsteras.”

“What?” Harry asks.

“Monsteras?” I wave my hand at all the ginormous planters but Harry’s attention is to the front of the line.

“Monsteras?” He asks, eyes still forward. “Like. The Lil Nas x song?”

“What?” I crinkle my brow. But then it clicks and I can’t help but laugh. “Oh my god you think I’m talking about-“

“Hiya!” The hostess interrupts me and I cover my mouth.

“Are you laughing at me?” Harry whispers as we follow to our table.

“Yes,” I wipe my tears as we’re lead to a cozy corner. I’m even tucked into my seat!

“Wow I’ve never been to someplace as fancy as this?”

“Really?” Harry’s face flits with a microsecond of an emotion I can’t read. “I thought maybe this was your scene.”

“Oh no,” I shake my head. “This is very fancy. I’m kinda low brow.”

“Oh,” his eyebrows knit together and he fiddles with his napkin. “Some woman at work suggested it.”

“Oh who?” I ask. Harry’s spoken to me about work before, I thought maybe it was a coworker I knew.

“Just someone that works on the same floor.” He pulls his glass of water close to him. “She’s just a friend.”

“Oh I didn’t mean it like…” I trail off. Why would he think I was being jealous?

Suddenly the awkwardness of the situation washes over me. I was on a date. With my neighbour. If this didn't end well we were screwed. I would lose my only friend in the entire neighbourhood! It would be painful to live next door to each other! At least until one of us found a partner or one of us moved out of the complex.

The pressure of it all makes my ears ring.

“Right,” Harry clears his throat as the waiter approaches and starts to scan the wines. “Any of the wines look good to you?”

I stare at Harry while he buries his nose in the menu. Somehow I felt like I already messed up. Maybe all of these bad dates had one thing in common: me.

God, I couldn’t even make it work with a friend.

Harry glances up. I guess I forgot to respond. Before he could notice I’d been too busy staring I start to scan the menu.

“D’you mind red?” I ask.

“Sure. Which red do you recommend?” Harry asks the waiter. I think it’s cute he asks. Dates in the past have pretended to know the difference between all the names and then ordered something that usually tasted like dog shite.

They discuss the wine and I pretend to nod here and there while I browse the dinner menu. Obviously I had studied it after getting dressed tonight. I knew what was safe for me to get (pasta or seafood) and what would cause a big mess (burgers).

“I’m gonna guess what you’ll order.” Harry says once we’re alone again.

“You really think you know me well enough?”

“Yeah. I think I know you well enough.”

“I don’t think so.” He might have a lucky guess but we hadn’t eaten out together enough for him to know my taste. Plus what I wanted and what I was going to order tonight would be two different things.

“I bet you I know. I’m so confident I’m not even going to say it right now. I’ll just order for you when the waiter comes back.”

“Are we confident or cocky?” I tease.

“Confident,” he says but he drapes his arms back against his chair and relaxes, giving an f-boy cocky pose. I laugh, grateful for the reprieve of living in my thoughts.

“Ready to order?” The waiter asks after pouring our wine. It was a nice balanced wine that was helping me relax.

Harry orders his meal and then looks up at me, “She’ll get the Organic Highland Prime Burg-“

“Actually,” I cut him off. Harry looks at me with his sure smile but I shake my head. It falls immediately.

I feel bad but I just couldn’t eat a burger at a fancy place like this on a first date. I’d done it before and it had not gone over well. Think White Chicks but instead of a Terry Crews it was a Ben Shapiro.

“Sorry,” I point to the safe item. “I’ll do the Blackened Lobster Lasagna.”

“Great choice.” The waiter says something else but I’m too preoccupied with how much worse I was making the date.

“Really?” Harry asks. The waiter pauses as he looks between Harry and I and I start to flush.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” It comes out more curt than I intended and Harry just nods.

“Sorry.” I apologize to Harry again once the waiter leaves. “I didn’t really want something messy.”

“Oh. Yeah it’s alright.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "The lasagna does sound really good.”

“Right? I think it'll be really good.” I hear myself talking and want to stab myself. Really. Because this king of small talk was what I fell back on talking about when a date was going bad.

I had to redeem this. This couldn’t be a bad date. This was just Harry.

“This wine’s good too,” Harry says as he puts his glass down on the edge just as I yank my foot out from under the table to show him my shoes, yanking the table cloth in the process.

“So my shoes-“

“Shit!”

His wine tips over onto my white boots and we stare at them as the stain spreads.

“Napkin-“ Harry’s voice snaps me out of the spiral I’d found myself in as I watched wine seep into my coveted shoes.

Harry’s leaning over patting it down but I yank my foot away. This was incredibly embarrassing; everyone around us was watching the scene we were making.

“We need water-“

“I’m going to the toilet,” I announce. Harry looks up sharply, his face is panicked.

“I’m sorry yn I-“

“S’cuse,” I don’t mean to brush him away but with all the eyes on me and the fact that I kept finding ways to ruin this date—this date that was supposed to be perfect, my eyes were pricking with tears. I needed a breather.

“Shite,” I sigh as I balance on one foot in the toilets and try to wipe the stain in the sink. But red wine stained badly just like my performance on every date I’ve ever been on.

“Get yourself together,” I say to myself in the mirror. “Harry is amazing and you’re fucking all this up! Shoes are temporary, finding a good man can take forever! Snap! Out! Of! It!”

I do some deep breaths and one last attempt at cleaning my shoe before I make my way out.

“Yn I’m so sorry,” Harry stands as I return. “I’m so clumsy tonight I didn’t mean to-“

“Harry it’s fine,” I put my hand on his arm. “Honestly.”

“The stain didn’t come out!” He notices the shoes. “I’ll replace them—send me a bill or…”

I don’t have the heart to tell them he couldn’t replace my £400 Acne boots that easily. I’d bought them a couple seasons ago to celebrate the fact that I’d finally gone out with a guy, and hadn’t thought about my ex once. They were I’m-officially-over-my-ex boots.

Now that I thought about it though, it was stupid to wear them on a date with Harry. They were soaked in the bad luck of all the dates they’d been on since.

Agh!

“I’m serious Har,” I cut him off from his plans to replace them. I take a deep breath and motion he should do the same. “Look, it’s really fine. Plus they’re my favourite colour now. They’ll go with the rest of my wardrobe.”

He stops apologizing and looks down at the splotch of pink on the white. “In that case. We’ll have to take the bottle home and stain the other one.”

“Deal,” I say and he smiles at me softly and it feels like things might go better now. Maybe we really had a chance.

When our food arrives Harry’s steak isn’t done how he asked, and they take it back. I awkwardly push around the food on my plate, not wanting to eat until he had his food too.

“You can eat,” Harry reminds me. “I’m sure it’ll be out any minute.”

“We can share for no-“

“Just eat,” Harry says but now all the focus is on me eating and I feel tense and awkward and quite frankly, frustrated.

I shouldn’t have piled so much hope on this date going perfectly.

We wave the waiter over when too much time has passed by, and he seems confused about the steak.

“D’you think they forgot?” I ask Harry.

“Maybe,” he looks frustrated, two spots of pink have taken residence on his cheeks. I feel bad. This date wasn’t turning out for both of us.

It takes another 10 minutes for his plate to come back out. By then my plate looks like I hated it but tried to eat it to be polite. Harry tries to ask if it can be heated but I’m way too non-confrontational in restaurants to let that happen so I shovel a mouthful of room temperature food and give the waiter a thumbs up.

I just wanted to go home.

By the time Harry pays the bill (it was expensive, even though we agreed to skip dessert. He insisted on paying) I was ready to call an uber to whiz us home. But he suggests we walk off the food to another station and it sounds like a good idea so I follow along. Maybe now we could have a nice time.

The walk was supposed to help clear our heads and be romantic but somehow the mood had soured beyond repair. We don’t talk the whole time, both of us lost in our own heads. Neither of us holds hands, or even loop arms.

And somehow it gets worse when we arrive at my door.

"Well this is me," Harry points to his door beside mine in an attempt at a joke. I throw a polite smile.

"Thanks for the date," I say. I feel like it's a little curt but I didn't really know how to act. Did we hug? Shake hands? We liked each other but clearly this date was proving we didn't belong together. Kissing each other goodnight felt like the opposite direction of tonight's vibe.

"No, thank you. And sorry. Again." Harry looks embarrassed as he glances down at my shoes.

"Harry, honestly it's okay," I try to reassure him. I would take walking ten miles in heels I had yet to break in than this awkward air that stifled us. It was never supposed to be like this!

"No it's not," Harry huffs. "I ruined your shoes."

"They're shoes. Just shoes."

"It's a first date, I don't want you thinking I'm a clumsy mess."

"Harry," I lean my back against my door. He looked so good tonight, I was so excited when I opened my door to him a few hours ago and everything had gone tits up. I didn't want him to feel this way. It was my fault, not his.

"I just," he rubs his face and then sighs.

"It wasn't that bad," I lie. The night had gone so badly.

"Yes it is!" He throws his hands up and the movement makes me flinch. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. God, everything's just..."

I blink and my eyes start to sting. It was the end of the night and we'd officially decided this wasn't going anywhere. It wasn't a shock, but still it was upsetting. I really liked him. I really thought things would work out between us, especially after that night with my heels in his bathroom. I had to call it.

"I should go in. I'll see you later Harry."

His brows scrunch up, he opens his mouth and then closes it. "G'night yn."

"G'night." I whisper. He stays there like he always does as I go into my flat. I peek through the peephole and catch him mouth a fuck before opening his own door.

Still in my outfit, my shoes kicked off to the side, I start to pace. I can't do anything except go over the date in my head.

Was there a particular moment I fucked up? Should I have said something differently? How did Harry and I go from having amazing chemistry and an honest friendship to this?

Maybe I was trying too hard. I should have just ordered the burger like he’d guessed, should have gone along with what he talked about. I should have been a better date.

That was it. I couldn't go to bed like this.

The fact that every time I had a shot at a date, a real chance, something had to go wrong and it was always me. I had to fix this.

I grab the doorknob, and pause. I was about to march right into Harry's flat and ask why the date went so terribly. But what was the point? It would just make things even more awkward.

I think about the last time we hung out. There was beer. Maybe we just need beer—no hundred pound dish or fancy red wine. We just needed to be us. Lowbrow beers and a relaxed environment.

I grab a jacket to throw over my outfit and slip into my Stan Smiths. I head downstairs and in the direction of the local shop for a 6-pack. We would drink beer in our flat and get over this awful date. This couldn't be the last of us.

As I cash out a familiar head of hair in the closest aisle catches my attention.

"Harry?"

"Yn?" He's dressed down in joggers and a jumper.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Grabbing dessert," he shakes the plastic container with donuts inside. "What are you doing here?"

I hold my box up. His eyes widen slightly, a frown touches his lips for a mere second before he arranges his face into a neutral expression.

"All for yourself?" He asks.

"No actually-“ I'm about to launch into what I was going to do but the cashier clears his throat and stares pointedly at Harry. He was holding up the line now.

"Oh sorry," he walks up to the counter and pays for his items. I stand off to the side and we walk out together.

"So you were saying?" He asks.

"Well. I was coming to your place with these."

"You were?" He stops in the middle of the sidewalk to ask.

"Yeah!"

"You're not joking?"

"No!" I laugh. "Why?"

"I..." he looks down at his box and swallows what he was saying. "Let me guess, was it a bad date?"

When he looks at me it's a cheeky look. I almost want to kiss him there.

"Another bad date yep," I tell him and we start to walk towards home.

"Was it the bloke?"

"Not exactly, I think a lot of it had to do with me."

"You sure the date wasn't an arse?"

"No he was sweet. He was very chivalrous, I really thought it was just going to go smoother."

"What do you reckon happened?" He asks. We were both enjoying playing this game. Quite frankly it was combing out the awkwardness.

"I dunno. For one I really wanted a burger but I got in my head and got lasagna instead. When do I ever eat lasagna!?” Harry laughs unexpectedly and it makes me feel good so I continue. “I started thinking about all of my failed dates and almost-relationship. I tried not to make this one date turn out like them but that was my mistake.”

“Sounds like it’s tough being you,” he teases. I push him lightly.

“Well if you could put yourself in our shoes what do you think happened?"

"I think your date got a bit nervous." He responds. By now we've reached our lobby and we take the lift up. "He's not used to going on dates—didn’t he have a steady girlfriend for 3 years? That's 3 years with 0 first dates. He didn’t want to screw things up and he was so in his head about the fact that he took her to an overly fancy place when that wasn’t her scene-“

“It’s not. But it was a cute place. Just poor service.”

“Yeah it was shite service—or I heard it was.” We glance at each other and grin. "I heard he split wine on your shoes."

