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ferrstappen · 1 year

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what about a pr relationship with max? 👀

plot twist: it’s real | max verstappen

Everybody was whispering about a secret guest on the Red Bull garage. It was Brad Pitt, but you on the other side, walked freely around the paddock in Miami, just another celebrity making an appearance, no one suspected you would be his co-star, Brad Pitt’s love interest or something along those lines.

However, the public did suspect something was going on between Max and you after the GP, even official Red Bull videos of you asking him questions as he drove at an extreme speed.

You started following each other in social media, tagging him on multiple stories during the weekend. The last one sent people into a frenzy, it was simple, just Max holding the trophy, blue eyes shining as he directly smiled at you; face red and sweaty, dark blond hair sticking to his forehead and extra fluffy from humidity, even the tip of his tongue was visible from how big he was smiling.

It was calculated to the second; every post, every appearance, every smile.

Anyone who was mildly involved in gossip and celebrity drama was aware that PR relationships were a think of the past, no one having the time to do such things nowadays.

Plus, with Deuxmoi on every corner and every available information, it wasn’t a particularly smart move.

But no one said anything about hinting at something, studied long gazes, bad jokes on camera, walks on the beach, leaving clubs early with Max acting as a bodyguard of sorts. Of course people were speculating, young rising Hollywood star actress and Formula 1 prodigy, a talent so natural it was unbelievable.

A power couple.

Both you and Max were aware this was just to boost a movie while attracting more people to F1. But somewhere along the way, lines became a little blurry; hugs weren’t mechanic, laughs were real, the butterflies appeared and suddenly, you were holding hands during your beach walks.

You were wearing his cap while walking on the sunny Los Angeles streets, boarding a plane to wherever the GP was taking place, the paddock, it became part of your every day look.

Max was seen on movie premieres, not walking the red carpet but quietly inside the theatre, his jet was seen landing on LAX more often, making appearances on movie sets.

During the weekend of the Monaco GP you decided to make it official, boyfriend and girlfriend. You fell asleep on his arms, naked chest under your head as he laughed at something you said, insisting he should be sleeping for FP3 and qualifying, but he couldn’t, enjoying the way the way your breathing slowed down along the cata purring on the floor.

It was still unknown to everyone else, though. Of course, people in the paddock knew, Kym Illman photographing your arrival early in the morning sporting the Red Bull cap. Other celebrities attending the iconic GP noticing the obvious nature of your relationship, with Max’s hand not even trying to hide the fact they were resting on your ass, fingers sneaking under your blouse to caress the skin.

Then, the obvious started to happen.

subject: Motorsport and Hollywood rising stars in love.

email: [email protected]

Message: I have it on good authority Hollywood’s newest sweetheart will be starring along an iconic and heartbreaker actor in a driving movie, even the actor in question attended the Miami Grand Prix a couple of weeks ago.

The surprise is that the predicted winner of this F1 season and the actress are in a committed relationship ever since they met since this winner, gives-you-wings f1 team will be sponsoring and working in the movie. A source even told me they were seen making out on his yacht during the Monaco Grand Prix, and the actress was sitting and laughing with the driver’s mom and sister 👀

user1: i bet my life this is max Emilian verstappen and (y/n), why else would max be seen in universal studios???

user 2: what about Florence Pugh and Charles Leclerc?

user3: no way, Florence attended with her bf!!!

user4: it’s giving pr for the movie💀

user5: (y/n) even comments on Victoria Verstappen’s post!!! and Max went out for drinks with Daniel Ricc, Pedro Pascal and Bradley cooper after the met, they probably met on set bc they’re filming with (y/n) They’re not even hiding at this point!!!

Well, you kept hiding until it was time for the movie premier. Everyone from Red Bull was invited; Checo, Daniel and Max arriving together, Christian and Geri were naturals, but Max was waiting for you on the red carpet.

Your Versace dress was the perfect fit, Max couldn’t help but look at your ass and boobs, not caring photographers were everywhere, it was time to stop sneaking and pretending you were just friends.

His arm found its place on your waist, dedicating you his brightest smile before kissing your lips, people screaming your names, but your eyes only found his blue ones, shining under the flashes and holding his hand.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen au #football #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 x reader

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controlmyfeet · 1 year

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i still feel everything when you are near - matty healy

matty healy x ex!reader

angst

warnings: exes, alcohol consumption, insecurities, jealousy (kinda?), pining, kissing, crying (lmk if there’s more i need to add!)

a/n: not sure about this. i think the last time i tried to write fanfiction i was 13, so feedback is appreciated but pls be nice lol. also, english is not my first language!

3570 words

it still hurts.

i didn't think it would hurt as much after 6 months, but seeing him in the flesh makes me realize it does. i thought i was already used to it, thought i was actually doing a good job moving on, if we ignore my slump in the first 3 weeks after the breakup, where i would just leave the house for work and groceries (that i would overbuy because i forgot i'd just cook for myself), i think i was doing pretty okay.

i should've guessed he would be in the city. he can't stay in one place for too long; if he has a few days free in between shows, he's going to look for a studio to work in. usually in london, los angeles, or here. most of the time, he ends up here.

but i never know where he is anymore.

i deleted twitter from my phone after 2 months. maybe because of the questions, perhaps because i didn't care, or maybe i was tired of reading all the tabloids and fearing they were true. maybe i care too much. whatever, right? it just means i haven't seen him in a while, even in pictures.

i'm sitting by the dark wooden bar counter when i first spot him. he's standing with charli and george in the vip section near the dj booth, surrounded by people as always. my friends noticed that he's here too, but they haven't said anything, which i'm grateful for. i'd rather pretend it doesn't affect me.

he looks different, though. his arms are bigger, and his hair is longer; soft curls fall over big brown eyes that crinkle whenever george says something funny. he still has that boyish smile.

lulu and bea went dancing and i said i'd join them in a minute. we go to this club every time we're in the city, but tonight it is more crowded than usual. my secluded spot at the bar being the only place i won't be pushed around. still, i feel bad. it's my best friend's birthday, and we came to new york together to celebrate, but instead, i'm drowning my sorrows with cosmos.

"you won't even say hi now?" i hear matty's voice from behind me and turn around, startled. he stands tall and confident as always, but his eyes no longer hold the same energy. here, up close, i can see that his eyebags look more prominent, and his stubble has grown slightly. he looks tired. i don't think i look any better.

"hi," i say, looking into his brown orbs, phlegmatic, as if the butterflies in my stomach aren't going batshit crazy right now "i didn't see you, sorry."

he grins cheekily, "it's alright, darling."

i don't really know what to say. he should hate me, honestly. it wouldn't be surprising considering how we left things, with all the yelling, name calling. with all the broken picture frames. it started with another rumor while he was on tour, another leaked picture. he was so dismissive and vague about it that i just couldn't find it in myself to trust him, and he could only complain about how childish all of it was.

i guess he doesn't, though. they have free drinks inside the vip section. i remember it from when we came here together. he doesn't need to come all the way to the bar for a drink.

"it-it's good to see you," i stutter, apprehensive now. fearing that maybe he really does hate me, and just walked over to tell me how much so. i mean, i would hate him, too, if i could. but no matter how hard i try, i can't. and believe me, i've tried.

matty is standing so close that the loud music sounds muffled now, and the warm, dim light of the bar reflecting on his silky skin makes me want to melt into his arms. so i try to keep my eyes focused on my feet.

he seems to notice that i'm struggling as i fidget with my empty glass.

"can i get you another one?" he asks amicably. my eyes shift from my feet to the glass in my hands and back to his eyes.

"sure," i reply shyly.

he asks a bartender polishing wine glasses next to us for another cosmopolitan. behind the man, shelves from the same material as the counter hold a collection of glass bottles of different colors with labels sporting french and italian names. matty sits on the barstool beside mine. "so…what are you doing here in new york? i thought you hated the city this time of the year."

and it's true, i hate new york during the summer. the concrete buildings seem to make the temperature much higher, and tourists crowd every corner. it feels claustrophobic. the subway also smells extra bad during these months. but i loved being here with him, no matter the season. i loved being anywhere with him.

"well, yeah. but it's lulu's birthday, and she wanted to celebrate it here, so here we are. the three of us."

"bea is here too?"

"she is, yeah."

him talking about my friends is familiar. many sunday evenings were spent on his couch sharing a bottle of red with my newest candle burning on the side. at the same time, i'd tell him about the most recent gossip in my friend group, and he would listen.

the barman places the new drink before me and takes the empty glass. i thank him and take a sip of the pink liquid. it's sweet and sour, and the vodka calms my nerves a little bit. he's staring at my lips. so i lick them clean.

he shifts, and suddenly, i feel his calloused fingertips brush against my elbow resting comfortably over the counter. much more tender than last time; my skin burns where he touches it.

"how's your writing going?" he asks, looking into my eyes now.

i tell him i'm still at the magazine, it's going alright. not a lot has changed since we broke up. but it's less exciting, more monotonous. i leave that part out. and he asks me about my own stuff, poems and essays hidden in my drafts.

it's just awkward small talk. so awkward. like we're just acquaintances. friends of friends being left alone, being civil to each other.

it's also a conversation we've had before. documents on my computer that weren't fitting enough for the editors or that i just wrote on a whim. he used to tell me to publish them either way, to leave the magazine and find people who actually appreciate my work, or to start my own thing. but it would be useless; they're not good enough.

"well, i don't know, it's been a while since i've written anything out of work." i take another sip, just to calm down a little. "haven't felt very inspired lately."

oh my god, shut up– i can't say this to my ex. it's embarrassing, pitiful.

"it happens." he takes my hand and brushes his thumb over my knuckles. i still shiver "you're really talented, love. you should be proud of yourself. i am."

even his praise hurts now; i miss hearing it daily. it's a stab in my chest, salt on the wound. so i just bite my lip and nod. afraid that if i say something, a choked sob will come out.

there's longing in his eyes, and he gets a look like he wants to say more. but his gaze flickers behind me for a moment, and he drops my hand and gives my left shoulder a squeeze, showing me a soft smile.

"i'll leave you be, then. it was nice seeing you, love."

there's a voice in the back of my head begging me to make him stay, but i know i can't do that, not when i recall why it ended the way it did. still, i want to reach for his hand and pull him back to me, just for a few minutes at least. but someone grips my shoulders.

"there you are!" lulu says excitedly, already a few drinks ahead of me. her dark blonde hair messy and her skin glimmering with sweat from all the dancing. bea follows right behind her. "c'mon, let's do some shots, you need to power up for all the dancing you owe me."

