#dirty wild sultan

[authormahimistry]

Dirty Wild Sultan

5

Zain

I hummed, burying my nose in the warm skin, taking a deep breath of the subtle scent of jasmine with something musky. Hair tickled my face, my hands gliding up the curve of soft skin. I squeezed the tenderness, opening my half-lidded eyes, and smiled. 

Jasmine. That was the name of my wife. The beautiful brunette who was sleeping beside me. Her lips were parted as she breathed deeply, clutching the pillow and nuzzling her body towards mine. 

A small smile made its way to my lips. It was three in the morning, white curtains flowing as the cool breeze swept into the room. Making sure not to wake her up, I shifted, pulling away from her, and stared up at the ceiling. 

My thoughts were all over the place. I was conflicted, yet somehow relieved. I didn’t know why. But the reality that I slept with her, a stranger, was like being splashed with a bucket of ice water on a winter night. Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t want to have sex. I was comfortable being abstinent all my life. 

Yet, just one look at her. I couldn’t stop myself. 

Something shuffled. I looked down and mentally groaned, running a hand over my face. I had to get hard at this hour. 

Surely it couldn’t be because she’s beautiful. There was something familiar about her, but I had been seduced by the most beautiful princesses and daughters of sheikhs and royals in the past. Since the day I was crowned as the Sultan. Then why did I lose all my senses as soon as I saw her?

Her face looked so serene when she was sleeping. The taste of her musky feminine scent lingered in my mouth, and I hated that I wanted to wake her up and taste her again. I hated that I was so physically attracted to her. A stranger. I hated that I wanted to have sex with her again and again and again until I had my fill. But the one thing that I hated the most was that I might never have my fill after what had happened a few hours ago. 

Is this how my father felt when he saw my mother in the market? Saw her, wooed her, and married her? Only to harm her years later because he wasn’t happy. Would I turn out just like him? Love someone and hurt them once I had enough? 

How far does the apple fall from the tree? 

“What are you thinking about?” 

My eyes averted to the sultry voice of the woman staring up at me, her eyes half-lidded as she yawned, leaning closer. The subtle scent of jasmine wafted in my nose. I don’t know why I wished to tell her the truth. 

“I was thinking about my father. How… angry I am at him for being him, if that makes any sense,” I said, my heart beat increasing waiting for her response. To laugh at my awkwardness and the fact that I was thinking about my father and my past when a stunning naked woman was sleeping beside me. 

But she didn’t laugh. 

Her deep brown eyes blinked at me as she nodded. “Yes… I understand what you mean. I have a terrible relationship with my father.” She grinned, poking my cheek with her finger, “In fact, you should be glad that I am angry at him.”

“I should?” 

“Yes. That’s why I came to the club to drink and hopefully… you know.” She looked around, waving her hand. My eyes dropping to her breasts when the blanket slid down.

I hummed, reaching my hand out to touch them. Her eyes flashing towards me, no longer sleepy as she bit her lip when my fingers rolled around the hardened nub. 

“At least we have hateful fathers in common,” I said, leaning down to kiss her neck, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck, and urging her closer. I hissed when she palmed my length. The blanket pushed away as we both sighed and moaned, teasing each other. 

“Turn around,” I whispered, my teeth grazing the shell of her ear. 

Her eyes were wide with lust when she turned on her stomach, her arms and knees supporting her. My hands greedily trailed over her back, kissing the spine and fondling her breasts until she was bucking and moving back to have some friction. I spread her knees, settling myself between them. 

“Zain,” she said, her voice full of need when she pressed her ass back towards me. 

She didn’t need to plead again when I plunged myself inside her warm heat. The sounds of skin slapping against each other and our groans mingled together in the room. The air heavy with the musky scent of sex. I didn’t stop moving inside her, holding her hips, her neck, her hair, kissing her until we both were sated and exhausted from the release. 

I held her close, rubbing my hand on her back as we both slept peacefully in postcoital bliss. 

***

I didn’t plan to wake up before Jasmine. Or whatever her name was. Watch the way her body was pressed against mine, her curves soft and inviting in the stream of morning sunlight that fell through the gaps of the curtains.

It was odd that I wanted to know things about her. Things like her favorite ice cream flavor. Which films she preferred. If she enjoyed horror or rom-com. If she was a night-owl or morning person. I wanted to wake her up and ask her.

Who are you? What do you do? Would like to go on a date—

Woah. 

I sat up straight on the bed, my hand rubbing the little ache in my chest. Thankfully, she was still sleeping, her plum lips in a small pout as if she was angry at someone in her dreams. 

Shaking my head, I got up, ignoring the loss of her warm body. I splashed my face with cold water and stared at my reflection. My hair was tousled, my eyes and face glowing. I traced the hickeys on my neck and collarbone with a small smirk. I had marked her body just like she had marked mine, and I wished I could wait and see how she would react to the indecent places I had left them. 

But I knew I couldn’t wait. I had an important physical training session with my trainer for the men’s health column in a famous magazine and if I wasn’t present, then it would be covered in the interview and media article. I couldn’t tell them to reschedule it or Rahim would be disappointed in me. 

As I got dressed, I thought back to Khalid’s words last night. How I had taken a few more glasses of whiskey than necessary just to spite him. I felt childish, as if I was getting scolded by my father and not my brother. 

Shaking off all those thoughts, I picked up her clothes from the floor and placed them on the armchair near the bed. Placing an order for a full breakfast for her, I gazed at her gorgeous face one last time, brushing a lock of dark hair behind her ear before leaving the bedroom.

Taking a piece of paper I wrote,

You were an amazing fuck. Let’s not see each other again. Tootles xoxo with a little heart—

I am kidding. I am not a total asshole, I swear. Even though that is the exact sentence an asshole would say. 

Instead, I wrote, 

My lovely wife,

I apologize for leaving early without waking you up, darling. You looked simply too adorable, drooling on the pillow that I didn’t want to wake you up. Yes, I took a picture and no, I won’t delete it. Unless you wish to meet me again and ask me politely to delete it. Don’t forget to finish your breakfast and I hope I get to see you soon. 

Like a true romantic that I am, here’s my email: zain.al@azmiaemail.com 

Your handsome husband, 

Zain

Folding it neatly, I placed it on the coffee table and left her room before I regretted doing anything else.

Read today: https://www.mahimistry.com

Or Join my Patreon to read it: https://www.patreon.com/mahimistry

Patreon * Website * Ko-Fi * Instagram * All Links

[girlonthelasttrain]

Presiding at his dinners at home like a sultan in his sarong, tinkling the bell for Nanette and the cook to serve, Sandro made us his sounding board, wrapped up like him in the dirty politics and brutality of the place. “When I came here, this was the third world. Now it’s worse than Bangladesh.” He laughed. “Now it’s the fifth world.” He was at the point, a threshold often reached by foreigners in the tropics, at which contempt replaces infatuation with the exotic. Locals, once seeming so hospitable and engaging, become, over time, transfigured into ignorant inferiors, mulish, too brown, too dirty, too greedy, shifty-eyed. Corruption, which at first is intriguing and acceptable after four centuries of colonialism and miserable poverty, becomes a character flaw, ingrained in the locals like a genetic blood disease. Their dreaminess, the way they turn a funeral into a fiesta, which had once charmed, now seems pagan and uncivilized. Their colors become too loud, their manners crude, their language primitive. Sandro had reached that point. “This is not a country,” he would say, lobbing an insult while speeding down Roxas Boulevard, shouting at the beggars. “This is a collection of tribes.” Candy sat by cringing, raising her voice to defend her country, knowing she could not, and he would shut her up. Oddly, she was the foreigner among us, the Westerners who were guests in her country. But when Sandro was away on a photo shoot, Candy would come over to our house with a bottle of wine and fill our ashtrays with red-lipsticked butts, telling us cuentos, stories that kept us glued to her for hours. Like many a good-looking woman, she had her struggles with men, her wild days as a Makati beauty, and now her boring days at the travel office where she worked. She wanted to marry Sandro, have children, a home, but there was no way Sandro would agree. He was more worried about his thinning hair, his aching legs, and losing his edge in the field. He didn’t know how much more bloodshed he could stomach, but he loved Manila in his way, with that bitter love that he knew would hang on to him forever. I could see it written on his face when Candy talked about traveling with him to Italy to visit, to meet his family. He would abruptly leave the room, turn up the volume on the music on his tape player, and change the subject of conversation altogether.

— Luisita López Torregrosa, “Before The Rain: A Memoir of love and Revolution”

[evildisneydorks]

How did each villain met their henchmen I’m curious because:

Hades refers pain and panic as his kids (sons)

How the henchmen met the villains

(I will do this in a two part series; this first part will only include the henchmen that live in the mansion while the other will include the rest)

Pain and Panic:

-Those two were living simple lives as mischievous young demons breaking havoc in the human world when somehow found their way to the Underworld and Hades found them after had attempted to break into his office.

-The god had to admit that he was a bit dumbfounded of what those two little demons could accomplish because being able to fool Cerberus was impressive enough, but by two insignificants demons that were practically the equivalent of 5 year olds?!

-He was speechless for a while, but eventually got his mind together and proposed a deal to them: They could work for him and have his protection or get thrown into the Styx for all eternity, their choice.

-Those two never shook a hand so fast on their entire lives.

-He taught them everything they would ever need to know about the Underworld and his evil schemes, knowing that their skills could be useful, along with taking the role as guardian since since they were still young.

Diablo

-Maleficent found the little newborn raven trembling in fear and cold on an empty nest, screeching for its mother return. Little did the little raven know that its mother had been killed by one King Stephan's hunters and now the creature was at the mercy of the dark fae.

-In a strange turn of events, Maleficent took pity of the raven and took it into her castle. She nursed the little bird for a couple of months and once it had grown enough and learned how to fly.

-But it never left. The bird would always come back to bring her presents and sleep on the windowsill of her chamber. Even when Maleficent insisted on him returning to the wild with his fellow ravens he would always be knocking on the fae’s window with a new shiny item for her.

-After a lot of thinking she decided to train the young bird to be her ally, her eyes and ears on the kingdom. She was aware that the animal was intelligent and stealth enough to go unnoticed and bring her news.

-The bird’s natural malice, cleverness and loyalty to Maleficent soon earned her affections and he became more than just one of her henchmen, but her closest friend and familiar.

Flotsam and Jetsam

-In a similar way to Pain and Panic, the eel brothers were living an idle but still reckless life when they first encounter Ursula.

-She discovered the little eels trying to force their way out of a trap set by humans and set them free (presumably to try to harvest their organs for ingredients).

-As soon as they were free they attempted to make a run for it and get away from the stranger but they were too tired and too hurt to go very far, which made Ursula take pity of the poor animals and bring them to her lair to heal them.

-No one had ever done something like that to them, they were used to being chased and threated by everyone in Atlántida… they swore loyalty to the octopus woman from that day forward.

-And so, Ursula ended up adopting her as her pets since she was in the need of new henchmen that could lure in some poor unfortunate souls to keep her business going. She also taught them the art of manipulation and is the one responsible for their magic eyes.

Brutus and Neron

-Medusa discovered a large crocodile living in the houseboat she had recently inherited and took the decision anyone would have taken in that situation: Shot the beast between the eyes.

-But she didn’t know it was a mother until two little crocodiles crawled out of her mouth.

-Snoops told her to shoot them as well, but Medusa was already melting over the adorable little reptiles and scooped them on her arms like they were kittens.

-She always wanted to have exotic pets and now she had the chance! At first she wasn’t trusted by the baby crocodiles, but that’s nothing a good meals cannot change.

-Overtime the two crocodiles start to get accustomed to her, and even a bit affectionate towards their new “mother”. Medusa also trains them to patrol the island and protect it from any intruders, as a way to keep her dirty business hidden from any meddling authorities.

Iago

-It’s confirmed in canon that Jafar found him on the bazaar so I’m mostly sticking to that.

-The first time the vizier saw the parrot he was in a small, miserable cage, repeating phrases over and over again with a pained smile and a voice that hinted disdain at every and single one of the costumers.

-He wasn’t feeling empathy towards the animal, but rather a certain curiosity on how much it resembled his situation with the Sultan… It could be described as strange reflection.

