#not difficult to find if they cast a brit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elizabeethan · 4 years ago

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Never Nothing- 3/4

After being set up to take the fall for her boyfriend’s crime, Emma Swan is sentenced to community service, where she meets a handsome Brit who changes everything.

Season 1 AU

A/N: I’m committing to 4 parts, plus the possibility of a little epilogue. But the story will be done next week! Thoughts???

Thank you again and again and again and again to @the-darkdragonfly for being my beta and my best best friend.

Rated T

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Read Part 1, Part 2

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Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx

~~~~

Deft fingers gently tickling her skin wake her in the morning, later than she’s used to since they don’t have to travel or work. She giggles softly as she starts to wake, his fingers traveling slowly along the bare expanse of her belly before his palm settles just below her belly button where her baby lives. “Morning,” he whispers into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin softly and making her shiver.

“That tickles,” she remarks groggily. “Woke me up.”

“I was getting bored waiting for you.”

“You could’ve gotten up and grabbed me a coffee, then,” she chastises playfully, closing her eyes again and settling happily into the warmth of his arms.

“No caffeine.”

With a groan, Emma rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun. Haven’t you heard to decaf?”

He squeezes her and chuckles. “How’s the babe?”

She sighs at the question. It isn’t like she can ask, although nothing feels amiss after her fall. “Fine, I guess,” she shrugs.

Through a hum, he asks, “and how’s the mum?”

She scoffs. “I’m not a mom.”

“I think you’ve proved enough by now that you are. You were so brave last week,” he praises, and her heart clenches at his undying faith in her.

“I wasn’t brave,” she argues, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t stop crying once.”

“Emma,” he breathes out, squeezing her close to him and bracing himself against her until the anxious weight leaves her chest. “You’re the bravest person I know. You handled a terrifying situation beautifully. You put the safety of your child above the pain of fracturing your wrist in two places. How is that not brave?”

She lets a tear fall now, sniffling and relieved that he can’t see her face. “I was so scared, Killian. I’m still scared. I thought I was gonna…” she can’t finish her thought. She can’t put to words how close she thought she was to losing her baby.

“I know,” he whispers into her ear. His palm lands on her belly again and she feels a soft fluttering tickle that makes her furrow her brows. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I know it was hard for you, too,” she reflects, thinking back on his tearful eyes and the relief with which he sunk his fingers into his hair when they found out the baby was okay.

“Aye, it was,” he admits shyly. The mood becomes heavy and she jokes with him to bring levity to the conversation.

“It’s okay. Even people in freakishly realistic looking storybook illustrations get scared sometimes.” He laughs as she brings up their first morning here.

When he stands from bed, grabbing his clothes and heading towards the bathroom to change, she stops him. “What’s that?” she asks, gaze trained on the dresser drawer that was pulled slightly open. “Did you put stuff in there?”

He looks where her eyes were trained and shakes his head. “No,” he answers, stepping towards the dresser and pulling the ajar drawer open all the way. “What…?”

“What is it?”

Placing his clothes on the ground before his feet, he bends down as she struggles out of bed and he reaches into the drawer. “It’s… it’s a book,” he says, an oddly thoughtful look on his face. “Good find, love.”

He’s opening the book before she’s even next to him and staring at the pages intently. They’re littered with stories and drawings that depict tales of another life. Tales of kings and queens and curses and evil witches. Tales of heroes and magicians and… The Savior. A product of True Love. How charming. “They're fairytales,” she says by way of explanation, either to herself or to him. “Weird that it’s in the dresser…”

“They seem so familiar. Look at this.” He points to an image of the princess Snow White and says, “it looks like the nurse. And here,” he turns the page and points to Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother, “Ruby and Granny.”

“Killian,” she laughs, but he interrupts as he turns the page once more.

“A curse,” he says as if he’s read this story before. “There was a curse…”

Placing her hand on his forearm to stop him from turning the page again, she says, “they’re fairytales. There's always a curse.”

“And someone to break it,” he nods with certainty.

The fluttering continues and she takes her plaster-covered arm, although she’s unable to bend it at the elbow, and presses it against the back of his hand. “Did you feel that?” she asks urgently.

“What?”

“I thought I felt…” It stops, then starts up again, and she lets out a soft sob. “I think he’s moving around in there.”

He presses his hand a bit more firmly, although she’s pretty sure he won’t be able to feel anything from the outside. “I can’t… he’s too small.”

“I know,” she grins, turning to face him and laying uncomfortably on her firm, scratchy cast. She lifts her free hand to place it gently on his cheek. “Soon you will, though. He’s never done that before; I think he likes you.”

He grins too, and presses their foreheads together. “He bloody well better. He knows I’m the only one making sure you eat your folic acid.”

She snorts and tries to snuggle in closer to him, although it’s difficult with the ugly hunk of white plaster between them. “You’re ridiculous. And when did we decide it’s a boy?”

“I think you decided. I’ve just been going along with it to appease you.”

“Shut up,” she scoffs. “He’s hungry. I think it’s time for you to get us breakfast.”

“As you wish, milady.”

~~~~

The diner is bustling, a far cry from how it was the night they’d arrived. The snow has been plowed and the sidewalks sanded, luckily, and Granny’s seems to have reached it’s capacity.

“Who knew there were this many people living in this town,” Emma jokes once they finally find two seats next to each other at the counter.

“Aye,” he laughs. “Quite a bit busier than we’ve ever seen it.”

Emma isn’t sure if she’s paranoid or if everyone in the diner truly is staring at her, but she’s sure she feels many eyes on her as she orders her breakfast (pancakes, although Killian insists she get blueberries on the side). It feels strange sitting at the counter when they usually take a booth, but it’s the only spot available. When her plate is placed before her by a hesitant looking Ruby, she hears the sound of a throat clearing behind her.

“It’s 8:15,” she hears. “You're in my seat.”

Killian wipes his face with his napkin, stepping in for Emma who is too surprised to respond, and is met with the wide-eyed woman looking taken aback at the sight of him. “Sorry, Miss…”

“Mills. Mayor Mills,” she nods in his direction, then turns to Emma and says, “I always sit in that seat.”

Emma looks around herself and notes the stillness of the diner as the patrons silently watch the exchange take place. “I’m already sitting here…” she observes.

Killian pushes his tongue into the inside of his cheek and laughs silently, nodding his head and turning back to his food. Emma smirks slightly at him and does the same.

Mayor Mills sits beside her, glaring in a way that makes her blood want to run cold. “Who are you?” she asks Emma suspiciously.

She clears her throat. “I’m Emma. This is Killian. We’re staying here at Granny’s for a bit.”

The mayor looks like she wants to respond, pinching her brows together and opening her mouth, but she’s interrupted by an older gentleman behind them. “Emma,” he says, making her turn around in her seat. “What a lovely name.”

She swallows her bite anxiously and feels Killian tense beside her. “Thanks.” she can sense Mayor Mills glaring at the man threateningly.

“Don’t you have a shop to run?” she asks him rudely.

“Ah, of course you’re right, Regina.” he turns back to Emma and Killian and says, “enjoy your breakfast… Emma,” with a smirk before heading out the door.

The mayor sighs and purses her lips, calling Granny over and requesting a coffee and an order of her usual, apple pancakes. Once she’s ordered, she turns towards Emma again and asks, “why are you here?”

“You're not a very welcoming mayor,” Killian points out in accusation. “In fact, this isn’t a very welcoming town, with the exception of some of your citizens. We almost didn't find it.”

“And how did you?” she asks, more offended that he succeeded than at the prospect of her town being impossible to find.

Killian smirks, leaning over Emma to make eye contact with the mayor. “I’m quite clever.” She pinches her brows together again and accepts her plate of pancakes with a snarl. “By the way, you're lucky we don’t press charges. Emma slipped on some ice due to the sidewalk being untreated last week. Broke her arm, and could've put her child at risk.”

She clears her throat and takes a sip of coffee. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” she asks, ignoring Killian's accusation of her negligence.

Emma steps in and says, “I’m looking for my family.”

The Mayor, Regina, stills, choking on her coffee before gently placing the mug down. She clears her throat and says, “your family… I see.”

“I don’t know much about them, but you’re the mayor. Maybe you have some information on a baby who was found in the woods just outside of town here? 22 years ago? We checked with the local news, but they didn’t--”

Regina’s head snaps to the left, glaring at Emma in a way that she thinks could be deadly if she really puts her mind to it. Without answering, or finishing her breakfast, or even paying, she stands from her seat stiffly and hurries out of the diner.

~~~~

“This place is bizarre,” Emma complains as Killian maneuvers the streets once again. They had planned on relaxing today, after a complete bust at the newspaper the day before, but when Granny suggested that they visit the sheriff’s station for information on a random, abandoned baby, Emma was too anxious not to jump at the opportunity.

“Aye, I agree. The mayor is quite hostile.”

“Quite,” she agrees with a nod. “How weird was that whole conversation? The old guy?”

“Very weird. She looked familiar though, don’t you think?”

She purses her lips and shakes her head in denial. “I don't think so. Where do you think you’ve seen her?”

He shrugs. “She looks just exactly like the Queen in that book you found the other day. You don’t see it?”

With a groan and a roll to her eyes, Emma says, “not the book, Killian, they’re just stories. It’s a coincidence.” She can’t believe he’s actually starting to believe that the people in this town are the same as the characters in a storybook they found by chance. The town must be driving him mad.

He sighs, nodding his head thoughtfully and not looking altogether convinced. “I know, you're right. Something just seems… off.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a scoff. “Off is putting it lightly. Weird, creepy, slightly threatening...”

“Sorry, love,” he shakes his head in disappointment.

She shrugs. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Well, if you're having feelings of discomfort while we’re here… I mean, I promised I would keep the two of you safe.”

“Killian,” she breathes out, placing her hand over his as it rests on the gear shifter, his prosthetic holding the wheel steady expertly. “You are keeping us safe. Last week wasn’t your fault, and you handled it perfectly.”

He turns to glance at her briefly, smiling before focusing back on the roads before them. “I’m just glad you're alright. Both of you.”

She can’t stop the grin growing on her face at his admission. She knows that he loves her, that they're best friends. But the more time that passes, the more obvious he makes it that he loves her child as well. She can’t get the look of relief out of her mind because it’s exactly how she felt. The way he loves this baby… it’s as if he considers it his own flesh and blood. Realizing that is overwhelming and exciting all at once.

He pulls up to the front of the sheriff’s station and stops at the door, engaging the emergency brake and turning towards her. “Why don’t you head inside and I'll park the car,” he suggests.

She steps outside, carefully waddling like a penguin to avoid another fall, and makes her way into the small brick building. The bell above the door rings, notifying any staff of her arrival, but she’s surprised to see only one man sitting peacefully at a desk, facing away from her and towards a block of cells. She clears her throat, and calls, “good morning.”

He stiffens immediately, back going straight as he turns his head towards her and drops his jaw. After blinking several times, dumbfounded, he stands and spins around, showing off his badge and gun. “Morning, lass,” he starts, and she notices the accent immediately. “Graham Humbert. How can I be of service?”

Emma gives him a small, friendly smile and walks further into the room, tightening her coat around her to protect herself from the cold of the cinder-block and tile building. “I’m looking for some information. A baby was abandoned in the woods just outside of town many years ago, and I wanted to know if you had any reports on it.”

He hums thoughtfully, smirking and offering her his hand in an attempt to guide her towards his desk. She refuses, furrowing her brows, but walks towards the desk anyway and sits across from him as he sits and begins typing away.

“Do you know the year?”

“1983. October 23rd.”

He hums and nods. “Specific, I like it. Let’s see here…” he looks intently at the screen as the large monitor roars to life before he begins typing away. “October 23, 1983. Nothing for that date, but I have a report for the 24th. Yes, a baby was found in the woods by… by a child. A young boy.”

“A boy?” she asks, leaning in closer in interest.

He nods. “The boy was checked for head trauma after telling a wild story about himself and the baby coming here through a… a tree.”

“A tree?” she asks exasperatedly.

He nods again. “Both were sent into foster care, but that seems to be all we have. They must've moved into another state soon after.”

She groans, dropping her head into her hands and squeezing her eyes shut. It seems the trip as a whole was a complete waste. All she got was a broken arm and speculation that she was found by a boy with head trauma. It makes no sense-- how could they both get out there and he have no idea how?

Maybe Killian’s curse hunch is true after all. The more she learns, the less far-fetched it seems because there is absolutely no logical explanation for her existence at this point.

“Oh, one other thing, the items manifest. The boy was dressed like some sort of… I don't know, weird Oktoberfest costume, and the baby had a blanket with a name etched into it. Emma.”

She shoots her head up and stares at him, feeling her eyes beginning to water and her palms beginning to sweat. She knows that blanket; she has that blanket.

“Emma?” she hears Killian call from the entrance, and both she and the sheriff cock their heads to the side. “Are you in here-- Oh. There you are, Swan.”

“You're Emma?” the man asks. “This Emma?”

Killian’s by her side in an instant, resting his hand protectively on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, love?”

The sheriff stiffens in his seat and looks up at Killian before standing and offering his hand. “Sheriff Graham Humbert, pleasure.”

“Killian,” he says without taking the man’s hand. “What have you found?”

The sheriff sits back down and says, “not a ton, just that the baby left in the woods was found by a boy, who concocted a far-fetched tale of him and the baby coming here through a tree. And the baby was found with a blanket with a name on it… her name.”

Killian hums, looking down at her as she looks up at him and kissing her forehead before coming around the chair to look her in the eyes. “Darling, you knew already that you were the baby. What’s wrong?”

She shrugs. “I don't know, I guess it just confirms that that was me. That my parents really did leave me there. I don't know anything new, really.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” Graham asks, awkwardly interrupting an intimate moment that she didn’t realize she and Killian were even having. “Go to the hospital; they might have birth records for that date.”

Killian escorts her outside, guiding her with his warm hand pressed protectively against the small of her back. He had already brought the car back around, and she could sense his hesitation to leave her alone in the station as she insisted he go. Normally she wouldn’t even think of making him bring the car to her, but after last week, she’s far too paranoid to walk over any expanse of ice ever again.

“I don’t like him,” Killian accuses as he pulls away.

“Killian,” she chastises, rolling her eyes. “He helped us.”

“He made you cry.”

“I’m almost 18 weeks pregnant with abandonment issues. Everything makes me cry.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “You don’t have issues,” he nearly spits. “You were abandoned. That makes you upset. That doesn’t mean you have issues.”

She smiles sadly and looks out the windshield. She isn’t sure what to make of his claim. All her life, the only consistency has been that she has issues. Foster parents, other kids, Neal… everyone always maintained one truth. One constant.

And here he is, barreling his way into her life and making her rethink everything she thought she knew about herself.

“Anyway, you don’t think he looks familiar?”

“Not this again,” she says, tossing her head back into the headrest. “If you say he’s a character in that damn book…”

He groans. “I know, I know. Sorry for bringing it up. I just… I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. Like that feeling that I’m forgetting something.”

She nods. “I know the feeling you're talking about, but it’s probably because we aren't at home. Once we get back to Phoenix, it’ll go away.”

He pinches his brows together at her words, as if the concept of returning home never occurred to him, and hums. “I don’t know…”

“Killian,” she demands, wanting to get his attention despite the fact that he’s busy driving. “This is crazy. The book means nothing; you’ve got to stop worrying about it.”

He nods, but she doesn’t believe for a second that he agrees with her.

~~~~

The hospital is abuzz when they arrive, much like Granny’s, and everyone looks so frazzled that Emma wonders if this is common for the small town or something new that the residents have never experienced. Based on the exhausted look on Mary Margaret’s face when they arrive at the nurse’s station, Emma guesses the latter.

“Hey, you two!” She calls when she sees them, then her face falls immediately, looking to Emma. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” Killian says, waving her off. “Just here looking for some information.”

“Oh,” she says happily, sitting up and fixing her pixie cut hair. “That I can help you with. What are you looking for?”

Emma gives her a kind smile and says, “records on a baby that may have been born here years ago. She was abandoned.” It feels strange to describe the abandoned baby as if it were someone else.

Mary Margaret turns to her computer and begins clicking. “Records were computerized just a few years back, so hopefully we can find something. If not, we may have to head over to the old file room. Do you have any identifying information on the baby?”

“A date of birth,” she nods. “October 23, 1983.”

Mary Margaret looks up at Emma in a snap, her eyes wide and curious. “That date… it sounds familiar.”

Emma’s cheeks heat and she feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back. “It’s my birthday,” she admits softly. “You probably saw it on my chart.”

She shakes her head and furrows her brow. “No, that’s not it… Sorry. Uh, there aren’t any records for that date.”

“What?” Killian asks, raising a brow. “You mean no births?”

“No. No records. Strangely enough, all of the electronic files begin on October 24th.”

Emma glances at Killian, who shrugs. He can’t make sense of it either, it seems. What are the odds that, the day after her birth and abandonment, the town suddenly came online?

“Can we look in the records room, then?”

Mary Margaret leads them down the hall and into an elevator, selecting the button for the basement. It’s finally quiet in the steel box, the closing doors shutting out the commotion of the hospital surrounding them. “What’s going on?” Emma asks, certain that the town can’t be this busy on a regular basis.

“Oh, with all the excitement? It’s the strangest thing. A coma patient escaped last night.”

They get off the elevator and she leads them into a dank, dimly lit basement, down the hall and to a locked door where she punches in a code. “Excuse me?” Emma asks, taken aback by her nonsensical explanation. “Escaped? Aren’t they, you know, in a coma?”

She nods sadly. “He’s, well… security footage shows him waking up and removing his IV before just… walking out the door. The guard on watch was asleep.”

There’s something about Mary Margaret‘s tone, something sad and helpless and strangely emotional over a patient who Emma can only assume has been asleep for quite a while. So she says, “you’re worried about him. You care for him..”

Another nod as she leads them towards the back of the room, the stacks of files twice as tall as Killian and rather intimidating. “I know it seems silly. He’s been in a coma for as long as I can remember. But I started to visit him on my lunch breaks when I first started working here, and as time went on, I guess…” she shrugs.

Emma nods, unable to empathize with the position Mary Margaret finds herself in, but somehow understanding how easily she was able to fall into the flow of trusting and opening up to someone. When she looks at Killian, the person she trusts most completely, he’s smiling at her. “We should look for him,” she says aloud to Mary Margaret while looking at Killian. His face falls.

“Emma, no.” He shakes his head resolutely.

“Oh, no, the search party already told me to stay here. I’m not even technically on the clock, but they said I should stay to distract myself. I guess I got a little emotional when we found out he was missing,” she admits with a blush.

“So, we won’t be with any kind of search party. We can find him.”

“Swan, he’s in the woods! It’s dangerous.”

“You’re good at finding stuff! You found Storybrooke on the map,” she tries, and is met with his shaking head.

“Finding a town on a map is a far cry from finding a comatose man in the woods in the middle of February.”

“You found me,” she says, trying to appeal to his more emotional side.

