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helnjk · 4 years

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I Never Planned On You - C.W.

Charlie Weasley x reader

This is part of my showtunes fic list based on the song I Never Planned On You from the musical Newsies 💗 also i am SUCH a simp for Charlie it’s crazy

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: when the twins bring their best friend to the burrow for christmas, charlie can’t keep his eyes off of her.

Warnings: very brief mentions of death (minor character) & the war, injuries from dragons (?), mentions of food & alcohol consumption

I’ve got no use for moonlight, or sappy poetry

Girls are nice, once or twice,

Til I find someone new

The pub was unusually packed, Charlie noticed.

As he scanned around the crowded room, his friends idly chatted around him. This was their usual routine, every Friday they would clock out of work and make their way here for a round of drinks and some fish and chips.

He hadn’t noticed until she was directly in front of him, but one of the girls he saw around the reserve had made their way over.

“Hello Charlie,” She drawled, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder, “It’s so nice to run into you here.”

Despite the freezing temperature and the fact that everyone else was dressed comfortably, having come straight from work, the girl was wearing barely anything. Not that it mattered what any bird wore, as long as they felt confident in it and in themselves. But, as she bent down to be eye to eye with him, her breasts practically spilled over from her too tight top.

It was obvious what she was trying to do.

His friends watched with amused glints in their eyes, already knowing how this interaction would go. Her appearance was not out of the ordinary. Despite each incident involving a different bird, they had seen this kind of thing happen quite often when they went out with Charlie.

“Erm, hello,” He muttered, trying not to make eye contact, “Louise right?”

Her attempt at a sultry conversation was shattered as she replied, “It’s Leanne.”

“Right.”

Sensing that he was not at all interested in whatever was going on, Leanne huffed and turned on her heel. She angrily strode across the room, making as much noise and ruckus as possible, just to get a reaction out of the redhead, but her attempts were futile.

Mark, one of Charlie’s friends, let out a low whistle as the girl left hearing distance, “That one was rather presumptuous, don’t you think mate?”

Charlie let out a soft chuckle, “I don’t understand why they all think they can pull the same move and expect me to react any differently.”

“They’re all hoping to be the lucky one that the Charlie Weasley falls for, or some other crap like that,” He winked, taking a swig of his beer.

“Reckon that won’t happen for a long time yet, mate.” The redhead replied.

“You never know, Charlie boy!”

He merely shook his head and took a sip of his drink. Dating wasn’t really on his mind anyway.

Love at first sight’s for suckers

At least it used to be

The crack of apparition sounded through the pale morning light.

Charlie landed steadily on his feet as he appeared on the top of a hill, just on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. Nothing had really changed since the last time he visited, the same silhouettes of different houses littered the landscape, the same sleepy neighbors about to begin their day. The familiarity of it all blazed in his heart like a warm fire at the end of a cold day, comforting and all consuming.

The Burrow stood proud and tall in the horizon, and he couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips. He was home. It was the Christmas holidays, the war had ended, and he was home.

He took his time, trudging up through the blanket of snow surrounding the house. Smoke rose from the chimney signalling that his mum was already puttering about in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the army of people no doubt housed under her roof.

“Mum!” He yelled as soon as he crossed the threshold, “Mum, I’m home!”

As he banished the remaining snow on his boots with a wave of his wand, Molly Weasley came bustling out the kitchen door. Apron adorning her waist and a smidge of flour flecked on her fiery hair, she grinned and opened her arms.

“Charlie,” She said as he bent down to wrap his arms around her in an embrace, “Oh love, it’s so good to see you!”

“You too, mum.” He smiled at her, “Anyone else here yet?”

From eldest to youngest, she listed off the plans of each of her children and where they were to spend the holidays. Everyone would be ‘round on Christmas and Boxing day, but the only ones spending the night that day, Christmas Eve, were the twins, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. The younger ones of the bunch had arrived the day prior, but were still asleep from what she knew.

Charlie nodded his head before he was sent away to unpack his things in his old room. His mum had kept it just as he left it, even though it had been many years since he moved to Romania. She said something about not being bothered to think of anything to turn it in to, but he knew that she kept it for nostalgia’s sake.

As he made his way back down the stairs, the commotion at the front of the house caught his attention. Fred and George had arrived, noisily announcing their appearance, taking off coats and scarves and calling out to their mum. However, Charlie could also just barely see the outline of a third person behind them.

She was nearly a head shorter than the twins, but when she came into view, he felt the air get knocked out of him. The light streaming in from the open door behind her seemed to glow in a halo around her, her eyes lighting up at whatever the twins had said and a laugh falling from her lips.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on.

The twins took notice of Charlie’s presence, as he was paused halfway down the stairs, and called out to him.

“Oi, Charlie!” George called, making his way to his older brother, “Nice to see you, mate! How’ve you been?”

“Good-erm, good yeah.” He managed to stutter out, head still spinning at the sight of the beautiful girl, “What have you lot been up to, then? Who’ve you brought over?”

“This is Y/N,” Fred said, motioning to his best friend.

At the introduction, she smiled brightly and held out her hand for Charlie to shake, “I work with the twins at the shop, nice to meet you.”

Charlie spotted Fred and George roll their eyes playfully.

“Oh come off it,” Fred nudged her before turning to his older brother, “We’ve been mates with this one since Hogwarts. She was usually the one getting us in trouble, though.”

“Oi!” She laughed, “Don’t make me sound like the bad influence, I was a perfectly good student.”

As Charlie watched their interaction, he had flashes of a little girl always in step with the twins and causing mischief in the halls of Hogwarts during his last few years there. Back then, she had only been a child, bright eyed and inquisitive, but now she had grown into a woman, confident and sure.

“Nice to meet you,” He murmured as their eyes locked, “The more the merrier around here.”

He might have been imagining things, but he swore he could see the faint beginnings of a blush creeping onto Y/N’s cheeks.

The ruckus made from the twins & Y/N’s entrance was enough to wake the rest of the inhabitants of the household. It seemed like the Christmas celebrations had begun early as they all clambered into the slightly too small kitchen table and had a meal together.

For the rest of the day, Molly had them all helping out in preparation for the real celebratory meal the next day. Charlie hadn’t had the time to strike up a conversation with Y/N and instead settled with (not so) subtle glances her way.

Once or twice, one of the twins would catch onto his game and send him knowing looks. He paid them no mind, though, being used to their antics.

“So Charlie,” Fred began, as the family was settling in around the living room after dinner, “Y/N, huh?”

The pair of them leant against the wall in the corner of the room, away from any prying eyes or ears.

“Shove off, mate.” He replied with a slight shake of his head and his lips barely twitching into a smile.

The younger brother rolled his eyes playfully, “It’s alright. Georgie and I have been fending off boys for years with our Y/N. She’s quite fit, but no guy’s been good enough for her in our eyes, or in hers I reckon.”

“Don’t you go playing the protective best friend on me now, I haven’t even done anything!” Charlie playfully shoved his shoulder against his brother’s.

“Nah, I’d never. Just wanted to tell you that she’s never been romantically involved with anyone.”

“Well, that makes the two of us then.”

The Burrow was uncharacteristically silent as Charlie crept down the staircase. It was definitely past midnight, but he hadn’t been able to fall asleep, tossing and turning from the moment his head met the pillow.

He paused for a moment as he reached the bottom, not expecting to see light filtering through the open kitchen door at this time of night. His heart only picked up its pace as he noticed that it was Y/N who was sat by the counter, nursing a cup of tea in her hands and staring out the window.

“Care for any company?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe.

He noticed her body jump slightly at the noise, but when she turned to face him, the smile she sent in his direction could light up any room, “I’ve just heard from a certain redhead that around here, the more the merrier.”

“Fred tell you that?”

Her laugh was a sound he knew he would never tire of hearing, “And I see cheekiness runs in the family as well.”

“Nah,” Charlie shrugged, taking the seat across from her, “It’s our good looks that you should be watching out for.”

He flicked his wand and the kettle began to boil once more as a mug floated its way towards the counter. The pair of them had settled into a peaceful silence, taking in the comforting atmosphere of the winter night.

It was Charlie who finally broke the silence, “So, how’s it been working with the twins at the shop? They drive you mad yet?”

She gave him a knowing smile, “When you’ve spent nearly seven years in close quarters with them, you tend to get used to it. Plus it’s good to have steady company, especially when it comes in the form of Fred and George.”

“What about your family? How’re they spending the holidays then?”

The moment the question escaped Charlie’s lips, he knew he had made a mistake. The light in Y/N’s eyes seemed to dim and her grip on the mug in front of her seemed to tighten.

“Oh I’m sorry, you don’t have to–” He began.

“No it’s alright,” She assured him, “My parents died in the war. I was going to spend the holidays alone, but the twins refused to even entertain the thought.”

“Well, I’m glad they brought you along this year.” He sent her a timid smile.

“Me too.”

But I never planned on someone like you

Christmas comes and goes in a flurry of cable knit sweaters and too much food. Y/N and Charlie found themselves tucked away in a corner or out in the snowy landscape taking a walk together more often than not. A quiet conversation at the dead of night did wonders for their budding friendship.

It was as if they were magnets now, drawn to each other in a way that couldn’t be explained.

Sooner than he’d like, Charlie found himself in one of the Ministry offices, hand tightly gripped onto a portkey.

As he settled back into his daily routine at the dragon reserve, his mind often wandered to Y/N. The way her eyes lit up when she saw the snow fall, how her smile bloomed at any of the twins’ (albeit not so funny) jokes, the little crinkle in her nose when she had a particular thought in mind.

“Look out, mate!”

He only had a second to react as he saw one of the younger Welsh Greens open its mouth and shoot flames in his direction. Charlie had been so distracted by his thoughts that despite his best effort and his exceptional flying skills, he still felt flames lick his skin and singe his clothes.

Full of adrenaline, he managed to land his broom properly before rolling onto the grass and performing the protocol for accidents such as these. Mark reached him quickly, as the rest of the team he was with went to settle the dragon down. A quick aguamenti charm at the still burning areas of Charlie’s clothes got rid of the remaining flames, but he still suffered a few burns and scrapes.

“You alright, mate?” Mark asked, helping the redhead get to his feet, “I think we’ve still got to get you to the infirmary for those burns.”

“Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” He smiled, wincing slightly as his clothes rubbed against the new burns on his skin.

As it was protocol for the reserve to inform next of kin of serious injuries, Molly Weasley received an owl detailing the accident and the procedures done to make sure that Charlie was well taken care of.

When she received it, she just so happened to have Y/N over for some tea. As the matriarch of the Weasley family couldn’t help but be drawn to children who had lost their parents in unfortunate circumstances, she made it a point to have her over every once in a while.

“Charlie’s hurt?” Y/N asked, concern leaking into her voice. She had peered over Molly’s shoulder to see what could be so urgently delivered from Romania.

Molly tried to hide her smile as she noticed how much Y/N cared for her son. She wasn’t the only one who took note of how quickly they were drawn to each other over the holidays, and she was thrilled at the thought of Charlie finding someone to love.

Of course, she knew it wasn’t love just yet.

“Got a few burns from one of their younger dragons, it says,” Molly clarified, “He’s confined in their infirmary until further notice. Usually we’re allowed to visit them when we get a notice like this, but I don’t think I’d have the time to go this week… And I don’t want to bother Arthur, he’s been so busy these days with the Ministry as well.”

Having been around Molly for much of her Hogwarts years, Y/N knew exactly what she was doing. But she couldn’t deny the flutters in her stomach when she realized that the person she looked up to as basically her second mother was trying to push her into the arms of her second eldest son.

“Molly,” She began, already set to turn down the offer.

Mrs. Weasley was quick to the chase, however, “Oh I hope he wouldn’t feel too bad, being injured and not having anyone come to visit him.”

A small chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips as she shook her head, “I’m sure he’s got friends over at the reserve.”

“Oh Y/N, but I know he’d love to have you over!” She protested, “And I know the twins would let you go and visit him as well. I would be truly grateful if someone from the family could visit him and come home with news.”

Y/N’s resolve faltered as she noticed that Molly had said she was family. The Weasleys had been practically her second family the moment the twins took her under their wing, but hearing the family matriarch say it so casually moved something in her heart.

“Oh alright.” Y/N smiled, “I’ve never been to Romania, might as well go and see what all the fuss is about.”

The infirmary wasn’t new to Charlie.

Working with dragons was a little more high risk than his mother would’ve liked, but his love for magical creatures overrode whatever concerns she might have had. It helped that everyone working in the place was a top notch healer and got him patched up in no time.

Still, he found himself on bedrest for at least the next few days as he waited for the various balms and soothing creams applied to his skin to work.

Just as he began to feel a little stifled and antsy, a knock on the door rang and the familiar head of one of his healers popped in, “Looks like you’ve got a visitor, mate.”

Charlie furrowed his brows, “But, my mum said she couldn’t come ‘round and visit–”

“Sorry to disappoint, love.”

The sound of her voice was enough to fill his heart with immeasurable joy. In that moment, he forgot all about the uncomfortable sting of his burns and the itch he had to get out of the ward and onto the field again.

“Y/N?” He asked, as she stepped into the room, looking as radiant as when he first met her, “What’re you doing here?”

“Molly said that you were injured,” She shrugged, nonchalant, “Just thought I’d keep you company while you recovered.”

“You came all the way to Romania just so that I wouldn’t be bored out of my mind?”

“Well when you say it like that, it sounds like I went through loads of trouble! I just got the next portkey out of Britain.”

Despite all appearances, the two of them bantered with each other with rapidly beating hearts. Charlie couldn’t believe that his own mum had sent the bird he was pining after to visit him in the infirmary. Y/N couldn’t believe that she had actually gone through with the plan and was going to be around the boy who caught her eye.

As soon as she took a seat next to his bed, though, their conversation flowed from where it left off. No awkwardness or uncomfortable pauses, just the two of them chatting as if they were still back in the Burrow, nursing warm mugs of tea and watching snow fall outside the window.

Y/N had to avert her eyes when the healer came back to redress his bandages, not because she was embarrassed to see him practically naked in front of her, but because seeing the burns nearly made her gasp out loud. She knew that he was a dragon tamer, but she hadn’t known the severity of what accidents on the job looked like.

Of course, he noticed and once the healer had left them again he said, “I’m alright, love. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be all patched up in no time!”

“Yeah,” She nodded, “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Without thinking, she reached out and took his hand in hers. The both of them looked at their intertwined hands atop the stark white bed sheets. His skin was calloused and rough, she noted, but tender and gentle too. It was evident that he enjoyed what he did and he did it with a lot of care.

“Tell you what,” He stage-whispered, finally meeting her eyes, “I know what’ll help me feel better.”

“Oh yeah? What?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to him and playing along.

“For you to go on a date with me once I get out of here.”

“You are something else, Weasley.” Her eyes glimmered as she shook her head, and Charlie felt his heart hammering in his chest, “If you weren’t injured, I would’ve shoved you off this bed.”

“You didn’t give me an answer, Y/L/N.” He replied, hoping that he didn’t come off as too eager, but still squeezing her hand to show that he was serious.

“Of course I will, you silly man!” She rolled her eyes, but pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

She relished in the way that simple gesture brought a rosy pink tinge to his skin.

#kai's showtunes fics #charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley imagines #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley fics #charlie weasley fic #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x y/n #hp fanfiction #tw injury #tw mention of death #tw food #tw food mention #tw alcohol #tw alcohol mention

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gingerteaonthetardis · 3 years

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Hiya, darling! I hope your day/week will improve!

Here's what I want to ask:

1) top 5 items of clothing (your favourites, or maybe something from your own wardrobe)

2) top 5 comfort food

It will get better, love! 💌

thank you, dear. you're so sweet! 💚 i know things will get better soon. just trying to ride it out in the meantime...

but okay, i love talking about my favorite clothes, because my closet is my happy place!! pictures:

5) not shown, but... my rip-off birkenstocks, which i just got a few weeks ago. i basically haven't taken them off since i opened the box, they're so comfy.

4) my madewell denim shorts that got second-hand about... four years ago? best $15 + shipping i ever spent. they're black, paint-splattered, perpetually wrinkled from how often i wear them, and my mum-in-law hemmed the cuffs for me last summer, but she doesn't actually know how to sew any better than i do, so they turned out delightfully crooked.

3) my dark green, incredibly holey men's XL st. john's bay sweater, which i thrifted back in college. it's my comfort clothing item, my go-to when i'm sad or stressed or cold. funny story: the brand is so common around where i grew up that my brother thrifted an identical sweater and one time we both wore them to a family function.

2) my linen bloomers!! i got them from an etsy shop called bloemlinen and i wear them alllll the time. they're this lovely shade of pistachio green and wearing them brings me so much joy.

1) my top piece of clothing of basically all time, purely because i'm happy every single time i see it and it brightens my day to wear it, is my smokey the bear t-shirt!! i got it for... $7? maybe? at some department store back near where i grew up. i saw it on the rack and had to have it. it says "be careful, there are babes in the forest," and shows smokey surrounded by a bunch of adorable animals, and the serotonin this cheap ass shirt gives me is incalculable.

onto the next part! top five comfort foods...

5) mac and cheese, because i am apparently a toddler!! i have a dairy allergy, so i have to find alternatives, but when i get my hands on a good box, it always brightens my day.

4) fresh-baked bread. it makes me feel so at home, so warm and cozy, and i make it for myself as much as possible. rye bread is my go-to, since i can't tolerate much gluten without getting sick.

3) is it strange of me to say broccoli??? it's basically my favorite vegetable, and i will occasionally treat a head of broccoli like it's a meal, lmao. we keep a never-ending supply of it in our freezer so i never run out of it in dire mental health situations, where i don't have the spoons to prepare it myself.

2) avocado, basically on anything. on toast, as guacamole, on salads, in a sushi roll, just... any opportunity for me to eat an avocado, i will take.

1) peanut stew!! the origins of the recipe are in west africa, but i had it for the first time when my mum-in-law made it for supper. it's a very hearty, rich stew with so many wonderful warming flavors in it. lots of garlic and ginger, and of course, peanut butter! i made it for myself for the first time this winter, and i'm pretty sure i temporarily ascended, it made me so happy. and it's super forgiving as a recipe, so you can substitute lots of things. for example, i don't put chicken or really any meat in mine, and i used a bunch of different kinds of beans!

#thank you so much for the ask dear!! you motivated me to get up and get out of my pyjamas and into some clothes that bring me joy :)#abbey.txt #deardiary17 #ask game

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divagonzo · 4 years

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Treat you like a Chicken

From this post here, I got a wild hair and felt a ficlet ready to run with it.

It’s been a while since I've published anything but since I’ve been deep in writer’s block for months, I won’t complain.

Set in the Vows Universe (and thus Molly is still in therapy for her long-neglected PTSD) and rated PG-13 / 15 / T for language, dark themes, and references to character deaths. Ace Safe. Caveat Emptor.

Still waiting on my blasted Demarcation line

A long gong rung in the kitchen, breaking her rhythm while peeling potatoes and parsnips for the meal this evening. The ham was in the cooling cabinet and so were the pudding that Arthur asked for earlier. She couldn't resist him, even after thirty years of marriage.

"It must be those gnomes again, trying to get through the boundary wards in the orchard." She put on her housecoat over her apron and dress, having thrown it on out of habit. She checked the pocket of her apron, feeling the comforting wood under her fingertips and the magic through the wand bristle the nerves in her hand.

