You fumble with a pearl earring as Tom peaks his head in the
“Something wrong?” He asks noticing the nervous energy that
kept you from getting the earring in the little hole.
“Yes, I’m nervous. This is the Oscars, what if I fall.” You
finally snap the back of the earring in place.
“You won’t fall and if you do I will pick you back up.” Tom
says kissing your lips.
“Are you nervous? Do you have your speech?” You ask trying
to shift the topic of interest from you to him.
“Yes and do you have your’s.” Tom asks patting his jacket
“I didn’t write one. Tom, there is no way I’d win.” You say grabbing
“You are nominated for four awards, all of which you have a
chance of taking home.” Tom grins smugly.
“What, no Tom I am there to support you, David and Benedict.”
You say draping the shawl around your shoulders.
“Fine.” Tom says leading you out to the car.
Oh the red carpet, the
time where you get asked what you’re wearing and try to repeat French words and
still sound educated.
With Tom on your shoulder you step out of the car and onto
the carpet, not missing a step.
Flashes of cameras and earfuls of people talking about roles
and fashion assault your senses.
After the fashion question you catch up to Tom, David and Benedict
at your seats.
“I bet you’ll win all of them.” David whispers as the show
You smack his chest shaking your head.
“There’s no way, absolutely no way.” You say taking a sip of
Jokes about the newest celebrity scandals raddle on and tear
filled speeches are given until it comes to your first category: Best Director.
“And the award goes to Y/N L/N-Hiddleston.” The presenter
reads off the card.
You look around at the three men at your table and then back
at the stage. The camera and everyone’s eyes were on you.
“Are you sure?” You ask to no one in particular as you stand
up with Tom’s help and walk to the stage to accept the award.
“Um, hello. I honestly didn’t plan anything. I want to thank
my family and friends and Tom of course. Everyone involved with the film, everyone
that saw the film, even everyone that saw the trailer. I love you all.” You say
quickly accepting the award.
You sit back down at your table still amazed. You set the
award down on the table and look at the boys around you.
David takes a sip of his drink and says “One down three to
You roll your eyes.
More jokes and then Tom and David’s category: Best Actor.
“And the award goes to David Tennant.” The presenter says.
David looks just as surprised as you were and makes his way
to the award and makes a speech that makes most everyone in the audience cry.
Costume and Make-up awards were given and then it came back
to another category of yours: Best Original Screenplay.
You take a deep breath holding Tom and David’s hands.
Benedict reaches his hand on top of the pile of hands.
“And the award goes to Y/N L/n- Hiddleston, damn she’s on a
roll.” The old presenter says.
You froze looking at your friends and soulmate. This time
all three of them pushed you up to the stage. A couple of people laughed as
your legs shook under you.
“Wow, I really don’t know what to say. I poured a lot of
myself into this script. The story itself for Plastic was inspired by an unfortunate
event in college, where my self-confidence took a hit, and instead of turning
to a darker path I chose to put everything I felt down on paper. Not to put a
damper on this but to anyone out there that is being pulled down that path,
please don’t. Those scars stay with you. Channel it somehow into something positive.
It doesn’t have to be a script or a movie. Anything.” You finish as the music
began to play.
Going back to your seat you realize that many people began
crying during your little speech.
David opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off.
“Don’t say it, this is the end. I’m sure.”
You sit and hold Tom’s hand laughing as the show went on.
Benedict went to present an award for sound and came back a
little later than expected because of the speech of the winner.
Then your category came again: Best Picture.
You take a sip of your drink as the winner is announced.
“And the winner is Y/n L/N- Hiddleston, Hope your shoes are
comfortable.” The presenter says.
You spit out your water covering Benedict. You immediately
cover your mouth. Eyes bugging out of your head.
You quickly sprint to the stage.
“Okay first thing first, I’m sorry Benedict for spiting the
water on you. This is starting to get weird. I came here without a speech so bear
with me for the third time. Um I don’t want to repeat myself but I do want to
give a message for anyone who wants to get into this business. Do it, we need
new blood, sweat and tears going into this machine called show business.” You
end your speech.
