#Seven at Brixton

[crimsonclad]

I just know Christopher used the drive home from the hospital to roast his dad about how Buck’s face covered in kissing soot made him look like he was doing Eddie Diaz stubble cosplay

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two

TW: nsfw, blood, trauma

Tom busts into the room. Someone’s yelling behind him about red tape and policy, like they don’t even know who he is in the first place. He’s blood and sweat coated, a fine grime glazing his skin, and still the most handsome and soothing thing you’ve ever seen in your life. Yes, even with the pickle juice smell and cornchip residue in his hair. “You alright?” He asks, kneeling down and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “I see this stuff all the time.” 

“Is he being an asshole?” He asks, glaring over at your interviewer in his two piece suit— the man looks about ready to either piss himself or strangle Ludlow. 

“No, just a dick,” you joke before really thinking about it, and now you’ve earned yourself a scowl from the gentleman asking you questions who has actually and surprisingly been pretty nice. “I’m just kidding,” you reassure him, “inside joke.”

He looks to Ludlow, then back at you with his eyebrows raised as if he gets the whole picture now. You don’t really understand why you’re embarrassed about it. After all, if you’re going to date—what a weird word and even weirder thought—Tom Ludlow, you’ll probably meet his coworkers at some point. 

“Stare a little longer, Brixton,” Tom warns. 

You turn fully to the angry man beside you and rest your hand on his shoulder. “I’m alright. He’s going through suspect pictures. That’s all.”

“Any luck?” 

You hate to dash that hopeful lilt in his voice. “Not yet.” 

“But we still have a lot to go through,” Brixton says, interrupting the intensity between you and Tom. 

“No shit,” Tom smiles. 

5 million criminal profiles, four cups of disgusting coffee, and an actual migraine later, you are still shit out of luck. Looking at Brixton hopelessly, head in your arms, eyes almost as red as the blood stains on your clothes. “So, what if it’s none of these?” You ask. 

“Could be someone new, someone we haven’t identified yet. Like I said initially, if it isn’t any of the ones I show you, you should be fairly safe. Low level criminals don’t usually care about witnesses.”

“Low level?” You ask, eyebrows pulling up. “They shot up a convenience store with submachine guns.” 

He shrugs. “You’d be surprised at how easy it is to get ahold of those in this town.” 

“Okay,” you sigh, “can I go, then?” 

He looks at you for a long minute. “You gave your description to the sketch artist?” 

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Alright, pack up.” 

Seeing Tom is terrifying, and not because he’s a walking bloodbath. It’s terrifying that you can tell so easily, even from a distance, the man is in a rage. Berserk, boiling with dark energy, the kind that has your stomach tied up and your body tensing. “Are you alright?” As he’s walking you out of the precinct, a possessive hand on your waist. 

“Let’s just get you home, cleaned up, then we’ll talk.” 

“Okay.” You stay silent the entire car ride to your house, then all the way up to your apartment. The doorway breaks his silence. 

“He’s alive, thanks to you.” 

You let out a breath that got stuck in your lungs a long time ago at the store when the last bullet pierced Washington’s chest. You don’t understand why Tom feels the way he does about his old partner. After all, the man is attempting to throw him directly under the bus without a second thought, so you’re not really relieved that you saved Washington’s life, but rather that, for some reason, Tom seems content with the whole thing. “That’s good,” you say quietly. “Right?” 

“Honestly…” he trails off, looking at the floor like he’s having some internal struggle about what he really feels; something you can relate to all too well. “I’m glad that you’re alright.” He crosses the room in a long legged stride, and bundles you up in his arms. “That’s the only thing I care about.” 

And you thought you were fucked before…

“Let’s get clean, and go see the movie.” He sounds lighter, now, but you just know there’s something he’s holding back—trying not to tell you. You can feel it in the way he holds you, see it in the hard black of his eyes, taste it in the air like you can the dried mephitic blood. 

“We don’t have to do that,” you assure. 

“I want to.” 

You’re not sure you really feel like sitting through a movie, but it seems important to him, to do something normal. Maybe that’s the way he copes with the horrible things he sees in his job. Forcing himself to do normal things. Or maybe…he just really wants to spend time with you.

You take a shower together–to save water, obviously. California is experiencing a drought. You get distracted though, for obvious reasons, and “we’re gonna be late,” you groan, as he sucks up the mess between your thighs. “Thought you-ah-wanted, wanted.” 

He shushes you with the taste of yourself, licking at your tongue, pressing you against the soaked tile, hands cupping your breasts. “I’m sorry, baby, you’re just so fucking pretty.” He talks against your mouth, then delves back inside to clash teeth again. “How am I supposed to resist you?” 

Possessive, needy, insistent Tom fucks you nice and slow on your bathroom floor with your legs pressed against your chest and knees hooked over his shoulders; a recipe for a deep, splitting angle that makes you scream. He pauses that lovely, skilled glide of his hips and pushes hair from your face. “You alright?” 

“Jesus. Fuck. Yes! Yes. Why did you stop?” Because he was pummeling your gspot with every thrust, and it felt like nirvana and you need him to move again—oh, there he is, at the same pace, even—an expert in making you see God and the Devil all at once. You don’t know how many times you cum like that, pressed against the plush bathroom rug you got from a discount bin at Target which is surprisingly comfortable. Many consecutive orgasms are starting to feel like a continuous, nonstop one—like you’ve lost control of yourself, like the only thing you are or want to be is a tight sleeve for Tom’s cock. 

“I can’t last much longer, honey.” By the sounds of it, it's a miracle he lasted this long. 

A strangled sound escapes you that’s almost a laugh. He’s been so good to you. So good it feels like a dream. It’s almost hard to remember, now, a time when you’d been certain he was such an asshole. All this flits through your brain in a matter of a second. “Cum for me, baby. I wanna feel you. Need you.” 

You watch with abject fascination through heavy lids, as his head bows, his body tenses, his grip on your hips tightening hard enough to leave bruises. How is it that you make this beautiful man fall to pieces? You’re afraid you would never tire of the sight. He spills inside you with a moan that shakes you to your soul, filling you with the hot rush of his seed. 

It’s funny, the ridiculous things that go through your mind after sex, floating in through the fuzzy white afterglow of umpteen orgasms and Tom’s solid weight resting on top of you. Such as: It’s a good thing your bath mat is machine washable, because you just made quite a mess. 

“I think,” Tom pants against you, “We’re going to miss the movie.” With this man in your arms, you cannot bring yourself to care. After the day you’ve had, this suits you perfectly.

“It’s fine,” you tell him breathlessly, pressing your lips to his cheek. “This is all I want anyway.”

He manages to sit up just a smidge, looking down at you with mischief in his sparkling brown eyes. Yet there is a vulnerability there too, underneath it all, and it squeezes your heart. You know he has a dangerous job, but the pure power and fury of those submachine guns earlier today ripping the store–and his old partner–to shreds probably had him feeling extra keenly the miracle of being alive. You knew that you yourself were a little surprised–but also numb, which maybe wasn’t the best, but it was how you cope.

“My naked body in your arms?” he ribs you, lifting an eyebrow.

“Either way.”

He lays a big kiss right in the middle of your forehead. “I think you like me.”

You look between the two of you, assessing the situation as if to say duh. But, then, feeling a little rogue, “nah, you must be hallucinating.” With a big grin on your face.

Reluctantly you part, Tom taking a deep breath as he leans back against the tub. “We might need another shower now?”

You smack his shoulder playfully–it’s all you can reach, from your position on the floor.

“I think this is where I’m sleeping,” you sigh, your head at a strange angle.

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ll make you something to eat.” 

Miraculously, you suddenly find the strength to sit up right. He helps pull you to your feet, and you pause for a luscious moment, your body pressed to his.

“Tom?”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks with his lips on your forehead.

“This…is the nicest thing that’s happened to me…maybe my whole life?”

Maybe you'll regret it later, but there’s just something about nearly dying that day that makes you want to say it.

He really surprises you with his answer. “Me too.”

You’re surprised because he is literally the whole package: cooks, gives massages, fucks like a nineteen year old on double shots of testosterone. You? You feel like you pale in comparison to him, so of course the lack of nicety in your life isn’t really surprising. In his? Astounding.

He teaches you how to cook pollo con arroz with the sparse ingredients in your kitchen. Behind you, helping you cut an onion, he leans down to press his mouth against your ear. “I’m gonna have to take you grocery shopping.”

“Are you going to be cooking for me with those groceries?” You ask, only half joking. 

“I’ll cook for you every single day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. You never have to touch an oven again if you don’t want to, baby.”

You know he’s probably exaggerating, but those words make your heart beat in Tom-sync. The organ no longer belongs to you, it belongs to the warm, tall, beautiful man behind you who’s making sure you don’t slice yourself with the veggie knife. And you’re not even sure how it really happened. 

“You don’t think I will?” He asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Do you have time for that?” You reply, trying to keep your tone light and fun. 

“I’ll make time. I made the mistake of working too much, when I was married. I promise, I’m not going to do that with you.” 

“They give you a choice at the department?” you tease, still desperately trying to keep things light, even as your heart is constricting in your chest at the mention of his late wife.

“There’s only so much time in Complaints I can handle,” he fires back.

“So…how is all that going?” you ask. “Because they definitely looked at you at the station like you’re a legend.”

He raises his dark brows at that, endearingly shy all of a sudden. “I think you’re misinterpreting their feelings. They fuckin hate me.”

Sounds like Tom Ludlow doubts himself? Strange. You’re so used to his self-assured, cocky, confident side. “Sounds like you hate them?”

You feel him shrug. “I like three of them.”

That makes you chuckle. “Oh man.”

“You like everybody you work with?” He challenges, nipping at your earlobe playfully. 

You squeak, almost slip with the knife until he catches and steadies your hand. “Easy,” he murmurs, boiling your blood again. Your vagina, who was once all bets off for Tom, is now begging for a break despite the constant kiln of arousal kept hot by his presence. Hell, by the thought of him. But, damn, it had been a while before this insatiable beast grabbed you in his clutches, and if you’re this sore and overworked you know that he probably is, too. 

“Mostly,” you reply, swallowing the gathering saliva in your mouth. “I mean, nurses are bitches, but we’re too busy to really be catty or dramatic.” 

“Nurses are bitches? Nurses are the backbone of healthcare.”

It makes you giggle, the fact that he’s defending your own kind against you. “Well, thank you. Despite what people say about cops, I think that there are some good ones—for example, you.” 

He hmphs. “No, cops are fucking terrible.” 

“If you didn’t exist, I’d probably agree.” 

He turns you around and presses you against the lip of the counter, a wolf’s smile and shining, blown black eyes making your pulse thrum faster. “My ego can only take so much, baby.” 

“Careful,” you warn, “I have onion hands.” 

He grabs your hand up, takes your fingers and sucks them into his mouth, tongue tickling and warm and wet. You shift, try to pull back because it feels strange at first, and then so, so good, the skill of his mouth resonating in your clit. A tiny moan slips out of you and he smiles around your index, raising both eyebrows as if to say yeah, you like that?

“Tom,” you try, “I feel like if we have sex again my vagina will pack its bags and leave town.” 

He lets your pinky go with a little wet plop. “You just let me deal with her. I’ll convince her to stay…” 

Yes, Tom, whatever you say, Tom. You’re a little disgusted with yourself, but oh, not with him, not with Prince Dastardly Charming. “I am hungry, though,” you tell him, blinking wide and innocent—a great tactic, as you’ve come to learn. 

The food is delicious, and you have just enough rioja left to serve it with. You sit across from each other at your little dining table, his legs tangled with yours because the man can’t resist touching you for more than five minutes—which you secretly love. You honestly forget that there’s something you need to ask him until you’re halfway through and halfway full. The food is that good. If he ever decides to change careers, chef wouldn’t be a bad place to start. 