"Psh," I laugh. “The pink stains were on the outside this time not the inside.”

The lift lands on our floor and we hover outside our doors. "Yours or mine?"

"Mine?" Harry opens his door and I follow the familiar hall to the couch I'd sat on just a week ago. I pull my legs up and we crack open beers, each biting into the sugary pillows he'd bought.

“I actually bought dessert so I could have an excuse to knock on your door and talk to you after that date.” Harry confesses after we’ve each had our moment with our donuts.

I feel warm inside, we’d both wanted an epilogue after the date. We were determined, and ended up in the same place. I hold my drink up. “Cheers.”

Harry tilts his head and smiles. He’s gonna be the death of me whether this works out or not, the thought pops into my head.

"I feel like I need to apologize," Harry continues. "I didn't want to mess things up and I think I just overthought it all and-"

"Please." I cut him off. "I totally made everything awkward and I think I'm just cursed."

"I don't know why I thought you would like such a fancy place. As soon as you said you're not into it I felt like I was doomed-"

"I didn't mind it! I just wasn't expecting it from you!"

"You don't think I'm a classy man?"

I laugh, "Just not that uppity on a first date."

"I was trying to pull out all the stops."

"Instead we just full stopped."

That gets a laugh from Harry. It dies down as he asks, "So what do you reckon? Is this a sign we're only meant to be neighborly friends?"

I bite my donut, mulling his question over. The beer and donuts were helping. I felt like I was thinking clearer than I had all night.

"I wouldn't say no."

We sit in silence as we think about it until he moves down the couch and rests his knee against mine.

"I really like you.”

"I like you too," I agree with my heart quickening.

"Then why don't we stop dating and just do this. No dates. Just hanging out."

"I don't know," I say. "I don't mind being wined and dined occasionally. Don’t you?”

"Okay, how about we just hang out. And when hanging out gets boring we put on our going out clothes and wine and dine each other. Think about it," he says and I nod, agreeing.

“Only if when we put on our going out clothes you keep wearing that aftershave.”

“Deal. And you wear your favourite colour each time.”

“Done.” I grin.

"So you wanna watch a movie or something?" He asks.

“Is that a euphemism?” I tease. He turns his TV on and turns to me with a disappointed look. I try not to laugh.

“No yn get your head out of the gutter. A movie. An actual movie.”

I stick my tongue out. "Can we just not watch anything romantic or sad though?”

"Toy Story it is," Harry puts on the film and we lean back against his couch, cuddled into each other. His fingers play with my hair in slow movements that feel comforting.

I wake up a few hours later, the movie long over. Harry's snoring softly, his arm wrapped around me.

I smile to myself. Even after the disaster of a date we were alright.

I nuzzle myself into the crook of his neck, feeling the musky heat of his skin, and drift back off.

***

A knock wakes me.

I open my eyes slowly and look around the room. I wasn't in my room. I was still on the couch, the cushions had done wonders for my back but my neck was stiff.

Harry was still fast asleep, his lips parted, and his arm thrown across his face. He looked so kissable then.

There was another knock, and Harry's arm slips off his face. He sits up, and the knocking resumes.

"Coming!" He shouts as he runs his hands over his face and hair.

He stands and looks back at me, and smiles. He's still sleepy but he's smiling at me.

"Morning." He says.

"Good morning."

He stays there with a dazed smile until I point behind him.

"Door?"

He nods and makes his way over to answer the door.

"Harry Sty-?" a voice asks.

“Yep,” Harry mumbles something I can’t hear. He’s asked to sign whatever it was.

"Thanks," his voice is rough and he clears it.

Closing the door behind him, he throws whatever package he'd received to the floor and walks over to me. "We fell asleep."

"I guess so. I'm still in last night's clothing." My skirt was now wrinkled and my top was half untucked and ridden up my midriff. "What time is it?"

Harry glances at his watch. "Half past 8."

"Shit! I've got work in half hour!"

"Work from here," Harry leans over me on the couch and offers his simple solution.

"I'll have to shower."

"You live next door. Just do your business and come back with your work things. It'll be like old times."

He's inches closer to me, and I really want to kiss him. It's funny we'd done none of that on our first date but now I want a re-do.

"Okay," I whisper.

"Okay," Harry whispers and he closes the distance and kisses me. It was better than our first kiss.

When I pull away I have a stupid smile on my face.

"Go get ready love," Harry laughs and pushes me off the couch. "You'll be late."

"See you later," I wave and walk out the door, smiling because he’d called me love again. And he hadn’t even hesitated.

Harry was right, it was a lot like the old days. In between work meetings, and Harry's calls, we had a lot of time to spend together. We chatted shit, snuck in some kisses, and talked about work.

We don’t go on a second date, instead we order pizza and watch Toy Story 2 (even though we'd fallen asleep in the first one).

Our days together are fun, and the nights were even more fun.

It was a Wednesday, a week and a half after the disastrous date. Harry and I had taken most of the week off and we'd spent it together, and tonight we'd gone out.

It was a great date, nothing fancy or high brow. Just a lowkey pub with a bunch of beers and greasy messy food and tons of laughter.

"So," Harry says as we're walking hand in hand back to our flat. "How many more days of leave do you have?"

"I have four and a half weeks total."

"Woah. That’s a lot."

"Why? You're not regretting this are you? Getting bored of me?" I tease him.

"I've had 29 years to prepare for you," he teases back.

"That's a good one. But I don't think you can handle 4.5 weeks.”

"Try me."

"Fine," I bump my hip into his.

We're silent for the rest of the walk. But it’s a good silence. When we reach the building, Harry takes his time unlocking his door.

"What are you doing?"

"Just waiting," he shrugs and I laugh.

"Do you want me to stay the night?"

"Yes," he answers without any hesitation; in the last week I'd slept in my bed once.

He opens the door pretty quickly after that and I follow inside—tomorrow, tomorrow I would sleep in mine. Harry could join me if he wanted.

Tonight I watch him close the door, the second the lock clicks I'm taking his jacket off for him and he's laughing at my eagerness.

"Someone's impatient."

"I'm not," I lie and drop his jacket.

"No?" He wraps his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. He kisses my jaw, and then the corner of my lips. You'd think I'd be used to this by now but it's just as dizzying as the times before.

I shake my head and his mouth hovers over mine, his hot breath tickling me.

"What about now?" He whispers.

"Nope," I breathe out and I push onto my tippy toes to kiss him. What can I say, I was denying it with him but I'd never been good at the slow and steady stuff. Harry's mouth was a drug, and I couldn't help myself.

He's not slow and steady either.

He's quick to lift me up and set me on the island in his kitchen, his fingers trailing over the edge of my skirt, his mouth working against mine.

His hand cups my ass and his fingers inch closer to my heat.

"Yn," his voice is soft and he pulls away.

"Yes?"

"Did I tell you how radiant you looked tonight? I can’t take my eyes off of you any time I see you, especially when you’re so loudly and comfortably you in your coordinated outfits and elaborate hairstyles. I feel like the luckiest guy out there. I think I am the luckiest guy in the whole city. I catch sight of you in public and…you just take my breath away."

"Aw Har. I’m already yours. You don't have to butter me up," I tease him as I pull him back to me but his words make me weaker than any kiss could. I know my eyes are growing watery at all of the nice things he’s saying and I’m grateful when he pretends not to see.

This was the nicest thing a guy has said to me, he was really telling me that he liked me for me. He felt lucky. Well I must have won the lottery if he felt lucky.

"I know I don't have," he doesn't pull back again but whispers this into my neck. A shiver runs up my spine. "But I just want to tell you that you're so beautiful."

His mouth trails over my jaw, and back to the corner of my mouth, he doesn't kiss me and I want him to.

"So beautiful," he whispers and I tilt my head back to invite him to continue the trail his lips were making. "So sweet."

He kisses my collar bone and the strap of my top. "So lovely."

His hands trail over my thighs and I want him so badly.

"You're making me melt," I tell him.

"Good thing we're in the kitchen," he hums.

"You're the worst," I giggle and his hands cup my cheeks and he presses his lips against mine. His tongue swipes over my lips and I allow him entry.

We're a tangle of limbs as we kiss and kiss, until I can't breathe. When we move to the bedroom I hardly have time to catch my breath there too.

"Yn," his voice is rough, his hair wild. His body is hot against mine and the way he says my name is enough to make me transcend this dimension.

"I like you. A lot."

"I like you too. A lot too." I can barely get the words out as I try to worm my way into his skin.

He chuckles at my growing impatience but he’s too far in to hold back again. He gives in to every one of my needs--even ones I didn't realize I had.

I'm a goner.

As we fall asleep, his arm wrapped tightly around me, I know we did the right thing. Despite being neighbours or the awful first date. The fact that we bumped into each other at the shop later that night meant we were supposed to have a second chance.

We worked best like this: warm and tucked away, whispering confessions into each other’s skin, seeing each other and not caring what we aren’t.

He pulls me closer in his sleep, sighing into my hair. This felt impossible before but it was so real now. And I think I really won the lottery; I’d dated a million toads before but I think I finally found my prince.

TAGLIST:

@kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @mellamolayla

#harry styles fic #writingsfromhome #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #i hope this meets everyones expectations #for how things go between these two #harry styles angst #fanfic #i did not do a lot of edits so dont mind any inconsistencies etc

[snek-eyes]

4+1 Times Aziraphale Glanced Out Maggie's Window

Come dissect a scene with me!

Today's conclusion is that Aziraphale was planning on "helping out" Maggie and Nina regardless. And it is mostly because:

So after Maggie brings it up, Aziraphale will not stop glancing back over his shoulder towards Nina.

Glance count: 1

Glance Count: 2

Aziraphale looks like he's still figuring out exactly how all the pieces fit together here, but then he hears "love" and just melts about it:

Local Soho angel LOVES LOVE. 💕

(Maggie does not realize what she has summoned.)

Glance Count: 3 What's getting me is it's not just him glancing over his shoulder, they cut away to the shot of him alone thinking about it. He is actually trying to answer her question and feels legitimately bad when he can't.

While I'm in the mood to over-analyze screen layout, it's also interesting that in the Maggie shots, Aziraphale is a barely-there light blur in the corner, but in the Aziraphale shots, once they start talking about love, Maggie becomes a dark shape on Aziraphale's left side, aka the side where you would usually find a different dark shape relevant to Aziraphale's knowledge of love and pining.

For comparison, here's a shot from the beginning of the scene, where Maggie's silhouette is more clearly Maggie:

It's not just that we're zoomed in, we lose any of the color we had from the light catching her scarf and shirt pattern.

The dark possible-Crowley-metaphor gets closer once the whole "being in love" situation clicks for Aziraphale. It's not just him turning towards her either, they moved the camera to make that happen.

And then when he puts off helping, he and the dark shape move away from each other. Not as strongly, there's less camera shift here, this feels more tentative.

Something about Maggie's situation is hitting Aziraphale personally. I think at the beginning of the conversation Aziraphale was confused by what exactly is going on with her right until she mentions love, and then he knows just what to map onto it.

Glance Count: 4 Maggie lets him off the hook and yet he can't let it go. (Doomed?? Surely not!)

The face of an angel who's realized: But it could be my job!

Now here's the one that's different. Maggie goes on to answer his question about the record, Aziraphale tries to focus up on the mission at hand.

Except then a car beeps in the street. This time when Aziraphale turns to look it feels like an instinctual response:

This one doesn't feel like it's about Nina. When we cut to his face he's disappointed and frustrated.

We know how important screen layout is for this show, and they've maneuvered Aziraphale so he can be framed with a big ole gap over his left shoulder. He's looking for Crowley, and he's disappointed when it's not him causing a traffic disturbance.

I like this. It's a sneaky moment, easy to gloss over it and think it's another glance back at Nina, but this one doesn't fit.

And yea, the angel went on to sublimate his want to get closer to Crowley into "Maggie and Nina are counting on me!" Ah, buddy.

I don't have a snappy way to end this post. Thank you for riding this train of thought with me!

#good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziraphale #v watches good omens #this whole post is really to point out one subtle moment #i would give just about anything to watch even just one random scene with MS and get him to explain what they all were thinking

[aziraphales-library]

HI!!! I love this account its my fav ever thank you so much for doing this. Makes finding fics much easier than just scrolling through ao3 and stumbling upon fics I didn't want to see or having to dig through the trenches for a certain trope. However I have been trying to look for the whole "Aziraphale treating Crowleys plants with kindness" trope? Oddly specific I know but if you can find some that would be great! No rush.

Hello! You might be interested in some of the fics on our #crowley's plants tag. Here are some in which Aziraphale is kind to the plants...

Plant Heaven by dionysia_does_stories (T)

When one of Crowley's plants is saved from certain death by an angelic miracle, it ends up in plant heaven (Aziraphale's Bookshop). Plus what's (who's) actually keeping Crowley's plants growing.

