#where danger lives 1950

[kingoftheclaudes]

Claude Rains, Where Danger Lives (1950)

[mudwerks]

(via Pulp International - Promo images from the 1950 film noir Where Danger Lives)

[lisamarie-vee]

[oakendesk]

book cover - The Case Of The Crumpled Knave 1950

Rudolph Belarski

movie poster - Where Danger Lives - Jul 1950

artist unknown

[schlock-luster-video]

On May 1, 1951, Where Danger Lives debuted in Italy.

Here's some new Faith Domergue art!

[cabinetofquriosities]

1950

Agatha x Rio AU || Warnings: smut

Fic Playlist

(Listen along while reading)

——————————————————

Rio had been tracking her mark for two nights now. Being a private eye in her time was easy, given that no one ever suspected a woman of anything.

She had been paid by Ralph Harkness to see if his wife had another man on the side. It was a pretty routine case for her to get. She would either get proof of her in bed with someone or of her going to a book club. She hoped for the book club, if just to avoid having some blubbering man who never treated his wife right in the first place breaking down in her office.

She had blended well into the background of Agatha’s life, situating herself as another face in the crowd. When she shopped, she was a few aisles over. When she drove, she tailed her two cars back. Now, she was parked around the corner, hidden on a fire escape in a shady neighborhood, watching Agatha through her binoculars.

While Agatha normally wore elegant dresses, she was wearing something closer to a feminine suit with suspenders and the blouse beneath it having the top few buttons undone. Her makeup and hair were flawless, her red lip drawing attention. She adjusted her suit jacket before walking down the street in wing-tipped shoes. It reminded Rio of something that Katherine Hepburn would wear. She looked both beautiful and dashing all in one.

She completely that she was at work as she watched the woman slid past the person guarding the door into what looked like a private club.

“Shit…” she whispered to herself, not having gotten one photo of her.

She decided to go inside. After snapping a picture of the club entrance and Agatha’s convertible, she left her camera in her own car. She made her way to the door of the club, knocking when she realized it was locked.

The door opened, revealing who she thought was a man at first, but was a very masculine woman.

“Hello, Dolly,” she said with a smirk, “First time here?”

Rio smiled nervously, saying, “Yes.”

“Relax, you’re safe here. Have fun,” she said, stepping aside to let her in.

Rio walked inside, her dark green satin dress hugging her form, falling to her knee. Her black hair swept down in a perfect wave to kiss her bare shoulders. She looked around, seeing women everywhere. They were drinking at the bar, dancing on the dance floor, and wrapped up in each other in dark cozy corners. Rio had known of places like this for certain men who lived their lives in secret, but never women.

She walked up to the bar and ordered a martini. She drank it instantly before ordering another, needing a dose of courage. She had followed others into dangerous and sordid places where she felt unsafe, but this place made her uneasy in an entirely different way.

She nursed her second martini, perched on one of the stools as a dapper woman named Syd chatted her up. She caught sight of Agatha across the room. The other woman leaned against the wall, flirting with a young, blushing blonde. As if she felt Rio watching, her eyes flicked over and found hers. Rio’s heart stopped a moment as she looked away. After a few seconds passed, she chanced another glance, finding that Agatha’s eyes were still on her.

Rio looked back at Syd, who had caught on that her attention was somewhere else.

“Sorry, you were saying?” Rio said, sipping her martini.

“Agatha,” Syd said, catching her off guard.

“Syd,” said a familiar voice right behind her.

Rio just about jumped out of her skin. She was normally so calm when out on a job, but something about this woman knocked her off balance.

“Take a walk, Syd. Your girl’s looking for you,” Agatha said, nodding toward a very angry looking woman.

“Shit,” Syd muttered before running over to the other woman with profuse apologies.

“Such a dog,” Agatha said with an arched brow, “So, I haven’t seen you around here.”

Rio played with the toothpick in her drink.

“Yeah… it’s my first time at a place like this.”

“Oh! Well, welcome to the greener grass. No man in sight.”

Rio laughed and said, “Thank you. It is definitely better than any nightclub I’ve been to.”

“I’m Agatha, by the way,” she said, reaching her hand out.

“Vera,” she said, giving her an alias.

Agatha brought Rio’s hand up to her lips, kissing the knuckles, leaving red lipstick behind. Her cheeks burned as she blushed, her reaction betraying her professionalism. Agatha kept her hand in hers.

“Would you like to dance?” she asked as a slow song came on.

“Sure.”

Agatha led her to the dance floor. In one smooth motion, she spun Rio before pulling her in. Her hand rested on her hip and the other held Rio’s.

“So, Vera, are you married or single?” She asked.

“Single, of course,” she said.

“It’s not always the case here. A lot of women need to hide themselves behind a husband.”

“You?”

“Married. Unhappily. I hoped it would at least be peaceful, but that man is drunk most of the time.”

“Oh,” Rio said, “I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.”

“It is. I can’t leave, though.”

“Why not?”

“He would get everything.”

“You… don’t have anything on him?” Rio asked, unable to turn the investigator side of herself off.

“Like what?”

“Well, if he was cheating..”

“He would still get everything. No one would hire a divorcee either. No, I just need to outlive his liver and hope he never notices that his wife prefers the company of women,” she said.

Rio swallowed, realizing how privileged she had been to inherit the money she had to start her investigation business. Most women couldn’t earn the money she did. Now, she was about to completely ruin Agatha’s situation when she had nothing to fall back on.

“Well, I hope his liver fails,” she said.

“Thanks,” Agatha said with a smirk, swaying with her.

Rio pressed her cheek to hers as they danced. Her front was against Agatha’s as she was held by her. She breathed in the other woman’s expensive perfume, finding herself dizzied by it all. She had always told herself that romance was never something that mattered to her. She never felt that spark of attraction with any man. Now, she felt a rush of new emotions swirling around in her mind.

“So…” Agatha whispered, “Why have you been following me?”

Rio’s eyes went wide as she tried to step back. Agatha tightened her hold, clicking her tongue.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Rio replied.

Agatha turned her head, her face an inch from Rio’s.

“I suppose he hired you. For a PI, you don’t lie very well. Do I make you nervous?” she asked with a cocky smile.

“I.. n…” Rio stuttered before sighing, “Yes. He hired me. I’m sorry.”

A bit of worry and fear flashed in Agatha’s eyes at the confirmation. Defeat settled into her posture.

“Well, I guess I’m going to be out on the street. No way will my parents have a homosexual daughter in their home.”

“No,” Rio said, “As far as I’m concerned, I found you volunteering to help the homeless.”

“Really?” Agatha asked, stunned as a person who had never been given the benefit of the doubt.

“Really.”

“Thank you, Vera.”

“It’s Rio, actually,” she said.

“Rio, that’s beautiful. Well, thank you Rio,” Agatha said, leaning in and kissing her cheek.

Rio’s blush returned, making her cheeks glow scarlet at Agatha’s touch.

“I’m sure you want to be anywhere but here, now that you don’t need to follow me, but I would like to buy you another drink if you’d like,” Agatha said.

“Sure,” she said, “I actually like it here… I mean, because it’s nice to not have men pawing at me…”

“Of course, Sweetheart,” Agatha said with a smirk.

She ordered them both whiskeys and handed one to Rio.

“Cheers,” she said, sipping hers.

The two talked for another hour. Agatha had Rio laughing and Rio captivated Agatha with work stories. The other people around them seemed to fall away as they only focused on one another in the crowded club.

Agatha rested her hand on Rio’s thigh as she laughed at a joke, kicking up a burst of panic within her. The entire night had been so wonderful but also so confusing.

“I should go,” Rio blurted out.

“O-Oh, okay,” Agatha said, crestfallen and retracting her hand.

“I just need to make sure I get some sleep,” she lied.

“Well, can I walk you out to your car? I mean, I already know what it looks like since I’ve seen it behind me all week.”

“I really need to work on tailing people…” Rio said, “Sure. I would like that.”

She walked outside with Agatha on the empty street, a single light illuminating the sidewalk. Agatha rested her hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the car. Rio felt more from that touch than she had from any kiss she shared with a man.

Once they reached the car, Rio turned to face her.

“Thank you for the drink,” she said.

“Thank you for not ratting me out,” Agatha said, “I really did enjoy your company, though.”

“I did too,” Rio said.

Rio leaned in, hugging Agatha. They held each other for a while, Agatha’s hand rubbing her back. She pulled back slightly to look into Rio’s eyes. Their noses brushed against each other. Rio felt something surrender within her. She closed the distance between them with a kiss. Agatha sucked on her lip, the kiss intensifying immediately.

Agatha pulled back, smiling with smeared lipstick, the two of their shades mixed.

“We should go somewhere less out in the open if we are going to continue this,” Agatha said.

“My place,” Rio said, her usual boldness finally returning to her.

“I’ll follow you for once.”

The two drove their respective cars to the brownstone Rio had bought years ago after her parents passed. She led Agatha inside. The other woman pulled her in by the hand and kissed her slowly, pouring every bit of tenderness she had into it.

“Bedroom?” Agatha whispered.

“Huh? Oh…” Rio asked, every thought having vacated itself.

She took her hand as she brought her upstairs, opening the door to her room. She turned on a lamp, turning to see Agatha stripping her jacket off. Rio walked towards her, taking her suspenders and pulling them down. She unbuttoned the rest of Agatha’s shirt while kissing her again. She felt Agatha reach around her and tug on her zipper, pulling it down to release her from her dress.

Rio was left in her stockings, garters, and brassiere. Agatha pulled back, shamelessly admiring her.

“Wow…” Agatha said softly.