Ever since the war ended, Bill checked the property monthly to make sure the charms were still working effectively. Anyone trying to cross them who didn’t have Weasley blood in them would, well, let’s say that they would need to get to St. Mungo’s straightaway if they wished to not turn into a gnome within twenty four hours.

It hadn't been too long, only a few months really, since her ordeal with Rabastan Lestrange and surviving everything that followed that trying time. Andromeda was a huge help and so was Audrey. She never realized how much she carried on her heart and soul for so long and how much impact it had on all the kids. She thanked her stars that everyone understood all too well and accepted what she was going through.

Molly toddled to the door, wand in hand, ready to send the gnomes that lived near the orchard outside of the family boundary lines since Arthur was getting up in years and she didn't want her parsnips to get eaten before they were ready for harvest. The dropped apples were fine but not the parsnips.

She stepped outside, letting the kitchen door close and walked around the back of the house, ready to do battle with gnomes when her eyes fell upon two black robed figured, their wands pointed downward, and looking right at her.

A wordless spell flew from her wand instantly, flowing fast as thought. She'd not lost her nerve, not in the years since the war ended or her recovery from her ordeal. Instantly, one was immobilized, falling to the ground, his arms and legs frozen in the moment. Owein apparated a few feet away, trying to dodge the furious amount of spells flying his way. Every time he tried to plant his feet to cast a spell at the dumpy witch she’d buzz one right past his ears that he didn’t want to find out what it did. But he couldn't leave his friend Charlie behind, not if he hoped to pick up the bounty that was on Potter's head.

They said she was a housewife, damn it, not a dragon clad in human skin.

He apparated again, landing on the other side of an Oak tree, hiding behind the enormous trunk and hoping he could get a shot off. He’d stun her, wake Charlie up, and then they’d apparate back to Leyton, in London, to send the ransom Patronus.

Everyone they’d gone after for the bloody bounty was kicking their arse. How the bloody fuck did these people manage everything they’d done, not being the Muggle fuckers they are.

He looked down and saw three gnomes crawling up his robes, biting him wherever they could get a purchase. He screamed, feeling the sodding bastard bite down on a rather tender bit before getting hit in the face with a metal bowl. He tripped backward over a root, falling arse first into a huge pile of dragon dung, used to nourish the soil of the garden.

He rolled over, trying to keep from gagging from the stench filling his nostrils and as he opened his eyes, he saw the furious face of Molly Weasley standing over his body, dousing him with hundreds of pounds of parsnip and potato peels, some reeking of having been in a compost pile for probably months now. He froze, seeing her wand casually pointed at his nose.

He gulped.

She frowned and lowered her voice and a cedar wand pointed at his nose. "Who sent you after me?" her voice was as cold as a Scottish Loch in the middle of the deepest winter. "Tell me now."

"If I tell, they will kill me."

"They aren't here right now, are they? Tell me now."

"I can't tell," he whimpered. “I took an Unbreakable Vow.”

Her voice grew soft, so soft he strained to hear her. "You do know that self-defense is a legitimate reason to use the killing curse. And by your appearance, you're the ones who went after Andromeda, Teddy, and Luna. Now tell me who, otherwise you will cease to exist," Molly bent over his face, her features screwing up like he Mum used to do, "and they will never, ever find your remains."

“I can’t.”

She smiled and he felt his spine seize up. “You can’t be more than, what, 17? You’re probably too young to remember,” her voice dropped to a whisper. “Mummy probably scared you to stay into bed by telling you that Bellatrix Lestrange would come kidnap you if you got out of bed, yes, or that You know Who would take you away if you didn’t finish dinner?”

He nodded, barely.

“I killed Bellatrix in a dual, by myself. Now tell me.”

He uttered a name and felt... nothing happen. Those bastards. They tricked him into thinking he'd taken an Unbreakable Vow. Everything he’d done was because of what he thought was a bloody Unbreakable Vow.

He watched her point her wand back at his heart. "When you wake, you will be in custody at the Ministry. You told the truth and don’t deserve to share my Fred’s face." She motioned with her left hand and he saw the white marble stone bench a couple of feet from his head. He turned back to see a lone tear falling down her cheek. “I’d suggest never returning here again. I won’t be so kind next time.”

A red beam shot out of her wand, stunning him unconscious.

He woke sometime later, feeling like someone had dropped a hippogriff on his head, while sharing a cell with Charlie and facing down a rather irate Auror Ron Weasley and a bemused Auror Harry Potter.

“Glad to see you back Charlie, Owein.” Potter pushed the glasses back up his nose.

“I see you tried to go after Mum.” Ron’s smile was frightening. He saw where he got the smile from. “You’re lucky she didn’t treat you like the chickens we have for Sunday dinner.”

#Dragon's Fic #hpfic #Molly Weasley #Harry J Potter #Ron Weasley #OC's #Vows universe story #Rated PG / 15 for language #and some dark themes #mentions of character deaths #Hope y'all like it #Gotta get back to studying #Dragon's Post

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biihoebi · 4 years

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@newsiesgiftexchange

for @what-goesaround-comesaround for the Newsies Winter Gift Exchange 2020

aaaah ok so this unbetad because usually I bully you into betaing my stuff so it's quite stream of consciousness but whateverr. also maybe I took some creative liberties on the historical accuracy but who cares

(its kind of a shit show but shhhh Irish Spot)

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read on ao3 here

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While it was Jack's father who taught him not to starve it was his mother who taught him the value of his heritage. Which is why when the new kid at the lodging house was sitting at the end of his bed, distressed over a throwaway comment Albert had made, Jack was doing his best to comfort them.

"He said I was losing my accent" Rua had all but wailed. "How can I be Irish without me accent. And Granda said he used to have flaming hair like mine before it went dark with age. Then I won't even look Irish." they continued.

"But yer Irish by blood not by hair or by voice. I mean my hair ain't red but you'd be hard pressed tryna tell me I isn't Irish." Jack sighed. "Look, I've never stepped foot in Ireland, youse is ahead of me there, but my Mam kept it alive in the stories she told. Some were legends and some were just memories of her and her siblings getting into all sorts of trouble in the fields. And I can speak Irish just as good as the next guy, no matter what Spot Conlon says" he finished. Rua let out a short sniffle.

"But my Mam works in a factory. I never see her no more" they said wiping their face with their sleeve.

"We ain't the same, I'm Irish sure but I was born here. Youse is better off asking Spot about this, he was born in Dublin, didn't come here til he was about 8. And seeing as Albert started this whole mess he can be the one to go to Brooklyn to deliver the message after he's done selling. Now it's time for newsies to go to bed, you ain't no use selling if your half asleep." Jack declared.

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To a bright eyed and bushy tailed Rua morning couldn't come soon enough and neither could the circulation bell nor could the final sell of the day. By the time Albert left for Brooklyn every newsie in Manhattan knew about it and was sick of hearing about it.

"Just because Albert's gone today, don't mean Spots gonna visit today. Heck he mightn't even visit at all. Do youse really think this is a big enough deal for the King of Brooklyn to take time out of his busy sche-

"Stop shit stirring Boots" Jack interrupted sternly. "Just because Spot doesn't like Brits like you doesn't mean he won't help out a fellow Paddy" he joked. At that Boots straightened his back

"I'll have you know Mr Kelly that Spot Conlon said I's is the best 'Brit' he knows" he said, smugly straightening an imaginary tie.

"Best of a rotten bunch" a new voice chimed in. Every newsie in the room suddenly started scrambling to look half presentable. "I got your message Kelly, now where's the young wayne?" the person continued. In response Jack stepped aside revealing Rua, who had been hiding behind his legs.

"I-I'm Rua" they stuttered out. The man crouched down to their eye level.

"I'm Spot Conlon, but I thought youse was supposed to be Irish. Where's me 'dia duit'? It's like you ain't even tryin'. No wonder youse losing yer accent" Spot said. That did nothing to help the already nervous wreck that Rua was.

Spot shot up suddenly, shooing everyone but Jack, Rua, Crutchie and Race out. He sat down on the middle bed and kicked his feet up, gesturing for everyone to follow. Ever the rebel Race decided to lean against the bunk instead while the rest settled into the surrounding beds. "Look, Jack says youse is struggling with moving on with yer life while staying Irish. I went through the same thing when I first came 'nd look at me now, King of New York"

"King of Brooklyn" Race coughed out which Spot shot daggers at him for.

"I'se is the King of New York, don't let no street rat tell you otherwise" he spat "but I wasn't always, I was once a youngin like you, fresh off the boat with only my poor parents and a sack full of stuff between us…"

——————————————————————–

The dock bustled with workers and passengers alike. Some leaving but most stepping off boats and into their new lives. Among those coming off was a young Seán Conlon. With wild hair and big eyes filled with the wonder and excitement of seeing somewhere beyond the slums of Dublin. It was an outbreak of TB amongst the tenements that did it in for his parents.

Seán didn't have long to admire the new world he had just entered before his hand was grabbed and he was dragged off into a long line filled with fellow immigrants. Hours passed before the tired young boy would make it through the front door to his new home. It was a small one room apartment completely unlivable by today's standard but to someone from the worst slums in Europe it might as well have been Buckingham. "Go bhfoire Dia orainn, tá sé linne!! Níl aon theaghlach eile ina gconaionn liomsa?" Seán gawked in awe.

"Tá, ach bí curamach, níl cead agat bí ag caint as gaeilge nuair a tá tú taobh amuigh" his father responded.

"Cén fáth?"

"Mar ní maith a lán daoiní, duine eile ag caint as gaeilge agus sin é sin a bhfuil."

"Ceart go leor"

That night Seán lay awake in his bed wondering why anyone could dislike speaking Irish. Well besides the British but Uncle Seamus always said that their opinion didn't matter and that he and a few of his friends from the Irish Republican Brotherhood would soon rid Ireland of them. Whatever that meant. His father would always laugh alongside and say 'that would be the day' while his mother would give out to him for encouraging Seamus.

It wouldn't be for a few weeks that Seán would find out what his dad was talking about. He was out selling papers to help make ends meet, as small as the room was all three of them had to work hard in order to pay for it. He stood there waiting at the gate for the circulation bell to ring, when it happened. On his first day one of the older kids taught him a few tricks and gave him a few pieces of advice. One of those pieces was 'stay away from Acton Williams'. An unspoken rule he had managed to avoid up until that point.

Acton had walked right into him, dropping a strange wooden item in the process. Seán liked to think that his mother raised him right so he apologized and bent down to pick up the trinket

"Brón orm" he mumbled as he crouched, item in hand.

"The fuck you say to me?" Acton grunted. Seán froze realising his mistake and everyone went silent at the sound of Acton's voice.

"I was just saying sorry" Seán rushed out, trying desperately not to get baited so soon after joining the newsies. Acton let out a laugh.

"That's not what you said though is it?" he said " see I think youse was speaking some stupid language from the stupid country you came from. So I'mma ask again 'the fuck you say to me?"

"I said 'brón orm', you heard me the first time," Seán said, gaining confidence. It was one thing to be intimidated by an older kid who would definitely knock your block off but his Nan taught him better than to let someone talk shite about Ireland. Acton scoffed.

"I pity the Mum who raised such a rude brat " he spat taking a step towards Seán.

"Yeah well I pity the Mam who gave birth to such an ugly ogre"

And they were off! Acton could easily outrun Seán's tiny legs so his only hope was to lose him with twists and turns through the back alleys and busy streets. After what felt like hours of running, Seán finally ran into a deadend. Turning to face a panting Acton, Seán gulped and started reciting any and all prayers he could think of to any saints that popped into his head. In fact it wasn't until Seán went to clasp his hands in prayer that he noticed what he had picked up earlier.

A slingshot!!

Grabbing the nearest rock Seán loaded the sling. 'Dear St Anthony, pleeaassee help me find the ability to aim well' he prayed as he scrunched his eyes shut and released.

The next thing Seán heard was the large thump an unconscious Actons body made as it hit the ground. Opening his eyes to examine the noise he had heard Seán was shocked to see his feeble attempt at fighting back was actually a success. Seán quickly pocketed the slingshot and left before Acton had time to wake up.

——————————————————————–

"...and that's what it means to be Irish" Spot finished proudly

"Beating up British people is what it means to be Irish?" Rua said in awe of Spot's story. Spot grinned.

"See, this kid gets it" he joked, ruffling Ruas hair.

"That was a lovely story yer highness but how is that surppsoed to help 'em keep their accent" Race chipped in.

"Well what about you then Higgins if you have so much to say? D'you have any stories worth listening to?"

"What about being Italian? Well I-"

"Italian? Are ye not Irish?"

"No? What made you think that?"

"Yer surname is Higgins"

"Yeah, Higgins is a classic Italian name"

Jack and Spot made eye contact for a good minute before bursting out laughing. "Yer telling me this entire time youse never knew you was Irish?" Jack choked out between laughs. Even Rua stifled a giggle.

"My own mam was a Higgin, Racetrack" Spot roared. "Yee just can't make this stuff up" he said wiping a tear from his eye. Race's face was a brilliant red as he sputtered out excuses.

"Yer just joking, right guys? Right guys??"

——————————————————————–

BONUS :

At the gates the next morning Seán stood there absolutely shitting bricks. What had happened yesterday had been a stroke of luck but if Acton decided to continue the fight he was dead meat.

"Wait, is that Williams? No way what's with the giant bruise on his forehead?" a voice spoke interrupting Seán's train of thought.

"No way that's a bruise, he doesn't get those" another shot back. Soon a whole symphony of voices were arguing over whether it was a bruise or not.

"Wait a minute, weren't you getting chased by him yesterday, newbie? How come there's not a scratch on ya, and why's there only a big bruise on him?" the first voice said piecing the puzzle together. Soon everyone was crowding around Seán, looking for the story of what happened.

"Look nothing really happened" Seán reassured trying to downplay the situation "he chased me for a bit before I eventually shot him with this sling and he passed out on the spot."

Apparently telling them he knocked out the bully of the newsies was not the right thing to say to defuse the situation. Some started cheering for him others just rolled their eyes at his story.

"He clearly made that up on the spot" one voice chiming in.

"Nah, look at Acton, that's a massive bruise, obviously from being shot with a sling" another rebutted. Eventually the crowd settled a bit and someone had the common sense to ask for his name.

"Oh! I'm Seán." he responded. Everyone groaned.

"Not yer real one, yer newsies one" someone said. After Seán told them he didn't have one, everyone put their thinking caps on.

"Let's call him Spot, 'cause we'll never really know if he knocked him down on the spot or made up that story on the spot."

#boots newsies #jack kelly #livesies #newsies live #crutchie morris #jack newsies #race higgins #racetrack higgins #albert newsies #albert dasilva #spot newsies #spot conlon #newsies holiday exchange

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allie1804-fan · 4 years

Text

A Doorway is Opened (Chapter 2)

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It was June 2020 and progress was being made with plans to re-open film production - Keanu would soon be heading back to Germany to continue shooting the Matrix 4. With the lock-down restrictions on meeting friends lifting, Keanu invited Hannah to dinner at his house. He even cooked - a dish of spaghetti with prawns, fresh tomato and lemon that his sister had taught him. This would be their first meeting in 2 months and their last in 2 months due to the shooting schedule.

After dinner, they went through to his living room and sat on the sofa to talk through the latest draft of the script.

“So, you’re glad I pushed you on this aren’t you? Gave you something to do in lock-down huh?”

“Yeah OK you win”, she laughed. “I’m grateful to you for giving me the confidence to try”

She carried on:

“You know these past couple of months I’ve felt like the clouds have lifted, the clouds of grief …. and I know that’s partly just time passing but it’s also thanks to you and your friendship” she spoke in an almost whisper. When she met his gaze he was blushing again!

“The screenplay gave me a real focus for the first time since Mark died you know other than helping the boys and just putting one foot in front of the other”

He nodded his understanding

“I kind of feel like a plant coming back to life after a long dark winter”

He smiled to think he’d helped her to loosen grief’s grip on her soul.

“I heard a theory about this before. They said that your grief is always the same, the same size and just as painful but your life grows around it and cushions the pain”

Keanu nodded his agreement

“For me” he said, “sometimes my grief bursts forth like an alien from my chest when I least expect it. I hope we find a way to express your concept in the movie when it’s made - I love it so much. You have some beautiful ways of explaining grief”

“Well like I said, that one’s not mine, it’s just one I found that really resonated with me”

“You’re too modest”

They looked at each other. Somehow, the atmosphere had changed with the sharing of such deep feelings. Keanu looked at her, soft brown eyes holding hers for a few moments longer than felt comfortable. Suddenly he shook his head as if a shiver went through him

“Where are my manners, would you like some more wine”

“I better not, I’m driving and I’ve already had one glass” she said.

“You could always sleep over, in the spare room I mean, I mean I’m not hitting on you or anything, not that I wouldn’t want to, oh God! ……….”

By this point, Hannah had started laughing at his befuddlement and he started to giggle as well.

“Sorry for being such a dork – could you stay though?” he beseeched her with his eyes, or do you need to be back for the kids?, I know I sound like I’m begging, I kind of am I guess ……….. it would just be nice to talk some more ………. I mean what with we me going away for 2 months, Facetime just isn’t the same!”

Hannah took pity on him and placed her hand on top of his and stroked it softly

“1 I don’t need to be back for the boys, they’re at their grandparents this week and so 2, yes I could sleep over and 3 yes please, more wine!”

Keanu beamed and leapt up to fetch the bottle from the kitchen.

“What were we talking about before I started being a total dork?!

Hannah chuckled “oh grief, death, our usual cheery stuff!”

“Oh yes, of course we were, what else is there after all?!”

A ghost of a smiled showed on Hannah’s face.

“Do you mind telling me some more about Mark? How long were you together”

“Wow, over 30 years - we were just kids when we met, literally in elementary school. But we didn’t go out until I was 17, nearly 18. I guess I kind of stalked him until he caved in! We knew we were in love about a month in I guess and we got engaged whilst at uni but married just after. I was 23 so we had been married 27 years when he died”

“Wow you were so young to be getting married!”

“I know right! - when I think Toby is already nearly that age, it freaks me out big time. Anyway, I guess you almost know the rest, from the book. We were lucky in so many ways to find each other and stay in love throughout.

A comfortable silence fell as she reflected and wondered about his romantic history. She hoped their current intimacy meant it would be OK to ask.

“What about you? Who have been your big loves, if it’s OK to ask”

“Sure – I mean I think I can be confident of not seeing any of this in next week’s National Enquirer! Let me see, errrrm there was Penny. She drove with me from Toronto to LA when I left there to pursue my career. It wasn’t exactly serious - she knew how focussed on my acting I was, but she was special, my first steady girlfriend I guess.”

Keanu then told her about a few other steady girlfriends in the 80’s and early 90s. None of them had lasted beyond a year. Film and promotional schedules often overtook his time and took him away from LA making it hard to sustain relationships.

“And then there was Jennifer. We had a long distance thing largely as I was away filming the first Matrix not long after we hooked up. I think that added in my head to the romance of it all. Writing her letters on my little typewriter after long days on set, posting them from thousands of miles away. Once I got back to LA things felt less sure, she was never confident in us, always needing reassurance and I think she found the celebrity thing both exciting and overwhelming - like she was part way a fan, partly my lover, you know? Then she got pregnant and everything changed”

“Oh so Jennifer was the mother of your baby, the one who died?”

Hannah knew this one fact about him but had steered away from looking stuff up on-line about it. She counted him as a friend now so if anything was to be shared, it had to come from him.

“Yeah, Ava’s mother. 19 years ago…….so much water under the bridge.”

“Do you think about her often now?”

“Who? Jen or Ava?”