"alright." i force a giggle and down my drink as bea asks the bartender for three tequila shots.

a few minutes and many shots later, the three of us are on the dance floor, swaying wildly to the loud, thumping bass of whatever music the dj's playing. just being around my girls makes me feel less anxious, and the flashing lights, plus all the alcohol already flowing through my body are making my mind a bit hazy, which helps me let loose a little.

as i move, i can feel the beat of the music inside my chest, sweaty bodies pushing against me without a care. i even forget about matty for a minute. i don't think about how his hands used to feel on me when we danced together, not at all.

we dance for maybe 30 minutes. until lulu finds one of her many ex-flings, and, as they catch up, bea asks me to go to the bathroom with her. taking my hand, she leads me out of the crowded area and towards the door labeled "ladies' room".

the contrast from the mostly dark club to the bathroom's white walls makes my eyes squint. it's colder in here, quieter. i can hear the stifled bass from the music and high heels clicking against the floor tiles.

as i wait for bea, i brace myself on the sink in front of me and look into the mirror. everything is happening too fast. talking to matty, downing shots, and being dragged to the dance floor immediately. my head is pounding. i didn't have the time to process what is going on tonight.

my ears are ringing, and it feels like all the alcohol has suddenly lost all its effect. instantly sobering up, i grab a paper towel and dab it on my arms and face to try to get rid of the sweat. turning on the sink, i wet my hands and place them on the back of my neck to cool down and try to help with the dizziness. i hear the toilet flush, and bea comes out of the cubicle, running her hands through her wavy black hair. i reach into my purse and pull out my lipgloss, coating my lips evenly while looking at myself in the mirror.

"i'm going to the back for a bit," i tell bea as she approaches the sink next to me.

"you okay? do you need water?" she asks, concerned

"yea- yes, i just need to breathe a little."

"okay, text me if you need anything." i just nod and leave the bathroom. she knows me, knows i need to be alone.

pushing through crowded bodies, i head to the club's back door, leading to a narrow alleyway where the employees usually store extra liquor bottles. it also doubles as a smoking area, so i shouldn't be surprised when i see him as soon as i open the door. tattooed arms flexing as he lights a cigarette, probably not his first one of the night, and i turn back to try to leave before he sees me.

"leaving so soon?" i turn around again and already feel my cheeks heating up. embarrassed, like a kid caught eating dessert before dinner. "you can stay."

"it's okay, i'll go somewhere else," i wave him off mindlessly. he came here to enjoy his cig on his own, right? he doesn't need his ex-girlfriend plaguing his chill alone time "i don't want to bother you, i just need some air."

"please stay." it's not the first time he says this, but this time i do.

with pink-tinged cheeks and heels clicking loudly, i slowly walk down the three small steps in front of the door and move to stand across him with my back resting against the club's brick wall. the warm summer air hits my skin, and i can hear the rustle of the traffic. "you could never bother me." i pretend i didn't hear him.

"i thought you were quitting," i motion to the burning cigarette between his fingers. the moonlight illuminated the alleyway, making the smoke around him look like some kind of silver aura. he smiles at me.

"i'm trying," he says, taking a drag and blowing it out by the side of his mouth, and i laugh.

"it sure looks like it," i reply, still smiling. i'm not as nervous as i expected i would be in this situation; maybe the alcohol hasn't worn off as much as i thought.

he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. "well, you know me".

my eyes follow his every movement, long, calloused fingers holding the rolled paper limply and bringing it up to his red, pouty lips. i start to fidget with the end of my skirt, trying to distract myself by looking at how my fingers twist the fabric. busying myself, so i don't remember how those same lips used to feel against my own or on the curve between my neck and shoulder.

i look up again when i hear matty step on his cigarette– putting it out– and he starts to walk in my direction. my breath hitches. we are face to face now, noses almost touching. closer than we were at the bar. i can see every freckle on his face when he's this close. i can see the chapped corner of his mouth and the grey that's starting to show up on his now tousled hair.

"why did you leave?" he's straight to the point. his voice comes out low, almost a whisper. at our position, there's no need to be louder than that. there's no hatred in his tone; still, he's not smiling. a flash of hurt appears on his face for a moment. "didn't i make you happy?"

"of course you did, matty." i build the courage to look into his eyes, honey pouring out of them. "we've already talked about this."

he lifts his right hand to rest it on the wall beside my head while letting out a scoff. "but i don't get it," his tone is a little bit louder now. he's not aggressive, but he's not whispering anymore. "what happened?"

"it was for the best." i've stopped whispering too. i place my hands on my forehead. as if to avert the impending headache that will follow this conversation. i don't really know what happened either or when it started happening. i feel sweat droplets running down my hairline, not sure if it's from the summer heat, our closeness, or my disquietude.

"for the best of who?" he questions, lifting an eyebrow, "i don't feel any better!"

"we were fighting all the time, you know this!" there's a lump in my throat, and i can already feel the pressure between my eyes, working hard so the tears don't fall. i lower my voice again. "it was only a matter of time until one of us left, i just left first."

his gaze softens– probably after seeing my flooding waterline– and it's a while before he talks again, as if he's gathering his thoughts. thinking before he speaks for once, "i could never leave you" it's a low, gravely whisper, and i probably wouldn't have heard it if we weren't this close. "i wish you'd stayed."

it's a blow to my chest. like a gunshot, blood running down my ribcage. and for a second, i don't think i can breathe.

"i wish you'd done a lot of things, matty." my vision is blurry now, and i feel a single tear roll down my right cheek. i wish he would answer my calls when he stayed late at the studio. i wish he would listen to me when i said i felt neglected. i wish he would give me more security when i felt jealous of the girls partying with him and the boys while i was on the other side of the pond. i wish i stayed. when i can't sleep because i suddenly realize that my bed is too cold, too empty. when i wake up, and there are no kisses on my bare shoulder. when i have to climb over my kitchen counter to reach the can of pasta sauce on the top shelf. when i'm so anxious, and there's no one to hold me… "sometimes i wish i stayed too."

slowly, his hands cup my jaw. long fingers run lightly across my skin and wipe the lonely tear on my face. the hairs on my neck straighten up, and my heart stirs, beating a little faster. he carefully traces his right thumb over my lower lip, giving me time to reject and push him away. and then, his soft lips lock on mine. no warning. i feel his stubble rub against my chin and let out a sigh. there's a flutter on my lower stomach, burning. i should have pushed him away. instead, my fingers trail up his neck, nails brushing against his skin, and finally into his hair as he coaxes his hot tongue into my mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, of course. i can also taste the rum and lime from the mojito he had earlier. one of his hands travels down and he pulls me by the waist, bodies touching fully now. matty groans into my liquored mouth and i preen; it's good to know i still have that effect on him. that i can still make him let out those pretty sounds with just a kiss. it might be selfish, but we both are. because i bet he's proud too, that every touch of his still sends shivers down my spine. i pull out for air first, lungs already starting to burn. my fingers are still buried in his curls as he rests his forehead on mine, both breathing heavily.

"i need you, love," he whispers against my kiss-swollen lips, voice cracking. there's a smudge of lipgloss on the side of his mouth. it was no use reapplying it.

"matty, i can't," my voice comes out weak, just like how i feel.

"why not? you got somebody?" matty frowns, starting to sound a bit agitated.

i shake my head lightly "i don't."

"what is it?"

"i already told you" it's my turn to cup his face now, scuff prickling against my palms. "we already had this fight before, you get annoyed because i can't trust you, and i start yelling because you don't take me seriously!"

"of course i take you seriously!" he defends, already becoming increasingly exasperated. i just shake my head; there's no use going through this all over again. it hurt enough the first time. however, i still close my eyes, knowing that if i keep looking at him, the chances of me believing him are higher.

"i'm not built for this, matty," for being away from him, for time zones and phone calls, for pretty girls throwing themselves all over him "i'm not strong enough."

"look at me, baby." his hands moved from my waist up to cup my face again, thumb brushing lightly over my cheekbones. "please," i open my eyes.

"do you love me?" he asks. i realize his eyes are glossed over now "because i love you. so fucking much."

it will be easier if i say no, break his heart all at once. give him a reason to give up. it takes me a while, but i nod.

"yeah?" there's a glimmer of hope on his wet iris.

"i do, but-"

"then we'll figure it out" it's not that simple; just figuring it out is not enough. we hurt each other.

"we'll just end up in the same place, matty," i explain firmly. at this point, tears stream both of our faces. his chest heaves, and i try to contain another sob. he turns his face slightly to press his lips to my palm, just for a second.

"stay with me, please." our noses touch, and i can no longer distinguish his tears from mine. "i'll do better, i swear."

"it's not going to work."

"just for tonight at least, please," it comes out ragged, and he grazes his lips on mine, leaving a gentle but salty peck. "just for a little bit."

this shouldn't be happening. it's a mess, all of it. no matter how hard or how many times we try, even if we start all over again, we'll just end up in the same place. i know how i am and how he is. our love is tainted, a ticking bomb. so no matter how much i love him, how much i want him, i know we'll just go back to those screaming matches and broken pictures.

but if we keep doing this again and again, maybe then we won't have to say goodbye. at least i won't have to spend an entire lifetime missing him. so maybe just one night won't hurt, right? i've done it a million times. staying for just a little bit won't hurt…i think.

okay, just for a little bit.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy angst #the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty x reader #the 1975 fanfic

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itgetsbetterproject · 8 months

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Some tangible Black queer history for you!

In case you needed any more proof that we've always been here - this amazing collection is courtesy of the Stonewall National Musuem and Archive!

Rafiki: The Journal of the Association of Black Gays, Vol. 1 #1 (Fall 1976)

"Rafiki was a quarterly publication from the Association of Black Gays (ABG), a Los Angeles, California gay activist group that organized through education, political engagement, and grassroots activism to improve the conditions for Los Angeles’s Black gays and lesbians.

According to the journal, the title Rafiki was chosen because it means “friend” in Swahili and “that’s what [ABG] hope to be for you.” This first issue includes an article on the history of ABG and the fact that Black gays and lesbians have been largely excluded from the political, social, and economic advances of the gay community.

Included in this issue are articles such as “Homosexuality in Tribal Africa” and “Disco Discontent” (an open letter to the owner of Studio One, Scott Forbes), as well as poetry by Steven Corbin and Frances Andrews, and book reviews. It even contains an ad for the famous Catch One Club owned by Jewel Williams, which is still operating today!"

I Am Your Sister: Black Women Organizing Across Sexualities by Audre Lorde (Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press, 1985; from the Freedom Organizing Series)

You can read this one here!

"This small twelve-page publication derives from a speech Audre Lorde gave at the Women’s Center of Medgar Evers College in New York City regarding the exclusion of Lesbians in the feminist movement and how Lorde’s identity as both a Black woman and lesbian are inextricably linked.

Primarily, heterosexism and homophobia are major issues Lorde states are “two grave barriers to organizing among Black women.” Lorde ends the essay with the statement: “I am a Black Lesbian, and I am your sister.”

Her emphasis on the duality of this identity stems from a 1960s poster that said “He’s not black, he’s my brother!,” which Lorde states infuriated her because “it implied that the two were mutually exclusive.”

Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press was founded by Barbara Smith—another Black Lesbian feminist—and Audre Lorde in 1980 to create a publishing apparatus for women of color who at the time did not have control over how they were published except through the white-dominated outlets."

Flawless! The Life & Times of T.B.D.J. AKA Tiffani Inc. AKA Mrs. … (Manuscript) by Tiffany Bowerman (July 2007, A&E Publishers)

This autobiographical manuscript traces the life of Tiffany Bowerman aka Tiffany B.D. Johnson (b. 1959), who states that she “was the first African-American Transsexual to have state issued birth certificate reissued [1990]… was the first to legally marry three different active duty military men… [and] first… to found their own Christian Denomination… The Agape-Ecumenical Christian Denomination.”

Further, she states “I have tried to put together something striking and original[,] a journey from childhood to self aware adult. A life that was and is with all regrets included.”