Rio tried to avoid slouching or nervously playing with her hands. She was not used to being regarded in this way. Agatha kept her eyes on her as she stripped herself. Rio was rendered speechless in the presence of a beautiful woman naked in her bedroom.

“Wow…” Rio echoed.

Agatha crossed the room, cupping Rio’s cheeks in her hands. She began to lean in. Rio gripped her wrist with her hand.

“Agatha-“

“Yeah?” Agatha said, her eyes still on her lips.

“I’ve never..”

“Been with a woman before, I figured,” she said.

“Been with anyone before…” Rio said with an air of embarrassment.

Agatha looked into her eyes, taking in the new information. She ran her thumb over her cheek.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked.

“No… I just… thought you should know.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Agatha said with a smile, “We’ll go as slow as you want to.”

She leaned in, locking lips with Rio. She sat at the edge of the bed, pulling Rio to straddle her. She smoothly unhooked her bra, tossing it aside. Her hands cupped her breasts, earning a gasp from Rio. Sitting up, Agatha pressed her lips to her chest. She sucked on the skin beneath it and sucked hard. Rio whimpered at the delicious pain as she was marked.

Her hips rolled over Agatha’s as the more experienced woman teased and toyed with her. Her lips and teeth seemed to be everywhere, leaving love-bites wherever she could. Rio was left breathless once Agatha had claimed every available inch of her.

Agatha pulled back and looked at the flushed woman on her lap. Her lips had faded, smudged lipstick, her hair was mussed, and her eyes dilated. She looked ruined for the first time in her life and the fact that she had caused that fueled Agatha. She moved them, laying Rio down. She wanted to keep Rio’s stockings and garters on, so she elected to grip her panties, tearing the fabric. She tossed the scrap aside and kissed along Rio’s inner thigh, making her squirm.

Agatha was driving her to the edge of her sanity. She looked down at her as the other woman settled between her thighs. Rio’s mouth fell open as Agatha’s lips melted into her.

“Fuck! Agatha… please don’t stop…” Rio breathed.

Agatha moaned against her. The sounds of Rio’s pleading made her hungry for her. She circled her arms around her thighs. Her tongue explored her, parting her and sliding inside. Rio let out a yelp when Agatha found a certain spot hidden inside of her. She ground her tongue against it before pulling out. She pressed her lips to her clit, licking and then sucking on it. She slid a finger into Rio, being gentle while opening her up.

Rio was already embarrassingly close to cumming once Agatha began to fuck her. She felt her heart pounding against her chest, resounding in her ears. She gripped her sheets in her fists and twisted as her body gave in. A moan tore itself from her throat as her pleasure spilled over the edge.

Her body shook as she came down from her high. Agatha kissed her way up her front to her lips. She cupped Rio’s jaw and leaned down, kissing her with her arousal on her lips.

Agatha smirked as her hand stayed between her thighs, drawing out the aftershocks while watching Rio closely. Whimpers left Rio’s lips between shaking breaths. She held the gaze from Agatha’s blue eyes as she tried and failed to regain her senses.

There was a glint of mischief in Agatha’s eye as she slid a second finger into her, moving it slowly to allow her to adjust. Rio let out a shocked moan while Agatha sped her thrusts, her thumb working over her clit. Her pleasure built on top of her previous climax, quickly rushing to a new one.

“You’re being so good for me,” Agatha purred.

The praise washed over her, making her cunt clench around her. She felt her walls flutter around her fingers. Her breath caught, her brows bunching together as she looked into Agatha’s eyes. Agatha was left speechless at the sight of Rio cumming. She stroked her through her aftershocks again before sliding out of her.

Rio ran her hand along the length of Agatha’s side, stopping at her hip. She bit her lip before moving Agatha onto her back.

“Hey, tonight’s about you. You don’t need-“

“I want to,” Rio said, “Just… tell me what to do.”

Rio moved down between Agatha’s thighs, looking at her sex with nothing short of fear. She leaned in and ran her tongue along her slid, earning a whine from Agatha. The feeling of drawing that little bit of pleasure from her had Rio hooked. She gave her clit and cunt kitten licks, testing what worked and what didn’t.

“Inside… slide it inside…” Agatha moaned.

Rio did as she was told, the taste of desire exploding on her tongue. She moved and flexed her tongue, looking for her most sensitive spots. She finally found one that made Agatha buck her hips. She gripped her hips and pinned them to keep her from moving out of reach. She felt a hand in her hair while she fucked her with her tongue. Agatha’s grip made her grind herself against the mattress. She was pulled closer, nearly being suffocated in the most delicious way. Agatha panted faster before her thighs shook and her walls collapsed around Rio’s tongue.

Once the hand in her hair loosened, Rio came up from between her legs, her lips and chin slick with arousal. Agatha cupped her face and pulled her down. She kissed and licked the remnants of her own desire from Rio’s face. Rio held her close, the two of them falling into the same breathing rhythm.

“That was… thank you,” Rio whispered.

“I hope your first time was worth the wait,” Agatha murmured before capturing her lips in another kiss.

“It definitely was. Can I… see you again?” Rio asked with an edge of nervousness.

“I would love that,” Agatha said, kissing her forehead, “I do need to go before Ralph wakes up.”

“Right. Him,” Rio muttered.

“Tomorrow?”

“Where?”

“If you’re any good at your job, you’ll be able to find me.”

————————————

6 months later…

Rio had spent every moment Agatha could get away from the house with her. She fell quickly and deeply in love with the other woman. She knew she would always need her in her life.

She waited in her car with a long ranged lens, her camera aimed at a motel. A man walked out with a half-tucked shirt and a woman half his age. She leaned up and kissed him, his hand gripping her ass.

A smile broke out over Rio’s lips at the sight as she snapped a number of pictures. She drove off and met Agatha at the club.

“So?” Agatha asked.

“You have enough to petition for divorce,” she said.

Agatha beamed at her, nearly tackling her with a hug. The two had agreed to have Agatha move in with Rio once the divorce was granted. The two would run the business and spend their lives together. Agatha pulled Rio into a deep kiss.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” she whispered against her lips.

“I’m the lucky one,” Rio said back.

She pulled Agatha out to the dance floor as one of their favorite love songs played. The two danced, holding one another until closing time.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please reblog it!

[marzipanandminutiae]

question regarding your recent Baby It's Cold Outside post about like the man's reputation being fine if it got out they had premarital sex. if they were like, known to be seeing each other, would the judgement on the woman be as harsh? i know courtship, so to speak, was pretty different back in the 50s but it's also still "well if they're aiming to marry anyway"

Oh that's a really interesting question

so, yes, humans have always been human and humans don't always wait until marriage. people ABSOLUTELY had premarital sex in the 1950s. that being said, society was very very set on the idea that women be virgins at least until their engagement

an engaged couple could get away with a lot more as long as the bride wasn't visibly pregnant at the altar and the math worked out for Consummation Post-Engagement. people would still act as if she was a virgin, and living together was out of the question until the actual wedding, but if they knew sex had occurred they'd probably turn a blind eye. however, if you were only dating, you were supposed to at least not let anyone find out that you'd gone further than maaaaaybe open-mouthed kissing

it's not that people didn't know it happened. they absolutely did. there's a scene in Shirley Jackson's 1951 novel Hangsaman where college girls ruthlessly haze freshmen by asking if they're virgins (implied to be based on her own college experience even earlier in the 1930s). also, you know...the song exists and the audience would have known the subtext. they weren't stupid, after all

they just sort of tried to pretend it didn't, among Polite SocietyTM. and if an unengaged woman was publicly known or strongly suspected to not be a virgin, her reputation would be ruined- people would stop inviting her to spend time with them, her family might withdraw support- the woman in the song is implied to live with her parents and spinster aunt -and if she lived in a conservative enough community, there's even a chance she could get rejected from jobs, or fired (they wouldn't cite that as the reason, of course; they'd make up something else or give a nebulous answer about her not being "a good fit" or whatever)

obviously this varied culturally. a woman with limited family contacts who worked in the entertainment industry or some artistic job in New York City or something would have much less pressure to remain ostensibly a virgin until marriage. but overall, yes, judgment could be quite harsh if word got out. men weren't supposed to sleep around either, but it would be more of a "well, he's not very nice" than a life-ruining situation, in terms of disapproval (that was reserved for if he was gay)

hence the need for an excuse like "the weather was so bad that it would have been dangerous for me to come home! I slept on the sofa and not a thing happened; I'm not that kind of girl!"

[book--brackets]

The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien (1937)

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. Written for J.R.R. Tolkien’s own children, The Hobbit met with instant critical acclaim when it was first published in 1937. Now recognized as a timeless classic, this introduction to the hobbit Bilbo Baggins, the wizard Gandalf, Gollum, and the spectacular world of Middle-earth recounts of the adventures of a reluctant hero, a powerful and dangerous ring, and the cruel dragon Smaug the Magnificent.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan (2005-2009)

Percy Jackson is a good kid, but he can't seem to focus on his schoolwork or control his temper. And lately, being away at boarding school is only getting worse - Percy could have sworn his pre-algebra teacher turned into a monster and tried to kill him. When Percy's mom finds out, she knows it's time that he knew the truth about where he came from, and that he go to the one place he'll be safe. 

She sends Percy to Camp Half Blood, a summer camp for demigods (on Long Island), where he learns that the father he never knew is Poseidon, God of the Sea. Soon a mystery unfolds and together with his friends—one a satyr and the other the demigod daughter of Athena - Percy sets out on a quest across the United States to reach the gates of the Underworld (located in a recording studio in Hollywood) and prevent a catastrophic war between the gods.