The Plants are Off Limits… Unless by TheEnchantedQuill (M)

Crowley didn't really expect Aziraphale to take a co-parenting approach to his plants. Their styles were highly different. But it's hard to stay mad at Aziraphale, even when he breaks in and whispers nice things to the plant life. So long as they keep up the physical relations.

Twelve Months by Aethelflaed (G)

Twelve months after Crowley began his Lockdown Nap, Aziraphale comes by for a visit.

Plant Heist by Sir_Bear (G)

Crowley reached for the poor plant, doubtless to destroy it. To punish it for its “flaws” the way he felt like he deserved? Aziraphale had always hated how Crowley treated the plants, but now that he knew what it truly meant? Enough was enough. He snapped, and the doorbell to the flat rang. “You lot, don’t go getting ideas. I’ll be back for you later.” Aziraphale crept in as Crowley left, and slid the succulent into a pocket for safekeeping. ... One by one, more plants disappeared from Crowley’s flat, into the second floor of the bookshop. Crowley resorts to some... creative defenses.

The angel wing begonia vs the pear tree by Angelica_Tree (G)

Aziraphale insists that an encouraged plant grows better than a scared one. Crowley comes up with a brilliant plan to settle this argument, once and for all. He suggests that Aziraphale buys a plant for Crowley, while Crowley buys one for Aziraphale. That way, they’ll both start out with new plants, and have to work with something they haven’t chosen themselves. But what happens when a pear tree, destined for greatness, find herself in Soho? And can Crowley really bring himself to yell at a begonia named after an angel? And can the plants turn out to be the key to actually talking about their relationship?

Messages of the Heart by Aegopixel (G)

He honestly hadn’t meant to make such a mess of things! Stubbing his toe on the box really had been an accident, and a painful one at that. But as soon as the box’s contents had spilled out, Aziraphale only had to take one good look to forget all about the importance of privacy. He swiped a hand through the vast pile at his feet, eyes widening in awe at what he had just discovered. When Crowley steps out, leaving nothing but a brief note for Aziraphale to watch after his plants, the angel isn't quite sure what to think. But as he spends some time at Crowley's flat, he winds up unearthing an old box filled with even older secrets - except for that fairly modern one?

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley's plants #mod d

[what-gs-watching]

“Well…maybe I’ll save you.”

I’M NOT CRYING, YOU’RE CRYING.

Sorry.

I’m not crying, you’re crying.

That’s not much better, is it.

I just finished The Giggle and I’m sobbing over the fact that 10 finally gets everything he was chasing and I am clearly unwell. I knew this episode was going to break me but I didn’t realize how far they were going to push us over the cliff. Like. You don’t get this in Doctor Who, not ever. That’s almost the appeal of it, sometimes. 

But Russell T Davies just ripped out everyone’s heart in the best possible way.  I really can’t.

Blorp. Okay. 

The thing is….the thing is - I think everybody needed that. How satisfying must this be for David Tennant? And Catherine Tate? How are they not fit to bursting right now? That was so beautiful, gang. And they must be so proud.

But I’m gonna focus. Also, didn’t I say catharsis? Jesus christ, you can’t get more than that. I’m pretty sure they hit the fucking limit on catharsis. Wow. I’m a mess.

Focusing, though: wherein the Doctor and Donna have to say humanity from their own terrible base instincts because the Toymaker loves a good game. 

So we open on Soho in 1925 (which, is anyone else wondering where A.Z. Fell & Co is in relationship to the street they’re showing? No? Just me? Okay cool) and we’re taken into a creepy toy shop where we meet Neil Patrick Harris doing a super weird German accent and being a general creep. He sells a dummy to a man who says he needs it for his boss, who is around the corner working on inventing the concept of television broadcasting for the very first time.  

They pop the head off the dummy and leave it in a setup surrounded by a ton of lightbulbs and they go into another room to test it all out - and it works. But the heat from the bulbs is hot, too hot, which is why they needed an object, not an actual person. But of course, the creepy toyseller was obviously up to no good, and as the broadcast continues, the dummy head melts and lets out a terrible little giggle. Clearly, we’re in trouble.

Back in the present, the Doctor and Donna are in the streets of London trying to figure out what’s happening. Some guy argues with 14 who tries to stop him from attacking a car, saying that his taxes pay for the street but he doesn’t drive and he has the right to do whatever he wants with the roadway, thank you. Perfectly sound logic, and the guy is belligerent, saying two days ago everyone in the world decided they were right and wouldn’t listen to reason.  So that’s exciting.

Soon enough, UNIT finds them and they’re told to get Wilf somewhere safe while the Doctor and Donna follow them to headquarters. Where we finally get our eyes on Kate Lethbridge-Stewart who I absolutely love, she’s the “bitches get shit done” Tina Fey gif come to LIFE. Bitch will always be the new black, and that’s Kate, and exactly how she runs UNIT, loading it full of equally brilliant women, including Shirley who we’d met when dealing with The Meep, and Melanie, who was a companion to the 6th Doctor,

Who run the world? GIRLS.

Anyway, we get into explanation mode - two days ago there was a spike in aggression worldwide, the same spike across the board. It’s affecting everyone, even the people in government, but UNIT has a fun device that helps keep everyone wearing one sane. And Kate decides she’s going to demonstrate how fucked up the situation is - she asks them to take her device offline, so they do.

And she proceeds to spew a bunch of terrible things at the Doctor - how he’s an alien with two hearts that have infiltrated them and can’t be trusted, and then she takes shots at poor Shirley who’s in a goddamn wheelchair and it’s really gross to watch, it’s one of the worst parts of humanity and she tries to avoid having her device turned back on, but they finally subdue her. It’s some serious shit, gang.

They say that the spikes aren’t coming from outside, they’re in everyone’s head, except for Donna, and Melanie, who have spent significant time in the TARDIS. And for extra fun, two days ago a satellite went up that finally connected the entirety of the earth to the internet, and now, everyone has access to a screen. 

And of course, Donna is working something out about the spike they’ve found, saying that she spent six months teaching Rose how to play the recorder; she thinks it’s a tune. Melanie sings it out and it strikes with everyone, like they’ve known it for years. And then Shirley finds it, it’s not a tune, it’s the laugh from the dummy. The Doctor figures out that the image has been burnt into television itself, into all the screens everyone is attached to every minute of everyday.

As they’re getting the date of the exact transmission, 14 gives Kate permission to shoot the satellite down, even though it’ll start an international incident. He’s the president of the world, and I love that. Her relief is palpable.

He also has a little moment with Melanie, which is so sweet. I love that whenever he rolls up to someone he hasn’t seen in decades, he always mutters the kindest little “hello.” Just for them. His attention completely focused. It must feel like a sun shining directly on you. I literally have a collection of David Tennant saying “hello” in my mind, ugh it’s so something. 

During all of this, Kate is telling Donna she did well working out the spikes, and she offers her a job at UNIT once everything has settled. Pure Donna, she asks how much the salary is, and then counters with DOUBLE the amount and 5 weeks paid vacation which is immediately accepted. BAMF, BAMF, BAMF. Get what’s yours, baby girl.

So much going on. Okay, so they go back to 1925, and 14 is all about what they need to do but Donna wants to hear about Mel because he’s never once mentioned her. He never does, he never talks about them. Rose a bit, yes, but usually no. Not ever. And he reminds her he’s old as hell and he can’t just chat about everyone, but it’s more than that. She tells him he never stops moving, she says “You are staggering along. Maybe that's why your old face came back. You're wearing yourself out” and that’s the crux of the matter, friends. 14 is wonderful, we’re all in love with him, but he’s definitely bleeding out everything. All over the place. And it’s so sad to see him so run down. But, classic 10, he ignores her.

They find the toyshop of course, and the Doctor recognizes the Toymaker. Who immediately starts a game of catch with the Doctor, because he’s a fucking weirdo like that, and 14 looks incredibly determined and also freaked out but Donna puts a stop to it, and the Toymaker disappears. 

They follow him deeper into the shop and surprise! They find themselves in a never ending hallway full of doors, and each door just leads to another hallway. Which should be impossible, but we’re told that the Toymaker is only governed by the rules of play, so he can basically do whatever the eff he wants.

Donna gets the story out of him as they wander - the Doctor had once gone into another realm, where he played a game against the Toymaker and apparently won, but he said he made a terrible mistake. Poor kiddo is really raw all of a sudden, he says “I'm always so certain. I'm all sonic and TARDIS and Time Lord. Take that away... Take away the toys... what am I? What am I now?” and then he tells Donna, “I don’t know…if I can save your life this time.”

Scrawny little 14 all exposed and helpless and I told you, he’s bleeding all over the place, and she just tells him, “Well…maybe I’ll save you.”

THEY’RE BEST FRIENDS, and she’s definitely gonna save him, just not in the way he thinks. And it’s so good.

Speeding ahead, they keep wandering through the halls and then they get separated of course and Donna gets attacked by the dummy that was supposed to be the original dummy’s wife and his creepy babies but she beats them obviously, and the Doctor gets taunted by the Toymaker but they find each other eventually.

And then they’re pulled into a room with a little stage where the Toymaker puts on a puppet show about exactly what has happened to the Doctor’s companions since he traveled with Donna. And it’s so sad to listen to him try to justify everyone’s fate - Amy died of old age, but in a time and place she was never meant to. Clara was killed by a bird but technically saved in her last moments of life. Bill was turned into a cyberman, but her consciousness lived on. No happy endings, for the Doctor and his friends, not ever. 

 To stop the show, the Doctor challenges the Toymaker to a game. And Donna’s afraid the Toymaker will cheat, but it seems the rules of the game bind his entire existence: the Doctor will either win or lose. So they cut a deck, and the highest card wins. And it’s the Toymaker, with a king.

But the Doctor finds a loophole - he won the first game, the Toymaker one the second game, and that prompts another, the best of three. Which the Toymaker accepts, but he wants that game to be played back in the present. 

Meanwhile at UNIT headquarters they’re shooting down the new satellite, and the Doctor and Donna appear to try and figure out a way to force the Toymaker out of the universe they way he’d come, but it’s too late. 14 is explaining something and then “Spice Up Your Life” is playing, and I’m sorry but L O L at the entire dance scene with NPH that unfolds. It’s hilarious, and creepy, and it definitely goes on too long, but I’ll allow a little pageantry. He turns UNIT’s bullets into flower petals and it’s a little terrifying, how much power he possesses and that’s the point. And then as soon as he’s arrived, he disappears again. 

Just kidding though, the Toymaker is out on the platform where the beam they used to take down the satellite is still set up and ready to roll, and he’s got control of it. So everyone of course rushes out to try and stop him. 

The Doctor tries to talk him down, of course. He asks why he’s choosing to be so horrible when he can do so many good things, and the Toymaker reminds him he’s just a vastness that good and bad don’t apply to, only winning and losing. The Doctor tells him he’s a vastness that contains so much more, and then he suggests they take the game away from earth, that they can play across the cosmos. 

He says “we can be…celestial” - and I’m dying inside. Is anyone else wondering what Aziraphale’s reaction to that sentence would have been? So many little bits of Good Omens, it’s slightly painful. 

Also, I appreciate that the Doctor is always trying to turn enemies into his playmates. 10 did it with the Master, too. It makes sense, he’s always off with humans but why wouldn’t entities that are more in line with what he is, want to travel with him? They always say no. Because y’all are too obsessed with your own drama to recognize what a fucking opportunity that is. Idiots.

So yeah, that doesn’t work and the Toymaker declares that since he played the first two games with different doctors, he wants to play the final game with the next Doctor. AND HE SHOOTS 14 WITH THE GIANT FUCKING LASER. 

It’s agonizing. It’s terrible. And Donna and Mel rush to his side as he starts to regenerate, because they don’t want him to be alone. They tell him he’s not dying, and they don’t care who he is, because every version of him is fantastic. And that’s what he needed to hear the first time. Every time, really.

And then he says “It's time. Here we go again. Allons-y!” (squee!) but…nothing happens. So he asks them to pull, yank on his arms, and they’re like ‘um’ but they do and THEN:

Out pops 15. And I’m losing my fucking mind. 

Here’s the thing, gang. There is one sure fire way to make the new Doctor capture everyone’s heart, and that is apparently to let him interact with 14. Because everything that happens after this is incredible.

15 says “You're me. No, I'm me. I think I'm really, really me. Oh-ho-ho, I am completely me!” and he tells 14 to push, and they’re both like ‘will this work?’ and they’re laughing and they push against each other and they’re two separate entities and it’s amazing. 

