#notting hill au

[designtheendless]

#the sandman #sandman #morpheus #dream the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #dream of the endless #tom sturridge #ferdinand kingsley #notting hill #notting hill au #designtheendlessart

[boxboxlewis]

“Hello! Welcome to Self(help), and please do shout if I can be of assistance,” George says, and of course the words are rote but hopefully he also sounds warm and welcoming or whatever. He’s sitting behind the till, doing some online shopping, not really focussed on the customer who’s just come in.

“Do you really only sell self-help books?” the customer asks, and—that voice is familiar. George looks up and nearly falls off his stool, because that face is familiar too: there in his shop, real and breathing and somehow taller than George had expected, is Alex Albon. He’s got giant sunglasses on, and a trendy little scarf around his neck, but as a disguise it’s hardly adequate; Alex is probably one of the most recognisable people in the world, especially since his Oscar win last year. George tries to casually push the hair back off his forehead, and is so distracted he almost slaps himself in the face. 

“Er,” he says. What was Alex’s question? Oh right, self-help books. “Yes, is the short answer,” he says, and then for reasons known only to his frontal lobe keeps talking. “I had a really hard time getting a loan to start the business, because the banks were all like ‘Do people even buy self-help books anymore now that there’s Google,’ but we’re doing really well now, actually. It helped a lot when Brené Brown gave us a shoutout on Instagram, but even before that—er—sorry, you don’t care about any of this, do you. Well. If you need any help—or any self!—just let me know!”

Alex is just staring at him. George does a tight little sorry-I-fucked-up-socially smile, and turns his attention back to the chinos on his computer monitor, heart racing.

Lando emerges from the back of the shop. “George, if I do any more work I’ll literally die,” he says earnestly. Or maybe sarcastically; George doesn’t really understand Gen Z humour, probably because he refuses to join TikTok. “I shelved, like, an entire box of books, so I’m just going to honour myself now and take some time to self-care. I’m going out for a coffee if you want anything.” He notices Alex standing in the middle of the shop floor and flashes him an artificial smile. “Welcome to Self(help), if you take a picture for socials remember to hashtag us!” 

“Flat white,” George says automatically. Lando nods and leaves the shop. He really hadn’t clocked Alex at all, which is surprising at first, until George considers how monumentally self-absorbed Lando is at all times. 

“Is that your employee,” Alex asks. 

“Yes,” George says, “I did something wrong in a past life, it’s very—do you like candles?”

“Candles,” says Alex Albon, who is still very much in George’s shop.

“We’ve got a lovely selection,” George explains.

Alex pauses thoughtfully. “No,” he says, and then, after a long-ish pause, “thanks.” 

George nods.

Alex says, “Look, I only came in here to get away from some teenagers who were taking pictures of me.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” George says, as if that’s a very universal experience that he naturally has shared.

“So I’m just going to—” Alex gestures towards the door, and the road.

“Yes,” George says. “Of course. It was lovely to—er. Encounter you.”

Alex’s mouth quirks up. He says, “It was lovely to encounter you, too.” And then he walks back into the outside world.

George is still dazed about the whole thing when he goes out a few minutes later to get himself a flat white, Lando having arrived back in the shop bearing only a drink for himself (“Oh, shit, I forgot you wanted something… I’d offer to go back out but my legs are really sore now, so…”). He’s not really looking where he’s walking, so it’s jarring but not surprising when he knocks into someone and spills his newly-acquired coffee down their chest. It’s surprising but somehow inevitable when he realises that someone is Alex Albon.

“You again. I’ve got to say, this encounter is less lovely,” Alex says, mopping irritatedly at his sopping t-shirt with his tiny scarf. George joins in, patting with his bare palm at Alex’s chest as if that’s going to help at all, then pulling his hand back like he’s been burned when Alex raises his sunglasses up so he can level George with a look.

“I—sorry! God, right, I swear I’m usually less of a mess”—this is untrue—“but I actually—if you want to get changed, into, you know, a non-drenched shirt, I actually live just over the street—”

Alex exhales, and slides his sunglasses back onto the face. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll just… go on my coffee-covered way.”

“You can’t,” George says, “think of the headlines—‘Alex Albon in caffeine frenzy’—‘he didn’t realise you’re meant to drink it, sources say’—my house really is so close. We can get you all cleaned up in no time.”