The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien (1954-1955)

In a sleepy village in the Shire, a young hobbit is entrusted with an immense task. He must make a perilous journey across Middle-earth to the Cracks of Doom, there to destroy the Ruling Ring of Power - the only thing that prevents the Dark Lord's evil dominion.

The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis (1950-1956)

Four adventurous siblings—Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie— step through a wardrobe door and into the land of Narnia, a land frozen in eternal winter and enslaved by the power of the White Witch. But when almost all hope is lost, the return of the Great Lion, Aslan, signals a great change . . . and a great sacrifice.

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery (1943)

The Little Prince is a classic tale of equal appeal to children and adults. On one level it is the story of an airman's discovery, in the desert, of a small boy from another planet - the Little Prince of the title - and his stories of intergalactic travel, while on the other hand it is a thought-provoking allegory of the human condition.

The Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini (2002-2011, 2023)

When fifteen-year-old Eragon finds a polished blue stone in the forest, he thinks it is the lucky discovery of a poor farm boy. But when the stone brings a dragon hatchling, Eragon soon realizes he has stumbled upon a legacy nearly as old as the Empire itself. 

Overnight his simple life is shattered, and, gifted with only an ancient sword, a loyal dragon, and sage advice from an old storyteller, Eragon is soon swept into a dangerous tapestry of magic, glory, and power. Now his choices could save--or destroy--the Empire.

Time Quintet by Madeleine L'Engle (1962-1989)

It was a dark and stormy night; Meg Murry, her small brother Charles Wallace, and her mother had come down to the kitchen for a midnight snack when they were upset by the arrival of a most disturbing stranger. 

Wild nights are my glory, the unearthly stranger told them. I just got caught in a downdraft and blown off course. Let me sit down for a moment, and then I'll be on my way. Speaking of ways, by the way, there is such a thing as a tesseract. 

Folk of the Air by Holly Black (2018-2020)

Of course I want to be like them. They're beautiful as blades forged in some divine fire. They will live forever. 

And Cardan is even more beautiful than the rest. I hate him more than all the others. I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe. 

Jude was seven years old when her parents were murdered and she and her two sisters were stolen away to live in the treacherous High Court of Faerie. Ten years later, Jude wants nothing more than to belong there, despite her mortality. But many of the fey despise humans. Especially Prince Cardan, the youngest and wickedest son of the High King. 

To win a place at the Court, she must defy him--and face the consequences. 

In doing so, she becomes embroiled in palace intrigues and deceptions, discovering her own capacity for bloodshed. But as civil war threatens to drown the Courts of Faerie in violence, Jude will need to risk her life in a dangerous alliance to save her sisters, and Faerie itself.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V. E. Schwab (2020)

France, 1714: In a moment of desperation, a young woman named Adeline meets a dangerous stranger and makes a terrible mistake. 

As she realizes the limitations of her Faustian bargain-being able to live forever, without being able to be remembered by anyone she sees- Addie chooses to flee her small village, as everything she once held dear is torn away. 

But there are still dreams to be had, and a life to live, and she is determined to find excitement and satisfaction in the wide, beckoning world-even if she will be doomed to be alone forever. 

Or not quite alone-as every year, on her birth-day, the alluring Luc comes to visit, checking to see if she is ready to give up her soul. Their darkly thrilling game stretches through the ages, seeing Addie witness history and fight to regain herself as she crosses oceans and tries on various lives. 

It will be three hundred years before she stumbles into a hidden bookstore and discovers someone who can remember her name-and suddenly, everything changes again. 

Circe by Madeline Miller (2018)

 the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. But Circe is a strange child—not obviously powerful like her father, nor viciously alluring like her mother. Turning to the world of mortals for companionship, she discovers that she does possess power—the power of witchcraft, which can transform rivals into monsters and menace the gods themselves.

Threatened, Zeus banishes her to a deserted island, where she hones her occult craft, tames wild beasts, and crosses paths with many of the most famous figures in all of mythology, including the Minotaur; Daedalus and his doomed son, Icarus; the murderous Medea; and, of course, wily Odysseus.

But there is danger, too, for a woman who stands alone, and Circe unwittingly draws the wrath of both men and gods, ultimately finding herself pitted against one of the most terrifying and vengeful of the Olympians. To protect what she loves most, Circe must summon all her strength and choose, once and for all, whether she belongs with the gods she is born from or the mortals she has come to love.

[astra-ryuusei]

"Awakening the Sleeping Giant"

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

flings my creation into the unknown

the brain worms have gotten too powerful and I’m simultaneously dying of skystar disease of so have this 1400-ish-word Fucking Thing™ based on @keferon's mecha AU featuring human!starscream as the the little bastard you can't live with but also can't live without, and skyfire/jetfire as the unfortunate victim of Fate Being a Real Bitch Sometimes and accidentally deciding the outcome of the Space Race

"ulchtar" as a name for human!Starscream was borrowed from starscream's early name (and also Skybound)

also i don’t remember if the corporation that produces mechs in this au was ever properly given a name so i just kinda. gave them a generic one lol

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

Ulchtar is a mechanical engineer working on developing spacefaring mecha. He’s climbed through the ranks based on his expertise (and, occasionally by sabotaging other peoples’ work). Nobody really likes working with him; he’s kind of an ass at the best of times. But his experience with these systems makes him a danger if the company ever lets him go. He could sell his knowledge to anyone else in the world, creating new competition in a sector they’ve more-or-less monopolized. This keeps him from being kicked out…up until Mecha-Corp’s first voyage into the stars goes horribly wrong. After the disappearance of Jazz, the fingers are pointed at him, even though—for once in his life—he’s actually not to blame. It’s decided that he’s no longer useful, and he needs to be disposed of.

Ulchtar doesn’t know this, of course. Not until—after being called into a meeting in one of the downstairs labs—the door to go back upstairs locks itself, and he hears the telltale, unholy screeches of alien beasts around him. The beasts he has helped contain for years.

“…shit. Shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit—”

He starts running. Not upstairs, that’s not an option, but maybe there’s another way out of here. He finds that the door upstairs is locked, but not the way down, and that means there’s still a chance, because if there’s anything the higher-ups here right about, it was the fact that Ulchtar knows way too much.

In a last, desperate attempt to survive (or at least go down swinging) Ulchtar decides to unleash his final gambit. He runs down long-forgotten halls, hurls himself downstairs until he reaches the lowest floor of the facility—a floor where nobody goes. It’s down here that he’ll make his stand and wake up an old “friend.”

The few who know it exists call it the “Sleeping Giant.” Corny name, but it made sense, given it's…well, fucking gigantic, maybe even bigger than Vortex. It was found buried in the Arctic in the mid-1950’s—what looked to be an ancient, alien shuttle, lost under the ice for perhaps millions of years. It was all kept hush-hush, but in secret, its discovery had turned the tides of the Space Race…and when it fell into the hands of what would soon become Mecha-Corp, they quickly learned it was much more than a vessel. It was alive.

Some of the earliest mechs? The huge, bulky ones that never ended up getting mass-produced because it wasn’t economical enough? They owed their design to the Giant. They owed their existence to the many times it had been torn apart and put back together to see how it worked, to the many years it had laid on a table inert, unaware of what humanity had done to it. It was their greatest trade secret.

And the Giant owes its currently-intact state to Ulchtar, who’d thought studying it as a whole was more useful than research on individual parts. Which is the only reason he knows, at least in theory, how to power it on. Hell, he’d even done some refurbishments when nobody was looking. He runs across a table far too big for him, pulling out cables and unlocking restraints. He doesn’t have time for final checks, not with a horde of kaiju bearing down on him. He just has to hope, to scream until he makes the stars hear his name—or he dies trying.

"COME ON!" He shouts. "WAKE UP, YOU OVERSIZED SUNOVA--"

At that moment, the stars respond.

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

He can’t move.

He’s freezing cold.

Is he dead?

How did he get here?

He’s…he was…looking for something, he’s pretty sure. Something very important.

Something so important he’d risk getting trapped under an ice sheet over it.

Who is he? He's not sure.

He wants to go home, but he can’t remember where that’s supposed to be.

Trying to remember hurts too much.

It’s hard to think like this, when he’s so cold and everything hurts and he’s so tired.

He lets himself drift, fluttering in and out of death-dreams that he can barely recall.

Eventually, after he’s lost count of the cycles, something happens. The dim light filtering through the ice gets brighter. Small creatures—the lifeforms of this planet, he thinks—peer down at him, pointing, shouting, but he is too weak to respond.

He has hope, for a brief moment, when he sees the sun again, but those hopes are quickly dashed—once more he’s trapped in walls and ceilings of white and gray. This time, the prison is own body. He’s escaped the glacier, only to find himself paralyzed and comatose. Occasionally he laspses into consciousness just long enough to steal a few kliks of awareness before he falls back into darkness.

At some point, he feels himself revert to ‘bot mode, which is something he'd forgotten he even had until then. He’s vaguely aware that he is being picked apart and put back together by the scavengers, again and again and again. The dull ache of not being whole is the only reason he knows he’s still alive, if this can still be called living.

And then…something changes. Everything goes dark for a very long time. The next time he’s aware of anything, his first realization is that he doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t feel broken. His arms respond when he tries to move.

What?

He sits up, still in something of a daze, taking in the surroundings. It’s a room seemingly sized for mechs, and yet the furniture strewn about is far too small—maybe meant for the scavengers? He has little time to wonder about the whole situation, because he soon hears them—the distant, telltale sounds of Quintessons approaching. He remembers what those are, in a way that’s almost instinctive.

