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ampintherain · 4 years ago

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I’m Yours:

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Chapter III

Y/N is Kenny Ortega’s ‘niece’ after going through a rough breakup, Kenny decides to fly her over to stay with him, will her broken heart mend?

(Female Reader, NO SMUT, Romance, Friendship, THIS IS MY FIRST EVER FANFIC/IMAGINE, I hope it’s good, Kenny is lifelong family friend so reader calls him Uncle Kenny. I’m British so the writing is going to be British so like ‘mum’ not ‘mom’ yanno?)

(Y/n/n- your nickname. Y/e/c- your eye colour. Y/h/c- your hair colour.)

This part is going to be in Y/n’s and Charlie’s POV.

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-“I’m Charlie” he replied, “nice to meet you” he smiled back at me-

Y/N

“So you’re his niece?” I smiled at the question that Jeremy had just asked me,

“Technically no, like my Uncle Kenny said, he’s not my blood relative but I grew up calling him my uncle and it stuck, he’s my favourite person ever, I talk to him more than my own parents” I admitted,

“So... if you don’t mind my asking, why did Kenny fly you out to Vancouver?” Savannah asked, I shrugged, “you don’t need to answer, it was quite forward” she mumbled,

“No! No, it’s fine, I haven’t seen Kenny for a few months and we missed each other a lot but my mum told Kenny about my ex and I guess he decided to fly me over and cheer me up” I smiled at the girl, she pouted slightly, hearing the tint of sadness laced in my voice, I saw Madison look at me sympathetically but it wasn’t patronising, which is something I loved, I saw the confusion at the mention of ex but I decided to ignore it, I felt like it wasn’t necessary to tell a bunch of people I’ve just met about the 13 month long relationship that my boyfriend deemed acceptable to have during his one with myself.

“Right guys, are we ready?” Kenny asked as he strolled into the tent happily, coming up to me and placing his hands gently on my shoulder, “you alright my little Sun?” He questioned, looking down at me, I looked up and nodded,

“I am indeed Kenneth” I smiled and slid up off the bench, Owen following after me, dipping his head down to whisper in my ear

“Kenneth?” I shushed him, giggling, “I love it” he used my shoulders as a support whilst he jumped up in the air,

“Shush, shush, Owen no! You can’t, Uncle Ken will kill me, he hates it” I reasoned with him, turning around to face Owen as we walked together, me walking backwards.

“But I love it... Y/n, you can’t say the name Kenneth and expect me not to do anything” Owen chuckled, i scrunched my nose at him, “y’know Y/n, I think we’re going to be great friends” he continued, tucking me up under his arm, “besties even”

“Ew, don’t say besties” I laughed, Charlie slowed down on his way to the set, stopping beside Owen and I,

“Is he creeping you out?” Charlie teased, nudging Owen, causing him to roll his eyes,

“Ugh as if, am I Y/n? I’m not am I?” I shook my head and smiled up at the boy beside me, “see? Charles, I told you” Owen stuck his tongue out at Charlie and walked quickly away from him in a strop, leaving me behind with Charlie,

“Hi” Charlie said simply, I looked up at him and nodded, smiling.

“Hi” I mirrored, Charlie smirked at me and stared at me, “what?” I questioned, Charlie shook his head, laughing slightly,

“Nothing, nothing” he repeated himself, saying the first ‘nothing’ quietly, almost to himself, “so uh, what’re you gonna do on set?” Charlie questioned,

“Oh I’m helping him direct, Kenny taught me everything I know, he’s the only one that supported me through everything- my family really hate the fact that I have a love for acting, singing, dancing and directing but Uncle Kenny always inspired me and pushed me to do my best” I explained,

“Oh you’re going to be bossing us around are you?” Charlie joked, winking at me, I nodded happily,

“Yes I am, and I’m going to have a fun time doing it too” I responded, “come on” I said, tapping Charlie’s forearm lightly to encourage him to walk faster with me to catch up with everybody, Kenny watched as Charlie and I came closer to view, he smiled yet he had a suspicious glint in his eyes, and if I knew my Uncle Kenny as much as I thought I did, I’d believe that he was up to something. “Sorry Uncle Kenny” I apologised coming up to stand beside him,

“No need to apologise darling,” Kenny simply replied “ready to get to work?” He questioned, I nodded and Kenny wandered over to the cast, requesting Madison, Savannah and Jadah, he was about to film the scene where we first meet Savannah’s character ‘Carrie.’ Kenny sent Booboo home as he was only called in for a briefing and script changes whilst Tori and Sacha went to the resting tent, Tori wanted to go through some of her choreography ideas and Sacha wanted to go through his lines.

I moved away from the set and sat in Uncle Jenny’s seat that had ‘Director’ written on the back, “alright boss?” I heard someone whisper from behind me, I turned around slightly to see Charlie leaning in close,

“I’m alright, how’re you?” I asked, “all of you” I continued, looking at Jeremy and Owen who were stood behind Charlie, they all smiled at me and took their scripts out from their back pockets,

“We’re great” they all said, moving to sit in their seats and beginning to read through their lines together, “so you’re gonna help direct huh?” Jeremy asked, peering up from his script to look at me,

“Yeah, I love directing and Kenny used to come to the shows I directed back in high school” I explained, “he said I was his ‘biggest inspiration’ because he thought that I could direct anything from thrillers to love stories to comedies”

“She is,” Kenny spoke up, as he had finished going through the basics with Savannah, Madison and Jadah, “I’m her biggest fan” he laughed, “right, silence on set” Kenny ordered to the crew behind the camera, they began filming, the talent that the three girls had was absolutely incredible, however, my ‘director’ brain came into play and I began to pick out things that I thought I could change, I wandered over to Kenny and took the script he had in his pocket along with a pen and began to jot down some ideas as soon as I got back into my seat.

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Charlie

I watched as Y/n scribbled in the script she had taken from Kenny, it amazed me how she had so many thoughts and ideas and wanted to put them all into effect, she was incredible. “You alright there Boss?” I questioned in a quiet tone, Y/n looked up at me with her y/e/c eyes and smiled, nodding.

“Hm? Yeah I’m okay” she said, not taking her eyes off of the script resting on her lap, I watched as Owen tapped Y/n on her shoulder,

“Whatcha working on?” He questioned, in a low whisper, “ideas for the scene?” He continued, Y/n nodded and showed him the script,

“Uh... yeah, they’re a bit rough... what do you think?” She asked nervously, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands, Owen read through the ideas, using his finger as a pointer to direct him through the scribbled notes on the page.

“They seem amazing” he said honestly, Jeremy had caught attention to what Y/n and Owen were doing, now becoming intrigued on the situation alongside myself, “Y/n has been busy coming up with ideas... show them, they won’t judge” Owen said, i heard the low whisper of the last part that he said directly to her, even I could feel her being slightly anxious about showing more people her ideas, she twisted her mouth slightly before biting her lip,

“Hey, I bet you they’re so good” I reassured, resting my hand on her arm, I heard as she took a sharp breath in, she turned to look behind her and beckoned Jeremy over, he smiled widely and jumped off of his seat, skipping jokingly over to her which caused her to stifle a giggle, she nodded her head towards herself for me to come over as well, Jeremy and I had formed a huddle around Y/n as she showed us her ideas,

“Y/n, these are really good!” Jeremy beamed, looking down at the girl sat in the director’s seat, he handed me the script for me to read through, Owen and Jeremy were right, although the notes were focusing on the small details of the scene, I could see how it would improve it, she had an eye for the smaller things, an eye for detail and that was something that not everyone could obtain.

“I agree, why don’t you show Kenny these?” I questioned, Y/n shrugged slightly, still unsure of his blatant talent, she consistently tugged on the oversized sleeves of her hoodie and brought her hands up close to her face, rubbing the fabric over her nose as she scrunched her face out of confusion and possible anxiety.