This manuscript is a preliminary copy of a rough draft, and contains various memoirs, photographs, legal documents, and ephemera.

Out in Black and White: A Directory of Publications By, About, For People of Afrikan Descent In-The-Life by the Broward County Library Outreach Services Department Exhibit/Programming Services with direction by Eric Jon Rawlins (January, 1996)

Out in Black and White is a directory of various serial publications (magazines, newsletters, journals, etc.) throughout the United States that are focused on the Black LGBTQ experience. According to the directory, “[t]his project was inspired by the atmosphere of strength, oneness and productivity created by the Million Man March [on October 16,] 1995.”

The Million Man March was a political demonstration that took place at the National Mall in Washington, D.C. with the purpose of encouraging involvement in the improvement of the conditions of African Americans. Eric Jon Rawlins was a Broward County, Florida librarian who at one time was also the second vice president of the NAACP Fort Lauderdale branch in the late 1980s.

Currently, the Eric Jon Rawlins Collection consisting of personal and professional papers, as well as his 6,000 vinyl record album collection, are housed at the African American Research Library and Cultural Center Special Collections in Broward County, FL.

#it gets better #black history month #bhm #black trans lives matter #lgbtqia #queer history #lgbtq history #black history #queer archive #queer lit #studyblr

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thedepartmentofdiscoveries · 29 days

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Gitane Demone of Christian ✝️ Death, London 1984. Photo by Mick Mercer.

Gitane with Rozz Williams.

Gitane DeMone (also spelled Demone) is an American singer, musician and visual artist. Her career spans more than 30 years. She came to prominence in the mid-1980s as the keyboardist and backing vocalist of the influential death rock band Christian Death. In addition to her work with Christian Death, Demone was previously a member of Pompeii 99, worked with Dreadful Shadows, and has had a solo career which has included three studio albums: Am I Wrong?, Stars of Trash and The Reflecting Shadow.

Early years

In high school, she discovered the works of Billie Holiday, and played and sang with local bands at parties. After high school, she became a writer and illustrator.

Pompeii 99

In 1981, DeMone placed an ad in The Recycler met Valor Kand, and began Pompeii 99. Kand was fascinated by Nostradamus and took the band name from a prophecy. Kand and DeMone found drummer David Glass through auditions, also working with members Marc Doten and Polly Klemmer.

Pompeii 99 gained an audience in the Los Angeles club scene, and in 1981, formed a record label, Nostradamus, to release their debut album Look at Yourself. In 1982, they followed this with an EP, Ignorance Is the Control. Pompeii 99 were scheduled to open for Christian Death on a European tour, but when that band's lineup collapsed, lead singer Rozz Williams decided along with Kand, DeMone and Glass to combine the two bands into a new version of Christian Death.

Christian Death

The new lineup of Christian Death, including DeMone, went on to record two new albums, 1984's Catastrophe Ballet (with bassist Constance Smith) and 1985's Ashes (with bassist Randy Wilde).

In mid-1985, after Williams left, Kand took over leadership of the band, working as lead vocalist and songwriter. With bassist Johann Schumann and guitarist/keyboardist Barry Galvin, the band recorded an EP for the Italian label Supporti Fonografici titled The Wind Kissed Pictures, credited to "The Sin and Sacrifice of Christian Death". The EP was later reissued in Germany and the U.S., credited only to Christian Death.

The band's first post-Williams album was 1986's Atrocities, a concept album about the aftereffects of World War II on the European psyche. This was followed by 1987's The Scriptures, recorded by a revamped lineup of Kand, DeMone, Glass, guitarist James Beam and bassist Kota. During this period, the band found their biggest successes on the UK Independent Chart with the 1987–89 singles "Sick of Love", "Church of No Return" and "Zero Sex" and the 1988 album Sex and Drugs and Jesus Christ. Following the release of the "Zero Sex" single, Demone split from both Kand and Christian Death in 1989.

Solo career

In 1989, DeMone relocated to Amsterdam and began a solo career, combining her background in punk, death rock and gothic rock with a passion for jazz and legendary female vocalists, most notably Billie Holiday. She maintained a rubber-clad S&M visual image, and the fetish theme carried through into her lyrics.

DeMone's first two solo releases, the "A Heavenly Melancholy" maxi-single (1992, Torso Dance) and Lullabies for a Troubled World EP (1993, Cult Music), were collected, along with some 1993 live tracks, as the 1993 Cleopatra Records compilation Facets in Blue.[6] She also issued two live albums during this period: Love for Sale (1993, Cult Music) and With Love & Dementia (Live in Cannes 1994) (1995, Hypnobeat).

She renewed her friendship with former Christian Death band member Williams, and the pair toured together and recorded the album Dream Home Heartache in 1995, which included both cover versions and their own material. DeMone then paired up with Mark Ickx to produce a studio album Never Felt So Alive, released in 1994; it was reissued under the title Demonix in 1996 by Cleopatra.

In 1996, DeMone recorded her first studio album Am I Wrong?, released by Apollyon in 1998. The following year she released a second studio album Stars of Trash (Andromeda), composed by DeMone and recorded with the assistance of the band Dreadful Shadows.

In 2008, a two-disc DVD by DeMone titled Life After Death was released by Cult Epics, featuring footage from throughout her career, including a live performance with Williams. From 2008 to 2011, DeMone was involved in a project called the Crystelles with daughter Zara Kand, and also performed with the experimental noise band +DOG+.

In 2013, she collaborated with Loopool and Syphilis Sauna under the name Hedone Tears, self-releasing a digital single, "Moonlit Paradise". "Moonlit Paradise", backed by an untitled track, was released again in 2015 as the Hedone Tears 7" single (Mystic Moon Records), under her own name.

As the Gitane DeMone Quartet, DeMone currently records and performs backed by other musicians including Rikk Agnew, Paul Roessler (The Screamers, etc.) and Deb Venom.

A published writer, DeMone's other artistic activities also include composing poetry and painting.

Personal life

Besides being partners in Pompeii 99, DeMone and Kand were married in 1983. They had a son and daughter together. DeMone became engaged to fellow former Christian Death member Rikk Agnew on May 3, 2013.

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gotham-ruaidh · 6 months

Text

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart || Chapter 17C: I’m Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned || Chapter 18: Turn The Page || Chapter 19A: When You’re Alone, Do You Let Go? || Chapter 19B: Heading For A Spin ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 20A: I Don't Need Nothing When I'm By Your Side

So hold me close, better hang on tight Buckle up, baby, it's a bumpy ride We're two kids hitching down the road of life Our world, our fight

-- “Born To Be My Baby,” Bon Jovi (1988) [click here to listen]

North Carolina || February 1989

Jamie frowned, looking back and forth between the shelf he’d just put together and the three unpacked boxes of books (two marked CLAIRE, one marked JAMIE).

Would she like them organized alphabetically by author? Genre? Size?

He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Or perhaps she wanted medical books in her workroom? And maybe he could put his music books on the cabinet in his studio –

“There you are.”

He hadn’t heard Claire pad into the room – at some point they would need to get throw rugs to protect the gorgeous old hardwood floors – and smiled as she effortlessly stepped into his embrace.

They held each other for a long moment – his lips against her hair, her face buried in the safety of his neck.

Almost three months since the acoustic tour had ended, the night before Claire’s birthday. About six weeks since they had closed on their dream house, nestled against a mountain in the forests of North Carolina, not too far from The Ridge. And about two weeks since the items in storage – from her packed-up apartment in Boston, and his packed-up house in Los Angeles – had arrived.

The property had everything they needed. Privacy and solitude, of course. An old barn that they were using as a garage for Jamie’s motorcycle and cars. The house – an old cabin, really, dating from the 1800s and which had been lovingly expanded over the years – was perfect. A spacious living room, complete with the original stone fireplace. An eat-in kitchen, with newly replaced appliances. Two small rooms off the back that were now his music studio and her workroom – spaces to pursue their interests. A modestly-sized master bedroom. And a small extra bedroom – which for now was for guests, though God willing would be a nursery very soon.

Claire had insisted on doing two things quickly, before spending their time unpacking all the boxes.

The first was to hang his six gold and two platinum records in his studio – and he agreed, after he had hung her framed medical school diploma on the wall of her workroom.

The second was to install the fax machine on the bare floor of the studio – which, together with the phone, was their only link to the outside world.

For as much as they isolated themselves in this beautiful, peaceful place – the world pushed along without them.

In March, they would leave for L.A. and three weeks of rehearsals with the band. Maybe play a few small gigs in clubs on the Sunset Strip – Jamie had always wanted to do that. And in April, they’d fly to Europe, and kick off the tour that had swelled to 120 dates and stretched into 1990.

Colum was busier than ever – finalizing logistics, negotiating with local promoters, running interference with the suits from the label, upgrading the concerts from arenas to soccer stadiums. He had a conference call with the band every Tuesday – with Ian calling in from Lallybroch in upstate New York, and Angus from various resort spots in Mexico and the Caribbean (“I can’t believe Charlotte and Molly haven’t worn him out yet,” Jamie had mused to Claire one day. She had only shrugged and said, “they take care of each other”). Colum would always have a punchlist of decisions for the band – OK to book studio time during the week off in Scandinavia in July? The roadies couldn’t figure out the pyro setup without the band, OK to wait until rehearsals? They would need to film at least three music videos, which one could be a live performance? – and follow up with decisions in a fax sent later that day.

Jamie had been clear with Colum that he had three conditions for the tour: that Claire would be with him, that Raymond would be traveling with the band, and that the same no alcohol/drugs/groupies rule from the acoustic tour would carry through to this tour. Of course Colum had agreed. Just as he’d agreed to make provisions for Jenny to periodically fly out to visit Ian, and for Angus to always have a suite with two bathrooms to keep his girlfriends happy.

Claire and Jamie knew that this tour would be difficult, for so many different reasons. But they would be better prepared this time, to draw strength from each other, and to have Raymond for support. And maybe, just maybe they would return home from Europe with the best souvenir of all…

“Another fax from Colum,” Claire murmured after a long while.

Jamie snorted against her hair. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed.”

“I do admire how hard he’s working for you and for the band. And how much he’s keeping all of you in the loop on the decisions he’s making. He doesn’t want any surprises.”

“I’d imagine not. The amount of bullshit he has to be putting up with right now must be insane. I just hope he doesn’t crack.”

“He never said if he’s bringing Tricia on the tour.” Tricia – Colum’s wife of more than ten years. She stood a head taller than her husband, still impossibly beautiful in her late thirties, smiling for every frown on her husband’s face. Claire had only met her once – couldn’t say she really knew her – but she knew enough about her.

How she had first met Colum at a party in 1970, when he was a roadie for Led Zeppelin and she was part of a gaggle of groupies that held court at the Riot House in L.A.

How, when she and her girlfriends joined the Led Zep tour the following summer, he had punched out the lighting guy at the Cow Palace in San Francisco when he heard the guy didn’t understand what Tricia meant by saying “no”.

How Geordie Ash – the reporter who had put Jamie (and, in a way, Claire) on the map last year with that Rolling Stone article – had sent flowers to her hotel room every day for a month during Led Zeppelin’s 1973 U.S. tour. Not knowing, of course, that she was allergic to lilies – or how Colum, who knew more about her by that point than he cared to admit, had wordlessly disposed of them for her, every day that month.