14 obviously was all done up in his traditional suit (minus the coat) so now suddenly 15 is wearing the dress shirt, and the tie, and their charming little tightie whities, and the CONVERSES! And 14’s still got the pants, the undershirt, the vest, completely barefoot. I’m delighted and crying my eyes out. 

So apparently they’ve bi-generated, which is supposed to be a myth and 15 asks Mel what she thinks and she says “I think you’re beautiful” and 14 pipes up, “still beautiful?!” and it’s all so good but the Toymaker is exasperated and then both Doctor’s say “I challenge you to a game” but he doesn’t like that. He’d caused the bi-generation and he doesn’t want to play both of them but he can’t say no.

What follows is the highest stakes game of catch that has literally ever existed. 14 and 15 are ducking and bobbing and weaving and catching and it’s ridiculous but also so filled with tension; whoever drops the ball, loses. David Tennant is a 50-something year old spindly noodle and oh my god he’s just crushing the entire thing, I could watch this all day. 

But someone has to lose, and thank god, eventually it’s the Toymaker. They decide their prize is going to be banishing him from existence forever. He gets folded up into a little square of douchebag, shoved in a box, and left to rot in the deepest recesses of UNIT’s storage. 

And it’s wonderful! But 14 can’t help but think of all of the people that died. And here is where 15 worms into everyone’s heart for the rest of eternity: he reminds 14 that he can’t save everyone, and then he grabs him into a hug and he says “Come here. I've got you. Yeah? It's OK. I'm here” and he kisses 14’s forehead. 

It’s what the Doctor has always needed, but never got. A reminder from himself that what he does matters, that he’s good and he tries and it’s okay when things don’t go perfectly, but he does save people. He deserves acceptance from himself, and if he can’t give it in his own mind, he can get it from someone else who is literally him. It’s fucking beautiful.

They head back to the TARDIS and 14 shows 15 all the bells and whistles and 14 wonders how it’s going to work, the two of them? 15 makes him stop his anxious rambling, tells him “you're thin as a pin, love. You're running on fumes.” He keeps talking, about all of the things they’ve seen and done. The Pandorica, The Time War, losing River and Rose. The fact that Sarah Jane has died. 14 says, “I loved her” and 15 says “I loved her.” 

15 reminds him that they haven’t stopped, not for a second. But he’s fine, because 14 had fixed himself. He says “We’re doing rehab out of order.” And it’s true; 15 has taken in everything that Donna has been trying to get 14 to understand, he has the sweetness and the willingness to express his feelings that 14 finally learned, and now he’s putting his foot down, to himself. His old self. He’s telling 14 that he has to stop. 

But 14 doesn’t know how, and Donna tells him that he just has to exist, every single day, in and out. Over and over. And that’s the adventure. She says “I've worked out what happened. You changed your face... and then you found me. Do you know why?”

“To come home.”

If you didn’t lose it at that, you might need to examine your inner workings. It’s a punch to the gut. And it’s absolutely true. It’s the one thing the Doctor has never had, but now he can. And the way 14 asks “Do you mean…he flies off?” is so sad and small, and deflating, like he can’t imagine being pried away and made to stop and just be and exist. It’s terrifying for him. And he knows he can’t leave the TARDIS, it would hurt.

15 has an idea though, he thinks they might have a little bit of time, still being governed by a state of play, so he produces a sledge hammer and he hops out of the TARDIS, followed by 14 and Donna. 

He wields the hammer and he says “You get a prize, honey. And here is mine!” and he SWINGS against the TARDIS, and out pops another perfect little blue police box (and he runs a hand down the first one, saying “I’m sorry!”). Two TARDIS’s, two doctors. 

(I’m also swooning over 15’s use of endearments - love, honey - he’s gonna kill me.)

14 goes in to inspect the new TARDIS, he’s reverent almost, and it’s much the same, but it’s got a jukebox. He wanders back to his own TARDIS and 15 hops into the new one and powers her up and he’s definitely about to leave without a goodbye but 14 bounds back in with Donna to get what they’re owed. Which is hugs and a little sass. 15 says “off you pop, old man” and I love that, but they remind him he’s the older of the two now, so he says “Okay, kid. I love you. Get out!”

15 is full of the love the Doctor never gets to give freely, but he’s ready now, and I’m so excited to watch that unfold. It’s so perfect and beautiful that 14 is the one who gets to feel it first. Baby boy needs so much more, and he’s gonna get it.

And so, off they both go. 15 to his endless adventures, 14 to something even more scary.

The last scene is a dinner at Donna’s, wherein 14 is telling a ridiculous story about using his eyebrows to communicate (Crowley, Crowley, Crowley…) and it’s just banter and it’s so good. We find out that he’s taking Mel on little adventures in the TARDIS, even Rose a time or two. He says “Just can’t turn down my favorite niece” and oh, it’s so lovely. He says “That’s what you are. With my best friend, my brother-in-law, the evil stepmother, and mad auntie Mel.” 

The desperate wanderer, a man who has run for thousands upon thousands upon thousands of years in a multitude of faces, finally has a family. 

Donna tells him he doesn’t have to stay forever, and then she asks him if he misses it out there. And his face, oh y’all his face as he says “The funny thing is, I fought all those battles for all those years... and now I know what for. This. I've never been so happy in my life”, it’s EVERYTHING.

Never, not once, has the Doctor gotten this. Usually, things work out just enough that it barely soothes the pain of what was lost. Never has he won so fully, so completely. Donna restored, and the chance to finally relish what he’s been protecting for so long. And no one deserved it more than 10 and 14.

The Doctor doesn’t have to be all hard edges and fire and war and unrelenting motion. He can be soft and vulnerable and he can accept help and he can love. 

And I didn’t even realize I wanted to see that. Doctor Who is like letting yourself believe in a higher power, a little bit. Believing in a species that maybe isn’t beholden to all of the disgusting emotions we have to deal with, he’s strong when we can’t be. He’s strong all the time. But I don’t think I’ve ever connected as much to an arch as I did to this one. We can’t be strong all the time. No one can. 

Watching the Doctor stop, and be taken care of for once, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Catharsis, on all sides. For everyone. I needed all of that way more than I’m ever willing to admit.

No matter what’s going on in the real world, at least now, somewhere out there 14 is hanging out at Donna’s house, telling silly stories and helping cook dinner and teaching Rose a bunch of science she should never get her hands on, and that’s satisfying in a way I can’t explain.

Basically, I’m so thankful for Doctor Who. And I can’t wait to see what happens next…

#what g's watching #doctor who 60th anniversary #doctor who #fourteenth doctor #tenth doctor #fifteenth doctor #donna noble #doctor who spoilers #david tennant #the giggle spoilers #ncuti gatwa #catherine tate

[demonsandpieohmy]

Snatched 2: Panic! at the Discorporation

I was so blown away by the response to Snatched that I wrote a second chapter. Thanks to @kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon for betaing and the @goodomensafterdark community. Enjoy 😊

Summary: What do a demon, an ex-psychic, and a tiktok-famous mortician have in common? They’re all on a mission to track down some angelic ass.

Rating M, 5k total.

TW: medical procedures, description of a gunshot wound (non-graphic), dead bodies (but no one actually dies I promise)

———

Crowley was woken from a restless mid-day nap by the opening notes of “Send my love to your new lover” echoing in from the living room, and for a confused moment he thought his stereo system had turned on all by itself. Then he realized it was the custom ringtone he’d set in a fit of drunken anger, and scrambled to grab his mobile.

“Nastiest skank bitch” showed up on the screen, and Crowley’s heart leapt.

He answered with trepidation. “Angel, hi.”

But it wasn’t Aziraphale on the other end. “Mister Crowley?” A timid voice asked.

He frowned. “Muriel? How did you get my number?”

“I just asked the bookshop phone to call you.”

That explained the caller ID.

“What do you want?” Crowley asked.

“He said that if anything went wrong, went really wrong, only in the absolute worst case, you understand, that I should call you.”

“Who said?”

“The Supreme Archangel.”

Crowley fumed. So Aziraphale was going to play a literal game of telephone. “You can tell His Most Holy Supreme Arseangel that if he wants to talk, he can bloody well - hang on, did you say something went really wrong?”

“He’s missing,” Muriel said. “No one can find him.”

“Archangels don’t just go missing.” Except for that time with Gabriel, but Crowley highly doubted Aziraphale was wandering around Soho with his staff and crown jewels flapping in the breeze.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #snatched #writers on tumblr #writers on ao3 #writing #writeblr #good omens after dark #lilly rants #lilly writes

[channieissocute125]

hello! could you write a lee!han fic where he keeps getting upset bc his hyungs only tickle the rest of the maknae line, but they just thought the didn’t really like tickling and once they realize what’s going on they make up for all the lost time? 🥺 I just thought this would be so cute

Okay so first of all, I am so sorry for this being so late. I was unmotivated 😭😭

Also, this request is absolutely adorable!!

Lee: Han

Ler: SKZ

Han was sulking in his room. He couldn’t believe everyone was getting tickled except him. Yesterday Felix was wrecked because he acted “too cute for his own good”. Before that, Seungmin and Jeongin were wrecked because they refused to do the dishes after losing to rock paper scissors. Now that Han thought about it, all his hyungs had been tickled at least once in the last week as well. Everyone in Stray Kids except for him. It was as if they knew he liked it and weren’t doing it to tease him. The only way to get them to tickle him was to tickle them first.

_____________________________________________________________

When he finally came out of his room, he saw Chan sitting on the couch in the living room. 

“Perfect,” he thought to himself

“Hi, Han,” Chan said, delighted to see the younger

“Hey, hyung,” Han replied as he poked the older’s side.

“Aahaha”

Han’s jaw dropped as Chan went back to looking at his phone, not desiring to get revenge. Now he was sure that the others were aware of his tickling obsession and were purposely avoiding tickling him because they knew he liked it.

Han couldn’t help but start crying. The tears began falling, and he couldn’t stop them. He covered his face and ran back to his room, embarrassed.

Chan, was worried about the younger and gathered the others to comfort him.

“He’s probably had a long week. Schedules are so busy right now. Even I’m stressed.” Changbin said, sympathetically

Han jumped when he heard a knock at his door. He reluctantly went to the door, unlocked it, and twisted the knob. When he opened the door, he saw his seven bandmates standing at the door, each one with a worried expression.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asked

“I-I I don’t know,” Han said solemnly

“Do you need a hug?” Lee Know asked

“I need more than that.” he wanted to say but nodded instead

The other members brought him to his bed and cuddled him. Han thought now would be the perfect time to ask them why they had been avoiding tickling him. He thought it was now or never.

“C-can I ask you guys a question?”

“Of course Hannie! What’s up?” Hyunjin said cheerfully

“I-I why have you guys avoided tickling me?

“Because you hate it” Jeongin responded without thought, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What if I said I liked it?”

Everyone’s jaws dropped.

“Wait really? You actually like it? I thought you hated it.” Seungmin said in disbelief

“Yeah I do”

“Wait so that’s why you were crying earlier?” Chanbin asked with a grin

“Y-yeah”

“Do you want us to tickle you? To make up for all the times we didn’t?”

Han nodded his head.

Before Han could blink his arms were pinned above his head and the other members were wiggling their fingers.

Han couldn’t help but smile. It was finally happening.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt 70 fingers tickling his body.

“HAHAHAHAAHA” he threw his head back in laughter as the sensations took over him

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA IHIT’S SOHO BAD”

“Awwww, is someone extremely ticklish?” Chan asked teasingly

“The teasing makes it worse HAHAHA”

“Does it now?” Chan asked, now smirking widely

Lee Know, who was quite the expert at tickling, also smirked.

“How badly do you want to be wrecked?” Lee Know asked

“Very badly”

At that, Minho ordered the six lers to pin his arms, and legs, and sit on his hips to make the tickling worse.

When that was done, the seven ticklers attacked.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA” Han laughed as he had never laughed before, he loved it

“HAHAHAHAAHA IHI CANT HAHAHAHAHAA”

“Oh, you better try because we’re not stopping anytime soon. You asked for this remember?”

Han screamed when Jeongin said that. It was as if the maknae had been waiting his whole life for this.

“IHIHI CANT HAHAHAHA”

“Get his belly button, that always kills him. I know because I've tickled him many times before” Hyunjin stated

“NOHOHOHO HYUNJIN WHY HAHAHAHA”

“You asked for this remember?” Felix reminded him

“IHI KNOW BUT IHIHI CANT TAKE IT MUCH LONGER HAHAHAHAHAAH”

“Okay I think we need to wrap this up.” Chan reafrimed the ace

At that, Changbin blew a long, gigantic raspberry on his belly button.

“HAHAHAAHAHAHA” Han screamed before going into silent laughter

That was their queue to stop. As they removed their hands from the rapper, they couldn’t help but coo. He looked so cute. He was bright red with tears streaming down his face. They all gave him one last big hug.