“Oh I don’t know” she trailed off, I tilted my head and smirked at her, “what?” She questioned, smiling half heartedly,

“Kenny!” I exclaimed, as soon as they stopped filming the scene, “Kenny, come here” I beckoned him over, Kenny told Sav, Mads and Jay to take 10 as he came over to us, Jeremy and I stepped to the side to reveal Y/n, who had now stood up,

“Wassup guys?” Kenny asked, his voice filled with concern, he scanned over Y/n’s face, “has he said anything to you?” Kenny questioned, Owen, Jeremy and I all looked at each other in confusion,

“Has who messaged her?” Owen asked, Y/n shook her head at the subject, waving Owen off,

“Nobody, and no, Uncle Kenny, he hasn’t...” she trailed off,

“No, she has some ideas for the scene and I think they’d really work” I said, Y/n nodded as Kenny tilted his head at her, she walked forward and handed Kenny the script she had stolen from him not so long ago,

“Ah so that’s where my script went” Kenny joked, looking through the ideas written on the script “yeah... yeah okay” he said loudly, “right, my little star, you ready to put these into action?” Kenny questioned, rubbing his hands together, Y/n began to stutter over her words, I placed my hands on her shoulders and leant down to whisper in her ear,

“You’ve got this Angel” I said, the pet name slipping out, she looked at me and smiled,

“Sav, Mads, Jay- you ready?” Kenny questioned, the girls nodded and ran over to set, “come on Star” he smiled, wrapping his arms around Y/n and ushering her over to set with him.

“Angel huh?” Jeremy asked, winking at me,

“Oh shut it” I retorted, hitting jumping on Jeremy’s back, Owen bundled on top of me,

“Charlie’s got a crush” he teased, I rolled my eyes.

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Y/N

I walked over to the three girls and spoke them through my ideas, “Jadah, Madison, I think instead of seeing each other and walking down the hall together, maybe Julie could walk to her locker on her own, with her head down and after looking through her locker she closes the door and there’s Flynn. It would show a contrast between the two at the moment, yanno, Julie’s still upset about her mum and there’s Flynn who’s trying to cheer her up” I explained, the two girls smiled, “Savannah, I think what you were doing is great but instead of having a drastic change in attitude you should be more passive aggressive towards Flynn” I said, turning to the girl next to me.

“You were right Ken, she is good” Savannah complimented, Kenny smiled proudly and gave me a tight hug before walking off set with me, I saw Charlie, Owen and Jeremy standing there with their thumbs up at me, I mirrored the motion and laughed before turning back to the set,

“Right, quiet on set please... everybody ready?” The girls all nodded whilst the three boys quietened down, “action” Kenny said, we watched as the adapted scene played out, Kenny kept hugging me into him and repeating how proud he was of me, “and cut! Well done girls and well done you” Uncle Kenny smiled and hugged me again,

“Okay okay, enough with the hugs” I joked, wriggling out of his hold, “was it okay? The scene?” I questioned, Madison came running up behind me and hugged me from behind,

“It was amazing, I loved it” she beamed, spinning me around to look at her, “you’re talented Y/n” she continued,

“So talented!” Jadah called as she ran up to the group, with Savannah. The three boys came up behind me.

“You did me proud Star” Uncle Kenny beamed, I could hear a waver in his voice as I looked up at him, I saw him wiping a tear away,

“Oh Uncle Kenny” I cooed, “what’re you crying for?” The cast aw’ed behind me as they pulled him and I in for a group hug,

“It’s just, Y/n, I’ve never seen you in action before, I’ve seen the product of it but never the making” Kenny said, I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Guys! I have an idea” Tori’s voice rang through the group as we separated, “karaoke. Tonight?” She suggested and Sacha came up too,

“I’m down” Sacha said, eagerly, the rest of the group nodded, even Kenny

“Um, I think I’ll stay home, I’m not too big on” I said but was quickly cut off by Owen,

“She’s coming, she’s definitely coming” he said, resting his chin on top of my head, “please” he begged me, “please please please” he repeated, the rest of the cast joined in with the begging, Charlie and Jeremy taking it as far as to get on their knees, Kenny gently tugged me near him,

“Come on Y/n/n, you need this, you know you do” he said loud enough for me to hear,

“Oh fine! Fine okay! I’ll come” I rolled my eyes jokingly, Madison pulled me to her by my arm,

“I want to duet with Y/n first!” She screamed,

“I’m awful at singing...” I trailed off, Kenny instantly refuting that statement, saying that I had, and I quote ‘a voice of an angel’ we continued going through all of the scenes that Kenny wanted to go through that day, I had him coming up to me asking for suggestions on scene improvements and developments.

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Charlie

“God I am so tired!” Owen whined, just as we finished the last scene of the day, putting all of his weight on me, I grunted at the sudden added weight before bending down and lifting Owen up onto my back “ah... this, this is nice” Owen sighed in delight as I lugged him on my back, walking towards our trailers, I watched as Y/n walked ahead with Savannah, the two had managed to become very close throughout the day, Savannah came up to Y/n anytime she wasn’t needed on set, they sat and talked for ages.

“Well tomorrow we have to film the hot dog scene” Jeremy said, “and that will probably take us hours” his voice dragging as he thought of how long it would take to film, I laughed and waved Jeremy off as he entered his trailer, I adjusted the weight that was Owen on my back before walking a little bit further, dropping Owen off at his trailer,

“Here you are your majesty” I joked, bowing sarcastically towards Owen, causing him to smack the back of my head, “and that’s the thanks I get for carrying you” I rubbed the area that Owen had just hit and turned on my heels to walk to my trailer that was just across from him.

I entered my trailer and hung my costume up on the rail, I jumped into the cold shower and washed off the sweat that had been building up throughout the day, I then changed into jeans and a t-shirt, pulling on my boots before leaving my trailer, I spotted Owen and Jeremy already dressed and leaving their trailers so I caught up with them and walked with them out of the filming lot.

“You took your time” Madison jokingly complained, resting her head on Y/n’s shoulder, Y/n giggled before quickly pulling her hair up into a high ponytail,

“So, guys! I have a whole karaoke set up at my apartment, if you guys come over for 9?” Tori asked, the rest of us nodded in agreement, Madison and her dad, Mr Reyes, walked away, bidding farewell to everyone, Sav was giggling and joking with Y/n before she took Jadah and Sacha away to drive them home,

“Bye Y/n/n!” Sav called, after giving Y/n a hug, the girl waved to Sav,

“Bye! Bye Jadah, bye Sacha!” She smiled, she turned to the boys and I, having Kenny behind her,

“So you are coming later?” I asked Y/n, she nodded and smiled,

“Uncle Kenny won’t have it any other way” she joked, “so... I’ll see you all in a few hours?” She questioned, causing Jer, O and I to all nod, “okay... we’ll see you later” she smiled, walking away with Kenny,

“Oh! Y/n!” I called out, gaining a sudden burst of confidence, she turned around and tilted her head in a silent question, “after your duet with Mads and your duet with Sav... do you think you’ll have time to fit me in for one?”

“Yeah! Sure... why not?” She laughed before turning back around and running after Kenny who had continued to walk towards the car, I bounced on my feet happily,

“Cool” I mumbled to myself, “Owen, you ready?” I asked, spinning my car keys on my finger as I turned around, Owen and Jeremy were looking at me suspiciously, “what?” I questioned.

“I think you know what” Jeremy said in an obvious tone,

“You like that girl!” Owen exclaimed,

“Pfft, what?! No! I just met her...” I trailed off, it was true. I did just meet her, but that still didn’t mean that I couldn’t of liked her in the amount of hours she was around, I mean from 8am to 6pm... could I have fallen for her in that time? Surely not.

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The time to go to Tori’s had finally come around, I had changed into a causal shirt and jeans, just so I didn’t feel overly formal, “so what duet are you thinking about doing with Y/n?” Owen asked as we got into the car.

“I don’t know... it’s just a silly duet O” I reasoned, beginning to drive over to Tori’s apartment.

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Y/N

Uncle Kenny parked up his car and we began to make our way up to Tori’s apartment, “so you’re singing with Charlie?” Kenny asked,

“Yeah, and Madison and Savannah” I replied, “and Madison is singing with Charlie and so is Owen and Jeremy” Kenny looked at me in agreement and knocked on Tori’s front door,

“Hi! Come in! Come in!” She said cheerily as she stepped to the side to allow us in, as we entered, Savannah came rushing up to me, embracing me in a quick hug, then came Mads and Jadah who joined in on the group hug, “wait! Wait!” Tori whined as I heard her feet pat towards the group, quickly flying her arms around the group, “I love group hugs” she sighed in content, as the group quickly dispersed I was greeted with Jeremy, Owen and Charlie

“Sacha and Booboo couldn’t make it in the end” Savannah announced, pouting at the sad news, “also why didn’t you boys join in on the hug?” She sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest,

“Because...” Owen started as he and the boys stood up “we wanted one of our own” the three boys ran towards me and engulfed me in yet another group hug,

“Okay” I said, “okay guys�� I laughed wriggling out of the hug, “I swear, I’ve never had this many hugs in my life” I joked as Owen ushered me over to sit next to him on the couch, Kenny wandered over and sat at the kitchen island drinking a glass of water.