“I don’t think she likes to tour.” Jamie’s thumb traced lazy circles on the skin of Claire’s back. “Too many bad memories.”

If you asked any rock journalist or musician who had found Alex MacGregor – assistant to Led Zeppelin manager Peter Grant – dead in his Seattle hotel room in the spring of 1975, they would all say quite confidently that it had been Colum Laird, who by that point had advanced to lead Zeppelin’s touring crew.

But a handful of people – Peter Grant, and Colum, and Jamie, and now Claire – knew the truth.

Tricia woke up, Alex cold beside her in bed, a needle in his arm. The only thing she knew to do was slip quietly down the hall, tumbling into Colum’s room…and finally, his arms. Where she had remained ever since.

“I couldn’t imagine being away from you for so long.” Claire sighed. “I don’t know how they make it work.”

Jamie shrugged. “They love each other very deeply. They fixed the broken pieces in each other. And now she has the two boys to keep her busy.” He kissed her forehead. “Something for us to aspire to, perhaps. What’s in the fax?”

She held it out for him to read. Sharing a smile at Colum’s scrawl.

J+C: I’m not calling because I interrupted enough moments between you on tour and I’ll probably do it again this year. I don’t have Raymond’s info pls have him get in touch so we have a copy of his credentials and the travel agent can make all arrangements for Europe. I got the label to foot the bill for his travel meals and hotels, convinced them it’s a business expense, you’re welcome. Stay out of trouble. Colum.

“We’ll have him give Colum a call after he arrives this afternoon,” Jamie mused, folding the fax and sliding it into the back pocket of his jeans.

Claire nodded. “The guest room is all ready. And I’m glad Dougal and Gillian and William will be here tomorrow – I’m so happy they’re so close by.”

Jamie squeezed her shoulder, and released her. “As am I. Now, I have a question for you about these books…”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #little bit better than i used to be

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aurumacadicus · 10 days

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October's coming and the theme is horror! Tumblr will vote to help us narrow it down to three books, and then we'll vote for the winner on Discord. If you'd like to join the book club, send me a message, and I'll send you an invitation link! Book summaries are under the cut!

Family Business by Jonathan Sims JUST ANOTHER DEAD-END JOB. DEATH. IT’S A DIRTY BUSINESS. When Diya Burman’s best friend Angie dies, it feels like her own life is falling apart. Wanting a fresh start, she joins Slough & Sons - a family firm that cleans up after the recently deceased. Old love letters. Porcelain dolls. Broken trinkets. Clearing away the remnants of other people’s lives, Diya begins to see things. Horrible things. Things that get harder and harder to write off as merely her grieving imagination. All is not as it seems with the Slough family. Why won’t they speak about their own recent loss? And who is the strange man that keeps turning up at their jobs? If Diya’s not careful, she might just end up getting buried under the family tree…

The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix In horror movies, the final girls are the ones left standing when the credits roll. They made it through the worst night of their lives…but what happens after? Lynnette Tarkington is a real-life final girl who survived a massacre. For more than a decade, she's been meeting with five other final girls and their therapist in a support group for those who survived the unthinkable, working to put their lives back together. Then one woman misses a meeting, and their worst fears are realized—someone knows about the group and is determined to rip their lives apart again, piece by piece. But the thing about final girls is that no matter how bad the odds, how dark the night, how sharp the knife, they will never, ever give up.

Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero In 1977, four teenagers and a dog—Andy (the tomboy), Nate (the nerd), Kerri (the bookworm), Peter (the jock), and Tim (the Weimaraner)—solved the mystery of Sleep Lake. The trail of an amphibian monster terrorizing the quiet town of Blyton Hills leads the gang to spend a night in Deboën Mansion and apprehend a familiar culprit: a bitter old man in a mask. Now, in 1990, the twenty-something former teen detectives are lost souls. Plagued by night terrors and Peter’s tragic death, the three survivors have been running from their demons. When the man they apprehended all those years ago makes parole, Andy tracks him down to confirm what she’s always known—they got the wrong guy. Now she’ll need to get the gang back together and return to Blyton Hills to find out what really happened in 1977, and this time, she’s sure they’re not looking for another man in a mask.

Bury Your Gays by Chuck Tingle Misha knows that chasing success in Hollywood can be hell. But finally, after years of trying to make it, his big moment is here: an Oscar nomination. And the executives at the studio for his long-running streaming serioes know just the thing to kick his career to the next level: kill off the gay characters, “for the algorithm,” in the upcoming season finale. Misha refuses, but he soon realizes that he’s just put a target on his back. And what’s worse, monsters from his horror movie days are stalking him and his friends through the hills above Los Angeles. Haunted by his past, Misha must risk his entire future—before the horrors from the silver screen find a way to bury him for good.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Stepping far afield from his medical studies, Victor Frankenstein brings to life a human form he has fashioned from scavenged body parts. Horrified by his achievement, he turns his back on his creation, only to learn the danger of such neglect. Written when Mary Shelley was only 20 years old, Frankenstein has been hailed as both a landmark of Gothic horror fiction and the first modern science fiction story.

The Sacrifice Box by Martin Stewart

In the summer of 1982, five friends discover an ancient stone box hidden deep in the woods. They seal inside of it treasured objects from their childhood, and they make a vow: Never come to the box alone. Never open it after dark. Never take back your sacrifice. Four years later, a series of strange and terrifying events begin to unfold: mirrors inexplicably shattering, inanimate beings coming to life, otherworldly crows thirsting for blood. Someone broke the rules of the box, and now everyone has to pay. But how much are they willing to sacrifice?

A Lonely Broadcast by Kel Byron

If you find yourself driving down a winding mountain road near an endless stretch of pines, try tuning in to 104.6 FM: the radio station that shouldn’t exist. The village of Pinehaven has a secret of monstrous proportions. Evelyn McKinnon, a radio host falling on hard times, finds herself utterly unprepared when she learns that the radio station isn’t just for entertainment. It’s a watchtower. She’s stalked by a bird with human eyes. Her co-host won’t stop singing show tunes. And when the fog rolls in, the beasts of Pinehaven Forest begin their brutal hunt. Evelyn and her friends are suddenly face-to-face with something much scarier than ravenous flesh-giants and vengeful spirits: responsibility. ‘A Lonely Broadcast’ is a darkly comedic tale that mixes elements of cosmic horror, gruesome gore, and a touching story about friendship, grief, and finding hope when all seems lost. It’s also the story of an unhinged woman’s personal war with a goddamn bird.

Episode Thirteen by Craig DiLouie

Fade to Black is the newest hit ghost hunting reality TV show. Led by husband and wife team Matt and Claire Kirklin, it delivers weekly hauntings investigated by a dedicated team of ghost hunting experts. Episode Thirteen takes them to every ghost hunter’s holy grail: the Paranormal Research Foundation. This brooding, derelict mansion holds secrets and clues about bizarre experiments that took place there in the 1970s. It’s also famously haunted, and the team hopes their scientific techniques and high tech gear will prove it. But as the house begins to reveal itself to them, proof of an afterlife might not be everything Matt dreamed of. A story told in broken pieces, in tapes, journals, and correspondence, this is the story of Episode Thirteen—and how everything went terribly, horribly wrong.

#polls #book club

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openlategames · 1 year

Text

Open Late Games released its first teaser for Speakeasy last week on April 25th, 2023 via a Reddit post, a Twitter announcement, a trailer release on YouTube, and making our Speakeasy itch.io link live.

Up until this point we've kept the development of our game hush hush. So who are we and what's this game all about?

Open Late Games is an independent development studio founded in 2020 with several projects in the works. Our focus is on creating games for women and the LGBTQ+ community, with an emphasis on immersive stories and quality gameplay. Our two member team is small but mighty, with experience in both creative and management fields.

As for Speakeasy, this is an erotic visual novel that might be new to our audience, but has been in production since 2021. Here's the quick info:

Join Old Hollywood heiress Cora West for a whirlwind of forbidden romance in the depths of a decadent illegal jazz club in Prohibition-era Los Angeles. Direct the heroine’s actions and determine whether she will make it out with her heart intact or lose herself in the glamor and excess.

Will you fall in love? Rule the city? Or damn it all and descend into ruin? The choice is yours.

Now come closer and we'll let you in on a little secret...

The script is complete, the demo will be ready soon, our Kickstarter will launch this summer, and our goal is to release the game before the end of the year!

Okay, that was more than one secret. When we started development on this project we made the decision not to release information until there was a solid body of work to present. As our debut title, we knew we would have a lot to prove and wanted to do this right. With the script complete, phase one of the character art finished by the amazing artist who signed on for the project in 2022, the game demo programming underway, and all the little details being drawn together, we knew it was time to let the world know about Speakeasy.

As fans of independent games ourselves who have supported studios/individuals and watched the development of titles we were excited about, we know how it feels being on the side of the end user who's clinging to updates and waiting for the game to come out. There's a fine line between foreplay and just being a tease; we want to get all of you excited for the main event, but also for you to know that a release is within reach.

Thank you for coming on this journey with us and we can't wait to show you what comes next.

Aura, Founder + Creative Director

#amare #gaming #otome #indie #indie vn #visual novel #indie games #otome romance #otome fandom #english otome #dating sim #amare game #otome game #r18 otome #indie otome

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thesixenthusiast · 1 year

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ruby – eddie roundtree

part two (part one, part three, part four)

pairing: eddie rountree x fem!oc (may change to x reader) warnings: drinking/drugs (billy/daisy's addictions) word count: 1.5k author's note: please bear with me in this, if there's a few time mix ups just with the order of things, please do let me know but i'm trying to find an equal balance between the book and show and it's a little difficult lol

BILLY DUNNE: At one of our gigs we were talking to Rod Reyes, he gave us some pointers, told us what to do and what not to do, and then he told us to go west. We were all out of school by then and decided maybe it was the best option for us.

ROD REYES (tour manager, The Six): The band had the look they needed, Billy was a natural born rockstar, the long hair, the deep voice, that deadpan look when he doesn’t get his way. Juliet had the rockstar look down, she had this long hair, big hair too, and dark makeup that she never really learned how to use properly. The girls wanted to be her and the guys wanted to sleep with her. And her voice.. she had this raspy voice that she never seemed to tire out. I told Billy, I told him, get her out from behind you, get her out of singing back up, sing a song or two with her, mix things up, people’ll get bored of just hearing you. Most importantly, I told them to get the fuck out of Pittsburgh.

GRAHAM DUNNE: The six of us decided to move out to L.A..

–

The Six settled into life in Los Angeles, renting a house in the hills of Topanga Canyon. They prepared to begin recording their debut album. Teddy, along with a team of technicians, including lead engineer Artie Snyder, set up shop at Sound City Studios, a recording studio in Van Nuys, California.

The band, Camila alongside, started getting their name out there. They played gigs at clubs and bars, doing near-anything to make a name for themselves on the Sunset Strip. Not too long after, they decided to record an album.

“I feel fully content with my decision to not take your bedroom, Warren,” Juliet hummed in response to Warren’s bragging over having the only bedroom with a bathroom, “Very few people would consider a stray toilet in the corner of your room to be a bathroom, I am proudly not one of those people.” Eddie waltzed into the kitchen, where the group was situated getting ready for the day.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, taking a seat next to Juliet, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “We need a new name, The Dunne Brothers isn’t cutting it for us.”