“You said that you worked too much? When you… were with your wife?” Maybe it’s invasive, but you add in, “you don’t have to answer that.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he assures, washing a mouthful of rice down with red wine. “I want to be open with you about it, if you want to hear it?” 

“Of course,” you nod, genuinely intrigued. 

“The last few years of our marriage, I got promoted. That meant less time at home and more time at the job. I was gone a lot—a lot more than I was present, and I didn’t notice she was pulling away until it was already too late.”

You wince, and take his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

He looks to your hand as if it can ground him, somehow. Keep him straight and steady. “Looking back, it was my fault. She’d beg me to stay some nights. But I was an asshole, I thought the work I was doing was important. After she passed I found her diary, it had a page in it where she wrote…” He pauses to take another drink. 

You rub over his thumb, trying to soothe. 

“It was one sentence. Over and over again. Please come home, Tom.” 

You can’t help the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Maybe that’s why he’s so persistent, so determined to make you his—to show you he’s worth something. Because he couldn’t do it for her. 

“Oh, honey…”

“So I was wrong. There will always be more crime to fight. More shit to shovel. It’s not a war we’ll ever win. But there was only one of her, and I…fucked up. I don’t even blame her for stepping out on me. I wanted to punish the shitbag who treated her that way, but I was the shitbag who left her alone in the first place.”

“Tom…” You squeeze his hand. “You made a mistake. But you couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known. I’m a nosy motherfucker, if you haven’t noticed.”

This makes you smile a little, despite the subject at hand. “It’s possible I picked that up about you.”

With his hair in his eyes he pays you a winsome smile that about breaks your heart. “C’mere,” he says, orders, tugging on your hand.

For once in a mood to obey, you let him pull you into his lap. It’s becoming your favorite seat. With his strong arms wrapped around you, you feel as though nothing bad can touch you. He snuggles into the bend of your neck, just holding you, and for the millionth time you think to yourself that you are just utterly doomed. “If I get caught up in a case and you need me, baby, promise me you’ll just tell me, alright? I’d drop everything for you.” 

Once again, the tears well in your eyes. Fuck if you don’t believe him too. “Ok.” It’s all you can get out, past the scratchy lump of emotion lodged in your throat like a sea urchin.

You watch some mindless television together, until you decide you are both exhausted. You brush your teeth and change into your favorite age-softened nightgown–only for Tom to pull it right back over your head with a smile that is somehow both roguish and tender. “No need for that,” he tells you, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed.

“Tom…” you plead, unable to stop your sleepy giggle as he kisses the insides of your thighs. “I was serious…”

“Shhh,” he says, smirking up at you with his cheek resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. “Kitty and I have to have a little chat.” 

“Kitty says she’s tired,” you whine, your breath hitching as his lips travel higher. 

“But I’ll be so gentle.” His soft lips touch your flesh so close to your aching apex, and your vagina is ready to tell you to fuck off, so she and Ludlow can have their talk. You’re really not sure how this is your life right now. Your love life went from dry as the desert to this–this beautiful man, between your legs, and in your kitchen, and if you’re really up for some brutal self-reflection:in your heart.

He has a little bit of stubble on his face this time; you can really feel it as he nuzzles into the plump top of your pussy. You press him back, choking on saliva, thighs clamping around him in an attempt to protect the sensitive flesh. “Oh God,” you murmur, head thrown back against the pillows. 

“Sorry, baby.” He kisses the top of your slit where your clit peeks out, holds your hips from spasming, from probably giving him a minor concussion. “It’s hard.” A long lick up your labia, generous with saliva and feathery gentle. “To resist my gorgeous pussy.”

Here you are, legs hanging off the end of the bed, Tom Ludlow kneeling by your feet and licking your puffy cunt, calling you his again, and you’re not even arguing. No protest whatsoever. You might as well be handing your meaty little heart—and clit—over on a silver platter, garnished with spring onion and lemon.

You think, maybe, you can stand this method of cunnilingus a little better. But you’re wrong. The slow, torturous tease of his wet mouth inching its way into your folds, purposefully avoiding the yearning bulb at the very center of your pleasure makes you beg for that hungry devourer you once knew. You can tell he’s holding back by the low groans of agony vibrating your skin, the tensing of his arms so tight on your malleable thighs and hips, indents and bruises as testament to his resolve. 

While he exercises self control, he makes sure you do, too—securing you into the mattress with his grip, conjuring the most hellish ache in your cunt and then pinning it in place, keeping you right there, whining and soaked and finally begging him for more despite all the initial, useless resistance. 

He keeps you on the edge of his careful tongue for a little while—a lot longer than your patience can tolerate. Instead of trying to squirm away now, you’re pressing into him, offering yourself up for just a little bit longer of that wicked suck-lick-repeat that makes your vision gooey around the edges. “Please, Tom.” You want to beg pretty, but it comes out desperate and feral, the opposite of feminine and sweet, your teeth clenched so hard it makes your jaw ache. 

He surfaces from the deep pool of your arousal. “Look at me.” 

You do, and it’s a mistake. Because when you catch his black, heavy eyes, he’s giving you a long lick that feels like it’s breaking your toes instead of merely curling them, and the shiny, wet, hedonist’s smile is enough to take you right to the edge and leave you there. Screaming and thrashing. 

“Baby, baby,” he calls, soothing you by petting your twitching, sweaty skin—fuck, you are going to need another shower. “You wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.” Your eager nod makes him chuckle. 

“Say you’re mine, greedy girl.” 

Dirty cheating bastard. The glare you give gets sucked right back out of you, through your pulsing clit, into his mouth. He presses two fingers just inside you, and you growl at him, proving that you are, indeed, more like that cute chihuahua than you want to admit.

“That’s adorable,” he muses, stretching you open a little more. “C’mon, tell me.” 

“That’s not fair,” you protest, trying to push down onto his hand, swallow him up. 

He over exaggerates a sigh, breath cooling over your fiery flesh. “That’s alright, I have all night.” 

Another strangled sound escapes you, your eyes dewy with pure frustration. Is it not enough, that he clearly holds you in the palm of his hand? Do you really have to say it out loud?

“I’m going to get you back for this,” you pant, straining for just a little more friction in just the right spot. 

This only seems to delight him, of course. “Oh, I hope so.” 

“Tom, Tom, Tom,” you call softly, trying a different tone, “please fuck me.” 

“I am fucking you,” he says, laving at your clit and getting it nice and warm and soaked again.

“No,” you hiss. “Want your—oh. Want your cock inside me, please. Want you to-ah-uh cum inside me.” 

You must drive a hard bargain, or he just can’t take it anymore. Judging by the sight of his big, beautiful cock, leaking and turgid, it’s the latter. You don’t have enough sense to be suspicious of why he’s letting you win so easily while he’s fucking your permanent indent into the mattress, sucking the nape of your neck between his teeth.  

He gently fists his hand into your hair, sends your hips pushing into him. “That hurt, baby?” He asks, grunting with the force of his thrusts. 

“Uh uh,” you say, biting into the skin of your arm while a thickened, wonderful release builds in your belly, soothes the stretching ache that goes hand in hand with his girth. “Feels good.” 

He tugs a little, winding your hair around his fingers, digging into your scalp and mimicking the rub of his cock on your gspot. That’s enough to send you spiraling, falling down the rabbit hole, spasming and gushing around him with no before indications. 

“That was unexpected,” he tells you, trying to laugh around a groan. “The hair, huh?” 

You try to tell him to shut up, but between the muffling comforter and the increased speed of his taut hips, it comes out jumbled and messy, a praising moan instead of a witty insult. Then, you realize, he’s not letting you win—you can’t win, not with him. Whether it be with your fragile heart or your overworked cunt, you’ll lose in the end. You just know it. 

He keeps a warm, grounding hand pressed to your scalp while he spills inside you, as deep as he can go, cursing and twitching. It makes you giggle, how he lays his full weight on you and then thinks better of it and rolls over to nuzzle by your side, instead. 

“This is good,” you tell him, sleepily kissing his bicep. 

He hums in agreement, setting the back of his hand on your shoulder blade, and then proceeding to adorably and immediately fall asleep. You happily join him after a wobbly trip to the bathroom.

[vettelinyourarea]

hi, could you make one with ollie bearman with london boy by taylor swift, please? she's so whipped by her british boyfriend especially his smile and his thick british accent that always drive her crazy and so is he. thank you!

london boy - oliver bearman

genre: fluff

word count: 927

inspired by london boy by taylor swift

warning: english is not my first language

thank you soo much for the request! to be honest i have been thinking about writing london boy for ollie too! also, i'm not from england so all of the information i got for this fict is from google.

feel free to give me any feedback and hope you enjoy! my requests are open 🫶

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

I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal

And you know I love Springsteens, faded blue jeans, Tennesse whiskey

But something happened, I heard him laughing

I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent

You met Ollie for the first time when you just transferred to the Imperial College London. You remember it was on a sunny Thursday, and you and your new friends were doing your assignment for a class together. It was going smoothly for you until you heard a laugh that sounds like music to your ear. That’s when you saw him, a tall guy with a sweet smile and dimples, getting shushed by his friend that’s sitting next to him. 

“Is he from our uni?” you asked your friends, pretending to be annoyed when in reality you really want to know if you will have a chance on seeing him again in the near future.

“Oliver? The tall guy with curly hair? No, he is a racing driver in Formula 2. But he is always here when it’s off-season, a lot of his friends went here. I could introduce you to him if you want?”

You know I love a London boy

I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon

He likes my American smile

Like a child when our eyes meet, darling I fancy you

“Stop calling me a London boy! I’m not even from London. I’m from Chelmsford!” Ollie said while laughing, and oh, how much you love that laugh. The laugh that caught your attention that first time, a sound that could instantly bring a smile to your face.

You are strolling around the infamous Camden Market with the boy you have been dating for 3 months now. It hasn’t been long since you first met, but God knows how smitten you are with him. Every time you are together with him, it’s like you became a child that has a crush all over again. His smile, his laugh, his thick British accent, his giggle, everything about him is perfect to you.

“I don’t care! You will always be my London boy, okay.” You said with a smile that Ollie loves so much. A smile that he wants to see for the rest of his life if it’s possible.

“Is that supposed to be a Taylor Swift reference?”

Show me a gray sky, a rainy cab ride

Babe, don’t threaten me with a good time

They say home is where the heart is

But God, I love the English

It was raining heavily, which means your plan to go on a picnic with Ollie has to be canceled unwillingly. It’s been 7 months now since you first date him, and it has been the best seven months for both of you. Sure, there are arguments here and there, it’s normal for a couple to argue, but you love him so much and you knew he loves you too. “You know we don’t have to cancel our plan right?” he said after you expressed your disappointment. 

“It’s raining like crazy Ollie,” you said pointing the obvious while unpacking the picnic basket you two had prepared.

“We can still go on a walk, play in the rain for a bit, I swear it will be fun!” his reply got muffled as he hugged you from behind, burying his face in your hair, how are you supposed to decline his invitation?

And that’s how, three days later, you found yourself lying in his bed together with him, the two of you feel like dying from the cold you two caught because of the rain.

You know I love a London boy

I enjoy nights in Brixton, Shoreditch in the afternoon

He likes my American smile

Like a child when our eyes meet, darling I fancy you

Among all the things you’ve done together with Ollie, your favorite one might be walking around Brixton at night on a weekend. Strolling around Brockwell Park, going to a random concert held in O2 Academy, and visiting the infamous Westminster Abbey. You just love your night adventure with the boy who has been in your life for the past year.

And he loves it too, just as much. He loves seeing you enjoying the park at night, he loves hearing you singing along to a song performed at the concert, and he loves seeing your eyes light up when you were in awe because of the Church. Ollie just loves everything that has to do with you, he loves everything about you. And he will do anything just to see you smile. 