-“We are not so different you and I”

-“Wouldn’t be that sure of it, noodle goatee”

-Oh fuck, it talks.

-Jafar bought him in a heartbeat.

Kronk

-Yzma needed a new, young, and strong gent to help her around so she put an out an employement advertise.

-No one responded, knowing damn well how much of a horrible boss Yzma was.

-Well, except one man. Kronk was already well-known in the village for his kindness and willingness to help everyone, especially the children and the elderly.

-And Yzma fitted in one of the two categories so he applied for the job. She took him in because 1) He was strong and kind enough to make him do all sorts of jobs for her and let her treat him like trash; and 2) He was the only candidate.

-He kinda started to get a bad reputation shorty after starting to work for Yzma, but he acted like he didn’t mind and stayed true to himself despite of the jobs the older woman gave him.

Note: I took some ideas from @alittlecursed because their blog is great and a good source of inspiration

[vesperlionheart]

Sirens of the Sea, 12, and gaasaku for a friend. If you do it thank you so much

The Spirit of the Oasis - GaaSaku  (5.5K)

There are stories of miracles that are whispered in shadows, behind hands, and over night time campfires because they need to be, and not because they are true or worth believing. Least of these stories are the ones of the oases that bloom for the pure of heart who are most in need of them. Magic carpets, cities of brass, and enchanted flutes were all a poor man’s fantasy and Gaara was no longer a poor man, so there was no use in believing in such stories. 

“You think you’re too good for old Baba’s stories?” Chiyo teased Gaara.”My grandson thought that way too.”

“I’m not going to end up like your grandson,” Gaara grumbled, hating how he had to show his elder such respect when all she did was tease him. 

“That’s what he said too, when I told him about my lover who said the same damn thing,” Chiyo laughed, slapping her knee while her brother fed another log to the fire from beside her, silent as ever. 

Gaara winced, unable to clear his mind of the mental image of old bad Chiyo having someone she could call a lover. It was such a dirty sounding word when she said it. 

“That’s...understandable I suppose,” Gaara forced to grit out.

“You ain’t gonna ask me what my lover did or what happened to ‘em?” Chiyo whined playfully.

Gaara really didn’t want to ask. 

“What happened, elder?”  

But he was a good kid.

Chiyo’s beady black eyes sparkles from underneath the sagging of her skin, heavy with bushy gray brows. “Hey commissioned a friend to map the desert for the brass rider and got that far before the way was no longer for them.”

“What does that mean, baba?” Temari asked. 

Behind Gaara his brother and sister sat on their own mats, drinking from the elder’s stash of wine and gorging themselves on her food. Gaara took only enough to be polite but did not consume. He was the head of his tribe now, he couldn’t afford to piss off an elder. 

“He had received the words of his elder, to travel across the desert, to seek the aid of the brass rider, and follow where it would lead. But with no faith, he relied on his friend the cartographer to map his steps. Without faith he was a lost one, as was my daughter, as was her husband, as was their child, my grandson.”  

Baba Chiyo reached into her sack cloth dress and pulled out the blue powder before throwing it onto the fire, changing the color of the flames and making their burning smell sweeter. Kankuro leaned forward in his seat, excited by the change blue powder produced. It was a simple traveler’s trick, nothing but small science, but to a people without education, Gaara understood how it could seem like magic. 

“It is a sin to seek without faith.”

“It is foolish indeed,” Temari agreed, always the faithful daughter. When the mystics had said the murderer of their mother and not she who was first born would lead their tribe she had bent her head in thanks for the prophecy and never questioned it. She should have hated him but her faith saved him from that life of neglect, so as much as Gaara wanted to sneer and think himself wiser than the superstitious sand witch, he would honor her words and listen. 

“Are we called to seek, wise woman?” Kankuro asked. 

Chiyo cackled and rocked back in her seat while her brother poked at the fire. “Are you destined for greatness, or does the bird long to fly? Which is easier to answer, I ask you?”

“It is a great honor to be so star blessed,” Temari whispered, watching Kankuro with soft eyes and softer thoughts. When she looked to Gaara her softness didn’t lessen and he felt all the safer for it. In the absence of their mother, Temari had been his maternal comfort for all those years. He would not deny her this. 

“Speak of our fate, elder,” Gaara said as he lowered his face to the sand and the ground. He touched it to his fingers and closed his eyes. “I beseech you, speak it.” 

Between them the blue fire crackled and the desert night spun on. Eventually, Chiyo breaks the silence and Gaara knows he is allowed to lift his face to her once more. 

“I will say this then, you own a great and vast land, and on that land you have built up your father’s estate so that is the envy of others, but it yet lacks three things. The first is this, a talking bird who speaks only wisdom, second is the tree that sings prophecies, and third is the golden water from the fountain without end. Come into possession of these three things and you will be made far greater than any that came before you in the tribe of the Wind.” 

“Oh elder, these are grade items indeed, but how would we begin to find them?” Temari asked, already sounding in love with the idea. Gaara stayed quiet, content to honor his sister with whatever she wanted within reason. 

Chiyo waved to the fire and the draft that followed her hand made the flames flicker. “You should travel for three days in the direction of the sun’s birthing, and then you will find a fallen king who has traded his riches for humility. Treat him kindly and he will tell you where to find your three treasures.” 

Gaara glanced sideways at his brother, grimacing at the star struck look in Kankuro’s eyes. Sometimes he was no better than their sister when it came to matters of fate. 

The night grew long and Gaara bid Chiyo and her brother farewell, departing with his siblings back to their tribe and back to their manor. They slept soundly through the night, but the morning had nothing but turmoil for them. 

As luck would have it, Kankuro became obsessed with the idea and in short order packed up and headed out on his adventure to seek his fortune, both for himself and for the family. And for all of Temari’s faith she did not want to risk the life of her brother. She begged Kankuro to reconsider, but the middle child was unswayable. 

“Take your hawk with you,” Gaara instructed. “If he should return to us for any reason we will know you have perished and mourn you properly.”

The suggestion only made Temari more upset but Kankuro gathered up the leathers and hood for his hunting hawk and promised the both of them he would return with enough riches to make them sultans.  

Yet seven days later his hawk returned itself to their garden and the whole house mourned for the loss of the firstborn son. 

“This is the price of faith,” Gaara said to his sister in his anger, only to regret his words hours later once his spirit had cooled. 

He tried to apologize but Temari had locked the doors to her chambers and forbid the servants entry. She kept her doors shut no matter the hour of the day. Gaara ordered her favorite dishes be made, her favorite coffee be brewed, and even burned her favorite spices to coax her out, but his sister was unreachable for days. 

Four days later Gaara had reached the end of his patience and ordered her doors be broken down. He refused to let his sister starve herself and leave him too. She was all he had left and the thought of life without her-

“She’s not here, my lord!” 

Gaara’s thoughts unraveled. “What do you mean?” 

The servant produced a note and bowed low. “She has fled and taken her hunting hawk with her. Mercy, my lord, we did not know.”

Kankuro’s headstone had not been planted yet and already he was to commission a second? The thought turned his blood to ice.

 “Make ready my horse.”   

Gaara rode for a day to the edge of his territory before he saw his sister’s hawk, flying to greet him along the way. In the wild desert he cried aloud, summoning it down so that he could weep over it’s feathers and scream for the audience of his animals. No one could hear him in the desert so he let his heart show. Nowhere else would he be so honest. 

“You have forsaken me, you have gone where I can not!” he cried into the sands for nearly the rest of the day. 

When night fell Gaara noticed his horse had run off and the hawk had disappeared with it, leaving him truly alone. He took shelter under the shade of a rock outpost and rested there. 

The morning came, and with it, thirst. All his food and water had been tied up under his saddle bags, leaving him with nothing more than his shoes and clothes. He had a small bag of money, but in the middle of the desert it was more worthless than dirt. 

“I have wasted too many tears on my family, soon I will join them. If only there would be someone left to miss me.”

Gaara stood and trekked in the direction of his home, not realizing his sense of direction was off.  At the end of the second day he was weak and too tired to rouse himself further, so he took shelter under some more rocks and cried without tears. 

He was the youngest, what were they thinking making him their chief! He had been the only one with enough good sense to resist Chiyo’s silly superstitions and look where that got him; his faithful sister lost, his older brother dead. 

His head swam with exhaustion and dehydration, so when he looked up and saw an oasis growing out of the dead earth he did not believe the sight of it. How silly for his brain to play such a mean trick on him. An oasis would bloom for the faithful in their time of need, the old stories said. 

 Out of all his siblings he had the least faith. What had faith done for Kankuro or Temari? 

But his body felt like something he no longer controlled as he roused himself and staggered towards the mirage, smelling wildflowers and water in the air. His feet touched the stone and then the earth, soaked and wet before he fell onto his knees and plunged his hands into the water, sinking them up to his elbows in the cool pool. He cried aloud, bringing some to his mouth to drink. He turned greedy for the taste of it and gorged himself until he felt like an ocean rested in his belly. 

“Satisfied?”  a voice teased from somewhere behind him. 

Gaara turned, stumbling to see, perched atop one of the rocks, a woman with pale hair, paler skin, and eyes as vibrant as emeralds. Her smile cut her lips into something spellbinding, as Gaara found himself transfixed at the sight of her. 

She laughed at his expression and rolled off the rocks, drifting more than falling. Behind her the long train of her dress trailed, curling with the breeze until she stood in front of him. Gaara felt his throat grow tight as he tried to swallow and keep his eyes off the way a slit in the fabrics cut all the way up to her thigh, showing off leagues of soft flesh. 

“You look even cuter when you’re startled, I think,” she laughed, kneeling down so she was closer to his level. 

Gaara’s eyes kept wavering, too amazed by the curve of her uncovered shoulders and bare arms. He could see so much of her, more than he was used to seeing in a desert landscape where sundeath was as common as thirst. 

She wasn’t human.

“Temptress,” he choked out. “I’ve been seduced into your lair and now you’re going to-to kill me here.”

She blinked in surprise and then burst out laughing, standing suddenly to better grab at her stomach as the mirth of his words shook her shoulders. “Temptress?” she gasped. “I’m not even an angel this time? You must be a heretic of some sort.”

“I know no spring or oasis would open itself for one with my miniscule faith. I am not delusional,” Gaara struggled to answer.  

“I’m not going to eat you, silly heathen.”

“Then you mean to deflower me!” he accused, backing away, face red and warm from the admission.

“A tempting offer, but no. I’m not in the habit of seducing half dead heartbroken boys so you may rest easy, Gaara of the wind tribe, I’m not here to do you any ill.” She swept the train of her dress behind her and dipped low into an old fashioned bow from before bows became reserved for men exclusively. “I am Sakura, and I simply wished to save your life.” 

“Wh-what benefit is there for you to do so?”

“Are you not wealthy?” she teased.

Gaara reached for the pouch of coins and tossed the bag at her feet. It opened and spilled, scattering glittering coins of silver, bronze, and gold. He eyed her warily to see what she would do next.

Sakura sighed and rolled her eyes, tilting her head back to better see the stars. Behind her the short cut of her sunset pink hair shifted, nearly ethereal in how it moved without touching her shoulders.  

“I have no use for your silver, boy, take these back,” she said, motioning with her bare toes to the spilled coins. “I risk so much for far greater rewards, such you could never pay.” 

“What do you want from me then?” Gaara asked, making no move to gather his money pouch. 

“Sit with me among the flowers and talk awhile. In the morning I will send you off with food and water. I swear upon the stars no ill will come to you from me here in this oasis.” 

Gaara hesitated. The creature before him was not human, she was a being of magic and starlight, one who could bloom waters in the desert and command the plants to flower with fruit. Beautiful as she was, Gaara didn’t want to make the mistake of thinking her mediocre. If she was truly a creature from Chiyo’s tales, he needed to show her reverence.

Gaara shifted, folding his legs under him until they were bent. He touched his face to the ground and bowed low. “Great spirit, I thank you for your mercy. I shall do as you bid me.”

“Sakura,” she breathed, chuckling. “Please just call me Sakura. Now stand and join me by the flowers. You must tell me of your quest.” 

