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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year

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Kiss it better

An: Here is my entry for @flordeamatista's Loveeeeeee Song Writing Challenge. I chose the song ‘Kiss it better’. Love you Alice! Enjoy some angst, smut and action with our bad boy.

Beta’d by the American disaster, @yarnforbrains

Master list

Relationship: Nick Fowler x Morally grey private contractor Fem!Reader

Word count: 4.5k

CW: alcohol consumption, violence (knives and guns), angst, smut (oral - m receiving, unprotected sex - don’t do this) star-crossed lovers, feels, Nick talking a bit of Romanian. (înger means angel)

You weren’t surprised when you ran into Nick. Given the line of work you were both in, it was inevitable that you’d cross paths now and again.

You’d both spotted each other at about the same time, and he raised his champagne glass in salute at you from across the ballroom, flashing you a wry smile. You tilted your head in a small nod in return, before returning to the conversation you’d been having with your mark. You chatted; you flirted, and you simpered, putting out the air of a vacuous party girl, only concerned with dresses and jewellery.

You felt you were getting there, turning the older millionaire in front of you into putty in your soft, manicured hands, when suddenly you were snagged by your arm.

“Please excuse the interruption, but I haven’t seen this lovely lady in quite a while, and we have lots to catch up on.”

The pretty speech was aimed at your companion, and before you could open your mouth to protest, you found yourself whirled onto the dance floor in the arms of the man you hated to love and loved to hate.

“Rude, Nick.” You pouted at him as you looked up into his artic eyes. You took in the subtle changes since you’d seen him last: another small scar on his left temple - no doubt a souvenir from some kind of fight - a few more grey hairs here and there, and a deepening of the scowl line across his forehead. “I had that guy just where I wanted him, and now he probably thinks I’m going to throw him over for you.”

Your heart and your stomach lurched, and it had nothing to do with how he was gracefully leading you around the floor and everything to do with the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“You mean you’re not, sweetheart? I thought you’d at least try it on with me, especially after last time.”

“What can I say, Nicky. Sorry, not sorry. It was just business, nothing personal.”

He pulled you closer, lowering his head and whispering directly into your ear - anyone watching would take the gesture as romantic.

“You cost me a lot that day, înger. Not just money either. It was the connections too. So let’s just say that any loss you make today is just a rebalance of the scales.”

He artfully twirled you away and then brought you back into the sturdy enclosure of his arms. You weren’t going to escape him or get your way through brute force, but you had your cunning and, while you didn’t want to hurt him physically, if push came to shove, you had your handy stiletto strapped to your thigh under your Versace gown.

However, now you were being held by him, your body recognised a certain safety, so you slid your arms up around his neck, your fingers delicately teasing the ends of his dark brown hair. His hands came down lower on your back, almost sweeping the top swell of your ass, pulling your hips flush against his. You reacted instantly.

“Is this your way of saying you want me to make it up to you?” You rubbed the side of your nose against his jaw, his trimmed stubble biting in a way that made you want to salivate.

Why the two of you had never properly teamed up, you didn’t know. You’d be formidable if you did, but it was probably because both of you had trust issues. It was a shame really. Both of you were ambitious, driven, intelligent, and fast on your feet - figuratively and literally. Then there was the chemistry. Neither of you could deny the pull between you, like opposite poles of a magnet, constantly being drawn together.

Sex with Nick was something entirely mind blowing. He managed to perfectly toe that line between being rough and dominating enough to excite you, but not so far it made you rail against it. You were independent; no simpering miss waiting for a ‘Daddy’ or a ‘Sir’ to make you feel loved and cherished. You knew what you wanted and when you saw it, you took it. And despite it being a very bad idea, your mind and your body wanted Nick again as soon as you’d locked eyes with him earlier. You had to promise yourself that this would be the very last time you succumbed to his charms.

You rotated your hips and scraped your teeth down the column of his throat, pleased when you saw his reaction - a narrowing of his eyes and an almost inaudible grunt that no-one but you would pick up on.

“Come on, Nicky-baby. Let me say sorry. You can put your pride aside for that, can’t you? Let me kiss it better.”

When he came to a sudden halt on the edge of the dance floor, you knew you’d pushed him too far, too fast. He unwound your arms from around his neck and stepped back, looking down at you with his nostrils flaring in frustration.

“Nice try, înger. Despite how tempting your offer is, we both know it would be a bad idea.”

Time to go for broke. You smiled at him, coyly and tried to close the distance between the pair of you once more.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you agreed to a bad idea. One last time, whaddya say?”

He snorted then, in derisive amusement and taking hold of both humour wrists in one of his hands, stroked the knuckles of the other down the smooth skin of your cheek.

“Are you that desperate for my cock? Your hungry little cunt not satisfied by anyone else? How very sad for you.”

You felt the heat of embarrassment suffuse your neck and face and pulled your arms from his grip with a sudden jerk. Now you remembered why sometimes you couldn’t stand him.

“Fuck you, Nick!”

“You wish, sweetheart. You wish.”

You spun on your heel and stalked towards the bar, deciding you needed a drink to wash the bad taste of that conversation from your mouth. Fuck Nick and the helicopter he flew in on.

A martini and a half later and you were feeling decidedly more calm. You planned to finish this drink and then see if you could recoup lost ground with your mark from earlier. Part of you wondered why Nick was at this gathering, but given the mixture of folk in attendance, it could be anything from corporate espionage to arms dealing. Everyone here was in pursuit of power and money at all costs. You and Nick were no different than the rest of them.

The problem with a group like this, though, was that it only took one idiot with a short fuse, and an even shorter dick, to turn it into a shit show.

Across the room, you became aware of Nick being in deep conversation with some other men that made even someone as hard as you shiver in distaste. Yes, you were ruthless, but even you had morals - certain enterprises that you would not entertain even as a means to an end.

The conversation turned heated, voices rising to a level where they could be heard above the band. You slipped away from the bar, drink abandoned, instinct driving you to see if you could assist Nick and lower tensions. You were charismatic and had a way with people, especially certain men who could be manipulated by a melodic laugh, a flash of cleavage, and the insinuation of a good time to come.

“Nicky. Gentlemen. Everything alright over here?” They fell silent at your interruption, but none of them took their eyes from each other. You stifled the urge to sigh. Men and their need to dominate one another.

“It’s all good, înger. You run along now.” Nick’s voice was tense, and you guessed that the man he was staring at was the leader of the group. Unfortunately, you were standing closer to him than any of the others, and with the protection of his men around him, he felt confident enough to drag his eyes from Nick and run his gaze over you. His interest made you feel nauseous, but you kept your vapid smile on your face.

“I think she should stay, Nicky. It’s always a good idea to improve the view.” He took hold of your arm and hooked it through his, pulling you close, half in front of him, his free hand poking into the small of your back. No, not his hand. His gun. With only Nick able to see your face now, you rolled your eyes. This idiot had signed his own death warrant, and didn’t even know it yet. And he kept on talking.

“Let’s take this party outside, shall we? Continue our discussions in private. I’m sure I can persuade you to see my point of view, Nicky.”

Your hand inched down leg, to the thigh-high slit in your dress, and you watched the tiny twitch of Nick’s own hands, desperate to be holding a firearm and taking out these bozos. You turned your head to look up at the man holding you, putting on your most doe-like expression.

“But I don’t want to go outside. It’s cold. And the party's here.”

He gave you a rough shake.

‘Shut your mouth. You obviously mean something to my friend here, so I need you to help me keep him in line.”

With as much honey dripping from your mouth as possible you delivered your coup de grace.

“But how are you gonna keep me in line?”

For a second he was speechless, processing what you’d said, but before he could make any retort he jerked as your blade pierced his side, sinking into his flesh with hardly any resistance. He let out a grunt and his gun clattered to the floor.

There was a moment’s silence before all hell broke loose.

You dropped down, out of his slackening hold, scooping up the firearm with your free hand as you jerked the knife from his body. He collapsed, blood pouring from the wound and splattering your dress.

Then the gunshots started.

Whether Nick started shooting first or the goons, you didn’t know or care, but the ballroom was filled with screaming, and the smell of gunpowder mixed with blood. Nick grabbed your hand and pulled you up and behind him, shielding you as he reversed you both out of the chaos, returning fire against the four men shooting at the pair of you.

You plastered yourself to his back, the pilfered gun in your left hand, firing around his body. Nick jerked, letting out a stifled shout and you glanced with him, seeing the darkening of his suit jacket fabric on his right upper arm. It didn’t slow him down though.

Reaching the doorway, you turned and bolted through it along the corridor towards the exit. The pair of you burst out into the chill of the night, passed the startled valet’s having a secret smoke, and towards the rows of parked cars.

Keeping low with Nick covering you, you tried the handles, finally finding one that the low paid teens hadn’t locked properly. Carefully, you slid into the passenger side, then moved across the centre and into the driver’s seat. Nick followed you in, closing the door quickly to extinguish the overhead light.

“Why the hell are you in the driver’s seat?” His whisper was harsh as your hands worked their magic with the wires under the steering column.

“Just keep an eye out, okay, Nick? Let’s play to our strengths here and not gender roles. I’m better at hotwiring, and you’re better at shooting. Also, I’m not bleeding. Therefore, I drive; you clear a path. Oh, and put your seatbelt on.”

From the corner of your eye you saw him shake his head and heard him chuckle, and you couldn’t hold back your smile. However, your concentration returned to the job at hand as the engine of the car roared into life. You heard shouting as the men chasing you suddenly identified where you were.

“Hold on!” You threw the car into reverse, the spinning wheels kicking up gravel as you manoeuvred the car out of its space. A loud bang, followed by a ‘thunk’ let you know your escape vehicle was now being shot at, and the pair of you ducked your heads as you moved the shifter into drive. In a shower of glass, the rear windshield was gone, but that just allowed Nick to turn in his seat and shoot back as you flattened the accelerator, and the car screamed down the driveway. You exited onto a narrow, country road. You had no choice but to turn on the head lamps, because without them you were likely to end up upside down, in a ditch, on fire.

For a minute or two it was quiet, the only sounds were those of the engine and your and Nick’s breathing.

“We need to turn off this road. Might be being followed.” His voice was strained, probably due to the shot he’d taken.

“I know a place nearby.”

He grunted and went silent again. Then a minute later, “Did you have to kill him?”

You chuckled. “You know me, Nick. He pissed me off. Underestimated me, and he only got to do that once. No second chances. Besides, he was annoying you. Only I’m allowed to do that.”

Another grunt, but you could tell it was one made with a smile, albeit a pained one.

The car hugged the road surface, and you drove along at breakneck speed, only slowing down just before you returned off, not wanting to leave obvious treadmarks leading onto the dirt track.

You pulled up outside a small cabin and killed the lights and engine. Knowing Nick was capable of getting out of the car himself, you strode straight to the front door, turning the handle and giving it a shoulder barge in just the right place to pop the ineffective lock.

It was a rustic place, and you grabbed hold of the oil lamp and matches, quickly illuminating your immediate surroundings with a soft glow. The door clicked, letting you know that Nick had joined you.

“Get that jacket and shirt off, big boy. Let’s see how big your new scar is going to be.”

You moved off toward the back of the cabin, searching for the first aid kit and the half bottle of vodka. When you came back, Nick was standing where you left him.

“Swallow your pride, Nicky. Sit and strip.” You inclined your head to the rickety chair next to an equally dilapidated looking dining table, and finally he complied, but not without a deep sigh. He hissed in pain as he took off his suit jacket, and even in the low light it was impossible to hide the amount of blood on his dress shirt underneath. It was obvious his adrenaline was dropping with how sluggish his movements were getting, and after watching him fumble one handed with his shirt buttons, you came to his rescue, freeing them all in a matter of seconds. You helped him shed the ruined fabric and tried not to let your gaze linger on his chest.

Passing him the vodka bottle, he took a hearty swig before sloshing some over his wound. Taking the bottle from him, you gave him the lantern to hold instead.

“Hold it steady - I need to see what I’m doing here. I was never any good at embroidery at school.”

You did your best not to listen to the small sounds of pain he let out as you cleaned away the blood and shirt fibres from the wound.

“You’re lucky, Nick. Just a deep gouge where the bullet grazed you. Good job those guys couldn’t shoot for shit.”

“Stop yapping and get on with it. I wanna go to sleep and try to forget that this evening ever happened.”

“Well excuse me, Mr Grumpy Pants!”

You didn’t take his attitude to heart - you knew he was cross with himself for how the evening had gone down and for letting himself get hurt.

Having made sure you’d done the best cleaning job possible, you threaded the needle, heated it in the flame of the lantern and then dipped it in the vodka to cool and sterilise as best you could. Nick let out small grunts as you pulled the edges of his damaged flesh together, doing your best to be neat about it. You found some gauze and dressed the wound, wrapping the fabric around his firm bicep.

First aid completed, Nick placed the lantern in the middle of the table and you slumped down in the chair next to him. You took a drink of vodka from the bottle and then passed it to him, watching as he took another swig.

“You sure you’re okay, înger?”

“Peachy, Nick. Can’t say the same for my dress, and I really liked this one.” In the gloom the blood stains on it weren’t obviously visible, but you knew they were there. The pair of you lapsed into silence, passing the vodka bottle back and forth, and you trying to ignore how Nick looked at you when you hiked up your long skirt to make it easier to remove your heels.

As you freed your feet from their confines you wiggled your toes.

“Up.” Nick’s command didn’t take you too much by surprise. He knew how much you hated wearing heels. You placed your feet in his lap, and with his good hand he started to massaged up the ball and arch of your foot. You let out a moan at the feeling and heard his small laugh.

“Don’t change, do you, sweetheart?”

“Neither do you, Nick. It’s why we make such a great team. Like tonight. Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“Hey, I think we both got both of us out of there.”

He was right, and you hated to think how things could have ended this evening. There was a lump in your throat as you considered your life without Nick in it. It was getting harder and harder not to admit how you felt.

You watched him concentrate on your feet, seeing some of his rarely unveiled softness.

Fuck it.

You suddenly pulled your feet from Nick's lap, and while he was still momentarily confused you rose out of your chair, closed the distance between you and sat down on top of him, your legs bracketing his thighs.

You took his face in your hands and watched the yellow glow of the lamplight reflect in the mist-blue of his eyes.

“You know how I feel about you, Nick?”

His left hand came up to cover your right, an unusually tender gesture for him.

“I feel the same, sweetheart.”

“But we’re no good for each other, are we?”

“Not in this lifetime, no.”

Nick responded so apologetically, and you felt your heart swell. Leaning forwards you pressed your lips to his, kissing him slowly and sweetly. He accepted your kiss for what it was, not trying to deepen it. Your hands fell to his shoulders and his large ones clasped your waist.

You pulled your lips from his and trailed them down his throat and across his right collarbone. He stayed still, his emotional state only given away by the way his fingers tightened their grip.

You pressed your kisses over his shoulder stopping where the gauze you’d wrapped around his arm started.

“Will you let me kiss it better, Nick? Just one more time?”

“Of course, înger. This last time, and all the other ‘last times’ we find ourselves in.”

“I mean it, Nicky.”