To his right, though, he hears a small screaming noise. A lone organic is shouting something at him almost hysterically, pointing at the entrance before gesturing wildly, and then pointing up at the ceiling. It runs over to a set of controls, pushing at buttons furiously until the ceiling begins to open up. Once again, he sees the sky and feels something like hope.

Then tentacles lash out from behind the entrance, and he remembers this is no time for sentiment. He picks the organic up, deciding to just plop the creature inside his cockpit where’s it’s relatively safe and jump for it. He doesn’t trust the creature, not for a second, but he needs someone to explain what’s going on. Engines flare to life for the first time in millions of years, and he hears horrific screeches as Quintesson flesh is cooked under the heat from his thrusters.

They sail up and up and up until there’s no walls anymore and that feeling of suffocating is gone and it’s warmer than anything he’s felt in millions of cycles and he’s alive.

He lets himself spin a few times in the air. He’s above the clouds and the sun feels like fire on his still-frigid wings but somehow that’s good, it feels right. He wants to just hover here and bask in it forever.

He realizes why the creature is kicking him when gunfire whizzes past his face, followed by a pair of aircraft piloted by the scavengers.

Are the scavengers after him? Or the one he’s holding onto? He’s not really sure, but he also really doesn’t want to find out.

He transforms, looking for any way to shake them off. It becomes a mad, spiraling dance as he tries to avoid getting shot, to mixed results.

He considers the enemy’s design—these aircraft don’t look like they’re meant for spaceflight. Knowing that, he climbs higher and higher, looking to get above these things’ maximum operating altitude. He flinches as a few bullets scratch and tear at him, but doesn’t stop. This eventually pays off, as he sees his pursuers begin to stall out, dropping away behind him.

He hopes his scavenger didn’t get too sick in the cockpit. That’d be a mess to clean up…

…Primus, why am I worrying about that at a time like this? He laughs to himself, though this high up, the air is so thin that it’s barely audible.

He looked down at the planet below—dusk was soon to fall on this side of the world, and he needed to find somewhere to hide.

“…where do I even go from here?”

A knock from the organic, who held up what looked like a tiny datapad with a nervous grin.

Maybe they had an idea?

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

part 2

[sonofhelios2005]

Dead Boy Detectives AU, Redemption. Edwin and Charles are both genuinely good people who got dealt a bad hand but still try to do good. What if their lives took different turns?

Instead of taking Edwin to hell, Sa'al instead senses Edwin's potential for magic and offers him a deal, If Edwin becomes a witch and enters the service of hell, he would be spared any torture. Edwin, a terrified 16 year old facing a terrible fate, agrees. Edwin returns to his bed and pretends not to know what happened to Simon and the other boys. As part of his deal, Edwin begins studying magic and finds he has a genuine talent for it. He also enjoys the challenge that comes with trying to master spells. After a few years, Edwin realises he's immortal as he hasn't aged since he made his deal.

Over the next few years, Edwin occasionally gets orders from hell to place a curse on certain people or to summon demons to Earth. As the years pass, the acts he commits on behalf of the demons become worse. He kills or arranges deals between demons and mortals for their souls. Over the years, Edwin becomes detached from humanity, not particularly caring about his victims. His life wasn't fair. Why would anybodies be?. Then one day in the 1950 he crosses another witch who is far older and more powerful than him, she curses him to endure the suffering of anyone he had wronged, this lead to Edwin being comatose for a year before he wakes, now fully understanding what he's done Edwin is filled with remorse.

Edwin considers what to do, and eventually, he decides to try and help others. He uses his magic to cloak himself from hell. He then travels helping people when he can and takes special interest in banishing demons back to hell. He becomes well known as a powerful but dangerous individual who can be contacted for help with supernatural issues. He operates alone until he encounters Charles Rowland in 1989.

Charles, in this reality, was born in 1950. His dad hates him and is as viciously abusive as the show. Charles attended St. Hilarion's School for Boys until 1966, he stepped in to save a Pakistani boy from his friends only to become the target of their assault. However, instead of running into an attic to hide, Charles runs and is chased into the forest. In the forest is a group of vampires who are basically the British Lost Boys or BLB. The BLB kill everyone chasing Charles and are about to kill him until the leader sensing Charles's potential, offers a choice, die or become a vampire. Charles a terrified 16 year old accepts.

From here, Charles lives as a member of the BLB hunting and killing without remorse driven by the bloodlust of a vampire and the encouragement of the others. The BLB are outcasts among vampires as, despite their reputation, most vampires simply want to live their immortal lives in peace, unlike the BLB who cause chaos for the thrills. Charles enjoys the freedom that comes with being a vampire, and the BLB are more of a family to him than his own parents ever where. Charles grows into an incredibly powerful vampire who, along with his formidable physical prowess, also has numerous common and rare vampire abilities.

In early 1989, after 23 years of being a vampire, Charles unexpectedly encounters his aged father whilst he was out hunting. Seeing his father causes Charles to have an epiphany, he had always sworn to never be like Paul Rowland, but now he realises he is far worse. Charles horrified at own his actions over the last few decades begins pulling away from the BLB who noticed. Knowing the others would kill him if they knew he was going to leave Charles manages to fake his death and informs other vampires about the BLBs location. The BLB are banished from the UK, and Charles is left to his own devices. Charles spends the next several months lost in guilt and even contemplates ending his existence until he encounters a witch called Edwin Payne who had been looking for a base of operations in London and had walked into the abandoned building Charles was inhabiting. (The DBDA office)

The two begin talking, and Edwin seeing himself in Charles encourages him to begin helping others if he truly wants to make ammends. Charles starts helping Edwin in his jobs using his strength and near invulnerability to protect Edwin as he casts his magic. Soon, they become friends, neither having had true friendship for decades. Together, they are able to make a genuine difference and help many people, and after 30 years, start to believe they have started to find true redemption. In the 2020s, they are joined by a young psychic who they found abusing her powers to lie, cheat, steal, and even murder. Unfortunately, this is also when their pasts finally catch up with them, and they once again encounter hell and the BLB.

This won't actually be a story as I have no ability to write fanfiction. it's just my mad ramblings. I changed the year Charles was born because I thought it made sense if he did evil stuff for a long time, I also wanted him and Edwin to be together for the same amount of time as the show. Also, if Charles was born in the 50s, then he could be part of a vampire biker gang.

[kingoftheclaudes]

Propaganda

Frederick Lannington (Where Danger Lives) - Claude was in this movie for not even six minutes. Best not even six minutes of the movie tbh

Colonel Christopher Ferris (Gold is Where You Find It) - A rare Technicolor moment for our good friend Mr. Rains and I honestly loved every minute! He's a good father figure for Serena and he isn't afraid to put that voice to use to defuse a situation. Bonus points for the Western theme and his relationship with his dog :)

This is round one for The King of The Claudes tournament and other matchups can be found here!

Additional Propaganda under the cut!

Frederick Lannington

Colonel Christopher Ferris

[mudwerks]

(via Pulp International - Promo image of Faith Domergue from Where Danger Lives)

[skyfallslayer]

A Stitch In Time || Prologue

-Bucky Barnes x Daughter!Reader-

Series Masterlist

° Series Summary: A Time Heist mission goes wrong, and some of the Avengers end up in the 1950s. Desperately clinging to their lives, they wind up in a place subconsciously. And unfortunately for Steve, and especially to Bucky, they find themselves face to face with someone they wish not to see.

° Chapter Summary: Worried about how his mission may go, Bucky visits a ‘touchy’ place, and recalls the short life he had with you.

° Date: 7/20

° Rating: Teen

° Word Count: 4,569

° Warning: Talks about death/dying; Reference to Suicide; Guilt; Child Abandonment; Talks of Fertility Issues; Alcohol; Allusions to Depression. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

° A/N: The only excuse I have for taking so long to get this out is because I had an expected mental health break. One that was needed. But I'm back! And I'm slowly updating some of my other stories! So be on the look out for those! Also, let me know if I missed any warnings! Enjoy!

The freshly wetted grass squished underneath his boots with each and every step. His shoulders were slacked, but his wrists were tense as he held the delicate bouquet with both of his hands. He was always nervous to be here, even though he’s done it so many times after finding it, the nervousness never went away. The nausea never stopped too… or the guilt… the fear… the sadness. Nothing ever stopped like he so desperately wanted to. Was this a curse he was stuck with for helping to bring another child into this cruel world?

He reaches the end of his line, just a few short inches away from where his toes could touch the stone; The stone etched with words and numbers that made his heart ache. And when his knees felt weak he lowered himself to the ground, sitting back on his heels. With a bittersweet expression on his features, he removes the old lilies and replaces them with your favorite, pearly white ones. The ones you always smelled like when you came back from playing in the park. Who knew he would miss such a fragrance? 

He takes a deep inhale through his nose, and exhales quietly, gathering his thoughts. “Hey, baby girl. It’s been some… time since I’ve visited. I honestly thought I should wait until your half birthday, but…” He trails off, frowning. “But uh, I’m heading off on another mission tomorrow, a… potentially dangerous one.” He chuckles dryly. “You know the deal with those.”

He pauses like he’s waiting for your answer he knows he won’t get, letting the hot summer wind touch his face and through his chocolate locks. He waited for that as his cue to continue on.

“Uh… so…”

It hurts to even think about it.

“I was just…”

Should he even say it?

“Wondering again if it goes south I can…”

Should he repeat what he always says to your grave?

“Be next to you?”