So please show me Hackney

Doesn’t have to be Louis V up on Bond Street

Just wanna be with you

Wanna be with you

You love traveling London with your own London boy. Going to Hackney, visiting the British Museum, walking around Victoria Park, anything really, as long as you are together with him.

Ollie also loves traveling with you too, well, he just loves you, really. He may be not as open as you at expressing his love, but everyone clearly knows just how much he is in love with you. How he would drop everything just to be with you if you asked him. How he would literally fly from Italy, ditching his training at the Ferrari Driver Academy, just to be with you if you called him.

Seriously, everyone could clearly tell that both of you are just two people being insanely in love with each other. And everyone also knew that nothing can change that.

[basementdoll]

Wait And Bleed

Murderdolls were on a high with their 2002 debut album. Before Joey Jordison knew it, Wednesday 13 had 30 new songs written…but was going it alone.

Words: Dom Lawson

On July 12, 2003, the band that Slipknot drummer Joey Jordison had formed with his friend, vocalist Wednesday 13, as a bit of light relief from the relentless touring and ferocious intensity of his day job, performed to a sold-out Brixton Academy in London. Within a year of releasing their debut album, 2002’s brilliantly snotty Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls, this goofy, sleazy horror-punk side-project had evolved beyond all expectations, like some kind of many-headed Frankenstein, and won the hearts of thousands of fans. In the UK in particular, Murderdolls rocketed from nowhere to the brink of hugeness, accruing a hysterical army of red’n’black-clad admirers who had fallen wholesale for the band’s party-all-night-and-fuck-the-consequences philosophy. What started as a liberating side-project had mutated into something with the potential to conquer the world…all of which makes the fact that Murderdolls left Brixton, buggered off back across the Atlantic and then vanished for seven years somewhat confusing.

But now it’s the summer of 2010 and Murderdolls are back at last. And so, as Joey Jordison and Wednesday 13 settle down on a small leather sofa in the air-conditioned downstairs bar of a swanky Soho hotel to speak with Metal Hammer about their reunion, imminent comeback and brand new studio album, Women and Children Last, it’s finally time to ask the question: Gentleman, where the fuck have you been?

“We don’t bullshit and there’s no reason to lie.” says Joey, shades on and as serious as hell. “After we got done with the tour for Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls, we ended on a high note at Brixton Academy, but then of course I had to go back and start up Slipknot again. Me and Wednesday were still in contact and he had demoed like 30 songs and sent me a CD, but the next thing I know, he’s doing a solo record and he didn’t tell me! I didn’t understand it. I was like, ‘Don’t you wanna do another Murderdolls record?’, but I can’t tell him not to go and do what he wants to do, you know? So I had to go and do my stuff with [Slipknot album] Volume 3 (The Subliminal Verses) and we did the whole tour, and we met up again during that tour. We hadn’t talked in a while, so it was kinda weird, but once we talked and crossed paths…”

“We met in a trailer at Rock Im Park in Germany.” recalls Wednesday. “It was 100° and all the crew people were like, ‘Get in there and work it out!’ and they threw us in there and shut the door! That’s when we sorted everything out.”

Having patched things up after what sounds like a fairly minor falling out, Joey and Wednesday still didn’t exactly rush into a Murderdolls reunion. In fact, another five years have passed since the initial exchange of apologies and explanations. In terms of squandering momentum, this hiatus will take some beating, and yet Women and Children Last oozes a level of intensity that was never even hinted at by Murderdolls first time round. Apparently absence makes the fire blaze harder…

“To other people, eight years [between albums] must seem like a long time.” says Wednesday. “But if you think about fuckin’ everything that Joey’s done and everything that I’ve done in that period, that’s a lot of shit! Combined, we’ve done more than bands do in a 20-year period. Joey did two Slipknot records, a Ministry tour, played with Korn, did Roadrunner United, produced 3 Inches Of Blood and played with Satyricon and I did three solo records, an EP, two country records and started a whole new band…”

“We were never enemies at all.” adds Joey. “We just got confused. After we met up again, we were on speaking terms and having conversations by texting and we were thinking that maybe we’d just let Murderdolls be the band with the cult following that it was and let sleeping dogs lie. But then the moment of clarity came to me about two years ago. I was at home on a break and I was sleeping on my couch and Headbanger’s Ball was on and there was this spark that jolted me awake. The metal scene in America and also in Europe, it’s all the fucking same now. There are some great bands, trust me, but everyone’s the same now. Labels are trying to survive because they’re going down the tubes. It’s all about who can play double bass the fastest. There’s no rock stars anymore. I called Wednesday at that point and I’m still in a sleep haze and I said, ‘Wednesday, I want to make another Murderdolls record!’”

A world apart from the comic book kitsch and pun-filled sloppiness of their debut, the second Murderdolls album might as well be the work of an entirely different band. Although still imbued with the hook-packed sleaze metal sensibilities that made old songs like Dead In Hollywood and Grave Robbing USA so irresistible, the new songs seem to have been beamed in from somewhere much darker and more real than their predecessors. There is no shortage of macabre humour lurking amid the pounding riffs and roar-along rage of Chapel of Blood and My Dark Place Alone but while Beyond The Valley…was all about taking the listener into a grim but ludicrous fantasy world, this record sounds very much like the work of men on a sincere and heartfelt mission. Murderdolls 2.0 mean every last fucking word, and as a result they have become a hundred times more believable. 

“I said, ‘If we’re gonna do this, it has to be full bore and we have to make a real record.’” says Joey. “The first record is great for what it was and I love it, but I consider this to be the first Murderdolls record. This is the first time we actually sat down with a vision and wrote songs together, and it’s been one of the most gratifying records I’ve ever made.”

“We wrote all these songs from scratch, a few feet away from each other in the studio.” grins Wednesday. “The first song we did was Homicide Drive, and the drum take you hear on the record is the first take we did. It all happened that naturally. It was really easy and it was fun. We had a fuckin’ blast making this record.”

Just like their favourite band, Murderdolls fans may well be a little bit older and wiser eight years on from that first flush of anti-hero worship, but the goofy, light-hearted side of the band was always a major part of their appeal. As a result, there may be some who find the idea of a more serious Murderdolls a little alarming, but despite injecting their sound with a little more substance, Joey and Wednesday are still firmly committed to delivering the rock ‘n’ roll goods. It’s just that this time round the fire in their bellies is for real and not just cheap whiskey afterburn.

“It’s still fun but it’s more fun for me because I get to sing about personal stuff now.” explains Wednesday. “I’m not the same guy you saw before. This band has changed - this is a whole new Murderdolls, in terms of what we’re bringing to the table. When I sing My Dark Place Alone, that’s very personal to me. I’m going deep into the lyrics, and that’s something I’ve never been able to do before.”

“The first record, you could say we were a dumb horror punk band or something like that.” adds Joey. “The new one, this is like my other Slipknot, even though they’re like apples and oranges. On this record you go from a song like Chapel Of Blood to Drug Me To Hell, and then songs like Nowhere and Summertime Suicide and it starts getting poppier. It’s kinda like Slipknot, with all that diversity, even though we’re a rock ‘n’ roll band. That’s what’s gratifying to me, having a band that has its own style but is able to inject its own identity into each song. When I used to play in death metal and speed metal bands, it was easy to sit there and write a million riffs. The biggest challenge is to write an actual song, and only then do you know you’re a real songwriter.” 

If everything goes to plan, the new Murderdolls album should swiftly restore the band to the levels of popularity they were enjoying when they took their extended hiatus. But if anyone needs convincing that Women And Children Last is the real deal, they need only acknowledge the presence of no less a figure than Mötley Crüe guitarist Mick Mars, who lends some hair-raising solos to Drug Me To Hell and Blood Stained Valentine, two of the album’s grittiest anthems. Mick doesn’t put on his top hat for any old rubbish, and Joey and Wednesday are visibly thrilled when they talk about his involvement in their new record.

“Mick’s one of the great underdogs and never got the respect he deserved.” says Wednesday. “We see him as one of the great rock ‘n’ roll villains, so what better guy to come out and play for us? It was so natural. He loved it!”

“We didn’t want any guests on this record whatsoever, but this was a little bit different.” smiles Joey. “It was definitely an honour to watch him play on our dumbass songs! I was just sitting there, almost blacking out, thinking about when I had Shout At The Devil on vinyl in my parent’s basement and I was thinking, ‘Man, this is fucked up!’”

Mick Mars aside, Murderdolls remain very much a two-man operation in the studio, but live performance is plainly a major part of what the band stands for and so, with that in mind, Joey and Wednesday have recruited a brand new lineup to assist them in their new crusade. Original members Acey Slade, Eric Griffin and Ben Graves have been usurped by new lead guitarist Roman Surman, bassist Jack Tankersley and drummer Racci Shay, who previously played in Wednesday 13’s solo band. Again, as with the songs themselves, fresh blood seems to have invigorated the whole Murderdolls enterprise. 

“The first lineup and the first everything that we did, it was really thrown together.” admits Wednesday. “We did our first video without ever having played together in a room before. Me and Joey did the record by ourselves and then we found these guys through friends of friends and, of course, it was complete chaos. So this time, we purposefully picked people we knew and that we were friends with, and it’s been great. When we finally got on stage, it was like ‘Holy shit!’”

“What we’ve done now and the people we have now, they’re great players and they’re there for the job.” continues Joey. “They’re not there to fuckin’ party. They believe in the songs and they believe in the project and this is a big chance for all of ‘em. They’re all amazing players. I wouldn’t do this if my heart wasn’t completely in it.”

With a new warcry of “We live, we breathe, we bleed rock ‘n’ roll!” the all-new Murderdolls can hardly be said to have altered the main thrust of their philosophy, but everything about the new lineup, the new album and the intense demeanor of the two men steering the ship suggests that they are in this for the long haul this time, ready to do whatever it takes to bully the world into joining in the fun. Serious men on a serious mission, perhaps, but surely there is still plenty of room for a little chaos, mayhem and debauchery? 

“Before, when we walked off stage, everything else was complete madness too.” Wednesday laughs. “It was a fuckin’ circus, but it was great. But we’ve moved on. We want to take the chaos from backstage and put it on the stage!”

“Now it’s just the most violent, fuckin’ sleazy, hideous, heaviest fuckin’ rock ‘n’ roll you can possibly imagine.” concludes Joey, with a snarl. “It’s a real band now.” 

Women and Children Last is out August 30 via Roadrunner Records. Murderdolls will play Ozzfest in September.

-

Six Stringer Joey Jordison’s Weapons Of Mass Destruction

Which albums inspired you to play the guitar?

“The first record that turned me on was the Stones’ Tattoo You. I remember my dad coming home with the album.”

What was the first guitar you owned?

“A harmony, which was like a Fender Stratocaster. I played it in my first metal band in fifth grade. I started playing drums aged seven and soon ditched the guitar.

How do you achieve your sound?

“I don’t normally tell people how I do it! Ha ha! I used a modified JCM 900 amplifier and a MXR distortion on top of that. I’m always involved with mixing and production and everything, so that has a lot to do with the sound on the record. My amp’s been modified.”

Who’s the most underrated guitarist?

“Probably Johnny Thunders (New York Dolls). He had something about him. Guitar is all about passion and playing with soul and style.”

How often do you practise?

“Right now, three hours a day! I’m going on tour with the Murderdolls so everything has to be up to par. It’s odd talking about guitar instead of drums. Drums always came natural to me. I still practise but I’m pretty much in the groove, but for the guitar I have to work real hard.”

What guitar do you play?

“I recorded with my custom BC Rich Bich. I’ve been using Gibson SGs and a BC Rich Warlock, plus I have my signature guitar coming out.”

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

so like we're all aware of the uh absolute disaster of arrests related to the coronation, right? with the police arresting people for seemingly no reason at best?

anyone want to hear a first hand account of one of them? yeah?

well, let me introduce you to the group who were arrested in the middle of a seminar that was entirely unrelated to the coronation who were arrested by the metropolitan police with a rather surreal tangent about vegan breakfasts.