Alex considers him for a long moment. “Give it to me in metres,” he says. And that’s how the rest of George’s life begins.

for @onadarklingplain, who suggested that notting hill au george would own a bookshop that only sold self-help.. nothing has ever been truer!! kay thank you for reading this over & for talking about galex with me 💓

#notting hill au #galex #my fic #gr63 #aa23 #in this au alex's terrible actor bf is christian horner

[ziglikesrain]

and another excerpt….😁if u couldn’t tell this is me reeling u into my trap where u are helpless but to read this fic😌

“I’m too tired to get out of bed, Moony,” he pouts. “You’ve fucked me out.”

Remus smirks into his hair. “Did I? I thought I went rather soft.”

Sirius groans, cupping Remus’ face and placing three quick kisses on his lips in succession. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

They lay there like that; kissing languidly like they’ve all the time in the world, laughing softly and talking about nothing.

It’s something lovely and strange, just like Sirius himself. Remus forgets completely about everything else, zeroing in on the man in front of him. Fame and fortune reduce to ashes in his head, a foreign notion that might as well not exist.

Remus is Remus, and Sirius is Sirius, and they aren’t in different universes: they are the universe.

#ao3 in my bio #now everything is easy (cause of you) #notting hill au #wolfstar #marauders era #sirius black #harry potter #remus lupin #remus x sirius #jegulus #fanfiction #james potter #marauders #regulus black #regulus x james #ao3 #marylily #ao3fic

[savemeaslice]

Hugh Grant being the actor of Blancs husband means one amazing thing

(and no it's not that he is married to James Bond)

Notting Hill Au

Blanc accidentally spills his orange juice on a bookstore owner while in London for a case which blossoms into a full-blown affair as they struggle to reconcile their radically different lifestyles

Blanc is a young detective straight from a 1950s dime novel, with his penchant for cigars and an interesting use of the English language, Phillip is brought into a whirlwind romance, struggling with the dangers that being with an enthused detective brings, all the while trying to run a travel bookshop

#benoit blanc #hugh grant #glass onion #knives out #gay #romance #notting hill au #notting hill #falling in love #i just want the funky little detective to be romanced by his future hubby a little #and for there to be a scene where he gets absolutely demolished in clue #because blanc hating/being terrible at clue/simple detectove games is hilarious #is that too much to ask? #daniel craig

[wrathofthestag]

Summary:  Can the most famous man on the ice fall for the man on the street? A Notting Hill Zimbits AU where Jack is a New York Ranger and Eric is a cookbook store owner living in Boston's Beacon Hill.

Chapter 1: Beacon Hill

#zimbits #zimbits au #notting hill au #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #my ff #chapter one is up #omgcp fic #omcgp fanfic

[izloveshorses]

before you came into my life, i missed you so bad

one | two |

Anya is the movie star the entire world is in love with. Dmitry is some broke owner of a dying bookshop in St. Petersburg. Her face is on every billboard, he couldn't care less about the latest blockbuster. But when their paths cross, somehow their differences-- nor half the globe separating them-- don't seem to matter.

Or a dimya Notting Hill au no one asked for.

chapter 1 under the cut, otherwise read the rest on ao3!

Anastasia Romanov may have been a graceful star on film, but she wished the paparazzi knew Anya was actually rather ordinary.

In the last week of filming, she managed to slip away out of the city center of St. Petersburg and into a more quaint residential area. She wanted to explore on her own for a bit after a rather grueling schedule, maybe get a pastry and some coffee, and otherwise just live anonymously for a few precious moments. The locals left her alone. But the paparazzi, somehow, always found her. She wondered if they had bloodhounds on leashes on their payroll.

Anya didn’t think much of it when she quietly slipped into this bookstore. Hadn’t paid attention to what kind of shop she was entering, just saw a door and a way to escape the parasites with their cameras for just a few moments of reprieve.

She hadn’t expected everything to change.

Once inside she beelined behind a shelf with her back to the door and the collar of her jacket pulled up even higher. It was overkill, she knew, with her black beret and sunglasses indoors, but she just. She just needed a break. Growing up in this industry made her a little more than paranoid, and lately they’ve been relentless.

“Is there anything you’re looking for?”

She hadn’t noticed the man until he spoke. He was sitting at the cash register, thumbing through stacks of papers and typing buttons on a calculator, using a friendly customer service voice but not really looking at her, his tone implying he hadn’t seen her yet. Maybe she hadn’t run out of luck today.