Gaara climbed to his feet and saw her hand offered where he could reach and grab it. He hesitated before accepting, and Sakura led him to a natural stone table with benches on either side. A pair of goblets had already been set out with sweet wine and plates overflowing with ripe fruits waited for him.

He sat and told her the story of his sister and brother, about how he wanted to at the very least, find their bodies and bring them back. He told her of Chiyo’s stories, of the talking bird and other treasures. He told her of the Wind Tribe, of his people who were strong and vast. He told her of the prophecies around his birth. He told her of the elders who raised him. He told her of his favorite steed, and hunting bird. He told her of where he ran the fastest and where he meditated. 

Before he could help it, he was spilling all his secrets to her, eager to appease her and win a small smile. She was a creature of magic, maybe even one of the star children. It made sense to appease her like how he appeased Chiyo and the sultan. 

But he never wanted Chiyo to smile at him that much. 

He never wished the sultan to laugh at his stories or ask him more. 

Soon the dawn’s pale light cut open the sky and filled it with color. Sakura stood from their table and he watched her move, marveling at the way she seemed more like water than flesh. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing to follow her. She stopped at the edge of her oasis and pointed. 

“I will show you where to go. Three days hard ride from here there will be a humbled king who speak to you. Be kind and listen, for he will tell you what you need to know,” Sakura said. 

“What about you?” Gaara asked.

Sakura smiled coyly and cupped two hands around her lips. She cried out, loud and clear a whistle that cut the desert air in half. A moment later Gaara heard the whinny of his favorite mare. 

“Look, she approaches,” Sakura said of his horse. “And with her she brings Temari’s hunting hawk. Take them both with you.”

“Sakura.” When she didn’t respond Gaara touched her hand, drawing her attention once more. “What will happen to you now?”

“I will go to where I always go. Should you be in need of me again, call out at nightfall and I may just appear.” 

“Promise?”

“Never,” Sakura laughed before she melted under his hand into water foam along with the rest of her oasis. 

Gaara reached for her desperately, trying to gather her up, but the foam dissolved on his fingers and even the scent of her was a memory.  

“Sakura?” he tried calling. Only the wind tickled his face, teasing him as his mare whinnied for his attention. 

After calling and searching, Gaara realized Sakura really was gone and that he had best do as she instructed, so he mounted his mare and turned the horse in the direction of the humbled king. Fed and watered his horse carried him over vast distances until dusk fell and he turned in for the night, taking shelter under the stars. 

He made a fire to fight off the desert cold and ate and drank of his goods. Before the stars could come out he dared one more call to Sakura. 

At first there was nothing. He watched and waited but no oasis bloomed. There were no flowers there was no water and no Sakura. 

“Was it a silly dream?” he wondered aloud.

“Dreams rarely feed us, Gaara,” Sakura teased, sitting down beside him. 

He nearly jumped when her arm brushed his. “Sakura? Wh-what are you doing here? You didn’t come when I called.”

“I am not your servant, young lord,” she teased, batting at his face when he came too close. “I shall come and go as I please. You are lonely, you need company, don’t you?” 

“I am quite lonely out here. Who else would listen to my voice but the wind.” 

“Oh the wind makes horrible conversation, all it talks about is the same dull things.”

Gaara smiled and settled back into place beside the fire. “Will you tell me things tonight?”

“Hmm?” Sakura arched a single brow in question.

“I’m sure I bored you plenty with all my useless chatter. Tell me about yourself this time,” he said. 

Sakura’s smile was coy and teasing. “Oh, you wish to know my secrets, do you?”

“I wish to know more about my friend.”

 Sakura froze, utterly still as her eyes stayed wide, fixed on him. Then her lips moved but there was no sound, no voice to match their shape. Gaara knew what she meant to say.

“Yes, my friend, if you’ll allow it. I could also worship you, but i’m not sure how appropriate that might be if you think me a heathen. But, I think we could be friends if you will allow it.” 

After another moment Sakura stiffly nodded, seeming more human in her hesitance.  “A friend… I don’t think I’ve had one of those in a long while,” Sakura breathed.  “I’ll allow it.” 

Now it was Gaara’s turn to smile and Sakura’s turn to be thrown by the sight of it. “Now, will you tell me more about yourself? Do you have brothers or sisters?” 

“I have neither, or if I did, I do not remember them.” Sakura glanced towards the fire before waving her hand before it. The flames rand higher and thicker, casting long shadows. “It’s been a long time since I could remember my human days.”

“You were human?”

“Once.” 

Sakura waved her hand again and Gaara saw images in the fire begin the manifest. A small girl chased after a golden ball that fell into a hole. She cried and promised anything if only she could have her ball back, as young ones are bound to do. 

The flames shifted until a serpent came along, asking for a favor in return for the retrieval of her golden ball. ‘Anything, anything,’ the child promised. The serpent returned with her ball and promised her it would return for his favor when she came of age. 

The girl returned to her grandmother and learned the arts of her lineage until it was time for her to wed. That is when the serpent returned with his son, a prince who she would wed.

The story was pretty enough to be a fairytale children listened to before bed, but the serpent prince was not the hero he dressed himself to be. Instead of taking the girl as his wife, he took her to his city in the desert and dressed her in jewels before enchanting her along with the rest of the city. 

Before the enchantment could freeze her in place she begged her husband for the reason behind his crimes. He revealed himself to be a wicked creature, a demon long since freed from his ancient seal. The city was his trap, stocked with gold and treasures of the earth and flesh for whoever could find it. 

Many men tried, but the city was made by demon hands and trapped with trickery and evil. No one made it very far into the city before their sins consumed them. Men went mad on the walls, listening to the songs of siren voices. Adventures went insane at the sight of such treasures. The few who made it to the girl’s final resting place saw her on a throne and dripping with jewels. Those who reached for her with lust in their heart were struck dead by her bronz servants. 

And all the blood that ever flowed only fed the demon underneath the city further. 

“Then how are you here?” Gaara asked, looking away from the fire. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sakura joked, her shoulders sloped down and heavy. “If you mean the girl in the City of Bronze, well, I can’t speak on that. We’ve all been enchanted not to. See, what happened was-” 

Her voice was cut off, stolen away from her as she gasped aloud and shook her head, side to side. She waved to the fire and it turned blue with magic and then a new picture arose. Gaara saw the city of bronze collapse, crumble into the desert and be no more. 

Sakura breathed heavy and turned her face away. “There are too many sad stories, and I can tell you none of them. Only know that I am here now as real as I can be because of so much blood.” 

Her voice was tired and sad, making Gaara itch to pull her close and comfort her somehow. Whenever his sister was upset he would send her a plate of her favorite candies, or her favorite coffee. She was weak to good food. When his brother was upset he would send him something fine, a new javelin, a trusty steed, a fancy saddle. Kankuro was always cheered up by gifts. 

How could he lift Sakura’s spirits? 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he pleaded. 

“Tell me a funny story,” Sakura said, glancing towards the fire as the blue flames bled red again, her magic sapped. 

“Have you heard the story of the old woman and the devil?”

“Is this a funny story?” 

“The devil doesn’t win,” he answered.

“Then tell it to me,” Sakura laughed. 

So he did. 

The next day Gaara raced across the desert and at night he summoned Sakura again, and the dined on desert flower win and told more stories. 

The third night Gaara called for her again and Sakura was there, highlighted by the star’s light. 

“Is that the reason you can only come to me at night?” he asked. 

Sakura nodded along. “I borrow the star’s magic to leave and manifest this form. I haven’t been human since oh, since too many years ago, but even before then I knew the secret histories and their languages. I knew how to steal and to siphon and how to borrow the magic left in this world.” 

Something in her words made Gaara pause. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s so little magic left in the world. It’s getting harder and harder to appear each decade. The stars are never changing in their nature, but what of it if there are no hearts to behold their beauty and marvel at their wonder.”

“How does magic work?” 

“How does science work?” Sakura countered instead.

Gaara bristled. “Science makes sense. There is a reason for every reaction. There are formulas and reason.”

“Of course there are. Why is magic any different? I can reach out and touch the very atoms of a creature or object and direct them to the desired change with language. You may use oxygen and fuel and heat to create combustion, but I just excite the log into burning.” 

“If magic is so easy, why is not more prevalent among the people?”

“Did I say it was easy? How many centuries did I have to perfect these wretched words, tell me my friend!” Sakura laughed, clapping. Her hands rang out a sound that echoed in the sky above her, turning the clouds over into thunderheads in the desert. “Oh, but I’d trade it all to be a girl again.”       

“Why can’t you?” Gaara asked. 

“I don’t know the words for such a thing, but maybe one day I will discover them,” she said. “Breaking free from another creature’s enchantment requires knowing the nature of their spell or their true name. Once you know that, you can undo all their magic even if they’re dead or gone from this world.”   

“I’ll free you.” 

Sakura went still. Gaara moved closer and touched her arm, startling her. “No,” she breathed. “There is nothing left to free. That city is nothing but rubble. The bodies all gone. Please, don’t. Be content with this.”

“Do you know how many friends I have in this world?” Gaara argued. “I have you and I have my family. I have traveled and nearly died for my sister and brother. You think I wouldn’t do as much for you?” 

Sakura’s face fall with a soft sadness that made her look so old even if her face was as smooth and youthful as her first day at eighteen. “Sweet friend, please forget me and sleep instead.”

“Sakura I-”

But he was already falling, sliding sideways off the log. Up overhead the stars spun in circles before winking out, one by one by one…..

When he awoke in the morning Gaara roused his mare and led her the rest of the way, discovering the humble king resting under a palm tree. He was kind to the old man and listened to the story of a young boy and then his sister who came through seeking the same thing.

“You must travel there, to the base of that black mountain. There you will hear a great many voices that taunt and cajole you to turn around but you must not, for once your head is turned you will be just another black stone at the foot of the mountain.”   

“Even with inhuman willpower I still might turn around if I’m startled,” Gaara said. “I should probably just stuff my ears full of cotton or pig fat to keep from hearing anything-whoa, man!”

“What brilliance!” the old king exclaimed. “How ingenious-never have I heard such a plan in all my days. You may yet be the one who saves the talking bird for his own. A man of science for the ages, woe to the mystics.”

There was the ghost of a memory in his brain about a conversation he had with...someone about magic and science...but that memory was from so long ago, it wasn’t worth remembering.  

Gaara grimaced at the old man’s volume but didn’t say anything else. Instead he bowed in thanks and did just that. He approached the mountain and heard the first voices, though there were no bodies and, like the king said, the voices could do nothing to him. He stuffed his ears full of cotton until he could hear nothing and then began his trek. 

At the top of the mountain there was a golden cage. He grasped it firmly and pulled until it was free. The bird inside the cage roused from sleep and spoke with the voice of a human, clear and polished. 

“You have pulled me from the mountain. In thanks I will tell you where you may find the golden water and where you will find the singing tree.” 

“That’s all well and good, but I just want to find my sister and brother. Where are their bodies?”

“They have been turned to stone and one stone is as any other, I can not tell. But, I will tell you how to revive them. The water under my cage, take it and sprinkle it on the black stones before you. It was free them from their curse.”

“Like a chemical reaction,” Gaara murmured. 

He moved to do as the bird bid him and the first few stones were transformed back to their human bodies, breathing and alive. They thanked Gaara and praised him even as he ignored them in favor of finding his sister and brother.   

The sun moved across the sky and in time he came to the last two stones who were his dear sister and brother, alive and breathing! He gathered them up in his arms and cried again, too happy to have his dead siblings back from the grave to care about treasures or riches. 

That day the three of them left with the talking bird, the branch of the singing tree, golden water from the fountain, and a small army loyal to the one who freed them. 

In short time Gaara’s fame at the head of the Wind tribe grew. The conquests of his private army turned on tribe into two, and two into four, and four into fifteen, until an entire country looked to him for leadership and wisdom.  

The talking bird was a creature of legend, star crafted from the days of old and knowledgeable of a great many things. With his council Gaara guided his people and grew his tribe into a successful country that eventually swallowed even the sultan’s lands.

And yet the more of his days he spent, the lonlier he became. 

What was he missing?

What couldn’t he remember?

There was something… something he needed to remember. What was it?

“Bird, tell me the thing I seek.” 