Another pause, this time it felt more painful. It always hurts to be here. It always hurts to say those words because it wasn’t like he had a death wish, it wasn’t like he was afraid of death, he just… didn’t know if he deserved to be next to you. You were his whole world and he fucked it up. Fucked it up so bad that it makes him more anxious to want to hold you, and hug you, and kiss you, and just talk to you. He loves you. 

He’s loved you since the very beginning.

.

.

.

Bucky would have fallen back in shock if it wasn’t for the small bundle in his arms. His ex-girlfriend had just said some words that he didn’t need to hear right now. Couldn’t even comprehend it.

No, it wasn’t, ‘Can we get back together? I made a mistake’.

No, It wasn’t, ‘The baby isn’t yours’.

No it was–

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He asked, disbelief etched in his words. There was also an underlying sense of anger and betrayal, because–

She couldn’t be serious...

Right?

He watched the woman standing in front of him roll her eyes, snatching her purse from his living room’s couch while responding, “I don’t want her. I only had her because you wanted to keep the baby after finding out I was pregnant.”

He nearly doubled over when he heard the disgust in her voice. “So you’re just going to leave?” Bucky asked, seeing his ex now putting on her winter coat. “But our daughter needs a mother figu–”

“YOUR daughter.” His ex snapped, poison on her tongue. “That baby–” She points furiously. “That baby is a spitting image of you. All the way from the shape of her face to the way she smiles. Everything. Which is fine by me, I don’t want someone looking like me out in the world.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak as he followed her behind as she walked towards the front door. Unfortunately, she beats him to it. “As for a mother figure, you’ve got three sisters and a mom. That baby can pick up skills from them.”

She swings the door open, letting in the cold breeze of February. Snowflakes flew in, sticking to her clothes and curly hair. Bucky immediately stood sideways and drew you as far away as he could from the freezing air.

(Was she trying to freeze you?!)

“Dottie!” He called out from the doorway, stopping her on the porch.

She wasn’t even going to look back at him, wasn’t she? Or even look at you? Did she truly not feel anything?

He doesn’t know why but his voice cracked, and although he and his ex’s relationship was always rocky, and they both knew that whatever was between them wasn’t going to work out, he still doesn’t want her to leave him alone with a one week old.

“Come on…” He continued, quietly. “At least stay for a couple months until I can do this on my own.” His lower lip quivered slightly. “Please?”

He felt you shift a bit in his arms, probably from the weather, and waited for her to turn around…

But she never did.

“Goodbye, James.” Dottie said, before trailing across the snow covered path to the sidewalk. 

Bucky watches her disappear into the night, his feet glued to the floor even when part of his mind told him to run after her. It would be a lie if he said that he didn’t want to go after her, thinking that maybe she’ll change her mind if actually begs, but the mere thought went out the door when you started to get fussy and cry.

Something deep within him kicked in, probably that parental instincts he’s heard about from his own parents, and all his attention was turned to you cradled in a lilac colored blanket.

“Hey…” He whispered, readjust his hold so that he could gently brush their–

No.

That’s officially gone out the window. 

It’s just his daughter. His.

He readjust his hold so that he could gently brush HIS daughter’s cheek. To brush your cheek like a soft paint brush across a canvas. “Hey. Don’t cry.” He says, soothingly.

He makes a soft shushing sound as he closes the front door with his hip, before carefully guiding himself to sit near the fireplace. He lays you cautiously in his lap, almost in awe as he sees your eyes peeking open for the first time.

(Y/E/C) eyes. 

So beautiful like the world itself. He almost wanted to start taking pictures.

Maybe later though.

He chuckles sadly, tears in his own as he brushes your cheeks again. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry, I got you.” He said, smiling down. “I got you, baby girl.”

You cooed quietly, staring back at him with a bit of curiosity. The look you were giving him melted his heart, but it also made him feel like he didn’t deserve any of this.

“I’m sorry…”  He croaks, sniffling. “It looks like it’s just going to be me and you, doll. I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

You made the cute sounds that took his breath away again, taking up his whole surroundings. However, if it wasn’t for his military training, he probably wouldn’t have even heard someone tumbling down the stairs. Bucky glances at the living room entrance, finding a certain skinny blond that he called his best friend. He saw his chest move slightly, and could almost hear him panting from here.

“S-Sorry.” Steve exhales, leaning against the door frame. “Your mom sent me down here when we heard everything go quiet.”

Bucky smiled a little. “She got worried?”

Steve copies him with a chuckle.  “Yeah. She wanted to make sure you hadn’t run off with her grandchild.”

The brunette shakes his head. “That sounds like my mother.” He turns his attention back on you, but from the corner of his eye he could see his friend shifting uncomfortably, almost hesitantly, in his spot. His smile grows. “Come here.”

“What?” The blond said, genuinely confused. 

“Come here, Steve. You can see her.”

He stiffens up a bit, looking unsure. “H-Her… A-Are you… are you sure?” Steve asked, pointing towards the stairs in the hallway. “I-I shouldn’t be the one seeing your baby first. Shouldn’t I–”

“Get your ass over here, Rogers.” Bucky said, almost wishing he could free his hand up and drag him by the ear (he was always so timid and too cautious sometimes).

Not even daring to question his best friend’s wish, Steve wandered over and took a seat on the couch next to Bucky. He leans in close, examining the small bundle in the soldier’s arms.

Steve’s big blue eyes lit up with joy. “Wow, Buck. She’s adorable.” He said, as you scrunch up your nose to show off your cute, chubby cheeks.

“She is.” Bucky said, fighting back the stinging sensation in his eyes again. He now wonders…

(Is this what it's going to feel like all the time now?)

After a moment of silence, Bucky threw his friend through another loop. “Wanna hold her?”

Steve held his hands up in defense almost immediately after those words left his tongue. “Oh, no. I shouldn’t.”

“I trust you.” Bucky holds you out a little, a reassuring look on his face.

Steve raises a cautious eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Bucky laughs. “I’ll show you.”

Bucky then takes his time showing Steve how to hold you, giving him pointers and readjusting everyone once and awhile until he has you in a good position. The blond’s nerves seemed to vanish into thin air when he started to see that you were looking at him with the same curious eyes you made at your father. Those eyes of yours could melt anyone’s hard shells at this point.

Steve chuckles, and grins as he gets butterflies in his stomach from you. “What’s her name?” He asks, sparing a glance at your dad for a split second. “Did Dottie ever give her one?”

Bucky shakes his head sadly. “No.” He said, his voice feeling rather small at the moment. “No she didn’t. I’m tasked with giving her one.”

“Have you thought of any? I know you were looking through some books a few weeks back.”

“I have and I think…” He takes another good look at you, making sure the name was the right choice. “I was thinking… (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” The blond repeats back, testing it out like an echo chamber for his friend who nodded back.

“Yeah. (Y/N).” Bucky tests it out his lips as other names start to form. “(Y/N)... Stevie Barnes.”

He looks up in surprise. “Stevie?” Steve asks in disbelief again. 

Bucky smiles. “Well, I heard Stevie is the girl version of Steve, so…”

“But…” His blue eyes look away again, looking completely torn.

Your father raises an eyebrow over this. “But what?”

“You’re flattering me way too much, Bucky.”

“Am I?” Bucky asked, tilting his head, slightly puzzled.

“Y-Yes!” Steve said, shaking his head. “Y-You can’t– You shouldn’t name your kid after me.”

Now it was his turn to be even more confused. “Why not?”

“Because, I’m– y-you have sisters! Parents. Y-You should name her after them. Not me.”

“But, Steve, you’re my brother. Besides…” Bucky shifted in his seat, knowing what he’ll say next is touchy. “I know… the doctor said you might not be able to have kids so… think of this as me… giving you a small piece of that.”

Silence befell, the subject was something that really hurt Steve when he heard it the first time; Hell, it even hurt his mother who was present at the time. It kind of haunted him for a while because what could he offer to a person who wanted to share his life? 

Steve stares at him for a while before tearing up, laughing quietly and looking away. “Jesus, Bucky. You’re making me cry.”

A chuckle. “Well don’t, ‘cause I’ll start crying again.” Bucky says, making them belly laugh. 

The blond sniffles and tests the name out on his own. “(Y/N) Stevie Barnes.” He looks back down at you, his smile returning fully. “Not bad, Buck.”

Your father looked at him teasingly. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Steven?”

“Nothing.” Steve replies, holding back another laugh as he watches you start to drift back to sleep. “I’m really happy for you, man.”

“Thanks.” 

A few moments more passed before you were carefully placed back in your father’s arms, where all he did was stare back at you as you pulled yourself to sleep. His happy face started to falter, and there was a heavy amount of doubt in his ocean blue orbs. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Steve.” He finally admits before swallowing the lump in his throat. He soon felt his friend’s hand on his leg, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Bucky. You’ve got your family and you’ve got me.” Steve said, honestly. “And you know this. However, don’t doubt yourself, you got this. You’re going to be a great dad.”

Bucky’s lip curled up a bit, not caring that he was about to cry again. “Steve Rogers. The man who always knows what to say.”

“What can I say? I try.” He asked, coping with his expression.

“And you think I’ll be great? Even with me being a soldier and everything else that comes with it?” Your father asked, doubt was still just lingering on the surface no matter what he did.

Steve gives another gentle squeeze. “I know you’ll be great. I know you’ll do anything to make sure she’ll be okay. So don’t worry too much, okay? (Y/N)’s going to be lucky she has you.”

Bucky hums, truly grateful for a friend like him. 

And without an ounce of hesitation, he bends down slowly and kisses your sleeping forehead. 

“I already loved you so much, (Y/N). I hope you realize that.” He whispers, lovingly. “And I’ll do anything to make sure you’re safe.”

He swears at that moment he saw you smile.

