#came for andrew bird

[ivyfluoresce]

Finally got into Fargo S2 after only having watched S4 and I feel like a disappointed dad… You let me down, little man.

[flaggersribs]

Just forced myself to walk slowly through a dark wood at night while listening to "In the woods somewhere" by Hozier. Did I enjoy it? Yes. Would you have to pay me to do it again? Also yes.

[fictionallyinparadise]

Yo.

🤬 - What is the biggest argument you and F/O have ever gotten into? What was it about?

-@redwingedwolves

Howdy! Thanks for the ask!!! I'll be answering with Andrew bc it fits him well- 👀

🤬 - What is the biggest argument you and F/O have ever gotten into? What was it about?

The biggest argument we've had was about Ashley. Since, canonically, she'd try to either murder me or scare me off, ya know? But her attempts either comedically failed or I'm just built different.

But yeah he uh. Didn't like talking about it which led to being defensive and yeah. Which is valid of him considering how close he and Ashley are- anyway.

I wasn't doing like a "it's me......or her......" thing at ALL just a "hey can your sister stop trying to get rid of me it's getting hard to remember not to drink anything she gives me cuz poison". But still things went a little South, we spent time apart to cool down, then around like a week later we were able to calmly talk. Well. Semi-calmly.

[manicgoblin]

[padfootagain]

Grey Days

Hi everyone! Here is a little Hozier oneshot for today! It’s a little sad, but mostly hurt/comfort. Did I write it after crying when I watched that interview he did where he spoke about his struggle with mental health? Yes. Obviously. I want to give him so many hugs…

I hope you like it! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of depression

Summary : Andrew is used to feel low sometimes, he has been plagued by those periods for as long as he can remember. But if he usually solves his sadness by being alone, this time, the antidote to his pain might be you.

Word Count : 2671

Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

There were days like this, where everything was grey for no reason.

The sky rolling with clouds, heavy with rain, threatening with thunder, for sure wasn’t helping. But Andrew couldn’t pretend that it was at fault. Nor was the season, spring was on the horizon after all. There were boughs staining the branches, the first flowers blooming, the air a little warmer, the wind calmer than the winter storm. The birds had been chirping all morning, even if they had quietened now, under the menace of rain. He should be happy. The sun was high this morning, he had gotten some work done at Alex’s, he had had a nice lunch with his parents. Nothing but positive things, in theory.

And yet Andrew could feel his skin crawling, the tears that threatened to rise and spill, the numbness that came with spleen. Christ, melancholy was such a bitch, sometimes.

It was a bad day, the voices in his head were louder than usual. Despite the distractions he couldn’t keep them down. He kept on thinking about the pieces of songs he had recorded this morning with Alex, and on the spot they sounded good. Now, all he had left was doubt. For sure, none of it was good enough, and his lyrics were all over the place, and they didn’t do the subject justice… the didn’t do you justice…

He felt the burn in his eyes and the tightening in his throat again, his breathing grew more laboured, so he took a deep breath. He was driving, now was not the time…

And yet the thoughts were still there. As he entered his tiny town, the swirling of voices kept shouting.

Not good enough…

Don’t know how to write a proper song…

Got lucky with one song, will never be good enough again…

Imposter…

He entered his driveway, parked the car there. He didn’t notice your car until he was turning his head towards the front door.

Fuck…

He wasn’t in the mood for socialising, for pretending that everything was alright, for playing perfect boyfriend…

Another person you’ll end up disappointing…

Another thing in your life you don’t deserve…

He closed his eyes for a moment, tried to shush the voices. Just voices. It was just his busy head being louder than usual.

He just needed to calm down…

Damn, he should have called to cancel for tonight. You had a date night planned, you had told him you would come to his place early to start preparing dinner. You weren’t living together but he had a change of keys to your place, and you had one to his. He didn’t need to be home for you to come in.

Yesterday, Andrew was thinking about asking you to move in with him, to make a common home out of his large house.

She’d never say yes to you anyway…

He clenched his jaw, until his teeth gritted.

Just voices. Just voices. He was okay, he was fine…

It was just dinner, and it would be lovely. He loved you, he would have a great time…

He blinked his eyes open, brushed the wetness from his eyelashes.

Put on a brave face for her, come on…

He released some of the tension across his jaw, finally let go of the steering wheel. The soreness in his fingers made him realise how tightly he had been holding it.

He had no strength left in his body to open the car door, but he did it anyway. He was kind of used to it, the falls that followed the heights. It hadn’t happened in a long time. So bad, out of nowhere? Probably a year. Yeah, not long after the two of you started dating. It was pretty smooth after that. There were days when he didn’t feel great, but he didn’t feel terrible. With no energy left in his frame, no positive thoughts on his mind, no faith in himself, and no social battery either. Usually, when he felt like this, he simply locked himself up for a couple of days. The solitude usually helped. And now, he needed to be left alone, or at least he thought so. Besides, he would be in a terrible mood all evening, you would properly get tired of the sight and his sharp tone very quickly. And he didn’t want to take it out on you, it wasn’t fair, and he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He was too tired to be angry anyway.

He unlocked the front door, was welcomed by the smell of spices. It should have made him smile, but instead, his heart clenched.

He took off his shoes and jacket, slowly, too slowly. Any other day he would have hurried to join you.

Tonight, all he wanted was to be alone, to not talk to anyone, to get out of his clothes that felt like a burden too heavy to carry, and get under the covers, and lie there for the rest of the night, and maybe throughout tomorrow too.

Instead, he walked to his kitchen, nervously rubbing at his palms. God, he bet he looked terrible. He didn’t have a hair tie, and his hair was frizzy with the humid air, and he felt so fucking ugly when he entered the room, knowing he looked like a mess in sweatpants and an old t-shirt when you looked stunning, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen…

You didn’t seem to notice, because when you saw him, you let out an excited gasp and hurried into his arms.

Why did the feeling of you in his embrace make him want to cry?

“Hi, baby! How was your day?”

He cradled the back of your head in his large hand, gently, as if you could break under his touch. He rested his lips on the top of your head, took a deep breath of your shampoo, the scent so familiar, so soothing, so reassuring…

He closed his eyes.

It lasted a couple of seconds, and then the voices were back.

One day she’ll see you can’t make her happy…

He pulled away.

“Good,” he answered elusively, forcing a smile, but he knew it was tight-lipped. “Busy.”

“Did you get some work done with Alex, then?”

“Hmm… loads.”

“Good! You must be tired then, you can sit down, I’m almost done!”

He looked at the meal you were making for the two of you. You had set up the table, had even lit up some candles. It was fucking nice, so damn romantic…

“Smells amazing,” he complimented, but you seemed to notice that there was no light left in his voice. “Gonna take a shower before joining you, okay?”

“Sure! But… you’re okay, honey?”

Honey… Honey…

“Yeah, just… tired. Long day. I won’t take long.”

You nodded, offering a smile and he did his best to give it back.

He thought the shower would help, but it didn’t. He almost let the floodgates open while the warm water numbed his muscles, made his body feel like it wasn’t there at all. He had even less strength as he walked out of the shower. But at least, now, he was wearing a shirt and black jeans, and he had tied his hair in a low bun, looking close to presentable. He was wearing his glasses, he didn’t have the energy to put some contacts on.

When he entered the kitchen again, you had poured some red wine, were humming to a tune he didn’t know, checking the cooking of your vegetables.

“Almost done! Perfect timing!” you announced with pride.

“Thank you for cooking tonight,” he let out in a breath.

He knew his shoulders were bent, he knew you had noticed the way he was trying to look as small as possible. He read it in your frown. He nervously rubbed at his collarbone, felt irritated now.

She’s doing all this for you, you can’t get mad for nothing. It’s not her fault, calm down.

He sat down, as you invited him to do so. You brought food a couple of minutes later, and he asked you about your day. But unlike any other day, it wasn’t out of genuine curiosity and fondness; he simply didn’t want to speak.

He had done a good job at playing pretend the rest of the day, but he had no energy left to keep the mask on. The cracks were all over his features, in every forced smile, in every glance, in every blinking of tears. Your food was delicious, he complimented you on it, forced himself to swallow it fully, even if he felt like he might throw up if he kept on eating.

“Andy?”

He looked up again, noticing all of a sudden that he hadn’t paid attention to the conversation in a few minutes.

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

You offered him a kind smile, reached for his hand across the table. An anchor, an intimate gesture of support.

His throat tightened, he couldn’t find his voice.

“Baby… it’s just me. Why are you all closed up all of a sudden?”

He gave you a sad smile, although he had aimed for it to be reassuring.

“Just…”

Just tired was the excuse, but then again, he didn’t feel like lying now. Didn’t have the strength for it. Maybe if he were honest now, you’d show him the voices were right, you’d realise what a loser he could be sometimes, how you should leave…

Shut! Up!

“It’s just… it’s just a bad day.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I mean… nothing in particular, I just… I don’t know… sometimes my head gets messy with thoughts for no reason. I’ve been working a lot for the past couple of months, it’s more frequent when I’m tired.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“It’s pretty bad today, right?” you asked, and he nodded.

“I’m sorry. Your meal is truly delicious, and I was really excited about having a date night. I know I’m kind of… fucking up the mood.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked with bitterness in his voice, and he clenched his jaw at the sound.

He wouldn’t let himself get angry against you. He was in love with you. So fucking much. And you didn’t deserve that.

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling down sometimes, Andy.”

He looked down at his empty plate.

“It’s a bit worse than that.”

He heaved a sigh.

“I’m fine though, it just… It just needs to pass. I’ll be back to normal in a couple of days.”

“What do you usually do when something like that happens?”

“Erm… I just… shut down, basically. Wallow in self-pity for a while,” he tried to joke, managed to get a smile out of you. “I just… lock myself up on my own until I feel really low, and then I go out, and… it lingers a few days, sometimes a few weeks, but by then I can put a mask on again.”

“Do you put that mask on with me?”

“It hadn’t been so bad in a long time.”

“And when it’s not as bad?”

He shrugged.

“There’s no need to worry you about that.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“I’m your girlfriend. I tell you when I’m unwell.”

He started rubbing at his collarbone again, until the skin turned a bright shade of red.

“I don’t particularly enjoy talking about it,” he replied, his tone dry and distant.

“But I… you know you can trust me, right? That you can talk with me about these things…”

“I know… It just doesn’t help. I know how to handle this, I’m fine. I promise.”

Slowly, you nodded, but he could feel that your silence was a bad sign.

“So… usually, you just… spend time alone?”

“Yeah.”

“And it helps.”

“Yeah… yeah, it does. I just… I’m kind of introverted, in case you haven’t noticed,” he gave you a small smile. “I recharge my batteries when I’m alone.”

You seemed to be thinking for a few seconds, and then you were standing. He looked up at you in surprise.

“I should leave you alone, then.”

“Wh… what?”

“You said you needed to be alone… you should have told me, I would have let you have a moment on your own. It’s fine. I get it, if that’s what you need.”

He blinked up, not fully registering what you were doing. His brain jumped to the worst-case scenario, as per usual.

“Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

“What?! Of course, not!”

“You… you’re leaving…”

“Because you said you needed to be on your own for the evening. That’s okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You heaved a sigh, took his hand in yours.

“Andy, I’m very happy with you. I know you love me. There’s nothing wrong in needing to spend some time on your own. You should have just told me. I’ll give you some space for tonight.”

You took his face in your hands, dropped a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I love you, baby,” you whispered as you pulled away. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And with that you left the room. He heard you fumbling with your things in the hallway.

Being alone was what he needed. He had always longed to take a step back from everyone, even his partners, when he felt like this.

Except that tonight he didn’t want you to leave. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to hold you as tightly as he could, and cuddle in bed, and just forget about the world outside your arms, let you hold him until he couldn’t have a single thought anymore…

He jumped to his feet, rushing across the house as you put on your coat.

“Don’t go.”

The plea cut the air like a knife.

He blinked tears away.

“Please, don’t go. I don’t want you to go,” he confessed.

“But you said…”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I won’t be mad if you want to take the night for yourself.”

“Y/N. I don’t. Want you. To go.”

He struggled to swallow back the lump in his throat.

“Please… please, don’t leave.”

You stared at him for a moment, motionless. But then you put your coat back on its hanger, took off your shoes.

When you walked back to him, he almost started to cry.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes… please…”

Before you could say anything else, he was holding you in a tight embrace, one that you quickly reciprocated.

“What do you want us to do, then?” you asked, rubbing his back, and for the first time that day, he felt his muscles relax.

“Honestly… I just want to go to bed, cuddle with you and not move until… the end of the month.”

You laughed, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“Well, we’ll have to get up before that I’m afraid… but cuddling for the rest of the evening sounds nice.”

He heaved a relieved sigh.

“I’m sorry, I’m fucking up our date night… it was so lovely of you to cook and everything…”

“It’s okay. It’s fine.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course not.”

“Good… that’s grand…”

He finally pulled away, took your hand to guide you to his bedroom. The dishes would have to wait for tomorrow.

He got ready for bed first, and then waited for you. And while he was looking at you as you moved around the bed, plugging in your phone, setting up an alarm for the morning, drinking some water… all he wanted was to hold you close. You were the first person who made him feel that way. Who made him long for companionship even when he felt so low…

… and then, you were in bed, opening your arms for him to settle in your embrace, letting him bury his face in the crook of your neck.

Perhaps this one time, his busy brain was wrong. Perhaps you wouldn’t leave. Perhaps he would stay. And maybe, just this one time, not all things would end…

[invisibleicewands]

‘I wanted to be seen as the greatest actor of all time. Then I realised that was nonsense’: Michael Sheen on pride, parenting and paying it forward

He’s the feted star who cracked Hollywood, but it was only when he swapped LA for his home town in Wales that he was able to do his most meaningful work yet

By Simon Hattenstone

Michael Sheen has been fabulous in so many TV dramas and movies, it’s hard to know where to start. But perhaps his most memorable appearance came earlier this year in a TV show that didn’t require him to do any acting at all. The Assembly was a Q&A session in which he took questions from a group of young neurodiverse people. Sheen didn’t have a clue what would be asked, and no subject was off limits. It made for life-affirming telly. The 55-year-old Welsh actor was so natural, warm and encouraging as he answered a series of nosy, surprising and inspired questions. I watched it thinking what a brilliant community worker Sheen would be. And, in a way, that’s what he has become in recent years.

“The Assembly’s had more response than anything else I’ve ever done,” Sheen tells me. “Almost every day someone will come up to me and mention it, particularly people who have children with autism. They say it was just so lovely to see something where the interviewers were empowered. I had a fantastic time.” He replays some of his favourite moments: the young man Leo who took an age to start talking, and then delivered the most beautifully phrased question about the influence of Dylan Thomas on Sheen’s life; the woman who asked what it was like to be married to a woman only five years older than his daughter; and the question that came at the end: “What’s your name, again?” He smiles: “And Harry with the trilby on. Just the nicest man ever.” You came across as an incredibly nice man, too, I say. “Aw well, it’s hard not to be when you’re among all those amazing people, innit.”

Today we meet in London, ostensibly to talk about A Very Royal Scandal, a gripping mini-series about Prince Andrew’s infamous Newsnight interview with Emily Maitlis – the disastrous attempt to defend his honour that sealed his fall from grace. But we don’t get to the show till it’s almost going home time. Sheen’s too busy discussing all the other stuff that matters to him, away from business.