“Aye, well, I’ll always find you, love.”

Mary Margaret drops the box she had just taken off the stack, staring directly at Killian with tears in her eyes. “What did you say?”

Killian turns to face her at once, taken aback by her response and stepping forward to try and pick up the dropped box. “I just told Emma that I would always find her. Because I love her.” Her heart flutters and she feels another soft tickling in her belly as the tiny baby squirms around playfully. She knows what he means; that he loves her as a best friend does. But still, the words feel heavy between them.

“Charming,” she says suddenly. “That’s… that’s very charming.” Mary Margaret pinches her brows together and shakes her head. “I feel like I… like I know where to go. To find him.”

Emma’s eyes widen in excitement and she looks at Killian again, although she’s met with his rolling eyes. “Swan,” he says hesitantly, knowing what she wants to do.

“Let’s just get the records we came for and then we can take her to where she thinks this guy is! It’ll be fun, come on.”

“You shouldn’t be tromping through the woods after--”

“I have a broken arm. That doesn’t make me broken, right?”

He bows his head and shuts his eyes as Mary Margaret steps behind another stack, likely to give them a bit of space. “Aye, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says with a sly smile. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

“Swan…”

She says in a low voice: “you’re the nut job who keeps thinking everyone here is a fairytale character. Can’t you let me have this one? We each get one crazy hunch a day.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a smile he tries desperately to fight before taking the step to close the space between them and pulling her in for a quick hug. “Fine. But I'm only doing this because a perinatal nurse-queen is coming with us.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.

“Yay!” they hear from behind the shelf before Mary Margaret steps out with a look of joy on her face. “Thank you both so much!”

They dig through box after box until they find the right year. When they reach the box that contains records from October, Emma's heart sinks. “I don’t know how that can be possible,” Mary Margaret remarks with her lips pursed thoughtfully. “How are there no records prior to that date?”

There are records for December and November and part of October, but anything from before the 23rd is missing. There’s nothing for the entire remainder of the year, and no years prior. It’s as if nothing existed before the day Emma Swan was born and abandoned in the forest.

~~~~

She wants so badly to take his hand as he drives them through town towards the woods, but she knows how difficult that will make driving for him. He’s perfectly capable of driving with one real hand and one prosthetic, but she isn’t sure he could operate a manual with just his prosthetic.

But she’s hurting, and she wants him to comfort her like he always does. She wants to hold his hand to her chest and hug it close to her, if he isn’t able to hold her. She doesn't want to part from his side. She wants him to make her feel happy again.

Life didn’t exist before she was abandoned. It’s like this town was dropped here the day she was born and everyone living here had no idea. What does that mean for her parents?

It doesn't help that there are no records of her birth, either. She can’t prove that she was born in this town, only that she was found outside of it. In fact, the postcard that man gave her could be complete bullshit and mean nothing.

She wants a hug so badly. At least she can feel her baby dancing around and bringing her comfort. She wants to hold him.

Or her.

“Right here,” Mary Margaret finally says while they're about to drive over a bridge. “Pull off here, I want to check this out.”

She’s still in her pink scrubs when she tries to open the door, and Killian stops her. “I have a coat on,” he reasons. “Wait here with Emma, I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

They sit in silence, watching as he surveys the area, adorably checking under the bridge and behind trees as if a grown man might be hiding there. He sinks below their line of vision and Emma sits back, trying hard to relax.

“Thanks for doing this,” Mary Margaret says. “Are you feeling any better?”

Emma sighs and says, “a little, but still pretty sore. The Tylenol has been helping though.”

“That’s good,” she nods.

After another moment of comfortable silence, Emma says, “I felt the baby move this morning,” with a soft smile. “He’s been dancing away ever since.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret coos. “What a beautiful feeling, congratulations! Your husband must’ve been excited, too.”

Emma coughs and turns towards where Mary Margaret sits in the back seat. “We aren’t married,” she clarifies. “We aren’t… we’re not together.”

She furrows her brow. “You’re not a couple? I thought… well, I saw how you were with each other.”

“We’re just really close friends. He isn’t the father.”

“Oh, I see.”

Another chunk of silence passes between them, but Emma never feels the need to fill it due to discomfort. Finally, out of curiosity, she asks, “do you have any children?”

Mary Margaret is quiet, not answering Emma’s question and instead staring straight ahead with a thoughtful, confused look on her face. “I… I don’t.”

“Oh, sorry if that was--”

“No, no, don’t worry. It’s a valid question to ask of a perinatal nurse.”

More silence.

“Is this your first? Child, I mean?”

“Yeah.”

Another beat.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find anything about your parents. I know that must be hard. My mother passed away when I was very young.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma says. “And yeah… I just felt like… I don’t know, it feels like they’re right here, you know? Like all I have to do is open my eyes and they’ll be here but…” she trails off. Her eyes are open, and her parents still abandoned her.

“Somehow, I know just what you mean.”

Emma sits back comfortably again, the car quiet.

“Killian seems very excited about your baby; more so than some fathers I've met. If you don’t mind me saying so, he’ll be a wonderful father figure.”

The only sound between them is the gurgling creek below.

“I know,” Emma says with a smile.

He’s hurrying up the hill after a few more moments of peaceful quiet, waving erratically as if to get their attention. Emma opens her door and Mary Margaret follows suit, both making their way towards him in haste. “I found him,” he says breathlessly. “He needs help.”

Mary Margaret seems to snap into nurse-mode instantly, grabbing her medical bag and rushing down the hill past Killian and Emma, turning back only to seek direction. Killian hurries to guide her, turning back frequently towards Emma to ensure that she’s faring safely through the snow and ice and rough terrain.

It appears as though Killian pulled the man from the half-frozen stream, his skin nearly blue and his clothes and hair soaking wet. Emma doesn't see his chest rise and fall. Mary Margaret is on her knees at his side in an instant, pressing two fingers to his neck and then commanding Killian to give up his coat to start to warm the man up. She begins chest compressions and breathing aid, desperately trying to wake the frozen man from near-death. “No, no, no, I found you!”

Emma nearly chews a hole through her bottom lip as she watches her new friend try and save a man she doesn't know yet somehow cares deeply for. Killian hugs her close, which she suspects is both to comfort her and to keep himself warm. It feels like an age before the man sputters against a rescue breath, water escaping from his mouth and nose as color almost immediately begins to flood back into his pale face.

Mary Margaret cries out when he wakes, pulling him close to herself for a hug that Emma suspects she wasn’t expecting, and the man hugs her back with ferocity. “You found me,” he mumbles into her hair.

She pulls away from him and looks deeply into his eyes, as if she recognizes him, and opens her mouth to speak. Nothing comes out.

“Mate,” Killian says after a moment. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

He passes out before he can answer.

~~~~

Graham Humbert interviews them the following day, suspicious about how the three of them could have found a random coma patient in such a random location in the woods. Emma has to admit, he doesn’t blame him; she’d be suspicious too. Following the interview, Emma, Killian, and Mary Margaret choose to go to Granny’s for some dinner.

“I really appreciate everything,” Mary Margaret says. “I know you came here for answers, and now you're being questioned by the police.”

Killian scoffs, waving her off. “Nonsense. He needed help. He’d be dead without you.”

“I’m just so worried about him,” she sighs. The man, identity still unknown, was brought back to the hospital, but has been out of his coma since last night and is making a miraculous recovery. Nonsensical, really. Magical. “I don’t even know why. I don't know him.”

“It’s certainly odd,” Killian agrees.

“I think it’s odd that he woke up all of a sudden and is completely fine,” Emma chimes in. “Shouldn’t his brain be mush after being asleep for that long?”

Mary Margaret shrugs and shakes her head, dumbfounded as well. “Every case is different. His is just… special, I guess.”

“Special is one word for it,” Emma mumbles.

“Very special indeed,” killian says to her softly. “He looks--”

“If you say he looks familiar, so help me,” she threatens, loudly enough for Mary Margaret to hear.

“What’s that?” she laughs at their banter.

“Killian just has some wild ideas about the townsfolk’s identities. We found a book the other day, and he somehow got it in his head that everyone here is a fairytale character.”

“Oh,” she says pleasantly, until her face drops and she looks Killian square in the eyes. “Fairytales?”

He looks at her just as seriously, as if the world has stopped turning, and Emma wants to scream at the two of them for egging each other on.

“Your grilled cheese,” Granny interrupts, placing a full plate before Emma as she grins and rubs her hands together hungrily. “Careful, if I serve you any more carbs this week, this one might have me shot,” she says, nodding her head towards Killian and drawing a laugh from Emma. His face remains unchanged; confused and pensive.

“And two house salads,” she declares. She looks like she's about to say something else whitty, but the old man they saw the other day walks in and stares blankly at her, in a way that’s unnervingly threatening, causing her to stand straight and walk towards him.

“What is up with this place,” Emma remarks under her breath, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. She has to admit, it’s almost better than Killian’s. Almost.

“That’s Mr. Gold,” Mary Margaret tells her. “He owns this place.”

“The diner?”

“The town.”

~~~~

“You need the rest of the day to relax,” he insists as they get back up to their room. “This week has been far too taxing.”

He’d just gotten through talking to Granny about extending their stay before lunch, and while she’s discouraged about not having any answers yet, she’s glad to have a semi-permanent place to stay.

“I know,” she agrees. “I just dont think I need a nap at,” she glances at her watch (one she purchased, thank you very much), “7:34 pm. I’m not a baby.”

He snorts, raising his brows wickedly. “I know for a fact that you're anything but a baby, love.”

She turns to face him, giving him an incredulous smile, then shaking her head. “You're a crazy person.”

“Scoundrel,” he corrects. “Now come, try to relax. Perhaps a nice bath?”

“Are you trying to tell me that I stink?”

With a laugh, he takes her hand and drags her closer to the edge of the mattress. “Never.”

Before she knows what’s happening, she’s tripping over her own feet, her balance still a bit off from her growing belly, and she’s falling straight into his arms. He catches her so easily, it’s almost as if a magnet was pulling them together and fusing them to one another. Once she’s settled in his arms, his prosthetic is planted firmly on her lower back and his right hand brushes some hair away from her eyes. “Alright?” he asks softly, gently lacing his fingers into her hair unnecessarily this time, scratching along her scalp in a way that makes her eyes flutter.

“Yeah,” she answers. “You caught me.”

“I’ll always catch you,” he promises, his tone so tender and soothing that she feels her pulse relaxing and quickening all at once. The baby wiggles away in her belly as he does almost every time she’s near Killian.

“I know,” Emma confirms. “Because you… because you love me,” she breathes. It isn’t a question. It’s a factual statement that he confirms with a nod, even though he doesn’t need to.

“I do.” his voice is filled with such surety and vigor that she knows she’d be foolish to ever question him.

Being entangled in his arms makes her breathing quicken, coming out of her mouth in short puffs of air that make the fringe dance in and out of his eyes. “And... I love you too,” she whispers.

He’s in her space instantly, and this feels different. The last time they exchanged these words, it was clear to both of them that they were expressions of deep, unyielding friendship. Now, though, it feels like more. She isn't sure what it means this time, but she does know that friendship might not be enough for her anymore.

The problem is that no one has ever been for her what Killian Jones has. There hasn’t been a single moment in all of the time they’ve spent together where he hasn’t believed in her, hasn’t shown her what she’s worth, hasn’t loved her.

She’s falling for him. It’s been so easy that she’s hardly noticed, aside from a few passing thoughts about his irresistible physique and god-like facial structure. (And don't get her started on the stubble.) but the feelings… those have been quietly sneaking up on her since the moment they met.

She feels herself leaning closer to him, her breath quickening along with her heartbeat and the squirming baby within her. He leans in, too, and she’s certain that his soft, pink lips will touch her own at any moment so long as she makes the first move. She knows he’ll have her make the first move.

She’s about to do it, too, until there’s a timid knock at the door that makes them spring apart.

He sighs, groans, even, and moves her hair from her face once more before walking around her and towards the heavy door. “Granny,” he greets with a slight air of irritation in his voice.

“Evening,” she responds nervously, wringing her hands together. “I just came to tell you, well, I just spoke with Mr. Gold.”

“Aye.”

“Well, you see, he owns the place. And he reminded me of a rule—”

“A rule?” he demands, and Emma’s brows furrow deeply.

She clears her throat. “Well, uh, there’s a rule that states I cannot allow guests to stay for longer than a week. Mr. Gold’s rule. ”

Killian scoffs and shakes his head, turning around towards Emma briefly, then back to Granny. “You’ve got to be kidding. You're kicking us out even though we want to try and give you more money?”

She shakes her head. “I’m real sorry about this. If it were up to me, you two could stay here as long as you like. I didn’t even realize it was a rule until he showed me the contract.”

With a heavy, heaving sigh, he shakes his head again angrily and says, “I know it’s not your fault, I’m sorry to get upset. I just hope Gold knows that he just put a pregnant woman on the streets. We’ll be out of your way after we pack.”

~~~~

“What are we gonna do?” she asks as they settle back in the car. Emma's in the driver’s seat this time, as Killian has claimed to be too angry to drive.

“I don't know, love, I’m sorry. We’ll figure something out, though.”

“That Mr. Gold is a monster,” she accuses.

“Aye, I know. Bloody snake.”

With a defeated sigh, she says, “we should just go home.”

He looks up at her, anger still ablaze in his eyes, and asks, “why would you want to do that?”

Dropping her head to the steering wheel, Emma says, “we haven’t found anything, Killian. This town doesn't want us here. All I’ve gotten is false hope, a broken arm, and a sore ass. Now we have nowhere to stay, what’s the point?”

“The point?” he asks seriously, turning his body to face her and taking her hand, forcing her head off of the wheel. “The point is that we’re here, Emma. It seemed impossible, didn’t it? A town that doesn’t exist, yet here we are. It seemed impossible to get any information about yourself but we got some. We just have to keep digging.”

“Digging,” she scoffs. “I don't know how much more digging I can take. In a week, all I’ve learned is that my parents didn't even bother to have me at a hospital, and the only person who might know something is a psychotic little boy who thinks we traveled here through a tree! How are those answers?”

“Emma--”

“I just,” she says through unexpected tears. “I just want my parents. I keep thinking they're so close and they're not. They're never…” she breaks off her thought as a sob chokes her, dropping her head into her hand.

“Hey, hey,” he says soothingly, the anger evaporated from his voice. His fingers grab hers instantly, pulling her across the center console until they meet and he can wrap both arms around her. “Sh,” he comforts. “It’s alright, my love. You’re alright, I’m here.”

“You're always here,” she cries again. “You're the only one who’s ever--”

“I know, love,” he whispers over another sob. “I know. You're alright.”

“You believe in me,” she says against the warm skin of his neck.

“I do,” he confirms. “I always have and I always will. I just wish for you to believe in yourself. For you to believe in everything that I know you’re capable of. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish, Emma, if you believe.”

Moments pass, her tears feeling more and more ridiculous the more they fall as he speaks nonsense into her hair. She isn’t sure what he means, exactly, but with his words come more fluttering, and for reasons she can’t explain, she does believe. She believes in something, and she wonders if that’s enough.

A gentle knocking befalls the passenger’s side window suddenly. They break apart and Emma hides her face, wiping at the tears as Killian turns to face the offender. When he sees who it is, he cranks the window down.

“You two okay? It’s cold to be sitting in the car.”

“Fine, Mary Margaret. Just… trying to figure some things out.”

She hums and nods her head. “Well, if you want to figure it out someplace warm, I have a spare room. It isn’t much, but i’m sure it’s a bit better than the one Mr. Gold no doubt threw you out of.”

They both turn their heads rapidly towards their new friend in shock, and emma sniffles before saying, “really?”

“Of course. Come on, it’s just down the street.”

~~~~

“There we are, Swan,” he says when he places her bag down on the floor of the second story in Mary Margaret’s loft. “A nice warm bed for you to lay your head.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles as she sits down. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head and furrows his brow, sitting beside her and taking her good hand, running a soothing thumb over the healing scrapes on her palm. “Never apologize, love. None of this is your fault.”

“I should’ve trusted my gut and ignored that postcard. We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.”

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than by your side, Emma. And I’m the one who pushed you to come. I should be apologizing to you.”

She shrugs. “I was ready for answers, though. I just didn’t expect to be this disappointed.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment before she speaks.

“You know what’s weird, though?” she asks softly, leaning her head down to rest it against his shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“As much as this place has sucked the life out of me, I kind of… I feel oddly comfortable right now. Mary Margaret has been a better friend than any I've ever had, aside from you.”

He hums and nods in agreement. “I know what you mean.”

She lets out a heaving sigh and throws herself back onto the bed, taking his hand and dragging him along with her until they're lying side by side and facing one another. “Maybe I’ll just give this place one more chance.”

“Aye?”

She nods. “I gave you a chance, and that’s worked out pretty well for me.”

With a grin and a soft chuckle, he says, “aye, for me as well.”

A softer sigh this time, the movement bringing them closer together to the point that their noses are nearly touching. “Maybe even the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she suggests timidly, but with a certain amount of certainty.

“Definitely.”

“Killian,” she breathes against his mouth.

“I love you,” he tells her with gentle resolution.

She closes the miniscule space between them and finally, finally presses her lips to his in a kiss that she thinks might change everything. He’s snaking his tongue out along her bottom lip before he stills, gripping to her arm tighter and stiffening against her mouth.

“What’s--” she breathes, but she’s interrupted by the confusion in his face and voice.

He pulls away from her and stares deeply into her eyes, his own azure globes wide and astounded. “Swan?”

~~~~

Several days ago...

She storms into the shop, indifferent as to whether she smashes the glass as the door slams against the wall behind her. The click of her heels signal her arrival after the bell clangs above her head, and she’s at the till and pointing a judgmental finger in an instant. “Who is she,” she demands with force and anger that can be felt throughout the store.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Mayor,” the shop owner responds. “I know nothing more than you do.”

The mayor huffs with irritation and slams her hand against the surface before her. “I saw what happened at the diner; you know something!” she insists.

“What’s wrong,” the man taunts. “Is your little facade finally starting to crack?”

She grinds her teeth and tightens her jaw. “You're awake,” she accuses.

The man chuckles. “Of course I’m awake. I’m standing right here.”

“She woke you up.”

With a soft, slightly demeaning smile, he says, “I think you’ll find that you woke me up, by asking the lass her name in the first place.”

The woman aha’s triumphantly, pointing another finger at the shop owner and laughing maniacally. “So you admit it; you are awake!”

The man chuckles and nods. “That's right, dearie.”

“How did this happen?”

“Why, the laws of magic, of course. Every curse can be broken.”

“Not this one,” she argues firmly.

“I implore you to remember that True Love’s Kiss can break any curse.”

She laughs again, this time in disbelief. “And this random child from Phoenix is going to break the strongest of all curses?”

He tsks and says, “not just a random child from Phoenix.”

The woman’s eyes narrow and she leans against the surface before her as threateningly as she can. “Who is she?” she asks again with venom in her voice.