“Both I guess”

“Yeah sometimes. You know in a sliding doors type way, especially at Christmas. That’s when we lost Ava. Christmas Eve 1999. What about you, do you think about your lost babies?”

“Yes sometime of course ……. but I think it’s different for me. My lost babies paved the way for Josh. If they’d lived, he wouldn’t be here, so I don’t mourn them as maybe you mourn your daughter, do you see? Of course I do think of them and every Christmas we’d hang stars and angels on the tree for them. That’s how we remembered them and the pain of their loss.”

Hannah was quiet for a few moments, remembering

“Do you have a way, a ritual to remember Ava? Do you and your family do something to remember her?”

“I guess they always just try to make sure I’m not alone at Christmas. That’s threatened to happen a couple of times and then Brenda or Janey or Alexandra have stepped in you know to rescue me! Stop me embodying my meme!”

“Your meme?”

You know, “Sad Keanu”?

“That one must have passed me by! I’ll get the boys to explain to their boomer mom!”

“I’m so glad you’re a boomer mum as you say and not all over it when it comes to press and internet stuff about me. It’s refreshing. Makes me feel I can be me without all that stuff informing who you think I am. Sometimes it gets in the way with new people, you know? I know I can be myself around my old old friends like Alex (he was in Bill and Ted) and Rob (he was in the band with me)

“Wait you were in a band?”

“Yes back in the 90s, Dogstar. Our folk thrash punk band”

“Sounds interesting – I clearly wasn’t paying enough attention back in the 90s!”

“Well we weren’t exactly topping the charts so that would probably explain it!”

“Can I hear some of your stuff?”

“Sure”

Keanu fetched some cds and had a look through to pick a song, going for “And I Pray”.

“Gosh, a man of many talents” she praised “what did you play?”

“the bass”

“Cool”

“wanna listen to some more music? I can hook up my phone to the speakers and we can play things on Spotify”.

“Sure, so you’re au fait with all the new tech? I took me ages to get there and I still have loads of cds and vinyl”

“me too - believe me I’m generally way behind the curve with technology but my god-daughter and my kid sister both played a role in bringing me into the 21st century”

They spent the next couple of hours, huddled on the sofa, scrolling through music choices on his phone and sharing both his and her favourites as well as reminiscing about bands they’d grown up listening to and great concerts they’d been to.

It was around 1am, with Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” softly playing that Hannah’s head lolled onto Keanu’s shoulder, the impact startling her back awake

“sorry, sorry” she said embarrassed

“hey no worries, you wanna go to bed now?” he asked

“Yeah, as you saw, my eyes are closing”

“Come on, let’s get you set up in the guest room, I’ve got a spare t-shirt you can sleep in if you like and there’s a new toothbrush in the en-suite with your room.

The room was a pretty one, perhaps decorated with his god-daughter in mind she thought. Once he’d shown her where things were and how to work the shower, Keanu bade her goodnight with a light kiss on her cheek. Despite being so tired, it took Hannah a good half hour to fall asleep. She touched the cheek where he’d kissed her and giggled inwardly at herself for feeling like a giddy teenager. In the past 2 months, she’d recognised her growing fondness for Keanu, putting it down to a mix of absence making the heart grow fonder and the Covid crisis making her susceptible. She’d found him very attractive way before she met him but she certainly hadn’t expected that he would reciprocate those nascent feelings. Tonight his lingering gaze as they talked about grief, his befuddlement trying to get her to stay and his soft goodnight kiss all made her wonder and maybe even hope. Tomorrow was another day.

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#keanu #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves imagine #fluff #romance #miscarriage #stillbirth #same age

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ladymercytaylor · 5 years

Text

Last Christmas - Joe Mazzello x Reader (Holiday Series!)

Joe used to love Christmas. It was his favourite time of the year; usually spent with his family and friends drinking and eating way too much. But truth be told, he was dreading Christmas this year. Because one very important person was missing from his life. And it was all his fault. The whole sad story began the last year. Well…really 20 years ago, but shit hit the fan last December. You and Joe had met your first day of college. You’d been distracted, trying to fish your phone out of the bottom of your over-filled bag when you’d collided with an equally distracted ginger who’d been attempting to find the right building for his afternoon class. The map and all your books were sent crashing onto the concrete, which was quickly followed by furious apologies from both bruised parties. After embarrassed introductions you’d realised you were both heading to the same Intro to Literature Class and decided to walk there together (Joe was extra relieved as you’d been to that building that morning and he could follow your lead). And you were very kind, only teasing him for 5 minutes about him having been walking away from the Arts building. With a furious blush colouring his cheeks, he checked the map again only to groan loudly when he realised he’d been holding it upside down. And with that, you found your best friend. And that was how it stayed for the next 2 decades. The two of you were utterly inseparable, never going more than 2 days without speaking in-spite of his horrendous schedule. But it was always made easier with your job being an Associate Professor at NYU and your semester breaks were always spent jetting off to wherever Joe was in the world. He was always apologising and offering to pay for your airfare but you constantly refused, saying that you really didn’t mind.

And that wasn’t a lie – wherever Joe was, that was where you wanted to be.

Because you were hopelessly, completely and utterly in love with him. It took you an embarrassingly long time to figure it out, but in your final year at USC together you’d seen him hooking up with a girl from his Screenwriting class on the sofa when you came home early from your Shakespeare lecture. You’d immediately ducked back out into the hall, red hot tears stinging your eyes before it clicked in your brain. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t give to be that girl. But the fear of losing your best friend had you locking those feelings away in the deepest, darkest corner of your heart, concealing it from the world – and most particularly Joe. Of course a few people figured it out over the years; your mum, your siblings and your best friend Kate. But they were kind enough to keep it to themselves. Because to them, Joe was the dumbest man alive for not seeing what was right under his nose all along.

It was Christmas 2018 when everything changed. Joe was home for the holidays for the first time in three years and he was celebrating with a blow-out party at his Brooklyn apartment. Every one of his friends was invited; his other actor friends, college mates and of course his best friends from Bohemian Rhapsody. You’d been so relieved when you’d got the invitation 2 weeks ago. There was something you’d been desperate to tell your best friend – but it was definitely an ‘in person’ revelation and you’d been pre-occupied visiting your extended family before the holiday season kicked off.

So. There you were. Standing by the large living room windows of Joe’s apartment with a glass of champagne clutched tightly in your hand as you watched the thick flakes of snow drift down to the power-covered street below. “What’s got you looking so thoughtful over here?” a deep voice asked from over your shoulder. Looking into the dark glass you could see a familiar mop of blonde curls and turned to smile at Ben. There was an unlit cigarette dangling loosely between his lips and he was rugged up in his coat, scarf and beanie. Obviously about to head outside to abide by Joe’s ‘no smoking in the apartment’ rule. “I’m trying to work up the courage to tell Joe” you murmured. Ben immediately gave you a sympathetic nod, taking the cigarette from between his lips to fiddle with it aimlessly. “God, I don’t even know how you’re going to do that” “Me neither,” you sighed, “but it has to be done” “Good luck” he said with a half-hearted smile. “I’d do it now if I were you. If he plays another round of beer pong you can tell him but he’ll forget by morning” A loud chorus of cheers punched through the music; Joe’s team had evidently just won the game as you could distinctly hear him calling Sebastian “a little bitch”. “Go before you lose your nerve” were Ben’s parting words of wisdom before opening the window and climbing out onto the snowy fire escape. You took a steadying breath, willing the fingers clutching your glass to stop shaking. Before you could change your mind you crossed the small living room, downing the rest of your drink as you went. “Joe, I need to talk to you” your voice barely carried over Mariah Carey’s ‘Santa Baby’ that was pouring out of the speakers – but your best friend still heard you. When he turned you could see the slight redness discolouring his hazel eyes, but he was still relatively conscious so you’d have to settle for that. “Excuse me, gentlemen” Joe announced to his friends, who all gave him varying heckles in response, “but my petal needs me” Normally that nickname would have turned you into a giggling mess, but that night it shot a white hot stab of guilt through your chest. Joe pulled you into the deserted hallway, the crooning of Mariah deadened slightly. “What’s up, petal? This better be important to interrupt such a stellar beer pong tournament” he teased, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. “I…I” you stammered, heat rising in your cheeks. God this was so hard. Joe raised his eyebrows in a silent ‘go on’ gesture and the words spilt out of your mouth. “I got a job offer” “That’s great!” he grinned after a slightly stunned silence. “Don’t know why that was so-” “At the University of St Andrews” you finished. Joe paused, his arms half raised to give you a celebratory hug. “As in-” “The UK. Yeah” The Christmas carols and excited cries of Joe’s friends fell away, leaving you and your best friend for more than half of your life in silence. “Have you accepted it?” he asked after a while, confusion knitting his eyebrows together. You shook your head, your gaze falling to the toes of your black boots. “Do…do you want to go?” “I think so” was your meek reply. A soft scoff escaped Joe’s lips which had your head snapping up. “What?” “I’m sorry, petal, but I just don’t buy it” he shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest before leaning against the corridor wall. “Your whole life is here. Why would you want to leave that?” “My ‘whole life’?” you questioned, years of resentment suddenly boiling like magma inside your stomach. “My family isn’t here. Kate isn’t here – she’s in Scotland. The only things I have in New York are my job and you” “Then stay for me” he grinned, but there was something akin to fear clouding his eyes. “I can’t do that, Joe. Not anymore” you sighed, the decades of unrequited love crushing down on your shoulders. “I can’t spend the rest of my life following after you with the sadistic hope that one day you’ll finally see how goddamned in love with you I am” There it was. The dirty little secret that had been weighing on your heart for 20 years. Fear gripped every cell of your body, freezing you to the carpet. You waited for him to laugh. Or yell. Or just do anything other than stare at you. What felt like a decade passed, the only sounds were the thundering of your heart and the muffled sounds of Joe’s guests, who were completely unaware of your heart wrenching confession. “I should go” you managed to whisper through your aching throat. You turned to walk away but Joe’s hand shot out, wrapping tightly around your wrist. “Joe” the name was barely a whimper but it was all you could get out before Joe pulled you towards him, crushing his lips against yours. You responded immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck. His lips were everything you’d ever thought they’d be, warm and soft and felt like home. “What about the party?” you asked, reluctantly pulling back but resting your forehead against his. “Fuck the party” he whispered, his breath hot against your lips. “Stay. With me” You weren’t sure if he was talking about the job or you current situation, but you didn’t think too hard on it, allowing him to pull you into his bedroom, every other person in the apartment already forgotten.

You slowly blinked awake, roused by the cold winter light streaming in passed the open curtains. Snuggling back into your pillow you stretched out your arm, expecting to find Joe’s warm body next to you. But instead your hand wrapped around a sheet of paper.

Petal, Had to go, early meeting. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Call you later. - Joe

The butterflied that had erupted when you remembered the events of last night faded slightly. Who had an early meeting on a Sunday? As you re-dressed in your sequinned party outfit you told yourself that this was normal. Joe’s schedule had always been strange, and your best friend was constantly complaining that there was no such thing as “weekends” in the entertainment industry. So when you stepped out onto the frigid Brooklyn sidewalk in last night’s outfit you were convinced that you’d hear from Joe that night. Except that you didn’t. Or the night after. Or the night after that.

It was 3 days before Christmas when Joe finally surfaced. And it wasn’t even with a phone call. You were sitting with Ben and Gwil in their hotel suite, waiting for the two of them to finish preening so you could all head out for dinner before the two would return to London the next day. “Which glasses?” Gwilym asked, holding out two pairs. “Clear and square or black and round?” “Clear. Can see your eyes better” you answered immediately. The brunette grinned as Ben chuckled, sliding the plastic frames onto his nose. “So, tell us again how you scored that job?” Ben requested from his place in front of the mirror as he artfully applied gel to his blonde curls. “The school year went back in September” “All I know is that one of the professors got a little too friendly with a first year student. They thought it best to avoid the scandal and get someone in to take over. The press would have had a field day if he kept teaching” “I have to say - there is something kind of hot about the whole ‘Professor-Student’ dynamic” Gwil admitted, flopping down next to you on the end of his bed. “What exactly did you get up to at uni, Mr Lee?” you teased gently, but a full on belly laugh followed when he turned a violent shade of pink. “You know, I don’t think I want the answer to that” “Here here!” Ben agreed, his green eyes still fixed on his reflection. “so…after last night” he started, his eyes flickering to you in the mirror, “I’m guessing you’re not accepting the job?” “Still waiting for some more information” you murmured, your eyes falling to your fingers. “But…no. I think I’m staying” Both Ben and Gwilym watched a secretive smile twist your lips and they shared an excited glance. “So….anything happen last night you want to tell us about?” “I don’t kiss and tell, boys” “Ooooh!” they chorused. You let out an embarrassed laugh, your hands flying to cover your burning face. “Get it gurl” Ben chirped. All you could do was laugh louder and lean forward to bury your face in the comforter. “Stop teasing her and get ready, Benjamin” Gwil commanded, pointing to Ben’s lack of pants. “We’ll miss dinner at this rate” “Yes, Mr Lee” the blonde drawled as he turned back to the mirror. After a few minutes Ben finally moved away from his reflection, instead relocating to his suitcase where he began to stare at his pant options. “Typical” Gwilym chuckled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. You followed suit, clicking on your Instagram app and scrolling through the latest photos. There was one of Kate, clearly dressed up to go on a date, another one of your cousin at her friend’s baby shower. But there was one that stopped you cold. You’d always meant to delete her. As soon as you’d found out Claire cheated on Joe she’d been persona non grata in your life and you’d thought it had been the same for your best friend. But the photo that glared back at you screamed the exact opposite. Claire had her arms wrapped so tightly around Joe’s middle it looked like she was trying to snap his spine, a ridiculous grin on her stupid face. The simple caption read “Finally got the one that got away! Best Christmas ever!” Ben’s question of the name of the restaurant you were going to fell on deaf ears and when the boys noticed your lack of reply they tip toed over to peek at the screen from over your shoulder. Both gasped quietly but you couldn’t tear your eyes off that fucking photo. “Is that the girl that –” Ben started but you cut him off. “Yep” “With his-” Gwil added and you nodded quickly. “Yep” “On his-” Ben continued. “Yep” you replied. “Jesus Christ” Gwilym muttered, still staring at the image on your phone screen. “I love Joe, but what a twat” “I’ve – I’ve got to make a call” you murmured robotically, standing up from the bed and heading out onto the balcony without a backwards glance. It was for the best that you didn’t turn around really, as you would have seen Ben mouth ‘Fuck’ to his best friend. Joe picked up after three rings, hesitation clear in his voice. “Hey, Petal” he managed to get out before you jumped down his throat. “Are you fucking joking, Joe? Claire?! Have you had a stroke I didn’t know about?” “I can explain –” he tried again but you were faster. “This is what you do after I tell you I love you? Sleep with me and then go running back to your scumbag ex?” you shouted. “I got scared” his meek reply sent your blood boiling. “Scared? You got scared? Try telling your best friend that you love them and then you’ll know what scared really feels like” you spat, your hand clenching so hard on the balcony railing that your knuckles popped. “Petal, don’t be like that” he groaned but all you did was scoff. “You know what? Fuck you, Joe” you hissed before smashing your thumb against the end call icon. You stayed on the balcony for a few moments, desperately trying to slow your racing heart and will down the tears that were stinging your eyes. With anger still flickering inside your chest you pulled up your email and began typing furiously.

That was the last time Joe heard your voice. He tried to visit you the next day, but you refused to open the door and he left dejected and cold. He tried again a week later after nearly a hundred unanswered voicemails but there was no response. He did see someone though, your neighbour Mrs Brookes. Who promptly informed him that you’d packed all your things and sublet the apartment – disappearing with only a rapid goodbye. He wasn’t surprised you left. He’d been expecting it really, after the way he treated you. But that didn’t stop it from breaking his heart. There were no words for how much Joe regretted what he did to you, and he knew better than to try and contact you again. Moving halfway around the world to get away from him sent a pretty clear message. But the regret never stopped eating away at his insides. And that was how he found himself standing on a snow covered London street on Christmas Eve. Normally the holidays were spent with his family, but Ben had recently been devastated by another bad breakup and had begged his former co-star to spend Christmas with him in his now empty apartment. Joe jumped at the chance, immediately booking himself a flight. He told himself that he was only doing it to help out a friend, but a niggling voice in the back of his mind kept whispering your name. The frigid cold bit at Joe’s exposed face and hands, the latter of which he quickly stuffed into the pockets of his black coat. Looking around at the deserted street, he watched the fluffy flakes of snow glide softly down onto the snow covered footpath as a melancholy sky escaped his lips. He’d been in London for 4 days and still hadn’t managed to work up the courage to try and contact you. He wasn’t even sure your phone number was still the same, he’d been too scared to text you. “Come on, Ben” he groaned quietly to himself, shuffling his powder covered feet. How long did it take to buy 2 bottles of Scotch? A loud laugh echoed down the street, freezing Joe to the spot. He knew that laugh. He’d spent 20 years with that laugh. It was hard to see through the curtain of snow steadily falling from the dark sky, but a few blocks down he could make out two figures walking towards him. One shorter in a bright red coat and the other much taller, dressed in navy. The man swore his heart stopped beating as he recognised the radiant smile on your face, but it immediately clenched when he realised who was making you grin. Gwilym’s mitten covered hand was holding gripping onto yours as he swung your entwined hands between you. More giggles pealed from your lips, each one like a knife through Joe’s chest. It wasn’t meant to go this way. This wasn’t meant to happen. “Oh, hi Joe” Gwilym stammered when the couple realised who they were walking towards. Joe smiled tightly at his friend before daring to peek at you. You were regarding him with a stone-cold face, all the light in your eyes that had been there only moments before now extinguished. “Funny running into you here” “Only bottle shop open near Ben’s place” Joe shrugged, his stomach twisting into knots. Tension so thick it was practically as solid as the surrounding snowflakes settled over you. “I might just go in and grab the wine. Be out in a bit, love” Gwilym offered, trying (and failing) to keep his tone light. Joe couldn’t help but scowl as he pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head before ducking into the shop. “What are you doing here, Joe?” you asked, folding your arms tightly over your chest. “I came to spend the holidays with Ben. He’s not doing so great” your former best friend replied stiffly as he took in everything that had changed in the last year. Your hair was longer and a small gold charm he didn’t recognise was peeking out from the collar of your coat. His hands clenched when he realised it was probably a gift from Gwilym. “Ah, Emily” you nodded, kicking the snow gently with the toe of your boot. “And what are you doing here exactly? Shouldn’t you be in Scotland?” he asked, his words far more biting than he intended. “I’m spending the holidays with Gwilym” you replied stiffly, not raising your eyes from the footpath. “Meeting his family” you added quietly. “When exactly did this charming development occur?” Joe barked, anger flashing in his hazel eyes. “A couple of weeks after I moved, if it’s any of your business” you snapped back. Joe watched your eyes narrow dangerously. He knew better than to push you but he was so upset he just couldn’t help himself. “If you’re screwing one of my best friends I think it is my business” he shot back, his hands clenching so tightly in his pockets that his nails bit into his palms. “I’m not just screwing him, Joe!” you exclaimed, anger prickling up the back of your neck. “But I shouldn’t be surprised that you thought that. Sex is the only thing you want from someone, right?” Joe swallowed hard. He should have expected that. He deserved it really, but hearing it from you made it so much worse. It was as if all of the pain he’d caused you suddenly washed through his own body. “So…you love him?” the man in front of you asked after an awkward pause. You nodded. “Yes” “Petal, I’m –” “I don’t want to hear it” you interjected, the back of your eyes prickling uncomfortably. “You don’t deserve to apologise for what you did. You don’t deserve me, Joe” you murmured, the streetlight shining in the tears that were welling up in your eyes. A lead weight dropped into his stomach but he shook his head. “No, I don’t” he admitted and you watched the apple of his throat bob rapidly. He opened his mouth to continue but he was interrupted by the soft tinkling of the bottle shop’s bell as Ben and Gwilym stepped out onto the street each clutching a dark bottle. “(Y/N)!” Ben cried with far too much enthusiasm as he crunched through the snow to wrap you up in a tight hug. “What an unexpected surprise” “I’ll say” Joe muttered to himself, but a reproachful look from Gwilym had him shutting up with an embarrassed blush sweeping up his neck. “Are you coming to mine on Saturday?” Ben asked, his green eyes shining with excitement. “No, sorry Benny” you winced, “Kate’s down here visiting her girlfriend and they invited me over. It’s the first time I’m meeting Amira so I really couldn’t say no” “Alright” he conceded with a playful sigh. “But I want your word that you’ll visit before you head back up to Scotland” “Promise” you vowed, smiling weakly. “We better go, darling. We can’t keep your parents waiting” “Right you are, love” Gwilym replied, obviously eager for an excuse to leave. “I’ll see you boys later” “Behave!” Ben called out as the couple walked away, tucking the brown bottle under his arm to wave excitedly. Gwilym returned it with equal joy, but you could only manage a small half wave, your eyes still fixed on Joe. “Bye, petal” was his whispered reply as he watched you turn and walk away, hand in hand with your new love. And in that moment, Joe made a promise to himself. That as soon as you and Gwilym broke up he’d be there. To tell you what an idiot he’d been. That he’d loved you for longer than he wanted to admit but he was terrified of loosing you. That he’d do anything to have you back in his life. But he never got the chance. When he saw you again there was a glittering ring on your left hand and he realised he’d have to live with his mistake. Because really, it was all his fault. He’d ignored what was under his nose all along.