Six years ago, he swapped life in Los Angeles for Port Talbot, the steel town where he grew up. These days he calls himself a not-for-profit actor – a term he happily admits he’s invented. “It means that I try to use as much of the money I earn as I can to go towards developing projects and supporting various things. Having had some experiences of not-for-profit organisations and social enterprises, I realised that’s what I want to do with my business. And my business is me.” He grins. There was a suggestion that he might stop acting in order to do good works, but he says that never made sense; only by getting decent gigs can he earn money to put back into the community.

It has to be said he’s got the air of a not-for-profit actor today – scruffy black top, sloppy black pants, black trainers. With a bird’s-nest beard and a thicket of greying curls, he looks nicely crumpled. But give him a shave and a trim, allow him a flash of that electric smile, and he could still pass as a thirtysomething superstar.

Sheen is best known for transforming into household names – Brian Clough in The Damned United; Chris Tarrant in Quiz; David Frost in Frost/Nixon; a trio of films as Tony Blair (The Deal, The Queen, and The Special Relationship); Kenneth Williams in Fantabulosa. His Prince Andrew is compelling; by turns petulant, pathetic, monstrous and poignant. He has a gift for inhabiting famous people – voice, body, soul, the works. He’s equally adept as a regular character actor – the dapper angel Aziraphale in Good Omens, pale and pinched as spurned suitor William Boldwood in the 2015 film of Far From the Madding Crowd, the tortured father of a daughter with muscular dystrophy in last year’s BBC drama Best Interests. He even plays a winning version of himself alongside David Tennant (and their respective partners Anna Lundberg and Georgia Tennant) in the lockdown hit TV series Staged.

But the work that changed his life was his 2011 epic three-day reimagining of The Passion on the streets of Port Talbot, involving more than 1,000 people from the local community. It was years in the making, and during that time he decided he would leave Los Angeles to come home. Initially, home just meant Britain, probably London. But the longer he spent with his people, the more it became apparent to him that home could only mean one thing – returning to Port Talbot, and helping the disadvantaged town in whatever way he could.

He admits that for many years he didn’t have a clue about the reality of life in Port Talbot. He had always lived in one bubble or another. His parents were hardly flush, but they had decent jobs – his mother was a secretary, his father a personnel manager at British Steel, and both were active in amateur dramatics. Sheen was academically gifted (he considered studying English at Oxford University before winning a place at Rada), a talented footballer (he had trials with Cardiff and Swansea) and an exceptional young actor. Then came the bubble of Rada and London, followed by the bubble of LA.

It was only when he started to work on The Passion that he began to understand his home town. One day he was rehearsing with a group in a community hall when he was approached by a woman. “She told me she was the mother of this boy who’d been in my class at school called Nigel. When I was 11, he fell off a cliff in an accident and died. It was the first time I’d known someone to die. She said, ‘I’ve started up a grief counselling group here. I have a little bit of money from the council because there is no grief counselling in this area.’” She’d had no counselling when Nigel died, nor in the 31 years since. “And all these years later, she’d set up a little grief counselling thing with a bit of money, so that was extraordinary to hear.” Next time he returned he discovered that the group no longer existed because of council cuts.

Every time he went back he discovered something new. He met a group that supported young carers. Sheen doesn’t try to disguise how ignorant he was. “I said, ‘All right, what are young carers?’ And they said, ‘They’re children who are supporting a family member.’ And I’m like, ‘OK, this is a profession, they get paid, right?’ And I was told, ‘No, they don’t get paid and our little organisation gives them a bit of respite – once a week we take them bowling or to the cinema.’ I went bowling with them one night and there were eight-year-old kids looking after their mother and bringing up the younger kids. This one organisation was trying to take these kids bowling one night a week, and then that went. No funding for that, either. That kind of stuff was shocking.”

As a child, SHEEN says he was oblivious to struggle because he was so driven by his own dreams. First, it was football. By his mid-teens it was acting. West Glamorgan Youth Theatre, which he calls “one of the best youth theatres in the world”, was on his doorstep. “The miners’ strike was on when I was 15 in Port Talbot and I wasn’t really aware of it at the time. That’s how blinkered I was, because I was so obsessed by acting at that point.” Acting wasn’t regarded as a lofty fantasy in Port Talbot as it may have been in many working-class communities. After all, the town had produced Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins.

In his late teens, heading off for Rada, Sheen feared he would be surrounded by giant talents who would dwarf his. When he discovered that wasn’t the case, he suffered delusions of grandeur. “I wanted to be recognised as the greatest actor in the world,” he says bluntly. In the second year, the students did their first public production: Oedipus Rex. “I thought, well obviously I’ll be cast as Oedipus, then we’ll perform Oedipus to the public and when the world sees me for the first time I’ll be carried shoulder-high through the streets of London and hailed as the greatest actor of all time.” I look for an ironic wink or nod, but none is forthcoming.

Sure enough, he was cast in the lead role. “We did our first public production and I thought I was brilliant.” But nothing changed. It didn’t bring him instant acclaim. By the third night, he could barely get through the performance.

Were you a bit of a cock back then, I ask. He shakes his head. “No, I was having a breakdown. I was crying most of the time. I just fell apart. I spoke to the principal of Rada and I said, ‘I can’t continue at drama school, I have to leave.’ And he said just take some time off, which I did, and two or three weeks later I slowly came back and then completely changed the way I acted.”

Until then he believed acting was just about what he did. “I thought you just worked out how to say the lines as cleverly as you could; it had nothing to do with responding to other people or being in the moment. It was showing off, essentially. And there’s a ceiling to where you can get with that. That breakdown I had was because I’d reached the ceiling and didn’t know how to go any further. That’s why I fell apart.”

He gradually put himself and his technique back together. Was he left with the same ambition? “No. The idea of being considered the best actor of all time becomes nonsense.” In 1991, Sheen left Rada early, because he’d been offered a job he couldn’t turn down. He made his professional debut opposite Vanessa Redgrave in a West End production of Martin Sherman’s When She Danced. Theatre was Sheen’s first love, and his rise was meteoric. From the off, he was cast as the lead in the classics (Romeo and Juliet, Peer Gynt, Henry V, The Seagull) and the 20th-century masterpieces (Norman in The Dresser, Salieri and Mozart in Amadeus, Jimmy Porter in Look Back In Anger).

Sheen was doing exceptionally well when he and his then partner Kate Beckinsale moved to LA for her work in the early 2000s. She was four years younger than him, and already a movie star. Their daughter Lily, now an actor, was a toddler. He assumed that his transition to stardom in LA would be as seamless as it had been in Britain. But it wasn’t. His theatrical acclaim counted for nothing. In 2003, he and Beckinsale split up, but he stayed in LA to be close to Lily.

The first few years, he says, were so lonely and dispiriting. “I found myself living in Los Angeles, there to be with my daughter but just seeing her once a week. I had no career there – it was essentially like starting again. I had no friends and spent a lot of time on my own. It was tough. Slowly I realised how it was affecting me.” In what way? “I remember coming out of an audition for Alien vs Predator, to play a tech geek computer guy with five lines and really caring about it, and then thinking: ‘I can be playing fucking Hamlet at home, what am I doing, what’s this all about?’” He says he’d been so lucky – always working, never having to audition, getting the prize jobs. And suddenly in LA he was an outsider; a nobody.

He and Beckinsale are often cited as role models for joint parenting by ex-couples. In 2016, Beckinsale, Lily and Sheen staged a hilarious photo for James Corden’s The Late, Late Show, recreating the moment of giving birth 17 years earlier. Beckinsale reclines on a kitchen table with Lily sitting between her legs, as an alarmed-looking Sheen stands to the side. Have they always got on well since splitting up? “We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re very important in each other’s lives. It would be really sad if we weren’t – like cutting off a whole part of your life. I’m not saying it doesn’t have its challenges, and I’m sure it’s been harder for her than for me.” Why? “Because … ” He pauses and smiles. “Because I’m more of a twat!” In what way? Another smile. “I’m not going to tell you that, am I?”

Sheen’s break in America came when he was spotted by a casting director who told him he would be perfect for a new project. Ironically, it was to play former British prime minister Tony Blair in a British TV drama called The Deal, directed by British film-maker Stephen Frears and shot in Britain. The Deal led to Frears’s The Queen, about Elizabeth II’s frigid response to the death of Diana, Princess of Wales leading to a crisis for the monarchy. Again he played Blair, this time riding to the rescue of the royals. The movie was nominated for six Oscars (Helen Mirren won best actress) and he never struggled in America again.

The longer he lived in LA, however, the more rooted he felt to Port Talbot. And the further he travelled, around the world or just in Britain, the better he understood how disadvantaged it was. “If you’re in Port Talbot one day and then the next you’re in a little town in Oxfordshire where David Cameron is the MP, it’s fairly obvious there are very different setups there. And that was connected to a political awakening.” He started to read up on Welsh history. In 2017, he returned his OBE because he thought it would be hypocritical to hold on to an honour celebrating empire when he was giving a Raymond Williams lecture on the “tortured history” of the relationship between Wales and the British state.

He began to reassess his past. “I became more aware of the opportunity I’d had in an area where there wasn’t much opportunity. At a certain point you go, Oh, people are having to volunteer to make that youth theatre happen that I’m a product of.” You’d taken it for granted? “Completely. I was happy to think everything I was doing was because of my own talent and I was making my own opportunities, and as I got older I thought maybe that’s not the whole story.”

In 2016, the long-running American TV series Masters of Sex, in which Sheen starred as the pioneering sex researcher William Masters, came to an end. Lily was now 17 and preparing for college. “I suddenly thought, Oh, I can go home now.” And six years ago he finally did – to Baglan, a village adjoining Port Talbot. Since then he has been involved in loads of community projects.

He mentions a few in passing, but he doesn’t tell me he sold his two homes (one in America, the other in Wales) to ensure the 2019 Homeless World Cup went ahead as planned in Cardiff. Nor does he mention that a couple of years ago he started Mab Gwalia (translating to “Son of Wales”), which proudly labels itself a “resistance movement”. On its website, it states: “Mab Gwalia believes that opportunity should not only be available to those who can afford it. The ambition is to build a movement that makes change.” Its projects have supported homeless people, veterans, preschool children on the autism spectrum, kids in care, victims of high-cost credit, and local journalism, which is a particular passion. “In the early 1970s in Port Talbot, there was something like 12 different newspapers. There are none now. None. Communities don’t feel represented, don’t feel their voice is heard and don’t know if the information they’re getting about what’s going on in the community is correct or not. Those are terrifying things, and without local journalism that’s what happens.”

Perhaps surprisingly, he’s even found time for the day job. Earlier this year, he played Nye Bevan in Tim Pryce’s new play about the founding father of the NHS. He also made his directing debut with The Way, a dystopian, and prophetic, three-part TV drama about the closure of the Port Talbot steelworks that results in local riots spreading across the country. How does he feel about the rioting that has scarred the country in recent weeks? “I feel the same way I think most people do. It was awful and terrifying. I worry about how much a hard-right agenda that has been growing for a long time has moved further and further into the mainstream and has clearly got more connected. It’s frightening.” Does he think the new Labour government can deliver the positive change it promises? “Pppfft.”He exhales heavily. “More optimistic than the Conservatives being in power.” Who did he vote for? “That’s my God-given right to remain a secret, isn’t it? It wasn’t the Tories!”

I ask if he’s in favour of Welsh independence. “I don’t know how I feel about it one way or the other, but I would like there to be an open discussion about everything that entails. The problem is when it gets shut down and you don’t get to talk about it.”

Would he ever go into politics? He looks appalled at the idea. “Oh God, no. No! I’d beawful.”Why?“Because I don’t want to say what other people are telling me to say if I don’t agree with it. Look at all those people who voted against the two-child benefit cap and had the whip taken away from them. That’s bollocks. People say I should go into politics because I’m passionate about things and I speak my mind. But then you get into politics and you’re not allowed to do that any more. I’ve got far more of a platform as myself. I can say what I want to say.”

Fair enough. I’ve got another idea. A couple of years ago he gave an inspired motivational speech for the Wales football team before the 2022 men’s World Cup, on the TV show A League of Their Own. Would he take the job as Wales manager if offered it? He looks just as horrified as the idea of a life in politics. “No!” Why not? “Because it’s a completely different profession. You need to know about football. I played football when I was younger, but I wouldn’t have a clue. Wouldn’t. Have. A. Clue. Just because you can make a speech doesn’t mean you’d be any good at that sort of stuff.” He says he was embarrassed about the speech initially, but now feels proud of it. “Schools get in touch and say, ‘We’ve been studying it with the class.’ I put hidden things in. There are rabbit holes you can go down.” He quotes the line, “You sons of Speed” and tells me that’s a reference to the idolised former manager and player Gary Speed who took his life in 2011. You can hear the emotion in his voice.

I’ve been waiting for Sheen to mention the new TV drama about Prince Andrew. Most actors direct you to the project they’re promoting as soon as you sit down with them. Let’s talk about the new show, I  eventually say.

This is already the second drama about the Andrew interview. Did he know that Scoop, which came out earlier this year, was already in the works? “Yes, I knew before I agreed to do this.” Was it a race to see which would get out first? “There was no race, no. We always knew ours would come out after.” What would he say to people who think it’s pointless watching another film on the same subject? “Ours is a three-part story, so it’s able to breathe a lot more. There’s a lot more to it. In our story, Andrew and Emily are the main characters whereas they were very much the supporting ones in the other one.”

Did it change his opinion of Andrew? “No. It showed the dangers of being in a bubble, having talked about being in a bubble myself! The dangers of privilege.” He talks with sensitivity about Andrew’s downfall. “The thing that really struck me was when Andrew came back from the Falklands there was no one more revered, in a way. I didn’t realise his job was to fly helicopters to draw enemy fire away from the ships. I couldn’t believe they would put a royal in that position, so he was genuinely courageous. He was good-looking, a prince, and had everything going for him. Since then everything has just gone down and down and down.” He’s had so little control over his life, Sheen says. Take his relationships. “He was told he couldn’t be with [American actor] Koo Stark any more because of the controversy. He was essentially told he had to divorce Sarah Ferguson because the royal family, particularly Philip allegedly, was concerned that she would bring the family into disrepute.”

Did he end up feeling more empathetic towards him? “No!” he says sharply. Then he softens slightly. “Well, empathy? I felt I understood a bit more – because that’s my job – about what was going on. But he’s incredibly privileged and has exploited that. It seems like he has a lot taken away from him but probably rightfully so.”

A Very Royal Scandal is like The Crown in that it’s great drama but you’re never sure what’s real. Are Andrew’s lines simply made up? “It’s a combination of research and stories out there, and little snippets and invention.” While Emily Maitlis is an executive producer, Andrew most certainly is not. “Well, that’s the real difficulty for our story,” Sheen says. “On the one hand, you’ve got Emily as an exec, so you know everything to do with her is coming from the horse’s mouth. But everything to do with Andrew, not only is it really difficult to get the actual stuff, also we don’t know what he did.” He pauses. “Or didn’t do.” He’s talking about Virginia Giuffre’s allegation that Andrew raped her, which he denied. In the end, Giuffre’s civil case was dropped after an out-of-court settlement was reached on no admission of liability by Prince Andrew, with Giuffre reportedly paid around £12m.

