#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.

[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…

[internet-kid-kenna]

i think we need some time period accurate social media aftg AUs.

Specifically MySpace. Canonical Neil and Andrew would never have one, but Nicky and Allison ABSOLUTELY DO. Kevin has one but he's never posted on it. Someone else ran that shit and there hasn't been a post since he left the ravens. Matt, Dan, Aaron and Renee might have it, but they don't use it as much as Nicky.

Nicky LOVES MySpace.

Nicky was also an early adopter of Twitter, but Twitter only came out in 2006 so like people didn't really know about it quite yet. Neil cannot comprehend the idea of a tweet. He is all like "what do the noise birds make have anything to do with a computer?"

Has anyone made the foxes MySpace pages? Give me them lmao

[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.”

[bell-swamp-fitzjames]

oops all lieutenants! playlists for the terror (2018)

What an auspicious day! Not only did the davechella playlist post early enough for me to enjoy it as usual, I get the joy of sharing my Edward Little playlist. Along with the other lieutenants of my fav show, minus Jopson who I know could & should be on here, but he got dropped with the doctors in honor of DJ Doll Eyes Sunday. Below will be all the playlists linked & every playlist made thus far can be found on the pinned post in my blog. Check it out, I got a lot of guys so far. Thanks to all who listen to me yap (or check out the playlists), as always this is a lot of fun. And without further ado...

Edward Little [LINK]

пачка сигарет by Kino || Angel by Massive Attack, Horace Andy || Tom's Diner by Vega, DNA || Ladies of the Canyon by Joni Mitchell || She's Lost Control by Joy Division || Cherry Came Too by Jesus and the Mary Chain || Don't Know Why by Slowdive || A Forest by The Cure, Mark Saunders || Ana by Pixies || Deep Water by Strawberry Switchblade || My Evil by Palehound || Deep Water by Vundabar || Ghost by Neutral Milk Hotel || Under Ice- 2018 Remastered by Kate Bush || The River Song by Donovan || Sea, Swallow Me- 2024 Remastered by Cocteau Twins, Harold Budd || Static Shape by Chad VanGaalen || There Is a Light That Never Goes Out- 2011 Remaster by The Smiths || Tibetan Pop Stars by Hop Along || Tainted Love by Soft Cell

John Irving [LINK]

Sun Bleached Flies by Ethel Cain || Losing My Religion by Hootie & The Blowfish || Little Big Mistakes by Tom Rosenthal || God Only Knows by The Langley Schools Music Project || Goodnight Bad Morning by The Kills || Everyman Needs a Companion by Father John Misty || Oh Holy Night by Andrew Bird || Troubled Waters by Cat Power || Divine Loser by Clem Turner || Monkey Gone To Heaven by Pixies || Dissonance- Demo by AJJ || O Come O Come Emmanuel by Sufjan Stevens || Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam by The Vaselines || This Night Has Opened My Eyes- 2011 Remaster by The Smiths || First Love / Late Spring by Mitski || Don't Get Lost in Heaven by Gorillaz || Knife Going In- Demo by Tegan and Sara || Your Silent Face - 2015 Remaster by New Order || Picture Of My Dress by The Mountain Goats || Unfucktheworld by Angel Olsen

George Hodgson [LINK]

Shangri-La by Electric Light Orchestra || POOR GEORGE by James Supercave || Erreur 404 by L'Imperatrice || Let's Get Lost by Chet Baker || Adoro te devote by Stirps lesse, Enrico De Capitani || Postcards from Italy by Beirut || Theme From New York, New York- 2008 Remaster by Frank Sinatra || Tried And True by Ween || Soil, Soil by Tegan and Sara || Dreamer by Supertramp || Oh l'amour - Edit by Erasure || Heatwave by Martha Reeves & The Vandellas || Radio Ga Ga- Remastered 2011 by Queen || Boys Don't Cry by The Sure || Waterloo Sunset by The Kinks || Send Me An Angel by Real Life || We Three (My Echo, My Shadow, And Me) by The Ink Spots || Love & Pride by King || It's My Life - 1997 Remaster by Talk Talk || Girlfriend In A Coma by The Smiths

Graham Gore [LINK]

Glow In The Dark by Lil Pump || Lucid Dreams by Juice WRLD || EARFQUAKE by Tyle, The Creator || Doomsday by NERO || The Blonde Leading the Blond by Wax Fang || Outsiders by Franz Ferdinand || Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger by Daft Punk || Hit the Ground by No Mana, Bertie Scott || Alien Boy by Oliver Tree || 3005 Childish Gambino || Fade Out by Seether || Pursuit of Happiness by Kid Cudi, MGMT, Ratatat || Hay Ya! by Outkast || Party and Bullshit by The Notorious B.I.G. || Oblivion by Grimes || Dammit by blink-182 || 4th Dimension by KIDS SEE GHOSTS || Feel Good Inc. by Gorillaz || Beast of Burden - Remastered 1994 by The Rolling Stones || All Caps by Madvillain, Madlib, MF DOOM

Henry Le Vesconte [LINK]

Cold Cold Cold by Cage The Elephant || Frostbiter by Saintseneca || Hopscotch by Pinc Louds || Electric Funeral by Slothrust || General Discomfort by Serpent Cobra || Rainbow in the Dark by Dio || Gouge Away by JEFF The Brotherhood || Guts- 2013 Remaster by Budgie || Mansion of Misery by Miniature Tigers || If I Stay (Awake) by The Worn Flints || Feel the Heat by Me Like Bees || Polly's God by Perfekt Square || Don't Forget the Sun by Wailin' Storms || Codeine by Welles || Sick Day by Fountains of Wayne || Keep in Mind by Breakneck Flow || Sick Shit- Live from Lincoln Hall by Together Pangea || What's Done Is Done by Madde || Black Cat Heaven by Dan Luke and the Raid || Grapefruit High by French Thyme

James Fairholme [LINK]

Frostbite by punkett || Beheaded by The Offspring || Barcelone by Tommy Hools || Eleanor by Cake Bake Betty || Surchin 4 U by Naked Giants || The Party's Crashing Us by of Montreal || There Is No God by Mrs. Magician || I Still Love My Body by Yabadum || Shut Me Down by Godflesh || Jazzhole by Free the Robots || Out Of Gas by Modest Mouse || Fuck Off by The Frogs || Winter's Going by DJ Signify, Buck 65 || Bitin' the Bullet by GROUPLOVE || Like a Star by Mike Krol || Cold Cadaver by King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard || Angel Eyes and Basketball by Foot Ox || Fell Down a Hole by Wolfmother || Hello Cruel World by Dent May || Woof Woof by ARTHUR

[strawberrynightmere]

anon cooked with the suggestion this and you delivered, can we got a second part of this? An idea like they get back together,him picking her up from the hospital or med school (yeah even 4th/5th year med student still go to campus),and Julia!reader be like "my hubby is insane but that's okay I love him this way" lol.

Uuhhhh... OK.

Found You [Part 2]

TW⚠️: yandere tendencies, mentions of manipulation, possessive Andrew, gossip, bullying(?), pt 2 takes the event two months after first, slight yandere Ashley, mentioned murder, spying, cannibalism, etc.

A/n: Sorry, this has taken a while.

Part 1

To think that you got back with Andrew in the most insane and obscure way possible was not on your list, nor was him trying to subtly manipulate you into skipping class or work. Good thing you stood your ground cause you did work hard to get in.

You were packing up after your last class of the day and hear whispered giggles. You didn't mind it. Knew that it was just two students indulging in some gossip.

"Someone said they kicked her out of the dorm cause she got knocked up. And now she's living with some guy who has like a turn-on for pregnant chicks."

Oh. This might be about you.

"Pfft! Gross. Does she have to get pregnant again, so he doesn't kick her out?"

Yep, it's about you.

"Judging by her size, she probably has a month left."

Wrong. You had two months until your due date.

You feel the baby kick harder than it usually does. You put a hand over your belly and leave, hearing the two students giggle again, but this time, it was louder.

Once you made it to campus, you spot a familiar car. Going up to it, the door immediately opens for you.

When you got in and fastened your seat belt, making sure the belt didn't go over the baby.

"How was college?" Andrew asked.

"Are you attempting small talk?"

"I'm trying."

"You sound unnatural."

"Whatever. Let's go somewhere to eat."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

This pregnancy was gonna be the end of you.

As you and Andrew enter your motel-room, you sprinted towards the bathroom at fool speed, leaving a concerned Andrew.

"What's her problem?" Ashley asked, watching something something on TV.

"We've been over this. The pregnancy is making it hard for her to hold down her food." Andrew said.

"Aaaand~?" Ashley asked again.

"Is there something you know?" Andrew asked, giving a suspicious look to Ashley.

"Maaaaybe." She answered.

Andrew walked up in front of the TV, blocking her view.

"She's been too quiet since I picked her up from campus. Spill."

Ashley rolled her eyes at his demanding tone but still answered.

"Must be some skanks, purposely near her earshot gossiping about her." She said nonchalantly.

"What did they say?" Andrew asked, now angry.

"Mmmm. How should I know?" She said teasingly.

"Ashley!"

"That she got kicked out of the dorm and that she's living with some weird fetish guy who's gonna kick her out once she pops that thing out of he womb."

Well, that got his blood boiling.

However, Ashley was looking at him with a smug expression. Andrew didn't need to be a mind reader to know that she had already planned something.

"What's your plan?"

"Something that would kill two birds with one stone."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

"We're back." You announce once you and Andrew came back.

"Took you long enough." Ashley said, looking up from the pot. "I made stew."

Three bowls of stew were served. The smell didn't make you sick. That's a first. You eat a spoonful of stew. The Grave siblings have been staring at you.

"Can you pass the salt." You ask.

Andrew looked relieved before passing you the salt shaker. You wrote it off as worrie for your pregnancy craving.

Ashley just looked at him in a way that said, "told you so."

Who would've known that those two gossip girls would make a good meal.

But you don't need to know that.

A/n: Don't know how to feel about this fic, I do hope it was enjoyable, tho.

[manicandobsessive]

Icarian | L.H.

Chapter 1: Wildflower and Barley

"Springtime from my window. Another month has not much longer now. The sun hesitates more on each evening's darkening. Would all things god allows, remain above ground? Like grief and sweet memory, wildflower and barley." - Andrew Hozier Byrne

Prologue > Ch. 1 > Ch. 2

A/N: Thank you for the love on Nobody's Soldier! I plan on doing a taglist so comment or message to be added. Sorry this took so fucking long life was kicking my ass, I'll try to get chapters out as much as I can. I wanna make sure I give y'all some high quality stuff though. ANYWHOOOOO enjoy ch 1!! <3

Warnings: Fem!human reader, Logan has attatchment issues, Swearing, Mentions of religon, Jean Grey slander

WC: 9.5k

The only things you could hear were the light bristle of the trees and the occasional chirp of the birds. The smell of spring and promise of summer that came alongside it brought you more serenity than one could imagine. Especially when peace in your mind never meant much to you. It was seemingly impossible. But now, here, you finally felt it. 

Of course, some days could be better than others. You still felt the lingering effects of all you’d been through in the back of your head. Their words, their actions, none of that truly ever went away. But spring brought in a form of quiet you hadn’t experienced- ever, and you could at the very least appreciate that.

The light warmth of the sun blessed your skin, the breeze made some stray strands of hair fall in front of your eyes. You’d made progress, and that was enough for you. You still were able to recall the days where being alone without brain stimulation was almost dangerous, the presence of a distraction was your lifeline more times than you could count. Those times were when the thoughts became too loud, and the noise- nothing short of overwhelming. Be that as it may, Charles’ mansion had gifted you a part of yourself that you never knew existed. 

You never could express how grateful you felt, although the bastard probably already knew. Prodding around your head and all. 

The distant laughing and shouting of the kids playing their games made you flutter your eyes open. A grin tugged at your lips due to the sound, simply seeing them happy made you happy in return. It reminded you of the better times, those rare moments when everything else had faded to nothing and all you were left with was joy. 

However, the fragment of a memory wasn’t ever going to be enough to provide you with any lingering desire to return to that.

You slowly sat up, purposefully avoiding the dizziness you dreaded from lying down for a long period of time. You felt noticeably calmer than you were when you ventured outside in the first place. And as an added bonus: no feeling like the world was spinning on its axis. 

You ran a hand through your hair to lazily brush it back to its original style. Allowing it to freely cascade down your back and frame your face. You then stood up, adjusting the waistband of your jeans and tugging your shirt back to a comfortable position. Cracking your neck and back, and leisurely picking up your belongings. Those being no more than a pair of headphones, a book, and a water bottle. 

While you never really read, you enjoyed pretending to.

You casually strolled back to the mansion, a content manner about you. All you could think about was how much you loved spring and the way you had felt lighter on your feet. You couldn’t even remember why you were so furious in the first place-

Nevermind.

The second you opened the door to the back gardens. The one used specifically to enter and leave that part of the school. The weather damage and the grating sound when used was proof enough. That all went out the window.

Upon entering the school, you made eye- if you could even call it that- contact with the single soul responsible for said anger. 

In an attempt to pass by him without a word, you swerved the other direction, keeping your chin held high. Your things were clutched close to your chest. It was in his best interest he didn’t speak to you, and yet- he still did.