“Thank you!” Karen yelled, propping herself up against the counter to face the rest of the group.

“I agree, but let’s be realistic,” Juliet reasoned, “you’re never going to get six people to agree on a name.” She leaned against Warren’s shoulder, who was contributing little to the conversation due to how stoned he was.

“We could take the easy way out,” Graham piped in, “The Six.”

“The Six,” Warren hummed, nodding blissfully at the suggestion.

–

JULIET OPAL: The Six. [Smiles] Warren admitted later that he only liked it because it sounded similar to “The Sex,” I don’t think that was a big part of it for anyone else.

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Julie really liked the name, that was a big part of it for me.

GRAHAM DUNNE: We finished the album, we were going on tour, we needed a real name, it felt right. Plus it was kinda my idea. [Smiles]

–

Karen and Juliet were draped across the living room carpet, attempting to escape the California heat as the fan that was weakly shackled to the ceiling rotated above them. The girls were taken out of their silent daze with a yelling and laughter radiating from the porch as the rest of the group made their way inside mumbling something about a wedding.

The girls sat up, exhaustion dissipating from their bodies when Camila announced that she was pregnant and her and Billy were getting married that night. They jumped up, Juliet hoisting Karen up from the rug and her sleep deprivation-ridden state, and ran over to congratulate the couple, pulling Camila away from the group and to her closet to pick out her dress.

Later that afternoon, Juliet stood in the dimly-lit backyard, and strung pieces of aluminum foil through the various trees and rosemary bushes speckled across the yard. Eddie crept up behind her, grabbing her wrist, which ultimately led to her dropping the wad of foil into the grass, and spinning her around to face him.

“Eddie!” She looked down at her spilt decorations with a lackluster expression, though a grin was pulling on the corners of her mouth, Eddie made sure not to miss that.

“No, eyes up here,” he lifted up her chin with his other hand and smiled at her, grabbing her other hand and intertwining their fingers as he started to dance with her, “I need practice for tonight, don’t want to make a fool of myself on the dance floor. What time is the minister getting here?”

“I’d hardly call it a dance floor, it’s the same bed of grass you passed out on last week and Warren puked on yesterday,” he laughed, spinning her and then pulling her closer as they continued to dance, “He’s supposed to be here in 40 minutes, but it’s L.A., no one is ever on time, it’s anyone’s guess.”

“Well,” he licked his lips and cleared his throat before continuing to speak, “then you have plenty of time to finish decorating once we’re finished.”

“Nuh uh, I need to help get Camila ready too, pre-wedding jitters. You’ll understand someday,” she leaned her face in closer to his before whispering, “that poor woman.”

“You wound me, Julie, you really do. But alas, a woman’s job is never done,” he stopped moving and let go of her hands, “I’ll finish up here, make her feel real pretty.” He smiled, she quickly ducked down and scooped up the mass of foil and handed it to him, before scurrying inside.

–

INTERVIEWER: What can you tell me about that night?

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: [Smiles]

JULIET OPAL: Oh, I don’t know. What’s the maturity rating on this?

–

“Smile for me,” Warren teased, positioning himself for the perfect shot of Camila and Billy, “I need a nice big smile, Billy, knock off the frown, it’s the happiest day of your life!”

“Your lens cap is on!” Camila leaned forward, pulling it off and tossing it to Juliet, who caught it with one hand and handed it to Warren, who stuffed it inside of his pocket and immediately returned to trying to get the couple to pose.

–

WARREN ROJAS: Mescaline is a powerful drug.

–

Juliet laughed as she watched the numerous failed attempts at photographing the wedding and muttered something about how maybe Warren should stick to music, before she was tapped on the shoulder. She turned around and was greeted with Eddie smiling at her, his hand extended towards her.

“May I have this dance?” He smirked, raising one eyebrow at her.

“Oh, of course,” she took his hand, tilting her head to the side and smiling, “if not all of your practice will have been for nothing.”

He pulled her away and the two of them found a position only a few dozen feet away from the rest of the group, who was still struggling to take photos. They danced, her head resting on his right shoulder and his hands around her waist, before one of them got the courage to break the comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe they’re gonna be parents,” she marveled, “I still feel like I’m new here and my biggest concern is trying to make him like me. When did we stop being little asshole kids who bummed garages off our parents for practicing space?”

“I’d like to think when we left Pittsburgh, but I think we still are,” she laughed, leaning her head into him.

“Do you think you’ll ever be like that?” He raised an eyebrow at her, “I mean like, ready to settle down? If we get to where we want to be, if we’re as big as we came out here hoping to be, is it even in the cards for us?”

“I think it’ll be tricky, but it always is, whether you’re leaving for a 30 city tour the morning after you get married, or if you just don’t know if you can do it with the kid staying in one piece.”

“I guess so,” she got quiet, swaying to the humming of the music until Eddie eventually decided it was time to rejoin everyone else.

The next morning, Juliet loaded her bag into the van, crawling into the passenger seat next to Eddie behind the wheel. After finalizing her spot, she climbed out and walked over to Camila, throwing her arms around her and leaning into her ear.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she looked at the tears welling up in her eyes before continuing to speak, “I’ll watch out for him for you. Call me if you need anything, I’m serious. I’ll drive back to California from Boston to bring you orange juice if you run out, I’m here.”

Camila hugged her back and Juliet shielded her from the group as she wiped the tears from her eyes, then she climbed back into the van, a stoic expression taking over her face. Eddie noticed and placed his hand over hers on the console, bringing her attention to his face. He nodded and gave her a weak lipped smile. As the group piled into the car, the energy lightened and Eddie let out a “alright, let’s get out of here,” before pulling onto the road.

–

JULIET OPAL: And then we were off.

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powderblueblood · 8 months

Note

For the old Hollywood AU - dealer’s choice & this quote: “And they'll know - everyone will fucking know that they could never control one goddamn fucking thing."

😘

BABYLON SENTENCE MEME

set in the frenetic grimy screwball universe of BURN LIKE NITRATE, the old hollywood au an: this is 3k words because i am soooo normal about all this. no majorly explicit warnings, just fluff and angst and coarse language and a slight allusion to steve's drinking problem

LOS ANGELES, 1927

Seven frantic knocks on your bedroom door awaken you with a skin-jumping start, and you realize you've fallen asleep with your needlework in hand. Again.

"Oof," you breathe, a hand brushing across your brow as you set the embroidery hoop down on your rickety bedside table. That'll be Pidge or one of the other girls at the door, eye-rolling and telling you it's lights out-- as is the routine racket come ten at night, every night. Bunny Lamelle's boarding house kept strict rules, and they included lights out at ten, no boozing, and no shoes or men past the first floor.

Little do you know, you're about to shatter all three of those sacrosanct commandments.

You barely bother to smooth your nightgown before you crack open your bedroom door-- and regret it immediately.

"Mr Harrington?"

Bleary-eyed and wearing a grin that would knock a nun clean out, Steven Harrington stands in the frame of your bedroom door.

Well, stands is generous. His knees look fit to buckle under the weight of whatever's in that flask he's carrying.

"Evening, Beadie."

"Get inside, quickly! Please!" You yank him in by the crook of his arm, and immediate thrill sparks in you. You'd never think to do that ordinarily! Gosh, you're afraid to even touch the fabric that you drape over the man's frame in a professional setting, and you're his darn costume fitter.

As a precaution, you poke your head out into the hallway, neck swiveling left and right. Clear? Clear. You gently close the door.

"How ever did you get up here?" you question as Steve, as he keeps insisting you call him (but you only ever do in your head-- manners are a girl's best friend!), stumbles a touch before flopping down on your bed.

Your bed. Oh, dear.

"I'm no stranger to the facilities here at Bunny Lamelle's, I'll have you know!" he proclaims, hitching himself up on his elbows. The light in here is terrifically bright, too bright for his liking, and your bed is terrifically soft, but that's just right. "It's no Hollywood Studio Club, but it's not a complete pigsty they keep you girls in--"

The pitch of his voice keeps rising and rising, and you know very well that the walls are thin and the eponymous Bunny can hear everything. Steve is familiar with Bunny Lamelle, having been chased down the stairs of this very boarding house more times than he could count. His early years in Los Angeles were nothing if not, ah, eventful. He knows he ought to be quiet, but he feels mournful tonight. Feeling mournful always leads him down the path to goading, because being sad is a fucking sap's game.

You make a motion, pleading with him to shush-- and sold on the look on your face alone, Steve's voice drops to a stage whisper.

"The back door has a loose lock."

"I know," you whisper back. "I taught Pidge how to jimmy that lock open when we both moved in here."

"That little bearcat lives here too? What a pair you two make."

Steve looks surprised, same as Pidge had looked surprised. A little church girl like you, knowing how to pick a lock. Imagine that. He swears, every time you deign open your mouth, which has become more and more frequent during your little fittings, you threaten to knock the knees from under him. Some turn of phrase, some thread of history he never guessed would be woven into your coat.

You feel a blush flaring at your cheeks, Steve's half-focused eyes resting on you a moment too long.

You force yourself to clear your throat, though breaking the spell of his stare feels like a betrayal.

"What are you doing here, Mr--"

"Bea-die. I insist. I'm in your chambers, for Chrissake."

"Steve." You put a nice fine point on it, finer than your needlework. If he insists.

Ah, yes. The reason for the season. As if punching the air in victory, Steve's right arm thrusts into the air. His movements are like those of a marionette filled with whiskey.

"It appears I have torn a button."

Indeed. A button hangs from a thread, dangling from the cuff of Steve's impeccable satin shirt, part in parcel of his whole satin getup. An outfit designed to make him look the consummate ideal of the American picture star, an image you're positive they couldn't have illustrated without the reference of his good looks and charm.

But now the suit is creased and rumpled and reeking of liquor, and the man inside it, the man you now know to be wondrous and interesting outside of the fascination he inspires onscreen, looks despondent.

This is all getting a little on-the-nose.

"You came over here to... to ask me to mend a button?" You don't mean to let that twinge of disappointment escape your voice.

Steve's mouth gapes and shuts again. He can't tell if it's the whiskey or what, but that feels like flimsy reasoning all of a sudden. "I suppose I did."

You can feel your blood pressure rising. He risked getting you evicted from the only place in Los Angeles you can afford to stay because of some silly button? Well, I never! The gall, the nerve, the-- the vanity! You take a deep, steadying breath and cross the room to the bathroom that you and Pidge share, adjoining both your bedrooms.

"If you'll excuse me."

He starts to speak, but you click the door closed behind you, softly as you can manage. When safely inside, you stuff the shower curtain into your mouth and let out a silent, frustrated scream. So, you'll do the only thing you know to do. You'll consult your most trusted source of a second opinion.

Pidge, how do I go about not murdering the entitled movie star that's currently sitting on my bed?

As if she'd heard you summoning, Pidge comes crashing through her bathroom door, hair mussed and face flushed. Giggling. Until she sees you, that is, and her face drops. She slams the door behind her, and you swear you can hear a muffled, "Ow!"

Louder than is necessary, she says, "Hello, Beadie!"

"Pidge..." Something's off in the body language of the script girl.