I had assumed Sheen would be a staunch republican, but he doesn’t feel strongly either way. “There are lots of positives about royals, and lots of negatives.” His bugbear is that the heir to the throne gets to be Prince of Wales. “Personally, I would want the title of Prince of Wales to be given back to Wales to decide what to do with it, and I definitely think there’s a lot of wealth that could be used better.”

The biggest change for Sheen since returning to Wales is his family life. In 2019, he revealed that he had a new partner, the Swedish actor Anna Lundberg, that she was 25 years younger than him, and that she was pregnant. They now have two daughters – Lyra who is coming up to five, and two-year-old Mabli. As well as Staged, the couple have also appeared together on Gogglebox. They look so happy, nestling into each other, laughing at the same funnies, tearing up over the same heartbreakers. She also seems naturally funny. Given that two of his former partners (Sarah Silverman and Aisling Bea) are comedians, have all his exes had a good sense of humour? He thinks about it. “Yes. Yeah, you’ve got to have a laugh, haven’t you?” And he’s always got on well with them after splitting up? “Yeah, pretty much.”

When asked about the age difference between Lundberg and him on The Assembly, he acknowledged that they were surprised when they got together. “We were both aware it would be difficult and challenging. Ultimately, we felt it was worth it because of how we felt about each other, and now we have two beautiful children together.” He also said that being an older father worried him at times. “It makes me sad, thinking about the time I won’t have with them.”

Does being a dad of such tiny kids make him feel young or old? “Both,” he says. “My body feels very old. But everything else feels much younger. I’m 55 and it’s knackering running around after little kids. Just physically, it’s very demanding. And I’m at a point in my life where I’m aware of my physical limitations now. But in other ways it’s completely liberating, and I’m able to appreciate it more now.”

Has he learned about fatherhood from the first time round? “Yeah, I think so. I’m around more now. That’s a big part of it. When Lily was young, I was in my early 30s and doing films for the first time, so Kate would stay in Los Angeles with Lily and I would go off and do whatever.” Did Beckinsale resent that? “I don’t know that she resented it. Kate was doing better than me in terms of profile at the time, so it was different. Given that we then split up and I saw Lily even less, I very much regretted being away as much. So this time I wanted to make sure that wasn’t the case. That’s partly why I’ve set up a Welsh production company. I don’t want to work away from them as much.”

Talking of which, he says, what’s the time? “I’ve got to get back to my kids.”

On his way out, I ask what advice he would give his younger self. He says he was asked that recently and gave a glib answer. “I said buy stock in Apple.” What should he have said? He thinks about it, and finally says he’d have no advice for his younger self. He’d rather reverse the question, and think what his younger self would say to him if he tried to advise him.

“I saw an amazing clip of Stephen Colbert saying your life is an accumulation of every bad choice you’ve made and every good choice you’ve made, and the great challenge of life is to say yes to it. To say, ‘I love living, I embrace living.’ And in order to do that you have to embrace all the pain, all the grief, all the sadness, all the fucking mistakes because without that you don’t have all the other stuff.” He’s on a roll now, louder and more passionate by the word. “And I’d hate it if someone came and went, ‘Don’t do this, no do that.’ Then you just sail through your life. It would be death, wouldn’t it? So I’d tell my older self to go fuck himself.”

[fadeintoyou1993]

Our story is about a town, a small town, and the people who live in the town. From a distance, it presents itself like so many other small towns all over the world… Safe. Decent. Innocent. Get closer, though, and you start seeing the shadows underneath. The name of our town is Riverdale. And our story begins, I guess, with what the Blossom twins did this summer. On the Fourth of July, just after dawn, Jason and Cheryl Blossom drove out to Sweetwater River for an early morning boat ride. The next thing we know happened for sure is that Dilton Doiley, who was leading Riverdale's Boy Scout Troop on a bird watching expedition, came upon Cheryl by the river's edge. Riverdale Police dragged Sweetwater River for Jason's body, but never found it. So a week later, the Blossom family buried an empty casket and Jason's death was ruled an accident, as the story that Cheryl told made the rounds. That Cheryl dropped a glove in the water, and Jason reached down to get it, and accidentally tipped the boat, and panicked, and drowned. As for us, we were still talking about the "July Fourth tragedy" on the last day of summer vacation, when a new mystery rolled into town. [...] It was midnight, and my old friend Archie Andrews arrived at the one place in town that was still open. He was looking for the girl next door. Instead, he found me. [...] And so, it wasn't one heart that broke that night. It was two. And the night was far from over. [...] By morning, everyone would be talking, texting, and posting about it. We'd all be feeling it. That the world around us had changed, maybe forever. That Riverdale wasn't the same town as before. That it was a town of shadows and secrets now. On Monday, the autopsy on Jason's body would take place. And on Tuesday, halfway through fifth period, the first arrest would be made.

RIVERDALE (2017—2023) Chapter One: The River's Edge

[major-mads]

Chapter 1: Welcome to Thorpe Abbotts

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: Ruth has been living in my head for months now, and I'm so so so excited to share her with y'all! This series is Jess (footprintsinthesxnd) and I's brainchild. Our ideas just seamlessly fit tegether, and here we are! We actually wrote this first chapter a week before the 26th, so if anything happens to almost exactly match the show, we came up with it before we saw it on there! (we're just good like that 😎)

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 5.3k

The hum of the engine was the only sound in the C-47 as it soared over the English countryside. The patients had finally settled, and the morphine finally took effect and brought them some sense of relief. Hope slumped back into her seat with a sigh, smiling over at Ruth who looked as exhausted as she was. 

“You looked tired,” Hope smiled at her friend who just sighed.

“It’s been a long day. I can’t wait to get back to base,” Ruth pushed her short blonde hair out of her eyes, sighing again. 

“Hey Frank, how much longer have we got,” Hope called to one of the pilots.

“We’ve had to make a detour, doll. We’re heading to Thorpe Abbotts airfield and will evacuate the wounded to Thorpe St. Andrews Hospital. It’s not far now.” 

Hope felt her heart flutter, her throat drying as she slouched back against her seat. 

“Hey Hope, what’s wrong?” Ruth leaned forward, gripping Hope’s hand and squeezing it, her large blue eyes filled with worry. 

“It’s Hugh,” Hope muttered, her eyes a little teary but a smile on her lips nonetheless. “My brother is stationed at Thorpe Abbotts with the 100th Bomb Group. I haven’t seen him in so long.” 

Ruth’s concerned frown turned to a smile, “So I’m finally going to meet this Hugh I’ve heard so much about.” 

Hope laughed, patting her friend on the back gently, “You will, but don’t get any ideas.” 

The aircraft soared towards its destination, and the occasional jolting and shaking on the metal bird brought no fear to the flight nurses anymore. Once, the ratting metal coffin struck the fear of God into them but now this was a peaceful ride.

Hope watched out the window as the lush, green countryside grew closer and closer. 

“Hey, Frank! Stop hugging the hedgerows for crying out loud. Don’t let the girl down before we’ve reached the field,” Hope called, grimacing as the trees seemed to grow ever closer.

“Who’s flying this bird, Armstrong? You or me?” Frank retorted, not looking away from the cockpit.

“Well, maybe you could use some lessons in keeping the old girl airborne then. We’ll beat up the airfield at this rate.” 

Ruth laughed, watching Hope argue with the pilot once more, “You know Hope, maybe you should have gotten your wings. Then you could be flying us instead of Frank.” 

“You’ve got a good point there, Ruth. Ya hear that Frank, Ruth wants me flying instead of you.” 

Frank’s reply was a muffled curse, and both girls found themselves giggling in response. The plane tooled along for a while longer until it finally began to descend, rattling as it lost altitude and shaking its victims vigorously. The wheels touching down on the tarmac filled everyone with great relief. 

“Well that was one ropey landing, Frank. Maybe I could give ya a few lessons?” Hope asked politely, batting her eyelashes at the pilot who just huffed.

“Shove off, Hope. Now get to it, your blood wagons are waiting.” 

Hope cringed at the nickname the ambulances had been given, they were lifesaving vehicles transporting sick men, why make it sound so ominous? 

Hope hopped down from the plane, instructing the stretcher-bearers on which soldiers were in the worst condition. Between them, Hope and Ruth helped carry three wounded men to the ambulances when an obnoxiously loud voice called, “Well, I’ll be damned!” 

Hope spun round, her boots scuffing at the earth. 

“HUGH!” Her brother laughed jovially, jogging over to them. 

“Gosh, I’ve missed you, Little Bird,” Hugh threw his arms around Hope’s shoulders, nestling his head into her neck as he always did. Hope couldn’t comprehend what was happening. She was finally in her brother's arms, finally reunited with him after so long. She gripped tightly onto the back of his uniform, burying her face in his chest. He smelt of smoke and engine oil just like he did back home. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” she murmured, just loud enough for Hugh to hear as he tightened his grip on her further. She could feel Ruth hovering awkwardly behind her and she turned to greet her friend, pulling out of her brother's arms.

“Ruth, this is my brother, Hugh. Hugh, this is my friend, Ruth.” 

Ruth smiled sweetly, sticking out her hand to shake Hugh’s but instead, he pulled her into a bear hug.

“Any friend of Hope’s is a friend of mine,” he assured Ruth and she smiled, her cheeks turning a deep red at the embarrassment of the situation.

“Hugh, put her down. Look, you're making the poor girl blush,” Hope laughed, which only caused Ruth to blush harder. 

“My apologies Ruthie, where are my manners,” he bowed, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. 

“Oh, uh- nice to meet you.” Ruth stumbled over her words, quickly using the excuse that she needed her flight jacket as an excuse to return to the plane.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” Hope groaned, shoving her brother playfully in the ribs. 

“I don’t know, I’ve always considered myself rather charming,” Hugh protested, puffing out his chest in pride. 

Hope nodded, spinning around to call Ruth to join them. The blonde soon was walking back toward the group, now wearing her fleece aviation jacket, and to her relief, without a rosy dusting on her cheeks. 

“I still can’t believe out of all the airfields in England, you managed to land at this one,” Hugh laughed, throwing an arm around both girls' shoulders. “You two are in for a real treat.” 

As they walked through the base, Hugh pointed out the various hard stands. 

“See, right there,” he pointed at a few heavies. “That’s “Just-a-Snappin’, Our Baby, and the M’lle Zig Zig.”

“Where do you guys get these names, Hugh?” Hope laughed, her eyes trailing over each one’s elaborate nose art, along with some very proud-looking engineers and artists who had clearly put so much love into the bombers.

Shrugging his shoulders, Hugh sighed, shaking his head. “I couldn’t tell ya. What’s your plane named?”

“Just the Angel of Death,” Hope chirped.

Hugh stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. “Always with the dark humor, aren’t you, Hope.”

After hearing so much about the man from Hope, Ruth felt as if she’d known Hugh for years when in reality she’d only known him for a few minutes. She knew the stories of how the siblings played in the woods of Columbia, Missouri, exploring the famous rock bridge that brought hikers and tourists into the town. She knew of his love for the St. Louis Cardinals, and how he wore his battered and dirty Dizzy Dean jersey for a week straight after they won the World Series in ‘31 and ‘34. Maybe he’d heard so much about Ruth from Hope that he felt the same way. 

‘It would make sense based on his initial reaction.’ she thought, absentmindedly reaching up and grabbing the small pendant hanging from her neck, running her fingers over its smooth edges.

Before they knew it, the trio reached their destination: his officer nissen hut. They were long semi-circular metal huts, not known for their warmth or comfortability, but they were a soft place to land at the end of the day…which is a lot more than most young men of the time could say. 

“Welcome to my humble abode, ladies,” he announced as they neared the building, holding out his arms in a ‘ta-da’ motion. “She’s not much, but she’s home.”

He began to open the door for them, but a voice in the distance stopped him.

“Charlie! No girls in the huts,” the voice called. “I told you that a few weeks ago.”

Turning toward the voice, Hope did a double take when she saw who its owner. Approaching them was a tall, tan, brunette, who wore a bomber jacket with his hair messily combed to the side. He walked with a swagger that instantly put a bad taste in Hope’s mouth.

She sighed to herself, thinking, ‘Why do all the cute ones have to be cocky?’ 

Hugh groaned, pointing at Hope. “Buck, come on, this is my-” 

The man finally reached them, and Hope stopped herself from being captivated by his blue-green eyes.

“I don’t care who she is. You know the rules,” he interrupted, turning to the girls. “Sorry girls, but I think it’s time for you to go.”

Ruth cringed and side-eyed Hope, already expecting a snarky response to his comment. 

“Well,” she paused, checking her watch for effect. “Seeing as we have patients in the infirmary, it actually isn’t time for us to go.”

It was then that he looked down at her upper arm, taking in the bright red and white medic band that adorned her uniform. Ruth could see the slightest show of remorse in his expression as his eyes rose back up to Hope’s. 

“My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t know-”

Hope didn’t let him finish, cutting him off. “Maybe you should know all the facts before you make an assumption, Buck.”

“Hope!” Ruth hissed, trying to placate her friend, but the woman ignored her.

“See, other than my brother, this is why I can’t stand airmen. They’re cocky-”

Realizing the flaw in Hope’s argument, Ruth ran a hand down her face, secondhand embarrassment filling her. Just when she was about to interject, Buck beat her to it.

“Now hold on. Maybe you should know all the facts before you make an assumption, sweetheart.”

Hope’s mind ran rampant with frustration, and she stared up at him with contempt as he smiled cheekily at her. His eyes were locked on hers as they had a stare-down, neither wanting to be the first to give in. 

“So,” Hugh cleared his throat in an attempt to break their silent battle. “Let me introduce you guys. Ladies, this is my squadron commander, Major Buck Cleven.”

Buck tilted his head slightly, not breaking eye contact with Hope. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she replied dryly.

Ruth shook her head and sighed, amazed at her fellow nurse’s childlike stubbornness.

“And Buck, this is my sister, Hope, and her friend Ruth. They’re flight nurses with the 806th MAETS.”

Ruth raised a hand and waved with a quiet, “Hello,” and Hope felt a little satisfaction when the man’s eyes widened at the word sister. 

Buck’s eys left Hope for a moment to acknowledge Ruth, who stood beside her, with a nod and a smile. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“You, too, Major,” she responded with a small grin. He then turned back to Hope.

“So, you’re the infamous little sister we’ve all heard about?” Buck chuckled, placing his hands on his hips.

The woman glanced over at Hugh, who wore a guilty expression. “All good things, I hope.”

“For the most part,” Buck chimed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know about your little escapade to Kansas City, and how–” 

Hope’s eyes widened in disbelief that her brother had divulged her most embarrassing moment. “Hugh!!” she cried, smacking his chest. “You lying piece of crap! You promised!”

“It’s not like I thought you’d ever meet anyone here, Hope!”

Composing herself, she took a deep breath and sent Buck a tight-lipped smile. “It looks like you know a lot more about me than I do about you, Major.”

“It would seem so, Nurse Armstrong.”

As Ruth amusedly listened to Gale and Hope’s banter, she felt like she was being watched. Glancing around the group, her heart skipped a beat as her eyes met another set of icy blues, ones that were new to the group. 