“You mean it every time, sweetheart…”

Your lips smiled against his warm skin, moving back across to his chest. His scent was stronger due to his earlier exertions, and you breathed it in as you kissed across his small, pebbled nipples. You couldn’t resist the urge to bite down on the meat of his left pectoral, and you delighted in the sharp intake of breath that Nick took.

“Înger….” He growled out a playful warning and you laved your tongue over the small marks you’d left. Part of you hoped it would bruise and leave him with a reminder of you that would linger.

Your hands moved lower as you continued to worship Nick’s torso, working on his belt and the fastening of his dress pants. Nick shifted on his chair, allowing you to pull the expensive black fabric down his legs. You didn’t need bright lights to know how aroused he was; the way his cock bounced against your hand from inside his briefs made it more than clear.

Curling your fingers around the waist band, you freed him as your mouth travelled lower. You licked up his length and revelled in how he rested his left hand on the top of your head, not controlling, but just to feel you. You licked him again, just to feel him shudder with anticipation, before finally taking the tip of him into your mouth.

The chair creaked as Nick shifted his weight under your sensual onslaught. You’d done this dance so many times before that you knew what he liked, how to make him lose his resolve. You dipped into the slit of him, tasting the pearly drops of precum that leaked out before swirling around his head and teasing his frenulum.

You sank down further, drawing him deeper into your mouth, feeling his cock twitch as it bumped against the back of your throat.

“What are you doing to me, sweetheart? You know I can’t resist you.” Nick’s voice was soft, almost tender and romantic, and you wished the pair of you could be more.

His hips twitched pushing him further into your throat, and you could feel tears prickling at your eyes. If this was going to be your last time doing this you wanted him to remember it. Your hands rubbed up and down his thighs, feeling the strength of them as the coarse hair grazed your palms.

Nick’s breath was coming out in heavy pants, his hand gripping the back of your head.

“Înger, fuck, I need you. Please…”

You allowed him to tug you away and off his cock. He dragged you back onto his lap, pulling and pushing at your long skirt so that the only thing separating the pair of you was your flimsy lace underwear. This time when he kissed you it was with more passion than before, like he was trying to brand his body with yours.

You rolled your hips over him, both of you moaning into each other, desperate for that final connection. It took you only a moment to reach between you and pull your thong to the side, finally allowing him access to you.

You took him all in, relishing in the burn and stretch, too impatient to feel him to take your time.

“Nick!” His mouth latched onto your throat sucking and biting, his hands gripping your waist as you started to move. There was no romance here, just need and passion and want. As much as you wanted the former, there was no space for it between you and Nick - it would just make it hurt more.

“I wish we could run away, sweetheart. Tu și cu mine, away from all of this, somewhere where no one could find or bother us. Ți-aș da lumea.”

“I don’t need the world, just you.”

His hands were on your back, working the fastening of your dress, pulling it down your body to pool at your waist. He freed your breasts from your bra and lavished his attention on them, rolling your nipples between his forefinger and thumb, then pulling the sensitive nubs into his mouth in turn.

The fingers of one of your hands ran up into his hair, holding him to your chest, and the fingers of the other moved to where you were joined, drawing tight circles on your clit as you rode him.

Three words rested on your tongue, words that you desperately wanted to say, but knew you couldn’t. You both knew there was nothing more for the pair of you than this, and you just had to accept it.

You whimpered as you felt your orgasm approach, repeating his name like a litany.

“That’s it, înger. Give me it. I need to feel you cum, vă rog.”

His words, though starting like a command, ended with a plea, and you knew he was feeling as wrecked as you were.

You cried out, your walls spasming around him as you kept rocking, waves of pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

“Fill me up, Nick. I need you.”

You kissed him, letting him take over the movement as he planted his feet and thrust up into you in harsh strokes, reaching for his end. You swallowed the noises he made as he spilled inside you and you ground down on him, the final darts of your aftershocks shooting through your body.

Your bodies continued to rock gently against each other and you lazily made out as you both came back down. Nick shocked you though when he stood, and you squeaked as he let you slide down his body.

Your dress fell down your legs to land on the floor and Nick toed off his shoes and shook off his pants and briefs from around his ankles. His skin glowed golden and there was still a feral hunger in his eyes.

“Lead the way to the bed, sweetheart. You need to be lying down for what I have in mind next.”

Sunlight shining on your face finally woke you. Your eyes blinked open, and you found yourself lying with your head on Nick’s chest with your legs tangled together with the sheets.

For a moment you let yourself daydream about what it would be like to wake up like this everyday. You watched his face as he continued to sleep. It was strange to see him so relaxed.

With a sigh you made yourself get up, gently easing away from the man you could easily give your heart to. On silent feet you gathered your clothes, quickly redressing in your bloodstained gown. You didn’t fancy wearing your heels, so you stole Nick’s socks to protect your feet.

You felt bad about what you were about to do, but Nick had his phone with him, so he’d be able to sort himself out, sooner or later. You snuck out the door and climbed into the car, finding it much easier to start it up in the light when you could actually see the wires you were trying to manipulate.

Just like last night, the engine roared to life and shifting into drive, you drove a tight circle to turn the car to point towards the track back to the main road. You had a lot of damage control to do after last night, and despite your feelings, as you’d said to Nick last night, it was just business. You just needed your heart to get the memo.

As you pulled away you glanced in the rear-view mirror, and there was Nick, standing in the doorway, in just his briefs and arm bandage. His expression was unreadable as you lengthened the distance between you until you turned the corner and could no longer see him. Why did driving away this time hurt more than last time?

Hurting bad man, and it hurts inside when I look you in your eye.

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @sidepartskinnyjeans @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel @buckyismybicycle

#loveeeeeee song writing challenge #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler fic #late writes #nick fowler x yn

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haggishlyhagging · 1 year

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Effeminacy became, understandably, a symbol of pride at the dawning of GLF because it was precisely for effeminacy that gay men had been traditionally reviled. Moreover it was effeminate gay men who had been the visible standard-bearers of gay male culture. The butch gays had 'passed' as heterosexual and hidden behind their virility. Effeminacy could be associated with anti-sexism because it was the opposite of the masculinity of the ruling class of men. But this crude analysis needed refining. Though feminists might be enthusiastic about the rejection of aggressively male-supremacist traits by some gay brothers, the imitation of femininity was no solution. The radical gays failed to find a way to be men that was not either masculine or a parody of women.

Several of the inverviewees in Men in Frocks state that there are varieties of drag which are politically unacceptable because they do mock and caricature women. Some varieties of drag, they assert, do not do this and could cause no offence to women or feminists. If we accept that any validation of gender fetishism is unacceptable then drag cannot have good and bad varieties.

A closer look at the content of drag shows and the way the gay male audience responds to them should make us critical of the idea that any drag is politically harmless. Nicky, of the drag act 'Lick, Stick and Promise', describes the reaction to their performance thus: 'Apart from the occasional cry of "stagnant fish" because we were women, there wasn't much outright hostility.' 'Fish' is an epithet applied to women by gay men to illustrate their horror at the way that they believe women's genitals to smell. It seems likely that some of the enthusiasm that gay male audiences have for drag acts stems straightforwardly from hatred of women. In many if not most such acts the impersonators humiliate and deride women and revel in women's inferiority. In their act, Lick, Stick and Promise gave a 'blow-job' to a 'blow-up rubber doll'. Drag queens show a subservient devotion to the male organ in the way that women are portrayed as doing in heterosexual male pornography. The poses, facial expressions and accoutrements of the drag queens in the pictures in Men in Frocks resemble precisely the females constructed by men in heterosexual male porn. The queens pout, simper and look through half-closed lids while draping themselves about uncomfortably. This is not the way real women behave unless posed by men in pornography.

Drag has a very long history and is engrained in male gay culture. It is necessary for much more theoretical work to be done on disentwining the elements of drag from male gay sensibility, understanding the complexity of drag in order to move beyond it. Drag and gay identity are still so strongly interlinked, even for political gay men, that it may be necessary for women and lesbians to do this theoretical work. Gay men like Kris Kirk are unable to construct a critical analysis of drag because they are too involved in it. Feminist critics will be accused of approaching drag simplistically. It is about much more than an imitation of women, we will be told. After all, many of the queens in Kirk's book reject the idea that they wish to resemble women. But at the root of drag is the sex-gender system. Drag would have no meaning in a world beyond male supremacy.

-Sheila Jeffreys, Anticlimax

#sheila jeffreys #anticlimax #gay liberation front #drag culture #female oppression #gay male sexuality #drag is misogyny

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savage-kult-of-gorthaur · 1 year

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FOR FANS OF '50s ROCK 'N ROLL, '60s GARAGE, FREAK ROCK, HORROR ROCK, & BRITISH ROCK.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on "Screaming Lord Sutch and the Savages," a CD compilation by rock 'n' roll band SCREAMING LORD SUTCH & THE SAVAGES, released under the EMI label in 1991.

OVERVIEW: "Screaming Lord Sutch was an original, at least as far as British rock & roll was concerned -- with the obvious exception of Screamin' Jay Hawkins, to whom he owed an obvious debt -- there was no one in rock & roll on either side of the Atlantic who took anything like the approach he did to the music, mixing completely out-there playing and singing with mostly strange, dark novelty tunes.

PART II: This collection, 18 tracks of which were produced by Joe Meek, show off the highlights of Sutch's five years on the EMI label, and feature accompaniment by Ritchie Blackmore, Nick Simper, Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Matthew Fisher, and Nicky Hopkins, all future luminaries in the rock world. And between all of those talents, this collection would naturally pull in listeners on the American side of the Atlantic by sheer force of gravitation, as it were.

PART III: As it turns out, however, the music is entertaining in its own right, and at its best offers a refreshing dose of straight-ahead rock & roll: "'Till the Following Night" and "Jack the Ripper" hold up well enough among the novelty tunes, while others, such as "Monster in Black Tights" (think of a Goth adaptation of "Venus in Blue Jeans") are good for a laugh and not too much else; "Purple People Eater," by contrast, is a punchy rendition of the Sheb Wooley tune, and it's followed by a raw (and '70s punk-speed) rendition of "Good Golly Miss Molly" that can stand in any collection, and "Don't You Just Know It" is just as good.

PART IV: They open the middle section of this collection, which is the strongest part, as it has all of the mainstream rock & roll. Among the treats is a surprisingly effective slow-tempo version of "Train Kept A-Rollin'" and a pounding, driving interpretation of Big Joe Turner's "Honey Hush" that has room for a honking sax and a delightfully weird guitar break. And Sutch's take on Johnny Otis' "Bye Bye Baby" is worth the price of admission, even if you don't know precisely who's playing that guitar break; odds are it's Jimmy Page.

PART V: Sutch's own "You Don't Care" also demonstrates that the man himself could help his cause creatively. The end of the disc is devoted to some '80s-era tracks that play off of Sutch's (by then) longtime fame in a somewhat more sophisticated manner than Meek‘s old productions did. These are very self-conscious but effective in a suitably theatrical manner, with several ex-Savages participating: "London Rocker" is a superb Little Richard-style song, while "Murder in the Graveyard" and "Loony Rock" play beautifully off of other sides of Sutch's persona.

PART VI/END: It's all a lot of fun and well worth tracking down as a profile of this singular figure in British rock & roll. And for a change, it's an actual EMI production: this is one that Colin Miles' See for Miles Records didn't have to do for them in order for it to come out right."

-- ALLMUSIC (review by Brian Eder)

Sources: www.bear-family.de/sutch-screaming-lord-screaming-lord-sutch-and-the-savages-cd.html & Allmusic.

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gottahearemall · 3 years

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On This Day (May 5)...Roundabout Comes to Ringsted

On This Day (May 5)…Roundabout Comes to Ringsted

Deep Purple performed on this day in 1968 at the Beat House in Ringsted, Denmark. Ad for the show. Note both the use of the band’s original name and the misspelling of said name. Retrieved from here. This was one of Purple’s first-ever shows, from their very short Debut Tour. This debut tour took place primarily in Denmark, with some concerts apparently taking place in Sweden. While the Debut…

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#1968 #Beat House #Danish Concerts #Deep Purple #Deep Purple Mark I #Denmark #Ian Paice #Jon Lord #Music History #Nicky Simper #Non-recorded concerts #On this Day #Onstage #Ringsted #Ritchie Blackmore #Rock &039;n Roll #Rod Evans

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karlajoyner · 4 years

Text

Crush (Nick x Reader)

A/n: Hey guys so it was brought to my attention and I also kinda noticed that my writing looks clustered as hell on tumblr cause I’m just not used to writing on it. So I’m gonna start typing my stories on Wattpad and transferring them onto tumblr cause it’s just easier for me since I’ve been writing on Wattpad for years. Let me know if it’s easier to read and if you guys would prefer it if I changed the rest of my previous imagines to this layout!

Requested by: Fallonburns (Wattpad)

Warnings: None I think. A kiss? I don’t know if you need to be warned about that. Okay bye!

————

As a member of the school dance committee it was part my job to push ideas and work out any kinks before a dance could happen. That included booking food, decorations, and of course entertainment.

"Come on y/n! Julie and her hologram band could totally blow the roof off this place and you know it" Flynn spoke as I walked down the hall towards my locker.

"Of course I know it Flynn and I know Julie would kill it but it's not my decision. Plus the dance is tomorrow. Who knows if Dinas gonna wanna add another entertainer for the night besides you?" I spoke to one of my longest friends.

"Well will you at least put in a good word?"

"I'll see what I can do" I said putting in my locker combination.

"Yes! Thank you"

Seconds later I groaned feeling my body particularly my head collide with the small metal door in a split second.

"Y/n!" I heard Flynn shout helping me regain my balance.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry" I heard a familiar voice making my heart rate pick up.

"Nick" I panted attempting to recover the air that was just knocked out of me.

"Y/n I didn't mean to really. Ethan threw the ball and I tried to catch it I-I'm sorry"

"It's cool. I'm totally fine" I attempted to play it off as I grabbed my binder from my locker.

"If totally fine means you've got a concussion then yeah you seem great" Flynn said making me scowl at her.

"Do you need to go to the nurse? I can walk you if you want" He said putting a hand on my head exactly where it had made contact with my locker door.

"Nick I'm fine really" I smiled removing his hand. I finally made eye contact with the boy who stood there smiling back at me. His beautiful blue eyes taking my breath away once more. Knocking out of the trance I glanced back at Flynn to see her eyeing me suspiciously.

“Are you sure?”

"Positive. I've gotta get to class. I'll see you later" I said pulling Flynn away from the scene in a hurry.

"Yeah, later" Nick called out to us as we continued down the hall.

"Seriously? Nick? What is it with that boy? I mean first Julie now you"

"Now me what? I don't like Nick. Julie likes Nick"

"Yeah if Nicks name started with L and rhymed with Duke" I looked at the girl in confusion.

"What?"

"Nothing. Julie doesn't like Nick anymore but it seems you do and as one of your oldest friends I think it's my job to tell you to go for it"

"Last time you told me to go for something I ended up on the school dance committee. I have 500 balloons to blow up by tomorrow" I said walking towards Carrie and Kayla. Kayla sent me a smile earning a pointed look from Carrie.

"Kayla. Carrie. I hope to see you guys at the dance this Thursday" I spoke smiling at the two girls.