.

.

.

Bucky brushed his flesh fingers against the words in the stone, tracing your name and important dates. February 23rd, 1936. A snowy, snowy day. Cool and crisp. Although he had to wait and wait until you were a week old to hold you, a week old to realize he was on his own, a week to realize that he truly loved you. No upcoming birthday surprises could top this one. But if he loved you so much then…

Why were you cursed to be underground?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

When Bucky got back home to his apartment, he found himself subconsciously grabbing the bottle of scotch in his cabinet. Although he knew he couldn’t technically get drunk, the feeling he got after a couple glasses was close enough. Sometimes… he liked the quietness in his home, the time to relax, untouched and left alone to be himself; But most of the time, after so many years of being alone in his head, he loathes being alone. Friends and family were everything to him growing up. You were everything to him growing up. 

He still wonders what it would be like if you were here, running around, asking him twenty questions, painting his toes, etcetera. He always wondered what you were like when you got older, the side of you he never got to see. He always wondered what those short years did for you.

Why did he have to get taken from you so soon?

.

.

.

You dove around your grandparents and aunts’ legs as you made your way out of the house, ignoring how your father’s duffle bag, that subconsciously you hated, was laying on the porch steps. You stumble around a bit on your five year old legs, before finding the person you wanted to see. 

“Uncle Steve!!!” You yelled, throwing your arms up.

“Hey, Pumpkin.” He said, teasingly. He wastes no time to scoop you up, and carefully holds you close to him (it’s been years and he’s still afraid he’ll drop you). “Have you gotten smaller?”

You scrunched up your nose at him, shaking your head. “No.” You giggled at the silly nickname, and it all was because you were pocket size.

“No?” Steve said, tilting his head, all cocky. “Are you sure?”

You giggled again. “Yes.”

He grins. “Just checking.”

A sigh came from inside, before the two of you saw your father exiting his parents house, all dressed in his neatly ironed uniform. He looked miserable as he gazed at his bag on the porch.

“Ready?” Steve asked, readjusting his hold on you as he frowned himself.

“Unfortunately.” Bucky mumbled, not ready for what’s yet to come. However, when he faces you his whole expression changes for the better. “And there’s my little girl!”

“Papa!” You yelled, holding your arms out. He takes you in his arms, hugging you gently. “Are you leaving, Papa?”

“Oh, baby doll, I am.” He said, pulling back to look at you. “But don’t worry, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He taps your nose. “Okay?”

You nodded slowly and smiled. “Okay!”

“Good.” He gives you a big kiss on your head, before peppering your face with some more making you laugh. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you, too, Papa.”

“I love you more.”

He gives you one more kiss and one more hug before transferring you over back to Steve. They both give each other a strong hug and pat on the back, smiling bittersweetly.

“Be safe, Bucky.” Steve said, trying to hide his concern.

“I will. You too. The both of you.” Bucky said, grabbing his bag and making sure his voice was stern.

“We will. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Thank you, Steve.” 

He bid them goodbye, and you and Steve watched him walk down the path to the military jeep parked nearby. It was chilling almost to watch, and your five year old mind couldn’t quite comprehend the heavy feeling you felt underneath the surface.

“Uncle Steve?” You asked, prying his eyes away from the moving vehicle. 

“Yeah?” He said, softly.

You looked at him all puzzled, something wasn’t adding up. “I thought you told me you were going with him?” You swear he mentioned something like that to you yesterday. Right?

His eyes look away from you, almost like he was recollecting himself before giving you his answer. “I am. But not yet.” He replies, honestly. His orbs finally meet yours again. “Not until I know you're okay.”

“Really?” You asked, tilting your head to the side with curiosity.

“Sure am.” He smiles once more. “Now, what do you want to do? You want to see what Grandpa and Grandma are doing?”

Your eyes light up at their names. “Yes!!!” 

He laughs at your enthusiasm. “Okay, okay. Let’s go see them.”

.

.

.

Bucky throws a bottle of scotch across the room, shattering somewhere. He didn’t care though. It’s not like he even batted an eye.

Five years old. 

That was it.

That’s the last time he ever saw you.

And that hurt like a bitch.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

He doesn’t know when…

But everything suddenly just…

Clicked.

Memories of his flooded in like a broken dam. He starts to recall who he was before and after the fall. Before and after the war. Before and after everything. So as he made his way to Siberia with his friend, Steve, he remembers something that was like a knife to his heart.

“I have a daughter.” Bucky said abruptly, cutting Steve off.

When he was on the run after the helicarriers fell, he remembers his time growing up in the early 1900s. The (multiple) times he saved his best friend’s ass from being picked on, or the way he took his younger siblings to the park, or helping his mother bake, or fixing the car with his dad. But there were a few memories he was confused by for a long time.

First he only heard little laughs, or someone trying to sing a child’s song. Then he saw little toys and dresses. Then he saw a little face with big, wondrous eyes. It didn’t take him long to realize who she was.

He met with his friend’s eyes quickly, almost getting choked up by an emotion that had been under lock and key for so long. “...I have a daughter… don’t I?”

Steve, who seemed taken back by his sudden string of words, opens and closes his mouth a few times, before settling his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Yes, Bucky. You do.”

Bucky looked away, the confirmation sending his mind spiraling again, and the Captain could tell. He decides to approach this carefully since he knows his friend isn’t hundred percent in his right mind yet.

“Do you remember her?” Steve asked, watching him nod slowly. “What do you remember?”

Bucky thinks long and hard about this. What did he remember about you?

“Uh… I remember she was tiny… always tiny.” He chuckles quietly, making Steve smile. “She uh… had um… (Y/H/C) hair that was kind of wavy when she got older. Um… big, bright (Y/E/C) eyes. She… she um… smiled a lot… I think?”

“Yeah, she did Buck. All the time.” Steve said, patting his shoulder gently as he could see the joy it was bringing to his friend.

Bucky laughs again. “Uh… you used to call her by a weird nickname. What was it? Uh…” He purses his lips. “Po… Potato?”

Now it was the blond’s turn to laugh. “N-No. No. Close… Starts with a P, though.”

“Um…” His eyes light a spark. “Oh. Yeah. I remember now. We took her to her first Halloween pumpkin patch when I could hold in one hand because she was so tiny.”

“Yep. That’s what I called her.” He says with a nod. “Your Ma tried to dress her up like one.”

“Oh, yeah, she did.”

And then it got quiet, and Steve saw the bright light in his friend’s eyes go out when the wheels started to turn again. He held his breath, knowing what he was recalling next.

Bucky swayed on the balls of his feet a bit, looking at the floor. “She was five the last time I saw her.” He says, bittersweetly. “I remember, the night before, I took her to Coney Island, and we just played games and ate until our bellies ached. I got her a stuffed bear on the ring toss…”

Steve squeezed his shoulder, trying to give him some comfort because he knew there was no stopping any memories of you.

“She was with you when I left. I gave her hugs, and kisses and…” His voice starts to break. “I love you’s…. Um…”

“Bucky–” Steve begins, hating how hurt he looked.

“Steve. W-Was that last time you saw h-her too?”

Steve closed his mouth, thinking to himself. He couldn’t lie. He was a terrible liar which the brunette always sees through. So what was the point of even trying?

Cap shakes his head. “No. I saw her when she was nine. ‘Bout to be nine.”

“N-Nine?” Bucky asked, just above a whisper. “W-Why?”

“Um…” He swallows. “I had to…. I had to tell your family about, you know… the train… and you.”

The Soldier went distant. “O-Oh…”

“I wanted to make sure I was the one to tell them.” 

“Oh…” Bucky started to get teary eyed. “D-Did you tell her?"

Steve held his breath again. It was like his mind started to relive that day.

You looked so happy to see him, but he watched that expression vanish when you saw his sadden face. It hurts to take you by the hand and into your room. It hurts to see how you’ve grown, and to think he got to see it and not your dad made the situation a whole lot worse.

He wanted to lie and tell you your dad was hurt. 

He wanted to lie and tell you your dad was still at war and won’t be home for a while.

He wanted to lie and say everything was going to be okay.

But he couldn’t, and felt like it was his duty to tell you what happened to your father, to his best friend.

He knew if the situation was reversed, Bucky would be doing the very same thing now.

And when he did tell you, he hated how you kept on denying it. You called him a liar, and god he wished he was.

“I-I did…” He said, feeling his eyes sting as well. 

Bucky jaw clenches. “A-And?”

Steve looks away for a second. “She cried for three hours.”

“O-Oh…” Bucky looks away too. “I always h-hated when s-she cries.”

With his hand still on the brunette shoulder, he gave him another comforting squeeze. “She…” Cap chokes, his memories flooding in all at once. “S-She um… she gave me her blanket, the one that she came home with. She um, wanted me… to promise to come back to her. But um… I failed at that, I guess.”

Bucky frowns. “Steve–"

“I tried finding her, Buck.” He finally looks at him. “When I came out of the ice, SHIELD managed to give me some of my things from the war. I kept the blanket in my chest, so… I tried finding her, because I didn’t want to break that promise to (Y/N), but…”

“You didn’t find anything?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not exactly.” He whispers, exhaling shaky. 

“Not exactly?” Bucky asked, wanting an answer. “What does that mean?”

Now it was Steve’s turn to look all messed up. Especially since he couldn’t make eye contact again. He swallows a lump in his throat and says, “I’m so sorry, Bucky…”

“Sorry about what?” Bucky couldn’t understand what was happening and it was honestly starting to scare him. “What are you sorry about?”

“(Y/N)...” He sighs quietly, and forces himself to look in his best friend’s eyes. “Pneumonia. She, uh… got pneumonia in ‘54 and passed.” 