“I think she’s exactly who you think she is. Tell me, dearie, exactly where and when was this random child found all those years ago? Where was the product of True Love when your curse was struck?”

“No,” she insists, shaking her head. “That’s not possible.”

“Oh, it is. The Savior is the only one who can break your Dark Curse.”

The mayor begins to pace in her anger. “She needs to believe in magic in order to break the curse. She grew up here, in the Land Without Magic; she’ll never believe.”

“Ah,” he says, raising a hand with flourish, “but The Savior carries the Heart of the Truest Believer.”

With a scoff, the mayor rolls her eyes. “What, someone can be the Product of True Love, the Savior, and have the Heart of the Truest Believer?”

“I didn’t say she has the heart, I said she carries it,” he chastises. Don't tell me you were too self absorbed to notice that the lass is with child.”

“A child,” she breathes in disbelief. “How can the child… unless both parents hail from a land of magic.”

The man nods and says, “precisely.”

“The pirate,” she realizes, shaking her head once more. “How did he get here? He wasn’t in the Enchanted Forest when the curse was cast.”

“Well, dearie, I can only assume that he was sent by someone who requires the Heart of the Truest Believer.”

The woman’s blood runs cold and a chill ripples down her spine. She can think of but one person who may require such a thing, and hopes beyond hope that she’s wrong.

“We have to get rid of them; they cannot break the curse.”

With a wiry, ominous smirk, the man responds, “I’ll see what I can do.”

#cs ff #never nothing #part 3 #Captain swan #captain swan fanfic #ouat ff #ouat fanfic #captain swan fluff #canon divergence #never nothing ff

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historyman101 · 3 years ago

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Fena Pirate Princess Episode 10 Review

We at last reach Eden, and while there wasn’t anything in this episode that infuriated me, it all felt way too easy.

The fact that the episode opens with the island of Eden popping up out of the ocean like it’s Avatar: the Last Airbender gave me some apprehension right out of the gate. The whole time I was watching this episode, I was expecting something to happen. Some big roadblock for Fena and her crew to hit that would force them to think a bit. Instead, I felt like a tourist being led around by a guide who’s done this job hundreds of time before and is getting tired of the scenery and people asking the same questions over and over again.

After being led around through an underground city and a treasure cove, Fena and Yukimaru come to a strange chamber where I can only assume her mother was once before. Then Fena does a very well-animated dance that somehow unlocks the literal stairway to Eden. Meanwhile, Abel’s crew make landfall and advance onto the island, meaning we will likely get a final battle stretching across the last episodes.

If I can give the anime credit for anything, the art direction and animation was on point. I liked the various locales featured in Eden and Fena’s dance at the end was astonishingly beautiful to watch. Not to mention we finally remember the plot after being led astray for several episodes. Maybe it’s the anime’s way of throwing the audience a bone after all that padding. Also, is it me, or is there a large focus on feet in this episode? Something tells me one of the higher ups has a thing for feet.

Nothing in this episode was particularly rage-inducing or aggravating, but at this late stage I still can’t bring myself to care about what happens to anyone at this point, especially Fena. Perhaps the best example of her character degradation is her dry and simple exchange with Karin on the submarine before reaching Eden. Their conversation sounded like a cross between text-to-speech programs and two voice actors bored out of their minds. In fact, the whole episode featured Fena at her blandest, though I shouldn’t be surprised at this point considering how she lost any semblance of agency and personality five episodes ago. The rest of the cast was not much better, reduced to little more than blank slates.

For an episode dedicated to finally uncovering Eden, I expected a bit of danger and tension here. I was hoping for some booby traps, difficult puzzles, and some serious obstacles. They just waltzed into the island like they owned the place and out of nowhere, boom, treasure mine. Boom, underground city. Boom, stairway to Heaven. It boggles my mind how the anime wastes every opportunity to create tension and raise stakes.

Speaking of tension, remember Kei? Shitan’s brother? It’s like the writers completely forgot about him. He was built up to be this dreaded antagonist yet we don’t hear his name once in this episode. Wasn’t he supposed to be tracking them all down because they went rogue and stuck with Fena? At this point, I’m fully expecting Kei to swoop in at the last second and save everyone’s necks, which would be incredibly dumb.

Most of the time I’ve been watching this anime with friends on Discord and laughing and having a good time, but it’s increasingly hard to find anything interesting to say without repeating myself. If it weren’t for my friends watching this with me, I probably wouldn’t have bothered. Since I plan to write a full review of this anime on my blog anyway, I might as well press on to the end of this shipwreck. This did hook me with the first teaser, after all.

The preview gives us a hint of some big battle between the Brits and the bodyguards, Fena and Yukimaru finally reaching Eden, and Abel apparently going super saiyan or some shit. What was that glow in his eyes? Is he gonna transform into a dragon or something?

I guess I’ll find out next time. For now, I’m going back to storyboarding my Napoleon novel series. It’s a better use of my time than this.

#fena #fena houtman #yukimaru #fena: pirate princess #kaizoku oujo #anime #anime review #episode review #Adult Swim #toonami

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tpwkxxangel · 4 years ago

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Side A: Track 1

//this is a continuation of a fanfiction that i am writing. if you haven’t read the prologue before this, please check it out or else this might not make sense. if you have any comments, let me know! here is the masterlist //

**************

June 2018

"Thank you Dallas!" Harry calls to the stadium full of fans. The cheers are loud and fill Harry's heart with love. It always amazes him how people sing his lyrics back to him. If someone told him 10 years ago that he would be playing a sold out arena, by himself, while touring his first debut album, he would think they were insane.

Every night, it takes a toll on him though. The energy in every venue and the laughs shared between him and his audience is so difficult to end. The endings are the worst part aren't they? This one is bittersweet.

Harry gives one last wave of his hand before walking off backstage. His breathing is a little labored due to him giving 110%.

"Another great show, Hersh! We should do something to celebrate!" his manager, Jeff, pats his back while handing him a towel. Harry gives a small appreciative smile before wiping off the sweat from his face. Jeff sighs knowing that this night won't be any different than the last month and a half. "Can you at least go out for one drink? You haven't been out in so long. We all miss you..."

Heartbreak can change you, and that's exactly what it did for Harry. He met Camille when he was in One Direction. She's a few years older than him, but no one could resist the Styles charm. After a few conversations at parties they both found themselves at, they started dating. Nothing was public of course, but the relationship was real none the less. Over the eight month relationship, Harry feel in love with the model. Towards the end, they both got really busy and couldn't devote as much time to the relationship as needed. There were other factors that made things difficult, so they decided to brake things off. Harry has never felt a pain like that in his life.

So he shut down.

He has always had big emotions that invade all of his senses, so when his love was taken away from him, he couldn't stand the brokenness he felt. He began to numb his pain with various methods, but nothing worked. He still feels all the pain he felt when he watched her drive away from his flat in London.

"I don't know man...I'm not feeling--"

"Up to it. Yeah, I know, but H. You are bottling up all of these feelings and that isn't healthy. I think a night out will be good for you. Have you called your therapist lately?"

His therapist lives in London, so when he is traveling, he usually calls in. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Think of it like paying for someone to spill your emotions to and they can't say anything about it.

Maybe Jeff is on to something. This bottling things up is tiring, so a night out may be fun.

"Fine. I'll go out as long as I'm back by two. We have to be on the road at nine and I'd like to get some rest before we leave."