Tori began to set up the karaoke machine whilst everyone was talking amongst one another, “so did you enjoy your first day on set?” Owen asked me,

“Oh yeah, it was great, I was really nervous, I didn’t want to mess anything up” I admitted,

“You were great” I heard a voice say, I turned to see Charlie moving to sit next to me just as Savannah got up to get a drink with Jadah, “honestly, you were amazing, a real natural” I blushed at his words and thanked him, “you excited for our duet?” Charlie asked, nudging me slightly,

“Yeah, I’m nervous though... I don’t really sing in front of people” I said just as Mads called me up to sing with her,

“We are singing Dynamite” Madison announced just as the song began to play, Mads and I started singing,

‘I came to dance, dance, dance, dance’ Madison started, holding my free hand and dancing with me,

‘I hit the floor cuz that’s my plans, plans, plans, plans’ I joined in, “oh okay girl!” Tori cheered causing me to laugh as Madison continued on.

The song soon came to an end and Madison and I jokingly bowed and Savannah came running up to sing our duet, “well that was amazing girls but now it’s my turn to sing with Y/n/n” she giggled, Madison rolled her eyes and wandered off the stage, sitting next to Kenny,

“What are we singing Sav?” I questioned, she smirked at me and whispered the song choice in my ear, “I love it... okay” the song began to play-

‘Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a bad chick by her toe’ Sav started rapping, ‘if she holla, if-if she holla, let her go’ she pointed over to me, signalling me to sing,

‘She’s indecisive, she can’t decide, she keeps on looking’ Sav then interjected,

‘From left to right, girl come a bit closer, look in my eyes’ we started dancing and laughing whilst the song continued, hardly managing to get through the song fully without bursting into fits of laughter. Once the song had finished, I went to walk away to sit on the sofa before being gently pushed back by Charlie,

“Uh you said you’d sing with me” he smiled at me, “and we are singing a lovely song called No Air”

“I love that song” I admitted as we walked back over and picked up the karaoke mics, ‘No Air’ started to play, Charlie turned to look at me as we sang the first part together.

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Charlie

I held onto Y/n’s free hand as we sang, I kept smiling down at her. The song soon came to an end, I let go on Y/n’s hand and felt heat creep onto my cheeks, I’m blushing... I never blush. I thought to myself, looking back down at the girl beside me, she lowered her head and walked away to sit next Owen, I watched as he nudged her lightly and she laughed at what he was saying to her, I waited a while before sitting back down on the couch sitting next to Madison, “you like her” she stated, not even looking at me,

“I- I don’t” I stuttered, Madison rolled her eyes and hummed at me, clearly not convinced, “I just met her”

“Listen, you can like someone from the first day, it’s not like there’s a handbook to this kinda stuff” she explained, she wasn’t wrong, the way you feel towards someone can change from person to person and this has to be the quickest I’ve ever liked someone, I knew it from the moment she walked in, she had this beautiful y/h/c hair and these glimmering eyes, she had one of the kindest faces I’ve ever seen, her features were soft yet chiselled, her lips were plump and when she looked at me, I could easily get lost. She was mesmerising... and I had fallen, quick.

💜thanks for reading!💜

♡︎𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 : @thesweetestsinner , @ifilwtmfc , @ashleyleblancx , @chloepart03 ♡︎

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hookedonapirate · 4 years ago

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Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States.

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again.

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?”

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?”

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right?

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase.

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender.

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table.

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league.

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman.

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists.

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?”

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does.

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away.

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him.

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior.

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter.

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell.

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape.

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner.

“Hey, babe, ready to go?”

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips.

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat.

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart.

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups.

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes.

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust.

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning.

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words.

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.”

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem.

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing.

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.”

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.”

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.”

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this.

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments.

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.”

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.”

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum.

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties.

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress.

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile.

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship.

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away.

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other.

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually.

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years.

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke.

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd.

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.”

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her.

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss.

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television.

#cs ff #long shot au #captain swan

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 128

Chapter Summary - Danielle is dealing with work, but still thinking about Tom and whatever his call was regarding, while Tom still thinks of how to talk to her, but when he gets a message, he has to think of its meaning.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

I WILL get there, it is my dream!

All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

Danielle stared at the scene in front of her silently as the fire crews deal with the burning rubble, she simply watched them all, studying how they dealt with the situation.

‘You seem distracted.’ She turned slightly as Branagh standing close to her.

‘I think it is more I am trying to keep myself preoccupied.’

‘That’s seldom good.’ he folded his arms and leant against a large container. ‘Is it to do with Tom?’

‘Somewhat.’

‘Dare I ask?’

‘Dare I say anything?’ She challenged. ‘I know Tom looks up to you so much and is so grateful to you and also keeps in contact with you as best he can. You are the reason he got on so well on Wallander.’

‘Tom is the reason he did well there, not me.’

‘Without your guidance, and without your suggestion that he should try for Marvel, he would not have gotten the opportunity to show his incredible talent to the world as he has.’ She countered with a smile.

Branagh could not argue the point too greatly. ‘So what has the very talented Tom done to warrant you trying to occupy your mind with dull after scene work?’ She gave him an analytical look. ‘You are very cautious.’

‘You have to be in this line of work.’

‘I was eager to take you for this job because you were not the same overly cautious as others, you had a daring streak to you, or so I thought.’

‘It takes considerable daring to choose to allow yourself be with someone such as Tom, in the media, surrounded by women of both wealth and talent, and do not get me started on the internet fans.’

‘That is more than a little true,’ Branagh conceded once more. ‘So is the issue one of these women?’

‘Well, he is on a press thingy with Maisie Williams at the moment, and seeing as she is about twenty years old, I think him being interested would send up a few more than the usual warnings, don’t you?’

‘The girl from Game of Thrones?’

‘Arya Stark, yes.’

‘Oh, I was thinking the red-haired one, no, I have you now.’

‘So, no, it is not that. I trust him there. I don’t always trust some women not to try something, but I trust him to decline.’ Branagh nodded slightly. ‘I think he is planning something behind my back and I don’t know what. I don’t think it is negative, but I think he thinks it could be construed as such by me and I have no idea what it is.’ When she looked at the director again, she erupted in laughter. ‘I take it you regret asking?’

‘I have no idea what you just said.’ He confessed.

‘I accidentally heard part of a conversation that I assume I was not supposed to hear and Tom mentioned that no, he didn’t ask me something because he was frightened what I would say, and now I am wracking my brains trying to figure out what this is because he is all addled by it, which is making me all addled by it, and I am fucking losing sleep at this stage and I bet, knowing him, it is something fucking mundane and all this is just us losing our heads for nothing.’ Branagh frowned. ‘Yeah, you regret asking.’ She chuckled before looking to the side at her paperwork, which was being kept safe from the elements in a file. ‘Fuck, this is miserable.’

‘Can you imagine how these people actually felt?’

‘I dare say Dublin was confused.’

‘Yeah, well, neutral means neutral, right?’

‘You think the Germans were right to do it?’ Branagh asked curiously.

‘Not particularly, but I understand their reasons. Belfast was us helping our own, but if we were helping a British occupied area, that’s not neutral, is it?’

‘You are a very intelligent woman. You look at all the angles, not just your own.’

‘Would you expect anything less from someone with Tom?’ There was a moment’s silence and a knowing look. ‘There is a lot of things she can be called, stupid is not one of them.’ She winked.

‘You think so?’

‘I know so. She is smart, there nothing wrong in acknowledging that. A different type of smart though. I read Yeats because I love his work, I doubt she ever even heard of him.’

‘Yeats, not Shakespeare?’

‘Nah, I’ll stick to Irish.’

‘But you know….?’

‘Yes, doesn’t everyone know his work? I think there are street children in Sri Lanka that know his name.’

‘Favourite play?’

‘Are you going to judge me on it?’ She asked with a raised brow.

‘Very much so.’

‘As You Like It.’ Branagh stared at her in interest. ‘Not what you were expecting?’

‘Not at all. An interesting choice.’