[Alt Text:]

‘It was utterly surreal’: police accused of farcical error after 14 arrested at seminar on day of coronation

Primary teacher and ex-civil servant were among those attending class. Here they recount what happened

Daniel Boffey Chief reporter, Sun 21 May 2023

“I felt that they knew by the time they had taken us to the station in the van that they had the wrong people,” said Lauren, 26, a medical writer in the pharmaceutical industry.

The post-coronation wash-up over the last fortnight has been marked by an array of surreal stories of bungled arrests, from the republican activists swept up by police for possession of luggage straps to the pro-monarchy Australian architect who had been simply seeking to enjoy a pleasant day out at Westminster Abbey.

It has been notable that in each of those cases, after intense media attention, the Metropolitan police has since admitted some regret and announced that no further action would be taken.

The group, almost entirely female or non-binary, aged between their mid-20s and late 60s and largely new to activism, let alone its more extreme manifestations, were arrested on suspicion of being a Just Stop Oil cell intent on disrupting the crowning of Charles III.

In reality, they had gathered in a small nondescript room in a rented work space in east London for a seven-hour seminar about the theory, history and practice of non-violent protest after expressing an interest in the social activist group Animal Rising, largely via its website.

They were put in minivans outside the building, with eight of the group taken to Brixton police station in south London and six to Stoke Newington in north London. Hillwood was sat in the vehicle for hour and a half before disembarking in Brixton. There was a further 90-minute wait outside the station before being checked in at the custody desk.

It was 4pm by the time Hillwood was led to her cell. She asked for her solicitor and was served a vegan “all day breakfast”. “It was literally beans,” Hillwood said. A solicitor advised her to offer no comment to the officers’ questions.

But when it came to his turn, Jenkins felt no such compunction. “I said my intention was to sit in an all day training course learn about non-violent protests, meet some new people and avoid the coronation.”

The group were let out late in the evening on bail pending further investigation. Those arrested have since tried to piece together what may have happened. They learned that Just Stop Oil had previously used the building for meetings, along with many other organisations.

The police had mentioned some placards lying around in part of the building, and some paint unconnected to the training. The truth, said Caitlin, was that it was a horrible bungle. Animal Rising is planning a civil case for wrongful arrest and imprisonment. “I want the police to drop it,” said Caitlin. “I want my phone and my watch back and I want this wiped from the police database.”

The Metropolitan police has declined to comment.

full article here

so little tl/dr: the metropolitan police essentially raided a 7 hour seminar that was unrelated to the coronation, and arrested 14 people on suspicion of being part of just stop oil and held them for over six hours because uh, well theyd rented the same room as just stop oil did one time and there was some signs i guess.

(side note on just stop oil; ive read a lot of conflicting information about them as activists and i honestly dont know if they are a real activist group or if its astroturfing. if anyone more educated on them wants to elaborate, please do.)

they were arrested “on suspicion of conspiracy to cause a public nuisance” because the police believed they intended to disrupt the coronation.

im not sure how they planned to do that since they were five miles away from it and in a seven-hour seminar, but who needs logistics or facts when you have a law that violates human rights.

theyre still being investigated now; the police still have caitlins phone; theyre out on fucking bail.

again, the police believe their part of just stop oil because they rented a room that anyone can rent and apparently they saw some signs and placards.

if you wrote "25 police officers mistakenly raid a seminar on non-violent protest as they believed them to be part of a conspiracy for renting a room" as satire, youd probably get the feedback or it being a little on the nose. but nope, this actually happened.

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

The Magnificent Seven • Hitsville U.K. • Junco Partner • Ivan Meets G.I. Joe • The Leader • Something About England • Rebel Waltz • Look Here • The Crooked Beat • Somebody Got Murdered • One More Time • One More Dub • Lightning Strikes (Not Once But Twice) • Up In Heaven (Not Only Here) • Corner Soul • Lets Go Crazy • If Music Could Talk • The Sound Of Sinners • Police On My Back • Midnight Log • The Equaliser • The Call Up • Washington Bullets • Broadway • Blowing In The Guns Of Brixton • Lose This Skin • Charlie Don't Surf • Mensforth Hill • Junkie Slip • Kingston Advice • The Street Parade • Version City • Living In Fame • Silicone On Sapphire • Version Pardner • Career Opportunities • Shepherds Delight

Spotify ♪ Youtube

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Running from the Flames {6}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: 18+ only, kissing, a punch is thrown - this is a work of fiction and the events are not based on reality. Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven* || under construction

“Pierre, the rumours are that you are now dating Brianna Vowles. That must be quite the change from the models you have been romantically linked to in the past.”

This was the beginning. The very first reporter. 

Paulo looked at me and gave an apologetic smile. 

“What do you have to say?” the reporter probed when Pierre said nothing. 

“I’m sorry, was there a question in there?” 

The crowd laughed and the tension evaporated as they moved on to the next reporter with a reminder to keep the questions in relation to the teams and race day. 

I thought we had gotten away lightly but the last reporter didn’t care about the rules as much as the others who had asked about tactics and confidence levels going into the race. He held up a picture of a birth certificate and I leaned closer as I recognised both him and the name on the certificate.

“What the fuck?” I growled as I rose to my feet and sat Addie down on the chair. “Can you watch her?” 

I didn’t wait for an answer as I stormed my way through the paddock to where the interviews were. I never heard the question he asked but a silence fell over the crowd as I rounded the corner in time to see Pierre vault off the stage and into the media area. 

“Pierre!” I screamed trying to get his attention but he was busy making his way to Trent Gordon who was still holding a copy of Adelaide’s birth certificate. A few cameras turned my way as I followed but most were still focused on Pierre and the angry words he was having with Trent.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Pierre growled as he shoved Trent. 

“No problem here,” Trent laughed as he kept the paper up high for all the cameras to photograph. “I just want to expose the truth. See this line, it says Father: Unknown.” 

I finally made it through the crowd and ripped the page from his hands. “There’s a permanent restraining order forbidding you from coming near me or my family, Trent. Get the hell out of here before I call the police.”

He scoffed and looked innocently at the people around him. “Maybe we should call them, tell them what a liar you are. You do know it’s illegal to lie on government documents, right. And we both know that Adelaide Mirabella Vowles’ father is Erik Sorensen.”

I felt sick as he publicly announced something that had been kept quiet for almost three years. Erik may have fathered a child but I never wanted him to know about it, not after what he did. And now the news would spread like wildfire, no doubt reaching Brixton Penitentiary where Erik was serving his 10 year sentence.

My hands clenched into fists as the man in front of me smiled and all the rage I had thought had disappeared over the years came back in a tidal wave. I didn’t even feel the impact or see my hands move, but I heard the collective gasp as my fist broke Trent’s nose before I was whisked away.

“Fuck, fuck, are you okay, ma cherie?” Pierre asked as he picked me up when my feet refused to walk and I wrapped my legs around his waist, burying my face in his neck.

“I just wanted to keep her safe from that monster.” The tears spilled over as I realised I failed her. “I can’t let him ruin her too.”

“You’re not ruined,” he promised as he brushed my hair back and wiped my tears away. “Hear me, you’re not ruined.” 

He carefully set me down on a bench and I looked around to see we were in the drivers room. Otmar filled the doorway behind him, a sheen of sweat on his face like he had run from his principal interview. 

“Can you watch Addie please? I just need a few minutes.”

He nodded, his worry increasing at the catch in my voice. “Your dad’s already on his way.”

The door closed silently behind him and I looked at my shaking fist. I had never actually punched someone before and I never wanted to again. I hadn’t been able to control the rage that had come over me and I wondered if that made me as bad as Erik. 

I was fixated on my knuckles, the bruise and swelling quickly forming before my eyes. Then the pain began, a worsening throb that spread across my hand and tore a whimper from my lips. 

Pierre gently uncurled my fingers and saw the swelling, swearing under his breath before he tore his shirt over his head. The ripple of muscles distracted me and I watched as he opened a wheelie bin to see it was full of ice water. He scooped out a handful of cubes and wrapped them in his shirt before taking my hand and placing it carefully on top. 

“That was one hell of a right hook,” he said softly, but there was definitely a sense of pride in his words. 

“I shouldn’t have done that, I’m already going to be in enough trouble.”

“He deserved it, and more, for what he's done.” 

Pierre stepped between my legs so he could wrap his arms around me and I was lost to the comfort of his embrace as well as the rich tones of his cologne. It was an all encompassing feeling of security when he held me like this and I knew at that moment that I wanted more from him. 

I peered up at him from under my lashes. “Are you sure you want to get tangled in all this drama? I mean, you should be concentrating on your race but instead you’re charging into the media like a damn white knight to my rescue.”

From the sparkle in his eyes he took pride in the title and dropped a lopsided grin. “It won’t always be like this, the reporters get bored and things settle down. But, I like you, Bri, and I’m already invested in seeing where this goes. So, unless that’s not what you want…”

 “I want it,” I rushed before biting my lip and willing my racing heart to relax and repeated it a little more calmly. “I want this, Pierre.”

I ran my hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the soft curls beneath my palms and he stilled, barely breathing, as he let me take my time and explore him. His heart was a steady thrum against my hand but the pulse at his neck raced the higher I reached. 

I followed the curve of his collarbone and draped my arms around his neck so I could run my fingers through the strands of his hair, marvelling at how soft it was. With the courage I lacked only two days ago, I pulled him closer and his eyes traced over my face, silently asking if I was ready. 

I nodded and closed the distance.

His lips had to be a drug because with one taste I was addicted. I no longer needed air, I would happily just breathe him in. My lips parted for him and my fingers tangled in his hair as I welcomed the kiss that chased away the pain in my hand and set my body on fire. 

“Just friends, huh?”

“Putain de merde,” Pierre swore as he spun around to face the intruder only to blanche at the sight. 

“Dad!” I dropped my hands from Pierre and cleared my throat. “Um, I’m assuming you two know each other.”

“Monsieur Vowles,” Pierre recovered and held out his hand to my dad.

“Pierre,” dad said coldly, shaking it once before crossing his arms again. “May I have a moment with my daughter?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” He went to a narrow door along the wall and grabbed a fresh shirt out, quickly pulling it over his head before squeezing through the doorway that my dad didn’t move from with an apology. 

“A bit childish don’t you think?” I muttered as dad finally stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

He didn’t even give me a small chuckle, letting me know what kind of mood he was in. “Did you forget our little chat this morning?”

“No.”

“This isn’t being careful,” he said with a pointed finger at my icepack. “There’s only so much I can do in the FIA but there were fans and we can’t stop them from posting what happened out there.”

“I know, I wasn’t thinking straight. I just saw that asshole and snapped, and possibly broke something. Fuck, my hand hurts.”

His eyes softened and he lifted Pierre’s wet shirt away to see the purple bruise spreading. “You should get this looked at.”

I shot him an incredulous look. “I’m not going to miss the race. I’ll take some painkillers and see how I feel after the podium. How did Trent get in anyway?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted sullenly. “The pass he scanned wasn’t his so we are tracking the owner down. It’s likely he flew in this morning after seeing the photos from last night, wanting to get the spotlight while the attention on you was fresh.”

“It feels personal and I don’t get why he hates me.”

“Well the fact that he went bankrupt after the court case probably didn’t help.” Dad frowned at the confusion on my face. “Honey, where did you think the reparation payout came from?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted with a shrug. “Money wasn’t exactly my focus when I was laid up in bed recovering and then back at Uni.”

“He was an independent journalist, it came from his own back pocket.”

Shit, that would explain the hatred radiating from him and why he was hell bent on making my life miserable.

“Look, I have to get back but I’ll let you know if I hear anything more.” His words pulled me from my thoughts and I gave him a quick hug, thanking him for the update.