"Deal!"

~~~

The air was stuffy in the heated club. They were all in the VIP booth on the second level of one of the hottest clubs in Dallas. Harry was sipping on his drink trying to pass the time. Only 3 hours before he can leave. God, did he want to leave. The concert was tiring and the never ending heartache was causing his head and heart to throb.

He was about to excuse himself to go find the restroom when a golden dress caught his eye. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes again only to spot the girl again. She looked different than the last time he saw her. Her skin was tanner than before, sunkissed just right. Her blonde hair is curled to perfection and lips still red, but she now looks old enough to be in a club like this. Her green eyes are bright with laughter at one of the other girls she is with.

Why is she here? How is she here?

He first saw her in New York. Was she just visiting there? All the memories flood back to him, taking him back to the time where everything was more simple, a lighter time. The way her voice sent a shiver down his spine, the eye contact she made while dancing, the way she touched herself, luring him in. The mere thought of her still drives him crazy.

"Excuse me guys," he turns to his bandmates and manager, "I'm going to find the loo."

Harry makes his way over to the bar where he sees his mystery girl. He flags down the bartender and tells him to give her the order she got two years prior.

He should probably feel embarrassed that he remembers everything about that night regarding the mystery girl, but for the first time in a while, he feels like this is exactly where he is meant to be.

When she received the drink, her brows draw together in confusion before looking to where Harry was sitting. The smirk that made him curious all those years ago made an appearance on her red stained lips. She says something to her friends before downing the drink and making her way over to the brit.

He admired the way her hips moved as she walked. The dress she was wearing complimented her is so many ways. She wasn't a model, but she sure could be.

"Well if it isn't Harry. Long time no see," her voice coming out just as velvety and sweet as before. He's absolutely ecstatic that she remembers his name. That means she thought of him after their encounter like he did.

"Hello, love. Nice to see you again," he smirks back. This is the first time since his break up that he sort of feels like himself.

"You cut your hair," she says while reaching for his drink. Instead of throwing this one back, she just takes a sip, leaving a perfect lip print on the glass.

He nods in a daze, watching the way her tongue darts out, running across her bottom lip. "I was in a movie. Needed it cut," he swallows dryly.

Her eyebrow rose slightly but wasn't surprised. He gave off superstar energy. "Would I have seen it?"

"Depends," he takes his drink back, trying to recover from the dirty thoughts running through his mind, "Do you watch war movies?"

"I've seen a few," she giggles softly, not being able to picture the Brit as a fighter.

"I was in Dunkirk," Harry shrugs.

"I'll have to give it a watch," Harry nods slightly taking a sip of his drink, "especially if the cast is as handsome as you."

Harry chocks slightly not expecting her to be so forward. He chuckles nervously. "Well, I don't want to be the only reason you watch the movie. I'm only a small part of it."

She cocks her eye brow slightly at his tone. Is he being shy? That's different than last time.

Her smirk quickly turns into a more genuine smile as her hand makes it's way on his shoulder. "I actually enjoy action movies, so I have a feeling you being in it would just be a perk."

Harry feels his cheeks flood with color. He distracts himself from the beautiful girl that's starting to make him nervous by sipping his drink again. How was he so confident the last time he saw her? Probably because his heart wasn't broken and there was more alcohol in his system.

He might not be able to fix the first one, but he can fix the second one. He gets the bartenders attention before turning back to his company.

"So, what brings you to the city? The last time I saw you, you were in New York," he asks, not trying to sound invasive, but the question has been brewing in his mind since he saw her.

Her smile dropped slightly before recovering quickly. "I actually grew up here. I'm...visiting some family while I'm in town," she shrugs.

"Do you live in New York now?"

"Part time. I'm a graduate student at Columbia," she says the words as if they aren't impressive.

Harry's mouth falls open slightly. Her prick of a boyfriend was right. She is very smart. Speaking of him...

"What happened to your boyfriend?" he finds himself asking before he can stop himself. Thankfully, the bartender sets another drink next to his empty glass so Harry could hide the blush on his face. This isn't going as well as he wanted it to.

"Who?" her brows furrow in confusion before they smooth out in realization, "I don't even remember his name. You could say that I was just helping him out with an...issue he was having."

"That's very mysterious..." he trails off, remembering he still doesn't know her name.

She laughs at him. She wasn't telling him her name on purpose. One thing that anyone knows about her is that she LOVES games. They make life so much more fun, but for some reason she wanted to hear Harry say her name over and over again in his cute accent. Maybe she'll tell him by the end of the night.

"You can call me J. Everyone does."

He looks at her, and really observes her features. The way her strong cheekbones and jaw are a stark contrast to the softness of her eyes and plush lips. She is truly a beautiful creature, so he finds himself standing up from his stool by the bar and holding out a hand to her to ask something he should have two years ago.

"Would you like to dance with me, J?" he asks.

J smiles brightly in return and Harry's knees go weak. They make their way out to the dance floor as a rock song wraps up. As luck would have it, a very familiar song plays next. The irony was not lost on Harry. That fact that he wrote this song about the girl that is currently swaying her mesmerizing hips against his is so funny that he almost laughs. He gets too distracted by her subtle touches to notice the eyes on him.

From across the bar, Jeff watches his friend loosen up for the first time in two months and feels a pressure release off his chest. He was worried about Harry when him and Camille split. He knows how sensitive his friend can be. Harry leads with his emotions and goes all in. When everything went down, Jeff was the first one Harry called. His broken voice shattered Jeff's heart. It sucked since they were in the middle of the tour and Harry had little to no break in between. Harry is tough, but even his fans noticed him crying during one of his performances in Scotland.

Jeff looks back at the couple on the dance floor to find them laughing. This is a good thing. He will have one night with this girl, and then go back to touring.

Little did Jeff know, Harry wasn't planning to let this girl walk out of his life again. It had to be a sight. He was miserable and had no hope when she randomly showed up in his life again. There are such things a coincidences, but this felt like more than that.

Harry's hands find their way to the girls waist. She looks ups through her lashes at him. "You know, this is my song." He's starting to feel the alcohol in his system, so his words are slightly slurred.

Her laugh makes it's way to his ears and sends a goose bumps all over his body. "No, shit. Really?"

Harry just nods before taking a deep breath and belting out the lyrics. "She goes home to a cactus, in a black dress, she's such an actress, she's driving me crazy!" He's met with her beautiful laugh again. Maybe one day he'll have the courage to tell her who the song is about. They continue to dance for a few more songs before both of them need another drink.

"So, you are not only an actor, but a musician as well?" she hums into her whiskey.

Harry gets nervous again. "I wouldn't say an actor. It's just that one movie."

"One more than me," she giggles. Her lightly glossed over eyes let Harry know the alcohol is taking effect.

As he opens his mouth to speak again, one of J's friends from before comes up to her. She turns her head to hear what her friend says but never takes her eyes off Harry. With one nod of her head, her friend leaves.

"Do you need to leave?" Harry asks. He doesn't want her to leave again. He finally can breathe after two months of suffocating. He's finally out of his head. Maybe it's time to open himself up to new things and not be afraid of hearts getting broken. Camille moved on, so why can't he?

She shakes her head and he lets out a sigh of relief. "I'd rather stay here and talk to you. But they are leaving."

"I'll be sure to get you home," he smiles softly at her. There's the familiar flutter in his heart. It's crazy, honestly. He met this girl once two years ago, yet he is so infatuated with her. She makes his broken heart feel less lonely. He checks the watch on his wrist for the time. It's getting close to two in the morning. He wants to get out of here, but not be done with the night. He doesn't want to go back to his hotel and be lonely. He won't admit that to her though. "Would you like to get out of here?"

His eyes widen at what that sounds like. It's not like he doesn't want to be with her in that way. He was going to take her home two years ago. But, he's different than he was then. He just wants to talk to her in a place that doesn't drown out her gorgeous voice. He starts to correct himself, but she just laughs at him.

"I know what you meant, Harry. I actually have a car waiting for me outside. I know a place we can go if you'd like to come with me."

He nods quickly. "I just have to tell my friends. I'll be right back."

"I'll wait outside. Don't take too long," she smirks before kissing his cheek. She left a bit of lipstick, so she wipes it off before turning around towards the door.

Harry makes his way back to the VIP section with the biggest grin only to see Jeff quickly duck down. He was spying on him, but harry can't even find it in himself to care. He felt like he was floating in the sky towards this sunshine he so desperately needed. When he gets to the spot everyone is sitting at, all the conversations go quiet.

"I'm leaving. I know I have to be back at the hotel at nine to go to Houston. I have my phone on me. Please don't need me until then." Before he can turn around and follow his golden girl, Jeff speaks up.

"Are you sure about this Hersh?"

Harry smiles softly at his concern. "She's an old friend. I finally feel like I can breathe," he whispers the last part as everyone goes back to their conversations.

This is such a relief to his manager. Originally, he just wanted Harry to loosen up and have some fun again. He wasn't going to let him leave with anyone. That's not how you get over a relationship. For some odd reason, this girl seemed to help him more than any of his other friends have in two months.

"Okay. Be safe and text me if you need anything."

Harry nods and heads towards the door. When he walks out, he sees J leaning on a sleek black car talking to an older guy. When she sees him, her eyes light up. She seems so bright compared to how he has been feeling the past few weeks. It's a breath of fresh air, and he couldn't be more relieved to finally take a breath in.

J touches the mans arm before he walks to the drivers side and gets in. "I thought you might have changed your mind?"

"On you? Never," he chuckles while opening the door for her. They both get into the car and Harry starts to wonder why she has a driver? It didn't register in his mind until now. Before he has time to ask, she speaks.

"Stanley, to my hideout please," she speaks softly to the man. There is genuine affection in her voice and Harry can already tell this man is not just a driver to her. He nods and pulls out onto the streets. There are cars on the road, but not as many as a bigger city like New York.

"So, where are you taking me?" Harry breaks the comfortable silence of the car.

"It's a place I like to go when I'm in town," she answers honestly. She's not used to opening up to people, but with Harry it seems almost natural for her. "I travel a lot. When I come back home, things can get a bit crazy for me. I come from a family that expect a lot out of me, so it's nice to have a place to get away from everything."

"I understand the feeling of wanting to get away. In my line of work, there is a lot of pressure to act or be a certain way," he thinks back to his time in One Direction. He never wanted to be the cause of the band breaking up so he held himself to higher standards than the others. It wasn't all bad, but it hurt when his name was thrown around in the press.

"That's right. You're a Popstar," she giggles.

"Rockstar more like," he playfully scoffs.

She rolls her eyes at him with a smile adorning her cherry red lips. "I'll be the judge of that mister."

"Would you like to come to one of my concerts to see for yourself?" he asks partially joking.

She looks at him with her eyebrow raised. "Would you like me to come to one of your concerts?" In all honesty, she wasn't expecting to see him after tonight. Her life can be hectic so her friends are very limited. Harry seems like a nice guy that she wouldn't mind in her life for longer than tonight.

"Yes," he replies with no hesitation. Now that he thinks about it, he wants to see her in the audience singing along to his songs.

She smiles at him and he's back in her trance. She grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze before letting go. "Then I would love to see you perform. When were you thinking?"

"I'm on tour right now, so name a city," he says, "I have the Houston show in two days and then I head to Florida. After that, I believe I'll be in Georgia, Tennessee, and Pennsylvania."

"Wow, that's a lot of shows. I feel like I should have known you would be successful," she laughs, "I'm actually busy for the next week, and after that I'll be flying back to New York."

Harry thinks over his schedule. "Are you free on the 21st?"

She thinks for a moment. "Yes. I don't believe I have anything planned until the end of June."

"I have a show in New York that day if you'd like to come. I believe I'll be there the following day if that works better?."

"That sounds perfect!" she exclaims.

"Ma'am," Stanley interupts politely. "We are here."

"Thank you, Stanley." She turns to Harry with an intoxicating smile. "Let's go!"

J gets out quickly and makes her way to the back of the car. She pulls two blankets out of the trunk and a small bag. Harry gets out and looks around. They are at a small park. This isn't exactly where he thought she would 'hideout' when things got tough.

"A park?" he asks. He's not complaining. He'd could be at a landfill and be happy as long as he's with her.

"It's just a stop on the way. We have to do the rest by foot." He looks into her beautiful green eyes. That familiar warmth is spreading through him. He's scared of becoming more attached to this girl he barely knows, but where's the fun in being cautious?

"Lead the way, love," he gestures forward as she blushes at the pet name.

They both move to the trail that is lit up by lamps. There's a peaceful silence that falls on them. The sounds of crickets and the wind blowing is a stark difference between the roaring stadium a few hours ago. It's nice to feel this silence with her. He feels a hand slip into his. He looks down at their hands connected in shock. He doesn't know how he feels about it at first, but as her hand holds onto his, he loves this feeling. It's insane and strange but he's said it before, she drives him crazy. So, maybe him letting her take control is what is meant to happen. Loving her may be his antidote...

But, that's for another time.

She clears her throat, breaking him out of his thought. "So, where are you from?"

"I'm from a small town in England called Cheshire," he replies.

"Like the cat?" she asks curiously.

He booms out a laugh. "Yes, like the cat."

"What's it like there?" she asks. There's something in her tone that he can't quite decipher.

"It's very beautiful. I love England. Have you ever been?" he asks.

"Yes. I traveled with my parents when I was little. I haven't been in a while though. After I graduate, I plan on seeing more of the world," she says thinking of all the places she wished her parents took her to see. "What's the coolest place you've been to?"

"I love Brazil. It's lovely there. When I played in Rio, my band and I went sightseeing." he says. As a musician, you might get to travel the world, but you have a hard time actually seeing the cities you are in. When Harry was with One Direction, they would have to organize their sightseeing weeks in advance to prepare for the potential mobs.

"That sounds amazing!" she says. "Rio is on my bucket list." Before he can reply, she looks at the path and pulls on his hand to stop him. "We have to go off path from here."

He laughs nervously. "Are you taking me out into the woods at night to kill me?" Even though it's night time here, there are lamp post that light up the way.

"How did you know?" she replies seriously. He gulps before she bursts into laughter. "No, there is a place about 10 yards from here where I like to watch the sunrise. If you feel uncomfortable, we can just head back. I won't be offended." she says honestly.

He thinks about going back, but oddly enough, in the trees with her, he feels completely comfortable. He shakes his head. She smiles that sunshine smile before she leads him into the trees.

The wind starts to whistle, gliding through the trees in the night air.

"What is that?" Harry asks when her starts to see the trees clear.

"That's where I'm taking you," she smiles. They walk through the small gap in the cluster of bushes. Once they get through, she stops them both.

"This is..." Harry seems to be at a loss of words. They stand in silence for what feels like ten minutes. The clearing that they are in is relatively small. No bigger than a baseball diamond, but it is full of flowers. There are solar lanterns on the surrounding trees to light up the beautiful scenery. The reason they stand quietly is because that's the only way to hear the music in the wind. The trees surrounding the clearing are close together causing the wind to pick up speed and whistle a beautiful melody.

J slowly walks towards the middle of the field and lays the blanket she was holding down in an open spot of flowers. She pulls out two wine glasses and a book from the bag on her shoulder before sitting down. She looks at the Brit that hasn't moved since getting into the clearing.

Harry stands smiling down at his mystery girl without saying a word.

"What do you think?" she asks softly, not wanting to interrupt the breeze.

He slowly walks over to her and sits down. "I love it," he simply states.

A strand of hair falls in front of his eyes and before he can move it away himself, J's warm hand tucks it back in place. Her palm rests on his cheek and he leans into it. He feels so comfortable as her thumb caresses his cheek. He feels that familiar heat as her thumb travels down to his lips. A small gasp leaves him as her fingertips rub against his bottom lip.

She leans forward slightly, searching his gaze for any hesitation. He can't move. He closes his eyes, breathing in and breathing out. When he opens his eyes she is the only thing he can see.

When their lips touch, it's even better than he thought it would be. The world around him disappeared. The floating feeling is back. It's like she's waiting for him in the sky, pulling him towards her warmth. He parts his lips slightly and she leans against him more. She matches his feverish movements by moving her hand to his chest. He has no doubt that she can feel how fast his heart is beating. His hands move to her hips, pulling her on top of him slightly. He is still conscientious to the fact that she is still in her dress. He pulls the bottom of it down, to make sure everything is covered.

Always the gentleman.

They stay like that for a while before pulling back. Opening the wine, and diving into conversation. She pulls out a disposable camera while he's telling the story about the time he met his good friend when they punched Harry in the face instead of the person who deserved it. As he laughs, she takes the picture. The stars shine on his face and the lanterns light up his features. When he hears the click, he looks over at her curiously.

"Um," she looks down blushing, "I love taking pictures with disposable cameras. My life can be a little crazy, so taking one shot pictures helps me remember all the important things. I don't want to forget this night."

His heart stutters and picks up double time. "You are such an amazing person. I don't want to forget this night either." He pulls out his phone and tells her to smile. She grins so brightly that he officially doesn't believe she is real. She's an angel on this Earth.

They talk for hours before she reads him the book she brought while he lays back enjoying to musical wind and her voice. When she stops suddenly, he opens his eyes.

"The sun is coming up," she smiles at him. He looks at his watch again and realizes it's five-thirty in the morning. The time has flown by. As the sun starts to rise, she finally tells him her name.

"Janis Rogers," she whispers, "My name is Janis Rogers."

He looks over at her and smiles while he stretches out his hand, "Harry Styles." She matches his smile before taking his hand. He takes this opportunity to pull her onto his lap.

She giggles, but leans back into him. He feels her sigh into him. He puts his arms around her and feels a warmth fill his chest. He could get used to this feeling.

They sit and watch the sunrise above the trees, but he can't take his eyes off her. He takes this time to reflect on the last eight hours he has spent with the girl he thought he'd never see again. The sunlight hits her face and she closes her eyes. There's only one thing running through his mind...

She's so golden.

#harry fanfic #harry fan fiction #harry smut #Harry Styles #harry edward styles #sunshine temptress #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut

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jerseydeanne · 4 years ago

Text

William is quietly winning the battle of the royal brothers - Their responses to Bashir revelations are as different as they are as people, but we knew they would be

It must frustrate Prince Harry that his own popularity has become so obviously inversely proportional to his brother’s. They had a highly competitive relationship before Harry and Meghan decided to throw a grenade under the Queen and the Royal family in favour of earning Kardashian cash in the US. It often appeared that a large part of the Sussexes’ beef with the monarchy was that they constantly felt in the Cambridges’ shadow. Yet their bid to seek “financial independence” in California has cast them completely in the shade in the minds of the majority of Brits, many of whom would prefer it if they disappeared from view altogether. The more they have accused the “racist” Royal family of “total neglect”, the more they have succeeded in encouraging the British public to throw their support behind the institution – as shown by a YouGov poll last week finding six in 10 people want them to be stripped of their titles or to stop using them. The better William and Kate perform, the worse Harry and Meghan look for breaking up the Fab Four in the first place. The Yanks might not see it like this, but we do because, unlike naive Americans prone to endless psychobabble, we were never under any illusions about the dysfunctionality at the heart of the Royal family (or any family, for that matter). In his latest outpouring for his new Apple TV documentary series, Harry voiced his resentment at being told to “play the game” to make life easier in the House of Windsor. “I’ve got a hell of a lot of my mum in me,” he boasted. “The only way to free yourself and break out is to tell the truth. ”Yet, ironically, the one person in The Firm who “played the game” better than anyone else was Diana, Princess of Wales. That was until she took the disastrous decision to pour her heart out to deceitful Martin Bashir – albeit under what we now know were false pretences. By continuing to stoke the flames of publicity with his smug, self-pitying and at times, spiteful rhetoric, Harry shows he has actually learned nothing from his mother’s experience. For in trying to emulate her doe-eyed confessionals to speak his “truth”, he is repeating her mistake of squandering popularity for the sake of evening the score. While there’s no doubting Harry’s noble intentions in wanting to raise awareness of mental health issues – let’s make no mistake here, like Diana deciding to air her dirty linen on the BBC, this is a man out for vengeance. With his team of officious LA-based PRs and unwillingness to appear on any platform that actually offers a right of reply to the people he trashes, he’s hypocritically playing his own, one-sided games. Exactly like his mother at her lowest ebb, Harry seems to think the world is out to get him. Yet far from it being personal, there is a word for what has happened to him over the years. It’s called “life”. While he was a 12-year-old walking behind his mother’s coffin in 1997, there were literally hundreds and thousands of other children also coming to terms with the loss of a parent. Around the same time, I was a teenager, scraping my alcoholic mother off the pavement. As any therapist worth their salt will tell him – you can either hold onto the past and let it dictate your future, or let go and truly “find your freedom”. William has had to endure exactly the same fate as Harry. In fact, as the elder brother and “heir” rather than “spare” it has arguably been even more difficult for him. As his dignified statement on Thursday night made clear, he vividly remembers “the fear, paranoia and isolation” of his mother’s final years. It was his shoulder upon which she cried about the breakdown of her marriage. It was he who promised her, after she lost the HRH style, that he would “give it back to you one day when I am king. ”As the child of divorced parents myself, I know all too well that while every child is adversely affected, the oldest is often at the coalface, shouldering most of the burden. Despite this, and having to come to terms with being tethered to a life mapped out at birth,

