#fuck you netflix you really hurt my feelings and i hope an air conditioner falls on you
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JUST WHEN I POST FOR PEOPLE TO WATCH WARRIOR NUN FOR CANON SAPPHIC FEMALE LEAD REPRESENTATION, NETFLIX GOES AND CANCELS IT?????
we are being personally attacked and we will continue to be. somehow to leading services like netflix, sapphic leads cant carry a sucessful show no matter how much we try to fight otherwise. anyways, check out dickinson or the sex lives of college girls. dw they aint on netflix.
#fuck you netflix you really hurt my feelings and i hope an air conditioner falls on you#warrior nun#avatrice#dickinson series#emisue#tslocg#the sex lives of college girls#leighton murray#wlw shows#wlw shitpost
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Can you write about the fight the missus and harry have over the phone? And him trying to get a hold of her?
Anonymous said: Following your writing about Harry coming to the airport after they had a fight during his tour, could you right something about the fight itself?
Anonymous said: I’ve been wondering how about the missus and Harry having a fight while he is on tour in Japan and during his break he don’t want to come back and enjoy his days off in Japan while the missus is crying and being sad at home.
I’m not so good with angst - it’s definitely not my forte- so you’ll bear with me.
Harry hated fighting.
He’d grown up with parents who never agreed on anything except the decision to endure the lengthy divorce process. Parents who were happy but lost that spark between them as the years carried on. He’d grown up with a sister who picked on him, despite how close they were, and argued with him over the silliest of things. From sitting in her space on the sofa to hogging the remote during their telly hours after school to the bed at their grandmother’s house because he’d chosen the comfiest. He’d grown up with friends who became hormonal teenagers and fought with anyone that challenged them. Who got sent to the headmaster for disrupting lessons, who bickered with teachers and got sent out.
And, of course, he’d endured his own fights.
He’d fought with his mother on things that were now considered silly when he looked back upon them. Things that stopped them from talking for days until they couldn’t stand the tension between them. He’d fought with his father for not giving him mother the happiness that she deserved to have. Because he’d spent days and days listening to his mother cry over losing something to valuable. He’d fought with the boys during song-writing session when they thought his ideas were pointless. Confused on how they allowed their own pointless ideas to be vocalised but pushed his to the side like it didn’t matter. And he’d fought with his wife - who was then his girlfriend - more times than he could count on two hands. Over the tiniest of things; leaving his shoes in the hallway, leaving her bras on the floor, leaving conditioner on the floor of the shower, not washing up after something messy.
He knew fights were healthy in relationships but did they really have to cause such an ache to his heart?
“I’m only staying out for a couple of days extra, baby. I don’t get to explore Japan when I’m here for business so I’m just making these couple of days some pleasure,” he explains, phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder as stood at the vanity of the bathroom in his hotel room. Towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping down his back. “I’ll be back soon though. Have to be, don’t I? Royal weddin’ n’all that.”
“By the time you get back, you’ll be leaving. Again.”
“And you’ll be coming with me,” he grins. But it soon falters when he hears her growl angrily down the line, “what’s the matter with you today? You’ve done nothing but get upset with me.”
He hears her scoff. And it’s not a playful sound, not a joking sound, not a simple sound that she makes when she’s about to tell him something. It’s angry and sarcastic. Rough and harsh and it makes his chest constrict because, really, he didn’t know what the problem was. He was still tired from the show he’d performed the previous night, he was running on minimum hours of sleep, he was still feeling the downsides to jet-lag so his mind wasn’t all there.
“You don’t want to spend time with me, do you? I need you more than ever and you’d prefer to go gallivanting around a country you’ve never been to before? A country we could explore together when I’m not anchored to the sofa being pregnant,” she hisses, and his hip cocks to the side, levering his weight to one side as he stared down at the beige marble countertop. “I need you, Harry. I feel like a single mother right now.”