Leave it to Summers to not take a fucking hint. 

He said your name with an odd mix of assertive-caution. You rolled your lips and turned back to face him, finding yourself a good enough distance away that you could excuse yourself at any moment easily. 

You can handle him. It’s fine.

“We need to talk.”

Or not.

The way he- without fail, managed to irritate you with a simple phrase was honestly impressive. If not for your underlying urge to break his goddamn nose.

“Not in the mood.” You replied shortly, rolling your shoulders backwards. A half-assed effort to prevent yourself from saying more. 

“Don’t be like that.” 

The both of you were honestly surprised you hadn’t made an attempt to take his life yet. You couldn’t help the involuntary raise of your brows at his tone. It was a silent warning- to him. You’d hoped he’d gotten the message. 

“You know I just want what’s best for you-”

Shocker. He didn’t. 

Blah blah, you tuned it all out as you typically did when he began his meaningless lectures with those 9 words. You were quite simple minded, conflict-wise. If you didn’t want to speak to someone, you didn’t. If they didn’t respect your request, you didn’t care to hear what they had to say. It’s just how you worked. He could at least try to accept that. 

“Listen,” you started, cutting him off. It was better he quit, or forcefully resigned, while he was ahead.

“Last I checked, you’re not my dad. Or my older brother. Or any person that holds any type of authority over me in general. You don’t technically have a say in any fucking thing I do. That being said, if I do decide to go out on my own, it’s really none of your goddamn business. For your information, I simply asked out of basic respect for Charles. But I won’t. And I mean won’t, Scott, tolerate being talked down to because of something as basic as that. Understand?”  

He cleared his throat, his expression hinted to you that your response was the absolute last thing he expected out of this conversation. You were normally a patient person, understanding even. It seemed he’d pushed you well beyond your limits. He opened his mouth to reply, to which he was cut off, yet again.

Except this time, it wasn’t you.

“Listen Slim, she asked ya to shut up. So for everyone’s sake, will ya?” And there, out of thin air, appeared Logan. You’d learned his name was, after the- very- brief interaction you’d had with him no more than a few days ago.

~

Scott obnoxiously cleared his throat, as he does when he’s uncomfortable. Or when the room’s attention is focused anywhere that’s not him and him alone.

Both you and Logan came back to your senses, you shook your head softly. Promptly clearing your mind of any wandering thoughts. Logan mentally facepalmed at his inability to keep his mood from switching so suddenly. 

Not his fault you were fucking breathtaking. The man was practically rendered speechless. Still, he returned the scowl to his face, easy enough to do with Scott right there. He was extremely unwilling to let anyone know he was just about ready to plan your wedding in his head. That would stay locked away forever.

“Logan, what exactly do you need?” Scott questioned, his attitude even more disgusting with the new presence in the room, you’d noticed. You could metaphorically cut the tension between the two with a knife. But there you silently watched, as if it were your favorite reality show. Your arms stayed crossed in a subconscious state of defense, curious as to why this ‘Logan’ guy had to interrupt so overdramatically. 

“Where’s Chuck?” Chuck? Who the fuck is-

Oh. Charles.

 He’s one of those.

“Like I said before, what do you need?” Scott replied in a way that you could only equate to how parents speak to their children. Which seemed to irk Logan on even more than he already had been. “Ya ain’t the fuckin’ professor, Summers.” He responded with a tone that made you bite your bottom lip to hold in the laugh threatening to escape you. Despite your distaste towards the man for interfering in on your conversation, you had to admit that was kinda funny. 

“‘M gonna ask ya one more time,”

And that was your queue to leave. You weren’t keen on fighting, or watching others fight. And you had a feeling staying there, blatantly eavesdropping, would result in something you didn’t want to be a part of. Especially with how big Logan was. Or with the way he was burning holes into Scott’s head and essentially growling with those last few words. 

~

You let loose a sigh of relief, thankful that someone had stepped in. Finding yourself even more grateful that someone was Logan, who from the all of 5 minutes you’d heard him speak to Scott, knew how to put him in his place. 

Most likely because Scott knew he’d end up with a broken rib, or 4. 

“I’m just explaining-”

“Buddy,” Logan clapped his hand on the man's shoulder in the most sarcastic way he could. He treated Scott like a little kid. And in many ways, he may as well have been. “I’ve been hearin’ ya talk to yourself for the last like- 2 minutes. She clearly ain’t interested.” 

To that, you snorted a small, tiny, miniscule laugh. One Logan, to your surprise, caught with a smirk. Whilst Scott was too wrapped up in his own humiliation to pay much attention to anything else. He brushed off Logan’s hand and muttered something that sounded- almost- like an apology to you, before scurrying away. Most likely to pester someone else about rules and whatnot. Seriously, how does the guy walk normally with that huge stick up his ass?

Logan folded his arms, running a hand down his face in a display of pure exhaustion before facing you. You snapped out of your daze, your eyebrows lifting to a softer, less agitated expression as you glanced up at the man.

Was he this tall when you last saw him?

You huffed a small laugh, and an appreciative smile graced your features. One Logan found more attractive than his conscious mind was willing to accept.

“Thanks,” You spoke up first, making his smirk widen just slightly. If you weren’t so observant, you wouldn’t have caught it. But you did, and it made your heart beat just a tiny bit faster. 

“‘S no problem, darlin’.” He replied, making you bite the inside of your cheek in turn. The nickname didn’t go unnoticed, and yet all you could do was stand there and nod.

Fucking talk you moron.

Your inner thoughts shouted at you to say literally anything. But, with the intimidating presence in front of you, you couldn’t utter a string of words, let alone one single response. You opted for the easiest way out:  a curt nod and walking the opposite direction of where you assumed he was headed. Avoiding this would make things easier, even if your room was on the entire other side of the building. (and you’d have to make a complete turn around once you were out of sight.)

However, his voice stopped you in your tracks. The smooth way he spoke made the hairs on the back of your neck stand at a full 90 degree angle. It was deep, rough, but gentle in a way you couldn’t put a finger on. Unique.

“Yeah?” You turned back over your shoulder at the call of your name. Your voice- by some miracle- projected the confidence you so severely lacked at that point in time. You patted yourself on the back for it, mentally. 

How did he know that? The sound of those syllables coming from his mouth sent a harsh rush of warmth directly to your cheeks.

“Right?”

You couldn’t help but cock your head sideways. Completely clueless to whatever the hell he was talking about. Maybe you were too in your own world to hear him.

Damn it.

“Sorry, what?” 

You felt idiotic, “what” being your response? The best you could give was that?

“Your name. That’s it, right?” He replied, chuckling to himself at your display of confusion. It was cute, that much he’d admit. For now. 

“Oh,” The realization hit you like a brick wall to the face. “Yeah. Yeah that’s it.”

 You scratched the back of your neck, taking a careful step towards where Logan stood, rooted in place. He carried himself with such a quiet confidence, something you’d admired right away. You had wondered what made him that way. Maybe the fact that he looked like he could throw you across the room and not break a sweat was a factor. Or maybe he was just that type of person. Or maybe it was all an act. But who were you to say?

He shot you a playful smirk and nodded in acknowledgement. You didn’t seem to notice the quick once-over he did, or maybe you just refused to come to terms with it, he thought. Surely you knew how gorgeous you were. There was no room for debate on that. He was enamoured with everything, your entire way about you, it was making him melt from the inside-out. 

You felt the need to continue the conversation, to learn more about who he is. “You’re Logan?” You inquired, knowing damn well that of course, he’s Logan. Who else would he be?

Truthfully, it was the only string of coherent words that came to mind at the time. 

“That’d be me, darlin’.”

There it was again. 

Was he doing this on purpose?

From the wry look he gave you, the teasing glint in his eyes- he most certainly had been. And, matter of fact, he was enjoying it.

He liked the way your face flushed, the way your eyes widened slightly everytime a nickname fell from his lips. He wondered if you had never been shown that type of affection, one that most would brush past. You may not have noticed, but he sure as hell did. He found himself fond of the little quirks you had. Even after speaking to you for all of 10 minutes. 

You nodded, pursing your lips to prevent the smile ready to likely invade your features regardless. You then bit your thumbnail, something you did when you were nervous, and glanced around the hall you were both in. Finding the wallpaper pattern suddenly more interesting than ever. The intruding thought of how awkward you had been took full control of your senses.

“How long’ve ya been here?” His voice broke through your thoughts- yet again. He, too, wasn’t quite ready to let go of this interaction. 

You gave him a sidelong glance, a minor twitch of your lips signaled to Logan that you were just as intrigued as he was. Which then gave him all the confirmation he needed to take a calculated step towards you. Now at a much more comfortable distance, he could see the features of your face even closer. And fuck were you making it hard to keep it cool.

You shrugged slightly, your body didn’t move much, if at all. He was slowly coming closer, inch by inch. And somehow, you were completely okay with it. You welcomed it.

 You turned your body to face him, fully. He was clad in nothing but a grey tank top that highlighted his muscles almost too perfectly, paired with a well worn pair of jeans, and a belt that had a large and slightly rusted buckle. He looked rugged, but effortlessly striking nonetheless. 

Quit it. 

Your brain needed to shut down those thoughts as fast as they started. 

He, however, noticed the once-over you gave him. The way you took in his appearance- it made him bashful, almost. The inconsolable undertone of nervous-excitement that jolted through his body at the exchange was far from casual. He still, however, returned the gesture- a risky one at that. Though you didn’t seem to pick up on it. Once again.

It would frustrate him if he didn’t find this little game entertaining. But regardless, he undoubtedly found you wearing a simple pair of high-waisted and slightly baggy jeans with a basic white t-shirt all the more attractive. 

“I think it’s coming up on five years now. That I’ve been here.” 

He nodded, raising a brow at the response, visibly confused. 

“What’s that look for?” You laughed, mirroring his expression more teasingly. You were quickly opening up to him. Small bits of your personality shining through the facade you hid behind. How he managed to do that? The answer was beyond your comprehension.

“Nothin’, doll. Jus’ seems like I woulda remembered ya.” His voice alluded to something more. Almost as if he were studying you. Trying to see through you- it felt. Or being suggestive, in a way. Was he flirting?

“When did you get here then? I’ve never seen you before.” You took another step forward, hesitantly.  His eyes still scanned your exterior as if he was racking his brain to find any memory of you. 

“‘Bout 7 or 8 years ago, seems like I’ve been missin’ ya though.” 

You nodded, biting your cheek again. Unknowing of how to respond to something like that. You’d never seen or heard of him much prior to the interaction days ago. And you guaranteed you would have at some point. “Yeah, seems like.” You replied softly, now looking him over in the same manner.

Absolutely not a chance in hell you could’ve forgotten someone like him. 

His demeanor changed just slightly. His face went from one of intrigue, to confusion, and finally, realization. Your heart began to race, you wondered if it was something you’d done. Already fucking up something that hadn’t even started, sounds like you. 

“Sorry, doll. Prof’s callin’ for me.” He cut through your overthinking in a split second. You allowed a smile, one of relief, to cross your face. He found the sight endearing, noting the way you relaxed at his reassurance. He’d keep that in mind for later.

 You hummed in understanding and stepped around him, “I’ll see ya around?” He asked, turning over his shoulder to look at you again, a ghost of a smile in return to yours. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you Logan.” You turned back around, walking with purpose to your room. The way you said his name- ever so sweetly- was sure to be on constant replay in his head for the remainder of the day.

 Probably the rest of the week, if he was being honest with himself. 

~

Logan didn’t bother to knock on Charles’ door. The man knew The Wolverine was on his way, he was bound to be prepared for the chaos that would ensue. He briskly slammed the door behind him with a deafening thud. Crossing the room in a few strides to finally stand in front of the professor’s desk. The moment he’d come all this way to fucking Westchester, New York for. 

“No need for the dramatics, Logan-”

“Save it.” He cut past the small talk rather fast. He never had the time for that shit, and now less than ever. His arms folded in front of his chest defiantly with a distinguished scowl. His anger was more present, the venom in his tone was palpable. 

“Why am I here?” He tapped his foot on the hardwood flooring, awaiting a response that was more than likely to piss him off more than he already had been. Charles still kept his composure, his unwavering patience working doubletime against Logan’s obvious agitation. 

“I’m afraid you already know the answer to that, my boy.” Charles simply responded. 

This fucker always had to talk in riddles. 

He thought that mainly for himself but he was convinced Charles heard it as well. Simply based on the amused sparkle the old man had in his eyes.  Even more to his irritation. He knew the professor found it entertaining. His inner dialogue would 100 percent get him locked away with anyone else, but the professor? He reveled in it. Some of his funniest memories were simply prodding around Logan’s mind. Logan knew this to be true, even through his denial of it.

“I don’t. ‘M not settlin’ down ‘ere. Quit askin’.” Logan huffed, not only at the idea but also the knowing look in Charles’ eyes. Always carrying himself like he’s more educated on something Logan didn’t quite understand yet. Which isn’t entirely untrue. He did carry one of the strongest minds in the world.