“Thank you guys. I needed that.” Han smiled

“Aww, anytime quokka.” Lee Know replied

The members decided to leave him alone to rest and recover.

Han couldn’t help but smile. He was so glad he told the others about his love for tickling.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading!!

#stray kids #stray kids tickle #han tickle #tickle fic #kpop tickle #kpop tickle fic #lee han #ler skz

[gutwrenchflowerbomb]

I normally don’t comment on wrestlers and their personal lives, particularly their love lives, because it’s not any of my business. The exceptions of course are if the wrestlers themselves involve their partners in storylines or whatever (for example - Miro and CJ) or like, they themselves share their stuff publicly (like Renee posting stuff with Mox and their little one). Even then, my actually making posts or commenting is rare.

That being said, I found out today while on Twitter that Ruby Soho and Cool Hand Angelo Parker are actually dating in real life, not just kayfabe in the current storyline. And I don’t know why, but that shit is so cute. I know zero about either of them personally, I just know that they’ve probably known each other a long time from the indies.

#wrestling #aew #cool hand ang #angelo parker #ruby soho

[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 20

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 20: A good magician's assistant is hard to find. They're highly sawed-after.

There were a number of very clever tricks Aziraphale had observed stage magicians do that he rather admired but could not add to his repertoire. Many of the most impressive contraptions and tricks were actually performed by assistants, slender and flexible people who contorted themselves within cabinets and boxes while the magician demonstrated the illusion.

Except one memorable night, Aziraphale's act had always been a solo one, and Crowley had made it quite clear he didn't intend to join him on stage ever again.

Then one week, Mutt had contracted the flu, and he and his spouse Calico were scheduled to perform at a charity event, and Aziraphale was just thrilled to be asked to be, as it were, something of an understudy to poor old Mutt and perform in his stead.

"I'll do the hard parts," Calico had said on the phone, "but I think we should go through the way the cabinets work before we go up."

"Oh, yes, that's a very good plan," Aziraphale agreed. "I wouldn't want to accidentally poke you or stick you through!" As this was a telephone conversation, Aziraphale could not see Calico's grimace, nor their clear expression of "what have I gotten myself into?"

They made arrangements to meet at the local church where the performance was to be held in the afternoon before the event. Before leaving, Aziraphale left a note just in case Crowley decided to come by, letting him know that he was performing and when to expect him back. Otherwise, however, he shoved thoughts of Crowley and the last two times he'd performed magic on stage down, determined that this time would be a success worthy of the Marvelous Mr Fell!

Aziraphale wasn't close to Calico, but had known them from their teenage years, long before they had chosen that name; they were exactly the bookish kind of young person who would wander into Soho looking for a community and then retreat, overwhelmed, into the nearest stack of shelves, and so had been into the bookshop a few times, quickly scared off by Aziraphale's glower before it became clear they were more of a shy child than a potential customer. Aziraphale had been at one of their first drag shows and had blessed their wedding, though he had sat on the groom's side. They weren't close and they had never performed together, but neither were they strangers.

Aziraphale's costume and Mutt's both tended to a slightly Edwardian sensibility, though from very different directions, so his and Calico's costumes did not clash as badly as they might have if Mutt and Calico's act had been more modern. They wore a dress inspired by Victorian circus performers, with a tight bodice and a knee-length ruffled skirt, in a light lavender to both compliment and contrast with Mutt's usual navy-dark attire. When Aziraphale arrived to the church, however, Calico had not yet changed, still in brightly-patterned leggings and a shirt that would not have looked out of place on the cover of one of Crowley's bebop albums, still positioning the cabinets and making sure everything was up to their standards.

"Mr Fell, wonderful," they said when they saw him, suddenly smiles but nevertheless all business. "Here, stand over... yes. I've just finished putting together the crushing illusion—let me show you how it works."

The pair of them talked and demonstrated and practiced for a few hours, going over several tricks that Calico had ready, arranging a set that would show them both to their advantage. Aziraphale's sleight-of-hand and misdirection tricks would lead naturally into the tricks where Calico vanished, and thence into more complicated illusions. All ones where Calico was in control, of course; Aziraphale knew very well they had no way of knowing he would change the laws of physics to keep them safe on that little church stage.

Eventually, it was time to change, then to put on a show. The Marvelous Mr Fell and his daring assistant Calico Jones wowed and amazed the audience with their prestidigitation and jiggery-pokery, their conjuring and illusions! The prestidigitation less than the illusions, it has to be said, but Aziraphale thought the turning of a turnip into an inkwell did set them in the mood for the crushing trick, at least, which was quite the crowd-pleaser. He rather thought their act must have inspired a number of contributions to charity.

When he tried to help Calico pack up, however, they were unusually reticent to accept. "Go out and talk to your partner first," they said, "I think he might be mad at you. He's doing that sexy lean against his car, the one where you can feel him glaring a hole through you even though you can't see his eyes."

Crowley!, Aziraphale thought, then partner?, then oh dear.

"Ah, thank you my dear," Aziraphale said with a perfectly cherubic smile to Calico, "and my best to Mutt, if I don't see you again before you leave." He knew he wouldn't; he was going to be sneered at sarcastically for having done magic in a church, because he was an angel and Crowley was a demon and they must have some standards, then taken out in the Bentley for a pleasure cruise where he would complain about the speed, and ultimately end the night quite drunk on some very nice wine.

And Crowley was going to hear all about his show.

Author's note:

The last three days have been a black hole, productivity-wise, and I had to sink all my energy into my job (ugh) and grad school (double ugh) but I did finally finish this!!!

The crushing trick is this one, which is really neat. I loved how the assistant is in control of the trick the entire time. Warning for some seriously objectifying language in the video though; pretty much the entire video up until they reveal the trick talks about the assistant like she's a sex doll.

Calico is Mutt's unnamed spouse, in case it's not clear enough. They're played by British comedian Andrew O'Neill, who also uses they/them pronouns. I wish we had even one line from them when they're not under the Jane Austen Ball Spell, to get a better idea of their voice, but I think I like where I got with them.

I love how Aziraphale just ditches them to go out on a date with Crowley at the end. I wasn't planning on that! He's just a bit of a dick!

#my writing #highway to pail #do it with style events #good omens #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #mutt's spouse #the marvelous mr fell

[embracing-the-ineffable]

Neil Gaiman's intentionality and possible literary connections with the sign, "DON'T PAY THE GUY IN THE BLUE GLASSES HE DOESN'T WORK HERE" (East Lynne?)

Most people think the sign on Mrs. Sandwich's door is a reference to Crowley, and maybe it is, although he doesn't have BLUE glasses (yet).

So I woke up thinking about the theory that Mrs Sandwich is actually God, plus all the signs at the bottom of her stairs. The God theory could account for most of them, except for (possibly) the one about blue glasses. Neil has said the inspiration for that sign came from historic signs around Soho, but that doesn't mean there's not another layer of meaning. (If there's one thing he's taught me with season two of Good Omens, it's definitely to dig deeper!)

Good Omens is full of references (direct and indirect) to other stories, so I searched around online and found two interesting books:

The first is Boy in the Big Blue Glasses, by Susanne Gervay and illustrated by Marjorie Crosby-Fairall. It's a contemporary children's book about a kid, Sam, who gets blue glasses and feels like no one recognizes him anymore, except for his best friend. He goes on adventures to rediscover himself, his sense of humor, and his confidence - all while overcoming his fear of not being accepted and working to embody his true self (who he sees as a super hero, among other things).

Ok, there are parallels there with both Aziraphale and Crowley and the quest to be seen, understood, and accepted for who they truly are, but it doesn't feel like a strong connection.

More digging brings me to a Victorian novel called East Lynne, by Ellen Wood. Already, I feel more hopeful - this fits more neatly with other GO book references, like Pride and Prejudice.

In East Lynne, the main character is Isabel, and she is seen as being very emotional/passionate, very emotionally perceptive, and having extremely expressive, distinctive, and beautiful eyes.

She marries Carlyle, who is very kind but not nearly so able to read body language or understand emotions, and is able to "circumvent his emotions" and "separate business from feeling".

Because of his poor emotional perception, Carlyle contributes to a breakup with Isabel. Also contributing? Someone named Levison, who wants to use Isabel and tricks her into thinking the worst of her husband and running away with Levison instead.

Eventually, after a good bit of trauma, Isabel dons a disguise which includes blue glasses (which are seen as the primary part of her disguise, as her eyes are so distinctive) and returns home as a governess to take care of her children.

So … That sounds familiar, hmmm? We've already seen Crowley as a governess, and he DOES have beautiful, distinctive eyes and is more emotional and impulsive than Aziraphale. And we could argue that Aziraphale's willingness to "separate business from feeling" was a strong driving force in their separation at the end of s2. Factor in The Metatron as a possible Levison, complete with lies and manipulations to break them up so he can use Isabel/Aziraphale, and I think there's definitely a connection.

Here's a really long but interesting analysis:

If East Lynne is the right Clue, perhaps this foreshadows Crowley wearing another disguise (complete with blue glasses?) and back in heaven in season 3. East Lynne doesn't end the way we hope Good Omens will, although Isabel does finally tell Carlyle everything, and he forgives her. We can hope Aziraphale and Crowley will likewise find the value of better honesty and transparency with one another!

(Disclaimer: I added East Lynne to my reading list, but I *just* had this idea and wanted to share, so the plot and character summaries are only from reading descriptions and analysis online, not from directly reading the book. Yet.)

I'm adding this Clue to my collection of Clues / meta of metas!

#good omens meta #thanks for the book recommendations #neil gaiman #good omens spoilers #good omens clue #clue with a capital C #East Lynne #Ellen Wood #Boy in the Big Blue Glasses #Susanne Gervay #foreshadowing #good omens theories #crowley good omens #good omens aziraphale #the metatron #renew good omens #Good omens season 3 #mrs sandwich

[daughter-of-melpomene]

𝐑𝐄-𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐒

❝ Luci was not the type of woman who was generally seen in antique bookshops. Oh, one shouldn't get her wrong, she liked reading quite a bit - seeing as her dear gran, who had raised her, was a librarian, it was rather improbable that she wouldn't - but like most people, she preferred to buy her volumes spanking new from the shelves of Waterstones, rather than ancient and well past yellow from a tiny, cluttered little shop on a Soho street corner.

Still, that was exactly where she had found herself one perfectly ordinary autumn day. While on the run from a rather disgruntled ex-girlfriend who couldn't seem to grasp the notion that goodbye meant goodbye, Luci had rushed into the nearest shop with an unlocked door, completely missing the fact that the bookshop's owner, who she promptly crashed into, had just been in the process of flipping the sign in the window from Open to Closed. While the owner, a funny little white-haired man who introduced himself as Aziraphale, was not exactly pleased with the strange woman who'd suddenly stormed into his beloved shop, he was sympathetic to Luci's plight, and allowed her to remain inside until her ex had safely passed. While waiting, Luci spotted a first-edition copy of Dracula, the two struck up a conversation about Gothic novels, and from there blossomed a sweet, loyal friendship, the only real one Luci had had in her adult life.

Fast-forward four years, and many conversations, late-night reading sessions, and the devastating passing of Luci's gran later, Aziraphale - who, Luci had discovered within a year of their friendship, was actually a bloody angel - was visited by his demon friend during yet another relaxing late night with Luci. Unfortunately, the peace of the night didn't last long, as the demon, Crowley, came proclaiming that the Antichrist was now on Earth and that they likely had less than two decades until Armageddon. That night, Luci sat quietly sipping her wine as the angel and the demon made plans to attempt to avert the end of the world - which was just fine with her, really; she'd been living in this world for a number of years, and while her life, with the exception of her friendship with Aziraphale, had always been rather plain, she quite liked living in it.

But fast-forward eleven more years, and suddenly Crowley and Aziraphale have discovered that they've misplaced the Antichrist (which, Luci thought, should have been rather impossible) and with less than a week to go until the End of Days, they really have to kick themselves into gear. And now Luci, who has oftentimes thought of herself as the most ordinary human on the planet, is pulled into a most extraordinary adventure, involving a book of scarily accurate prophecies, a vintage car that only plays her favorite band, and a hellhound that, in her opinion, is entirely too small to properly do its job.

And if Luci, the angel she's been pining after for more than a decade, and the demon who's quickly growing on her are Earth's last line of defense - oh, this planet is definitely doomed. ❞

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.

#my ocs #reintroducing my ocs #ch: luci evans #oc: luci evans #fic: i want to break free #queerocs #fyeahocsofcolor #ocapp #ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #fyeahgoodomensocs #good omens oc

[gimletagain]

A series of unfortunate events 

If we are to believe M, she is perhaps one of the most tragic figures that ever existed instead of being quite literally one of the luckiest bishes in the world. Let’s recap, shall we?