#gwilym lee x reader #joe mazzello x reader #borhap #borhap cast x reader #john deacon x reader #brian may x reader #queen imagine

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stonestridernerd · 4 years

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WHAT HAVE I DONE?! -Mun Game

Driven 100 mph - Hahaha...nope!

Ridden in a helicopter - No, but my one of my uncles pilot them for his job and previously for his military career. Gone zip lining - Nope. Been to an NFL game - Welp, no. I have a hard time sitting through the Superbowl, so it’s hard to imagine going to a loud stadium. However, I have been to a local baseball game (Go Bees!) Been to Canada - When I was wee little, yes. The last time I went though, I would have been about 14 months old, since this was a month after 9/11 and the airport was paranoid that I was a kidnapped child (there was a similar looking girl that disappeared from the local area around the same time). Hence I don’t remember anything of it, but I’ve grown up on all sorts of stories from my grandmother’s childhood! Visited Florida- Oh you sweet summer child, not only have I visited Florida, I used to live there! My household moved back and forth between Utah and Florida throughout my early childhood. I hardly remember the Sunshine State though, but my longing to go back and disgust with snow and sneakers after getting used to southern climates are seared into my memory. Visited Mexico - Despite what my mum’s students think, we haven’t (nor is Canada a part of Mexico, but that’s a whole other story). Visited Las Vegas - My family goes almost every year! Mind you, we go during our summer vacation to St. George in southern Utah, so the pavement’s hot enough to melt flip flops, but it’s usually pretty fun so long as we stay indoors with the AC blaring. Eaten alone at a restaurant - Yeppers! For bonus points, the first restaurant I’ve ever dined alone in was Popeye’s. Ability to read music - I was adamantly against doing band or any other music classes after taking choir and loathing it. As such, music sheets are a whole other language to me. Ridden a motorcycle - Nope! Ridden a horse - In this economy? Heavens no! Stayed in a hospital - Fortunately, I haven’t had to stay in the hospital. I’ve visited both of my grandparents in the hospital as well as gone with my sister for her broken leg, but I’ve been lucky myself. Donated blood - I’ve contemplated it, but I haven’t yet. Been snow skiing - Despite living in a state known for its winter sports, I haven’t. Been to Disney World - Nope, but I went to Sea World when I was little. Disney Land - As with Disney World, no, but my sister was able to go for a band trip and brought back souvenirs! Slept outside - I’ve napped outside, yes. Driven a stick shift - The plan was to teach me to drive on a stick shift, but my anxiety wasn’t controlled whatsoever at the time. Ridden in an 18 wheeler - No, but for Driver’s Ed, they had us climb in one to see just how large their blind spots are. Ridden in a police car? - Nope! The closest to that we’ve got in this family was my sister riding in a firetruck after a neighbor called on her running around their yard at o’ dark hundred a few years back. Driven a boat - Frankly, the only boat I’ve ever been on was this large cruiser to get my class and I across the English Channel. It was quite exciting and I was desperate to remember every detail of the hour or so long adventure. Yet the power of soothing waves and anti-nausea meds I took just in case lulled me to sleep, so I don’t remember much of it. Eaten Escargot - No, but in elementary school, a teacher volunteered to get escargot if we raised so much funds. While it got overshadowed in the moment since we duck-taped a teacher to the back of the cafeteria doors and my mum had a bunch of students drawing all over her face (which, for grubby students, also included shoving markers in her eyes, mouth, and nose). Been on a cruise - Alas, no. Run out of gas - Probably, but it would’ve happened when I was little. Been on TV - Unless I was in the background of the news or something and am not aware of it, I haven’t been. Eaten Sushi - I’ve had one bite. To put it as nicely as possible, it wasn’t my cup of tea. Seen a UFO - As far as I’m aware, no. Been Bungie jumping - Oh goodness, no! Been stuck in the house for days - Beyond recent events (in which many of us have fallen under these circumstances), I have. I’ve had two lovely bouts in pneumonia in which I had to stay home for a few days. The first time, I powered through a week of school before refusing to move for the weekend. The next time though, they wouldn’t let me leave the house for a week! A week! All while everything fun that I’d been planning for months, if not a year, were going on without me. I’m still a bit salty about it, but after this virus, I’ve definitely calmed down about it.

Tagged by: @koszmar-zycie

Tagging: @kuzi-the-hunturr, @feelmyrayne, @unabashedrebel, @waroftwowolves, @belillina-ooc, @saeil-moonblade, @curiouscodex, @draenei-tales, @the-petalpaw-family, and anyone else who would like to do this!

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incomingalbatross · 4 years

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Fic: The Adventure of the Spontaneous Physician

I wrote this snippet of “Modern Holmes AU” a while ago, but I’m feeling the urge to post it Today Specifically (Easter euphoria? maybe), even though it’s more a first chapter than a real story. So... If you have any interest in seeing my idea their modern-day first meeting, here it is! :P Length: ~2800 words Characters/Pairings: John H. Watson MD, Sherlock Holmes, OFC. Gen. Warnings: Absolutely none Summary: The call of adventure is heeded. This leads to a meeting of friends in a Starbucks, and from there to another such meeting in St. Bart’s Hospital.

It was a fine spring day in London, and Dr. Meredith Lynn, OB/GYN, was feeling the pull of Adventure.

She wasn’t feeling it terribly strongly, mind you… But it was enough to have her get off the Tube a stop or so early, and walk the rest of the way to St. Bart’s in the fresh air. And when she passed a little hole-in-the-wall Starbucks she’d used to frequent in her student days, the urge for spontaneity was easily enough to break her routine and send her in for a drink and a pastry. In her just-over-three-decades of life, she’d learned to embrace moods like this one, and to find satisfaction in following where they led.

Having made her order, however, she paused. She had time—that same adventurous mood having sent her off with an early start—but did she want to sit here, or venture back out into the sunshine?

Brow furrowed, she scanned the tables for an empty spot. A young couple—two mums chatting—a single man on his computer—

Wait.

Something about the solitary young man caught her attention. She looked more closely. He was in a slightly ill-fitting suit, browsing the web with a condensation-coated frappucino next to him and a dark look on his face. But, expression aside, that face was familiar…

She lit up, threads all slipping into place suddenly, and hurried to his table. “John Watson!” she exclaimed, standing over him.

He looked up, startled, but quickly smiling. “Meredith?”

Meredith grinned, pleased he remembered her—it had been years, and they’d never been particularly close, but clearly the bond of a shared residency was a lasting one.

“The one and only!” she chirped. “Fancy meeting you here, Dr. Watson.”

He laughed, still a little incredulously. His look of open delight, though, proclaimed she was a pleasant surprise—he’d always worn his heart on his sleeve, Meredith remembered, and she was glad to see that that guilelessness hadn’t disappeared.

“Really!” he agreed, smiling. “I haven’t even looked for anyone from the St. Bart days since…well, since I got to town. What have you been up to?” Then he paused, expression flickering with sudden self-doubt. “Or, sorry, are you on your way to work or someplace? I wouldn’t want to keep you—”

But Meredith put an end to that by sliding into the seat opposite him. John had always been a good sort, and she was glad to catch up. And besides that…well, between his earlier gloom and his enthusiasm at seeing her, she rather thought he could use some company.

So she smiled and said truthfully, “Nothing but time. My first consultation’s not till—ooh, over an hour from now, and I’m still at Bart’s, so it's just ‘round the corner.” Setting her coffee and her scone decidedly on the table, she said, “So tell me! How’ve you been?”

He brightened, closing his laptop to give her his full attention. (Always the gentleman, John.) “I’ve been… Well.” He half-shrugged. “A mixed bag, I suppose. Not so bad now, really, but…”

He trailed off, and Meredith bit her lip in concerned attention. She’d thought, when she saw him, that he wasn’t looking well…

He shook his head, smiling at her as if in apology for his brief silence. “Well. Did you know, back in the day, that I was planning to sign up with Doctors Without Borders?”

“Hmm…” Meredith frowned. “I may have. Not sure, sorry.”

“That’s all right! Anyway, I did. Filled the qualifications, signed up, and got sent out last summer… It was pretty brilliant, actually,” he said earnestly. But then he gave a rueful grimace. “Then I got shot, sent home, and put on disability pay this winter.”

Mer’s mouth hung open. “You got shot?” she exclaimed. “Good lord, John, how bad was it? Where?”

He pulled back a little at her unthinking reaction, looking as if the attention made him uncomfortable. “Shoulder, but it’s not too bad,” he said quickly. “I mean, my leg doesn’t work properly either, just as a bonus, but neither is debilitating… I can get through daily life all right, now, and I can work as long as it doesn’t demand too much fine motor control. Doesn’t even hurt too much!”

His face had fallen, though, despite these hopeful words, and it was plain to see he was hurting on some level.

“It’s just that I can’t go back, you know?” he said after a moment. “Maybe not ever. And I know I could be much worse off, but it’s…disheartening, I guess. All that work, and I got less than a year of doing what I wanted to do with it.”

Looking at him, Meredith frowned. She could only imagine the disorienting upset of having your entire life’s plan forcibly torn apart like that… But it hurt to see a man like John H. Watson looking so adrift, so done.

“Hey,” she said, leaning forward. “Whatever…whatever you’re meant to do with yourself, you’ll find it. If not Doctors Without Borders, something better. You’ve just…” She fumbled over her words, torn between trying to say what she really felt and wanting to avoid empty-sounding platitudes. “You’ve got more ahead than behind, John,” she said finally, earnestly.

He blinked, looking unexpectedly touched. “I… Thank you,” he said, the empty look fading. “I do feel that myself, at least some of the time… It’s just frustrating, you know? I’m not terribly good at planning ahead to start with, and now my one big plan’s just…thrown out, and I’ve got to make another?” He sighed, stirring the sludge left in his cup with an idle straw. “Having something out there is all well and good, but finding it…” He snorted, one corner of his mouth curling up in a rueful smile. "Need somewhere to start, you know. Can't make bricks without clay."

Meredith blinked at the odd choice of phrase…and more, at recognizing it.

"Y'know," she said, "somebody else said that to me just yesterday? The bricks thing, I mean."

John looked up. "Oh really?"

She nodded. "He was complaining about rooming, though. Something about needing either more money or a roommate, and how impossible it would be to get either." She rolled her eyes tolerantly, thinking of her labmate's dramatics.

"Well, I can relate to that, too," John said, laughing and taking a drink. "Before anything else, I need a halfway-affordable place to stay, and that's…not easy."

"No…" Meredith trailed off halfway through her wry agreement, struck by a sudden thought.

"Why not room with him?" she said.

John blinked, startled. "I—sorry? I mean, I wouldn't mind a roommate, of course, but we don't know anything about each other—I don't even know his name!"

But Meredith just grinned, the idea having now firmly taken root in her mind. It would be good for John—he clearly needed company, and something to take him out of himself, and this set-up would certainly provide stimulation.

And as for her labmate… Well. She was sure he'd have a fit if he ever heard her say this, but occasionally he seemed lonely, too. And you couldn't find a more considerate friend than Dr. John H. Watson…

So she just said, smiling over the rim of her coffee cup, "His name is Sherlock Holmes. Now you know!"

"…Sherlock Holmes." She watched him turn the syllables over. "That's quite a name."

"He's quite a person." She took another sip of coffee. "An odd sort, definitely—very bright, and sometimes very impatient with us mere mortals who are less bright and can’t keep up, but not unfriendly. Lives in his own world, a bit, I think? Not sure what he’d be like to live with…but he’s good company when he decides to be.”

“An eccentric genius?” John suggested, smile lighting up his eyes. “Sounds interesting, at least. What is he, exactly? Another doctor?”

She laughed. “Oh, no. Truthfully, I don’t know what his thing is—he seems to be some sort of perpetual grad student, but I couldn’t tell you what in! No, we just share lab space occasionally—I’m assisting on a research project in post-natal care, did I mention?”

“No, congratulations! What’s it about?”

Meredith started to answer…then checked herself and looked at her watch.

“If I start answering that,” she said, with a grin, “we’ll be here until you’re bored stiff and I’m late for work. But here’s a thought—walk with me to Bart’s? I can talk your ear off on the way, and then maybe we can find Sherlock Holmes and I can introduce you before my first appointment.”

He grinned. “Sounds brilliant, if you don’t mind. I’d like to meet him, even if we don’t end up working as a flatshare.”

They gathered up their things and set off—the conversation, as they walked, bouncing between Meredith’s work in London and John’s experiences abroad. He had a gift for storytelling, picking out the drama or the humor or the human interest in events; but, unusually, he had an equally strong gift for listening. All in all, the rest of her commute passed far more quickly than Meredith would have expected when she got up that morning.

She paused outside the hospital. “Hang on…” She turned to John with a rueful smile. “I should’ve thought of this before—I suppose part of me was thinking you still worked here—but I think I’ll need to leave you for a bit. Sherlock Holmes is probably in the lab, and…I can’t get you in without a badge.”

John’s eyes widened. “Oh, right! I’d forgotten that too.” He frowned, lost in thought. “Where should I wait for you, then?”

“Hmm…” Meredith tilted her head. Her first thought was the lobby, but she felt there must be something better. Somewhere quiet, public, enjoyable…

Ah. Hm. “Pathology Museum?” she suggested. “Have you been lately?”

“I haven’t, actually,” John said, brightening. Ah, so she remembered correctly—he had been the one who liked the place, back in the day. He was a bit of a nerd, wasn’t he? “I heard they’d been doing more remodeling, though. How does it look now?”

“I don’t really know,” she said, smiling. While Bart’s Museum of Pathology was fascinating, she supposed, from a certain point of view—certainly the layout was nice, and they had a vast variety of artifacts from the hospital’s centuries of history—it was all a bit too odd, and sometimes morbid, for her own tastes, and she rarely visited it herself.

Still... “I’ll walk over with you,” she decided. “Then next time someone asks me that, I’ll know the answer!”

John laughed, and they made their way in and up to the museum’s third-floor location.

“Come to think of it,” she remarked, as they entered the open floor of the museum, with its multiple mezzanine levels running around the walls and its glass roof above (it really was a nice place, if you ignored some of the exhibits), “this seems like exactly the sort of place Sherlock Holmes probably hangs about in.”

And then she stopped, surprised—because there, bending over one of the glass cases in the middle of the room, was a tall figure that could only be the man himself.

He showed no sign of having noticed their arrival, so Meredith steered John over.

“Dr. Lynn, hello,” Sherlock Holmes said without turning. “Aren’t these exhibits fascinating? Look at this old doctor’s bag, here. Imagine how much it has to tell us… I wish I could open the case and take a closer look.”

Meredith looked down, seeing that the case did, indeed, hold an old-fashioned doctor’s kit, black bag and all. “I have to admit,” she said, “I don’t get much out of museums… I’d love to meet the man who owned the bag, but the bag itself doesn’t make much impression.”

“But can’t you see they’re practically the same thing?” Sherlock Holmes said enthusiastically, turning to face her. “If you could really get your hands on the bag, really examine it—oh, hello.”

He’d finally noticed her companion, she saw; his sharp gaze had locked on to this new figure, and flickered rapidly over him from head to foot before meeting John Watson’s eyes.

He blinked; and then smiled one of his genuine, spontaneous smiles, and held out a hand. “Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “A Doctors Without Borders veteran, I see? Impressive, especially when you’re also a friend of Dr. Lynn’s. I’m interested in the flatshare if you are, Doctor…?”

“John H. Watson,” John said, shaking his hand automatically. And then he blinked, eyes widening in belated, vaguely awestruck shock. “But—hang on, how did you know all that?”

Sherlock Holmes grinned. “Oh, I’m perceptive,” he said easily. “But look, you’re a doctor, and one who likes stories—what do you think of this bag?”

He turned back to the exhibit, and John followed his lead. “…It’s fascinating to think about,” he said slowly, looking down at the faded black bag. “All the things it must have been carried through, how the man first got it… All the lives that may have been saved with the tools inside it.” He sighed. “If only you could learn those stories from the bag itself.”

“You might be able to,” Sherlock Holmes said. “If you studied it well enough.” His fingers tapped out a staccato rhythm on the glass case. “But you came to talk about rooming together, yes? The rooms I’ve been looking at are on Baker Street—two-bedroom, a little out of the way but not far from the Tube, and a good building. Do you have pets, or smoke?”

John shook his head.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, grinning again. “Fair warning before you commit, though—I have a tendency to get into odd hobbies, chemistry being my most consistent one. Would you be all right with occasional home experiments?”

John just laughed. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Good, good. My other major drawback as a roommate—or so I’ve heard, anyway—is my moods. I have a tendency towards depressive episodes, and although they’re never major, and they only last a few days, they can be uncomfortable for those who have to share space with me.”

“I would think,” John said slowly, blinking, “that they’d be more uncomfortable for you.”

Sherlock Holmes looked startled, then laughed. “I suppose so,” he allowed, “ but I don’t have much of a choice about them—and, no, before you ask, I’ve never gotten a solid diagnosis, and yes I did try before the whole ordeal became more trouble than it was worth. But anyway, they’re not dangerous and they’re not triggered by those around me, so all I need is some space. So what do you need me to know, Doctor?”

John thought for a moment—smiling, as if amused by the other’s bluntness. “Well,” he said, “I got shot up in Afghanistan, so I’ve limitations on how I can use my arm, and I’m going to both types of therapy. I also don’t like parties, and… Ah, right. I was called a Puritan a good few times in college, so if you’re likely to have, er, anyone overnight…?” He flushed a bit.