"Sounds interesting. But I'm busy with Nick. You know MY boyfriend" She said putting emphasis on the word my.

"Plus if Flynn's gonna DJ I just don't know if I'd make it through the night"

I put an arm in front of Flynn to hold her back before turning back to the two girls.

"Well take a flyer anyways just in case" I grinned taking one from the stack in my binder.

"Thanks" Kayla said taking the flyer out of my hands.

"I hope to see you there" I sent the two another fake smile before walking away with Flynn to our next class.

"How do you talk to her without going off on her?"

"Well for starters it takes a lot of patience. They don't say fake it til you make it for nothing" I giggled along with Flynn as she looped her arm around my own.

I strutted down the hall walking towards music room where I knew Flynn and Julie would be at this time excited to give them the news.

Suddenly I felt someone grab my arm and spin me around to face them.

“Oh Nick" I said looking up at the boy in front of me. A blush creeping onto my face as I noticed the intense look he was sending me.

"What's up?" I questioned cautiously.

"We're friends right?"

"Yeah of course why?"

"I need a favor"

"A favor? A favor like what?" I asked watching his gaze flicker to our right. I turned to see Carrie and the rest of dirty candy walking towards us.

Before I could process what came next my body collided with the cold metal lockers behind me as Nick pushed his lips onto mine.

I slowly melted into the kiss wrapping my arms around his neck pulling him closer. But he didn't seem to mind.

"Nick" Carries voice interrupted what had soon become a make out session. The boy in front of me pulled away first keeping his hands firmly on my waist.

"Oh Carrie. What do you want?"

"We need to talk"

"I'm a little busy here" He said tilting his head towards me.

"Well become unbusy"

"I would but we have nothing to talk about. I told you yesterday we're over and that's it"

"We're not over until I say we're over"

"I'd say your pretty over"

"Oh shut it y/n. I know this is fake because Nick would never like a girl like you. I mean look at yourself. Pathetic" She talked with anger evident in her voice.

"Don't talk to her like that" Nick spoke turning to stand in front of me.

“Nick it's fine. She's right"

"No she's not. I'd rather be with someone who's kind, gentle, and doesn't have the personality of a mountain lion" Nick said glaring at Carrie who stood there with a smirk.

"You'll be back Nicky. See you Friday at the dance" She said walking away her posse hot on her tail.

"Thanks for sticking up for me Nick. You didn't have to. And sorry if I wasn't believable enough"

"You were great. Amazing! And I'll always stick up for you. You know that" He said smiling down at me.

"I know. I'd just prefer it if every time we met you didn't push me against the lockers. They’re cold and made out of metal you know?" I joked making him chuckle.

"Yeah sorry about that. And I'm sorry for dragging you into this. It's just Carrie won't leave me alone"

"I kinda figured when you shoved your tongue down my throat" I giggled watching a cute grin form on his face.

"Yeah yeah. I didn't hear you complaining"

"Well I mean you're not the worst kisser" I said biting my lip watching him get flustered.

"I can do better than that. I was just under pressure"

"Then I guess you'll have to prove it to me later" I spoke confidently before turning around walking in the direction I was heading.

"Hey! Wait!" He called out after me. "Yeah?" I questioned turning around.

"Are you going to the dance?" He asked shoving his hands in his pocket

"Yeah I have to. I kinda helped planned it" I called back smiling at him.

"So I'll see you there"

"See you there" I spoke turning back around reaching the end of the hall.

I pushed open the doors to the band room open only to hear a loud thud.

"Flynn?" I questioned seeing the girl on the ground.

"Are you okay?" I asked helping her up

"She's fine" Someone else in the room spoke.

"Oh hey Julie" I grinned at the girl who sat at the piano.

"Hey y/n"

"So are you gonna explain to me why you were on the floor?"

"Sure just as soon as you explain to me why Nick had you pushed up against the lockers" My face fell in embarrassment as I looked at Julie in panic.

"Julie it's not-"

"It's okay y/n. I'm over him. I kinda moved onto someone else"

"Really?"

"Really. You have my blessing" She confirmed with a grin.

"Thanks. Now that that's over. You were spying on me weren't you?" I questioned turning to Flynn.

"Whaaat no. I would never"

"She was spying" Julie confirmed for me once more.

"Thought so. I'll explain everything later I came to find you guys cause I have great news" I grinned pulling out a flyer from my backpack.

"Performing at Thursday nights dance is Julie and her hologram band" I smiled showing Flynn the paper.

"Wait what?" Julie asked with a surprised look on her face.

"I haven't told her"

"You haven't told her?" I asked with an exasperated look knowing this was gonna be a long evening.

It was Thursday night and I was running around making sure everything was going according to plan.

“Hey how’s she doing?” I asked Flynn nervously biting my lip.

“Not good. Her band she can’t get a hold of them......literally” Flynn explained making me nod my head.

“It’s just it’s 11:20 already”

“I know but this means a lot to her”

“I understand. Just keep stalling with your amazing dj skills” I smiled giving the girl a thumbs up.

“Thanks y/n. You’ve been running around all night why don’t you take a break?”

“I can’t even if I wanted to”

“Come on! Look Nicks been staring at you all night. If you pull him on the dance floor I’ll play something smooth. Something slow” She smirked at me bumping my shoulder.

“No you will not” I warned the girl. Looking over to the blonde boy who was evidently looking our way. Looking at me. He sent me a smile to which I smiled back at.

“Try me” She said making me playfully roll my eyes.

“I’ve gotta go” I spoke watching Daisy at the punch table wave me over.

“Duty calls” Flynn said before I walked away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked the brunette reaching the table on the far end of the gym.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom can you serve punch for like 5 minutes”

“Sure” I smiled moving behind the table taking the apron out of her hands. I threw it over my neck attempting to tie it from the back.

“I’ve got it” Someone spoke from behind me taking the strings away and tying them in a perfect knot.

“Nick. Thank you” I simpered at the boy who moved around the table to stand in front of me.

“No problem. I’m glad I finally got you alone. You look great by the way”

“I know this apron is pretty great huh?” I toyed with the boy.

“You can make anything look good”

“I try. Punch?” I asked holding up a plastic cup.

“Please” I quickly served him a cup handing it over to him.

“Thanks. You did amazing with this whole dance”

“Yeah well Dina wanted it to be perfect since it’s our first dance of the year”

“Dina did not disappoint. Neither did you of course. Promise you’ll save me a dance” He asked my cheeks heating up.

Abruptly I felt a tap on my shoulder to see Daisy was back. I handed her back the apron before moving around the table where Nick was.

“Or we could dance now?” I suggested watching him put his cup down.

“Sounds good m’lady” He spoke sticking his hand out for me. I giggled taking it and letting him sweep me towards the dance floor.

I laughed along with him as he began to dance goofily to the music purposely.

“You have an amazing laugh”

“Nick if you don’t stop complimenting me it’s gonna look like I put on 10 pounds of blush by the end of the night”

“Well you don’t need makeup you know”

“That’s what all guys say until they see what you really look like”

“Well you’ve always been naturally beautiful. Even in 8th grade when you wore no makeup at all”

“Don’t remind me I looked terrible”

“Not to me you didn’t” He said looking into my eyes. For a split moment the world around us stopped moving and it felt like we were the only ones in the room.

At least until I felt someone bump into me pushing me forward into the boy.

“I’m so sorry” I said realizing his hands had caught my body.

“It’s cool are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah y/n are you okay?” A familiar voice asked from behind me.

I turned around to come face to face with Carrie who stood there with a devilish look in her eye.

“I’m fine”

“Oh how unfortunate. You know I didn’t see you as the dancing type. You’ve always had two left feet”

“Leave her alone Carrie” Nick spoke attempting to move forward. I put my arm up to hold him back.

“No Nick it’s ok she’s not worth my time or yours”

“Whatever. This dance is lame anyways”

“Then maybe go home”

“I will. Nick care to join me?” She smirked dangling her plastic cup in her hands.

“No I’m having a good time here” Nick spoke intertwining his hand with mine. I looked down slightly smiling at the gesture.

“Wow. Fine have fun.......with her” Carrie said moving to pass by me.

I suddenly gasped feeling a cold sensation hit my body.

“Oops sorry” The witch spoke before walking away.

“What’s her problem?” I asked ready to go after her only to be held back.

“Hey, you said it yourself. She’s not worth our time” Nick whispered holding me by my shoulders.

“Your right. I don’t even think it’s worth trying to clean this up” I said pointing out the red stain on the side of my dress.

“Here. It isn’t exactly cute but it’ll help cover up the stain” He said putting his jean jacket over my shoulders.

“It’s perfect. Thanks Nick. For everything”

“This is one of the last few songs of the night. Dedicated to a very special friend of mine so grab your partners close and tell HIM or her how you feel” Flynn’s voice rang through the gym speakers.

A slow song beginning to play throughout the gym. Couples beginning to form on the dance floor.

I looked up at the girl on the stage to see her send me a quick wink. Playfully rolling my eyes I looked back at the boy in front of me, his hand lingering in the air.

“Can I have this dance?”

“Of course” I grinned taking it. Allowing him to pull me close.

We swayed side to side along to music with smiles plastered on our faces.

“You know I never thought I’d finally get here”

“Finally?” I asked pulling away looking up at him.

“Guess it’s now or never huh? Okay. Y/n I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time. So long Carrie started to notice. After she found out I rammed you into the lockers the other day she went crazy”

“Really? She was that jealous”

“Insanely. But after I talked to you that day I realized this crush wasn’t going anywhere”

“You know I’m really glad to hear you say that Nick cause I feel the same way”

“That’s good. Because I can finally prove you so wrong” He smirked leaning down and pulling me into a passionate kiss. The first (technically second) one of the many that were yet to come.

————

Up next: Jeremy Shada x Reader

Charlie Gillespie x Reader (Smut)

Owen Patrick Joyner x Reader

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randomingoftherandomness · 4 years

Note

In Baby Driver a character tells their husband “it was real romantic when you killed that guy for me” and he responds “Which one? The guy who robbed you, the guy who called you a whore, or the guy who looked at you funny?” and that kinda jibes with your versions of Joe and Nicky, honestly. Could you write something where they’re sort of killing in the name of one another?

LISTEN NONNIE. I AM NOT SAYING THAT I MADE AN UNHOLY SCREECH THE FREQUENCY THAT COULD ONLY BE HEARD BY DOGS. BUT. I MADE A SCREECH.

(Alas, no, today will not be the day I stop writing soft team bonding moments where Book is back in the fold)

Thanks ✌🏼 I hope you like this x

Tagging the loml @colourr-ing coz they said they wanted to read this too.

It’s the hour in the night that was more morning than sleep. Andy has her head pillowed on hands behind her, face tilted to the stars. The contentment she feels at the way she is surrounded by every single person she holds dear is something that threatens to overflow the love she has in her heart but it is one emotion she gladly sits with.

Looking over at Quynh half-dozing against her thigh, so very warm and very much alive, and here right with her, she has a moment to think, yes, I could live with this.

Booker is quiet, taking a backseat to the conversation happening around them. She will have to talk to him soon. Take him aside, maybe show him instead of telling him that he was forgiven. The guilt will be there, yes, but it would be a first step in the right direction. She knows that Joe and Nicky would probably do the same thing too. He’s done enough repenting.

“So, what’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for Nicky?” Nile asks Joe, hand waving at their general direction. The words are only slightly slurred and Andy smiles. Wait till she distils them some Báijiǔ the way she was taught to make it.

Andy finishes her glass of wine, smiling at the sly looks the lovers exchange at the query.

“I would say when you slit the throat of that Prince who wanted to keep me in his harem,” Nicky says. His eyes come alight at the memory he only sees. “I loved it when you-”

“-slit his throat in front of his simpering sycophants?” Joe smirks, blinking slowly as if savouring the moment in his mind’s eye. “You sure it isn’t the time I-”

“-stabbed the Duchess who wanted to dress me in nothing but diamonds? More than when Richard asked me to share his bed with Phillip? Yes, that comes close.” Nicky laughs softly, pulling away from the tight press of their bodies to side a hand over Joe’s heart. “But I did quite like how you skewered me in Jerusalem. With your father’s dagger? The one you would have given to your son?”

“Ah” Joe nods, smiling happily. “The beginning of an eternity of love.”

Nicky swats at his chest playfully. “We hadn’t even stopped killing each other long enough to breathe.”

Joe grabs his hand and slides it back over his heart. “But with every drop of blood you spilt, you took my heart, my body, my soul,” He coos, “I was yours from the moment I spied the murder in your eyes.”

Nicky absolutely melts at that and Andy has to shake her head, laughing when he seizes Joe by the nape for a kiss. They absolutely refuse to part even when everyone else whoops and whistles at them. Andy lobs a handful of crisps at their direction, slipping into Russian as she calls them out for being such saps.

“I think I’m going to need a few more decades to get used to them,” Nile grouses good-naturedly, crawling over to tuck herself between Booker and Andy. Sighing wistfully, she crosses her arms over her chest as Booker drapes his own over her waist. “They’re so in love.”

Quynh stirs a little at her side and it draws her attention to her peaceful, slumbering face. “Yeah,” Andy says. “They really are.”

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rocknrollarticles · 3 years

Photo

Chris Simmonds interviews Jon Lord for Beat International Magazine, December 1975

(article transcription continues below the cut)

Lord of The Deep

“I don’t think rock could exist and roll exist without solos — it’s a vital form of musical expression.”

Jon Lord of Deep Purple is undoubtedly a rarity. He combines the most pleasing qualities, rarely found among others enjoying a similar position on the Rock and Roll roundabout. We have man who has been making successful records for over seven years, and who remains both verbally and musically articulate with out ever resorting to the more flamboyant pretensions exhibited by so many of his contemporaries. He is a star, to be sure, but never to the point of camouflaging the musician.

With the reformed Purple off to the States until Christmas, we were delighted when Jon agreed to meet us at the airport before take-off to talk about Purple, new and old, and in general his particular role as keyboard player. The time was apt as we had just heard enough of the tapes of the band’s new album (Come Taste The Band) to suggest that it would totally eclipse the rather disappointing Stormbringer.

Jon, notorious for his late plane catching, arrived early this time, and cast his mind back to the days of Deep Purple Mark 1. The In Rock album was certainly the first major step towards worldwide acceptance, and we asked how this style change had been linked with the departure of original members Rod Evans and Nicky Simper, vocals and bass.

Concise

“Christ, that far back. My memory isn’t all that good. Basically, it was that three people in the band wanted two to leave, and In Rock shows exactly what we wanted to get into. In fact, we had already been playing the In Rock style on stage, but we had never done it on an album. With lan Gillan and Roger Glover in the band, we had two rock and rollers, much more so than the others.

“It might just have been the climate of the times, but we did feel that the previous albums had rambled a bit. This attitude almost went against us, because we were so concise with In Rock that it became very hard to follow. This move was in fact largely motivated by Ritchie, and the general agreement by the majority of the band was that this was what we should do.

“I went down at the time as saying that I totally agreed with the policy but thought it should have been little more relaxed, and as a result of that Ritchie and I had a few arguments. These resolved themselves and resulted in Machine Head which, apart from the new one, was to my mind our best album.