‘Some of his most famous quotes are from it, “All the world’s a stage” and “Too much of a good thing”. It is overlooked because it is a comedy and not a tragedy, but I love it.’ She smiled. She was about to say more when she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket, as soon as she felt it buzz again, she excused herself and got to a sheltered spot. When she pulled it out, she saw Emma’s name on the screen. ‘Ems?’

‘Hey.’

‘Is everything alright?’ There was a definite something to Emma’s tone that worried her.

‘I was ringing to ask you.’ Danielle looked at the phone in confusion. ‘Tom seems odd.’

‘Tom is odd at the best of times, Ems, but yes, I think he is a little off of late. He seems like something is bothering him and I am trying to let him to talk to me whenever it suits but he has said nothing, so I didn’t want to talk about it and possibly make a mountain out of a molehill because I could be utterly wrong and be reading things arseways.’

‘Yeah. I don’t know.’ Emma conceded. ‘Maybe it’s just that he misses you.’

‘Perhaps.’ Danielle laughed. ‘How are you?’

‘Okay, I guess. I really need a catch-up.’

‘I am home at the end of the week, we will sort one then.’

‘Okay. I will see you then, I have news.’

‘Wait, what is the news?’

‘I’ll tell you then.’

‘Emma!’

‘I will talk to you then.’ She insisted, though Danielle could hear her smile. ‘Bye.’

‘Worst friend ever,’ She growled at the phone as Emma giggled and hung up. Only after she hung up did she sense another in the room, turning around, she gave a small smile. ‘Hello, ignore me and my madness.’

Redmayne laughed, stirring his tea. ‘You’re quite alright, I am sorry for having accidentally eavesdropped on your conversation.’

‘It’s nothing, just Tom’s sister worrying about him.’

‘Is something wrong?’

‘Not that I know, but I have been busy here not allowing you all be blown up, so I doubt he would tell me if there was, he would want me concentrating on this.’ She sighed. ‘In all fairness, I probably should not have anyone distract me in this utter clusterfuck of things that could go really badly.’

‘Was that fire supposed to be so intense?’

‘From what the effects guys were saying, I don’t think so, but they are not telling me if it is wrong, and I am not going to be popular when I ask later.’

‘You work really hard.’

‘Doesn’t most anyone here. I mean, look at that costume, someone sat sewing that for hours.’ She pointed to the uniform he was wearing under a jacket. ‘It’s not an easy job getting these gigs, so you have to be good.’ She stated, grabbing a bottle of water and heading back outside.

Tom watched the dogs run around the dog park happily, chasing one another and interacting with the other canines. He was still contemplating how to bring it up to Danielle without her feeling like it was pressuring her. He wanted nothing more than to get it off her chest. At first, before she left, he thought there was something bothering her, but it was clear from their conversations on the phone since their separation, that she knew something was bothering him and was waiting for him to talk about it. Sighing, he thought more about how to just ask her.

When he received a message, he thought to ignore it while out, but instead, he decided to see if it was the alterations Luke said his PA would send on regarding the Blue Peter episode he was going on. When he looked at his phone, he frowned and inhaled deeply, reading Redmayne’s words carefully, he knew the answer to the question asked.

Is there a reason you haven’t asked her yet?

#chapter 128 #I Hate You I Love You #tom hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston Fic #wolfpawn

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lordofthenerds97 · 5 years ago

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The Devil Works Hard

Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N is an up and coming theatre producer and director. If not found on Broadway, you’re found in the classroom teaching as a Theatre Professor at the local college. A couple camera flashes and a glass of scotch change your life forever, and you’re trying to decide if the secrets are really worth it… Pairing: Loki x Reader Rating: T+ Warnings: Overbearing fluff and cliches

You weren’t sure how, but somehow, Lawson Mire had managed to talk you into being the Playwright for a modern adaption of Shakespeare’s Tempest. You muttered to yourself as you sat in your dim office, the main light coming from the laptop screen in front of you. The page was blank, and the cursor blinked tauntingly at you.

Your hands were clasped, and you rested your chin on your entwined fingers, trying to figure out how exactly to undertake this huge project. Lawson had given you a timeframe and a basic idea of what he wanted, but for the most part, you were given creative freedom.

That was something that you normally enjoyed, but right now, it was more of a curse than a blessing.

You had been tasked with turning the tragic comedy into something that the modern generations could relate to. You chuckled at the thought, shaking your head and pushing away from the desk.

Modern generation my ass, you thought. You ran a hand through your h/c hair and sighed, trying to come up with anything.

A thought struck you as there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” you called, sitting back down and grabbing a pencil to start writing down your idea.

“Miss Y/L/N?” a voice asked, a head poking through the cracked door not a few seconds later.

You rolled your eyes when you heard the voice. “Come on in, Hunter. And how many times do I have to tell you to not call me that?”

He chuckled as he stepped in, holding a folder. “Would you prefer Kicker?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Kicker?” you repeated.

Hunter nodded, grinning at you. “You know, describing a plot twist in a story?”

A snort escaped your lips. “Yeah, I got it. Why would you call me that?”

He rolled his eyes. “A lot of the students call you that. Because you make a lot of old literature new and fascinating inspiration to us when we start writing scenes.”

You pursed your lips as you regarded him. Maybe he was on to something. “Kicker, huh?” you chuckled. He grinned and nodded. “I like the sound of that. Anyways. What can I do for you, Hunter?”

“I know it’s a little late, but I needed to submit my thesis before tomorrow.” he said, holding the folder out to you.

You chuckled and took it from him, adding it to the small pile on your desk. If you were being honest, you wouldn’t have cared if he was a day late in turning it in. You hadn’t even started grading the other papers yet.

Something made you flip open the folder to see what the title was. Hunter was already on his way out when your eyes widened. Shakespeare’s Tempest; A Masque of Modern Interpretation.

“Hunter!” you called, grabbing the folder and almost sending your chair toppling over with how quickly you stood up.

He paused when he was halfway out the door, looking back at you with raised eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You walked around your desk, your eyes skimming the first page as you approached him. He stepped back inside, sticking his hands in his pockets. “How would you like some extra hours towards your Doctrinal?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

Your face lit up with a huge smile. “I’m working with a Director, Lawson Mire. He wants to revamp the Tempest play for a more modern generation. I know Kara had mentioned that she wanted to get some extra hours. Would you be willing to work with me on this project? Your thesis is exactly the kind of energy we need in developing this play.”

He smiled widely, resisting the urge to hug you. “I would love that. Thanks, Kicker.”

~*~*~*~*~

For the next several weeks, Hunter, Kara, and yourself spent countless hours working on the new adaption. Thinking about everything that had happened, you were amazed at your students. Hunter and Kara were some of the brightest when it came to your classes, and you were beaming with pride at the effort they put into this project.

Lawson was also incredibly happy with the work being done. He praised the three of you up one side and down the other, even offering Kara and Hunter internships with his company. They had readily accepted the offer, knowing how well an intern position with Lightning Arts would look on their resume.

~*~*~*~*~

And four months later, when the play was in production, all three of you were proud of the way your play had turned out.

The sounds of upbeat instrumental music mixed with the varying voices of the gala hall assaulted your ears. A glass of bubbling gold liquid was held in one hand while the other was used to gesture as you spoke.

Truth be told, you were bored out of your mind. Being the Producer and Playwright of the new adaption of The Tempest, you were pretty much required to attend the gala after the first showing. Thankfully, you weren’t alone. Or…so you thought. You continued to scan the room as you tried to hide the scowl of displeasure.

Lawson, the Director, had successfully abandoned you.

You turned your e/c eyes back to the group of people in front of you, chuckling as you did. You had absolutely no idea what was just said, but everyone else seemed to get a chuckle out of it, so you might as well join in.

If you were being honest, this was the part of the job that you enjoyed the least. You were more at home behind a desk with your fingers tapping away at a laptop or with your glasses sitting on the tip of your nose as you scrutinized the set. Interacting with the higher society wasn’t something you were especially good at. Thankfully, you were quick enough on your feet to get through the few hours you had to spend with them.

Your black clutch was held securely under your arm as you raised your glass slightly to the group in front of you, quietly dismissing yourself. As soon as your back was turned, you downed the rest of your drink, desperately wanting something a little stronger. It wasn’t a few moments later when a waiter paused beside you, offering the tray. You chuckled, nodding to him.