“You seek a memory, my sultan,” the enchanted bird sang, flying about in his cage. 

“What is the memory I seek?” 

“One that is forgotten!”

The way the bird laughed provoked Gaara to anger, so he shook the cage to rattle its contents. “Speak, creature, as you are compelled to do, and release me from this pain in my chest.” 

“I am compelled to speak only truth and to answer my master, but the memory will only bring you more grief. Do you wish it, still?” 

The pain in Gaara’s heard was fierce and the only thing he could think of from one day to the next. His sister and brother ruled more than he did by this point, and the only thing his advisors needed him for was an heir. But the thought of marriage made him…

“I need this memory, speak it, bird!” he all but growled. 

“Very well then. Her name is Sakura. I shall tell you how to find her.”    

[beansonbread2]

BEANSONBREAD AWARDS 2020 - BEST ALBUM

AWARD NO.2 - BEST ALBUM OF 2020

PAST WINNERS

2019 > Self Esteem - ‘Compliments Please’ (see full list HERE)

2018 > Kero Kero Bonito - ‘Time ‘n’ Place’ (see full list HERE)

2017 > Richard Dawson - ‘Peasant’ (see full list HERE)

2016 > Blood Orange - ‘Freetown Sound’ (see full list HERE)

2015 > Holly Herndon - ‘Platform’ (see full list HERE)

2014 > FKA Twigs - ‘LP1′ (see full list HERE)

2013 > These New Puritans - ‘Field Of Reeds’ (see full list HERE)

2012 > Django Django - ‘Django Django’ (see full list HERE)

2011 > Shabazz Palaces - ‘Black Up’ (see full list HERE)

2010 > These New Puritans - ‘Hidden’ (see full list HERE)

2009 > Animal Collective - ‘Merriweather Post Pavilion’ (see full list HERE)

2008 > Wild Beasts - ‘Limbo, Panto’ (see full list HERE)

2007 > Animal Collective - ‘Strawberry Jam’ (see full list HERE)

2006 > Safetyword - ‘Man’s Name Is Legion’ (see full list HERE)

2005 > Animal Collective - ‘Feels’ (see full list HERE)

2004 > Devendra Banhart - ‘Rejoicing In The Hands’ / ‘Nino Rojo’

2003 > Dizzee Rascal - ‘Boy In Da Corner’

2002 > The Streets - ‘Original Pirate Material’

2001 > The Beta Band - ‘Hot Shots II’

2000 > Outkast - ‘Stankonia’

1999 > The Beta Band - ‘The Beta Band’

1998 > The Beta Band - ‘The Three EPs’

1997 > Radiohead - ‘OK Computer’

1996 > Beck - ‘Odelay’

---

THE RULES - No Re-issues, Live Albums, Compilations, or EPs.

---

SPECIAL MENTIONS for these collections

Bulbils (Richard Dawson & Sally Pilkington) - 50 lockdown albums

Dean Blunt ‘Roaches 2012-2019’

These New Puritans ‘The Cut (2016-2019)’  

Hudson Mohawke ‘B.B.H.E.’ & ‘Poom Gems’

Various Artists ‘Paul Institute - Summer 2020’

Various Artists ‘Return To Y’Hup - The World Of Ivor Cutler’

---

***SPOTIFY PLAYLIST FEATURES TRACKS FROM TOP 80 ALBUMS (coming later) ***

---

WORTH A MENTION (in no order) - A bunch of albums i enjoyed but didn’t quite make the final lists and others i just didn’t hear enough to be considered properly.  A list for future me to revisit.

Still House Plants / Fire-Toolz / Lomelda / Jerskin Fendrix / Zebra Katz / The Bug / Lorenzo Senni / Diamond Soul / Wilma Archer / Black Dresses / The Fantasy Orchestra / William Carkeet / Bonny Light Horseman / KA / Yung Lean / BlackPink / Rural Internet / Okay Kaya / Future / Belan / Tame Impala / Banoffee / JARV IS / Grimes / Whitmer Thomas / Jeff Parker / The Massacre Cave / Porridge Radio / Selena Gomez / Teyana Taylor / Sparkle Division / Cecile Believe / Lyra Pramuk / Waxahatchee / Happyness / Khruangbin / Bananagun / OHMME / Drakeo The Ruler / Missterspoon / Juice WRLD / Lonnie Holley / Jiafeng / October Drift / Roisin Murphy / KeiyaA / Dizzee Rascal / Salem / Tiña / The Weeknd / Aaron Cartier / Dana Gavanski / A.R. Pinewood / The Cool Greenhouse / Royce Da 5’9’’ / Rachel Aggs / Karl Band / Four Tet / Georgia / Sonic Boom / Kali Uchis / Luis Pestana / Salac / David A Jaycock / Klein / Temple After Faith / Roman Noseband / Dylan Henner / G.S. Sultan / Hinds / Jess Williamson / Coby Sey / Randolph’s Leap / Matthew D. Gantt / Stephen Kerrison / Katie Gately / Snails / Juniore / Good Dog / Lil B / Kamaiyah / Ryuichi Sakamoto / The Big Moon / Zoe Mc Pherson / Holy Fuck / Ovrkast / Reol / Andy Shauf / Ethan Gruska / Poliça / D Smoke / Sign Libra / Chara & YUKI / Wiley / Bad Bunny / Shirley Collins / Jordana / Gaika / DJ Python / North Americans / Michael / Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith / Lido Pimienta / Everything Is Recorded / Lwesberg / Sufjan Stevens & Lowell Brams / Rhodri Davies / LA Priest / Ian William Craig / Flohio / Irreversible Entanglements / Islet / Westside Gunn / Empress Of / NNamdi / Warm Digits / Baxter Dury / Kehiani / Eels / Emmy The Great / Owen Pallett / Elysia Crampton / The Beths / Julianna Barwick / Liv.E / Jimothy Lacoste / Ben Frost / J Hus / Sylvan Esso / Haiku Hands / Ariana Grande / Jean Dawson / Food House / Nuala Honan / Helena Deland / Boldly James / Headie One / Oliver Coates / Lowkey-E / Bree Runway / Warren Ellis / Boldy James & The Alchemist / Young Knives /  Little Dragon / The Garden / Melt Yourself Down / Quakers / Kamasi Washington / Mogwai / Gil Scott-Heron & Makaya McCraven / Eyeliner / ‘The Whalebone Box’ OST / Special Interest / Teyana Taylor / Nadine Shah / Tricky / Moor Mother / Nick Storring

---

2020 RUNNERS UP (in no order)

William Basinski ‘Lamentations’

Hook ‘Crashed My Car’

Vic Berger IV ‘Late Enough To See The Moon’

Nines ‘Crabs In A Bucket’

My Morning Jacket ‘The Waterfall II’

Firestations ‘Dream Home’

Moses Boyd ‘Dark Matter’

Dick Dent ‘Life’s Hard’

Nicholas Stevenson ‘Dead Arm, Vol.2’

Otto ‘Clam Day’

Pa Salieu ‘Send Them To Coventry’

Undermedvetenheten ‘Undermedvetenheten’

Martha Ffion ‘Nights To Forget’

Adrianne Lenker ‘Songs’

Happy Spendy ‘You’re Doing Okay’

Mark Korven ‘The Lighthouse’ OST

21 Savage and Metro Boomin ‘Savage Mode II’

Yorkston/Thorne/Khan ‘Navarasa’

Three Queens In The Mourning & Bonnie Prince Billy ‘Hello Sorrow / Hello Joy’

Shopping ‘All Or Nothing’

Megan Thee Stallion ‘Good News’

Obongjayer ‘Which Way Is Forward?’

Mush ‘3D Routine’

Geoff Barrow, Ben Salisbury & The Insects ‘Devs’ OST

Luke Abbott ‘Translate’

Spinning Coin ‘Hyacinth’

Princess Nokia ‘Everything Sucks’

Fleet Foxes ‘Shore’

Julia Holter ‘Never Rarely Sometimes Always’ OST

Sufjan Stevens ‘The Ascension’

Nicolas Jaar ‘Cenizas’

Pottery ‘Welcome To Bobby’s Motel’

Jessie Ware ‘What’s Your Pleasure?’

Jung Jae II ‘Parasite’ OST

Freddie Gibbs & The Alchemist ‘Alfredo’

Doves ‘The Universal Want’

Brigid Mae Power ‘Head Above The Water’

Bab L’ Bluz ‘Nayda!’

James Yorkston ‘That Summer, We Flew’

Oklou ‘Galore’

Angel Olsen ‘Whole New Mess’

The Lemon Twigs ‘Songs For The General Public’

Marie Davidson & L’Œil Nu ‘Renegade Breakdown’

Gupi ‘None’

Alexia Avina ‘Unearth’

John Bence ‘Love’

Colin Stetson ‘Color Out Of Space’ OST

King Krule ‘Man Alive!’

Against All Logic ‘2017-2019’

Willie J Healey ‘Twin Heavy’

Jam City ‘Pillowland’

MXLX ‘Maximum Amounts Of Extremely Fucking Yes (Vol.1)’

---

THE TOP 80 ALBUMS OF 2020

80. Poppy ‘I Disagree’ 79. ThisisDA ‘Mud Hype’ 78. Fenne Lily ‘BREACH’ 77. Gorillaz ‘Song Machine’ 76. Soccer Mommy ‘Color Theory’ 75. 1995 Epilepsy ‘1995 Epilepsy’ 74. Jabu ‘Sweet Company’ 73. Actress ‘Karma & Desire’ + ‘88’ 72. Chloe x Halle ‘Ungodly Hour’ 71. Dirty Projectors ‘5EPs’

70. Beatrice Dillon ‘Walkaround’ 69. Matmos ‘The Consuming Flame: Open Exercises In Group Form’ 68. Blanck Mass ‘Calm With Horses’ OST 67. Eartheater ‘Phoenix: flames Are Dew Upon My Skin’ 66. Sega Bodega ‘Salvador’  65. Savage Mansion ‘Weird Country’ 64. Kelly Lee Owens ‘Inner Song’ 63. Daniel Blumberg ‘On&On’  62. Clementine March ‘Le Continent’ 61. HAIM ‘Women In Music Pt.III’

60. Dua Lipa ‘Future Nostalgia’ 59. Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs ‘Viscerals’ 58. Darkstar ‘Civic Jams’ 57. Lil Uzi Vert ‘Eternal Atake’ 56. This Is The Kit ‘Off Off On’ 55. Shabazz Palaces ‘The Don Of Diamond Dreams’ 54. Princess Nokia ‘Everything Is Beautiful’ 53. The Orielles ‘Disco Volador’ 52. Oro Swimming Hour ‘Pteradactyl’ 51. MXLX ‘Serpent’

50. Dan Deacon ‘Mystic Familiar’

49. Jay Electronica ‘A Written Testimony’

48. Fiona Apple ‘Fetch The Bolt Cutters’

47. Galen Tipton ‘Ungoliant’

46. Knife Liibrary ‘MARKS: Songs For Those I Have Killed’

45. Deerhoof ‘Future Teenage Cave Artists’

44. Caribou ‘Suddenly’

43. Working Men’s Club ‘Working Men’s Club’

42. Seamus Fogarty ‘A Bag Of Eyes’

41. Field Music ‘Making A New World’

40. Cornershop ‘England Is A Garden’

39. Lambchop ‘Trip’

38. Katy J Pearson ‘Return’

37. Amaarae ‘The Angel You Don’t Know’

36. James Ferraro ‘Neurogeist’

35. Hen Ogledd ‘Free Humans’

34. Spectres ‘It’s Never Going To Happen And This Is Why’

33. Laura Marling ‘Song For Our Daughter’

32. Bill Callahan ‘Gold Record’

31. Bob Dylan ‘Rough And Rowdy Ways’

30. A.G. Cook ‘7G’

29. Good Sad Happy Bad ‘Shades’

28. SAULT ‘Untitled (Black Is)’

27. Run The Jewels ‘RTJ4’

26. Clipping ‘Visions Of Bodies Being Burned’

25. Thundercat ‘It Is What It Is’

24. Pictish Trail ‘Thumb World’

23. Jessy Lanza ‘All The Time’

22. Yves Tumor ‘Heaven To A Tortured Mind’

21. Sorry ‘925’

20. Yaeji ‘What We Drew’

19. A.G. Cook ‘Apple’

18. Wesley Gonzalez ‘Appalling Human’

17. Pet Shimmers ‘Face Down In Meta’ & ‘Trash Earthers’

16. Arca ‘KiCK i’

15. 100 Gecs ‘1000 Gecs And The Tree Of Clues’

14. Tara Clerkin Trio ‘Tara Clerkin Trio’

13. Richard Dawson ‘Republic Of Geordieland’

12. Phoebe Bridgers ‘Punisher’

11. Perfume Genius ‘Set My Heart On Fire Immediately’

10. Charli XCX ‘How I’m Feeling Now’

9. Rina Sawayama ‘SAWAYAMA’

8. Dorian Electra ‘My Agenda’

7. Alabaster DePlume ‘To Cy & Lee: Instrumentals Vol.1’

6. SAULT ‘Untitled (Rise)’

5. Tim Heidecker ‘Fear Of Death’

4. Moses Sumney ‘græ’

3. Oneohtrix Point Never ‘Magic Oneohtrix Point Never’

2. Crack Cloud ‘Pain Olympics’

1. The Flaming Lips ‘American Head’

[soundcitysession]

Thanks for the tag, @useyourillusion !