“Just browsing,” she said quickly. To prove it she made a show of brushing her fingers over the spines along the random shelf, ducking her head so he couldn’t get a good look at her if he decided to lift his head.

She finally allowed herself to really study the bookshop, and decided she liked it. There was a quiet charm about it that you just didn’t see very often anymore. Hollywood had all of those shops that were manufactured to look vintage and rustic and trendy— decorated with distressed furniture, selling new releases, hiring handsome men who also worked at the coffee shops that were just the same, in buildings that were torn down and rebuilt a year ago— but this place actually was old. The smell was musty and thick, it reminded her of her grandmother’s apartment in Paris and her father’s study all at once. There was a hush that suggested she was one of few, if not the only, customers in here at this hour.

An old clock ticked on the wall. Seven more minutes in here should be enough to throw the paparazzi off her trail. To keep up the pretenses, she selected the first random book her hand could grab and opened it without looking at the title.

“Oh, that book is terrible.”

The voice made her jump, eyes snapping up to him. He was still looking down at his paperwork but there was a teasing smile on his lips. “The author definitely has never been east of Strasbourg, let alone to Saint Petersburg,” he explained, looking up at her finally and his grin widening, dimples poking through his cheeks. Anya decided she liked his smile more than the bookshop.

Her eyebrows rose. He had surprised her, but she wouldn’t give him much more than that. And then, trying to understand what he was saying, she read the title. Travel Guide: Saint Petersburg, the Heart of Russia. Oh. He was making a joke.

In her silence he stood from the desk. It was a small bookshop so it only took two strides for him to join her in the aisle, reaching for a different title. He was tall. Like, really tall. Granted, everyone towered over her, especially when she was working with actors like Zachary Levi, but still. He was broad and carried himself with confidence that rivaled the men in Hollywood. In just a button up and a t-shirt and jeans, his presence would still command a room. She noticed he had a paperback folded in his back pocket. His dark hair flopped down into his eyes and curled behind his ears. She decided she liked that, too.

“If I may,” he started, casually, like he didn’t care about her opinion even though he was clearly working very hard to influence her purchase. “There’s a much better one… ah, here it is!” He hastily slid a different book from the shelf. “I can assure you this author has at least been to Russia. Definitely knows what he’s talking about.”

Without warning a smile tugged the corner of her mouth. She still couldn’t decide if he recognized her or not. But he was so charming that she felt comfortable humoring him, taking the book from his hand to examine it. It wasn’t part of a dull and surface-level series from a famous publishing company like the one she had inconsiderately chosen, but something lengthier, something more personal. “You care an awful lot about what kind of book I’m buying from you,” she finally said.

“Oh, you’ve got it wrong,” he said, his playful voice making her look back up at him, “I care because if you buy this and think, ‘this is the most god-awful book I’ve ever read,’ you’ll never want to come back to my bookshop. Or worse, you’ll think, ‘Saint Petersburg is the most god-awful place,’ and never want to return.”

“Hmm…” she couldn’t help it, her smile spread. “Well, I appreciate the commitment, then.”

“I’m just doing my duty as a bookseller, ma’am.”

She opened to the first page. “I see it’s signed by the author.”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

That did it— that made her laugh. It was just a short huff of air through her nose, but still, that didn’t happen very often anymore. Not with strangers or anyone outside of her family, anyway. She shook her head. When she looked up again he seemed pleased, not in a predatory way, not in a gotcha way either, but genuinely delighted by her, for her. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at her like that.

His eyes found something behind her and his whole expression changed. “Ah, shit,” he muttered, “sorry— hang on.”

And he disappeared to the back section she didn’t even realize existed. Curiosity made her scoot down away from her hiding spot to watch what had soured this very nice and very normal man. There was another customer in here after all, an even more normal-looking guy. “Hey, man,” her new friend the bookseller said. “If you would like that book you stuffed into your shirt, you can buy it.”

The customer just stared. “I don’t have a book stuffed in my shirt.”

“You do. There’s a security camera back here and the monitor is behind my desk.”

Anya found the camera he was pointing to. Impressive. She made her way to another aisle, still pretending to browse while she eavesdropped.

“Look, man, it’s embarrassing enough to steal from a bookstore. But stealing from a travel bookstore? Come on. I’m probably more broke than you are.”