“Thank you, Gavin.” you said, placing your empty champagne glass on the tray and taking the glass of scotch that he offered. He had been one of the servers you had first met several years ago, and the two of you got on quite well. He was always there at the right moment with exactly what you needed.

There was a twinkle in his eye as he tipped his head to the side. “Of course, miss Y/L/N.”

You sighed as he slipped away, leaving you to face the crowds once again. As you began to make your way through the throngs of people towards the exit, you were swarmed by cameras. Catching you off guard, you were ill prepared for the moment. Your eyes widened and a piece of your pinned hair fell in your face as you tried to stammer out a response to the sudden flashes of cameras.

You still desperately searched for an exit as you took a step back from the press. But they didn’t seem to get the hint. You felt your heart clench and your chest tighten before the breath hitched in your throat. But as you took another step backwards, your back collided with something solid. Before you could turn around in a panic, you felt two hands land on your shoulders.

“Are these people bothering you, love?” a silky voice asked.

Not able to formulate proper words, you simply snapped your mouth shut and nodded quickly.

The hands that were on your shoulders slid down your arms in a soothing gesture before returning to their original position. You could feel a sense of calmness wash over you when you heard the stranger speak again. “If you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere to be,” he said.

He moved his hands, placing one on the small of your back to guide you away from the crowd. You moved willingly, gratitude radiating off you in waves. You were guided to the balcony doors and into the fresh air. When the crisp night air hit your lungs, you let out a ragged sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you said, turning around.

What you saw almost made your heart stop. A man with sharp features, piercing green eyes, and shoulder length black hair stood in front of you. His hair was tied at the base of his neck and his keen eyes were examining you closely. He wore a black tuxedo and a black shirt, the only color being the satin emerald tie around his neck. He was watching you curiously, one hand in his pocket and the other hovering close to you.

“It’s not a problem, my lady.” he said with a crooked smile.

The velvety tone in his voice almost made you swoon. If that wasn’t enough, he had a rich accent to top it all off. It sounded close to British, but you knew that wasn’t it.

You cleared your throat before smiling up at him. “You would think I’d be used to this by now.” you said with a chuckle. “Regardless, I appreciate it.”

He shook his head. “One is never truly accustomed to the spotlight. You handled it rather well.”

A laugh fell from your lips. “Well, thank you again. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He flashed another grin at you. “Tom.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom.” you replied, tilting your head slightly as you said his name.

“The pleasure is mine, Y/N.”

A slight blush managed to take over your cheeks. Hopefully, you could play it off as the chill in the breeze. “Well, it’s getting a little chilly out here.” you said slowly. “Would you like to go for a coffee?”

He raised an eyebrow just slightly before inclining his head. “I’d be honored.”

AN: If anyone wants to be added to the taglist, let me know! Click here

Note; some of the tags don’t work. I’ve marked them in bold. Taglist: @sebastiansloserclub @britishbutnotbritish @endgame-isnt-cannon-sweaty @evalynanne @randomfangirl7 @midnight-queen-1 @fishingpenguin @korvisorvis @daft-punky @j-nelson99 @lauraxoxo100 @lady-loki-ren @slasherfvked @chloe248 @lolitaforeveryoung @vviptop @celestialstarshadow @emerlywarhead @alicephantomhive99 @i-will-die-for-bebe-yoda @delicatewebseriescutepizza @adefectivedetective @xwackk @cxstl-e @digitalizer

#loki #marvel #reader #reader insert #reder x loki #loki x reader

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aion-rsa · 3 years ago

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Doctor Who: Introducing John Bishop

https://ift.tt/3hJ3QeV

A teaser at the end of Doctor Who festive special ‘Revolution of the Daleks‘ introduced the audience to John Bishop, freshly cast as new companion Dan and due to appear alongside Mandip Gill and Jodie Whittaker in the show’s upcoming 13th season.

John Bishop is very well known in his native United Kingdom, mostly for his output as an award-winning stand-up comedian, and for being a mainstay of some of the country’s best-loved panel shows. In the US, he’s a less familiar face – a consequence of the US comedy scene being harder to break into than Fort Knox in a time eddy. Even in the UK there may be pockets of Who viewers unfamiliar with Bishop’s work, especially as ever-fewer people aged 16-34 are choosing to watch broadcast TV.

The only other Doctor Who actor to have been introduced in this way at the tail-end of an episode was John Hurt, a big-name British actor whose brand recognition carried across both the Atlantic Ocean and audience demographics. If the overall reaction to the casting of The War Doctor was, ‘Bloody hell, it’s John Hurt!’, it’s no slight on the soon-to-be TARDIS-travelling Liverpudlian to assume that the most common reaction this time, at least globally, might have been: ‘Who the bloody hell is John Bishop?’ But don’t worry. That’s what we’re here to find out.

The good news is: you’ll like him.

Runcorn, Football, and Bad Jobs

John Bishop grew up in a council estate in Runcorn, and always dreamed of greater things, or at least – as he told The Guardian newspaper in 2010 – a job where he wouldn’t have to go home and ‘get a wash’ afterwards. His ambition and intellect carried him to college, and thereafter into a short-lived career playing semi-professional football for Southport FC. His first foray into the working world, however, was as a vacuum-cleaner salesman, where he was mystified – and perhaps a little scared – by the go-getting ethos that the company had adopted. Each working day began with the mandatory recitation of an inspirational sales song performed to the tune of a Beatles hit. “It was mad,” he told talk-show host Graham Norton. “As a 17-year-old… I thought that’s what all jobs were like.” You can watch John Bishop having a bad-job-off with Chris Pratt in this video:

In his thirties, Bishop was living a comfortable existence as a medical rep for a pharmaceutical company. At the same time as his corporate star was rising, his marriage was collapsing, an event that carried within it – unbeknownst to him – the seeds of serendipity: his failing marriage would kick-start his comedy career, and his burgeoning comedy career would, in turn, kick-start his marriage.

From Open Mic Comedy to Sold-Out Tours

In conversation with fellow comedian Rob Brydon on the latter’s online show Brydon &, (see below), Bishop explained that didn’t nurse a burning, life-long ambition to make strangers laugh in the dark. He pretty much drifted into stand-up. He just wanted somewhere to go and something to do after he’d dropped his three kids off with his estranged wife on a Monday night; something to distract him from missing them. In fact, when he attended his first Open Mic night he didn’t even know what the term ‘open mic night’ meant, but was overjoyed to discover that one of the main things it meant was that as a performer he’d get into the venue for free.

Speaking to Brydon, Bishop recalled stepping out on stage for the first time, struggling a little and getting maybe a few polite titters from the seven-strong crowd. He quickly decided to bin his repertoire of gags, admitting to the audience, “I’m only here because I’m getting divorced”. He then launched into a funny, stream-of-consciousness, self-deprecating routine about his ailing marital fortunes.

In many ways, then, John Bishop is the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel of UK comedy (although, unlike Midge Maisel, he successfully rekindled his marriage). Perhaps we should call him ‘The Jubilant Mr John Bishop’.

Bishop had never told anyone he was doing stand-up, so it came as something of a shock to his wife when she went along to The Frog and Bucket comedy club with some workmates, only to see her husband walk out onto the stage. She came to talk to him afterwards, and told him it was great to see him more like his old self. Counselling and reconciliation followed, and the family has been rock-solid ever since. “Getting back together was the reward,” he told Rob Brydon. “All the rest of this stuff is secondary.”

Doctor Who Series 13: Jodie Whittaker Leaving Rumours, the Next Doctor, and the Future

By Jamie Andrew

Doctor Who: Ranking Every Single Companion Departure

By Andrew Blair

Bishop went on to build a solid, multi-award-winning career on the comedy circuit – branching out into panel shows and some small-screen roles – but it was his 2009 Edinburgh Festival Show ‘Elvis Has Left the Building’ that launched him into the big time.

Millions find him hilarious, but there are three key critics who resolutely don’t: his own children. Bishop told The Mirror newspaper in January 2013: “They just look at me as if to say, ‘what are you doing?’ My eldest came up to me over Christmas and said, ‘Dad, I think you should use this bit of time off to rethink your material’. I couldn’t believe it.”

You can judge for yourself here by watching one of his early TV appearances, where he muses about refrigerators and municipal tips in his endearingly droll, dad-next-door style.