Now the knife has dug deeper, chilling his bones too. “She’s dead?” He said, barely audible. 

“Yeah. She’s dead.” The Captain replies, dispirit. “I found the spot where she’s buried. I can take you there if you–”

“Thank you, Steve.” The soldier says, ignoring the blond’s confused state. “I mean it. You were always so good to her, and to think you never stopped looking after all this time means A LOT to me. Do you understand? You helped my daughter when she was at her lowest, and you even found her for me. I thank you for that.”

Steve smiles bittersweetly. “No need to. I said I’ll always be there for the both of you.”

Bucky returns the gesture. “As will I.”

“Now, let’s finish this, shall we?”

.

.

.

“-Bucky.” Steve says, touching his shoulder and getting a small jolt from the man. Surprised eyes fell on him as he returned with concerned ones. “You ready?”

“Uh…” Bucky looked around quickly, remembering it was standing in the locker room changing. He didn’t even realize he had zoned out. “Y-Yeah.” He said, zipping up the front of his Quantum Suit. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Steve tilts his head, the worriedness never vanishing. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Let’s get this mission completed.”

And those were the words that would change -everything-.

(TBC)

-Taglist Is Open-

@navs-bhat @liarasstuff @justmewoo @thed1v1n3

@luckyzipperscissorsbat @like-a-domino @kissesofdeadforme

@audigay

[weirdowithaquill]

ok question how and why was the scrapping of sentence vhecials even allowed in the first place I mean sure irl this isn't that bad but in ttte the mass scrapping of steam engines in the 60s in Britain might as well be considered a genocide did Brittish railways use every loophole and excuse in the book to do this and every other country for that matter

Thank you for your ask! And wow does it open up some cans of worms...

But before we get to in-canon reasons for why BR was able to mass-scrap steam engines, we should probably consider the author's intent behind writing this in - after all, the Reverend W. Awdry was writing a children's book series and went "ah yes, I want this to be a picture children see":

So why does Awdry allow for scrap to happen? Because it happened in real life. Awdry was a massive steam engine fan - he grew up on the Great Western mainline near Box Tunnel listening to engines working up and down the grade, his father was a steam fan, and he himself volunteered on various heritage railways (most notably the Talyllyn in Wales) - this is a man who loves his railways and his steam engines. But in the era he was writing - the 1950s and 1960s - the engines were rapidly withdrawn and scrapped as part of BR's Modernisation Plan. Awdry hated this - Britain was scrapping completely useful engines who had served the country through two global wars for untested, faulty diesels that smelt. If you read through the Forewards from Four Little Engines onwards, you can sometimes find that he is quietly advertising heritage railways by crediting them and telling his audience where the real-live versions of the steam engines in his books are. He does this for the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway, the Dartmouth Railway, the Ffestiniog Railway and of course: the Talyllyn and Bluebell Railways.

Awdry's books were as much a love letter to steam as they were a series of children's stories, and he wanted to make a real point about how he disagreed with BR and try to promote heritage railways to help keep steam alive.

Rev. W. Awdry was also a notorious perfectionist. Remember, this is a man who said that Dalby's illustrations of Percy looked like "a green caterpillar with red stripes" (ouch!).

This perfectionism carried over to the books: Awdry is very famous for his views on realism in Thomas - he quite famously disliked the Season 3 episode 'Henry's Forest' because it both broke Rule 55 - which states that engineers need to notify the signalman that their trains are at a stand in order to avoid an accident - and the fact that the trees were too close to the line, which could have caused a fire from sparks from the engine in real life. He placed real railway practice and its constraints at the forefront of his stories, and it shows.

Mixed together, these two parts of Awdry created the situation where he wrote about the scrapping of engines and the existential danger that it posed to steam engines and their livelihoods. This is the authorial reasoning behind scrap and the mass-scrapping of steam engines being so prevalent in his works - and it is prevalent, from as early as the first story where Edward is bullied by the bigger engines for being used so little and the implicit likelihood that he could be withdrawn and cut up.

With the authorial reasons for the mass-scrapping of steam engines having been answered, it is now a question of how to drill down into canon and explain what these views and decisions made by Awdry translate into.

Firstly, we need to separate two things: sentience, and human. Vehicles are not people in this series - they are very much the closest thing in terms of intelligence and speech ability, but they are not human. They are built out of minerals pulled from in the ground and powered by more rocks dug up from underground. Whether or not you see this as making this a society that enslaves the engines or not, the reality is that they are machines and the property of their human owners. This is a lot like horses - horses love us, even though we own them, and we often love them back. But not always. Horses were and are, after all, animals used for jobs - in their heyday, they were the car, bus, tram and train of society. We bought and sold them, and when they were no longer useful, people often put them down. Which is extremely morbid, yes - but it's an unfortunately necessary fact of that era and their lives.

Now translate it over to locomotives - the iron horses.

Locomotives are built to serve a purpose, and they must be capable of fulfilling their role. They are taking on the position of the horse from the above analogy - and when they are no longer useful, they can either be sold or scrapped. Worse yet, they are the industrial evolution to the horse - the capitalist's beast of burden.

And now I can finally move to answer the question of why the mass-scrapping of engines was legal: there was never any laws to stop them. From the moment the first engine rolled out of the shop, their owners argued loudly and publicly that they were simply an evolution of the horse. If people didn't give horses rights, why give engines rights? They are not human; they are iron beasts of burden. And in the rigid and very xenophobic society of the Victorian era, this worked incredibly well. Engines were trained using the Railway Rulebook to fulfill their job in much the same way you trained anyone and anything to be good at their job, and their culture was dismissed in the same way that Victorians dismissed any non-European culture.

Now, don't misunderstand me - this is not a good thing. This is a laissez-faire system of caring for vehicle rights developed by capitalism to make it cheaper, easier and less objectionable to discard old stock when needed. The government never intervened because doing so would place all the vehicles under their control under scrutiny. Can't have military lorries and tanks suddenly wondering whether or not their roles in war are legal, after all. And it's that worry that led to no nation really looking into vehicle laws until after World War Two - and even then, it was haphazard at best and downright discriminatory at worst. Even today, there are still no solid laws in place to cover the vast majority of vehicles - only those held in museums owned by the government or 'considered to be of cultural or historic importance' are afforded any rights at all - Thomas, Flying Scotsman, Stephenson's Rocket - those engines.

It's not because the engines themselves don't care, but because they simply have no real option to change this. Engines cannot move themselves - the worst they can do is force themselves to break down, and there will almost always be another engine to take their place.

Sorry for how morbid that got, but I hope it helped explain why I think engines were allowed to be mass-scrapped by BR!

[fatehbaz]

[T]hey frequently transgress the spatial boundaries imposed by humans to organize and govern spaces […]. [W]etlands spread out and do not conform to the straight and consistent lines between land and water. […] The smells of wetlands, of decomposing vegetation, of sulphur, were […] off-putting for [British] settlers in Aotearoa […]. Soon after the British-led military invasion of the Waikato region in 1863 and the confiscation of 480 000 ha of Maori lands, [...] [t]he ‘great swamp region of the Waikato’ was described as a picture of ‘desolation’ and ‘stagnant water’ where the ‘ground quaked and quivered beneath’ one's feet, and opened up unexpectedly to suck people down into ‘horrible depths of [the] black, stinking bog’. […] The omnipresent dangers of ‘damp vapour arising’ were deemed ‘highly prejudicial to residents’ health throughout Aotearoa. […] The ‘tepid swamps’, it was reported, poisoned the ‘otherwise pure air’ […].’ The Napier Swamp Nuisance Act enabled local government officials to ‘fill in’ (meaning to drain, establish levees, and build up the soil) any parcel of land deemed a muddy watery odorous ‘nuisance’ without the consent of the landowners. […] [P]oliticians suggested [that Aotearoa] be decontaminated through strategic interventions to remove and remake wetlands […]. Such ideas, which fused medical and socio-economic theories, justified indigenous dispossession and drainage works […].

Text by: Meg Parsons and Karen Fisher. “Historical smellscapes in Aotearoa New Zealand: Intersections between colonial knowledges of smell, race, and wetlands.” Journal of Historical Geography Volume 74, pages 28-43. October 2021.

---

On 24 December 1928 Italy’s fascist regime launched […] a fourteen-year national land reclamation programme aimed at [...] Italy's ‘death inducing’ swamps […]. The Pontine Marshes, a marshland spreading across 75,000 hectares south of Rome was given top priority […]. [T]he fascist regime used an extensive propaganda machinery to promote the programme […] as a heroic quest for producing an 'ideal' [...] landscape [...]. Newsreels documented step by step the struggle […], with Mussolini himself often featuring, overseeing the project, or even working the land. […] Nearly 3,000 newsreels and many documentaries were produced [...]. This was [...] [among] Italy's most important public works project[s] [...], a transformative enterprise that [...] would engage with an "untamed" natural environment and [force] it into a sanitised version of ideal fascist nature. [...] [The marshes] were linked to the idea of wilderness, [...] undisciplined, uncivilised, and unproductive [...]. This policy […] aimed […] [at] removing “unhealthy” [...] areas, through the process of sventramento (disembowelment). […] The construction of New Towns [...] in the Pontine Marshes [...] aimed at producing the 'ideal' settlement [...]. [These newly constructed] municipal buildings often boasted prominent towers [....] reigning supreme over the Marshes [...].

Text by: Federico Caprotti and Maria Kaika. “Producing the ideal fascist landscape: nature, materiality and the cinematic representation of land reclamation in the Pontine Marshes.” Social & Cultural Geography Volume 9. 2008.