His back was to her, but he had his hands on his hips, his tone more disappointed and annoyed than threatening. She wondered if he knew how far he could get with such powers of persuasion. How he would do wonders in the film industry.

They went back and forth a few more times before the bookseller guy won out. She was facing the register so he gave her an aggravated yet humored smile, an inside joke smile, as he walked behind the desk. She didn’t know why she was still lingering here, now that she had been inside long enough.

But maybe she had overstayed because on his way out, the wannabe thief muttered, “Can I have your autograph?”

She winced. She should’ve seen this coming, but a lot of what had happened today disarmed her. His expression was shy yet unblinking. Staring at her with that strange want. He was already holding out his new book for her to sign. Without her control her eyes glanced over at the cashier, trying to read him. His brows were pulled together in puzzlement. It was nice while it lasted, she thought.

She accepted the pen with a sigh. “To…”

“Peter.”

When she handed the receipt back to him she started walking toward the register so she could speed up this part a bit. But the guy still lingered. “What’s the note at the top?”

Her sigh was thin. She looked up at him. Her handwriting was perfect, there was no way he couldn’t read it, but maybe he didn’t believe it. “It says, ‘To the shitty book thief, Peter’.”

Poor Peter’s face flushed red. “Thank you,” he muttered before nearly running outside.

The cashier’s smile was wide, surprised, his eyebrows high. But he moved slower now, more cautious, like he was trying to decipher the interaction that was daily for her and bizarre to him. “Just the one?” he asked gingerly as he scanned the barcode of the book and hit a few numbers on the register.

She fumbled in her purse for some cash, but she must’ve left all of that back in her hotel. Debit card it was, then.

Up until then she wasn’t sure, but now she definitely knew he wasn’t playing dumb at all when he acted like he hadn’t recognized her. Because he didn’t until now. As the receipt printed his eyes widened and he did a double take, up to her face and then down at the name printed out, the nearly imperceptible intake of breath making his chest expand. Almost reflexively his hand came up to push his bangs away from his face.

“Uh… I just need you to sign…”

She grabbed a little pen from the cup in front of the register and carefully signed her name above where it was printed. And then he surprised her again.

“This isn’t some gimmick to get your autograph, though, I promise.”

She smiled up at him, almost apologetic. “Thank you for your devoted assistance.”

She thought the joke fell a little flat but he still smiled, though she couldn’t tell if he was just in shock or was embarrassed he didn’t recognize her sooner or if he was genuinely laughing. She made sure to pick up a business card on her way out.

She didn’t look at the card until she was outside again, a bell ringing as the door shut behind her. Dmitry Sudayev, the card said.