‘How did I miss him walking up?’ she wondered.

Their gazes locked for a few seconds that seemed to last minutes, and a shudder ran through her. Breaking from his stupor, he quickly looked away with a light pink dusting on his cheeks. Ruth felt her own blush creeping up her neck and wrapped her flight jacket closer to her body, the English chill suddenly getting to her. 

Her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own as they fought to return to the handsome stranger. It took all her willpower to keep them on Hugh, who was talking to the group.

“I can’t imagine going up without weapons on board. We’ve got 12 50-cal brownings and sometimes I feel that’s not enough.”

The battle within herself became too much, and Ruth finally gave in to her temptation. Her eyes flitted over to the man, and she silently sighed in relief when she found his gaze elsewhere. It was then that she discovered her first assumption of the man being ‘handsome’ was an understatement. He had a strong and well-defined jawline, expressive and striking blue-grey eyes, a straight nose, and a slightly curved lip, which held a pencil-thin mustache.

She liked the mustache.

He wore a crooked crusher cap and a white fleece-lined flying jacket that looked somewhat dirty, accompanied by his brown service top poking out at the jacket collar.

Ruth was mesmerized by the man, and she didn’t even know his name. A wide grin broke out on his face as he engaged in the group’s conversation, his upper lip curling up, allowing a few teeth to peek out the top, and Ruth felt her stomach lurch for the second time in a short few minutes. 

Focus, Ruth. Focus.

An elbow to her side broke her stare, and the group’s eyes were suddenly on her as Hope looked at her expectantly. 

“What?” Ruth asked, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I said that we would go insane without each other up there.”

“Oh,” she sighed with a small smile. “You would probably kill Frank if I weren’t there.”

The group broke out in laughter, and Ruth found her eyes absentmindedly moving to the mystery man. As he chuckled, his eyes wrinkled at the edges, and his full smile revealed a dazzlingly straight set of pearly whites. His loud laughter was infectious, and a few giggles escaped her mouth. 

As the group’s chuckles started to die down, Hope looked over at Ruth. She took in her friend’s shy smile and blush, then followed her gaze to the airman across the circle. Realizing what was happening, she nudged Ruth lightly, a teasing eyebrow raised.

“What?” Ruth grumbled under her breath, leaning closer to her friend’s ear as the guys carried on the group’s conversation. 

“You like him.”

The blonde’s smile fell and heat rushed up her neck. “Who?”

Hope tilted her head incredulously, rolling her eyes. “You know who.”

“No, I don’t,” she defended, 

“He’s staring,” Hope grinned, nodding his direction subtly. 

Ruth’s eyes rose to his, and sure enough, his striking eyes were gazing into hers yet again. This time, however, he didn’t look away. The corner of his lips quirked up into a barely noticeable grin, and she felt as if she was shrinking under the intensity of his gaze.

“Uh, I need to go check on the patients,” she sputtered, pointing her fingers in the direction of the infirmary. With a curt nod to Hope, she quickly turned and started toward the infirmary, her blonde curls bouncing with each step. A few seconds later, she spun to face the group and called, “But it was…uh…nice to meet y’all.”

Hugh didn’t miss a beat and hollered back his reply. “You, too, Ruthie!” He then paused until she was out of earshot. “She alright?” 

“She’s fine,” Hope sighed, used to her friend’s more timid personality. She had hoped that over time, her extroversion would rub off on the nurse, but so far, she had no such luck. Ruth was more of a one-on-one person, not one for groups of people unless she knew them pretty well. It seemed the smaller the group got, the more Ruth seemed to come alive. It was like pulling teeth to get Ruth to agree to go out with the other girls of the unit, but when she finally stepped out of her comfort zone, she usually had a good time filled with friends, fellas, and amazing big band music.

Ruth’s admirer joined the conversation, and Hope smirked, watching his eyes follow her friend. “How far away is your base?” 

“We’re in Berkshire, so by car, it’s about three hours, but by plane, probably 45 minutes.”

“So not far,” he chimed, raising his eyebrows and nodding to himself. Before anyone else could comment, he spoke again. 

“See you boys later,” he said absentmindedly as he watched Ruth’s figure go around a corner. Clapping Buck’s shoulder, he set off and followed the nurse’s path around the corner, missing the raised eyebrows and confused expressions sent his way. All eyes followed him as he, too, disappeared around the corner.

Hope pursed her lips at the new development, unsure of the man following Ruth. “Should I be worried?”

“Yep,” Hugh confirmed with a curt nod.

Buck hit him on the chest, chuckling under his breath. “Johnny’s a good man, darlin’.”

Hugh suppressed a snort thinking of the commander’s wild habits and how Buck didn't exactly answer her question.

“Anyways, back wh-”

And just like that, the conversation continued, and Hope had a strange feeling of contentment being on base. Finally being with family again.

As Ruth briskly made her way around the nissen huts to the infirmary, her heart continued to beat rapidly in her chest, and her mind replayed his smile non-stop. 

Get it together, Ruth!

When she finally reached the infirmary, she stopped at the door, taking a deep breath to gain some composure. Within seconds of opening the heavy door, the base’s head surgeon approached her, wiping his hands with a rag.

“Hello,” he greeted. “I’m Captain Emory Kinder, and I’m assuming you’re one of the flight nurses who landed earlier?”

Ruth wore her signature toothy grin and nodded. “Yes, sir. Ruth Morgan. My other half is visiting with her brother as we speak.”

“Brother?”

“Yep, Hugh Armstrong,” she replied, her smile widening as his face lit up.

“Charlie! Oh yeah, I know him. He’s been in here for a few hangovers after a rowdy night in Dickleburgh.”

“Really?” Ruth chuckled, picturing the confident young man drunk as a skunk.

“Oh yeah. We love him though. He’s a good one for sure.”

A patient called out to him, and with a nod, he was off, helping the man. Ruth busied herself however she could, bringing airmen water, re-wrapping their bandages, and pretty much anything that would get her mind off the man from earlier. She was inspecting a man’s arm wound when the creaking of the door opening filled the building. Paying it no mind, she kept working, noting how the tissue was already healing. 

“It looks good, Sergeant. You should be back in the air soon,” she said quietly.

His wide-eyed morphine-induced expression looked pitiful, but he managed to mumble out a, “Thank you, ma’am.”

Ruth gathered her supplies and stood to her feet, throwing away the bloody bandages when Emory's voice rang through the air.

“Speaking of rowdy nights in Dickleburgh...Major, what can I do for ya? Is that shoulder giving you problems again?”

“No, Doc,” the newcomer began, his deep voice breaking the relative quiet. “The shoulder’s fine. I just wanted to, you know, come see the boy-men.”

When she turned toward them and saw the white jacket, the roll of bandages fell from her grasp and hit the floor with a thud, rolling a few feet away to the man’s feet. The heat returned to her cheeks in a rush, and her eyes froze on the bandages for a moment, silently cursing the little white bundle. She watched in horror as the man slowly bent down and picked it up, walking toward her as he threw it up in the air and caught it.

“I think this yours,” he said, one side of his lips quirking up into a smirk as he held it out to her.

Raising her eyes from the bandage to his eyes, she prayed her voice would stay steady. “Thank you, sir.”

She took the bandage and tried to remain calm, her free hand raising to run her fingers over the cool metal of her locket.

“John. Major John Egan,” he introduced himself, extending his hand to her. “But you can call me Bucky.”

Ruth’s brows furrowed in confusion as she took his much larger hand and shook it gently. It was surprisingly soft compared to the men she’d treated from the lines.  “Bucky? It’s there another-”

“Yeah,” John chuckled and slowly released her hand, shoving his in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “We call Cleven Buck, too. He hates it, but he deals with it.”

Grimacing playfully, she decided to go out on a limb despite her pounding heart. “Well, I, um, don’t know if I’ll be able to remember who’s who.”

“Oh no,” John tutted, his eyebrows raised and a wide-mouthed smile painting his lips. “We can’t have that. You can call me John, Johnny, whatever you want, doll, but I don’t think you’re going to have a hard time remembering my name.”

“And why would that be, Johnny?”

“Because you’ll see it at the bottom of each letter you’ll get from me.”

The blonde froze, dropping her necklace in disbelief as she swallowed thickly.

‘There is no way he just said that,’ her mind repeated. ‘There is no way he just said that.”

Pushing through her reserved personality and the tingling sensation swirling in her stomach, she decided to take a page from Hope’s book.

“What makes you think I’d let you write me, hotshot?”

Her mind went haywire. ‘‘Why did I just say that? I’m never taking Hope’s advice again. This is too stressful.’

For the first time in their interaction, his confident bravado seemed to fade and he didn’t quite know what to say. Perhaps he was always used to women giving in to his advances easily, but Ruth was not just another woman begging to be wooed. Johnny stood before her with furrowed brows, his upper lip sticking out slightly. He pushed back his jacket and placed his hands on his hips, his head ducking to the floor.

“Because I’d like to get to know you,” he replied earnestly, taking off his cap. “You’re gorgeous, and I would like to write you, Ruth.“

That was the last thing she expected.

In that moment, Ruth Morgan had a decision to make. Was she going to reject the airman or give him a chance? She knew she was attracted to him and there was chemistry there, but was she willing to put herself out there? The timid parts of her personality screamed at her to tell him no, but the parts that Hope had influenced were urging her to accept his offer. In the end, Ruth already liked Johnny, and she saw the sincerity in his statement as a deciding factor in the matter.

“Alright, you can write to me,” she answered quietly, pushing her hair behind her ear.

John watched as she walked to the infirmary desk and got a sheet of paper, scribbling down what he expected to be her address. He took in her features, just like he had earlier. Starting at her light blonde hair, his gaze traveled down her face to her familiar blue eyes, down her adorable nose, to her lips, which were pursed slightly as she concentrated on writing down her information. She was stunning, and Johnny knew that he wanted to see her again just from their short conversation.

Approaching him again, she held up a slip of paper, a toothy grin on her lips. “This is sensitive information, Major. It better not end up in enemy hands, and that includes your fellow airmen.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded once before fake saluting her, unable to keep his excitement inside. “Mission understood.”

“But just to be safe, I’m going to hold onto it for a little bit.” she leaned a little closer to him, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Just in case I, you know, change my mind.”

John grinned down at her and yet again raised his eyebrows as he nodded. Ruth noticed he did that a lot. “I’ll be on my best behavior, scout’s honor.”

Sliding the slip into her pocket, she started her nursing tasks once again, looking at him over her shoulder. “So, you were in the Boy Scouts?”

“No,” he chuckled, putting back on his cap as he moved next to Ruth to help. “I wasn’t, but Buck was. He ended up being an Eagle Scout before he aged out. One of the best in Wyoming, he says, but I don't buy it.”

He stood a good 5 or so inches above her, so his chin was at her eye level. In the small area at the nursing station, his shoulder was just barely pressed against hers as they both worked to roll bandages, and Ruth could feel the warmth radiating from his touch.

“It seems like you know each other pretty well,” she stated, looking up at him briefly.

His concentration remained on the bandage in his hands as he spoke. “Yeah. He’s my best friend.”

“How long have you known each other?” She asked, reaching up to mess with her necklace.

“We both joined up in ‘40 and were roommates in basic. Been together ever since.”

“That reminds me of Hope and I, although we haven’t known each other for nearly that long.”

John placed the finished bandage in the basket and turned to face her, leaning a hip against the counter as his earnest expression returned. “War makes people closer. Makes ‘em realize who’s important. What’s important.”

The blonde mirrored his stance, taking in his words. He was right. War did have a way of bringing people together. She gazed up at him with a shared understanding of how something as terrible as the war had brought out the best and worst in people, as well as brought people into their lives for the better. The pair’s eyes remained locked for a few moments, both realizing that perhaps there was something deeper than the flirting between them. His warm eyes seemed to search hers, and to her surprise, she didn’t feel nervous in that moment. Johnny’s gaze was like a warm blanket enveloping all of her senses to the point that all she could see was him.

“I feel the same way,” Ruth finally answered, fixing a stray curl that had fallen into her eyes.

Half of his lips curled up in a grin and he took a step toward her. “Ruth, I-”

The loud opening of the door jolted them from the moment, sending both their heads in the direction of the entrance. There stood an out-of-breath Frank, whose face was bright red and shimmering with sweat.

“Ruth! Do you know how long I’ve been looking for ya?” He cried, approaching them quickly.

Unsure of the man’s intentions, Johnny straightened and moved just barely in front of her, holding out a hand towards Frank. “Woah, buddy.”

Although it was an endearing effort, she couldn’t hold in a loud giggle at Frank’s offended expression that followed. “No, Johnny,” she laughed, gently lowering his hand.  “This is our pilot, Frank. Frank, this is Major John Egan. What is it?”

The pilot’s eyes flicked between Ruth and Johnny for a few seconds before he sighed. “I’ve filled the Angel up and it’s time to go. Find Hope and meet me back at the plane.”

Just like that, he was out the door again, probably to get ready for takeoff. Ruth’s heart sank at the realization that she was having to leave. It seemed he also came to the same conclusion as he turned toward her and sighed. 

“Looks like you’ve gotta go,” he said softly, slightly tilting his head to the side as he peered down at her. 

The nurse looked at the door, then lowered her gaze to her feet. “It sure does.”

She almost gasped in surprise when something warm grasped her hand gently. Her eyes shot up to John’s hand that held delicately held hers. The contact sent a tingle up her arm and seemingly straight to her mind, muddying her thoughts. 

“I'd like to see you again,” he murmured where only she could hear.

This quieter, softer version of him was unknown to Ruth, but she knew instantly that she liked the duality of Johnny. 

The blush she’d resisted finally won and dusted her cheeks as she looked up at him. “I’d like that, too.”

John softly tugged her hand closer and bridged the distance between them slowly, his entrancing eyes flicking between her eyes and lips. Ruth could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she stood on her toes to meet him. She felt his warm breath on her face, and her eyes fluttered closed, anticipating the kiss. But before their lips could meet, the door opened again, and Frank called out to her.

“Ruth, come on! You can neck the Major later!”

The door quickly creaked closed.

Heat rushed to Ruth’s face, and she reluctantly pulled back from Johnny, setting her heels back on the ground. Johnny awkwardly stood to his full height, glaring at the door where Frank stood moments before.

“I’ll see you next time, Johnny,” Ruth smiled bashfully, gently squeezing his hand once before dropping it. She walked backward to the door, praying she wouldn’t trip. 

Johnny let out a huff of air as the biggest smile grew on his face. “So there will be a next time?” 

She simply grinned at him, shrugging her shoulders when she turned to open the door. With one last look over her shoulder, she closed the door behind her. 

The infirmary was silent for a few seconds, and then the patients erupted in hollers, cheers, and whistles. 

“Way to go, Bucky!”

“Leave some for the rest of us, Major!”

Amid their uproar, John remembered a crucial detail: She hadn’t given him her address! He took off toward the door, reaching for the handle when it creaked open, revealing a laughing Ruth on the other side. She held out the slip to him.

“I think you behaved well enough, Major.”

“Told you,” he chimed, his eyebrows raising. “Scout’s honor.”

John took the paper from her outstretched hand and watched as she left once again. When the door had slammed shut behind her, he read the note to himself with a wide smile.