“What?” Logan regretted the word- immediately, he knew this man would have some smart reply. Some profound revelation that would have the power to turn his world upside down if he let it. Most times he couldn’t help it, it’s just who Charles was. And who he was: a telepathic genius with a blunt way of speaking. The two factors did little to counteract the other. Logan could appreciate these qualities in the man, he respected him for it. Most didn’t have the guts to tell Logan what they really thought about him. But Charles, he never so much as hesitated. However, when it was something Logan didn’t want to hear? Well, that very well was a foolproof plan to end in disaster.

“I believe you may have some reason to, after all.” The professor sat back in his chair, a lax smile still ever-present on his face. The sight making Logan feel small in his own body. Which was ironic for a man of his size. Logan rolled his eyes, scoffing in the process. No way Chuck was trying this. 

“If you’re implyin’ what I think-”

“I’m simply speaking the truth, Logan. You have no need to worry, your secret’s safe with me.” 

Was he really kidding with him? 

That had to be a fucking joke.

“‘M stayin’ until ya have another mission f’me, that’s it.” His words were short. He was beyond done with this conversation. The man was trying to get him to admit what? He wanted to be here? Logan knew better than that. Settling down would never be for him, it could never be for a man like him. He'd come back here for an assignment, take it, and leave. And the cycle would repeat until he decided it didn’t. That’s how things worked for him. On his terms, no one else’s. He wasn’t ready for all that. The emotional aspect of things, sacrificing his pride. For the sake of having a place to call home? 

He’d rather be shot 47 times. 

“You’re quite stubborn, you know,” 

And he did, boy did he ever. That was the one thing he didn’t completely resent about himself, his ability to stand strong. But now, there he stood, waiting for the words that were inevitably about to leave the professor’s mouth. Good or bad, he was positive their small amount of time together would end there for the day.

“You and her have very much in common.”

Yeah, he was done. 

He mumbled something to the effect of  “‘M not fuckin’ dealin’ with this.” and exited the office less than quietly. The man had no right, especially peeking around in his head like that. And even if he claimed not to, there’s no chance in hell he would have brought that up with no rhyme or reason. Logan hoped to hell his thoughts about you were that loud, so loud the professor couldn’t help but call attention to them. But he knew, oh he knew that you were lingering longer than welcome in his head. And he also knew he wasn’t opposed to letting you stay there.

~ 

He grumbled to himself all the way to his room, only stopping for a second when he ran into Jean in the hall. For some odd reason, he always stopped to talk to her. Probably the need to impress her, the all but obvious crush he once had festering for the woman in front of him keeping him cemented to the ground whether he wanted to or not. 

“Woah, there big guy.” She naturally took hold of both his broad shoulders and looked up at him with those eyes he’d found himself thinking of a little more than he should’ve in the past. She knew about this infatuation, and without a doubt, every time he came back it made waves in her’s and Scott’s relationship. Logan always noticed. Always.

Her teasing smile made his muscles contract just slightly more than they had been previously. He ran a hand through his hair and took a respectful step backwards. He muttered nothing more than a straightforward: “Jean.” To which she smiled at and crossed her arms in front of her, her tongue ran over her soft pink lips. He knew she did all of this on purpose, only wanting to get a rise out of him. It seemed like an urge she had. At least from what Logan observed. Like she needed to feel that power over him. She’d rejected him time and time again. Making it known she was only for Scott, yet he found himself back where he started once he’d returned. Every. Single. Time. 

Which- may or may not be part of the reason he started coming around less and less in the last few years. 

“What brings you back this time, huh?” She stepped towards him, cocking a brow out of curiosity. He’d hoped. “Chuck. Last mission ‘s done.” His tone was clipped, uninterested. Despite his former need to please her, the constant nagging to chase- he felt nothing. Much to his relief, and slight confusion.  Jean, alternatively, wasn’t having any of it. He could tell by the sudden shift to her expression. He saw the way her eyebrows dropped and her posture slumped by just a little. Logan, well, he couldn’t have cared less. He was already pissed, the added pressure of her emotions was about as unappealing as they could be to him at the moment. 

He tried- and failed, to take a swift step around her form. A shot at leaving her standing in the hall and heading to the confines of his room without so much as another word. All he wanted was somewhere he could close his eyes and take a fucking breath. 

Seems like she had other plans. 

“Are you upset with me?” Her voice was fake, oh so calculated. So unlike the version of her he’d gotten to know all those years ago. She’d changed so drastically since he had given up on the idea of them. Since he decided the hope of being more than friends was practically useless. He was nothing but a game to her, he knew that. He just took a long time to come to terms with it. But after the last time he’d come back, it sealed the deal. He was over it before anything had even started. For the better, of course. One of the rare occasions when he’d chosen the logical answer: his own sanity.

He turned his head slightly, not bothering to even make basic eye contact with her, and he responded assertively. “‘Ain’t doin’ this, Jean. We’re friends, keep it that way.”

And with that, he left her in the hall. He ignored the glaringly obvious strain of  guilt gnawing at his gut for being so cold to the woman he once was convinced he had loved. A story for another day.

 But he still couldn’t find it in himself to give enough of a shit to turn around. 

~

You knew that it wasn’t a good idea. The minute you stepped foot outside the threshold of your room you wanted to abort the mission and go back inside. The warmth of your bed called to you like a siren. It was appealing, for once. The longing to stay home clawing at the inner workings of your mind. Yet, your own stubbornness had stopped you.

Typical.

Dressed in leggings and a black sweatshirt- a pathetic attempt at being stealthy, you made your way downstairs. You didn’t so much as take a breath, to your knowledge, when you made your descent. Managing to shock yourself with your unusual lack of clumsiness. Which was near impossible for you to achieve on a good day. The creak of the stairs, if any, was unnoticeable. Though your anxiety still got the better of you as you bit your bottom lip in anticipation of something- or rather someone, finding you. For some reason, you still continued forward. At this rate it was to rub the fact that you’d left successfully into Scott’s stupid face and nothing more.

Your keys were stuffed in your bra in hopes that it would muffle the sound of them jingling before you had pulled them out to get into your car. In retrospect, a ridiculous idea. No one would be awake at that hour. 

Slowly but surely your sock-covered feet made contact with the mansion’s main floor. You allowed yourself to breathe a light sigh of relief. You’d made it one step farther. Although, your escapade was far from over. 

Logan, ever the insomniac, heard you the instant you opened your bedroom door. His razor-sharp senses picked up on the smallest of sounds. Though involuntary, it did come in handy at times such as these. His head snapped from where he was idly watching the movie in front of him. Some bullshit about ‘little women’. Nothing he actually needed to think about, just a way of sidetracking his brain, whose thoughts were ever-present and frustrated him to no end.Because why would he even attempt to sleep after a day like today? 

He slowly sat up from his otherwise comfortable position on the couch. Leaning closer, towards the sound of muffled shuffling and the distress of the old stairs. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he watched you make your way downstairs from the floor of which your room remained. He nearly chuckled at the sight of you looking like an amateur robber in action, completely oblivious to his intense stare. 

He’d stop you, but he was enjoying this far more than that movie. 

As you “silently” shuffled to the garage door, he figured it was time to step in. He respected you being an independent woman and all, but for your own safety he was fairly certain he should at least know where you were headed. He couldn’t have Scott on his ass knowing full well he let you just up and leave like that. 

He gradually stood up, his stride not so much as taking you by any form of surprise when he saw you laugh to yourself in the seemingly safe space of the driver’s side of your car. He found it charming, even if he was five seconds away from scaring the lights out of you. 

“Where ya headed?” 

You shrieked, jumping back so far that you collided with the headrest. Hard enough for you to consider having a concussion. The asshole just watched and laughed. With your eyes tightly shut, you rubbed the back of your neck in a half assed effort to either soothe the oncoming headache or uncross your eyes. You weren’t quite sure which one it was.

“Christ..” You muttered, the expression more to yourself but Logan, of course, had heard. He found it even funnier than the original reaction he’d gotten out of you. A true, rumbling chuckle blessed your ears. 

In turn, you lightly fluttered your eyes open, glancing over at the towering man staring down at you from the outside of the car. You blinked again, just to be sure that it wasn’t some odd hallucination. Or that your brain wasn’t damaged to the point of fully dreaming.

You opened the door, stepping outside of  the car rather shamefully. You felt like a kid again, getting reprimanded by her mother. Your face was flushed full of embarrassment, and you kept your eyes to the ground. Not willing to see the look on Logan’s face at the moment. 

“Don’t let me stop ya, bub. Jus’ heard somethin’ from the livin’ room ‘s all.” 

Those words had you unable to resist lifting up your head to find a lighthearted expression on his face. He truly wasn’t mad or disappointed, like you expected him to be. And he genuinely had  found the situation amusing, which seriously relieved the tension in your body. At least from what Logan had noticed. 

You shook your head softly whilst directing your attention back towards the floor. You laughed purely in a self deprecating manner. “Was planning on sneaking out,” You muttered, coming to the realization that the phrase sounded even worse as you said it aloud. You were absolutely sure he thought you were acting like some rebellious teenager. When, in all reality, you had every right to come and go as you pleased. No questions asked. 

“Dunno why, just needed an escape.” You lifted your shoulders in a slight shrug, feigning nonchalance. You felt the need to explain yourself, despite Logan’s lack of incessant questioning. You were used to a lengthy lecture or consistent interrogation from Scott, sometimes even Jean. It built nothing in your relationships except for resentment. Ororo handled things with grace, she’d always made you feel validated. She had a way of empathizing that the other two had lacked severely. If you’d had one person to call a true friend, it was her. All three of them were around your age, yet Scott and Jean still treated you like you were nothing but a liability. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. You’d asked for your freedom. As simple as that. Nothing more than the right to be your own person. And for some odd reason it always ended worse than it began. Needless to say, you’d given up on the dream. You instead focused on what you could control. Which unfortunately led to being generally lonesome in this place. These defenses were clear as day to Logan, but he refused to push you on them. He understood the frustration of being seen as someone unworthy of trust over their own facilities. He’d been experiencing his entire life. He rather simply allowed you to speak uninterrupted, and replied with nothing more than a nod when you were done. To your surprise.

“They don’t let ya out often?” He raised the question, he’d been genuinely curious to what the situation was. Was this what you and Scott were fighting over the other day? He didn’t have any need to let you know he was eavesdropping, but he’d assumed the latter. You didn’t come off as a difficult person, he doubted there had been much that you and Scott disagreed on. Or at least fought over. His assumption had been correct. Even if the man was insufferable.

“Don’t make it sound like I’m a patient in a ward, Logan.” You laughed at his choice of words. His own lips quirked into a soft smile and he uttered a gruff ‘sorry’ in return. You casually shut the door to the car, no longer careful of not being loud, and walked back inside the mansion. Promptly, and with significantly less caution than you’d had prior. Logan found your laid-back switch in demeanor compelling. He had to bite back a grin in admiration. 

Nothing was really ever that deep to you.

You strolled back inside, Logan in tow beside you plainly. The silence between you two wasn’t awkward. It was simply a quiet that could be shared between people who have been friends for years. Who knew each other and were comfortable in that. And for someone on the outside looking in, it might’ve seemed that way.

“You’re watching Little Women?” You scoffed, a bemused laugh escaped you as you turned to Logan from the middle of the living area. He stood at the door, leaning against its frame with a deadpan expression. Trying his damndest to act serious, but when he saw the laugh you gave him, it chipped away his attitude immediately. The way you so effortlessly got under his skin was remarkable. 

He grunted and pushed off the wall, stalking towards the couch. Lazily, he rounded it to flop back down onto the space he was resting moments before you showed up. Not that he was mad about it. You followed absentmindedly, your body sprawled out in a chair adjacent to him. You leant on one of the armrests, while your legs hung off the opposite comfortably. As if it were an everyday occurance. The act was domestic, natural. That had been the thing you’d predominantly picked up on with those minor interactions with Logan, no action was forced. Not to you at least. You didn’t know it, but he had thought the exact same. 

You picked at the flaking polish on your nails whilst Logan sipped on the half empty bottle of beer he’d found in the very back of the fridge. He thanked himself silently for having left it there the last time he’d come back to the mansion. Beer had been one of the few items essential in his day-to-day life. No matter where he took residence. Addiction? No. Just a sense of consistency with something. It reminded him of a time he couldn’t necessarily put his finger on, with amnesia and all. But it felt like something he’d always done. Even with the nagging of Charles about his “No Drinking” policy. 

Logan broke the silence with an annoyed grumble of “This movie’s bull.” To which you gasped in dramatic horror. It made Logan’s head snap your direction, unsure of what the hell he’d done to set off that reaction. As he met your eyes, he was relieved to see the playful smirk on your face. Obviously playing up your surprise, but you looked offended nonetheless. 

“You don’t like Little Women?” Your eyebrows knit together. Your hand laid flat on your chest in a manner that made him snort a very brief laugh while he placed his beer back on the coffee table in front of him. He liked that you made him laugh. And it was never forced, he wasn’t the type to fake something to spare another person’s feelings. He gradually switched his attention between you and the movie, folding his arms and relaxing back into the sofa with a huff. “Jus’ ain’t gettin’ the point.”

You all but exaggerated an eye roll, which made him smirk all the wider. You scoffed, responding in the most matter-of-fact tone he’d ever heard. “The point, Logan, is to show the lives of these people. How they went from girls to women. It’s empowering. And that doesn’t even begin to explain the majority of the movie.” You explained, which had succeeded in intriguing him, though he tried not to show it. He followed, rolling his eyes in the same exaggerated way you’d done, and scoffed to himself. 