At a normal volume, "Hello, Beadie." A beat, as she takes you in. "Is everything alright?"

Oh, forget whatever madness Pidge has indulged herself in now! You're having an honest-to-god emergency!

"No!" you flutter, arms flapping, "No, it is not because Steven Harrington is sitting in my bedroom!"

Pidge's eyes flare for about half a second, which is just the amount of surprise she doles out for any occasion. You could tell her that Victrola records were shrinking to half their size and all she'd do is give you the ol' wide eyes and move onto more logical matters.

"The way you're talking makes me think he oughtn't be."

"Of course he oughtn't be!"

"Why oughtn't he be?"

"Well, other than the obvious, Pidge! He-- he's Steven Harrington!" Most recently seen on the arm of the latest WAMPAS Baby, Steven Harrington. Box office darling, Steven Harrington. Object of many a rabid fan letter, Steven Harrington. "And get this, he risked life and limb sneaking up here so I could sew a button back on for him!"

"That's what they're calling it now? Cad," Pidge says, eyes narrowing. Then they flare again. "Oh, hold the line..."

Your breath stitched up in your throat. "What?"

"Harrington's got a premiere tonight. Seven Slow Dances. It ought to be," Pidge checks her watch and you notice her lipstick is smudged. Hm. "Well, gosh, it'll be over by now. After party at The Roosevelt, natch. Warner Jr will have his guts for garters if he doesn't show his mug."

Your bottom lip trembles a tad, hands flapping with the sheer current of nerves and anger and excitement and dread coursing through you.

"Pidge, Pidge, Pidge, what am I to do?!"

Your roommate and friend grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a good, hefty shake.

"Beadie, snap out of it. You know exactly what you're to do. You're to mend that button and you're to send him on his way." She gives you this stare that's kind of wavering at the corners.

That throat of yours is suddenly drier than Glendale. You swallow, roughly. You dare to ask, "And what if... he tries any funny business?"

Pidge doesn't miss a beat. "Well, I have a revolver in my delicates."

This response makes you abandon the followup question of what if I'd like him to try some funny business. You nod, resolute and terrified, grabbing your sewing box from the commode. Pidge stands stock still stationary in the bathroom, arms crossed and eyes bright with curiosity.

You wonder what you'd just caught her in the middle of.

But the door clicks shut behind you and you find Steve lying flat on his back, his head dangling off the edge of your modest single bed.

"Told half of Hollywood I'm here already, huh?" His tone is languid, but not scornful. Playful, even. Like he could really expect such a thing from you. Wide-eyed, innocent you.

A nervous chuckle bubbles from you, Steve dousing the flame of your irritation as soon as he'd lit it. You edge closer to the bed, suddenly very conscious of the way your nightgown is fitting.

"Certainly not. Just, I knocked into Pidge in the bathroom. It happens, sharing and all. I didn't--"

But before you can lie, "Hello, Pigeon!" Steve calls, and you lurch for him-- too loud! He emits something close to a giggle. "She's quite the hard boiled tomato. How is it you two became so close?"

You shrug. That was a story, but not one you were about to regale Steve Harrington with. He needed to be sewn up, given his marching orders. That's that. "Every lady needs her foil, I suppose."

"Good god, don't sell yourself so short," Steve says, and there's a real edge to his voice. He's truly admonishing you. You can't truly see yourself that way, can you? Playing second fiddle to some studio drone workaholic like poor Pidge, when you and your delicate hands and your brilliant mind had the gall and grace to exist on this earth?

Christ, is he drunk.

Though, you can't help it sometimes. You love Pidge, love her true, but can't help but think she stacks up so much higher compared to you; in experience, in nerve, in dealing with men like him.

"You're the genuine article, Beadie."

Steve says this to you. Steven Harrington says this to you. Even if he's corked and ready to pour, he says this to you.

You have to give yourself an even moment to remember the act of taking a human breath and how it works.

When you recover, your voice is tiny. "Sit up, please."

He does as is told, the same as when you tell him so in the fitting rooms. It's the one time that Steve doesn't mind being told what to do; you go about it gentle, careful not to prick him with your little pins. He trusts that you never will. And, you always asks things like, "Well, how does that feel, Mr Harrington?" and then add that adorable shy addendum, "I mean, to move in?"

You settle next to him on the bed, sewing kit in your lap. Steve presents his sleeve to you and you finger the darling little pearlescent button. Feels too violent for your nature to snap it off of its lingering thread-- and yet you do it. And he can't explain it, but it thrills him.

Steve watches you thread your needle with an intensity that does not go unnoticed by you. Your entire head feels hot.

"You're aware I had a premiere tonight, Beadie."

"Oh, of course I am," and you did, having faithfully followed this man's work for years, "Seven Slow Dances, wasn't it?"

Steve swallows, feeling the paparazzi light bulbs crack behind his eyes. The tense silence in the theater that just kept getting tenser and stickier as the preview of the picture droned on.

"It's set to be my biggest picture to date," he tells you, a slur creeping into his voice, "A thoroughly modern romp, catapulting me to as-yet-unforeseen notoriety. Have you heard this?"

A small smile wafts over your lips, daring to break your focus. "Why, that sounds wonderful."

Steve emits a hearty scoff, and you have to place a hand on his arm to steady it.

"Wonderful? It sounds like bullshit to me. It sounds like the company line," he sniffs, "Do you know why I do all this, Beadie? Why I became an actor? To escape the company line."

You still your needle to an unnecessarily slow speed, taking far longer than you need to with resewing this button. Because he does this, when he's in your hands and you have your points turned towards him. He opens up, to you.

"But it follows you, you know," Steve goes on, voice thickening. That sends a jolt of alarm through you. "Chases you like you've got a target on your back."

You've never heard him sound quite like this before. Cornered.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean..." you murmur, eyes leaving the safe reserve of the needlepoint and button to watch him. Watch his profile. Watch the tears begin to well in his scorched sugar eyes.

"I traded being one kind of stooge for another, do you know that?" he sniffs, bitterness putting a bite in his voice, "I rejected the role that was set out for me, the heir to HH Industries, to become an artist! If you can fucking believe that. Because I thought it meant something. I thought it meant I'd finally have control over my own life."

It strikes you dumb. It's an honesty so blistering, you can't quite believe that it's real, that he's sharing it with you. "I..."

"I don't," have any control, he means, "I'm being prodded around like a prize show pony in front of these cameras, preening to Photoplay and acting like it all means something when it doesn't."

Steve turns to you now, a single, screen-perfect tear cascading down his screen-perfect face. But his vitriol feels ugly and ill-fitting, like he feels in this stupid satin suit.

"And you know what, Beadie? You know what's the killer? The bullet aiming straight for my heart?"

Suspended in shock, your needle held aloft. "No..."

Steve clears his gummed up throat, nodding mirthlessly. Of course. How would you know, you poor, sweet thing?

"Once this shitheap of an Al Jolson picture goes to print, the entire company line is going to change. Sound in the pictures, what a gimmick!" he cackles, "But the public loves a gimmick, and that's who we sacrifice ourselves for. And it'll push me, who has given everything to create something out of nothing, and every other dumb sap like me, right out the door. And they'll know - everyone will fucking know that they could never control one goddamn fucking thing. Our fate, our crushable fate in the hands of those dipshit Warner brothers. The company line. Sundown on Steven Harrington."

It completely befuddles you that he could think this way. Of course, the colony is splintering into two and a dozen camps, each different variants of sound is the death of cinema and talkies are the way of the future. You had heard Pidge's diatribes on it, but hadn't settled on an opinion yourself. Pictures with sound would surely still need costumes, but you hadn't thought for even a moment about how it might effect someone like Steve. How it might... frighten him.

"Oh, Steve. Steve, you know that's not true." That hand of yours that rests on his arm tightens some. His head dips.

"It is true, Beadie," he presses and sniffles, "They'll lose any interest they had in me; for Chrissake, I can't stand up to those booming voiced theater types. I've churned my butter in pantomime! I've wasted my life on something completely null."

His words coax you to near tears. This feels as if he's welcomed you into his cocoon, shown you all the ways he fears he'll fail to metamorphose.

But then, you catch another whiff of the liquor on his breath.

You remember that, despite it all, you need to be careful-- Steve may be sweet to you now, in this moment, but Steven Harrington at large is still a documented rake. He's a mess. He'll do anything, say anything, to get what he wants.

You know this. You love this. And you know that you oughtn't.

You finish the last stitch on his errant button and push an encouraging smile across your face.

"Well. All the more reason to get peeling out to that after party then, isn't it? Make sure they don't forget who you are."

A friendly pat to his arm serves as half an encouragement for him to get up and off your bed.

This is not the reaction he wants. With his head tilted toward you, with all his sparkling tears, this is not the reaction Steve was aiming for. He can't even say he wanted to kiss you in that moment, but he did not expect you to tow that very same company line. Buck up, buddy boy. Put on a good show.

But you're a good girl. Of course you think that's the way things ought to be. He shouldn't be confusing you like this. Sullying your mind against the Warner behemoth.

Steve stands, re-buttoning his mended sleeve. You watch him, eyes gleaming and worried. He's gone all silent and sullen again, like he does. Then again, he may not even remember this in the morning.

"Away I go, then," he murmurs, barely coherent, "into the fray."

"Do be careful," you tell him, chest constricted. "Sneaking back out, I mean."

"Not my first rodeo," he reminds you, and it feels terrifically callous for some reason.

And then Steve is gone, slipping through your bedroom door. As fast and furtively as he appeared, and all that's left behind him is the silver glimmer of his flask folded into the plush of your bed sheets.

#powder room talk #whatis-much #published by powder #s. harrington by powder #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #blurbs #SMASH cut to pidge getting head from eddie in the bathroom while still trying to eavesdrop on this entire exchange.#love u so much thank you for letting me be insane #our cee ❤️‍🔥#beadie pike #burn like nitrate

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gnrbitch · 2 years

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Does she have alcohol? pt2

warnings: None!

(Contraband is the name of Y/ns band btw!)

a/n: Album name (choose whichever album you want!)

——

Los Angeles, California

Y/n and her band mates never kept the promise of hanging out with Slash, being too busy doing shows around the US and promoting their record.

Contrabands album, a/n had exploded in the months after its release. So that means Slash was seeing Y/ns face everywhere he went, making quite difficult for the guitarist to shake her off his mind.

And Slash was annoyed, not at the fact that Y/ns band got famous, he frankly didn’t care. He was annoyed at the fact that everyone else was able to come across her, except for him.

I mean how was that even possible? He thought to himself as he looked at a magazine with a photo of Lars and Y/n. Had she forgotten about him? Or did she just think he was weird? Slash thought. Maybe he just wasn’t as lucky, or maybe, he should’ve just asked Lenny for her phone number when they were at the studio.

The club was dark, Slash didn’t even know why he was here to be honest. Well he did, Duff had offered to pay for his drinks if he went out with them. So there they were Slash, Duff, Matt and Gilby sitting in a booth drinking. Obviously the other boys had some girl under their arms, but not Slash, he had just broken up with Renee in hopes that he would come across Y/n and finally be able to take her out. And he really didn’t have any interest in another girl if it wasn’t Y/n.