Hotshot, 

You can write me at the Grove, Berkshire, Hut 4. I like you, so try not to get shot down before I can return your letter, and I’ll do the same.

Safe Flying,

Ruth Morgan

Johnny shot his hand with the paper into the air, and the men cheered once again. Ruth, on the other hand, was in disbelief of what had just transpired. She had almost kissed him! She wanted to kiss him! Running her hands through her hair, she tried to focus on the task at hand: finding Hope.

Ruth ran around the base like a chicken with her head cut off looking for the woman, and was about to give up when she saw her sitting in a jeep with Buck in the distance.

“HOPE! There you are, I've been looking everywhere. Frank fueled up the plane. We have to go,” Ruth huffed, clearly out of breath from running, but her flushed cheeks, Hope thought, told a different story. 

“Okay, I'll be over in five minutes,” Hope promised, but Ruth didn't look convinced.

“Your five minutes or an actual five minutes?” She asked, and the glare Hope sent her way had Ruth turning around and heading back in the direction she’d come. 

“Okay, but I'll be timing you,” she yelled over her shoulder.

When Ruth looked back to see Hope kissing Buck on the cheek, it occurred to her that maybe there were more trips to Thorpe Abbotts in the cards for both of them.

Tag List: @xxluckystrike @precious-little-scoundrel @bcofl0ve @violetdaze25 @docroesmorphine

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!! <3

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Blooming Showers

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: A split-second decision leads to a night full of changes

Word Count: 3610

Warnings: Angst with some fluff at the end, little use of Y/N, assigned nickname towards the end, distrust, anger, wound/mention of blood, anxiety, racing thoughts, friends-to-lovers

A/N: This is definitely my longest piece I’ve written in a really long time. I started watching TASM with my cousin and friends and immediately fell in love with Andrew Garfield all over again so I NEEDED to write something. This isn’t smutty but I kind of want to do a part two thats smutty and angsty

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

Rain softly padded against the window, causing the lights from outside to cast soft shadows, the lights from passing cars making those shadows dance. It was quiet, almost serene in New York - the sirens were few a far between tonight, and distant as well, the occasional coo of a bird trying to find shelter - there were no kids running down the fire escape trying to sneak out, no couples in petty arguments that shook through the thin walls.

Nights like this were few and far in-between, where for a few minutes you were able to fall in love with your city all over again, and you were able to remember every reason why you wanted to be here. 

The only thing that would've made the night better would have been seeing Peter, your lifelong best friend, and partner-in-chaos. Your phone lit up occasionally with messages from him, apologizing over and over for missing another scheduled movie night. 

It wasn't the end of the world, Aunt May needed help with something so you understood, but it still stung. This was the 4th one this year he'd miss. You understood when there was a foot of snow on the ground, and when midterms then finals week came, but it had felt like since graduation two weeks ago that Peter had been avoiding you. 

Trying not to dwell on the sinking feeling was hard, so many changes were happening and your brain was becoming more and more hyper-aware that more changes were bound to come. Graduation may overall be a good thing, opening up new opportunities and finally not having to worry about classes you'd never use a day in your adult life, but it also meant that you were about to start a new chapter of life. 

In an attempt to stop the racing thoughts, you decided Fuck Peter for missing your movie night and decided to watch a movie anyways. Pressing play on an old favorite, you left the comfort of your bed to grab some snacks from the kitchen. 

Ten minutes. That's all you were gone, but in those ten minutes, the city's beloved vigilante slid your window open, practically tumbling off of the fire escape and onto the floor. He did his best to avoid your bed, not wanting to soak it in the rain or the blood that was on him. 

There was a cut through his suit, not deep but enough to nick the skin and have scarlet drops dripping down. He reached for a towel that had been carelessly discarded by you earlier in the night, haphazardly tying his cut up with his free hand and then pulling his mask off. 

Peter's breaths were rugged, head now leaned back against your bed as he tried to calm himself from the adrenaline rush of the near-death experience he just had. Sure, he only had a cut and a few bruises to show for it, but he knew deep down without his enhanced sense he surely would have been dead. He hadn't even processed the split-second decision he made to go to your apartment instead of Aunt May's house. 

It wasn't until your shrill scream, the sound of the snacks hitting the floor that Peter's eyes flew open, looking at you as if he had just been caught committing a crime. His eyes were wide, realizing at that very moment the weight of his actions and inactions for the past several years. He didn't dare move, only a breathy sigh of your name leaving his lips. 

Your brain moved quickly once you realize that the intruder sitting on your floor was Peter… Your Peter, dressed in a red and blue skin-tight suit, holding a mask, with your towel wrapped around his arm. There had to be a reasonable explanation. 

"Peter?" You knew it was him, but your brain was still attempting to come up with some explanation as to why he was dressed as Spider-Man. 

You quickly grabbed the stuff you had dropped, putting it on the bed and kneeling next to him. "Peter, what the fuck is going on?"

He stared at you, blinking a few times and not sure what to say. He knew there was a lot he needed to say, a lot that needed to be explained but he didn't know where to start. He's been lying to you about a part of himself for years now. 

"I'm sorry," he breathed out, breaths still shaky. 

You now realized the towel was covering a cut, the smell of iron mixed with city rain present in your nose. "Shit, what the fuck. Are you okay? What the hell is going on?" 

He nodded, "I've been worse," he mumbled. "I'll be fine, don't worry 'bout me." He leaned his head back against your bed again, taking a heavy breath in. 

That was the worst thing he could have said to you. Don't worry, at this point, you were worried and confused about everything. 

"Peter, you're my best friend, you know I love you, but if I do not get an answer as to what is going on in the next minute I am kicking your ass and calling May."

His eyes opened, looking over at you. The look of regret and hurt was evident, "I'm so sorry," he said, barely moving. His body ached but his heart was aching more as he watched the expressions on your face change the more you noticed and pieced things together, "I should've told you but I was scared you'd get hurt."

"Peter, what should you have told me?" Your voice was betraying you, breaking and quivering as you attempted to be firm. 

"I- I'm Spider-Man, I've always been. That's- Something happened tonight and I had to go help-"

"So you've been lying to me for 5 years now?"

He went silent and all he could muster was a small nod. 

"You've been hiding this from me for 5 years? Peter - I - we tell each other everything. If you've been lying about this, then what else are you fucking lying about?"

The hurt in your voice was evident. It was more like betrayal, and distrust, and it wrenched his heart and gut. The silence lingered as you started piecing more and more together. 

Five years. For five whole years, through your senior year of high school and the entirety of your college career, you spent attached at the hip to Peter Benjamin Parker - and he had been lying to you about a pivotal part of his life. 

In hindsight, finding out Peter had been Spider-Man all this time made a lot of things make sense. Five years’ worth of last-minute cancellations, questionable excuses, black eyes, and bruises. 

There was your senior prom. Aunt May was so excited that Peter and you were going together, she had always joked and wished the two of you would end up as more than friends. "Just memories for your wedding one day", she would say. 

Everything leading up to prom was great. Peter went dress shopping with you, he got a tie to match the color of your dress, Aunt May made sure the two of you had a matching boutonniere and corsage, he even took you to and from your appointments the day of prom.

However, an hour into prom itself he had to leave hurriedly, frantically coming up with an excuse of not feeling good when moments prior you had just finished taking pictures and laughing at the cheesy poses. 

That one stung, but you never admitted it, at least not to him. Peter had insisted you stay behind, spend time with other friends and he'd see you the next day. You're not even sure if he knows you left 20 minutes after he did, heartbreaking and feeling stupid for hoping Aunt May could be right. 

The summer between your senior year of high school and your freshman year of college was filled with last-minute cancellations. 

Since you were kids, specifically since second grade every Friday night was movie night and a sleepover. Even as you grew into teenagers Aunt May and your parents worked out an arrangement they could both be comfortable with to let you two continue your little tradition. But that summer every single one was canceled or Peter would leave early. 

For weeks you were convinced Peter no longer wanted to be friends with you, that somehow, some way you upset him and he hated you. Until a week before college started and he called you out of the blue for coffee and school shopping. 

Suddenly, things seemed normal again. Aunt May's house was close enough that Peter would go home for the weekend, and you would usually just follow along for Friday and then head back to your dorm Saturday. You'd meet up to study a few times a week or go run errands together, you were even back to gaming together once a week. 

So, you figured that Peter's sudden change in behavior could have been from his break up with Gwen. You knew he didn't take it easy when she ended things after finding out she was accepted into Oxford. You couldn't blame her really, but you weren't happy to see Peter's heart breaking. He talked about it some, but his eyes would always tell you more than he actually would. 

Of course, Peter would bail occasionally throughout college, but a lot of it made sense. He forgot about a project due or was just plain tired from working part-time and doing school. 

The part that never made sense though were the bruises and scratches. Peter always had an excuse; got hurt in the lab, fell skateboarding, hurt himself helping Aunt May. But at the end of the day, that's all they were; Excuses. 

Peter reached out to you, the touch of his cold hand bringing you back from your racing thoughts. "I…I know I shouldn't have hid it, (Y/N), I'm sorry I did. There was so much going on, so many threats and I- I just didn't want you to get hurt. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if you got hurt."

Tears began to prick your eyes, instantly jumping away from his touch, the feeling of dread and distrust sinking deeper into you with the singular move.  "And what if you got hurt? How do you expect me to live with myself if you died?" Your voice was still shaky, fear now starting to fill in the gaps between each emotion. 

Your eyes wandered to the towel he had tied around himself, blood beginning to seep through. "Peter," you reached for his arm but he grabbed your hand, stopping you and making you look him in the eyes. 

"I'm okay, I promise. It'll heal quickly, just needed to stop the blood… I'll buy you a new towel." His voice was soft, his gaze never leaving yours. 

"I'm not worried about the stupid towel, Peter." You sighed, "I- How could you have hidden this from me for so long?" You asked again, this time much more upset than angry. 

Peter let out a shaky breath, his body finally starting to come down from the adrenaline and the full weight of his actions set in. "(Y/N), I mean it when I say I wanted to tell you," his voice was sincere, still holding onto your hand that had reached for his cut, "But I was more worried about your safety and making sure you wouldn't prioritize worrying about me over the rest of your life. The only person alive that knows is Harry. I never told anyone else, Aunt May doesn't even know."

It still hurt that Peter never told you, but it was starting to make sense, "How does Aunt May not know?" 

Peter shrugged, offering you a soft chuckle, "You know she only sees and hears what she wants to. I never told her, but I'm also shocked she hasn't figured it out."

Peter gave you a look that made you know he was truly sorry, lower lip pouted out some, eyes big and wide, almost looking like a kicked puppy. "I know I have a lot to explain to you, and I know I need to rebuild your trust in me, but I need you to understand that I am really sorry for hiding it for this long. I've wanted to tell you since it all started, but I was told that it could put everyone around me in danger if they knew so I didn't want anyone to find out."

As much as you hated it, you did understand it. Giving him a soft nod, you let go of his hand instead of moving to rake your hand through his hair to get it out of his face. "I understand, but I don't like it."

"You don't like anything that doesn't go your way," he teased with a soft laugh, quickly earning a glare from you that made him laugh more. "I'll also explain everything once I'm not still soaked and healing." He said, motioning to his arm. 

You nodded, "Did you wanna go take a shower? I can make some food or order takeout."

Peter thought for a moment then nodded. He unwrapped his arm, looking at the little scratch that was left behind from the wound he had not even 20 minutes prior. "Yeah, yeah let me go shower… do yo-"

"I'll put your clothes and a clean towel by the sink for you once you're in the shower. I'll also take your suit and the towel you have and throw it in the wash, okay? You just go get cleaned up while I find us some food."

Peter nodded, giving you a quick hug and kiss on the forehead before disappearing from your room. It took you a moment, immediately sitting down on the bed, attempting to process everything. 

Your best friend of 15 years is Spider-Man. Your favorite person is your favorite superhero. Your best friend has lied to you to be able to go save people. Your best friend could have died, and has probably almost died countless times.

To say it was a lot to take in was an understatement.

You could hear the shower start running in the room next to yours, the sound thankfully pulling you from your spiraling thoughts and panic. As you moved through the apartment, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven and collecting some spare clothes Peter had left behind at your place before, the emotions started to make sense. 

Yes, it did hurt that Peter had hidden this, but his reasoning made sense. The hurt that you couldn't shake was how many times you could have lost him. He could have been dead on top of a skyscraper, no one able to discover his body with how high up he is, and you would've been none the wiser. Or if he died on the streets and eventually was unmasked you'd be left to mourn with the rest of the world instead of being able to process the loss of your other half in private. You'd be learning and losing so much so quickly. You'd be lost in a pool of emotions so chaotic it would make this moment seem calm. 

Peter was back in your room about 20 minutes later, the pizza fresh out of the oven and sitting on the bed with you. You were looking at the TV, not really watching the forgotten movie you put on. As much as you tried to not let your thoughts continue to run wild, your brain didn't want to listen. 

He moved the pizza to the closest surface and sat on your bed, immediately pulling you in for a hug when he saw the lost look on your face. Your mind felt like it was a broken record, spinning fast but on repeat. 

"What's going through your head?"

There was no reason to reiterate the same thing you had told him earlier. You pulled off of him, sighing deeply before giving him a small smile, "A lot, but I'll be okay."

He nodded, "So… movie night? I definitely owe you one."

You nodded, looking up at the screen momentarily, your gaze being pulled to your phone as a new news alert popped up about Spider-Man. You didn't bother checking it, but you're brain did finally click the two puzzle pieces together fully that Peter is Spiderman. 

You looked over at him with narrowed eyes and a slight pout, "You're fucking Spider-Man," your tone was accusatory which caught him off guard, a slow nod all he was able to offer before you continued, "You have let me tell you for years that I'm in love with Spider-Man. That I would marry this person I thought I'd never meet. That's so embarrassing!" You whined at the end. 

Peter chuckled, a blush on his features and his hand going to mess with the back of his head. "Yeah… you finally realize that means you've been saying you're in love with me for like… 4ish years now?" He teased. 

It was a joke. It was just banter which was typical for Peter. He was always teasing, playful, and borderline flirty with you. But that statement rang a little too true. You froze, movements and breath seemingly paused, and Peter quickly noticed that your heart rate quickened. 

It wasn't the first time that happened around him. He's noticed countless times before how your skin would heat up and your heart rate would increase when he complimented you. He even noticed when he would do something, only sometimes accidentally, that would turn you on. Peter, not wanting to ruin your friendship or make you uncomfortable, never acted on it though. 

"You okay, daisy?" It was a nickname he didn't use often, but one that he's called you forever. It held a special place for him, a reminder of some of his first memories of you - flower hair pins and daisy doodles all over your school papers. It was also a term that usually had you flustered and stumbling. 

"You finally realize I've been in love with you longer than that?" 

Now it was Peter's turn to freeze, taking a moment to make sure he heard you right. He watched as you squirmed some, re-situating yourself and pulling at your clothes, heart rate quickening and eyes avoiding his. 

It made sense really, but he couldn't believe it. Peter has had a crush on you since your 5th-grade school dance where you wore a dress your parents let you pick out, so you were beaming with pride and excitement. He remembers you spending the night at Aunt May's after, staying up all night eating snacks and playing video games. 