Even though she knew she’d never see him again, somehow she found she had already memorized the shape of his name without trying.

~~~

Dmitry was an idiot. 

No, worse than an idiot. Dumbass wasn’t even strong enough of a word for someone who met Anastasia Romanov in his own bookshop and didn’t even recognize her. For god’s sake, he flirted with her! Right to her face! 

Not that he wanted her autograph or anything. He just… probably would have behaved more appropriately. And not pretend that a girl like that would ever give him a chance. Vlad had warned him his lack of pop culture engagement would bite him in the ass one day. Maybe this was it. Karma or something in the universe was laughing at him. Her face was plastered on every billboard and film poster and TV commercial and Oscars recap footage and he was so out of touch with the world he didn’t even realize one of the most famous Hollywood actresses in the world was standing right in front of him. She probably thought he was some loser.

Then again, she had smiled up at him, and it seemed so genuine… 

The door chimed. “So sorry I’m late!” Vlad whistled his way through the shop, some tune Dmitry recognized from the radio. “The metro workers were on strike again, so the line was down.”

He looked up from his desk, where he’d been staring at his pile of paperwork in misery, hands folded in his own hair. 

Vlad hung up his coat on the rack. “Did I miss anything?”

Usually, the mornings at work were so uneventful that this was their joke— that they would miss something exciting if one of them was late. But Dmitry didn’t know how to answer that in a way his coworker would believe him. 

He stood from his desk, the chair nearly tipping over from the force of it. “I— need coffee,” he explained, shrugging on his own jacket. “Want anything?” 

Vlad didn’t seem to notice Dmitry’s odd behavior and happily requested a latte— unless he was going to that place around the block, then he would rather have the tea, since their lattes sucked. 

On the way back, drink carrier in hand, Dmitry was so lost in thought he wasn’t paying attention as he turned the corner and literally collided with someone.

“Oh my god— sorry—” he fumbled, and then his heart stopped when he realized who was now wearing his drink. She had her sunglasses on, but there was no mistaking it. It was her. “Shit— I’m so sorry, can I—”

“Don’t,” she said when he reached for her. Right. Fair. He uselessly handed her a paper napkin. 

God. Could this day get any worse? 

“Look— don’t take this the wrong way, but my flat is nearby if you want to change.”

She leveled a glare at him. How starkly different this was than their meeting this morning. Well, he would glare too, if their roles were reversed. “How near are we talking? Give me a numerical distance.”

He had to fight a smile. “Literally across the street. Look,” he pointed to the door of his townhouse. “See that maroon door? That one’s mine. My roommate isn’t home.” 

Her expression remained the same. “If this is a trick—”

“No tricks,” he held up both of his hands. “Scout’s honor.” 

She pursed her lips, looking left and right, then down at her stained top, weighing her options. “Don’t let anyone see.”

“Got it.”

They crossed the street when traffic broke, and he fumbled with his keys before pushing the door open, letting her walk inside first. He hoped she knew this wasn’t some play, he just wanted to make up for being so clumsy this morning. 

“Bathroom is just up the stairs,” he said, locking the door behind them. “Take as long as you need. The sink works, but you need to turn on the hot and cold at the same time…”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said, brushing past him up the stairs. 

“Do you need— clothes? Or something?”

“I’ve got some,” she dismissed. “I was going to change eventually anyway. To ditch the photographers.”

“Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling more and more idiotic by the second. When he heard the door shut he scrambled to straighten up. 

His flat wasn’t a mess, exactly. His roommate was tidy. Dmitry was tidy too, but the space felt a little too lived-in for company. He couldn’t remember the last time a guest stepped foot inside. His bike was by the door instead of in the closet, the throw blankets hadn’t been folded, a handful of dishes sat in the drying rack. He stopped racing around when he heard her quiet tread on the steps and he tried to lean as casually as possible against the counter. 

Anastasia had changed from her black ensemble to something brown and patterned, still too stylish to blend in, in his opinion, but appropriate for the October weather. With her sunglasses off her eyes were the bluest thing in the room. 

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, then cleared his throat because his voice was strangely out of tune. 

“No, thank you,” she answered. Her annoyance with him had dissipated a little, thankfully. 

And then the lock of his door was turning and he bit back a groan. “That’s— my roommate,” he explained, “he’s harmless but— there’s no excuse for him, I’m so sorry.”

She raised her eyebrows, confused, before the door swung open. Gleb Vaganov had moved in about a year ago— there was no way Dmitry could afford the place without him— and could not have been stranger. He walked in without so much as a glance up from his phone. He literally walked between Dmitry and Anastasia, opening the fridge, like he didn’t notice either of them. 