“Empowerin’ my ass. I still don’t get it.” 

You groaned in mock annoyance, but you actually enjoyed telling him these things. You loved when you could banter and your counterpart could keep up. And you loved even more that he let you talk, and he asked intelligent questions. He was a great listener. Even if you didn't necessarily realize it was because you were someone worth listening to.

It goes without saying that the majority of that night involved explaining the plot of Little Women to Logan. And him finding he did like the movie, after you’d talked him through it of course. 

Though, he may have only liked it because you looked so happy to talk about it. 

~

It was well past 4 A.M. when you and Logan had simultaneously decided it was about time to go your separate ways and attempt to sleep. You’d highly doubted that you’d get any type of beneficial rest at this point, but you were willing to at least try. 

Your more frequent yawns and half-lidded eyes were a distinct indicator to Logan that you were ready to break off and head to bed. But, on the contrary, you were hesitant to end this- thing. Whatever it was. You really enjoyed his company, and he, yours. There was no need for deep talks, no pressure on gauging the other person’s thoughts, just getting to know each other on the most basic of levels. It was refreshing. 

After he- reluctantly- admitted to liking the movie, you continued to speak about everything and nothing. The conversation ranged from music taste, to books, to debating over who the best 70’s rock band was, and even sharing the tiniest crumbs of your inside life. By tiny, it was literally nothing more than he already knew. And vice versa.

And while you both didn’t want to admit it, you felt yourselves craving to know each other on a deeper level. 

Logan, always and forever being the gentleman, insisted on escorting you to your room. The gesture was nothing but innocent. And a way to spend more time around you. It was pretty late- or really early, after all. He cared for your safety, as he did everyone’s. He tried to rationalize with himself that that was the reason he’d offered. 

Maybe part of him also wanted to know where you stayed.

Much to his disappointment, his room was on a completely different floor. Maybe he’d see if someone wants to switch with him. You guys could end up being good friends, what’s the harm? What if you’d needed something in the middle of the night? 

He would, however, keep those thoughts to himself. He was a bit obsessive, maybe a hint of possessive, but all in good conscience. He did have some animalistic tendencies after all. Who could blame him? Your presence was intoxicating. He was addicted to your laugh, your voice, your scent, just- you. 

“‘Night, sweetheart,” He placed a hand on the doorframe, a small distance from where you stood in the doorway. You smiled ever so delightfully upwards. Eyeing his towering figure in front of you. You found the man- who not even 72 hours ago you thought to be intimidating and slightly off-putting, now charming and someone you were willing to get to know. 

He returned your expression, a hint of a smile dusting over his strong features. The soft look he’d had in his eyes made your heart melt, though you made the excuse that he was just tired. It couldn’t possibly be anything else, right? 

No. 

The nickname, on the other hand, would have you giggling to yourself once he was out of earshot.

“G’night, Logan. I’ll see you around?” You asked almost casually, but the hope in your tone didn’t pass by his notice. He felt his heart clench involuntarily in his chest, like a damn lovesick fool. He nodded, attempting to play it cool. He couldn’t have you know you were the first person his heart raced at the idea of seeing again since he’d lived in that god-forsaken place. 

“Yeah, see ya ‘round.” His voice was soft, saying your name. But rough in a sense of a serene thunderstorm. The type of sound that could lull you to sleep. And you’d let it happen. 

You quietly stepped backwards into the confines of your room, smiling sleepily as he walked away. You shut the door. Sighing to yourself, and flopped face-first onto your bed. You expected tonight to go so much differently than it did, but you weren’t exactly upset at the outcome. In fact, you were more than giddy he’d caught you leaving earlier. A flutter of something you weren’t quite ready to admit yet crossed your heart and face when the memory popped back into your head. 

You attempted to sleep. Which you deemed near impossible after 5 minutes of tossing and turning. Instead, you opted for spending the remainder of the night binging some comedy show on your TV and drifting back to the thought of Logan.

Were you really that down bad already?

He, luckily, wasn’t any better off. The absolute second he left your presence and the hallway where you resided. He all but dragged his feet to his own door. He longed to go back to you. To talk to you, make you laugh. It was a strange feeling, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever known. Which, for having been alive for well over a century, was saying something. He would refuse to speak that into existence. The words would stay locked away in the depths of his soul until further notice. He didn’t want that mess of emotions, despite how drawn he was to you. He knew already that you deserved someone that would be a match for you. Someone sweeter. Someone to rely on, to fall for truly. Someone that doesn’t have as much baggage as a hotel lobby. He didn’t think he could ever be that, for anyone. No matter how hard he may have tried. And he surely couldn’t ruin you like that, you were too heavenly. Too angelic.

Nonetheless, those ideas wavered and he’d had a restful sleep for the first time in years that night. 

~

The gentle call of your name stirred you awake. You fluttered your eyes open the slightest bit.

“Hey,” 

You squinted, the sun unforgivingly shone directly into your line of vision. You rubbed your eyes, mumbling incoherently. Slowly, you sat up and took in your surroundings.

Shit.

You must’ve fallen asleep on the couch earlier in the day. 

Seeing as you didn’t sleep a wink last night, your current state made perfect sense. 

As you looked around, sleep addled as ever. You noted that you were, in fact, in the living room. Resting on the same couch Logan had been talking to you from the night prior.

Now why the fuck was he your first waking thought?

“Glad you’re back. The hell were you sleepin’ on the couch for, doll?” You snapped your head to the sound of the voice. A wave of nausea hit you as the blood rushed to your head. And lo and behold, it had to be Logan, standing behind your choice of a bed for the day with a concerned furrow of his eyebrows. His voice, however, held a hint of amusement that made you huff a laugh- even having been as exhausted as you were. 

You ran a hand through your tousled hair. Surely, you’d have to have looked disheveled. It just had to be him who found you this way. Lucky you. 

“I, uh,” You yawned, in spite of the hard nap you’d just taken. Kneading your closed eyelids with your knuckles. You scrunched your nose and blinked up at him. Caught completely off guard with the way he was looking at you. 

He found it adorable.

“Didn’t sleep last night, guess I did here. Is it still Tuesday?” You wondered aloud, which made Logan chuckle deeply. The sound sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Still Tuesday. What’d ya stay up for?” He spoke as moved from behind the couch and sat on the other side of it. You pulled your legs into yourself to make room for him, as you were just fully taking up the space a moment before. He would’ve been fine had you stayed in that position. Much to his surprise since he’d hated physical contact.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrug, your vague response made his amused smirk slightly drop from his face. He leaned back with narrow eyes, giving you that familiar look. The one that made it seem like he was trying to read your mind. It made you nearly crack a smile. Was he really that concerned?

“’S real vague, darlin.” 

To which you laughed softly in response. Lowering your head back on the armrest to look at the ceiling. The relaxed smile on your face was unwavering, guess that just reflected your emotions around him.

“Well.. I wasn’t going to blame anyone,” You started, making Logan raise an eyebrow in amusement. The sight made your stomach flip. Somehow every expression he’d made only enhanced his attractiveness. 

“But, someone kept me up all night talking.” You finished, nudging his thigh playfully with your foot. You weren’t entirely sure what made you so willing to act in such a way. But he didn’t feel like a stranger, and you took that as an invitation. Logan, with his quick reflexes, caught your ankle. Making you breathe out a small gasp followed by your radiant smile. He then tightened his grip ever so slightly, noting that you didn’t attempt to pull away. 

“That so?” He taunted in return, the playful back and forth turning into something more. Something charged, unspoken. The tension between you both was clear.

“Mhm,” Was all you could reply, through the fit of laughter you were desperately trying to suppress with a tight-lipped smile. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, only to be met with an even stronger hold on your poor ankle. He was still gentle, not on any mission to hurt you. Ever. He had unbelievable strength, that much was obvious by his toned muscles that were unnoticeable. The way his large, calloused hand completely engulfed your ankle had your mind- and heart, thudding out of your chest.

He could hear it, too. It only stirred him on more.

He practically dragged you towards him, his own boisterous chuckle added to your light giggling. A symphony that was more beautiful than the pearly gates of heaven themselves. 

Whilst caught up in your play-fighting, if you could even call it that. More or less a battle you were bound to lose. You’d failed to notice the figure that was lurking in the hallway. 

Jean had heard Logan’s laugh, a very rare one at that, from down the hall. Not to mention the way your own mind was screaming with unexpressed affection. A sentiment that was sure to bubble to the surface at some point, though you forced it into your subconscious. 

Jean walked with a stride so light that even Logan with his sharp senses couldn’t pick up the faint click of her heels. She stopped abruptly when she caught a glimpse of the scene in front of her. It made her stomach churn with a sickening jealousy. So this had been why he disregarded her that easily. The reminder of her sour exchange with Logan only added fuel to the fire. She’d been dwelling on it for days. It was an unfamiliar territory, the lack of two men’s attention. The constant chase and the way she’d had him wrapped around her finger. 

Logan was so caught up in that moment with you that he couldn’t even pay attention to his surroundings. That of which included the unmistakable scent of Jean’s floral perfume. The smell was pungent, often overwhelming to the average person. Let alone someone who could find things like that from miles away. Logan ignored it all those times for the sake of being around her. It wasn’t impossible, not when he found her being there otherwise entertaining. Or comforting. He wasn’t sure. 

But now, seated next to you. So intensely captured by what you offered. He wouldn’t dare to compare you to her. He’d realized then that Jean never gave him comfort. What he felt around her was never comfortable, this was. 

Nothing had ever come so easily to him, never in his life.

Jean, opposed to whatever you two had been feeling, had used his distraction to take advantage of him. Prying around in his head for a nanosecond. He was unbelievably sensitive to that type of thing, she knew better than to try something like that. But she just wanted an idea of what was going on. Evidently unhappy with what she found, she shut the investigation down immediately. 

She masked her frustration with somewhat contentedness, purposefully interrupting the pure exchange happening between you and Logan. With a smile, that is. 

“Having fun?” She asked from behind the couch, where Logan was before moving to be closer to you. Her voice was saccharin, laced with hostility. Logan’s smile instantly dropped at the recognition of her voice. With a clear expression of agitation, he silently let go of you. At the loss of contact, you readjusted yourself, trying to regain your composure as well as possible.

The very obvious red flush on your cheeks made it difficult.

“Somethin’ ya need?” Logan questioned with no shot at patience, he knew Jean all too well. Yet, he was in no rush to jump back into her good graces. Which was unlike his former need to please her. He used to be by her side at the drop of a hat, ready to give or do anything for her to give him a fighting chance. He had realized it was a lost cause long before she’d caught on, clearly. 

“Professor wants you.” She stated, with a pointed look in her eyes as she averted her gaze to you. You stood up, collecting your bearings briskly with a bewildered look on your face. Jean simply shrugged, a half-hearted effort to seem clueless. Though Logan’s glare towards her was unforgettable.

If looks could kill. You thought.

You then excused yourself quietly, but with grace. You weren’t scared of the professor, and you sure as shit weren’t scared of Jean. Her ulterior motives meant nothing to you. You and her never had been more than acquaintances.  You were civil with her as she was with you, and that was the extent of your relationship. 

Logan’s eyes followed your figure desperately. His body deflated as you retreated from the room. Your warm nature replaced with a chill. He swore the room lost its color when you left, and he’d hoped you were as disappointed as he was for being interrupted.

He shot to his feet when he was sure you were out of earshot. His problems with Jean began long before he knew you. He was well-aware you weren’t to blame for any of this, and he was intent on making sure you found out about their history on his terms. Not through any of Jean’s petty antics. 

“Logan, wait.” She pleaded, her voice much less harsh. He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with an exasperated breath. His knuckles turned white with the clench of his fists. 

“What,” He turned slowly, his strong eye contact making Jean wince. They both knew what she was doing, and Logan, most of all, knew damn well he wasn’t about to let that go. He could hold a grudge. And in this case, he had every right to.

“Y’know what, no. I don’t got any time for this.” He waved her off as he decided he wasn’t in the mood for her groveling. Without a second glance, he left her to stand alone in the living room. His frustration was evident, his anger resurfaced. Damn her for ruining the little slice of happiness he’d gotten. 

He was sick of it. Beyond through with the immaturity of her actions. Every memory came flooding back. Each thing he’d let go with an excuse. Every time he apologized for something she had been at fault for. He-

“Hey! Wait.” He sighed when he heard a breathless voice moving in his direction. Exasperated, he shifted to see who needed his attention now. 

Suddenly, the cloud above his head dissolved into the sky and the gentle gaze returned to his eyes.

God, you were gonna be the death of him.

“Professor didn’t need much, figured we weren’t done talking.” You caught up to him, slightly red in the face and still attempting to catch your breath. And he found you beautiful. Even more so, in earnest.

“If you want to hang around me, that is.” You finished, a teasing way of hiding the regret you’d felt for the rambling you’d just tortured him with. He simply looked at you, tracing every detail of your face. Committing you to memory. You had to be an angel. A sweet temptation sent there to ruin him.