“Pierre won’t get in trouble will he?” I asked as I walked him to the door.

“He’s not the one who threw the punch,” he said with a shake of his head as he murmured, “but I might like him a bit more if it was him.”

“Cut it out, please, he makes me happy.”

Dad rolled his eyes and sighed, “fine, but if he fucks up then I don’t care that he’s on Otmar’s team, I’ll penalise his ass until he’s 20th on the grid.”

The gusto made me laugh and I gave him a hug. “No you won’t but it’s nice to hear you have my back.”

“Siempre.”

“Ay, mama will be pleased,” I teased as I opened the door. “30 years of marriage and you’re finally learning some Español.”

“I know plenty, mija,” he fired back. “It’s just for her ears only.”

“Uh, disgusting.” My face screwed up and I tossed Pierre’s wet shirt at him but he was already gone, his laugh fading as he left Alpine’s area.

Since I was in a better space of mind I went in search of Addie, hoping it hadn’t been too much to ask for Otmar to watch her at such an important time but when I found him she wasn’t there. Panic began to creep in as I looked around the crews and didn’t see her but Otmar waved me over and placed a calming hand on my shoulder.

“She’s in the car,” he said as he pointed to the adjoining room where Pierre’s race car was waiting. “I’m a little hurt that she didn’t want to stay with me when your beau came out.”

“You’ll always be her Poppa,” I assured him. “Pierre’s just her shiny new toy and he spoils her with attention.”

“That makes me feel much better,” he said sarcastically before his assistant handed him more paperwork to check over while I left him to it. 

The race car was on its stand with the tyres yet to be put on. They were being kept warm under insulation wraps and would only be attached when it was time to head to the track. Even without them on I could see the axle turning and when I was close enough to see into the driver's seat I found Addie pretending to drive from Pierre’s lap.

“I’m going brrrrrmmm so fast,” she declared with a toothy smile when she spotted me. 

“So fast your wheels came off,” I gasped and pointed to the metal bar that they joined to. 

She turned wide eyed to Pierre and smooshed his cheeks in her hands. “Woah, did you see that?”

He played along effortlessly, appearing equally as shocked until she burst out in a fit of laughter. Her pure joy had me smiling and the worry I had that she had seen what happened during the interview faded. She was happy and content, too young to understand the weight of the world, just like you hoped she would remain for as long as possible. 

“Thank you,” I mouthed to Pierre as I lifted her out of the car so he could follow. 

His body brushed mine as he stepped down and my heart skipped a beat as I remembered the feel of his skin under my hands. “My pleasure.”

The moment was broken by the pit crew arriving to start warming the oil for the car and I knew it was almost time. Pierre was already being called to go and get his fireproofs on but I stopped him and pulled the necklace my mother had given me when Addie was born. “She brings good luck and protection,” I said as he ducked his head so I could put it around his neck. 

He picked up the gold pendant and studied the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I wasn’t overly religious, only going to church when it was expected of me and that was mostly when we went to Acapulco to visit my abuela, but I always wore the necklace.

“Are you sure?” he asked and I nodded with certainty. “Merci.”

He kissed the pendant before leaning forward and kissing my forehead too and the warmth of his lips spread like liquid across my body. I could have stayed feeling that way all day, like I had my own personal sun to bask in, but Addie had other ideas as she squirmed forward in my arms, shoving her face between us and patting her forehead. 

“Jealous, princesse,” he said with a smile before giving her the kiss on her forehead she was wanting. “Where’s her earmuffs? It’s about to get loud in here.”

His concern for her endeared me all the more as I reached into my handbag and pulled the pair out for her before reminding him of his own wellbeing. “You should use some more Bonjela before you get in the car too.”

Pierre placed his hand over his heart as he backed away towards his impatient team waiting. “What would I do without you, mon ange.”

I didn’t have a response as he disappeared into the mass of people waiting to get him suited up, stretched and ready for the big event. I was still relearning how to breathe after hearing him call me his angel. 

So much for taking things slow.

Click here for chapter seven.

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife

[boonesfarmsangria]

At the end of the month, Yannis & The Yaw will release the EP Lagos Paris London, a collection of songs that sees Foals frontman Yannis Philippakis team up with late Afrobeat legend Tony Allen. Sessions began back in 2016 but were uncompleted when Allen died in 2020, Philippakis getting the tracks to the finish line with Allen’s trusted team of collaborators in Paris over the past couple of years. It makes for an excellent melding of sounds, a union of Allen’s restless, toppling grooves and Philippakis’ knack for dexterous rock riffs and yearning vocals. Last week, Niall spoke to Yannis over Zoom about how rehearsals for Yannis & The Yaw’s live shows are coming along (see here for ticket and date details), his favourite memories of working with Allen, where the Yannis & The Yaw project could go next and more…

Hello Yannis, how’s it going?

Yeah, good. I got back last night after being away for two weeks, so it’s one of those where the hot water isn’t working, the internet doesn’t work, the house smells like bins…

Haha.  I saw some videos you put up from rehearsals. How are they going?

It was loosely rehearsing, it wasn’t full band. I’ve been going over to Paris semi-regularly now for a few years, obviously to finish the record and since then to explore how to do the live show because without Tony being around, we have to be thoughtful about how to do it. We’ve also got to create more material for the show, because the EP is only about 20 minutes long.

Like an early Foals show!

Yeah, exactly. It’s like when we first headlined Brixton and we played for 40 minutes, the shortest ever headline set at Brixton Academy.

I was at that gig. It wasn’t just that you didn’t have loads of material, it was that you played the songs you had really quickly too.

The nerves controlled the tempo that day.

So have you cracked that nut in terms of what you’re going to do for the Yannis & The Yaw live shows?

We jammed a bit with this Malian guitarist so we’ve got some extra material. We’re going to do some improvised sections, extend certain sections, jam out bits of the songs that people know, and then we might do a couple of Tony Allen covers as well.

We’ve got an amazing band. We’ve got Dave Okumu on guitar. We’ve got Seye Adelekan, who plays bass for lots of people and is the live bass player for Gorillaz and who’s really awesome. I’ve wanted to play with him for a long time. Then the Vincents, Vincent Taurelle and Vincent Taeger, who were the producers and musicians on the EP so I’m quite familiar with playing with those two. And Kit [Monteith, a member of Foals’ live band] on percussion. As a collective, we’ve never played together so there’s definitely a big question mark about how it’s going to come together. But it’s exciting because I have absolute faith that the other guys are going to come and elevate all of the music. There’s some nerves, I want it to do justice to the EP and to Tony and for it not to suck.

Who’s playing drums?

Vincent Taeger. He’s perfect for it. Tony really admired a couple of younger drummers. One of them is Femi from Ezra Collective and the other one was Vincent. Vincent had worked on other Tony Allen records and had been in Tony’s orbit for a long time and knew him intimately to the point where when we were mixing the record, both the Vincents could tell me exactly the frequency that Tony would want his kick drum mixed at and things like that, they know it so intimately that they almost can translate what Tony would have wanted. Because Vincent was in on the sessions, it just felt right.

I love the EP. What’s the full timeframe from when you started it to release?

How many years? I mean, do I have to say?

Yeah.

It’s probably like six or seven years, or maybe the better part of a decade. I think we first got together in 2017, I’m not that good with dates.

I read 2016.

It might well have been 2016.

What’s it like living with a piece of music like that for so long?

For a while, it was OK, because I quite liked to pull out this little trump card late at night at parties when everyone’s playing their own music and I’d be like, ‘Oh, have you heard this stuff I did with Tony Allen?’ and whack it on at three in the morning. It would most often be heard in that kind of setting.

I didn’t want that chapter to close, so part of the reason why I think we didn’t hurry to finish the tracks was that we enjoyed the collaboration with each other. And also, it wasn’t something that was driven by a record label or by an idea of completion. It was an exploration with Tony and we enjoyed jamming with each other. I think that we would have probably done a whole album had things turned out differently. We were enjoying each other’s company, we enjoyed playing so there was a part of it which was pleasant that there was this material bubbling away on the back hob for a long time while he also made other records and I was focusing on Foals. The problem with that obviously was that we didn’t get to complete it while he was alive so that’s the bit that’s the bit where now there’s a feeling of slight remorse that we just didn’t finish it.

But in terms of like having the songs living alongside you unfinished, it wasn’t something that was aggravating to me. I quite enjoyed the fact that they were just there in the ether but it does now feel awesome to have it done and have it out. I think that that needed to happen once Tony passed away. They needed to be completed.

Thinking back to when you first went to Paris to meet Tony in the studio, how did it go in terms of what you were expecting versus what actually happened?

I didn’t really know what to expect, it was all quite French in terms of the communication! Genuinely, when I got to Paris that morning, I didn’t know whether I was playing on a written piece of music that I was going to be slotting into, or if it was one tune or many. In terms of expectation, it was quite loose. All I knew was that I was going to go into a studio with Tony Allen and I was excited. I guess I was a bit anxious about how it was gonna go. I didn’t want to get there and be like, ‘Oh, this isn’t clicking’ or ‘I’m a letdown’ or something.

The not-knowing what I’m walking into would freak me out.

It didn’t freak me out but I just didn’t know. I had a guitar and a loop pedal. I knew if I needed anything, I could find it on that loop pedal. It’s quite a Luddite way of working but I had about 80 loops in this little box that I’d go around with. I went in there and it wasn’t necessarily frosty, but it was kind of quiet. It was a cold morning, pretty early, it was December, it was a bit grim outside. And Tony was sat there in this basement studio and it was already pretty smoky in there.

What was incredible about it was the realisation that we were going to build something from scratch, them saying, ‘Oh no, there’s nothing written, you’re not playing on something that’s pre-written, we’re gonna go in and we’re gonna jam and you’re gonna play with Tony’. That moment was like, ‘Alright, OK’. Once we started playing and just how natural it felt, it’s been one of the peaks of my musical life, the fact that it flowed so well with Tony and there was this innate understanding and appreciation that felt like it was a two way street.

What your favourite memory of hanging out with Tony?

Probably Café OTO because it was the first time that I hung out with him fully socially in London. He came to play a small show at Café OTO in Dalston. It was amazing to watch him onstage, post having played with him, in this intimate venue. He was beckoning me over into his roped-off area, we were drinking whiskey together all night. To see him for the first time in a social context and to remember how much of a legend he is but then also to just be hanging out drinking Chivas Regal with a single cube of ice and a plastic cup well into the night, it was good fun.

Tell me about how some of the songs on the EP came to life. What about the opening track, Walk Through Fire?

Walk Through Fire was super quick. It’s basically the riff that I was checking my set-up in the studio with, it almost felt a bit like ‘Whoa, steady there’ because Tony was already playing along to it and and the producers were recording already. One aspect of the EP was things would happen very quickly in the studio, and then there’d be long lunches. I’d always be like, ‘Guys, can we just get back into the studio now?!’ I had to slow my rhythm down to conform with that way of working. It was Tony’s way of working as well, not to force stuff. He didn’t do many takes. There’s actually audio of me asking him to play something again and him refusing, saying, ‘No!’ and leaving the room.

My voice was feeling really strong at that point as well. I’d come straight off a tour and my voice felt elastic, like the range was kind of at its best. I remember that moment of singing some vocal takes and kind of seeing Tony not expecting that to come out of me. He seemed to be more into my voice than than the guitar stuff.

That must have given you confidence.

Yeah, even though he collaborated widely, I think that’s a point of newness, where it’s a kind of rock energy meeting with his style. We had some discussions about the lyrics, I wanted to make sure that he was included in it, and also to find a point of difference with Foals, so they are less introverted and more outward looking. He wanted the songs to be engaging with the streets or society more.

How did Rain Can’t Reach Us come about? I love that tune.