You rush back to the boys trying to help Benedict with cloth
“I’m so sorry.” You say handing him yours.
“Y/N it’s fine. You were shocked just don’t drink anything
when they announce anything.” Benedict pats himself dry.
David smirks sipping his champagne. “Three down one to go.”
“Shut up.” You say as another comedian goes to present.
Tears and joke were to follow.
Actresses and actors go up and make their speeches. Mothers
are thanked and children are told to go to sleep.
That’s when it hit you.
You had to tell Tom that you are pregnant.
How is he going to
react? We spoke of having children. Both of us for it, but what if he changed
Tom and David go up to present the last of your categories:
Best Visual Effects.
He throws some witty jokes into the introduction of the
category with David.
They have this comedic timing and could bounce of each other
“Alright now let’s find out who won. Even though I think I have
an idea of who it is.” David says winking at you.
“Okay, the winner is, “Tom’s eyes scan the envelope.” Y/n L/N
Hiddelston, darling I told you.”
You take the award from Tom standing in between them both.
“Um wow, this is amazing and such a milestone for me. I
never thought I’d be up here. Movies take a long time to make and whole team.
So do miracles, Tom,” You face Tom and instantly forget about the cameras and
hundreds of people,” You and I have made our own little miracle. You’re going
to be a father.”
You look back Tom and he smiling and crying.
David’s shocked and people are clapping.
The three of you make your way back to your seats. You are
now a blubbering mess with four trophies.
“Are you okay?” You ask thinking he’s upset about losing.
“I’m wonderful, absolutely wonderful.” He says kissing you.
Both of your faces wet.
I don’t know what that Method is. Acting is life, to me, and should be.
- Vivien Leigh
Alan Webb said to me that if you found yourself naked with Vivien in the Sahara Desert with absolutely nothing, twenty-four hours later you would be coming out in a Rolls-Royce, covered in minks and drinking champagne.
- David Conville.
In the thinking now of that moment the recollection of her evokes all sorts of images: quicksilver; elegance and composure, like a small Siamese cat; and the tinkling charm of a Chinese lantern.
- Olivia de Havilland
What to say.. Vivien, dear Vivien… exquisite actress, thoughtful, fearless, gracious and enormously kind… a little pink cloud floating through the lives of all her friends, hovering over the setting sun, and thinking of everyone else but herself.
- Katharine Hepburn
Vivien, you’re going to be a great star - as great as Garbo.
- John Gliddon to Vivien, 1935.
Happy 101sth birthday to Vivien Leigh, one of my most favourite actresses and a true inspiration.
A/N:This probably should have been broken up into two parts but I got carried away and couldn’t help myself. Can you blame me? A OUAT version of the fight scene from Crazy, Stupid, Love? Best thing ever ;)
(I twisted some of the story from the movie so it would fit more to the characters)
The bar hums with activity. The low hum of conversation, ice clinking in drinks, something jazzy playing overhead. Attractive women are all over the place, walking past, sliding up to the bar next to him trying (and terribly failing) to make conversation with him. He doesn’t even look sideways.
David swirls the amber color liquid around and around in his glass, his shoulders hunched in defeat.
“This isn’t working.”
For months he’s been replaying the words over and over in his head, but they’d never really sunk in. Not until he’d gotten the divorce papers. Even then he’d still been slightly hopeful. He could make things right, he could change for her, change for Mary Margaret, the only woman he’d ever loved.
But being separated for months now, David was starting to lose hope.
Especially since tonight Mary Margaret was on a date. Some pretentious doctor fellow who probably wore that expensive cologne she liked and drove a fast car.
He throws back the rest of his drink and a stronng hand clamps down on his shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.
“Dave, Dave, Dave,” the man says, sitting down on the stool next to David.
“Hey, Killian,” David says, motioning for the bar tender to pour him another.
“Dr. Victor Whale got you down?"
"How’d you know about that?"