 You were unable to decipher what the hell the man was thinking due to the fact that he hadn’t spoken yet. Maybe you came off as desperate, you did run back here to find him, anyways. Oh fuck, what if-

“‘Course I do, sweetheart. Nowhere I’d rather be, if ‘m bein’ honest.” 

He’d fallen into step with you easily, his reply caused your lips to break into the most shit-eating grin. You’d be embarrassed, if only he wasn’t looking at you in the way he was. Like you’d just given him the fucking moon. 

Hell, you already felt more important to him than you’d ever felt to anyone in your life.  

[minnnoru]

Here’s the dark fantasy Andreil snippet absolutely no one asked for. I gift it to @epicmarrowbonesoup and @corner-collects-rocks 🫵🏻

---

The forest had no name on any map Neil had stolen. The kind of place old women whispered of in kitchen corners and dogs refused to cross. It grew like a bruise on the edge of town, swallowing sky and silence alike.

The trees did not whisper. They watched.

Neil's pulse raced as he pushed deeper, away from the bloodied sun sinking behind the horizon, away from the dogs howling his name on the wind. Prince, they called him. Heir. He spat on the title and ran.

His boots sank into moss that drank sound. The birds had gone silent. Branches closed behind him, knitting together like scar tissue. He turned back once, twice— no path. The forest had swallowed the kingdom.

Good, he thought. Let it choke.

He knew the stories. Everyone did.

Do not enter the woods. Do not speak to the gods. Do not look them in the eyes. Do not. Do not.

But Neil Josten, runaway prince, traitor’s blood in his veins and exile bleeding from his skin, had never been good at obedience.

He crossed the boundary at night, sweat slicing down his spine, his cloak sticking like rot. His boots were soaked through from the swampland, mud clinging like greedy fingers. The wind didn’t howl here. It hissed.

And something—someone—was already watching.

---

He found them on the third day. Or perhaps they found him.

Andrew was the first. Not a word. Not a sound. Just the slow, inhuman turn of a head. His eyes were cold and deliberate, carrying the calm of something that kills without hurry.

Gold. Not the gold of sunlight, but the color of coins pressed to a corpse’s tongue. His hair was the shade of rot-bleached bone. He stood where the trees bent backward, refusing to touch him. The forest recoiled. 

Neil stared. He didn’t flinch. That had been beaten out of him long ago.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Andrew said. His voice didn’t echo but it lingered, like smoke in the lungs.

Do not speak to the gods.

Neil’s mouth felt dry. His hands trembled from exhaustion, not fear. “I know.”

And then Andrew did something so strange, so wrong, the forest held its breath.

He stepped forward.

Aaron emerged from the trees. Neil hadn’t noticed him—no shadow, no warning. Where Andrew was frost and stillness, Aaron was fire and venom. He stalked forward like a sickness, eyes blazing.

“This one reeks of blood and lies,” Aaron spat. “Send it back. Break its legs and let the wolves have it.”

“No. He’s pretty,” Andrew murmured, still watching Neil. “Like a corpse half-frozen in a pond.”

Aaron’s face twisted. “You want to keep him?”

“I want to see how he dies.”

But Neil saw something else flicker in Andrew’s gaze. Hunger, yes, but not for blood.

Andrew offered him a deal, as gods never should: “Don’t lie to me. Not once. And you can stay.”

That was the pact. Andrew didn’t promise power or demand blood. He wanted honesty.

It was crueler than any blade.

Neil slept in a house that wasn’t truly a house. It was made of bones and moss, with breath held in the walls. Andrew’s eyes seemed to follow him into every corner, cold as frostbite. Aaron watched him like a hound waiting for the order to kill.

It never came. Instead Andrew asked questions.

“Why did you run?” “What did you leave behind?” “What would you trade to forget it?”

Neil answered. Every time. Even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

And every truth he gave, Andrew took like a lover’s touch.

On the tenth night, the forest gave Neil a dream: his father’s hands around his throat, the crown burning on his brow. He woke screaming. Andrew was already there, crouched in the shadows like a promise broken before it was ever spoken.

“You’ll never be safe,” Andrew said, voice low. “But I’ll make sure you’re mine.”

Aaron nearly burned the woods down when he found out. “He’s not worthy of us. He’ll rot, like the rest.”

Andrew didn’t blink. “Then we’ll rot together.”

[timeless-fanfic]

Hi!! I adore your writing <3

May I request a fic about Simon Zee, where he brings the reader a small handful of flowers he picked because she likes to sketch them, and she puts them in his hair and does a drawing of him?

Sketches in Wildflower Blue Pairing: Simon Z x Reader

The morning broke soft and blue.

The Sea of Galilee stretched out like glass, barely rippling under the first breath of sunlight. Mist curled along the water’s edge, weaving through reeds and wild olive trees. Birds began their song from unseen branches overhead, and in the hush of dawn, the world felt… almost untouched.

You sat cross-legged under the fig tree near camp, your sketchbook balanced on your lap and a lump of charcoal in your fingers. The page was already smudged with wildflowers—lavender thistles, crown daisies, and poppies—drawn from memory and a few half-wilted samples you'd picked on a walk two days earlier. Their beauty tugged at your heart, transient and bright.

Behind you, the camp was quiet. Most were still asleep, or just stirring. A pot clinked. Andrew’s muffled cough. Then silence again, save the sea and the birds.

You didn’t hear his footsteps at first.

"You're up early," came a voice from behind.

Your hand paused mid-stroke. You smiled to yourself before turning. "So are you."

Simon—Simon the Zealot, as everyone still called him though you rarely did—stood a few paces away, a little out of breath and covered in morning dew. His tunic clung damply to his arms, and tucked carefully in one calloused hand was a humble bundle of wildflowers.

Your eyes widened.

“I—” he glanced down, almost sheepishly. “I remembered you said you liked to sketch them. And these… well, I noticed them on the ridge beyond the path to Capernaum. I thought they might be… new for you.”

You stared, momentarily robbed of words. The flowers were simple, humble, unarranged: a few tiny blue flax blossoms, some desert bells, a handful of clover. They looked like the field itself had whispered something into his hands.

You reached for them gently, your fingers brushing his. “Thank you,” you said, and meant it more deeply than the words could hold. “They’re beautiful.”

His mouth twitched, barely a smile, but you saw the light in his eyes.

“Sit,” you offered, gesturing beside you under the fig tree.

He hesitated—he always did, like he wasn't quite sure how to be still yet. But then he lowered himself beside you, crossing his legs, back straight like always. His posture reminded you of the way he fought: focused, alert. Like he expected danger even in the petals of a flower.

You watched him a moment. “You always look like you’re preparing for battle.”

He blinked. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only a little,” you said, and turned back to your sketchbook with a smile. “But today you brought flowers. That seems more like peace than war.”

He looked away, as though embarrassed. “The habits… don’t vanish quickly.”

You softened. “I know. But you’re not the same man anymore, Simon.”

A quiet hung between you.

His eyes went to the paper in your lap, to the careful renderings of blossoms and stems.

“May I see what you’ve done?” he asked.

You turned the book toward him. He leaned in slightly, and you could feel his warmth even in the cool dawn air.

“They’re better than the real thing,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“They’re nothing compared to the real thing,” you replied. “But I like trying. Capturing beauty before it fades.”

His eyes flicked to yours. “Is that what you do with us, too?”

You paused, caught off-guard. “What do you mean?”

“You watch us. All of us. You sketch flowers and people the same way. Like you’re trying to keep something alive.”

You met his gaze. “Maybe I am.”

He didn’t look away. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to destroy things. It never occurred to me how much strength it takes to create something instead.”

Your heart stirred.

You looked down at the flowers in your hand. Then, on impulse, you reached for one of the blue flax blossoms—a delicate, five-petaled thing—and tucked it behind his ear.

Simon froze.

“Hold still,” you said, smiling. “You brought them. It's only fair you wear one.”

He narrowed his eyes, but not in anger—more like confused amusement. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m completely serious,” you said, reaching for another. “Don’t move.”

You tucked another into his dark, messy hair. Then a poppy. Then a stem of something pale and wild. Soon, he looked like a reluctant woodland prince—half warrior, half meadow.

“I’ll regret this,” he muttered under his breath.

“No, you won’t,” you said, reaching for your charcoal.

Simon frowned. “You’re going to draw me like this?”

“Of course.”

He made a sound like a groan but didn’t move. In fact, he straightened his back even more.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

His profile was sharp and solemn, softened only by the small absurdity of the flowers in his hair. His jaw was still bruised from the last scuffle in the marketplace—he hadn’t even started it this time—and there was a scar just at the base of his throat. You traced every detail onto the page, slowly, reverently.

For a while, there was only the sound of charcoal against parchment.

Then, quietly, he asked, “Why do you spend time with me?”

You looked up, surprised by the question.

He was still staring straight ahead, unmoving for your sketch, but you saw the tension in his shoulders.

“Because I like you,” you said, simply.

“You like drawing me.”

“I like you,” you repeated, more firmly this time. “Even when you don’t understand why.”

A long silence.

Finally, his voice came, low and raw. “I don’t know how to be the kind of man who’s... gentle.”

You set your charcoal down.

“Simon,” you said, drawing his gaze to yours, “you don’t have to become someone you’re not. You just have to let yourself become. That’s what He’s doing in all of us.”

His throat moved as he swallowed. His eyes—so often steely and watchful—were suddenly vulnerable, like a boy who’d never been given permission to rest.

“I see the way you protect the others,” you said. “How you carry burdens that aren’t yours. How you sleep closest to the edge of camp and always eat last. That is gentleness. It just wears armor sometimes.”

He exhaled slowly, like the truth of your words both comforted and frightened him.

You reached out, brushing a stray petal from his brow.

“There,” you said. “Finished.”

He raised his eyebrows. “The sketch or the flower crown?”

You laughed. “Both.”

He leaned over to look. You tilted the page toward him.

He stared in silence. In the image, he was still and strong—but softened by the flowers and the look in his own drawn eyes. You hadn’t meant to draw him lovingly, but you had. It couldn’t be helped.

“You made me look...” He didn’t finish.

You offered quietly, “Like someone worth loving?”

His eyes met yours, and you saw something in them break open. Not painfully—but like a door swinging inward on long-rusted hinges.

“Yes,” he said finally.

You closed the book gently.

The sun had risen fully now, casting gold over the sea and waking the rest of the world.

Simon stood and offered his hand.

You took it.

As he pulled you up, the flowers tumbled from his hair, falling around your feet like confetti.

He looked down at them, then back at you, and this time, he smiled—truly smiled.

Maybe not every scar fades. But even wildflowers bloom in broken places.

[burins]

I read a LOT of books this year, which is always exciting. I also neglected to do much in the way of write ups during the year proper, so here are little opinions about all 84(!) book-books I read. I love to yap about what I read and I would love to talk about any and all of these. (Graphic novels and comics are gonna be their own post because there are also too many of those.) Bold are my top faves, headphones are things I read as audiobooks.

JAN

Less - Andrew Sean Greer

Shockingly funny book on a writer’s midlife gay crisis. I was a little mid on the end but the prose here was fantastic.

The Bullet Journal Method: Track the Past, Order the Present, Design the Future - Ryder Carroll

Beyond Bullets: Creative Journaling Ideas to Customize Your Personal Productivity System - Megan Rutell

Read about a million of these for a program; this was the only one worth recommending if you want to try journaling. (The official guide is Fine but it throws a lot at you at once.)

The 365 Bullet Guide: Organize Your Life Creatively, One Day at a Time - Zennor Compton

Lettering for Planners: A Step- - -Step Guide to Hand Lettering and Modern Calligraphy for Bullet Journals and Beyond - Jordan Truster and Jillian Reece

This should not have been a book.

Afterparties: Stories - Anthony Veasna So

I’ve been meaning to read this for years and years-- So was a friend of a friend-- and it was as excellent as I expected, and also made me tremendously sad that we won’t get more writing from him. 

Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability, and Making Space - Amanda Leduc 🎧

This is theory for a general audience but I still wished it was more robust-- Leduc’s arguments had about the academic rigor of a tumblr post, which is a shame.

Aftermath: Life in the Fallout of the Third Reich, 1945–1955 - Harald Jähner 🎧

Nation-making and identity formation in the aftermath of fascism. There has been a lot of writing about the German project of the post-Nazi era, but this was a very solid read.

Water and Salt - Lena Khalaf Tuffaha

I came across Tuffaha’s gut-punch of a poem, “Running Orders,” online, and while the rest of the collection doesn’t always hit as hard, it’s still fantastic.

Bring Up the Bodies - Hilary Mantel 🎧

Reading this and The Mirror and the Light at the beginning of the year really ruined me for all other prose for the entirety of 2024, tbh. Nobody does it like Mantel.

Bandits, Misfits, and Superheroes: Whiteness and Its Borderlands in American Comics and Graphic Novels - Josef Benson and Doug Singsen

After reading Birds of Prey in October-December I really wanted to read some writing on whiteness in comics. This didn’t touch on what I was most interested in exploring and I did come away from the book thinking damn. None of that book was nearly as good as Tony Wei Ling’s fantastic piece on Crumb and alt-comics’ self-hagiography in SOLRAD.