I do too. It’s one of my favourite pieces of music I’ve been part of. I was basically scrolling through my loops and when we were on that one, people got interested, Tony was like, ‘Let’s try that one’. There was probably five layers of guitars, so one went to the marimba, one went to a keyboard, one went to one guitar and another guitar and there was four of us playing that those parts in the room. And then Tony came in, and then I sang over it. There was definitely work done to it afterwards in terms of all the strings and the keys and stuff, but the first time we played it with Tony, that was it.

Is part of you sad it’s completed now?

Yeah, definitely. I’m really pleased to be releasing it, but there’s also a corner of it in which there’s sadness that we’re not doing it together, even the interviews and stuff. It would’ve been fun to have done them together. I’m looking forward to people hearing the EP in full and playing the shows to celebrate it. The idea of the Yaw means that there is a possibility in the future to collaborate with other people or do a record, some sort of continuation of it. It’s not necessarily a full stop or a dead end, but obviously the material with Tony, this is it, there’s no more.

Is this somewhere you could maybe find a home for the stuff you did with Karl Hyde that’s never seen the light of day? You also once told me you wanted to make a Greek folk record…

I need to figure it out. The Karl Hyde stuff would be awesome, I don’t know where he’s at with that. I’m feeling a pull to wanting to do more with Greek music. I’m not sure where that sits, it might be with this or it might be something different. I need to think it through a bit more. I like the idea that this record is postcards from different locations from different cultures, so maybe a future record could be like that. But this pull towards Greek music is definitely happening and I need to deal with that. That’s the big thing I’ve learned from this project with Tony, it is important to throw yourself into wherever you’re being pulled and finish it as well.

What about Foals, what’s the plans for that at the moment?

It’s at the stage where I think we’re enjoying having a bit of time off, all of us individually. We’re chatting quite a lot. It’s [Foals guitarist] Jimmy’s 40th today, we’re jumping on a call later to virtually wish him happy birthday because he’s on the other side of the world right now. We’re probably going to go to Iceland to hang out towards the end of the year to and we’ll know more about what we’re doing after that. We’re going to go to a remote house in Iceland and see what happens

[thefisherqueen]

I'm reading Letters from Watson's The Veiled Lodger today on this cloudy, quiet saturday morning. I'm so ready for the coming autumn! Give me rain, cold, long dark evenings to cuddle up in blankets and just do quiet things by myself. But I'll have to wait a while, it'll be sunny and warm again next week here in the Netherlands

When one considers that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in active practice for twenty-three years Wish I could retire after only 23 years. I'd be halfway there already

There is the long row of year-books which fill a shelf, and there are the dispatch-cases filled with documents, a perfect quarry for the student, not only of crime, but of the social and official scandals of the late Victorian era. My librarian and social historian and archivist heart is fluttering at this

I deprecate, however, in the strongest way the attempts which have been made lately to get at and to destroy these papers. The source of these outrages is known, and if they are repeated I have Mr. Holmes's authority for saying that the whole story concerning the politician, the lighthouse and the trained cormorant will be given to the public. There is at least one reader who will understand. A very politely worded threat. Tread carefully, unknown citizen, I don't think that Watson will take kindly to any kind of danger regarding his dear Holmes. I do want to read about those buglary attempts, though. And certainly about the trained cormorant

But the most terrible human tragedies were often involved in these cases which brought him the fewest personal opportunities, and it is one of these which I now desire to record. So I'll need to prepare for a tragedy today? *grabs some tissues*

an elderly, motherly woman of the buxom landlady type What does that mean? *googles buxom landlady* Oh. Pretty much the only results are literal porn videos and erotic fiction novels. Not what I expected. Did Watson really just call her the victorian equavalent to a milf?

"This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton," said my friend, with a wave of the hand. "Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco, Watson, if you wish to indulge your filthy habits. I hope Watson told Holmes to shut his nicotine stained mouth after this

Mrs. Merrilow has an interesting story to tell which may well lead to further developments in which your presence may be useful." "Anything I can do——" It's probably just a result of me looking up 'buxom', but this reads like the start of a porn script. Fucking hilarious

You say that Mrs. Ronder has been your lodger for seven years and that you have only once seen her face." "And I wish to God I had not!" said Mrs. Merrilow. "It was, I understand, terribly mutilated." Now that switches the mood around really quickly. Who did what to this poor lady's face

She seems to be wasting away. And there's something terrible on her mind. 'Murder!' she cries. 'Murder!' And once I heard her, 'You cruel beast! You monster!' she cried. It was in the night, and it fair rang through the house and sent the shivers through me. So I went to her in the morning. 'Mrs. Ronder,' I says, 'if you have anything that is troubling your soul, there's the clergy,' I says, 'and there's the police. Between them you should get some help.' 'For God's sake, not the police!' says she, 'and the clergy can't change what is past. And yet,' she says, 'it would ease my mind if someone knew the truth before I died.' I will really need those tissues, won't I? I like that women go to Holmes with their troubles, probably having heard from other women that he will be sympathetic and respectful and willing to help

Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room—no other verb can describe Mrs. Merrilow's method of progression Very, very unnecessairy addition, Watson

For a few minutes there was a constant swish of the leaves, and then with a grunt of satisfaction he came upon what he sought. So excited was he that he did not rise, but sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with crossed legs, the huge books all round him, and one open upon his knees. Holmes has the best poses

The caravan had halted for the night at Abbas Parva, which is a small village in Berkshire England really has the funniest place names

He was the rival of Wombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen of his day. There is evidence, however, that he took to drink, and that both he and his show were on the down grade at the time of the great tragedy. A case of abuse in the world of show business, then

"They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion. Sahara King was its name *does some reasearch* I learnt a new Thing. Apperently lions used to be quite common in north Africa. Since the 60's the local population is considered extinct in the wild. I guess, then, that it was the lion who attacked this woman

There was no other point of interest in the evidence, save that the woman in a delirium of agony kept screaming, 'Coward! Coward!' as she was carried back to the van in which they lived. Now that is curious. Did mr. Ronder assault the lion in some way, maybe, upon which it turned against them?

"I should think the whole camp was crying out by then. As to the other points, I think I could suggest a solution." "I should be glad to consider it." I think it is the first time so far that Watson comes up with his own theory? Keep doing that my dear :)

I fear I lied to him. Perhaps it would have been wiser had I told the truth." "It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why did you lie to him?" "Because the fate of someone else depended upon it. I know that he was a very worthless being, and yet I would not have his destruction upon my conscience. We had been so close—so close!" Is she talking about her husband, which would make not much sense as he was already dead, or about someone else?

"You compliment me, madam. At the same time, I am a responsible person. I do not promise you that when you have spoken I may not myself think it my duty to refer the case to the police." Refreshing honesty from Holmes here

Reading is the only pleasure which Fate has left me, and I miss little which passes in the world. :(

"Those two pictures will help you, gentlemen, to understand the story. I think I know where this is going. Did ms. Ronder have an extramarrial affair with the strongman?

When I became a woman this man loved me, if such lust as his can be called love, and in an evil moment I became his wife. From that day I was in hell, and he the devil who tormented me. Husband was an abusive asshole

"Then Leonardo came more and more into my life. You see what he was like. I know now the poor spirit that was hidden in that splendid body, but compared to my husband he seemed like the Angel Gabriel. He pitied me and helped me, till at last our intimacy turned to love—deep, deep, passionate love, such love as I had dreamed of but never hoped to feel. So they did have an affair. But he was abusive, too. This is a very sad story

One night my cries brought Leonardo to the door of our van. We were near tragedy that night, and soon my lover and I understood that it could not be avoided. My husband was not fit to live. We planned that he should die. Murder! And then, after, the strongman also attempted to murder her? Oh, no, I think the lion was seen mauling her face. Something clearly went wrong

Leonardo could have saved me. If he had rushed forward and struck the beast with his club he might have cowed it. But the man lost his nerve. I heard him shout in his terror, and then I saw him turn and fly. That explains the shouting of 'coward!' Can't really blame the strongman for freaking out, though, that's a natural reaction

Its hot, filthy breath had already poisoned me and I was hardly conscious of pain. I think that was the adrealine, madam

When I came to myself, and saw myself in the mirror, I cursed that lion—oh, how I cursed him!—-not because he had torn away my beauty, but because he had not torn away my life. I had but one desire, Mr. Holmes, and I had enough money to gratify it. It was that I should cover myself so that my poor face should be seen by none, and that I should dwell where none whom I had ever known should find me. That was all that was left to me to do—and that is what I have done. A poor wounded beast that has crawled into its hole to die—that is the end of Eugenia Ronder." Very tragic. Cruel world, making her feel like she like she had to cover her face and hide away. The misogyny of it all. Is it really the worst thing that can happen to a woman, to get visible scars and deformities? Are our appearances really our whole worth? Men with scars are at least considered heroes. Women are just 'ugly'

But what of this man Leonardo?" "I never saw him or heard from him again. Perhaps I have been wrong to feel so bitterly against him. He might as soon have loved one of the freaks whom we carried round the country as the thing which the lion had left. She speaks with such loathing of herself. Horrible of Leonardo to abandon her

"Your life is not your own," he said. "Keep your hands off it." "What use is it to anyone?" "How can you tell? The example of patient suffering is in itself the most precious of all lessons to an impatient world." I will not cry I will not cry

Holmes held up his hand in a gesture of pity and protest What would that look like? I can't picture it

Two days later, when I called upon my friend, he pointed with some pride to a small blue bottle upon his mantelpiece. I picked it up. There was a red poison label. A pleasant almondy odour rose when I opened it. "Prussic acid?" said I. "Exactly. It came by post. 'I send you my temptation. I will follow your advice.' That was the message. I think, Watson, we can guess the name of the brave woman who sent it." She didn't! I'm so relieved. I need to believe she keeps in touch with Watson and Holmes and someday feels free to go outside unveiled

I made it without crying. Well, that was certainly a different kind of story than most of the other ones. Quite beautiful, though, it evoked some deep thoughts. I loved the ending

[ferinawrites]

Places to eat in London : Part 2

THE OLD BANK OF ENGLAND

Fleet Road, London

A photo similar to this basically led me to search up The Old Bank of England on google. It is probably the most curious courtyard I have ever seen because of the double-decker parked inside which, in fact, have tables inside for dining. Note that this is just a small area of the pub/restaurant. Th e inside of the old Law Court's branch of the old Bank of England has one of the most spectacular interior in all pubs of London and I am just so glad I stumbled upon this on Facebook.

To secure seats especially for a large group, it is always best to reserve a table during the evenings when the pub literally is swarmed. I have been here twice and the second one was in the middle of the day. I expected it to be almost empty but I was wrong. People from the neighbouring offices take their lunch breaks here coupled with day-drinking as well.

Since we were just here for the beer and the instagram photo-op. we just ordered one of their heritage beers, the Rivertown pils. And because we just had a huge dinner before this, we ordered just a few small appetisers. We got the KING PRAWNS PIL PIL, STICKY THAI CHICKEN BITES, AND COD GOUJONS. They were in small portions but very tasteful!

The interior of the Old Bank of England is massive and I am going to make a separate blog on this with all the gazillion of instagram photos I managed to take.

Book here www.oldbankofengland.com.

CHAI GUYS, COVENT GARDEN

Seven Dials Market, London

Not a place to eat but my friend, Sarjo, highly recommended this place for the best chai tea latte. She apparently went here last year and purchased one of their tea in tin cans and she decided to grab a different one this time around. We were so thirsty from all the walking so we got us iced chai tea lattes.

I really love how they really said it with confidence that they are the best chai in London but inserted the "probably" just to be down-to-earth. Haha.

This is me and my gorgeous friend, Sarjo, enjoying our chais. And, of course, a photo of us standing next to a cucumber-themed photobooth at Seven Dials that wasn't even functioning.

Click the photo below to order their chai tea for your next home-brew!