Politics, Charity and LGBTQ+ Allyship

Bishop’s TV roles have provided incidental connections to the wider Who-niverse: he appeared as comedic but catastrophic dad Rob Fitch on the E4 series Skins from 2009 to 2010, a show that had also once featured future 12th Doctor Peter Capaldi; in 2012, Bishop appeared in fellow Merseysider Jimmy McGovern‘s Accused, a characteristically gritty drama in which Christopher Eccleston had also previously appeared. By 2012, Bishop was no stranger to working with smart, angry, ideology-driven writers and auteurs, having played a small but key role in Ken Loach’s 2010 pro-friendship, anti-Iraq movie Route Irish.

Politics are, and have always been, at Bishop’s core. He’s a long-time vegetarian and animal lover who regularly rails against the UK class system, an oppressive model he managed to buck by becoming the first member of his working-class family to attend university. He graduated with a BA (Hons) in Social Science from Manchester Polytechnic in 1989. He’s a staunch and outspoken socialist, and vocal supporter of the UK’s Labour Party. In short, a man who’s never afraid to poke his head above the parapets. In 2014 he told The Mirror newspaper that if he ever appeared on the political panel show Question Time he’d probably end up punching someone.

Nowhere is this anger more intense than in his support for the victims of the Hillsborough disaster, a 1989 footballing tragedy that affected his beloved Liverpool football club, the act and aftermath of which intersected issues of class with police malfeasance and media treachery. The battle for accountability continues to this day. In 2014, Bishop donated £96,000 (£1000 for each of the victims) to the Hillsborough Family Support Group. In the charity sphere, Bishop has raised millions of pounds through all manner of sporting feats, most notably enduring a five-day triathlon from Paris to London.

In 2018, Bishop was named the Virgin Atlantic Celebrity Ally of the Year at the NatWest British LGBT Awards, a moment that fused the political and the social with his family. In his funny yet hard-hitting acceptance speech he revealed that one of his sons is gay. You can watch him talking about it on this clip from The Jonathan Ross Show:

One area of Bishop’s life that’s stayed relatively free of politics is his stand-up. He explained to The Guardian in 2010: “I don’t want to be categorised as a comedian going down any particular avenue. Besides, political comedians are hamstrung, because they’re waiting for other people to do stuff before they can come up with something funny.”

Dan, The TARDIS, and Series 13

And so we arrive at the latest chapter in John Bishop’s career: becoming a fully-fledged member of Team TARDIS. It almost never happened. Executive Producer Chris Chibnall created the part of Dan with John Bishop in mind, but there was too big a scheduling conflict with the star’s nationwide stand-up tour to allow him to say yes. Enter stage-left the pandemic, which reduced Bishop’s sold-out run to a shut-down nothing, and prompted him to approach Chris Chibnall to see if his offer still stood.

Given that John Bishop is a working-class Liverpudlian playing a working-class Liverpudlian on-screen, and that Chris Chibnall created Dan with John Bishop in mind, it’s tempting to conclude that we might see an exploration of class through Dan’s eyes, something the show is yet to directly touch upon despite Rose Tyler being a working class character.

Bishop has finished filming for series 13, and returns to the road on tour this September. It’s unclear whether this means he’s a one-and-done companion, or if he’ll be joining Jodie Whittaker or some as-yet unspecified fourteenth (ish) Doctor in seasons to come. But whatever the future holds for Dan, the character undoubtedly is in good hands. And Doctor Who’s audience is in good company with John Bishop.

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John Bishop will appear on the Doctor Who panel at SDCC At Home on Sunday the 25th of July.

The post Doctor Who: Introducing John Bishop appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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sassyshoulderangel319 · 8 years ago

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Merlin Series 6, Episode 1

THE RETURN OF THE KING, Part 1

Written By: Cass

Author’s Notes: I wrote this about a week before John Hurt died so if the BBC asks me if they can use this to make a real series 6 (I wish), it would need some changing. This is chapter 1 of how I think series 6 of Merlin ought to go. I doubt I’ll write how I see all of series 6 going, but here’s chapter 1 of I don’t know how many. It’s written like it’s being watched on a screen but without screenplay formatting since that doesn’t translate well to online platforms. (Trust me, I know.) And since Merlin’s series are usually two-part episodes, I might write the part 2 if I can figure out how to finish part 1. This is probably the first few minutes of a TV episode. @melodynightsong ALSO it’s written as British as possible, but I’m American.

Opens on OLD MERLIN walking alone on a path, backpack on his shoulders. It’s not the same path as the one seen when the audience was first introduced to Merlin as a young boy in series 1, but it is obviously meant to parallel that opening. He’s not wearing any of his distinctive outfits, but everyone watching knows it’s him, so that doesn’t matter.

He comes across a bench overlooking the misty moor that was once the Lake of Avalon, the ruined tower in the middle of what was once the island in the distance. He grunts from discomfort and takes his bag off his shoulders, rifling through it until he pulls out a red apple—his favorite.

Before he can take a bite, another old man drops onto the bench next to him. “You’ve changed, old friend,” comments a voice that is familiar to Old Merlin, but not in human form.

But he smiles and looks over.

KILGHARRAH is sitting there, dressed in some raggedy clothing, but recognizably John Hurt.

“Not as much as you,” retorts Old Merlin. “Last time I saw you, you had wings.” Both men chuckle before Merlin goes serious. “What are you doing here, Kilgharrah?” Merlin asks.

The man that was once a dragon sighs. “The cycle of life has gone around once again. Yet you are still here, guarding what used to be the Lake of Avalon,” Kilgharrah says.

Merlin grunts in agreement. “Yes. I am. I've seen everything the world has to offer time and time again. The new world, the old. And yet no matter how far I travel, I always return here,�� he replies, looking out over the field with a wistful look on his old face. “Year after year I watch for signs, and century after century I've seen nothing. Countless disasters and two world wars later, and somehow Albion’s need has never been great enough.”

Kilgharrah smirks. “Albion has been gone for a long time. You, my friend, are all that’s left.”

“What are you saying?”

“Since the demise of Albion and the rise of the United Kingdom, the parameters regarding the king’s return have changed.” Kilgharrah slaps his knees and moves to stand up. Merlin follows his progress with lowered eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?” demands Merlin.

“It is almost time, Merlin. The day you’ve waited so patiently for is near at hand. I wish you well, and wish you luck. Many others you recognize may stand in your path before you, but that is not for me to say. When the time comes, our paths will cross again—that much I know. Farewell, young warlock, and take care.” Kilgharrah walks off and disappears around a corner, leaving Merlin alone on the bench.

He looks out across the moor toward the ruined tower. “Arthur…?” he whispers.

Arthur’s voice seems to whisper “Merlin…” across the misty field.

Old Merlin’s eyes widen. “Well then,” he begins in his best Dragoon the Great voice. “I guess I better slip into something more comfortable.”

He pulls a small plastic bottle of pale blue liquid out of the front pocket of his backpack and downs the whole thing in one go. For several moments, nothing happens. Then a puff of smoke consumes Old Merlin’s form, obscuring him from view.

The Main Theme from the old series plays—this time with some new clips of what’s to happen in the series to come, but still beginning with Excalibur lying on the bottom of the lake. The names of the four mains return. Colin Morgan. Angel Coulby. Bradley James. Katie McGrath. There is evidence of magic, adventure, and yes, even comedy hiding in the opening titles with a sense of nostalgia and excitement—because Merlin is back!

The Adventures of MERLIN

Return of the King, Part 1

By: Me

Merlin as we know him—that is, younger and Colin Morgan—is the first thing we see when we get back to the main body of the episode. His familiar face, inviting us back. He’s wearing normal, modern clothing. Dark skinny jeans, black trainers, a navy blue collared button-down shirt, black leather jacket, and most noticeably, no neckerchief. The backpack is still there as well, but he’s no longer wearing it. It’s propped up against his leg.

But he’s a few years older than the last time we got to see him as a young man. He’s pensive, subdued, more mature, almost weary. He’s grown and seen a lot in the past fourteen-hundred years or so—more than one pair of human eyes ought to see. And, because Colin Morgan is an amazing actor, the weight of all he’s seen is easily visible on Merlin’s face.

He’s standing at the shoreline of the lake—which is still a field covered in mist with a ruined tower on a hill in the middle—waiting. With his hands in his jacket pockets.

Familiar faces and sights to everyone flash over the screen like a bad signal. Guinevere. Sir Leon. Sir Percival. The Camelot throne room. The council chambers in the palace. Arthur’s chambers. They flick and disappear with modern Merlin’s expressionless face and heavy eyes in between them.