"How’d I know? How did I know?"
Killian leans heavily against the bar, the look on his face something between a smirk and grimace.
"Because all anyone can talk about around here,” he gestures around the bar, “is about how some poor saps wife left him and is out with some successful doctor.”
David scoffs and takes a sip of his new drink. It’s bitter and burns, doing nothing to help the torment in his head and heart.
“You need to get over this, Dave,” Killian says.
“My daughter said-” David begins, but gets cut off.
“Oh no. No no. We absolutely don’t talk about your daughter. Or any of your kids. We only talk about setting you up with someone new.”
“Well excuse me for not being able to jump from one woman to the next,” David says. “I’m not like you.”
“Ouch,” Killian winces in mock hurt. “That stings. But I’ll forgive, because its in my nature to be gracious on poor old saps like you.”
David scoffs, laughing slightly.
Killian smiles widely.
“Now get up, shake it off. I’m going to teach you how find someone new.”
Emma feels her blood boiling in her veins even as the freezing rain pours down her and onto her shoulders. She’s completely soaked through, but she only has one thought.
Get to the bar, forget about what just happened.
She can’t believe him. Year of dating, hints at a proposal, and then a party. For what? To celebrate her passing the bar? For his promotion? Who even cares? There’s no ring and no engagement and she’s not certain there’s even any love.
If there was he’d have proposed ages ago.
So she marches to the bar where weeks earlier she’d gone to get drinks with her best friend. The same bar where that flirty, gorgeous man had hit on her and asked to buy her a drink. With any luck he’ll be there again tonight. And with a little bit more luck, he’ll ask to buy her another drink.
The bar is in sight, Emma shoves open the heavy glass doors, shaking the rain from her hair, but not stopping. She spies him on the other side of the room, chatting up some other blonde in a little black dress, and marches on.
“You!” she practically shouts.
His eyes- magnificent, deep, gorgeous, stormy blue eyes- shoot up and meet hers. His mouth hangs open a little, having been cut off mid-sentence or in shock, Emma’s not sure.
But he stands to greet her, albeit a little skeptically.
Without knowing where her feet are carrying her, she marches up to him, grabbing the lapels of his expensive looking coat, and dragging him forward to kiss him soundly.
“I’m Emma by the way,” she almost laughs as they pull apart.
“Killian,” the man says lowly. He rests his forehead against hers for the briefest of seconds, breathing heavily as if the kiss affected him greatly. (It had… It most definitely had)
“Want to buy me that drink now?” Emma asks.
He’s fallen in love with the maid, God help him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be just a harsh, gruff, power-hungry business man living out his life bitter and alone and with lots and lots of money.
She wasn’t even supposed to come clean when he was at home. He much rather have the maids and gardeners and everyone else in his employment do their work while he was out and about making deals and celebrating. He liked being alone, it was just who he was. And then she was there, bright and early one Saturday morning, looking out of place with her long blue skirt and crisp white blouse. She clutched a small box of cleaning supplies so tight in her small hands that her knuckles began turning a ghostly color. She practically shook as she said she was there to clean.
But now he’s here. Standing in the hallway outside her room, his nerves driving him batty, his stomach jumping, and more then two dozen red roses all wrapped up in a cellophane package.
God help him.
Mr. Gold clears his throat softly, lifting his fist to knock quickly. He pulls back at the last second, hearing her voice coming softly from the other side of the door.
"I’d love to, David,” Belle says.
She sounds… happy.
His brow furrows in confusion and sorrow.
“Your place at 2 tomorrow? Sounds perfect.”
Footsteps coming close to the door, he hurriedly takes several steps back so it doesn’t seem like he was listening. Belle comes out of the room, smiling as she presses the sleep button on the top of her phone. She let’s out a small gasp and pulls up short as she notices him.
“Mr. Gold!” Belle breathes. “You startled me."
It takes several seconds for him to realize he should be responding to her, but he’s so confused. He was sure she felt something for him, maybe even loved him, and now she’s going to be meeting this David guy tomorrow?