Grew up in Dickensian poverty (reduced to eating sizzler’s scraps)

Impoverishment continues through college, during which she supported herself entirely by working. This includes study abroad, spring break trips, and fees for her sorority full of wealthy girls. And, she graduates with TWO degrees! Wow.

She is completely ignored by the 50 extended family members in her life and childhood.

Impoverishment continues through her working actress years, driving around LA with a broken truck she could only sexily break into the back like Catherine Zeta Jones in a commercial. During this period she had to do the terribly demeaning, backbreaking labor of penning one celebrity wedding invite by hand just to pay for the free rent of her boyfriend‘s rental.

Finally! She gets a job when she’s 31 and meets a prince a few years later. But tragically, it GETS WORSE! Her house is broken into by rabid paparazzi and the racist press hounding her while she circles around the public KP gates 50 times in a Whole Foods bag. They are so stealth that the Toronto police can’t find them.

She marries into unimaginable wealth and things just go even more downhill. Her grandmother in law lets her borrow priceless jewelry and tiaras for her wedding, but declines the one she likes the most. Her sister in law dares to comment about her daughter’s badly fitting flower girl dress and shoes, and psychotically apologizes afterwards. A family member wonders out loud about her children’s looks. She is surrounded by incompetent staff who can’t even review her 60 PR releases a day properly. She gets a free house but it’s old and doesn’t have the Soho house copper tub! The horrors cascade: her in laws have her passport for safekeeping, so she had to ask for it back in order to fly to Turkey, Italy, New York, Spain, and other places to attend her parties.

All of this is too much to bear and she becomes suicidal during pregnancy. She somehow only has her employer to turn to and they seem to not be sympathetic.

After her son is born, they stick by the rules and don’t make exceptions for his titles. Horrific, must be over his extremely dark red hair. Her in laws hate her so much bc of her son’s dark ginger hair that they try to burn down his nursery in the mansion they’re staying in.

She escapes to California but the stress is so, so much that she miscarries.

Her in-laws cruelly cut them off after telling them she no longer wants to work for the family company, leaving them with an unlivable severance amount of $2m, along with all of the inherited wealth of her husband.

The press continues to be relentless. She has no choice but to sue the only paper that talks about her regularly.

Her in-laws continue to be relentless. She is forced to name her daughter exclusively after her in-laws. Even after that, they won’t shoot a family album with People Magazine.

Actually, the entire government of her husband’s country is against her. They won’t provide her with 24/7 protection, so there is no way she can step foot in it without being gravely endangered. Every time she goes for photo ops, it puts her and her children’s lives at absolute risk. The entire country absolutely despises pale gingers.

did I miss anything? What other horrors will befall her next? 🥲

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 13 - Prompt: Beauty @pandalilymicrofics

February Daily Series - 788 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Pandora wasn’t particularly interested in rejoining the group, but she reluctantly followed Lily back through the festival crowd. She also hadn’t realised how far she’d walked away from the food trucks. In her frustrated state, she’d power-walked to the opposite end of the path to where it forked. It wouldn’t have taken her long to get lost in this maze.

“How long will you be in town?” Lily asked.

“Just a few days. I needed to escape my family for a bit.”

“I can relate. You mentioned a brother, right?”

Pandora nodded, then grinned. “Evan. He was pretty annoyed with me for leaving him at home. I can’t say that I feel that bad about it though.”

“Are you close?” Lily slowed her pace as they worked their way past a group of giggling children. They were watching a dramatic retelling of a fairy tale that Pandora didn’t recognise.

“Yes, but mostly because Evan refuses to leave me be.”

Lily laughed and shook her head. “That sounds about right. I have a sister, but she’s exhausting to be around.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older. Her name is Petunia.”

Pandora arched an eyebrow. “Do your parents have a thing for flowers?”

“Mm-hmm, my mum is a florist. She has a shop in town,” Lily said, waving dismissively. “What about you? Sirius mentioned that Regulus lives in London, so is that where you’re from too?”

“Yes. Reg and I live together, actually. We share a flat near Leicester Garden.”

Lily stopped mid-stride and grabbed Pandora’s arm. “Leicester sounds familiar. Oh! Is that the one with a William Shakespeare statue?”

“That’s the one! I dragged Regulus to the Christmas Market in the square before we left. It’s beautiful,” Pandora said, thrilled that Lily was as charmed by the place as she was. “We share with our friend Dorcas from uni.”

“I’m going to move to London someday.”

Pandora’s heart pounded in her chest as she listened to Lily explain her grand plan to save up for a flat and hire on with a florist or garden until she could find work in her field. A sound plan, except her dream job was a little niche for London. There wasn’t a great need for horticulturists in the city.

“I know it’s a long-shot, but I figured that if I could hire on somewhere plant-adjacent, that would be a start. Don’t you think?” Lily said.

“It could work.”

Pandora didn’t want to dash her hopes, especially if it meant that there was a chance for this to go somewhere a little further than this holiday. She hadn’t really expected more from it than a bit of fun, but now that she’d met Lily, that changed. If Lily moved to London, they could date properly.

“Remus thinks I’m ridiculous for wanting to live in London, but I think it’s exciting.”

“Have you ever been?”

Lily linked her fingers together and nodded. “Once when I was younger. I loved the energy of SoHo.”

Pandora was on the cusp of an idea when Regulus burst through the crowd and rushed to her side. He glanced between them, then cleared his throat.

“James said there’s a party at the end. Are you staying?”

“Yes, are you?”

Regulus nodded as a slow grin slid over his face. “James wants to dance. Who am I to deny him a good time?”

“James dances?” Lily asked. “Why didn’t he join in at the club?”

James appeared behind Regulus and hugged him from behind. “Because Regulus won’t dance with me. He doesn’t want everyone staring at him. I tried to tell him that they wouldn’t be, but he doesn’t believe me.”

“If Sirius is dancing? You don’t have to worry about anything. That man is mesmerising to watch and even better to dance with,” Lily said, shimmying her shoulders.

Pandora lost track of the conversation for a moment while she admired the woman in front of her. Lily’s little shimmy was adorable, but the bouncing afterwards…merde.

“You’re drooling, Panda,” Regulus whispered.

She wiped at her chin, then glared at him. “I was not.”

“Well, you were definitely staring.”

“How can I not? Look at her! I’m only human, Reg.”

James chuckled as he rested his chin on Regulus’s head. “You’re both terrible at whispering. I think she heard you.”

Pandora looked up to find Lily’s cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. A mortified laugh bubbled in her chest, but came out in an awkward giggle. Regulus lost it, shaking with silent laughter as he hid his face in his hands.

That was it. It was all over. Once Regulus started laughing, Pandora couldn’t fight it anymore. Soon, they were all lost to the absurdity of the moment and cackled like hyenas.

Next Part>>>

#pandolily #pandalily microfics #pandalily #regulus and pandora #pandora lovegood x lily evans #lily x pandora #pandora lovegood #pandora rosier #lily evans

[moral-terpitude]

@zablife Story Share - Part 3

Word Count: 1,205

Author's Note: The previous part was written by @evita-shelby . The next chapter will be told by the wonderful @raincoffeeandfandoms . Google Translate will be your friend toward the end ��

Tommy Shelby held no belief in the words the Russian woman spoke as she stood on his doorstep that morning.

After Arthur turned into a mad dog and all short of destroyed his office in the betting shop, he had resigned himself to the office in his home to avoid any further questioning.

Polly’s word echoed in his head as much as the clicking of the clock did for every minute she didn’t return.

Tommy, love, you were married to her for three bloody years. What do you actually know about her?

Two soft knocks at the door pulled him from staring at the photograph on his desk to see Frances waiting for his attention at the door.

He swallowed, mouth set in a firm line as he re lit the cigarette that had been abandoned in the ashtray.

“What is it, Frances?” He rubbed his eyes as he spoke. He hadn’t moved since 3:30 that morning when he’d accepted the fact that he had finally found something worse than France to haunt his dreams.

Absence.

“There’s someone here to see you, Mr. Shelby. She’s waiting at the door. She says she can’t stay long.”

His heart hammered at the false hope of of being able to smell the soft hints of honey and lavender combed through short brown curls.

He returned the braces to his shoulders over the cotton of the undershirt before looking through the frosted window pane at the car that at one time belonged to him sitting in the driveway.

Tatiana Petrovna stood on the step, coat pulled tight around her as a breeze swept through the air. Her gloved fingers tightly gripped an envelope, fiddling with the wax seal before she spoke, “Tommy, I’m sorry, I don’t know why they sent me to deliver this, they said no one in your family would bring it.”

The writing indicated it was sent from the infirmary at St. James workhouse on Poland Street in Soho.

“No one claimed her body so she had to be cremated.” Her red lips were a curse and he knew it.

“Go.” He turned and closed the door in her face, breaking the wax seal of the envelope before pulling out the notarized papers from the coroner.

Cause of death: Drowning.

The date on the paper preceded her delivery by a few weeks. His eyes roamed the sheets, checking to make sure that the name, her hair and eye color, that everything was a true match.

“Mr. Shelby, are you alright?” Frances wasn’t unfamiliar with the pallor that he now wore.

“Where did the boys put her things?” He had been unable to do it himself, leaving Finn and Isaiah to the task of collecting any relic of her that remained and banishing it from the house. All except the photo they had forgotten on his desk.

“In the garage, behind the stables, sir.”

He nodded, leaving the door open and the paper behind, he took no time to put on his shoes as he crossed the gravel and headed for the stables.

“Where are you off to?”

“Mrs. Goldmann, you remember that lost her husband, I told her I would come for tea so she wasn’t alone to say the Kaddish.”

“Why can’t she be alone to say it? Does she not know it?” His brow furrowed, but she knew it was a genuine question.

She smiled, as he leaned back from the pile of papers strewn across the desk, “Tom, the prayer is only usually said in the presence of others, usually 10 people. It’s so that one can feel a part of the community even while grieving. They must remain part of the community even as his or her instinct might be to withdraw.”

He nodded, slowly, before she leaned to kiss him before departing. “For most people, grief is something we do in silence.”

“I know,” she closed the door with a click behind her and he heard the gravel of tires on the drive not long after.

He dug through box after box looking for any of the books that had resided on her bedside table. All filled with their strange glyphs and symbols. Gilded copies he had tracked down for her, as a hope, a symbol that regardless of how much he didn’t understand that he was at least paying attention.

At least trying.

She had bought him an English translation but he never had opened it. Disregarded now he didn’t think he would quite care, but a different one, a half sheet of the publication hanging from the threads it had been sewing in by, was found next to it.

Half of the first page of the book was missing. Quite unlike his wife. She was stringent, part of her upbringing, rubbed off from her culture that everything were to remain intact.

“How did Mr. Goldmann pass?” He asked. They weren’t an old couple by any means.

She had arrived back home just in time for dinner, and until this point they had ate mostly in silence as he voiced the question that had been on his mind all afternoon.

She sat her cutlery down, waiting a beat and taking a sip of her water before speaking, “I’m the only one who knows the truth, Tom, so you can’t tell anyone.”

“Who would I have to tell, eh?”

She nodded, eyes searching the back of her mind before she let out a sigh, “Culturally, taking your own life before your maker calls upon you is frowned up. The body is destined to remain whole to be returned to the ground and become one again. In the entire Torah there is not the slightest suggestion that anything happens after death, but to take one’s own life is forbidden. She had found him with another woman, and he couldn’t stand the guilt.”

“She wouldn’t have thrown herself into the water,” the sentence was a whisper, repeated over and over as he slammed the front door, taking the book back into his office, the envelope and papers from the hallway had been placed out of the way, as Frances wouldn’t be able to just leave them there, he knew.

He ripped a piece of stationery from its home and found a pencil, a rarity. Usually unneeded. He placed the blank paper over the second page of the book, and rubbing gently enough the graphite picked up the indent of what had been written and ripped from the book.

‎שתיים אפס חמש מזרח יוסטון, מנהטן היימן אברמוביץ: בקש את המלך צ'ארלס

Alfie would be no use for translating it, he was aware of that. The first visit Tommy had paid to him had proven useless, even with the threat of a gun to his head.

He picked up the phone, giving the information to the operator and waiting for a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Ada, you’re smart.”

She laughed, “Well, Tommy, I appreciate the flattery, but what is it?”

“Do you know anyone that can translate Hebrew?”

She sighed, hedging her bet of a possible favor before speaking, “Yes, but I’ll have to take whatever it is and return it to you. After it’s done. Mrs. Stetchford doesn’t like visitors.”

“Thank you, Ada. I’ll bring it to you.”