PRETO BRAZILIAN STEAKHOUSE, VICTORIA

Wilton Road, London

I haven't had Brazilian food before so when the idea came up, I was a little bit skeptical. My college friend really insisted that we go to this Brazilian buffet where they go around and serve freshly grilled meat in skewers. The idea sounded so good but I wasn't sure if I was up to it since I have been craving Chinese food at that time. But then when we got inside the restaurant, the vibe was on! The salads that were on display were so vibrant, the wide array of side dishes were five-star, and their beans with tender pork ribs was so incredible I could almost cry. That was probably my favorite! They kept on serving us grilled meat too so I was literally full to the brim in an instant. This was a no-brainer, it is one of the best buffets I have ever had in my entire life. Men with huge appetite should eat here (like my boyfriend lol).

I finally had to wave my white flag (or shall I say flipped my card to say NO to their delicious barbecued meat or known as "churrasco" in Brazil). They have this clever way of signalling the waiters to keep the meat coming with a card that say "More, Please" and of course says the opposite if you flip it. The next time I am coming to Preto for the Brazilian food buffet, I'll make sure I'll have the whole day to just sit and take it slow, skip meals before hand, and probably save the beans for last. :)

THE RUM KITCHEN, BRIXTON

Coldharbour, London

We walked into the restaurant and we were already greeted by a tables full of people of what seem to be extended families, group of friends, locals, patrons... all of them seem to be feeling really at home in The Rum Kitchen. But I can see why. The restaurant gives off such a home-y vibe. The music, the flavourful Carribean, and an order of cocktail during the ¨happy hour¨ are the key ingredients to an amazing food experience with friends and families.

Brixton is easily one of the places in London that they'd warn tourists about because of its reputation for having high crime rate and drug-related issues. But that was in the past. Brixton is one of London's revitalisation projects to recreate once more as a vibrant side of the town. The southern neighbourhood is still worth seeing though because of the food offers. And Brixton has an abundance of food products that cater to African culinary.

MIHBAJ, CAFÉ AND KITCHEN, PADDINGTON

Præd Street, London

There's nothing like ending the tour here in London with a full English breakfast. We were checked-in at a hotel in Paddington and we decided we didn't wanna walk kilometers to the best Google recommendation. We just had to find a breakfast place nearby. Mihbaj Cafe was a super cute corner for breakfast and catching up with an old friend.

Me and Andrei both got us two English breakfasts with sunny-side up eggs on sourdough, spiced sausages, mushroom, & homemade white beans (fasolia) in tomato sauce. We sat in a corner with our feet up, just chilling and enjoying the filtered light coming from above our heads. Get inspired and check out their instagram @mihbaj.

[everydayesterday]

song of the day:

six by seven - sawn off metallica t-shirt (1999)

I saw six by seven with placebo and alpinestars at brixton academy on halloween back in 2000. it survives as one of my favourite concert memories.

spotify says they only have 3,250 monthly listeners, which feels like a misprint. surely they must pop up on random playlists covering british indie rock from the late 90s/early 2000s, no?

NME said about the album (giving it 4.5⭐/5): "If their previous records had been notable but somehow incomplete slicks in life’s tidal drift – artfully conceived distress signals just that little bit too polite to really convince – ‘The Closer You Get’ is an emo-logical cataclysm of Exxon Valdez proportions.

[...]

Somehow, from wholly precedented elements, Six By Seven have forged their own distinct sound, a sort of user-friendly mania. ‘The Closer You Get’ is a fist-in-the-air triumph, a beautifully realised shot of vitriol to the mainstream’s limpid veins, an amped-up refusal to acquiesce. “Anger is an energy”, a wild-eyed seer once observed. These happy death men know exactly what he meant."

...all of which makes no fucking sense whatsoever, but must've been fun to write.

[fitrahgolden]

Something That Digs At Us: 8 - In your eyes, love, it glows (CONCLUSION)

"Your mums are wonderful."

Anthony mumbled the words, his face buried against Kate’s chest as she laughed at her attempts to braid his hair that was far too short.

“Yeah. They are. Edwina is pissed that I didn’t include her.”

“Speaking of, when do I get to meet her?”

Kate’s hands stilled in his hair. “Get to?”

Anthony looked up at her. “..Yes? I thought… Don’t you want me to? I thought I was meeting your whole family.”

Kate put her hand on Anthony’s cheek and rubbed his cheekbone with her thumb. “I do want you to. Maybe we can invite her over for dinner some time in the next few days?”

Anthony furrowed his brow as he sat up and pulled Kate toward him, lifting her into his lap.

“What is it, Kit?” His eyes were searching hers.

“I’ve never gotten this far before.”

“What do you mean?”

“In a relationship. On top of everything that’s just between us, you met my mums and I actually believe you when you say you had a good time. You want to meet my little sister.”

Anthony kissed Kate’s collarbone before asking, “This is good, right? You’re happy?”

“Very.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Are you?” Her voice was completely serious, concerned, even.

“Ridiculous levels of happiness, Kit. My family can’t stand me at the moment.” Anthony smiled briefly before his face fell. “Why do you look so scared? What can I do?”

Kate shook her head, causing tears to fall with the movement. Anthony cupped her face and wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “Tell me what to do, please.”

“You’re already doing it. Sorry. God, I promise I’m OK. I just didn’t think I’d be here, that I’d find you.”

“Well, you’re here. You found me. And I’d love it if you were stuck with me.” Anthony reached up between them and played with her breathing straw before bringing it to his lips. He took a deep breath in, held it, and exhaled slowly through the straw.

Kate giggled. “Look at you. You’ve gotten so much better.”

“I’ve been practising.” Anthony preened. “And, anyway, I needed that breath.”

“Why?” Kate raised an eyebrow.

Anthony took another long breath. "Do you think… Do you see a future in which, when you need space, you can have it without sending me back to my flat? Suppose I could go far enough away, but we’d still be in the same home."

Kate’s eyes widened a bit. “Like, if we lived together?”

“Exactly like if we lived together.”

“Oh.” Kate bit her lip.

After a long stretch of silence, Anthony kissed her forehead before resting his own against it.

“Kit, it’s fine if the answer is no. It’s not an ultimatum. It’s also fine if you need to think about it. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Probably for longer than I should admit. Now just seemed like a good time to bring it up.”

Kate nodded slowly. “Yeah… Yeah, I think I need to think about it.”

Anthony shrugged. “Fair enough. Should we try to sleep now?” He asked with a smile.

Kate eyed him warily. He sighed and grabbed her behind her knees as he leaned forward to lay her down.

“Kit, I’m no less happy than I was two minutes ago.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” Anthony responded with a moan as he moved down her body. He pushed her camisole up and kissed her belly button before playing with her underwear. “I can show you how happy I am if you’re still unconvinced.” He bit down and looked up at her, the elastic waistband between his teeth, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m unconvinced,” Kate asserted as she settled her head down against the pillows.

***

“Kit, can you grab my sketchbook? I think it’s somehow made its way into your own collection of approximately one thousand.” Anthony was in the walk-in closet getting ready for work while Kate was on her way out of their bedroom into the living room.

About seven months into their relationship, Kate was ready to move in with Anthony. It took another two months to find a place that made sense for them, a charming bungalow in Brixton. Not too small, to give each other breathing room and allow space for their arts and crafts as well as an office for Anthony. It was closer to Anthony's mother, Violet, but not too far from Kate’s family.

“I do not have a thousand,” Kate grumbled on the way to her bookshelf. After scanning for a few minutes, Kate called out to Anthony. “Not seeing it here, Professor. Perhaps–” Her eyes feel on a palm sized, flat gift box. She slowly picked it up. When she turned around, Anthony was looking at her with eyes absolutely shining with anticipation.

“Surprise,” he whispered as he approached her. He walked around her, wrapping his arm around her waist as he did, coming to a stop to pull her back against him. He buried his face in her ponytail and inhaled. On his exhale, he breathed, “Open it, Kit.”

She complied, slowly. Inside the box were two gold decorative hair combs. She studied the tops of them for a while, her brow furrowed, before she realised what they were. She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes watering. "This looks like…"

"Foxtail barley, yeah. My favourite. For my favourite. Happy anniversary.”

Kate giggled. “I think you're a couple of months early, Professor.”

He shrugged. “Ten month anniversary, then.”

He gingerly took the combs out of the box and tucked them into her hair before turning her around to face him. "Beautiful," he whispered, and then he cradled her face with his hands and brought her close so he could kiss her forehead. "I was thinking you could wear them for the wedding, since Simon and Daphne said gold accessories. If you want, of course."

"Oh, I definitely want to." Kate had already gotten a gold breathing straw and worry ring for the occasion, and a vest in the wedding colours for Newton."And what will your gold accessory be?"

Anthony's eyes lit up again. Adorable, Kate thought. "What right here, Kit."

Anthony disappeared down the hall. Kate moved to the other side of the living room to look in the mirror mounted on the wall. On her way over, she noticed a book on the shelf below one of the side tables that bracketed their large sofa. Curious, she picked it up, and tears started forming in her eyes again. Loving Someone With Anxiety, by Kate N. Thieda, MS LPCA. The spine of the book was well worn, and she saw notes in Anthony's handwriting in the margins as she flipped through it.

"Ah! I forgot where I put them." Anthony called from their bedroom.

Kate put the book back under the table and quickly wiped the tears she hadn't realised had started falling.

"Hey." Anthony put his arm around her waist and turned her around. He put a hand up to her cheek, the other hand holding another, smaller box. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Absolutely nothing. I just really love the combs," she said with a self deprecating laugh.

"OK. If you’re sure."

She just nodded vigorously. "Now," she exhaled sharply. "What did you get for yourself, Professor?"

"Don't be jealous, but check these out." He opened the box with a flourish and put the contents on Kate's outstretched hand. Gold cuff links, with foxes at the ends.

"Oh, Anthony."

"We'll match. No one else will get it, but no one else matters."

Kate couldn't help but beam as she stared down at the gleaming pieces of metal in her hand.

"Yeah," she said as she closed in for a kiss. "No one else matters."

—

"Well done, guys. No notes." Simon pulled Kate and Anthony into a hug as the newly married couple got back from making the rounds at all the tables at the reception. "Well, no, one big note, actually. Could have done with about ninety percent less eye fucking between you two during the ceremony."

"Blame Kit! Have you seen how giant her eyes are? I was just trying to mind my own business, supporting my sister."

"From the vantage point I had, I think I may actually need to back Anthony up on that one," Daphne laughed. Kate rolled her eyes, but denied nothing. Daphne hugged Anthony and whispered, "Thank you, Brother," and kissed him on the cheek.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna take my wife back out onto the dance floor because, frankly, I don't think I've shown her off enough." Simon grabbed Daphne's hand and the couple got lost in the crowd of guests, cheers and more well wishes following them as they made their way to the centre of the room.

As Kate and Anthony sat back down, he pulled her into his lap and kissed her shoulder. "You're starting to look like this is getting to be a bit much, baby. Do you want to leave?"

Kate turned and put her arms around Anthony's neck, burying her face against his shoulder. "No, I want to stay long enough to see them off. Can we just sit like this for a little bit, though?"

Anthony didn't feel the need to answer. He just tightened his grip and kissed Kate's hair.

After a few songs, the DJ transitioned to a slowly paced, softer set. Anthony saw a hand reach over and tap Kate on the shoulder. They both looked up to see Edwina, smiling softly down at him and Kate.

"Didi, are you OK with me stealing him for a bit?"

Kate looked to Anthony, who gave her a subtle nod. "Of course, Bon."

Kate moved to her own chair and picked Newton up, settling him in her lap. Anthony stood and extended his hand to Edwina. "Ms. Sharma, may I have this dance?"

Edwina nodded and took his hand before responding, "You may, Professor Death Blade."

"Goddammit," Anthony muttered as the sisters shared a cackle.