His heart feels sick, but he plays happy as she fawns over the flowers and smiles, dancing in place.
It’s almost enough to chase away the doubts.
But not really.
When Mary Margaret calls him and tells him somethings wrong with the sink, and would he please just come for two seconds cause she has absolutely no idea what to do about it, David feels his heart soar.
It took about 0.2 seconds to realize that night in the bar when Killian was training him on how to meet new women and how to act that he didn’t want any of it. He just wanted to be at home sitting on the couch with his wife and son. He wanted his eldest daughter to call and tell about her day and he’d hopelessly hand over the phone to Mary Margaret when the subject turned to boys because he was just about as helpless as his wife with fixing sinks when it came to his daughter and boys.
He wanted to roll over in the middle of the night, half asleep, but her there right beside him, stealing the covers. Kiss her forehead each morning when he left for work.
David wanted Mary Margaret.
So with the excuse of coming over to fix the sink, he planned to recreate their very first date with help from Neal, and his daughter promising to come as soon as she could to participate in the fun.
"Yep, it’s all set up,” David was telling Killian, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder as he bent to straighten out the fake grass of the miniature golf course he’d set up.
“Just waiting for her to get home, which should be any time now.”
“Well I’m happy for you,” Killian said, muffled laughter coming from somewhere around him. He sounded genuinely happy for him, but also slightly distracted.
“Where have you been anyway?” David asked. “Haven’t seen you at the bar in a couple nights."
"I met someone actually,” Killian said. He coughed, clearing his voice as if nervous.
“I’m with her right now. We’re kind of on the way to her parents house. Some sort of party."
"You serious?” David asked. He couldn’t count how many times he’d seen the younger man leaving the bar with different women. Settling down with just one was huge for him so she must have been something.
“Dead serious,” Killian laughed. “I’ve never met anyone like her.”
“Well congratulations, buddy!” David said. “Really that’s great."
"Thanks, Dave. I’ve got to go now, but I’m rooting for the plan. Good luck.”
“They hang up just as Mary Margaret pulls up into the driveway and David runs to meet her with Neal.
"We have a surprise for you!” the young boy cries with excitement.
“Dad and I have been working on it all morning!"
David steps up and grabs the bags of groceries from her hands as Neal ties a blind fold around her eyes for the surprise.
"Don’t let me trip!” Mary Margaret cries, laughing.
They lead her to the backyard and David hands her a champagne flute and a single rose. Without lifting the blindfold Mary Margaret lifts the rose to her nose and smiles softly.
“Should we take the blindfold off her?” Neal asks.
David’s about to answer when he hears someone open the front door of the house and call out.
"Oh, Em!” Mary Margaret calls. “Back here, honey!”
Emma comes out onto the back deck, bottle of wine in hand. She’s smiling, wearing a pretty sun dress and jacket, smiling brighter then he’s ever seen her.
And then he looks past her.
And the world stops spinning.
“Is that him?” Mary Margaret asks, her voice dripping with excitement.
“What are you doing here?” David demands, a sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach.
“What are you doing here?” Killian fires back. He comes down the steps to stand next to Emma.
“You two know each other?” Emma asks, her brow furrowed.
“What are you doing here?” David ignores her.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Killian,” Mary Margaret bubbles, turning in his general directing, the bandana still over her eyes.
“I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you from, Em.”
"There’s was three other girls in my pre-k class named Emma so I hated being called that when I was little,” Emma explained in a rush.
“How do you know my dad?”
Killian’s head whips back to David, his eyes wide. This can not be happening.
David puts one hand on his hip and another covers his mouth. He let’s out a long breath, eyebrows raising as he says, “I’m having a real hard time understanding what’s going on right now.”
“Dad.” She speaks slowly as if he’s simple and doesn’t understand. “This is Killian. My boyfriend.”
“No it’s not. Absolutely, no.” He shakes his head.
Mary Margaret begins grumbling in frustration, not being able to see what’s going on around her.