William

has borrowed from the best of his mother’s playbook. He has resolved to serve others, rather than himself. Instead of growing up to resent the rules of the game, he has used them to his advantage, realising – as all the best royals do – that it is never really about “them”, but about “us”. Unlike Harry, who has misinterpreted the Queen’s “never complain, never explain” mantra as a gagging clause – William has used it as it was intended, as a protection order to ensure the lines between the professional and the personal do not become too blurred. Like the mute button on Twitter, he has silenced his critics not by taking them on, but keeping calm and carrying on regardless. And in stark contrast to his brother, William has shown he understands the press as well as Diana did. By actually reading the newspapers (rather than obsessing over the online comments like Harry), the second-in-line to the throne has come to the sensible conclusion that the media, while imperfect, can be used as a considerable force for good. While his brother was using Lord Dyson’s report as a stick with which to once again beat the tabloid press, William was mature enough to acknowledge that if it wasn’t for the newspapers, Bashir would have got away with his rogue reporting for even longer. “Public service broadcasting and a free press have never been more important,” he magnanimously declared. Harry’s nonsense claim that “practices like these – and even worse – are still widespread today” only serves to highlight just how unqualified he is to act as referee on matters as serious as the First Amendment, which he described as “bonkers” on a recent podcast. Both these royal brothers are playing a game – but only one of them is winning.

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2021/05/21/william-quietly-winning-battle-royal-brothers/

#camilla tominey #prince william #prince harry #british royal family #meghan markle #princess diana #battle #martin bashir #panorama interview #bbc

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causeiwanttoandican · 4 years ago

Text

The Telegraph - Camilla Tominey

William is quietly winning the battle of the royal brothers

Their responses to Bashir revelations are as different as they are as people, but we knew they would be

Camilla Tominey21 May 2021 • 8:00pm

Yet their bid to seek “financial independence” in California has cast them completely in the shade in the minds of the majority of Brits, many of whom would prefer it if they disappeared from view altogether.

The more they have accused the “racist” Royal family of “total neglect”, the more they have succeeded in encouraging the British public to throw their support behind the institution – as shown by a YouGov poll last week finding six in 10 people want them to be stripped of their titles or to stop using them.

The better William and Kate perform, the worse Harry and Meghan look for breaking up the Fab Four in the first place. The Yanks might not see it like this, but we do because, unlike naive Americans prone to endless psychobabble, we were never under any illusions about the dysfunctionality at the heart of the Royal family (or any family, for that matter).

In his latest outpouring for his new Apple TV documentary series, Harry voiced his resentment at being told to “play the game” to make life easier in the House of Windsor.

“I’ve got a hell of a lot of my mum in me,” he boasted. “The only way to free yourself and break out is to tell the truth.”

Yet, ironically, the one person in The Firm who “played the game” better than anyone else was Diana, Princess of Wales. That was until she took the disastrous decision to pour her heart out to deceitful Martin Bashir – albeit under what we now know were false pretences.

By continuing to stoke the flames of publicity with his smug, self-pitying and at times, spiteful rhetoric, Harry shows he has actually learned nothing from his mother’s experience.

For in trying to emulate her doe-eyed confessionals to speak his “truth”, he is repeating her mistake of squandering popularity for the sake of evening the score. While there’s no doubting Harry’s noble intentions in wanting to raise awareness of mental health issues – let’s make no mistake here, like Diana deciding to air her dirty linen on the BBC, this is a man out for vengeance.

With his team of officious LA-based PRs and unwillingness to appear on any platform that actually offers a right of reply to the people he trashes, he’s hypocritically playing his own, one-sided games.

Exactly like his mother at her lowest ebb, Harry seems to think the world is out to get him.

Yet far from it being personal, there is a word for what has happened to him over the years. It’s called “life”.

While he was a 12-year-old walking behind his mother’s coffin in 1997, there were literally hundreds and thousands of other children also coming to terms with the loss of a parent.

Around the same time, I was a teenager, scraping my alcoholic mother off the pavement. As any therapist worth their salt will tell him – you can either hold onto the past and let it dictate your future, or let go and truly “find your freedom”.

William has had to endure exactly the same fate as Harry. In fact, as the elder brother and “heir” rather than “spare” it has arguably been even more difficult for him.

As his dignified statement on Thursday night made clear, he vividly remembers “the fear, paranoia and isolation” of his mother’s final years. It was his shoulder upon which she cried about the breakdown of her marriage.

It was he who promised her, after she lost the HRH style, that he would “give it back to you one day when I am king.”

As the child of divorced parents myself, I know all too well that while every child is adversely affected, the oldest is often at the coalface, shouldering most of the burden.

Despite this, and having to come to terms with being tethered to a life mapped out at birth, William has borrowed from the best of his mother’s playbook.

He has resolved to serve others, rather than himself. Instead of growing up to resent the rules of the game, he has used them to his advantage, realising – as all the best royals do – that it is never really about “them”, but about “us”.

Unlike Harry, who has misinterpreted the Queen’s “never complain, never explain” mantra as a gagging clause – William has used it as it was intended, as a protection order to ensure the lines between the professional and the personal do not become too blurred.

Like the mute button on Twitter, he has silenced his critics not by taking them on, but keeping calm and carrying on regardless. And in stark contrast to his brother, William has shown he understands the press as well as Diana did.

By actually reading the newspapers (rather than obsessing over the online comments like Harry), the second-in-line to the throne has come to the sensible conclusion that the media, while imperfect, can be used as a considerable force for good.

While his brother was using Lord Dyson’s report as a stick with which to once again beat the tabloid press, William was mature enough to acknowledge that if it wasn’t for the newspapers, Bashir would have got away with his rogue reporting for even longer.

“Public service broadcasting and a free press have never been more important,” he magnanimously declared. Harry’s nonsense claim that “practices like these – and even worse – are still widespread today” only serves to highlight just how unqualified he is to act as referee on matters as serious as the First Amendment, which he described as “bonkers” on a recent podcast.

Both these royal brothers are playing a game – but only one of them is winning.

19 notes · View notes

sadaboutniall · 4 years ago

Text

happy halloween! 👻 here’s a quickie little yn x niall fic to celebrate my fave holiday! this song is the vibe, if you want some listening to go along with.

the moon laughs and whispers, ‘tis near Halloween

Unsurprisingly, Halloween is perfectly at home in Edinburgh. The night is dark and damp, a pervasive chill hanging in the air as you and your friends rush drunkenly along the cobblestone street, rain hitting the backs of your necks, and warm, golden lamplight from flats above trickling out onto the dark stone. The city is as alive as it always is—alive in a way that feels like a million different lives, like it somehow knows both the past and the future, like it’s holding you close but also hurtling you forward. It feels like tonight is a special night—and, although you have no real reason to think this Halloween will be different from any other Halloween, you let that feeling in, let it settle into your bones and carry you forward toward the party.

It had been Fiona’s idea, going to the football squad’s Halloween party. Your other friends had championed a pub crawl or a scary movie night at the flat, but Fiona’d heard about the football party and, knowing the keeper she’s been crushing on would surely be there, insisted. And now you’re here, drunk in a witch costume on a dark October eve, your pointed hat barely keeping the rain off your face, orange and brown leaves crunching under the heel of your boots as you pick up the pace and run toward the party, giggling into the night.

The football house is packed even fuller than you’d imagined it would be, the air thick with the smell of beer and weed and Fiona, dressed as Posh Spice, spots the keeper just milliseconds after your group ducks into the party, disappearing in a flurry of rhinestones. It leaves just three of you—Fleur, Amina, and yourself—standing in the middle of a heaving party, first years entirely out of their element.

“Drinks?” Fleur, dressed as a zombie bride, asks.

“Drinks.” Echoes Amina, the antennas on her alien costume bobbing as she nods her head.

The three of you clasp hands so as not to lose each other and Fleur leads the way, zig zagging through the crowd of goblins and ghouls and strangely sexual Boris Johnson costumes until she finds the kitchen, a dark, damp little room with one, singular coffin shaped window above the sink and no furniture save for a wooden table in the middle of the room, without a single chair. Atop the table sits a literal cauldron, cast iron and all, with a pink liquid gently swaying inside.

“Ick,” says Amina, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. “Boys.”

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here for a hundred years,” you say, voice low. Something about the room makes you feel like you’ve travelled a million miles away from the party, just on the other side of the door. You can’t hear a thing in here—just the pitter patter of the rain against the window, and the creaking of the floorboards as Fleur steps forward.

“That’s probably true,” she laughs, peering into the cauldron. “I bet none of these lads can cook. They must order Nando’s every night.”

“Probably,” Amina agrees, stepping forward to peer over Fleur’s shoulder. “At least they went through the effort of making a mixed drink, though. I’m far too bloated for a beer.”

“Aye,” Fleur’s Scottish accent thickens when she’s drunk, but it sounds even thicker all of a sudden. “Commitment to the theme as well.”

“It smells lovely,” says Amina, shutting her eyes as she smiles. “Like roses.”

“Really?” Fleur says, as you step deeper into the kitchen and join them around the cauldron. “I reckon it smells like chocolate.”

You lean forward, too, despite yourself. The scent of the drink is intoxicating—neither roses nor chocolate but, you think, the distinct smell of a chilly day by the sea: salt air and a rising tide and it’s more like a memory than a scent, a moment in time, the most peculiar sense of deja vu. Whatever it is, it’s not the kind of smell that should be coming from a mixed drink at a house party. Whatever it is, you don’t want to step away from it.

The three of you—the witch, the bride, and the alien—stand over the cauldron for a long moment, breathing it in. There is no sound beyond the rain outside, no semblance of the party raging beyond the kitchen door. It’s just the three of you, this cold, quiet room, and the strangely comforting feeling that you are, after all, not alone.

“Are there any cups?” Amina speaks first, glancing up at you, across the table from her. Her brown eyes are glassy, her gaze faraway.

“Cups,” you echo, a little floaty, your mind still by the seaside. “Right. Let me find some.”

The room’s only cabinets flank the sink and the single window, one on each side. You find the first cabinet empty except for a shimmery spider web and an old looking candle, but the second holds exactly what you’re looking for: three cocktail glasses, set on the shelf in a pretty row, glinting despite the dingy light. Perfect.

“Bingo!” You say, turning back toward your friends. “And only three left anyw—guys?”

The room is empty.

The cauldron still sits atop the table, its intoxicating smell strong as ever, but your friends are not where you left them, twenty seconds ago, when you turned toward the cabinets. Your friends are not anywhere in sight.

“Guys?” You call out again, taking one step forward. “You’re so not funny. I found cups.”

Silence.

“Fleur? Amina?” You step forward again, toward the center of the room, toward the drink. “You want a drink, or no?”

Still, silence—somehow more silent than before. Even the rain sounds like it’s whispering.

“This is fucking freaky,” you say, one last shot, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. “You guys win, I’m fully freaked out, Happy Halloween.”

Silence. Stillness. A sudden, oppressive need to get out of this room.

Quick as a cat, you do.

When you step back through the door and out into the party, alone, it’s like you were never gone. In fact, it’s a bit like time has stopped—the party is just as packed as it was when you arrived, and you’re pretty sure the same song is still blasting through the speakers. Confused but ignoring it, you start to push your way through the crowd, in search of your friends.

A few steps deeper into the crowd and you spot a sliding back door. It makes perfect sense to you, the idea of Fleur and Amina slipping out into the backyard for some air, so you head straight for it, stepping out into the chilly, dark night.

The rain has mostly stopped, though the leafy ground is still damp beneath your feet and the air feels wet, like it could begin again at any moment. Although it’s dark, you can see well enough—the yard is illuminated by a group of jack o’lanterns lined up along the back brick wall, and fairy lights strung between trees, casting a warm, flickering aura—and it’s immediately clear that Amina and Fleur are not out here. In fact, no one is.

You turn around to head back inside, pulling your phone out of your pocket as you do. And that’s when you walk right into him.

“Lads, are you—oof. Deo, you eejit—shit, you’re not, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“I—” you step back to collect yourself for a moment, eyes trailing up the hard chest you just stumbled straight into. It’s just a guy—blonde hair, bright blue eyes, thick Irish accent—but there’s something about him that keeps you rooted to your spot. Something about him that feels safer than going back inside.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He rushes, when you don’t answer. I should’ve been looking, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” you manage. “I’m fine. It was my fault anyway, was looking at my phone. Are you okay? You sounded, like, worried?” You don’t know this man, you have no idea what his worried sounds like. But you can’t stop yourself from saying it.

“Can’t find my mates anywhere,” the stranger says, eyes sweeping the backyard over your head. “It’s like they fucking vanished.”

“I lost my friends too,” you echo, turning to look with him, though you know you’ll only find an empty yard. “I thought they might be out here, but nothing.”

“Two lost souls,” says the stranger, a smile in his voice. When you turn back around he’s pulling at his phone, saying, “I’m just going to text them and tell them I’m out here. They can come find me.”

“I was about to do the same,” you tell him, glancing down at your phone in your hands to shoot off the text. “There are way too many people in there.”

“Wanna wait it out together?” He looks up from his phone, a smile on his face. It brings out one tiny dimple, and sets your heart moving a little faster. “I’m Niall.”

“I’m a witch,” you smile back at him and he laughs, blue eyes trailing down your body once. It sends a jolt of something through you, makes you hope the flush creeping up your face isn’t visible in the flickering light.

“Have you got any powers?” Asks Niall, his eyes moving back up to meet yours. The blue is stunningly bright, even in the darkness.

“That’s for me to know,” you say, more smoothly than you ever imagined. “And you to find out. What’s your costume?”

“You can’t tell?” He glances down at himself, dressed in double denim with an American flag bandana tied around his neck. “Bruce Springsteen.”

“Right,” you nod, though it wasn’t obvious to you at all. “Course. You need to work on that accent, though.”

“Do I?” He raises an eyebrow, and adopts a surprisingly good—if over exaggerated—New Jersey accent. “I’m pretty proud of it, honestly. Been convincing people that it’s real all night.”

It’s not all that difficult for you to believe, actually, a bunch of drunk Brits buying into a fake, over the top, American accent without a single question. Instead, you ask him, “is there a tragic backstory, then? To go along with the tragic attempt at an accent?”

Niall laughs, bold and loud into the dark night, and suddenly you realize how entirely unafraid you feel with him—how you’d been on edge since the moment you stepped into the party but now that’s gone, evaporated, replaced, with a warm feeling in your belly and Niall’s infectious laughter. You bring your drink up to your lips and take a sip before you realize yet another thing: you have no memory of filling up your cup before leaving the kitchen.

Across from you, Niall’s clutching what looks like a pint of Guinness, which is a drink that makes very little sense at a house party. The more you think about it, the less of the night makes sense. You shake your head to push it away, not quite ready to give this up just yet.

Under the golden, flickering light from the jack o'lanterns, you study Niall: the way his freckles sprinkle across his thick neck, how his roots are so much darker than the blonde at his tips, the tuft of chest hair peeking out from where his denim shirt is unbuttoned—everything about him leaves you breathless, desperate, longing, attracted to him in a way you’ve never experienced before. You feel, distinctly, that you are both supposed to be here, tonight, alone, together.

You feel, distinctly, that something went out if its way to make sure this would happen.

And maybe it’s the drink—the mysterious thing that smells like sea salt to you and roses to Amina—but here, with the wind rising around you and the night settling in, you have the distinct feeling that Niall is on the exact same page.

“I have the strangest feeling,” Niall says, voice dropping to something like a whisper. Behind him, leaves rustle as the wind blows a strong, measured gust though the garden. “We haven’t met before, have we?”

“I don’t think so,” you can’t look anywhere other than Niall’s eyes. “But I know what you mean.”

Niall nods, taking one step forward to lessen the gap between you. He’s so close you can smell him: warm and musky and soft and something else, too—something that reminds you of salt air and days by the sea. “I just feel like,” he says, and you nod.

“Me too.”

Far, far away someone calls your name, but you can’t stop looking at Niall, stepping closer and closer to him with every distant shout of your name. The shouting grows louder and louder until it’s impossible to ignore, although Niall doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all. You open your mouth to ask him if he can hear it too, but before you get the chance something shakes your shoulder, calls your name one more time, and you open your eyes.

“Jesus,” says Amina, a mixture of relief and concern clouding her features. “You are impossible to wake up.”

“I’m—what?” You sit up in bed, head foggy, limbs heavy. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“Noon,” Amina pulls out her phone to check. “We’re gonna be late for our brunch reservations, that’s why I came to wake you up.”

“Oh,” you rub your eyes, shaking your head to try to bring yourself back down to Earth. “I was having such a vivid dream, sorry.”

“It’s cool, just hurry up.” Amina makes her way to your bedroom door, but pauses before she steps back out into the hallway. “Oh, by the way, Fiona said there’s a Halloween party at the football house tonight and she’s fucking desperate to go since she fancies the keeper. Could be fun, no?”

On Halloween night, dressed as a witch, you stand in the backyard of the football house with your friends. The yard is illuminated by jack o’lanterns and fairy lights and Fiona is off snogging the keeper upstairs and you feel warm and safe and happy, despite the autumnal chill in the air. As Fleur tells your small group a story about the weird couple sitting across from you at brunch today, you drop your head back to stare up at the night sky, sprinkled with stars, and the full moon peeking out over the clouds. It feels like you are supposed to be here tonight. You exhale, watching your breath fog with the cold and curl in the air above you.

“I’m going to refill my drink,” you say, smiling at the small group you’ve been standing with. You can feel something budding between Fleur and the pretty girl she’s been chatting to, dressed as Britney Spears, and you want to give them a moment alone. Fleur flashes you a grateful smile as you walk away.

Back inside, you locate the entirely normal kitchen, bright and airy and crowded, with a coffin-shaped window above the sink, and pull open the fridge to grab a beer from the stock inside. When you shut the door, there’s someone standing on the other side.

He’s dressed as Bruce Springsteen, double denim and an American flag bandana around his neck. He’s blonde hair with dark roots, and bright blue eyes. He’s staring right at you, with an unmistakable look of recognition on his face.

“Hi,” he says, stepping forward to lessen the gap between you and him. He smells warm and musky and safe—with a whiff of something like salt air. “Sorry if this is a bit weird, but I’m Niall. Have we—have we met before?”

####

sources for images: 1, 2, 3

#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #niall horan x reader #halloween #thank u to rand for all her help with this as always!!#this is v different for me I hope it's ok!

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matthewbernard · 3 years ago

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RIP Sean Lock

Something that you might not know about me is that I love British panel shows. At this point, my YouTube feed is at least ¼ clips and episodes of British panels shows. This morning there was a collection of Sean Lock clips posted by Channel 4 (found here), and at the end, a caption of memorium for him. I audibly gasped as I sat by myself in my room, staring at the telly (as the Brits would call it.) “That can’t be right,” I said.

I hoped that it was a bit, one cooked up by his friends and fellow comedians/panelists. A sick joke, mind you, but my denial was searching for a better explanation than the truth, which was revealed after a quick Google search: Sean had passed away a few days ago after a short struggle with lung cancer.

My first exposure to British panel shows was a clip I came across of Joe Wilkinson reciting a poem he wrote entitled, “Hanging about in a Train Station Toilet Naming People's Penises.” If you want, you can watch it here, it starts about a minute and a half in. If you do watch it, one of the things I want you to notice is how hard everyone else is laughing. This is what drew me to want to find out more about the show this clip was from. What sort of show could have a room full of comedians, people who study humor and are often difficult to make laugh, laughing so hard.

As it turns out, much of it is available for free on YouTube, and so I dove head first into it. Starting first with Cats does Countdown, then the Original 8 Out of 10 Cats, and then into other shows like Taskmaster and Hypothetical. The thing that ultimately made it so engaging was the recurring cast of “characters” that you find from show to show and the history between them that ends up being a story of sorts that carries through. These relationships and history between them become part of the gag.

One of the greatest is between Sean Lock and Jon Richardson, both team captains first for 8 Out of 10 Cats, and then for 8 Out of 10 Cats does Countdown. To see these two riff back and forth between each other is magic, and will have you laughing so hard that tears will most certainly be in your eyes, as they often are for Jimmy Carr, the host of these shows. If you watched the first clip, then you saw their first head to head match of Carrot in a Box. You can find their rematch here, and if you watch that, then you can get a small idea of the comedy gold these two could make together.

Sean didn’t need Jon in order to be funny, however. Quite the opposite. Sean was always funny on his own. This sort of random genius that people often aspire to, but few lack the actually timing and delivery to pull it off. You remember that I mentioned I was drawn to the show because of how much the others were laughing from Joe’s poem; Sean could make the whole room laugh so hard that they were begging for him to stop talking so they could catch their breath. He wouldn’t though. He would keep the gag going to its conclusion, which would be some place you couldn’t possibly have predicted, but it still made sense.

When you have depression and anxiety, you have days where you don’t feel like laughing. Days where you need to get outside of your own head. Over the years I’ve had different things that have helped me through these days or portions of my life that the struggle was more than I could handle alone. 8 Out of 10 Cats does Countdown was one of those things, and Sean Lock was a big part of why that was the case. I will always be grateful for the times that he made me smile on days that I didn’t feel much like smiling. My thoughts are with his family during this difficult time. May he rest in peace.