“Look who it is!” A male voice called out. Slash looked up from his drink to see James standing there along with all the other guys from Metallica… and the guys from Contraband. “Hey man!” Duff said “…Hey aren’t you the guys from Contraband?” he continued drunkly pointing at Sydney, Sammi, Benny and Mikey. “Yea man, we are” Sammi said, also pretty drunk. “Well shit! I love the record guys” He laughed.

“Sit down man” Slash spoke to the guys, now internally panicking at the fact Y/n might be here. Do I smell bad? Do I look good? Is my hair greasy? When was the last time I showered?

“Yea man let me just- hold on” “Y/N OVER HERE!” Sammi yelled to the bar. Slash had never turned his head so fast in his life.

And there she was, drink in her hand, flared leather pants, and a muscle shirt on. And the closer she got to them, he noticed she didn’t have a bra on. And he felt hot.

“Hey guys, i’m Y/n” she said, giving that pretty smile that had been in Slash’s head. She walked over to Slash’s side of the booth and sat next to him.

“Hey Slash” she said, putting the same emphasis on his name like she did the last time. “How have you been?” She said, leaning over so he can hear over the music. Slash smiled, letting his eyes roam her face before answering. “I’ve been good”, his eyes landing on Y/ns lips. “Even better since i’ve been seeing your face everywhere”

This made Y/n smile, which made Slash smile, cause god he loved to see her smile. “So seeing me on a magazine is better than the real thing? i’ve got to say im offended Slash.” Y/n said, giving him an overly exaggerated offended look on her face, obviously trying to hide her smile. Slash licked his lips before responding “See i didn’t say all that, maybe if I knew where to find you I could’ve seen ‘the real thing’.”

“um… do you guys know each other?” Gilby asked suspiciously looking at the pair, this was the preppiest he’s seen Slash in months.

“Oh yea we go wayyyyyy back” Y/n said with a teasing smile, looking over at Slash. “No way! how come i’ve never heard of this lady then man?” Duff said with a drunkly look on his face.

“She’s just fucking with you Duff” Slash responded, “We met when I went to New York to work with Lenny.” Duff and Gilby gave them a little “ohh” , and Slash’s attention was right back on Y/n.

“Where to find me? I’m every where baby” Y/n purred, answering his response from before. “Comon Y/nn, don’t make this hard on me” Slash said giving her a pleading look. Y/n smiled “Fine. Just for you though”. She took out a lip liner from her bag and grabbed a napkin, writing her number on it.

“Call me tomorrow morning” she said handing Slash the paper. “Why tomorrow morning?” He asked, finding it weird that she wants him to call her at such a specific time.

Y/n smiled, “Cause I wanna talk to you, obviously”

Slash looked over her face again, happy with her response.

——

Here’s part 2!!! hope you guys liked it 💟

#saul hudson #slash x reader #slash one shot #slashfanfic #slash imagine #slash fic #slash #slash fanfiction #slash gnr #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses imagine #guns n' roses #duff mckagan #axl rose #band imagines

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irrolyphant · 1 year

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Timothy Olyphant, 55, is an actor who starred in Deadwood, Live Free or Die Hard, and Justified. He will star in the FX miniseries Justified: City Primeval this fall and currently co-stars in the Max miniseries Full Circle. He spoke with Marc Myers before the actors strike.

TIMOTHY:

You couldn’t get me out of the pool when I was a kid. We lived next door to a swim and racket club in Modesto, Calif.

I began regular swim practice at age 6. My older brother, Andy, took to tennis, which probably helped us get along. We were competitive. Our younger brother, Matt, did a little bit of everything and eventually became a water-polo player.

I was born in Hawaii, but we moved to Modesto when I was 3. My dad, Bevan, worked for Del Monte and left to work at E&J Gallo Winery soon after we relocated to California. He started in bottling and worked his way up to vice president of production.

My mom, Katherine, was a full-time mom. She was the nurturing type. Whether I won or lost, she’d always talk about how well I competed or how beautiful a swimmer I was, never about whether I won or not. She’s very sweet and encouraging.

Just as I was starting high school, my parents divorced. After they split up, we quickly figured out who was responsible for what. For example, our dad didn’t really know how to do laundry or cook. If we were going over to his place, we’d probably be eating out.

When you’re young, any time your foundation gets rocked, it sets you back a bit. I’d been a good student when my parents were together, but there definitely was a dip after the divorce. I kind of saw what I could get away with and wound up just an okay student.

I wasn’t in school plays. I’m not sure I saw that side of me yet. Instead, I was at swim practice and hanging with my buddies. I also liked to draw a lot, which I suppose is how I expressed myself.

I was a solid swimmer in the Central Valley. I set a CIF SAC-Joaquin Section Record and wound up with an All America Swimming Certificate. By my senior year, I realized swimming was my ticket out of town and certainly the only way I’d get into a great university.

I worked hard. After USC saw the times I was posting, they called to recruit me for the team. When I flew out to USC on my recruit trip, I met with the dean of the architecture school. He said there was no way I could manage both the swim team’s practice schedule and the rigors of the architectural program.

I asked him about the art gallery downstairs. He said it was part of the fine-arts department. I didn’t even know you could get a degree in that. I met with the fine-arts dean and asked if I could be on the swim team. He said we’d work it out.

Majoring in fine arts for me was like winning the lottery. In high school, I’d get in trouble for drawing when I was supposed to be doing schoolwork. Now, in college, drawing was my schoolwork.

After my senior year, I left USC several electives shy of a degree and didn’t finish until the pandemic. But before I left, I met some drama majors who got me thinking about acting.

By then, my college girlfriend, Alexis, and I had married. We moved to Seal Beach, south of Los Angeles, where I coached swimming. To fulfill some of my electives I took an acting 101 class at UC Irvine. I had a ball. It was a language I understood immediately.

I read Stanislavsky’s and Sandy Meisner’s books on acting. I realized that it wasn’t a frivolous pursuit but a craft on par with how artists I admired approached painting and sculpture. I told Alexis I was thinking about pursuing acting rather than a master’s in fine art. She said, “Tim, just do something. Just pick one thing and do that.”

The guy who taught the intro class was a graduate student who recommended I study with Bill Esper at the Esper Studio in New York. Fortunately, Alexis’s dad lived there and let us move into his place.

My career has been many little steps—a lot of one step forward, two steps back. I’m not sure if there was any one role that really changed things, but landing the lead in “Justified,” in 2010, certainly helped things along.

Today, Alexis and I live in Los Angeles and have three grown kids. We moved in 15 years ago and love the house and neighborhood. I still draw and swim.

Breakfast is my favorite meal. I make steel-cut oatmeal in my rice cooker, which has a porridge setting. When I come home from swimming and have my oatmeal, I feel like I’m 8 again. And you know what? That feels pretty good.

—————

Timothy’s Digs:

Full Circle? I play Derek in the miniseries about a kidnapping gone awry and the family secrets exposed.

Blissful space? Sitting in a blue chair in the kitchen having coffee with my wife.

Cool buy? A painting by an artist I’ve admired for at least a decade or so.

Tennis? I play with my brother and oldest daughter. The fact that they play with me means the world.

Youngest daughter? Vivian. She’s an actress in the coming season of Justified: City Primeval.

#timothy olyphant #[.]#[tim]#this reads a bit like an autobiography and I LOVE IT 🥰🥰

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ludmilachaibemachado · 1 month

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"While in Los Angeles, George and I were invited to go and meet Frank Sinatra in his recording studio. Thrilled, we were ushered upstairs to the control room where Frank was surrounded by many guys at the mixing desk. We briefly met him before he disappeared downstairs. We then watched as he proceeded to sing 'My Way' with a full orchestra. Wow, it was extraordinary. He listened back to this one take and said, 'Ok, that's it, let's go. We piled into limos to a club. When we got there, George quite rightly thought he would sit next to Frank, but the big guys from the Bronx moved him down the table." - Pattie Boyd, circa 1968🌸🌸🌸

From her new book My Life in Pictures🌸🌸

Scanned by Women of The Beatles FB fansite🌸

Via Pattie Layla Boyd FB🌸

#60s icons #girlsofthesixties #60s couples #the beatles wives #60s models #pattie boyd #george harrison #george and pattie #frank sinatra #circa 1968

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lokisprettygirl · 2 years

Text

Lose me to Love you (Loki x Female Reader) (AU) (18+)

Read Chapter 22 here / Series Masterlist

Chapter 23

Summary: Loki isn't the only one fighting with his inner demons. People from your past continues to turn up.

Trigger Warning: 18+, Description of rape and assault, panic attack, violence against women, Extreme dark themes, Sexual abuse, physical abuse, public sex, Rough violent sex, 18+, Steamy stuff, age difference ,Rough language, mention of suicide, talk of virginity and slut shaming, manipulative behaviour, mention of trauma, smut, toxic relationship between main characters. Dark themes, cult stuff

His palms felt clammy, he had been standing outside the orphanage for half an hour and you were taking your own sweet time coming out, as he noticed a girl approaching him he was slightly surprised. For some reason he kept picturing the eleven year old sweet girl that he knew instead of this fully matured grown woman that he probably would have fucked if he met her at the club. Just 18, he had to remind himself that you were barely an adult.

"Hiiii" you smiled at him and he snapped out of his thoughts.

"Y/n"

"Lokii..how are you?" You were the reason he was even alive today, for a moment the feeling overwhelmed him so he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him to hug you.

"Thank you darling, thank you..I'll take care of you I promise" the gratitude slipped past his lips and as he felt your arms around his waist his nerves went calm for a moment.

"So it was your birthday a few days ago, want to do something?" You looked at him as he said that.

"Not really..Where are we going?"

"Ummm my place" you hummed as he answered.

He drove you to his house and you looked around as you both entered the studio apartment he was renting in Brooklyn. It wasn't enough for you two but that's all he was able to do at the time, the divorce settlement has ruined him even further.

"It's cozy, I like it" you placed your backpack down on the couch and smiled again.

"Well you can take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch, food is in the fridge, here's the..umm some money..you can go grocery shopping or get whatever you need..the girl stuff and all" he passed you a few dollar bills so you took it from him, everything was awkward with you two and he felt it in his bones.

"What do you do for work?" You asked him and he sighed

"A small gig at a club"

"What type of gig, are you a bartender?" He combed his hair with his fingers as he tried to avoid your constant gaze.

"A bouncer..you ask too many questions" The job always paid okay, that's also how he met Jolene as well, she frequented the club he worked at and she finally asked him out one fine day. When they got married she got him a position at her accounting firm but he was fired while he was resting after the wrist slitting incident. Now he wished that he never ever met her at all.

"That's hot..i like bouncers..they're soo strong and so manly" his brows furrowed as you said that, how the hell you had even been in a nightclub? He wasn't sure if he wanted to know that.

"Well I have to go meet someone..when I come back we can discuss your uhhhh future plans…if you want to get into college or–"

"No discussion required..I want to become an actor..we should probably move to LA" you mumbled nonchalantly before you proceeded to raid the fridge that was mostly empty.

"Excuse me?" He looked at you all perplexed, getting you into acting business didn't seem feasible to him.

"LA? Los angeles?"

"I know where LA is ..are you serious about this acting thing?"