Mending with Boro - Harumi Horiuchi

Make and Mend: Sashiko-Inspired Embroidery Projects to Customize and Repair Textiles and Decorate Your Home - Jessica Marquez

Mend!: A Refashioning Manual and Manifesto - Kate Sekules

Mending with Love: Creative Repairs for Your Favorite Things - Noriko Misumi

Mend It, Wear It, Love It!: Stitch Your Way to a Sustainable Wardrobe - Zoe Edwards

Can you tell I taught a visible mending class in February? Honestly any one of these are a good pick if you’re wanting to get into visible mending. This is the best for giving you a whole menu of techniques to choose from and having very accessible instructions.

Modern Mending - Erin Lewis-Fitzgerald

Mending Matters: Stitch, Patch, and Repair Your Favorite Denim & More - Katrina Rodabaugh

Creative Mending: Beautiful Darning, Patching and Stitching Techniques - Hikaru Noguchi

This is the best one for getting into the ethos of visible mending. It’s a deeply kind book.

Joyful Mending: Visible Repairs for the Perfectly Imperfect Things We Love! - Noriko Misumi

Visible Mending: A Modern Guide to Darning, Stitching and Patching the Clothes You Love - Arounna Khounnoraj

The Mirror and the Light - Hilary Mantel 🎧

Once again. Nobody is doing it like Hilary Mantel.

FEB

Finna - Nino Cipri 🎧

Anticapitalist multiverse Ikea relationship drama should have been my entire jam but this book was simply quite bad.

Weapons of Math Destruction: How Big Data Increases Inequality and Threatens Democracy - Cathy O’Neil 🎧

Are you ready to get depressed about data? This is a great book for your liberal mom. I could wish it were more anticarceral but for what it’s actually covering it does a great job.

Vegetables Love Flowers: Companion Planting for Beauty and Bounty - Lisa Mason Ziegler

Garden planning :) 

Flux - Jinwoo Chong 🎧

If you liked Severance (the show) or have ever projected some identity feelings onto a not-very-good TV show, this is a book for you. Imperfect pacing but still gripping, and I’m excited to see what Chong does next-- this is his first book.

Ocean’s Echo - Everina Maxwell

The premise of this book is simply so sexy. And overall the book is too!

The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles - Malka Older

Yayyyy Mossa and Pleiti return! I love this series and I loved this book.

A Land with a People: Palestinians and Jews Confront Zionism edited - Rosalind Pollack Petchesky, Esther Farmer, & Sarah Sills

I don't really have a write up for this. It's powerful and well written and I would recommend it.

Black Paper: Writing in a Dark Time - Teju Cole

Best book I read all year, frankly. Teju Cole writes about art and culture and being alive when the world is falling apart like nobody else.

MAR

The Deepest South of All: True Stories from Natchez, Mississippi - Richard Grant 🎧

Oh you hate to see a British guy get sucked in by white Southern niceness. (Richard Grant, in this case, is the British guy.) A lot of the stories in this were excellent but Grant gives way too much credit to folks clinging to the tattered remnants of the Old South.

Ottoman Brothers: Muslims, Christians, and Jews in Early Twentieth-Century Palestine - Michelle U. Campos

Excellent historical antidote to the idea of perpetual struggle in Palestine. Also interesting read just for looking at how citizens of Jerusalem were using national and imperial identities for their political agendas at the time.

An Immense World: How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us - Ed Yong 🎧

Lovely book that resists anthropomorphism and rendered me a font of “hey babe can I tell you a cool snake fact?” for about three weeks. 

The Barbizon: The Hotel That Set Women Free - Paulina Bren 🎧

You know I should have expected a book like this to be exactly what it was and yet. In addition to the sort of milquetoast stabs at feminism the structure is bad-- it devolves into Sylvia Plath’s life story and doesn’t really recover. I don’t mind reading a book about Sylvia Plath but I would like to plan to do that going in. 

The Hunter - Tana French

Only Tana can manage to write a book that is mostly just pretty normal conversations for 75% of its runtime and yet made me unbelievably stressed the whole time I was reading. Creeping dread! We love it.

Shades of Grey - Jasper Fforde

I last read this in high school when I was so excited to see that the sequel would be coming out any day now. Over a decade later, any day at last arrived! So it was time for a reread. The sexual politics of this book are insane, which I didn’t pick up on in 10th grade, but it is still an extremely clever and enjoyable book.

Rabid: A Cultural History of the World's Most Diabolical Virus - Bill Wasik 🎧

I learned a lot of fun facts in this book but it was rambling and also I do wish books like this would stop trying to overstate the importance of their topic. Rabies can’t be the source of vampire legends AND zombie legends AND werewolves. (Zombies in particular. We know where those come from and it ain’t rabies!)

The Transcriptionist - Amy Rowland 🎧

As a former transcriptionist the idea of a mystery that revolves around the intrinsic weirdness of being the fly on the wall was very appealing to me! This wasn’t quite the book I thought it was but I still enjoyed it. 

City Editor - Stanley Walker

If you can ignore the amount of name-dropping of people who were certainly famous in 1934 newsrooms but I have certainly never heard of, there are definitely some amusing anecdotes. Walker writes with a dynamism and bombast I would love to see in any kind of writing nowadays. However it is also a book written - a newspaperman in 1934 so it does hit every single -ism like it’s trying to get a pinball high score.

The Times: How the Newspaper of Record Survived Scandal, Scorn, and the Transformation of Journalism - Adam Nagourney 🎧

This book is exceedingly kind to the NYT and it was wild to read this the month that the Hamas mass rape story very publicly fell apart. However reading it did give me a very clear picture of how that story, and stories like it, happened in the first place. 

Chasing History: A Kid in the Newsroom - Carl Bernstein 🎧

Of all the “how do newspapers work?” books I read in March-April to prep for a fic I didn’t end up being able to write, this was my favorite. Bernstein is an engaging narrator and this answered my questions about how a story actually happens (particularly pre-internet.)

APR

Beacons in the Darkness: Hope and Transformation Among America's Community Newspapers - Dave Hoekstra

This ping-pongs between case studies in a way that would be totally fine in a feature story and is unforgivable in a book. But the case studies are interesting!

Newsroom Confidential: Lessons (and Worries) from an Ink-Stained Life - Margaret Sullivan

This is more memoir than NYT hagiography, and thus I enjoyed it much more.

Ocean’s Godori - Elaine Cho

I’ve got to stop reading SFF that came out this year. Unfortunately, it is part of my job to be aware of SFF that comes out this year. The pacing on this was UNBELIEVABLY sick-- the inciting plot incident only occurred halfway through the book, and the first 60 pages were us being fairly clumsily introduced to too many characters. The author’s end notes effusively thanked her editor and I think she should not have done that because a really solid editing job could have made this into something I really enjoyed. (People who work in publishing I’m sorry about publishing.)

Bombshell - Sarah MacLean

If your whole plot is going to hinge on a Deep Dark Secret, it better be deep and dark. 

Time's Echo: The Second World War, the Holocaust, and the Music of Remembrance - Jeremy Eichler 🎧

I got this for my grandma for Christmas and that was a mistake because this book is so depressing. If I had thought for two seconds I would have known this! However. I did like it! 

MAY

JUN

Desegregating Comics: Debating Blackness in the Golden Age of American Comics - Qiana Whitted

Really loved this one. 

Super Bodies: Comic Book Illustration, Artistic Styles, and Narrative Impact - Jeffrey A. Brown

This book would have been fantastic if the author had a) had any art historical or visual analysis training and b) done research about manga and the ways its styles have been used in the west. As neither of those were true this book mostly made me wish it was another, better book. Good comics recs though. 

Red Side Story - Jasper Fforde

Long-awaited sequel! This is an entirely solid book, though I wish I could have read it when I was a teen because it would have rocked my shit then. 

JULY

The Ladies Rewrite the Rules - Suzanne Allain

Really the only thing you need to know about this Regency #girlboss book is that at the very end of the book, which made almost no pretenses to historical accuracy wrt attitudes about gender roles, the main narrative tension is the love interest’s plans to go off with the East India Company to make his fortune. The other characters have no moral qualms about this; it’s proposed with the same air that a modern book would talk about someone going to college across the country. It made me feel completely insane. 

Escape Velocity - Victor Manibo

You know when you read a book and you say wow, I can’t wait to watch this as a Netflix special, but boy was it not very good as a book? That. Also I really wish we had spent more than about two scenes with the servants on the space hotel, so that I could care about them as people and not as plot devices!

Making Our Future: Visionary Folklore and Everyday Culture in Appalachia - Emily Hilliard

Engaging stories of modern West Virginia.

Belonging: A Culture of Place - bell hooks

The writing on exile in this did make me cry while I was eating lunch.

AUG

Appalachia on the Table: Representing Mountain Food and People - Erica Adams Locklear

More historical than I expected but solid writing on how perception of food affects perception of people.

What You Are Looking For is in the Library - Michiko Aoyama

I really didn’t expect this to get me but I am not immune to lovely, small-scale stories of people being kind to one another in community. Teared up on desk. 

SEPT

Watercolor Is for Everyone: Simple Lessons to Make Your Creative Practice a Daily Habit - Kateri Ewing

This was for a class and everyone liked the class! 

Hot Summer - Elle Everhart

I am so hit or miss on contemporary romance. This was a messy, delightful reality show romp. Light on drama, but the robust character relationships are the star of the show.

Loving Mountains, Loving Men - Jeff Mann

The poems here are generally better than the prose, which gets a bit repetitive at times. The poems are also generally very good, and a few of them made me cry. 

Second Night Stand - Karelia and Fay Stetz-Waters

I wish I had known going in that the authors were a married couple looking to tell “a story about a healthy queer romance.” All love to them, but I am simply not very interested in reading a story that bills itself that way! And as you might imagine there was a lot of therapy speak and very little narrative tension. Sex scenes were great, though, and if you want a very queer comfort read you might enjoy this. 

You Should Be So Lucky - Cat Sebastian

Very chewy character relationships. Sebastian manages to tell a story that feels of its time (1950s sports/journalism) while not being deeply bleak, which is a balance that many many queer historical romances completely bomb.

Lady Eve's Last Con - Rebecca Fraimow

Delightful lesbian screwball comedy. In space! 

OCT

Slippery Creatures - KJ Charles

The Sugared Game - KJ Charles

Subtle Blood - KJ Charles

Imagine if Lord Peter Wimsey had a passionate love affair with a gruff and tortured soldier recently back from WWI. That’s basically these books and I inhaled them. Shout out to detectorist for the rec!

The No-Show - Beth O’Leary 🎧

About 60% of the way through this book, I said, oh man, I hope that the twist to this book isn’t [redacted]. That would make me so mad. Well, it was, and it did! 

Drunk on All Your Strange New Words - Eddie Robson 🎧

Scratched the itch for sci-fi mystery, and the premise is fantastic. The narrator does a mostly excellent job but her American accents are distractingly bad, so if that will bother you read the book.

Deviant Hollers: Queering Appalachian Ecologies for a Sustainable Future edited - Zane McNeill and Rebecca Scott

Most of the essays in this are great! Every so often I get in my head about whether I can claim an Appalachian or Southern identity and whether I should do any writing on the subject. And then I read an essay that makes a lot of claims about “I centralize queer, trans, rural southern voices” and then does not proceed to actually demonstrate how they are doing any of that work, and go oh wait I’m actually fine. 

NOV

Better the Blood - Michael Bennett 🎧

A pretty solid thriller elevated by a very solid conceit: a Maori detective is investigating modern-day killings connected to a 19th century execution of a Maori chief by a group of British soldiers. This suffered a little from being written by a screenwriter who very clearly had certain shots in mind while writing (sometimes that works in prose, sometimes it doesn’t) and also from periodic intercut scenes from the killer’s POV (also a convention that works better in TV) which did undercut whodunit tension. Also the main character is a cop. But I ended up finding her sympathetic, which is a HUGE ask given the subject matter. 

The Stars Too Fondly - Emily Hamilton 🎧

Hated this. I tried to be measured in my initial review but every single part of this book was simply so bad. I wish I had those 11 hours of my life back. If this author is your friend I apologize, and also I hope she didn’t base a character on you, because every character in this book acts like a 15yo.  

Appalachian Reckoning: A Region Responds to Hillbilly Elegy edited by Meredith McCarroll & Anthony Harkins

I worked my way through my own booklist this fall and this was one of the best books on it. I kept trying to put it on display at the library but our copy was checked out the entire time. Give this to your uncle who won’t shut up about Ohio. 

The Pairing - Casey McQuiston 🎧

First half of this was way more compelling than I expected it to be, and then McQuiston makes the WILD choice to switch POVs entirely and permanently halfway through the book. And I found the second character pretentious and given to fits of purple prose (he describes the first character as a “superbloom” at one point and also won’t shut up about the most art history 101 pieces of art) so I did not particularly enjoy the book as a whole. I will give it points though for having a pretty non-cringey “hi i’m actually nonbinary” conversation, which is astonishingly rare.

Jonny Appleseed - Joshua Whitehead

This was initially a book club pick for a meeting that didn’t end up happening, which is a bummer because I would like to talk about this book with more people! A lot of lines in this are going to stick with me-- Whitehead shifts through time and place with deftness and grace. If you like K-Ming Chang’s Bestiary I think you will enjoy this-- Whitehead revels in the body in a similar way.  