Every day since he's made himself believe there was no way you'd like him back. Peter believed you were far out of his league, and even if that wasn't true he was too scared of losing you to take the risk of pursuing something more. 

"How long?" Maybe that wasn't the right response but he wanted to know, felt like he needed to know. 

"Longer than I can remember," you responded, breath shaky, "I can't lose you, Peter… I - Spider-Man or not, I can't lose you. And you coming in tonight, wounded and dropping a massive secret like that on me - Peter, you really scared me. I love you and losing you would kill me."

"You're not gonna lose me," his voice was soft.

"Don't make any promises you can't keep," you could feel the tears starting to form. 

Peter moved to you, his large hands coming to cup your face and make you look at him. "I'm not making a promise I can't keep. You're not gonna lose me. Not now, not because of being Spider-Man, not ever."

He waited for you to blind away your tears, using his hands to squish your cheeks in an attempt to cheer you up a little. Once he got a soft laugh out of you, he broke out into a smile. "I love you," he said firmly, "I'm in love with you. I have been since we were kids." He confessed to you. "So I mean it, I'm not going anywhere."

Peter watched your eyes get wide as you processed what he said, feeling your skin heat up under his hands, "Can I kiss you?" His voice was soft and airy. 

A slight nod was all he needed before he pressed his lips to yours. It was intense and soft and sweet, everything and anything all at once. Butterflies erupted from low in your belly and vibrated your chest. His chapped lips moved in sync against your bite-swollen lips, sending waves of electricity and emotions down your spine and through every nerve. 

He pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours as the both of you caught your breaths. His hands fell from your face, searching for your own hands. "I know I have a lot to explain, I have a lot of work to do to make you feel secure and know I'll be here, but I'll do whatever it takes, daisy, I promise." 

She huffed out a small laugh, pulling away and nodding, "Thank you, Petey," you pressed another quick kiss to his lips before pulling away fully, giggling at the almost shocked look he had on his face, "Looks like we both have a lot to get used to." Your gaze softened some, "No more secrets?"

Peter laughed as well, grabbing your hands and bringing them to his lips, presently multiple kisses to them. "No more secrets

[sillypenguinwitch]

isaac's books in heartstopper s2

episode 1:

Tillie Walden: I Love This Part

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé: Ace of Spades

episode 2:

Nina LaCour: We Are Okay

Oscar Wilde: The Importance of Being Earnest

episode 3:

Ocean Vuong: Night Sky with Exit Wounds (the one he is carrying under his arm, I'm assuming that's his and not for the display?)

has read: Ritch C. Savin-Williams: Bi: Bisexual, Pansexual, Fluid, and Nonbinary Youth

Emily Henry: Book Lovers

episode 4:

Victor Hugo: Les Misérables

Antoine De Saint-Exupéry: The Little Prince

Kate Chopin: The Awakening

Nina LaCour: We Are Okay (again)

episode 5:

Albert Camus: The Outsider

episode 6:

Martin Handford: Where's Wally? The Great Picture Hunt

Meredith Russo: Birthday

Jules Verne: Around the World in Eighty Days

Sara Pennypacker: Pax Anne Berest, Audrey Diwan, Caroline de Maigret, Sophie Mas: How to Be Parisian Wherever You Are ? ? ? Damian Dibben: The Color Storm Alice Oseman: Loveless Susan Stokes-Chapman: Pandora Katy Hessel: The Story of Art Without Men ? Evelyn Waugh: Rossetti Arthur Conan Doyle: The Hound of the Baskervilles A.O. Scott: Better Living Through Criticism ?: Then We Came to an End (?) Ruth Millington: Muse Dr. Jaqui Lewis: Fierce Love Charlotte Van Den Broek: Bold Ventures - Thirteen Tales of Architectural Tragedy ?

Richard Siken: Crush

episode 7:

Garrard Conley: Boy Erased

George Matthew Johnson: All Boys Aren't Blue

Samra Habib: We Have Always Been Here

episode 8:

Akemi Dawn Bowman: Summer Bird Blue

Angela Chen: Ace

bonus:

Truham school library pride display (seen in ep. 3 and 8):

top to bottom, left to right: Angela Chen: Ace Andrew Holleran: The Kingdom of Sand Mary Jean Chan and Andrew McMillan: 100 Queer Poems Scott Stuart: My Shadow Is Pink Lotte Jeffs: My Magic Family Tucker Shaw: When You Call My Name Ritch C. Savin-Williams: Bi - Pansexual, Fluid, Nonbinary and Fluid Youth Alok Vaid-Menon: Beyond the Gender Binary George M. Johnson: All Boys Aren’t Blue Mason Deaver: I Wish You All the Best Alex Gino: George Melissa

on top of shelves (left to right): Kevin Van Whye: Nate Plus One Xixi Tian: This Place is Still Beautiful Becky Albertalli: Leah on the Offbeat Mya-Rose Craig: Birdgirl Bernardine Evaristo: Girl, Woman, Other Connie Glynn: Princess Ever After Saundra Mitchell: The Prom

Charlie's choice at Shakespeare and Co (ep. 6): Allan Hollinghurst: The Swimming Pool Library

That's it for now.

Sorry about the ones i couldn't identify and sorry if i missed any! Might try and do some of the ones in Isaac's room later but that'll take a minute

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 31 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Oh no trouble in paradise?

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, not hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, @b00ks1ut , @mstiemountainhop, @awaterfalls anyone else please let me know.

“It’s like the sound of music just came to life.” I whispered to myself as the trucks pulled through Austria. 

I was jealous Julie Andrews got to run around all day in this! The movie didn’t even do justice to the scenic landscape. Rolling green meadows surrounded by the enormous mountains, the crystal clear lake that shimmered in the warm sun. It was ethereal. 

My amazement was shared by the others, as we drove through the small villages everyone’s mouth’s seemed to hang agape. 

On either side of the trucks walking back from where we had come, was the German army, retreating in all their glory. Their heads hung low as they marched out of Austria. 

People whooped and cheered as we drove by them, waving to us. We all waved back with bright smiles on our faces. It was odd to be so warmly welcome, when everywhere else we had been during our travels had been met with such protest. 

A group of young ladies lined the edge of the street blowing kisses to the men. They all seemed so excited with the attention. 

“I think the war is finally over!” Don exclaimed, waving to the women who smiled back at him. 

My stomach clenched. I looked down at my uniform, it wasn’t flattering, not like the pretty dresses the ladies wore. I probably didn’t even look like a girl, sitting here amongst the men. Was I just a welcome distraction in the middle of the war? When there was no one else but men, I was the only girl amongst them. Was that the only reason I was able to capture their attention? 

The smile fell from my lips as I sat back in my chair, I chewed at my lip nervously. This was the end of the war. People would go back to their own lives and move on. But I didn’t have a life to continue here. To be honest I didn’t think I was going to make it to this point. Not that I let myself think that far ahead, I was too busy focusing on the now. But the now has caught up and I have no plan. 

No one seemed to notice that I had withdrawn from the celebration, they were too busy waving and taking in all of the scenery. 

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

I didn’t take much notice of the promotional film flicking across the projector. I was still too busy thinking of what my plan was when this was all finally over and we would have to head back to America. 

The lights turned back on as Don squeezed my leg, “Well that was depressing.” He stood from his position. Malark took my hand and pulled me to my feet, ushering me out of the room. 

“Are you ok?” Don pulled me to the side, brushing his hand across my cheek. 

“I’m fine, just thinking.” I muttered. “I think I need to go for a walk, ok. Clear my head.” 

“Ok, the men wanted to go hunting, so I will be with them. I will find you when I’m back.” I nodded, wrapping my arms around his waist. He squeezed me in tight before he jogged off to see Lieb and the others who were waiting for him. 

***************************          

I walked down the hill towards the lake, it was so warm and the thought of soaking my bones in the water sounded heavenly. I was b-lining for the lake, but I couldn’t help myself when I saw the most ‘Sound of Music’ meadow. 

I set down my bag and walked through the long grass and wildflowers that sprung up from the earth. 

“The hills are alive with the sound of music.” I whispered as I twirled with my arms outstretched. I didn’t know the rest of the song but hummed the tune as I pretended I was a young Julie Andrews. 

I continued my journey down to the lake through the thick trees. I finally came to a clearing, a small isolated cove that opened to my own private beach. The glassy green water lapped softly at the stony shore, while the birds sang sweetly overhead. It was so peaceful it almost didn’t feel real.   

I placed my bag down on the ground, kicking my shoes and socks off as I pulled the rest of my clothes off. I stood in my underwear, but with no wandering eyes I didn’t feel like I had to hide. 

Hobbling down the beach in my bare feet was a task due to the stones that covered the shore. I stepped into the cool water, I didn’t wait to adjust to the temperature leaping forward into the depths. 

I crashed through the surface of the still water, the last time I had been fully submerged in water was after I had killed all those soldiers. I had lost a piece of me that day that I would never get back, my innocence. I could never say I never knew what it was like to take a life, it would be something I had to carry with me for the rest of my life.  

Bubbles rose to the top of the water as I continued my dive, swimming further out into the lake. I finally broke for air after a while, after catching my breath I floated on my back staring up at the clear sky above me. I closed my eyes enjoying the serenity. The quiet had been something I had forgotten, I was forever waiting for the next round of gunfire or series of shells to drop. Would I be forever anticipating artillery that would never come, nerves always set on edge for something that was in the past? 

I shook my head trying to rid the thoughts of warfare from my mind. Though easier said than done. It was something that we all had etched into our minds, not easily forgotten.

Time passed, I was unsure of how much. But when I lifted my head I had drifted a ways away from the beach where I had left all my belongings and the sun had moved further down in the sky. 

Flipping back onto my front I swam back to the cove where I had started. I lifted my head to see how far I had gotten, only to see a figure standing on the beach next to my bag. I treaded water where I was to get a better view of who had found me. 

The man lifted his arm over his head waving. “Em!” Don called, even from out in the water I could make out his cheesy grin. A smile broke out onto my own features, waving back to him from where I was. 

“Babe said you had gone for a swim, I thought I would bring you a towel.” He yelled cupping his hands around his mouth, but it wasn’t needed. His voice echoed around the mountains.   

“You’re so thoughtful. Give me a minute!” I called back before putting my head down and swimming towards the shore. 

Scrambling back up the rocks, I made my way back to my bag where Don was sitting on the ground. But it didn’t feel right, something in the air had shifted. 

Malarkey was hunched over, inspecting an object in his hands. 

I picked the towel up from off the ground, wrapping it around me.

“What are you looking at?” I asked as I dried my face. 

Don glared up at me, confusion and anger in his eyes. 

“Don?” 

“What’s this?” 

He thrusted the thin card under my nose. My heart dropped. It was my driver’s licence.

“Emily Marlena Lane, born 23rd of September 2000.” He read from the card. 

 I opened my mouth but nothing left my lips. 

“Why do you have a fake ID?” Don stood from his position still holding out the card in front of him. 

“I- uh.” I stumbled over my words, this was happening all too fast. I didn’t have a reasonable explanation for him. 

“What else do you have?” 

He didn’t give me a moment to reply, he turned on his heel picking up my bag and turning it upside down. The contents of the bag scattered onto the floor.    

My phone and headphones landed at his feet. I lunged forward to snatch them away but Don was faster. I stood still in fear as he examined the items. He opened the headphone case, plucking out the earbuds. My phone was shut off but he tapped and poked at it, his brows furrowed in suspicion. 

“Don, I can explain.” I tried to reason with him, but it only seemed to piss him off more. 

“Explain why you have a fake ID, a listening device and whatever this is!” He shook my phone in front of my face angrily. 

“Go on then, explain. Explain and then I will tell you my answer.” He hissed, I had never seen him so mad. 

I opened my mouth hoping my brain would take over, but nothing came to me. I just stood there opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water. 

“I’m waiting!” His tone was clipped. 

“I can’t. I can’t explain! But it’s not what you think.” I was desperate, I needed Don to understand that whatever this looked like to him, it wasn’t the truth.

“So you’re not a German spy?” There was no joking in his expression, he believed wholeheartedly that I was a spy. 

“What? No!” I pleaded. 

“I couldn’t put my finger on it, but you’re different. But this explains it all.” Don laughed but it was humourless. 

“You’re a spy. Fucking hell, you are a spy!” The more the words left his lips the more he was convincing himself.      

“Don, I am not a spy.”

“Don’t lie to me, Emily! Christ is that even your real name. Who are you?” Don barked, his finger jabbed into my chest. I staggered back, away from the furious man.

“I-” 

“You are different from the rest of us. You had the perfect cover, your parents are dead, no family, all bullshit. I bet they are all waiting for you back home.”

I shook my head, my features twisting in hurt, but Don didn’t let me get a word in. 

“No one is sending you mail, cause they can’t, they’ll blow your cover. You speak differently too. Wow, you got the accent down pat, but there are a few slip up’s. Your language, the way you speak gives you away. You have different sayings and words that we don’t use. God how did I not notice this!”

“And you knew! You knew about the camps. You said the nurses told you, but I spoke to Doc later that day and he said the nurses knew nothing. So how did you get that information, unless you already knew about it? And you just happened to stumble across our group when we were in Holland, a lost nurse who didn’t know her way. God Em you really played us all for fools!”

Tears brimmed in my eyes, my heart clenched with every accusation. But if I was him I would’ve thought the same thing. That was the only reasonable explanation, but it wasn’t the truth. 

“The Germans when we were in Bastogne knew our exact location. Did you tell them?” 

“No! No! Don, the Germans were literally across the field, even we could see them!” I was choking back tears. 

“No. Sure they knew our position, but they hit Skip and Penk exactly in their hole. Did you tell them the location of their hole?” 

“You think I killed them?” I uttered softly, not believing what I was hearing.    

“You told them! With this!” He held up my phone waving it around like a mad man. 

“I did not! How dare you!”

“It was all an act, give it up Em, I caught you. Stop playing dumb and just tell me the truth, tell me I’m right!” 

“You are so far from the truth Donald. So very fucking far away from it! I am not a German spy, do you really think I'm capable of killing people?” 

“You killed all of those soldiers.” 

My breath hitched in my throat. I know my actions were wrong when I lost control, but for him to bring it up and use it against me hurt so much more. 

“I wasn’t ok. I didn’t even know what I was doing!” I shouted, my voice was trembling with each word. 

“I fucked up! But what kind of spy would kill their own men?” I asked, trying to prove my innocence. 

Don didn’t answer, shaking his head angrily at me. 

“Give me the phone and I will prove to you I am not what you think I am.” I reached out my hand beckoning for my belongings in his possession. 

Malarkey hesitated, looking at the phone then back at me. He gave a defeated sigh and handed it over. 

“The ID you have isn’t fake. The birthday is correct.” I stated, trying to make my voice sound believable. 

“I’m from the future. I was born in 2000, the year I was in before I left was 2023.” 

“Don’t patronise me.” Don growled, he wasn’t buying the story. But it wasn’t a story, it was the truth.   

I held down the power button on the phone waiting for it to turn on. 

“I can show you I’m telling the truth. I know it’s hard to believe, I wouldn’t believe me either.” 

“But for every accusation, I have an answer. You said I spoke funny, that my words were odd. That’s true, they are different because they aren’t from this generation. We have very different vocabularies to you. And I don’t have a family here because they are in 2023, I mean I don’t have a family period, they are all actually dead.” I paused awkwardly, giving an embarrassed smile. 