“I think the lady next door has stolen my package again,” he finally said, opening a bottle of kombucha. 

Dmitry rolled his eyes. “Did you remember to check the tracking info?”

“Yes, it says it arrived this morning.”

“Sometimes they’re wrong. Or they dropped it off at the other neighbor’s again.”

“Hmm.” Gleb’s frown deepened, and he literally had to step around Anastasia to go back outside. Her smile was widening. Like she was biting back a laugh. The feeling was contagious. 

“He seems nice,” she said. 

Dmitry scratched the back of his neck. “He at least keeps things clean.”

“Important.”

“Right.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, unsure what to do now. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? I have tea, I think, and…” he opened the fridge. “The kombucha is off limits, I’m afraid, but we’ve got… uh, orange juice? Or leftover stroganoff if you’re hungry, or some peaches— no, those are rotten, actually— umm—”

“I’m really okay,” she insisted, her hand on his shoulder sending electricity through his body down to his toes. 

He met her eyes and shut the fridge. “You sure? I feel like I’ve been a complete jackass to you today.”

“Hmm,” she stepped closer. “Other than dumping your coffee on me,” she started, and he laughed, ducking his head, embarrassed, “you’ve been quite lovely.” 

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “You’ve been too. Lovely, I mean.” What was happening to him? Even as a teenager he didn’t bumble around this much. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

She tilted her head. “You as well.”

Still, she made no move to leave, and he made no move to show her the way out. A clock ticked. 

“If…” he searched for something to say, groping for a chance to keep her here, just a second more. “If you ever need a travel book again, you know where to go.”

She gave him a smile. “I appreciate it.”

For a moment neither said a word. And then Anastasia rose up on her toes to press her lips to his. 

He froze, eyes wide, gasping through his nose, completely surprised. It was quick, but his skin burned at the invisible mark she’d left, his cheeks undoubtedly red. When she dropped back down to her heels she was flushed too, perhaps just as surprised by her own actions as he was.

Well. 

He tried saying something cool and funny, like, Is this how you say goodbye to everyone you meet? But all that came out of his mouth was, “Uhhhhmm…” 

She took a wide step back, like stepping out of a trance. She tucked a loose hair behind her ear. “Thanks again, for the… Bathroom.” 

Somehow he found his voice. “Anytime.” He blinked. “See you around?”

She gave him an odd look, and then he remembered he would probably never see her again. “Have a nice life, Dmitry,” she said instead. And then let herself out. 

Dmitry didn’t know how long he stood there in the middle of his kitchen. A clock ticked. His fingers rose up to trace his bottom lip, feeling stupid and oh so giddy. 

Gleb came back in with a box. “It was on the wrong doorstep!” He stomped through the kitchen with a satisfied smile. “We really ought to repaint the number on our door, that may prevent this mistake from happening again…”

Dmitry, understandably, didn’t return the enthusiasm. 

He walked back to the shop in a daze, not even realizing his jacket fell in a limp pile on the floor when he tried to hang it on the wobbly rack. 

Vlad frowned from behind the register. “Hey, where’s the coffee?”

#anastasia broadway #dimya #fanfiction #my writing #notting hill au #another wip!! let's go!!!!! #at least one that's presentable enough to begin sharing lol #but anyway #something light and fluffy to start our october <33 #i do appreciate Just Some Guy dmitry sudayev and Famous Person anya it has to be said

[elusiveweekend]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Emma Frost/Scott Summers, Lorna Dane/Jean Grey, Rachel Summers & Scott Summers, Jean Grey & Scott Summers Characters: Scott Summers, Emma Frost, Jean Grey, Lorna Dane (Marvel), Rachel Summers Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Notting Hill Fusion, romcom scemma, actress! emma, bookstore owner! scott, POV Third Person, Scott's POV, I'll add more tags later im tired Summary:

She's one of the most famous actresses in the world. He's just Scott.

#scott summers #emma frost #scemma #im actually so tired so this probably has some typos i'll fix later #so pls read it half blind <3 #scottemma #notting hill au

[wrapped-up]

Guess who actually finished Notting Hill?

Me. I did.

You can read it here.

#notting hill au #wrappedup #wolfstar

[dreaminghour]

Notting Hill AU please please!

Thank you!

(from the WIP Wed game)

I added 73 words to this WIP and just gave some context for better sharability:

"I called for a car to pick me up," Hayden continues. "Oh good," Ewan says. He tears his eyes away from Hayden's bare midriff. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?" "No, I'm alright." He glances uncertainly between the two of them. "I really don't want to be any trouble." Catriona snorts. "Oh you're the kind of trouble I like, love." She's all but purring. "Alright!" Ewan pushes his sister out of the way, putting himself between her and Hayden. "Don't you have laundry to fold or something?"

#dreamy does asks #wip wednesday game #haywan #star wars rpf #notting hill au #haywan notting hill au #dreamys wips

[andfasterthings]

ooooohh can you give us a hint of what it’ll be about??

it's this one!!!!

#asks #notting hill au

[designtheendless]

“None of those childish kabab stories you find in so many books these days”