Rules: spell out your url using song titles and tag as many people as letters in your url

s: Sultans of Swing, Dire Straits

o: Out Ta Get Me, Guns N' Roses

u: Used to Love Her, Guns N' Roses

n: Nightrain, Guns N' Roses

d: Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, AC/DC

c: Calling Elvis, Dire Straits

i: If You Want Blood (You've Got It) AC/DC

t: Time, Pink Floyd

y: You See Me Crying, Aerosmith

s: Sorry, Guns N' Roses

e: Emotions, Mariah Carey

s: School Days, Chuck Berry

s: Since I Don't Have You, Guns N' Roses

i: I Can't Tell You Why, Eagles

o: Once Upon A Time In The West, Dire Straits

n: November Rain, Guns N' Roses

I tag:

@streamemotions, @tuffduff, @erica-writes-things , you know what I don't know sixteen people so anyone who wants to do this, go wild

[snarkwrites]

Okay, so.. My lovely friend @schizoauthoress issued me a challenge last night in a post they made. I was DYING to leap on this last night - listen, if I get ANY chance to ramble about writing/characters, best believe I’m taking it, but alas, I’d gone to bed. But, today’s a new day.

I present to you, my original character soundtracks. Three of these they specifically asked for [ stranger things fandom : charlotte granger , briar rose blue and lulu tyler ] but... I was feeling inspired, so I may have added one of these of my own as a little surprise. I thought I’d actually make the playlists and post them to my blog for everyone to see. Because yannow, lack of anything else to do / stupid writers block.

Enough rambling, I know ya’ll came for the music. Let’s get to it.

Since I did a few, I not only moved my response to a new post but... I’m also placing it under the cut.

If you’re curious things I’ve written with them are located as follows 

charlotte x steve harrington [ blindsided \ wet mature ]

briar x jonathan byers [ should’ve been a better shot / surrender mature ] 

 lulu x billy hargrove [ let the days go by - kind of angsty character ‘death’... or was/is it? ] 

alyssa x sweet pea [ i’ve only been pretending / selfish mature ] 

[ STRANGER THINGS FANDOM OCS ]

01.👑 material girl // an original character playlist || Briar Rose Blue

01. material girl - madonna |02. how will I know - whitney houston | 03. somebody - bryan adams | 04. hey mickey - toni basil | 05.  the look - roxette | 06. maniac - michael sembello {flashdance soundtrack} | 07.any way you want it - journey | 08. up where we belong��- joe cocker & jennifer warnes { an officer and a gentleman soundtrack} | 09. pour some sugar on me - def leppard | 10. take my breath away - berlin | 11. simply irresistable - robert palmer |12. * angel eyes - the jeff healy band | 13.everybody have fun tonight - wang chung |14. venus - bananarama | 15.we got the beat - the gogos | 16.867 5309 - tommy tutone | 17.dirty diana - michael jackson | 18.like a virgin - madonna | 19.girls just wanna have fun - cyndi lauper | 20.the warrior - scandal | 21.I wanna dance with somebody - whitney houston | 22.hit me with your best shot - pat benetar | 23.cold hearted - paula abdul | 24. everything I do ( i do it for you) - bryan adams | 25. under pressure - queen ft david bowie  | 26. kids in america - kim wilde

02.🌙 california girl // an original character playlist || Charlotte Marie Granger

01. rhiannon - stevie nicks/fleetwood mac | 02. can’t fight this feeling - reo speedwagon | 03. witchy woman - the eagles | 04. bohemian rhapsody - queen | 05. black magic woman - santana | 06. light my fire - the doors | 07. sweet emotion - aerosmith | 08. the chain - fleetwood mac | 09. hurricane - bob marley | 10. black dog - led zepplin | 11. california dreamin’ - the mamas and the papas | 12. sunshine of your love - cream | 13. rocket man - elton john | 14. wonderful tonight - eric clapton | 15. hotel california - the eagles | 16. let it be - the beatles | 17. american girl - tom petty and the heartbreakers | 18. don’t fear the reaper - blue oyster cult  | 19. american woman - the guess who | 20. bennie and the jets - elton john | 21. edge of seventeen - stevie nicks | 22. tiny dancer - elton john | 23. all right now - free | 24. all along the watchtower - jimi hendrix | 25. piece of my heart - big brother and the holding company | 26. hooked on a feeling - blue swede

03. 🔪 bad girl // an original character playlist || Luna Louise Tyler

01. bad reputation - joan jett and the blackhearts | 02. shout at the devil - motley crue | 03. rebel yell - billy idol | 04. master of puppets - metallica | 05. symphony of destruction - megadeth | 06. i’m eighteen - alice cooper | 07. rock of ages - def leppard | 08. crazy train - ozzy osbourne | 09. we’re not gonna take it - twisted sister | 10. welcome to the jungle - guns n roses | 11. i was made for lovin you - kiss | 12. another one bites the dust - queen | 13. round n round - ratt | 14. renegade - styx | 15. crazy on you - heart | 16. cum on feel the noize - quiet riot | 17. dirty deeds done dirt cheap - ac/dc | 18. breaking the law - judas priest | 19. aqualung - jethro tull | 20. paranoid - black sabbath | 21. sultans of swing - dire straits | 22. i hate myself for loving you - joan jett and the blackhearts | 23. cherry bomb - the runaways | 24. the stroke - billy squire | 25. lunatic fringe - red rider | 26. heavy metal - sammy hagar

[ RIVERDALE FANDOM OC ]

✨ little red // an original character soundtrack || Alyssa Andrews

01. teenagers - my chemical romance  | 02. sunny side up - red velvet  | 03. that’s what you get when you let your heart win - paramore  | 04. havana - camila cabelo | 05. most girls - hailee stenfield | 06. you’re gonna go far kid - the offfspring | 07. the other girl - kelsea ballerini with halsey | 08. hurricane - halsey | 09. i’m just a kid - simple plan  | 10. you & I - lady gaga | 11. gives you hell - all american rejects | 12. raise your glass - p!nk  | 13. my ex’s best friend - machine gun kelly ft blackbear  | 14. born this way - lady gaga | 15. go fuck yourself - two feet

[frightknights-n-monstergirls]

The Djinn/Nathaniel Demerest naughty headcanons

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) – Depending on his mood at and where he is on taking over the world. Nathaniel would be the perfect aftercare partner when he is pretending to be human. If you know what he is then it is very much unchanged. The 180 comes in when he takes over the world. B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s) – His hands, specifically his true hands. He loves to run his claws down your soft delicate skin, so you can guess what his favorite part of his partner. C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person) – I don’t know why, but I think that djinn cum is glue thick. Mainly due to how rare djinn babies are born. D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) – You know that djinni who captures a maiden and hides her in the desert in 1001 Arabian Nights? It’s true… And it was Nathaniel! Like most djinn, he is very jealous and would rather keep his lovers away from anyone, especially his brothers. E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) – Very. Nathaniel has been around the block quite a few times with different partners. He singlehandedly pleasured a sultan’s whole harem and regretted it by the end of the week. F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) – There is really nothing he hasn’t tried, but he does like to, and yes it sounds bad, not see your face unless you are his waker. There’s more details into what Nathaniel likes such as if his partner is a virgin, this is a result of a wish, etc.   G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) – Nathaniel loves to tease to his own amusement. As first, he didn’t take into his partner’s feelings until he had to deal with a poor girl who had vaginismus. It wasn’t fun for either of them. H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) – In his meat suit, he doesn’t care because this is temporary.   I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) – Nathaniel doesn’t see sex as romantic; he’ll do whatever it takes to get his partner prepped and/or sopping.   J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) – Like hell he’s going to pleasure himself when he can easily gain a partner.   K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) – Deflowering/corruption is that one that Nathaniel loses his goddamn mind over, especially if he charms the hell out of a nun or person of God. Bonus points if it’s a higher positioned male.   L = Location (Favorite places to do the do) – In his partner’s safe place/living space. They are vulnerable and it’s easy to get a wish out of them. When he takes over, his own sleeping chambers. M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) – Much like a cenobite and Peloquin, Nathaniel can smell sin and desire. It’s not like smelling hormones, it’s a more spiritual thing. So once Nathaniel gets a whiff, he knows he can squeeze a wish out or get some fun. N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) – Bondage, any form of it and being a complete bottom. O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) – Nathaniel knows that his genitalia is a bit what’s up in his true form, so he prefers it in his meat suit. He’s down for it on his partner in either form so beware of the teeth.   P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) – Once again, it depends on the time and mood. Nathaniel is that one guy you have a one-night stand with and it’s the most mind-blowing experience with even though he does stuff to you that you wouldn’t normally go for. When he is in control of the world, his true nature comes out. He pretty much is rough and sets a brutal pace. Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) – Only when it suits him. Nathaniel would not do them on the reg, but if he can totally fuck a damn priest in the confession booth then hell yea.   R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) – Nathaniel is immortal, and nothing can really hurt him, and this thinking is what can get his partner into trouble. Luckily, he’s learned his lesson, unless it’s a wish. S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) – Two djinn can go at it for 3 whole days. Rumor has it that one couple is still fucking each other to this day, and they hooked up 1000 years ago.   T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) – Nathaniel thinks that the toys of this dimension are too weak for his tastes. He would rather use his magicks to pleasure his partner and himself, but sometimes he makes do with what he is given. And toys’ batteries tend to drain around him. U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) – This guy can be too unfair at times, especially when he’s trying to get a wish out of them.   V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) – Not loud at all. Simple purrs and quiet groans. W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) – Technically, djinn are fae folk (I looked it up) so they have a weird mating/breeding habits that are often harmful to humans. Some djinn romance humans to impregnate and spirit away the baby or go for the changeling route. Due to how rare a pure djinn baby is, some tribes have taken to these methods to ensure the djinn race has strong blood.   X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) – All djinn, at least pure djinn, are hermaphrodites. There’s a protective slit for the penis but the vaginal area is sealed by a higher power until the djinn’s body is ready to produce a child. This could take 5,000 to 10,000 years depending on the bloodlines.   Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) – Nathaniel’s drive isn’t very high, he’s on a mission and would rather take care of that. Other than that, he can easily get it up once he smells desire.   Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) – Only one person brought Nathaniel down after sex, and that was another djinn named Braxius in 400 BC. No one has been able to do it since.  

[rarestereocats]

Once Rikius returns from his fatherly duties,  Elathera tries to use her magic to discern where the next fragment of Exius' soul is at.  The problem is,  her magic is only able to tell him that his is indeed on the Plane of Air,  but even it can't find the exact location.  Asking our guide,  Jean,  turns up nothing as he's never heard of Exius and Elathera's magical book doesn't ring any bells.  He suggests we reach out to the leader of the djinn,  Sultan Zefer.  Industria knows that in order to gain audience with him,  we'll have to put on a formal dance and gift him with a gust of wind.  She walks us through every step of it as well as some djinn etiquette;  but the conversation comes to a screeching halt when Elathera lets it slip that Rikius died.  Industria tries to shut her up as she awkwardly stumbles through it,  Rikius also looking less than pleased because he made everyone promise not to speak of that.