“Good Lord, no,” Sherlock Holmes said instantly, with a snort. “And if you aren’t either, that’s an added draw—I don’t like strangers in my space much, myself. Should make life easier for both of us, yes?”

“I’d say so,” John agreed, clearly relieved. “It sounds as though we’ll have a quiet flat.”

“So it seems. Although…” For the first time, he looked concerned. “How do you feel about the violin?”

John laughed, looking surprised. “My favorite instrument, believe it or not,” he admitted. “Although it does depend on the player…”

Sherlock Holmes laughed too. “That’s fine, then,” he said assuredly. “When would you like to look at the flat, in that case? I’m free today…”

Meredith, who had ostensibly drawn back to examine an old plaque on the wall—although it was really too worn by age to read anything except the date, which commemorated something to do with “New Year’s Day 1881”—watched them both, and smiled happily to herself.

They had clicked, and even more thoroughly than she had expected them to. Both men’s postures were loosened, and they had begun talking easily and animatedly already. There was a warmth to Sherlock Holmes’s voice, and a spark in John’s eyes, that she’d rarely seen before in either.

She hummed to herself, remembering the call of Adventure she’d felt that morning. It had faded, now, leaving behind a welcome bounty of drink, food, and unexpected reunion for her, and leaving her to her life until it came again…

But as she looked at the two young men her spontaneous walk had brought together, she rather thought their Adventure had only just begun.

#Sherlock Holmes #holmes #watson #fic #my fic #watson is a sweet awkward nerd and i STAND BY THIS #also bart's pathology museum is 100 percent real #(though i threw in the doctor's bag for Appropriateness)#so how could i pass it up?#friendship #baker street

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totallynotafetishblog · 5 years

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what you wish for

this is the first fic i’ve ever posted anywhere!! i hadn’t had the desire to write fanfic in years, but go/od om/ens has taken over my life.

enjoy some sick cr0wl3y a few months after armageddon’t

(note: adam is present for plot reasons at the beginning. skip 1/4 of the way down [past the break] if you just want that good good in/effable h/usbands content)

After the world didn't end, summer faded into autumn faded into winter, and a biting chill now hung in the air, driving animals into their dens and the family members of climate change deniers up a wall. ("It's in the negatives! So much for 'global warming,' eh?" "That's not how it... climate and weather aren't... never mind.")

The cold had also driven Crowley, who was wont to bask, given his serpentine nature, to locate the most substantial heat source in London. He found himself in a bustling shopping mall sauntering aimlessly between shops, and with no purpose to his visit other than "be warm," he was drawn to the coat racks of an affordable clothing store. He had no intention of buying any of the jackets, but if something struck his fancy, he might miracle himself a copy later.

As he was feeling the fabric of a rather fetching black peacoat, a voice off to his left said, "Hey, I know you."

Crowley spun around, not sure who, exactly, he was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't...

"Adam?"

The eleven-year-old nodded and gave a curious look to the demon whom he had met exactly once at the Tadfield airbase. (Twice, if you count the bit where Crowley delivered Adam to the Sisters of the Chattering Order of St. Beryl, but Adam didn't remember that one.)

"How've you been?" Crowley asked, poorly faking nonchalance. He had frankly never considered the possibility that he might run into the Antichrist again, and certainly not at an English shopping center.

"Alright, 'spose. But this week's been so boring."

"Mm, I agree. Not a big fan of the cold weather myself."

"Oh, no. That's alright. The pond nearby's frozen over and you can skate and slip around and it's loads of fun. But I haven't been able to 'cause my friends are sick and mum says I can't hang out with them. That's why she dragged me out shopping." Adam huffed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, well, probably beats being sick."

"Being sick's not so bad." Adam brightened. "You don't have to go to school and you can watch movies all day and no one tells you what to do."

"Hm," Crowley said, considering this. "Might have to try it some time."

"You mean you've never been sick?"

"Nah. Not sure I can get sick, actually."

"That's rubbish. Everyone can get sick."

"Guess I just haven't been lucky enough to catch a cold yet. Here's hoping this'll be my year."

A thin woman who Crowley didn't recognize but inferred was Mrs. Young placed a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Adam, there you are! Come here, I have some clothes for you to try on." Adam started

to roll his eyes, but a stern look from his mother stopped his pupils from making a full circuit. She ushered him away, and Crowley was left alone at the coat rack once again.

"Well," he said. "That was a thing."

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

Crowley awoke the next morning with the overwhelming sensation that something had gone terribly wrong.

He peeled open heavy eyes, somehow more tired than he'd been when he collapsed into bed the night before, and tried to ignore the hammering in his head and the dull ache residing in his limbs. He hadn’t gone out drinking and forgotten to sober up, had he?

Upon attempting to purge his body of any alcohol and finding none, he pushed himself into a seated position and he swallowed. The small gesture aggravated his tender, burning throat, and a rattling coughing fit tore through him, leaving the demon hunched over and panting, head in his hands.

"Ghk," Crowley grumbled. "Fuck."

Grabbing the mobile phone from his nightstand, he stood on uncertain legs and stumbled to the bathroom, catching himself on the sink. He hesitated to make eye contact with the mirror, not knowing what state he would find himself in. Bracing for the worst, he lifted his eyes and was met by a pale, disheveled reflection, a rosy flush across his nose and cheeks, and glassy yellow eyes. Another coughing fit overtook him, and his knuckles tightened around the basin of the sink.

Crowley was fairly certain he was about to discorporate.

He hadn't done it before, but he couldn't think of any other explanation as to why he felt so positively awful. Though he wished he had some more time to set his affairs in order and find a good home for all his plants, he did, at the very least, have time for goodbyes.

He dialed the only number in his phone which he called with any regularity. After a few rings, Aziraphale picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Aziraphale. It's me."

"Oh, Crowley!" Crowley could hear his smile through the phone. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Yeah, not quite. Something's happened."

Aziraphale's voice dropped to a concerned whisper. "What do you mean 'something's happened'?"

"I mean, I... I think I'm dying, angel."

"You're what? What happened?"

"Dunno. Just woke up feeling sorta...not good."

"Well... 'Not good' is good for you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but... no. Felt liked I'd been poisoned or something. My head feels like it's full of cement and my throat's on fire a-and..." He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to massage away the building pressure in his sinuses. "...and my nose ihh-is... hih!" In vain, he scrubbed a fist beneath his nostrils, failing to fight off the spidering itch. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered in the sink as he snapped forward, sneezing against the back of his palm. "Huh'ATSHhuu! h'RSHHuh! Nng..."

He sniffled and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again. Was this what death looked like? Clammy skin and a sore throat and a dripping nose? Frankly, those sounded like the symptoms of...

Oh.

Clearing his throat, he held the phone back up to his ear.

"Crowley? Crowley, are you still there?" came Aziraphale's worried voice.

"Yeah, 'm still here. Sorry about that."

"What was that? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it. Uh, actually, on second thought, I'm... fine. I'm not discorporating. Just... forget I called, yeah?"

"I most certainly will not!" Aziraphale huffed. "You can't tell me you're dying then expect me to forget about it. Shall I come over?"

Having never been sick before, Crowley wasn't entirely sure how these things worked, but he'd lived through enough plagues to know diseases could be contagious, and he didn't want to risk dragging the angel into misery with him. "No, no. I'm fine, really. Was just overreacting a bit." He turned away from the receiver and muffled a wet cough into his shoulder.

"I'm coming over," Aziraphale decided.

"Listen to me, you really d-don't-!" Hissing at his own rebellious body, he tossed his phone down again and tented both hands over his face. "h-hih-EKSHHHiuu! AKSHHUUh! ihihih...? h'EkSHHHUH!" He groaned, sniffling back the mess before lowering his hands and blearily opening his eyes to see Aziraphale.

"Christ, Aziraphale!" Crowley cried, staggering backward. "Are you trying to discorporate me? Could've knocked, at least, 'stead of materializing in the middle of my bathroom."

Eyebrows knitted together in sympathy, Aziraphale frowned and wrung his hands. "I do apologize for intruding, but... Oh, you sounded so dreadful, and I thought you might've been hurt, or, or..." His eyes flicked up and down as he took in Crowley's appearance. "Are those pajamas?"

"Just woke up."

"But it's nearly four in the afternoon!"

With a slight panic, Crowley glanced at his phone to double check the date, and his anxiety settled when he determined he'd only been out for 16 hours, and not 16 days or months or decades. He shrugged. "I've slept longer."

Aziraphale sighed. "Will you please just tell me what's going on?"

"I told you, it's nothing to worry about. I've just got a bit of a cold."

"A cold?" Aziraphale replied incredulously. "What ever do you mean?"

"I mean my throat's scrachy and my nose is all stuffed up and...you know. A cold."

"Right, yes, but how on Earth did you catch it?"

Crowley rolled his neck, produced a half-sigh-half-cough, and exited the bathroom, saying, "Does it matter?"

Not relenting, Aziraphale followed him to the living room where Crowley slumped back into the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. "Of course it matters. We aren't supposed to get sick, Crowley. Comes with the whole 'angelic healing' business, I suppose."

"Right, angelic healing. Maybe your lot can't get sick, but it seems mine can. We might not be playing for Heaven and Hell any more, but I'm a still a demon, er, biologically, or whatever."

Aziraphale took a seat beside Crowley at that, confusion sketched across his brow as he mouthed 'biologically.' After another second of contemplation, he turned to Crowley and said, "Now, you know that can't be right. You've never gotten sick before."

Crowley rubbed a knuckle under the tip of his nose and sniffed. "Sure I have. Loads of times."

"You most certainly have not." Aziraphale didn't even attempt to conceal his eyeroll.

"Maybe you just haven't been paying close enough a...atten... ahKSHHHUh! ATSHHiu!!" He held a cupped hand over his face until he was confident the itch was gone. "Attention."

"Goodness! God bl- ah, gesundheit, dear." He miracled a red silk handkerchief for the demon which Crowley was grateful to accept, though he would never admit that.

After a productive nose blow, Crowley let his head fall back against the couch. A cough clawed its way from his throat and he belatedly raised the handkerchief to his mouth before sighing and turning his head towards Aziraphale. "Angel?"

"Yes?"

"I may have done something very stupid."

Aziraphale looked wary. "What did you do?"

"So. Right. I ran into Adam Young yesterday."

"The Antichrist?"

"No, the singer behind Owl City. Yes, the Antichrist!” Crowley knew Aziraphale wouldn't understand the reference but was too tired to care. "Anyway, he mentioned something about being sick, and I said I'd like to try it some time..."

"Oh, Crowley. You didn't."

"I did. And apparently Adam can still bend the universe to his whims, so." He gestured broadly at himself. “Be careful what you wish for, I guess.”

"Should we be...concerned? About Adam, I mean. I didn't realize he still had full access to his powers."

"Well, if he's only using them to give demons head colds, I'd say it's nothing to worry about." Crowley's eyebrows quirked up and his breath hitched one, two, three times before- "heh’EKSHHiu! IKSHhuuh! AKSHhiuu!" He shook his head. "Nguh. Sure is annoying, though."

Aziraphale offered a soft smile and cupped Crowley's cheek with a gentle hand. "Poor dear. I don't suppose we could miracle it away?"

"Probably not a great idea to try and undo the wishes of the Antichrist."

"No, probably not. We could always ask Adam to undo it, though."

Crowley scoffed. "If you want to try driving us up to Tadfield, be my guest, but I think if I drive, I'll sneeze us off the road."

Aziraphale pondered this for a moment, then stood up. "Right then." With the snap of his fingers, a thick white blanket appeared and draped itself over Crowley. "We'll deal with this the human way."

"Aziraphale, what're you-?"

"Hush," he said, tucking the blanket snug around Crowley. "You just rest. Let me take care of you."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"I want to." Aziraphale brushed a strand of hair out of Crowley's face. "You're always so kind to me." Crowley started to hiss, but Aziraphale continued. "You are. You're so kind and you do so much for me, and, well... I'd like to return the favor." He placed a light kiss on Crowley's forehead. "Is that alright?"

"Mm," Crowley hummed. "Very alright. Thank you."

"Of course, my dear. Now rest and I'll put some tea on, hm?"

Letting his eyes slip shut, Crowley did as he was instructed for perhaps the first time in his immortal life.

#mine #sickfic #apologies for any mistakes!#i wrote this in one sitting and now it's 1 am lol #kinda want to write a part 2 #kinda just impressed i even finished 1 part lmao #g/ood o/mens #tnafb fic

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dansnaturepictures · 3 years

Photo

7/8/21-Return to Blashford Lakes

Today we went somewhere we hadn’t been for seventeen months and five days. A place that with its splendidly varied habitats which hosts a huge variety of birds throughout the year rare and common, and is strong for butterflies, moths, dragonflies and mammals too and was one of our most crucial and one of my favourite nature reserves in my late childhood and teenage years as I got hooked on birdwatching, wildlife generally and photography and I have always loved it since. Over the years there tended to be a barren spell of us going there over the summer as we maybe focused on more butterfly and other insect dominated locations this pattern developing into my working days a bit as we did come during summer holidays in my school/college days but all year throughout the winter especially this hub for wildlife has been a regular haunt for us for so long. But after that last visit on 1st March 2020 obviously Covid hit and the you could say main feature of seeing wildlife at this reserve is the hides, so it is a reserve good for piling into hides with lots of people looking at birds so obviously not good during Covid times. I have to say the team did work very hard to get the reserve open safely without the hides post lockdown 1 and we did explore the idea of coming back to enjoy this at a stage but due to one thing and another we sadly never quite managed it. But following 19th July the hides now are open with the welcome precautions still in place of masks to be worn and every window that can be opened.

A Black-necked Grebe that had been reported on Ibsley Water attracted us here especially today which we needed to see, and it allowed for this sweet reunion with a place I hold dear. During all the discussions of things you will do when lockdown eases or when we find our way to some kind of normal I felt extremely lucky as I have been able to do my main hobby still just because of what it is. But this was one thing on my list of things I wanted to get back to, getting back to places like these so hide dominated reserves. Prior to today since Covid hit it was only Sculthorpe Moor in Norfolk last September and an open screen/hide type area at Newborough Forest in Anglesey this June that I’d been to hides at.

As I walked in at the visitor centre side of the road entrance it was great to be back and one difference from when I last came here is obviously how vastly more interested I am in flowers now and other areas of insects too. And on the verge at the entrance was a lovely moth mullein which I took a photo of and tweeted on Dans_Pictues tonight one I learnt today. St. John’s-wort and yarrow adorned this patch of grass too and there was a lovely little deraeocoris ruber insect on the yarrow a new one for me which was delightful to see. A big thing about my deeper delves into flowers and other insects over the months has obviously been learning so much and it was the sign of the times back at one of my favourite nature reserves that I was only stood on a grass verge beside a road entrance to the site for two minutes or so and I’d learnt two new species!

I then proceeded across the grassy area to get to ivy north hide the first hide I went into in Hampshire since March 2020 and it was stunning to see the fields carpeted in St. John’s-wort, ragowrt and catsear/hawksbeard type flowers making it look deliciously yellow with thistle, black mullein, self-heal and others looking very pretty too. I took the first picture in this photoset of this area. I also liked seeing one of my favourite flowers foxgloves, purple loosestrife, centaury, wild parsnip, dock and Wood avens and Herb-Robert great woodland species that I hadn’t seen for a while still going strong with shadows of cow parnsnip as well throughout the reserve today. On the field area I noticed a beautiful moth flitting around which I got great views of landed on vegetation a smashing Treble-bar a new moth for me today which I also tweeted a photo fo. A welcome life and year tick for my moths and as my eighteenth identified moth species seen this year it levels (whilst I didn’t do a year list then, I worked this out recently) the amount of moths I saw and knew what they were in 2020 which I am pleased with. And whilst I might not ever be able to know every moth I see its more than justified me reinstating my moth year lists recently as I’ve seen more identified moths than dragon/damselflies and mammals two more year lists I keep beside birds and butterflies the main ones this year so far. I also did here today maybe my penultimate Big Butterfly Count this year with the survey ending tomorrow I had never done one here before and I saw three Gatekeepers and one Small White and Speckled Wood between the showers. A splendid Southern Hawker paraded over this area which I saw on the way out and back.

I reached ivy north hide and among other things I came away impressed with how Covid secure the reserve is to visit as to save going into the hide if one wishes they have added a little open air viewing screen next to the hide which is interesting. As well as lovely views of ivy lake decent numbers of Sand Martins and a Common Tern parading over the water welcomed me back as key Blashford birds at this time of year and I’d not seen either for a few weeks now whilst having a really good year for them both. By the visitor centre I liked seeing some elecampane and mint in a very colourful flower bed area which I took the second picture in this photoset of seeing a nice bee on it too. Before spending some time at ivy south hide and seeing much the same wildlife wise to ivy north with Common Tern flying very nicely over and young Black-headed Gulls among the gulls out there and taking in some nice views I went in the woodland hide.

At this hide one of my absolute favourites with such intimate views available of feeding birds behind the glass where you can see them but they can’t see you as a shower came and went and some brightness emerged I liked seeing the memorable species of this area come one by one. Firstly a Robin one of some seen across the reserve today a fitting one as on that 1st March 2020 visit I took one of my favourite ever pictures I’ve taken of this iconic species. Then the commoner tits were there with Dunnock, soon to be followed by Marsh Tit coming to feed. Coal Tit and Chaffinch would soon follow as wood delicious looking Nuthatch. And I was stunned and got some very exciting moments when a dominant and large flash of red, cream and black arrived in the form of a Great Spotted Woodpecker (GSW). You can’t come to Blashford and the woodland hide and not see these, one of the species that has captivated me most at this reserve right from when we very first visited the bird of Blashford for me for so long with so many times waiting, watching and hoping and loving seeing and trying for photos of. I took and tweeted a photo of this bird, not the best in an awkward angle a little with it more so on the other side of the feeder than my side but having not been here for nearly a year and a half and how important the GSW is to our Blashford visits I was inclined to take whatever I could get if in the summer days when less birds come to the feeders with food available naturally I was lucky enough to see one. And whilst I’ve been so lucky to see and hear these birds a lot elsewhere since last March it was probably my best chances for pictures since this a species I did photograph from this hide on 1st March 2020 too so it felt so good to be back getting such a prolonged view of it. I rarely see many species on a feeder at the same time as the woodpecker they are that dominant but Great Tit and others did stand up to it and be on the feeder at the same time today.

It was exhilirating to see a Jay and then another fly in displacing the dominant woodpecker and seeing a shaggy looking Jay especially dash past the window getting a striking view I thought it was going to crash into the window at one point. A spectacular moment and I loved getting pictures of them again this year today including the third picture in this photoset I have had a good year for them. Two standout moments on this trip today with two of my favourite birds. I took the fourth and fifth pictures in this photoset of the body of water on the way to ivy south hide and a lovely view of ivy lake there.