“A single mother? Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m not. No. I get that you’re working and you’ve got shows to perform but you don’t need to stay there and enjoy your time off when you’ve got a pregnant wife, all alone at home, waiting for you to come back and help her,” she says with a stern voice, his bottom lip retracting between his teeth as he nibbles on the flesh, “I’m not being selfish-”
He lets out a sarcastic laugh. A simple ‘ha’ that echoed around the bathroom. His palm coming down to slap against the counter.
“You are. You’re being incredibly selfish,” he stares at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes turning darker than normal, his nostrils flaring, his lips no longer resembling the leftover of a smile. “I might be your husband and you might be waiting for me but I’m allowed to have some time off to myself. It’s two days. No, in fact, it’s one and a quarter days because I’m flying back through the night. Don’t be selfish.”
“Fuck you.”
“You did,” he retorts; and what would have been a playful response wasn’t taken lightly. It wasn’t spoken lightly. It was pure upset. “I’m staying out for a couple more days. You can cope, okay? It’s two days. You’ve gone four weeks without me. Two more days isn’t going to hurt you.”
“I need you, Harry.”
“Two days.”
He hears her release a shaky breath and part of him feels guilty. Part of him wants to clamber onto a jet and fly home, apologise for everything, and be there for her… but he was angry. Clueless as to why but he was.
“Fine,” she mutters, sulky but soft and crackling through the line, “bye. See you in two days.”
Before he has the chance to respond, to say a quick ‘I love you’ to sign off, like they always did, she hangs up. The crackle of a working phone come to a stop and it’s a swift motion to swipe his phone from between his ear and his shoulder, staring at her name before he dropped it to the counter, with such a force that it had him panicking that he had cracked the back.
*
He left it for a few hours.
Because a few hours was all it took for them to cool off, calm themselves down, and think logically. When their minds weren’t clouded with anger, when they were able to think things through before speaking, when they were in a better state of mind.
He was moping through the streets of Japan, frustrating Jeff when they stopped for lunch, and he had to listen to lectures on how he needed to be more cheery and happy to be able to take this opportunity during his time off. Drinking coffee and trying to ignore everything his manager had to say because he didn’t really know anything. He wasn’t a married man, he didn’t have a pregnant wife waiting for him at home, he didn’t have places that were better to be.
Collapsing on his bed, his phone was out as he kicked off his loafers and let them fall to the ground, freeing his feet as he wiggled his toes and set his soles against the rough carpet. Arms in the air as he scrolled his contacts, hovering his thumb over her name, before pressing the call button, bringing it to his ear - receiving just what he expected.
Her voicemail.
“Hi, baby. I’m back at the hotel now. Jeff got annoyed that I was moping around and being grumpy. I’m so sorry for this morning. Well, uh, my morning and your afternoon. Time differences aren’t so great, huh? You and I both know that. Uh, I love you, yeah. I love you so much and I should be back with you. I know I should. Back with you, to help you, to be there with you. I regret not going home with Adam now. I think he was angry at me, too. He knows what it’s like to be away from a wife and kids, even though our daughter isn’t born yet. I’m selfish. Thought about myself when I should’ve been thinking about you. Uh, get back to me as soon as you can. You’re probably sleeping. I love you. I really do.”
He takes a nap, not long after.
Not for long - two hours, at the most - but he takes a nap. So he was feeling better, so that his eyes were no longing stinging, his head was no longer pounding and his chest wasn’t so much riddled with guilt… it lingered but it was manageable. Deciding to call her again because, given the time in the UK, she was probably tucked up in bed, with Netflix on the telly and a draft of a blog post on her laptop screen.
But, no.
Her voicemail… again.
“I don’t know if you’re ignoring me or what… but I really can’t say how sorry I am. I boosted up my flight around some point tomorrow. Jeff has the details. So I’m home earlier than I said. I realised how selfish I was and how immature I was being. I’m not a teenager who can go gallivanting around the world anymore. I’m a married man with a baby on the way and I should be ceasing every opportunity with you that I can get. Especially when I’m not working. I’m so sorry, yeah? I love you. If you’re, uh, if you’re listening to this, then, I’ll see you at Heathrow. Should land around 3 in the morning. Jeff’s going back to America so I’m on my own. I hope to see you. I want to see you. I love you. Give Squish my love.”
. xx
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