"As serious as Joker was before his dad carved his face" he looked at you all confused again as you quipped "Really??never?? Oh my god we are definitely going to watch the dark knight once you come back.. Don't worry we don't need to watch the first part.. honestly 60 percent of people skipped the first part and went straight to TDK and somehow it makes perfect sense ..it's like you're not even missing anything important or worth knowing…you know…"

Your voice faded in the background as you continued to speak gibberish to him. However your sweet voice also filled his empty sad apartment and he liked that. Alot. That was the moment he knew that life wouldn't be the same from then, he knew he'd have to make several adjustments and since he had taken the responsibility of taking care of you, your dreams and aspirations became his as well.

His eyes opened to your shaking form and he absolutely abhorred that, every time you had a nightmare he felt afraid that you'd slip past his fingers like that one horrible time. It had happened a few days prior to your mother's anniversary during the second year of living together. He never talks about it because you don't seem to have any recollection of those two days, at first he wasn't sure how to deal with you, how to bring you back but on the third night you went to sleep and came back absolutely normal. You had a bad dream last night too but it was about Thor and he just knew this one was different from that. He knew you'd probably not remember this one because it involved your mother.

"Hey sweetheart" he turned the lamp on to see you properly. His heart rendered as he noticed the tears running down the corner of your eyes,

"Loloooo …mommmyy .. I want mommmy" you sniffled, your voice reminded him of that little girl he had left at the orphanage.

"I know baby..it's okay.. open your eyes..I'm here..im here" he shook your body a little and you woke up gasping for air,

"Lolooo mommyyy ..I need mommmy"

"Shhhhhh baby.. everything is okay..you're safe" he mumbled softly as he wiped your tears, his lips lingered over your forehead before he wrapped his arm around your waist and made you sit up so he could embrace you, you felt safe that way.

He leaned against the headboard while you clutched onto him and cried your heart out.

"I'm here baby, my sweet girl, come back to me, I'm right here, you have me i promise" he mumbled mindlessly

"Don't send me away ..they sent me away every time I had a nightmare..they sent me to that place I hated" you sniffled between your words and his eyes welled up.

"You have me okay? I got you baby, I got you i promise" you hugged him as tightly as you could and your foggy grief stricken mind lulled you to sleep but he couldn't sleep that night, next morning as usual you didn't remember the outburst like always, a few years ago he had asked Steve about that place you kept talking about after such nightmares and Steve told him that it was a psychiatric hospital where they sent you whenever you relapsed or whenever you showed the signs of dissociative Amnesia.

"What are you making?" You hugged him from behind so he smiled.

"Guess" you opened the lid of the pot and all the excitement disappeared

"Porridge" your face scrunched in disgust and it made him smile.

"Well you wanted to eat healthy remember"

"Just take me to the gym again, it's been months" you groaned as you moved around the kitchen to make tea

"I will.. as soon as he's caught" You hummed as he said that "Are you feeling okay sweetheart?" He asked you softly and you shrugged

"Yeahh why?" He sighed as you said that. He wanted to ignore it like he had done before but after last night and the way you were trying to help him cope with his trauma, it had made him reflect upon your own situation, you didn't get away unscathed from his father's abuse, sure he wasn't able to harm you irrevocably but the damage was already done when he had hurt your mother.

"Because of the nightmare? Do you remember what you saw?" He asked you and you stopped doing whatever you were doing.

"Nooo.. i .. I didn't have a nightmare last night..it was the night before remember?" You walked over to him to kiss him on the cheek and he hummed in response. He can't just dump it on you, that would only make the matters worse, he had to find a way to talk to you about this.

"Take me shopping today daddy, it's my birthday in a few days"

He picked you up and sat you down on the counter as you said that. Your birthday. He promised to fuck you senselessly on your birthday but the approaching date had him feeling someway, he couldn't decide if it was a good feeling or not, a part of him wanted to ravish you and enjoy every second of it. The other part though? that bastard wanted to keep himself away from your precious body as far as possible, he didn't deserve to fuck a girl like you, he was one of the reasons why girls like you lost their lives, he was the reason why their dreams got broken so how come he got so blessed as to have someone as pure as you saving herself for him.

"What else would you like to do? A party perhaps?" You thought about it as he said that.

"Or we could just spend it together..just the two of us" you answered him while your fingers played with his chest hairs so he kissed you.

"Aren't you bored of seeing my face all the time?" He chuckled after speaking.

"Ask that girl who spent 7 years without seeing this angelic face. She'd always say no" his eyes softened as you said that.

"For this to happen it had to be that way"

"For what to happen?" You asked him confused so he cupped your cheeks.

"For this to happen.." he kissed you passionately, it wasn't a touch and go type of kiss either, his tongue slid into your mouth so you sucked on it, he tasted like peppermint. Delicious "It had to be that way" you inhaled sharply as he finally decided to allow you to breathe.

"Does it bother you that I was into you way before you were into me?" You asked him

"You were just a child sweetheart, you didn't even know what you felt"

"Well I knew I wanted to kiss you, I was ten when I knew that I wanted to kiss you and –"

"Shut Up.. that's inappropriate as hell" He pressed his thumb onto your lips but his digit couldn't really stop you from smiling or talking even

"It's just the truth, and to this date you are still the prettiest boy i have ever seen in my life"

"Well i'm no boy now my darling" he wrapped your legs around his waist to pull you closer to him and his mouth travelled down from your lips, you moaned as he sucked the soft skin of your neck.

"Some parts of you is still the boy i met"

"Uhhhuh like what?" He chuckled condescendingly so you held his cheeks and kissed him lovingly, as lovingly as you could.

"Like these eyes, still as gentle as I remember, mommy always told me that you could judge a person fairly well by the look in their eyes, you have the kindest eyes lolo" his eyes teared up as you said that. He thought you'd give him a break after last night but you were hell bent on coddling him like a baby.

"Well your mommy wasn't really the best judge of character"

"Take it back" your voice broke because the meanie in him came out again so he kissed you again.

"I'm sorry baby" he murmured against your mouth and you almost melted into a puddle because of how tender he seemed at the moment "You're forgiven" He smiled as you whispered. He wondered how badly he'd have to hurt you to make him unforgivable in your eyes because no matter what he did or said you always forgave him and that too pretty easily.

"What else?" He asked you and it confused you for a moment before it finally dawned upon you. He wanted to know more about those boyish parts of him.

"The smile, still the same, everytime I felt scared at the orphanage I would just think about you and your smiling face, that calmed me down immediately" he kissed you again instead of responding with words "And your voice hasn't changed in the slightest either"

"You are such a sentimental little girl"

"Is that bad?"

"Not at all, I just don't want to disappoint you with my stoicism" a smile graced your features at the blatant lie.

"You're pretty sentimental yourself mister "

"No I'm not"

"Yes you are"

"Shhhhhh"

After force feeding you that unsavory porridge he took you shopping like you had asked him to, you also had to be at an audition tomorrow, you needed to find work or you knew he'd try and find other works, like that thing he used to do at the club, you hated not having him at home all night.

You picked a dress but you didn't want him to see it just yet. You both spent the whole day out, it was a peaceful day but it didn't stay that way. Ofcourse it didn't. It came crashing down on you.

Your soul almost evaporated as someone ran in front of the car, you both watched a woman lying unconscious in the middle of the deserted road and you wondered if she was alive.

"Is she…oh gooddd" you mumbled under your breath so he looked at you

"Stay in here okay?" He asked you so you nodded. She had long blonde hair so it wasn't Jolene, you hated that it was your first thought. Your worries didn't cease there because as Loki rolled her over, it was someone you knew, someone you both knew very well. He picked her up hurriedly before you two could get caught by a passerby or something. After laying her down on the backseat, he quickly got in and drove towards the apartment as fast as he could.

"Ummm is that uhh--"

"Yeah and I don't trust the bitch so we are going to take her home and you're going to help me tie her up as securely as we can okay?" You looked at him all perplexed and he glared at you so you nodded.

The cops on the patrol tonight asked him about her so he lied that she was a friend that had gotten drunk out of her mind. As soon as you all reached the apartment you helped him tie her up onto a chair.

"Lokiii what are we doing..is she even alive?" you asked him nervously so he walked towards you and grabbed you by the shoulders.

"She's alive and breathing, it makes no fucking sense that she'd end up right in front of our car of all people"

"We should tell Steve "

"No not after Thor's situation, I'm already on his radar"

"But what if this brings us more trouble?" he wiped the sweat beads from his forehead as you said that. Ever since his bastard father has escaped your lives has turned into a rollercoaster that just doesn't seem to stop rolling.

You both waited for her to come back to consciousness and when she did she started to struggle against the binds almost immediately.

"Why the fuck are you here?" He asked her as he pulled up a chair right in front of her, you dragged another chair from the kitchen table, it almost looked comical as you tried to be as quiet as you could but the situation wasn't funny at all.

"Lokiii? Y/n?"

Well no memory loss it seems.

"Why the fuck You have me tied up Loki? I know you enjoyed that one time I had--" your eyes widened as she said that. He fucked her all tied up? Again you hated how your mind couldn't move past the jealousy

"Shut up.. shut the fuck up okay? Why are you here..answer me" he glared at her and she looked at you, she then gave you the sickly sweet smile that you remembered really well.

"Oh look at you now, turned yourself into Loki's pretty little girl huh?? Dreams do come true i guess"

"Sister Natasha–" Loki glared at you so you corrected yourself

"Natasha..what are you doing?"

"I don't understand, do you guys like own LA now that I can't be here?" She chuckled and Loki's teeth gritted in anger, he was so close to doing something awful

"Are you here to do his bidding again? He sent you.. didn't he?" she started laughing as he said that.

"You are still so naive loki. You know if he wanted to be here and eat her heart he'd be here, he won't need me" He stood up and all of a sudden there was a smacking sound that you heard, you looked at him shocked as he slapped her. Her lower lip split open at the force he used, your eyes teared up because you weren't expecting him to just go off like that, he never lost his control like that with you. He wasn't like that. Not with women. Not outside of consensual bedroom shenanigans.

"Ohhh I have missed that" her reaction wasn't shocking though, you knew they fucked, you just didn't know they indulged into this, though you should have guessed considering the sexual history of the cult.

"Don't make me kill you Natasha, just tell me the truth, for once in your life, tell me the truth"

He heard you sniffling so he turned his head to the side to look at you, the look on your face was enough to kill whatever shred of self esteem he still had left in him.

He walked towards you and grabbed your arm to take you to the bedroom.

"Stay here" he warned you before he turned around to leave

"This is not you loki" his eyes teared up as you said that.

"That's me sweetheart, that's the real me..still want to believe that bullshit you had made up in your head about me? This is me..the monster I keep warning you about"

You shook your head as he said that, you wanted to stop him and hold him, tell him that he wasn't a monster but he didn't give you a chance, just an hour later cops raided the house, they were tipped off. Natasha told them that he had kidnapped her, she told them that you had no involvement in all of this, you begged Steve to not believe her, you asked him to not take him away from you but he said that he was helpless. All the evidence was against him.

They wanted to take him away to lock him behind the bars, he was to be questioned later on about his motives.

And that's when you were finally able to understand why he went crazy on her, he knew her. You didn't.

You didn't know that she was as rotten as Odin. He wasn't wrong, she was there to do his bidding and she got what she needed. You without him by your side.

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