#the sandman #sandman #morpheus #dream the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #dream of the endless #tom sturridge #ferdinand kingsley #notting hill #notting hill au #designtheendlessart

[nextstopwonderland]

LAST, for the meme?

Zack laughs, throwing his head back. “Oh, Bryan. You are unlike anyone I’ve met.”

“That a good thing?”

“Oh, yes.”

#notting hill au #bryanzack

[ibelieveinturtles]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis Characters: Darcy Lewis, James "Bucky" Barnes Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Notting Hill Fusion, Movie Star AU, Modern AU, Movie Star Darcy Lewis, Bookshop owner Bucky Barnes, assorted supporting cast members, other tags to come, Spoilers sweetie Series: Part 56 of Bingo Bonanza Summary:

After making a fool of himself, Bucky contemplates his life choices, his future, and then does it all again.

Bingo info under the cut

Title: The Slushy Incident (Nexus Chapter 4) Squares Filled: DLBHQ Weekly Challenge: Cherry Week DLBHQ 2023: C1, Darcy x Bucky Marvel Rare Pair Bingo (MRP-051): I4, Taking Care of Somebody All Caps Bingo (AC1051): N3, Free Space Bucky Barnes Bingo (B038): C3, Free Space Author: ibelieveinturtles Fandom: Marvel Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes Rating: T for language Tags/Warnings: Notting Hill AU, Bookshop AU, Movie Star AU Summary: After making a fool of himself, Bucky contemplates his life choices, his future, and then does it all again. Word Count: 2897

@darcylewisbingohq @buckybarnesbingo @allcapsbingo @marvelrarepairbingo

#darcy lewis #bucky barnes #notting hill au #dlbhq #bucky barnes bingo 23 #allcapsbingo2023 #marvel rare pair bingo

[alovelessmelancholy]

💛💙💚💛💙💚💛💙💚💛💙

Hi Again!

Here's another story for you! Part of the Polinators Unhinged RomCompalooza Challenge, which you can find here:

Read all of them! They are fun and sexy, just like Colin and Pen! 💛+💙=💚

My story is a play on Notting Hill, that great 90's film with Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts at their romcom best.

Will a "girl, be standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her"? Of course! But read it anyway to find out how they get there 💕 Pen & Colin take a slightly different path, but it isn't any less fun watching them get their HEA.

Here's the link for "From Mayfair to Notting Hill" by me, ALoveLessMelancholy.

Enjoy and Happy Valentine's Day 💞

#polin #bridgerton season three #bridgerton #romancing mister bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin fanfiction #romcom #romance #notting hill au #notting hill (1999) #penelope x colin #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington

[wrathofthestag]

Well, I guess I'm writing this. I can't not write it if I made a banner for it, right? The Notting Hill Zimbits AU is a go. Be patient, as I'm still chipping away at chapter one, and don't want to start posting until I have at least three chapters ready or most of it done. Any encouragement would be greatly appreciated. Here's a sneak peek at the intro...

While rumors of a potential trade continue to swirl, New York and Boston hockey fans are on pins and needles. The game, however, waits for no one as the NHL season continues and Rangers captain, Jack Zimmermann, is bent on lighting the hockey world on fire.  Starting his fifth season in the NHL, will Zimmermann make it three rings in a row? And will that ring be won for New York or Boston? The world watches as fans sweat. - ESPN.com

Of course, Eric Bittle had seen him play. Who hadn’t?  Watching Jack Zimmermann on the ice was a bonafide thing of beauty, even if he did play for the Rangers. Eric was more of a football fan, anyway.  But Zimmermann? He was fabulous, you know?  Not only one of the best hockey players ever but also one of the most handsome. He was known to continually break records and hearts—although Eric had yet to see him with anyone.  Still, the tabloids raged on. Meanwhile, a million miles away from the NHL world, Eric lived in Beacon Hill, Boston, which was not a bad place to be.

There were charming cobblestone streets, gaslit streetlamps, and more historical sites than you could shake a hockey stick at.  In the summertime, you could catch a concert or play at the Hatch shell, or take a selfie on picturesque Acorn street. If you fancied a ghost tour, then you’d be in the right place. If you were hungry, there were several places catering to all sorts of tastes—including Eric's favorite, Dex’s Seafood. And of course, the shopping! Pricey boutiques and antique stores lined Charles Street, where one could find almost anything from an “authentic” petrified Boston baked bean to a Cheers sweatshirt.  And it was there, tucked away off the beaten path of Charles Street in Beacon Hill, that one could find The Cook Book Co., where Eric Bittle sat in his unpretentious bookstore that sold nothing but cookbooks. He spent his days, and years, in a house just down the street in that small neighborhood in the middle of a city, with a half-naked roommate, and watched the world go by.

#zimbits #zimbits au #notting hill au #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #omgcp fan fic

[ziglikesrain]

hey….hey……….i wrote a little notting hill (1999) au….and maybe you should read it☺️

#marauders era #wolfstar #sirius black #harry potter #remus lupin #jegulus #remus x sirius #fanfiction #james potter #marauders #regulus black #regulus x james #ao3 #marylily #dorlene #rosekiller #notting hill au #notting hill (1999)