Then, after another flicker, Merlin’s memories take hold and Camelot is solidly on screen.

“My lady,” greets Merlin, approaching QUEEN GUINEVERE in the council chambers with a slight bow to his tall frame. He’s in his old outfit—blue shirt, red neckerchief, brown jacket, breeches, and boots. Gwen gives him a friendly, but sad, smile, wearing one of her lovely gowns—a deep red one. Merlin stops a few feet from her and put his hands behind his back. “You wanted to see me.”

Gwen nods. “Yes. Since you’ve been absent, I have not yet had the chance to thank you for your actions at the Battle of Camlann,” she informs him.

“Pardon?”

“You were the sorcerer who defeated the Saxons, the dragon, Morgana. I know it was you. Camelot is indebted to you. And so am I. I know you did all you could to save Arthur. In the end there was just nothing that could have been done.”

“You must be mistaken. I'm not a sor—” Merlin begins to protest, more out of habit than anything else.

“It’s alright. I'm not going to have you executed or thrown in jail,” the queen interrupts. “But you’ve been missing for so long that I wondered if I would ever get the chance to thank you.” Merlin fidgets awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He clears his throat and looks everywhere but at his old friend, internally panicking. Gwen sees he’s struggling to think of something to say and adds, “I'm lifting the ban on magic and appointing you court sorcerer.” Merlin stares, silently, in confusion and surprise. “You helped save everything we hold most dear. And no one deserves our gratitude more than you. I'm pleased with what you’ve done, Merlin. You’ve always been a good man with a good heart.”

“Th-thank you, Your Majesty,” Merlin finally manages to say. “But lifting the ban on magic—”

“Has been a long time coming. Not everyone who practices magic is evil. You are living proof of that. I see no reason why it should not be appealed,” Gwen informs him, looking amused at his shock and confusion. “Also Gaius has informed me that he’s getting old and almost ready to step down from his position as court physician. If you would consider it, I'd like for you to take his place.”

“My lady, you ought to choose someone more qualified than me,” protests Merlin.

“There is none I'd rather have. You learned under Gaius for years and I cannot think of anyone I would trust more to fill the position,” Gwen presses, firm but kind.

Merlin smiles, looking almost embarrassed. “I will consider it. Thank you for the honour.”

Cut back to Merlin standing next to the Field of Avalon, the ghost of a smile playing on the edges of his lips at the fond memory.

Suddenly the mists covering the moor start swirling. There is no wind to speak of. This is the work of powerful magic—more powerful even than Merlin. This is the magic of the land itself—magic that has been waiting, sleeping, dormant, for centuries.

Merlin watches on in anticipation, taking his hands out of his pockets, letting them hang.

The mist swirls like a tornado around one spot between what was once the shoreline—where Merlin is standing—and the hill that was once the isle in the center of the lake. Merlin takes a step forward, watching intently.

His eyes flash gold—the first use of his magic in the new series, and probably in years—and time slows down. The mist spirals slower, the wind chime in the small town behind him drifts sluggishly where it hangs, and the car on the road in the town goes from a normal pace to a crawl. Merlin watches the slow mist, peering at it as close as he can in an attempt to see what’s happening.

In the middle of the pale silver mist, a dark grey silhouette begins to fade into existence. A very familiar silhouette of broad shoulders, narrow waist, and thick hair on top.

The smile on Merlin’s face grows wider. He knows that frame well.

There are a few tense moments as the mist spins even faster, despite Merlin and the audience watching through slowed-down time. The hair on top of the silhouette seems to flap in the winds. Merlin’s fringe also flicks as the breeze picks up.

With a burst, the mist flees from the scene, blasting Merlin in the face with wind, making him take a step back to steady himself.

Standing where the magical fog had been—

Is ARTHUR.

He’s pale and blinks in the sunlight before falling forward, collapsing on the ground. He’s in his chainmail, still with the patch of blood on his side, and breeches. His hair is ruffled from the magic gusts.

Merlin’s smile could photosynthesize Camelot’s forest for a week.

He leaps over the ridge that makes up the former shoreline and rushes over to his friend. “Arthur!” he shouts as he runs. He falls onto his knees next to the king of Camelot’s shoulder and helps him roll over onto his back, resting his upper body on Merlin’s knees. “Arthur?”

There are several moments of silence in which Arthur stares up at his former servant, looking confused and bleary—like he just woke up. Which, in a way, he did. Merlin continues to hold him in place, smiling and near tears at seeing his friend again after so long. Arthur blinks over and over as though getting sleep out of his eyes and brain—for a while he doesn’t realize that it’s not sleep lodged in his mind. It’s death.

“Merlin?” he asks, confused. “What's going on?”

“You're back. You're back,” Merlin replies, now crying from happiness.

“Back from where? You're talking gibberish,” Arthur mumbles, trying for the same harsh tone he used in the series 4 finale and failing because he’s still exhausted.

“Listen to me, Arthur. You died from your wounds after the Battle of Camlann. Which was… about fourteen-hundred years ago. You're back from the dead.”

“Why are you here, then?” he demands.

Merlin has the same sort of awkward look on his face that he had in the series 5 finale when he told Arthur that he could see the path ahead. “My… magic keeps me alive,” he admits. Arthur tries to sit up in surprise, but he’s still weak from just barely being revived. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You are not well enough to stand on your own. Let me help you.”

Merlin manages to get Arthur into an upright position before they both struggle to stand. Merlin slings Arthur’s arm around his shoulders and together they stagger over the field and make it to the bench where Merlin’s bag is still waiting. Merlin eases Arthur down onto the bench. “Sit here. Rest. Everything’s going to be okay. But we need to get you out of that chainmail before anyone sees. No one wears that kind of stuff anymore.” Merlin looks around at the small town behind them. “And we need to get you back to my flat before dark. Stay here. I’ll be right back. And don’t freak out. I promise everything is going to be alright.”

Merlin glances around again and leaves. Arthur remains on the bench, looking around. The last thing he remembers—thanking Merlin—appears on the screen for a moment as he stares over the field thoughtfully. He looks down at the patch of blood still staining his chainmail and winces at the memory of Mordred stabbing him. He looks over his shoulder carefully, eyeing the little modern town with lowered eyebrows, obviously confused.

A car pulls up on the road behind the bench. Merlin gets out of it, opens the passenger side door, and goes over to Arthur. “Come on. Once we get you inside we can talk more and I can make sure you're alright.”

“What is that?”

“Ah. That… is a car. It’s like a horse but easier to use and more than one person can ride in it. Don’t worry, it’s completely safe. I've been driving since automobiles were invented,” Merlin answers.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Arthur comments.

“I know. And I promise I’ll explain. When we get somewhere that no one will hear us talking. Because to anyone else we’re going to sound insane,” Merlin replies. He helps Arthur stand up and pile into the car. He puts the seatbelt across his friend and clicks it into place. “That’s going to keep you safe in the event of an accident—which we won't get into. I'm very good at driving. Raced in the Indy Five-Hundred recently. Not that anyone knew it was me.”

“What are you talking about?” demands Arthur.

“I’ll explain when we get inside,” sighs Merlin. He gets in the driver’s side and they pull away from the curb.

Cut to Merlin supporting Arthur through a door into the lounge of his flat. It’s been decorated with everything Merlin has seen throughout the ages. A sword from Camelot (not Excalibur). A Renaissance painting. Vinyl records from the seventies hanging on the wall in frames. And especially books. Books from every age. The walls are covered with bookshelves. There are pictures of Merlin from various times since photographs were invented in various clothing—including his old Camelot outfit with the red shirt and blue neckerchief at a Renaissance fair.

He helps Arthur sit down on the sofa and then eases him out of his armor and chainmail, which he throws on the armchair across the room from the sofa. Then off goes Arthur’s protective shirt and the normal shirt he wears underneath it so Merlin can examine his wound.

“It’s perfectly healed. You’ll be just fine. Welcome back, Arthur,” Merlin remarks.

“What’s that?” Arthur asks, not paying attention, pointing at the TV in the corner.