#sean lock #8 out of 10 cats does countdown

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mothwingwritings · 4 years ago

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Treasured Friend

F!Reader X (Yandere) Joseph and mentioned F!readerX Caeser

Warnings: Yandere, drugging, cheating, noncon heavy petting, Joseph being a horny jerk

This is my very self-indulgent first shot as a yandere X reader fic (because I am a horrible goblin who loves me some yanderes) which I am a bit nervous about finally posting!!!! AHHHH! I feel like I made Joseph a little OOC, so I apologize for that. I also jumped back and forth from Joseph’s POV to readers so sorry if it gets a bit confusing. ^^;; And why did I have to do this to my girl Suzie Q? Hasn’t she been through enough??? Smh. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!!! Thank you!!!

'I shouldn't be here.'

His brain nagged him as he stood before your door, fist posed inches from the wood, primed for knocking. He stood still, frozen in... What, fear? Confusion? This wasn't like Joseph Joestar at all. He was, after all, the proud, boisterous man who's fought off countless foes, succeeded in being a skilled Hamon user, and ultimately defeated a perfect being that threatened the entire world.

So with all that bravado why the hell was he held up in front of a door?

Were these just nerves trying to block him from seeing a cherished old friend? Ridiculous, there was absolutely no reason at all for this horrible feeling of guilt to be weighing so heavily on his chest. Because that's all you were to him, right? Just his dear old friend?

He snorted at his own cruel joke

He heard you moving inside, as well as sounds of what appeared to be metal clanking together and water running. Perhaps you were cooking dinner? It was around that time of day.

'Maybe I should come back later,' He mused to himself, 'if she's busy with something I probably shouldn't bother her. Besides, I’d rather have her full attention than half of it when we are catching up, right?'

He lowered his hand for a moment at this thought, before quickly shaking his head, an urge of conviction flowing through his body.

'No,' he thought, finally connecting his fist to the door sharply, 'I came all this way. I need to see her now.'

"Coming," He heard muffled through the door. It was hard to make out, but it was undeniably your voice. Joseph couldn't contain the smile that that voice brought him.

After several moments, the door lurched open with a whiny screech. He's sure you spoke something, probably along the lines of 'who is it?' But with his heart beating so fast, the only sound he could manage to focus on was the loud thump echoing in his ears. He felt his breath catch as the door flew all the way open, his gaze falling upon the girl he hadn't seen in years, but hadn't left his mind for even a second in that time.

Your eyes widened a bit from the initial shock, followed by your signature smile that could light up the whole room, instantly igniting a fire in his heart. God, how he missed that smile, how he loved that smile.

"Joseph?" you laughed. An airy, joyful noise, "Joseph Joestar, is that really you?"

Her good mood was contagious, and Joseph's smile spread even wider. He was elated at how you responded to his presence.

'So she is happy to see me. She missed me, possibly even as much as I missed her.'

His heart thumped louder.

"(Name)," the towering man beamed, throwing his arms open dramatically as he shot you a playful grin, "Of course, the one and only! Now, the next thing you are going to say is 'come here so I can give you a hug!'"

Your laugh grew as you tried in vain to hide it behind your small hand. Joseph didn't like that habit of yours; he thrived on seeing you happy and loved it even more when he was the one to bring you that joy.

"I wasn't going to say it I was just going to do it," you teased, "But I guess I can indulge you just this once... Come here so I can give you a hug!"

And with those words, you passed by the door, making your way to Joseph. When you were directly in front of him, you softly launched off the ground, expecting him to meet you half way. He reciprocated, pulling you in to him, your feet dangling several inches from the ground. Just like how it used to be when the two of you were still living in Lisa Lisa's mansion. Also just like old times, he was more than happy to oblige, eagerly scooping you up as he pressed his face firmly into the crook of your neck.

Joseph mused over how good you felt pressed against him. Warm and soft, your hugs were always so inviting and enveloping, even with how much smaller than him you were. As your arms wrapped more snugly around his neck, he buried his face deeper into your neck and started to get lost in you. He breathed deeply, getting a whiff of the perfume you always used to wear. He was glad you still wore it. It always was one of his favorites. He squeezed you tightly, relishing the feeling of your affections. It was unfair how your body fit so perfectly against his.

"God how long has it been," your voice was soft, emotive, and so close. A shiver shot down his spine, "6 years? 7?"

"Too long," he responded immediately, his strong arms constricting you just a bit tighter, "I missed you, (name)."

Another playful laugh, "I missed you too, Jojo," you began to break contact, giving his arm a soft slap on your way down, "and I can't even imagine what owes me this surprise visit, but I am excited to find out."

You swung your door open, scooting out of the way a bit as you lifted your arm in a sweeping motion, "Please, come in! You came just in time, dinner is almost ready!"

It was shocking, to say the least.

The last time you had seen the man before you seemed like a lifetime ago. As soon as your eyes fell upon him, the memories flooded violently into your brain, the bittersweet nostalgia sweeping you away...

Two of your best friends had recently been wed and there was nothing but love in your heart for the both of them. Suzie Q, your best friend since you were small, had finally found her other half. You had joked with her a lot when you were younger that she was too easily wooed by a pretty face and too quick to give her heart away to men that were unworthy of her. She would laugh at you in response, shoot you a wink, and make some comment about having a lot of love to give so she'll eventually find the right guy, even if she does have to kiss a few frogs along the way.

That didn’t stop your worry for her, though. You always let her do her own thing and gave her space, but you were certainly not shy about letting her know you were not fond of most of the men she dated. On average they were arrogant, cocky, and loud womanizers who were also (unfortunately) extremely handsome.

So when you met Joseph Joestar, your protective nature instantly kicked in.

Both you and Suzie had been employed by Lisa Lisa, though in your case, maybe "saved" was a more appropriate term. You had come from a broken home and had a difficult upbringing, and you had spent many nights running to Suzie's house to get escape from your situation. When you grew a bit older and Suzie had been working for a while with Lisa Lisa, she was quick to recommend you as well. You were deeply intimidated and worried she may take one look at your past and skill set and cast you aside, but Suzie had talked you up so much that Lisa Lisa essentially hired you on the spot. You spent the next several years working your ass off to prove yourself to be all your friend had talked you up to be, and in the process gained a rather charmed existence surrounded by people you loved. You had a nice, safe home you shared with your treasured friend. The employer and teacher you greatly respected had taught you how to be strong, self-sufficient, and overcome any challenge life might through your way. In the hustle and bustle of it all, you had even met a charming man (one of Lisa Lisa’s pupils) that you had begun to develop feelings for...

And then Joseph showed up.

With the introduction of this cocky and loud brit, everything changed. From the get go, his frisky and flirty nature irked you. Throughout your years you had grown to a woman who respected manners and you took pride in the fact that not much in life could truly irritate you. As if honing in on this, you became a favorite target of Joseph’s endless teasing.

As much as you tried, he quickly had become unavoidable (Lisa Lisa had assigned you to watch over him, after all). You would cringe at the way he would ogle you, your teacher, and your best friend. He was a show off, always trying to one up Caesar (the man who had become the focus of your affections) to impress you, something you imagined Joseph had hoped would gain your approval. Needless to say, it did not work. Nearly everything the man did seem to grate deeply on your nerves, from the 'cute' nicknames he would make up for you, to the way he treated your blossoming skills dismissively, to how he'd casually find SOME way to touch you at every encounter. In the span on of a few days you had nearly reached your limit. You would purposely find something, ANYTHING, to do around the mansion to avoid him. But even then, you knew eventually you'd hear his booming voice break your small window of peace as it had become a habit of his to hunt you down each day after his daily trainings.

"Hey, (Name), there you are!!! You are looking a little bored, what say you come with me and we liven up the day a bit, eh?"

"(Name)! My favorite girl! Looks like you could use a break, and I know just the person you should take it with~"

"(Nick name) you were with Caesar AGAIN!? Come on, wouldn't you rather spend your time with someone who reeally~ knows how to treat a lady?"

It was all so obnoxious, but your blood didn't begin to truly boil until you had found him one day with Suzie Q.

You had warned her, or at least tried, of all he had put you through. The flirting, the disregard of your personal space, the shots fired at Caesar. At first she seemed to be listening, giving him the cold shoulder and dishing back whatever he handed to her, rolling her eyes jokingly at you whenever mention of him was made.

But as the weeks wore on her unamused glare changed to a fond twinkle. Her indignant frown when he would cast his attentions her way morphing into a coquettish smile. Much to your dismay, you knew you were rapidly watching your best friend fall in love.

"Caesar we can't let this happen," you grumbled one day to your lover, your head resting snugly in the crook of his neck as you curled against him during a break in his training.

"Let what happen, Bambina?" Caesar responded to your sudden remark, his fingers lazily weaving through your (color) tresses.

"Suzie and Joseph," you sighed heavily, "I've seen the way that she has been looking at him recently, and I know that look all too well. I have to get her away from him somehow..."

The blonde Italian hummed, "Hmm, a look huh? And just what look has our dear Suzie been giving Jojo?"

"It's the look she gives men before they break her heart."'

Caesar laughed, a pleasant rumble jolting your body. You pulled yourself up, steadying your arm across Caesar's broad chest so you could look directly into his eyes.

"What's so funny," you pouted, trying not to be swayed by the beautiful shimmer of his sea green eyes, “I’m serious! Joseph is bad news for her! I don't want my best friend to be used up by some pretty playboy and then tossed aside once he's done with her."

"I apologize, I didn’t mean to laugh. But carina did you and I not start similarly? Did people not also warn you to stay away from the great womanizer Zeppeli, a man who would always be nothing more than someone who would break beautiful girl’s hearts?"

You averted your gaze slightly, a light blush rising to your cheeks, "This is different! You understood my boundaries and never once acted high and mighty around me. I definitely had my reservations with you but," the blush on your cheeks grew a bit darker before you continued, “In the end you proved yourself to be a safe and worthy person to give my heart to."

A doting smile overtook Caesar's face as he leaned up, planting a firm kiss on top of your head.

"And I am forever grateful you took that gamble with me carina, as you have become the most treasured part of my life. Since you have come into my life, I have been a better, stronger man. But...."

"…But?"

Caesar sighed, gently shaking his head, "But you have to understand bambina that Joseph and I are different people with different personalities and different backgrounds," Caesar gently took your chin in his fingers, turning your gaze back his way, "I definitely don't approve of the hounding he gives Master, Suzie, and especially YOU, but Jojo is not a bad person. There's more going on inside him than you realize, and as I have been training by his side daily I can't help but admire how far he's come in this short span of time. He may come off as clownish, but after you've been through some things with him you see just how strong his ambition is. He’s a man fueled by a strong drive and tender heart. Carina mia, if Suzie Q is the woman he has chosen to bestow his true affections upon, I dare say that woman will live a very passionate life and never be left wanting."

As Caesar spoke, your eyes softened. You mulled over his words in your head, considering the possibility that maybe they would make a good pair. Perhaps Joseph wasn't just an annoying brute, maybe that was all a screen he hid his true feelings and intentions behind. Though it didn't entirely excuse him of all the things he had done, hearing Caesar explain it certainly did give you a new perspective on the man.

You sighed dejectedly, "OK, maybe you are right. He may get on my last nerve, but at the same time I haven't really given him much of a chance to get to know me, and I him. Maybe... Maybe he would be a good match for Suzie? Besides, we are both adults now, even if I still have qualms over him I need to have faith that my best friend is doing what's right for her."

Caesar playfully winked at you, "Exactly. Suzie is a big girl, and Joseph a big boy. If they desire to be together, I hope you can come to a point where you give them your blessing," Caesar sighed deeply, slowly running his hand through his hair, "Besides, with his attentions focused on Suzie that means he will leave you alone now."

"Oh, I see. Ulterior motives," You teased, flippantly waving your hand.

He smirked, "Is it so wrong for a man to want his woman to himself? Cuore mio, don't break my heart by telling me you actually secretly enjoy Jojo's affections?"

You snickered, giving the blonde a playful smack, "Please, you know I only fall for incredibly dashing Italian men. But I must say, I am surprised with all the trash-talking he gives you that you are standing up for him and speaking so highly of him right now."

Caesar shrugged, his eyes falling closed as he pulled you snugly back down against him, "What can I say? I guess he's growing on me."

Over time, he would grow on you as well.

After all you had gone through, it was impossible not to. Not long after that conversation, your life was wrought with tragedy and terror. The insurmountable threat of the pillar men coupled with the incredible loss of losing Caesar nearly destroyed you. You felt helpless and terrified, every good thing in life you had worked so hard to achieve being ripped from you in the blink of an eye.

You ached for your lost love, and agonized over the fate of your friends. What could you do? What would become of the world if you weren't victorious right here, right now? It was too much weight to bear.

And yet Joseph took it head on, becoming your rock when everything else in the world seemed so unsteady. With his signature smirk and twinkling green eyes he held you in his strong grasp before the final encounter. You’ll never forget the feel of one of his hands gently jostling your hair as he told you it would all be OK, that he would protect you and come out victorious.

And even with all the odds against him, his enemy quite literally transforming into the perfect being with no weaknesses, he came out the winner. At that time, you could neither laugh nor cry. You just stared on in awe and relief when you saw Joseph triumphant and alive, on a day that was supposed to be his funeral, no less. Your body went numb, collapsing on itself with the gravity of all that you had been through. Jojo didn't just save you and your friends, he saved the entire world.

It was hard not to give Suzie your blessing after that.

But that was all around 7 years ago, and in that time span you had unfortunately grown apart from the Joestar family. In the beginning of their marriage you and Suzie talked all the time. Visits to and from where both of you ended up settling were common. You always felt welcomed and loved in their home, and you counted it a blessing that you were able to stay so close to the ones you treasured, even with how hectic adult life had become.

However, the months kept passing, and in time, Suzie called less frequently. At first she would brush off your concern, saying she was just tired, or things were busy, her schedule had become so hectic. You would give her space in these moments, but couldn't help but feel a gnawing discomfort when the she went from being a bit unresponsive, to just out right avoiding your calls all together.

Sometimes when you would call you would get Jojo, and hearing his peppy voice sound so genuinely excited to hear from you instantly took a load off your shoulders. He would always reiterate the things Suzie told you to help put your heart at ease. She wasn’t lying or avoiding you, she truly was just held up with something.

That is until Jojo stopped answering the calls as well.

It wouldn’t be until a year later when you got a curt letter in the mail that changed everything. In Suzie’s handwriting, it asked you to please cease all communication with her and Joseph, explaining they were to be moving and starting completely anew in a faraway town and that they wished you not to be a part of that new life.

You felt hollow. You reached out through letter, phone, even trying to get Lisa Lisa to relay messages from you, but no efforts bore any fruit. Your emotions went from confused and heart broken, to bitter and upset. What had you done? Was it something you said or did? Why were they treating you like this, without even explaining themselves? You drove yourself to the point of madness scouring every inch of your brain for something that would want to make them abandon you, but in the end, could think of nothing.

For your own sanity, you tried your best to forget them and move on. Unfortunately for you, you were a horribly sentimental person, and dropping them the same way they had dropped you was something you could not do.

But more years passed, and as they say, time heals all wounds. Losing your friends got less painful and you were able to forge new relationships and start new endeavors. You had made a comfortable life for yourself in that time, even with Suzie and Joseph hanging on in the back of your thoughts, like phantoms you couldn’t exorcise.

So to see a phantom before you in the flesh, sitting merrily at your two person table with that all too familiar mischievous grin spread wide across his handsome face, his spirited eyes peering into your very soul. It was jarring, but you couldn’t help but be overcome with joy.

“Smells delicious,” Jojo exaggeratedly sighed, a look of bliss passing over his face, “I’ve been on the road so long, and it’s been forever since I’ve had a beautiful woman’s home cooked meal.”

You giggled, hand wrapped snugly around your mug of cooled tea as you brought it to your lips, “Well I’m not master chef, but I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

“Please, your cooking was always superior to nearly everyone in the mansion, I am sure it has only gotten better with time (name),”

Small talk carried on for several minutes, before a dense silence hung over the two of you. Your eyes darted to him, taking him in as his gaze swept over the content of your dining room, taking in all of the new and the old. You inhaled deeply.

“Joseph.”

The serious tone of your voice garnered the man’s attention, his bright eyes focusing fully back on you.

You looked held his gaze, the confusion and pain from the past emanating from your unwavering stare.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I missed you, (Name),” The words passed his lips before he could stop them, but the small blush that lit your cheeks more than made up for his brief loss of control over his feelings.

Honestly, he could think of no other way to respond when you were looking at him like that.

He watched intently as you shook your head a bit and closed your eyes, a quivering smile on your lips. He could tell you were fighting valiantly to suppress long held back emotions that may spill out at any second. He was in the same boat, just a little better at it than you were.

“I missed you too,” he noted the slight shake in your voice, “but Joseph… What happened? You and Suzie just left, and I…”

Your voice trailed off, another strong wave of emotions washing over your features. It was something he noticed about you after Caesar had passed, that you were no less stunning in heart break. Joseph stared at you, mesmerized. He hated seeing you in pain, but he couldn’t help the allure of seeing those tears dance just at the edge of your eyes. You were crying for him… crying because you missed him. His heart rate began to quicken. This surely wasn’t the first time tears had been spilled on his behalf. Had he being gone kept you up at night? Did you dream of him and his return?

“How is Suzie?”

The question ripped him forcibly from his previous thoughts. It was asked so earnestly, with such barely concealed desperation, it felt wrong to lie in response. Nerves began to take over, his hands sweating as he absent mindedly fidgeted with the mug in front of him. How could he possibly answer this? Should he really tell you the truth? Could he honestly tell you the reason Suzie began to distance herself from you was because of him? Should he confess and say he couldn’t get you out of his mind, even with his new wife at his side, and after sometime his wife caught on? Should he explain to you that Suzie had always been a replacement in his heart for you, a replacement he thought he could grow to love as fervently as he loved you, but never quite stuck? Should he confess that it was always you he thought of in the place of Suzie when he kissed, hugged, or even spoke with her? Should he tell you that while he made love to your dearest friend, it was you he was imagining beneath him? Should he divulge that on more than one occasion, it was your name he would scream while he came?

Joseph had single handedly ruined the lifelong friendship you had with Suzie. She had done everything she could to make him hers, giving him the entirety of her love. But in the end she realized she could never win over what he felt for you. This caused Suzie’s resentment and animosity towards you to grow, but she also knew in her heart these feelings were misplaced and unfair. So instead of lashing out on her closest friend and airing all the couple’s dirty laundry, she tried to distance herself and her husband from you. Her thought process being that if you were not around in any capacity to distract him, his fondness for you would lessen. In reality, the opposite had occurred.

When Suzie had found he had still been taking your calls without her knowledge, it drove her to the edge. Even after all he had done, all he continued to do, Suzie still loved Joseph, and adamantly believed she could make their marriage work. So she demanded they move, cutting ties with you completely so they could focus on being a family again.

He agreed, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he truly felt bad for the woman he conned into marrying him when his heart clearly belonged to you. Maybe he did it because somewhere inside of himself he truly believed he could learn to love Suzie the way he loved you. Maybe it was because even though Caesar had long been gone, he felt dirty for longing for the woman whose heart and soul belonged to his best friend. Regardless, he agreed, and they left you behind with nothing more than a short letter that he knew would lead you to anguish.

“Joseph you are scaring me, how is Suzie?”

Joseph was snapped back to reality by your concerned voice. He chuckled nervously, forcing a smile on his face before he spoke.

“Suzie is OK,” he began softly, considering his words, “We… We had some issues earlier on in our marriage.”

“…Issues,” you questioned, “What kind of issues?”

Joseph averted his gaze, his grip tightening on the mug. This lie had to be convincing. It was too soon to share his true intentions now.

“Mostly things brought on by the stress of being a young couple out on our own,” he began slowly, trying to keeps his nerves in check, “Well, that and the whole battle with the Pillar Men and its after math. It was a lot to take in. It was a mess that she didn’t want to burden you with, especially when she knew you were still reeling from Caesar and in the process of starting your own life.”

He was happy his lie seemed to relieve you a bit, but a deep frown was still engraved on your lips.

“As our marriage went on, those issues became bigger issues,” he continued, his own frown deepening, “I think we both had a lot of expectations and feelings about what we thought was going to happen once we became husband and wife, and we didn’t necessarily share those expectations or feelings with each other. We were young, on our own for the first time, still figuring ourselves out. Things were bound to get messy at points… It just ended up getting messier than we bargained for,” he sighed, his eyes returning to yours, holding within them an ounce of misery, “Suzie is fine, (name). She’s still her healthy, lively self. She just didn’t want to drag you down in our ongoing bullshit.” He finished with a melancholy grin.

Another silence settled in the air as you collected yourself, taking a deep inhale before speaking.

"Suzie is healthy… That's so good to hear," your voice trembled, "I was so worried all these years," you shook your head, focusing back to Joseph, "But I can't believe it... Things seemed to be going so well, I had no idea you two were going through it- ARE going through it. I feel dumb realizing it now. We did go through so much in such a short amount of time. The wedding was such a whirlwind, it makes sense…"