#zablifestoryshare #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #fanfic #tommy shelby imagine

[bigstupid69]

I love your headcanons what kinda horror movies would the choir like - 🐀

Oh boy this is gonna be a lot I bet so I'll put my thoughts under the cut;

I'll give them both horror movie picks relevant to the time period (before and during 2009/8) and ones after

These are all movies I have seen before so I'm sorry about the repeats, and you may not agree.

Ocean

I'm so torn between having Ocean be absolutely terrified of horror movies or being like a horror snob. Y'know the type to criticize unnecessary amounts of violence and gore, and only actually enjoy films if there's some deeper meaning out of it. She seems like those type of insufferable people. Like the female equivalent of the men obsessed with American psycho. She definitely hates most campy horrors and slashers as well as things similar to the saw franchise. I think she'd definitely enjoy some of those genres by picking it apart with a feminist lens though. So I feel like she'd definitely be more of a fan of psychological horror, but definitely stuff that isn't absolutely terrifying to watch like Hereditary.

My picks are; Rosemary's Baby (1968), The Silence of the Lambs (1991), The Stepford Wives (1975)

More modern picks; Last Night in Soho (2021), Midsommar (2019), I'm Thinking of Ending Things (2020)

Noel

People who think he wouldn't like horror movies are completely wrong. Considering his ideals in his monologue, he would probably enjoy films with lots of gore. I think he'd definitely be into the saw franchise with Mischa. He'd also probably enjoy a lot of suggestive and or queer coded films as well. Also probably has a guilty pleasure for cheesy romance driven films, but he would not let anyone know that.

My picks are; Repo the genetic opera (2008), Rocky horror picture show (1975), society (1989), Re-animator (1985), the lost boys (1987), I think he'd also maybe be into the buffy the vampire series (1997-2003)

More modern picks: X (2022), terrifier 1 and , 2 (2016-2022), warm bodies (2013), only putting this here since it ran for a longer time but the vampire diaries (2008-2016)

Mischa

Mischa's "canonically" favorite film is Saw 5, so obviously he'd be into the saw franchise and films like that. I think he'd really just also be into slashers, definitely the kid who dressed up as ghost face for Halloween with the mask that could squirt out blood. I think he'd also like horror comedies quite a bit as well.

My picks are: The saw franchise (canon?), scream (1996), sleepaway camp (1983), Friday the 13th (1980), the evil dead, and evil dead 2 (1981/1987)

More modern picks: The cabin in the woods (2011), the purge (2013), the scary movie series (both modern and time accurate 2000-2013)

Ricky

A mix between cheesy/funny classics and pretty much anything sci-fi. Not sure if he's into that much gore in the films but definitely isn't as picky as Ocean so it's not a complete turn off. Regardless his favorites are pretty much anything sci-fi but he makes exceptions.

My picks are: Rocky horror picture show (1975), little shop of horrors (1986), Alien (1979), lifeforce (1985), mars attacks (1996)

More modern picks: Annihilation (2018), Nope (2022), color out of space (2020)

Constance

I also think she'd really be into horror, she'd definitely be more into campy films and also have a soft spot for classic horror movies from her childhood. She's definitely not innocent and does probably enjoy some more fucked up ones on occasion however.

My picks are: scream (1996), Jennifer's body (2009), Coraline (2009), Shaun of the dead (2004)

More modern picks: Wendell & wild (2022), Anna and the apocalypse (2017), the babysitter (2017), happy death day (2017)

Penny

I feel like she would watch a lot of varying horror movies. she'd enjoy ones she could connect to in a way, but also just enjoy less meaningful ones to her and are just full of camp. Along with Constance she also enjoys a lot of horror movies from her childhood especially because of being slightly detached to it because of everything she's gone through at such a young age. (headcanon but also kinda true)

My picks are: Carrie (1976), Coraline (2009), The shining (1980), all the previously mentioned classic slashers, not a horror film but this is only for my gf; heathers (1988), hocus pocus (1993), child's play series (1988-2019)

More modern picks: Pearl (2022), bodies bodies bodies (2022), Possum (2018), the fear street trilogy

#ride the cyclone #rtc #rtc musical #ocean o'connell rosenberg #penny lamb #mischa bachinski #ricky potts #constance blackwood #rtc headcanons #headcanons

[denimbex1986]

'Review at a glance *****

So it’s goodbye David Tennant again, and over to you Ncuti Gatwa! Except, no! The big twist in this twistiest of episodes – one that may well be the best hour of Who ever – is that the three-episode reprise of Tennant’s Doctor is not quite the end for him at all.

What seemed to be simply a canny way for Russell T Davies to bring some goodwill back to the Whouniverse, using a Tennant as a drum-roll for Ncuti Gatwa’s new reign, was not merely that, not just cynicism: it was a chance to crowd please a crowd in need of a damn good pleasing.

What a rare delight to watch prime time Saturday night TV delivered with such aplomb. This short run has echoed Marvel’s accomplishment with the Avengers films, matching drama with humour, and never taking itself too seriously even as it brings you to tears.

The Giggle topped it all off with a genuinely brilliant and thrillingly unpredictable episode that started off as a fun satire for all the family before turning into a Carnival of Horrors, by way of a murderous Spice Girls set piece by the lead villain that would make the Joker frown in envy. This was pop culture hitting some kind of high-on-itself high.

Last week the Doctor and Donna landed back in present day London to find Wilf waiting (sadly Davies revealed on a post this week that Bernard Cribbins died before he could film any more scenes so he does not appear in this episode). He told them humans had turned on each other and were fighting in the street and the world was basically ending.

Turns out that back in the day, 1925 in Soho to be precise, when John Logie Baird invented the TV, the first image he recorded was the head of a ventriloquist’s dummy (actually true, Stooky Bill, was his name, and yes Stooky was as spooky looking in real life; what was Baird thinking? Sick man, with all due respect).

A dummy which happened to be a magical evil puppet that was sold to him by a German-accented, racist Toymaker (played by a sensational Neil Patrick Harris having the time of his life here). And the image has sat hidden within every screen since then, not just TVs but phones too.

Back to ‘Today’, where Bonnie Langford is back as Melanie Bush after her companion stints with Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy (incidentally, I wonder how many near-misses they had in Who writing rooms over the years, with character names veering close to Bond-esque smut) to help out because a satellite launched by South Korea has made the world 100% online – “For the first time in history everyone has access to a screen,” the Doctor frets, and our skinny hero does do a lot of fretting here – which triggered the hidden puppet into doing an evil laugh, that in turn sent everyone’s brains crazy.

Pilots are landing wherever they want, people are fighting for their right of way on the road, insulting the infirm and different, seeking angry justice for the mildest of questioning, and everyone is basically turning into a conspiracy theory loon. It’s described as so: “Basically, every single person on earth now thinks they’re right and everyone else is wrong.” Sound familiar?

OK, yes the first half is a very bludgeoning satire of social media-infused life today, which includes a red-faced buffoonish Prime Minister addressing the nation by saying, “Why should I care about you?” But as I keep saying, Doctor Who is family viewing and making sure the kids get it without making the adults groan is a line which Davies navigates masterfully here.

Assessing the imploding world, the Doctor rants about “humans hating each other,” suggesting the “anger and lies and righteousness,” was always there waiting to take over. Tennant has always channeled rage in his Doctor but here he gives it his full ‘den of thieves’ moment, and orders the UNIT agents to shoot the Korean satellite out of the sky, since all of the world leaders have gone crazy too. The Doctor making decisions on behalf of the earth? Treating it as his kingdom? It feels like he’s overstepped a mark and he knows it.

Anyway, while humanity is on a precipice the Doctor and Donna take a trip back to Frith Street in 1925 to confront The Toymaker.

Cue a sequence of surrealist delight reminiscent of classic carnivalesque horrors like Dead of Night and Tim Burton’s Beetlejuice in which Harris revels like Gambit meets Dr Strange meets the Joker. The scary puppets that attack Donna hit some great old notes, bringing flashbacks to Trainspotting and Poltergeist.

The climax comes with the Toymaker dealing out death to ‘Spice Up Your Life’, and bringing an end to Tennant, who almost seems relieved by it.

This proves to be one of the most moving narratives related to the Doctor. Donna took him to one side earlier and said that when she saw inside his mind, “You’re busy every minute of the day… it’s like you’re staggering along… is that why your old face came back? Because you’re wearing yourself out.”

That skinniness that has been joked about throughout the specials is recast as evidence of a man coming undone, not taking care of himself, consumed by self-loathing as he’s haunted by his past failures. “I’m always so certain,” The Doctor cries in full tortured Tennant mode, “Take away the toys and what am I now? Lost and broken.” (“You big idiot,” Donna retorts).

So when the Toymaker takes his life, the Doctor almost want it. Except, he’s not given it. He doesn’t die and regenerate into Gatwa, rather he splits in two. Two Doctors! He’s Tennant and Gatwa. One can remain on earth with Donna, while the new Doctor is free to roam the universe on the new Disney funding.

I loved this explanation for Tennant’s return, the haunted figure that he became post-Rose and post-Donna taken to the logical extreme, his mental health disintegrating after too much death and loss and destruction.

Doctor Who has always been about loss. Companions leaving people on earth behind or never having them at all (like Melanie Bush), the loss of time, loss of life. The Doctor is a kind of charismatic god of life, taking on death always, trying to save everyone, everywhere, all at once. Exhaustion was coming…

But so was regeneration – or rather bi-regeneration, which is a first for Doctor Who, and is portrayed as rehab: to save himself, he has to become a new person entirely. He splits in two! Tennant is still here, but so is Gatwa’s Doctor. And lo, parents across the land are spared the tears of a million children.

Gatwa is immediately a new kind of Doctor, not falling apart – “thin as a pin and running on fumes” he observes – but so sure of himself that he gives Tennant a hug and a kiss, the younger man like a father, and when Tennant says, “You can’t save everyone,” he replies, “Why not?”

It sets up Gatwa’s new Doctor deliciously as a capable, flamboyant, winner, a very ‘out’ figure who will continue to annoy the anti-wokies/anti-BBC/anti-vaxxers/anti-youths but who will deliver the thrills. The Errol Flynn moustache he sports can be no accident, given how swashbuckling the trailer of the Christmas Day episode is.

Will Tennant keep a presence in the Whoniverse? Not sure if the new guy is going to need him…'

#Doctor Who #60th Anniversary #The Giggle #David Tennant #Russell T. Davies #Ncuti Gatwa #Catherine Tate #Donna Noble #Neil Patrick Harris #The Toymaker #Wilfred Mott #Bernard Cribbins #John Logie Baird #Stooky Bill #Melanie Bush #Bonnie Langford #Colin Baker #Sylvester McCoy #Spice Girls #Spice Up Your Life #Bi-regeneration

[justzawe]

Zawe Ashton, the star of new must-see period drama Mr Malcolm’s List, is the October cover

Wowee, Zawe! Miss Ashton is ripping up the Regency rule book in Hollywood’s Austen-esque Mr Malcolm’s List. Just don’t ask her about her own A-list Mr Darcy…

By Louis Wise

On a sweltering Friday night in London, The Soho Hotel is a surprising hive of big names. While the Booker Prize-winning author Howard Jacobson is in the doorway, Aquaman – aka Jason Momoa – passes around the back in a jaunty white beret. And, sitting in a corner of the restaurant, there’s Bridgerton’s Jonathan Bailey, whom Zawe Ashton waves to giddily when she walks in. ‘I do actually know Jonathan,’ says the 38-year-old actress once she’s plonked herself on the banquette next to me, ‘in case you think, “Oh! She’s bold!”’ She is wearing a black wrap dress, her hair simple and straight – all very low-key, except for the enormous ring, liberally encrusted with gems, on her wedding finger. This comes, I assume, courtesy of her equally starry fiancé – and father of her soon-to-be-born baby – actor Tom Hiddleston.

I had wondered which Ashton I’d get tonight – panicked that, what with an A-list partner, a superhero franchise job and a Broadway stint under her belt, she had been ironed out by the Tinseltown machine. But the smiley, huggy woman who has just swept across the restaurant, starting to say ‘Hiiiii!’ from a full 10 metres away, hardly seems to be some Garbo-like recluse. To be honest, the Hackney-raised star is always hard to miss. She can be monosyllabic, like Vod, her gloriously deadpan character in the cult sitcom Fresh Meat, or angsty like her ‘gallerina’ Josephina in Netflix’s Velvet Buzzsaw. Or she can be just a normal, serene, very adult adulterer, like her Emma in the recent West End and Broadway revival of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal – yes, the one where she met Hiddleston. But large-eyed, large-laughed, larger-than-life, she certainly can’t be ignored. Even less so when you consider that she is an actor-writer-director-activist – everything but the kitchen sink.