I then met up with my Mum who had returned from a dog walk at nearby Rockford Common with Missy to end the day in the tern hide. There was no sign of the Black-necked Grebe for us as I arrived after a shower but I did see a lot else. This included an early Goosander, a key staple of a Blashford winter this female was something of an early one and we got a pleasant view of this distinguished duck I took the sixth picture in this photoset of this with my bridge camera which came to life in this hide alongside my DSLR for photos I certainly in summer days where maybe it happens less felt I got my fill of bird photos at this top bird spot. I loved seeing the young speckled Lapwing in the seventh picture in this photoset of a nice intimate view I got of this wonderful wader. There were many Egyptian Geese around too I got some stunning views of these including the one in the tenth picture in this photoset. This was my bogey bird this year one I struggled to see quickly which I usually see without too much trouble due to not coming to Blashford we didn’t see any until Fishlake Meadows and then Petersfield Heath Pond in June seeing an extraordinary amount at the latter with Ruddy Shelduck too. Seeing them all here today it was as though we never needed to worry about seeing one this year. There were top views and more photo opportunities of another of my favourite birds with Great Crested Grebe, and I enjoyed seeing gulls including Lesser Black-backed Gulls well. Another pick of the bunch on Ibsley Water was a sweet little Common Sandpiper a key bird for this spot, a third seen this year by me which has been great after RSPB Lodmoor and Stour Vallye nature reserve in Dorset over two days in our April week off of day trips. The top bird moments were set nicely to dramatic scenes as a further showers moved in and their were touches of sun as well looking over the smashing Ibsley water and I was so glad to be back at Blashford. Its interesting sat in the tern hide on Ibsely Water an area overlooked by the further along Goosander hide and Lapwing hide too, I saw Common Tern some more as well as Lapwing and Goosander. With the Goosanders mostly in over winter any terns the spring and summer migrants you would not see them together so this must be the first time I saw all three in a day which I found very interesting. I took the eighth and ninth pictures in this photoset of the views here.

An always likely sight in the woodland hide at Blashford greeted us when home this evening when a Sparrowhawk flew up from the garden and over the other gardens, appearing to have had a kill with some feathers left in the garden. This was so exciting to see. I had seen probably this Sparrowhawk hovering over the area recently and with the noise and numbers from the Starlings coming in lately this was maybe only a matter of time. Its another glorious Sparrowhawk in the garden experience which I feel over the moon to have a little collection going for here and my Dad’s house where I grew up. I liked seeing some new pretty flowers the bright red chrysanthemums in the back garden too and alongside nice other bird and sky views at home today it was special to see some Goldfinches including a young bird on the balcony feeders once more. What a brilliant Saturday, I hope you all had a good one.

Wildlife Sightings Summary for Blashford Lakes: My first ever deraeocoris ruber and Treble-bar moth, three of my favourite birds the Great Spotted Woodpecker, Jay and Great Crested Grbee, one of my favourite dragonflies the Southern Hawker, Cormorant, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Herring Gull, Black-headed Gull, Common Tern, Coot, lots of Tufted Duck, Mallard, Goosander, lots of Mute Swans, Egyptian Goose, Lapwing, Common Sandpiper, Sand Martin, lots of Woodpigeons, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Coal Tit, Marsh Tit, Nuthatch, Robin, Dunnock, Chaffinch, Gatekeeper, Speckled Wood, Small White, cranefly just inside the window of ivy south hide and bee.

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adulttrio-imagines · 5 years

Note

I was wondering if you could do a Hisoka x Hufflepuff reader, please? Also, your posts are amazing.

Thanks Anon! I don’t write too much, hence why this took so long, and I felt that a list of headcanons won’t do this justice, so enjoy~

Silence breaks as you climb the tower, footsteps echoing across the chamber like drumming heartbeats, your mother’s Christmas present tucked under your arm, your robes fluttering around you like angry ravens. Ever consistent to your absentminded nature, you had lost her present until just a couple minutes ago when you found it jumbled and hidden within the depths of your trunk. The steep staircases spiral endlessly, eerily quiet with what little students left in Hogwarts attending the Christmas Feast, but somehow your feet lead you on. Opening the owlery door, the odd mix of stale droppings and crisp winter air greet you, it’s not unpleasant nor is it welcomed.

You take in a long breath, and exhale. A couple feathers drifts down and you sneeze.

“This is my spot you know. If you want to run and hide from the party you need to find your own spot.” You scream, almost dropping the present, flipping around to find the source of the smooth voice. No sooner had your eyes adjusted to the dark room, did a figure saunter out from behind the beams. You recognize the cold look in those yellow eyes anywhere, and your heart pounded heavily against your rib cage.

“I’m not hiding. What are you doing up here? Everyone else is downstairs.” Somehow you find the courage inside of you, and your words come out strong. Like the stench in the air, you feel no particular animosity towards the boy, nor do you feel any sort of fondness towards him. It was just uncomfortably awkward, and made you wish you were alone in the dark tower.

Hisoka steps closer, you consciously will yourself to not take a step back. “Hmm? Is that so? Well I just wanted to be alone. Why are you here?” He asks, disappearing behind a post before appearing right behind you, half-lidded eyes glinting all the while.

You gulp, shrugging to play it off as you head over to a barn owl. “I just needed to send some stuff home. I thought I lost my mother’s Christmas present but turns out it was in my trunk the whole time.”

“I thought Hufflepuffs were good finders, guess that can’t be true for all.” He laughs, and it makes your stomach flip for all the wrong reasons. You looked away, pretending to catch the attention of an owl as you snuck glances at him.

You’ve never interacted with the boy the past year despite being in the same classes, but words of his actions have drifted in and out of your friend circle during your time at Hogwarts.

He’s insane. Gilbert Huckerby once whispered after rumors of a badly injured fifth year student being sent to St Mungos spread to the Hufflepuff common room. It was thought that Hisoka was the perpetrator but since no one had any proof, he got away.

You’ve heard the stories, of blisters growing all over the victim’s face, of burning tongues and disappearing eyes, all while the boy in front of you was said to have looked on, smiling.

But he’s… small, even for a thirteen year old. He’s slightly shorter than you are, in all your tiny glory. With floppy hair framing his still baby-faces cheeks, you knew that while dismissing those rumors would be unwise, it was hard to believe them all.

“Can’t win them all.” You shrugged, struggling to secure the package to a the fidgety barn owl you had manage to persuade. It hooted shrilly when you accidentally tangled the string with your fingers, and pecked at them when you got its talons mixed up in the process.

“Ack! I’m sorry! I can’t help it!” You turn to the amused boy next to you, practically pleading, your absent mindedness costing you, “can you please untie this? My hands are stuck and I can’t-“ You tug at the string and get another nip in response.

“Hmm? I don’t really feel up to the task and I’m kinda enjoying the view and all.” He gestures out towards the open grounds, eyes glinting mischievously in the dark. In the night, his yellow eyes blended in with the other owls that stared judgmentally down at you.

“Please? I really need to send this off- Ack!” A wing slaps you across the face, and a mocking laugh echoes through the tower, sending a few tawny owls flying out the window. You turn to glare at him, trying to look as threatening as you could with a scratched up face and feathers in your hair.

“This isn’t funny!” You exclaim, only to get slapped again in the other cheek. “Yuck! When’s the last time you clean yourself!” The bird shoots you a scathing look, hooting even more as it pecks your nose.

“Really? I disagree. Aren’t you suppose to be a witch?” His smile shone even in the faint candle light, distractingly bright, and you caught yourself staring before quickly turning away, hoping the darkness hid your beet red face.

“Ah! Why didn’t I think of that?” Quickly, you try to reach for your wand but realize it’s missing. Frantically you try to retrace your steps, banging your head against the wall when you realize you left it in your robe pocket downstairs. You groan and bang your head against the wall.

“You got it really tangled up.” Warm fingers glide over yours and it takes all of your self-control not to jump when you feel something hot breathing against the name of your neck. You turn your face slightly, and let out a muffled scream when your nose nearly brushes against Hisoka’s. He looked extremely pleased with himself, moreso than usual as he frees the owl from your clumsy hands. His fingers are nimble, quick and long, so slender they make your own look childish in comparison. You feel his breath run across your neck, sending jolts of shivers across your frame, the air feeling incredibly thin as his hands brushed against yours. You try to look away, and find it impossible. His smile, which you assumes to be even creepier up close, was somehow extremely attractive, in a boyish way.

“There.” He smirks, stepping back. You catch yourself staring at the curve of his jaw and the surprising broadness of his shoulders throughout a curtain of hair as he steps back. Just like that you release a breath you weren’t aware you were holding in, relaxing as you felt the last tremors leave your knees. You breathe a sigh of relief, thanks at the tip of your tongue when you notice he held a pack of sweets in his hand. A pack you distinctly remembered wrapping up and had intended to give your brother.

“Hey! Give that back!”

“Consider it payment for my help.”he smirks, tossing it in the air.

“What-“ but you pause. Knowing Hisoka, arguing would just be giving him what he wanted and you refuse to stoop to his level. You straighten up and look him dead in the eye, puffing your chest out. Besides, Christmas is the time for giving anyway.

“Fine, you can keep it. Thanks for helping me out.” His eyes widen for a fraction of a second and you feel oddly pleased at surprising him. “I’ll just get some more at Honeydukes, I’ve been meaning to get a different flavor anyway.” You hop down the stairs, pleased to know that your mum would now be getting her present.

“Well, I’m going to head down now.” You stop, noticing how he still stood at the top of the steps. “Aren’t you coming down? The feast is going to end soon, if we hurry we can get dessert.”

“I’m staying up here.” He answers after a slight pause. He smiles the same cold smile you’ve see so many times that never quite reaches his eyes, waving you off. On top of the tower, alone with the surrounding wooden post ring long shadows all around him, he looks like a ghost, isolated from everything, and you almost push on.

But you remember this is also Hisoka, and the contorted face of the fifth year you saw heaving on the hospital bed stops you.

“Alright then, Merry Christmas.” You give him a half hearted wave back and descend the stairs, missing how his stare follows you and remains stationed there long after you’re gone.

…..

It eats away at you.

You push your mash potatoes around as what was left of your housemates laugh and compare their Christmas gifts, mind returning to the lone boy in the tower. He probably had his reasons for wanting to be alone, but somehow you cannot shake off the strange feeling growing in your gut. The guilt slowly ebbs away at your consciousness, with both sides of your heart battling out.

As scary as it was, he did help you, and you hated the idea of anyone else having to spend Christmas alone in that tower.

Even if it were Hisoka.

You made your choice, you suddenly stood up and loaded on dessert, running off to find the boy.

The owlery is mostly empty and your voice echoes across the circular tower. You climb the steps and find Hisoka sprawled lazily across one of the larger windows, shuffling a worn out deck of cards, the pack of sweets he stole from you lying forgotten on the floor.

You almost call out to him but a tirade of voices flood through your ears. The weight in your hands feeling inexplicably heavy for that split moment.

Dangerous.

Unstable.

A threat to us all.

He lifts a hand up… and accidentally drop the cards all over his face.

Relief swells like a balloon and you quickly climb to the window.

“Hey are you hungry?” You call out. He doesn’t even take a glance at you as you set your haul right next to him.

“You could have answered me, you know!” You huffed, crossing your arms. He lazily turns his head towards you and smiles. You hate the coldness in his eyes as he sits up straight, gaze boring straight through you. It was as if he couldn’t exactly see you, the glazed look his eyes had taken on adding to your discomfort.

“Are you.. okay?” You ask, approaching him the way one would approach a wild animal, and you catch yourself reaching out to him. He smiles, baring his teeth and shows off an impressive set of canines.

“Ah? What brings this Hufflepuff back? Another package to send? I hope you know that the owls here refuse to send anything else for you.” He eyes the package on the floor with mild interest and you pull back, clenching your fist in an effort to still them.

“That’s too bad. This next one is to Mars, my cousin goes to school there and I thought she would like her present.” You hope he doesn’t hear the slight tremble in your as you play into his game, you know what to do, even if your heart feels as if it’s going to crawl out of your throat.

“What school do they go to?” He asks.

“Pigfarts.” You reply with a completely straight face.

Hisoka blinks, once, twice. And roars with laughter. It’s almost like a bark and you find it hard to stand your ground, regretting your decision immediately as he doubles over with laughter. Your ears feel so warm and what little food you have in your stomach flip flops.

“No. I just-I just thought.. No one should spend Christmas alone, so I snuck some food out and brought them here.” You go in to assess the damage, unwrapping the loot as he continues to chuckle before presenting him with what food you could scavenge from the feast. He easily lands with unexpected grace to the ground, and crouches to examine your offering.

Once again, a cool, pleased feeling purrs inside you to see him taken aback by your statement as you presented him with an assortment of pastries and cake. “I could only get dessert if you don’t mind.” You say, nudging them towards him.

Hesitantly, he grabs and takes a bite of a brioche bun, the corners of his lips curling into an unreadable smile.

“It’s quite dry.” He states, but takes another bite before tossing a few crumbs for the owls to eat. You grab one and bite into it, letting out a contented moan. It’s light, fluffy and not the slightest bit dry.

“I don’t think it’s dry.”

“I know.”

“So why are you really out here?”

“You sure are nosy.”

“And you’re mean.”

“Hmm. True.” He suddenly turns to face you, and he’s so close that you can count the faint freckles that dot his nose. “Do you know want to see some magic?”

“Hisoka, we’re at Hogwarts. All we do is magic.” You say, too stunned to move away. Your breath gets hitched in your throat, and you hesitantly lick your noticeably dry lips.

“Yeah, but have you seen this?” A flick of his hands and a previously unseen joker card appears between his fingers.

You reach out for the card, tips brushing against his. He doesn’t pull back, and you feel the tingling sensation spread through your arm.

He smiles again, eyes creased into crescent moons, as he takes a bite of the desert you brought up. It is far more genuine than any you had ever seen him give, before diving into his explanation with unexpected enthusiasm.

You return his smile.

He’s cold.

Cruel.

Inhuman.

But for that moment, in the darkness of the tall tower, surrounded by clouds of snow, a pack of cold pastries in between the both of you, fingers constantly brushing one another, with nothing but the moon for light, you remember that he’s just a person too.

#hunter x hunter #hisoka #hisokaxreader #asks #harry potter au #i think the feast is canonically during lunch but #oh well #hope you like it anon!#fic

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thisuserlovesyou · 5 years

Text

Title: Stranger Things 4: Embrace for Impact.

Summary: Nothing ever really ends, does it? They all thought it was over when the Byers moved away, but now they're back in Hawkins for the Winter holidays. Things have changed, and others are back. {Kind of my take on a season 4}

Notes: I posted the beginning of this fic on Ao3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771228) but I decided to post it here so I hope you enjoy!

Chapter: 1/?

Warnings: No warning applies (except for ST spoilers but duh).

Chapter 1: Hawkins, Indiana: Welcome back!

Jonathan Byers, behind the wheel, sang his heart out to Walk of Life by the Dire Straits, his mother Joyce laughing beside him as she joined the singing. They had been lucky, the road was clear and although slightly wet, not snowy. That was the risk of travelling around Christmas for the holidays in Indiana. As they were planning the trip, they could only hope that the road would be clear. And it was. But Joyce wasn’t sure whether it was such a good thing that Hawkins appeared so eager to welcome them back.

Head against the cold window, her messy, curly hair sticking to the glass, Eleven listened to her own music on her new walkman. It was not that long of a trip but the idea of seeing Mike again for the first time in the flesh since Thanksgiving made the distance insufferable. She kept her eyes peeled for a sign of the talkie-walkie entering within range of Mike’s, but he had explained that it wouldn’t be before they were really close. He couldn’t miss the last day of school to use Cerebro, his mum would have had him grounded and that was most definitely the last thing he wanted right now. So, patience was the key. She straightened her colourful dress as she crossed her legs. Spending the first few months at a school had been some of the weirdest moments of her life, and that was saying something. But before she could tell her old friends, she had to content herself with music and the dying colours of Midwestern winter.

“Chris! No cheating!” Will said, shocked.

Next to her, Will, who forgot to call dibs on the side seats, ended up squished between El and his new friend, Christopher. His parents had accepted to let him spend the holidays with the Byers, not unhappy to be able to spend it on their own. Although, they made it clear that he could just take a bus if something went wrong or if he just wanted to come back. He had the money in his bag, but Chris definitely didn’t think he would come back before he had to. After all, he finally got to see Hawkins, meet “the Party” that Will had been talking so much about.

“I’m not cheatin’! You’re just bad at this game.” He laughed, putting down another card.

“Warning, turn,” Jonathan said, as the two boys put their hands on the display of play cards on the limited space of the travel tray, exchanging an amused look.

Soon enough, after quite a few songs, games and turns, they passed the sign welcoming them to Hawkins. For Chris, it was just a town sign like any other, just slightly more familiar maybe, given all of Will’s stories. But for all the others, being welcomed back to a town they had spent most, if not all their lives in was bizarre, to say the least.

The idea of the trip and the trip had brought the excitement to see all their friends and their old town, and they had mostly tried to avoid thinking about the rest of Hawkins’ implication in their lives. The monsters, the bad guys, the lab, the horror and the pain, the fear, Hopper, Billy and well… nothing really nice. It’s why they left in the first place, and it’s the reason they dreaded to come back. Will had been trying to convince himself that all of that was behind them, forever. Didn’t El losing her power meant that the contact was broken? Hopefully permanently? He hadn’t felt anything on the back of his neck since they closed the gate. Everything pointed to that story being just that, a story.

Yet, that’s what they all thought until Halloween a year prior. And last summer. From where he was standing, he could see El’s scar on her leg. He knew it didn’t hurt anymore, the memory of it did. They often talked about it. About how she still had so many nightmares. About the mushy sound of the Mind Flayer, she still thought she heard sometimes. About being dragged around by its bloody claws. About seeing Billy standing there, sacrificing himself while she was on the ground, unable to do anything. He knows this is what made her pick up karate; so that she didn’t have to be so powerless ever again. Will also shared his own nightmares, that sometimes felt too real. Or when he would wake up, unable to move, his room covered in the same green goo that made up the Upside Down, and sometimes a Demogorgon standing in the corner, ready to attack.

“Earth to Will, do you copy?” Chris asked, giggling at Will’s absent expression.

“Yeah, sorry.”

Maybe one day, Christopher could understand what linked that family, what shared trauma they didn’t want to talk about. After a few months, of course, he couldn’t hope to know everything, but it was sometimes uncomfortable to guess the awkwardness and to stand in the middle of unspoken words. Maybe one day, he told himself. Maybe.

Will finished putting the game back in its box just in time as they parked near one of the local hotels. To be fair, they might not spend a lot of time at the hotel, especially the kids and Jonathan. But Joyce needed a place to be, and she couldn’t think of any place they could stay at.

She almost didn’t come.

She didn’t have any reason to, no one to see, unlike the others. But she hated the idea of being so far away from her boys. Trusting Hawkins to take care of them was too much to ask. She didn’t want to have to drive for several hours in case something bad or weird happened again. And, of course, she acted as some kind insurance for Chris’parents. They couldn’t just leave their son with a 17-year-old they barely knew. Moreover, who wants to spend Christmas alone? Not Joyce. Her boys wouldn’t have let her do that anyway. She barely had the time to sit down on her bed that all the others were gone.

As per usual, the meeting was to take place at the Wheelers' place. It would be nice for all of them to see this familiar place after having to adapt to a totally new one. El even ended up going to school if you can believe it. She barely could, after having to spend so much time either locked up in a lab or in hiding. Things clearly had changed, and it was time to figure out just how much.

#stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things spoilers #stranger things 3 #stranger things #stranger things: embrace for impact #eleven #jane hopper #eleven stranger things #eleven hopper #joyce byers #stranger things joyce #jonathan byers #will byers #stranger things fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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let-it-raines · 6 years

Text

Second in Command (Ch. 17)

Summary: Life as the "spare to the heir" isn't all that it's cracked up to be when you're the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don't know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Anybody like St. Patrick’s Day in November?