After he and Edwina settled onto the dance floor, she looked over at Kate before saying, "I don't know if 'thank you' is quite the right sentiment, but I want you to know I've seen how happy you make Kate. And while I don't think it's possible to give her everything she deserves, I can tell you work pretty fucking hard to get as close as you can. You're a good person, Anthony. And you love my sister, so, yes, you have my blessing."

Anthony stumbled a bit, his eyes wide. "Your blessing?"

"Yes. I mean, maybe ten months in is a bit late for giving you my approval to date my sister, but you have it all the same."

Anthony exhaled in relief.

"Nuh-uh-uh. You're not getting off that easy. That was a test."

Anthony sheepishly looked down at their feet.

"Where's it hidden? In your office?"

No use lying now. "Of course not. I need to keep it closer than that."

"Well, where then?"

"In a false textbook in my home office."

"Wow! Colour me impressed."

"I will, because you should be." Anthony spun Edwina and leaned her back in a modest dip. "Is it too much to ask that I can trust you will keep this to yourself?"

"Eh, I probably won't be able to stop myself from telling my mum, if I'm being honest, but we won't say anything, I promise. We would never ruin this for Kate."

"Thank you."

“Welcome to the family, Anthony. Though, I suppose you have been a part of it for a while.”

Edwina pulled Anthony into a hug before patting him on the shoulder and walking away.

When Anthony turned back towards Kate, he wasn’t surprised at all to find her staring, not even trying to act subtle. Once he reached her, he turned his chair toward her and kissed her as he sat down. He put his hands on her knees. He looked at her with a smug smile before finally speaking. “Dying to know, aren’t you?”

Kate scoffed as she turned back towards her iced tea. “Nope, not even a little bit. By that stupid look on your face, it’s not like you were going to tell me anyway.” Her voice was mostly light, but it was laced with a hint of apprehension.

Anthony pulled her close, kissing her temple before whispering in her ear. “I love you. I promise I’d tell you if I thought it was a bad idea. Do you trust me?”

Kate turned and put a hand on his cheek. “I trust you. And I love you, too.”

—

[NOTE: I wasn’t intending this to be the last chapter when I started writing it. After I completed the first scene, however, it seemed like a natural place to bring the story to an end and I'm very happy with how I wrapped this up. I may come back and make this a series to add vignettes, though. Like I said before, this turned out to be a pretty low key, probably rather boring love story. I just really liked writing these two and didn’t want them to be sad, honestly. Thank you so much to anyone and everyone who read this.

Next, I’m gonna try my hand at an angsty story, which does not bode well because I’m an angst lightweight when it comes to reading romance, so the thought of writing it seems like a recipe for disaster. But, if Anthony is gonna meet Kate when she’s engaged to someone else, it kind of has to be an angsty story, right? Pray for me.]

[lazaefair]

For youtube wrapped: 4 Andy/Quynh 👀

Brixton Strut, by Simon Jefferis and Natty Reeves (the smoothest and funkiest of jazz-hop)

(A lot of the songs in this recap will be jazz-hop, because true to science, my musical taste has frozen at what I was listening to when I turned 30)

(Andromache's Seven AU)

Rich white people tend to look at Quynh, look at her height, her features, her taste in sleekly feminine makeup and clothing - and make certain assumptions based on their own racist heuristics, and assume that she is there to be Andy's arm candy.

That tends to last up to the point where she's robbed them blind and is rubbing their faces in it - occasionally literally. Grace and class? That's for when she's on the con. When the job is done, all that's turned superfluous, and by god she is going to get her crowing in while Andy plays backup dancer to her one-woman celebration in tasteless gloating.

(Booker seemed offended the first time he witnessed one of Quynh's gleeful monologues at a tied-up mark - but whatever, he wasn't the one the mark had try to literally buy off of Andy, so fuck him anyway.)

[thoughtportal]

Money doesn’t buy happiness, or so we’re told. Told by multinational corporations whose CEOs are taking home seven-figure bonuses. Told by celebrities who don’t even have to pay for toilet roll. Told by films and television shows that make the lives of the rich and famous look so damn exciting. Spent, a new six-part series on BBC Two, is about the interrelation of money and happiness, and the delicate, almost impossible, balance to be struck between the two.

Mia (Michelle de Swarte) is bankrupt. An international runway model now pushing 40, her lavish lifestyle has led to financial ruin. “I’ve got a visceral aversion to cheap s***,” she confesses to her accountant. Newly skint, she’s forced to return from her Upper East Side exile and reconnect with her roots in south London. These roots include her best friend Jo (Amanda Wilkin), her estranged parents (Juliet Cowan and Karl Collins), and the streets of SW9. Things would be easier if Mia were willing to admit that things have gone off the rails – instead, she maintains the lie of her success, all while sleeping in a hostel with a jam-licking bunkmate.

It is a familiar story, reminiscent of Schitt’s Creek and Hacks, shows about high-fliers who have to adjust to a new reality. And Mia is really no different to the former’s Alexis Rose – addicted to materialism, unwilling to defer her ego long enough to adapt. It’s the classic fish-out-of-water story combined with the ol’ reconnection with childhood haunts narrative (familiar from every naff Hallmark Christmas movie), a set-up that ladles cliche upon cliche. And yet, Spent just about manages to rise above the familiarity of its premise.

Yet she is not an easily likeable character. When Jo describes a fashion party as “Epstein Island”, Mia asks her best friend, simply, to “piss off so I can keep schmoozing Harvey Weinstein”. The scene culminates in the attempted sexual assault of a minor. De Swarte, who is drawing heavily from her own modelling experiences in the writing, might rely on well-worn set-ups, but she is unafraid to introduce a bit of edge. But that edge – that callousness – is offset with some genuine pathos. “I know where I stand,” Mia’s mentally ill father tells her, feathers protruding from his hair. “Where do you stand?”

Where does Mia stand with her work? Where does Mia stand with her family? With her best friend, and possibly lover, Jo? Where does she stand with New York? With Soho? With Brixton? And – most importantly – where does she stand with herself? Newly untethered from personal security, Mia has to rely on her natural charisma – the same charm and self-possession that took her out of London in the first place – to remedy the situation. The comedy is that of a whirlwind in a static place; Mia’s energy contrasting with the concrete brutalism around her.

Spent may lack the big yucks of its sitcom forebears (certainly the show is stylistically closer to recent British comedies like Big Mood and Boarders) but once the rather shallow premise gives way to a character study, there’s much to enjoy. At its best, the show is just like the cover girl it depicts: eye-catching and seductive.

[metro-waste]

Effortless Skip Hire Solutions in South London’s Key Areas

Managing large amounts of waste can be a tough job, whether you’re fixing up your home, working on a big garden project, or handling construction debris. Skip-hire services offer a simple and effective solution. This guide will help you understand skip hire services in seven key areas of South London: Battersea, Brixton, Clapham, Fulham, Tooting, Balham, Vauxhall, and Wimbledon.

Skip Hire in Battersea

Battersea is a lively and diverse area with a mix of homes and businesses. Whether you’re clearing out a garage, remodeling your kitchen, or working on a building site, skip hire in Battersea can help you manage waste effortlessly.

Why Choose Skip Hire in Battersea?

Convenience: Skips come in different sizes to fit your needs, from small skips for minor cleanups to large skips for big projects. You don’t need to worry about multiple trips to the dump. Simply fill up the skip, and the service provider will handle the rest.

Efficiency: Skips are delivered to your location, making waste disposal easy and hassle-free. When you’re done, the skip hire company will pick it up and handle the disposal.

Environmentally friendly: Reputable skip hire companies sort and recycle waste whenever possible, reducing the impact on landfills.

Skip Hire in Vauxhall

Vauxhall is known for its vibrant nightlife and ongoing developments. Skip hire in Vauxhall can handle waste from home improvements, commercial renovations, and more.

Benefits of Skip Hire in Vauxhall:

Wide Range of Sizes: From small skips for minor projects to large skips for significant construction work.

Efficient Service: Quick delivery and pickup to keep your project on track.

Responsible Disposal: Ensure waste is managed in an environmentally friendly way.

Skip Hire in Clapham

Clapham combines charming residential areas with bustling commercial zones. Skip hire in Clapham caters to both small home projects and larger commercial undertakings.

Advantages of Skip Hire in Clapham:

Wide Range of Sizes: From mini skips for small cleanups to large skips for major renovations, there’s a size to suit every need. You can choose the skip that best fits your project.

Easy to Arrange: Booking a skip is simple and quick, with many companies offering online booking options. You can schedule delivery and pick-up at times that work for you.

Responsible Disposal: Waste is sorted and recycled where possible, ensuring eco-friendly disposal. This helps reduce the environmental impact of your waste.

Skip Hire in Fulham

Fulham is a picturesque area with both homes and businesses that often need waste management services. Skip hire in Fulham is ideal for ensuring that waste is disposed of properly and efficiently.

Key Features of Skip Hire in Fulham:

Variety of Sizes: Skips come in different sizes to match the scale of your project, from small home cleanouts to large commercial jobs. You’ll find the right skip for your needs.

Compliance with Regulations: Professional skip hire companies ensure that waste is disposed of in accordance with local regulations. This means you don’t have to worry about legal issues.

Professional Service: Experienced providers offer timely delivery and pickup, making the process seamless. You can focus on your project without worrying about waste disposal.

Skip Hire in Wimbledon

Wimbledon is famous for its tennis, but it also has a thriving community and many home improvement projects. Skip hire in Wimbledon helps manage waste efficiently, whether you’re renovating or clearing out a property.

Advantages of Skip Hire in Wimbledon:

Variety of Sizes: Suitable for different project scales, from small home cleanouts to large renovations.

Easy Booking: Simple to arrange with flexible delivery and pickup times.

Eco-Friendly Disposal: Emphasis on recycling and reducing landfill waste.

Skip Hire in Tooting

Tooting is known for its vibrant community and active markets. Whether you’re doing a major cleanout or managing a construction project, skip hire in Tooting offers a practical waste management solution.

Highlights of Skip Hire in Tooting:

Convenience: Skips are delivered to your location, making waste disposal easy and hassle-free. You can get rid of waste without any inconvenience.

Variety of Waste Types: You can dispose of various types of waste, including household junk, garden waste, and building materials. This makes skip hire suitable for many different projects.

Focus on Recycling: Many skip hire companies emphasize recycling to minimize landfill waste. This helps protect the environment and reduces the amount of waste sent to landfills.

Skip Hire in Brixton

Brixton is known for its vibrant culture and busy streets. Whether you’re a homeowner clearing out clutter or a business managing renovation waste, skip hire in Brixton is a great solution.

Benefits of Skip Hire in Brixton:

Versatility: Skips can handle a wide range of waste materials, including household items, garden waste, and construction debris. This makes them ideal for various projects.

Flexible Hire Periods: You can choose how long you need the skip, whether it’s for a few days or a couple of weeks. This flexibility allows you to work at your own pace.

Affordable: Competitive pricing makes skip hire a cost-effective way to manage waste. You’ll find options that fit different budgets.

Skip Hire in Balham

Balham is a bustling area with a mix of residential and commercial properties. Skip hire in Balham is perfect for managing waste from various projects, whether you’re cleaning out your home or renovating a business space.

Why Choose Skip Hire in Balham?

Convenient: Skips are delivered and picked up at your convenience, making waste management easy.

Flexible Options: Choose from different skip sizes to match your project needs, whether small or large.

Eco-Friendly: Providers focus on recycling and responsible disposal to minimize environmental impact.

Conclusion

Skip hire services in Battersea, Brixton, Clapham, Fulham, Tooting, Balham, Vauxhall, and Wimbledon provide an efficient and eco-friendly way to manage waste. By choosing a reliable skip hire provider, you can ensure your waste is handled responsibly, helping to keep South London clean and green. Whether you’re a homeowner, a business owner, or a contractor, skip hire offers a convenient and effective solution for all your waste disposal needs.