“But if they were alive they wouldn’t be here in the 1940’s, they wouldn’t even be alive yet. The camp’s I knew about because I learnt about them in high school, everyone does. This war and the things that happened during it are often spoken about due to the atrocities that happened. In my generation we get taught it in history class.” 

With each explanation I gave the more perplexed Don looked. I could see it in his face, him trying to wrap his head around it all. It was an information dump. If I was going to do this properly I wouldn’t have spilled all my secrets immediately, so that he could try to understand. But I was trying to defend myself. I needed to tell him everything so that he could at least know the truth, even if he didn’t believe it.   

“This thing here.” I held up my phone that had finally switched to life. “This is my phone. You know the telephone, you have the one that you, y’know hold the stick part and then talk into the mouthpiece thingy.” I didn’t know how to explain the phone correctly, so I pretended to do the motions of talking on it. 

“The stick phone?” Don asked incredulously, like he was confused at how I didn’t know the correct terminology for common household items. 

“Yeah the stick phone and also the um- the, jesus christ, the one you have to pull around the circle bit.” I looked at him eagerly so that he could tell me what the hell it was called. 

“The rotary?”    

I clapped my hands together, “Yes that!” 

“Anyway, those are this, kind of. I mean it has more than just phone calls.”

“You can call people on that? Where is the wire?” Don sneered down at the small phone in my hands. 

“You don’t need a wire. Anyway that’s not the point, because I have proof here that I’m not a spy.”

Don seemed to be keeping a wide berth from me. He lent over slightly trying to peer down at the phone, but he was too far away.  

“You have to come closer, so I can show you!” I grabbed him hastily by the arms, I felt manic, desperately trying to plead my case to him. 

I turned on the phone, the lock screen appeared. I watched Don’s eyes grow large as if he was seeing magic. “This is a photo of my mother and I, before she passed. And see here this is the time and the date I left my time-” 

“Wait, how did you even get here?” Don said, pausing me mid-explanation. 

“Oh.” I stuttered. I was so caught up in trying to show my phone, I didn’t tell him the most important part. 

I started from the beginning, explaining my whole life up until I fell through the shimmer. Don respectfully listened to the story without asking questions. 

“And now I’m here.” I huffed, out of breath from quickly getting through the events of my time travel. “I can prove all of this on my phone.”

Don looked green. I’m sure all of this was quite a lot to take in, but he was the one who opened this can of worms. 

“Let me just show you this and then we can be done.” I reached out to pat his shoulder, but he recoiled from my touch. I snatched my hand back, trying to stifle the tears that brimmed in my eyes from his actions. 

“Ok, well this is the date. The phone opens with face recognition.” I held the device in front of his face, showing him it didn’t work when it was his features. I held it in front of myself and it unlocked. I went into the calendar app, showing him the date highlighted was the same from on the lockscreen and the year. I opened my photo album, pointing out the date each picture was taken. 

“That’s you?” Don asked, pointing at a photo of me. It was from my graduation, my mother had passed before I was able to finish high school. Before she died she brought me a dress, so that I had her with me in a way. The dress was beautiful, it was a soft green milkmaid dress that fell to my mid shin. It hugged my waist and chest but the skirt of the dress flared out draping down gently. In the photo I had done my makeup, I had done my signature sharp eyeliner and pink blush that made me look sun kissed. I looked like a completely different person, standing here in a towel with wet hair. 

“Yeah, that's me at my graduation.” I confirmed by zooming in on my face. My features held a bright smile, but even in the photo you could see it didn’t reach my eyes. I had still been holding hope that my mother would at least see me graduate before she passed. Having to attend graduation by myself was a kick in the gut. After that I started withdrawing, any friends I had I lost, any connection to the outside world slipped from my fingers. 

“You look so sad.” He said quietly. I didn’t reply too engrossed in the miserable girl on the screen. She was so alone, I just wanted to hug her. 

“That was the worst day of my life.” I cleared my throat.

This wasn’t the point of me showing him these photos, I needed him to believe me. 

I swiped through a couple more. I was dreading going any further back into my photos because most of them were with my mother. I hadn’t looked at those pictures in years, they just hurt so much, I couldn't even bear to look at them.  

“So, do you believe me?”      

“I don’t know.” 

My heart dropped. I was sure after he saw all of this he would have to believe me. I thought that we would walk back together and think of it as some silly misunderstanding. But here Don was standing in front of me, looking at me like I had two heads and slapped his mother in the face. 

I wanted to reach out and beg him to understand me. I had bared my truth and Don turned away. I didn’t know how to approach the conversation as we stood and stared at each other. 

“This was a lot.” 

Don’s words hung in the air. He hadn’t accepted me. I felt as if I could shatter. Crumple inwards and never get up. 

The man I loved so dearly, now didn’t feel the same. My real identity. He didn’t love me.   

Just the other night he had confessed to loving all of me. I guess this wasn’t in the clause. 

“I need time. Please just give me some space.” 

“You can’t tell the others. This is just between you and I.” I confirmed. 

He nodded curtly before striding away. 

I stood staring at the place where he once resided. Not registering all that had transpired. I had never planned to expose myself like this, but it was forced on me. Then I convinced myself that after I had just explained it all Don would understand. 

I felt hollow, numb. I hated feeling so empty. A void. 

Sitting on the stones I stared off into space. I didn’t come too again until it was dark. By this time I had dried completely. I got dressed, picking up the contents of my bag and putting them back. I felt slow and mechanical in my movements, too in my head to really focus on the task at hand. I silently wandered back to base, creeping in a side door and B-lining to my room. 

I curled under my covers, finally letting the dam break, silently sobbing into my pillow until I fell asleep. 

--------------------------------

Chapter 32

[neenieweenie]

Quote Prompts

this is a list of real things that i have heard people say and i strongly encourage that it be used in works of fiction. i started this list in my freshman year of high school and am now a junior in college. if you have any questions about context for any of them (or you’re just curious) feel free to ask! also please tag me if you use it bc i wanna see how ppl use it

“you know what? i am gonna have some grapes.”

“lemon juice and nicolas cage”

[seriously] “you silly goose”

“winner winner, chicken… soup”

“don’t be a debby downer” “did you just say ‘debby downer’?” “i did say debby downer”

“just say ‘controversial’ and call it a day”

“I’m gonna eat her grandma”

“nothing says ‘festive’ like ibs”

“what if the sun was on fire” “the sun IS on fire” “oh”

“my mom thinks my stepdad is a drug addict” “my mom IS a drug addict” “oH-“

“what delicious nutrients in milk!”

“that’s don cheadle” “[gasp]”

“how am i supposed to criss cross applesauce in these conditions”

“oh, like you don’t fart?” “i DONT fart” *farts*

“you’re the worst person i’ve ever met” “aww, you mean that?”

“i’m a girl, not a boy, but i do have epi pens (bonus: “assigned allergic at birth?”)

“fuck— i mean fart”

“i had all four sevens you bitch”

“stuff is temporary. swag is forever.”

“the “P” in “RIP” stands for piss” “rest in piss 😔✊”

“you’ve been in the shower too long, you’re gonna ruin your skin!” “my skin is baby soft”

“my bones are made of pretzel sticks”

“maybe the real clitoris was the friends we made along the way”

“i’m gonna give you a big fat kiss if you don’t shut the fuck up”

“is it worse to be called a slut or a whore?” “well whores get paid, so… slut, probably. cause they don’t have that entrepreneurial spirit”

“tomorrow is the wedding and also the wiffle ball game”

“you’re too young to be so jaded” “i was born jaded. i came out of the WOMB jaded”

“we’ve taught her too much. now she’s pointing out our mistakes”

“andrew jackson: super mega-cunt”

“let’s not sully the lox bagel experience”

“I’m twisting your brain into yarn. I’m crocheting a sweater with your thoughts”

“it’s a part of who i am” “well maybe… change”

“critically analyze your sources! fuck you!”

“i piss like a racehorse”

“i was an athlete if you put an m at the front of it”

“what ever happened to boy bands?” “we mostly get our imports from korea now”

“that’s bird autism” “cawtism”

“i had a dream that the monarchy returned to russia”

l“you’re the most chalant person i’ve ever met”

“i know where to get a tapeworm on my own, i don’t need you to sell me one”

“gotta keep him moist like a lizard”

nothing says happy 20th birthday like dying in a covered wagon”

“yeah, after archimedes figured out the water displacement theory he moved on to jet propulsion technology”

“it may be an ants life, but it’s a beetle’s world; let me tell you about beetles real quick”

“go spaghetti, motherfucker”

“this sandwich is sexually active” (it fucks)

“there is no hope for me. like, i’m on the titanic, it’s going down and i’m one of those people who just went to bed”

“that’s what they taught me in vampire school… i mean band camp”

“would that i were an ocean dweller”

“it’s simply the madness, it can’t be helped”

[stabbyfoxandrew]

I'm so glad I got here in time this week!

I'll go for my usual please, Vampdrew or Angel Neil, whichever has less asks.

I hope this week sucks a little less for you <3

PS. I'm pretty sure I dreamt about you in a cooking show? Idk, I think you won

WIP Wednesday (6/26) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 201)

“Don’t you worry, I've preening them and everything.”

“Oh?” Andrew asks. Neil's been preening, for his birthday? That's...

“Yeah. I didn’t realize I was supposed to be doing that until you watched that thing about birds the other night. Then it clicked that maybe I should be pulling the loose ones instead of waiting for them to fall out.”

Thing about birds… Andrew thinks for a moment until he remembers waking up from a nightmare and going out to the living room to get over it. The only mildly interesting thing he’d stumbled across was a nature documentary

“You were watching TV with me the other night? At two a.m.?” 

Neil shrugs. “Yeah. Sorta. I came down for a few minutes to make sure you were alright. Then I came back up here.”

“The others were in bed. You could’ve popped in and stayed a while.”

“I was afraid I’d fall asleep.” Neil says. At Andrew’s look, he adds, “I don’t know what happens when I sleep. If I go into Andrew-only-mode or become visible to everyone or what. I was worried someone would come in and see me passed out on your couch.”

Andrew almost wishes someone else would see Neil. That would definitely solve this whole thing. But it might get him taken away too. A double edged sword. Damn it.

“Next time, you should stay. I will wake you up if you fall asleep.”

“Maybe.”

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (V)

Chapter 5 : ‘But here comes the lyrebird passing through the sky’

Hi, everyone!!! Here we go with the fifth chapter! Introducing new characters, and spending some time at Trinity for this one…

Also, chose a French poem for this one because it fit the theme very well, but I couldn’t find a decent translation, so I translated the poem myself… it isn’t particularly good, sorry about that, but it’s not worse than the other translations I’ve found, sadly…

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2110

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Writing Page

Two and two four Four and four eight Eight and eight make sixteen…

Repeat! Says the teacher

Two and two four Four and four eight Eight and eight make sixteen…

But here comes the lyrebird Passing through the sky The child sees it The child hears it The child calls it

Save me Play with me Bird!

So the bird descends And plays with the child

Two and two four…

Repeat! Says the teacher

And the child plays And the bird plays with him…

Four and four eight Eight and eight make sixteen And sixteen and sixteen what do they make? They don’t make anything sixteen and sixteen And especially not thirty-two Anyway And they go away.

And the child has hidden the bird Inside his desk And all the children Hear its song And all the children Hear the music

And eight and eight leave as well And four and four and two and two In turn go away And one and one don’t linger once nor twice One by one they leave too

And the lyrebird plays And the child sings And the teacher cries :

When you are done fooling around!

But all the other children Listen to the music And the walls of the classroom Peacefully crumble.

And the windows turn back into sand The ink turns back into water The desks turn back into trees The chalk turns back into a cliff The quill turns back into a bird.

Jacques Prévert, Paroles, 1946 – original title : “Page d’écriture”

September was grey and rainy, or rather, it withheld the doom of a storm within its dark clouds. The ground was drenched, making the curb darker than usual, the earth smelling sweet and rich with water and life, the leaves glistening in darker shades of green. As Saoirse finally entered the grounds of Trinity College, her steps echoed louder than usual on the glistening pavement.

Finally. Finally, Saoirse was a college student, independent and entering adulthood. That was how she felt, anyway. Even though she still lived with her parents on the outskirts of Dublin, was still a student… at 18 she felt like entering university was the beginning of womanhood, of adulthood, and she was excited about it. Excited, and terrified.

If she knew a few people on the campus, she was the only one studying English, and the loneliness that came with the new experience of university was adding to her anxiety. She looked around, a little lost but trying to look like she knew where she was going. She was trying to reach her first meeting, this first day being dedicated to integration, an introduction to the life on campus and a quick presentation of the classes they would follow this year. The classes themselves were only starting the following week. This orientation week was focused on the ways of university, on clubs and other useful information for students.

But Saoirse had been on campus for less than ten minutes and she was already feeling overwhelmed, with the small white tents along the lawns that presented clubs for students to join in, with the crowd and its loud chatter pulling her attention in all directions…

All of a sudden, there was another undergraduate student staring down at her, an amused smile on her lips.

“You look lost! Want some help?”

She was wearing a badge from a theatre club, a tired look on her face and an hyper-active glimmer in the eyes that revealed she drank too much caffeine.

“Erm… I’m fine, I just…”

“That’s alright! It’s your first day, you’re allowed to be lost. Let me help! Where is it you’re going?”

“Erm… the English department…”

“Ha, no worries, I’ve got you! I’m an English major too! Come on!”

Before Saoirse could speak another word, this stranger had turned on her heels and was making a bee-line through the crowd. Saoirse followed her the best she could, bumping into students and apologising profusely in the process, until they had reached a second yard that was much calmer. She hurried after her guide, almost running to catch up with her.

“There is the library,” the stranger said, pointing at a large building, a sculpted globe decorating the space before its door. “Note where it is, you’ll spend most of your time there while studying here. And no matter what you do, avoid the tourist attraction around the Book of Kells. Busiest place on campus, and some real chaos over there. This side isn’t as fancy, it’s more concrete and metallic shelves than beautiful wood and carvings, but it’s quiet and withholds all the information you’ll need for your classes. We often see some of our teachers hanging around there too. Who is it you’re gonna have this year?”

“Erm… I’m not quite sure…”

“You should have your schedule during the week. If you can, avoid Mahon and Patterson. They’re not bad teachers, but they are terrible human beings. Proper gobshites the two of them. I heard H-B is teaching about Yeats this year; if you can, take this class, and avoid Mahon’s lecture about science-fiction. Trust me. On paper, it sounds that poetry is harder and more boring, but Mahon is going to reap you apart, when H-B is probably the sweetest teacher at Trinity.”

“H-B?” Saoirse asked, trying to keep up with both the fast pace of her guide and her precious information that she delivered at a relentless speed.

“Hozier-Byrne. Everybody calls him H-B around here, name’s too long. Or just Hozier. Anyway, he’s a sweetheart. He’ll actually care about whether or not you pass his class. Also, he’s got the prettiest mug on campus, so it doesn’t hurt to see him once or twice a week,” she laughed, throwing her head back like a child.

The two girls kept on chatting while they were waiting in the corridor for the meeting to start, and Saoirse tried to get as much information in as she could.

Before leaving, her guide had one last advice.