Joseph watched as your hand clenched at what he was sure was a steadily blooming ache in your chest. What was going through your mind at this moment? How were you processing the lies that fell from his lips? He was sure you were beating yourself up right now, your brain chastising you for not realizing the marital and life issues your dear friends were going through sooner. His eyes widened as he noticed your whole body softly quivering, tears beginning to fall slowly down your rosy cheeks. You looked so small, so hurt. He was a piece of shit for being the cause of this, but he also couldn’t deny the twisted feeling of excitement seeing you this way caused.

As far as he was concerned, those tear filled eyes were proof of your strong feelings for him.

"(Name)..." He whispered, enchanted as you fought back waves of emotion. It took all of his will power to not give in, to not push the table over and take you again in his arms. While you would melt into him he’d kiss away those anguished tears, promising to you the only time you’d ever cry again would be when he’d make you feel his love so fully, so strongly, that your over stimulated body wouldn’t be able to handle it anymore.

"Joseph," Your cracking voice struggled to say, drawing the man from his rampant fantasy.

“I never want you or Suzie to feel that way ever again. I know you were trying to protect me, but I never want you to ever feel like you have to hide anything from me ever again.”

Your conviction grew as you continued, “You two keeping things from me, going away and cutting all contact, that hurts me much more than any issues you have been fighting through ever could. I am never too hurt, busy, or tried to be there for either of you. I love you both so much, you are my family… So please, please don’t worry for me when you are going through so much on your own.”

You smiled warmly at him, blinking the tears from your eyes.

His heart was about to burst.

"(Name)... For now... Can we just forget about Suzie?"

The question that followed the next brief gap in conversation threw you for a total loop. Your conversation to this point had been going amicably, even if you were focusing your questions on your MIA friend and getting rather emotional.

"... Forget about Suzie? Joseph, what do you-"

"I don't want to talk about her right now." He cut you off roughly, a bite in his voice that alarmed you.

He took note of the dismayed look on your face his comment caused, and his expression instantly became lighter.

"I'm sorry. It's just a bit painful to talk about her right now,” he spoke, an uncharacteristic nervous tinge to his voice.

“The whole reason I am here now is because we are going through it again and I happened to be traveling in the area I knew you used to live. I took a gamble hoping it would still be you residing in this little house,” he flourished his hand, small smirk ghosting his lips as he took in the scenery once more, “and I’m glad it was.”

A moment of silence hung heavily in the air before he continued, his voice lower than before, “I really needed to talk to you, (Name). I needed to hear your voice. No one else…”

His voice drifted off a bit, his eyes softening as he seemed to get lost in his thoughts. Before you could comment, he snapped out of it, continuing on in a voice that was pleasant, but forced “What am I doing talking about this stuff? I came to share a few laughs and have a good time, not bog you down with my issues! It’s been such a long time since I have seen you (name), I am sure so much has happened in your life. I want to hear it all!"

While he spoke you noticed the quick change in posture from lax and inviting to rigid. His fingers tapping the wood of your table erratically, the set of his jaw had become stern. Everything about him was suddenly on edge. Your heart sank witnessing him like this, even now trying to hide things from you in order to not weigh down the joy of your meeting after so long.

However, you had already decided something. Joseph had come all this way to find some refuge with you, and that’s just what you were going to offer.

"Joseph," your voice dropped low, your hands sliding across the table to catch his own in a gentle hold. You felt his body jolt a bit, surprised by the sudden contact. You squeezed slightly, hoping to get across your feelings of reassurance. You smiled tenderly up at him, and after a moment, his hands shakily returned your hold.

“I’m so sorry… How could I have not noticed that you were in a rough patch? Suzie has been my rock through every trial life has ever thrown my way, and you have become equally as important,” you sighed in frustration, “You both can read me like a book yet I couldn't even tell how much you have been struggling. All of your laughs and smiles, they were masking your true pain, and through it all you both still put me first, not wanting to burden me with anything that was happening because you knew all I had gone through in my own life.”

Tears stung your eyes once more with the realization, “Joseph please, I don’t want you to struggle alone. I want to be your rock, too.”

You heard the man release a breathy sigh, the rough pad of his thumb gingerly starting to caress your firmly gripped hand.

"God, have your hands always been this soft?”

“W-what,” The out of place question took you by surprise, a tiny yelp of shock escaping your lips as Joseph repositioned himself, leaning his torso heavily over the table, threatening your personal space.

His grip on your hands tightened, lifting the digits slowly up to his mouth. A lucid smile graced his plush lips as they ghosted the tips of your fingers. His warm breath on your hand would be almost soothing if not for the obsessive gleam he held in his eyes as they bore into you. A shudder ran through your body, which had become stiff with discomfort. This small gesture between good friends quickly morphed into something much more intimate, the way he was looking at you feeling oddly menacing.

“Your hands,” he laughed a bit, his voice nostalgic, “I remember even during the most rigorous of the training that we were put through, your hands were strong, but also always so gentle,” his lips pressed harder into your flesh, his eyes narrowing as he continued to speak, “but I forgot just how soft they were… How good they feel when you touch me-“

As if breaking a horrible spell, the timer on your stove began to blare, causing you both to jump. You took the opportunity to quickly pull away, pushing yourself up and away from the table and Joseph as you hurried to address the now finished meal.

“Give me just a moment and I’ll have dinner out,” you tried to speak as calmly as you could, clenching your own hands together as your brain scrambled to make sense of what had just occurred, “wait right there.”

Perhaps the move was too soon, but he could think of no other way to respond to you suddenly grabbing him like that, being so earnest and vulnerable with your feelings. Sitting across from you as he indulged in the dinner you had prepared, it would have been easy to get lost in the domestic feel of it all. However he could tell you were growing increasingly uncomfortable despite his best efforts to bring everything back to normal, and he mentally scolded himself for that. Your once welcoming gestures had now become guarded, suspicious. Your bright eyes now looked at him with confusion, even a bit of distrust. He was doing his best to make the conversation jovial again. He was complimenting your cooking, bringing up past humorous exploits, asking you about your new job, your new life, everything and anything he could get about what you had been doing, who you were now.

Yet you kept succeeding in bringing the conversation back to Suzie.

At first it filled him with guilt, hearing his wife’s name fall from your lips with so much concern, now more amplified by his slip up. But the guilt was quickly becoming aggravation as even his best attempts to redirect the conversation kept sneakily coming back to Suzie.

As the tense dinner was winding down, he could tell you were trying to hurry things along. Your eyes darted to the clock more often, and you kept mentioning how late it was becoming, how you had something you had to wake up early for( regardless of it being the weekend). It wasn’t until you began to collect the plates that Joseph began to slightly panic. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go… You both were supposed to be so lost in catching up with each other that time seemed to no longer exist; enjoying each other’s company so thoroughly you’d keep the conversation going into the wee hours of the morning.

Joseph sighed a bit after you turned down his offer to help.

‘I was hoping to avoid having to do this,’ Joseph scowled, slipping the small vial from his pocket, ‘but I guess I have no choice.’

After the situation involving the Pillar Men nearly poisoning him to death, the Speedwagon Foundation really stepped up their game in the drug department. An entire new branch was created as a security measure to protect against threats of that nature, and as such, a lot of experimentation and creation was going on in their labs. Joseph couldn’t help but be intrigued when Robert had offhandedly mentioned one day they had successfully created a new kind of drug, one that was nearly impossible to detect or trace, but knocked someone out quickly for several hours. Robert had been initially confused by Joseph’s questions regarding the drug, as he usually didn’t take much interest in the more science-y aspects of their organization at all, but eventually gave him a small sample of the drug, warning him to not let it fall into the wrong hands.

Watching himself quickly pour a bit into your half-finished wine glass, he mused if his own hands could possibly be considered the wrong ones.

You came back in the room shortly after the deed was done, taking your seat across from him tentatively.

“I know you mentioned it, but I suppose it is getting quite late, huh?” Joseph questioned, doing his best to hide the frown that formed when he saw how relieved that comment seemed to make you.

“Yeah,” you responded, twirling a strand of your hair around your finger absentmindedly, “I hate to rush us after it’s been so long.”

Joseph smiled warmly, batting his hand playfully, “No need to apologize, I did just barge in here unannounced after all. I was lucky you treated an uninvited guest to a meal and a drink.”

You exhaled, your voice coming out softly “You are hardly an ‘uninvited guest’, but next time… I would really love to see Suzie as well. I know you told me not to bring her up and you seem to be avoiding talking about her altogether… But I really miss my best friend.”

You looked away as if you were ashamed to mention her around him. It was another stab to his heart.

“Hey (name),” he began, continuing once your eyes had locked back on his, “I want to apologize. For dumping this all on you, and for earlier when I was holding your hands. My mind has been such a mess, and I realize running to you to escape wasn’t the most mature or well thought out plan.”

He watched your body begin to grow more lax, causing relief to wash over him.

“It’s just you have always had a way of making me feel better (feel whole, he wanted to add, but thought better of it), and I knew this time wouldn’t be any different. It was selfish.”

Before he could say more, you chimed in with a small laugh, taking him off guard. Glancing your way, his eyes widened as he drank you in. You were smiling again, a true smile. Relaxed and happy, your eyes crinkled as they held his. Seeing you this way again felt as if all his troubles had been lifted away. You were infectious, alluring, hypnotizing.

Intoxicating.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke in between small laughs, “It’s just… the Joseph Joestar from years ago would never own up to being selfish, nor would he so sincerely apologize without throwing in some kind of quip,”

Joseph’s heart began to race as he watched you recline, check resting on one hand, the other now bringing the wine glass to your lips, lips that were still so tauntingly smiling at him.

“It’s nice to hear, and you are forgiven. I apologize as well if I seemed a bit put off. It just took me off guard,” you took a sip, Joseph’s breath hitched, “I guess I should have just chocked it up to your old ways, but don’t think I won’t tell Suzie about it someday, you flirt.”

You winked at him playfully, but he was so lost in bliss, it didn’t even register.

“Jojo, are you OK,” you questioned your now suspiciously quiet friend as you took another swig of wine, this one nearly emptying the glass, “I didn’t offend you, did I? I was just joking around.”

You pouted at him. His face had once again gone hard, his intense eyes not once straying from your face.

You chuckle lightly; trying to conceal the nerves his looks gave you, “Jojo please, you are kind of freaking me out again…”

His lips curled into a smile, his eyes keeping their strict hold on you, “It’s alright (name), no offense taken. In fact, I feel very good right now… how about you?”

As if on cue, a sharp pain pulsed through your brain. You winced, your hand flying up to grab at your pounding head. A moan escaped your lips as your eyes snapped shut, everything in the world was suddenly too bright and too loud.

“(Name)?”

“S-sorry,” you stuttered, the pain growing by the moment, “I just suddenly got hit with a horrible headache. Maybe I drank too much wine,” your voice trailed off as you noticed your vision beginning to blur.

Joseph laughed merrily, his seeming lack of care for your condition adding confusion to the already puzzling scenario.

“You barely had any! Such a lightweight,” He pushed himself away from the table, towering over you as his sharp eyes continuously bore down upon your form. Were you imagining that devious gleam they were holding?

“You need to be more careful, (name). People could take advantage of you this way.”

Your eyes widened, blood running cold. Something was off, terribly off. You weren’t just imagining things. The look he held in his eyes and the way he began to stalk slowly closer to you, like a predator approaching its prey, was all horribly wrong. Your breath hitched as he reached your side, his aura overwhelming you entirely in your sickly state. You felt his fingertips ghost the skin of your shoulder, traveling slowly up your neck to gently tuck a rouge stand of hair behind your ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. His touch was so delicate, but his eyes… His eyes had now completely glazed over, his breathing becoming heavier as he glared down at you in crazed admiration.

“(Name),” his breathy voice quivered, “Let me take care of you.”

The full extent of the danger you were in crashed down upon you. You pushed off the table, trying to put as much distance between him and yourself as you possibly could. You sprang to your feet, the sudden movement causing another rush of debilitating pain to pulse through your brain. Your vision had become so hazy that you could barely make out the man in front of you, and the tears that were pooling in your eyes weren’t helping any. You backed away slowly, your legs straining as you felt your body become impossibly heavy. At this point the only thing keeping you alert and upright was the threat that loomed before you.

“You need to leave Joseph,” You commanded, hoping your voice sounded much braver than you felt, “Right now.”

“Leave, with you barely able to stand on your feet? What kind of man would I be if I left you like this right now?” Though you had a hard time seeing his expression, you could definitely hear anticipation dripping from his voice, the implications causing you to shudder.

You grimaced, a cold sweat starting to coat your skin, “Get out of my house Joseph or I’ll-“

Before you could say another word, his lips crashed hard into your own, causing a short circuit in your brain. You let out a small gasp, granting him further access as he began feverishly conquering your mouth with his own. You tried to twist away, but that only caused him to pull you taut against him, locking you in place. His large hands snaked down your back, cupping and groping your curves as he traveled lower and lower.

His lips eventually released your own, instantly shifting focus to the exposed skin of your neck. As he sucked and nibbled, marking you in ways he had no right to, your resistance was growing less and less. In a short time, you couldn’t hold yourself up at all any longer, relying solely on Joseph’s constricting grip to keep you vertical. A whimper escaped your lips as he latched onto your neck particularly hard, his hands at the same time gripping your ass with a possessive squeeze.

“I can make you feel so good, (Name),” he whispered in your ear gruffly, lust dripping from his words, “You deserve the love I can give you.

“Joseph,” you choked, tears streaming steadily down your cheeks as the last of your consciousness was fading away, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you belong with me baby, you always have.”

Those were the last words you heard as your body succumbed to the darkness.

#yandere x reader #yandere jjba #yandere joseph joestar #reader insert #jjba reader insert #reader x joseph joestar #reader x caeser zeppeli #yandere behavior #yandere jojos bizarre adventure #yandere jojo x reader #i am so nervous loooool #yandere imagine #I am trying to get better at one shot fics #so this is good practice #enjoy!!!#battle tendency #battle tendies

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astrovian · 4 years ago

Audio

Richard Armitage interview on BBC Radio Kent for Uncle Vanya (26/10/20)

Full transcript under cut

Now the multi-Olivier award nominated play Uncle Vanya filmed at the Harold Pinter Theatre will be shown in cinemas from tomorrow. It stars Richard Armitage from The Hobbit as the local doctor, Astrov, in a production which was halfway through a sold-out run when the Coronavirus pandemic forced theatres to close. The cast have come back together again with strict Covid-19 protocols to perform the Chekov story.

[Clip from Uncle Vanya trailer]

Watching this, I just thought ‘Huh, you couldn’t make this even more prescient for the times’, there’s a real feeling of it. Even just the opening of the – the filming, with the cast coming back into that theatre.

Interestingly, I wasn’t able to be part of because I’d just flown in from America, so I was in two weeks of quarantine. So I had to join the rehearsal at the end of the week via. a Zoom, where they set up the computer on a little stool on the stage-

*Laugh*

-*Laugh* and we had a read through with the cast. I – I, I mean it was awful to sort of not be there, but weirdly kind of appropriate for the doctor, who would’ve been elsewhere at the beginning of the play. But um, I sort of had to come back in cold and sort of reignite the play, but it was uh, certainly an unusual experience.

And the – the performance itself, if – if we think of that Chekov play, that idea of the opening up of a house, and all that. That really does have a feeling, I think we watch it with different eyes, don’t we?

Yeah, and even y’know, in the last week of performing, when Broadway had closed down and y’know, it was this – this thing was coming towards us and we were still playing to full houses, they were all in masks, and y’know, one of the doctor’s first speeches in the play is talking about, um, he’s been away in the North, dealing with an epidemic and losing patients, and him being traumatised by it. And I was thinking about all of the NHS staff that were-

Hmm.

-dealing with it. And you could feel the play take on a completely different resonance to the audience in front of them, y’know, they were sort of gasping with disbelief that, y’know this was written over a hundred years ago, and there are – there’s, there’s huge sections of it which are kinda about preserving the environment, in order that these things don’t happen. And you – it, it just was uncanny that, that y’know, the subject that Chekov was discussing. So y’know I – I hope audiences aren’t still too traumatised by the events to – to not enjoy this. But I think they’ll – they’ll understand it.

[Clip from Uncle Vanya trailer]

Astrov makes a – a really key point, doesn’t he, about that. Early – early on in the play about the environment and how he’s understanding his place within it, and – and that says something very much wider.

Yeah, and he’s also trying to on it, y’know trying to do something about it, y’know as a single person that could – that gets out and plants some trees because he’s seen this sort of re-, reduction in the natural habitat and he – there really was a movement at the time which understood what happened when deforestation occurred. Y’know, that – that, uh, the environment was softer or y’know, became harder and – and became more difficult to live in, which I think is what, y’know, we’re experiencing. It was interesting that people thought these views had been crowbarred into the play, um in our – in our retelling of it, but it – it was there absolutely in its entirety at that time.

That’s what I think is interesting about the – the language of the play. I think the feeling of the – the characters too, y’know, you – you have this ideas of families being in one place and, and those uh, associated members, the extended group of friends. And just the personalities as well, I think it’s wonderful in this how y’know, there– it really does tap into that kind of like ‘Oh, that person’s a bit like that, okay, we’re gonna have to look after that person a bit more than the other.’

Yeah, I mean the play starts in the heat of summer, and these people are all kind of in this house right the way through the autumn and into the winter, and – and they are going out of their heads with boredom and frustration with each other, and y’know at the end of the play, and – and really the sort of nucleus of the play is about a man who’s about to lose his entire livelihood because it’s gonna be snatched away from him. And I feel like with – y’know, there are quite a few people that maybe are – are sort of in that situation right now that are feeling the fear of it. But actually, y’know the final words of Chekov through the voice of Sonya is this idea of, um, of hope and of work, and y’know once we’re given something to work on we can kind of retain our sanity, and I think I – I, I’ve used that idea so many times, y’know actors are very, very frequently out of work and we feel like we’re – we’re sort of not valid without something to do, and so we’re quite good at finding something to do. And that tool has been quite useful in this – this period. Certainly for myself.

There’s a richness in it too, there’s a – there’s a, ah, the human emotion side, but there’s also comedy, isn’t it? That kind of quick, sharp-witted bite-back from characters.

Yeah, I mean I – I don’t know how you term it; I suppose there’s a sense of black comedy, or – or gallows humour, but it’s these – y’know, the Russians, and I think Chekov certainly uh, was, was very good at um, finding the – the quips and foibles of human behaviour and so we – y’know, even in the depths of tragedy these people do find time to uh, enjoy each other in a way. And so, that uh, that’s always a surprise in Chekov, ‘cause you think it’s gonna be doom and gloom but it’s not; it’s – and I, I understand why the, the Brits are very good at kind of tapping into that aspect of Chekov, ‘cause even in the darkest of times we’ll still find something to kind of have a chuckle about.

I’ve seen the NT Live productions, many of us have during lockdown and since, but this is nothing like that – this, this really does feel filmic, it – it’s done really well, the soundscape of it too just really hits you the moment you start watching.

Yeah, I mean I guess it’s – we’d call it a hybrid ‘cause we, we worked with six cameras in the audience that were shooting at different angles and extreme close-up, and then the crew were able to come on stage with hand-held cameras and really get inside the play, which is not possible when you’re working with an audience. So even though we didn’t have a live audience watching, we gained something else because y’know, the – the, the viewer can come into the – into the play with us, which I think even people that, that saw the play live will - will get something extra from seeing it on film.

And knowing that, y’know, it did close, cut short by the lockdown, to give it another life now, for all of you, it must be - it’s not just about y’know, uh, being paid, it’s also presumably about just thinking ‘Oh, you know it’s such a shame that we had to cut’.

Yeah. I mean, in a way uh, the payment was sort of the last thing on everyone’s mind, I think it was just that ability to be able to go back to work, y’know, to have somewhere to go and um, you could see it, it was – it was amazing to re-gather and sort of see the crew again, see all of the people that work in that building, the stage door guy, the – the dressers, and realising that they’d all been sat at home as well. And there was this energy uh, in the building of ‘I can’t believe we’re getting the opportunity to do this’.

People are starting to go back into theatres to do things like this, but also film-work and sets are, with Covid-friendly uh, measures, are happening. What’s it like for you, Richard? What’s happening with you?

Well, I mean on a social level, I’m – I’m now back in New York, but when I was in London I – I went to the theatre, and I went to the cinema, and it’s, y’know, if you take the right precautions and y’know, play by the rules, it’s a – it’s a perfectly normal, comfortable experience and I would encourage people to, to do it. But um, for me personally, I’m – I’m still beavering away recording audiobooks, um, I’m starting a new Netflix show next year, and I’m also developing material, um, for screenplay, and uh – y’know, stepping one foot towards producing.

It’s been really good catching up with you, thank you so much for being with us and uh, thank you for bringing us this play with an – with an amazing cast. They’re – they’re all fantastic. You are brilliant in this. Thank you.

Thank you very much. Nice to talk to you, Dom.

#richard armitage #uncle vanya

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formula365 · 4 years ago

Text

The race of fairytales - Sakhir GP review