If there were the odd moments of apathy from Ritchie, I certainly never shared them, apart from Who Do We Think Are which I disliked intensely. It was done in a mood of total fed-upness. lan left shortly afterwards, because by then he and Ritchie were having head-on collisions, so that probably caused the bad moods of that time.

Freedom

“However, most of the albums were a great joy to make. Although Fireball got slagged a bit, you must remember that it followed a smash success album, and that’s always difficult. It still gave me great satisfaction.” During this period a very prominent feature of the Purple music was a never ending rash of frantic solos. How far did Jon feel that they were an integral part of the songs?

“So long as it fits the song, I’m delighted to have them. We have reached the point now that even when I am playing the part of a backing musician I have much greater freedom. The song structure with Glenn (Hughes) and Tommy (Bolin) isn’t set any more. We are trying to loosen the whole thing up, and cut out the ‘this happens in that bar and that happens there’ attitude.

“The days of the really long solos have gone, and I am talking about the twenty five minute jobs. Everyone will still have their solo slot, because basically that is what Deep Purple is all about. We have always prided ourselves on our individual abilities, and we like to show it. Quite frankly, we sometimes went much too far in the past, and some of the others’ solos bored me.”

Given Jon’s feelings about solos, did he have any special preference about playing the more direct songs like Speed King and Highway Star or the more protracted tracks like The Mule?

“I’m quite happy with either role, so long as I am happy with the song in the first place. I don’t mind sitting back behind the guitar because that is just as creative as leading the song. Actually, that’s a tricky question, because the Hammond doesn’t really sit all that well in rock and roll as a backing instrument. It took me a long time and a lot of hard work to find an acceptable way of incorporating the instrument… Where was I? Oh yes, at the same time I have to solo — every musician does.

I don’t think rock and roll could exist without solos — it’s a vital form of musical expression. It’s a way of stretching out, but of course how much you do so is up to you, or the band. A musician should solo as long as he feels he is feeding off the audience, but I feel that it is unforgivable to bore an audience.”

Possibilities

With the new members, what possibilities did Jon see as far as his own instrument was concerned? “I really see many. Ritchie was a very demanding player in that he really enjoyed the limelight. I mean, we all did obviously, but I suppose he was so extrovert on stage to balance the introvert he was offstage. It’s hard to speak objectively as he was my friend for seven years. One of the nice things about having an American in the band is the more quote laid back unquote atmosphere. I enjoyed Tommy’s solo album.” And Ritchie’s album?

“There was certainly a Purple sound, but thought it was second rate Purple, and you can print that. I was surprised to say the least, because he said he wanted to go right back to the raw roots he felt we were abandoning. At the same time I suspect that his next album will be a bitch.”

Apathy

On the subject of these recent albums, Jon went on to compare Stormbringer and Come Taste The Band. “I liked the Stormbringer album. It was certainly a little different. There was a certain apathy on Ritchie’s part — he was already thinking of leaving — and perhaps it shows. We should have attacked it more as Deep Purple rather than approaching it in that dispirited way. I’m really not trying to make Ritchie a whipping boy — I really don’t want to — but you mentioned the word apathy and I think I would have to go along with that. But if the album didn’t quite come off, it didn’t sell as well as the others had, so there’s justice there.”

Jon is well known for his classical inclinations, and we wondered if they might reemerge more strongly within the new band framework?

“I’m really two musicians, and they meet somewhere in the middle. The outer edges can never get together, and that’s why I make solo albums, just to get things out of my head and out of my system. Look — I’m not carrying a cross for classical music — I’m a rock and roller and I have been for ten years. There just happens to be more, that’s all.”

What did he feel that the future held for the keyboard? “I think now that it has arrived with a vengeance, it will stay. Keyboard players are having to get more versatile in respect of the number of instruments they are having to play. The organ sound as just an organ sound is already overused, and I personally use synthesizers, a clavinet and a Fender Rhodes besides the Hammond.

Technique

“I have countered this dilemma of 'old hat’ sound by having my set up built specially for me. I have four Leslies which have been totally ripped out and replaced with better components, Crown amps, and all the keyboards, about six, go through the Leslies. The organ has also been messed around with, so it’s not a straight Hammond sound — it’s a particular sound that I feel fits our kind of music.”

Jon was also glad to offer tips to the embryonic keyboard wizard. “Well, even though it’s 'just’ rock and roll, I think it’s invaluable to acquire a technique of some sort. By all means absorb from other people, and try find out how they do it, but then you mus try to branch off and perfect your own style. Things like scales and arpeggios, although very boring, are bloody well worth while. If you are soloing, and your fingers won’t do what is in your head, it’s the most frustrating thing in the world. I have never regretted the hours and hours of practising that I have put in. I try to listen as much as I can to what else is going on in the rock world — I think it is important to be aware of what your peers are doing.

Relaxation

“I was talking to lan Gillan the other night on just this subject, and he said he never used to listen to anyone but Deep Purple and Elvis Presley. He admitted that he was totally wrong. He said that since he had been off the road he had been listening to everything that he could, and he realised how much he had missed. You don’t listen to others to copy — just to judge the feel of the business. Anyway, it’s a relaxation to me.”

The hidden speakers in the roof of the lounge was announcing the departure of the Purple flight. “I feel as if I could go on for another twenty years,” said Jon jumping up. “Thanks a lot for talking to me.”

#deep purple #jon lord #ritchie blackmore #beat international #beat international magazine #music magazine #musician interview #article #music article #my posts #1975 #Chris Simmonds

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mary-canary · 4 years

Text

Old Guard “Con-Artist” AU for Joe x Nicky

Joe and Nicky are both con-artist working seperately at this Austrian Duke’s ball. One is pretending to be a catholic priest, one is going for the Casanova approach. One is there to steal some priceless stolen art, one is there to steal state secrets to prevent a war.

As a former priest Nicky is able to spot that Joe is not the repentant infidel turned to the way of the Lord that he is pretending to be for the simpering aristocracy. Joe, on the other hand, most definitely has noticed Nicky’s suspicious behavior as he has not been able to take his eyes off the handsome Italian in the very tight pants all night.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

My Favourite (Gigi x Nicky) - Mina

A/N: Im sorry it’s been so many queues! The next fic I write is gonna be reallly long and good and yes so I did this in the meantime. Definitely not my best work but I hope you enjoy it anyway :>

Gigi and Nicky have silently competed over the title of Arcelia’s favourite aunt for months now, until they coincidentally have to babysit her at the same time.

Gigi Goode was a reasonable woman. She was reasonable enough through her childhood that her parents declared that she was a gifted child, even though all she did was study and be a good kid in general. She was reasonable enough in high school that she managed to enter the most prestigious University in the country, and secured the valedictorian title since she went into her first class. And of course, Gigi was nothing sort of an unreasonable woman so she made connections everywhere - work, organizations, charity, so on. What mattered was that she made connections to smooth her life. A reasonable woman needed a best friend, someone to call when she felt down or felt giddy, and for her, the best friend came in the form of Jackie Cox. Tall, had an IQ of 148, liked to read psychological books for fun, and most importantly, she had dimples. The Persian was perfect as a best friend, Gigi adored that woman, aspired to be like her, even. She was successful, beautiful, and had a good sense of humor even though people around them didn’t find it funny.

The brunette had found a reasonable job with a more than reasonable pay, finally could afford the apartment she had aspired to live in since she was a mere high school freshman, and because she was a very reasonable woman, Gigi had planned to hit the club and maybe make out with a guy or girl – she wasn’t picky – because tonight was Friday night and she had made it through a very tough day at work. Some asshole didn’t turn in their report on time and left Gigi reeling because everything had to be delayed. That was fine. It had passed and everything was fine so she was allowed to treat herself to a nice make-out session.

At least until Jackie had called her and asked for her help. “We really can’t miss tonight’s banquet,” she said hurriedly, and Gigi had heard a child crying faintly in the background. “We can’t bring Arcelia because the invitation says no children allowed – “

“And why is that, by the way?” The brunette asked, putting down the tight red dress she was going to wear realising that she wouldn’t be having a make-out session tonight. “Isn’t it your own company?”

Jackie sighed into the phone, Gigi could practically hear the frown on her face. “I know. It’s – it’s ridiculous but Jan’s brother was supposed to go with her but he’s suddenly down with the flu and She refused to go alone. You know how it is.” she sounded so agitated that the brunette couldn’t help but felt pity for her.

“Is Arcie crying?”

“Yeah,” The Persian woman sounded so tired, and Gigi thanked God profusely that she didn’t have a child yet. “She kind of senses that we’re going to go somewhere? She’s definitely handful.”

The brunette hummed, finally settled on a pretty black sweater after rummaging her closet. “You love her anyway.” She chuckled, fumbling through her purse to find her set of keys.

“Of course. I wouldn’t trade her even for the quietest kid. She – “ Jackie hesitated, “She said she wants a sibling, you know?”

“A sibling?” She had to swallow down her laugh, Jackie could hardly keep track of her wife, let alone two children.

“Yep,” the older woman simpered, “we aren’t ready, not so soon after adopting. We’re still adjusting to the life of parenthood, you know.”

“I know.”

Gigi was in the elevator when Jackie asked timidly, “You’re coming, right?” She could hear the worry in her voice, the sound of Arcelia squealing echoing through the microphone.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied, “Be there in 10.”

“Thanks, Gigi.”

She was behind the wheel less than five minutes later. She truly didn’t mind that he had to babysit Arcie on a Friday night when she was supposed to be hitting on people at the club, Gigi adored that kid. It was starting to get repetitive, anyway, ordering a drink, chatting up the bartender, buying a drink for the most attractive person in the room, dancing, kissing, groping, and then the sweaty and sticky situation she would end up into by the end of the night. Perhaps it wouldn’t be repetitive if she had someone to take care of, someone who cared about her just as much as Gigi cared about them. But so far, she hadn’t found one. The people she went to dates with rarely got a ticket into the second date, because she would find them too boring, too daring, too pessimistic, too enthusiastic, and she was a reasonable woman who needed a reasonable partner, so she shrugged them off her shoulders and went home without looking back. Maybe baby sitting her friends kids gave her a sense of commitment, or maybe she just liked watching Arcelia smile.

She was reasonable. Very reasonable, in fact, that she grinned when Jackie opened her door with a distressed demeanor 10 minutes later. “Hey Jack. Where’s the baby?”

“Inside..” She answered, chewing on her. Gigi arched her eyebrow. “Hey, I’m going to apologize to you. You’ll forgive me, right?”

The younger woman tilted her head. “Are you not going to the banquet?”

If it was true, it was truly not a big deal for Gigi. Sure, she hadn’t gone to the club because of this but after thinking about it, she would rather soak in the bath up rather than going to a sweaty and sticky place. She had bought a book last week, too, so maybe he could catch up on her reading. Probably not.

Jackie sighed. “We’re still going. But,”

“Spill it. It’s okay.”

The other grimaced, and Gigi started to feel something stirring in her stomach. Definitely not something good. “Jan didn’t know I already called you to babysit,” she started, “so she texted Nicky to come over and she’s already inside with Arcie.”

Oh. Oh.

Gigi didn’t know what to do with the information.

Nicolette Doll, Jan’s best friend and by extension Jackie’s friend, a tall, thin French woman with golden blonde hair and a stupid accent. Gigi didn’t like her, and Nicky certainly didn’t like Gigi much either. They’d met many times, might’ve even been friends a couple years ago perhaps, and she couldn’t pinpoint when exactly they began to despise each other but the animosity was certainly there. Nicky was a bitch, controlling, ambitious and strikingly similar to herself, which the brunette hated her for. The only time they willingly interacted was when Arcie was involved, silently competing over the esteemed title of ‘Arcelia’s favourite aunt’.

Gigi was the favorite aunt because she bought her favourite chocolate milk last week, obviously. Nicky tried her best, she supposed, she wore daisy perfume and did funny voices for the characters in picture books, made macarons for fun, but of course the brunette was much more likeable or else she wouldn’t have been in the running for so long, and what Gigi wouldn’t give to knock her gigantic ego down a few pegs.

She snorted. She wasn’t going to let Nicky snatch up her hard-earned position. Gigi was Arcelia’s favorite aunt and God help her if she ever lost to Nicky fucking Doll. “Cool.” She replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I’m still going to babysit her.”

Jackie frowned, eyes clearly expressing her hesitation towards the idea. Gigi couldn’t blame her, really, because the last time they babysat together Arcie had cried so much that Jan had refused to talk to either of them for a week. But that was then, this was now and the brunette was sure that they could handle each other just fine.

“Don’t stress too much about it, Jack,” she grinned reassuringly. “Where’s my favourite niece?”

“She’s your only niece.” The Persian woman replied dryly, opening the door behind her and allowing Gigi to step through.

Their apartment was warm, a more modern place combined with little family touches that made it feel homey and safe. Normally Gigi would’ve thrown herself over the couch, maybe opened the fridge to check that the couple was still capable of buying food, but when she glanced at the love seat where Nicky sat covering her eyes delicately with her fingers and counting down from ten in that stupid French accent, Gigi didn’t even attempt to conceal her scowl.

“Hey Gigi, it’s been so long!” Jan beamed from the kitchen, a tiny dark haired child hugging her leg as she struggled to tie up her dress one handed “Someone’s been very excited to see you.”

“Hi honey,” Gigi beamed, grabbing Arcelia’s attention as she came running over to her instantly with a squeal. “and here’s my favorite niece in the world! How are you doing, sweetie? I haven’t seen you in a week and look at how much you’ve grown.”

The child giggled, gently tugging on the brunette’s hand. “Aunty Gigi, play with me! Dolly’s counting to ten while we hide my new teddy!”

Arcelia pointed to a tuft of brown fur sticking out from between some cushions, the tag of what Gigi knew to be a very expensive toy shop poking out as well. Shit, Nicky was pulling out the big guns. Fine, two could play it that game.

“She’s going to grow up spoiled,” Jan complained at the gesture, even though her wife was practically dragging her out the door. “You always buy her things. Why don’t you just have your own children?”

“It’s no fun,” Nicky spoke for the first time, eyes still covered by well manicured fingers. “My own kid requires me actually taking care of them. With Arcie, you two do the taking care and I can do the spoiling.”

The blonde huffed. “Whatever,” then, she kneeled down to speak to her daughter who was still hugging Gigi. “Hey baby, Mommy and Mom are going out now, okay? Be good with your aunts.”

Arcelia grinned, sticking out her tongue playfully.

Jackie bent down to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Bedtime’s at 9, kiddo. ‘Ahbak. Don’t throw a tantrum when your aunties tell you to go to sleep.”

“I won’t” The child nodded determinedly, hands on her hips. Gigi laughed painfully, she knew from years of babysitting experience that was most definitely a lie.

“Be careful, okay?” Jackie looked back towards the two woman, lip again pulled nervously between her teeth. “Call me if anything goes wrong. And remember that she’s not allowed chocolate after seven. I’ll be re-“

“We’ll be fine Jackie, go to the fancy banquet or whatever.” Gigi rolled her eyes, shooing her out of the door and pulling Arcelia close to her side. “It’s not like we would ever fight in front of her” she scoffed, shooting Nicky a piercing glance.