On a side note, if you’ve sent me a prompt today, I’ve gotten it! And as soon as I write it, I’ll post for your reading pleasure :D

Entire story available on AO3 | HERE |

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @alys07

Emma has allergies. She has allergies, and every year as winter blossoms into spring, flowers blooming into a myriad of vibrant shades and grass becoming green again making things seem a little less dreary, she spends day after day sneezing with her eyes slightly swollen and her nose flushed as red as a rose. She texted him last night to let him know that if he comes over today to bring her medicine and tissues so that she can be a human being when he sees her. Apparently her parents haven’t had the chance to run around the corner to the pharmacy, or she’s been too stubborn to let them know that she’s suffering. He would bet on the latter. So not wanting to anger the red-nosed beast, he shuffles through his medicine cabinet and pulls a box of tissues out of his storage closet before climbing into his car and driving to the pub in the early afternoon.

It’s about an hour before opening, and when he slips in the door to the pub they’ve left unlocked for him today, he finds David and Mary Margaret setting down chairs off of the tables. He goes to help them, flipping chairs as he asks them how their week has gone and if they’ve been enjoying the nicer temperatures outside now that it’s March unlike their twenty-five year old daughter upstairs who seems to not be able to function. They both laugh at that before telling him good luck before he heads upstairs to greet Emma, who’s sitting on the couch watching the television, her skin pale with the expected prominent red nose.

“Hello, Rudolph.”

“I will hurt you,” she threatens, her voice congested and hoarse, and he’s not entirely sure that she’s only been afflicted with allergies and not a cold. She’s never been the best at handling sickness, always leaning toward the dramatics more when her head isn’t totally clear and her body aches at the feeling of being dragged around without its full capabilities. It’s one of the few times when she’s not the invincible Emma Nolan and instead a regular person with a beating heart.

She’s vulnerable, and he’s thrilled he’s been able to see that vulnerability over the past five years of knowing her. It makes his heart swell, blood pumping through him and heating his body in happiness while Emma threatens him for joking with her.

He laughs, possibly speeding up his own demise with the sound, before leaning down to kiss her temple. “I love you, even if you’re not in the mood for any reindeer games.”

“We’re breaking up if you make one more reindeer joke.”

“Aren’t you a scrooge?”

She grumbles something under her breath, but he doesn’t bother listening to it because he’s sure it’s something very unpleasant about his Christmas jokes, instead handing her the medicine and tissues before going to fix her a mug of hot chocolate, only joining her in the living room when he has a steaming mug of the chocolate with cinnamon and whipped cream, draping a blanket over her on the couch while he settles in the recliner he bought David for Christmas a few month prior.

Emma’s apparently been binging the Great British Bake-Off, and he somehow gets sucked into it as well, watching these poor people stress over their creations and do things such as forget to turn the oven on or undercooking their bread. It’s all fun and games until the next episode comes on, and it’s themed around his family, all of the hosts wearing costume crowns as they introduce the episode and tell the remaining contestants that they have to bake a cake fit for a royal wedding and tailor it to the family member of their choice.

He groans in frustration at how ridiculous that is as Emma snorts, quickly looking over at him before burying her face under her second mug of hot chocolate. More people choose him than anyone else as he’s the most prominent unmarried family member, and while some of the cakes look damn good, he’s a bit uncomfortable with the fact that these bakers are making cakes for his fake wedding, several of them commenting on how they hope he finds love soon as he’s been quiet on the romance front for quite some time now and it’s upsetting that such a “handsome and bright young man cannot find love with a nice, proper girl.”

“I know they shot this months ago, but if I call the show and tell them I’ve solved your ‘loveless’ situation, do you think they’ll let me eat some of those cakes?”

“Hell, I could make one instead of you blowing our cover, Nolan.”

Her eyes light up at that, a true smile forming on her dull pink lips and brightening her skin with the glow of it. “Would you really?”

He shrugs. “I’ve got to do something to get you to take me back after you broke up with me for my reindeer jokes.”

“You bake me a cake, and I’ll take you back with open arms, babe.”

It turns out that the Nolans haven’t gone to buy their groceries for the week, and all that they have that even resembles a cake or the ingredients to bake a cake is a package of snack cakes that he knows for a fact Emma and Mary Margaret hate while David loves. He’d give anything to just be able to go to the grocery and do their shopping for them to help them out and to make Emma’s day better, but he can’t do that. Once he’s in the apartment, he can’t really go anywhere except for the pub, and even then, it has to be incredibly discreet and only when it’s pretty much empty down there and the lights are dimmed.

He sighs before walking the few feet to the couch and plopping down next to Emma and resting his head on her shoulder, screw her possible cold. “You’re out of luck, love. You guys don’t even have eggs.”

“It’s fine. I’m just going to pretend I’m eating the food they cook on the show. It’s not like I can taste anything anyways.”

He chuckles before wrapping his arm around the back of the couch and her shoulder, kissing her temple again while she continues to watch the frantic bakers as he responds to emails and texts about the St. Patrick’s Day celebrations for tomorrow. It’s his mother’s last year of handing out the Shamrocks to the Irish Guard, and the entire family is set to join her and speak with some of the Guard before enjoying a Guinness with all of them at the base. This year he’s being appointed with the honorary rank of Colonel of the Irish guards. He’d never done military service like Liam had after University, instead choosing to serve his family and his country through working with patronages and charities at home instead. He’d thought about it, really and truly had as he knew how great it is to honor and serve one’s country, but something was holding him back. He just didn’t know what at the time.

“What are you doing?” Emma inquires as she takes his phone out of his hand to look at what he’s reading over before handing it back to him after skimming through the words. “Is this your thing for tomorrow?”

“Yes, it’s my thing. I’m sorry I can’t be here with you tomorrow, my little miserable love.”

She turns to face him, her nose still so red, but some of the color is returning to her face. “Babe,” she reassures, “it’s fine. This is your job, and just like mine, sometimes it keeps us working crazy different hours, but we’ve figured out how to deal with it. Plus, aren’t you supposed to get to wear that fancy new uniform? The one that makes you look like you’re out of a Disney movie?”

He groans, throwing his head back because as honored as he is by this distinction, tomorrow, he’s not the most fond of the red jacket and blue sash with all of the gold tapestry. Plus, there’s a hat and gloves, and he feels a bit like he should be arriving in a horse-drawn carriage instead of a car…not that he hasn’t done the horse-drawn carriage thing before.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Do you have a picture of you in it?”

He does, and even if he told her no, she’d request one tomorrow. So he slides through his pictures until he finds the one his mother had taken when he’d been getting it fitted at the Palace.

“Oh, Killian,” she sighs, looking at the photo before looking back at him, her hand tracing against his jawline, “I know I poked fun, but you look so handsome like this.”

Maybe the uniform isn’t too bad if Emma likes him in it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m going to have to watch the news coverage of tomorrow just to get to see you in this since I won’t see it in person.”

“Maybe one day, love.”

The next day as he gets dressed, making sure that all of the strappings of his uniform are in the right place, he takes a picture of himself with his best smolder on his face and sends it to Emma. He can’t keep his phone with him during the event, and he’s going to be in the car with his mum so he doesn’t need to be texting Emma while his mother can see his face or possibly read his texts in such close quarters.

“Do you know who’s going to take over for you next year, Mum?”

“Not yet, darling,” she admits, softly smiling at him as she straightens her skirt. “I’d thought maybe Abigail, but I’m not sure. A part of me wants to keep doing it. I’ve always loved it, but I don’t think I’m the right person to be doing this particular one after so many years. I’m sure they want to meet someone new.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the right person, Mum.”

It’s warmer than they expected today, the spring sun feeling more like summer than something that’s melting away the last vestiges of fallen snow on tree tops and rural streets. His entire family is dressed in their military uniforms while his mother and Abigail wear winter green dress coats with tights to keep themselves warm despite the surprisingly warm weather. It’s always quite difficult to predict the weather for St. Patrick’s Day, even when they check it the morning of to make sure pre-planned outfits are suitable.

He’s stuck standing between his father and Liam while his mother hands out the sprigs of Shamrock, and while they make polite conversation with each other and the people around them, it’s all a bit stilted. He’s ready to go home the longer he stands there, but he knows that this day isn’t about him. It’s about honoring his mother and all of the members of the Irish Guard as they celebrate this festive day, his awkwardness with his family being pushed behind him for the sake of others.

Hours later when all of the shamrocks have been handed out and the pints of Guinness have been consumed, he’s back in his apartment, the lights dull as he’s reminded of the absolute stillness of his home, nothing out of place because if he doesn’t clean up after himself, a member of the staff will while he’s gone. His phone vibrates in his pocket to let him know an email came in, but he also sees several messages from Emma that she’s sent throughout the day.

Emma: Hot damn. My boyfriend is a smoking Prince Charming…or Prince Devilishly Handsome, which is much better than the Disney movies.

Emma: But seriously, you look just as handsome as I thought you would.

Emma: I know you don’t have your phone with you because you’re currently on my television, but I wanted to let you know that your medicine and doctoring yesterday has cured most of my ills and I’m more Frosty the Snow Man than Rudolph.

Emma: I think it’s three months too late to be making so many Christmas references.

Emma: Who am I kidding? It’s never too late.

Emma: Oh, also, Happy St. Patrick’s Day, babe. Love you to pieces.

Attached to the last text is a picture of her with a sparkly green headband on, two four-leaf clovers springing off the top of her head as she smiles at him. She’s got on a t-shirt that says “pinch me and I’ll punch you” and he loves her more than anything in the world, even if there’s still that slight redness at the tip of her nose. Maybe because of it.

Killian: Hey, darling. Sorry I couldn’t get back to you earlier, and I know you’re working now but I just wanted to let you know I missed you today and am glad you’re feeling better. I’ve been told that I have incredible…touch…so it’s not surprising I’ve cured your ills.

Killian: Also, I think pinching you might be worth the resulting punch. Love you, too.

“Okay,” Emma mumbles, pining her hat to her head before adjusting her curls underneath so that they fall in waves across the dark green coat gracing her shoulders and falling just above her knees, “so all I’m doing is handing out sprigs of Shamrock and chatting a bit, right? Nothing I can really screw up.”

He knows she’s more talking to herself than she’s talking to him. They’ve gone over this several times with their aides and public relation specialists, and Emma could probably recite the day in extreme detail for all of the times she’s read through her preparation packet, like she does every time she attends an event with him.

“Right.” He fixes a stray hair caught in her collar before running his thumb over the apple of her cheek, lingering there a bit longer than usual just so she knows he’s here. “I’m going to by right by you the entire time, so if you somehow don’t know what to say or do, just follow my lead, yeah?”

She nods her head before her lips slightly tick up on the sides, and he knows she’d pull her lip between her teeth if it wouldn’t mess with her lipstick.

“You’re going to do great, darling. I know it, and obviously mum and dad know it for entrusting you with this task. Plus, we’re going to your parents’ pub to drink a Guinness with some of the Guard after. How great is that for you and me to get to go back to our beginnings?”

She finally fully smiles, even if it’s just a soft little thing, but the green of her outfit brings out the green in her eyes so that she looks to be absolutely glowing even in her timid state, especially as the light from the window makes her golden hair almost glow white.

“It’s pretty great.”

The two of them head to the car where they’re driven to the Irish base in West London with their aides and their security detail going over last minute details. These are all things that he knows, but he listens and asks the questions he can tell Emma is hesitant to ask so that there’s nothing she’s unsure of, especially since he knows they’re greeting crowds outside of the base before going in and handing out the shamrock and watching the parade put on by the Guard.

His mother had given up her position at this particular engagement the year before when he’d been granted his honorary position as Colonel of the Irish Guard, and while she hadn’t known who was going to be her replacement at the time, she’d almost immediately given Emma to honor after the two of them became engaged.

“I’m kind of sad you’re not wearing the uniform you wore to this last year,” Emma sighs as they get a bit closer to the base. “I’d like to see that in person.”

“Well, my darling, this is only because that’s what I’m wearing on our wedding day, as per your request when we were going through the options. Can’t have everyone seeing me in my wedding outfit while yours is such a big secret.”

She nudges his shoulder even as she shakes her head at his cheekiness. “You’re still not seeing the dress, my man.”

He and Emma go along to greet the crowds, making sure to stop to talk to those who are particularly enthusiastic or have brought a sign for the two of them, along with special greetings for the children and elderly. He sees Emma squatting down talking to a young child with blonde hair similar to Emma, and he’s just about to go join when he hears his name.

“Prince Killian, your lady is so beautiful.”

He smiles before going over to the older woman who’s talking to him from her position in her wheelchair, stopping and shaking her hand as a wind chill gusts through the crowd.

“Thank you, ma’am. What’s your name?”

“Susan Thomason, your Highness.”

“Tell you what, Susan,” he winks, “you can just call me Killian, and it’ll be our little secret since you’ve been so kind about Emma.”

Susan blushes as he still holds her hand, and he swears she might flutter her eyelashes. It’s endearing, and this is one of his favorite things about being who he is.

“We’ve all just waited so long for you to be happy, and I can just see it all over your face now. A man can’t hide when he’s in love.”

Well, he did for a long while, but it’s always nice to get to show his true feelings after so many years of hiding them.

“Well, I’ve been happy for a long time, but thank you, Susan. I hope you have a wonderful holiday.”

He squeezes her hand before moving on to greet other people, having to wave and not shake hands in order to catch up with Emma who seems to be in a lively conversation across the street with a group of young men. He comes up behind her and wraps his arm around her waist to pull her closer to him to help keep the chill away from her as she’s only in the wool coat dress and tights.

She turns to him and smiles when his hand rests on her side, his thumb running up and down to feel the dip of her waist above her hip while she fills him in on what they’ve been talking about to cause such jubilation.

“So these wonderful men have been letting me know that they were part of an Emma Nolan look-a-like party at Halloween last year,” she looks over to him with this brilliant smile on her face while very obviously trying to hold in her laughter.

“Do you all have pictures?” he questions because oh boy does he want to see this.

One of the young men slaps another before saying, “I told you they’d be cool about this. They’re the cool royals.”

Emma’s cheeks flush, and there’s no way for her to hide it. He’s had some hysterical conversations before, but this one is a personal favorite now. The men show them a series of pictures from Halloween, and nearly every one of them is in a blonde wig with skinny jeans and some type of plaid shirt or sweater like Emma was favoring during the fall of last year when she could still dress exactly how she pleased. None of them look anything like her, but Emma cannot contain her laughter anymore at the entire ordeal now that she’s seen proof of their story.

“Can I take a picture with them?” she turns to ask him. They’re not technically supposed to take selfies, but Killian has done it in the past when the time calls for it. What the hell? One time won’t hurt, especially because these will probably be the last people they talk to before they have to go inside the base.

“Of course, darling. Do you guys want me to use this phone?”

They all nod their heads before arranging for the picture, Emma leaning against the barrier with all of the guys surrounding her and smiling as Killian takes a few shots of the five of them before handing the phone back and guiding Emma away to where their security is waiting for them.

“None of them look like me, right?”

“Not in the slightest.”

The wind seems to pick up when they walk into the gates of the base, and he really hopes that it calms down because if he’s chilled, he cannot imagine how Emma is suffering at the impact. They’ve got to hand out sprigs to over three hundred Guards as well as having a bit of a chat with all of them thanking them for their service and wishing them a happy St. Patrick’s Day. Emma does swimmingly, as he knew that she would, and between the two of them it only takes an hour until they’re finished and sitting in a covered partition to watch the Guards march in their parade, the mascot of the Guard, an Irish Wolfhound leading the pack.

He notices Emma shivering, and wraps his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer into his side after placing a kiss on her forehead.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting it to be this cold. I can’t remember the last time it was this bad in mid-March. Usually I’m holed up right now with some kind of cold, so I’m thinking that’s coming after today if we stay out here much longer.”

“Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be back in the car, okay?”

He was wrong in thinking they’d only be out there for little while longer because it’s another two hours before they’re walking into the familiar walls of the pub and its heating system, Emma practically sighing in relief before immediately moving to hug her parents as he does the same, holding on a little bit tighter at being back in this place for the first time in over half of a year.

It doesn’t seem to have changed except for the obvious security cameras in the corners and an upgraded flat screen on the wall, and he’s glad to see that it’s still so familiar. Just being here brings back so many memories, and when this is all over he and Emma are going upstairs to have dinner with David and Mary Margaret like his life is a little more normal.

The Guard members begin to shuffle into the pub, all of them stopping to greet Killian and Emma even if they’ve already spoken with them, and while he’s used to greeting people, it’s odd greeting them while inside of this building where he was no one but a patron. It’s also odd that he’s in here without a cap in the middle of the day with all of the lights turned on.

The two of them are really only supposed to drink a pint and pose for some photos, but that plan is pretty much nixed the moment Will and the Nolans get behind on serving the pints. Emma immediately gets up and goes behind the bar to help out, handing out glasses and chatting with everyone while still in her dress and heels from earlier.

“Your Highness,” their new joint assistant Isabelle whispers into his ear, “Ms. Nolan really shouldn’t be seen serving beer.”

“Why not?”

“It may be seen as her cheapening the monarchy.”

“No offense, Isabelle, but that’s a load of bullocks. She’s happy and in her element, and if you want my opinion…it’s that I don’t care about the opinions of others.”

Isabelle nods before backing away and going to stand in the corner with the photographers while Emma continues to stand behind the bar serving. She is indeed in her element, smiling and laughing as she talks to the service men and women, and he’d like to join in, walking around the side of the bar and going to stand behind the counter with Emma.

“Your Highness, I’d never thought I’d see the day where you’re serving me beer.”

He peers over to see the man’s full name on his uniform. “Well, Ross, I can only say that I never thought Emma here would allow me behind the bar.”

Ross raises his eyebrow at the two of them, and Emma laughs beside him. “I couldn’t have him knocking over all of the alcohol. You see,” she leans over the counter to get a bit closer to Ross and stage whispers, “I make him a little nervous, and he could be a liability with all of that flustering while he was trying to flirt with me.”

Ross as well as some of the other men and women at the bar laugh at Emma teasing him, and she just wraps her arm around his back and rubs circles there while he laughs along at the truth behind her statement. She’s always made him a bumbling fool.

“Funny and beautiful. No wonder you got swept off your feet by a prince.”

“Oh, Ross,” Emma chuckles, “I was the one doing the sweeping.”

The entire event ends up lasting for two hours, and by the end of it this has to be the most genuine, simple fun he’s ever had at an engagement as he and Emma sit in their booth at the back of the pub and talk to all of the guards and members of their families before everyone is shuffled out of the pub and all he has to do for the rest of the day is approve the media coverage he wants released from his official accounts before going to eat dinner with the Nolans.

“So that was insane,” David sighs as he sits down in the living room while Mary Margaret puts the lasagna they’re eating for dinner in the oven. “Did any of you bother to look outside? Because the streets were packed.”

“No, I didn’t look outside. I was too busy picking up your slack, Dave.”

Killian settles down onto the couch, Emma sitting at the opposite end and settling her feet in his lap with her heels still on. She did so well today. She is really a natural at this, but he knows that all of the attention is hard on her. It’s culture shock, and she’s being fully submerged in a short time. She wiggles her feet in his lap, and when he looks over at her, she smiles before nodding at her feet, silently asking for him to rub her feet through her tights.

“I was not slacking,” David protests and oh has Killian missed being in this apartment and teasing David even if he knows that he should be nothing but cordial to the man. “I was simply overwhelmed by my daughter’s Grinch costume.”

“Hey,” Emma whines, pulling a pillow out from underneath her to toss at her dad. “I think this looks nice. I’m not quite used to the hat thing all the time, but I think this was a nice outfit. I’m festive.”

