“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” with Niall? Please?
“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.” with Niall?
“Is that my shirt?” with Niall?
When I’d awakened that morning, stretching hard as I pulled myself out of my slumber, my eyes drifted over to the window next to Niall’s bed. Ireland was unlike any place I had ever been before. For all it’s gloomy weather, I was sure it could give Disney World a run for its money as the happiest place on earth. I’d never been around an entire country of people that were this accepting. It gave me a whole new perspective on my boyfriend and why he was the way that he was.
Bobby wanted us to stay at his house. Niall was against it at first. Sex between the two of you could venture into the “loud” territory at times and while Bobby had always been a “live and let live” type of father where Niall was concerned, he still didn’t want to know his father could hear him.
He relented after I pouted. Was it unfair for me to pull out the pout? Absolutely. But I enjoyed Bobby every time we got to speak on Facetime and so I wanted to spend some real time with him. Real time that maybe wouldn’t include Niall. I mean, I was in love with the man’s son, it would be nice to get his take on things.
But first, Niall wanted to show me Mullingar. His home. I fell in love with it from the moment we drove down mainstreet where a huge picture of Niall adorned the street. He was their darling and it made me love him just a touch more to see how proud they were.
“Gonna be rain later…hurry up!” I heard Niall yell from the bedroom while I finished getting ready in the bathroom.
I smiled, Niall hated being in any weather that wasn’t 75 and sunny. Odd considering where he came from. I chalked it up to him having had enough of the rain and cold.
I emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of jeans and one of Niall’s 40 or 50 jersey’s he had hanging in his closet. All were some form of green. I had no idea if what I’d chosen was a soccer team or a rugby team or what. It met my three requirements for a shirt that morning. One it was Irish, two it was green and three it was Niall’s.
He pulled his jacket on, quirking a brow when he saw me,
Niall felt like luck was on his side when he put his Range into park and looked out the window at the first Christmas tree lot he’d found. The sun was just beginning to set and the parking lot of Stewart’s Tree Farm was nearly empty. Through the windshield, Niall could pick out a handful of lopsided shapes that he assumed were trees. He was relieved to see that the lot still had a few options left. He climbed out of his car and pulled his jacket tightly around him, the chill in the air seemed to have sprung up in the half hour he was driving. He stood for a moment before reaching back and grabbing a wool scarf from the passenger seat, wrapping it around his neck. Already feeling warmer he made his way through the small maze of trees. An older gentleman who looked as if he had been selling trees for longer than Niall had been alive approached him slowly.
“Can I help you, young man?” He asked in a tired but friendly Scottish voice.
“Yes, sir, I’m looking for a Christmas tree.”
The old man chuckled, “You’re in the right place for that then. Name’s Daniel. I own the place. Not much left to choose from I’m afraid. Bit late in the season to be buying a tree, ya see. Probably shouldn’t wait so long next time, son.” The man turned and started to lead Niall through the lot. “But let’s see if we can’t find something for you.”
also the hottest thing about niall possibly buying this mullingar house (and also the LA one since it was also a reduced price home) is that he literally LOOKS for good investments like this. he finds homes (properties) that are on the lower scale price, that maybe need a bit of work done and completely renovates them and puts the needed money into them to increase their value later on.
As my stylist fixed my hair, I analyzed my reflection in the mirror. Gray strands mixed with my natural brunette and wrinkles were becoming more noticeable, especially around my eyes. I suppose it was proof of hurdles I overcame in previous years. Opening my notebook, I scanned the lyrics I had scribbled.
When you’re lost in the moment
You can’t see where you going
I didn’t know who I could trust
So I put all my faith in us
Throughout my life, it felt nearly impossible to keep certain things private. Growing up in the small town of Mullingar, there wasn’t a whole lot to do, so people would gossip about each other’s personal lives. Being in One Direction only magnified the effect. Eventually, I was tired of going through extra effort to hide my personal life from the world. I was 22 when I met her: petite, brown hair, and brown eyes - she was exactly my type. I was ready for a serious relationship and allowed myself to fall for her quickly.