“Merdé, of course not. You Americans worry so much.” The French woman remarked. She peaked through the gaps between her fingers with narrowed eyes “Arcie, I hope you hid Jeromeo well because I’m getting hungry!” She growled, stomping her feet against the hardwood. Of course Nicky had somehow made the kid name her bear fucking Jeromeo.

Arcelia shrilled, sprinting to go hide behind the kitchen countertop. “You’ll never find him!” she yelled triumphantly, dark brown hair peaking just slightly overtop the marble. “Not over my dead body!”

“We’ll see about that, petite fille. If I don’t find him, I’ll have to eat you instead!” Nicky grinned, jumping up off of the couch and almost comically pausing when she saw Gigi standing awkwardly to the side, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “Oh yeah, hi Gigi.” The French woman smirked, eyes bright and taunting while tiny strands of hair fell out of her loose ponytail to frame her face.

Right now, it was white blond, cut short to brisk the tops of her shoulders. Gigi could picture herself running her fingers among the strands, hands grazing her scalp and tugging softly. She scoffed to herself, no way in hell was she going to be running her fingers through Nicky’s hair anytime soon. Why would she even want to.

The other looked up, grin tensing into an offended frown. “Are you making fun of me?” She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

Gigi faulted, flinching at the angry tone. “Wh – how? I didn’t even insult you.”

The blonde didn’t stutter, tilting her head. “You scoffed. You think I didn’t hear you?”

Gigi scoffed again, just to prove that she could. She looked over at Arcelia, who had forgotten about whatever chasing game her and Nicky were going to play in favour whispering something to Jeromeo, petting his soft head carefully.

She studied the stuffed animals detailed embroidery, tan fur resembling the French woman’s own hair. “You bought her that?” Gigi asked nonchalantly, mind running through ideas of how she could top it. A toy boat, maybe? Some nice clothes?

“Yeah,” Nicky answered, looking caught off guard. “She actually declared me as the aunt of the week moments before you arrived.”

Gigi scowled, watching as Arcie swung the teddy around fondly in her arms. “Oh please. I’ll have the title by next week tops.”

“You really think I would let you do that?”The shorter woman asked sagely, raising a challenging brow. “I am her favorite aunt ever, so no matter wh-“

“I am her favorite aunt ever times a thousand, you fuck – “

“Fuck!” Arcelia giggled against her wrist, looking up at the two older women with a grin. Gigi gaped, staring down at her with horror and frantically waving her hands in front of the Persian child to will her to stop. Arcie only said it louder, smiling innocently while chanting the curse word around the living room like a nursery rhyme.

Nicky cackled, clapping her hands at Gigi’s misfortune. “Have fun explaining that, Miss Goode.”

She was fucked.

***

“Do you want coffee?” Nicky asked, pursing her lips and gesturing to the kettle sitting on top of the marble counter. Gigi looked up from the couch, smoothing down the layers of blankets and pillows while Arcelia fiddled happily on the living room rug.

The brunette glanced up, blinking, “Can you make me a hot chocolate?”

The older woman snorted. “I was generous enough by offering you a cup of coffee.” Still, she reached for the mason jar full of cocoa powder and carefully sifted it into a mug.

Gigi shrugged, pulling her gaze away from Nicky’s hands (dainty, elegant hands) back to the television. “It’s for Arcie, though.”

The Blonde tilted her head, narrowing her eyes, “You don’t want some?”

“No,” The shorter woman scrunched up her nose, “I need something stronger than hot chocolate.”

“What, like a drink?”

She hummed. “Yeah, can’t drink it with the little one present, though.” Arcelia looked up with a bright smile, cheeks puffing out like a squirrel. Gigi pulled her close, ruffling her dark hair.

Nicky sat down on the sofa after, setting the mug down carefully on the table and taking a sip of her own coffee. “What movie is this?” She asked as the intro music played, running her eyes critically at the screen.

“Frozen. You know, Elsa, Anna, all the magic shit.”

“Shit!” Arcelia giggled quietly, to enamoured with the movie to really pay attention. Gigi groaned, bringing a hand to her head in frustration.

The blonde laughed, throwing her head back, “Jan’s gonna be fuming if she finds out all the words you’ve taught her.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh, picking at the edge of the couch cushions, “At least I’m your favourite Aunt, right Arcie?”

Nicky clicked her tongue, “No way. I’m her favorite aunt, I won this week fair and square.”

“Fine,” The brunette sighed in defeat, rolling her eyes, “But we’ll see about next week. She obviously is gonna pick me.”

Nicky smirked, “You think so? I’d like to see you try.”

The blonde focused her attention back to the movie, not giving Gigi a second glance. The younger woman tried to do the same, but every few minutes she couldn’t help but gaze conspicuously in Nicky’s direction, eyes roaming the others features appreciatively. Gigi told herself it was because the French woman happened to have white blond hair, a very distracting color in the dimly lit room. Yes. Gigi was sure. Nicky Doll’s only attractive body part was her white blond hair. Soft, golden, white blonde hair.

Why was she thinking about Nicky Dolls attractive body anyway? Gigi shook her head, she was just tired because she had had a long day and needed something to relax and Nicky was right there, eyes narrowing in disdain because some character in Frozen did something stupid, lips pursed and bitten a diluted red.

“Why,” The blonde started exasperatedly, startling Gigi out of her thoughts, “does Elsa have to isolate herself in a fucking room?”

“Language,” The shorter woman chastised, glancing down at Arcelia who was slumped over her lap, eyes sleepy and unseeing. “She didn’t want to hurt her sister.”

“Oh s'il te plait, she already has gloves,” Nicky pointed out with a frown, leaning back against the sofa.

“It’s still dangerous.”

The blonde puckered her lips again, ready to complain but clearly thought better, instead running a hand through the child’s hair gently and leaning down to face her, “Hey, sweetheart, do you want a hot chocolate?”

Arcelia shook her head tiredly, eyes unmoving from the screen, so Gigi sighed and tried to enjoy the movie for her sake, even though she had seen in hundred of times before.

At least until Nicky complained again.

“Anna is the stupidest character I’ve seen, and I’ve seen plenty of stupid characters.”

“She’s not stupid!”

The blonde snorted into her coffee. “Falling in love with a man she met on the same day? Stupid, if you ask me.”

Gigi shrugged. “We don’t know about that, really. Don’t you believe love at first sight?”

“I don’t,” Nicky answered curtly. “Love at first sight means you only look at the person’s appearance, right? It means you fall for a person because of their looks, and not their personality.”

“So are you saying,” The brunette laughed a little, “that you’re willing to date anybody as long as they have a great personality?”

Nicky groaned, looking back at the movie. “I’m still shallow enough to prefer good looking woman, Gigi. And I don’t just fuck anybody. I’m not like you.”

She laughed again, leaning her head back against the sofa. “I actually wanted to get laid tonight.” Gigi reminisced, remembering the leather jacket she had left at home. She would’ve looked ravishing in that.

“I don’t need to know that, you dummy.”

Gigi didn’t answer, instead looking down to check on Arcelia, who was already sleeping. It was rather an odd position to fall asleep in, head resting on Gigi’s thigh while her legs tangled in between Nicky’s.

“She’s sleeping,” murmured the French woman quietly.

“No shit.”

“Should we take her to her bed?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “She’ll get cranky if she’s in that position too long.”

Nicky scooped the child up into her arms easily, hand brushing slightly against Gigi’s side. The blonde nodded, signalling to the younger to wait while she put the kid to bed. Gigi didn’t have to be told twice, her mind was reeling. She didn’t understand how she was feeling, heart racing although she couldn’t pin point why. Maybe it had all started when Nicky had touched her thigh, but she’d never felt so romanised by it…ever. Repulsed, sure. But this was an entirely new reaction and it bothered her, so so much.

Nicky wasn’t ugly. She was really attractive and even if the brunette didn’t like her, she had to acknowledge that. Nicky was so attractive, she looked like a model straight out of a fashion magazine that Gigi might’ve fawned over when she was younger and fuck did that make her head spin. Her lips were pretty as well. They looked soft. Gigi wondered if they felt as soft as they looked.

She was fucked. Especially when she realized just how much she wanted to kiss the older woman and melt into her embrace. She was extremely fucked, especially when said woman was in the other room and was coming back to sit next to her to continue watching the movie. With nothing separating them now.

“So,” Nicky announced once the child was taken care of, sitting elegantly back down on the lounge, “You believe in love at first sight, then?”

“Not really. But countless people fell in love at the first sight, so who am I to squash the theory?” Gigi shrugged, eyes burning holes into the television scream to avoid Nicky’s piercing gaze.

The blonde clicked her tongue. “There’s no theory,” she mused, “it’s just statements after statements and people can lie, you know.”

Gigi hummed, “But will we ever know?”

“No.” She shrugged. “I didn’t believe in love until recently, actually.”

Her heart stung at the hint behind those words, shoulders slumping in disappointKent although she didn’t really know why, “Did you finally find a girlfriend? Gee, took you a while.”

Nicky chuckled, picking at her cuticles with a sigh. “No, still single as ever.”

“Oh,” Gigi immediately relaxed, “Well, that makes two of us I guess.”

She knew she had stepped into personal territory, but Nicky didn’t seem to mind. “I want to find someone but I’ve been so busy with work, you know? And dating apps don’t really work for anyone, so..”

“Why are you telling me this? Ew.” Gigi stuck out her tongue, scrunching her nose up in disgust.

“Why?” The French woman raised an eyebrow, “You jealous?”

The brunette scoffed, but it didn’t sound as convincing as it should’ve. “No. Why would I be?”

“I don’t know,” the other replied, “maybe because you have a crush on me?”

Oh god.

Shit shit shit. “I don’t.”

“Gigi,”

The brunette didn’t move.

“Cherì,”

Gigi hesitantly looked up, the French nickname sounding warm in her ears. It felt weird, and yet familiar at the same time. Her breathing hitched when Nicky held her shoulders, expression unreadable and satire.

“You do, don’t you?”

Gigi still didn’t move, still staring at the taller woman in disbelief. She herself had only come to realize that fact just now, but how could Nicky –

Oh. It made sense now. “What am I thinking right now?” She asked breathily, eyes wide in terror.

Nicky looked dumbfounded, emotionless facade faultering. “What?”

“Answer me. What am I thinking right now?” There was no better explanation as to why Nicky was able to guess his feelings right away, plus that stupid French accent certainly added to the witchy aesthetic. Nicky was a fucking mind reader. Gigi was sure of it.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, by reading my mind?” She reiterated, waving her hands to encourage her to continue.

“Why the fuck would I be able to read minds?”

“You tell me!”

“No,” Nicky snapped, “I don’t read minds. You’re just an open book.”

“But,” Gigi narrowed her eyes, “You were able to deduce this five minutes after I realised it?”

The French woman’s jaw dropped wide open, eyes once again widening. “You mean to tell me you realized that you like me five minutes ago?”

“Yeah.”

“And before that?”

“I hated your guts.”

“I hated your guts too, by the way.”

Gigi smirked, lifting her chin, “Past tense”

The blonde rolled her eyes, “Can I kiss you?” She sounded depraved, fingers twitching on top of Gigi’s shoulders.

“What?! Why?!” The brunette jolted, recoiling backward.

The other woman sighed deeply, looking like she was contemplating her choice. Maybe she would’ve taken back the words but it was rather late for that. “That means I like you, you dumbass. And I know you like me back, you’ve been hinting at it for months and I was waiting for you to finally crack.

Gigi stared at Nicky in disbelief, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t give you any hints. What are you talking about?”

“You asked me to put sun screen on your back even though it was the middle of winter?”

“That’s a completely valid ask, you perv!”

“Okay, what about all the times you’ve laughed at my jokes.”

“Maybe I hated you but if you’re funny I’m still going to laugh.”

“When you winked at me during brunch”

“Crystal punched me seconds before that.”

“When you go to the vegetable section with me at the grocery store.”

“Because Arcie likes vegetables?”

Nicky groaned, face red in embarrassment. “I’m so humiliated right now, damn it.”

The brunette laughed, hesitantly wrapping her arms around Nicky’s waist. “No, don’t be. I still like you back, remember?”

The taller woman looked up and stared at Gigi with an open mouth, as though waiting for her to take it back. “Wait, you meant it?”

“Of course,” Gigi snorted. “Enemies to lovers, or whatever.”

They were silent for a moment, just basking in each other’s presence. Gigi’s eyes traced every line of Nicky’s face, wondering what would it feel like if she touched it.

“Can I kiss you?” The blonde asked quietly, rolling her eyes while Gigi giggled at the words.

It was a very sweet kiss.

And because Gigi was a very reasonable woman, she kissed Nicky back

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #nicky doll #gigi x nicky #jankie #lesbian au #fluff #enemies to lovers #mina #concrit welcome #submission #s12

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africanization101 · 5 years

Note

For years, I struggled with my love of interracial erotica (white woman+black men) and my nativist/rightist politics and my angst about demographic replacement. But with time, I shed my previous beliefs and embrace open borders and progressive values. It's gone to the point where I get joy from seeing white men being replaced by black men in every sphere. I look forward to seeing James Bond be played by a black man on screen while he gets to make love to the white Bond girls. (to be continued)

(continued) I think there is something to the phenomenon of white males eventually identifying with the "enemy" and deriving pleasure vicariously by seeing their women go black. The eroticization of becoming a displaced, conquered people might be a coping or evolutionary strategy where the conquered males cede their women to the stronger men. I'm also rebelling against the conservative establishment by giving my vote to those who will expedite multiculturalism and Africanization. What say you?

There’s an interesting generational thing going on here. From what I’ve observed here and elsewhere, people who grew up in a culture that was still predominantly and unquestionably white and then later came to appreciate the IR lifestyle, they tend to feel just like you do. It’s hard to say where the exact cutoff point is, it depends on your specific national culture and your own upbringing within it, but it’s usually somewhere between 30 and 60 years old.

If you had grown up listening to Nicki Minaj and being confronted with interracial dynamics in your daily life, your perspective would probably be a lot different. There would be no struggling or personal negotiation involved: you’d simply have accepted it as a natural and obvious development in which you need to find your own place as a white male who just doesn’t have the same cultural cachet as your Black and Brown competitors.

There’s a lesson about white masculinity in here. It ultimately depends on a kind of “cultural affirmative action” to stay on top; once that’s gone, it leaves those who originally believed in it confused and curious, and eventually understanding of the changes that are happening, while those who never really benefited from it instinctively get why they aren’t the top choice anymore, even if their immediate ancestors may still have benefited from such an arrangement.

Of course there’s also the radical alt-right counter-strategy of asserting white male supremacy openly and loudly, but let’s be honest, nobody outside their niche takes that posturing seriously.

I’m glad you managed to overcome your learned prejudice and opted for the right side of history instead of a pointless and ridiculous resistance that is bound to fizzle out as uneventfully as it started. As my perennially appreciated IR blogger colleague Tori Reid once put it, what we’re seeing right now is the “impotent raging dick of the european patriarchy flaming out in the west in a simpering drizzle of lifeless cum”, and there’s just one obvious alternative to that. If you can glean some satisfaction from that process as a culturally outclassed white male, you’re among the lucky ones!