I Heard Her Call My Name: A Memoir of Transition - Lucy Sante 🎧

If you’re not already a little familiar with the NYC art scene in the 70s and 80s you may not enjoy this, because Sante name-drops a lot. I am, and I loved it-- it’s a lovely meditation on growing old and hitting your breaking point. Sante is also a fantastic writer, and this is an excellent counterbalance to the particular type of trans writing that is very very common online. (Nothing wrong with that writing, but you need a balanced diet.)

The Village Library Demon-Hunting Society - CM Waggoner

I loved Waggoner’s previous books and I did end up enjoying this one a lot! It’s an enjoyable send-up of the cozy mystery genre.

Regarding the Pain of Others - Susan Sontag

A reread for my yaoi zine piece! Not only does this still hit but I think it’s a particularly apt piece of writing to be reading right now, when we are daily surrounded - images of suffering. Sontag, as ever, does not have any neat answers for us, but she does make you think more deeply about the world that surrounds you.

DEC

How to Tell When We Will Die: On Pain, Disability, and Doom - Johanna Hedva 🎧

I loved parts of this, and I hated other parts, which for me is a good sign about a book of theory. I have more thoughts about disability activism and being online that don’t fit into a quick write-up for a book. 

Ramp Hollow: The Ordeal of Appalachia - Stephen Stoll

This took me six months to read, but mostly because I was reading it occasionally on desk and I kept having to return the ebook. It demands a little bit more sustained attention than I was giving it! It’s an excellent overview of the history of land use in Appalachia through the 1930s and it gave me a lot of good context for the mountains I grew up under. 

The Forbidden Book - Sacha Lamb 🎧

Unfortunately, I think I would have liked this a lot more if I hadn’t read When The Angels Left the Old Country first! It’s a perfectly nice YA story-- but it definitely feels YA, and I don’t tend to enjoy reading a lot of YA.

Come Fly the World: The Jet-Age Story of the Women of Pan Am - Julia Cooke 🎧

I still don’t really know how I feel about this book. It does avoid some of the pitfalls of #girlboss nonfiction, but also it falls right into others. Mostly I wish it had engaged really at all with the people these women met on their travels, or like. Literally anyone Vietnamese. 

Exile and Pride: Disability, Queerness, and Liberation - Eli Clare

Oof ouch my bones!!! This hits on a lot and does it with incredible grace.

To Say Nothing of the Dog - Connie Willis🎧

I wish my grandma was still alive so I could recommend this to her, because she would have adored it. Delightful time travel Victoriana. 

The Message - Ta-Nehisi Coates 🎧

I really admire the move of making the entire second half of your highly anticipated book about the injustices you saw in Palestine, and I hope it pays off and every NPR listener who loved Between the World and Me picks this up and reads to the end. 

Everyone in this Room Will Someday Be Dead by Emily Austin

This book reads like a 200-page panic attack, which is not a diss! Really revels in the situational hilarity of anxiety/OCD/something unspecified.

Rules for Ghosting by Shelly Jay Shore

Okay I had to add this one in because I finished it after making my post. This book (contemporary queer Jewish romance with a bit of the supernatural) was so lovely and deeply felt and often laugh out loud funny. The family relationships are the real star although the romance is also very sweet.

[tisanemal]

Take Me To Church – priest!Andrew x OFC

Chapter 6: I Try to Talk Refined

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Andrew Hozier-Byrne, Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags:

Bisexual Female Character, Forbidden Love, hot priest, Catholicism, Criticism of the Catholic Church, Inspired by Fleabag (TV), POV Alternating, no happy ending, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Dominant Woman, Submissive Man, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Eventual Smut

Summary:

About a woman who already deconstructed her catholicism and who is trying to seduce a priest to “save” him from it, as she thinks. About a priest who thinks he has chosen his life path well, trying to bring his “friend” back to church, to “save” her. Fleabag-inspired priest!Hozier romance and smut. What can I tell you. This is for all the (ex)catholic women <3

Chapter 6: I Try to Talk Refined

Word count: 1809

Read also on AO3

Fic under the cut ↓

Andrew

A couple of days have passed and Andrew couldn’t stop thinking about Mary.

He thought about the deep blue dress she was wearing when she came to talk to him. He wished he could see her without it.

He thought about how her long, dark, wavy hair framed her beautiful face, how her full lips curved into a smirk and her eyes sparkled whenever she mocked him; how she dared to look him in the eye so much it embarrassed him. How she made him so nervous, and sometimes it felt like his mouth didn’t have a link to his brain. How unmasked he felt in her presence; probably because of that first meeting. She saw a man in him, not a priest. That was a great problem.

He was laying flat on his bed at the parish, tried to occupy himself with reading, but he couldn’t stop the unholy, disrespectful thoughts. He tried praying the rosary, but it literally meant repeating Mary’s name over and over…

He couldn’t read, he couldn’t pray, he couldn’t take care of himself, what on God’s Earth was he supposed to do?

He decided to do the only thing that had ever helped him focus: go for a jog. If his problem was of physical nature, the solution would have to be physical as well — he lied to himself.

And so he jogged along the river boulevard, trying to focus on his surroundings; the water, the birds singing, a cute border collie chasing the ducks. A big apple tree by the path.

Apples, huh… He thought about those long summers at home when he was a child and how he used to help his father in the orchard.

How he missed eating summer fruit freshly picked from the garden, such a simple pleasure, the taste, the scent… He missed that satisfaction that came with biting into the pulp, getting the sweet juice all over his face. How God in his awful wisdom equipped him with that craving.

Mary smelled like apples… He realized now. He must have felt it when she had leaned towards him at the workshop, but he was too distracted to recognize it then. Andrew wondered why God made some of his creations so tempting.

As the thought sizzled in Andrew’s mind, he stumbled on the path and almost lost his footing.

“Fuck!” he hissed, looking behind. The concrete was buckled from the tree roots growing underneath.

Mary

On Tuesday morning, Mary woke up after not having slept very well; she was a little shaken after having talked to her ex.

She had made a great mistake of drunk-checking Leah’s social media on Saturday; she found her pictures in which she was already kissing some other girl. Of course, as luck would have it, Mary accidentally liked the photo, which led to Leah reaching out to her. They spoke on the phone a little, Mary congratulating Leah on her successful trip and a new girlfriend. Leah talked a little chaotically but sounded really happy, Mary heard in her voice that she was so much more energized than when they were together.

Mary started her day, still not really feeling like herself. While doing laundry, she reflected a little. With their brief talk, Mary had a strange feeling of not really caring anymore about what Leah does. She wished her well and regretted the loss of their love, but she felt like that past year was all they now had in common.

She was grateful for one thing, though; she was sure there was nothing left between them to say to each other. She could start a new life.

***

Later, Mary did some necessary shopping; she stopped by a fancy bakery (she could not resist an overpriced croissant), by the tea shop, then made a quick rundown of the remaining grocery list. Thinking about Andrew, she went to the pharmacy, just in case.

It was the first day of spring and coincidentally, the weather was particularly good, almost 20 degrees and a clear sky. She decided to go for a jog.

So she put on her purple leggings, long forgotten but still fine, and a hot pink sports bra. She thought the colors matched well, along with her running shoes she’d bought mostly to mix up her outfits rather than for workout; she wasn’t really a sports girl.

As Mary closed the gate to the house, she contemplated where the best jogging spot would be; she figured the river boulevard would be nice. There was a path along the river, a couple of kilometers long, a place that always had beautiful views when she was a child. It was no different today; when she got there, just a 10 minutes stroll from her family home, she saw people walking their dogs on both sides of the river, parents with kids of various ages on the playground, an old couple making their slow way through the bridge. There were even some ducks on the water, a rare sight this time of year.

It was all very simple, but lovely.

She wasn’t much of a runner but she needed something to invigorate herself. She started by warming up her joints; then she ran her first hundred meters a little unsure, but she fell into her rhythm soon.

As she continued, she watched the ducks land on the water, the bright sun rays reflecting from it. She hadn’t had such a peaceful day in a long time; Dublin was always too crowded or too loud.

A couple of other joggers ran past her; a teenage boy, deep into his thoughts and with big headphones, eyes staring off into space; a young woman who smiled at her, and Mary smiled back; and a group of older ladies with nordic walking sticks, who chatted through labored breaths.

She saw someone else jog towards her, a figure she thought she recognized.

Of course.

His tall frame was unmistakable; the mess of curls on his head only confirmed her suspicion. It was Andrew, apparently running as if everything was fine. He was wearing a gray hoodie and the stupidest green jogging pants. She stared at how he bounced off the ground, his body in a steady rhythm, almost like a dance. His eyes were directed at the ground, but they slowly made their way up her silhouette. When their eyes met, he blushed.

He recognized her as well.

Then his face brightened in a smile.

When the distance between them decreased, she stopped, and he did too.

“Andrew, we can’t keep meeting like this,” she joked.

His eyes grew a little round, but another endearing smile soon followed.

“Mary…” he replied.

“I didn’t know you jogged,” she said, his body now under her thorough scrutiny.

“It is a lovely running path,” he said, looking around the landscape and putting his hands on his knees and leaning to catch his breath.

“It is. I didn’t know priests were allowed,” her tone was playful; she decided to tease him.

“Yeah, you’d be surprised. Under the condition I don’t admire the sights,” he briefly glanced at her, but quickly moved his hand to rest above his eyes, shielding them from the sun. She laughed.

“I’m scared to ask now, what else are you allowed?” She started stretching her arms over her head, like she thought all joggers do when they stand. He tilted his head to the side.

“Mens sana in corpore sano*, right?” he recited and she nodded at that. As he straightened up, Mary noticed that indeed, he was a healthy specimen.

Mary stared at his broad chest, heaving from the strain, as he clumsily tried to stretch his arms. She wasn’t as lewd as to gawk at the lower parts of him that she really wanted to see.

“Well, I won’t keep you away from it, then,” she chirped, crossing her stretched out arms in front of her, inevitably pressing her breasts together. She looked to the sky to give him an unrestrained opportunity to take a peek. When she looked at him again, he was even redder than before.

“Ehm, yeah… You’re…” he fumbled “You’re running that way?” he asked, as Mary walked past him, continuing her direction from earlier.

“Yeah.”

“Careful, there are some roots sticking out on the path, ehm, like a hundred meters from here. By that old tree,” he warned her, and she thought it was cute.

“Oh, they still haven’t fixed it?” she answered. “It’s been like that longer than I’m alive,” she added. She vividly remembered stumbling over those roots the first time she’d ridden a bike.

Andrew only smiled, and bowed his head again, to say goodbye.

Mary was mischievous in the way she smiled and turned around, and jogged in a way to make sure he had a full view of her ass.

Andrew

Andrew came back from his run. He knew his muscles would make him regret his little trip tomorrow, but right now he was grateful that he gave himself that moment of peace.

Until the distraction.

Mary looked so radiant today.

He took off his clothes, the green sweatpants with huge pockets that served him so well, and his old hoodie he could wear all day if he was allowed to. He peeled off his t-shirt and boxers, throwing them quite carelessly in the hamper by the bathroom door.

Winter had lasted way too long for his liking… he craved the summer fruits.

He decided not to chastise himself with a painfully cold shower this time; he stood under the warm water, his curly hair slowly getting heavy and wet, and tried to relax. He titled his head to the sides, trying to stretch his tendons gently. If only he had someone to massage all the knots out of him…

Thoughts of Mary sizzled in Andrew’s mind. He tried to banish the arousing visions away…

He rolled his shoulders, a little too broad for the size of the shower, as he was always too big for everything. He didn’t stretch his arms because there was just not enough room for him. He did as much as he could, his back muscles contracting and loosening under his pale skin.

All he could conjure now was her shape and her scent. Andrew wondered why God made him such a weak man.

As drops of water trickled down his back, he imagined it washing all the sinful thoughts away. He started washing his hair, which wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but he had decided some time ago to keep it long. He thought that if he looked a little like a caveman, he wouldn’t attract women so much.

God only knew how mistaken he was, about everything.

Notes:

* Mens sana in corpore sano — A healthy mind in a healthy body.

[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…

[darkmaga-returns]

READ MORE: Trump enemies hope he is one Big Mac away from a heart attack

LISTEN: Welcome to MAGAland, our podcast on the latest inside the White House

By LUKE ANDREWS SENIOR HEALTH REPORTER FOR DAILYMAIL.COM

Published: 09:32 EST, 22 January 2025 | Updated: 10:46 EST, 22 January 2025 Donald Trump has ordered a communications blackout at America's federal health agencies, according to reports. The CDC, FDA, HHS and NIH have all been told to pause external communications, including publishing scientific reports, updating websites or issuing health advisories. The directive came without warning, sources told the Washington Post, and with little guidance as to how long it may last. The health agencies play a vital role in gathering and sharing critical information with the public, including on outbreaks of infectious diseases, raising the alarm over foodborne disease outbreaks and food recalls. However, DailyMail.com received its automated weekly FDA recall email at 8am ET this morning. It is not entirely unusual for incoming administrations to pause external communications temporarily, which may be done to help newly appointed officials understand the scope of information that is being released. But some said that if the pause lasts longer than a week or two then it could be seen as concerning. The new president, 78, singled out public health agencies in his inaugural address — saying that they 'do not deliver in times of disaster', referring to what many have seen as a mishandling of Covid messaging.