Hi Sea, your anon about not-rapping but conversation really resonated with another thing I saw today about being similar to The Streets. The Streets stuff is amazing (though maybe not so for people who aren't UK-based, as it's quite specific in its style and words) and this felt more like the avenue Louis was going for in that segment. Thank you as always for your interesting and articulate posts.
Anon, I did listen to The Streets and you’re right, I do get feels of an English-centric frame of reference in Louis’ music. Here’s a gorgeous track:
But here’s a difference with Louis. His northern-English-lads-chav image is not the real thing, but more like a meta-image. Here’s what I mean.
Ed Sheeran can invoke Galway, and Niall can Mullingar, but they aren’t in any way limiting themselves to a provincial outlook. They’re not closing themselves off to the wider world; they’re aiming for wide audiences and international 2018 pop success.
The boys of 1D may come from small towns, but they left them long ago. They know where the Soho House in LA is. They drink bullet coffee, kombucha. They play expensive vintage guitars, they know what a $500 bottle of cologne smells like. They are in a stratospheric category of wealth, one that requires tax advisors and financial managers. So it’s no use pretending they eat sausage rolls and hang out at the pub all day.
In a way, both Louis and Harry, like their fashion choices, are deconstructing the past. Louis might wear a Champion hoodie, but it’s not your dad’s Champion hoodie; the re-tailoring (as Vêtements does) is itself a commentary on an old icon - a retelling, a pun, and a salute.
Louis and Harry have honed in on the sounds they loved when they were young, and have been writing homages and love songs to their childhoods, maybe even exorcisms of the sounds still haunting them.
For two kids who barely had a childhood, it’s understandable that they would want to go back, to relive the time they were only English lads. They can’t. But they try. The beauty and the sadness is in the effort.
Can someone please write niall proper pissed at a wedding where he full on is sloppy af but so endearing cause he’s blurting out how much he loves ya. Christ the content from Kim’s wedding is INCREDIBLE
You’ve seen Niall pissed before despite the fact that he swears “Irish men don’t get drunk” but this was next level. Being around friends and family meant he could completely be himself. He didn’t have to worry about fans or the paps bothering him, he could be Niall Horan, adorable Mullingar native rather than Niall Horan, “off the pop star” as Nick Grimshaw like to say.
Niall meant loud singing and dancing to anything that took his fancy, including Slow Hands, which he proudly sang while riding his mate’s shoulders. His shirt unbuttoned, drink in hand, sweaty as hell. He talked too loud, and told stupid ass jokes…Niall was the drunk girl at the party.
With his big ass hand wrapped around his drink glass he sauntered over to you, shirt still open wide, sweat glistened in his dark chest hair. He wraped a strong arm around your waist and pulled you close to him. His alcohol scented breath blossomed across your skin as he pressed kisses to your cheek, and neck. He whispered the naughtiest things in your ear as his hand traveled from your waist the short distance to the curve of your ass.
“Be careful, love. People can see us.” You warn him. Your voice was soft as his lips stopped at your ear. You felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin before his lips part and he gently sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of your earlobe.
“Shit, Niall.” This time you moaned your words out and he chuckled at the affect he had on you. This man knew exactly what he was doing.
“I don’t really care if anyone sees us, babe. I love you.” He pulled away to look at your face and you smiled up at him. His beautiful flushed face held an earnest expression of love on it.
“I FUCKIN’ LOVE YA, BABE! I LOVE THIS WOMAN.” Niall’s voice rang out across the room at the precise time the music stopped. A room full of people clapped at his admission and mixed with a few random remarks of “about fuckin’ time”.
You really wanted to be mad at Niall for this but you just couldn’t. The pride that was evident in his voice melted any anger that had built up inside you. You knew this would be a long night and taking care of drunk Niall was always filled with adventures but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. He was yours and you were over the moon about him. You loved him, too
As promised, here is the masterpost that analyzes the event of Mullingar 2010. What is mullingar 2010, you ask? Buckle your safety belts, because you’re in for a LONG ride- and NOT the way Niall rides Harry ;)