“Come to the S2S mentoring program this afternoon. I’m part of the mentors, we’ll give you a full tour and help you register for your classes. Also, we’ll help you to find your tutor among the academic staff, to get into a club or society… stuff like that. Oh, the name’s Gabi, by the way! I’m one of the mentors for the English department, so if you want, you can come and find me at the meeting.”

“Thank you so much,” grinned Saoirse.

“Hey, no worries! I used to be a lost freshwoman too, back in the days! You should go in for the boring meeting, General Session… Tomorrow’s meeting about your classes will be more interesting.”

With one last thank you, Saoirse finally entered the room, found a seat, remained silent, not daring to speak with the students around her.

She looked at the blackboard, the desk and chair and microphone for the absent professor.

Fucking hell, she was starting university…

Saoirse listened to Gabi’s advice, looked for the S2S Mentoring meeting, scheduled for 2:30 pm. It was easy to spot the exuberant student, as she laughed with her friends, and she greeted Saoirse with a grin. She followed Gabi’s group for the full tour of the campus, along with a small group of freshmen. She chatted with a couple of them, especially Donal, whose colourful nails and vibrant make-up matched his buoyant personality. They then settled in a large classroom, scattered into small groups and each mentor helped their students with registering for their classes, gave them advices and a little bit of gossip.

Gabi helped Saoirse log into the orientation website and access the right page for her to register to her classes.

“You can change the classes you’ve selected up to the 23rd,” explained Gabi, “and after tomorrow’s meeting with your tutor and the presentation organised by the department, you’ll have a clearer view of what to choose. But you can still take a look now. Also, pay attention to the schedule. You can’t select classes that are happening at the same time. You can select a few classes now already if you want, just to be sure you’ll have a spot.”

Saoirse nodded, went through the list of classes.

On the schedule, the classes about Yeats’s poetry and science-fiction were clashing. She hurried to select the class about poetry, following her mentor’s advice.

She also selected a class about modernism taught by the same Hozier-Byrne, trusting Gabi that it was worth skipping a class about Shakespeare, not that she held much regret about avoiding that class, to be fair. She registered for a class about ‘the use of gender-normative language and patriarchal norms in modern literature’, excited about this class already.

“Erm… sorry…”

She turned towards the student by her side.

“Can you show me how to get into the schedule? I didn’t understand where I should click…”

He looked a little lost, a little overwhelmed, like most people in the room, and certainly as she felt herself. Dark hair, brown eyes. An attempt at a stubble colouring parts of his cheeks.

“Sure!”

She showed him how to log into the schedule, he thanked her, a little shy.

“I’m Sean, by the way.”

She grinned.

“Saoirse.”

He seemed nice, they kept chatting for the rest of the day. She hoped they would have classes in common…

Y/N Y/L/N.

Saoirse read and re-read the name of her tutor. There was a small group of students in the classroom, ready to meet the member of the academic staff who would be in charge of their well-being for the year. Sean was part of the group too, and they sat together on the third row. Donall was there too, he joined them as soon as he spotted Saoirse.

Y/L/N. Saoirse had recognised the name immediately, belonging to the teacher in charge of what seemed to be a very feminist class.

And indeed, when you entered the room, looking tired but benevolent, Saoirse liked you immediately. There was something in the way you spoke that was gentle, patient, that sounded like you actually cared, that you were happy to meet your students, too.

You gave your students some extra-information about their classes, gave them advices depending on the majors they wanted to select for the rest of their degree. You helped them register, you answered their questions. The meeting took longer than expected, but you didn’t seem to mind.

You smiled when you noticed Saoirse had already selected your class.

“Looks like we’ll see each other every week for a couple of months!” you smiled at her and Saoirse was even more excited about your class now.

“Yeah… the class seems very interesting.”

“I’ll do my best to make my babbling interesting, indeed,” you joked, before moving to Sean’s computer to check that he was managing.

And Saoirse had such a good feeling about this year. Things would turn out great, she was certain of it.

You let yourself fall into your office chair, letting out a tired groan. You heard Andrew’s chuckle, but chose not to acknowledge it. His meeting with the students had been a little briefer, he was already in the office when you had come in.

“You’re alright?” he asked, checking on you with an amused smile still tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Exhausted.”

“It was to be expected…”

“Aren’t you exhausted too?”

“I’m on my fifth coffee of the day.”

You laughed at that.

“Hmm… looks like professors are as addicted to coffee as students.”

“It’s standard sleep-deprived diet.”

You looked over at him, and you exchanged a smile.

You weren’t friends, per say. Your break-up had made you more distant, and Andrew’s reaction to his own heartbreak had been to close in on himself. But you still got along, even though you weren’t close. A shame, you kind of regretted that. You could have been closer already, if it weren’t for your pain. Still, you chatted, and he helped you get used to Trinity, and you discussed your classes and his. You simply weren’t more than colleagues, and for now, it was fine. You couldn’t handle getting your heart broken and finding friendship at the same time. Your life was too messy for that. It was easier to build professional boundaries, and Andrew seemed to be in silent agreement. You hadn’t discussed much about your two separations, both preferring for that part of your lives to remain private, and outside the walls of Trinity.

The Heartbreak Department. You had joked about renaming your shared office that way, and Andrew had had no choice but to agree, it was quite on point. Perhaps it was this office, indeed. Maybe it was bringing bad luck, to both of you, when it came to love…

“I can’t wait for the weekend,” Andrew heaved a sigh, rubbing at his eyes before he would readjust his glasses.

“My weekend will be busy, though…”

Indeed, you had agreed to attend a party that Frank was hosting on Saturday night. He said that he had a big announcement to make, and you wondered what he meant by that. Also, his new girlfriend would be there. You hadn’t asked her name, weren’t interested in knowing anything about her, but you wanted to meet her, to see who had stolen your life away. Because that was what you had lost when Frank had left. It wasn’t just a break-up, it wasn’t a simple heartbreak… you had lost a wedding, a life you had planned and thought you would get to live. If you could have forgiven the pain of getting your heart broken, you couldn’t forgive the life that you felt had been stolen from you.

So, you were curious. Also, you were desperate, addicted, and wanted to see Frank, no matter why, where, or when…

“Mine is busy too, but orientation week is a lot.”

“It is, indeed.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, your head thrown back towards the ceiling.

You pictured Frank’s face against your eyelids, and couldn’t imagine that it had been over a month already that he had shattered your whole world…

[a0wz]

The Butcher's Son Self-Assignment

TKM Spoilers, set directly after Neil found out about what happened to Andrew while he was at Easthaven Hospital for rehab.

Content Warning: torture, insinuation of assault, kidnapping, racism

Neil felt a fire rise in his chest. Of all the stupid thing's he's done, believing Riko would keep his word was the most egregious. In silence, Neil went back to his room but unable to respond when Matt asked if thing's were alright. Too much was going through the striker's mind as he found his phone on the charger. Neil's father spoke of making him an apprentice, it was his mother's love and borderline paranoia that kept him from turning into the monster they spend his entire life running away from. He disobeyed and betrayed all that she had sacrificed just to play Exy for a year. Now, he would continue to betray her in the worse way possible.

The text to Wymack was short and did little as a heads up.

You: I'll be back in 3 days.

The response was immediate;

Coach W: THE FUCK YOU WILL

But Neil's vision was merely a haze of what was around him. All Nathanial wanted to see was the inside of Dr. Proust's ribcage, warm and drenched in blood. Nathanial's finger twitched at the thought of such a sensation, plucking shards of bone from the wedges of a hammer. He almost couldn't hear Matt's phone ringing as he rushed out the door. A high laugh escaped between his gritted teeth, it was hysterical to him that he was running towards, and not away, from his first kill as the Butcher's son.

He disappeared form the fox tower to make his way across highways in the dead of night to reach Easthaven Hospital. It was as simple as waiting for the doctor to come in the next morning. The anger Nathanial felt against himself kept his nerves from subsiding. Nearly manic with energy the Butcher's son had a day to prepare, a day to execute, and a day to cover his track further.

Walmart had everything he needed for cheap, but he jogged around the entire city to different locations to split up his purchases. Nathanial knew to grab some clothes and shoes that didn't fit to make himself appear as a different, much larger body type. He knew hydrogen peroxide and sponges would get the blood stains out of most materials. He knew a generic air freshener and a wide brush to fake vacuum patterns along the carpet would make it look as though custodial came by through the night. He knew to get a disposable camera to keep track of where everything was in the office before the struggle.

It was easy enough to get Dr. Proust personal phone number, home address, and the name of his house maid. It was easy enough to find a dead bird in the park. It was easy enough to wait until the doctor came in the next morning so coworkers could watch as he willingly left work in the middle of the day due to a 'personal emergency'. It was easy enough to make the call pretending to be a police officer investigating that maid's suicide which left a positive pregnancy test and note addressed to him by name. It was easy enough to knock out the security camera in the parking lot by chucking a dead bird at it just before dawn. It was easy enough to have drained the oil from his car. It was easy enough to watch his engine blow out in the middle of the road and him getting out red-faced and stomping.

"Shit dude, hey I have a shop not too far form here I can get you to were you need to go in no time!" A hooded figure with his hands in his pockets shouted from across the street.

"I truly don't have the time for this crap, I'll just call a cab -uh, thanks for the offer though." Dr. Proust waved off the hooded figure and turned his back to dial something in his phone.

The hooded figure crossed the street and pointed just a block away, not lifting his head enough for Dr. Proust to see his face clearly, "I can have someone give you a ride if you let us rotate your tires on top of checking out the engine bust."

Dr. Proust rolled his eyes and sighed, "Fine, fine, but I better not see a scratch on my car when your done and no messing with the headlights I know one is out and I've never met an maraca shaking alien who could change them right." Dr. Proust didn't make it half the block before being pulled into a dark alleyway. A wash cloth damp with chloroform muzzled his shouts and before he could remember why he was out of his office in the first place, the world went to black.

Nathanial brought Dr. Proust to an abandoned shed a few miles out from a walking trail. The lanky heap was bound in cables and duck tape. The blaze-haired Fox prowled around his prey, watching as he groaned and twitched in confusion. Nathanial spent some time examining the doctor's hands. Wrinkled with age and sun-spotted, Nathanial doubted Andrew was his only victim. The Butcher's son would be doing many people a favor by getting rid of such a monstrous bug. Nathanial's teeth ground as he sneered, almost involuntarily, at the sight of it. All he went through thinking Andrew was safe, instead this creature violated the only person he's ever trusted since his mother's death. The hands, that's were he'll start, dissecting them like he was taught to dissect and destroy minds.

Dr. Proust woke to the feeling of skin peeling form the back of his hand. He writhed in pain, eyes rolling round the room without truly seeing. Nathanial had redone the binds to wrap around his forearms to keep him still while also exposing enough flesh to work with. Is glassier-colored eyes looked on with curiosity as he prodded and poked the now exposed veins and muscles surrounding small bones. Nathanial didn't mind the trembling or desperate muffles of what he assumed were bargaining pitches. He knew no amount of money could correct what he had done to Andrew and so many others. Not even blood could pay them back for their trauma. Despite this, Nathanial looked into the doctor's brown eyes and smiled. A smile Andrew couldn't help but wear to bury a deep anguish.

Within the day Dr. Proust was slowly dismembered alive.

After the initial rounds of argument between the Foxes, Nicky had the news broadcast on blast incase something came up about Neil while he was gone. Dan thought they should put out a missing person report but Kevin spoke up against it. Instead they watched the news, correctly guised whatever Neil was up to would be picked up on, with or without his name being mentioned. On day two, Dr. Proust was reported missing after leaving work at his own free will. His car was found abandoned width the engine blown out due to an empty oil tank. Unfortunately, a bird had smashed the camera that would have recorded any tampering with the doctor's vehicle.

When the Foxes brought the news to Wymack, he raised his hands and said, "I don't see how nay of this has to do with us unless there's a warrant involved." Uneasily, the Foxes waited another day for their striker to return. When he did, smiling as if nothing had ever happened, Andrew smacked him in the back of the head and did little to pretend he wasn't targeting Niels ancles during practice. Matt tried to tell Andrew to knock it off, but Neil chuckled and said it's Andrew's special way of saying thank you. The goalkeeper's glove was thick with padding and made a prominent, very visible middle finger.

[cleolinda]

Weekend links

My posts

1) From earlier this week: “My ~longform posts are going somewhere else. Dreamwidth? Definitely previewed on Patreon and backed up there. Here’s an unlocked post about it. tl;dr: I know tech bros already scraped everything, but if you tell me you’re going to do it, I’m not gonna hand it to you. Maybe it’s a token effort, but there it is.” Of course I’ll still post links to new writing here. 

2) Some people have March Madness. I now have the Hot & Vintage Movie Women tournament. 

One of the best parts of the tournament (you may remember that Toshiro Mifune won the male matchup) is people reblogging and submitting pictures, further bio information, and personal anecdotes--that sense of the Tumblr collective scrapping for the pure love of their blorbos. I love Edwige Fenech’s eyes and her iconic eyeliner, and I had to step in when she went up against powerhouse Julie Andrews with only one small picture. No, I’m not letting Edwige go out like that. She won’t win, but the people must make their choice knowingly. 

I also posted some pictures for Lady Tsen Mei, because I’d actually never heard of her and was curious. Also, because she’s going up against Musidora and that’s not an easy row to hoe, either. If you see matchups like that, where hotvintagepoll didn’t receive much to post about an actress--appealing to the people with a good picspam in the reblogs is where the fun comes in. 

Bear in mind that running the tournament is an INCREDIBLE amount of work; this was Friday alone. Like, I don’t know the person who’s running this, but it couldn’t be me. They’re working with what they were sent, and here’s how we can be the propaganda we want to see in the world. I will jump in as necessary when Ava Gardner, Gene Tierney, Norma Shearer, Paulette Goddard, and (on my mom’s behalf) Julie Christie show up. But there’s 512 contenders, and it’s going to be a hard fight. 

(I am now reblogging the polls at only one an hour, and when I fall behind, that just means that people who missed them can catch up. Each poll lasts a week, after all.)

Reblogs of interest

You are invited to the assassination of Julius Caesar! If you joined Tumblr during the various internet shakeups last year, you may not be aware that the Ides of March is a major Tumblr holiday. You need to be. 

People have always been people: an immensely long collection that may make you cry. 

Respect for the Welsh language

The “Fool in a Field” theory of life in the universe

A helpful guide to some common birds here in the western US

The Forbidden Colors

“You get to drive away”: A Tale

I was not ready for this development in the Fairy vs Walrus debate

(Did William Butler Yeats believe in fairies? An anecdote from my grad school days)

(”While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a slapping”)

Video

“Recently I’ve been interested in what I’d like to call the historical lesbian wardrobe”

“This is the snake I’ve been looking for my entire life”

Angry kitten scolds water, slaps it for good measure

Cat plays theremin

A speedy boi who doesn’t need a bike to jump

The most relaxed tiger

The sacred texts

Yes, THAT Stinky Bastard Man

Personal tags of the week

I want to be clear that AI has incredible scientific uses and could be used voluntarily by writers and artists for their own experimental projects. That is... not what this AI tag is about. 

Speaking of AI: truly, the Willy Wonka Experience debacle has been a DashCon for the 2020s.