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jancox · 4 years

Note

Jan/Jackie why did you choose me?

this is one of the last prompts i have in my inbox! they’ve been so fun to write! the last couple are branjie but i’ll be back with more jan/jackie on ao3 soon!!

When Jan is the first person to be selected for a partnered project in her introductory theatre class, she feels a blush rise to her cheeks.

She’s called out by name, a soft Jan that leaves her weak at the knees. She crosses the room, stands next to the taller brunette that’s beaming down at her with a grin. Jan smiles back widely and doesn’t miss a beat when the girl is telling her that it’s nice to meet her, is complimenting her hair as the class becomes background noise.

“Your hairs gorgeous, that’s not fair-“. The girl laughs.

Jan doesn’t miss the glare that their professor throws at them.

“-I’m Jackie”. She purses her lips.

Jackie.

*****

Jackie is good, it turns out.

Jan has to fight to hide the shock that appears behind her eyes when Jackie has her lines down within the session, is working on blocking before Jan’s so much as thoroughly analysed her character.

She watches from the sidelines, remains quiet until their allotted two hours have come to an end. Jackie makes herself comfortable in the directors style chair next to Jan and huffs out an exhausted breath.

The lights are dim in the room surrounding them and the stage remains vacant.

“How’re you doing?”. Jackie simpers.

And Jan’s never been good at lying, despite being an actress.

“Uh-“. She stutters.

“-Feel a little out of my depth, if I’m honest”.

The softness that Jackie looks at her with is worth it.

“Do you know why I chose you?”. Jackie mumbles.

“No-“. Jan shakes her head.

Because she doesn’t, not really. Jan knows that she’s good, too, if she really thinks about it. She knows that she has both the grades and the resumé and her professors aren’t kept in the dark about it; a part of her knows that Jackie isn’t either and it’s reassuring.

If only a little.

“-Why did you choose me?”. She asks.

“I know your roommate, Nicky?”. Jackie smirks.

Of course.

“Mhm”. Jan arches an eyebrow.

Jackie leans further into her space. Jan’s able to smell her perfume as well as the detergent on her sweater. It’s sweet and floral and drowns out the smell of the wooden floors of the old theatre. It’s nice, welcoming.

As comforting as Jackie’s smile.

“She knows you’re really good, and so does everybody else around here, for the record. I saw you in the first showcase and, yeah, I chose you”. Jackie confirms.

It’s the first time all day that Jan’s seen her look the slightest bit shy.

“Plus-“.

Jackie’s eyes are hopeful as she starts. She places a hand atop of Jan’s that’s resting on her knee, gives it a tentative squeeze. Jan encourages her with a hum because she doesn’t know what’s happening but god does she want to and -

- Jackie winks.

“-You’re really fucking cute”.

#jan sport #jackie cox #i love these ladies

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foxy-exy · 5 years

Text

Witness

@twinyardsappreciationweek Day 2 - Andrew and Aaron

AO3 Series

TW: Discussions of Aaron & Andrew’s past abuse, self-victim-blaming.

It is their birthday, and Aaron is crying.

Andrew is lying on his back, the clock reads 2:37 AM, and Aaron is across the room in his bunk, sniffling wetly into his pillow. Andrew stares at the shadowed, speckled texture of the outdated and ever-so-slightly-yellowed dorm ceiling. Nicky and Kevin are sleeping soundly — their cousin snoring happily, Kevin’s breaths soft and even.

Still, Aaron shudders another quiet sob with the fabric muffling his tears. Andrew knows why. He doesn’t cry, nowadays. But he did.

There is something about having a witness to tears — something about baring his soul so deeply. He could never, in front of others. They would become angry, or simper. Some of them would laugh. Hurt him more. And they would ask, question after question: why, why, why? What is wrong with you? What is this for?

Why are you like this?

Aaron does not want a witness. But he has one.

And Andrew does not want to perform self-centered false sympathy, or determination to fix an unfixable creature not asking to be fixed at all. But he does not have to be those people, either.

He sits up, lets his feet drop to the ladder of his and Kevin’s bunk. Abruptly, the noises cut off — Aaron holding his breath.

Andrew clambers to the floor, reaches for a jacket hanging next to the bed to tug it on, and heads to open the door of their suite.

A single, quiet sniff, like his twin thinks he has gone undetected.

“Come,” Andrew says, and lets the door close behind him. He’ll kill as much time as he needs to rummaging through the fridge — it’s his birthday, he can eat what he likes, and it’s Aaron’s birthday, he can get an extra minute to collect himself.

Aaron takes a long time. The oven tells Andrew it’s past three and the sadly freezer burned strawberry ice cream he dug out from behind frozen peas is almost gone when the bedroom door clicks again, revealing a tearstained but unrepentant Aaron, in a threadbare hoodie and his too-long Palmetto fox print pajama pants. Andrew is pretty sure they were a gift from the cheerleader — she’s got enough school spirit for the whole Exy team combined.

He doesn’t say anything, just opens the front door to lead Aaron up the dorm stairs, and up. Doesn’t look to see if he is followed, but listens to the quiet echo of Aaron’s feet in the empty stairwell.

It is cold on the roof, and the lights of the campus below are too bright for the hour, but Andrew follows the pull in his gut to the edge. Bare toes on the ledge to look down, a customary swoop in his stomach, and he is centered in his thrum of adrenaline, of death staring him in the face.

Aaron has lingered by the door to the roof — maybe surprised, maybe nervous, maybe scared, scared, scared that Andrew will fulfill that social role of asking why. But he drifts to Andrew’s side now, to peer warily down to the ground, giving the drop a much wider berth.

Andrew feels for the cigarette pack in his jacket, flicks a lighter open, and pulls a stick to life between his teeth. He can feel his twin’s eyes on the red flare of the cherry, and blows smoke, uncaring if this is judgement in the gaze that’s resting heavy on him.

“Why are you so destructive,” Aaron finally bursts out, but it sounds sadly, bitterly frustrated — more an unanswerable question for the unfixable man, rather than the flat out accusation both of them expected.

“It is the card that the world handed me.”

Aaron folds his arms, clenches his jaw, stares out over the campus. “She gave me presents, you know. She tried to remember every year, what day my birthday was, and what I liked.”

They stand in silence because tried slipped in so very loudly.

“She was a…she was a good mom!”

“No,” Andrew says.

“She didn’t mean to, Andrew, I was just difficult, I should have —”

Andrew grabs the front of Aaron’s hoodie, two fistfuls of fabric, to tug him in, and Aaron’s knitted eyebrows climb high on his forehead, eyes wide.

“Will you blame yourself if I toss you off this roof, too?”

“I — I don’t —”

“I thought I could make one of them love me. If I tried hard enough, if I did just as I was told, maybe they’d change their minds.” He shoves Aaron back from the edge. Takes the cigarette from between his lips and contemplates the burning end. Drops and snuffs it.

“It does not get through to an abuser. If they do not soften at first tears, do you think they will do it the fifth time you cry? Do you think they will listen, magically understand, become the person you wanted to love beneath it all, when you extend that twentieth olive branch, Aaron?”

“Andrew —”

“Did she get your presents on time? Or was it within the week? Did she get you nice things worth too much that you didn’t really want at all? Especially when they were late. Guilty gifts, weren’t they? Make-up gifts because she hit you so hard last week you’re still bruised, and she forgot til now, but she promises, she loves you, promise, Aaron —”

“Shut up!” Aaron grabs him, this time, and Andrew’s answering grip on his wrists is harsh enough to creak bone. They are swaying, on the edge of the roof, as Aaron shakes him, eyes red and wet. “Shut up, Andrew.”

Andrew lets them hang in the balance of roof and edge and watches another tear track its way down his twin’s face, and another.

Aaron pitches forward a little, in a sob, and Andrew cannot stop his own sharp inhale as he wobbles back. Aaron’s head snaps up at the shift in weight, at Andrew’s fingernails digging in, at the beginning of a fall backward. The yank back onto solid ground has them both staring at each other, still locked together, but Aaron is not furious anymore, no, just looks like the drawn, terrified boy that Andrew was — he swallows and presses his forehead to Andrew’s chest and exhales and laughs a sad, scared laugh. It is an approximation of an apology from him.

Andrew is not sorry, not for fulfilling any of his promises. Aaron may not ever fully forgive him for that. But even so, Andrew will not leave his twin to turn on himself alone on the roof.

It is their birthday, at 3:42 AM, and Andrew looks up at the stars and lets Aaron cry silently into his jacket.

#andrew minyard #aaron minyard #twinyards #the foxhole court #all for the game #foxhole court #aftg #tfc #aftg fanfic #tfc fanfic #all for the game fanfic #the foxhole court fanfic #fanfic #kaystuff #kay fanfic #twinyardsappreciationweek

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jemej3m · 5 years

Text

the spring-bringer

read on ao3

tw: canon-typical violence, bad representation of greek mythology

“Take the man of spring-time. The one that some call Persephone, some call Andrew.” His father commanded him, via dreams and whispered taunts. “Rid the world of reincarnation. Do this, and you will please me.”

Nathaniel—or, as he had grown more affectionate of—Neil sat up with a gasp.

His chambers were cold and lifeless.

He hated how Chronos held onto him in this way: he was the lord of the Underworld, for fuck’s sake. His father was obliterated into pieces almost intangible, yet he remained unsatisfied. It seemed to fall to Neil’s shoulders to satisfy the Titan, and whilst every fibre of his being recoiled at the memory of his father’s abrasiveness and cruelty, he could not deny his father his dying wish.

“Alright.” He whispered into the silence.

No one answered.

Andrew laid in the soft grass, letting it carry his weight. He was sure to brush his fingers across the swathes, appreciating every blade beneath him.

He understood his nature wasn’t exactly sensical for what he represented, but spring-time wasn’t merely Valentine’s day and blossoming gardens. It was perseverance. It was strength, an endurance of cold and brutal winters, only to return refreshed and anew.

And by the gods, did Andrew persevere.

There wasn’t a tribulation he hadn’t seemed to overcome. Past gods had taken advantage of him, his simpering mother went and offed herself, passing the title of Demeter to a young Spanish boy by the name of Nicky a few centuries ago. The man had deemed himself as Andrew’s substitute mother, he supposed, and certainly fucking acted like it.

Then there was his brother, the demigod Aaron, who rejected his godly half and became immortal anyway. Andrew wished they’d all just died and left him alone to appreciate his occupation, but no. They filled his time with meaningless pursuits and commented upon how easily he angered, how his violence was antithetical to his godly purpose, how his apathy was nothing like the warmth of springtime’s sun.

He merely reminded them with thorns in their palms that nature was nothing to take lightly. They would leave him alone for a few weeks, but they always came back.

Andrew let his head loll, watching as a butterfly with wings of acrylic drips rested upon a dandelion by his hand. His brother and cousin were returning from their travels to vineyards in the southern hemisphere. He’d enjoyed his two months of quiet, but, as always, they were promptly ending.

Spring was quiet, gentle and comforting for Andrew. He wasn’t sure that others would describe him that way, but it didn’t matter. He existed, and thus spring existed, and thus the cycle of life and death continued onwards.

The cycle. That was all Andrew represented.

“Take a meaningful glance at the sky, Persephone.” It wasn’t often someone called him by his proper name. “You may never see it again.”

Before he had even been granted a moment to thank the grass for taking his weight, his limbs were caught and restrained. Colour leaked from his vision, and he fell into an all-encompassing slumber.

When Andrew woke, it was cold. Dark. The surface he was resting upon was along the same theme, and he realised that he was sleeping on the stone-tiled floor. His wrists were chained together with what had to be obsidian, weighing upon his joints like hunger did to his stomach.

He wasn’t in a cell: He was simply chained to the floor of one’s bed chamber. It was extravagantly large but oddly empty, with only a bed and two candles of black flame upon either side. The bed was made, and Andrew realised that he was not alone.

“Good,” The man said. He was hideously tall, with three eyes and hair spiked towards the ceiling. “You are awake. It is regretful to chain you in such a way, but the Lord insisted, in case you were difficult. Shall we greet him?” He bowed slightly. “I am Cerberus, but most know me as Matt.”

Andrew rose an eyebrow. “Are you not meant to be a dog?”

Matt merely laughed. “Only when necessary. Quickly, up now.”

Unsure of how long he had remained unconscious, he took time to steady himself once upon his feet. The cuffs linking his wrists together were grossly heavy and his hands were almost numb when he finally arrived to the Lord’s Court.

Andrew had, of course, assumed it was Hades behind this barbaric capture. Andrew had never met, nor seen Chronos’ final and most fearsome son, but he had heard nothing good. He spoke with spitfire and fearlessness. He was reckless, often merciless. His reclusivity and lack of hospitality were somewhat famous within the murmurings of Olympus’ gossipers.

Andrew supposed one would be like that if they were stuck, ruling the Underworld.

Andrew had also supposed the man would be a little taller, but Andrew wasn’t known for his assumptions being correct. He, of all people, should understand height did not equate to power.

He sat in a tall throne, composed of skulls brushed by fire. He wore simple clothing: jeans from the Aboveworld, a grey t-shirt that had faded with time, and black boots. The only thing that connoted his worth was a black circlet, resting gently upon his fire-licks of auburn hair. A robe and helmet were hung carelessly on the back rivulets of his throne, and the black fire Hades was known for surrounded his chair like a halo.

“Hello,” Andrew said, tone betraying how he was exceedingly bored of the whole debacle. “Lord Hades of the Underworld.”

“Please,” He said, leaning forward. “I would prefer Neil.”

“I detest the word, please.” Andrew shifted on his feet: The chain between his wrists tinkled, reminding him of his position. “And I would prefer that I wasn’t captured, but we can’t all have what we want, can we?”

This man would kill him in a heartbeat. Andrew challenged him like he wanted to die.

Hades'—Neil’s—eyebrow arched.

“If you would be so kind,” Like gods were ever kind. “I’d like passage to the Aboveworld.”

“No.” Neil said. “You’re a man of my court now, Persephone. You obey me, and I have dictated your purpose already.”

“For how long?”

“A full circle of the sun. Then your release may be negotiate, if you are a respectable guest throughout your term.”

A year.

Andrew could almost consider it a vacation.

“Well,” He started. “You might as well begin by calling me Andrew. What is, exactly, the purpose you deigned for me?”

The Lord of the Underworld waved a hand: A second throne appeared, of golden armrests and soft red cushions, next to his own upon the dais where he sat. Simultaneously, the cuffs vanished from around his wrists, and his robes were refurbished. “Plea—Here. Sit. The Court session is about to commence.”

Andrew took a moment to survey the odd situation he had found himself in. He had a chance, perhaps, to flee now. But where would he go? No one had ever escaped the Underworld, not even a god. Andrew would not be the first to attempt it: Nor would he be the first to succeed.

Slowly, he climbed the steps and took his throne.

It was comfortable.

“Enjoying your kidnapping, thus far?” Matt smiled, taking his place at one end of the Court’s long table in preparation for other members to come wafting in.

Andrew didn’t answer, holding his chin high.

The first irritation Andrew discovered was obviously his inability to eat, or drink. Enormous, luxurious feasts were often spread out in front of him, but he couldn’t touch a thing. If he did, he would remain permanently trapped beneath the ground, most likely losing his title of Lord Hades’ pet and becoming the average idiot, meandering through the fields. It was a strange position to be in.