Finding out that literally everyone had kept this from me triggers an angry meltdown like no other and I lash out at all of them.  Eventually,  I storm off with Elathera at my heels and Industria thinks it might be best if they leave me behind when we go to meet the Sultan.  Understandable,  especially considering I threatened to wipe out our entire party if they lie to me again.  Elathera has a heart to heart with me,  explaining that nobody meant to hurt me.  They kept it from me so I wouldn't panic and worry for Rikius constantly,  but the truth still hurts.  I don't say it,  but everyone's unwillingness to trust me with that kind of information makes me feel like they think I'm too fragile.  When we reconvene to make our way to the palace,  things blow up completely as me and Rikius shoot biting comments back and forth.  I thank Elathera for helping him get a grip on gravity in this place so he doesn't die again and he yells that he didn't tell me because I overreact to everything.

It's a very ugly quarrel,  one that Industria's highly uncomfortable with and tries to end several times.  Things start devolving even more,  moving past the original point of the argument with Rikius admitting that he broke my favorite knick-knack.  It was an adorable,  little mermaid-cat holding a fish and while I promised I'd keep it out of the living room,  I tried to sneak it in there one too many times.  I'm absolutely devastated,  so Industria asks Elathera to craft me a new one.  They add their own improvements to it,  giving the purr-maid a fishing pool and a chocolate bar.  It's hideous,  but I'm grateful for the gift and once Rikius apologizes,  I tell him his punishment is to allow this knick-knack to stay in our living room.  He reluctantly accepts this and into the palace we go.  

We pull off our dance for the most part,  though Rikius' lackluster performance has the Sultan laughing.  He tells us he does know of Exius' soul and that it was here at one point,  but he fears it's been captured.  He isn't willing to help us out of the kindness of his heart though,  offering a favor for favor.  We tell him we're fine with anything,  so long as it doesn't involve assassination or genocide.  He's not thrilled about those stipulations,  but agrees.  The Sultan wishes to produce a child with a powerful being and while we did agree to pretty much everything,  none of us are willing to get down and dirty with a djinn to carry his child.  We politely decline and luckily he has a much better offer.  Track down and find an efreeti that stole something important from him long ago.  Any information we'll need will be gathered up while we go find Exius' soul and when we agree to his terms,  the Sultan magically binds us to this task.

Exius' soul was taken by a white dragon that's hanging around an icy region within the Plane of Air.  They're known as Nayrviantem,  the Jealous One;  and any attempts to scry on them is a pointless endeavor.  That region is so far away from our current point that there's no way we can reasonably travel there,  so teleportation it is.  We're dropped on a snowy cliffside and even through the blizzard,  I spot an outpost within a village in the distance.  We make our way there and are invited in by a group of sylphs.  They tell us Nayrviantem isn't the only dragon in the area because there's a war between the white and silver dragons.  After getting to know the group,  they set us up with rooms for the evening and leave us be.  All except one nosy motherfucker by the name of Jimi.

Jordeira and Lucky catch him slinking around our rooms,  trying to listen in to private conversations.  He's waiting for us to fall asleep so he can slip inside and rifle through our things,  but Jordeira advises him not to.  He urges him to just talk to us,  but Jimi's much too nervous for that.  After he tries talking with Elathera,  Industria shoos him off for the night and he agrees to continue their conversation in the morning.  His curiosity is too wild though and he asks Lucky to go on a walk with him,  giving them a tour of the village while they open up about everything we're on this plane for.  Good job,  Lucky!  That surely won't bite us in the ass later.  While me and Rikius prepare for bed,  I finally break down and have an honest talk with him about the secret he kept from me.  I tell him how hurtful it was that no one trusted me enough to tell me and he explains his reasoning,  but assures me he won't keep such things from me again.

He asks if we really have to keep the purr-maid Industria gifted me and so long as he repairs the original one he broke,  I tell him I'm willing to part with this one.

[rosefest]

Some pious person for the use of travellers

“We now began to descend, the path winding along the sides of the mountain, amidst the same beautiful foliage, and here and there adorned with a picturesque fountain, put up by some pious person for the use of travellers. In about an hour we came to a lovely, park-like flat, between two hills, known as The Sultan’s

Valley. Some of the largest plane-trees I ever saw were growing hero, and in one of them a dervish had contrived to make a regular house, or hovel, with a small enclosed plot of grass in front, whereon he was squatting, and grinding his coffee. A great number of dogs, of the true Galata breed, were lying about, close to him, in the hopes of an occasional scrap. lie was a wild-looking fellow, with long hair and beard, and very dirty. Seated at the foot of the tree, lie recalled to my mind, at once, the dervish of the Arabian Nights, who gives Prince Bahruan the advice not to look behind him, when he goes up the hill in search of the talking-bird and the singing-tree. He glowered upon us as we passed, and appeared inclined to do anything but aid us, had wo stood in need of his assistance guided tour ephesus.

From this to the water’s side again was but a short distance, and we found the caique had come round, and the men were smoking their pipes. We sat upon a rudo pier of floating timber, and divided our remaining beer with them; the gusto with which they drank it, proved that the Moslem’s abhorrence of intoxicating drinks is not difficult to overcome, even when he is seen indulging in them, which is, I believe, the real condition under which he is taught to abjure them.

The voyage home was most delicious. We went with the stream, and glided rapidly along, keeping close to the Asiatic side, which was now glowing with all the purple glories of an Eastern sunset, every window in the card-board palaces throwing back its rays, and sparkling as though one general illumination was going on, from the Black Sea to Scutari. Then the opposite mountains threw their shade upon the villages, and they became gray and dusky, while the hills behind them were still steeped in floods of beautiful light. But the shadows crept higher and higher, until, by the time we reached Tophane, and turned round the angle of the Golden Horn, the mists had risen, and a filmy, irregular line of buildings only marked the opposite side of the Bosphorus,  although the minarets of Stamboul were yet thrown out in vivid relief against the flushed horizon.

THE SLAVE MARKET

No European goes to the East with a clear idea of a slave market. lie has seen fanciful French lithographs, and attractive scenes in Eastern ballets, where the pretty girls appeared ready, on the shortest notice, and in the most bewitching costumes, to dance the Gitana, Romaika, Tarantella, Redowa, or any othci characteristic pas that might be required of them. Or, if no* schooled into these impressions, he takes the indignant view of tlir subject, and thinks of nothing but chains and lashes, and finds, at last, that one is just as false as the other.

[authormahimistry]

Dirty Wild Sultan

4

Nasrin

I looked at the lavish interior of my hotel suite. Being a Princess of Maahnoor, I could afford to stay in a suite. The chilly breeze from the balcony ruffling my hair, laughter and music echoing in the city below. I averted my eyes to the suitcase beside the vanity. It was open, barely unpacked after arriving in Azmia for a night, using the ticket Imran had gifted me.

I ran a hand down my face, tucking the strands of my hair behind my ears. I needed to calm down and think. Be smart about the whole ridiculous ordeal. There must be a loophole. 

You have to marry him. My father had said over the phone, his voice raspy with age, when I had landed in Azmia. I could hear the cruel smile in his voice. How I could ever be related to that man was a wonder on its own. 

I couldn’t escape to London anymore. I had a student loan to pay off and my father took care of the money that he allowed me to spend. I still had some little cash that I had earned during my part-time job at a vet clinic in London, but it wasn’t enough to run away. Barely enough to survive.

Clenching my fists, I stood up from the bed and made my way to the vanity mirror. Staring back at the angry dark eyes, I promised myself that I would never marry that old man or any other consorts of my father’s choice. I won’t let myself suffer again. I will fight him. 

The emerald jewelry of my mother glinted with the light. The golden intricate design feeling soft against the pad of my finger and the huge emerald diamond, shaped as a dewdrop hanging below it. My mother’s maang tikka. She had worn it as a family tradition during her wedding and gave it to me on her deathbed, promising me to wear it when I marry the person I love. She had regretted marrying my father, but she loved her children, loved us. So she wanted me not to repeat her mistake. Choose my heart over anything else. 

I will keep that promise, Mother. Saying that to myself, I safely kept the jewelry in the drawer.

With a little hope, I stripped out of the jeans and tee shirt, donning a stunning black dress that felt liquid on my skin. Barely leaving anything to the imagination and accentuating my hips and curves, ending at my thigh. I adjusted the cleavage and the thin straps before applying minimal makeup. 

Azmia was well known for its popular bars and clubs. Rumor had it that many celebrities and even royals themselves liked to party in the clubs. I could take a night off that I very well deserved and enjoy New Year’s Eve. 

***

Tipping my head back, I swallowed the gin, licking my lips as I kept the glass on the counter. Pop music played in the background, people dancing and laughing on the stage, neon lights flashing over everyone’s bodies, glistening with sweat. I eyed the throng of the strangers’ faces, everyone enjoying in their own bubble, drinking, dancing, grinning.

Only half an hour left before the new year. 

I hesitated only for a moment when the music changed to something heady, flowing between everyone, caressing my bare arms as if urging me to dance like a sensual lover. No one was going to give me another look here. No one knew that I was Princess Nasrin, the only Princess of Maahnoor. No one would care. 

And if they did, they could very well go fuck themselves with a stick up their ass. 

With my chin high, I stepped onto the dance floor, the music thrumming in my veins, the aftertaste of gin coating my mouth, encouraging me to close my eyes and move. Move my body the way I wanted it to, without the judgement of others. Just me and the music. 

I danced, moving my hips and arms, caressing them with each new dance step, sweat coating my golden skin as I giggled and danced with three women. Our eyes bright as we swayed to the beat of the earthy, exotic music, getting lost in it. 

“You look so sexy,” a man slurred, hiccupping when he tried to wrap his arms around my waist. 

Stepping back, I tried to ignore him, but he wouldn’t budge. “I am not interested,” I said clearly, batting away his hands that tried to touch me. 

“Then why are you dressed like that?” 

Oh, for the love of—

“Because it’s her body and she can dress however she wants.” I turned my head to the smoky voice of the most handsome man I had ever seen. He glared at the man and spoke with authority, “Leave before I call security and have you arrested.”

I raised my brow when it seemed to work. The stranger took a step back, glancing between the two of us. “Who are you to step between us? I was just asking to dance with her.”

The handsome stranger’s eyes glittered, “I am the—”

“He is my husband, right, darling?” I smiled, leaning close to him. 

“I am?” he questioned, tilting his head at me. The man scoffed, which made him glare at him again. “Yes, this beautiful woman is my wife. If you won’t leave us, I will call security.”

He left, leaving me with the handsome stranger.

He faced me, and my heart stuttered for a moment. His obsidian eyes pinned me in place while I tried not to trip in my heels, his tall, lean frame towering over me. The shirt he wore stretched over his broad shoulders, the shadows and lights of the club shadowing his chiseled sharp face. For a moment, I thought there was something familiar about him. My mind nagging at me to step back at the predatory glint in his eyes. Step back and hide myself. 

But I didn’t move. 

I couldn’t move. 

I was in awe of his beauty. Captivated. The sheer power pouring out of him, people holding their breath when they looked between us. The music blurred out, as if I was underwater, shamelessly staring at the man who stood across from me. A head taller than me, even though I was tall for a female with the heels donning my feet. But he didn’t make me feel small. No, he made me feel different. The feeling I couldn’t put a finger on when he tipped my jaw towards him, the soft touch of his finger burning my skin, flaming it.

“You are Limerence,” he spoke, his voice so deep and smooth that I wanted to sigh.

We were so close that my chest brushed his shirt. I took a deep breath, controlling myself from inviting him to my hotel room. By the way he expelled sheer male sexuality, everyone gawking at him with heart eyes. I knew he would be good—no, terrific, in bed. 

I heard myself say, “What?” 

He blinked at me, his long lashes making shadows on his sharp cheekbones. The dark slashing of his brows made his eyes seem hooded. 

“Limerence, my wife,” he replied in his husky voice. 