“You looked beautiful, love.”

“See,” she looks at her dad before pointing at him, “that’s how you’re supposed to treat me, Dad.”

“Killian is marrying you. He’s going to be much kinder than I am.”

“I am your daughter. I feel like you should also be nice.”

David shrugs, Emma rolls her eyes at her dad, and this entire thing is perfect.

The four of them sit down to dinner a little over an hour later, formal clothes long since discarded as he and Emma get to eat for the first time since that morning. Emma speaks to her parents every day, but he doesn’t so it’s nice to be able to catch up with them and how they’re doing. They’re still looking for a new home, and his face goes red when they say they’re trying to find a place fit for watching grandchildren. It’s a casual comment and good reasoning for their search in a home, but Mary Margaret gives Emma a very pointed look. She might as well tap her watch and tell the two of them that she’s waiting.

The pub is still open for the rest of the evening, St. Patrick’s Day too big of a day for them to close down, so David and Mary Margaret do eventually have to go downstairs to help Will, leaving he and Emma to be guided out by their body guards and walked to the car until they’re safely on their way home.

“You did fantastic today, you know that?”

Emma reaches over to tap his knee, running her thumb against the material of his slacks. “Thank you. I liked today. It was fun. Tiring but fun. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all of this, though.”

“Most likely not, but it gets easier the more you do it, love.” He leans over to whisper in her ear so that everyone else in the car cannot hear. “You want to go get luckywhen we get home?”

She snickers at his come on, and harshly pinches his thigh, causing him to flinch back from her ear.

“Bloody hell. What was that for?”

“You’re not wearing green.”

The next Saturday is the Kidding A Goal opening, and this is the most nervous he’s been about an event in a long time. He knows it’s because this is his own personal charity instead of it being a patronage he supports, and he simply wants things to go right. He wants everything to run smoothly, the kids to have a good time, and he mostly wants it to be successful in the long run and to make some kind of difference for these kids.

“You’re pacing, babe.”

“I’m not pacing.”

“Okay,” Emma exaggerates, bending down to tie her sneakers, “then you’re walking back and forth over the same section of hardwood flooring. I think that’s called pacing, but sure. Whatever you say.”

His shoulders sag forward because she’s right. She’s always damn right, reading him even when he’s only giving the most subtle of signs to his true feelings. Of course, he most definitely is pacing, so it’s not like this is a subtle sign. Even people who don’t know him could tell that he’s nervous.

Emma stands after tying her shoes, and the both of them are in athletic clothes instead of dressing up so she looks much smaller than she usually is when they go out and she’s stuck in heels. The thought sobers him just a bit, reminding him that today isn’t like most of his other days. Of course there’s pressure from all sides, but it’s about everyone having fun. He’s going to be playing with the children more than anything else, and he can do that without a problem.

“I’m a little nervous,” he admits, tugging Emma into his side and kissing her temple. “I just want things to go well.”

She stands on her toes to press her lips against his jaw, nosing at him so that he looks down at her. “This is years in the making, Killian, and it’s a brilliant idea. The only thing that’s possibly going to go wrong is that I’m going to kick your ass today when we play the games.”

“In you dreams, Nolan.”

By the time the two of them get there, all of the kids and families are already inside, sitting in chairs in the auditorium of the facility as the concert they arranged for the children begins to wind down, the music dying until he walks out on the makeshift stage filled with all kinds of banners with their logo. He’s got to read a speech off the teleprompter, going on and on about the power of sport and teamwork, especially at young ages, before he smiles and yells, “let the games begin.”

For awhile he simply makes the rounds with all of the coaches, administrators, and wonderful people who have made his vision a reality, thanking them for their hard work and dedication not just for making today possible but for all of the days in the future. Emma does the same even if she’s never met most of them like he has, and after they’re through with their official duties, they can move on to talking to the children who are taking part today.

There’s a group of kids doing some sort of relay, running around cones and then hula hooping before having to pass the baton off to their teammate to continue the course. He doesn’t want to do it, but Emma’s got this glint in her eyes that basically says “game on.” She wasn’t kidding earlier when she told him she was going to outdo him today for the sake of competitiveness.

He and Emma get in line so that they’re paired up with each other before the next section of children start the race. When they’re told to go, he and Emma both take off, but he’s the slightest bit faster than her, always has been when not running on the beach, so as he jumps through the tires and runs around the cones, Emma lags just enough behind so that he can hand his baton off before she does. It’s not about winning, but he’s most definitely going to tease Emma about this later just because he can.

After the relay they go about talking to all of the kids on their teams, and after he finds himself finished with his team, Emma is still talking. One thing he’s noticed as they do engagements, despite her hesitancy toward a public persona, is that she is incredibly comfortable talking to people, particularly those who are not public officials or diplomats. So it’s really no surprise to him that she’s talking to a little girl as he walks over to join her.

“Do you play sports, Emma?”

“I run, and I play tennis sometimes but I think you’re already much better than I am when it comes to running obstacle courses.”

“Yeah, I am pretty good, aren’t I?”

He and Emma both try to contain their laughter, but Emma fails, her giggles passing through her lips even as she covers her mouth because this little girl is confident. He likes it.

“You know, Laura,” he begins, squatting down next to Emma, placing his hand against her back as she holds Laura’s hand, “my family plays a football match every Christmas, and Emma was on the wining team this year.”

She doesn’t seem to be too interested in what he has to say, but she appeases him anyways. “What about you?”

“Oh, I lost,” he chuckles, and Emma looks back at him and smiles, “but I tried my best and had a fun time. That’s what I want you to do today, okay? Try your best and have a good time.”

After all of the children have had time to take part in the opening day activities, more fun and games than actual sport just for today as the real coaching and practicing will start to take place on Monday, he and Emma are set to play a few strokes of tennis against each other. He’d foolishly let Emma pick the sport they were going to play when Isabelle encouraged the two of them to do a bit of an official exhibition of some sort, and she’d picked the one thing where she excelled and he floundered.

He would have expected nothing less.

It’s much warmer today than it was at the St. Patrick’s Day celebrations last week, and as they’re led to the courts outside, he wants to take his pullover off but he can’t as it has the charity’s logo and the video of this match will be used as promotion. Emma doesn’t seem to be affected by the heat at all, though, breezily chatting with one of their coaches and swinging her racket around as they walk.

They have it set up as an entire event, temporary stands constructed around the court so that as many kids as possible can watch them play. He and Emma are equipped with headsets with microphones, as Emma very kindly reminds him to watch his language for when he inevitably gets a little frustrated. Yeah, they’re trying to teach the children all about the power of sport and having a good time while trying your best, but that doesn’t mean he’s not competitive, especially when competing against a woman like Emma.

“Heads or tails,” their umpire says after the two of them stand at the net for pictures like they do in real matches.

“Heads,” Emma answers for him as she hops on her feet to warm herself up, and he already knows she’s going to be cheeky during this entire thing.

The coin lands on heads, and Emma elects to serve before taking two fingers and pointing at her eyes before pointing at him. “Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off of you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”

Killian insisted that this entire day is casual, so much so that no one refer to him as Prince or His Royal Highness once everything has begun. He’s simply Killian, while Emma is Emma, not going by the formality of Ms. Nolan as she’s gotten used to in the past month or so. This has kind of backfired a bit, however, because Emma seems to be much more fun for the children to chant as he and Emma rally, the yellow ball gently being passed back and forth on the blue court. Every time she gets a point on him, especially if it’s a winner, all of the kids break out into cheers that have Emma absolutely beaming across the net.

“You hear that, babe,” she teases through her microphone, probably not even realizing that she called him by her endearment for him in front of all of the people watching here and on the live stream, “I think all of your charms have gone away because it seems that I’ve got an absolutely fantastic cheering section.”

She gently hits the ball at him then, setting it up to his forehand and leaving a section of the court wide open so that he has no choice but to hit a winner, and he does, the yellow ball of fuzz passing Emma so that she doesn’t even attempt to get her racket on it. The crowd cheers, chanting for him a bit as they probably haven’t realized Emma totally let him have that, and then he hears Emma’s voice over the microphone leading the chant. When he looks over to her, she’s absolutely radiating happiness, and when he over exaggerates a fist pump, she throws her head back in laughter while all of the children do the same.

After their “match” they do a friendly handshake at the net, and when Emma pulls him in for a hug, kissing his slightly sweaty cheek, he hugs her a bit tighter before joking that she’s a regular Andy Murray.

The event winds down after that, the children tiring after eating the snacks they’ve provided, and he and Emma have to do their mini closing ceremony, giving a speech telling everyone that they hope that they had a great day and sign up forms for each individual sport or activity are at the booths in the back of the auditorium or online on their newly launched website.

When they get home, he practically collapses on the bed, not necessarily tired but relieved that the entire thing is over and that it went better than he could have ever dreamed. He just hopes that the actual organization runs that smoothly.

“That was fantastic,” Emma compliments before joining him on the bed, her head flopping down next to his as she accidentally knees his stomach, and she’s really beating up on him today, isn’t she?

“Yeah?”

The mattress squeaks the slightest bit as she turns her body to face him, soft smile on her face that makes all of his insecurities about that day fade away for at least the moment. “Absolutely. Everything about it was perfect, and some of those kids’ lives are going to change because of you. You know that?”

He does. He finally feels like he’s making an actual difference, even if it may just be a small one. “I do. Thank you for being so great today.”

Emma reaches up to caress his face, her fingers running through his hair and pushing it back so that it doesn’t fall to his forehead anymore. God, he could fall asleep with her playing with his hair, and he almost does until Emma speaks.

“You’re going to be the best dad when the time comes. You know that, right?”

His eyelids flutter open to find her still hovering above him, hands running through his hair in a soothing motion.

“You’re sweet, love. What’s brought this on?”

“Just watching you with all of those kids today. I know as much as we talk about it and then don’t talk about it, as much as you want them, you’ve always been nervous that you couldn’t be a good dad because of your relationship with your family and the lifestyle you’d be bringing kids into, but Killian, none of that matters with how wonderful you just instinctively are.”

He reaches his hand out to cup the back of Emma’s head, threading his hands through her hair before bringing her down to intermingle their lips in a soft, slow kiss that has no purpose other than to show his affection for her.

“You’ve changed my whole world, Emma.”

#second in command #captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan fic

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pennywaltzy · 5 years

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Alternate Beginnings, Alternate Endings, Alternate Universes (3/5 - An “Adventures In Unexpected Places” Story)

we’re winding down on kid!Amy and kid!Rory for a bit, but they’ll come back in flashbacks in other fics, I swear! But here’s another old chapter of @fadeddreaming‘s crossover story…

Alternate Beginnings, Alternate Endings, Alternate Universes - After being sent to the worst school in the whole of England, Amy meets up with the man whose fault it is that she’s there, and things go vastly more differently than anyone expected.

Valentine’s Day went well. The girls at school had had a blow-out party while Amy and Rory went to New York City to sightsee with the Doctor. It wasn’t as though he was really chaperoning them, but was there with his sonic if they needed it. They went to a museum of art and then a concert of Amy’s favorite band. Rory didn’t set foot on the school grounds at all, and the next day she acted as though everything was normal and not that she’d had the best first date ever.

But her life went back to normal. Mels had found the person the Doctor suggested, and they were hatching up all sorts of schemes, and Amy watched on with amusement. It was clear that Mels really was a criminal mastermind, and while it was nice to see her excel Amy also hoped she knew when to get out before it was too late.

Winter ended and spring arrived, and soon it was time for Easter break. Rory’s parents had accepted that their son was in a long distance relationship with Amelia and invited her to stay with them, and Mels had gotten her parents to offer the same, but Aunt Sharon had finally decided that maybe she should see how her niece was, so she was going home for the break.

Home…it seemed strange to her, but now St. Trinian’s was home, and the only thing Leadworth had to offer was Rory. It would be very strange to be back for two weeks, but the Doctor had promised he would try and visit, make things a bit lively, and she knew she could trust him to do just that. As she set her duffel bag on the floor of her old room she looked around. Aunt Sharon had come in to dust, but everything had been left more or less as she had left it. It saddened her a bit, to think that her aunt missed her so little that she hadn’t spent time among her old things.

Their first dinner together was awkward. There was so much going on that Amy simply couldn’t tell her about, like the trips with the Doctor or Mels zany schemes or the times she actually got to see her boyfriend out of the blue. So she stuck to the simple stuff, and Aunt Sharon tried to fill in the gaps with what had been going on since she had left. It was with relief that Amy went outside to the old swing set that was still standing back there, and sat down on the swing.

It was times like today she wondered what had happened to her parents. She had bare memories of them, but nothing concrete. She remembered her mum was thin, and her dad was on the fat side. She remembered hazy smiles, but that was it. There were no pictures of them around the house, and when asked her Aunt Sharon always changed the subject, as if she didn’t want to talk about them, and didn’t want her talking about them, either. Would her parents have sent her to St. Trinian’s? Would they have just believed her about what she knew now was the truth, that he was real and that she could travel through time and space when she was with them? Or would it be exactly the same as it was now?

The familiar vworp-vworp-vworp of the TARDIS materializing got her attention, shaking off the melancholy thoughts. Sometimes, she swore, she just had to think and her Doctor would make himself known. The doors swung open and she jumped off the seat and ran in, throwing her arms around the surprised man’s chest. “It’s only been three weeks, Pond,” he replied, still giving her a hug.

“It’s like you just know when I need you,” she said, letting go.

“But haven’t you figured out yet that I do?” he said, grinning at her. She grinned back, and he clapped his hands together. “So! What do you want to do today?”

“I want to see my mum and dad,” she replied.

He frowned. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Amelia.”

“Why not? We can go in the past, right?” She walked over to the console. “Shouldn’t be hard.”

“Amelia,” he said quietly. “I have looked. God knows, I have looked. And I simply can’t find them. They’ve never existed.”

“Then how am I here?” she asked, confused.

“I don’t know, but I have a theory.” He looked at her, then moved her towards the chair near the console. She sat down and looked up at him. “The crack in your wall…I’ve seen others like it, all over the universe. I watched someone touch it, then disappear in a bright light, and then no one remembered him. There was no record of him. I think, perhaps, that your parents…the same thing may have happened to them.”

The crack. It still gave her nightmares, even now that it was sealed. And to think that it swallowed up her parents… “I don’t understand,” she said.

“I don’t either, not entirely, but I’m doing everything I can to figure it out. I promise, if I can bring your parents back I will.” He knelt down in front of her and grasped her hands in his, squeezing. She looked him full on in the face, knowing he was being earnest and truthful. But…she liked her life as it was now. How drastically would it all change if her parents were back? Would she still have Mels as a friend? Rory as a boyfriend? Would she still go to St. Trinian’s? Most of all, would she still have met the Doctor and had the wonderful, brilliant maddening adventures she’d had with them.

“I don’t want things to change,” she said, shaking her head.

“But if it would fix things, it’s what I should do,” he said.

She pulled her hands away and stood up. “No. I like this life. I have a home, I have friends, I feel like I belong somewhere. If you bring them back, what happens then? Do I lose all this? Does it never take place, and I’m different? I don’t want to be different.”

“But maybe it will be better,” he replied.

“And maybe it won’t!” she said. She could feel tears slipping down her cheeks. He didn’t care if it hurt her, he was going to do it anyway. He was her friend, and he was going to hurt her. “Maybe everything will be horrible! Maybe Mels will never come to Leaadworth and Rory won’t like me and I’ll never meet you and I’ll be boring and ordinary and I won’t…I won’t…” She couldn’t get anymore out.

He came up to her and wrapped his arms around her. She pounded at his chest slightly, but he didn’t let go. “I can’t imagine to know how you feel, Amelia,” he said quietly. “But if this is a mistake, if this is something I can fix, then I must fix it.”

She stopped fighting and instead cried, her face buried in his shirt until there were no more tears left. She pulled away, wiping her still moist eyes with the back of her hand. She looked at him closely, and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was going to do this. She had no say in it. She turned around so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “Please don’t come back for me.”

“Amelia…” he said quietly.

“If it all changes, don’t come into my life, okay? Just leave me be.” She started walking to the door. Her life was going to change. Someday, she was going to wake up and it would be different. And she had the gut feeling only she would remember. And she would be looked at as the weird little girl in Leadworth who talked of things no one else could understand all over again.

“I’ve seen your future. Your correct future,” he called out as she had her hand on the handle. “Do you want to know what happens? I hadn’t planned on telling you. I perhaps would have, later, when you were older.”

She lowered her hand and turned around. “Tell me.”

“I show up again when you’re nineteen, not twelve. We save the world from Prisoner Zero, and then I disappear again for two years. I come back the night before you marry Rory, and you run away with me. Then you try and kiss me, and it’s a mess, so I go pick up Rory, and…he dies. But he comes back, and then you die, and then we seal you up and wait nearly two thousand years for you to wake up. But the universe stopped existing, and an exploding TARDIS is the only thing warming the Earth. But then I fix things, and disappear, but you bring me back. But you also bring back your parents, and you seem happy when I drop in on your and Rory’s wedding.”

She stumbles a bit at the weight of the information. That’s what’s supposed to happen to her? That’s her life? A life of waiting, to be replaced with a life with her parents? “And what happens to this life?” she asked.

“It’s like the others. You remember it in your head. Rory will probably remember it, too, with enough prompting,” he said as he walked towards her. “But the life with your parents…you seem better in that life. More fulfilled. Happier.”

“But I wouldn’t see you again until I was twenty-one,” she said. “And Rory is going to die? And I’m going to die?”

“But you come back,” he said. “Of course, that life may never happen. After all, it’s nine more years until my enemies set the trap. And I know about it now.”

“How did you find out about it?” she aasked.

“My friend River, I’ve mentioned her before?” She nodded. “She’s a time traveler, going in the wrong order. The first time I meet her is the last time she sees me. She got a hold of me not long after I met you in Camilla’s office. She has a book where she records her adventures, and said suddenly she was remembering different events then were in her book. We had a long talk and that’s when I got the gist of everything that changed.”

“I had no idea,” she said quietly.

“And I didn’t want to tell you until you were older, until I learned more. No one should know more of their own future than absolutely necessary, especially in your case where it’s so drastic of a change. Even my records have you with a different future then the one I just told you. About the only thing that remains the same is that you have Rory to help guide you through things.”

“Should you tell him?” she asked.

“Yes, perhaps I should,” he replied. “It wouldn’t be good for you to have to keep such a heavy burden to yourself, and he would understand.”

“What about Mels?”

He paused. “The less she knows, the better,” he said after a moment. “Her future is…complicated. And the less you know of it, the better. I already made a hash of things, and it may turn out differently in the long run anyway.”

“I don’t like keeping secrets.”

“Let’s just say she’s got one of her own and leave it at that, shall we?” He put a hand on each shoulder and looked at her intently. “Should we go find Rory?”

“Yeah, probably,” she said with a sigh, looking down.

“Amelia.” She looked back up. “Before I go fix this problem, if I can fix it at all, I will tell you. I will have you be as prepared as I can for the changes that are going to come, whatever they might be. I will not leave you to face it all alone.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go get Rory.”

“All right then. Off to go fetch Rory.” He put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the console. A small but heavy weight was lifted from her shoulders. At least she would have warning. At least she could prepare herself. Or at least try. But she knew at the core of her being that things would never be the same again.

#doctor who #st trinians #amy x rory #fanfic #fanfiction #amy pond #the doctor #eleventh doctor #multipart: alternate beginnings alternate endings alternate universes #my au: adventures in unexpected places

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