The second irritation was the lack of sun. It made it impossible to decipher the time, and Andrew couldn’t trust any of the clocks within Hades’ palace grounds. They all were slightly off from one another, and whilst the king of the underworld seemed to have a strict internal clock, experienced with a lack of sun, Andrew continually struggled with this shift.

The third, and most confronting irritation, was how careful Neil seemed to be.

Andrew made mild protest to sleeping in the same room as the god of the Underworld: The next day, he was granted a separate room of his own. He made an offhand comment about missing the flora of the Aboveworld, and within hours, Neil was guiding him to a private garden of luxuriously rare and exotic plants, where skeletal ravens perched in the branches and sung their haunting songs.

When it was cold, Andrew was provided with plenty of layers, none being derived of animal skins like that of the Underworld’s inhabitants, including Neil himself. When it was warm, Andrew was given cotton strips of fabric that he was able to wind around his forearms.

He wasn’t sure how Neil knew of his scars, but so long as he was not confronted, he would play along that everyone was none the wiser.

Whilst he hated the idea of being perceived as weak, or as insignificant, his strange, compulsory vacation was—

Not awful.

“Tell me of Nicholas.” Neil said, walking through his garden with Andrew at his side. “Of Aaron. You must truly despise them if you’ve found comfort here.”

Andrew held out his hand, and a withered crow landed upon his finger. “I do not despise them. They simply don’t understand the concept of personal space.”

Neil let out a small huff, which Andrew had come to learn was his laugh. He always made sure to smother it before it could unfold properly, just like he swiped away any smiles. It wasn’t characteristic, Andrew supposed, for the lord of hell to be joyful.

But it wasn’t characteristic of the god of springtime to commit matricide, so it wasn’t like Andrew was in a place to make judgement.

“Do you miss them?” Neil inquired.

“I tell myself I don’t.” The crow flew off. Andrew went back to brushing his hands across the trunks of wrinkled Aspen trees as they walked past, enjoying how they quivered fervently under his hand. Everything responded to him, warmed to him, in a way humans and gods simply couldn’t.

Except Neil, it seemed. He’d warmed quickly, and without question. It was almost endearing.

“I’m sure I’ll wish I’d damned myself down here as soon as I am forced to reunite with them,” Andrew muttered.

Neil’s shoulders seemed to draw upwards “Don’t joke of such things.”

Andrew slanted him a gaze. “Was your purpose in kidnapping me not to keep me for as long as deemed possible?”

“Right.” He nodded, most likely to himself. “Yes. Your fate still rests on your ability to withstand the temptations of the Underworld if you ever wish to return.”

“I know.” He grumbled. “What I wouldn’t do for a glass of water.”

Neil gazed at him pityingly.

They finally arrived to the centre of Neil’s garden, where Andrew rested himself against the trunk of the ever-fruitful pomegranate tree, the ripe fruits dangling from every branch. Andrew basked in the comfortable warmth of the day, the intoxicating scent of paper reducing to ash in a flame. Whilst never clear, like a Cornish breeze, the air down here was never foul. Tobacco, ash, molten rock, wood-fires and hearth-stones wafted daintily on the drafts that carried through the cavernous space.

Neil rested by him. In this garden he allowed himself to be unreserved, his expression relaxed from that typical furrow in his brow, closing his eyes and trusting the walls of his courtyard to protect him from vengeful spirits.

And vengeful spirits were there plenty. Andrew had witnessed Neil’s mercilessness time and time again, but it was always where it was deserved, and never more than what was necessary. He was diplomatic and logical in terms of justice, and it was one of the things Andrew had grown to appreciate the most.

Yet, it never seemed that Neil truly lived for himself.

“I do wish you’d tell me who asked you to bring me down here.” Andrew allowed his head to lean back against the tree.

Neil grew tense once more. “What lead you to that idea?”

“Neil,” Andrew sat up. “Do you take me for a fool? You claim me from the Aboveworld, and by the Old Creeds, I must stay and do your bidding for a full circle of the sun. But you have given me a throne, a room, a garden, and asked for nothing more than my company and occasional slithers of advice. It that how a true captor behaves?”

“You are a god, like myself, Persephone.” Neil reminded him.

“I am no god when compared to you, Hades.” Andrew shifted onto his knees, tipping Neil’s chin upwards with a finger. “Neil. Won’t you tell me?”

His head hung low once more, Andrew’s fingers slipping to hold the back of the man’s neck. They said nothing for a moment, until Neil moved to the stand.

“We must make ourselves presentable.” He straightened his clothes. “I’m afraid our months of peace have drawn to a close.”

“Who dares visit the Underworld?” Andrew demanded. “And don’t think I won’t have my answer, my lord.”

“I hate it when you call me that,” Neil said, smoothing away that smile once more as he directed Andrew back towards their connected chambers. “Is there truly anyone else who dares visit hell, Andrew of springtime? It’s my brothers, of course.”

Andrew gazed upon himself in the mirror, which he did not often use. It had been a long while since he’d truly considered his own appearance, content to let his hair grow long and simply braid it, complacent to allow a Shade to shave his jaw and neck, wearing the same style of garments day after day.

He shouldered a black cloak, dressing in solidarity of Neil, and donning a crown of black-thorned roses atop of his hair, which he had trimmed properly once more. He slid his feet into sandals, another rare occurrence, and he checked his brooches were secure before making haste from his chambers.

He was the last to arrive at the Court, but the visitors had yet to grace themselves with their presence, so he swept by the members of Neil’s advisory to sit upon his throne. It had changed considerably in the approximate six months after his arrival: Flowering vines and thorns twisted around the golden legs and arms, often reaching out and crawling across his skin as he sat.

It was comfortable. It felt natural, to sit at Neil’s side.

Andrew didn’t know what that meant, so naturally, he ignored it.

“Did you cut your hair?” Neil asked, absently.

Andrew arched an eyebrow, and the man’s cheeks pinked.

“It’s very elegant.” He said, before looking forward with anticipation.

The doors burst open with a flourish of wind, and the King of Gods stormed in to address his brother with a ferocious anger, palpable in the electricity and ozone in the air.

“Nathaniel, your attention-seeking continues to out-do itself.” Zeus, the god of the skies, pointed a finger at his brother where Neil sat upon his throne.

It was Zeus and Poseidon that looked alike. Both were tall, and rather strapping, with waves of black hair. Whilst Poseidon was tanned, more lithe, and had astonishing grey eyes, Zeus’s irises of green and broad shoulders defined his menacing presence.

They only shared a mother, after all. Neil’s father was not someone to mention, lest you wished to elicit Neil’s wrath.

The god of the skies, the god of the sea and the god of the dead all stood in one room. Or, more commonly referred as, between the gods, Kevin, Jean and Neil. Nathaniel.

Andrew had never heard someone of Neil’s court call the god that name. He imagined it wouldn’t go too kindly.

“Welcome, Kevin, Jean.” Neil said dryly, bottling up his irritation. “I hope your journey was comfortable.”

All members of the Court arose out of respect of the two visitors. Andrew stayed seated, and Neil snuck him a knowing glance.

“This is ludicrous, Neil.” Kevin snapped. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“I have no time for your childlike petulance.” Neil flapped his hand lazily.

“We have come all this way.” Jean said, quieter. Cautious. “Rather than send Hermes—Allison. Though she does seem to enjoy your company. Could you not spare us a moment free of your scathing tongue?”

“A moment.” Neil promised. “You banished me here and you come here of your own volition: Thus, I dictate every fibre of existence that surrounds you. Don’t test me.”

“Demeter has caused such pernicious droughts with his worrying and fretting that many a human are dying.” Kevin came forward. Nicky, Andrew thought. “He is unable to console himself without Andrew. You took him unlawfully—“

“And there is nothing to undo that. It’s a year, Kevin. Demeter will learn not to take springtime for granted. Gods can die too.”

“You are insufferable.” His brother claimed. “Have I mentioned that?”

“Repeatedly.” Neil said flatly. “Andrew stays and completes his sunless year.”

“I still don’t understand why.” Jean said, calm enough to ask the proper questions.

“Am I not allowed to act of my own volition? He demanded. “Am I so grossly incapable that you deem all my actions of someone else’s?”

“Yes,” Kevin growled, just as Poseidon urged “Sometimes.” They both looked at each other.

“He had six more cycles of the moon until he may free himself, if he lasts.” Neil sighed, cracking his knuckles. Members of his Court winced.

“What has Nicholas done?” Andrew inquired.

“Locked himself away and vowed to not return until you have.” Jean said.

“It’s very dramatic.” Kevin added.

“Obviously. Nicky has a flair for the dramatic.” Andrew crossed his legs upon his throne. “Tell him I’m well.”

“You are?” Kevin remarked.

“Truly.”

Neil’s brothers eyed him with trepidation.

“If that is all,” Neil said icily. “You’re dismissed.”

Kevin bristled at this dismissal, but couldn’t do anything as Matt chaperoned them from the Courtroom. Neil seemed to relax, slumping into the skulls that built the back of his throne.

“Being the object of hatred must be exhausting.” Andrew murmured.

“You’re telling me.” Neil said, reaching out absent-mindedly. “Yes?”

Andrew paused, before nodding. Neil’s obvious request for consent was as perplexing as it was necessary, and a strange and unfamiliar warmth began curling in his chest. Neil reached out once he had been granted permission and brushed a lock of Andrew’s hair away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear.

It was so oddly affectionate that Andrew found himself frozen. The members of Neil’s Court had turned away out of respect.

When Andrew had first been captured, he’d had a glimmering fear that he would act as Hades’ concubine for a year, that the god heard of Drake’s adventures and took similar action. Andrew was equally frustrated by the thought of having to comply, regardless of his wishes, simply because he was a patron of Hades’ house, and he was unable to deny the lord of his wishes.

Then Neil went and made him an equal, and had not touched him barring the fleeting moments of a hand across the shoulder, at the wrist, across his hip.

Perhaps Andrew had imagined Neil’s affections. The king himself didn’t seem too aware of his own behaviours, afterall.

“Dismissed,” The god called, adjourning the council. Andrew didn’t move.

“Neil,” He tried again, when all was quiet. “Why did you bring me here?”

Neil closed his eyes, hand dropping from where it caressed the shell of Andrew’s ear. Without an answer, he stood, and left Andrew alone, sitting upon his makeshift throne and wondering why destiny had plagued his existence with such ridiculous complexities.

Water was rare in the Underworld, but what Andrew wanted, Andrew got. It lead him and Neil to adventure through the Crevasse, searching for a waterfall that would perfectly capture the light.

It wasn’t long that they found the pool Neil remembered, walking in companionable silence. Andrew passed the drachma from one hand to the other before tossing it through the water.

Renee’s image appeared.

“Iris.” He called. “It’s me.”

She sighed with relief. “I was wondering when you’d call.” She nodded, somewhat apprehensively but respectful all the same. “Lord Hades.”

“Iris.” Neil echoed. “I hope you’re well.”

“And I, you.” She smiled.

“Is it true?” Andrew asked. “Kevin came dicking around about Nicky. Has he truly isolated himself?”

Neil paced slightly away from the conversation, brushing his fingers across the stiffened layers of igneous rock that painted layers of time across the Crevasse’s walls.

“Unfortunately. He is a little better than he was after your capture—an inconsolable wreck for weeks, he was—but he is still rather reluctant. It’s a work in progress.”

Andrew muttered profanities under his breath.

“It’s just his flair for dramatics, Andrew.” Renee assured. “He’s alright, so long as you are. And you are alright.”

“Yes,” He said, glancing towards where Neil had a black fire lit in his palm as he observed small details by his feet. “I am.”

“I am glad.” She said. “I will pass on the message.”

Andrew nodded: Her image faded from the water’s spray.

“Shall we return?” He asked.

Neil glanced at him before ducking his gaze, nodding silently.

Andrew didn’t pay it any mind.

He stood at Tartarus’s edge and felt anger simmering beneath his skin. It was an ancient anger that Andrew was unable to rid himself of, something that defined him and every one of his decisions.

He remembered being younger, a child, an unknowing child, and letting Drake woo him with malicious smiles and hungry eyes. Andrew hadn’t understood mutual consent, and thus he obeyed every word that the man spun, adhered by every tale’s warning, and never fought the man when he demanded Andrew to satisfy his sexual desires.

Hands wrapped around his neck. Aching back. Bloodied sheets. Aaron would care for him, confused by Andrew’s newfound abrasiveness and isolationist tendencies.

Then Andrew had attempted to take his own life, tearing at the skin upon his wrists and forearms with hate-fuelled ferocity, and plummeted the earth into a years-long winter whilst he recovered in seclusion, fearful and angry and ashamed.

Drake was sent into Tartarus’ sprawling pit by his own demand, a necessary end to a horrific childhood.

Whispers drew Andrew closer to the edge. If he had been in a period of his self-loathing, perhaps he would feel compelled to throw himself into the abyss.

As it was, he had merely four months until his untimely return to the Aboveworld. It seemed like a waste to have endured the thirst and starvation, the sunlessness, the enticing and amiable company of the lord of the Underworld, just to damn himself even further.

As if summoned by thought, Neil approached him with slow, careful steps.

“You were very close to the edge.” Neil murmured.

“It reminds me of what fear feels like.”

Neil looked at him. “I thought I would see you here earlier that this. As a spirit, rather than a hostage.”

“As did I.” The scars were hidden beneath their cotton strappings, as usual, but Neil looked to them and understood, without question nor demand.

Neil was most perplexing like that.

He took Andrew’s hand by the wrist, and gently pressed it up beneath the thin layer of his cotton t-shirt. Beneath it was the hideous landscape of someone tormented and tortured.

“I understand,” Neil said. “I know. You don’t have to hide your past here.”

It made sense, then, to fold into Neil’s open embrace. But he was the god of the afterlife, and Andrew was the god of reincarnation. It couldn’t make sense. It wouldn’t make sense.

And yet, Andrew let himself savour in the fleeting moment, eyes closed as he pulled Neil’s head to the crook of his shoulder.

“Persephone,” Matt called, rapping a knuckle upon Andrew’s door. “Lord Hades requests your audience.”

Andrew craned his neck to gaze upon the door, curious. It was late in the Underworld’s form of evening and he was beginning to settle himself into bed, stretching out across his linen sheets and ridding himself of his thoughts.

It was rare that anyone disturbed him after he retreated to his room. In fact, this would be the first moment.

Matt knocked again, so Andrew hauled himself upright and drew on a robe, answering the door.

“Tell him I’ll be a minute.” He muttered, rubbing his eye.

Matt grinned in that wolf-like manner of his. “Don’t keep the king of the Underworld waiting.” And with that, he left, sauntering down the corridor with a tune coming from his puckered lips.

Andrew redressed himself, pinning his drapery with the brooches Nicky had gifted him eons ago, before slipping free of his chambers and shifting down the dimmed corridors.

Neil’s room was unlocked, but Andrew knocked before entering, so as to warn the man of his arrival. Neil was sat upon the edge of his bed, fiddling with a small charm that hung from a silver chain. It was his black fire, contained by impenetrable glass, the perfect elliptical shape for resting at the hollow of someone’s throat.