[tthevoic3s]

From Blood Births Life and Death - Chapter 16

Dust and Conspiracy

word count: 2,637

MASTERPOST

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours in that dark, dusty prison which was the library shelf. Maya was sitting slumped against the wooden wall, letting out a huff or a snort every now and then, often shifting her position. Boredom? Her number one enemy. Being alone? Probably the second one. 

Scott? Junior? The military? The government of the United States of America? All of them came after. 

All that hard work. The perfect plan. 

First, get out of the prison cell, with Mars acting as her bodyguard escorting her for a planned interrogation. Second, run away and fake her death mid-flee, scattering the tracker in the forest, beyond the colony borders. 

Third, sneak into the giant village, get to check out his house, which is empty, and then even get to the library to ask for help, and for what exactly?

Oh, to be restrained between those damn oversized books in that equally oversized library. From one prison to another, great. Outrageous, even.  

And Andrew didn’t even seem to care. Too busy with his stupid work. What was he even doing? The research squad mentioned that period being a holiday or something. Why the hell was he working?

Maya huffed again. 

Well, maybe he had a point in not being thrilled about it. It’s not exactly everyday some tiny allegedly extinct specimen barges in your workplace and asks you to hide her from the consequences of her crimes. But, to Maya, it was pretty ordinary. Trouble is my middle name ahh mentality.

She rolled her eyes, brushing some dust off her hands. 

She stretched her legs, and waited. She just hoped Andrew wouldn’t get too mad at her for dragging him in.

Nah.

He looked at her like she was a little injured bird the first time. She could have kept the act. 

Please, I’m an innocent tiny person who totally hasn’t got a gun in her backpack and isn’t committing any crime against her colony, could you give me shelter? Pleeeeease?

She snorted, her laugh humourless and barely audible. Anyways, Maya trusted her acting skills, and Andrew didn’t seem the type to press too much with questions. 

It could have worked.

It had to work. It fucking had to.

Higgs should have already been informed of her supposed death during her jailbreak, which meant, by all means, that she couldn’t let her be seen by any human being that wasn’t her partner-in-crime. The research unit. So, Mars, Sarah, Riley, and… what the fuck were their names..? The two other guys. Not relevant. She could recognise their faces and it was enough. 

Fortunately they had waited the entire month to plan her escape. They had to make sure Junior’s stalking mission time was over, and, indeed, it was. That soldier was a threat. 

There wasn’t anything her eyes couldn’t catch — at least Higgs described her that way. Always Higgs. She was practically his shadow. Every interrogation, interview, mission, whatever, she was following him. And what about him?

Always praising her and her abilities. 

Oh, and let’s not forget that when they were together in the same room, it was almost like he couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

Maya’s face scrunched in disgust for a split second, and she shook her head. 

What a filthy man. 

Screw Junior and her darn abilities, anyways. 

If she wasn’t working on anything regarding Andrew, the plan could go as Maya wished — or rather, pictured in her mind.

If she was, the squad would have informed her and… well, she didn’t really think of a plan B, but she was close. 

Maybe, just maybe, they had to wait a little bit more? Planning wasn’t her best suit, she’d rather rely on gut feeling and luck. 

Always the goddamn luck. 

She would have probably died the day she stole those documents if she-

Holy crap! The documents!

She wanted to bang her head against the wall. Multiple times. 

How could she forget about them? 

Maya was pretty sure Mars mentioned Junior getting them back to the headquarters, and delivering them back to Higgs. 

Her breathing evened out as she thought about the real course of the situation. 

There wasn’t anything particularly incriminating. Well, at least, not regarding her new goal. Proving that her father’s death wasn’t the so-told accident was a thing, taking part in a wider conspiracy against the most important military leader of a nation-wide colonialist project, on the other hand… 

Maya shrugged.

The documents weren’t that important anyways. Not at that moment. 

They had absolutely no proof, or power over Higgs, even if he was guilty as she firmly believed. 

Her one month-ago old self must have been stupid to think that Scott would have actually admitted his crime there. Like, blatantly. It was obvious, but hey! Almost getting killed by soldiers while escaping got her a giant partner-in-crime — or at least, soon to be. 

If he only said yes.

Please Andrew, be goddamn gullible for once and let me save your homeland from- 

Oh right. 

That was the part she was forgetting. Yeah, the part where she had to tell him that the prize at stake was actually his people’s — him included— lives. 

She ran a hand through her hair. 

Yeah, he would have totally not freaked out. 

Especially knowing how he was about to implode just by seeing a human, or just how he reacted when she reappeared that day, Maya could have easily imagined how his reaction could have been if he knew something of such calibre.

Her brows furrowed, and she took a deep, deep breath. She really didn’t want her potential ally to die from a heart attack. 

That part needed to stay secret, at least until they won against Higgs. They would have laughed about it after the happy ending, right? Or maybe this wasn’t an average American movie with a sure happy ending. Ah, screw it. She shook her head. There's no point in worrying before you break it. 

Maya was dragged back into reality when she saw the enormous book-barrier standing in front of her being pulled away. Daylight finally blessed her eyes again, and her field of vision was immediately covered by Andrew’s wide, confused green eyes. He stared at her for a few seconds, then brought his hand closer to the edge of the shelf, palm up. 

“You can… come out… if you want.” He muttered.

Maya quickly rose to her feet and slid onto his outstretched hand, dusting herself off. 

“You should clean it up here, you know?” She prompted, a small, teasing smile on her face. 

He looked around, seemingly distracted, and before she could register it, her whole world flipped around as he decided to move. 

“Hey-!”

She braced herself, flailing as she grabbed his fingers to avoid plummeting to the ground. 

He just sat down on the nearest chair, next to the shelf she was sitting on minutes before, but to Maya, the whole movement was beyond monumental.  

“Warn a girl, would you?!” She snapped at him, feeling like her face was about to turn green. She had never suffered from motion sickness, but it was a great time to realise she had to get used to being literally manhandled. It felt like one of those “top 10 adrenaline-inducing rollercoasters” or something like that.

“Oh,” he replied quickly, his fingers instinctively curling around her body to steady the tiny human standing on his palm. “Sorry.”

She craned her neck and looked at his face, his expression worried and pathetic as the last time she saw him. She vividly remembered how he, a giant, looked at her, a human as tall as his finger, like his life was in danger. 

“So, weren’t you about to… interrogate me or something? You seemed pretty… mad before.” 

“Mad?” Andrew echoed, almost surprised by her choice of words. 

“No, it’s just- you know… strange, to see you again… I-“

His look was puzzled, like he didn’t know if the whole thing itself was real or not. He didn’t even know how to begin asking the so-waited questions. Instead, he ran a hand through his dark golden hair, and leant back on the chair, staring outside the window as to detach from reality — even if just briefly. 

Maya just stared at him. 

Damn, for being the one who could crush me with a flick of his wrist out of sheer annoyance, he doesn’t seem really confident. 

She sighed, and snapped her fingers repeatedly to attract his attention. His gaze shifted to her.

“Listen,” Maya began, her voice lacking her usual cocky confidence, “I know you might be confused and, well, I guess I’d be too if I was in your position, but I wouldn’t have barged in like this if I really didn’t need your help.”

Lie number one.

She would have, indeed, barged in like that even to just escape from that jail room. Everything BUT the jail room. 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Yeah, I think that’s the only thing I understood since you reappeared. What in the hell is happening? Why do you need my help? You don’t look lost, or, I don’t know, injured.” 

He kept talking, his voice slightly increasing in pitch as he clearly was getting nervous.

Damn dude. You’re making this harder than I thought.

“You really don’t have to do anything — I swear. No trouble.”

Lie number two. 

She was, indeed, in trouble. If anyone found out, and let’s say this one was general Higgs, they’d be both dead, together with Mars’ squad. But he didn’t have to know for strategic purposes.

“And then why are you here?” He pressed.

She gritted her teeth. Okay Maya, let’s try not to feel bad about this, we have thought about this already, okay?

“I just can’t get back to my colony. I told you, my kind doesn’t exactly like yours and…” let’s avoid the colonialist genocide thing, maybe, “ and nothing. I just need a shelter to hide. Please.”

Andrew looked at her for a couple of seconds, his brow furrowing slightly. He waited.

Then, he spoke again, this time his voice was quieter.

“Is any soldier involved in this?” 

Maya stopped, her eyes widening. Soldier?

Did he just say soldier? As far as she remembered, she never told him about the direct presence of human soldiers on the island. And neither Mars nor anyone of his squad had interacted with him before. 

So how the hell did he know about the soldiers? His intuition alone couldn’t be that good.

Her breath hitched for a second.

Scott’s words from that morning rang in her ears again. 

“I want you to inspect the place, bring me back the documents and a DNA sample of the individual she interacted with. One week will be enough for you to prepare for the mission, won’t it?” 

And who were they directed to?

Sadie. Fucking. Junior. Howard.

The ONLY soldier that could have possibly been seen by Andrew was Sadie Howard.

And being seen by a native meant one simple yet crucial thing. She had failed.

She had failed her mission that night, and told nobody about it. Nobody. Not even Higgs.

“Maya?” 

At the sound of Andrew’s voice, her head snapped up, meeting his now concerned eyes. 

She had completely zoned out for a solid minute, her head felt like fuming with that realization. 

THE realization. Something that felt impossible to every soldier in the military academy, let alone to a commoner like her. Sadie Howard failed a mission, and hid it from Scott Higgs. Utterly mindblowing.

As soon as she locked eyes with him, she noticed another thing. 

“That scar,” she pointed to his cheek. “You didn’t have that last time. How did you get it?”

Deep down, Maya already knew the answer, and the whole scenario started to form, brick by brick, piece by piece, in her mind.

She felt his hand shift, his hold tightening once again around her body.

“That’s exactly the reason why I asked you that question, Maya.” Andrew replied, his tone way more stern than she expected. “What the hell are you dragging me into?”

She looked away, her lips pressing into a thin like as she felt the slightest bit of embarrassment — and maybe guilt — creep into her mind.

“A human soldier sneaks in my house, tries to attack me right a week after I first saw you, and then you reappear like this? And tell me there’s no trouble? Are you even serious right now?”

She braced herself, her small hands gripping the sides of his fingers as he kept talking — she really didn’t expect that to happen. Didn’t expect him to connect the dots, but most of all, didn’t expect Junior to fail. 

Standing to what everyone had always said about her, she was unfailable. Yet, even the Titanic was unsinkable, and everyone knows how it ended. 

Though, this wasn’t an excuse for lying — or rather, trying to lie — to him. She shouldn’t have done that, but how could have she gotten help then? She couldn’t spit out the whole truth and expect him to accept.

And now Junior had to ruin everything by getting her ass caught in the only mission she truly shouldn’t have failed. Junior was really great at ruining things for Maya, apparently. 

“Okay,” Maya finally said, settling in a more comfortable position in his grip. She collected herself. “Yes, there are soldiers involved, and yes, I might be in trouble, but you have to trust me on this, I’d never think of bothering you if it truly wasn’t important. Not just to me. It’s…”

She trailed off, both her body and her mind being reluctant, almost trying to sabotage her from spilling even the tiniest bit of the harsh truth.

“It’s because some of my people just… can’t understand, you know? No, they don’t want to. I’m tired of all this,” she gestured vaguely, her hands flailing at her sides, “this nonsense, about all these stupid rules, not trusting you or your kind, not being able to interact or do anything without facing… consequences.”

The thought of her father, of how he wanted things to be, of his project, crossed her mind, and momentarily left her stunned, as fast as it hit her. 

She had to take a long breath, steady herself and block the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

Her voice suddenly quieted, and her head dropped again, her eyes low.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Maya.” He interrupted. Andrew had been listening with almost religious silence to her speech, and when he saw her faltering, he might have noticed there really was something serious, worth it for her to work on, to ask for her help. And who was he to say no? He couldn’t even understand, he couldn’t even quite grasp everything. Gods, he didn’t even truly know her. 

“It’s… fine,” he said, sure, not firmly, but still said it. “I will help you.”

Maya blinked. “You will?”

He exhaled slowly, and nodded in response. 

It didn’t take long for him to physically feel the tiny figure in his hand relax, her body losing the stiffness and tension of the earlier conversation. She even seemed more fragile like that, and that gave him a pang of guilt that hit him directly in the center of his chest. 

“Thanks, truly.”

He didn’t reply. Just sighed, and leaned further against the backrest of his chair, his free hand running across his hair. Even his hold on Maya loosened a bit, and she settled herself so she could sit more comfortably. 

“You owe me two now.”

He said finally, a small, nervous smile on his lips. 

Maya chuckled, her cocky attitude resurrecting at the moment of his way-calmer-than-she-expected reaction. “Yeah, yeah, fair point. Guess I do.”

[emmikatjohnson]

This is Amelia, the curly-tailed bird-horse designed by a Bozeman 7 year old and brought to life by myself and others in a workshop lead by Mr. Andrew Kim of Thingamajig Theatre for Random Acts of Silliness. Photos by Loneman Photography

Learn More About Amelia!

See how Amelia came to life during the workshop

Join Amelia at the Menagerie of the Imaginary Lantern Parade in Bozeman on February 22nd!