My wife. My thighs clenched at the way he said it, so tenderly. His accent was laced with thick British English, as if he wasn’t from here. But the tanned golden skin, his tousled dark hair and eyes pointed otherwise. 

“Ten, nine, eight—”

We both broke out of the bubble at the same time, looking around to see people screaming down the numbers. Right. It was New Year’s Eve. 

“I want to kiss you,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. 

He didn’t beat around the bush, did he?

“Five, four, three—”

“Please do,” I whispered, wanting to kiss his full lips. I wanted to see how handsome his face would look from between my thighs or when I pleasure him, taking him in my mouth.

He hesitated, only for a second, before closing the distance between us and pressing his lips against mine. I lost all sense of being when everything but us melted into the shadows, cocooning ourselves in our bubble once again from the cheers and hoots of laughter. The kiss was soft, despite the passion and intensity promised in his eyes. I took the lead, closing my fingers around the lapel of his suit and pulling him closer, pressing our bodies against each other, his hard muscles against my soft curves. I deepened the kiss, nipping at his bottom lip and—

Oh. 

A moan slipped past me when he wound his hand in my hair, his other hand lowering on my back and cupping my ass, giving it a light squeeze. He growled, the kiss getting hungrier with each second when we both tasted alcohol on each other’s tongue. 

I pulled away, my half-lidded eyes catching the sight of his flushed face. I knew I wanted to see that face, the face of my handsome husband, hovering above me. 

Holding his hand, I whispered, “Come with me.”

***

It only took a couple of minutes to rush from the club towards the hotel. The heat from his muscular, lean body pressed against my back, his lips nibbling my ear when I tried to open the door to my suite. His soft chuckle rolling over my body, my thighs tensing at his husky voice when his hand snaked down to mine and slowly swiped the card, opening the door. 

I pulled him inside with me, a gasp escaping my lips when he turned me around and pressed my back against the closed door. The handsome stranger swallowed my gasp, kissing me once more, his sensual lips moving to my jaw, down my neck while his hands roamed over my body. 

His touch burning my skin. His lips searing me. His smoky scent turning me into mush.

Closing my eyes, I relished in the passion and possibilities of his hold. His strong hands touching me with the clear authority that he knew how that night would end. Naked in bed. 

Before I could lead him to the bedroom, he pulled away. His warm breath caressing my cheeks. I loved how tender his hold was. Gentle yet firm.

“We should talk before we… we—”

“Yeah.” I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yes. We should. You are my husband, I am your wife and we are celebrating the new year.”

Despite the darkness of the hotel suite, I could feel him smile. Feel the intensity and pure lust gleaming in his eyes when he pressed closer, the hard muscles of his body against my soft curves. 

I held back my whimper when he said, his voice rough, “Yeah? How are we going to celebrate it, wife?” 

Licking my lips, I trailed my hands from his thick, soft hair down to the chiseled panes of his chest. He took in a sharp breath when I removed the suit jacket he was wearing, gliding my hands over the broad shoulders and to the collar of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning the buttons.

“I could show you how,” I whispered, kissing his neck, pressing my lips down to his Adam’s apple, licking it before I lowered my kisses.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his breathing heavy when my knuckles brushed against the solid bulge of his arousal.

He is definitely well-endowed. Lucky me. 

“Jasmine.”

“Liar,” he crooned in my ear, my toes curling in my heels when he dragged me from the hallway to the bedroom as if he knew the suite. “I meant your real name.”

I watched his muscles move through the thin shirt when he closed the door behind us, my eyes landing on his sharp face, his eyes mischievous and inviting. 

“If it’s a one-night thing, then I don’t see why you should know my real name,” I said, removing the heels, trying hard not to shiver under his fiery gaze. 

He didn’t reply for a moment, and when I looked up, I could see his throat work, his lips glistening when he licked them. No one should look that good in dim light when they are doing nothing but thinking. 

“My name is Zain,” he introduced himself.

I raised my brow. “That’s the name of the Sultan and it’s his sister’s birthday today.”

“No way,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he removed his shirt. My eyes landed on the abs and the happy trail down his pants when he stepped closer. “What a coincidence.”

I hummed, half-hearing what he said. I was too busy ogling his body, the sheer masculinity that oozed out of him. The air in the room hummed with sexual anticipation and all thoughts erased from my head when his lips claimed mine. My hands explored his body, touching the muscles and lowering to scratch his stomach. He groaned, the sound low and smoky, making heat curl between my legs. 

A soft moan slipped past my lips when he squeezed my ass, pulling me so close that I could feel the hardness of his stiffened member against my thigh. My palm sought him out on its own. I wanted to feel him, touch him. 

His eyes were dark and hooded with lust when I slowly squeezed his length, pulling him out of his boxers. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the naked sight of his dick. A bit of precum leaked from the tip when it stayed erect against his stomach. 

I was snapped out of my ogling when Zain’s hands fumbled with the straps of my dress. He helped me remove it, peeling the dress off my body, kissing the soft skin above my thong. I shivered when his fingers tweaked and rolled my hardened nipples, kissing them, biting them and leaving marks. 

“Sit down,” I whispered, pushing him on the edge of the bed. “I want to taste you.”

Zain’s cheeks flushed. It was both adorable and hot to see such a handsome man blush, watching me kneel between his powerful legs as if it was his first time. He had removed his pants and boxers, his dark eyes gazing at me, my sensitized breasts feeling heavy when he looked at them with bashful desire.

Licking my lips, I leaned closer and stroked his length, his velvety soft skin hardened in my palm. The soft sighs he made were a fuel to my arousal. My thong dampened with my juices, hearing the hot sounds he made when I licked him. The salty yet tangy taste of him erupting in my mouth as I hollowed out my cheeks and sucked. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, his hand wrapping around my hair as I dipped down on his girthy length. 

I hummed and moaned with him inside my mouth, my fingers tightening around his thighs as his hand curled around my head. I watched his exposed neck, the golden skin sporting a hickey. Pulling back, I took a deep breath.

“I will cum inside your mouth, wife,” he whispered, his voice lowering an octave as he caressed my cheek, his own flushed red. 

Shifting on my knees, I said, “I don’t mind, husband.”

Blood rushed to his face hearing me call him husband. Zain licked his lips. “Allow me to return the favor first.”

But I want to make you come first.

Before I could voice it out, Zain picked me up and laid me down on the bed, as if I weighed nothing. The soft sheets were cool underneath my back, the sight of Zain hovering between my knees unnerving me. 

My eyes widened when he slowly ran his finger from my slicked lips to the tiny bundle of nerves. A shiver of aching hunger rolled over my body, my thighs tensing and relaxing when he repeated his actions. I whimpered, raising my hips when he added another finger, toying around with my dripping need, spreading it around and watching every inch of my body react underneath his ministrations. 

“Zain,” I moaned when the soft pads of his fingers bumped against my clit, rolling it around, teasing me further. 

His eyes flickered to me, gleaming with lust as he watched me and my fingers rolling around my hardened nipples. Licking his lips, he leaned down between the apex of my thighs. I took a shuddering breath, the air of the room heavy with pent-up sexual tension and pressing against my bare skin. 

I bit my lip, muffling a gasp when Zain covered my burning sex with his fiery mouth. My back arched from the bed when his tongue licked and explored my most sensitive part. His hands held my thighs from snapping shut on his head, my hand threading into his thick hair when he kissed and laved at my pussy. 

He hummed, my toes curling at the reverberations. I was moaning and sighing, my eyes pinned on his handsome face between my legs, my legs spreading wide over his broad shoulders, noticing the wicked delight of pleasure in his eyes when I groaned out his name. 

Zain was wild. Nothing like the blushing, shy man I thought he was moments ago. He had turned into someone else, someone who took extreme pleasure while performing cunnillingus. 

“I love your taste, wife,” he whispered, letting my feet touch the mattress as he dipped his finger inside me, watching me bite my lip and push my hips towards him for more. 

“More, Zain!” I pleaded with a broken moan, his lips wrapping around the bundle of nerves he was familiar with and sucking it in his mouth. 

He inserted another finger inside me, my walls clenching around him, my body quivering when he curled his digits, touching the sensitive spot that made my mind turn blank. 

I could feel his eyes on me when he repeated his actions, watching me grip the bedsheets, my groans pleading and broken from the need of release. I whined at the loss of his touch, my half-lidded eyes watching him lick his fingers before hovering above me. 

We both took in a sharp breath when he rubbed the head of his glistening cock from my dripping slit to the bundle of nerves. I wrapped my arms around him, his lips planting on mine as we both swallowed each other’s moans when he pushed himself inside me, my walls stretching against the little burn of his girthy length to accommodate him. 

Zain cursed, his pupils dilated as he eyed both of us. Where we joined. I tried clenching him, his eyes widening as he elicited a groan, a hot red flush creeping up his neck to his face. I giggled, watching him with amusement. He was so raw and open with intimacy. I had never met anyone or at least slept with anyone who had shown those qualities. 

It made me like him more—

No, Nasrin. You do not like a handsome stranger just because he is open, vocal and shows emotions while having sex. 

I was quickly snapped out of my thoughts when he traced a finger from my cheek to my lips, gently caressing my face. It evoked a new aching feeling from deep within my heart that I didn’t know whether to push him away or bury my face between his chest. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice barely audible. 

I could feel him throbbing inside me. Surely, he must have wanted to fuck me and reach his climax. But he waited for my answer, assessing me with his intense eyes as if he was truly concerned about my well-being. 

Don’t make me like you. 

I wanted to say, but I stuck with, “Yes, I am.” Wrapping my legs around his muscular torso, I said, “Fuck me.”

Zain’s eyes darkened, his fingers clenching the bedsheet as he slowly retreated and slammed inside me, my lips parting into a soundless moan. Holy shit. Pleasure bloomed inside me at the feeling of fullness, my body trembling when Zain claimed me with each powerful thrust. 

His hot groans and whispers were music to my ears. His jaw clenched when he gazed down at me, holding my hips to watch himself slide into me. It was extremely erotic to watch a man like him see himself sink into me, my nether lips soaking with arousal. 

I moaned softly when his finger rubbed over my sensitive clit, his eyes drinking in all the little details. I groaned out, his dick plunging deep inside me, his heavy, powerful body pressing against me and claiming my lips with his.

“I am going to—” I uttered with a small groan, his fingers rubbing faster, his pace increasing as he swelled inside me. 

Surprisingly, he came first, his climax erupting inside me as his face contorted into bliss, his fingers digging into my skin. I was in awe watching him, that my orgasm rocked my body. The scorching white hot lust swept through my body, my back arching and nails sinking into his back as I groaned out his name again and again. Holding onto him, gasping and writhing as my muscles contracted around him. 

Zain gave one last thrust before collapsing beside me. We were out of breath, my ears ringing as I tried my best to regain control of my wild heartbeat. I was surprised when he pulled me closer, kissing my lips and running his hand through my hair and back. I was rendered speechless when Zain cuddled me. Laying his head on the crook of my neck, his fingers brushing the underside of my breast and the coarse hair of his legs pressed against mine.

If I hadn’t been exhausted and deeply sated with the sex, I might have told him to leave or cover up. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t mind the warmth of his body, his soft breath fanning over my skin and the way he held me so close and tenderly that I would think that the night we had spent together meant more to him than me.

Read today: https://www.mahimistry.com

Or Join my Patreon to read it: https://www.patreon.com/mahimistry

Patreon * Website * Ko-Fi * Instagram * All Links

[travelsinser]

Once to the viceconsul

The adventure did not deter our travellers from going on to the monument, although the visit could not have been paid in very good temper. When they returned, they went at once to the viceconsul, and asked him to assist them in getting some redress. He, however, pooh-pooh’d the affair, and it was not until Lord Mande- villo wrote a somewhat peremptory note to the consul, that the matter was taken in hand. The vice-consul, however, is a Greek.

A misfortune befell the circus at Pera this evening. There came on a brisk wind, which carried away several of the light planks that formed the roof, and this was followed by a pelting shower of rain. The consequence was, that two-thirds of the lamps went out, and the performance concluded with the very dreary spectacle of a spangled gentleman and lady riding round and round, almost in the dark, and gradually becoming drenched to the skin, whilst the audience clustered under umbrellas. But the fezzes were not at all put out. They looked gravely on, as though they considered it a part of the entertainment, without any expression of either approbation or dissatisfaction, and probably would have done the same had the whole place suddenly taken fire.