Neil stood at Andrew’s appearance.

“You called?” He inquired.

“I—well, yes. Here.” He held up the necklace. “For you. No curse, nor debt attached. It’s a gift.”

Andrew’s very own black-flamed hearth. Andrew let him attach the clasp, fingers brushing gently against the exposed skin of his neck.

Andrew’s fingertips flitted across his exquisite jawbone, tilting his head down.

“I hate you.” He decided, resolutely.

Neil was unfazed. “As one should hate their captor, yes.”

But was Neil truly his captor?

Andrew kissed the man. He couldn't help it.

He was more lively than his kingdom in every sense of the word, skin hot, sucking in a quivering gasp as his hands fisted themselves in his own garments, avoiding touching Andrew with such perfect restraint that it caused Andrew’s heart to ache.

He had never met a god of such caliber. One that responded perfectly to Andrew’s every ministration, one that understood suffering so acutely, one that regarded Andrew with utmost respect.

When they parted, Neil’s cheeks had gained a high flush and his eyes—his glorious, ice-blue eyes—revealed his dazed composure.

“Attend to me.” He whispered.

Andrew was bound by old creeds to obey Neil’s every word, but he would be lying to himself if he insisted he didn’t want to. Neil wore, as usual, his simple shirt and simple trousers, and whilst Andrew enjoyed relieving him of these garments, he entertained the fantasy of ridding Neil of his royal robes, a pulled tie causing swathes of fabric to drop to the ground.

His silk sheets were decadent under Andrew’s fingertips, and Neil let him bow over his exposed body whilst fully dressed, like Andrew held any semblance of power, like he wasn’t trapped in the Underworld as a victim.

Neil made it so easy to forget that.

Andrew was pretty sure he was the only man to have ever conquered Neil’s bed, and lavished in the way his lean body arched and elongated after the fact. His scars were faded with time, distorted by muscular development and growth. The smatterings of freckles, the trail of hair down his navel, the irresistibly delicate wrists and fingers culminated to something so beautiful that Andrew almost couldn’t bear to look at it.

Neil didn’t dare touch him, but his ghosts’ hands felt like slick oil upon his skin. He couldn’t bear Neil’s presence any longer. As he retreated, Neil only gave him a quizzical look, not questioning Andrew’s reluctance aloud.

“Good night, Hades.” He said.

Neil settled into his pillows, looking marvellously ravished. I did that. Andrew reminded himself.

“Good night, Persephone.”

With his gifted black hearth, and Neil’s desperate kisses upon his lips, he retreated.

It continued like that for weeks. Months, perhaps. Andrew lost track of time again, simply because he couldn’t care for it. He took Neil to bed every night and let the images satisfy himself afterwards in the privacy of his own chambers. He let Neil’s fingertip trace the cuff of his ear, and took to grasping Neil by the wrist, by the back of his neck. Often, he found himself sitting beneath the decadent pomegranate tree with Neil’s head pillowed in his lap, letting his fingers comb through those infernal curls.

Andrew had not brought up who had cajoled Neil into capturing him, so long as Neil did not bring up his departure. It was cruel that as soon as Andrew had found a rhythm, had found peace, that he would be torn from it to continue his duties Aboveground.

Even worse was the knowledge that his Hades would be criticised and punished for his capture, when it couldn’t have been Neil’s desire to do so.

He didn’t want to leave, but if Neil were to force him to stay, the retaliation would be unjust and cruel. It was best that Andrew returned, for both of them.

His favourite crow wandered over, nuzzling like a cat against Neil’s cheek with a titter of its song.

“It senses your sadness.” Andrew said. “Your exhaustion.”

“Sleep doesn’t come easily, now.” Neil admitted. “It never did, but—now more than ever. Prophecies and visions and disorder and needless suffering jolt me from my weak dozes.”

“You are withholding the truth from me.” Andrew frowned.

Neil sighed. “I try not to.”

Andrew brushed his fingers across the sharp curve of Neil’s cheekbone, and wondered when their peace would be sullied.

“You should not have brought me here.” He said.

Neil closed his eyes, as if to prevent tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. “I know.”

It was the eve of Andrew’s departure. His fate had been decided: His behaviour had granted him his freedom. He’d not savoured in a morsel of food, a droplet of drink. He would walk free from the Underworld in the morning, greet his brother and his cousin, and never see the fields of lost souls, the black-lit candles that lined the palace corridors, the ghastly beautiful branches of the trees in Neil’s garden, or the blackbirds that perched upon them.

He was sorry to leave. He had relearned many a different emotion and state of self in Neil’s subterranean kingdom. Tranquility, sorrow, empathy and censure.

He continued like it was any other day, but there was a tinge of desperation to their kisses as they fell into Neil’s bed. It was the same dance they’d done every day, but Andrew was astounded to discover it never grew old, that the caress of Neil’s knuckle and his cries of ecstasy sent shivers down Andrew’s spine every time.

Andrew lingered a little longer, sighing into Neil’s feeble kisses and relaxing into the careful hands upon his shoulders, in his hair.

Don’t leave, Neil mouthed silently into Andrew’s jaw.

And for the first time, Andrew didn’t want to. Didn’t feel the need to. He relaxed downwards till he found himself laid beside Neil’s languid form, letting his fingers trail up and down Neil’s side. A cold draft swept into the room, so Neil fumbled into a soft robe before nestling against Andrew’s side once more. Andrew let Neil’s head rest upon his chest, and watched with unreservedness as the king of hell fell asleep to the unruly palpitations of his heart.

He couldn’t sleep like this, but he was the furthest thing from tired. Instead, he combed Neil’s hair and gazed into space, content to ignore the fact of his departure.

In the early hours of the morning, he dozed off: An impossible but true occurrence. He would have dwelled upon it for hours upon wakening, except he found himself in Neil’s bed, cold and without the man himself present.

Andrew placed an up-turned hand onto Neil’s pillow, onto where his body had curled amongst his sheets. All warmth had leaked from it, and the lifeless mattress and its silken sheets suddenly revolted him.

He clambered to his feet before marching back to his room with a strange urgency. It wasn’t the first time guards had witnessed Andrew come from Neil’s room—nor were they allowed to judge the behaviour of two gods—but the time that had passed and Andrew’s sleep-rumpled state suggested something far more intimate, in every way, shape and form.

He quickly dressed himself and went in search of Neil, to question why he’d left, to see if he had gotten himself into trouble, to say goodbye—it didn’t matter. Andrew had such a burning need to see the man that his hands shook with the urge, the black hearth within his necklace pendant pulsating like that of a second heart.

The throne room was empty, not a single guard nor advisor milling about. It was early, but there was never an empty room in the Underworld. Matt, the hound who could sense one’s confusion a mile away, did not appear. Andrew grit his teeth and, not for the first time, wished he had his knives to arm himself properly.

He found himself, as always, wandering through the garden. It always took a little while to reach its centre, but Andrew carried on with a quick pace, sensing the garden’s fear. The birds were silent and the leaves shook with apprehension.

“Finally, he joins us.”

Andrew’s anger rose in his chest like bile to the throat.

The foul Malcom monster was stood above Neil’s figure menacingly, a ferocious grin upon one face and cool indifference upon the other. At their feet lay Hades, a crumpled heap, and for a moment Andrew thought he was dead.

Neil’s hands were chained behind his back, linking his wrists and ankles together. He seemed otherwise unharmed. His head rose up at the presence of another being and distorted with agony. “Andrew, no. Leave. You must—!”

“Absolutely not.” Lola said as she kicked his limp frame, her lips stained red with blood. “I always play with my food before I consume it. Savour every bite, you know. Isn’t your pathetic little spring-bringer cute, Nathaniel?”

Romero let out a cold laugh. The two-headed being stepped over Neil’s lifeless form—what was wrong with him? Why wasn’t he fighting?—to approach Andrew. He ducked and avoided their clumsy swings, nipping through the garden’s nooks and crannies. He knew every blade of grass in this garden. He had the upper hand.

Neil let out a blood-curdling scream where he was curled upon the floor.

“What are you doing to him?” Andrew demanded as the Malcom monster charged towards him.

“Us? Nothing.” Romero sneered. “His father’s very disappointed in his failure to comply with his wishes. Useless runt. Brought you down here, ensnared you for a year as your father wished, but didn’t have the heart to finish the job.”

With a careless flick of their hand, Andrew was flung into the trunk of the pomegranate tree. He slumped down, and the Malcoms assumed he was subdued enough to turn their attention onto Neil. Neil cried out for Andrew, but couldn’t control his own body with his father controlling his mind.

“Useless runt.” Lola echoed. “I will savour it when our Lord possesses us and finally rids the world of little Junior. Caused enough hassle, haven’t you, Nathaniel? Cleaning up, you call it. You’re simply throwing the most resourceful of us into Tartarus to rot.” Andrew was sure that when she said resourceful, she meant the most sadistic.

“Good.” Neil gasped, struggling onto his knees once more. “That’s where they’ll stay.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Andrew watched with thinly-veiled horror as the two heads of the Malcom monster began talking simultaneously with a haunting, echoing quality. Their eyes were emblazoned by red fire, the veins beneath their skin running gold.

“Father,” Neil murmured. “You’ve returned.”

“Not quite. I will eviscerate this body to ashes in a matter of minutes: They are loyal servants, the Malcoms, but too weak.” He said. “You certainly strung the fibres of my being far enough that I will never be able to regain my true form. However, I will most certainly take pleasure in replacing you within yours.”

“No,” Neil croaked.

“I asked one thing of you, son.” Nathan bent down to tilt Neil’s chin upwards. “Rid the world of reincarnation. Of spring. And you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You, the god of the defeat, couldn’t defeat your own desires. Pathetic.”

Neil’s head flung back as he shrieked. Welts formed on his cheeks as blood spilled from cuts on his arms, his wrists. Andrew could not see a weapon in the Titan’s hand, and yet he was carving Neil to pieces regardless.

Neil’s scream dug into Andrew’s chest: He pulled himself to his feet, grasping onto the branches of the pomegranate tree. Neither Hades nor his father noticed his movements.

A supple fruit was pulled from its branch: With shaking hands, Andrew tore it open, and fisted the first pocket of seeds that he could.

Nothing had ever tasted so sweet, so divine, as those seeds. He dropped the fruit to the floor, garnering the attention of both Nathan and his ruined son.

“He didn’t fail.” Andrew said, spitting six seeds out into his palm and offering them to Nathan. “The Aboveworld has been ridded of springtime. Now, leave.”

“Andrew, no. No!” Neil croaked. “You didn’t—“

“It’s too late.” Nathan laughed, grinning across two faces and speaking with two voices. “You’ve done well, my son.”

With that, the body off the Malcom monster and Neil’s restraints spontaneously combusted, leaving nothing but a smoking pile of ash that was carried off in the warm breeze.

“Oh, Persephone,” Neil whispered. “What have you done?”

“Andrew!” Nicholas cried, a weeping mess of eccentricities and dramatics. Despite being on opposing sides of the River Styx, Andrew could smell him: The slick scent of rain after a summer storm, the crisp wheat harvests of late July. He wore his characteristic jean overalls and his straw hat, and clutched at Andrew’s brother with desperate hands.

“Hades,” Kevin called. “What is the meaning of this? What happened to your face?” The scars had faded with the god-like tendency to heal within moments, but the remnants of Neil’s father would stay visible forevermore.

“Neil didn’t call you here.” Andrew said, stepping forward. “I did.”

Kevin glanced at Jean as they shared a frown.

“Neil didn’t take me unjustly. He’s still under the ministrations of Chronos.”

There was a collective pause at the name.

“Chronos no longer exists.” Athena said slowly, stepping forward from where she stood beside Iris. Danielle and Renee were their commoner names, but neither were particularly fussed about it.

Andrew always forgot how much he missed Iris until he saw her again, her pastel hair, her gentle smiles and the subliminal didactic purpose of every visit.

“Almost,” Neil said, almost too quiet to hear. “I did my very best to obliterate his being, but he had some sort of grasp upon me. I struggle to fight it.”

“And he told you to capture Persephone.” Hermes guessed, her interest captured long enough to neglect fixing her nails, her hair.

“And kill him.” Neil agreed. “But I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. So he possessed the form of the Malcom monster to rid me.”

There was a collective discomfort at the mention of the two-headed beast.

“It was my sacrifice or Neil’s.” Andrew said. “So I consumed six pomegranate seeds. The old fucker vanished as soon as his purpose was complete.”

“You what?” Nicky shrieked. “Andrew!”

“No springtime?” Hermes pondered. “No, that won’t work. It simply won’t.”

The gods of the three realms gazed upon one another. It was them who orchestrated the creeds, the rules by which all gods and men lived by, but if one exception was made, then others would follow, and chaos would ensue.

“Neil,” Andrew murmured. “The law is the law.”

“I can’t let you stay.” He whispered.

It was tragic. Neil had come to clung onto Andrew, had truly learned to care for him and favour him above all else. It was why he had to let Andrew go.

“He simply cannot escape without consequence.” Kevin argued. “There would be chaos. Debts and sentences must paid to keep order. To make an exception for Persephone would lead to the destruction of our existence.”

Andrew gazed upon Nicky, who finally opened his eyes. He was such a sorrowful man that Andrew had to look away: The pain in his gaze was simply too potent to withstand.

“But to have him stay is to play into my father’s ploy.” Neil argued.

“It’s chaos either way.” Dan advised. “Neither option is strategic, nor viable.”

“Commentary is not a solution.” Jean said wryly.

“A compromise,” Matt suggested, winking his third eye at Andrew. “He ate six seeds, one for every month he should stay in the Underworld.”

“Yes,” Dan murmured, gazing at Cerberus with newfound appreciation. “Yes. The seasons will fluctuate with his presence, and it is neither complete freedom nor complete absence.” She looked between Zeus, Poseidon and Hades. “I agree with the mutt. It is the most logical compromise.”

“It’s Matt.” Matt supplied. Athena made a face. “But thanks.”

“So it is decided.” Nicky made a squeal of relief, clapping his hands together at Zeus’ proclaimed acceptance. “Andrew will split his time between the Aboveworld and the Underworld and foil Chronos’ meddling plans for chaos and destruction.” Zeus stood straight once more. “Shall we agree upon it, brother?”

“This is the most cordial agreement we have ever decided upon.” Neil said, with a hint of laughter to his tone, as he composed a bridge to meet with Kevin in the middle. They shook hands.

Jean looked to Andrew with an offered hand. “Come, now. You must be desperate for some fresh air.”

“Not quite.” Andrew said. “I believe my coronation is to be scheduled soon, is it not?”

Neil looked at him, baffled. “What?”

“You didn’t think I would stick around to meander by your side, did you?” Andrew shook his head. “I already have my throne and my crown. All I need is my title.”

“Quite.” Neil’s smile was blindly and Andrew's heart faltered. Yes, this is how I would like to spend eternity. Basking in the light of that smile. “Well, husband-to-be. Shall we?” He offered his arm. Andrew nestled his hand into the crook of Neil’s elbow as the crowd watched, baffled.

“We shall.” Andrew said.

What a compromise indeed.

what a mess lol

#andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #greek myth au #hades!neil #persephone!andrew #jem writes

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