---

[I]n Recife in the Northeast of Brazil [...] the transformation of the city was predicated on [...] [a] notion of whiteness that required the enclosure of wet, amphibious space to make dry land. [...] Racialised groups – of black, indigenous, and mixed heritages – and the houses, marshlands, and mangroves where they lived, were subject to eradication [...]. [F]rom the 1920s to 1950s, during the rise to hegemony in Brazil of [a form of eugenicist, modernist nationalism,] [...] [the] idea's heartland [was] the Northeast. [...] Recife is also a centre of Brazilian black culture [...]. One of the key sites in Brazil's slave and sugar trades [...], the city was [...] [a] hub. Many of these people lived in what came to be called mocambos, a word that designated an informal dwelling, but came to mean much more. [...]. Mocambos were seen as [...] the place where exploited labour was kept out of sight. [...] They were also [...] the inheritance [...] of the quilombo - the community of escaped slaves. [...] In July 1939, the proto-fascist administration [...] of Agamenon Magalhães, put in place by Getúlio Vargas' repressive Estado Novo, launched the Liga Social Contra o Mocambo (Social League Against the Mocambo, LSCM). The League emerged out of a tellingly named “Crusade” against the mocambos. [...] Mocambos were characterised as repellent, unhygienic, and dangerous: “the mocambo which repels. The mocambo which is the tomb of a race … a sombre landscape of human misery … which mutilates human energy and annuls work" [...]. These were the decades of the embranquecimento of the Brazilian population through public policies of immigration, miscegenation, and sterilisation [...]. This white supremacist ideology was inseparably a politics of nature. Magalhães wrote [in 1939]: The idle life, the life that the income of the mocambos provides [...]. It is a life of stagnant water. … [that] generates in its breast the venom of larvae, which are the enemies of life. Enemies of life, as are the mocambos and the sub-soil of cities, where the polluted waters contaminate pure waters [...]. Attempts to “cleanse” the city functioned through a distinct process: aterramento, the making of land. [...] Or as 1990s mangue beat [mangrove beat] musicians [...] put it, “the fastest way also to obstruct and evacuate the soul of a city like Recife is to kill its rivers and fill up its estuaries” [...].

Text by: Archie Davies. "The racial division of nature: Making land in Recife". Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers Volume 46, Issue 2, pp. 270-283. First published 29 November 2020.

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with The Hollywood Reporter (2024)

Talking about his role in Showtime’s Fellow Travelers, Jonathan Bailey can’t help but be earnest. It’s a trait he calls out about himself but is learning to embrace, as he notes the importance of the series for LGBTQ+ viewers around the world, and within his own life, where it’s helped him chart a path forward and earned him his first Emmy nomination. 

“I’m so grateful that it’s for something that I can talk passionately about endlessly, and it feels really important,” Bailey says of the supporting actor nomination.

In the limited series, Bailey plays Tim Laughlin, an idealistic congressional staffer who falls in love with Hawkins Fuller, a career-first State Department official played by Matt Bomer. Their relationship begins during the Lavender Scare of the 1950s, when homosexuals were banned from holding positions in the federal government, and evolves across several decades, as the pair contend with the Vietnam War, the AIDS crisis and societal pressure. 

Bailey spoke with THR about the significance of the show, created by Ron Nyswaner and based on Thomas Mallon’s novel, and balancing the shooting schedule with Bridgerton and Wicked, as well as his upcoming role in Jurassic World 4. 

What made you say yes to this role?

I heard that Ron was going to be investigating and exploring 40 years of queer life and experience. But at that time, it looked like I might not be available. I pursued it. And after doing something like Bridgerton, it felt important to me to find something rich and complex. There’s nothing more of a gift than to be able to educate yourself, and also in the investigation and in the performance of it, to live a really dangerous life, but within safety, and, ultimately, write this love letter to those that came before us. I was enchanted by the idea, and there was no part of me that didn’t think it was the punkest thing to do. 

What impact do you hope this series can have? 

By stepping back 50 years or 70 years, you can highlight exactly what’s going on in our societies today. There’s rhetoric we hear now in politics that echoes Senator McCarthy’s speech that’s featured early on in the series. I’ve been in Thailand working recently, and there are so many people across the world now on these streaming platforms that get to watch it, and there are so many people who are living under a similar sort of regime to the Lavender Scare and the oppression of McCarthyism, and so much more extreme than that. I think the impact we wanted was for people to be celebrated, educated, and also for all the people who have lost their lives fighting, and spent their lives having to fight, to pay homage to them. I know this sounds incredibly earnest and sincere.

That’s not a bad thing.

No, it’s not. And that’s one thing that I’ve learned from Tim, because I can see how it’s changed the course in my life, put into focus levels of importance about how you communicate your own identity, and understanding that all of us inherit such a deal of shame, which comes from powerful figures using fear and an aggressive sort of alienation to control people. I’ve had more messages about this than anything I’ve ever done, and more people stopping me and wanting to talk about their own lives, whether they lost their fathers, their uncles, or they were children of someone who died in the ’80s. But then also now I get to live my life.

The thing that makes me really smile is that last Pride month, I was filming Wicked, and when I’m working, I’m incredibly disciplined and don’t really go out. But for Pride, me, Andrew Scott and Jessica Gunning all ended up on a night out together. We snaked through SoHo and had a really good bop that night. And it’s just so funny to see all of us now nominated for Emmys. It’s kind of extraordinary. And you think about that, about how now that’s being celebrated, which is amazing. But I look up and think, “Where are the 50-year-old and 60-year-old gay actors?” There’s a whole generation that’s been lost. That’s why the earnestness is afforded, for sure, and I feel very proud.

The Fellow Travelers scene, where Matt Bomer’s character seductively tells yours to “shut up and drink your milk,” has really taken off, especially after you turned it into a T-shirt collection with Loewe to raise money for your LGBTQ+ foundation, The Shameless Fund. What prompted that? 

I went to present an award for Matt at the [Human Rights Campaign] in Washington, and being in the room with people who were just so galvanized — it was my first American gala, and I was infected by the energy. I had this idea of a T-shirt, and it occurred to me that it should be about the spilling of the milk.

I think we had four scripts before we started, and there was one version of a sex scene, which I’ll leave to Ron Nyswaner to reveal at some point in the future, which was wild, and then when I saw that it moved to the milk. I just thought, this is such an incredible moment of the exploration of power within sex and intimacy. “Shut up and drink your milk.” It feels to me like an incredibly political line, somehow. 

Has playing Tim informed what roles you want to take on next?

Yes, a hundred  percent. Since then, I’ve magically been able to find parts that have similar character arcs, that have something massive to question and to overcome. But right now, I would say that I’d probably be looking for something as far away from Tim as possible, and I’m going back onstage anyway. I started in theater, and I wouldn’t have been able to give the performance in Fellow Travelers had I not done 12 weeks onstage just before it, because it’s so academic and it’s so in the body. You sort of have an exorcism, and you end up being a husk with no conversational skills or anything. But what you do have is stripped-back, pure instinct, which is so great to feel. I’m looking forward to going back onstage next year. But I’ll be excited to see what parts are lurking around the corner after that. 

You’re doing Richard II in the West End, another intense role.

Yes, and equally as sort of questioning and as poetic, I think, as Tim. In between running away from dinosaurs — I just spent a whole day doing stunts [for Jurassic World 4] — I just walked around Valletta with my AirPods on listening, trying to learn a soliloquy, and I’ve managed to get one soliloquy down, so I’m thrilled.

You were also shooting Fellow Travelers, while also shooting Bridgerton and Wicked, right? 

That’s right. The whole experience has just shown me how amazing producers can be. I think it was 32 days in a row where I didn’t have one day off. And I flew back and forth four times. I’d go from Hawk’s house in the ‘60s at the cabin, go straight to the airport, sleep on the plane, go straight to a regency ball, sleep there, then go straight to Wicked to be learning choreography. And at that point, I was so late in joining the Wicked lot, because they’d already started filming, and that also was incredible for Marc Platt to make that work. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of trying to work out the priorities of whether you have to learn the choreography today, or work on your American accent, or pelt your hair ready for another Bridgerton snog.

How did you keep track of all those different roles in your mind? 

I probably wouldn’t rush into doing that again. Music for me, is absolutely key, but it always sort of has been. It was an absolute freefall and luckily, I’ve got patient friends and family, and you just have to sort of sign off for a bit. I found playing Tim an incredibly happy place to be, which is also a testament to his spirit, I think, because obviously it was some really brutal stuff and the yearning and the constant battle that’s going on in his head of questioning what’s right and what’s wrong. But I would say that I was quite good at rolling all the way through and then at the end, I had a five-day holiday, and my hair had died from all the the perming and straightening, because I had to perm my hair for Bridgerton and straighten my hair for [Fellow Travelers]. I was like a teenage beauty advert, doing everything to my hair. I remember going on this holiday and I got to the beach, I sat down in the sun, and my hair was just like floating, whisping off, like breaking away. And I looked completely and felt completely insane.

Why did you want to do the new Jurassic World movie?

The original film Jurassic Park was just a completely life-changing moment because I went with my full family, and it was quite a rarity to all go, because I’ve got three older sisters. Every frame of that film is imprinted in my mind, and the Frank Marshall-Spielberg duo of the films in the ‘80s and ‘90s are just what totally encapsulated, enchanted and inspired so much in me. I couldn’t quite believe I was stepping into something that I so adore, and the script is brilliant. And it’s David Koepp again, who wrote the original, and it just asks some really brilliant fundamental questions that the original film did as well.

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