Ashton’s first ever job was on the kids’ TV show Jackanory when she was six. Since then, she has written several plays, including For All the Women Who Thought They Were Mad; she has directed short films and developed TV series; she had a phase of doing performance poetry (‘before it was cool’); and she has inevitably published her own book, Character Breakdown, which details her many travails in the showbiz industry. This summer, you’ll have spotted her in Maryland, a harrowing BBC drama by Lucy Kirkwood, exploring violence against women. And next year sees her in her biggest role to date, playing the (as yet unnamed) villain in the ultra-feminist new Marvel instalment, The Marvels. If she doesn’t always take the easy route, if she’s always fought to get her voice heard, you get the impression she generally tends to win.

‘I’ve been saying no to work that I didn’t feel was right for me, or right for the world, since I was about 12,’ she says, halfway through a dinner of fish and chips with mushy peas followed by a summery posset. This seriousness is offset by a very daffy and Tiggerish enthusiasm: ‘Excuse me,’ Ashton later says over the posset, beckoning a waiter. ‘I’m just triple-checking that I can eat the flowers on this.’ ‘Oh yes,’ replies the waiter happily – a relief for all of us, as Ashton has already scoffed them. ‘Do you see how I asked that after eating them?’ she sighs. ‘Other personality types would wait for that guy to come along first. I’m like, “Er, am I gonna die shortly?”’ It would obviously have been awful if Ashton had died, mid-interview, done in by a decorative flower garnish – but I rather think she would have relished the drama.

We’re here first and foremost to discuss Mr Malcolm’s List, which has clearly benefited from the Bridgerton effect. An adaptation of Suzanne Allain’s 2009 novel, it’s an Austen mash-up, where the two main romantic leads – Sope Dirisu’s Jeremy Malcolm and Freida Pinto’s Selina Dalton – have a Darcy-and-Lizzie-style romance, while Ashton’s character, Julia, comes across as a particularly hoity-toity post Emma Woodhouse, whose machinations and manoeuvrings end in a sweet self-reckoning. The familiarity of the tropes is offset by the casting, which, as in Bridgerton, is exhilaratingly diverse. Julia is, Ashton smiles, ‘a little Regency terroriser’. She is also, for long stretches of the movie, the baddie, as she strives to punish Jeremy for cold-shouldering her.

Is Ashton on a villain trip right now? She cocks her head. ‘I think that’s probably a phase I’ve always been in – certainly the outsider phase.’ She then tweaks her answer: ‘I’ve always played outliers, and that’s great. I think it’s where you can move the needle the most.’ Yet when pressed as to why she tends to play an outsider, or outlier, she demurs. Perhaps it’s too on the nose.

Zawedde Emma ‘Zawe’ Ashton was born in Hackney, to teachers Paul and Victoria: Paul from Britain, Victoria originally from Uganda. She is the eldest of three and her first name means ‘princess’ in Swahili. The young Zawe sounds particularly precocious, always encouraged to read and express herself; she recalls devouring Margaret Atwood’s The Robber Bride aged 11, which, she admits now, was probably far too young. (‘Is there arson? I remember there being arson.’) During her teenage years, Hackney rapidly gentrified. She does not view herself as part of that wave. ‘I remember when it happened,’ she says. ‘When lots of people who looked like they worked on The Big Breakfast descended on your postcode. They’d be knocking on people’s doors, looking through windows, asking when they were thinking of moving. We called them the Shark Fins because they all had that little shark-fin haircut – remember?’ (The capital remains her true home, although she’s light on current specifics, settling on the description: ‘I’m London-ish.’)

Her parents always supported her artistic ambitions. She signed up for acting classes at the illustrious Anna Scher Theatre in Islington and was soon working professionally alongside her school studies. But the standout family tidbit is a nugget on the internet that says her grandfather Paulo Muwanga was the president of Uganda. ‘Oh gurl, don’t go there,’ she mugs, full Drag Race-style. ‘He was actually acting president [for a few weeks]. I’m not like one of the Obama girls.’ Ashton mostly remembers him as ‘a very old, lovely grandpa’, who died when she was young. But, as a child, Ashton spent many summers in Uganda and still feels close to her heritage. ‘There’s a lot of strength in having a duality,’ she muses. ‘We’re finally seeing that more and more now as something to be celebrated. When I was younger, that wasn’t the case.’

Ashton has spoken about being ‘badly bullied’ at school when acting work gave her a profile. ‘I was this tall, skinny misfit who was unapologetic about the things I was passionate about. I had a sense of who I was and what I was into – and you’re not supposed to have that. You’re just supposed to blend in,’ she told The Daily Telegraph in 2019. The feeling of being targeted as an outsider continued when, as a young adult, she signed up for drama school in Manchester. ‘It was rough,’ she says. ‘They break you down.’ Why? ‘I think they saw my keenness, my enthusiasm…’ Her fashion sense, for starters, was ‘experimental’, she grins. ‘Carrie Bradshaw on acid. I remember, for one of the first club nights I went to in Manchester, I found this long, oversized, stripy silk dress with a massive bow on the side, and I had a huge yellow visor with another bow. Basically like I was going to Ascot in the 1980s.’ It went down ‘amazing’, she promises. ‘Sometimes I’d go to college dressed as a cheerleader.’ A pause. ‘Did I go as Snow White one time?’

She sighs. ‘I don’t know why, but sometimes they really want to wash you out.’ This continued even when she started working full-time. Right after Fresh Meat, Ashton had in mind to create a show similar to HBO’s Girls, which Lena Dunham wrote, starred in and directed, but instead she got lost in ‘developmental hell’. ‘There was just this weird resistance. And bullying. Bullying, demeaning, gaslighting… I was yelled at by one producer because I was questioning something about my own work.’ I venture cautiously that, to some, Ashton might just have been too much of a multi-hyphenate. ‘Yep,’ she says immediately. ‘We didn’t do that kind of thing here until the success of things like I May Destroy You or Fleabag.’

All this has made her extra eager to help others. During one episode of Fresh Meat, she struck up a conversation with a young bit-part actor. ‘I could see he was committed, clear-eyed about what he wanted to do,’ she says. ‘And so I gave him my number.’ Not long after, the actor texted Ashton to ask if she would write him a recommendation letter for his American visa, which she did. ‘And then, 10 years later, I turned on Bridgerton and…’ The actor was Regé-Jean Page. Ashton doesn’t take any credit for that (and she has texted him to check he’s OK with her telling the story) but she does think people should give each other a hand. ‘We don’t fuel the fire of genuine enthusiasm in the UK,’ she sighs. ‘It’s like, “Don’t get ideas above; stay calm; it’s not that good.” I appreciate that, because I’m London through and through – I love that acerbic quality and I love that edge. But it can be really damaging.’

Six years ago, Ashton moved to Margate to focus on her book, Character Breakdown, which is a play on words: a ‘character breakdown’ is the short description of a part an actor tends to get with a script – but it also means, obviously, a bit of personal disintegration. Unsurprisingly, during more than 30 years of pretending to be other people, Ashton has experienced both, as she details grimly and hilariously in the book, listing encounters with lecherous directors, callous agents, scary celebrity stylists and more. We laugh several times about how miserable she makes the industry sound. She also calls the book her ‘novel’ a lot, which I raise my eyebrows at a little sceptically. ‘Well, it’s a fictionalised memoir,’ she admits. ‘“Unconventional memoir” is what the publishing house recommended we call it.’

Margate was, she says, a conscious step back from acting, a way ‘to write myself out of the toxicity’, as she puts it. ‘I didn’t want to audition, I didn’t want to have lattes with people that went nowhere. I just thought, “I have to go and live by the sea and see what all the people who don’t act have been doing for a long time, and how they’ve been making themselves happy.” And then of course it didn’t work out, because I got bloody Velvet Buzzsaw.’ Dan Gilroy’s art-world horror satire, where Ashton’s Josephina ends up in a twisted romance with Jake Gyllenhaal’s cold-fish art critic, is exactly the kind of offbeat work Ashton wanted to do. So she went to LA to film it, published the book, and then got offered Betrayal, which came about after ‘Tom and I had done a reading together of the central scene, at a gala for Harold Pinter’s birthday’. Cut to four-or-so years later: here she is, engaged to Hiddleston and pregnant, too. But that’s pretty much the only time she’ll say his name.

Ashton and Hiddleston rarely speak publicly about their relationship, and reports suggest they got together during the play. Their first red carpet as a couple was last September, then in March this year to signal their engagement. But for the Mr Malcolm’s List premiere in June, Ashton appeared alone, visibly pregnant, and glittering in an embellished tulle dress by Sabina Bilenko. Recently, Hiddleston offered a full three words on the subject: ‘I’m very happy.’ Today, Ashton offers a few more, to the same effect. I congratulate her on her big news. ‘Thanks,’ she beams. ‘It’s wonderful.’ I’d read somewhere that she’d always wanted children. ‘I know,’ she acknowledges, grimacing. ‘I used to talk about it all the time in interviews – it was really unsuitable.’ Has she learnt the art of discretion now? ‘I’ve got to learn it,’ she says, with a groan.

Having a baby is another knotty decision in the life of an actress. ‘You’re told, “Don’t get pregnant” but also “Don’t leave it too long” because then you’re going to be an old maid. I’ve been prehistoric in this industry since I was 25,’ she says drily. ‘The mixed messaging is rough and has to be addressed.’ She hadn’t felt stressed by her biological clock ticking: ‘It was just suddenly this self-permission comes over you that goes against all that messaging.’

I ask about her red carpet announcement, but the drawbridge comes up. ‘I don’t want to talk about my personal life,’ she says, politely but firmly. ‘I didn’t feel like I had to do anything,’ she clarifies, but ‘it felt like [the pregnancy news] happened in the right way. [It is a] really, really, vital moment where we’re talking about women and their autonomy when it comes to their bodies.’ The Roe v Wade reversal had been announced just days before, and she had no desire to ‘be cute’ about it. ‘I’m not into “announcements” or “reveals”,’ she adds. ‘I’m into trying to carry the narrative as much as possible myself, rather than anyone else feeling like they have an exclusive on my body.’

At Anna Scher, Ashton says, ‘you were never allowed to use the words “fame” or “star”. They were swear words.’ She plainly approves – so she’s not a star in any way? ‘Gimme a break!’ Is she a bit like Adele, who has famously kept her privacy quite well? ‘I cannot put myself in the same privacy conversation as Adele. But…’ She pauses. ‘I think it’s like any choice. You make it and then do it as much as you can.’ I conclude by complimenting her ring. ‘Thank you,’ she smiles again. ‘And the wedding plans?’ I tease. She cringes. ‘Please don’t.’

On Broadway, Ashton pursued what she jokingly calls her ‘Zawessance – which no one asked for, by the way’, she honks. She signed with new acting reps she felt more aligned with. ‘I said, “Look: just send me the names of fledgling directors who are from under-represented backgrounds.” I felt that’s where I’d be of most use.’ And she has apparently followed that to the letter, with Maryland, The Marvels and, yes, Mr Malcolm’s List.

Growing up, Ashton loved Austen but there was always an assumption that she would never feature in those stories. ‘You just accept the status quo,’ she muses. ‘There’s this very strange acceptance that is definitely tinged with sadness.’ It’s weird, she says. ‘You don’t necessarily realise how long you’ve been locked out until you see the pendulum swing.’ There is certainly a swing now, though – and when I ask if she worries it could be a trend, she is categorical: ‘This is where Bridgerton comes in – because the language this industry understands is money.’

She recently went back to her old drama school in Manchester to address the students. ‘I can see that opportunities for so many under-represented students are suddenly there. I don’t worry about them the way I worried for myself – and that’s really lovely. Systemic racism isn’t going anywhere fast. But they can imagine themselves in huge franchises, in the new Netflix show, in the lead in West End theatres.’

Persuasion, by the way, is Ashton’s favourite Austen to read. She also adores the Emma film starring Gwyneth Paltrow, and Clueless, its ’90s Californian cousin. But ‘I’m not really a Pride and Prejudice girl’, she frowns. Not into Darcy? ‘No, too austere. People love that. I know friends who are like, “I love how emotionally unavailable you are.” I’m like, “Oh gawd!”’ Those seeking a tidbit could read in that a hint as to what she likes in Hiddleston. But it could also apply to her relationship with the acting industry, which has long been her Mr Darcy: infuriating her, misunderstanding her, undervaluing her worth. She seems to have a handle on it now, although she has said she’ll quit acting a few times. She chuckles sanguinely at this.

‘It’s the same as with marriage, isn’t it? You divorce multiple times in a long marriage: as long as you never want to do it at the same time, you’ll probably be all right.’ She’s clearly in it for the long haul.

#zawe ashton #tatler #interview #article