“Okay. Some supper first, and then I’ll explain everything. You’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

#Merlin #BBC Merlin #Merlin BBC #BBC's Merlin #This totally counts as a fanfiction right?#But if BBC messages me and wants me to adapt it for a real series 6...#I'm down #melodynightsong #This chapter is 2500 words #usually I write 1200 word chapters #THIS TOOK FOREVER #...#Have I mentioned before #That Colin Morgan is RIDICULOUSLY attractive?#Be still my heart #like OMG #like Merlin's beard

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mysteryshelf · 6 years ago

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SUMMER OF MYSTERY BLOG TOUR - The Chairman's Toys

Welcome to the “Summer of Mystery Reads” happening July 9th to August 17, 2018, at THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF arranged by Partners in Crime Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

The Chairman’s Toys

by Graham Reed

on Tour August 1-31, 2018

Synopsis:

Vancouver, British Columbia – land of psychotically expensive real estate, high-grade cannabis, and Jake Constable. A man adrift.

After Jake quits the drug business, his realtor/ex-wife, Nina, gets him a job as a house sitter for her wealthy clients. Jake celebrates by throwing a party in the mansion he was hired to look after. Unfortunately, the guest list gets out of hand, leaving Jake to contend with a hallucinogenic-vitamin-dispensing yogi, a dead guy in the bathroom, and The Norwegian – a criminal force of nature with a grudge against Jake.

When the owner of the multimillion-dollar crime scene returns home prematurely, only Jake’s inadvertent discovery of the man’s politically incorrect business history saves him from having to clean up after the party. But he still has to come clean with his ex-wife. The situation threatens to turn into an international incident when Nina’s power broker uncle and a pair of secret agents from China show up to turn the screws on Jake. Soon after that his friends start disappearing. With the Chinese government leaning on him and The Norwegian out to settle an old score, Jake comes up with a desperate plan to dupe the secret agents, save his friends, and (why not?) solve the murder.

Editorial Reviews:

“…takes the reader on a fast, furious, and often hilarious tour. Watching him zigzag through the twisting plot is pure pleasure.” – Publisher’s Weekly

“Reed’s lively mystery debut may be overloaded with colorful characters and tricky subplots, but too much of a good thing is still a good thing.” – Kirkus Reviews

“…definitely belongs on your short list of amiable stoner sleuths, along with Bart Schneider’s Augie Boyer and Hal Ackerman’s Harry Stein. The dark-comedy aspect of this debut will also appeal to fans of Chris Knopf, David Freed, and Tim Cockey.” – Booklist

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Fiction, Mystery, Humor Published by: Poisoned Pen Press Publication Date: July 3, 2018 Number of Pages: 238 ISBN: 1464210055 (ISBN13: 9781464210051) Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | IndieBound

Read an excerpt:

I was just starting to enjoy the party when The Norwegian came out of the bathroom and ruined everything.

At the time, I was dancing with a hyperkinetic yoga enthusiast named Windy. Or possibly Mindy. All attempts at verbal communication were being swallowed up by the blizzard of techno coming out of the forty thousand dollar stereo system. Which was fine by me since I didn’t imagine Windy-Mindy and I had all that much to talk about anyway.

She looked about a decade younger than me — clocking in somewhere south of thirty — and it was manifestly evident that her lifestyle choices were largely antagonistic to my own. Shrink-wrapped in Lululemon, Windy-Mindy radiated health and vigor as she bounced around in fuchsia Nikes performing an ode to the benefits of healthy living expressed through the medium of interpretive dance.

Exhausted by the spectacle, I took a breather and another belt of Woodford Reserve. In an attempt to bridge the cultural divide I waggled the bottle at Windy-Mindy, inquiring with my eyebrows. Her brow furrowed but the corners of her mouth did curl up slightly — one patronizing, the other amused. Or so the bourbon whispered to me.

It may have been correct because she countered by proffering her own bottle — the blue-tinted plastic kind that hikers and college students liked to clip to their backpacks. In her other hand were two small white tablets, which I lip-read to be Vitamin C.

I shrugged and swallowed.

The contents of the bottle turned out to be wheatgrass and champagne, a combination that tasted even worse than it sounded. I forgave Windy-Mindy when the vitamins started coming on about twenty minutes later. Every cell in my body began sending my brain a jubilant message of thanks and goodwill, as well as suggesting, by the way, that they wouldn’t mind getting to know every cell in Windy-Mindy’s body if the opportunity should arise.

This wasn’t my usual kind of trip and it made me suspect two things: (1) The tablets probably weren’t Vitamin C and (2) if Windy-Mindy was on the same ride, it might explain her unlikely but undeniable interest in me.

Another possibility was that she had heard I was Jake Constable, a.k.a. the host of the party. From there she might have leapt to the not-unreasonable conclusion that the twenty million dollar mansion in which the festivities were taking place was also mine. Which was true, in a very temporary but excruciatingly legal sense.

The actual owner of the house, Mickey Wu, had hired me to look after it while he was out of town. For most of the evening, my flagrant abuse of this responsibility had precluded me from enjoying the party. Which was too bad since it was turning into a real killer.

The place was mobbed with people, an undeniable relief in those early evening “will it happen?” moments, but now a source of concern. I took it as a matter of faith that the front door was still on its hinges as I hadn’t seen it close in hours. On the mezzanine, a velour-clad DJ was hunched over a laptop and two turntables, conjuring up humongous bass beats and mixing them with everything from sirens to symphonies. The crowd was loving it, up and moving on every available horizontal surface including the dining room table, much to the annoyance of the people clustered around it hoovering up lines of white powder.

When an albino wearing a lime green speedo and an impish grin threaded his way through the crowd on a Vespa I found myself on the verge of questioning whether the party had been such a brilliant idea after all. He was travelling at a reasonable speed and using his horn judiciously but I still couldn’t shake that harbinger-of-ill-fate feeling.

At least until I discovered Windy-Mindy and her narcotic vitamins. After that, I was blissfully surfing the moment, my worries gone and my eyes inexorably drawn to her endless curves as they took on a cotton candy glow. I frowned and shook my head, but the effect persisted.

I spent long, increasingly paranoid moments pondering whether an admixture of wheatgrass and champagne could give bourbon hallucinogenic properties until I noticed the sun winking at me from behind the skyscrapers of downtown Vancouver through the window behind her. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to banish this unwelcome party crasher. When I opened them, the sun was eclipsed by another — The Norwegian.

My first impulse was to go over and hug him, but I knew that was only Windy-Mindy’s vitamins messing with my amygdala. My second impulse was to run.

It had been almost three years since I had seen my former business partner, and he hadn’t changed a bit. The ornate black leather trench coat and vaguely Druidic hairstyle would have been comical on a smaller man less prone to violence. As he loomed over the crowd I tried to disappear within it. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

I had brought him in on a deal that had started as a hobby for me, a way to use the inheritance I received from my grandfather — a couple acres of land on Hornby Island and a green thumb. Granddad grew prize-winning heirloom tomatoes there. People loved his tomatoes. I preferred marijuana. As did my friends, and their friends, and so on.

When I terminated our partnership, The Norwegian kept three hundred thousand dollars of my money and I kept my kneecaps, which seemed like a fair distribution of assets at the time. Deprived of “Granddad’s Ganja”, The Norwegian moved into harder drugs and I moved into a converted loft in a post-industrial neighbourhood in East Vancouver. I spent money, threw parties, started dating my real estate agent, wrote a screenplay, shredded a screenplay, married my real estate agent, spent the last of my money, got divorced by my real estate agent, became mildly depressed, and began perusing community college course catalogs. I was a phone call away from signing up for a denturist training program when my ex-wife/realtor lined me up with house sitting gigs for her wealthy clients.

Clients like Mickey Wu, in whose house The Norwegian was now standing. He was nonplussed when he spotted me. Then his face lit up with the expression of affected innocence that always accompanied his most heinous acts.

My pocket vibrated. I dug out my phone to find a text from Richard.

there’s a dead guy in the bathroom 🙁

I stared at the phone. Then I stared across the room at the bathroom door. The Norwegian was no longer standing in front of it. He had been replaced by Richard, who was staring back at me with an expression of genuine innocence and barely controlled panic.

***

Author Bio:

Graham Reed is an award-winning author of crime fiction who lives on a small island in the Salish Sea with is wife and two children.

Catch Up With Graham Reed On: grahamreed.info & Goodreads

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

GIVEAWAY:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Graham Reed. There will be 1 winner of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card. The giveaway begins on August 1, 2018 and runs through September 1, 2018. Void where prohibited.

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SUMMER OF MYSTERY BLOG TOUR – The Chairman’s Toys was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

#shannon muir #pulp and mystery shelf

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