“What are you doing with a daughter who’s grown up?” Killian hisses.
“We were still in high school, young, that’s we got married.”
“You should have told me!”
“You told me to never talk about my kids!”
Mary Margaret huffs and rips off the blind fold, finally fed up. She drops the rose and champagne flute in the process. The drink spills out on the ground around everyones feet, but no one even notices.
The two men are in a stand off position, eyes wild, not sure where to go from this. Mary Margaret and Emma however and are huddled together whispering how lovely Killian is.
“Can I go inside and watch tv?” Neal asks. He looks beyond uncomfortable.
“Yeah, go ahead.” David nods his head towards the house.
“Good idea,” Killian turns toward the young boy. “Can I come with?”
Neal runs into the house as fast as possible.
“So you guys are together? This is a serious thing?” David demands.
“Yeah, dad,” Emma says, eyes wide as if begging him to calm down.
“Nope. No way. Break up. Right now.”
“No!” Killian yells, angry.
“Then I will mess you up!"
“Mr. Gold, stop!”
And then he’s tackled from the side and he’s laying in the grass starring up at the sky willing the breath to come back to his lungs.
“She’s the love of my life, you slime! How could-"
And then Killian’s there pulling the disgruntled man off David and the girls are yelling. Mr. Gold turns on Killian and hauls off, punching him right in the eye. Killian goes spinning and Emma runs forward, her face ashen as she steadies him.
"Killian!” she cries.
“He didn’t do anything!” Belle yells. She jumps in front of Gold to stop him from going back to punching out David.
“You were talking to him on the phone yesterday!” Gold yells. “Making a date!”
“What?” David cries, he’s bent over, hand on his knees trying to breathe.
“I was coming over to bring Mary Margaret’s favorite kind of cupcakes. For the party that you’re interrupting. We’re friends."
The backyard gate swings open and smacks the side of the house and a stranger comes waltzing into the backyard with a sweater crumpled in one of his fists. He’s got a smug look on his face as he survey’s everything.
"Excuse me. Mary Margret? You left your sweater in my car the other night?” The man holds out the delicate white sweater.
Mary Margaret winces, shaking her head.
“Who are you?” Emma asks, overwhelmed.
“I’m Victor Whale.”
“Victor Whale?” Killian repeats, arms crossed over his chest.
“Victor Whale.” David practically growls.
Killian inspects his hand for a single second before quickly removing a silver ring with a giant red gem in the middle from his fingers. His knuckles cracks as he steps forward, quickly, and throws a straight punch right at Victor Whale’s head. The doctor goes straight to the ground as Emma gasps.
“You know how much pain and suffering you caused my friend, you dumb son of a-”
His sentence is got off as David wraps his arms around him, practically lifting Killian off the ground as he screams, “You stay the hell away from my daughter!”
“Stay away from Belle!”
“I don’t even know you!”
And then all four men- Whale, David, Killian, and Gold are all bunched together throwing punches, kicking, pulling, screaming at each other seemingly for the sake of it.
“Let go of me, let go of me!”
“What is going on?!”
“Let go of me!”
Clothes are tearing, and they’re grunting, falling to the ground in a pile of tangled limbs. They continue wrestling in the dirt as Belle, Mary Margaret, and Emma try to call them away.
To no avail.
They sit out front on the stone planter box, Gold wringing his hands, Killian with his legs crossed looking like a model even with his swollen lip and bruised eye. David sits with his arms on his knees, breathing heavy, and Whale has a bag of frozen peas pressed to his jaw.
Two police officers stare at the odd bunch and then at each other.
“I’m just going to write domestic disturbance, all clear.”
“Thank you, Officer,” Mary Margaret sighs.
They begin to walk away, but one officer turns back.
“Just simmer down,” he says, sternly. “We all have arguments, but if you’re going to fight, just do it inside. Keep it in the family.”
Killian let’s out an almost high pitched giggle, slapping a hand over his mouth to cover it and the goofy grin as David scowls, looking repulsed.