We have a tendency to see ourselves as the heroes in our life’s story. It’s only natural, after all: we can see things only through our own eyes, no matter how empathetic we are to other people’s struggles. And we always hope our life’s story will be like one of the fairytales we are told as children growing up. We want to be the hero that slays the dragon and saves the princess. This is how we see ourselves.

It never occurs to us that we might just be supporting characters in someone else’s fairytale.

In fairness to George Russell, anyone in the situation he found himself this weekend would have seen themselves at the centre of the story. After toiling at the back of the grid in one of the slowest cars in F1, the young Brit was thrust into the multiple world champions embrace, in what surely must have felt like a dream. And as the weekend progressed and he saw himself first fighting with Bottas for pole, and then comfortably leading the race, he could see that fairytale ending ahead of him: a maiden win on his debut for Mercedes.

It could not have occurred to him in that moment that this would, in the end, not be his fairytale, and he was just a member of the supporting cast in someone else’s dream weekend. We should have all seen it coming when he admitted he had to wear boots one size too small in order to fit in the car. After all, if the shoe didn’t fit, Russell could not be Cinderella.

In the end, it turned out to be a day - another one - for the man without a job for next year. Sergio Perez has a knack for snatching podiums when others fall apart around him. Like an opportunistic striker praying on any mistake by the defenders, he seemed to always be the guy to clinch an unexpected spot on the rostrum when the big teams couldn’t keep it together. With two thirds of the race done on Sunday, it looked like this would be the case again, as Verstappen had crashed on lap one, and Albon couldn’t match the pace of those ahead of him.

But then, the fairytale began. In a twist worthy of a Hollywood movie, it was the driver who replaced George Russell at Williams who set about changing the course of history and deny the 22-year-old his happy end. Jack Aitken crashed, the safety car came in and Mercedes screwed up big time in the pit lane. All of a sudden, Checo was no longer on course for a podium; he was leading the Grand Prix.

Russell, as any hero in any story, took this adversity as a challenge and set about righting this perceived wrong. He made mince meat of Bottas, Stroll and Ocon and started pushing hard in pursuit of the Mexican, who had built a cushy gap to those behind. But fate, taking the form of a puncture, denied us the final battle between the two heroes; and so it was that the man who was last on the first lap ended up first on the last lap.

You would be hard pressed to find any F1 fan begrudge Perez his maiden win, even amongst Russell supporters. The Mexican is one of the nicest people on the paddock, and has worked hard all his career in midfield cars to achieve an impressive trophy cabinet. For someone who never had a truly front-of-the-grid car, his results have always been above average. And now that, for once, he was given a truly competitive car, he has made the most of it. He will be best of the rest in the championship even after missing two races.

And he will be doing that after being ousted from the team that he helped save just a year and a half ago. Just before the Mugello weekend, he was told he wouldn’t be racing for them anymore. Many drivers would have been gutted by such news, but he refused to feel sorry for himself. That announcement marked a turning point for him, with results going onwards and upwards ever since.

With a little bit more luck, he would have been on the podium in the last four races. Even if the results didn’t always reflect his performance (that P7 in Portugal does not do him justice) he made clear on track that he deserved more. After overcoming one of the biggest adversities he could face - losing his dream job - he rose even stronger and fought back. Just like a hero in a fairytale.

Talking points * For a couple of the drivers, they must have felt they were living the opposite of a fairytale. Bottas, in particular, had a dreadful Sunday. Beaten by his young teammate off the line, he was not capable of matching his pace at any point and after the tyre mix-up start falling down the order. Even with older tyres, though, he should have been able to defend against much slower cars. This was a poor performance, and Russell’s incredible race only sheds light on how poor Bottas’ was. He must feel his place at Mercedes will be at risk, at least for 2022. The other driver with a reverse fairytale was Albon. Yes, he improved from P12 on the grid to P6 at the flag, but four of those places were due to crashes and the Mercedes shenanigans in the pit lane. Worse than that, Perez’ blitzing drive from the back exposed how little progress the Thai driver made through the race. The Mexican did exactly what Red Bull expects from their second driver: picking up the pieces when the Mercedes are not in contention. * George Russell might not have had the fairytale ending he was dreaming of, but he nevertheless made clear he is made of star stuff. He couldn’t have hoped for a better stake on a 2022 seat at Mercedes, and one has to wonder if Toto Wolff will have been secretly happy that he has made such a statement. After all, it might make what otherwise would be a very difficult decision much, much easier. * Russell might not have gotten his maiden podium, but there was another debutant there. Esteban Ocon didn’t have the most remarkable of races, but made the most of the opportunity. He couldn’t hold Perez or Russell behind, but did just enough to cling at the front, and when other frontrunners had problems, he was there to take advantage. It must have been a relief for him after such an inconsistent year, marked by multiple mechanical failures. It gives him a much needed confidence boost for 2021. * With the Frenchman, there have now been 13 different drivers on the rostrum, in just 16 races. And all it took was for one of the front three teams to have a bad car for the opportunities to open up. * Lance Stroll was also up there, but felt that, just like in Monza, P3 should have maybe been P1. He certainly put in the hard work, having done half of the race in a set of softs, when everybody else didn’t risk running more than 15 laps or so on similar tyres. His second stint, however, was not strong enough to compete with his teammate or even to get close to Ocon in what should be a slower car. The Canadian has shown some good pace at times but is still missing the killer instinct to turn these opportunities into wins. * Daniil Kvyat is definitely making the most of the (probably) last races of his F1 career. The Russian had another strong weekend, and although he admitted he could have finished higher than P7, he was still clear of his teammate in P11. A strong end of the season will go some way in helping him find a future outside of F1. * The rookies did ok. Aitken qualified pretty close to his teammate and was on course to finishing ahead of Raikkonnen when he had his crash, but still recovered to beat the other rookie. Fittipaldi was never close to matching Magnussen and didn’t have the race pace to compete with anyone, but for someone who hadn’t race in over a year, he did reasonably well. The Brazilian is sure of having another shot in Abu Dhabi, and it will be interesting to see if he can get closer to the rest of the field after his first outing this weekend.

#sakhir grand prix #Formula 1 #sergio perez #George Russell #Valtteri Bottas #alex albon #Esteban Ocon #Lance Stroll #Daniil Kvyat #jack aitken #pietro fittipaldi

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gayregis · 4 years ago

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tbh as a polish person genuinely vibing with any kind of mostly english speaking witcher fandom is kinda hard bc theres just. so many small mistakes and just a feeling of Wrongness in the translation that couldve been fully avoided? like using womanizer instead of whoremonger for dandelion or saying comrade instead of friend etc and like im mad bc with some more effort it couldve been done way better and actually carried over more of the og atmosphere for international readers And It Didnt

i agree with you from the ‘can only read the english translations’ side. i feel like definitely the official UK translations shifted a lot of the meanings, of course i do not know how it is in every single scene, but from the lengthy posts i’ve read on reddit, some posts i’ve read on tumblr, and conversations i’ve had with mutuals over discord, plus just generally reading the books and saying to myself “wait, this doesn’t sound... cohesive?” i agree that are are a lot of changes that shift the perspective.

one part of this is the deliberate mistranslation of general vocabulary used with the intention (i think) to give a more “medieval-ish fantasy” vibe to the work. i feel like david and danusia really went for some british slang that gives it a more “english medieval” feel (or at least, how medieval england is conceived of in the modern english-speaking imagination), when more widely-known words without such specific connotations (for the speaker and for the subject) would be more appropriate.

for example, i have heard that a lot of the translations of “maiden” or “wench” are more akin to “girl/woman” in the original text. another example is “comely lad” VS “pretty boy,” two translations (the former official, the latter fan-translated) that mean the same thing essentially but the former one is “brit-ified” (to me, at least). and i know that sometimes the translators chose specific words to keep a “peasant-speak” vibe with the usage of specific language, for example, with milva, but instead of being confined to peasantry, it extends across a lot of characters.

another part is figures of speech that don’t translate over due to being polish-specific idioms, or being reliant on the polish grammar structure. imo the translators are too eager to replace these with english figures of speech/idioms. a lot of the time when polish fans have pointed this out and said, this is different in the original text, the original idiom is so-and-so, which basically means this-and-this, i am able to understand the translated idiom, when it is in context.

for example, i believe that in the english version of baptism of fire dandelion says to regis, “was it just you and your shadow?” and regis replies, “worse, i don’t even cast one.” but in the original text, the exchange goes something more like “were you drinking to the mirror?” “worse, i don’t even show up in mirrors.” the idiom “drinking to the mirror” meaning drinking alone does not exist in english, but it would have been at least a little obvious to me as a reader what the meaning of the idiom is. i suppose it is up to preference, but i would prefer to have the original figures of speech kept intact, with a little footnote at the bottom included for explaining context / what its meaning is.

another part is cultural references and history that end up getting lost. references to other works, etc.

an example is in the edge of the world when torque says “good night” at the end to geralt and dandelion. without knowing the phrase, “where the devil says goodnight,” this is completely meaningless. and context about polish/broader european history is mostly also lost on a non-polish audience, because it is not something that is basic knowledge.

it doesn’t just extend to polish references, for example, regis quotes cicero quoting one of the seven sages, “omnia mea mecum porto,” basically “all that’s mine i carry with me,” which ig is a nod to how regis is a philosopher and lives simply, is a humanist, etc.

and this isn’t even beginning to touch all of the arthurian stuff he put in there.

mostly, i end up being clueless because i do not know what the original text was, and i know that if i could see the original text, i would not understand it and would need it explained to me.

i guess a positive side of this is that i like uncovering what was originally said and hearing it explained, scouring the internet for someone who has addressed a specific passage or something... it helps foster some conversation, kind of like two kids comparing christmas presents - what’s in your translation? what’s in your translation? what’s in the original text? - it is fun to see everyone start posting pictures and screenshots of their books, like trying to unravel a mystery as a group, and i enjoy that, especially when there are more international translations than just polish original and english translation, i like seeing the czech, russian, spanish, french translations and then learning things from these languages/cultures/countries because they showed up in the text.

on the other hand, it hinders discussion because if people are operating on different translations, they will have widely different perspectives of the characters based upon what the characters said or how they were described. you are not the only person i’ve heard express this sentiment, and agreed that it’s difficult to “genuinely vibe” across language barriers regarding the series. polish geralt is a totally different character from english geralt, from what i’ve heard, to summarize it.

and even if you do research as an english-speaking person to find out the mistranslations, the meanings behind certain phrases or references, etc., you still will probably never understand it fully, nor will you uncover everything there is to uncover.

i dislike leaving it like this, but it kind of “is what it is” with the language barriers and translations. a lot of the original atmosphere wasn’t and possibly will never be fully translated over (in some cases, it may be impossible). i would say don’t feel like you “have” to engage with every fan of the witcher books, if you feel you don’t vibe with english speaking witcher fandom that is okay and i hope that no one would judge you for it, everyone should hang out and talk with who they want to hang out and talk with. but i also get the disappointment because you want to connect, but there is just a lack of understanding. it shouldn’t be the burden to fall on you to be like, hey guys actually in the original text this scene is different / you’re misinterpreting this-- but if you ever want to say or make posts like this, i think this would be great and a contribution to the community. i would also say idk if it is possible if the interpretations are extremely different, but some broader themes like family, love, humanity, etc. imo do join the fans of the books in some way or another, big or small, despite how wonky the translations get. and finally, i want to say i am not here to give advice or consolation, because i certanly don’t know what can be done about this, i just want to respond to this and say that you’re not alone.

#it must be extremely frustrating and i think a lot of eng-speaking fans come into the fandom thinking the official translations are translat #(if they are not already familiar with how translations work and that they are usually not perfect or 1:1 translation)#i think a degree of humility is needed but that is difficult to find among many eng-speakers in the us/uk/canada/aus lmao #the witcher #anon #ask

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harry-hollands · 4 years ago

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selcouth // harry holland // 2

chapter 2: The Not So Lonely Ray of Sunshine

story summary: Harry was used to living in his brothers’ shadows. Tom was the actor and Sam was the cook and musician. He was used to being second best and genuinely gave up on finding someone who could love him for him. Someone who could believe that Harry wasn’t second best. His mindset changes however, when he meets you. The sunshine to cast away all of the shadows.

teaser // chapter one //

chapter summary: sunshine shines brightest when happy

pairing: harry holland x reader

warnings: none? swears, fluffy, simp harry

word count: 1.8k

When Y/N had forgotten her winter coat, she had mentally cursed herself. She had made it into the theatre with minutes to spare, but she was mentally cursing herself. “How is it that I am the dumbest person in the world? How could I have been so damn dumb to leave my winter coat in Paddy’s car on one of the coldest nights I have ever experienced?”

Being pulled out of her thoughts by Alita, one of the stage directors, Y/N made it backstage, warming up her voice as she made it to her dressing room she shared with her ‘sisters’. Y/N gave a greeting to Sophia, who would be playing Angelica, and was also an American exchange student from California, and gave a greeting to London native, Sicily who would be playing Peggy Schuyler/Maria Reynolds.

“Hey, love! Cutting it a bit close, yeah?” Came Sicily’s thick and cheerful English accent. How she was able to keep out of her singing baffled both Y/N and Sophia.

Sophia giggled and rolled her eyes before reaching over and helping Y/N set her personals down before pulling the girl into a hug. “Hey, babe. Please ignore Ms. I’m Crabby Because Everyone Is Getting Into A Relationship But Me over there.” The Californian stated before pulling away and sitting back down at one of the vanities to finish her stage makeup.

Y/N couldn’t deny Sophia’s claim. Just last week, two of the ensemble members announced to the cast that they had been dating for six months, and over seven months ago, Sophia’s girlfriend, who just happened to be fucking Zendaya went public on Instagram, confirming what everyone was expecting; that the literal goddess was dating a Broadway member.

To be fair, Sicily had had a messy breakup a year prior, and was forced to cut a lot of people from her life who kept shitting on her for breaking up with her boyfriend. Y/N and Sophia were both relieved that the Londoner had broken off the relationship. Sicily’s ex radiated toxic masculinity, and verbally discussed his dislike for both Sophia and Y/N in front of their faces. Yeah. It was a lot.

Bored because the turntable on stage was refusing to work, Y/N decided to FaceTime Paddy to pass the time. During the whole call, Y/N was keeping her voice warm, and practiced harmonizing with Sophia and Sicily. After an announcement that the turntable was finally cooperating, Y/N rushed a goodbye to Paddy, and told him that the Hamilton Instagram page would be going live, so anyone could find out what goes on behind the scenes.

After running through their first dress rehearsal, and polishing up certain scenes, Alita, the stage manager had dismissed everyone. Y/N, Sicily, and Sophia made their way to their shared dressing rooms, wiping off their tear stained makeup. Sophia was taking off her ending dress, and Sicily was looking at her phone.

“Y/N, love, you are fucked.” Came the blunt voice of Sicily.

“Why?”

“It’s fucking snowing out, and it’s negative one degrees Celcius!”

“Fuck! I left my coat in Paddy’s car. Shit.”

Just as Sicily was about to make a teasing comment, Y/N’s phone went off, causing all three of them to jump.

“Bloody hell Y/N/N! Why is your ringer so loud?”

“Oh shut it Sicily. You’re ten times louder.”

“Only for you Soph!” Sicily remarked, with a wink.

“Shut up both of you! I’m trying to text Paddy back, and I can’t hear any of my thoughts!”

“Oops. Sorry.”

“Yeah. Sorry, love.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as the two continued to bicker quietly. She began typing intently, before pocketing her phone in her tote bag, and beginning to shed the layers of her Eliza costume. After the three women packed up, they all headed out the theatre doors, and hugged each other.

Sophia ran to Zendaya’s already familiar car, while Sicily hailed a taxi to take her to the tube. Y/N was still mentally cursing herself, as she wrapped her thin sweatshirt around her frame. “I really need to learn to wake up to my alarm.” The frozen girl muttered.

Waiting underneath the theatre awning for twenty minutes was probably the longest twenty minutes of Y/N’s twenty one years of life. As soon as she saw a car turn from the corner, approach the curb, and the sound of the horn, the actress immediately knew that it was Sora. How? Probably because she saw the girl cackling from the inside of the car.

As soon as she heard the horn of the car, Y/N was sprinting to her savior, and immediately throwing everything in the boot or trunk as she called it, into the car. Y/N, without hesitation, threw open the back door, and slammed it shut, with her teeth chattering, and her hair dusted in fastly melting snowflakes due to the heated temperature inside the car.

“Well don’t you look like Anna.” Sora teased from the front seat before taking off after Y/N had fastened her seatbelt.

“You are never going to let this go, are you? Just because I can sing Anna better than you does not make me her!” Y/N retaliated with a breathless laugh.

For the first time, Y/N glanced at Harry, and she instantly knew what Elizabeth Schuyler-Hamilton felt when she first saw Alexander. If she were in a musical, Y/N could guarantee she would break out into “Helpless”.

Unfortunately because life isn’t a musical, Y/N opted for a smile. And god was she thankful at that moment for the bitter cold. At least if she was called out on a blush, she could always blame it on the frigid weather.

Looking at Harry for the first time was indescribable. The way he smiled back at her was intoxicating, and while Y/N opted out for drinking, she felt as though she could get drunk on his smile. It was strange. How could one stranger make you feel this way in a matter of seconds?

An answer that both Harry nor Y/N knew at the moment...but that’s a story for the future.

Hearing his voice was like a prayer she didn’t know she needed to hear. Y/N had been compared to the sun since the day she was born. And when you think of the sun, you think of the day. And when you think of the day, you think of how much more social interaction goes on.

Most people assumed that Y/N was not a lonely person upon meeting her for the first time. Socially, Y/N probably knew almost everyone in Oahu. But romantically, the girl was so lonely. She was always that one friend who knew who was dating who, and gave out the best relationship advice despite never actually dating anyone.

Sure people had crushes on her, but no one looked at Y/N the way Harry did in the first few seconds. He looked at her like she was the only girl in the world. The only girl that truly mattered. For the first time ever in her life, Y/N felt like she was the most important person in the room...or in this case, the car.

From Paddy’s position in the front passenger seat, he could tell that his best friend, with whom he had grown to be super protective of, and his brother, who he had never seen look so lovesick, were taken. Even if they had just been introduced, they acted as if they had known each other since kindergarten. Paddy was definitely going to bring up how he was the perfect matchmaker at Sora and Harrison’s wedding, and eventually Y/N’s and Harry’s...but uh...again. A story for the future.

The car ride back to the house was filled with melodious laughter, lighthearted banter, and the occasional swears in English, Japanese, and Hawaiian.

As soon as Sora pulled up to the house and parked, everyone leaped out of the car, Y/N this time with her winter coat on, grabbed her garment bags and purse, while Harry kindly closed the door of the boot of the car.

The snow dusted group made it to the front door, and hurried inside, slamming the door shut, not wanting the warm air to escape. Sora and Y/N brushed off the white powder before hanging up their coats and scarves on the clothing hooks by the door.

Laughter and light bickering was heard in the living area, which caused a light smile to appear on Sora’s face. “Glad to see that they survived without us.”

Harry chuckled before helping Y/N with her garment bags, yelling a hello in the house, which caused a few thumps before Elysia came charging down the hall.

“Y/N/N!” The twenty-three-year old Brit launched herself onto Y/N causing the unsuspecting girl to tumble on the ground.

“Hey El! How’s life treating you?”

“Eh. You know. Same old, same old. How’re rehearsals?”

“Exhausting. In fact, I need to put them on and walk and dance in the stage heels we’re required to wear. We just got them delivered today.”

The rest of the group who had stayed behind, came down the hall and smiled when they saw Y/N on the floor with Elysia on top, still holding Y/N in a bone crushing hug.

Elysia, after another moment more, finally stood up, and helped the musical actress stand up. The two shared a giggle before Y/N looked up at the rest of the group.

As soon as Sam locked eyes with Y/N’s frame, the older twin immediately gasped before bouncing up and down in excitement. “Bloody hell! You’re Y/N Y/L/N! The insanely talented theatre foreign exchange student at LAMDA! Some of my friends who attend LAMDA always speak of you!”

Y/N blushed profusely at the sight of being recognized. “I wouldn’t say I’m that good though. Everyone is pretty much exaggerating.” She answered honestly.

Sam continued to shake his head. “No, I don’t think you understand. It’s extremely difficult to get a leading role as an underclassmen for a musical, but for a foreign exchange student of any age snagging a leading role is impossible!”

Y/N just shrugged her shoulders, before introducing herself to the rest of the group. “Uh. Hello. My name's Y/N and I’m playing Eliza Hamilton in Hamilton in a couple of months. I’m also studying at LAMDA, and booking some auditions on the side.” The girl stated softly, slightly intimidated by all of the gorgeous human beings in front of her.

As introductions had been passed around, Y/N was shown to a spare guest room by Harry and Tom where she could change into her historical ensemble and practice her singing and dancing in the studio that Tom had for practicing stunts in the backyard.

As soon as Y/N emerged from the guest room wearing the signature satin blue dress, a hush fell over the room. Any signs of conversations had ceased when they saw the sight of the satin baby blue dress hug the girl’s body.

“Holy fucking shit.” Harry muttered under his breath.

Let me know if you want to be tagged! If your username is struck through, it means that it won’t let me tag you!

Taglist:

@peeterparkr @tomhollandsotherpinkytoe @lovingisharry @hollanderfangirl @purpleskiesstorm @euphorichxlland @astridcommings @captainchrisstan @antigoneidk @moonstarsandsongs

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