I was enabled to form some slight notion, on my way home this night, of the state of the Constantinople streets during the winter. As it was, the “ sludge ” from the rain — the holes full of water — and the rugged paving, nearly precluded all progress. In winter, with continued bad weather, they must be perfectly impassable. Men buy long boots on purpose to get about in; but what the women do is difficult to tell. As it is, they can scarcely shuffle on in their slipshod chaussure. By all accounts, the winters at Constantinople are occasionally very frightful; and this present one appears to have exceeded all others in severity, many poor persons having died from cold, and all having suffered from it bitterly, as well they may, with nothing but miserable little stoves and chauferettes to warm them, in thin wooden houses that allow every draught of air to come and go as it chooses local ephesus tour guides.

BUYUKDERE

The two most important villages upon the Bosphorus are Therapia and Buyukdere, contiguous to the summer residences of most of the ambassadors. The land journey to the latter is a pleasant ride on horseback, and the escape into fresh green valleys from dirty Pera, most refreshing and agreeable.

I hired a small, active, sure-footed horse, and started, one morning, with a companion, for Buyukdere. There is a species of road paved with huge, uneven blocks of stone, like those, here and there, upon the Roman Campagna, but not so level; but we preferred crossing the country, and so cantered and scrambled over the wide wild tract of bare hills, which commence almost immediately upon quitting Pera. They have straggling bridle-paths, and deep water-courses about them, in all directions, with occasionally a dangerous dry well, flush with the ground. No attempt is made to cultivate this land: a few sheep browse about it, and, now and then, one sees a little enclosed patch somewhat greener than the rest. Very large rats, without tails, burrow in it; and curious lizards, of a singularly bright green, dart about its short vegetation. At one part the Sultan was building a palace, which looked a great deal more like a union workhouse, down in a hollow; and the work-people lived round about it, in tents.

[travelmgznbg]

Some pious person for the use of travellers

“We now began to descend, the path winding along the sides of the mountain, amidst the same beautiful foliage, and here and there adorned with a picturesque fountain, put up by some pious person for the use of travellers. In about an hour we came to a lovely, park-like flat, between two hills, known as The Sultan’s

Valley. Some of the largest plane-trees I ever saw were growing hero, and in one of them a dervish had contrived to make a regular house, or hovel, with a small enclosed plot of grass in front, whereon he was squatting, and grinding his coffee. A great number of dogs, of the true Galata breed, were lying about, close to him, in the hopes of an occasional scrap. lie was a wild-looking fellow, with long hair and beard, and very dirty. Seated at the foot of the tree, lie recalled to my mind, at once, the dervish of the Arabian Nights, who gives Prince Bahruan the advice not to look behind him, when he goes up the hill in search of the talking-bird and the singing-tree. He glowered upon us as we passed, and appeared inclined to do anything but aid us, had wo stood in need of his assistance guided tour ephesus.

From this to the water’s side again was but a short distance, and we found the caique had come round, and the men were smoking their pipes. We sat upon a rudo pier of floating timber, and divided our remaining beer with them; the gusto with which they drank it, proved that the Moslem’s abhorrence of intoxicating drinks is not difficult to overcome, even when he is seen indulging in them, which is, I believe, the real condition under which he is taught to abjure them.

The voyage home was most delicious. We went with the stream, and glided rapidly along, keeping close to the Asiatic side, which was now glowing with all the purple glories of an Eastern sunset, every window in the card-board palaces throwing back its rays, and sparkling as though one general illumination was going on, from the Black Sea to Scutari. Then the opposite mountains threw their shade upon the villages, and they became gray and dusky, while the hills behind them were still steeped in floods of beautiful light. But the shadows crept higher and higher, until, by the time we reached Tophane, and turned round the angle of the Golden Horn, the mists had risen, and a filmy, irregular line of buildings only marked the opposite side of the Bosphorus,  although the minarets of Stamboul were yet thrown out in vivid relief against the flushed horizon.

THE SLAVE MARKET

No European goes to the East with a clear idea of a slave market. lie has seen fanciful French lithographs, and attractive scenes in Eastern ballets, where the pretty girls appeared ready, on the shortest notice, and in the most bewitching costumes, to dance the Gitana, Romaika, Tarantella, Redowa, or any othci characteristic pas that might be required of them. Or, if no* schooled into these impressions, he takes the indignant view of tlir subject, and thinks of nothing but chains and lashes, and finds, at last, that one is just as false as the other.

[trekkingbulgaria]

Some pious person for the use of travellers

“We now began to descend, the path winding along the sides of the mountain, amidst the same beautiful foliage, and here and there adorned with a picturesque fountain, put up by some pious person for the use of travellers. In about an hour we came to a lovely, park-like flat, between two hills, known as The Sultan’s

Valley. Some of the largest plane-trees I ever saw were growing hero, and in one of them a dervish had contrived to make a regular house, or hovel, with a small enclosed plot of grass in front, whereon he was squatting, and grinding his coffee. A great number of dogs, of the true Galata breed, were lying about, close to him, in the hopes of an occasional scrap. lie was a wild-looking fellow, with long hair and beard, and very dirty. Seated at the foot of the tree, lie recalled to my mind, at once, the dervish of the Arabian Nights, who gives Prince Bahruan the advice not to look behind him, when he goes up the hill in search of the talking-bird and the singing-tree. He glowered upon us as we passed, and appeared inclined to do anything but aid us, had wo stood in need of his assistance guided tour ephesus.

From this to the water’s side again was but a short distance, and we found the caique had come round, and the men were smoking their pipes. We sat upon a rudo pier of floating timber, and divided our remaining beer with them; the gusto with which they drank it, proved that the Moslem’s abhorrence of intoxicating drinks is not difficult to overcome, even when he is seen indulging in them, which is, I believe, the real condition under which he is taught to abjure them.

The voyage home was most delicious. We went with the stream, and glided rapidly along, keeping close to the Asiatic side, which was now glowing with all the purple glories of an Eastern sunset, every window in the card-board palaces throwing back its rays, and sparkling as though one general illumination was going on, from the Black Sea to Scutari. Then the opposite mountains threw their shade upon the villages, and they became gray and dusky, while the hills behind them were still steeped in floods of beautiful light. But the shadows crept higher and higher, until, by the time we reached Tophane, and turned round the angle of the Golden Horn, the mists had risen, and a filmy, irregular line of buildings only marked the opposite side of the Bosphorus,  although the minarets of Stamboul were yet thrown out in vivid relief against the flushed horizon.

THE SLAVE MARKET

No European goes to the East with a clear idea of a slave market. lie has seen fanciful French lithographs, and attractive scenes in Eastern ballets, where the pretty girls appeared ready, on the shortest notice, and in the most bewitching costumes, to dance the Gitana, Romaika, Tarantella, Redowa, or any othci characteristic pas that might be required of them. Or, if no* schooled into these impressions, he takes the indignant view of tlir subject, and thinks of nothing but chains and lashes, and finds, at last, that one is just as false as the other.

[tasteoftravel]

Some pious person for the use of travellers

“We now began to descend, the path winding along the sides of the mountain, amidst the same beautiful foliage, and here and there adorned with a picturesque fountain, put up by some pious person for the use of travellers. In about an hour we came to a lovely, park-like flat, between two hills, known as The Sultan’s

Valley. Some of the largest plane-trees I ever saw were growing hero, and in one of them a dervish had contrived to make a regular house, or hovel, with a small enclosed plot of grass in front, whereon he was squatting, and grinding his coffee. A great number of dogs, of the true Galata breed, were lying about, close to him, in the hopes of an occasional scrap. lie was a wild-looking fellow, with long hair and beard, and very dirty. Seated at the foot of the tree, lie recalled to my mind, at once, the dervish of the Arabian Nights, who gives Prince Bahruan the advice not to look behind him, when he goes up the hill in search of the talking-bird and the singing-tree. He glowered upon us as we passed, and appeared inclined to do anything but aid us, had wo stood in need of his assistance guided tour ephesus.

From this to the water’s side again was but a short distance, and we found the caique had come round, and the men were smoking their pipes. We sat upon a rudo pier of floating timber, and divided our remaining beer with them; the gusto with which they drank it, proved that the Moslem’s abhorrence of intoxicating drinks is not difficult to overcome, even when he is seen indulging in them, which is, I believe, the real condition under which he is taught to abjure them.

The voyage home was most delicious. We went with the stream, and glided rapidly along, keeping close to the Asiatic side, which was now glowing with all the purple glories of an Eastern sunset, every window in the card-board palaces throwing back its rays, and sparkling as though one general illumination was going on, from the Black Sea to Scutari. Then the opposite mountains threw their shade upon the villages, and they became gray and dusky, while the hills behind them were still steeped in floods of beautiful light. But the shadows crept higher and higher, until, by the time we reached Tophane, and turned round the angle of the Golden Horn, the mists had risen, and a filmy, irregular line of buildings only marked the opposite side of the Bosphorus,  although the minarets of Stamboul were yet thrown out in vivid relief against the flushed horizon.

THE SLAVE MARKET

No European goes to the East with a clear idea of a slave market. lie has seen fanciful French lithographs, and attractive scenes in Eastern ballets, where the pretty girls appeared ready, on the shortest notice, and in the most bewitching costumes, to dance the Gitana, Romaika, Tarantella, Redowa, or any othci characteristic pas that might be required of them. Or, if no* schooled into these impressions, he takes the indignant view of tlir subject, and thinks of nothing but chains and lashes, and finds, at last, that one is just as false as the other.

[metrotravels]

Some pious person for the use of travellers

“We now began to descend, the path winding along the sides of the mountain, amidst the same beautiful foliage, and here and there adorned with a picturesque fountain, put up by some pious person for the use of travellers. In about an hour we came to a lovely, park-like flat, between two hills, known as The Sultan’s

Valley. Some of the largest plane-trees I ever saw were growing hero, and in one of them a dervish had contrived to make a regular house, or hovel, with a small enclosed plot of grass in front, whereon he was squatting, and grinding his coffee. A great number of dogs, of the true Galata breed, were lying about, close to him, in the hopes of an occasional scrap. lie was a wild-looking fellow, with long hair and beard, and very dirty. Seated at the foot of the tree, lie recalled to my mind, at once, the dervish of the Arabian Nights, who gives Prince Bahruan the advice not to look behind him, when he goes up the hill in search of the talking-bird and the singing-tree. He glowered upon us as we passed, and appeared inclined to do anything but aid us, had wo stood in need of his assistance guided tour ephesus.

From this to the water’s side again was but a short distance, and we found the caique had come round, and the men were smoking their pipes. We sat upon a rudo pier of floating timber, and divided our remaining beer with them; the gusto with which they drank it, proved that the Moslem’s abhorrence of intoxicating drinks is not difficult to overcome, even when he is seen indulging in them, which is, I believe, the real condition under which he is taught to abjure them.

The voyage home was most delicious. We went with the stream, and glided rapidly along, keeping close to the Asiatic side, which was now glowing with all the purple glories of an Eastern sunset, every window in the card-board palaces throwing back its rays, and sparkling as though one general illumination was going on, from the Black Sea to Scutari. Then the opposite mountains threw their shade upon the villages, and they became gray and dusky, while the hills behind them were still steeped in floods of beautiful light. But the shadows crept higher and higher, until, by the time we reached Tophane, and turned round the angle of the Golden Horn, the mists had risen, and a filmy, irregular line of buildings only marked the opposite side of the Bosphorus,  although the minarets of Stamboul were yet thrown out in vivid relief against the flushed horizon.

THE SLAVE MARKET

No European goes to the East with a clear idea of a slave market. lie has seen fanciful French lithographs, and attractive scenes in Eastern ballets, where the pretty girls appeared ready, on the shortest notice, and in the most bewitching costumes, to dance the Gitana, Romaika, Tarantella, Redowa, or any othci characteristic pas that might be required of them. Or, if no* schooled into these impressions, he takes the indignant view of tlir subject, and thinks of nothing but chains and lashes, and finds, at last, that one is just as false as the other.